Asif Mahmood

Pakistan Tehreek e Insaf is hailing Mahmood Achakzai’s appointment as Leader of the Opposition as a political win. But beneath the celebratory noise lies an uncomfortable possibility: this may not be PTI’s victory at all. It may, in fact, be the government’s.

The real issue is not Achakzai’s personality or past politics. It is PTI’s confusion about what it wants from him. Is he expected to negotiate, or to confront? To open doors, or to kick them down?

If PTI hopes Achakzai will use his seniority to lower political temperatures, revive dialogue, and create space for Imran Khan’s release, then the question practically asks itself: why could none of PTI’s own sixty plus MNAs be trusted with this task? In a 342 member house, handing the opposition’s most powerful constitutional office to the head of a single seat party is less a strategy than a confession. A confession that PTI does not trust its own parliamentary bench.

After more than two decades of struggle, are PTI’s elected representatives merely decorative? Are they trophies to be displayed, not tools to be used? The message this decision sends is brutal: when it comes to real political engagement, PTI believes none of its own people are up to the job.

What makes this even more ironic is that PTI does have figures who command respect across party lines. Leaders who know how to talk without posturing, who understand negotiation is not betrayal. But PTI has made an art form out of humiliating its own moderates. Any voice of reason is instantly declared suspect. Social media lynch mobs are unleashed. Loyalty tests replace political sense. The climate is so unforgiving that even Shah Mahmood Qureshi felt compelled to publicly justify meeting a party colleague in jail, as if basic human decency required explanation.

After silencing its own grown ups, PTI has now outsourced political maturity. That is not clever politics. It is political bankruptcy.

If, however, PTI expects Achakzai to lead a high voltage resistance campaign inside parliament, the choice is no less puzzling. Who decided that PTI’s own lawmakers are incapable of fighting this battle? Why was this role not entrusted to its parliamentary leadership? What makes Achakzai a singular warrior of resistance? What citadel is he expected to conquer that Omar Ayub’s thunderous speeches could not?

This decision appears driven not by strategy but by reflex. Achakzai criticizes the establishment, therefore he must be the right choice. It is the politics of impulse, not planning. Pakistan has seen this movie before: symbolism mistaken for strength, noise confused with impact, and rebellion romanticized at the expense of results.

There is another, more practical concern. Achakzai may hold the title, but will he hold real authority? What happens when his decisions clash with PTI’s moods? This is a party that turns on its own senior leaders overnight, rebranding allies as traitors without blinking. Achakzai himself has complained about this culture. In such an environment, how long will his position remain dignified, let alone effective?

If Achakzai succeeds in breaking deadlocks, facilitating stalled constitutional appointments, and restoring some basic parliamentary functionality, it will be the government that benefits most. And it will claim the credit. PTI, meanwhile, may soon grow restless, accusing him of compromise, and pulling the ladder away once his usefulness expires.

PTI’s political behavior follows a familiar pattern. Appointments are hailed as masterstrokes, removals justified as moral purges. Heroes become villains overnight. Very few emerge with their reputations intact. This is not a party known for protecting its own.

Now Mahmood Achakzai has entered this arena.