Pranking a nation isn’t wise

There are many ways to confuse a nation. You can give contradictory statements, hold three press conferences saying three different things, or announce that everything is perfectly normal while the entire country is wondering why nothing looks normal. Or, if you are particularly creative, you can take a Supreme Court order directing a prisoner to one hospital and take him to another. Welcome to Pakistan, where even a hospital transfer can become a constitutional thriller.

The Supreme Court ordered that Imran Khan, the incarcerated former prime minister, be shifted from Adiala Jail to Shifa International Hospital for medical examination and treatment. The order was specific about the medical arrangements, including a multidisciplinary medical board and the involvement of his personal physician and his sister, Dr Uzma. The Court also emphasised the State’s obligation to safeguard the life, health, dignity and security of a person in custody and directed compliance with its order in letter and spirit.

One might reasonably assume that the next scene would be rather straightforward. The ambulance would arrive, the prisoner would leave the jail, the ambulance would reach Shifa, doctors would examine the patient, the court order would be fulfilled, and the nation would go home. But this is Pakistan. Here, apparently, even an ambulance needs constitutional interpretation.

Instead of Shifa International, Imran Khan was taken to PIMS. The government says the change was made because of security considerations and insists that he was examined by specialists, including doctors associated with Shifa. After a brief medical examination, he was returned to Adiala Jail. And suddenly the nation was presented with a fascinating new concept in constitutional law: the destination may be different, but apparently the spirit is the same.

Imagine ordering a prisoner to be taken to Lahore and the authorities taking him to Peshawar, then announcing, “Don’t worry. Both cities have hospitals.” This is not disobedience, apparently. This is administrative creativity. The Supreme Court says Shifa. The government says PIMS. The nation says, “Excuse me, did we miss a constitutional amendment?”

The government’s explanation is security. Of course, security is a serious matter. Nobody sensible would argue otherwise. A former prime minister with millions of supporters cannot simply be moved around without adequate security arrangements. But there is a small constitutional inconvenience here: the Supreme Court itself had already directed the government to make adequate security arrangements for Khan’s stay at Shifa.

So the obvious question is, if security was the problem, why was the solution not presented to the very court that had issued the order? Why not go back and say, “Your Lordships, we have a security problem. Kindly permit PIMS instead.” That would have been boring. And boring, apparently, is not Pakistan’s preferred method of governance. Instead, the country got a plot twist.

The government challenged the Supreme Court’s direction, while its review petition reportedly faced procedural objections. Then Khan was taken to PIMS instead of the hospital specifically named in the Court’s order. It is almost as if the Constitution was handed a boarding pass for Shifa and somehow ended up at PIMS. Perhaps the poor Constitution missed its flight.

Then came the most remarkable part. The government said Imran Khan was medically fit after the examination and returned him to jail. Wonderful. A man whose health concerns had prompted the Supreme Court to intervene was taken for a medical examination, declared fit and returned to prison within hours. What a remarkably efficient healthcare system Pakistan has suddenly discovered. You enter as a prisoner, you are examined by specialists, you are declared fit, and you leave. No waiting room, no follow-up appointment, no parking problem , just straight back to jail. If only the rest of Pakistan’s healthcare system worked at this speed.

Of course, satire aside, the matter is not funny. That is precisely why it is funny. Because beneath the absurdity lies a very serious constitutional question. The Supreme Court did not merely say, “Take Imran Khan somewhere and let a doctor look at him.” It laid down specific arrangements concerning the hospital, the medical board, the involvement of his personal physician and his sister, and the treatment of a person in state custody. The Court recognised that imprisonment does not extinguish a prisoner’s entitlement to humane treatment and necessary medical care.

So when a government changes the practical implementation of a specific judicial direction, the public is entitled to ask whether this is compliance or reinterpretation. And there is a very thin line between the two.

A government that disagrees with a judicial order has legal remedies. It can appeal. It can seek review. It can request modification. It can explain security concerns. What it should not casually establish is a new constitutional principle, “Yes, Your Lordships, we received your order. We have made some adjustments.” Because once that principle becomes normal, it will not remain confined to Imran Khan.

Today it is a former prime minister. Tomorrow it could be an opposition leader. The day after tomorrow, it could be an ordinary citizen. And then someone will discover that the court ordered one thing, but the administration considered another thing more convenient. That is where the real danger begins.

The issue, therefore, is bigger than Imran Khan. It is bigger than PTI. It is even bigger than the government of the day. It concerns whether judicial orders are binding instructions or merely suggestions sent to the executive branch for consideration.

Because if a court says “Shifa” and the executive says “PIMS,” the citizen naturally wonders, who actually decides? The judges? The administration? The security establishment? Or whoever has the microphone that afternoon?

There is another uncomfortable question. Does Imran Khan’s life matter to the state? The official answer is obviously yes. The government says he is receiving medical care, has been examined repeatedly and is being treated according to the rules applicable to prisoners. It has rejected allegations of medical neglect and mistreatment, then why Imran khan stated many times to his sister Dr Uzma Khan that “They are torturing me severely and want to kill me like Mursi of Egypt”? And if the government persistently refuses then Fine. Then prove it. Not through television statements. Not through political accusations. Not through “trust us.” Through transparent medical records, independent examination, proper judicial oversight and compliance with the court’s directions. If he is healthy, let an independent medical process establish it. If he needs treatment, let him receive it. If security requires a different arrangement, take that argument to the court. There is nothing complicated about this.

Unless, of course, the objective is not merely to treat a prisoner but to control the political optics surrounding him.

And this is where the entire episode becomes almost Shakespearean. The government does not want Khan appearing outside prison. His supporters want evidence that he is alive, healthy and being properly treated. His family wants access. His doctors want access. The court wants compliance. The government wants security. And the nation wants one extremely simple thing: the truth.

Not another prank.

Because pranking your political opponent is one thing. Pranking your own nation is another. And pranking the Supreme Court is perhaps the most expensive joke a government can tell. The punchline may eventually be delivered not in a press conference, but in a constitutional judgment.

For now, Pakistan is left watching an extraordinary spectacle. A Supreme Court order travelled toward Shifa. The prisoner travelled toward PIMS. The government travelled toward a security explanation. The opposition travelled toward accusations of defiance. And the truth? The truth is still somewhere in the ambulance. Perhaps it took a wrong turn. In Pakistan, apparently, even constitutional orders need GPS.

And perhaps the most important question is not whether Imran Khan was taken to Shifa or PIMS. It is whether the State understands that when a human being is in its custody, his life is not a political bargaining chip. A prisoner can lose his freedom. He cannot be allowed to lose his humanity and fundamental human rights.

And a government can disagree with a court. It cannot turn a binding order into a suggestion simply because the suggestion is inconvenient.

Otherwise, the joke is no longer on Imran Khan.

The joke is on the Constitution.

And ultimately, on all of us. Stop Pranking on us.