Defence pacts, like promises, can be impressive when signed, subject to interpretation when tested.
Pakistan has now provided a rather entertaining demonstration of the principle with its Makkah Joint Defence Agreement with Saudi Arabia and Turkey.
When the pact was signed last month, Islamabad seemed to have rediscovered its strategic swagger. With its nuclear arsenal hovering conveniently in the background as a bargaining chip, Pakistan entered the agreement with all the solemnity of a country preparing for the next great war.
The pact says an armed attack on one member would be regarded as an attack on all three – rather like NATO’s Article 5.
Then the Houthis attacked Saudi Arabia. Suddenly, the fine print appears to have developed a personality of its own.
From ‘no ambiguity’ to ‘when the time comes’
Only days ago, Defence Minister Khawaja Asif was categorical. If the conflict in Yemen spilled over into Saudi Arabia, he declared, the Makkah pact would become operational. There was ‘no doubt’ about Pakistan’s commitment and Islamabad would honour the agreement. Strong words.
But when the time came to explain what Pakistan would actually do, Foreign Office spokesman Sajjad Haider Khan pressed the diplomatic escape button.
There was, he said, no military response under discussion. Pakistan would act ‘when the time comes’. That is a wonderfully elastic phrase.
‘When the time comes’ can mean tomorrow, next month, next year – or, with a little diplomatic imagination, never.
The art of being committed without meaning
Islamabad now insists that the pact is strictly defensive. Pakistani forces will protect Saudi airspace, provide technical and ground support within the kingdom and intercept incoming threats, but will not enter Yemen or participate in offensive operations.
In other words, Pakistan is committed to defending Saudi Arabia, provided defending the Kingdom does not actually require going to war.
Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif’s government has thus achieved something remarkable: it has managed to remain bound by a defence pact while keeping its soldiers safely away from the battlefield. The diplomatic equivalent of having one’s cake and keeping it in the fridge.
And what if Riyadh adopts the same logic?
There is another little complication that Islamabad might want to contemplate. What happens when Pakistan itself needs Saudi assistance?
Imagine Riyadh replying: ‘Of course, we remain committed to Pakistan. But your financial difficulties are decades old. Our assistance applies only to new and future needs. Please come back when the time comes.’
That might make the meaning of ‘strategic partnership’ suddenly much clearer. For now, Riyadh has the missiles, Tehran has the warning, the Houthis have been advised to behave and Islamabad has acquired the most useful weapon of all – diplomatic ambiguity.
Yemen is not Bharat
Perhaps Pakistan would have been more comfortable if Yemen shared a border with Bharat. Then the vocabulary might have been more familiar: infiltration, proxies, strategic depth, non-state actors and, naturally, a generous supply of ‘gaddars’.
But Yemen is not Bharat. The Houthis are not conveniently positioned across Pakistan’s border, and Islamabad cannot simply outsource the fighting to friendly networks while maintaining plausible deniability. So it is left with the less exciting business of diplomacy.
Waiting for the right war
The Makkah pact may yet be activated if Saudi Arabia faces an attack that Pakistan believes falls squarely within its obligations. But for now, Islamabad appears to be waiting for the right conflict, the right circumstances and, most importantly, the right time.
Khawaja Asif has sounded the trumpet. Sajjad Haider Khan has lowered the volume. Shehbaz Sharif can continue presiding over the natak. And Pakistan can wait patiently for ‘when the time comes’.
After all, defence pacts are impressive when signed, subject to interpretation when tested.
