Symbols of Confusion: Identity Crisis and Historical Contradictions in Pakistan

Among the many visible manifestations of Pakistan’s chronic identity crisis, few are as emblematic as the changes made to the uniform insignia of the Pakistan Air Force. Traditionally, like most air forces around the world, the PAF followed the internationally recognized system of shoulder stripes, inherited from the Royal Air Force - a legacy of British colonial influence. In recent years, however, this system was replaced with a set of abstract, arguably alien, symbols that bear a closer resemblance to insignia seen in some Arab militaries. This change, though seemingly cosmetic, reflects a deeper, more persistent issue: a confused national identity oscillating between colonial hangovers and imagined affiliations with the Middle East.

The symbolism of these altered insignia is particularly telling. While the PAF retained the colonial-era blue-gray color scheme, it chose to abandon the logical and widely understood rank indicators used across most air forces globally. The resulting inconsistency - holding onto a colonial aesthetic while rejecting its practical and widely understood system - illustrates the lack of a coherent symbolic language within Pakistani institutions. It’s not a decisive break with colonial tradition, but rather a half-hearted attempt to rebrand - one driven more by sentiment than strategic identity formation. Curiously, if the goal was to decolonize military insignia, a more appropriate starting point might have been the Pakistan Army, which continues to use British-style rank titles and structures down to the sword knots.

This superficial tinkering with symbols is part of a larger pattern. Pakistan’s state narrative has long been entangled in historical denialism, borrowed identity constructs, and an obsessive desire to differentiate itself from India - often at the cost of disowning its own rich, syncretic heritage. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the naming of Pakistan’s missile systems. Ghauri, Ghaznavi, Abdali - these names glorify medieval invaders from Central Asia and Afghanistan who plundered the very lands that now constitute Pakistan. Mahmud of Ghazni raided temples and cities not just in India but in Multan and Lahore, places that are now part of the Pakistani heartland. These men were not national heroes but imperialists, whose violence and destruction would be condemned today. Yet they are exalted as symbols of strength, further dislocating Pakistan’s historical consciousness from the soil it occupies.

This paradox is compounded by the canonization of figures like Muhammad Iqbal. Often revered as the "philosopher of Pakistan," Iqbal’s legacy is riddled with contradictions. His poetry swings between pan-Islamism, Islamic revivalism, and Nietzschean individualism - a confusing mix that romanticizes the past but offers little in terms of a concrete, modern political vision. Moreover, Iqbal was no revolutionary. For most of his life, he was a loyalist to the British Empire, co-founding the Unionist Party in Punjab - a party dominated by feudal landlords and dedicated to preserving British rule. He accepted a knighthood from the Crown and opposed anti-colonial movements like Gandhi’s civil disobedience campaigns and the Khilafat Movement. His alignment with the Muslim League came late and more as a strategic affiliation than an ideological conviction. In essence, the ideological father of Pakistan was politically inconsistent and personally compliant with imperial authority - hardly the attributes of a liberator or a visionary.

This leads us to a broader truth: much of Pakistan’s foundational narrative is built on myth rather than honest introspection. It celebrates conquerors over cultural builders, invaders over indigenous icons. The civilization of the Indus Valley, the intellectual legacies of Taxila, the poetry of Bulleh Shah, the resistance of Tipu Sultan - all are either sidelined or selectively interpreted to fit a religious-political agenda. The result is a cultural schizophrenia, where the language, music, food, and everyday life remain deeply South Asian, but the official narrative seeks Arab or Central Asian models. The people continue to speak Punjabi, Sindhi, Pashto, and Balochi, while the state tries to Arabize their identities through policy, education, and symbolic overhauls.

Changing air force insignia or naming missiles after foreign invaders may seem trivial, but they are symptoms of a deeper malaise - a nation unsure of its past, conflicted about its place in the world, and too afraid to look inward. The refusal to reconcile with its own civilizational roots has left Pakistan clinging to borrowed glories and imagined brotherhoods, while drifting further from authenticity and cultural self-awareness. As long as symbols reflect confusion rather than conviction, and history is curated for ideological convenience, the identity crisis will persist - not just in uniforms and textbooks, but in the very soul of the nation.