If Imran Khan can’t, can anyone?
I prayed to God to help me become Prime Minister so I could solve all of Pakistan’s problems. I was eight at the time but I distinctly remember the scene to this day. I was visiting Makkah for the first time in my life, for an Umrah during Ramazan. After seeking forgiveness for my sins — whatever my eight-year-old self had committed by then — and praying for my family, I started praying for Pakistan. Growing up in Karachi during the 90s, I really didn’t understand much about national politics but the everyday injustice and poverty I witnessed made me angry and sad.
So here I was standing in front of the Kaa’bah, while a gentle December breeze was blowing and suddenly I could feel tears trickling down my face. The Imam had started crying while reciting the Quran during taraweeh and without any prior warning, I had started crying with him, carrying the weight of my broken country on my tiny shoulders. Beyond physical pain, nothing had ever caused me to cry like this before. Even then, I was struck by how emotional I was becoming. So I prayed to God to change Pakistan’s fortunes. I promised to make my country better by being honest and putting corrupt people in jail. Not knowing any better, I asked God to make me Prime Minister so I could make all the hard, right decisions.
Over time, I’d realise that this is a pain all of us feel for our country but then we move on or grow up, which is exactly what happened to me. I became numb to our collective problems and life got in the way. Fast forward fifteen years later and Imran Khan came to Karachi for a massive jalsa, which a friend convinced me to attend because it would be a chance to witness history in the making. I went to the jalsa and was struck by lightning.
Before me stood a man who was doing the very thing I prayed for as a child. An honest, sincere man trying to make Pakistan a more just place. Naturally, I voted for him in 2013. Fast forward five years and he actually became Prime Minister. Even though my love affair with Imran had dimmed significantly because I disagreed with his dharna politics, I cried again when he was elected Prime Minister in parliament. I promised to do whatever was in my capacity to support him for Pakistan’s sake. Here’s an honest and sincere man, who shattered the monopoly of two feudal political parties who misruled the country in the 90s, when I came of age. Life got in the way of me helping Pakistan but Imran Khan was doing what’s right — for all of us.
Almost as soon as Imran Khan became Prime Minister, he was being attacked right, left and centre. So I took up arms on Twitter and this column to educate and explain both his vision and policies. There were things he got right and things he got wrong. I chose to focus on what he got right because this was a once-in-a-generation opportunity to set the ship straight. I wished there was a way to challenge the status quo that didn’t extract such a high cost when it comes to polarisation, civilian supremacy or economic hardship but I thought Imran Khan has been through a far bigger struggle than I have so he must know better.
I’m less sure now. What I have learned is that honesty and sincerity are necessary but not sufficient conditions for tabdeeli; a plan, competent team and sequencing and selling of reforms are equally important.
Beyond politics though, the question that is robbing my joy these days is not whether Imran Khan can deliver tabdeeli but what happens in the worst case that he doesn’t. If he can’t do it, no one can, at least for another generation. How many eight-year-old hearts and prayers will be shattered? Is there any point in us trying to make a difference, if he can’t? The eight-year-old inside me still prays that Imran Khan succeeds. Meanwhile, my 34-year-old self is torn between the head and the heart.
Published in The Express Tribune, January 23rd, 2022.
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