Walk into an elite private school in Lahore or Karachi, and you will see students fluently speaking and debating in English, quoting Shakespeare, and reading books and novels without any language hurdle. Step into a public school a few miles away, and you will find students learning and cramming grammar rules by translating in Urdu and struggling with their English textbooks. This sharp contrast is not only linguistic— it reflects a deeper socioeconomic divide that determines opportunity, class, and privilege in Pakistan.
The story of the English language in Pakistan is interconnected with historical events. It was introduced during the British colonial rule and became the chief language for administrative, legal, and bureaucratic purposes. After the nation’s independence, Urdu was made the national language, but English retained its status as the official language. Even after 78 years of independence, this bilingual system is still dominant. Over time, English became a symbol of power and prestige, while Urdu and regional languages were viewed as less valuable.
While students in private schools attain fluency much earlier, only 47 percent of fifth graders in public schools are able to read a basic English passage, according to the Annual Status of Education Report. Functional English literacy, or the capacity to use the language in everyday situations, is significantly lower than the 62 percent literacy rate reported by the Pakistan Bureau of Statistics. Despite being “literate” on paper, millions of Pakistanis are still unable to read job instructions, write a formal application, or speak English fluently.
This inequality becomes painfully visible at the university level. University education in fields such as medicine, engineering, law, and the social sciences is predominantly conducted in English. This change is overwhelming for graduates of public schools. Many drop out not because they lack intelligence, but because they lack English skills. On the other hand, elite school graduates find this system tailored to their upbringing, giving them a clear advantage.
The gap is not merely academic; it’s psychological. Public school students tend to feel less than competent, not wanting to speak up for fear of their accents or grammar betraying them. Elite school products, however, are raised discussing, writing, and thinking in English. Confidence follows naturally because the system encourages it. English, which has the power to bind us in education, has now become a wall between the select few and the rest.
At last, language should not be a barrier, but a bridge between people to learn, grow, and communicate effectively. But as long as English remains the property of a few, millions of students will remain excluded from the change in their lives they deserve. The true challenge for Pakistan is not whether it can educate the elite in English, but whether it can democratize the English language for everybody. Until the gap is bridged, the country will continue to generate two systems and two futures—one that propels us ahead, and one that keeps us behind.
A Rawalpindi government school teacher once explained, “My students know science wonderfully well in Urdu, but when the examination is in English, they fail. The knowledge is there— language conceals it.” A Karachi private school student cut to the chase: “English comes naturally to us.” I couldn’t possibly think how difficult it would be for others.” Their words speak to the crux of the matter— not effort, not intellect, but exposure.
Subsequent governments have attempted to correct the issue, but the policy pendulum swings erratically. The current government enforces English for all subjects; the next swings back to Urdu. Neither succeeds. Teachers in public schools are seldom equipped with training to teach in English, and students are seldom provided with the setting to learn it. In the meantime, the elite resist reform because the current system guarantees their kids’ dominance.
The underlying reason is social, political, and societal. English has been linked to status, class, and modernity. The elite schools and parents do not want change because English provides their children with an advantage. Simultaneously, government schools are underfunded, have untrained teachers, and are short on resources to deliver quality bilingual education.
So what’s the solution? We don’t have to eliminate English, but we must democratize it. Structured English training must be given to teachers in public schools, particularly in rural areas. Bilingual education can be introduced in schools, teaching early subjects in Urdu and introducing English gradually for science and technology. Books must be rewritten in easier, more understandable language. And above all, governments have to make a firm commitment towards a long-term language policy that doesn’t shift with each election.
At last, language should not be a barrier, but a bridge between people to learn, grow, and communicate effectively. But as long as English remains the property of a few, millions of students will remain excluded from the change in their lives they deserve. The true challenge for Pakistan is not whether it can educate the elite in English, but whether it can democratize the English language for everybody. Until the gap is bridged, the country will continue to generate two systems and two futures—one that propels us ahead, and one that keeps us behind.
