In a media landscape often dominated by repetitive tropes and easy punchlines, Khadijah Fasih’s recent column, “Pakistani Media’s Pakhtun Prejudice,” serves as a vital, sharp, and deeply necessary intervention. With piercing clarity, Fasih dismantles the systemic, casual racism that Pakistani television has normalized for decades under the guise of “entertainment.” It is an article that does not merely critique; it challenges the conscience of our entire entertainment industry.

We whole-heartedly second her thesis: it is high time Pakistani media moves past its flattened, caricatured version of Pashtun identity.
Fasih brilliantly highlights how deeply institutionalized this bias has become by pointing out its presence in everyday, seemingly “insignificant” dialogues—such as a throwaway line in the drama Kafeel or the absurdly manufactured accents in Suno Chanda.

For too long, television writers and directors have relied on a lazy formula: take a Pashtun character, force an exaggerated, inaccurate Urdu accent onto them, and confine their livelihood to a “Pathan’s hotel” or cast them as hyper-conservative, violent tropes as seen in dramas like Deedan or Sang-e-Mah. As Fasih rightly notes, this is not representation; it is division through recycled tropes. When a media industry consistently reduces the second-largest ethnic group in the country to a monolithic punchline, it ceases to be a creative failure and becomes a form of institutionalized racism.

The most powerful segment of Fasih’s column—one that deserves to be pinned to the desks of every major showrunner and producer in Pakistan—is her beautiful invocation of true Pashtun culture. She asks the industry to look beyond the “ludicrous roles” and instead gaze upon the rich tapestry of Pashtun history, intellect, and art.

”Show me Pakhtuns through the non-violence of Bacha Khan Baba, the poetry of Ghani Khan, the music of Sardar Ali Takar, the thread-work of Almas Khanum and the artistry of Jamal Shah. Tell the world their tales of Kumrat’s Golden Chalice, their bravery and heroism and the bitter-sweet romance of Adam Khan and Durkhanai.”

Fasih reminds us of the profound irony at play: while the media obsesses over Pashto-inflected Urdu accents, it blissfully ignores the monumental contributions of Pashtuns to the very fabric of Pakistan. From the atomic research of Dr. Abdul Qadeer Khan to the global sports stardom of Jansher Khan, and the cinematic brilliance of icons like Mahira Khan and Bilal Abbas Khan, Pashtun excellence is everywhere—except, it seems, in the scripts written for Pashtun characters.

The usage of the exonym “Pathan”—a colonial relic heavily laden with offensive stereotypes—must be retired in favor of accurate endonyms like Pashtun or Pakhtun. Decolonizing our entertainment media requires deliberate effort.

We echo Fasih’s call to action. Our actors, actresses, directors, and writers must stop participating in projects that perpetuate these harmful caricatures. Good and bad people exist in every nationality and ethnicity. It is time for Pakistani television to reflect the true diversity, warmth, hospitality, and intellect of the Pashtun people, rather than offering audiences a laughable and unlikeable caricature.

Khadijah Fasih has spoken a truth that many have ignored for too long. The question now is: is the media industry listening?