Amid political upheaval and internet outages, hip-hop is finding its footing in Pakistan

As Pakistani rappers rise on the global stage, the genre proves to be more than just music—it's a defiant voice against conservatism, a platform for social change, and perhaps, a unifying force for the future 

Politics has a way of creeping into everything. In 2016, strained relations between India and Pakistan led to the Indian Motion Picture Producers Association banning Pakistani artistes from working in India, silencing popular performers Atif Aslam and Jal among others.  

Seven years later, in October 2023, the Bombay High Court dismissed a petition calling for a complete ban on collaborations with Pakistani artists, labelling it a “retrograde step in promoting cultural harmony, unity and peace.” 

The shift isn’t just a legal one—it’s cultural too. Pakistani musicians are back in India. More importantly, rappers from the conservative country are ruling the global hip-hop scene—a genre that encourages speaking up. In 2022, Ali Sethi and Shae Gill’s Pasoori, which was launched on the 14th season of Coke Studio, was the world’s most-searched song online. Hasan Raheem’s—who performed in Hyderabad’s Fills College in September this year— Peechay Hutt featured in the superhero series Ms. Marvel, while rapper and songwriter Faris Shafi’s Punjabi-language Blockbuster (2024) dominated over 2,50,000 Reels on Instagram, alongside 18 million-plus views on YouTube. In November, Grammy award-winning American rapper Nas launched his label Mass Appeal in Pakistan along with Karachi rapper Talha Anjum, strengthening the country’s growing hip-hop presence. 

Social media propelling hip-hop

Seven years ago, such a moment would have been impossible. When Aash Rohan chose to rap instead of singing at her Pakistan Idol audition, she was rejected outright. “They didn’t understand and wanted something ‘with more sur’,” she recalls. Today, she is among the few female rappers in Pakistan and performs her original work to packed venues. “Hip-hop is popular today due to social media, which relies on relatability, dictates popular culture. It’s relatable because it addresses current cultural and social issues, and everyone has issues at home, even Gen Z,” explains the 25-year-old Lahore resident.

Online streaming exploded during the pandemic, transforming bedroom singers into mainstream stars.  “Audiences got the freedom to pick the music they want to listen to [and] musicians got the choice to create what they wanted to,” says rapper Rizzy Rozeo, 27, who gained prominence in April 2024 with the release of his song Maghron La, in collaboration with Sabri Sisters on Coke Studio Pakistan. Raised in London and later Lahore, Rizzy discovered rap through Eminem’s track Lose Yourself (2002), before finding inspiration in South Asian rap through artists like Divine, Seedhe Maut and, subsequently, Faris Shafi.  

A commentary on society and the self 

“Art only impacts when it means something to the members of the society,” explains FADI, whose tracks like Dastaan and Haqeeqat tackle societal stereotypes.  For Pakistani rapper OCL, hip-hop became a way to process identity conflicts and conservative pressures. His debut EP’s title track PaKING addressed the the horrific rape and murder of seven-year-old Zainab in Pakistan’s Kasur in 2018. “[These are] issues that we turn a blind eye to after they trend for a week,” says the 37-year-old Rawalpindi resident. He also called out the harassment medical students face at the hands of professors through his song Azm (2020).  

Raised in the United States, OCL’s experience as a Muslim teenager named Osama during 9/11 fuelled his writing. Bullied while growing up, he channelled his frustration into rap, despite criticism from purists who believed hip-hop wasn’t for South Asians. “But now, the OG hip-hop crowds are appreciating the Pakistani version of the genre,” he notes. 

Navigating conservatism and censorship

Hip-hop’s defiant nature often clashes with Pakistan’s conservative value system. Nawaz recalls a time when rap was dismissed as “cringe” and “aggressive.” Today, artists tread carefully around religious and political issues. “These are things I would have talked about if I were anywhere else in the world,” confesses Nawaz, who has been dismissive of some religious scholars and political figures in works he has chosen never to release.

Having a global audience also means they don’t need to pacify conservative listeners on home turf. “Classical music is still topping charts. At best, there’s rap in a Coke Studio song, which portrays the genre in a positive light, enabling people to accept hip-hop even if they don’t listen to it,” observes Nawaz.  

For OCL, navigating this oppression feels almost fitting, given that hip-hop was born as a means of verbal resistance. “Any given day could be my last. If I put myself in that box of ‘log kya kahenge,’ I will never be able to make relatable, real music,” he says. This self-policing comes almost instinctively. Rawalpindi-based Hamza Iqbal aka Hamzee admits, “We go by the saying, ‘Jaisa Des Waisa Bhes’ (When in Rome, do as the Romans do)”.  

Not a political game for hip-hop artists 

Speaking up is riskier when it involves politics, as power dynamics come into play. “It is then crucial for artists to separate the two because freedom of speech is not really freedom of speech in our country. People get abducted from their homes for spilling facts about politicians or high authorities. Still, artists use social media platforms to raise their voices about the current situation [of a lack of freedom of speech and expression],” adds Hamzee.  

FADI believes the only way to navigate this is by putting the focus back on social issues, while leaving political agendas out. “It’s crucial that music unites and empowers, not divides or misguides. Besides, hip-hop’s essence lies in voicing people’s stories and their struggles,” he says.  

Wonder women

For women artists, the challenges are greater. “Besides the current political circumstances, patriarchal notions mute our voices,” says rapper Eva B, an Urdu graduate from Benazir Bhutto Shaheed University in Karachi. Before pursuing music full-time in 2019, Eva worked as a computer instructor and then as a beautician. Her songs, such as  Bayani Rog (2022), address patriarchal stereotypes, while Mera Haq Kidhar Hai (2024) highlights women’s rights. 

Eva's journey has been fraught with obstacles. She released her first song in 2014, only to delete it after her younger brother’s disapproval caused a domestic uproar. He took the “what will people think about my sister doing music” stance. Relatives added fuel to the fire, labelling her unmarriageable for performing on stage and urging her to stay at home to cook and wash clothes instead. “I can do that and [can also] rap. There’s no rule that I can’t work outside the house,” says Eva, who gave up music for four years, before making a comeback with a Coke Studio collaboration, Kana Yaari, in 2022.  

Rohan faced similar hurdles— almost being compelled to abandon her musical dreams. “A big Pakistani producer and singer asked me for a lump sum to work with him on a project. Another said he would work with me if I slept with him,” she recalls. In 2020, at her partner’s insistence, she quit performing and took a nin-to-five job, uploading music clips only on social media. When her now ex-partner shamed her with, “Tu toh voh hi hai na jo stage pe logon ke aage naachti thi” (You’re just that girl who danced on stage in front of people), she realised she couldn’t give up on what she loved.  

“Not much has changed since then,” says Eva. “Parents still need to support their daughters as much as they support their sons’ careers. Women can earn the same naam, izzat and money.” Eva’s husband, a music producer, manages her social media to shield her from harmful or distasteful comments. 

However, societal constraints continue to persist. “In Pakistan, if a woman steps out of home alone, two guys will harass  her. Even now, people will stare at me like I’m a showpiece. So, I can’t go out alone,” adds Eva.  

Hip-hop—a platform for the youth

Can hip-hop serve as a revolutionary tool for the youth in Pakistan today? “[Only] if we adopt it the right way, by not shutting down girls because of their gender,” says Rohan.  

Meanwhile, the unpredictability of basic facilities such as  internet access can also pose problems. For instance, on 24 November, Pakistan suspended mobile and internet services due to security concerns ahead of protests supporting  imprisoned former premier Imran Khan. VPNs are blocked, too.  

“The mantra is to think, ‘Kabhi kabhi jeetne ke liye kuch haarna bhi padta hai. And mujhe logon ke dil jeetne hain’ (Sometimes, you have to lose to win people’s hearts),” says OCL, quoting a rendition of his favourite Shah Rukh Khan dialogue. The strategy paid off.  Pindi Boyz’s song, Pindi Ayi, has gained  surprising popularity in India. “There were so many comments [on YouTube and Instagram] from people in India about how their ancestors came from Pakistan,” says OCL. Politics aside, hip-hop could emerge as a unifying force, bridging cultural divides in 2025 and beyond. Just maybe.

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