AS Pakistan grapples with critical issues—the ongoing rain concerns that threaten irrigation and the Army’s renewed commitment to securing Balochistan against foreign-backed proxies—one woman from America has managed to hijack national attention.
Onijah Andrew Robinson, who first made headlines after travelling to Pakistan for love only to be abandoned, has become an overnight sensation. But the real question remains: did she truly deserve this attention, or was it just another meaningless distraction?
Her saga—riddled with personal turmoil, medical concerns and now a bizarre social media frenzy—has taken over our digital conversations, news cycles and even the interest of social welfare organizations. Videos of her counting money at Jinnah Hospital, surrounded by police officers taking selfies, have turned her into a spectacle rather than a subject of grave concern. Is this what we, as a nation, have reduced ourselves to? A woman’s unfortunate misadventure in Pakistan now carries more weight in public discourse than the genuine crises we face.
This is not the first time we have let an emotionally charged narrative override pressing national priorities. The media’s obsession with specific viral figures has repeatedly pushed critical socio-political debates into the background. With Balochistan facing increasing external threats and farmers struggling with the consequences of erratic weather, shouldn’t our collective energy be focused elsewhere? Shouldn’t the headlines be dominated by the plight of the people suffering from policy failures rather than the personal life of a foreign woman who made questionable choices?
Perhaps what’s most perplexing is the response from institutions meant to serve the public interest. Social welfare groups that are rarely seen advocating for Pakistan’s struggling citizens—women facing domestic abuse, displaced families due to floods, or labourers fighting for fair wages—have suddenly found the time and resources to rally around Onijah. Why? Is it the allure of an international angle? A subconscious colonial hangover that makes foreign individuals appear more important than local suffering?
There is no denying that Onijah’s story is unfortunate. She came to Pakistan hoping for love and security but instead found herself abandoned and caught in a media circus. If she genuinely has mental health concerns, she deserves care and dignity, just like any other vulnerable person. But does that justify the collective obsession, the endless streams, the round-the-clock updates that push other significant issues to the sidelines? It is time we ask ourselves what we gain from this misplaced fascination. What purpose does it serve to turn a woman’s misfortunes into national entertainment? And more importantly, at what cost are we allowing ourselves to be distracted?
—The writer is a contributing columnist based in Islamabad.
