Success has many fathers. Failure, we are told, is an orphan. But in Pakistan, failure is pampered like a princeling. In this fractured federation of follies, where generals govern and civilians cower, General Syed Asim Munir’s elevation to field marshal is less a medal of merit and more a coronation of chaos. It marks not just the military’s muscle-flexing, but its full-fledged monopoly over Pakistan’s political, spiritual and strategic soul.
Munir’s field marshal title, officially sanctioned by Shehbaz Sharif’s cabinet, came in the wake of India’s Operation Sindoor—a determined and successful strike on terror camps in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir and Pakistani air bases. The limp response—Operation Bunyan-um-Marsoos—was a blustering ballet of bombs and blunders, ending with an alleged US-brokered ceasefire that underscored Pakistan’s strategic subservience. Munir’s elevation was, thus, less about battlefield brilliance than about bolstering a shaky regime and soothing military egos.
The promotion tells the tale of Pakistan’s field marshals. It explains Munir’s zealous ideology and the army’s relentless subversion of civilian rule. It also amplifies belligerent posturing against India. It raises serious questions about the political and strategic fallout of his promotion, his delicate rapport with the American establishment, and the stark economic chasm between a faltering Pakistan and a rising India.
This rare five-star flourish—last seen in 1959, when Ayub Khan grandly gifted himself the title—isn’t merely ceremonial. It’s symbolic of a state spiralling into subservience under khaki-clad kings. And yet, instead of accountability, Munir gets accolades. Instead of reflection, rank inflation. The general’s elevation wasn’t earned on battlefields—it was baked in backrooms by a compromised civilian cabinet desperate to defer to its khaki kingmaker.
His rise reinforces a grim pattern. Since 1947, Pakistan has endured dictators disguised as deliverers—Yahya, Zia, Musharraf. Munir is the latest in this lineage of lords in lanyards, a general who jails opponents, gags media, and governs through ghost laws. The 2025 Supreme Court ruling allowing military trials for civilians didn’t just bend the constitution, it bludgeoned it.
The general’s promotion is both pageantry and provocation, a gilded gauntlet thrown at democracy’s door. Munir isn’t just a general, he’s a crusader in uniform. Born in 1968 to a Punjabi family from Jalandhar, he has climbed the ranks with a Quran in one hand and an iron will in the other. His tenure as ISI chief and later Chief of Army Staff was defined by a fusion of religious nationalism and institutional absolutism. He infamously declared Kashmir Pakistan’s “jugular vein” in an April 2025 speech at a Rawalpindi mosque, reflecting a smilar point made at a dispora gathering and cloaking jihadist rhetoric in religious robes. His words weren’t idle. The sermon preceded the deadly Pahalgam attack and reflected a larger playbook: pulpits turned into platforms for militarised religiosity.
Munir envisions himself not just as a guardian of borders, but a mujahid general, wielding faith as a weapon. His paranoia is long-standing. In 2019, during the Kartarpur corridor opening, he reportedly warned that Sikh pilgrims could be Indian agents. In 2023, visiting a Balochistan madrasa, he exhorted students to “wield both pen and sword for Pakistan’s honour”. The blending of military ambition with messianic messaging has defined his leadership and signalled Pakistan’s peril. His strategy isn’t subtle. It’s a sanctified stridency—a zealous vision where state, scripture, and soldiers become indistinguishable.
Pakistan’s history is a tragic tale of toppled civilian rules. Ayub Khan’s coup in 1958, Zia-ul-Haq’s Islamic militarism, Pervez Musharraf’s modern authoritarianism—each chapter is a reiteration of the army’s disdain for democracy. Munir didn’t need a formal coup. He orchestrated Imran Khan’s ouster via a no-confidence vote, oversaw his jailing, and helped script the rigged 2024 elections. The latest Supreme Court verdict allowing military trials for civilians solidified this silent takeover through martial law masked as constitutional order.
This unrelenting militarisation comes at a steep cost. Pakistan’s civilian leadership has all but ceded space. The Sharif government’s acquiescence to Munir’s elevation wasn’t just appeasement. It was abdication. The suppression of Imran Khan’s PTI has rendered political opposition toothless. The judiciary, now partially under military supervision, has green-lit a parallel justice system where civilians are dragged before military courts. The result: a fragile façade of governance over an increasingly authoritarian apparatus.
Internationally, Munir’s hardline stance is fraying Pakistan’s already threadbare alliances. His revival of Zia’s ‘Thousand cuts’ doctrine and rhetoric-heavy posturing have deepened Indo-Pak hostility. New Delhi, emboldened by its economic ascent and military capacity, is unlikely to tolerate further provocations. Backchannel diplomacy lies frozen. India’s 2024 trade overtures have been spurned. Kashmir remains a flashpoint, and with a hardliner in Islamabad, the risk of localised conflict along the Line of Control is rising.
Even China and the Gulf states, once staunch supporters, are increasingly wary. Beijing is concerned about Pakistan’s unpredictability. Gulf donors, fatigued by Islamabad’s religious radicalism and strategic flippancy, have started pulling back. Only Washington remains partially engaged. As ISI chief during 2018-19, Munir built rapport with US intelligence during the Afghan drawdown. That bond brought Pakistan $1.2 billion in US aid in 2024. But the relationship is fraying. Diplomats describe Munir as “unpredictable”—a general who may be useful against terror, but is increasingly volatile, especially as his ideological fervour grows.
Domestically, the economic situation is dismal. Pakistan’s GDP contracted to $338 billion in 2024, down from $376 billion two years earlier. Inflation stands at 30 percent, foreign reserves have fallen to $8 billion, and the Pakistani rupee trades near 300 to the dollar. Debt servicing consumes 60 percent of the national budget. Over 40 percent of citizens live below the poverty line, and unemployment hovers at 8 percent. By contrast, India’s 2024 GDP stands at $3.9 trillion, projected to cross $4.2 trillion in 2025, with foreign reserves of over $700 billion and inflation under 5 percent.
Pakistan, dependent on IMF bailouts totalling $7 billion in 2024, spends 16 percent of its budget on defence, more than double India’s proportional allocation. Munir’s militaristic mission ensures that these priorities will not shift. Development is deferred, democracy dismantled, and dissent destroyed. The army consumes not just the lion’s share of the budget, but also the nation’s political bandwidth, choking off civil discourse and smothering pluralism.
The irony is bitter. Pakistan, once envisioned as a homeland for South Asia’s Muslims, has become a cautionary tale: a country where the military masquerades as saviour while dragging the nation into strategic stasis and economic ruin. Munir’s crown is one of thorns. His sermons sanctify strife, his doctrine darkens diplomacy, and his elevation extinguishes any lingering hope of peace with India.
If Munir consolidates his power, Pakistan will spiral into a garrison state, its democracy a mirage, its people condemned to poverty and strife—a nation forever lost in the shadow of its marshal’s sword. India’s slick strikes and Prime Minister Modi’s diplomatic swagger have totally outshined his big talk. For Field Marshal Munir’s jihadi pipe-dream now trips over itself in a dark, moonless mess, with no Sylphora to save his sinking ship.
prabhuchawla@newindianexpress.com
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