Why Are Pashtun Youth Addicted to Social Media? The Truth Nobody Talks About by Amir Hamza Tariq
Social media has reached every corner of the world. But in some places — places with deep cultural roots, limited opportunities and a strong sense of community identity — its impact is not just digital. It is personal.
I grew up in one of those places. I am Pashtun. And this is what I have observed.
The Silence of Elders
Most Pashtun parents have a simple policy on social media — do not fail your exams and do not embarrass the family. Everything else is your business. It sounds reasonable. But that gap between permission and guidance is where the problem lives.
When Respect Becomes a Performance
Pashtun culture is built around nang — honor. For centuries, respect was earned through land, lineage, and loyalty. But for a young Pashtun man today with no land, no job, and no connections — TikTok and Facebook offer a shortcut.
Go live. Get views. Buy followers if you have to.
Suddenly you are somebody. Suddenly your phone buzzes with comments and reactions. Suddenly the respect your culture demands but your reality cannot provide — is delivered straight to your screen.
This is not vanity. This is a generation doing what every generation does — finding the fastest path to feeling worthy.
The Unemployment Trap
Pakistan's youth unemployment is one of the highest in the region. In Pashtun areas specifically — KPK, tribal districts, Afghan border communities — the gap between aspiration and opportunity is devastating.
A young man scrolls through Facebook and TikTok daily. He watches people his age living lives that feel impossibly far. So he does not log off. He scrolls deeper. He creates a version of himself online that the real world has not allowed him to become yet.
Social media did not create this hunger. Unemployment did. Social media just handed the hungry a stage.
Two Worlds, One Face
Living between Islamabad and Kohat has taught me something. Environment shapes content. In Islamabad I see Pashtun creators writing, building, educating. Back home in Kohat I see the same talented, warm, genuine people — making content that does not reflect who they truly are. This is not about blame. This is about awareness. The world is watching. And we have a much richer story to tell.
What I have observed is a quiet split in identity. Offline, the same young men are respectful sons, obedient to tradition, careful about what they say and who they speak to. Online, they are different people entirely — louder, bolder, performing a wealth and confidence they do not possess.
This is not dishonesty. It is exhaustion.
When your real life offers no room to breathe, you build a room online. The tragedy is that the room is made of glass — and eventually, everyone sees through it.
The Double Edge
I want to be honest here because this is not a simple story. TikTok and Facebook have also done something remarkable for Pashtun culture. They have given a voice to Pashtun creators, writers, poets and thinkers who would have remained invisible a generation ago. Pashtun culture, music, and language are now reaching global audiences because of these platforms.
Not everyone is chasing likes. Asif Khattak from Kohat uses TikTok to document Pashtun tribal history and culture. While others perform wealth, he preserves knowledge. That is the other side of this story.
So this is not a story of pure destruction. It is a story of a powerful tool in desperate hands — capable of building and breaking at the same time.
Producers Not Consumers
I use social media. You are reading this because of it. But there is a difference between producing and consuming. Most of our youth are stuck on the consuming side — scrolling, watching, comparing. We need to flip that. A Pashtun who creates content, tells stories and builds an audience is not wasting time — he is building a future. We need to raise producers, not consumers.
What I Feel
When I think about this — I feel three things simultaneously.
I feel sad because I see a beautiful, ancient culture being quietly replaced by filters and follower counts. The depth of Pashtunwali — its hospitality, its poetry, its fierce loyalty — deserves better than a 30-second TikTok.
I feel worried because I do not think it gets easier before it gets harder. The algorithm is designed to pull you deeper, not set you free. And a generation without economic opportunity is especially vulnerable to that pull.
But I also feel hopeful — because I have seen Pashtun youth wake up. I have seen creators use these same platforms with purpose and dignity. I have seen young people from my culture write, speak and build in ways that make me proud.
The screen is not the enemy. What we chase on it — is the question worth asking.
Final Thought
The boy with the borrowed phone is still posting. But somewhere between the likes and the performance, I believe he is also searching — for something real, something solid, something that does not disappear when the phone is put down.
That search is very human. And very Pashtun.
We have always been warriors. Maybe the next battle is the one we fight with ourselves — between who we pretend to be online, and who we are actually becoming.
Connect With Me
If this essay resonated with you — let's continue the conversation.
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— Amir Hamza Tariq | Digital Creator & Cultural Essayist
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