Pakistan's crackdown on Khan stronghold risks deepening instability

The streets of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa emptied on Sunday. Schools shut their doors. The internet flickered and went dark in patches. Shipping containers materialized on roads, blocking passage. Army units moved into position. By evening, Pakistan's federal government had declared a state of emergency in the province—suspending the provincial government, which belonged to Imran Khan's Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf party, and citing a threat of terrorism that required immediate state protection.

What triggered the declaration was a week of marches. Thousands of Khan's supporters had poured into the streets across Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, demanding the release of their imprisoned leader. The demonstrations were led by the provincial Chief Minister, Sohail Afridi, whose current whereabouts remain unclear—his party says he was arrested; the government says he is in protective custody. On Tuesday, dozens of supporters gathered in Bara, in Khyber district, Afridi's hometown. Tear gas was deployed. Police would not confirm detentions, but the machinery of suppression was plainly visible: most PTI leaders in the province had gone into hiding.

The federal information minister, Attah Tarrar, told journalists that the PTI's provincial government had been collaborating with terrorists. He offered no evidence and no elaboration, only a promise to provide details soon. Two days later, no such details had materialized. Schools reopened. Internet service was restored. But the emergency remained in place, and the crackdown continued.

To many observers, the timing was not accidental. Khan has been imprisoned since August 2023—more than three years—on corruption charges he insists are politically motivated. His imprisonment followed a rupture with Pakistan's military, the institution that had long shaped the country's politics from behind the scenes. In the past year, he has barely seen his family or lawyers. Two of his sisters managed a visit in August, one to him in prison, another when he was taken to a hospital for a health evaluation ordered by the Supreme Court before being returned to his cell. Those same three sisters were arrested in September, accused of mobilizing supporters, and have remained detained since.

The government's stated rationale—that emergency rule was constitutionally permissible and necessary to protect the population from terrorism—struck many analysts as a thin cover for something else. Farzana Sheikh, an associate fellow at Chatham House, called the explanation disingenuous. Arifa Noor, a journalist and commentator, saw no credible link to terrorism. "Perhaps it was the last straw," she suggested, "or perhaps it's just a case of saying, we don't want to deal with the government being in the hands of an opposition party." The PTI had governed Khyber Pakhtunkhwa for thirteen years.

Michael Kugelman, a senior South Asia fellow at the Atlantic Council, offered a different angle: the party's rank and file had grown increasingly restless in recent months, worried about Khan's health and his prolonged detention. The authorities, he suggested, were sending a forceful message—making it harder for the party to pressure the government. The government itself argued there had been no political agenda, pointing to talks held before the emergency was declared as evidence of good faith. But observers saw a pattern of restriction, not negotiation. "The government has less and less space for disagreements or dissent," Noor said, "and they do not want to negotiate their way out of any kind of conflict."

Zahid Hussain, an Islamabad-based author and defence analyst, was blunt about who held the real power: the military establishment. Sheikh added a geopolitical dimension. Pakistan's military, she argued, felt emboldened by what it believed was a strong relationship with the United States, and by its role in recent US-Iran peace talks. The moment felt opportune. "There is a sense that we have all the cards in our hands," she said. "We can ride this out internationally."

But Pakistan's hand was far from secure. The country ranked first globally in the 2026 Global Terrorism Index, meaning it had suffered more from militant violence than any other nation. Militancy was rising. The country was locked in disputes with two neighbors: it had repeatedly struck Afghanistan with air strikes, accusing the Taliban government of harboring militant groups—a claim the Taliban denied. Tensions with India, dormant but never resolved, could reignite with little provocation. Pakistan had also committed to helping Saudi Arabia defend against attacks in the escalating conflict with the Houthis. Into this landscape of multiple, overlapping crises, the government had introduced emergency rule in a province it now controlled directly, without the buffer of an elected provincial government to absorb blame.

Experts warned the move could backfire. Kugelman put it plainly: "You're playing with fire because if this move ends up adding to the anger and the discontent among so many there, then you have a very big problem on your hands." Hussain called it reckless, given the challenges the country already faced, and worried the emergency powers could spread to other provinces. Sheikh cautioned that if the military launched active operations against militants, it would have to accept casualties among its own ranks—and significant losses could trigger questions within the institution itself. Pakistan's history offered cautionary tales: military coups and the removal of elected governments, whether provincial or national, had a way of turning sour. Noor observed that people on both sides seemed aware of the danger. "Everybody realises that this is a train crash," she said, "but somehow you can't stop it."