Some heroes entertain us. Others accompany us through life.
Imran Khan belongs to the second category for me. He is not
merely the cricketer whose name dominates record books, nor simply the captain
who lifted the 1992 World Cup. His journey has been a source of personal
strength—an example I have returned to whenever adversity threatened to
obstruct my own progress.
In that respect, his story carries for me something of the
emotional resonance of Begum Khaleda Zia’s long and difficult political
journey: whatever one’s political interpretation, both lives have come to
symbolize endurance under extraordinary pressure. Their experiences remind us
that public life can expose a person not only to admiration and authority but
also to isolation, humiliation and suffering.
That is why it is so difficult for a lifelong admirer to
watch what Imran Khan is now enduring. A hero who once stood at the centre of a
roaring stadium is today seen through prison walls, court petitions and reports
concerning his health. The contrast is almost unbearably stark.
Yet this is not simply an article about the imprisonment of
a former prime minister. It is about why Imran Khan cannot be contained within
either of the two conventional labels attached to him—cricketer and politician.
It is also about his extraordinary ability to unite the cricketing world, first
for a hospital and now around a humanitarian appeal. Above all, it asks a
simple question: when political power possesses the option of mercy, why should
it choose cruelty?
The Hero Beyond Statistics
To describe Imran Khan only through statistics would be to
mistake the outline for the portrait.
He played 88 Tests and 175 One-Day Internationals for
Pakistan, took 362 Test wickets and scored more than 3,800 Test runs. He
developed from a talented but initially raw fast bowler into one of the
greatest all-rounders the game has known. By the end of his career, he was not
only a formidable athlete but also a strategist, leader and builder of teams.
His greatest sporting achievement came in 1992, when he led
Pakistan to its first—and so far only—men’s ODI World Cup title. Even that
triumph, however, cannot be understood merely as the result of individual
brilliance. Its deeper meaning lay in his refusal to accept defeat.
Pakistan’s campaign appeared close to collapse. The team was
inconsistent, several players were inexperienced, and Imran himself was playing
despite a shoulder problem. At the moment when resignation might have seemed
reasonable, he gave his team an identity: the famous “cornered tigers.” It was
more than a slogan. It transformed vulnerability into defiance.
That quality is what made Imran Khan my hero. I did not
merely see a captain winning matches. I saw a man repeatedly refusing to
surrender to circumstances. His career taught me that adversity does not always
signal the end of progress; sometimes it is the pressure through which
character is formed.
Great players dominate moments. Great captains alter the
imagination of those around them. Imran convinced his teammates—and millions
watching them—that an apparently defeated side could still become world
champion.
His influence also extended to the development of Pakistani
cricket. He recognized and encouraged talent, demanded higher standards of
fitness and professionalism, and helped shape players who would serve Pakistan
for years. The careers of figures such as Wasim Akram are inseparable from
Imran’s eye for ability and his willingness to trust young cricketers in
demanding situations.
This is why his impact surpasses generations. Those who saw
him play remember his pace, presence and authority. Those born after his
retirement inherited the legend of 1992, the hospitals bearing his mother’s
name and the political movement he later created. His influence did not end
when he bowled his final delivery.
The Political Journey I Never Wanted for Him
As an admirer, I never wanted Imran Khan to enter politics.
Cricket was his natural territory. Politics was not. The
qualities that make a commanding captain—certainty, aggression, impatience with
weakness and an instinct to confront—do not always translate smoothly into
democratic governance, where negotiation, compromise and administrative
subtlety are essential.
When he founded Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf in 1996, his
political ambitions were widely dismissed. He lacked a traditional political
dynasty, a deeply rooted electoral structure and the patronage networks that
have long shaped South Asian politics. For years, his movement remained at the
margins.
But Imran is not a man who gives up easily. He spent more
than two decades building PTI, addressing small gatherings before he could fill
public squares, and enduring ridicule before becoming a central figure in
Pakistani politics. In 2018, the former cricket captain became Pakistan’s prime
minister.
That achievement itself was extraordinary. He had demonstrated that the determination which carried him to cricket’s summit could also take him to the highest political office in his country.
But the triumphant period was brief.
Imran entered government with enormous promises: a “New
Pakistan,” an end to elite corruption, stronger institutions, greater social
justice and a more independent foreign policy. His administration did introduce
notable welfare initiatives, including the expansion of health coverage and the
Ehsaas social-protection programme. Pakistan’s handling of parts of the
COVID-19 crisis also received international attention.
Nevertheless, his government struggled with inflation,
currency depreciation, administrative instability and the enormous burden of
public expectations. His confrontational style deepened political divisions.
Frequent changes within his economic team weakened confidence, while his
uncompromising rhetoric left little room for building durable political
consensus.
He also took what might be called rusty political steps:
decisions shaped by the instincts of a fighter when the circumstances required
the patience of a statesman. His relations with coalition partners
deteriorated, and the understanding between his government and Pakistan’s
powerful military establishment eventually fractured. In April 2022, he was
removed through a parliamentary vote of no confidence.
Imran proved that he could shine in politics. He also
discovered that politics is a field on which courage alone cannot guarantee
victory.
Recognizing his political mistakes does not diminish his
greatness. Admiration should not demand blindness. A mature understanding of
Imran Khan must make room for both his achievements and his errors. He was not
politically infallible; no serious leader is. But errors in government do not
cancel a lifetime of service, nor can they justify the denial of basic dignity.
The First Time He United World Cricket
The recent international appeal for Imran Khan is
remarkable, but it is not the first time he has brought the cricketing world
together.
The earlier unifying mission began with personal grief.
After his mother, Shaukat Khanum, died from cancer, Imran
became determined to build a specialist cancer hospital in Pakistan where
patients could receive treatment regardless of their ability to pay. At the
time, many regarded the plan as impossibly ambitious.
The first fundraising dinner for the project was held in Dubai in 1988, while Imran was participating in a cricket tournament. His first major public appeal in Pakistan followed during a Pakistan-India match in Lahore in 1989. The World Cup victory of 1992 then gave the campaign even greater momentum. According to accounts associated with the project, Imran donated his World Cup prize money and continued contributing part of his earnings to the hospital.
Cricket became the bridge between an individual tragedy and
an international humanitarian mission. Former opponents, overseas cricketers,
supporters and donors responded to his appeal. Fundraising events and
exhibition matches converted sporting fame into medical hope.
The Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital opened in Lahore
in 1994. Its significance reaches beyond the physical institution. It
demonstrated that Imran could translate charisma into public infrastructure and
transform the emotional loyalty of his admirers into a sustainable humanitarian
enterprise.
Years later, his institutional ambitions extended into
education through Namal. These projects are crucial to understanding why he is
more than a sportsman or politician. Cricket made him famous; philanthropy
revealed what he could do with fame.
A celebrity attracts attention. A builder gives that
attention a purpose.
Cricket Unites for Imran
More than three decades later, the cricketing world has
united again. This time, however, Imran is not leading the campaign. He is its
subject.
In February 2026, Greg Chappell initiated an appeal
involving 14 former international captains who expressed concern about Imran’s
treatment and health in prison. In August, the initiative was renewed with 21
names attached.
The signatories were Michael Atherton, Alex Blackwell, Allan
Border, Michael Brearley, Greg Chappell, Ian Chappell, Belinda Clark, Sir
Alastair Cook, Sunil Gavaskar, Lee Germon, Adam Gilchrist, David Gower, Kim
Hughes, Nasser Hussain, Sir Clive Lloyd, Kapil Dev, Arjuna Ranatunga, Sir
Andrew Strauss, Dilip Vengsarkar, Steve Waugh and John Wright.
Some news reports have described 22 participants, apparently
because certain published lists also included former England captain Michael
Gatting.
The circulated appeal supplied with 21 names, however,
contains the group listed above. The numerical discrepancy does not alter the
central fact: an exceptional collection of former captains from several
countries joined the same humanitarian cause.
The composition of the group is striking. It brings together
men and women from different generations, nations and cricketing cultures. Some
played alongside Imran’s era; others inherited a game he had helped transform.
Among them are former rivals from India, Australia, England, the West Indies,
Sri Lanka and New Zealand.
This is solidarity with unusual moral weight. Gavaskar,
Kapil, Border, the Chappell brothers, Lloyd, Gower and others did not know
Imran as a distant political symbol. They knew the force of his personality
from the field. They competed against him, watched him lead and understood what
he represented to Pakistan and to world cricket.
Michael Atherton emphasized that the appeal was not an
effort to adjudicate Pakistan’s legal disputes. Its purpose, he explained, was
humanitarian: to ensure that a 73-year-old former player, imprisoned for more
than three years and reportedly suffering serious deterioration in his
eyesight, received appropriate medical care.
He said, "It was Greg Chappell who initiated the first
letter in February of this year. He contacted 13 former international captains
and said it's time for cricket to raise it's voice. We repeated that letter
with 21 names attached to it. It's really important to stress that we
are not trying to interfere in the legal or judicial process in Pakistan. This
is a humanitarian appeal because there are increasing concerns about the health
and well-being of Imran Khan. He is 73 years of age; he's been held in prison
now for more than 3 years. The former players who signed the letter many of
them played against Imran and he's held in the highest regard as a former
player and one of the greatest players that Pakistan has produced. There is an
increasing sense of urgency around his health and we want to make sure that he
gets the proper and requisite medical care"
Kapil Dev said, "would like to support my friend,
against whom we played and admired his cricketing skills. We don’t know the law
of the country; that’s fine. But humanity and simple facilities should be given
to a prisoner, whoever he may be. And he was a former prime minister of the
country and a top cricketer of the world. We want that he should get the best
treatment; that’s what we are asking for. We are not asking for anything else,
we are not asking for any replies."
The former captains are not asking Pakistan to abandon its
courts or confer political immunity upon Imran. They are asking the state to
demonstrate that law and humanity can coexist.
The Three Requests
The appeal sets out three measured and practical requests.
First, the medical board directed by Pakistan’s Supreme
Court—including Imran’s personal physicians—should be allowed to complete a
full and independent assessment of his health, particularly the reported loss
of vision in his right eye.
Second, the weekly family visits restored by the Court
should take place consistently, without administrative interruption or
unexplained delay.
Third, whatever treatment the independent assessment recommends should be provided promptly.
These are not extravagant political demands. They do not
require an opinion on the charges, convictions or controversies surrounding
Imran. They concern compliance with a judicially ordered medical process and
the basic treatment of an elderly prisoner.
On August 18, 2026, Pakistan’s Supreme Court directed that
Imran be taken to Shifa International Hospital and examined by a medical board
that would include his personal physician. The Court also permitted weekly
family visits and calls with his sons. Subsequent controversy arose when he was
instead taken briefly to the state-run Pakistan Institute of Medical Sciences,
examined and returned to prison. PTI responded by seeking contempt proceedings,
while the government cited security considerations and rejected allegations of
neglect.
Fairness requires acknowledging both sides. Imran’s family,
party and lawyers allege inadequate care, isolation and obstruction of access.
The Pakistani government denies mistreatment, says he has undergone numerous
medical examinations, and maintains that he receives appropriate facilities and
contact with visitors.
Precisely because these claims conflict, an independent
medical assessment is essential. It would replace speculation with evidence and
political accusation with clinical judgment.
The Silence Within Pakistan Cricket
Not one of the 21 listed signatories is Pakistani.
For an admirer of Imran Khan, that absence is painful. He
helped identify, develop and inspire generations of Pakistani players. It is
natural to wonder why none of those beneficiaries publicly joined the appeal.
But silence must be interpreted carefully. Foreign retired
cricketers can speak from a distance and with relative security. Pakistani
players, especially those connected to national institutions or living inside
the country, operate within a far more sensitive political environment. Their
absence from a public letter does not necessarily prove an absence of gratitude
or concern.
Reports on social media and some sports outlets suggest that
Javed Miandad intends to seek Supreme Court permission to meet his former
teammate and captain. At the time of writing, however, this has not been firmly
confirmed through a major primary or independent news source. It should
therefore be described as a reported intention, not an established legal
action.
If such a meeting occurs, its symbolism will be profound. Imran and Miandad were not always easy companions; both possessed immense pride and forceful personalities. Yet together they formed part of Pakistan’s greatest cricketing story. A visit in prison would remind us that the bonds forged under pressure can outlast disagreement.
Why Humanity Is Necessary
Politics is cruel because it encourages societies to see
people as positions rather than human beings. A leader becomes an ally or
enemy, patriot or traitor, victor or prisoner. Complexity disappears.
But political power always retains a choice.
It may use vulnerability to humiliate an opponent, or it may
exercise restraint. It may treat compassion as weakness, or understand it as
evidence of confidence. It may allow political disagreement to drift toward
tragedy, or draw a humane boundary that even conflict must not cross.
Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and Field Marshal Asim Munir
occupy positions of enormous responsibility at a difficult moment in Pakistan’s
history. Their supporters credit the present leadership with efforts to restore
economic stability, strengthen regional influence and improve the country’s
strategic standing. Their critics will naturally offer a different assessment.
But whatever judgment history eventually passes on their
political performance, an act of humanity toward Imran Khan would strengthen
rather than diminish them.
Ensuring independent medical treatment would not mean
accepting Imran’s political narrative. Honouring family visits would not erase
the cases against him. Following the Supreme Court’s directions would not
transfer authority from the state to the prisoner.
It would demonstrate that Pakistan’s institutions are secure
enough to treat even their most powerful opponent with dignity.
Magnanimity is not surrender. It is power disciplined by
conscience.
For Prime Minister Sharif, humane treatment would display
political maturity. For Field Marshal Munir, it would help demonstrate that
state authority need not be sustained through the personal suffering of a
national icon. For Pakistan, it would offer an opportunity to show the world
that intense political conflict does not extinguish respect for law, health and
human life.
Cruelty may silence a person temporarily, but it rarely
settles history. More often, it enlarges the figure it seeks to diminish.
More Than Cricket, More Than Politics
Imran Khan is more than a cricketer because he transformed
victory into service.
He is more than a politician because his influence began long before he entered office and will survive long after present political battles have ended.
He is a sporting hero who taught a defeated team to imagine
itself as champion; a philanthropist who turned his mother’s suffering into
treatment for countless families; a political leader who broke through a system
that once dismissed him; and now a prisoner whose condition has brought former
rivals together across borders.
His failures must remain part of the record. His political
judgment was not always sound. His methods could be confrontational, his
promises larger than his administrative capacity, and some of his decisions
contributed to the isolation that preceded his fall.
But a human being is not the sum of his mistakes. Nor does
political defeat cancel national service.
For those of us whom Imran inspired personally, his present
suffering is not an abstract news story. We remember the raised ball, the
sweeping run-up, the authority at the crease and the captain in Melbourne
telling his country that the impossible remained possible. We remember that his
example helped us move forward when our own circumstances urged us to stop.
The world’s former captains have now returned that loyalty
in the language they understand best: fair play.
Their appeal does not ask Pakistan to rewrite its law. It
asks Pakistan to remember its humanity. It asks that an independent medical
process be completed, that family access be honoured and that necessary
treatment not be delayed.
One need not support Imran Khan politically to recognize the
justice of those requests. One needs only to accept that no political struggle
should require preventable suffering as proof of victory.
Politics may be cruel, but it is practised by human
beings—and human beings can choose another path.
Pakistan has that choice today. It can permit the story of
its greatest cricketing son to descend into an avoidable tragedy, or it can
respond with the dignity appropriate to a confident state.
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