“In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is the rule.” — Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
I recall that when I was a teenager, I used to admire Imran Khan greatly. His speeches were everywhere on Facebook, and they were very inspiring at the time. But later, when I started reading books, I began to feel that Imran Khan had become more of a mythic figure than a political leader. His way of building narratives was clever, but his politics felt disappointing and empty.
Neil Postman, in his book Amusing Ourselves to Death, discusses how television prioritises appearance over substance. He says that in a visual world, being good-looking and confident matters more than being wise or knowledgeable. Today, I’m not writing as a media critic, but to talk about two important ideas—one from Hannah Arendt and the other from Mattias Desmet—that help explain what’s going on, beyond what we usually hear in the news.
Hannah Arendt deeply studied how antisemitism grew and later helped give birth to totalitarian regimes. In her book The Origins of Totalitarianism, Arendt explained that totalitarian propaganda does not aim to tell the truth but instead replaces reality with a powerful fiction. A perfect example is Imran Khan’s political transformation—from promising a “Riyasat-e-Madina” welfare state to shouting slogans like “Haqeeqi Azadi” (True Freedom). It wasn’t just a political shift; it became an emotional journey for millions. Khan created a story in which he alone was the brave warrior fighting corrupt elites, foreign powers, judges, generals, and media outlets. Every challenge he faced—his removal from office, court cases, or criticism—was painted as part of a global conspiracy.
Arendt wrote:
“What distinguishes totalitarian propaganda is its radical contempt for facts... it is not content with lying but replaces the entire factual world with a fictitious one.”
Khan’s message worked like that. “Haqeeqi Azadi” was not a clear political plan—it became a symbol of emotional purity. Khan doesn’t need solid plans; his moral image is enough. As Arendt observed, in such movements, the idea that “the leader is always right” becomes the unspoken law. People stop questioning and just follow. When common sense disappears from a society, that society becomes open to totalitarianism. PTI, in many ways, follows the same pattern. PTI supporters began defending him no matter what, even when facts and scandals were clear. The ideas of Riyasat-e-Madina and Haqeeqi Azadi stopped being goals and instead became emotional tools to connect people to the leader, not to reality.
If Pakistanis don’t break free from this cycle of emotional politics and return to critical thinking, institutional trust, and accountability, the price will not just be political, it will be national
Now let’s look at the people who support Imran Khan. For this, the theory of mass formation by Belgian psychologist Mattias Desmet helps us understand what’s going on.
Desmet says that when people go through four things—loneliness, lack of meaning, anxiety, and frustration—they become mentally vulnerable. In this state, whole groups can fall under the spell of a false but powerful story. They give up thinking for themselves in exchange for a sense of belonging and direction.
In Pakistan, especially after 2018, all four of these conditions became common. A 2022 Gallup Pakistan survey showed that 62% of people felt hopeless about the future, and over 75% thought the country was going in the wrong direction. Youth unemployment stayed above 10%, and inflation reached a shocking 36.4% in April 2023. In this climate of fear and confusion, people were searching for hope.
Imran Khan stepped into this emotional vacuum with a simple story: he is the good guy, and everyone against him is part of an evil plan. His slogans like “Haqeeqi Azadi” and “Riyasat-e-Madina” were not policy goals, but emotional calls that made people feel proud, moral, and united. Desmet says that in such cases, people stop caring whether something is true or not. What matters is whether it fits the emotional story they now believe.
This explains why many PTI supporters ignore scandals, court cases, or governance failures. They’re not just following a politician—they’re defending their emotional reality. Imran Khan has become a symbol of personal dignity and national pride, and any criticism of him feels like a personal attack.
One strong example is Ali Amin Gandapur, the current Chief Minister of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and a close Khan ally. He has been accused of massive corruption—including the misuse of Rs 40 billion in Upper Kohistan—and during the 2025 floods, victims in Dera Ismail Khan were transported in garbage trucks. This sparked national outrage, yet PTI supporters stayed silent or made excuses. Why? Because criticising him feels like betraying “the movement.”
Desmet warns that this kind of mass formation is dangerous. People lose interest in facts. Politics becomes a battle of emotions. And loyalty is valued more than truth or justice. When this happens, corruption hides behind slogans, and democracy turns into a popularity contest.
At this point, it’s clear that PTI has stopped functioning as a political party and has instead become a cult of personality centred around Imran Khan. Loyalty to the leader has replaced policy, governance, and internal debate. Even criticism from within—like Aleema Khan’s recent “minus Imran Khan” remark—is treated as betrayal rather than reflection. This emotional dependency on one man has blinded supporters to corruption, mismanagement, and democratic decay. Politics has turned into myth-making, where facts no longer matter and failure is rebranded as conspiracy.
If Pakistanis don’t break free from this cycle of emotional politics and return to critical thinking, institutional trust, and accountability, the price will not just be political it will be national.