From Provocation to Promotion : Asim Munir’s Hollow Ascent
By Kamal Madishetty
Last week, the Pakistani government conferred the country’s highest military rank—Field Marshal—on the current Army Chief, General Asim Munir. This is only the second time in Pakistan’s history that this title has been awarded, the first being to Ayub Khan in the 1960s. The move, for all its pomp, reveals more about Pakistan’s internal anxieties and strategic failures than any real military achievement. Rather than reflecting battlefield success or visionary leadership, Munir’s promotion is a desperate attempt by the military establishment to mask operational debacles, consolidate power amid domestic turmoil, and double down on a longstanding policy of hostility towards neighbouring India.
A Field Marshal Forged in Crisis, Not Victory
Typically, the title of Field Marshal is bestowed upon generals who have steered their nations to historic victories or displayed exceptional strategic brilliance. Munir’s ascent, however, comes at a time when the credibility of the Pakistani Army is under severe strain, particularly after India’s recent Operation Sindoor. Far from being a celebration of any triumph, his promotion is designed to shore up sagging morale within the ranks and distract the public into further disillusionment.
Pakistan today faces crises on multiple fronts—not only from external embarrassment but also from deep internal turmoil. The economy is under severe strain, insurgencies continue to simmer in Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and the army’s once-unquestioned authority is now challenged by the public. The jailing of former Prime Minister Imran Khan and the unrest that followed have only heightened the sense of instability. In this context, Munir’s elevation is not a reward for merit but a manoeuvre to consolidate his personal authority and reinstate the military’s grip on Pakistan’s narrative.
From Words to Violence: The Pahalgam Attack
Munir’s tenure as Pakistan’s army chief has been defined not by military innovation, but by a relentless campaign of anti-India rhetoric and provocation. Long before his recent promotion, Munir repeatedly criticised the 2021 ceasefire deal with India, arguing that peace along the border deprived Pakistan of leverage and that “controlled” violence was a strategic necessity. This worldview—one that sees confrontation as currency—has shaped Pakistan’s posture under his leadership.
His speeches, steeped in the controversial “two-nation theory,” have gone far beyond typical political rhetoric. Munir has leveraged his religious credentials to legitimise a hardline, exclusionary agenda, often cloaking his political ambitions in the language of faith. While invoking religious discourse to rally support, his rhetoric is devoid of genuine spiritual substance and instead reflects a calculated effort to deepen divisions.
Beneath this veneer of religiosity lies a language of intolerance. Far from advocating compassion or coexistence, he insists on an unbridgeable divide between Muslims and adherents of other faiths—especially Hindus. He has even declared the army’s motto to be: “imaan, taqwa aur jihad fi Sabilillah.”
Yet the same leader who invokes these slogans has overseen military operations involving torture and the abduction of Muslims in Balochistan—many of them women and children. He has displayed alarming cruelty toward Afghan Muslim refugees fleeing poverty and violence, responding with intensified crackdowns and mass deportations widely condemned by humanitarian organisations.
Munir’s selective invocation of religious texts serves a political purpose: to consolidate power and suppress dissent. Such rhetoric, reminiscent of hardline military rulers of the past like Zia-ul-Haq, is deployed not only to prey on communal fault lines but also to provide ideological cover for terrorist proxies.
This climate of incitement set the stage for the Pahalgam massacre, the most chilling recent example of Pakistan’s cross-border terror strategy. The attack, executed by The Resistance Front (TRF)—a rebranded front of the UN-sanctioned terrorist group Lashkar-e-Taiba—was, according to Indian authoritiesand analysts, planned and directed with the support of Pakistan’s security establishment. The deliberate targeting of Hindu tourists, the use of both Pakistani and local terrorists, and the TRF’s open claim of responsibility all point to a calculated effort to inflame communal tensions and provoke a regional crisis. For Munir, manufacturing a crisis with India serves as a convenient rallying point to unite a fractured nation and distract from Pakistan’s mounting domestic failures.
The Reality Behind the Ranks
Beneath the surface of medals and titles, Pakistan’s military leadership stands on shakier ground than its official narrative would have one believe. India’s Operation Sindoor, launched in the aftermath of the Pahalgam terror attack, proved to be a swift and precise campaign that destroyed multiple terrorist camps and struck deep into Pakistani territory. Pakistan’s attempts at retaliation, using drones and missiles, were decisively intercepted or neutralised by Indian defences. The confrontation concluded not with a Pakistani victory, but with Islamabad compelled to seek a ceasefire on India’s terms.
This episode has marked a significant shift in the regional dynamic. For decades, Pakistan has wielded its nuclear arsenal as a shield of impunity, banking on the threat of escalation to deter any decisive Indian response to cross-border terrorism. Operation Sindoor, however, demonstrated a new resolve in New Delhi. India is no longer cowed by nuclear blackmail, and is confident in responding with a calibrated military action that exposes the vulnerabilities of Pakistan’s conventional defences. This pushback has sent a clear message: India will not allow the nuclear shadow to be used as cover for terrorism.
Despite these setbacks, Pakistan’s military—under Munir’s direction—launched a propaganda blitz, staging victory paradesand flooding the media with triumphalist narratives. The elevation of Munir to Field Marshal is the crowning moment of this campaign: a symbolic gesture aimed at projecting strength, even as the facts on the ground tell a story of strategic failure and diminished credibility.
Power, Propaganda, and Precedent
Munir’s self-promotion draws uncomfortable parallels with Pakistan’s first Field Marshal, Ayub Khan, who conferred the title upon himself after the disastrous 1965 war with India. Much like Ayub, Munir’s rise seems aimed not at celebrating any strategic success, but at reshaping the narrative surrounding military setbacks. However, there is a notable difference: while Ayub stepped back from direct military command, Munir retains both symbolic and operational control, further tightening the military’s grip over Pakistan’s political landscape.
The international community must realise that Munir’s promotion is not a parochial affair. It is yet another reminder that Pakistan’s military remains wedded to a doctrine of hostility and adventurism, rather than any constructive engagement. Munir’s religiously-charged rhetoric, his willingness to provoke conflict, and his complicity in cross-border terrorism represent a worrying trend.
India’s measured yet resolute response to recent provocations has revealed the vulnerabilities of Pakistan’s military and signaled that attacks on Indian civilians will not go unanswered. Rather than prompting reform or introspection in Rawalpindi, Munir’s elevation suggests that Pakistan’s generals are determined to cling to the old playbook of denial and deflection.
General Asim Munir’s rise to Field Marshal is not a celebration of military excellence, but a symptom of a military and political system unable to confront its own failures. As long as provocation is rewarded and accountability evaded, the cycle of provocation and reprisal will persist. Stability in the region requires linking power to responsibility—not allowing it to be monopolised by a force that manufactures crises to maintain its grip on authority. Pakistan Army’s disturbing record speaks for itself—and the world can no longer afford to look away.
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Kamal Madishetty is an Assistant Professor at Rishihood University and a Visiting Fellow at India Foundation, New Delhi.
