It is that time again. Pakistan’s political class rediscovers its flair for theatrical flourish, as if the national script requires periodic re-enactments of indignation to keep the plot moving. Dissent is squeezed into ever-narrower corners. Institutional walls melt into one another with suspicious ease. The public, already frayed at the edges, watches familiar tensions return. Measured political communication has become an endangered species. Words now generate far more heat than illumination, and yet they remain the chosen instrument for our political battles.
Last week’s missive from the ISPR was a case in point. Names were delicately omitted, but the message lost none of its sting. Its target—the PTI and its incarcerated founder Imran Khan—was obvious to anyone with a passing knowledge of Pakistani politics. Branding a former prime minister “mentally ill,” a “security risk,” and aligned with hostile forces ranging from India to the TTP, the communiqué travelled swiftly through the country’s political circuitry. Nuance, predictably, did not make the journey.
The civilian leadership, for its part, was quick to fall in line, offering unqualified support for the statement. In any polity where the division between civilian prerogative and military influence is, at best, aspirational, such unanimity naturally raises more questions than it answers. It also resurrects an old and uncomfortable debate about who shapes political narratives in this country, and at whose expense.
Few Pakistanis will find any of this particularly novel. The lexicon of treachery, foreign allegiance, and anti-state behaviour has long been part of our political toolkit, deployed liberally across decades and regimes. Fatima Jinnah, the National Awami Party, Benazir Bhutto, Nawaz Sharif—our history is littered with figures once framed as existential threats, only to be rehabilitated when expedience demanded it. Today’s villains, in Pakistan’s political sphere, have an uncanny habit of becoming tomorrow’s necessary partners.
Branding political opponents as “security risks” may offer short-term political satisfaction, but it shrinks the democratic playing field in ways that ultimately harm everyone
Imran Khan, of course, has hardly been above this style of politics. His own rhetoric—fiery, conspiratorial, and remarkably effective at rousing supporters—has played no small part in the volatility of today’s discourse. Now that the tables have turned and he finds himself on the receiving end of the very language he once deployed, the country is simply stuck in yet another, more toxic loop of the same old cycle.
The timing of these developments compounds the danger. Borders remain tense. Militancy continues to pose a constant threat, despite active countermeasures. The economy trudges under debt and uncertainty. In this combustible mix, incendiary institutional statements do more than provoke—they harden divisions that may prove impossible to reverse.
Branding political opponents as “security risks” may offer short-term political satisfaction, but it shrinks the democratic playing field in ways that ultimately harm everyone. Once opposition is shoved rhetorically outside the bounds of legitimate competition, dialogue evaporates. Compromise becomes suspect. Negotiation becomes capitulation. Before long, the democratic system itself is held hostage to a worldview where every disagreement is existential.
In a country already burdened by economic woes and political tensions, the normalisation of slander widens the divide between citizens and institutions. In Pakistan, politics is as much a battle of words as it is of actions. In this context, responsible communication is essential. Restraint, too often dismissed as weakness, is in fact the scaffolding of democratic practice. Remove it, and political contestation becomes something far more dangerous—especially when the institutions involved extend beyond mere partisan concerns.
The military, when it speaks, reverberates across a nation stretched thin. Missteps in rhetoric can inflame rather than contain tension. Political leaders share responsibility: criticism is necessary, but framing opponents as anti-state corrodes trust in the system. Contestation can be vigorous without dehumanisation; critique can be sharp without resorting to apocalyptic exaggeration.
For all its organisational disorder and legal challenges, the PTI remains one of Pakistan’s largest political forces. Millions voted for it. Millions continue to support it. To conflate its supporters with anti-state actors is to alienate a substantial portion of the country—a strategy that promises neither stability nor unity.
The challenges Pakistan faces are immense. Breaking the spiral of incendiary rhetoric is the necessary first step, and the responsibility to take that step lies squarely with those who currently speak the loudest.