From 1992 to Solitary Confinement: Why Imran Khan Still Haunts Pakistan’s Hybrid Order

April 2022 marked a defining moment in Pakistan’s political history. For the first time, a sitting prime minister was removed through a vote of no confidence amid allegations of political engineering and military establishment involvement. Imran Khan walked out of the Prime Minister’s House with little more than a diary in his hand. Instead of retreating from politics, he chose the streets. His party resigned from the National Assembly, and a new chapter of political unrest began.

What followed was extraordinary. Imran Khan addressed huge public gatherings across Pakistan, building his political narrative around a single controversial document—the cipher associated with the American embassy. He alleged that Pakistan had been warned of serious consequences if his government survived. His famous response to the question of whether Pakistan would provide American bases—“Absolutely not”—became a symbol of his claim that he wanted Pakistan to stay away from foreign wars.

Khan portrayed his removal as an externally influenced political project. His supporters argued that the military establishment, traditionally dependent on Western security architecture, had distanced itself from him, while opposition parties were politically engineered to remove him. Allegations also emerged that dozens of MNAs were pressured, restricted or politically controlled. Whether every allegation can withstand judicial scrutiny remains contested, but the political consequences were undeniable.

The new government gradually faced an even bigger challenge: how to disconnect Imran Khan from the public. Cases multiplied, including the Al-Qadir Trust case, while journalists and political voices advocating civil supremacy increasingly found themselves under pressure, according to critics of the system.

Then came May 9, 2023. Following Imran Khan’s arrest within the premises of the Islamabad High Court, violent protests erupted across the country, including attacks and demonstrations around military installations. The state responded with an unprecedented crackdown. Thousands of political workers were arrested, many faced prolonged detention, and some were tried in military courts—a development that generated intense constitutional and human-rights debate.

The Constitution envisaged elections within 90 days, yet Pakistan entered a prolonged political vacuum. Elections were eventually held on 8 February 2024. Imran Khan remained imprisoned, his party was deprived of its traditional electoral symbol, and its candidates contested as independents.

I witnessed that election process personally as a polling officer. On polling day, we worked for hours with barely any food and almost entirely on water. In my observation, candidates backed by Imran Khan’s political movement appeared to hold significant leads in several constituencies. We compiled Form 45 and submitted the results to the Returning Officer. Yet later, the controversial Form 47 results produced a dramatically different political picture.

Allegations of rigging intensified. Former Rawalpindi Commissioner Liaquat Chattha publicly alleged electoral manipulation, allegations that triggered national controversy. The result was a coalition government, while the party that many of Khan’s supporters believed had won substantial seats found itself on the opposition benches.

Since then, the political and legal pressure surrounding Imran Khan has continued. His supporters claim that hundreds of cases have been filed against him and that his legal team has repeatedly struggled to secure effective hearings. Reports of restrictions on meetings, family access and legal consultations have further intensified concerns among his supporters about his treatment in detention.

Whatever one's political position, there is a larger question that Pakistan cannot escape: Can a democracy survive when political disagreement is answered through exclusion, imprisonment and institutional confrontation?

Imran Khan is not merely a former prime minister. Before politics, he was the captain who led Pakistan to its historic 1992 World Cup victory. He later established the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital, providing cancer treatment to those who could not afford it, and founded Namal University with an emphasis on opportunities for students from less privileged backgrounds.

His political resilience has created a powerful emotional connection, particularly among Pakistan’s younger generation. That connection cannot simply be eliminated through imprisonment or political engineering.

The real test of a democracy is not how it treats its supporters when they are powerful; it is how it treats its opponents when they are powerless.

If Pakistan wants to move beyond its hybrid political model, it must learn one difficult lesson: an opponent is not an enemy, dissent is not treason, and political popularity cannot be imprisoned forever. The ballot must ultimately speak louder than the cell.

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