Most research about migration is presented from the perspective of migrants — their aspirations and the challenges they face to gain acceptance in the host country. Little attention is given to how the home country copes with their absence.

A society is a complex weave of its people, each having a part, however small, in completing the tapestry of a nation — much like the biological term, mutualism, which binds species together. Removing an element results in what is called widowing, jeopardising the survival of a species without the interdependence it thrives on.

The majority of migrants are young, skilled, ambitious, self-confident and with a vision for a better future — all qualities a country needs in its people in order to move ahead. Some leave to never look back, investing in their new identities. Others remain connected to their home country, contributing financially, sharing expertise or just connected by nostalgia. Nevertheless, removing themselves from their home country has an impact affecting the whole cultural structure, from the family to the state.

Pakistan has been and continues to be altered by migration. Settled over millennia by people from as far away as China and Greece, the real exodus of populations occurred during the 1947 Partition. An estimated 12-15 million migrated to and from Pakistan, leaving in their wake uprooted neighbourhoods, split families, and a denial of shared cultures that became increasingly polarised.

Migration from the country has been a steady theme across Pakistan for the past few decades. But what is the social, economic and oft-ignored cultural cost of this continued exodus for Pakistan?

Partition migration also created opportunities for new cultural identities, a good example being Pakistani cinema. The two dozen film studios of Lahore mostly owned by non-Muslims became deserted as under-production films, along with equipment, were taken by the owners who migrated to Bombay. In Lahore, clerks became managers, technicians took to cinematography. The young director Shaukat Hussain Rizvi almost single-handedly set up Pakistan’s first film studio, shooting films with a single camera.

Similar stories in business, agriculture, industry, education and town planning enabled the emergence of a distinct Pakistani culture that grew and flourished for a few decades. Until, that is, the next trickle of exodus in the 70s that has, in the last few years, become a raging torrent.

“Dubai chalo” [let’s go to Dubai] began in the 70s, draining the country of skilled labourers and technicians, followed by the financial elite. More subtle forms of migration stem from a sense of rejection. Classical music maestro Barray Ghulam Ali returned to India, as did Quratulain Haider, supposedly after criticism of her novel Aag Ka Darya.

Naheed Siddiqui, who promoted Pakistan as an exponent of kathak dance, left Pakistan after her television show Payal was banned by the Ziaul Haq regime. Sohail Rana’s music programme for children, Kalyon Ki Mala, along with other music programmes, was discontinued. The rich cultural expressions that defined Pakistan were deprived of a public platform, and soon faded from the collective memory.

Many intellectuals and artists unwilling to live in Zia’s Pakistan — and the subsequent uncertainty and insecurity, coupled with droves of young people heading to universities, encouraged by their parents not to return — emptied the country of its most dynamic citizens.

Pakistan today is focused on economic survival, having forgotten the need for cultural survival. Cultural survival is not just music and dance but also the role of community and family structures. As young people settle abroad, their elderly parents are left to fend for themselves and are deprived of their traditional role in nurturing their grandchildren. Economic migration within the country leaves village women to bring up children without their fathers and to take on the responsibility of managing their homes alone.

‘Homing’ refers to the return of migrants to their home country. It is said two out of every five migrants return home, bringing with them new values and skills but rarely finding the infrastructure to absorb their potential contributions. Many hold on to an imagined homeland through memories, stories and social media conversations, which are challenged by the changed ground realities the ‘left behind’ have become accustomed to.

While many heroic Pakistanis have established schools and hospitals, created world class footballs, performed open heart surgeries, invented solar mobile networks and non-explosive fertilisers, in the main society has accommodated itself to mediocrity.

The South African statesman Thabo Mbeki said he longed for the day when African mathematicians, physicists, doctors, engineers, computer specialists and economists would return and find solutions to Africa’s problems. Many Pakistanis would echo that sentiment, but unless Pakistan invests in world class institutions, we cannot expect a Dr Naweed Syed to invent the brain-chip connection, or a Dr Ayub Khan Ommaya to invent the Ommaya Reservoir in Pakistan.

Durriya Kazi is a Karachi-based artist. She may be reached at
durriyakazi1918@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, March 16th, 2025