Heroes vs. Pretenders

Since the dawn of the social media era, Pakistan has been in a very weird competition. It’s no longer about courage, sacrifice, or building a nation—it’s about who can do the most TikTok dance while holding a latte in a $500 designer cup. And apparently, that qualifies you as a role model now.

Let’s pause and breathe.

Really.

Who are we idolizing these days? A teenager with neon hair showing off fake wealth, or someone who literally risked their life to save millions? Spoiler alert: it’s the neon-haired one, and that’s tragic… and kind of hilarious if you think about it.

Take Dr. Abdul Qadeer Khan, for example. The man ensured Pakistan became a nuclear power. His work literally kept our borders safe. But scroll on Instagram and you won’t see a “Follow Dr. Khan for Safety Tips” trend. Instead, you’ll see videos of someone pretending to faint because their avocado toast is slightly burnt. Priorities, right?

Then there’s Abdul Sattar Edhi and Bilquis Edhi—humans who practically invented selfless service. Ambulances running, hospitals saving lives, orphans finding hope… and the social media world? Someone just posted a 10-second reel of their pet wearing a tiny outfit. Millions of likes. And I can’t help but laugh, cry, and facepalm all at the same time.

Malala Yousafzai, fighting bullets and hatred to educate girls, wins a Nobel Prize. A hero. She inspires millions. Meanwhile, influencers with zero contribution to society are considered “inspiring” because they said “Stay hydrated, loves!” while sipping sparkling water in the Maldives. Inspirational, indeed.

Let’s not forget MM Alam, Raja Aziz Bhatti, Shabbir Sharif—the people who risked their lives for Pakistan. Brave, strategic, heroic. And then there are the “brave souls” posting 15-second challenges online: “I’ll eat 100 samosas in 2 minutes for views!” Wow. Someone alert the UN; a national crisis of samosas is happening.

Even bureaucrats, unsung patriots who quietly saved Pakistan in 1947 chaos, or those who negotiated Gwadar’s purchase without fanfare, don’t get applause. But a 22-year-old showing off their fake Gucci belt? Millions of views. And don’t get me started on the “comedians” who mock everything from traditions to religion—all for laughs and clout. Is this the cultural legacy we want to leave?

Here’s my favorite part: social media influencers are now “educating” people. Really? By teaching them how to floss dance while criticizing poor people’s fashion choices? Genius. And don’t forget the “motivational” ones preaching success while showing off their fake Rolex. I’ve got news: a Rolex doesn’t pay hospital bills, build schools, or stop a bullet. But hey, keep inspiring the youth to be rich in selfies and poor in life skills.

Now, imagine Edhi waking up today, seeing someone filming their breakfast for 1 million views: “Really? THAT’s the hero people follow?” I’m pretty sure he’d give them a plate of simple khichdi and a side of humility. And they’d probably cry because their phone ran out of battery mid-filming.

Ask yourself: Are we blind followers of glitter and noise? Do we celebrate the clowns while ignoring the architects of our safety, health, and education? Yes, yes we do. And that, my friends, is comedy and tragedy rolled into one.

Let’s give credit where it’s due: Dr. Abdul Qadeer Khan, Abdul Sattar Edhi, Malala Yousafzai, MM Alam, the soldiers, the bureaucrats, the unsung patriots—these are the people who shaped Pakistan. And the Instagram/TikTok “celebrities”? They shaped… our scrolling habits. Bravo. Clap slowly.

So next time you feel jealous of a “viral star,” remember: the world’s safest nukes, the lives of thousands, and the future of young girls’ education didn’t get likes—they got courage, sacrifice, and action. And maybe, just maybe, we should follow that instead of the next lip-sync challenge.

Because the world doesn’t need more neon hair dancing in fake mansions. It needs humans who build, save, and protect. But apparently, that’s too boring for TikTok.