“What could go wrong?” In Pakistan’s power corridors, that question is rarely asked with enough seriousness. And more often than not, what follows proves why it should have been.
The removal of Imran Khan, engineered through a convergence of the military establishment and the Pakistan Democratic Movement, was meant to reset the system. It was supposed to restore order, stabilize governance, and clip the wings of a populist force that had become inconvenient.
Instead, it triggered a chain reaction no one fully controlled.
The first miscalculation was legitimacy. What may have been constitutionally defensible did not translate into public acceptance. Politics is not decided in legal clauses alone—it is decided in perception. And the perception that took hold was simple and dangerous: the system was manipulated to remove a leader who still commanded mass support.
That perception didn’t weaken Imran Khan—it weaponized him.
In one stroke, he transformed from a contested incumbent into a symbol of resistance. The narrative flipped. Accountability turned into victimhood. Opposition turned into insurgency. This is the oldest paradox in politics: pressure, when misapplied, doesn’t crush—it concentrates.
Then came the mobilization. Instead of fragmentation, his support base hardened. Street power grew. Digital spaces became echo chambers of defiance. The attempt to contain him ended up amplifying him. The establishment didn’t just create a political opponent—it helped manufacture a movement.
Meanwhile, those who took power inherited a system without owning its mandate. Coalition politics, economic freefall, IMF constraints—none of it allowed for decisive governance. What followed was predictable: hesitation, unpopular decisions, and a growing disconnect with the public mood. Power was secured, but authority remained elusive.
And beneath all this lies a deeper cost: institutional credibility. When non-political actors are seen as political engineers, the long-term damage is subtle but severe. Trust erodes. Neutrality becomes suspect. Every future move is judged not on merit, but on motive.
This is where “what could go wrong” becomes more than a phrase—it becomes a pattern.
Because the real failure here is not tactical. The move itself worked. The government was removed. Control was reasserted.
But politics is not chess. You don’t win by capturing a single piece.
You win by controlling the board—and in this case, the board shifted.
What went wrong was not the action, but the assumption behind it: that power could be rearranged without consequences, that public sentiment could be managed, that narratives could be dictated in an age where they are constantly contested.
They won the move.
But they lost the moment—and in politics, moments have a way of defining everything that comes after.
