Lt Col Mukhtar Butt
IN recent years, criticism of Pakistan’s military establishment has grown louder—across political forums, in the media and on digital platforms.
From accusations of overreach to concerns about political engineering, the defence forces are often portrayed as the single obstacle to true democratic evolution in Pakistan. But this narrative, though emotionally compelling, is dangerously simplistic. A more nuanced view reveals a different reality: in a country plagued by fragile institutions, fractured politics, massive corruption and constant external threats, the military has often stepped in not as a power-hungry actor, but as a reluctant stabilizer in the best interest of the country. The real question, then, is not why the army intervenes, but why civilian leadership so often invites, requires and depends on it.
Since 1947, Pakistan’s journey has been marked by existential threats. From the Kashmir conflict and the trauma of 1971 to the wars in Kargil and ongoing cross-border tensions, the military has remained on the frontlines—not only on the battlefield, but in moments of political breakdown. Civilian governments have frequently failed to provide continuity, consensus or credibility. In such times, the military filled the vacuum—not because it demanded to, or wanted to, but because someone had to. Critics often forget that Operation Zarb-e-Azb and Radd-ul-Fasaad were not political projects; they were national survival imperatives. When terrorism engulfed our cities, schools, sensitive places and mosques, it was not the political class that restored order—it was the soldiers, many of them young men who laid down their lives without complaint or applause.
The Pakistan Army is not just a war-fighting institution. It has become, by necessity, a multi-role national backbone while maintaining the highest operational fitness. Politicians voluntarily surrendered and started sharing power with the Establishment, thus becoming dependent on law enforcement agencies. Can anyone deny that Rangers have been deployed in Sindh since 1992 and today the demand is for more troops? Whether in rioting, catching dacoits, cleaning canals, distributing rations, managing train accidents, air crashes, strikes, sectarian clashes, floods or providing security to religious processions, dharnas and cricket teams—the list of tasks assigned to the establishment is unending. These are duties meant for ministries with massive budgets, yet the army is repeatedly called in to shoulder them.
In natural disasters—from the 2005 earthquake to the 2022 floods and the devastating floods of 2025—the army has consistently led relief efforts. It provides logistical support in elections, ensures security for mega projects like CPEC and contributes significantly to UN peacekeeping missions abroad. Yet, each time the country faces turmoil, there’s a rush to blame this very institution for being “too visible.” The question arises: who should be visible when elected governments become paralyzed by internal rifts, lack of capacity and zero-sum politics? Pakistan’s political history is replete with examples of political parties seeking the military’s support—not just during transitions of power, but even to dislodge their rivals. Some of the loudest critics of the establishment today have been, at other times, its closest collaborators. If the army has overstepped, it is often because the political leadership handed it the baton.
This cycle of dependence is dangerous—not just for democracy, but for the army itself. It politicizes an institution that was never meant to govern, but has too often been forced into governance roles simply to prevent national collapse. No institution is above scrutiny—not even the military which maintains an excellent system of accountability and transparency. But public criticism must be grounded in facts, not fueled by frustration. It should seek reform, not revenge. When blanket condemnation replaces measured discourse, it weakens national morale and plays directly into the hands of hostile forces that thrive on our internal divisions.
If Pakistan is to move toward a stronger democracy, the solution lies not in criticizing the army, but in strengthening civilian institutions. Political parties must prioritize capacity-building, institutional reform and long-term national interest over petty rivalries. Governance should be seen as duty, not just opportunity. True civilian supremacy is not achieved through slogans or social media trends; it is earned through performance, integrity and consistency. The military cannot—and should not—run Pakistan. But it cannot be expected to retreat into the barracks while the house is on fire and the fire brigade is busy arguing among themselves. Civilian leadership must now rise to the moment, stop using the army as a crutch in private while condemning it in public and play their true constitutional role.
Pakistan deserves better. But that “better” won’t come by blaming the army alone. It will come when every institution—including Parliament, bureaucracy, judiciary, media and political parties—plays its role with maturity and discipline. Until then, we must acknowledge one hard truth: the army has held the fort not to dominate, but because too often, no one else could. Can anyone deny the efforts of FM Asif Munir to save Pakistan from default? His visits to friendly countries helped secure funds that averted bankruptcy. Finally, the defence forces’ performance against Indian aggression—defeating a much larger defence force—was appreciated worldwide and shifted global politics. It is time to reject negative propaganda on social media. Enough is enough.
—The writer is contributing columnist.
