In this military power grab, the role of Pakistan’s major political parties has been one of facilitation.

Pakistan is living through a quiet constitutional gerrymandering whose ramifications are not loud street protests. Rather, there is a slow and a methodical shift being orchestrated by an increasingly assertive military establishment, which is duly enabled by pliant political parties eager to comply. The objective of this change is simply to transform Pakistan into a military-dominated hybrid authoritarian system with a façade of civilian executive.

The chief architect of this new order is Field Marshal Asim Munir, inarguably Pakistan’s most powerful army chiefs ever. Under his tenure, the military has moved beyond the historical pattern of backstage control and intermittent coups. Instead, the goal now appears to be structural dominance embedded into law, bureaucracy, and constitutional text to make military supremacy not an aberration but the core of the state.

This transformation did not happen overnight though. It began with seemingly smaller amendments to Pakistan’s military laws (Army/Air Force/Navy) in 2023, which were endorsed by the political parties without protest both inside and out of the National Assembly. These changes expanded the reach of military courts, allowing civilians to be tried under military jurisdiction.

This followed the violent anti-government protests of May 9, 2023, when protestors targeted dozens of military installations across Pakistani provinces, including Lahore and Peshawar. Besides hundreds of protestors, the most high-profile target of this expanded legal control has been former Prime Minister Imran Khan, who remains imprisoned alongside his wife, Bushra Bibi, facing dozens of cases that critics argue serve political rather than judicial ends.

From there, the military’s influence has migrated deeper into civilian space. Munir’s consolidation included the time-tested policy of parachuting military officers into key civilian institutions such as NADRA, WAPDA, SUPARCO, among others. The appointment of Lt. Gen. Asim Malik, the Director-General of Pakistan’s powerful intelligence service, ISI, and as National Security Adviser marked an unmistakable shift.

This significant civilian post which traditionally functioned as the bridge between civilian governance and military command was no longer a boundary at all. But the most significant restructuring has come through constitutional amendments. The 26th Amendment, passed in late 2024, expanded the tenure of military service chiefs from three to five years, with potential extensions matching those expanded terms.

This effectively allows a single military chief to shape Pakistan’s governance for more than a decade, as is the case with Asim Munir who seems poised to be in office till 2032 at least. In parallel, the amendment broadened the government’s role in judicial affairs, tightening political oversight over judicial appointments and administration. Judiciary was the last bastion where the military establishment could not otherwise influence directly.

The latest the 27th Amendment goes even further. It formalized Munir’s new role as Chief of Defence Forces (CDF), a new title that elevates the Army Chief as the overarching commander of Pakistan’s military forces. It also granted him an enhanced role in the management of the country’s nuclear assets, otherwise overseen by the prime minister led strategic command.

While Pakistan has long been a nuclear-armed state under tight military control, the legal codification of this role marks a decisive break from earlier ambiguity. As such, the civilian oversight, which was anyway already weak, is now further downgraded.

It is true that power consolidation by military leaders is not new in Pakistan. From Ayub Khan to Zia ul-Haq and Pervez Musharraf, all have reshaped the political system in their favor but only after military coups. However, what distinguishes the current phenomenon is how seamlessly key civilian institutions, particularly political parties, have not only accepted this shift but overtly and covertly facilitated this power grab.

Moreover, the 27^th Amendment practically split Pakistan’s highest judicial institution of Supreme Court into two by creating a new Federal Constitutional Court (FCC) while significantly reducing the Supreme Court’s discretionary powers such as suo moto. The amendment’s timing and intent are unmistakable as this restructuring limits the SC’s ability to overview the military-driven changes now being encoded into law.

As such, the judiciary, which was once seen as an unpredictable check on military authority, is now practically subdued. This has made Pakistan’s courts being increasingly viewed not as arbiters of the constitution but as instruments to legitimize the very forces reshaping it.

In this military power grab, the role of Pakistan’s major political parties has been one of facilitation. Far from resisting creeping military dominance in civilian affairs of the state, they appear to be competing for its approval, demonstrating how civilian leadership remained conditional on military favor.

Take the role of Sharif family’s Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N). The party ostensibly became the biggest beneficiary of the military-backed removal of Imran Khan’s government in 2022. Shehbaz Sharif became prime minister for the remainder of the National Assembly’s tenure. Interestingly, it was during this period that the PML-N government appointed Asim Munir as Army Chief bypassing several of his senior officers.

But its reward came soon when the party received the dividends of military’s electoral engineering during the controversial 2024 general elections positioning Shehbaz Sharif to form the government once again. Likewise, the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), once the standard-bearer of civilian resistance to military authoritarianism, is willingly playing an equal accomplice to PML-N in facilitating the military’s entrenchment.

What has consequently emerged is a political landscape where parties no longer seek to govern through popular mandate, institutional accountability, or democratic legitimacy, if at all there is any, but through proximity to the military. While the façade of democracy is still visible, but the center of gravity has shifted decisively towards military.

What this translates into is a form of managed system where rituals may remain but the outcomes are predetermined. And the consequences of this system will be far-reaching. It is true that Pakistan has long struggled with the balance between civilian authority and military dominance. But what distinguishes the current phenomenon is how its political class is willingly facilitating the establishment’s creeping dominance and how the military is shedding the façade of its backstage control.

As such, democracy in Pakistan, however fragile it was, is not fading with a dramatic collapse but is being dismantled through amendments, appointments, legal reforms, and political bargains; all in piece by piece.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

This duality—preaching unity while practicing duplicity—has become Pakistan’s diplomatic hallmark.

When the Taliban stormed into Kabul in August 2021, Pakistan’s powerful intelligence chief, Lt. Gen. Faiz Hameed, appeared at the Serena Hotel and assured journalists, “Everything will be okay.”

His confident smile captured Islamabad’s belief that decades of strategic maneuvering had finally paid off. Pakistan, long accused of nurturing the Taliban, assumed it would now wield decisive influence over its western neighbor.

Four years later, those hopes have turned to ashes. The Taliban’s rise, once hailed in Islamabad as a geopolitical triumph, has become a source of profound insecurity and humiliation.

The Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), emboldened by its ideological kin in Kabul, has unleashed a deadly insurgency across Pakistan’s tribal belt. Hundreds of Pakistani soldiers have been killed in cross-border raids. The Taliban, despite Pakistan’s past support, has refused to curb the TTP.

The so-called “strategic depth” has instead exposed Pakistan’s strategic shallowness. A state that once boasted of controlling its proxies now finds itself hostage to them. The illusion of regional mastery has dissolved into a grim reality: Pakistan is isolated, insecure, and rapidly losing credibility.

Weaponizing Refugees

Having failed to tame the Taliban, Pakistan turned its frustration toward Afghan civilians. In October 2023, Islamabad launched the Illegal Foreigners Repatriation Plan (IFRP), targeting nearly 1.7 million undocumented Afghans. For decades, Afghan refugees had lived, worked, and raised families in Pakistan. Suddenly, they became scapegoats for Islamabad’s security failures.

By mid-2025, more than 600,000 Afghans had been deported in what international observers described as one of South Asia’s largest forced repatriations in decades. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch chronicled chilling stories of police harassment, arbitrary detentions, and family separations.

Pakistan justified the campaign as a counterterrorism measure, accusing Afghan refugees of harboring TTP militants. But analysts saw it differently: an act of political retribution against the Taliban regime. Kabul condemned the deportations as a breach of international law and accused Islamabad of deepening Afghanistan’s humanitarian catastrophe.

This was more than just a border dispute—it was a symptom of Pakistan’s broader malaise. A state that once prided itself on being a refuge for the oppressed had turned into a place of fear and hostility. The moral cost of Islamabad’s Afghan policy was now unmistakable.

Airstrikes and Escalation

Pakistan’s response extended beyond deportations. Under the guise of pursuing TTP sanctuaries, it began conducting airstrikes inside Afghan territory.

In April 2022, bombings in Khost and Kunar killed 47 civilians, mostly women and children. Similar attacks followed in March and December 2024, targeting Paktika and Khost. In January 2025, fresh strikes were launched along the volatile Durand Line. Over a hundred civilians have died since 2021, according to regional monitors.

Each operation fuelled anger and anti-Pakistan protests across Afghanistan. The Taliban government condemned the attacks as violations of sovereignty, accusing Pakistan of hiding its failures behind a counterterrorism narrative.

By 2025, Pakistan’s western frontier was once again aflame—only this time, without American troops to share the blame. The Afghan war that Islamabad once believed it had outsourced had come home, exacting both human and diplomatic costs.

Diplomacy as Deception

The crisis reached a symbolic peak in September 2025, when Islamabad hosted the “Towards Unity and Trust” conference under the South Asian Strategic Stability Institute.

Despite the event’s conciliatory title, the Taliban government was conspicuously excluded. Instead, the gathering featured anti-Taliban activists and politicians, turning what was billed as a dialogue into an exercise in diplomatic provocation.

Just days later, Defense Minister Khawaja Asif labeled Afghanistan an “enemy state”—a stunning reversal from Pakistan’s earlier rhetoric of “brotherhood.”

This diplomatic whiplash mirrors a deeper inconsistency at the heart of Pakistan’s foreign policy. It speaks of a nation perpetually caught between ambition and insecurity, between Islamic solidarity and realpolitik.

Even its domestic realities now echo this hypocrisy.

In early October 2025, a story broke that underscored how deeply investor confidence has eroded under the current administration. Out of 23 oil and gas exploration blocks offered for bidding, no local or foreign bids were received for 22. The only bid came from Mari Gas, and even that was for a small block with negligible output.

Taimur Saleem Khan Jhagra, Pakistan’s opposition leader, wrote “investors know this is an illegitimate govt,” saying no company—foreign or domestic—was willing to invest in a country “without rule of law.” He accused the government of driving away foreign direct investment through arbitrary governance, economic mismanagement, and political repression.

This episode is emblematic of Pakistan’s larger credibility crisis. When even domestic energy firms shy away from state-backed ventures, the problem is not market dynamics—it is a collapse of trust. The same lack of accountability that defines Pakistan’s regional duplicity now poisons its economic foundations.

The Iran Paradox and the Palestine Hypocrisy

Pakistan’s double-dealing extends far beyond its Afghan misadventure.

In June 2025, Islamabad publicly condemned U.S. airstrikes on Iran’s nuclear facilities, declaring solidarity with Tehran. Yet, only days earlier, Army Chief Gen. Asim Munir had met privately with Donald Trump, reportedly discussing “regional stability.” In a surreal twist, Pakistan went on to nominate Trump for the 2026 Nobel Peace Prize, effectively undercutting its supposed alignment with Iran.

This duality—preaching unity while practicing duplicity—has become Pakistan’s diplomatic hallmark.

The same contradictions stain its stance on Palestine. While Pakistani leaders have long professed unwavering support for the Palestinian cause, history tells another story. During Black September 1970, Brigadier Zia ul-Haq, later Pakistan’s military ruler, helped Jordan crush the Palestine Liberation Organization, a massacre that claimed thousands of lives.

In July 2025, Pakistan awarded the Nishan-e-Imtiaz to U.S. CENTCOM Commander Gen. Michael Kurilla, despite his role in coordinating American military support for Israel during its Gaza operations.

At the UN General Assembly’s 80th session, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif met Daniel Rosen, head of the American Jewish Congress, signaling a quiet but unmistakable outreach to pro-Israel circles.

For a country that brands itself the guardian of Muslim causes, the hypocrisy is striking. From Amman to Gaza, Pakistan’s leaders have consistently traded principle for expediency.

A Consistent Inconsistency

Across every theater—Afghanistan, Iran, Palestine, and even its own energy sector—a single pattern emerges: Pakistan’s promises collapse under the weight of its own contradictions.

It seeks influence in Kabul but alienates Afghans through bombings and deportations. It pledges brotherhood with Tehran while courting Washington. It proclaims solidarity with Palestine while decorating America’s military commanders. And now, it claims to welcome foreign investment while creating an environment so lawless that even local companies refuse to bid.

In the end, Pakistan’s gravest betrayal is not of its neighbors, but of itself. The erosion of credibility abroad mirrors the decay of governance at home. As investors flee, allies distance themselves, and insurgents advance, the message is clear: a nation that manipulates every alliance eventually stands alone.

For decades, Pakistan’s generals and politicians have built policies on the illusion of control. The Afghan gamble was meant to cement regional influence; instead, it has exposed a state adrift, distrusted by friends and foes alike.

The “everything will be okay” optimism of 2021 now rings hollow. For Pakistan, everything is decidedly not okay—and the world, finally, has stopped believing its promises.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Speaking at the Convention for Overseas Pakistanis in Islamabad—with Prime Minister Shahbaz Sharif in attendance—General Munir declared that Pakistan was created on the basis of “every possible difference” between the two religious communities.

“Our religion is different. Our customs are different. Our traditions are different. Our thoughts are different. Our ambitions are different,” Munir said, invoking the ideological foundation laid by Muhammad Ali Jinnah in the 1940s. “You must tell this to your children so that they never forget the story of Pakistan.”

But this “story” is not just about differences—it’s a carefully preserved narrative used by Pakistan’s military establishment to maintain a stranglehold on power, distract the public from economic failures, and perpetuate enmity with India. It is a story that has long come at the cost of regional peace, minority rights, and Pakistan’s own internal harmony.

Munir’s speech, delivered with a religious tone befitting his reputation as a “Hafiz-e-Quran”, did little to hide the Army’s obsession with defining Pakistan solely through what it is not—India. His remarks reflected the establishment’s enduring dependence on the ideological rhetoric of 1947, a time when the wounds of Partition were still fresh, and the world had not yet seen the consequences of such rigid identity politics.

A Doctrine Past Its Expiry Date

The Two-Nation Theory has not aged well. If anything, it collapsed under its own contradictions in 1971, when Bangladesh—originally East Pakistan—broke away in a bloody war that exposed the myth of religious unity. Despite sharing the same religion, East Pakistanis rejected the economic and political dominance of West Pakistan, shattering the illusion that Islam alone could form a cohesive national identity.

And yet, here we are in 2025, with the head of Pakistan’s most powerful institution lecturing overseas citizens to hold tight to that expired ideology. What purpose does this serve, other than reinforcing xenophobia, hostility, and a warped sense of nationalism rooted in exclusion and antagonism?

Critics across the globe have not held back. Indian strategic expert Aditya Raj Kaul accused Munir of “exposing his hate for Hindus and India,” while prominent Pakistani journalist Taha Siddiqui called the remarks an attempt to “brainwash youth” with dangerous falsehoods.

Assam Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma called the speech a reminder of the stark ideological divide between the two nations, urging India to stop harboring illusions about reconciliation with its western neighbor.

The Real Jugular: The Army’s Grip on Pakistan

Munir’s speech also touched on Pakistan’s usual talking points—Kashmir and Balochistan. His threat-laced comments about Baloch rebels further illustrated how the military sees dissent as terrorism, rather than a call for justice. Kashmir, once again called Pakistan’s “jugular vein,” is less a heartfelt issue and more a strategic tool—one that sustains the military’s budget, influence, and unchallenged supremacy in Pakistan’s political life.

As Delhi-based journalist Rishi Suri rightly pointed out, Kashmir has become more of a “business model” for Pakistan’s generals than a national cause. Strategic analyst Sonam Mahajan summed it up bluntly, “Kashmir is Pakistan’s jugular vein, which explains why Pakistan has been in the ICU for 78 years, sustained only by IMF oxygen and jihadist morphine.”

An Unyielding Establishment in a Changing World

The tragedy of General Munir’s speech is that it wasn’t surprising. It’s the same tired script the Pakistan Army has relied on for decades—where religion is used to unify, enemies are used to justify military supremacy, and history is rewritten to prevent progress.

Pakistan’s establishment had a choice. It could have embraced a narrative of peace, coexistence, and modern statehood. Instead, it chose to double down on identity politics rooted in fear and historical grievances.

By clinging to an outdated and divisive ideology, General Asim Munir and the Pakistan military aren’t just looking backward—they’re actively obstructing the possibility of a forward-looking, inclusive, and stable Pakistan.

And perhaps that is by design. Because in a truly democratic and progressive Pakistan, the Army might no longer be the most powerful voice in the room.