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As an unpredictable general election approaches, some big names in politics can no longer be certain about holding onto their constituencies. And while the media tends to find out a lot about politicians before elections, we often hear little about what happens after members of parliament lose their seats in elections or through election tribunals. If it is of any interest, in the recent UK general elections, there was an unexpected Conservative Party majority and several longstanding politicians lost their seats. I remember reading an article written a while after the election interviewing the defeated politicians and they all admitted the heavy defeat with a touch of grace and humiliation. However, following the NA-125 election tribunal verdict, Khwaja Saad Rafique challenged the decision. Prime Minister (PM) Nawaz Sharif and other PML-N leaders gave the go-ahead to adopt the legal course instead of fighting it out on electoral grounds with the PTI. Ironically, they all said exactly the opposite and that would have been more graceful. Little wonder then that most of the politicians who remain in office are reluctant to contemplate any but the vaguest idea of leaving.
The fact that politicians see no alternative to being in power indicates why they are so unwilling to accept defeat. The PTI is so set on fresh elections it will not do anything to jeopardise that. This may be why it seems so obvious that Khwaja Saad Rafique has approached the Supreme Court (SC) for a reversal of the election tribunal’s order for repolling in NA-125. The possibility of being voted out must surely be one of the known risks of the job and, when it happens, there is normally a good reason for it: they and/or their party having failed their constituency. Departure is not at all straightforward for some; it can be devastating but this is often kept private.
For many, defeat had been shockingly unexpected. It often only became apparent that the game was up as the votes came in at the count, even if the seat had been marginal. Even by comparison with other jobs, electoral defeat is a remarkably sudden death. Of course, as the aggrieved party the PTI has been facing months of intense campaigning and it was extraordinarily difficult for the PTI to even consider the possibility of losing. One PTI member commented that their political spouse “would not even talk about not winning. You cannot think you are going to lose,” before the general elections.
The PML-N clung onto the desperate hope that the recounting tide could be held at bay. They thought they could just pip the post and keep their stance alive otherwise they would have to prove everyone wrong. Even at the count, all of those defeated — exhausted and run ragged by the PTI campaign — portrayed a grim determination to keep themselves together in front of the cameras, come what may. Saad Rafique just put on a show, though inside he was smashed to pieces. He had to carry the party through it and that was incredibly difficult. It took every ounce of emotional strength but he had to hold it together because he knows the second the mask slips, it is flashlight, flashlight and flashlight all over the place. It is often an act of bravado that masks an array of turbulent emotions: shock, hurt, devastation, guilt and betrayal, a sense of failure, contagion and sometimes shame from the time of defeat and over many months. It is understandable one feels a complete failure but is unable to show it.
It seems that the PML-N struggled to reconcile both their ready acceptance of the democratic deal that the electorate can and should kick politicians out of office and the personal experience of rejection by their electorate in a constituency with which they had developed a strong bond. With some resentment, Saad Rafique has challenged the tribunal decision in the SC because feelings are so raw. Defeated politicians suddenly lose a demanding, busy but valued role. Suddenly they are no longer relevant to any political debate. Their deeply cherished values and beliefs seem to have no place.
The experience was dislocating at best but devastating and personally crushing even in the longer term for some. The PML-N leaders appeared depressed. A number struggled to find a rational explanation. On the other hand, a couple of senior PML-N leaders reluctantly admitted the failure on their narrow and unexpected political defeat. They believe the ugly experience of defeat depends on a range of factors. The PML-N supporters’ lives have been often upturned too. Their role has suddenly been changed. For some, the possibility of face saving has been an issue. For others, there was more strain, as impatience and resentment surfaced in the very different circumstances of post-political life.
To add insult to injury, many politicians received little acknowledgement of their contribution over the years from their political party once they left office, nor has any interest been shown in putting their skills and experience to good use either to help the party or wider society. Former politicians often seem to disappear. Nobody seems to want to know you after and you just fade away. With the parlous state of the main political parties, this appears cavalier. Instead, former politicians enter the world in which their identity and place is uncertain. Perhaps now lacking in confidence, uncertain of what promises they could offer voters, defeated politicians have to construct a new narrative about how they were and what they did.
If the transition from political office could be made less fraught, a lot of knowledge and experience could be put to good use. But more than this, how politicians gain office, their reputation in office and how they exit office all contribute to fluidity between those who are elected and those whom they represent. That is essential to any healthy system of representative democracy or the exclusive political club for members only.

The writer is a professor of Psychiatry and consultant Forensic Psychiatrist in the UK. He can be contacted at fawad_shifa@yahoo.com