On 14 August 1947, as the clock struck midnight, the air in newly born Pakistan was charged with a single electrifying word-Azadi. For millions, it was more than a political term; it was a lived feeling of freedom from colonial slavery, a promise of dignity, and the dawn of self-determination.
In his address to the Constituent Assembly, Muhammad Ali Jinnah did not use Azadi as a mere slogan; he embodied it in phrases like, “You are free; you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques You may belong to any religion or caste or creed-that has nothing to do with the business of the State.” In the newspapers of the time, Azadi was framed in celebratory headlines: “Pakistan Is Born-Nation Greets Freedom,” “A Dream Realised,” “New Dawn for Muslims of the Subcontinent.” The lexicon of 1947 was one of unity-our Azadi, our struggle, our future. There was little ambiguity in its meaning.
This Independence Day, perhaps our task is not to declare that we are Azad, but to ask, with honesty and urgency: What would it take for that to be true?
Seventy-eight years later, the meaning of the word, Azadi, has become more complicated and more fractured. We have a flag, a military, a parliament, and borders, but can we honestly say we are Azad when our national budget is negotiated in Washington and our economic survival depends on the “benchmarks” set by the IMF? The promise of Azadi has collided with the reality of economic dependency. The World Bank’s development projects and the IMF’s structural adjustment programmes are typically framed as partnerships, but they often come with a script that rewrites our priorities.
In this landscape, Azadi has shifted from the meaning of liberation to a contested slogan that some wield in political rallies, others in protest against foreign economic control. The irony is bitter: the word that once meant emancipation from the British Raj is now used by citizens demanding freedom from inflation, unemployment, and the policies designed in boardrooms thousands of miles away. Independence Day speeches still talk of self-reliance, but our fiscal policies tell a different story.
The fractures are not just economic; they are also deeply social and political. The disenfranchised ethnic groups of Pakistan, Baloch, Pashtun, Sindhi, and Gilgiti-Baltistani, often ask whether they ever truly got their share of Azadi.
The slogans at a Baloch Tehreek,”Haq do”, speaks to an Azadi that is local, tangible, and still unfulfilled. Pashtun Tahafuz Movement activists chant about Azadi from military checkpoints and enforced disappearances. Gilgit-Baltistan’s youth talk about Azadi in the form of constitutional recognition. For these groups, the struggle is not against a colonial empire but against systemic neglect within the boundaries of their own country.
Social media has amplified these narratives. On the day, official Independence Day parades are broadcasted on the state TV, Twitter will trend with hashtags like #AzadiFromIMF, #AzadiFromInflation, and #RightsForBalochistan. A viral video from earlier this year shows a young man in Gwadar, standing against the backdrop of the Arabian Sea, holding a placard that reads, “My father gave his life for Azadi in 1947.
Our political history shows that the meaning of Azadi has always been contested. In 1971, West Pakistan and East Pakistan invoked the same word but meant entirely different things-one spoke of preserving sovereignty, the other of breaking free from oppression. In the 1980s and 1990s, the state spoke of Azadi almost exclusively in the context of Kashmir, while civil society invoked it to talk about censorship, women’s rights, and provincial autonomy. In the last decade, populist leaders branded their protests as Azadi Marches, framing the term as liberation from corrupt elites.
Today, in 2025, Azadi has fragmented into countless micro-discourses. Feminists use it for bodily autonomy, farmers use it for fair crop prices, labour unions for better wages, and ethnic rights activists for self-determination. These meanings are not just diverse, they are also competing and sometimes clashing. The state’s narrative of Azadi as unity and sovereignty often collides with citizens’ narratives of Azadi as rights and freedoms. On top of all is the economic question-are we Azad when our macroeconomic stability depends on the next loan tranche?
The journey of Azadi from 1947 to 2025 tells us that independence is not a one-time achievement but a continuous struggle. It demands vigilance not only against overt colonialism but also against the quieter forms of control that arrive as “assistance” or “reform.” It demands that the rights of marginalized communities be seen not as concessions but as the very substance of national freedom – albeit their access to quality education, better health facilities, and justices for peaceful coexistence. It demands that economic sovereignty be treated with the same seriousness as political sovereignty.
In 1947, Azadi was the birthright of a nation. In 2025, it is the contested currency of our political, social, and economic marketplace. The question is whether we can still spend it to buy a future that belongs to all, or whether we will continue to pass the word from hand to hand until it is worn down to an empty sound and will eventually become meaningless. This Independence Day, perhaps our task is not to declare that we are Azad, but to ask, with honesty and urgency: What would it take for that to be true?
We, including all institutions such as the military, government, and judiciary, must work together, as our forefathers did to achieve Azadi from the British Raj, to make Pakistan a great nation. We must pledge to end corruption – for how can a Muslim be corrupt?
The first author is a Professor of English at Riphah International University, Lahore. He is a lead guest editor at Emerald and Springer publishing.
The second author is an Assistant Professor of English at Govt. Graduate College for Women, Samanabad, Lahore