The recent change of government in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa raises a question for anyone interested in Pakistan’s politics and society. Why did the removal of a popular PTI government produce so little visible resistance?
Many analysts expected a strong reaction in the party’s provincial stronghold. PTI-backed candidates had won an overwhelming share of seats in KP, and subsequent Gallup surveys continued to indicate the party’s popularity. Some expected voters to take to the streets. Others anticipated bureaucratic hurdles: resignations, ministers refusing to hand over power, confrontation between provincial police and federal forces and a transition requiring a heavy-handed crackdown.
There have been minor reports of protests in Khyber and arrests, including, worryingly, of the chief minister and other political figures. Yet the larger transition appeared considerably smoother than many had predicted. There was no widespread uprising of the kind that some PTI voices had warned would follow the crossing of a red line.
This article is not an assessment of the legality or morality of the emergency. The question here is analytical: why did the change happen with comparatively little visible resistance, and what does that tell us about politics and public attitudes?
Immediately after the proclamation, Gallup Pakistan conducted a snap poll nationally and in KP. The findings suggested a divided public, with substantial support for and opposition to the emergency and a significant number of respondents unwilling to take a position. On the question of how to respond, around 80% nationally, in KP and within PTI circles favoured a legal route over protest. In other words, data also suggested limited appetite for protest.
I would offer four possible explanations for the gap between the expectation of resistance and what actually happened. First, resentment, disappointment and discontent do not automatically become political action. Individuals can be dissatisfied, neighbourhoods can be dissatisfied, and biradaris can be dissatisfied. To translate that sentiment into collective action capable of producing an outcome, much more is required. This is one reason political parties and other political organisations exist.
Without Imran Khan, the PTI has struggled to act as a cohesive political organisation. Some would argue that, despite its appeal as an iconoclastic force offering a break from dynastic politics and individual whims, the PTI has become even more dependent on one individual than some of the parties it challenged. Much of its vote is identified with Khan personally. Other party leaders, including provincial chief ministers, seem to command little loyalty or political appeal, so the incentive for them to rise is close to non-existent.
That matters for mobilisation. A call to defend Imran Khan himself may carry a very different appeal from a call to defend an individual provincial leader. If the party’s political figures cannot persuade voters that their displacement is equivalent to an attack on Khan, it is much harder to turn his popularity into sustained action on the streets. The event has shown that popularity does not automatically translate into people coming out to protect the government or becoming its defenders unless party mechanics are in place and well oiled.
The second explanation is fragmentation. The PTI leadership has been divided among competing centres of influence: the former and more recently deposed chief ministers and their supporters; figures around Imran Khan’s sisters and his wife; and provincial and national leadership groups. Tensions have also emerged among office holders within the party. The complete silence, even to the extent of press conferences, from the Punjab leg of the PTI is also being questioned. These divisions make collective action harder to coordinate.
Some may see the absence of a stronger party structure as a failure of leadership from Imran Khan. Others may argue that keeping potential successors divided has helped preserve Khan’s central position. The latter is a possible interpretation, not an established account of his motives. Whatever the explanation, the result is that a party with an enormous popular following has struggled to present a unified organisational response.
The 2024 election showed the strength of voters’ commitment, even when the establishment went against the PTI. But an election and a sustained protest make different demands. Voters can make an individual decision in a polling booth; a successful protest movement requires leadership, coordination, resources, and a shared strategy that goes far beyond casting a single vote.
A third possibility concerns the constitution’s place in the public imagination. Even where democratic values are not fully embedded, the idea of constitutional procedure and rule of law may retain legitimacy. The emergency was presented through a formal constitutional process involving presidential proclamation and parliamentary approval. That appearance may have encouraged officials to comply and some citizens to favour legal remedies.
The fourth point is that the PTI’s seat dominance is easily mistaken for unanimous support. The party and its supporters often cite their overwhelming share of seats as evidence that virtually the whole province stands behind them.
Yet, on the estimate cited here, PTI-backed candidates received around 45% of the vote in KP in the 2024 election, while the remainder went to other candidates and parties. The JUI, on the same account, was a distant second at around 18%. These figures require confirmation against the relevant election results and vote denominator.
Voters who chose other parties do not necessarily actively oppose the PTI or support its removal. It does mean that a near-monopoly of assembly seats should not be confused with unanimous public opinion.
All four explanations operate in an environment in which protest can be costly. Arrests, repression and uncertainty about personal safety shape the calculations of voters and political workers. Repression alone, however, may not explain the full absence of political expression. The four reasons shared earlier have played a crucial role.
Nor is the absence of a mass uprising unique to the PTI. The removal of elected governments in Pakistan has often failed to produce a mobilisation proportional to their electoral support. Nawaz Sharif’s removal in the 1999 military coup is one example. Earlier dismissals of elected governments, including those of Benazir Bhutto and Nawaz Sharif, also provide grounds to examine the limits of public resistance. The PTI’s claims of exceptional popularity did not necessarily exempt it from the conditions that constrained other parties when they lost power. PTI leadership, including Imran Khan, has perhaps misjudged this limitation.
For the PTI, the experience suggests that confrontation without dialogue — with the establishment and with other political actors — has limited prospects. For the establishment, the orderly transition may show an immediate advantage. It should not be interpreted as a blank cheque or proof that the underlying dispute has disappeared.
In the longer run, the grievances of the people represented by the PTI cannot be resolved simply through administrative control. They require political engagement and reform, including reflection within state institutions.
The writer is executive director of Gallup Pakistan and holds a Masters degree from the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), London.
Disclaimer: The viewpoints expressed in this piece are the writer’s own and don’t necessarily reflect Geo.tv’s editorial policy.
Originally published in The News
