Last year, I visited Quetta, a city I am quite familiar with, as my family lives there. One day, while getting a haircut at a local barber, I noticed the shop’s sound system was connected to the barber’s mobile phone, playing reels of Engineer Ali. Video after video, he switched between teaching the so-called “proper” way to perform prayers while mocking other sects and probing into trivial topics like stereotypical saas-bahu dynamics, often mixed with criticism of women. The content was unsettling, but I chose to stay quiet, anxious to finish the haircut and leave. That experience left me thinking about how pervasive and persuasive such content has become.
The internet, after all, is a brilliant, responsive tool that reflects our cultural and political peculiarities in real-time. Out of curiosity, I often start with YouTube. Give a couple of videos a thumbs-up, and your feed shifts dramatically. While my political stance leans towards the progressive left, I intentionally steer my algorithm rightward for the sake of the experiment. Suddenly, my screen fills with Zaid Hamid warning us of global conspiracies against Pakistan and a fiery sermon by Maulana Tariq Jameel going viral. A random social media influencer debates women’s rights in Islam. It’s noisy, divisive, and rarely enlightening.
To go beyond these quick bites, I delve into the more profound, contrarian Pakistani voices. While reformist scholars like Javed Ghamidi dissect the intersection of faith and modernity, historians like Dr. Mubarak Ali trace how colonial-era power structures still shape governance. Meanwhile, activists like Ammar Ali Jan force uncomfortable conversations about class. At this stage, your feed won’t just be about politics anymore. It will reflect broader societal anxieties, with views on gender roles, class disparities, religion, education, and even the sustainability of Pakistan’s democracy. You find yourself subscribing to X (formerly Twitter) threads analysing Pakistan’s economic meltdown. Suddenly, you’re not just questioning others’ worldviews but your own beliefs as well.
Part of this process is diagnostic: What is driving Pakistan’s polarising discourse? Why do your university colleagues champion a neoliberal economy while our landlords cling to feudal nostalgia? Why is your cousin engrossed in foreign conspiracy theories? The answers lie in exploring the sources of their convictions. Perhaps it’s a bit like taking stock of your intellectual health: Is Pakistan’s current trajectory sustainable? Is our religious extremism the primary challenge, or does class disparity loom larger?
For Pakistan to move forward, we need to create spaces, whether virtual or physical, where thinking thrives—where conversations aren’t battlegrounds but workshops for discovering new ideas
But behold! There awaits a coup de théâtre. The deeper you dive into Pakistan’s ideological divides, the more you realise how opinions are shaped here. There is little room for nuance, and social media, public debates, and television panels tend to lock every argument into binary frames. Ask a question about education reform, and you’ll get slogans rather than insights. Every YouTube video, political speech, or newspaper column seems to push you toward predetermined answers. It’s as though the machinery of public discourse is not built to help you think but to tell you what to think. Pakistan is a nation where debates often feel more performative than transformative. The talk shows and social media wars rarely lead to consensus or clarity; they simply provoke outrage.
To address these divides, we could look back to timeless methods of inquiry. For instance, consider the Socratic approach to untimely questions that probe our deepest assumptions. In Pakistan, untimely questions are often the ones that upset the status quo. Such questions are uncomfortable because they force us to reconsider inherited ideas. For a young Pakistani, they may lead to disillusionment with rigid family traditions, political dynasties, or even the overarching role of religion in public life.
The Socratic method—questioning patiently and engaging in deep, equal conversations—feels radical in a society where debate often devolves into accusations and counter-accusations. In Pakistan, “thinking out loud” can even be dangerous, and expressing dissenting views on religion or governance can invite social ostracism or worse. Yet, the intellectual and social dimensions of Socratic inquiry are vital. Imagine a madrasa teacher genuinely encouraging his students to question interpretations of Islam or a university professor guiding a discussion on whether the state’s economic policy prioritises the poor. Such exchanges could shift paradigms, not just opinions.
True Socratic conversations are rare in Pakistan. The best ones I’ve had often happened late at night, with friends over chai in a dhaba, or while trekking through the Margalla Hills. These moments stand out because they were inclusive, free from the usual power dynamics of age, wealth, or social status. Yet these spaces for unfiltered dialogue are shrinking. Online forums are flooded with trolls; in public spaces, religious rigidity stifles curiosity. Even our universities, which should nourish creativity, often reinforce conformist thinking.
Socratic thinking is about peeling back the assumptions we live by to discover more enduring truths. In Pakistan, this might mean questioning deeply held notions of national pride, economic independence, or religious authority. It’s not easy, but thinking together honestly and openly can lead to shared frameworks for living. Imagine if political adversaries in Pakistan engaged in this way instead of trading accusations on television. Imagine if our education system prioritised critical thinking over simple memorisation.
Technology can help this process, but only to an extent. Provocative videos or viral tweets can start conversations, but they rarely deepen them. Algorithms can only reflect what we seek; they cannot guide us towards genuine understanding. For Pakistan to move forward, we need to create spaces, whether virtual or physical, where thinking thrives—where conversations aren’t battlegrounds but workshops for discovering new ideas. It’s not enough only to expose ourselves to contrarianism. We must challenge not just others but our assumptions, in ways that bolster growth, understanding, and unity.
Perhaps the next time you sit with a friend over chai or join a study circle, try asking the questions that matter most to you. You might discover, as Socrates did, that true freedom lies not in what you think but in how you think.