In my previous article, I wrote about how too much self-love and self-praise have blinded majority Pashtuns to the point where critical thinking has packed its bags and left the room. When you keep telling yourself you are perfect, you eventually stop asking uncomfortable questions. This article continues that discussion — and looks at how this excessive self-admiration is slowly sliding into something that looks a lot like racism.
The problem begins when self-respect turns into self-worship. Loving your culture is healthy. Building a shrine around it is not. Some people love themselves so much that they start believing others — especially Punjabis — are morally and physically inferior. At that point, it is no longer pride; it becomes prejudice wearing traditional clothes.
What pushed me to write this was what I see daily on social media and in private conversations. There is constant ridicule of non-Pashtuns, wrapped in references to a so-called “golden history.” But there is a simple truth we conveniently ignore: struggling nations talk endlessly about past glory because talking about the present is uncomfortable.
In my earlier article, I argued that endless self-praise suffocates critical thinking. When a community convinces itself that it is already flawless, introspection dies quietly. When every failure is blamed on outsiders, reform never begins.
Corruption? Someone else’s conspiracy. Poor governance? Someone else’s oppression. Educational backwardness? Someone else’s grand design. Apparently, everyone is responsible — except us.
Now this nationalism — or rather this unchecked self-admiration — has entered a new phase. It has fermented over time. What once appeared as pride now carries the odor of superiority. And when the belief in superiority begins to settle in, racism is never far behind.
Nationalism, in its simplest form, is the belief that a people who share language, culture, history, and collective memory have the right to shape their own political destiny. The modern concept took structured form after the French Revolution, when subjects of monarchies began to see themselves as citizens of nations. In the 19th and 20th centuries, nationalism dismantled empires, inspired anti-colonial movements, and gave suppressed communities a sense of dignity.
At its best, nationalism is about cultural preservation and political self-respect. At its worst, it becomes a doctrine of superiority. The same force that unites can also exclude. When nationalism stops asking, “How do we improve ourselves?” and begins declaring, “We are inherently better than others,” it crosses into dangerous territory.
Pashtun nationalism, historically, did not begin as racism. It emerged from political grievances, colonial boundaries, and the need for recognition. The arbitrary drawing of the Durand Line divided Pashtun lands and deepened identity questions. In the early 20th century, figures like Bacha Khan emphasized non-violence, education, and reform. His movement sought dignity within a larger anti-colonial struggle, not hatred of others.
Even earlier, in the 17th century, the great poet-warrior Khushal Khan Khattak — Khushal Baba — articulated a cultural nationalism rooted in honor, unity, and resistance to tyranny. His nationalist sentiments emerged at a time when the concept of nationalism was not yet widespread, even in Europe.He criticized Pashtuns for their internal divisions. He called for moral strength and self-correction. His verses did not preach ethnic supremacy; they preached character.
Khushal Khan Khattak argued that the Pashtuns already possessed the essential foundations of a nation — a shared history, a common language, and a clearly defined homeland. He believed that self-rule and freedom from the Mughal Empire were within reach, provided the Pashtuns set aside petty rivalries, overcame personal greed, and united around a collective purpose.
Through his poetry, he called on Pashtuns to rise above petty feuds and recognize their collective dignity. His nationalism was not framed in modern political language, but its spirit was clear: a people conscious of their identity, proud of their culture, and determined to live free.
But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
Today, segments of Pashtun nationalist discourse openly display hostility toward other ethnic groups, especially Punjabis. Social media posts paint sweeping caricatures. Political speeches casually frame an entire ethnicity as exploitative. The language of rights has slowly been replaced by the language of racial grievance.
This is not nationalism in the spirit of Khushal Baba. This is self-praise weaponized.
When you constantly proclaim yourself morally and physically superior, it becomes effortless to label others as morally inferior. When you insist that suffering is externally imposed, it becomes convenient to identify a permanent villain. In this narrative, Punjab is no longer a province; it becomes a symbol of everything wrong.
But such thinking ignores complexity. The Pakistani state is not synonymous with a single ethnicity. Power structures are layered, institutional, and often class-based. Ordinary Punjabis — farmers, laborers, shopkeepers — are no more responsible for policy failures than ordinary Pashtuns.
Professor Shehryar Khan raises a piercing question in this context: “If Pashtun nationalist parties were to gain autonomous authority, how would they govern a region where a sizable segment of the population is non-Pashtun? What rights would artisan communities — barbers, jewelers, carpenters, silversmiths — locally know as Kasab Gars, enjoy in a political climate shaped by ethnic pride that has turned into exclusion?”
The Pashtun belt has never been ethnically pure. Markets and neighborhoods include Hindko speakers, Saraikis, Punjabis, and various artisan classes who have lived there for generations. If nationalism has already hardened into racial rhetoric, what guarantees exist for these minorities?
You cannot build a just society on selective justice.
The irony is striking. Pashtunwali emphasizes hospitality (melmastia) and protection of the vulnerable. Yet online discourse often contradicts these values. Pride has replaced humility. Myth has replaced introspection.
And political actors are not blind to this shift. Anti-Punjab rhetoric is an effective mobilization tool. It simplifies complex governance issues into emotionally charged narratives. Instead of asking why schools lack teachers or hospitals lack medicine, it is easier to shout slogans about ethnic exploitation. Instead of examining provincial mismanagement, it is convenient to point toward Lahore.
A sharper example of this contradiction can be seen in the conduct of Pashtun nationalist parties. Publicly, they present themselves as defenders of Pashtun rights, constantly invoking historical grievances and criticizing so-called Punjab-centric domination. Yet when in power, nationalism has often functioned less as a reform agenda and more as a political shield.
The contradiction deepens at the federal level. When it suits their political interests, these same parties readily join coalitions led by Punjab-based forces such as the Pakistan Muslim League (N). In Islamabad, the rhetoric of resistance gives way to negotiations for ministries and influence. The language of ethnic grievance softens when access to power is at stake.
This exposes a simple reality: Pashtun nationalist leaders are not outside Pakistan’s ruling elite; they are part of it. They participate in the same power structures they criticize, benefiting from the same system while mobilizing ethnic sentiment at home. In this model, nationalism becomes an instrument — invoked to rally voters, adjusted to secure power — and too often used as cover for ordinary political corruption.
But self-praise without self-criticism breeds stagnation. When a society insists it is the bravest and most honorable, it rarely asks why its literacy rates lag or why tribal divisions persist. Romanticizing the past becomes a substitute for planning the future.
Nationalism, if rooted in culture and rights, can coexist within a plural state. Racism cannot. The former seeks dignity; the latter demands dominance.
History offers sobering lessons. European nationalism once unified fragmented states, but in its extreme forms, it paved the way for fascism and catastrophe. When identity becomes absolute, democracy weakens.
The challenge before Pashtun nationalism is moral and intellectual. Will it return to the ethical foundation of Khushal Baba — unity with self-reform? Or will it continue down a path where self-praise evolves into supremacy and grievance hardens into racial hostility?
Pride is not the problem. Every community has the right to celebrate its culture. The problem begins when pride refuses criticism. When questioning internal flaws is labeled betrayal. When nuance is drowned by applause.
If Pashtun nationalism is to remain credible, it must rediscover balance. It must encourage introspection as much as resistance. It must reject racial generalizations, even when politically profitable. It must articulate a vision of governance that guarantees equality for every resident of the Pashtun belt — Pashtun or not.
Otherwise, the transformation will be complete: from a movement for dignity to a mirror of the very injustices it once condemned.
Self-praise, unchecked, does not merely blind. Eventually, it divides.
Zalmay Azad
The author is an Islamabad -based senior journalist.
