Trading volumes of the Iranian currency have reached as much as $6 million a day in Pakistan’s open market, according to the Exchange Companies Association of Pakistan, with demand accelerating after reports of renewed negotiations between Washington and Tehran.

The rally has been fueled in part by Islamabad’s diplomatic outreach, with Asim Munir visiting Iran and Shehbaz Sharif undertaking a regional tour following high-level U.S.-Iran talks hosted in the Pakistani capital. Market participants say these developments have strengthened expectations of a potential breakthrough.

The Iranian riyal has risen by around 50% in Pakistan’s informal market since late February, climbing from about Rs10,000 to Rs15,000 per 10 million riyals after talks began in Islamabad on April 11, ECAP data shows.Small investors are increasingly participating in the trend.

Muhammad Akbar, a chauffeur in Karachi, said he had invested part of his monthly income into the currency, hoping to profit if negotiations succeed. “I have become a millionaire,” he said, referring to the large nominal value of riyals he now holds.Others have built significantly larger positions.

Retail investor Azam Khan said he had accumulated hundreds of millions of riyals as the currency gained traction among traders seeking quick returns.Market participants say the surge reflects heightened expectations rather than underlying economic strength.

Zafar Sultan Paracha said demand had surged across investor categories, though he cautioned that trading volumes may be even higher due to undocumented transactions.“People’s expectations are very high,” Paracha said, urging investors to base decisions on fundamentals rather than speculation.Economists warn the rally bears hallmarks of behavioral bias rather than structural recovery.

Muhammad Waqas Ghani described the trend as a “gambler’s fallacy,” where investors assume a rebound is likely simply because the currency has weakened in the past.He said Iran continues to face deep economic challenges, including liquidity shortages and stress in its banking system, which limit the scope for sustained appreciation.

Without broader reforms or durable sanctions relief, gains are likely to remain localized to Pakistan’s market rather than reflecting a global revaluation.Some investors remain cautious. Isra Ghous Rasool, a business student and stock market participant, said volatility linked to geopolitical developments made the currency too risky. “There’s simply too much volatility for me to comfortably manage,” she said.

Pakistan has also taken steps to facilitate trade through Iran, temporarily easing export rules for shipments of goods to Central Asia via Iranian territory, a move analysts say may have contributed modestly to the currency’s local demand.

Still, analysts say the current surge is driven primarily by speculation tied to geopolitical expectations rather than economic fundamentals, leaving investors exposed to sharp reversals if diplomatic progress stalls.

The meeting brought together Badr Abdelatty, Ishaq Dar and Hakan Fidan, who reviewed the evolving security situation and emphasized support for efforts aimed at achieving a permanent ceasefire, according to an official statement.

Participants welcomed Pakistan’s mediation role in ongoing negotiations between the United States and Iran, expressing hope that diplomatic progress would help de-escalate tensions and limit broader economic and security fallout.Recent developments have raised expectations of a breakthrough.

A ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah, alongside Iran’s decision to reopen the Strait of Hormuz during a temporary truce, have eased pressure on global energy markets and reduced immediate risks of escalation.The conflict, which began on Feb. 28 with U.S. and Israeli strikes on Iran, had disrupted shipping routes and triggered volatility in global oil supplies.

The reopening of the strait long a key U.S. demand—combined with a ceasefire extension linked to Lebanon, has aligned core conditions in ongoing talks.Donald Trump said on Friday that negotiations with Tehran were nearing completion, describing a deal as “very close” and indicating that most major issues had already been resolved.

Previous talks led by J.D. Vance in Pakistan did not produce an agreement, but further negotiations are expected as diplomatic channels remain active.Trump also credited regional actors including Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates and Qatar for supporting stabilization efforts, while praising Shehbaz Sharif and Asim Munir for their role in facilitating dialogue.

The Antalya meeting reflects intensified regional coordination as governments seek to consolidate recent gains and move toward a broader settlement that could end hostilities and restore stability across the Middle East.

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 clause would mark the first time in Pakistan’s history that the entire military chain of command is legally and constitutionally subordinated to a single officer.

Since his appointment in November 2022, Field Marshal Asim Munir has proved a master practitioner of power consolidation, outpacing even Pakistan’s most notorious military strongmen such as Ayub Khan, Zia-ul-Haq, and Pervez Musharraf. His latest gambit, the proposed 27th Constitutional Amendment, cements that legacy and threatens to formalize Pakistan’s drift into an overt military state.

At its core, the 27th Amendment rewrites Article 243 of Pakistan’s Constitution which details the governing framework of the command of the armed forces (Chapter 2). While, it may appear to be a technical legal change, however, it is, in fact, a crude structural reordering of the Pakistani state in favor of the military establishment that has anyway calling the shots for decades.

Nevertheless, one of the most consequential provisions (clause 5) is the proposed creation of a new office of Chief of Defence Forces (CDF). Under this clause, the Army Chief will automatically assume the role of CDF role, which effectively merges the tri-service command of the army, navy, and air force into one uniformed post. The existing Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee (JCSC), a forum meant to balance inter-service authority, will be abolished.

In practical terms, this means all branches of Pakistan’s armed forces will answer to one man, that is Asim Munir. It also conveniently sidelines General Sahir Shamshad Mirza, the current Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the senior-most general whom the Shehbaz Sharif government bypassed when appointing Munir in 2022.

This clause would mark the first time in Pakistan’s history that the entire military chain of command is legally and constitutionally subordinated to a single officer.

Another major clause (6) under Article 243 transfers effective control of Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal to the Army Chief. The Prime Minister would nominally appoint the Commander of the National Strategic Command (the custodian of nuclear weapons), but only from among “members of the Pakistan Army” and solely on the “recommendation of the Chief of Army Staff concurrently serving as Chief of Defence Forces.”

This wording is not incidental. It ensures that the nuclear command, which has traditionally been supervised by a civilian-led National Command Authority, will now operate entirely under military discretion. Pakistan’s already fragile notion of civilian oversight is being reduced to fiction. With this, Asim Munir not only commands Pakistan’s conventional military forces but also gains exclusive control of its nuclear deterrent. 

Perhaps the most extraordinary aspect of the 27th Amendment lies in its provisions for legal protection. Given that the amendment proposes lifetime immunity to the Field Marshal (clauses 7,8,9,10 &11), it practically equates his legal status with that of the President as the Head of the State of Pakistan. In effect, Asim Munir, who was conferred the title of Field Marshal earlier this year, cannot be prosecuted, investigated, or held accountable by any court or parliamentary body for decisions made during or after his tenure.

This is a historic and most consequential departure from Pakistan’s constitutional tradition. Even military rulers like Zia and Musharraf, both of whom seized power through coups, lacked explicit lifetime impunity under constitutional law. However, Munir has, by securing this clause, effectively insulated himself against future civilian pushback or judicial scrutiny, ensuring that any transition of power will not endanger his position or legacy.

Though Pakistan’s history has seen several military rulers institutionalizing their dominance through legal means like Ayub Khan’s rewriting of the 1962 Constitution or Zia-ul-Haq giving the military a permanent political veto by amending Article 58(2)(b), Asim Munir’s strategy is more sophisticated and inarguably more durable. Unlike his predecessors, who relied on overt coups, Munir is using constitutional procedure and parliamentary approval to codify military supremacy. As such, Munir seems to be outdoing the likes of Ayub, Zia, and Musharraf not through coups but by rewriting laws in his own favor.

The Shehbaz Sharif government’s cooperation in pushing this amendment through parliament reveals how deeply Pakistan’s civilian leadership has become dependent on the military’s favor. The Asim Munir-led military establishment has leveraged this vulnerability and extended its control over domestic politics, the economy, and even foreign policy. 

By institutionalizing this control through the 27th Amendment, the military no longer needs to rely on backroom manipulation as it can now rule openly, with parliamentary consent.

The conferment of the title “Field Marshal” on Munir earlier this year, following India’s “Operation Sindoor” was the clearest signal of his elevation to the highest power status in the country. It very well echoed self-promotion of Ayub Khan to Field Marshal in the 1960s, when he justified his authority was essential to the country’s national defense.

Munir would do well to remember that Pakistan’s streets which are restless, politically volatile, and steeped in resentment against military domination, though it may dormant now, have a way of humbling even the most entrenched generals. Equally, it is interesting how the country’s political elite, particularly Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) and Pakistan People’s Party who currently backs Munir seem to have forgotten how such curry favouring of generals have bitten them in the past.

The 27th Amendment marks not just another chapter in Pakistan’s cycle of military dominance but a turning point of the transformation of military supremacy from an unwritten reality into a constitutional fact. Field Marshal Asim Munir may believe he has achieved what his predecessors could not: absolute power with absolute legitimacy. But Pakistan’s history suggests that even the thickest face and the blackest heart cannot shield a ruler from the reckoning that follows hubris.

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

Until Pakistan matches words with actions, its participation in regional counterterror frameworks will remain a facade.

When Pakistan assumed the chair of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization’s permanent anti-terror body, the Regional Anti-Terrorist Structure (RATS), last month, the optics were striking: a state sponsor of terrorism now overseeing a regional network tasked with combating it.

The irony is hard to ignore. For Islamabad’s international posture and domestic rhetoric to carry credibility, its territory must no longer serve as a safe haven for groups trained and funded to strike Indian soil. Yet, the evidence suggests this condition remains far from met.

Pakistan’s enduring militant ecosystem aligns closely with the country’s long-standing military doctrine of “bleeding India with a thousand cuts”—a strategy that leverages proxies and covert militants to impose costs on India while avoiding direct conventional conflict. Under this logic, groups like Jaishe-e-Mohammad (JeM) and Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) serve not merely ideological but strategic purposes. 

If Pakistan is serious about counterterrorism, the persistence of this doctrine is inexplicable. The question remains: why does Islamabad continue to nurture a system that directly contradicts its international obligations and its stated commitment to counterterrorism?

Persistent Militant Ecosystems and Digital Adaptations

Notwithstanding India’s precision strikes on select Pakistani terrorist camps in May 2025, Pakistan’s militant ecosystems remain largely intact. Take the case of Masood Azhar-led JeM, which continues to plan operations, maintain training facilities, and innovate its fundraising mechanisms. Recent investigative reporting reveals that JeM has shifted toward digital-wallet fundraising and is attempting to rebuild as many as 313 terror hubs across Pakistan.

Despite severe losses during Operation Sindoor—which killed more than a dozen members of Azhar’s family and destroyed JeM’s headquarters in Bahawalpur—he remains defiant in his terrorist drive against India.

In a recent speech at a JeM site in Bahawalpur, Azhar announced plans to establish a women’s jihad course, Jamat-ul-Mominat. The 15-day training program reportedly aims to establish female combat units within JeM. If implemented, this can be a critical operational development for JeM, reminiscent of the Islamic State and Boko Haram, both of which have deployed women as suicide bombers and assault operatives.

Further worrying is the public conduct of the sons and successors of designated terror figures. The son of Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) chief Hafiz Saeed, for example, has openly defied extradition calls, using public rallies to proclaim that Pakistan will continue to shield his father while praising military operations and urging “jihad.” 

An anti-regime Pakistani journalist recently reported that Talha Saeed has assumed leadership of an LeT-linked mosque in Lahore—signaling a generational shift in the group’s command and control. These are not isolated cases but part of a broader ecosystem in which religious, militant, and political networks overlap with visible impunity. Their continued prominence underscores the depth of Pakistan’s structural complicity and the normalization of militant influence in public life.

The Digital Evolution of Terror Financing

Pakistan’s counterterrorism narrative further collapses under the scrutiny of its financial oversight. While Islamabad touts its cooperation with the Financial Action Task Force (FATF), militant funding has evolved faster than its regulatory mechanisms. Groups such as JeM have reportedly shifted from traditional banking channels to fintech platforms, mobile wallets, and decentralized e-payment systems within Pakistan to sustain operations.

This digital adaptation is not evidence of militant defeat but proof of resilience. Despite a recent implicit warning from FATF President Elisa de Anda Madrazo that Pakistan’s removal from the Grey List in 2022 was not “bullet-proof” and Pakistan’s own finance minister’s admission of rampant unregulated digital transactions, terrorist financing remains largely unchecked. The shift into digital ecosystems allows militant organizations to operate under the radar, with minimal state interference or consequences.

Paradoxical Cover from the United States

Pakistan’s growing diplomatic and economic proximity to the United States may paradoxically weaken Washington’s leverage over Islamabad’s behavior. Historically, U.S. pressure has occasionally forced Pakistan’s military-intelligence establishment to rein in militant proxies. But today, the strategic calculus appears to have shifted. 

As Pakistan portrays itself as a “regional counterterror partner” and a reliable economic hub, Washington remains inclined to prioritize a transactional relationship over accountability. These dynamic risks emboldening Pakistan’s military leadership, led by Field Marshal Asim Munir, to maintain its use of jihadist groups as tools of statecraft. Islamabad’s confidence that its strategic importance shields it from meaningful repercussions only deepens the challenge.

The policy risk for India and its partners is that Pakistan will use its SCO-RATS role to deflect scrutiny while continuing asymmetric operations. If training camps are allowed to be rebuilt, if digital funding networks flourish, and if terrorist rallies continue with active state approval, then Pakistan’s leadership in counterterror structures becomes an exercise in hollow symbolism rather than substantive change.

Pakistan’s claim to regional leadership in counterterrorism rests on fragile ground so long as its own territory hosts—and in many cases, protects—the very networks it purports to combat. The U.S.–Pakistan relationship, increasingly transactional and detached from shared security priorities, risks reinforcing Islamabad’s belief that it can pursue dual policies: cooperation abroad and complicity at home. 

Until Pakistan matches words with actions, its participation in regional counterterror frameworks will remain a facade. The question for the international community is not whether Pakistan can change, but whether it wants to.

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.

Pakistan’s pattern of dependence—on U.S. security guarantees, Chinese investment, Iranian goodwill—makes it a client state, not a sovereign actor on the world stage.

Amid the fiery conflict between Israel and Iran, Pakistan’s military finds itself walking a geopolitical tightrope: publicly aligning with Iran, even hinting at nuclear retaliation against Israel, while simultaneously clinging to U.S. military favor in its campaign against Iranian nuclear assets.

This schizophrenic stance underscores a decades‑long pattern: Pakistan’s “deep state” and its military‑intel establishment have repeatedly sold the nation’s sovereignty to whichever patron offers the greatest leverage. The result? An arrested development and chronic underachievement.

Last week, Iran’s IRGC commander Mohsen Rezaei claimed on state television that “Pakistan has told us that if Israel uses nuclear missiles, we will also attack it with nuclear weapons”. Pakistan neither publicly confirmed nor denied the claim. Yet within days, its foreign ministry condemned U.S. airstrikes on Iran’s nuclear sites—Fordow, Natanz, Isfahan—calling them “gravely concerning” and flagging possible regional escalation.

This denunciation came just after Pakistan endorsed President Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize over his de‑escalation efforts with India. In barely a 48‑hour span, Islamabad praised Trump for stabilizing South Asia and then rebuked his bombs.

Meanwhile, Pakistan’s army chief Field Marshal Asim Munir was in Washington for a lavish White House lunch—where Trump publicly lauded Pakistani restraint after the India‑Pakistan missile flare‑up in May. This whitewashing of Islamabad’s contradictions—welcoming Pakistani nuclear diplomacy while supporting the strikes—reveals much about the transactional nature of this partnership.

Deep State by Design

Pakistan’s military establishment, colloquially “the deep state,” has never seen itself as servant, but rather as master. Since 1947, it has orchestrated coups, mediated foreign policy, and directed economic as well as strategic priorities. Civilian governance remains a veneer. Power accrues through Pakistan’s full‑spectrum nuclear deterrence doctrine—designed less for defense than for bargaining over India, the U.S., and other regional powers.

The economic cost of this grandstanding is steep. Decades of diverting scarce resources into military programs—sometimes backed by Chinese or U.S. aid, sometimes clandestinely through nuclear proliferation networks like A.Q. Khan’s—have starved Pakistan of investment in education, health, infrastructure, and industry. Its economy limps under chronic debt; urban centers are choked; public services are threadbare.

Selling the Nation to the Highest Bidder

This Faustian bargain continues. Pakistan courts the U.S. when it needs military hardware, diplomatic cover, and economic relief. As soon as Washington turns, Islamabad pivots to Iran—or China, or Russia. Recent Indian‑express analysis notes Islamabad’s “delicate balancing act” shaped by anxieties over India and a need for U.S. patronage. But the result is strategic incoherence and international mistrust.

The core of the problem is corruption at the top. The deep state uses its clout to capture resources. Elite groups extract rents from development budgets, shield militant proxies, and arrogate foreign policy. Civil society and democracy exist in name only; real power resides with generals who see the nation as a chessboard. As a result, growth stalls, inequality deepens, and Pakistan’s potential remains unrealized.

The Nuclear Catch‑22

Pakistan’s flirtation with nuclear brinkmanship—hinting at retaliation for Israel, pointing B‑2 bombers at Iran—exposes the inherent contradiction: nukes are for deterrence, not diplomacy. Instead of a mature nuclear strategy aimed at securing peace and economic stability, the military uses nuclear ambiguity for maximum geopolitical returns. That has brought fleeting headlines and foreign funds, but no sustainable development.

Pakistan must ask itself: is it raising its geopolitical profile, or holding itself back through strategic schizophrenia? Its pattern of dependence—on U.S. security guarantees, Chinese investment, Iranian goodwill—makes it a client state, not a sovereign actor on the world stage.

A Way Forward: Decouple the Deep State

For Pakistan to unlock its potential, it must dismantle the deep‑state’s monopoly. Demilitarize foreign policy, entrust civilian leadership with economic and diplomatic agendas. Cut off free rides to jihadi proxies that generate short‑term geopolitical cachet but long‑term global isolation. Redirect resources from nuclear brinkmanship into clean energy, literacy, and healthcare.

Otherwise, Pakistan’s “balancing act” is nothing but a balancing of bids: play the U.S. for aid, Iran for regional rapprochement, China for infrastructure—until the next pivot. But each shift deepens instability and stifles growth. The people, not the generals, suffer.

In the end, only a break from this militarized cycle—an embrace of genuine democracy and domestic investment—can free Pakistan from being the world’s perpetual geopolitical rentier. Anything less is selling its soul, again.

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

Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites.

In recent remarks, Pakistan’s Army Chief General Asim Munir articulated his ideological vision for the country with a clarity that many leaders deliberately avoid. He unapologetically reaffirmed the Two-Nation Theory and emphasized the enduring divide between Hindus and Muslims—a worldview deeply rooted in religious exclusivism.

For me, this honesty is refreshing. At least he is not hiding behind the concept of “Taqiya” (dissimulation) or the carefully crafted ambiguity that many political actors use. He owns his hardline position openly.

But we must ask—what does this ideological commitment to Islamic identity actually mean in practice? If Islam is the unifying principle behind Pakistan’s statehood, as claimed by its top military leadership, then why have fellow Muslims suffered under its policies—both at home and across borders?

In 2023, the Pakistani state forcibly expelled nearly 1.7 million Afghan refugees, many of whom had been living in the country for decades. Men, women, and children—many of whom were born in Pakistan—were sent back to a nation plagued by instability and repression. These individuals were not ideological enemies or agents of discord; they were fellow Muslims seeking safety and sustenance. The logic behind their expulsion wasn’t religious. It was ethnic, political, and economic.

This contradiction isn’t new. In 1971, during the Bangladesh Liberation War, West Pakistan (now Pakistan) unleashed brutal violence against East Pakistanis (now Bangladeshis). According to historians, up to three million people were killed, and countless women were subjected to sexual violence. And who were the victims? They were not religious “others.” They were Muslims—sharing not just faith, but language, history, and family ties.

These historical and recent episodes raise a troubling question: Is Pakistan’s national identity truly anchored in Islam, or has religion been used selectively—as a political and strategic tool to justify repression, exclusion, and control?

The Two-Nation Theory, which underpinned the partition of British India in 1947, proposed that Muslims and Hindus were distinct nations who could not coexist peacefully in a single state. But this idea, though foundational to Pakistan’s creation, has since mutated. Rather than fostering a pluralistic Muslim society, the theory has been wielded to divide people further—between Punjabis and Pashtuns, Baloch and Mohajirs, Shias and Sunnis, Deobandis and Barelvis. The outcome is not national unity, but chronic fragmentation.

Instead of serving as a source of cohesion, Islam has become a battlefield of sectarian and ethnic contestation. Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites. The lived reality of the Pakistani state contradicts its ideological claims. Whether it’s the suppression of Baloch voices, the marginalization of Sindhi culture, or the persecution of Shias, the nation has drifted far from its idealized Islamic unity.

This is not to say that Islam, as a faith or moral system, is to blame. The issue is how Islam has been instrumentalized by the state and military elites. When any religion becomes a political instrument, it loses its spiritual purpose and becomes a tool of coercion.

The youth of Pakistan—and indeed South Asia as a whole—deserve better than this endless recycling of exclusionary doctrines. They do not need more sermons on “us vs. them.” They need education systems that teach empathy, critical thinking, and historical introspection. They need media that values truth over propaganda. And most of all, they need leadership that champions collaboration over conflict.

True unity is not built by suppressing diversity. It is achieved by embracing it. Religion can inspire compassion and solidarity, but only when it is divorced from the machinery of state control and identity politics. A nation cannot find peace if its founding principle is fear of the other.

Pakistan’s future lies not in reinforcing ideological walls but in tearing them down—brick by brick. It lies in building bridges with its neighbors, reconciling with its own people, and redefining what it means to be Pakistani—not as a monolithic Islamic identity, but as a plural, inclusive, and humane society.

History has shown us where hate leads. It’s time to try something different.

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.