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You cannot pretend to champion Palestine while allying with its oppressors. You cannot call yourself a sovereign state when your alliances define you more than your aspirations.
By JUNAID S. AHMAD
From the barracks of Rawalpindi to the halls of Washington, a sordid alliance stalks the republic of Pakistan: a military caste addicted to power, a civilian class cowed into servitude, and a foreign patron ever ready to pull the leash.
What unfolds is less a grand strategy than a tragicomedy: generals trading sovereignty for sinecures, soldiers harbouring contempt for their officers, and a once-promising democratic movement crushed under the twin weights of imperial ambition and martial tutelage.
At the summit of Pakistan’s national hierarchy sits the uniformed elite—high-command officers whose benefit resides not in defending the people, but in ensuring their own station remains unchallenged.
The vast majority of junior officers and ordinary soldiers know the drill: they march at a command, live off state hand-outs, yet watch in silence as their rulers gamble everything in Islamabad’s corridors of power. Beneath their boots pulses a latent contempt: not for the institution of soldiering, but for the generals who confuse war-games with governance, who mistake subservience for sovereignty. They know the charade: a military that catalogues enemies abroad yet fails its citizens at home; a top brass more at ease with arms deals and alliances than with schools or clinics.
Meanwhile, in Washington and its allied capitals, they observe the last great outsourcing of empire. The US sees Pakistan not as an independent partner, but as a subcontractor—an air-strip here, a drone base there, a pliant nuclear state with acceptable risks. When Imran Khan—in office—moved, albeit imperfectly, toward a new Pakistan: one marked by social justice, independent foreign policy, and friendship with all nations, he ran head-first into this alliance. He derailed the pat-scripts: refused US basing rights, challenged embassy diktats, and dared to recast Kashmir and Palestine not as trophies of patronage but as tests of principle. His mistake was not corruption—it was defiance. And the consequence was swift: a regime-change operation dressed in parliamentary garb, a military and intelligence complex that salivated at the smell of capitulation, and a Washington that nodded, funded and quietly applauded.
While their generals trade in hardware and geopolitics, the cries of the oppressed vanish into the night
From here the narrative spirals into farce. Pakistan’s flag-waving elite collect defence pacts as one might souvenirs—each a badge of fidelity to the imperial order, each certifying that the country’s violent and unjust alignments will continue unimpeded. The generals embrace those pacts not because they secure Pakistan—they don’t—but because they secure the elite’s privilege: a share of the deals, a veneer of patriotism, a shield against accountability. And while their generals trade in hardware and geopolitics, the cries of the oppressed vanish into the night: Pashtun civilians bombed under the guise of ‘counter-terror,’ Afghan refugees reviled as villains by a state that once nurtured their tormentors.
Yes, nuclear-armed Pakistan could not muster a single bullet for Gaza. It did not send a protection force. It does not lobby the United Nations for justice, despite the occasional meaningless rhetoric. Instead, it signs on to the next big defence contract, brushes its hands of the Palestinian plight, and turns its back on the ideal of Muslim solidarity. What kind of state is this that boasts nuclear weapons yet lacks the moral will to send aid—or more than a token gesture—to fellow victims of aggression? A state that lectures others on terrorism while shelling its own Pashtun tribes. A state so short on legitimacy it must invoke the bogeyman of the Afghan refugee, call entire populations ‘terrorists,’ then crush any dissent with tanks and tear-gas.
Speaking of dissent—when Imran Khan’s movement rose, the state responded with idylls of terror. Cadres of young activists, women, students, social justice advocates—whether Karachi or Khyber—found themselves in dungeons sanctioned by a military-political complex. The hearings were stacked, the charges manufactured, the message simple: move for justice and you move into our sights. The generals clapped their hands, Washington twisted the strings, and the civilian face of Pakistan trembled. The officer class may nominally obey the high command—but in quiet mess halls and among soldiers’ wives the whispers of outrage gather: ‘Why are we policing our own people? Why is Urdu-speaking Karachi the victim of our operations? Why do we trespass into forests and valleys and call them terror zones?’
In the borderlands the farce becomes terrifyingly concrete. The army, having once nurtured the Taliban in Afghanistan to secure ‘strategic depth,’ now bombs them—and blames them for terrorism. In this brain-twist of national strategy, the creator is recast as the adversary, the patron transformed into the provoked. The Pashtun civilian watches as homes are razed near the Durand Line, as refugees arrive on Pakistani soil bearing the costs of wars Pakistan helped manufacture, and as the generals portray them as fifth-column terrorists. The irony would be comical were it not so brutal.
And what of Kashmir? In the so-called ‘free’ Azad Kashmir of Pakistan, huge anti-government demonstrations rage. A region whose inhabitants yearn for dignity, not just slogans. Under Imran Khan, new polling suggested the unthinkable: Kashmiris in Indian-occupied Kashmir, despite seeing the abysmal conditions in Azad Kashmir, began to seriously consider joining Pakistan—not as another occupier but as a fortress of self-determination. The generals would rather you not notice that: they prefer the pre-scripted dispute, the perpetual conflict, the tortured rhetoric of ‘we stand with Kashmir’ while the state stands with its own survival. The polls are telling: if Pakistan’s Kashmir policy is failing, the state itself is structurally unhealthy.
To be sure, the Pakistan military remains an institution of extraordinary capability. But capability is not legitimacy; nor is turf-control a foundation for national purpose. The generals continue to conflate war-power with nation-power, forgetting that true power is fostered by schools, by hospitals, by trust in institutions—and by consent, not coercion. And when a regime trades in foreign patronage—be it Washington’s dollars or Beijing’s infrastructure—but cannot deliver justice or dignity at home, the bargain has already been lost.
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As the Iranian–Israeli conflict rages, as Gaza bleeds, and as the great-game intensifies in South Asia, Pakistan stands at a crossroads: obey its patrons, shrink its sovereignty, and reclaim the empire-client script—or reject the military’s primacy, embrace true independence, and build a republic that answers not to external powers but to its people. The generals will tell you that the choice is security; the civilians will whisper it is dignity.
The generals may hold the fortress of Rawalpindi, but they cannot hold the conscience of a nation.
Here is the truth the generals, the politicians, and the strategists don’t want you to admit: you cannot rule a nation by telling its people to be silent while you thunder abroad. You cannot build strategic depth on the graves of your own citizens. You cannot pretend to champion Palestine while allying with its oppressors. You cannot call yourself a sovereign state when your alliances define you more than your aspirations.
Pakistan’s military may still march on; its generals may still wield the levers of power; Washington may still fax orders and funnel funds. But the people—they are waking up. And once the echo of Imran Khan’s voice becomes a roar, no amount of bayonets, no arsenal of deals, no drums of war will silence it. The generals may hold the fortress of Rawalpindi, but they cannot hold the conscience of a nation. The struggle for that is already well underway—and the verdict will not wait.
Prof. 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), Movement for Liberation from Nakba (MLN), and Saving Humanity and Planet Earth (SHAPE).
