August 5 has come to symbolise two distinct narratives in Pakistan. For supporters of Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) — which now represents an overwhelming majority of the population, thanks to the establishment’s relentless and illogical rivalry with Imran Khan — it marks the second anniversary of their leader’s incarceration. At the official level, however, the day is commemorated in solidarity with the people of Indian-occupied Kashmir, whose semi-autonomous status and special rights were stripped following the abrogation of Articles 370 and 35-A of the Indian constitution.
Yet, one suspects that most Pakistanis are aware of the constitutional intricacies affecting Kashmiris. Given the mass exodus from Pakistan and the alarming rise in poverty, it’s understandable why many would hesitate to wish the same fate upon Kashmiris — being absorbed into a nation deliberately kept broken and dysfunctional by its ruling elite. The condition of those living in Pakistan-administered Azad Kashmir is, perhaps, evidence enough of this grim reality.
In 2018, PTI emerged as one of Pakistan’s most popular political parties. By 2025, it has reclaimed that status. In the intervening years, PTI governed for three years before being pushed to the political margins through a familiar tactic: the formation of a united opposition. In Pakistan, political unity is rare and usually reserved for two occasions — when legislation serves personal or business interests; and when the ruling party must be ousted under the guise of national interest.
Many analysts and PTI loyalists argue that Imran Khan should have declined the premiership in 2018. They believe that leveraging his popularity from the opposition benches could have secured him a sweeping mandate in subsequent elections — free from establishment strings. With legislative strength, he could have pursued bold reforms with full institutional backing.
Instead, Khan opted for hybrid governance, believing he would be treated differently than his predecessors. Like most Pakistanis, he assumed that his unwavering loyalty to Pakistan would earn him institutional support. After all, no previous leader had prioritised national interest over personal gain. From 2014 to 2018, Khan relentlessly branded the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) as “thieves”, embedding this narrative deep into public consciousness.
Despite reservations about his alliance with the establishment, many hoped Khan’s government would be allowed to function independently, free from judicial interference. Over time, he cultivated an aura of indispensability. His trust in the establishment led him — and the public – to believe that the very “thieves” he helped remove would never return to power until held accountable.
But like all constructs built on fragile assumptions, this belief crumbled under the weight of reality.
By April 9, 2021, Khan’s popularity had waned, largely due to the inevitable governance challenges arising from a hybrid and compromised system. Yet, overnight, he surged back to prominence when PTI was ousted and replaced by the very political actors the establishment had long vilified. The irony was not lost on the public.
The next day, Pakistanis across the country — and in diaspora communities in the US and the UK — took to the streets. Their protest wasn’t just about PTI’s removal; it was a collective mourning of the collapse of trust in the establishment and the erosion of democratic values.
When Shahbaz Sharif was appointed Prime Minister, he was facing indictment in a multi-million-dollar financial fraud case. Instead of facing justice, he was greeted with rose petals – a stark reminder of the selective accountability that plagues Pakistan’s political system.
By April 10, 2021, Imran Khan stood alone as the only credible figure in Pakistan’s political landscape — for an vast majority of the population.
As predicted, Khan remained the most popular leader in 2024 and won the elections with a resounding mandate. Had he trusted the democratic process instead of relying on power brokers, the trajectory might have been different.
His two-year resistance to unconstitutional interventions and the public’s shattered trust in the military have plunged the country into a state of collective frustration. The illegitimacy of the PDM 2.0 government is evident to all — except those who engineered it. The people stand with Khan because they see in him a reflection of their own victimhood at the hands of a power structure that, though designed to serve the nation, has become its greatest adversary.
Today, the pressing question is: Can Imran Khan survive the ruthless persecution of his party and the inhumane conditions of his imprisonment?
History offers a sobering pattern. Pakistan’s most popular leaders — those who believed in the power of the people — Liaquat Ali Khan, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Benazir Bhutto — all met unnatural ends.
Khan’s defiance of absolute power and his rivals’ surrender to it have set the tone for Pakistan’s future. The king stands naked. No matter how desperately he tries to cloak himself, the people see through the hypocrisy, illegitimacy and usurpation of power.
August 5 stands as a testament to the resilience of people who refuse to be silenced. In commemorating this day, Pakistanis are not just mourning losses — they are reclaiming their right to choose, to question, and to hope.
