By: Engineer Bakht Said Yousafzai
When Khawaja Asif landed in the United States, his face carried the confidence of a man expecting applause. For him, this trip was not just another official engagement—it was a chance to shine on the international stage. And when renowned journalist Mehdi Hasan invited him for an interview, Asif felt as though he was about to step into the global spotlight as a statesman, much like his political rival Imran Khan had once done.
But reality struck swiftly. What Asif thought would be an opportunity to project strength turned into a relentless trial. Mehdi Hasan, known for his sharp questioning style, wasted no time exposing the cracks in the minister’s narrative.
After a few light exchanges, Hasan suddenly fired the first shot:
“Mr. Asif, you are accused of stealing the public’s mandate in the February 8 elections. Your government stands on a stolen mandate, engineered through Form-47. How do you justify this?”
The minister’s smile instantly vanished. His face fell, and he stared at the anchor with unease, like a student caught off guard by an impossible exam question. Attempting to brush it off as an “allegation,” Asif stammered, only for Hasan to play a video clip where Asif himself admitted that, based on Form-45, he had already conceded defeat.
The contradiction was glaring. And Hasan didn’t stop there.
Moving quickly, he raised the next charge: “Imran Khan has been jailed unlawfully. Isn’t this political victimization?”
Predictably, Asif repeated the usual government line, branding Khan as corrupt. But Hasan snapped back:
“Why was there no corruption scandal against him during his three-and-a-half years in office? In fact, most scandals erupted under your government. Why should people believe Imran Khan is corrupt and not the opposite?”
Asif’s voice faltered. He invoked the courts, but Hasan pressed harder:
“Which courts? The same courts brought under control through the 26th constitutional amendment? The same judiciary whose own judges admitted interference in their open letters?”
The minister’s discomfort grew obvious. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He kept sipping water, clearing his throat, and shifting in his seat.
Hasan then struck at another nerve: “PTI was deliberately pushed out of the electoral race while PML-N and PPP were given a free pass. Could this have happened without the collusion of state institutions?”
Asif shifted blame to the Supreme Court. But Hasan immediately countered:
“If intra-party elections were the reason for PTI’s exclusion, why weren’t PML-N or PPP’s intra-party elections scrutinized? Doesn’t this look like a pre-planned game?”
At this point, Asif’s fingers nervously tapped the table. His words became muddled, his gaze lowered, and his body language betrayed the weight of dishonesty.
Hasan then pivoted to human rights: “Women are imprisoned, thousands of PTI workers are in jail without trial, and journalists are being abducted. Isn’t your government responsible for this crackdown?”
Asif clung to the May 9 narrative. But Hasan retorted:
“Where are the investigations? If no inquiry has been completed, on what basis were thousands jailed?”
When Asif insisted arrests were based on evidence, Hasan struck back with sarcasm:
“So Pakistan’s police gathered thousands of pieces of evidence in just two days and carried out mass raids on 15,000 homes? That would be the fastest investigation in world history!”
The minister’s eyes revealed growing panic. His tongue slipped; his voice cracked.
Then came the constitutional amendment question: “The 26th Amendment is called one of the darkest chapters in Pakistan’s history. It was used to subdue the judiciary. Isn’t that true?”
Asif argued it was passed by parliament. Hasan shot back:
“Wasn’t it passed under duress? Senators were abducted, threatened, and forced to vote. Even BNP’s senators publicly confessed they were coerced. How is that democratic?”
By now, Asif’s condition resembled that of a defendant caught lying in court, confronted with evidence at every turn. Each time he tried to divert the conversation, Hasan dragged him back to the burning questions.
As the interview neared its end, the minister was visibly broken. His voice grew hoarse, his words disjointed. All he could repeat was, “That is for the courts to decide.” But the phrase sounded less like an argument and more like a cry of helplessness.
On the other side sat Mehdi Hasan, calm and composed, a faint victorious smile on his face—like a hunter who knows his prey is trapped with no escape.
This was not merely an interview; it was a public dismantling. For Asif, it became a nightmare. For the government he represents, it raised serious questions about legitimacy, justice, and accountability.
Above all, the exchange underscored one undeniable truth: on the world stage, only those armed with honesty and public trust can withstand the fire of real journalism. Otherwise, the heat of tough questions is enough to melt even the most seasoned politician.
