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If there was any reason to celebrate August 14, it’s because the date has become a platform for speaking about the independence still to come. This year’s celebrations were less about nostalgia for 1947 and more about envisioning a future where Pakistan actually controls its own destiny.
By JUNAID S. AHMAD
Independence Day in Pakistan is a strange spectacle. Each year, the country drowns in green-and-white bunting, fireworks crackle through the humid August night, and politicians wax lyrical about ‘freedom’ on podiums guarded by men with more medals than victories. But for the shrewd observer, this pomp has the melancholy charm of a birthday party for someone who never actually got born.
The state that emerged in 1947 may have acquired a flag, an anthem, and a name, but it never acquired genuine sovereignty. Pakistan’s ‘freedom’ has been less about self-determination and more about the privilege of selecting which foreign overlord to serve with utmost loyalty.
The official story of August 14 still clings to a fantasy: that the midnight separation from British India marked the arrival of a proud, independent Muslim nation. The truth is more like a diplomatic pawn shop. The British vacated the front office, left the furniture in place, and within months, Pakistan’s rulers found new patrons—first in London, then in Washington—who paid handsomely for the services of this strategically located, militarily enthusiastic newcomer. Independence was treated not as a shield to guard sovereignty, but as a license to rent it out.
From birth to bondage: The Cold War hustle
Barely a few years after independence, Pakistan was signing up for every Western military pact going. SEATO, CENTO—these alphabet-soup alliances were less about defending Pakistan and more about defending the geopolitical interests of the United States and its friends.
The military brass, quick to spot a profitable trend, realised that Pakistan’s geographic position was more lucrative than any industry they could actually build. Instead of factories, they cultivated airbases. Instead of developing a self-reliant economy, they developed a habit: exporting services in counter-insurgency, covert operations, and ‘stability maintenance’ to regimes approved in Washington, London, and later Riyadh.
By the time the Cold War ended, Pakistan’s generals had refined the art of strategic servitude. The only major shift was in the clientele. Western capitals still paid, but Gulf monarchies and other West Asian despots were now regular customers. Pakistan became the geopolitical equivalent of a private security firm with nukes—a mercenary state that was perennially broke but always armed.
One of the great ironies of Pakistan’s anti-colonial narrative is that it never had the kind of mass-based, broad-spectrum political party that could anchor true independence.
The party we never had
One of the great ironies of Pakistan’s anti-colonial narrative is that it never had the kind of mass-based, broad-spectrum political party that could anchor true independence. India had the Indian National Congress—flawed, faction-ridden, but genuinely mass-mobilising against British rule. Pakistan’s creation, by contrast, was largely an elite-driven negotiation between the Muslim League and the departing British. There was no national liberation army, no coordinated civil disobedience, no decades-long mass struggle forging political consciousness. What we got was a state without a deeply rooted popular movement to hold it accountable.
That absence has haunted Pakistan’s politics ever since. Without a strong tradition of popular sovereignty, the military establishment could claim a paternal right to rule, civil institutions stayed weak, and public mobilisation was sporadic, easily manipulated, and swiftly crushed.
Enter the Movement for Justice
Then came something unusual. Around two decades ago, a cricket legend named Imran Khan began gathering momentum as a political figure, positioning himself as the incorruptible outsider. For many Pakistanis—especially the young—his Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), or Movement for Justice, felt like the country’s first taste of a real independence struggle. The rhetoric was about dignity, justice, and an end to elite capture. His rallies didn’t just fill stadiums; they filled a void in the national imagination.
No one could honestly say PTI was flawless. But for millions, it felt like a movement finally speaking the language of sovereignty—not the hollow independence-day speeches, but an actual rejection of the subservient, mercenary posture Pakistan’s rulers had perfected. This was the independence struggle Pakistan had never fought in 1947, now arriving half a century late.
Regime change, the old-fashioned way
Of course, if you threaten the neo-colonial order, the order threatens you back. In 2022, Imran Khan was ousted in a manoeuvre that bore the fingerprints of the standard Washington playbook: apply diplomatic pressure, whisper to the generals, and let ‘domestic politics’ handle the rest. The military establishment—long addicted to Western approval and Western money—proved to be willing executioners.
For many Pakistanis, the ouster was less a political event and more a political education. Here, in high-definition, was the real chain of command: Washington gives the nod, Rawalpindi salutes. It was the kind of moment that rearranges how people think about power in their country.
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The crackdown that backfired
If the generals thought repression would break the Movement for Justice, they miscalculated.
The crackdown of the past three years—arrests, media blackouts, intimidation—has ironically broadened political awareness. People now speak more openly than ever about the betrayal of 1947, about the myth of independence, about the shamelessness of the elite compact with foreign powers.
What’s emerged is not just anger at individual leaders, but anger at the entire system—political, military, and economic—that trades away national dignity for personal profit. For a population long fed on patriotic myths, this is a radical shift. Pakistanis are now asking the sort of uncomfortable questions that keep puppet-masters awake at night.
For ordinary Pakistanis, the message was clear: if the generals won’t lift a finger for Gaza, their much-advertised commitment to Islamic solidarity is nothing but a marketing gimmick.
Gaza and the great unmasking
Nothing has revealed the moral bankruptcy of Pakistan’s ruling class quite like Gaza.
As Israel’s assault on the enclave mounted, the Pakistani military—forever branding itself as the guardian of the ummah—did nothing beyond issuing cautious, toothless statements.
The same institution that has, for decades, boasted about defending Muslim causes abroad couldn’t muster even symbolic action against the most visible, brutal massacre of Palestinians in recent history.
For ordinary Pakistanis, the message was clear: if the generals won’t lift a finger for Gaza, their much-advertised commitment to Islamic solidarity is nothing but a marketing gimmick. This wasn’t just cowardice—it was active complicity in a world order where Western interests dictate who lives, who dies, and who must remain silent.
Where once there were gunboats and viceroys, now there are IMF loans, military aid packages, and security pacts. But the result is the same—local elites get rich, foreign powers get what they want, and ordinary people get slogans.
Connecting the dots: Global South awakening
This realisation has pushed many Pakistanis to look outward and see their struggle as part of something bigger. Across the Global South, countries nominally ‘independent’ remain in relationships of deep dependency—military, economic, and diplomatic—on the same Western powers that once colonised them.
The mechanisms have changed: where once there were gunboats and viceroys, now there are IMF loans, military aid packages, and security pacts. But the result is the same—local elites get rich, foreign powers get what they want, and ordinary people get slogans.
By speaking of ‘betrayed decolonisation’, activists in Pakistan are not indulging in metaphor; they are naming the political reality. This is why August 14, 2025, saw so many voices—defiant, unafraid—calling for genuine independence. Not the independence of flag and anthem, but independence of policy, economy, and purpose.
The humour in the horror
The tragedy of Pakistan’s pseudo-independence is almost too heavy to bear without humour, and Pakistanis have developed a rich tradition of satire. Jokes circulate about how the national anthem should be played in Washington before cabinet meetings, or how the country should skip Independence Day and go straight to ‘Dependence Day’ celebrations, complete with a parade of ambassadors from the United States, the UK, and Saudi Arabia. It’s gallows humour, but it cuts to the truth: until the chains are named, they cannot be broken.
August 14 as a date with the future
If there was any reason to celebrate August 14, it’s because the date has become a platform for speaking about the independence still to come.
This year’s celebrations were less about nostalgia for 1947 and more about envisioning a future where Pakistan actually controls its own destiny. The activists, communities, and even ordinary citizens who spoke out did so with clarity: the flag change of 1947 was cosmetic; the decolonization must still happen.
And perhaps that’s the most subversive thing of all. The ruling elite thrives on the myth that independence is a closed chapter, a settled question. The people are now saying it is an unfinished struggle.
Closing: The day after Independence
When a nation finally admits that its independence was a hoax, two futures become possible. One is despair, a quiet acceptance of permanent subordination. The other is rebellion—the determination to finish the job that was left undone. Pakistan stands on that forked road now. The rulers will keep selling loyalty to the highest bidder, but the people—more awake than they have been in generations—are starting to see through the game.
If August 14, 1947, was the day Pakistan acquired its name, then the real Independence Day will be the day it severs the strings that have made it a marionette on the global stage. Until then, the fireworks are just a light show for a freedom that hasn’t yet arrived. And when it does, the celebrations will be louder, the bunting less hypocritical, and the speeches—finally—worth listening to.
Professor Junaid S. Ahmad teaches Law, Religion, and Global Politics and is the Director of the Centre for the Study of Islam and Decolonisation (CSID), Islamabad, Pakistan. He is a member of the International Movement for a Just World (JUST – https://just-international.org), Movement for Liberation from Nakba (MLN – https://nakbaliberation.com), and Saving Humanity and Planet Earth (SHAPE –https://www.theshapeproject.com/)
