Imran Khan’s Game Plan

Imran Khan, Pakistan’s greatest cricketing hero, has no time for doubters. This time next year, he says, he will be Prime Minister of Pakistan. The corruption that plagues the country will be no more. Extremism will be on the wane, and the economy, now comatose, will be booming. Mid-soliloquy Khan notices a raised eyebrow — few in Pakistan think he has any realistic chance of winning the upcoming election, let alone performing such postelection miracles — and he immediately counters with a small history lesson.

Australia, March 1992: midway through the Cricket World Cup, Pakistan is flailing. Khan, who has come out of retirement to captain the national team, and was 39 at the time of the tournament, is derided in a national newspaper as an “aging, unfit warrior,” with his squad similarly dismissed as “demoralized, listless and wayward.” Bookies have given Pakistan 50-1 odds. What does Khan do? He picks up the phone and advises a friend to bet on Pakistan. And bet big. “When you have been in competition as long as I, you develop an instinct, a sixth sense, about winning and losing,” says Khan. “I knew we would win.” The friend never placed that bet, a move he regrets to this day, says Khan with a chuckle. Pakistan beat England in the final, giving the country its sole World Cup finals victory, which remains untarnished by time, not least because the country has had so little to celebrate since then.

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Khan’s sixth sense tells him he’s headed for another improbable victory. This time, the odds are even longer. For all his 16 years in politics, Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), or Pakistan’s Movement for Justice, has won only one of the 272 elected seats in the National Assembly, for which he served one truncated term that ended in 2007. Yet Khan believes — nay, knows — that when elections are called in Pakistan next year, his party will win enough seats to secure him the most powerful job in the land, enabling him to make the fundamental changes that he says the country so desperately needs. “It will be a clean sweep,” he declares, leaning forward to pound the broad coffee table centered in the seating area of his home’s deep veranda. “It is only a question of whether it will be a simple majority, or if we will get two-thirds” — enough to override the opposition.

While that confidence may in part stem from Khan being easily the most popular politician in Pakistan — a recent Pew Global Attitudes Project poll gave him a 70% approval rating, compared with 36% for the then Prime Minister Yousuf Raza Gilani and 14% for President Asif Ali Zardari — political analysts and pollsters say he would be lucky to get 20 to 40 seats in the next election. That’s largely because Pakistan’s entrenched patronage networks and lingering feudal system have always firmly steered the rural vote in favor of the established parties — leaving little chance for Khan’s party in much of the country. “Popularity doesn’t necessarily translate into electoral success,” says Mohammad Waseem, a political-science professor at the Lahore University of Management Sciences.

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Khan’s anticorruption message and stance against the ongoing American missile strikes from drones against terrorist suspects in Pakistan, which he calls a violation of national sovereignty, may have electrified large swaths of the young and urban middle class, but historically speaking, the latter group seldom votes in significant numbers — only 35% of the country lives in cities. Parliamentary seats are won from Pakistan’s rural constituencies, explains Waseem, where “Khan is up against two well-structured mainstream parties … juggernauts with extensive vote-capturing capabilities. I can see [Khan winning] 35 seats, maximum.” And while that’s far short of what Khan would need to form a government, 35 seats would be an unprecedented showing for any new party in a fair election. Khan would then be well positioned to win a majority in subsequent elections. Either way, as the first relatively new name in a political cast that has changed little over the past two decades, Khan stands to shake up a system in desperate need of transformation. What’s less clear, however, is what the man devoted to remaking Pakistani politics actually stands for.

Mr. Right?
At times Khan’s sheer force of personality and attractiveness seem to make small matters like policy and core beliefs marginally important. He is big on populist gestures — and being adored.

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His first move as Prime Minister, he says, will be to close down the lavish prime-ministerial palace in favor of conducting the business of state from his hilltop bungalow. Standing on the terrace of that house and dressed in his trademark shalwar kameez — a long collared tunic over loose trousers, red scarf tossed over his shoulder to ward off the late autumn chill — he inhales deeply and takes in the view of Islamabad. “Thank God Jemima talked me into buying this land,” he muses. Jemima, of course, is glamorous British socialite Jemima Khan, Khan’s ex-wife. She designed the low-slung, unpretentious home, he explains, and while few feminine touches remain, the glamour of an international playboy’s past still clings to the deep leather sofas, wide-screen TVs, plentiful mirrors and his well-groomed appearance, even immediately after a long-haul flight from California. The house betrays little sign that Khan intends to replace Jemima anytime soon; if anything, it feels more like a boys’ own clubhouse, complete with hunting rifles above the fireplace and the cricket ground he keeps for his two sons, who currently live in England.

The allure of Pakistan’s most eligible bachelor plays well on the electoral front as well. His rallies, which have drawn hundreds of thousands over the past year, resemble pop concerts as much as political events. The dashing good looks that made him an international pinup in the 1970s and ’80s have diminished little in the ensuing years, attracting legions of fans who appear evenly split between those who want to be him and those who want to sleep with him. His face has gone leathery and lined, but he still has the physique of a much younger man.

Young men, barely old enough to remember his World Cup victory, surge the stage at the conclusion of his speeches seeking autographs while the so-called “begum brigade” — purse-wielding housewives flush with Khan fever — wave placards inscribed MY CAPTAIN. In Khan, Pakistanis have found a self-styled man of the people who has pledged to deliver peace, justice and an end to debilitating power outages.

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But beyond those vague promises it’s hard to pin him down on specific plans and policies. His pledge to abolish corruption in his first 90 days, for example, is based on the trickle-down theory of good examples rather than any sweeping legislative and judicial overhaul. Even some of his supporters acknowledge that his meteoric rise has more to do with the abysmal performance of the country’s main political parties, the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) led by Zardari, the husband of slain former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, and the Pakistan Muslim League (Nawaz) (PMLN), led by industrialist Nawaz Sharif, than any real economic plan. “It’s hope, not knowledge, that makes us like Khan,” says Yasir Khurshid, a 26-year-old engineer at IBM.

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Beneath the Surface
If Pakistanis made their electoral decisions based purely on how anti-establishment their candidates are, Khan would be a shoo-in. He has made a career out of being a voice in the wilderness, resigning from Parliament in protest against the former military dictator Pervez Musharraf and boycotting the 2008 elections that brought the PPP into power, furious over a U.S.-backed amnesty agreement that cleared Sharif, Zardari and Bhutto from past corruption charges. Since then he has been a regular presence on television talk shows, railing against corruption, drones, tax evasion and what he calls the U.S.’s mismanaged war on terrorism in Pakistan. “By what law are drone attacks justified? Suspects are being eliminated without trial. Not just them, but their women, children and any neighbor who happens to be there. So when terrorists take revenge with a suicide attack, they justify it as ‘collateral damage,’ just like the Americans,” says Khan.

One of Khan’s biggest successes in his 16-year campaign for the prime ministership has been his ability to convince the middle class that he is one of them. Never mind that he shares the same privileged background as his rivals — attending Lahore’s elite Aitchison College before moving to the U.K. and later enrolling at Oxford at 19 — he identifies with the suffering masses, speaking passionately about his return to Islam. He has spent some of his wealth directly on the people whose pain he insists he feels. In 1994, he opened the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital & Research Centre in memory of his mother, who died of cancer in 1985. The world-class facility provides free care to 75% of its patients and is widely considered to be one of the best-run institutions in the country. Khan’s vocal opposition to American drone attacks in the tribal areas has also won him widespread accolades from a nationalist populace growing ever more anti-American. “Whether he is a good politician, whether he is going to win, who knows,” says a former U.S. official who has known Khan for several years and requested anonymity, lest Americans be accused of supporting one candidate over the others. “The point is that anyone who wants to talk about corruption, about a future in which you get along with your neighbors, anyone who stands up to the Americans and says ‘We don’t see it this way,’ anyone who is open and honest about that deserves a place in the political firmament.”

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But behind the charisma and populism seems something more troubling: a man who at best may not know quite what he believes in and at worst may be just another politician who is as willing to make compromises and do deals as any in Pakistan in order to gain power. Popular columnists in the English-language press even question whether he’s savvy enough to be a plausible national leader. The Friday Times, the English weekly that derided his World Cup captaincy, now features a satirical column penned by Im the Dim, a name-dropping cricket star turned politician with grandiose dreams of becoming Prime Minister and a poor grasp of history, politics and religious extremism. “People keep asking me how I’m going to negotiate with [the Taliban],” went a recent column. “It’s simple. I’ll call them, and ask them what they want. Then I’ll give it to them, and then they’ll go away and be good till the next time they’re bad.”

Like all good satires, it may be based on a grain of truth. At times Khan can seem to have a loose grasp of public policy. Pakistan has one of the world’s lowest tax-to-GDP ratios, and Khan says he wants to change that. Not by “raising taxes but collecting them,” he says. Half a beat later, he proposes a radical overhaul of the tax code, which would, in effect, force landowners and stockholders to pay taxes on their holdings. “I am talking about an equitable, just taxation, where the rich subsidize the poor, not the other way around.”

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Those apparent inconsistencies might seem less important, in terms of his electability, if he had the sort of party machine that his rivals in the PPP and the PMLN use to lock up huge voting blocs in a relatively lackadaisical electorate. This is where Khan’s idealism begins to run into the realities of Pakistani politics. He has decided to play the established parties at their own game by recruiting what is known in Pakistani political parlance as “electables”: well-entrenched constituency politicians, who, through clan titles, ancient feudal holdings or influential religious roles, have a lock on key seats regardless of party affiliation.

But by bringing in old-school politicians, such as longtime PPP stalwart and former Foreign Minister Shah Mehmood Qureshi, who comes from an old political dynasty based in rural Punjab, and Javed Hashmi, who ran under Sharif’s PMLN in the past election, Khan has tarnished his maverick image. “We started as the party that would hold people accountable for their corruption, and now we have become a party that wants to survive and gain power, like everyone else,” says Rabia Zia, who headed PTI’s U.K. branch until she quit in protest in October. What Khan has long called his “tsunami” of change is starting to look more like a tide that ebbs and flows with the political currents. Khan, for his part, denies taking anyone on purely to boost his party’s chances. “What am I going to say, No, you can’t join my party? No, anyone can join a party.” The difference, he says, is that once they do join, they have to toe the Imran Khan line.

Social Networker
Khan has made himself vulnerable on another front by refusing to condemn the Pakistani Taliban, even in the wake of their attack on 15-year-old schoolgirl Malala Yousafzai in October, earning the ire of liberals who call him a Taliban apologist and the disapproval of important potential allies overseas. Khan dismisses the accusation with an angry shrug, pointing out that he was the first to the young activist’s hospital bed, and then declaring in a press conference that education is a right for all Pakistani children. “What are [the Taliban] going to do, say ‘Ooooh, Imran Khan condemned us’ and drop their weapons? No. They will attack me, and they will attack my party members.”

Muhammad Amir Rana, head of the Pak Institute for Peace Studies and one of the leading researchers on extremist groups in the country, is concerned about Khan’s lack of leadership on the issue. “He is afraid that if he takes a position against extremism it will damage his party’s interests,” says Rana. “He can’t win the election on his ideals alone, but he won’t win by pandering.” Khan rejects any suggestion that he is being soft on the extremists for electoral gain. “Oh, please,” he says. “Do you really think I am going to get votes from the Taliban? I strongly feel that Pakistan needs someone who can bring the country together.”

Khan himself believes he’ll win by reaching into a deep well of previously complacent voters. Where pundits see 44% of eligible voters going to the polls as a sign of apathy that limits Khan’s possible routes to a majority, Khan sees opportunity. All he has to do is get the other 56% to vote for him. The youth, he says, are his secret weapon. “The youth in Pakistan have made up their minds; they want change,” says Khan. “I am that change.” To reach young voters he is using the sort of get-out-the-vote tools that are now standard in the U.S. but unexploited in Pakistan. He is the only politician in the country to have used social media to engage his followers and potential supporters on a large scale: he regularly tweets campaign pledges and policy updates to his roughly 430,000 Twitter followers (nearest rival Sharif’s party has about 3,800 followers). His official Facebook page has more than half a million Likes (“Yes he Khan!” regularly shows up in the comments log); unofficial fan pages proliferate at a rapid clip.

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If Pakistan’s young people do vote, and vote for Khan, he will be entirely unsurprised. “One billion people said I couldn’t win the World Cup. I did,” he says. “Doctors around the world say you can’t treat cancer victims for free. I do.” Once in power, a Prime Minister Khan who achieves even a fraction of what he has set out to do would be a genuinely transformative figure. But if Khan wins power and then fails to deliver on his promises, not only will he shatter the hopes of Pakistan’s newly politicized youth, his preference for talking to the country’s extremist groups rather than fighting them could allow them unprecedented freedom to operate. The stakes for Pakistan, and the region, could hardly be higher.
— with reporting by Aoun Sahi / Islamabad

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