It’s a week in which Pakistan’s politics has become distinctly more fascinating than its cricket. And not just because of that last-ball defeat against Zimbabwe in the Twenty20 World Cup.
When the chief of the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), the country’s spy agency that has always lived in the shadows, suddenly emerges under the arc lights in full public gaze to admit, “I know many of you are shocked to see me amongst yourself,” you know that the turmoil within is beyond the pale.
For us, here in India, ISI is the adversary — the visible instrument of Pakistan’s deep State and its deployment against our national interests. After the 26/11 attacks in Mumbai, the government demanded that the ISI chief come to India and share information on elements responsible for the terror operation. It’s a different matter that Pakistan eventually reneged on the commitment to send the then ISI boss, lieutenant-general Shuja Pasha, to India.
But at ISI chief Nadeem Anjum’s unprecedented press conference — the first in Pakistan’s history — India was not the main subject of conversation, leave alone being the target. This was about a Pakistan that is at war with itself. And about the unimaginable battle between Imran Khan and the once-invincible Pakistan army.
Khan — routinely dismissed by Pakistan’s progressives and its older politicians as a proxy for “the boys” — has emerged as a democratic challenging force with serious convening power and massive popularity on the street. At the moment, despite being disqualified by Pakistan’s Election Commission — that decision is on appeal in the Islamabad high court — he has managed to upend the structural balance of power in Pakistan.
The mysterious shooting of journalist Arshad Sharif, who was slapped with sedition charges after what was termed as an anti-military interview with an aide of the former prime minister (PM), has only added further ammunition to Khan’s armoury.
As a reporter on the Pakistan beat, the only other time I witnessed this kind of open conflict between civilian politicians and Pakistani generals was after the United States (US) took out Osama bin Laden from his hideout in Abbottabad in 2011. As Americans swept into Pakistan right under the nose of the security establishment, the military was diminished and on the defensive. “The ISI is a State within a State,” bellowed then PM Yousuf Ali Gilani. But the defiance was short-lived.
Then came Nawaz Sharif’s attempt at asserting autonomy. “Of course, the PM is the boss, not the army chief,” Sharif told me at his sprawling mansion on the outskirts of Lahore in 2013 after a historic win. Outside, peacocks strolled the manicured lawns; inside, thinly cut cucumber sandwiches were stacked up on gleaming gold trays. In 2016, when Sharif appointed lieutenant–general Qamar Bajwa as army chief, he was hopeful of a smoother working relationship than what he had with former army chief Pervez Musharraf, who pushed him into exile. But, of course, history repeated itself.
Sharif’s younger brother may be Pakistan’s PM today, but the patron of the party has still not returned from London, where he set up base after a prolonged period in prison. Sharif’s bitterness with Khan’s tenure runs deep. He was not allowed to speak to Kulsoom, his dying wife, he alleged, even in her final hours and even after begging the jail warden.
Of course, easy labels of perpetrator and victim don’t fit anyone in Pakistan politics. Khan was the enabler of the same system that he is up in arms against today. And, while it may be tempting to cast him as a champion of liberal, democratic values, that narrative is also naive. As an Opposition leader, he once described Pakistan’s liberals as “the scum of this country” in an interview to me.
Through most of his term, Khan would not say even one thing remotely critical of the military. In 2019, I was among a group of journalists invited to visit Pakistan during the opening of the Kartarpur Sahib Corridor. Khan, who has many friends in India from his cricketing stint and his years as an Opposition politician, knew most of us reasonably well. But when we were invited to meet him at his official residence, he was more cautious, formal and withdrawn than any of us had ever known him to be. It could have been the protocol of the post. But he seemed a tad nervous, like a man who had to constantly look over his shoulder.
Today, the same politician has been able to set the terms of the political debate in his country. This is despite being forced out of office — and now, possibly out of electoral politics. Hard-nosed Pakistan analysts explain that this capacity for survival would not be possible without at least some factions of the military backing him.
Perhaps. But it also tells you that, in Pakistan, a leader is most popular on the street when he or she takes on the generals. But that moment also marks the beginning of their end.
Can Imran Khan reset the way that story ends?
Barkha Dutt is an award-winning journalist and author
The views expressed are personal
