There is something profoundly disturbing about a state having to be reminded by its highest court that a prisoner remains a human being. Imran Khan’s liberty can be restricted by law; his dignity cannot. Yet concerns over his health and access to doctors, lawyers and family have repeatedly required judicial intervention. The Supreme Court’s decision to order a comprehensive medical examination at a private Islamabad hospital has exposed something larger than one prisoner’s predicament. It has revealed how easily custody can mutate into unchecked state power.
Imran Khan’s health concerns have persisted for months. An eye ailment prompted demands for specialist assessment and access to personal physicians. His family and legal team have also sought medical information and greater access to him. More disturbing still is the repeated denial of access despite court orders. The IHC had directed regular meetings with family and lawyers, yet visitors have repeatedly been denied access. This is not a minor administrative dispute; it is a direct negation of judicial authority and the rule of law.
The most repugnant aspect is the apparent transformation of basic human needs into political concessions. A prisoner should not require a famous name, millions of supporters, or a Supreme Court petition to see a competent doctor. Illness is never a legitimate extension of punishment. Imran Khan is not the only incarcerated political figure whose condition should trouble the state.
Dr Yasmin Rashid, an elderly physician and cancer survivor, has remained behind bars while suffering serious health problems and requiring hospital treatment. Her case should offend the conscience irrespective of politics. A doctor who spent her life caring for patients should not have to fight from a prison cell for appropriate medical attention. Incarceration does not diminish a prisoner’s right to proper medical care.
Senator Ejaz Chaudhry’s health presents another disturbing case. His family and lawyers have raised concerns over his heart and kidney ailments. Reports indicate that his kidney disease has progressed and that specialized treatment is required. Whatever the legal merits of the cases against these individuals, their medical needs cannot be placed on trial alongside them.
Pakistan’s political history makes this conduct even more shameful. Leaders from virtually every major party have experienced imprisonment, exile, persecution, or political victimization. We also bear the ignominy of hanging a Prime Minister. Yet every generation seems to rediscover the machinery of repression. Yesterday’s victim becomes today’s jailer; the erstwhile jailer eventually becomes tomorrow’s victim. The faces change; the system endures.
This is not justice; it is punishment spilling beyond the law. A state confident in its case needs neither humiliation nor fear of a prisoner’s doctor, lawyer, or family. Humane treatment is not political favor; it is the minimum that impartial justice demands. The same standards must apply to the powerful and powerless, government supporters and opponents, celebrated leaders and forgotten prisoners. When a prisoner’s health, dignity and family access become matters of political discretion, power is masquerading as justice.
The stakes are greater in Khan’s case because he commands the respect and allegiance of a multitude of Pakistanis. One may reject his politics, but that does not alter the state’s duty. The greater a prisoner’s political following, the greater the obligation to demonstrate that law, not vengeance, fear, or political calculation, governs his treatment.
Harsh treatment of a leader with millions of followers can achieve the opposite of its intended effect. It can deepen alienation, harden political loyalties and reinforce perceptions of institutional bias. Every denied meeting, unexplained medical restriction and apparently unimplemented court direction widens the distance between citizens and the state.
Imran Khan’s case is therefore more than a dispute over prison conditions. It is where custody tests the state – whether the state can exercise power without compromising the rule of law or basic human dignity. His medical care must follow transparent protocols and independent assessment; serious illness must trigger prompt specialist treatment; his family must receive appropriate medical information and his personal physicians must have meaningful access where legally and medically appropriate. Court-ordered meetings and visitations must be honored, not frustrated. Officials who obstruct them must answer for it.
These standards must survive every political cycle and apply equally to every incarcerated politician and ordinary prisoner, regardless of name or affiliation. The state cannot claim the rule of law while prison authorities treat court orders as negotiable, preach democracy while family contact becomes a political favor, or demand public trust while wielding its greatest power over those least able to resist it.
The state holds overwhelming power over a prisoner, controlling his movement, communication, medical care, and every dimension of daily life. Such absolute power demands an even greater duty of care. Imran Khan’s political fate should be decided by courts and, where applicable, by the people, not by the deterioration of his health behind prison walls.
A state’s true character is measured by the restraint it shows when no one can resist its power. The state may hold the cell key; justice begins where power remembers the human being behind the bars.
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The views and opinions expressed in this article/paper are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Paradigm Shift.
Mir Adnan Aziz is a columnist whose writing explores the forces that shape power, belief, and society.
