The Supreme Court of Pakistan’s decision to grant bail to former prime minister Imran Khan in eight cases linked to the May 2023 riots has raised as many questions as it has answered. While the ruling provides immediate relief to Khan, it also underscores the contradictions at the heart of Pakistan’s justice system, where the law is often applied unevenly and public trust remains fragile.
The May 9 riots were a defining moment in Pakistan’s recent political history. The storming of state buildings and military installations by Khan’s supporters after his arrest was not only an eruption of anger but also a direct challenge to entrenched authority. The state responded swiftly and harshly: nearly 2,000 arrests, dozens of trials, and lengthy sentences for many ordinary workers. Eight people lost their lives in the violence. Khan, meanwhile, was confronted with a barrage of cases, ranging from sedition to corruption.
It is here that the paradox becomes evident. Thousands of PTI workers were punished with severity, yet the figure depicted as the chief instigator now walks free on bail. If the law is unforgiving for the rank and file, why does it appear more accommodating for the leader? If the state’s allegations of Khan’s orchestration are credible, consistency would require equal firmness against him. If, on the other hand, the evidence is weak enough to justify bail, then the punishment of his supporters becomes all the more difficult to defend. Either way, the credibility of the judicial process is placed in doubt.
This inconsistency is symptomatic of a broader malaise. For decades, accountability in Pakistan has rarely been impartial. Laws intended to uphold fairness have too often been deployed as political tools. Allies of power are seldom subjected to the same scrutiny that opposition figures routinely face. The Al-Qadir Trust case, in which Khan and his wife were handed long sentences earlier this year, is only the latest example of how corruption allegations are intertwined with political rivalries and shifting alliances.
The Supreme Court’s ruling on bail, in principle, upholds a core legal safeguard: that pre-trial detention should not serve as punishment. Bail does not clear Khan of charges; it simply affirms that no one should be penalised without due process. Yet in Pakistan’s charged political climate, even such relief is read through the lens of power. For some, the Court has exercised judicial independence. For others, it has sought to prevent Khan’s transformation into a political martyr.
Khan’s personal journey carries its own irony. Once supported by the establishment and an advocate of accountability politics, he now confronts the same system he previously used against rivals. But this is not just his story — it is Pakistan’s. A justice system perceived as selective cannot command public confidence. When ordinary citizens are punished swiftly while elites are treated with caution, the principle of equal justice before the law is compromised.
The judiciary now faces a critical test. If Khan is guilty, the state must prove it through a transparent and timely trial. If he is innocent, he must be acquitted without delay. Prolonged incarceration, shifting charges, and selective prosecutions cannot substitute for genuine justice. The integrity of both the courts and the political system depends on fairness applied without fear or favour.
The Supreme Court’s ruling should not be mistaken for closure. It is, rather, an inflection point. It exposes the contradictions of a legal order that often punishes the powerless more harshly than the powerful. Whether this marks a step toward greater judicial independence or simply another episode in Pakistan’s long history of managed justice will become clear in the months ahead, particularly with the unresolved Al-Qadir Trust case.
For now, Khan has been granted temporary reprieve. But the larger question remains: can Pakistan move toward a legal order where justice is genuinely blind, or will it continue to function as an instrument of selective leniency?
