Something is visibly unravelling in Pakistan—and not for the first time. A familiar script is being rehearsed in Islamabad, where generals set the stage, while civilians read their lines nervously. This time, though, the façade is crumbling faster than expected, and the world is watching, not least from the breakfast tables of the White House. In recent weeks, a flurry of bizarre and brazen admissions by Pakistan’s top ministers has exposed the dysfunctional, dual-faced nature of the Pakistani state. Finance Minister Ishaq Dar’s revelation of Turkey’s involvement in a recent four-day skirmish with India—something both Ankara and Islamabad would traditionally deny in public—sent shockwaves through diplomatic circles. That, in itself, would’ve been a headline. But more remarkably, another Minister, Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, often the face of Pakistan’s liberal-secular pretensions, acknowledged that the Pahalgam attack in Kashmir was indeed an act of terrorism. He also conceded the presence of terror outfits like Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM) on Pakistani soil. For decades, Pakistan has denied, obfuscated, or outright lied about the activities of such groups, especially when under pressure from India or the international community. Bhutto’s statement isn’t just a diplomatic gaffe—it’s a candid confession. And it is perhaps the clearest signal yet of the deep schism between the civilian government’s narrative and the military’s actions. That divide is now being laid bare, with almost surgical precision. Meanwhile, another senior minister in the current coalition has gone on record to quash rumours of President Asif Ali Zardari’s potential ouster—rumours that wouldn’t gain such traction if the civilian government weren’t under siege from within. Political observers in Pakistan have long suspected that President Zardari, a wily operator himself, has been trying to assert control, perhaps even attempting to check the army’s growing influence. But it’s increasingly clear that the real power lies elsewhere—in Rawalpindi, not in Islamabad.
And right on cue, the man at the center of Pakistan’s unfolding power drama—Army Chief General Asim Munir—has been busy on a calculated international charm offensive. Before he even landed in Washington, the army had already elevated him to the ceremonial but symbolically loaded rank of Field Marshal. In a country long haunted by military coups, such a move is never merely honorary—it’s a warning shot. A signal to the world and to Pakistan’s uneasy civilians that the military isn’t just playing kingmaker—it’s ready to be king again. Most notably, Munir was then welcomed in Washington with a warmth and protocol that Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif can only envy. His closed-door breakfast at the White House—carefully staged and conspicuously high-profile—spoke louder than a thousand press releases. A signal to the world and to Pakistan’s uneasy civilians that the military isn’t just playing kingmaker—it’s ready to be king again. The question now is no longer whether Pakistan’s democracy is under threat. It is whether it even exists in anything more than name. Each of these developments—the ministerial admissions, the civilian government’s helpless posture, the army chief’s red-carpet treatment in Washington, and his Field Marshal upgrade—suggests that the real transition of power has already taken place. What should worry global stakeholders, particularly in South Asia, is not just the internal power shift in Pakistan but its external implications. A Pakistan where the military is once again calling all the shots is also a Pakistan that’s more prone to risk-taking—be it sponsoring cross-border terror, escalating border skirmishes with India, or courting shadowy international alliances for leverage. And here’s the geopolitical irony. The same United States that lectures the world on democratic norms and the sanctity of civilian governance seems to be looking the other way. When General Munir sat for breakfast with high-ranking U.S. officials—while Prime Minister Sharif received no comparable attention—it became glaringly obvious who Uncle Sam sees as Pakistan’s true ruler. Washington may speak of democracy, but its menu that morning told another story. It wasn’t the Prime Minister of Pakistan who broke bread with the Americans—it was a general wearing a Field Marshal’s badge. And that sums up Pakistan’s tragedy: a nation where elected governments govern, only if allowed to; and where, ultimately, the generals still have the last word.
