The Failed Marshal: Pakistan’s Illusory Triumph and the Army’s Tightening Grip

As India’s precise strikes during Operation Sindoor expose cracks in Pakistan’s defence, the promotion of Asim Munir to Field Marshal seeks to mask defeat, quell dissent and consolidate military control.

After Operation Sindoor, the world witnessed an unusual spectacle: Asim Munir was bestowed the rare and exalted rank of Field Marshal—the fifth star—making him only the second to hold this title in Pakistan’s history, after Ayub Khan in 1959. Unlike Ayub, who self-appointed the rank during his military dictatorship, this time the honour was granted by the civilian government. This curious development invites a closer look at the dynamics behind it.

At its core lies a desire to mask defeat. The Pakistan Army remains the linchpin of the country’s identity and survival. Yet India’s recent strikes were precise and deep, targeting not just Pakistan-occupied Kashmir but also Punjab, the very heartland of the nation. Key military sites, including the Nur Khan Airbase near the Army Command Centre and the Kirana Hills—home to nuclear assets—were hit, setting alarm bells ringing not only among civilians but within the military establishment itself.

Pakistan has long been adept at spinning narratives to its domestic audience. The Indo-Pak war of 1965 offers a classic example. Indian forces crossed the Line of Control and won the Battle of Burki, even capturing the Bata factory on Lahore’s outskirts by 6 September. However, Delhi’s permission to advance further never arrived, and international pressure forced a ceasefire. Despite this, Pakistan’s state propaganda proclaimed a victory, insisting they had driven India out of Lahore. To this day, 6 September is celebrated as ‘Victory Day’ in Pakistan.

The debacle of 1971 was different yet similarly spun. Despite the humiliating surrender of Pakistani forces in Dhaka on 16 December, well documented by international media, riots erupted across Pakistan. The population, fed tales of impending triumph and even the conquest of Delhi, struggled to reconcile the reality of losing half the country.

In keeping with this tradition of myth-making, banners have now appeared across Lahore, Karachi and other cities congratulating the army on its “glorious victory” in Operation Sindoor. The elevation of Munir to Field Marshal status reinforces this illusion, embedding the narrative of triumph firmly in the public imagination, no matter what the facts suggest.

A second motive behind Munir’s elevation may be to shield him—and, by extension, to protect the army and Pakistan itself. In Pakistan, a Field Marshal is effectively immune to court-martial. This matters because a significant faction within the military, especially among junior officers, is reportedly discontented with Munir’s leadership. Rumours briefly surfaced that Munir had been arrested and that Sahir Shamshad Mirza had seized control of the army. Though these proved false, questions remain unanswered about Pakistan’s defence apparatus: how India managed to jam and bypass its systems, the superiority of India’s defence capabilities, the precision of its strikes, and Munir’s own perceived lack of resolve during the three-day conflict (reports suggested he retreated to a bunker).

A court-martial of the army chief would be deeply demoralising, with consequences extending beyond the barracks. It would fuel secessionist sentiment in restive provinces such as Balochistan, Sindh and even Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. The latter has seen the rise of Manzoor Pashteen and the Pashtun Tahafuz Movement, which has challenged the dominance of the Punjabi-led military and bureaucracy for the first time. The army is widely viewed as the custodian of Pakistan’s existence and ideological core. As Tilak Devasher, a keen Pakistan observer, told The Economic Times, even the perception of a weakened army could accelerate Pakistan’s fragmentation.

The third reason may be political, centred on Imran Khan. Despite his fall from power, he remains popular in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Sindh and pockets of Punjab. Khan is the only leader to have openly challenged the army—ironically, despite being its former protégé. His role in provoking local populations to physically attack military installations, an unprecedented breach in Pakistan’s political culture, has made him the army’s enemy number one. Khan’s invocation of the population’s numerical superiority, arguing that ten million soldiers cannot hold sway over 220 million citizens, threatens the army’s grip on power. Any perceived weakening of the military would bolster Khan’s standing.

By elevating Munir, the army’s hold over Pakistan is reinforced, dealing a blow to Khan. That the civilian government bestowed the honour signals Shehbaz Sharif’s alignment with the military against Khan, securing his political future. Tensions run high: Khan derided Munir’s promotion, claiming he should have crowned himself king rather than field marshal. PTI supporters mockingly dubbed Munir the ‘Failed Marshal,’ joking that he will need a larger bunker the next time India strikes.

What may appear as a curious or even farcical gesture is, in reality, a carefully calculated move to protect the army, its image, and Pakistan’s fragile statehood.

(The author is a political commentator and a global affairs observer. Views personal.)