A Pakistani MP recently called the country’s Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif “coward”, saying he was so “afraid” of India that he didn’t even take the name of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi. This happened during the heightened tension between the two countries as India launched Operation Sindoor to avenge the terror attack in Pahalgam.
Sharif has postured that he is not afraid of India. But India’s Operation Sindoor seems to have laid bare his vulnerability to the Pakistani military masters. His fears lie closer, at home — within the corridors of Rawalpindi. Haunted by the fate of his elder brother, former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif, who was ousted by General Pervez Musharraf, Shehbaz now walks a perilous tightrope. So too does President Asif Ali Zardari, who surely remembers when Musharraf arrogated to himself the title of president. Both leaders now face the spectre of military dominance once again — embodied in the rising power of Field Marshal Asim Munir.
Pakistan: A military State cloaked in civilian facade
Despite its nominal democracy, Pakistan remains, at its core, a military-dominated state with a sophisticated propaganda apparatus. Ironically, this very machinery, designed to glorify the armed forces, has turned against its civilian masters. In an attempt to mirror Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s outreach to his military during Operation Sindoor, Shehbaz visited a Pakistan Air Force base, climbing atop a tank to address the troops and praise their role in Operation Bunyan-um-Marsoos.
In doing so, he exalted the armed forces and General Asim Munir to an extent that has backfired politically. The prime minister now finds himself compelled to appease Munir — not out of admiration, but out of fear. The same applies to President Zardari. Their continued survival in office depends not on democratic legitimacy but on remaining in Munir’s favour.
Pakistani myth of victory
Contrary to the grandiose rhetoric, Operation Bunyan-um-Marsoos was anything but a success for Pakistan. India’s decisive military response sent a strategic and psychological shockwave through Pakistan’s power elite. Yet, Shehbaz and Zardari lack the political courage to acknowledge this reality, let alone challenge the military’s distorted narrative.
The field marshal’s coronation
In a federal cabinet meeting chaired by Prime Minister Shehbaz, the government officially elevated Chief of Army Staff General Munir to the ceremonial yet politically potent rank of field marshal. The stated reason — his “courageous leadership” during a controversial and arguably failed operation — raises eyebrows. More religious cleric than strategic commander, Munir’s credentials are steeped more in ideological fervour than military innovation.
Nevertheless, Shehbaz and Zardari saw the promotion as a tactical move to delay any looming coup. But this is a delay, not a deterrence.
Munir’s new five-star rank effectively places him at the apex of Pakistan’s power structure. Even Air Chief Marshal Zaheer Ahmed Babar Sidhu’s continued tenure, also extended by the cabinet, reflects an emerging military alignment orchestrated under Munir’s influence.
It is increasingly clear: Munir is assembling his loyalists.
Recent developments confirm this militarisation. In April, Lt Gen Muhammad Asim Malik, the head of Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), was simultaneously appointed as the national security adviser — an unprecedented consolidation of military and strategic authority in one individual. Meanwhile, General Sahir Shamshad Mirza, chairman of the joint chiefs of staff committee and another Munir loyalist, publicly congratulated Munir on his elevation.
Impact Shorts
View AllThis tightening grip is not symbolic. While the field marshal rank traditionally lacks operational command, in Pakistan’s constitutional vacuum, it confers de facto supremacy.
The coup continuum: A nation caught in military recursion
To understand Munir’s ascent in historical perspective, one must recall that Field Marshal Ayub Khan — the only other recipient of this rank — was also the architect of Pakistan’s first successful military coup in 1958. With the backing of then-President Iskander Mirza, Ayub Khan imposed martial law and soon thereafter ousted Mirza himself to become the de facto ruler. This set the precedent for military rule and normalised the intervention of the army in civilian governance.
Since then, Pakistan has witnessed multiple coups:
In 1977, during the military coup led by General Zia-ul-Haq, X Corps, stationed in Rawalpindi, played a key role in the overthrow of prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Given its strategic location near the capital, Islamabad, and its proximity to the General Headquarters (GHQ), X Corps was ideally positioned to swiftly assert control and facilitate the military takeover.
Similarly, in 1999, when General Musharraf staged a coup against Nawaz Sharif, X Corps once again assumed a central role under the command of Lt Gen Mahmud Ahmed. In coordination with V Corps based in Karachi and other significant military formations, X Corps ensured a seamless seizure of power, following a tense confrontation between Musharraf and the civilian government.
The X Corps, based in Rawalpindi, consistently emerges as the lynchpin of military coups, due to its strategic control over the federal capital and close proximity to the military’s command nerve centre.
A career forged in intelligence and doctrine
Munir’s own path to power reflects deep institutional embedding. From his commissioning via the Mangla Officers Training School to commanding the Northern Areas as a Brigadier, his credentials expanded through successive key intelligence roles — first as head of Military Intelligence (MI), and then as Director-General of the ISI. He later served as Corps Commander Gujranwala and Quartermaster General at GHQ before being appointed COAS in November 2022.
Notably, he is the only officer in Pakistan’s history to have led both MI and ISI and the first COAS awarded the prestigious Sword of Honour.
Uncertain alliances, impending reckonings
Though Munir expressed gratitude for the trust placed in him by the civilian leadership, the equation is hardly reciprocal. The Sharifs and Zardaris understand that this gesture may buy them time — but it does not secure loyalty. The field marshal has no constitutional ceiling on his influence in a system that routinely disregards its own foundational document.
History is clear: power in Pakistan does not reside in the ballot box but in the barracks. And as the military reshuffles loyalties and extends its tentacles into every institution, the current civilian leadership would be wise to keep their passports handy.