Every leader in Islamabad eventually learns the lesson that the benefactor is always stronger than the beneficiary.
On November 27, Islamabad witnessed another chapter in Pakistan’s enduring political drama. Protestors from Imran Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), led by his third wife Bushra Bibi, were decisively swept from D-Chowk in the capital’s Red Zone by security forces. The confrontation, ostensibly between Khan and the all-powerful military, ended with the latter reaffirming its supremacy. For now, this particular clash has concluded. But Pakistan’s cyclical history suggests it will not be the last, with the military remaining a constant power broker and civilians trading roles as adversaries.
This latest episode highlights a peculiar dynamic, akin to a twisted version of Stockholm syndrome, where benefactors repeatedly find themselves betrayed by their protégés. Imran Khan, once anointed by the army as its preferred candidate, is only the latest in a long line of civilian leaders who have fallen out of favour with their military patrons. His trajectory mirrors that of Nawaz Sharif, whose own career offers a study in how Pakistan’s generals create and dismantle political puppets at will.
Khan’s rise to power in 2018 was widely seen as a military-engineered project. Labelled a ‘selected’ rather than an elected leader, his ascent was marred by allegations of electoral manipulation orchestrated by the army to sideline Sharif and his Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N). Once in office, however, Khan’s push for greater civilian control over the military—demanding oversight of the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI)—put him on a collision course with his benefactors. By 2023, his fallout with the generals culminated in his removal from office, his incarceration on corruption charges, and an unprecedented wave of anti-military protests by his supporters, including attacks on army installations.
But the story is hardly novel. Nawaz Sharif’s political career follows an eerily similar trajectory. Handpicked by General Zia-ul-Haq in 1985 as Punjab’s chief minister, Sharif was groomed to counter the Sindh-based Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP). His ascent to the premiership in 1990 marked the zenith of his military-backed career. Yet, like Khan, he soon strained relations with his benefactors, particularly Generals Aslam Beg and Asif Nawaz Janjua. His dismissal in 1993 set a pattern of oscillation between army patronage and antagonism.
Sharif’s return to power in 1997, buoyed by military support, was followed by his greatest triumph—the nuclear tests of 1998—and his greatest fall. His dismissal by General Pervez Musharraf in 1999 sent him into exile. In 2013, he once again rode to power with tacit military backing, only to be ousted in 2017 via the Panama Papers case. His party’s recent 2024 victory, in coalition with the PPP, represents a new chapter in the army’s long history of political engineering.
The military’s role as Pakistan’s true power centre has endured for decades, with political leaders merely temporary players in its larger game. Khan’s PTI was initially established in 1997 as an anti-establishment party but struggled to gain traction, winning a mere 1.61 percent of the vote in its first election. By aligning with General Musharraf in 2002, Khan secured a foothold in the National Assembly. However, his boycott of the 2008 elections, followed by a strong showing in 2013, positioned him as a credible opposition figure.
His 2018 victory marked a turning point. With 31.92 percent of the vote, Khan became the military’s chosen instrument to oust Sharif. Yet, like his predecessors, Khan’s demands for autonomy ultimately led to his downfall. His subsequent attempts to mobilize public support have failed to unsettle the military establishment.
The army’s influence over civilian politics is not merely a legacy of Pakistan’s early years but an ongoing strategy to maintain its primacy. Each time a civilian leader challenges its authority, the military intervenes—either through direct action or by manipulating the judiciary and electoral processes. The pattern is as predictable as it is relentless: benefactors build, beneficiaries betray, and the cycle begins anew.
Pakistan’s experiment with democracy has been consistently undermined by its overbearing military. Civilian leaders, regardless of their initial allegiance to the generals, eventually seek to consolidate power—a move the military views as a direct threat. This dynamic not only stymies democratic development but also ensures that the army remains the arbiter of Pakistan’s political destiny.
Khan’s failure to sustain his protest in 2024 underlines the military’s unassailable position. His rhetoric of civilian supremacy may resonate with parts of the population, but the institutional power of the army remains unchallenged. Nawaz Sharif’s return, facilitated by the military’s blessing, further illustrates this paradox: democracy in Pakistan is only tolerated when it aligns with military interests.
For India, this enduring dynamic offers both challenges and warnings. The military’s centrality to Pakistan’s governance is inextricably tied to its hostility towards India—a raison d’être that justifies its dominance. Any attempt by civilian leaders to normalize relations with New Delhi is perceived as an existential threat to the army’s power.
As Pakistan navigates yet another cycle of political upheaval, the army’s grip remains firm. For all its talk of democratic ideals, the country’s politics remain beholden to an institution that thrives on instability and confrontation. Imran Khan may have fallen, but the forces that propped him up and tore him down are unchanged.
(The author is a motivational speaker. Views personal)
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