On November 27, 2025, the air outside Rawalpindi’s Adiala Jail was thick with uncertainty—and not just because of the thousands of Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) supporters gathered along its walls. The crowd, restless and anxious, had not heard from imprisoned former Prime Minister Imran Khan in four weeks. In a country where rumor often runs ahead of fact, whispers of Khan’s death, allegedly at the hands of the state, had exploded across social media, stoking fears and outrage among his followers and the broader Pashtun (Pathan) community. Despite official denials, the silence from authorities was deafening.
According to India Today, the roots of this crisis stretch far deeper than the current moment. At its core lies a personal and institutional feud between Khan—a charismatic Pathan and former cricket star turned opposition leader—and Pakistan’s powerful Army Chief, General Asim Munir. The two men’s rivalry is widely known to be personal; Munir was removed as chief of Pakistan’s notorious spy agency, the ISI, by Khan himself in 2019, reportedly over corruption investigations involving Khan’s wife, Bushra Bibi. Yet, as India Today points out, the animosity has grown into something more combustible, touching on Pakistan’s oldest fault lines: ethnic resentment and the question of who truly holds power.
While Munir commands the loyalty of the army and, since the 27th Constitutional Amendment earlier this month, enjoys lifetime immunity and consolidated control over the military, his regime appears deeply unsettled by Khan’s enduring influence. After all, this is a country where the army has long been dominated by Punjabis, and where Pathans like Khan have often found themselves marginalized—economically, politically, and culturally. The PTI’s statement on November 20, after 17 days without contact with their leader, captured this sense of siege: “Asim Munir’s fear of Imran Khan is so deep that he resorts to abduction, torture, and jailing anyone who dares to stand with Imran Khan. A powerless, insecure dictator masquerading as a general cannot silence a nation awakened by truth.”
For many, Khan has become a symbol of Pathan defiance against Punjabi dominance. The grievances are not new. As India Today recounts, from the 1970s Pashtun nationalist movements to more recent clashes over resources in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KP), Pathans have challenged what they see as systematic exclusion from Pakistan’s centers of power. The sense of injustice has only grown with the federal government’s tight control over funds, leaving KP underdeveloped and fueling accusations of ethnic bias. “The country’s most powerful man is recasting a domestic political crisis as an ethnic and security one, dividing Pakistanis to justify further militarisation of national life,” wrote Barrister Shahzad Akbar, a Pakistani politician and lawyer, in GlobalVillageSpace.
These tensions have spilled beyond Pakistan’s borders. Millions of Afghan refugees, mostly Pashtun, have sought shelter in Pakistan since the Soviet invasion of the 1980s. Recent Pakistani airstrikes in Kabul and eastern Afghanistan, which killed civilians including 10 in Khost and Paktika just days before the November 27 protests, have only deepened Pashtun outrage. Kabul has accused Islamabad of aggression, while Pashtuns across the region decry what they see as Punjabi-led oppression. In this context, Khan’s Pashtun roots amplify his appeal in KP—the only province where PTI still holds power, despite a relentless crackdown on its leaders and supporters.
Amid this backdrop, the rumors of Khan’s death took on an almost existential weight. According to The Indian Express, one viral post claimed Khan had died in custody and that his body had been removed from Adiala Jail. The government’s response was swift but, to many, unconvincing. Jail authorities insisted that Khan was in “completely good health inside Adiala Jail,” dismissing the rumors as “politically motivated and entirely baseless.” The statement, issued in Lahore, added, “The Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) leadership has been informed regarding Imran Khan’s health. All necessary care is being provided to the PTI chief.”
Still, the secrecy surrounding Khan’s confinement—he has been denied visits from family, party leaders, and lawyers for over 840 days since his arrest in August 2023—has only fueled suspicion. PTI argues that such isolation encourages misinformation and unrest. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa’s Chief Minister Sohail Afridi, for example, has attempted to meet Khan seven times without success. Meanwhile, Khan’s three sisters—Noreen Niazi, Aleema Khan, and Dr. Uzma Khan—have publicly demanded an impartial investigation into what they called a “brutal” police assault on them and other PTI supporters outside the prison the week prior.
The jail itself is under the administrative control of Punjab’s Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz, daughter of former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif, though she has stated she has no authority over Khan’s meetings. Khan, on the other hand, claims that an army colonel is actually in charge of Adiala Jail matters—a telling assertion about where real power lies.
In the eyes of Khan’s supporters, the regime’s refusal to allow even a fleeting public appearance is a testament to his enduring popularity and the establishment’s fear. As Indian filmmaker Abhilash Badli remarked, “Why the secrecy? Because the regime led by Asim Munir and Shehbaz Sharif fears even a 30-second clip of Imran Khan will ignite the streets. His support base is massive, and the establishment knows it. When you’re scared of showing a man’s face, it means something is very wrong.”
Analysts note that rumors about Khan’s health or death tend to spike during periods of political uncertainty. The PTI, which has been barred from contesting elections and has faced an aggressive state crackdown, remains relevant largely because of Khan’s enduring popularity. As India Today observes, “Khan’s Pashtun roots amplify his appeal among a community long weary of marginalisation. Khan has become, for Munir, the bone stuck in the throat.”
The stakes are high. “Reports surface of Imran Khan’s killing. If true, the Pashtoon belt could see a chain reaction. Blood feud looms. His martyrdom would ignite fury from Khyber to Kandahar. Pakistan Army’s Asim Munir can’t contain that. And if Imran is alive, this increases pressure for his well-being,” wrote Delhi-based journalist Ninad Sheth on X. For now, authorities have appealed for restraint and responsible reporting, warning that the deliberate spread of false information about a high-profile detainee risks inciting unrest. Yet, as long as Khan remains isolated and the government remains tight-lipped, the speculation—and the political volatility—are unlikely to disappear.
In the end, the drama at Adiala Jail is about much more than one man’s fate. It is a reflection of Pakistan’s deepest divisions—between ethnic groups, between civilian and military power, between secrecy and accountability. Whether or not Khan is released, or even heard from, the questions swirling around his imprisonment will continue to haunt the country’s political future.
