In our political theatre, truth rarely arrives with a trumpet. It slips in quietly, through leaks, court files, and the whispers of those who once sat closest to power. What we are now learning about Imran Khan’s years in office is not a revelation for those who have observed Pakistan’s power structures up close. It is simply the unmasking of a myth we allowed ourselves to believe.
Khan presented himself as the reformer who would rescue a broken state. He promised an Islamic welfare model, the cleansing of corruption, and a system anchored in merit. Yet inside the Prime Minister’s House, the reality – now corroborated by ministers, former aides and credible reporting – was distressingly familiar. An elected leader surrounded not by institutional advisers but by spiritual intermediaries; a party that claimed modernity but surrendered its decision-making to the rituals and intuitions of one household. The problem is not faith. It is the conversion of private belief into public governance, and the slow hollowing of statecraft that followed.
No one denies that Bushra Bibi wielded influence. The debate is only about its extent. Ministers speak of appointments, schedules and policy choices shaped at her urging. Staff describe an atmosphere where dissent carries a cost. And the party that promised transparency became, in practice, a family-led court. These details matter not for their drama, but for what they reveal about the fragility of our institutions: how easily a government elected on big promises can shrink to the scale of personal loyalties and household confidantes.
Pakistanis have seen this script before – leaders who rise on promises of purity, then govern through the very shortcuts they once condemned.
But these failures did not unfold in isolation. The same system Khan vowed to challenge had, ironically, eased his path in 2018. It was a bargain that carried a price. When the tide turned, the myth of the lone crusader colliding with the “status quo” rang hollow. Pakistanis have seen this script before – leaders who rise on promises of purity, then govern through the very shortcuts they once condemned.
The corruption convictions that followed Khan’s ouster have only deepened the crisis of credibility. Whether one views the Al-Qadir and Toshakhana verdicts as political targeting or as overdue accountability, the political symbolism is devastating. A movement that built its identity on moral superiority now finds its founder and his spouse serving long prison sentences handed down by courts of law. It is difficult to preach against corruption while standing in the dock.
What came next was even more dangerous: a politics reduced to raw emotion. After Khan’s arrest, the country watched, stunned, as party workers stormed military installations. The line between political grievance and outright rebellion blurred. PTI today is split between those who still believe in negotiation and those intoxicated by the idea of permanent confrontation. This fusion of victimhood, anger and myth-making has left Pakistan further polarised, drifting away from constitutional politics and deep into the shadows of personal cults.
Our tragedy is not merely that leaders disappoint us. It is that we repeatedly invest our fate in individuals rather than institutions. We elevate slogans over policy, piety over planning, and emotional rescue fantasies over the slow, difficult work of governance. Imran Khan is neither the first nor the last leader to fall into this trap. But the cost this time has been heavier: a party hollowed out, a polity radicalised, and a state forced once again to stabilise itself in the ruins of populist fervour.
The writer is a freelance columnist.