There is something profoundly unsettling about how deeply we, as Pakistanis, have internalised cynicism. After decades of political instability, abrupt power shifts, and chronic institutional mistrust, we have become conditioned to expect the worst in every situation. Conspiracy theories have become our default lens. Even routine decisions are viewed with suspicion, as if every action hides a motive and every silence conceals a plot. We no longer seek clarity; we instinctively look for instability.
Politicians and power brokers know this, commentators exploit it, and social media thrives on it. The result is a national psyche that prefers speculation to facts, sensationalism to patience, and perpetual drama to steady governance. The country’s well-being becomes secondary to the excitement of narrative-building.
No political force has taken advantage of this environment more deliberately than Imran Khan and the PTI. What began as a movement promising reform and institutional cleansing gradually transformed into a narrative machine powered by grievance and conspiracy. PTI realised that mistrust could be weaponised. Every setback, whether it was legal, political, or administrative, was shown as evidence of a vast plot against one man. Institutions were systematically discredited, and state decisions were portrayed as personal vendettas. A nation already conditioned to doubt found the storyline irresistible.
Imran Khan did not simply oppose his rivals; he built a worldview in which Pakistan itself was conspiring against him. If courts ruled against him, they were compromised. If the military asserted its institutional boundaries, it was betraying him. If the government functioned without him, it must be illegitimate. It became a politics of personal infallibility, where criticism equalled treachery and accountability equalled conspiracy.
Clarity is dangerous for those who manipulate narratives because clarity leaves less room for distortion.
This narrative reached its most dangerous point on May 9. Rather than distance himself from the violence, Khan fed into the same conspiratorial messaging that has long served him: that he was the victim of a grand design, that institutions were the enemy, and that chaos was proof of persecution. A political party turned its emotional energy not towards reform but towards destabilising the state.
Much of this was amplified by influencers and commentators, many living comfortably abroad. From a distance, without absorbing any of the consequences, they turned Pakistan’s internal political anxieties into entertainment content. They pushed narratives that further damaged trust in institutions and widened divisions within society. For them, instability was not a threat; it was an opportunity.
But these narratives thrive for a reason: Pakistan’s history has conditioned us to doubt. We have seen enough abrupt transitions and hidden power struggles to assume ulterior motives behind every development. We have become so accustomed to ambiguity that clarity itself feels unnatural. Firm decisions surprise us. Direct statements unsettle us. We expect the language of hints, signals, and coded messaging, not certainty.
This is exactly why the recent DG ISPR press conference hit the public consciousness with unusual force. For the first time in a long time, an institution spoke with complete clarity. No evasions. No half-sentences. No delicate balancing. The message was straightforward: any attack on Pakistan’s armed forces, internal or external, will be met with zero tolerance.
In a political culture addicted to ambiguity, this bluntness felt jarring. For PTI supporters, whose worldview depends on perpetual doubt and confrontation, it was deeply inconvenient. For influencers who profit from confusion, it was limiting. Clarity is dangerous for those who manipulate narratives because clarity leaves less room for distortion.
The presser, in essence, brought the national conversation back to a simple question: Tum ho koun?
Who are you to attack state institutions?
Who are you to undermine the country’s stability for political survival?
Who are you to weaponise public mistrust and invite chaos into the streets?
And above all, who benefits when Pakistan weakens?
It was a reminder that the state’s patience is not infinite and that national security cannot be hostage to political theatrics. Institutions, after years of ambiguous public communication, finally drew a clear boundary.
But clarity cannot come from one institution alone. It is about time that the elected government adopts the same discipline. When leadership hesitates, the public fills the gaps with speculation. When policies are vague, conspiracy theories step in to shape the narrative. When the government appears fragmented or defensive, cynicism wins.
The writer is a former State Minister for Education and Professional Training, former Member of the National Assembly of Pakistan, Chairperson of the Prime Minister’s Youth Programme and Director at Media Times.