Imran Khan: Still pushing the boundaries

Pakistan's former cricket captain turned politician believes his marginal party can win an election. But is talk of taking on the US with arms really the way forward? Cole Moreton meets... Imran Khan

(Abbie Trayler-Smith)

If Imran Khan were in the mountains now he would, he says, be ready for a fight. "If my women... my wife, my family, was hurt by a bomb, or killed, I would pick up a gun." To shoot Americans, he means. Or the soldiers of Pakistan, his homeland and the country he still aspires to lead. It is a remarkable thing for a man like him to say, and when he does so, his heavily lined face looks as grim as you might expect. "The American attitude is shocking," he says. "All they want is obedient slaves."

This is not some inflamed Taliban leader. Imran Khan is the former playboy of the Western world, one of the greatest cricketers of all time and one of the few whose fame has transcended the sport. Particularly when the handsome all-rounder gave up his much-chronicled single life to marry the equally attractive Jemima Goldsmith, daughter of the late Sir James and herself a favourite of the gossip mags. They are now divorced, but their two young sons, Sulaiman Isa and Kasim, are waiting somewhere across the Thames for Khan to rejoin them for the half-term holiday.

First he must talk politics, because that is what he does these days. Imran Khan is in London to drum up money for the party he founded, and to tell people about the crisis engulfing his country. "The army is fighting against its own people. This is civil war."

The rupee is plummeting. The government has been given $15bn to save it from financial meltdown, which cannot be allowed to happen to a nation that borders Afghanistan and has nuclear weapons. Meanwhile, America is pounding the tribal areas of the North West Frontier, which it believes is a nest of terrorists, and it is insisting the Pakistan army joins in, too. "Innocent people are dying," says Khan in a deep voice, that of someone who assumes he will be listened to. "There are no morals in this war."

Just as our conversation began he was told of reports that a US drone had fired missiles on a village, killing eight children. It was after that he said yes, if he were one of those tribal people he would feel justified in taking up arms.

Why? He tells me about a colleague in his constituency close to the frontier region, who was travelling with his family in two Jeeps. "Pakistani helicopter gunship comes on top [overhead]. The instructions are that the moment the helicopter gunship comes you stop your cars, get out and put your hands up. This is in your homeland, OK?" We are at the International Institute for Strategic Studies, a grand building on the Thames, but his mind is in the mountains. "So they all did that. They all stopped the cars, got out and put their hands up. The guy came back and bombed them. He showed me the pictures. His six-year-old son lost both his legs. His brother gets killed. His brother's son gets killed."

Khan, 56, has a powerful presence, even from the far side of a wide boardroom table. "This man says, 'I love Pakistan, but now where do I go for justice? Is there a court of law that will compensate me? No.' He said, 'I would pick up a gun now and fight. And who will I pick up a gun for? The Taliban. I don't like the Taliban. But I will join them, because that is how I will seek justice.' That is what is happening, every day."

The Pashtuns of the region were not previously supporters of the armed fight against the West, he says. They were religious fundamentalists with a feudal lifestyle, yes, but not members of al-Qa'ida and few had any argument beyond their own territory. Now these fierce natural warriors, who all carry guns and have revenge deep in their culture, have been provoked. A new kind of Taliban was created by US actions, he says. "By using these tactics all they are doing is alienating the people – and the Pashtuns are the ultimate warrior race. They have resisted every would-be conqueror."

Some are now being funded by "people who have an interest in this being a new Vietnam". The only answer is to talk to the tribal elders, says Khan, who is trying to make that happen. How effective he can be remains to be seen. Many in Pakistan see him as a sporting celebrity with politics as a hobby. And it's easy to say that you understand why a man would pick up a machine gun when you are not there, having to make that choice yourself.

Today he is faced not with a squad of hostile soldiers but an audience of friendly diplomats, analysts and foreign policy advisers. The truth is that his speech is tedious and the delivery poor. On the podium he has none of the swagger and fire he shows one-on-one in a room. But he looks as comfortable in a suit in London as he does in a salwar kameez in Lahore, which is why some influential people in the West have been desperate for his political ambitions to succeed. The trouble is, it isn't working. He can't seem to satisfy either world.

His party – Tehreek-e-Insaf or the Movement for Justice – has never been anything more than marginal since it was formed in 1996. He didn't even stand at the general election in February, arguing that there could be no free and fair democracy while the judges were still appointed and controlled by the ruling party. So he is not in the National Assembly any more, but shouting from the sidelines. Or the television studios. Sometimes not even talking about politics: he can earn enough in 30 days' work as a cricket commentator "to run my kitchen for the rest of the year".

The woman who is with him this morning, a banker who runs his party in Britain and is carrying his mobile phone, confirms that Khan has lately taken to wearing a bulletproof vest when speaking in public where "anybody can take a shot at him". He is clearly not wearing protection under his suit and tie now, though: Khan has the same athletic build, the same feline walk that he did when leading Pakistan to its only World Cup success in 1992. "The vest won't help you if they blow you up," he says, laughing. "It doesn't matter what precautions you take, they prepare accordingly. Benazir had top security." It is nearly a year since his rival Benazir Bhutto was assassinated on the campaign trail. "Her brother had two wagon loads of commandos. Not one moved. All of them were shot dead."

That was just after Khan had been held in prison under anti-terrorist laws for speaking against the then President, Pervez Musharraf. The campaign for his release was led here by Jemima Khan, who emerged as an informed and persuasive campaigner. They married in 1995, allowing some opponents to claim he was "part of the Jewish conspiracy" because her father was the industrialist Sir James Goldsmith. Jemima converted to Islam and moved to Islamabad to live with his family, but none of that was enough to satisfy the critics or save the marriage. They were divorced four years ago, but remain friends.

"I am staying with my ex-mother-in-law," he says when asked, "as I always do when I am in London." Lady Annabel Goldsmith, who gave her name to a nightclub he used to frequent, lives in a Georgian mansion on the edge of Richmond Park. His sons, aged nine and 11, were supposed to spend half-term at Khan's hilltop farm near Islamabad but didn't go "because of the situation in Pakistan".

The plan is for them to visit him every school holiday, except for two weeks in summer. "And one half-term here," he says. "I consider myself lucky that thanks to a good arrangement with my ex-wife, and our relationship, it has actually worked out very well. But divorce is difficult for children anyway."

His was a stable, comfortable upbringing as the son of an engineer in Lahore. He went to the cathedral school there, then came to England as a boarder in Worcester before Keble College, Oxford, where he read philosophy, politics and economics. He reconnected with the faith of his family in the 1990s, and his boys have been brought up as Muslims. In practice that means "I teach them whatever I can. A moral sense. The basics."

What are those? "The Koran says that every human community was sent a guide and all of them said the same thing. They tried to lift us up from operating at the level of intelligent animals, where might is right and self is all important, to selfless human beings who have compassion and who are fair and who are just."

The boys are slowly becoming interested in cricket, he says with a rare smile. This summer he agreed to appear in a charity match organised by Jemima's brothers, as long as the boys could too. "I couldn't walk for days afterwards." How long had it been since he last played? "Oh, years."

He relaxes in talking about the sport, but the only victory he really seeks now is political and that seems almost impossible. He admits to being "in the wilderness" after boycotting the election, but believes there will be another next year. "This is now the fastest growing party in Pakistan. Among the 18- to 30-year-olds, of whom there are 70 million, it is the most popular party." Remarkable indeed, if so, for a party that six years ago won less that 1 per cent of the entire popular vote.

Khan does still command respect in Pakistan, not least because he raised the money for its first ever cancer hospital (and is building another). He has just opened a technology college there with the University of Bradford, of which he is chancellor. And his stand in favour of independent judges now has overwhelming support. "I have absolutely no doubt that our party will either win the next election or the election after that."

You don't win anything without confidence. But it seems to evaporate when he is asked a question that takes him by surprise. Is he looking for another wife? "Huh." His shoulders drop, and he stares at the table for a moment. "Not really. No." Why not? "The main reason which affected my marriage was my political life and commitments. Couldn't give it enough time."

He is sullen now, either depressed or unwilling to talk about it. "I would get married only if I thought I would be able to do justice to my marriage. At the moment there is no question of that; I am so overstretched. Then all my spare time is with my children. So, really, a wife is not something that is on my agenda right now. Whether it will ever be... I don't even know that."

Winners must have tunnel vision, even when they keep getting out for a duck. The last time Imran Khan was written off, he led Pakistan to a shock World Cup win in the last match of his career. Politics is not sport, of course, but who's going to tell him that and declare him out? He wouldn't listen anyway.

Biography

1952 Born in Lahore, Pakistan, the son of an engineer. Educated at the city's cathedral school, then Royal Grammar School, Worcester.

1971 Test cricket debut for Pakistan against England, in Birmingham.

1972-75 Reads philosophy, politics and economics at Keble College, Oxford.

1982 Becomes captain of Pakistan, while at his peak as a fast bowler and all-rounder.

1992 Leads Pakistan to the World Cup against the odds, in his last one-day international.

1992 Retires from Test cricket. Has scored 3,807 runs and taken 362 wickets, making him one of the greatest players of all time.

1995 Marries Jemima Goldsmith, daughter of Sir James. They have two sons, Sulaiman Isa and Kasim.

1996 Starts own party Tehreek-e-Insaf (Movement for Justice).

1999 Supports the coup by General Musharraf. Later denounces him.

2002 Joins National Assembly as member for Mianwali.

2004 Announces divorce.

2008 Boycotts election, calling for a free judiciary. Loses seat.