There is a recurring Saffroniate habit, when it comes to Pakistan, that deserves to be named plainly. It assumes collapse. It treats Pakistan as a Yugoslavia-in-waiting, a state held together only by force and denial. This is not analysis. It is projection, reinforced by confirmation bias.
Pakistan is not Yugoslavia. It is, in many ways, the opposite.
Yugoslavia fractured once the external logic binding it disappeared. Pakistan was born under siege and continues to organise itself around that fact. Whatever one thinks of this psychology, it has consequences. States that internalise permanent vulnerability do not casually dissolve. They centralise, harden, and adapt. That is not a moral defence. It is an empirical observation.
This is why fantasies of Pakistanās inevitable breakup consistently miss the mark. No serious actor inside Pakistan believes fragmentation would lead to peace, prosperity, or benevolent external management. The lesson of 1971 was not weakness; it was that disintegration invites catastrophe. That understanding is widely shared, across elites and institutions alike.
Where the Commentariat becomes especially sloppy is on culture.
Cultural borrowing is routinely misread as insecurity or fraud. When Pakistani weddings feature aesthetics recognisably Indian, or when Basant reappears in Lahore, it is framed as denial, appropriation, or embarrassment. This misunderstands how culture actually works.
Basant is a Punjabi seasonal festival. Its roots lie in agrarian cycles, the coming of spring, and the shared folk culture of the Punjab region. Over centuries, it accumulated different meanings in different places. In parts of North India it acquired Hindu associations. In Pakistan today, it carries no religious significance at all. It is simply an excuse to celebrate, fly kites, and mark the end of winter.
That does not make it Hindu property, nor does it make its practice in Pakistan a contradiction. It makes it regional culture doing what regional culture has always done: surviving political rupture.
What unsettles critics is not Basant itself, but the fact that Pakistan retains a cultural life that does not fit neatly into the categories they prefer. There is an assumption, often unspoken, that Pakistan must either reject the Indian inheritance entirely or admit civilisational fraud. This is a false choice.
Civilisations do not vanish at borders. They refract. Pakistan did not exit Punjabi culture in 1947. It reinterpreted it. That process is sometimes awkward, sometimes defensive, but it is not incoherent.
The same applies to deeper historical questions. Asking what religious and cultural layers existed in Punjab, Sindh, or Bengal before Islam is not āwashingā or erasure. Buddhism mattered. Local cults mattered. Heterodox traditions mattered. None of this threatens Hindu history, nor does it diminish Islam. It simply acknowledges that the Indian Subcontinent was never civilisationally flat.
This is where bias enters the discourse. Every overlap becomes evidence of bad faith. Every shared practice is treated as theft. Every attempt at cultural synthesis is read as denial. That is not scholarship. It is resentment masquerading as critique.
None of this is to deny Pakistanās internal problems. Discrimination against minorities exists and deserves serious scrutiny. But seriousness requires proportion. Throwing around words like āgenocideā outside their proper context is not moral clarity; it is rhetorical inflation. Gaza looks and feels like genocide. Pakistanās contradictions, however real, are not that.
Pakistanās identity is shaped by siege, but it is not stupid. Its elites may be arrogant and misguided but they are not naĆÆve. They defend borders fiercely because history taught them the cost of weakness. They borrow culturally because borrowing is how civilisations survive. These instincts coexist. They already do.
The real danger is not Pakistanās collapse, but the collapse of analytical discipline among those who keep predicting it. When every fact is filtered through a desire for failure, analysis stops. You are no longer observing reality. You are narrating a wish.
Pakistan does not need to be Yugoslavia for its critics to feel satisfied. It only needs to exist; imperfectly, stubbornly, and recognisably itself.