If the art of deception ever became an Olympic sport, Maryam Nawaz Sharif, Pakistan’s self-styled “Mother of Punjab”, would bring home gold without breaking a sweat. From her Calibri-font adventures to her “Imperial College Hospital” that existed only in her imagination, Maryam has once again proven that in Pakistani politics, fantasy is the only functioning industry.
The latest episode in her ongoing political soap opera began with a flourish worthy of a state occasion. On 19 October, the Punjab government proudly announced that Imperial College London was setting up a new teaching hospital and campus in Lahore, a supposed collaboration between one of the world’s top universities and the province’s ruling elite. Cabinet ministers sang hymns of gratitude, government Twitter handles glowed with “historic achievement” hashtags, and the Chief Minister’s loyal courtiers, politely known as “special assistants”, clapped as if the NHS itself was relocating to Model Town.
There was, however, one small problem. Imperial College London had no idea what anyone was talking about.
When a few curious British-Pakistani doctors reached out to the university to confirm this “historic partnership,” the response was an embarrassed chuckle. No, there was no such project, no such collaboration, and no such plan. Within days, the university had to publish a correction on its official website:
“Imperial College London has no plans to open a campus or hospital in Lahore.” And just like that, Calibri Part II was born.
The Queen of Convenient Forgetfulness
Of course, this isn’t Maryam’s first brush with creative fiction. Her earlier claim to infamy came during the infamous Calibri-gate scandal, when she submitted a trust deed to Pakistan’s Supreme Court in 2017 to prove her innocence in a corruption case. Unfortunately for her, the document was typed in a font, Calibri, that didn’t exist in public use at the time the deed was allegedly signed. The “Trust” turned out to be as fake as her declarations of innocence.
A lesser mortal would have been prosecuted for perjury, perhaps even jailed. But Maryam, like her father before her, was rescued by Pakistan’s perpetual power brokers, the military establishment. They kept her political oxygen flowing for future use. After all, the generals always need a new pawn for the next regime change.
In Pakistan, accountability is selective and truth is negotiable. If you’re useful to those in uniform, your crimes are merely ‘clerical errors.’
“No Properties in Pakistan or London” — Until There Were
Then there was the legendary interview where Maryam declared, with all the composure of a practiced liar:
“I do not own any property in Pakistan, let alone in London.”
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Months later, the Supreme Court revealed the Avenfield Apartments in London’s most expensive postcode were indeed hers. The problem wasn’t that Maryam lied; the problem was that the ‘system’ in Pakistan didn’t care.
The same ‘System’ or ‘Nizam’ that jokes about her “Calibrified” documents continues to ‘elect’ her party. The same television anchors who once mocked her for perjury now line up for exclusive interviews. The same media houses that thrive on public outrage remain obediently silent because silence, in Pakistan, is far more profitable than truth.
Journalism for Sale
To understand how Maryam and her ilk continue to thrive, one must look no further than the decaying state of Pakistan’s media.
Once upon a time, a scandal like this would have dominated front pages. But those days are gone. Now, with the Punjab government as the largest source of advertising revenue, even a story as embarrassing as this is lucky to make a two-column mention on the back page.
The press, once the fourth pillar of democracy, has become a rented tent.
According to a recent BBC Urdu report, Mir Shakil-ur-Rehman, the owner of the Jang/Geo media empire, is one of the richest men in Pakistan. His rise from a publisher to a billionaire reflects a simple equation: in Pakistan, silence is gold, literally. When the government, whether civilian or military-backed, doles out advertising contracts worth billions, the line between journalism and public relations evaporates.
The reward for complicity is wealth. The punishment for honesty is death or exile.
The Price of Telling the Truth
In the last three years alone, dozens of Pakistani journalists have been killed, abducted, or forced to flee. The murder of investigative journalist Arshad Sharif in Kenya remains one of the darkest chapters in recent history, a brutal warning to anyone daring to expose corruption or military overreach. The official investigation remains conveniently “inconclusive,” much like every other crime that points upwards.
Scores of others, from senior anchors to social media commentators, live in exile in Europe, the UK, and North America. Their families back home face harassment, arrests, and smear campaigns. The state has turned journalism into a dangerous occupation, where reporting the truth is indistinguishable from treason.
Meanwhile, those who echo the establishment’s narrative enjoy government-sponsored protection, perks, and paychecks. They are the new breed of “embedded journalists” not in war zones, but in newsrooms.
The Imperial Delusion
That is why Maryam’s latest stunt barely registered in Pakistani media. It’s not that journalists didn’t notice the Imperial College fiasco; it’s that they didn’t dare. The culture of fear, censorship, and co-option ensures that politicians like Maryam can fabricate anything, safe in the knowledge that the press will either look away or obediently amplify the lie.
And so, the “Imperial Hospital” joins the long list of Maryam’s imaginary triumphs, along with her invisible honesty, her phantom humility, and her ever-elusive accountability.
But make no mistake: these aren’t just personal lies. They are symptomatic of a deeper national disease, one in which propaganda replaces policy, deceit supplants debate, and political theater substitutes for governance.
The Empire of Lies
Maryam’s reign of make-believe thrives because Pakistan itself has been conditioned to live comfortably within delusion. The generals pretend they don’t run the country. The politicians pretend they have power. The judges pretend they serve justice. And the journalists pretend they are free.
In that sense, perhaps Maryam is not an anomaly but a perfect reflection of the system that produced her. A country that can tolerate the murder of its truth-tellers and reward its fabulists deserves its “Calibrified” queens.
So when the next grand announcement comes from Lahore, perhaps about a “Stanford Heart Institute” opening in Faisalabad, or a “Harvard Medical Campus” in Gujranwala, don’t be surprised. The fairy tales will continue, the headlines will remain silent, and the empire of lies will march on.
Because in Pakistan, truth doesn’t just die, it has disappeared.
The author served as Advisor to PM Imran Khan on Interior and Accountability. He is a prominent political commentator based in the UK.