Is the gold mime spying on us? In Pakistan, it’s not a strange question

They have certain tells: They all wear casual shirts and pants but have on dress shoes. The cuffs of their shirts are always buttoned. Their clothes are stiff, as if properly pressed. They often hold phones to their ears but do not actually talk into them.

“Did you see the man who was just here?” Batool said, by way of explanation. She was referring to a man who had approached a table where I was sitting with friends a few minutes earlier. The man held a coat draped over his head and mumbled about spare change before sitting on a curb nearby.

“Yeah, yeah, that guy! He was in a very different get-up,” Kajol said.

“And he went right to your table because you’re a foreigner,” added Batool. Both agreed: he was most definitely ISI.

As for the golden men, the two young women were wary of them but less certain. On the one hand, the street performers could not really eavesdrop while standing at a busy intersection, they mused. On the other hand, they could keep tabs on the cars passing through.

“I’d have to see them doing something obvious, like taking pictures of the cars on their phones, to be sure,” Batool said.

As with many conspiracy theories, the suspicions came from kernels of truth.

Pakistan’s security services not so subtly hint at their vast powers to keep politicians and others in check.

Political scandals erupt from voice recordings or videos captured presumably from bugs inside people’s homes and then mysteriously leaked. Intelligence agents occasionally tail people of interest, sometimes overtly (and occasionally even offer a friendly hello from their cars). Ride-share drivers sometimes admit to being paid by the intelligence services.

People so widely assume they are being surveilled that they speak in code, referring to the military as the “sacred cow” and the ISI as “our friends” in case intelligence agents are listening in.

“There’s been a meta narrative that our intelligence agency is the best in the world, it’s everywhere, it’s always watching whether you are in your house or outside, there are eyes watching you,” Kareem, the lawyer, explained. “It’s been intentionally constructed by the state itself.”

For most of Pakistan’s 76-year history, the surveillance was a routine – if slightly resented – facet of daily life. But in recent years, frustration with the military’s role in politics has exploded, making its ever-present eyes and ears less tolerable for many people.

“With the political atmosphere being so polarised, we’re becoming more suspicious of being watched or who is listening,” said Ali Abas, 25, who was sitting outside a tea stall late one afternoon with his friend Amal, 26.

“It’s getting worse nowadays,” Amal said, referring to the surveillance. Amal, who preferred to go by his first name for fear of retribution, took a slow drag of his cigarette, fiddling with a pack in his other hand.

“People are getting more frustrated with it all,” Abas chimed in. “There’s a sense of: Are we safe in our house? Is there someone watching us right now? Is there someone roaming on our street to watch us? It’s too much.”

On the other side of Islamabad, Mustaq Ahmed, 53, stood on a grassy median of a busy intersection. His jean jacket, canvas pants, walking cane and top hat were all spray-painted gold. Gold makeup was caked onto his face and hands and smudged onto his bright green, blue and purple sunglasses.

Ahmed calls himself the Golden Thakur of Islamabad, a nod to a famous Pakistani actor and comedian known as Iftikhar Thakur whom he – slightly – resembles. Each golden man has a different repertoire of poses, each with its own name, he explained. His favourite was to extend his left heel and cane in a precarious lean – what he refers to as “London style”.

Ahmed once sold umbrellas on the side of the road, but became the Golden Thakur three years ago after he overheard another golden man saying he made up to 8000 Pakistani rupees – about $40 – each day. It was more than five times what Ahmed was taking home.

That cash has dwindled recently as the novelty of the golden men has waned, he said. When asked if he would ever supplement his income with a little side work for the intelligence agencies, he immediately replied: “No, no, no.”

Was there any chance that the other golden men in the city were earning a few extra dollars that way? He paused and shifted his cane between his hands.

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“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “It’s Pakistan.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.