Independent Pakistani filmmakers are making remarkable films, but why are we waiting for international recognition to pay attention?
By Jawad Sharif
When an independent Pakistani film wins an award abroad, we are quick to celebrate it. The film makes headlines, congratulations pour in, and suddenly everyone is proud to claim it as a Pakistani success.
But by the time a film is standing on an international stage, much of the difficult work has already been done. Independent filmmakers in Pakistan mostly work without government funding, public grants or dedicated broadcast spaces. There is very little institutional support for documentary filmmaking, and filmmakers often have to piece together financing, equipment, locations and distribution through personal networks and sheer persistence. Making the film is only one challenge. Finding an audience for it can be another.
This is not only a problem for filmmakers. We see the same pattern in art, literature, music, science and sports. We often celebrate talent once the world has recognized it, but rarely invest in that talent while it is still struggling to find its feet.
There is a big difference between recognition and support. Recognition comes when the award has already been won. Support is what helps an artist make the work in the first place.
And I think this neglect has a cost beyond the struggles of individual artists. A country’s creative life is not built by a handful of successful individuals. It depends on an ecosystem: spaces where people can work, institutions willing to take risks, audiences who can encounter new ideas, funding that allows experimentation and platforms that give emerging voices a chance to be heard.
When serious films have nowhere to be shown, when artists have to look outside the country for funding, and when cultural spaces continue to shrink, we slowly lose our ability to tell our own stories.
That matters because films, books, music and art are not simply entertainment. They are records of how we see ourselves. They allow us to question what is normal, preserve memories that might otherwise disappear, and make sense of a society that is constantly changing.
Lollywood’s decline is one example of what happens when a country’s cultural ecosystem is neglected for too long. Once the infrastructure, audiences, investment and spaces disappear, rebuilding them is far more difficult than maintaining them in the first place. And when writers, filmmakers and artists don’t have the space to question, experiment and tell uncomfortable stories, the creative space becomes smaller. Eventually, we end up hearing fewer voices and seeing fewer versions of ourselves reflected back at us.
I don’t think Pakistan lacks talent. We have tons of it. What lacks is a system that believes in that talent before the applause or recognition arrives. If we want to celebrate Pakistani films when they win abroad, we also need to ask what it took for them to get there, who supported them along the way, and how many equally talented voices never got the chance.
Perhaps the real measure of a country’s commitment to its artists is not how loudly it celebrates their success, but how willing it is to stand behind them before anyone else is watching.
The author is an award-winning Pakistani filmmaker and National Geographic Explorer whose work explores social change, human rights and Pakistan’s diverse cultural identities. Over the past 15 years, he has directed and produced acclaimed films including Indus Blues, Natari, The Color of Smog, The Losing Side and K2 and the Invisible Footmen, with his work receiving recognition at international film festivals and from institutions including TED Fellows.