or nearly a year, I privately saw him as my nemesis, but after that he was my hero and inspiration.

Khaled Ahmed, a joint editor at The Frontier Post, and I, a political reporter in 1989, shared a relationship shaped by intense disagreements. It was a period when Saddam Hussein’s popularity peaked in Pakistan and his anti-American rhetoric resonated with multitudes. Saddam, Iraq’s president from 1979 to 2003, was seen by many as a symbol of resistance against Western imperialism. This sentiment was echoed by Chief of Army Staff Gen Mirza Aslam Beg, who boldly asserted that Iraq could militarily defeat the US-led coalition.

Like many others, we in the newsroom admired Saddam, viewing him as a hero of Muslim unity and defiance. Khaled Ahmed’s was the lone dissenting voice. In his calm and humble manner, he argued that all dictators — whether Muslim or non-Muslim — posed an equal danger. He warned that Saddam’s policies would devastate Iraq and ripple destructively across the Muslim world.

The young and impassioned journalists rejected his perspective outright. Occasionally, some of us raised pro-Saddam slogans in the office, aimed in part at annoying Khaled sahib. Some of us had labeled him an American agent seeking to undermine our hero. Khaled sahib never reacted with anger or derision. He would pass us by with a quiet smile — which was sometimes misinterpreted as mockery. In hindsight, I see it as the smile of a man who understood the naivety of the youth and the futility of arguing at that moment.

While we had believed Saddam would emerge victorious, history has vindicated Khaled sahib. The Gulf War left Iraq shattered, exposing the fragility of our misplaced hopes.

Humility – mistaken sometimes as aloofness – was one of his defining traits. He avoided frivolous talk and embraced simplicity. As editor of one of Pakistan’s leading newspapers, he often wore a tracksuit to the office and chose a plain khaddar shalwar kamees for formal occasions. He struck a stark contrast with those who use flamboyance to mask a lack of depth.

A true Lahori, Khaled Ahmed loved Lawrence Gardens, calling the place the “oxygen store of the city.” He would sometimes take a detour to pass by the gardens and appreciate its beauty and simplicity.

Khaled sahib’s command of English was remarkable, particularly given his Urdu-medium schooling away from the elite institutions often linked to success in Pakistan. His brilliance shone in his book on etymology, published by an esteemed press. Despite his comfort with English, he remained deeply connected to his Urdu roots. His column, Nuggets from the Urdu Press, astutely pointed out the biases in Pakistan’s Urdu media.

Humility — mistaken at times for aloofness — was one of his defining traits. He avoided frivolous talk and embraced simplicity. As editor of one of Pakistan’s leading newspapers, he often wore a tracksuit to the office and chose a plain khaddar shalwar kamees for formal occasions. He struck a stark contrast with those who use flamboyance to mask a lack of depth.

Unlike many pubic intellectuals in Pakistan, Khaled Ahmed avoided ideological extremes. While most of his contemporaries leaned decisively to the left or the right, he carved out his own path, championing liberal democratic values and market economics. Surrounded mostly by leftist colleagues, he consistently advocated for modernity and individual liberties.

He also spoke courageously for minority rights in a society where such stances are often perilous. Religious extremists falsely accused him of being a Qadiani, a common smear in Pakistan’s polarised religious landscape. A Sunni Muslim, Khaled sahib faced relentless pressure but never wavered. His advocacy stemmed not from some ideology but from a genuine belief in justice and equality.

Though always principled, Khaled sahib was not confrontational. He believed that his role was to present alternative perspectives through writing rather than engage in activism. This approach, sometimes seen as conciliatory, reflected his understanding of the limitations of intellectual discourse.

For such a well known public intellectual, Khaled Ahmed’s social circle was remarkably small. Books were his constant companions; he read voraciously, often getting through 10–15 volumes in a week. This insatiable thirst for knowledge shaped both his worldview and his writing.

Hailing from a Jullundhuri Pathan family, like Imran Khan, Khaled Ahmed lived in Lahore’s Zaman Park. Although they were long time neighbours, political and personal differences kept them apart and he remained critical of Imran’s politics. He shared a warmer relationship with Majid Khan, another cousin and a celebrated cricketer.

On a personal level, after separation from his wife, his son, Taimur, whom he supported tirelessly, funding his education abroad, was his emotional anchor. In his later years, he frequently shared photos of Taimur and his family on social media — a poignant reflection of the family he cherished yet lived apart from.

Khaled Ahmed’s was a voice for reason in a country often consumed by emotion and zeal. Like the 12th-Century philosopher Ibne Rushd, he championed rationalism and intellectual discourse in an era hostile to both. His passing leaves an irreplaceable void in Pakistan’s intellectual landscape.

The writer is a senior journalist. He works with Geo and Jang group and tweets @suhailswarraich