ISLAMABAD, THE CITY BUILT to whisper authority, is now screaming in agony. Its manicured streets have turned into battlegrounds, its air thick with the stench of burning ambitions, tear gas, and the bitter aftertaste of failure. The capital is crumbling, and the very people charged with protecting its sanctity are the ones bringing it to its knees. It’s a spectacle of staggering dysfunction, a theater of betrayal. And no, this isn’t just about Imran Khan and his PTI fanatics—though their fingerprints are smeared all over this mess. The PML-N, Mohsin Naqvi, and a long line of spineless actors have played their parts too, each contributing to the unraveling of a state already hanging by a thread.
Let’s get one thing straight: PTI is the pyromaniac here, striking matches and tossing them into the tinderbox of Pakistan’s collective psyche. Their leader, Imran Khan, imprisoned but still the puppet master, has orchestrated chaos with chilling efficiency. He has fed his supporters a steady diet of conspiracy theories and righteous indignation, whipping them into a frenzy that now manifests as riots, violence, and outright rebellion. The man has managed to turn his legal reckoning into a Shakespearean tragedy, casting himself as the martyred hero, his followers as an unthinking chorus of destruction. And destroy they have—with a level of zeal that would almost be admirable if it weren’t so utterly terrifying.
PTI has turned opposition into sabotage; the PML-N has turned governance into theory; and Mohsin Naqvi has turned inaction into art.
But let’s not pretend this is all about PTI. The PML-N, the ruling party, has proven itself to be an embarrassment of historic proportions. May 9 should have been their defining moment—the day they exposed PTI’s thuggery, rallied the nation around the rule of law, and cemented their legitimacy. Instead, they choked. They let PTI’s version of events take root, they failed to counter the propaganda, and they allowed the narrative to spiral out of control. If you’re wondering why Islamabad is burning today, look no further than the PML-N’s deafening silence and utter lack of vision.
In the words of Justice Qazi Faez Isa, “If you can’t stand the heat of the kitchen, you should not be in the kitchen.” The PML-N can’t even find the bloody kitchen.
In the words of Justice Qazi Faez Isa, “If you can’t stand the heat of the kitchen, you should not be in the kitchen.” The PML-N can’t even find the bloody kitchen. They’ve abdicated their responsibility to lead, hoping that PTI will self-destruct without realizing that they’re taking the whole damn country down with them. It’s cowardice on a scale so grand it almost feels deliberate, as if they’re more comfortable watching the state collapse than doing anything meaningful to stop it.
And then there’s Mohsin Naqvi, the caretaker chief minister of Punjab, whose contribution to this disaster has been a masterclass in inertia. The man is a ghost, a whisper of authority in a cacophony of chaos. Where is he as protesters turn the streets of Punjab into war zones? Where is the decisive action, the leadership, the sense of urgency? Nowhere. Naqvi’s caretaking is the political equivalent of watching a house burn while sipping tea and muttering about the weather. If he’s the best Punjab could offer in a crisis, then God help us all.
Imran Khan has turned his legal reckoning into a Shakespearean tragedy, casting himself as the martyred hero and his followers as an unthinking chorus of destruction.
Meanwhile, the real victims of this madness—the police—are being slaughtered in service of a state that doesn’t care about them. These officers, armed with nothing but meager paychecks and a misplaced sense of duty, have been thrown into the lion’s den, left to face mobs armed with fury and fueled by propaganda. They’ve been beaten, killed, and forgotten, their sacrifices barely acknowledged by the political class that claims to value their service. Their blood stains the streets of Islamabad, a silent rebuke to every politician who has failed to do their job.
And what of the city itself? Islamabad is under siege—not by a foreign invader, but by its own people. Roads are blocked, businesses shuttered, schools closed. The airwaves are filled with lies, the streets with despair. It’s a city being held hostage by the very leaders sworn to protect it. And make no mistake, this chaos isn’t just a reflection of Islamabad’s failures; it’s a reflection of Pakistan’s.
Islamabad isn’t under siege by a foreign invader, but by its own people—cheered on by leaders who treat governance like a cruel joke.
PTI has turned opposition into sabotage, a grotesque performance art that sacrifices stability at the altar of ego. The PML-N has turned governance into an abstract concept, a theory they’ve never bothered to put into practice. Mohsin Naqvi has turned caretaking into a cruel joke, a reminder that sometimes doing nothing is the most dangerous thing of all. And the people—the ordinary citizens, the police officers, the shopkeepers—are the collateral damage, left to pick up the pieces of a nation that seems intent on tearing itself apart.
Who’s to blame for the chaos in Islamabad? Everyone, and no one. This is what happens when a nation’s political class collectively abandons its responsibilities, when leadership becomes a game of blame-shifting and excuse-making, when power is valued more than people. PTI’s recklessness, PML-N’s incompetence, Naqvi’s apathy—it’s all part of the same tragic script.
The real victims of this madness—the police—are being slaughtered in service of a state that doesn’t care about them.
Islamabad is burning, and Pakistan is watching. But the saddest part of all? We’ve seen this movie before, and we already know how it ends. Nothing will change. Nothing will improve. The same actors will play the same roles, the same chaos will unfold, and the same questions will be asked. Who’s to blame?
Everyone. Always, everyone. ∎