It was quite late in my life that I developed an understanding of the terms native, home, first, second, and foreign languages, mainly due to my enrollment in the Department of English at the University of Karachi, where I earned a Master’s degree in English Linguistics. At that time, there were few discussions or critical debates around issues of social justice and inequity stemming from a language. I completed my degree and, in the process, gained the satisfaction of learning and understanding English. This qualification helped me establish my professional reputation, and, coupled with hard work, enabled me to serve in two different professional domains over the past two decades. However, when I decided to resume my studies after a long break, I found that things had changed remarkably. The field of linguistics I had once known had evolved into applied linguistics, a discipline now concerned with the role of language across all domains of life, especially where it creates or resolves crises. This shift intrigued me and motivated me to pursue the discipline further by enrolling in another Master’s program, this time in Applied Linguistics at NED University. This enrollment opened up an entirely new perspective on the field, one that was less focused on language learning itself and more on the challenges faced by learners and teachers in acquiring and teaching a second language, both within the Pakistani context and globally.

English enjoys the status of an official, yet second, language in Pakistan. Due to societal polarization and a deeply entrenched class system, different groups and communities engage with it differently, shaped by their economic means and value systems. Within the same country, one can find individuals who view English as a foreign language, a carrier of Western values and ideologies, while for others, particularly those from the elite class, English is the norm and often functions as a first language. This highlights Pakistan’s status as a highly diverse society, where a single language can become a decisive factor in determining an individual’s success and social standing, both personally and professionally. English is not merely a language; it becomes a symbol of status and class. This reality is reflected in our choice of schools for our children, the neighborhoods we live in, and the social circles we associate with. Extensive literature has established that English tends to divide more than unite us. Yet, paradoxically, it continues to serve as the official medium of instruction, requiring students to study all of their courses at the tertiary level in English. This policy further entrenches social divides, as students with stronger English proficiency are better positioned to seize learning opportunities, while those burdened with long-standing language deficiencies, often due to inadequate schooling, continue to struggle.

Here, I raise some critical questions for the policymakers: Why do we not implement English-medium instruction uniformly at the school level to better prepare students for university education in English? And if we are determined to maintain English as the medium of instruction at the higher education level, why don’t we ensure the equitable provision of the necessary resources, such as trained professionals, infrastructure, and teaching materials, to support this policy? And if we acknowledge our economic constraints, why don’t we reconsider the policy altogether and explore successful multilingual education models implemented in other multilingual nations, such as Malaysia and Singapore?

These questions are not merely academic, they concern the future of our children, the accessibility of education, and the very fabric of social mobility in our society. The time has come to move beyond cosmetic policy decisions and engage in serious, inclusive dialogue on how language planning and education can promote, not hinder, equity. If we are to envision a more just and linguistically inclusive Pakistan, we must ask ourselves: Whose voices are we privileging through our language choices, and whose potential are we leaving behind?