Something important has slipped out of our public life, and it’s not just money, electricity, or jobs, though those are often missing too. What has truly vanished is basic civility which is the simple art of treating others with respect, speaking kindly and showing patience. It’s not a small thing. The way we treat one another shapes our daily lives more deeply than any policy or political slogan ever could.
Walk through a crowded market or a government office and you’ll see what I mean. People shout instead of speaking, push instead of waiting and suspect each other before they trust. Traffic jams turn into shouting contests. Customer service feels like combat. Even classrooms, which were once safe places for curiosity and discussion, are turning into spaces of defiance and ego. Somewhere along the way, we stopped seeing politeness as strength and started confusing aggression with confidence.
This collapse of manners isn’t unique to Pakistan, but it feels sharper here. Sociologists call civility the invisible glue that holds a society together. When that glue weakens, trust falls apart and when trust disappears, fairness becomes a myth. Political turmoil, economic anxiety and constant frustration have eaten away at our sense of social balance. You can see the evidence everywhere: talk shows that reward shouting over substance. These political debates rely on insults rather than ideas and social media where outrage has become a national sport.
Sociologists call civility the invisible glue that holds a society together. When that glue weakens, trust falls apart and when trust disappears, fairness becomes a myth.
Rudeness now feels normal. Many people even defend it by saying, “I’m just being straightforward.” But being straightforward isn’t the same as being cruel. Honesty doesn’t mean humiliating others. When a shopkeeper cuts off a customer mid-sentence, when a student mocks a teacher, or when a driver screams at a traffic warden, it’s not confidence but it’s a lack of discipline and empathy.
The erosion of manners begins at home. The family, once the first school of character, has changed dramatically. Parents are busier, weighed down by economic pressures or lost in their phones. The quiet art of teaching respect through tone, patience, and example often disappears. Children now pick up their cues from social media, where quick sarcasm and mockery are rewarded with likes. We’ve ended up with a generation that’s fluent in wit but poor in courtesy.
Education hasn’t filled the gap. Schools are obsessed with grades, exams and competition, while moral development quietly slips off the agenda. The word tarbiyat (moral upbringing) has almost vanished from our vocabulary. Teachers, overworked and underpaid, struggle to model the very values society demands from them. And when students watch politicians shouting in parliament or anchors turning every discussion into a fight, why would they think civility still matters?
Culture has changed too. Our grandparents lived in communities where neighbours knew one another and elders had authority. There was a shared sense of accountability, not out of fear but mutual respect. Now, high walls separate homes and online anonymity separates people. The internet has given everyone a voice, but also permission to insult strangers without consequence. Urban life gives us privacy but it steals the empathy that comes from knowing the people around us.
Economic stress only adds to the decline. When people are constantly struggling to survive, good manners start to feel like a luxury. Yet civility isn’t just about comfort, it’s about sanity. When hardship turns into rudeness, and rudeness fuels more frustration, we create a cycle of bitterness that makes everyday life harder for everyone. Even so, hope isn’t gone. You still see flashes of kindness: a driver letting another car pass, a student helping a teacher carry books, a stranger returning a lost wallet. These moments are reminders that decency hasn’t disappeared, it’s just quieter now. Good manners have nothing to do with status or education; they’re about recognising the dignity of another human being.
Rebuilding civility doesn’t require a national campaign. It starts with ordinary choices: speak softly even when you’re angry, listen before you reply, say thank you even when you don’t have to. These gestures seem small but they’re the seeds of a better society. Schools can play their part by teaching empathy and teamwork. Media outlets can reward calm and thoughtful debate instead of celebrating outrage. And our leaders, if they truly wish to lead, must show restraint and humility in their words and conduct.
Civility is more than politeness, it’s the foundation of progress. A nation that cannot speak to itself with respect cannot solve its problems. We can build highways and skyscrapers but if anger becomes our common language, those achievements will rest on fragile ground. What Pakistan needs most urgently is not just infrastructure made of concrete but a moral infrastructure built on empathy and respect.
We live in an age of speed and uncertainty, caught between the pull of tradition and the rush of modern life. But manners never go out of style. They cost nothing, yet they elevate everything. The way we speak to a waiter, disagree with a colleague, or argue online shows what kind of society we’re becoming. If we want that society to be kinder, wiser and more humane then we’ll have to begin with something simple: learning once again how to be polite.
The writer is serving as Director of the Institute of Humanities and Arts at Khwaja Fareed University of Engineering and Information Technology, Rahim Yar Khan, Pakistan.