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Why a group of captains came together to write a letter on behalf of Imran Khan?
In the quietude of a tempestuous night, the lighthouse keeper does not merely watch the waves; he ensures the beacon remains a constant for the weary traveller, a singular point of hope against the encroaching dark. These guardians understand that their vigil is not just a duty to the present but a commitment to a tradition of safety that spans generations.
It is in this same spirit of guardianship that I found myself compelled to act. When the news reached me of the dire circumstances surrounding my old friend and rival Imran Khan, I realised that a single lamp in the wilderness would not suffice. To pierce the gathering gloom surrounding one of cricket's greatest luminaries, I knew I had to assemble a chorus of voices, a collective of captains whose shared history could not be ignored amid the winds of political indifference.
I have known Imran for many decades, and our relationship has always been defined by a deep, mutual respect that goes beyond the boundary rope. We were competitors first, locked in the theatre of Test cricket, where character is forged in the crucible of fast bowling and mental endurance. I remember him as a man of immense charisma and an even greater will. He was a leader who did not merely command his team; he inspired a nation. When he led Pakistan to that historic World Cup victory in 1992, he did so with a resilience that became the hallmark of his life. He took that trophy on a tour of his country, not for self-glorification, but to show his people that they were capable of greatness. The stories he heard from farmers and common folk during that journey touched his heart and sowed the seeds of his political destiny.
Our paths continued to cross long after the stumps were drawn on our playing days. In 2004, while I was coaching at the National Cricket Academy in Lahore, we shared a dinner that I remember vividly. I was, I must admit, somewhat incredulous at his decision to enter the fray of Pakistani politics. I asked him why he would willingly subject himself to such a volatile arena. His answer was simple yet profound: he wanted his country to be the country it could be. He spoke then of life and politics moving in seven-year cycles. He told me that if he missed one cycle, he would simply wait for the next, believing it would take three such rotations for him to lead his party to power. His prescience was remarkable, as he was eventually swept into the highest office of his land on more or less that very timeline.
My last meeting with him was in February 2020, just before the world changed. He was the prime minister then, and I was in Pakistan on business. Along with Sir Vivian Richards and Shane Watson, I visited him in his office in Islamabad. We were scheduled for a brief 15-minute courtesy call, but Imran, ever the host, extended it to 45 minutes. His chief of staff was visibly agitated, entering the room five times to remind him of his next appointments, which we later learned were with senior American and Saudi officials. Imran simply smiled and told us he had not had that much fun in that office since he took the job. Even then, he spoke of the extreme pressure he was under and the likelihood that things would heat up. He faced it all with the same stoicism he showed against a new ball on a green wicket, trusting in a higher protection and his own sense of destiny.
Today, that vibrant, charismatic leader is confined to a space that reports suggest resembles a death row cell. He has been in jail since 2023, facing an avalanche of 186 legal cases and a sentence that, for a man of his years, is effectively a life term. Most distressing are the reports concerning his health. We are told his vision is failing, and that the sight in his right eye is almost entirely gone. He is kept in solitary confinement, a condition that international human rights organisations have likened to torture. This is not treatment befitting a former national leader, nor is it the dignity owed a global sporting icon who has given so much to the world.
If we allow one of our own to be disappeared, we are failing in our duty to the soul of the game. We are allowing the fabric of our shared history to be unravelled by the hands of those who do not value the principles of sportsmanship
It was this gnawing sense of injustice that prompted me to reach out to my fellow captains. I realised that a one-off voice is often a drop in the ocean, destined to disappear overnight without leaving a ripple. To make an impact, I needed to harness the social capital of those who have led their nations on the cricket field. I contacted around 20 people, and while some felt the political connotations were too complex, 13 joined me with a staggering alacrity. Within minutes of my message, names like Allan Border, Michael Atherton and Sir Clive Lloyd were added to the cause. The reactions from Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev were particularly poignant; despite the significant pressure they face in their country on matters to do with the neighbour, they did not hesitate for a second. They remembered their friend and their countless battles on the subcontinent, and they chose to stand by him.
This formidable group, representing a golden era of the sport, is not making a political statement. We are not interested in the nuances of policy or the merits of governance. We are making a human-rights statement based on the values of fair play and decency that the game of cricket taught us. We are calling upon the government of Pakistan to ensure that Imran receives immediate medical attention from specialists of his own choosing, that he is granted humane conditions, including visits from his family, and that he has fair and transparent access to legal processes. These are not radical demands; they are the basic requirements of a civilised society.
The game of cricket has always been a bridge between nations, a shared language that survives even when diplomatic ties are strained. The names on our appeal carry a magical aura and an authority that persists long after our physical prime has faded. We are the custodians of a legacy, much like the art historians who sought to protect masterpieces from the ravages of war. If we allow one of our own to be disappeared and treated with such callousness, we are failing in our duty to the soul of the game. We are allowing the fabric of our shared history to be unravelled by the hands of those who do not value the principles of sportsmanship.
I am heartened by the response our appeal has received. It has acted as a disruptor, shining a light back onto a situation that the world was perhaps beginning to accept as a permanent fixture of the news cycle. It has reminded people of who Imran Khan is: a man of genuine courage, who embarked on a political career with his eyes wide open, knowing full well the risks involved. He once told me that if his life was shortened because of his path, it was simply God's will. He has fought to the last ball, just as he taught his players to do.
As we all grow older, our memories of specific matches might become a bit misty, but the respect we hold for each other remains sharp and clear. We remember the contests, the stories, and the camaraderie that defined our lives. We cannot stay silent when a mate is being treated so poorly. We will continue to make noise and we will continue to bring focus to this unacceptable situation because cricket, in its truest form, is not just about runs and wickets. It is about the character of those who play it and the enduring respect that remains when the game is over.
We are the keepers of the long light, ensuring that the beacon of justice does not flicker out for a man who has given so much to the world stage. Imran Khan deserves the fair play he always championed. We hope that the principles of decency will prevail and that our collective voice will ensure he is not forgotten in the darkness of a solitary cell. The game deserves no less, and the future generations who look up to our legacy demand that we stand for what is right.
ESPNCRICINFO.COM
In the quietude of a tempestuous night, the lighthouse keeper does not merely watch the waves; he ensures the beacon remains a constant for the weary traveller, a singular point of hope against the encroaching dark. These guardians understand that their vigil is not just a duty to the present but a commitment to a tradition of safety that spans generations.
It is in this same spirit of guardianship that I found myself compelled to act. When the news reached me of the dire circumstances surrounding my old friend and rival Imran Khan, I realised that a single lamp in the wilderness would not suffice. To pierce the gathering gloom surrounding one of cricket's greatest luminaries, I knew I had to assemble a chorus of voices, a collective of captains whose shared history could not be ignored amid the winds of political indifference.
I have known Imran for many decades, and our relationship has always been defined by a deep, mutual respect that goes beyond the boundary rope. We were competitors first, locked in the theatre of Test cricket, where character is forged in the crucible of fast bowling and mental endurance. I remember him as a man of immense charisma and an even greater will. He was a leader who did not merely command his team; he inspired a nation. When he led Pakistan to that historic World Cup victory in 1992, he did so with a resilience that became the hallmark of his life. He took that trophy on a tour of his country, not for self-glorification, but to show his people that they were capable of greatness. The stories he heard from farmers and common folk during that journey touched his heart and sowed the seeds of his political destiny.
Our paths continued to cross long after the stumps were drawn on our playing days. In 2004, while I was coaching at the National Cricket Academy in Lahore, we shared a dinner that I remember vividly. I was, I must admit, somewhat incredulous at his decision to enter the fray of Pakistani politics. I asked him why he would willingly subject himself to such a volatile arena. His answer was simple yet profound: he wanted his country to be the country it could be. He spoke then of life and politics moving in seven-year cycles. He told me that if he missed one cycle, he would simply wait for the next, believing it would take three such rotations for him to lead his party to power. His prescience was remarkable, as he was eventually swept into the highest office of his land on more or less that very timeline.
My last meeting with him was in February 2020, just before the world changed. He was the prime minister then, and I was in Pakistan on business. Along with Sir Vivian Richards and Shane Watson, I visited him in his office in Islamabad. We were scheduled for a brief 15-minute courtesy call, but Imran, ever the host, extended it to 45 minutes. His chief of staff was visibly agitated, entering the room five times to remind him of his next appointments, which we later learned were with senior American and Saudi officials. Imran simply smiled and told us he had not had that much fun in that office since he took the job. Even then, he spoke of the extreme pressure he was under and the likelihood that things would heat up. He faced it all with the same stoicism he showed against a new ball on a green wicket, trusting in a higher protection and his own sense of destiny.
Today, that vibrant, charismatic leader is confined to a space that reports suggest resembles a death row cell. He has been in jail since 2023, facing an avalanche of 186 legal cases and a sentence that, for a man of his years, is effectively a life term. Most distressing are the reports concerning his health. We are told his vision is failing, and that the sight in his right eye is almost entirely gone. He is kept in solitary confinement, a condition that international human rights organisations have likened to torture. This is not treatment befitting a former national leader, nor is it the dignity owed a global sporting icon who has given so much to the world.
If we allow one of our own to be disappeared, we are failing in our duty to the soul of the game. We are allowing the fabric of our shared history to be unravelled by the hands of those who do not value the principles of sportsmanship
It was this gnawing sense of injustice that prompted me to reach out to my fellow captains. I realised that a one-off voice is often a drop in the ocean, destined to disappear overnight without leaving a ripple. To make an impact, I needed to harness the social capital of those who have led their nations on the cricket field. I contacted around 20 people, and while some felt the political connotations were too complex, 13 joined me with a staggering alacrity. Within minutes of my message, names like Allan Border, Michael Atherton and Sir Clive Lloyd were added to the cause. The reactions from Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev were particularly poignant; despite the significant pressure they face in their country on matters to do with the neighbour, they did not hesitate for a second. They remembered their friend and their countless battles on the subcontinent, and they chose to stand by him.
This formidable group, representing a golden era of the sport, is not making a political statement. We are not interested in the nuances of policy or the merits of governance. We are making a human-rights statement based on the values of fair play and decency that the game of cricket taught us. We are calling upon the government of Pakistan to ensure that Imran receives immediate medical attention from specialists of his own choosing, that he is granted humane conditions, including visits from his family, and that he has fair and transparent access to legal processes. These are not radical demands; they are the basic requirements of a civilised society.
The game of cricket has always been a bridge between nations, a shared language that survives even when diplomatic ties are strained. The names on our appeal carry a magical aura and an authority that persists long after our physical prime has faded. We are the custodians of a legacy, much like the art historians who sought to protect masterpieces from the ravages of war. If we allow one of our own to be disappeared and treated with such callousness, we are failing in our duty to the soul of the game. We are allowing the fabric of our shared history to be unravelled by the hands of those who do not value the principles of sportsmanship.
I am heartened by the response our appeal has received. It has acted as a disruptor, shining a light back onto a situation that the world was perhaps beginning to accept as a permanent fixture of the news cycle. It has reminded people of who Imran Khan is: a man of genuine courage, who embarked on a political career with his eyes wide open, knowing full well the risks involved. He once told me that if his life was shortened because of his path, it was simply God's will. He has fought to the last ball, just as he taught his players to do.
As we all grow older, our memories of specific matches might become a bit misty, but the respect we hold for each other remains sharp and clear. We remember the contests, the stories, and the camaraderie that defined our lives. We cannot stay silent when a mate is being treated so poorly. We will continue to make noise and we will continue to bring focus to this unacceptable situation because cricket, in its truest form, is not just about runs and wickets. It is about the character of those who play it and the enduring respect that remains when the game is over.
We are the keepers of the long light, ensuring that the beacon of justice does not flicker out for a man who has given so much to the world stage. Imran Khan deserves the fair play he always championed. We hope that the principles of decency will prevail and that our collective voice will ensure he is not forgotten in the darkness of a solitary cell. The game deserves no less, and the future generations who look up to our legacy demand that we stand for what is right.
ESPNCRICINFO.COM
