The Reign of the Khalai Makhloog, How Pakistan’s Military Establishment Solidifies Its Stranglehold
In the tumultuous and often paradoxical political landscape of Pakistan, power has never truly resided in the halls of parliament or the prime minister’s secretariat. Instead, it is jealously guarded within the fortified walls of the military cantonments, wielded by an elite class of generals who see themselves as the ultimate arbiters of the nation’s fate. This shadowy entity, often euphemistically referred to as “the establishment,” has once again cemented its dominance under the leadership of Army Chief General Asim Munir, who has taken the unprecedented step of bestowing upon himself the rank of Field Marshal—a title dripping with imperial ambition and a stark reminder of the military’s inflated self-image.
The term “Khalai Makhloog,” or “extraterrestrial beings,” was famously coined by former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif to describe the four generals who orchestrated his ouster and facilitated the “selection” of Imran Khan in 2018. This phrase perfectly captures the essence of the Pakistani military’s role: an invisible, unaccountable force that operates above the mundane realities of democratic politics, manipulating outcomes from behind the scenes. Today, under Asim Munir, this tradition is not only alive but has been enhanced with a new level of theatrical bravado and constitutional overreach.
The Historical Blueprint of Military Hubris
To understand the current ascendancy of Asim Munir, one must look back at the long and inglorious history of military intervention in Pakistan. The blueprint was set by the country’s first native army chief, Ayub Khan, who later declared himself Field Marshal and President. It was Ayub who, with characteristic bluster, dismissed the Indian soldier before the 1965 war, declaring, “The Hindu has no stomach for a fight and can be silenced with a few blows.” This combination of racist rhetoric and overconfidence led Pakistan to a disastrous defeat, yet the military’s narrative management ensured that Ayub was not held accountable. Instead, he set a template for future generals: combine charismatic swagger with inflammatory language to project an image of invincibility.
Ayub’s successor, General Yahya Khan, continued this tradition of unprofessional rhetoric, boasting of the “historic superiority of the Moslem fighters” on the eve of the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War. He cavalierly declared, “I’ll be damned if I’ll see Pakistan divided.” His chosen instrument for the Eastern theater was General A.K. “Tiger” Niazi, who promised to “change the race of this bastard community” and vowed that Dacca would fall only over his dead body. In the end, Niazi meekly surrendered with 93,000 troops, but even this humiliating defeat did little to tarnish the military’s prestige at home. Through careful control of the media and education system, the establishment crafted an alternative reality where Pakistan never truly loses wars—it is always betrayed by politicians or outside forces.
This pattern continued with General Zia-ul-Haq, who infused the military’s rhetoric with toxic religiosity, and later with Generals like Hamid Gul and Pervez Musharraf, who combined cross-border adventurism with carefully cultivated personal brands. Musharraf, in particular, mastered the art of imagery—posing with a pistol, a cigarette, and a beret at a rakish angle—even as he planned the ill-fated Kargil invasion. Each military misadventure was followed by a sophisticated propaganda campaign that shifted blame and preserved the institution’s sanctity.
Asim Munir: The Newest Field Marshal in a Long Line of Overreachers
Into this storied tradition of hubris steps General Asim Munir. His recent self-promotion to Field Marshal is rich with symbolism. It is a title that evokes the colonial era, a time when the military saw itself as a guardian of the state rather than its servant. But more importantly, it is a clear signal to the civilian government—an unnatural alliance led by Shehbaz Sharif—that the military remains the ultimate power broker. Munir’s decision to also award himself the Hilal-i-Jurat, Pakistan’s second-highest gallantry award (equivalent to India’s Maha Vir Chakra), further embellishes the uniform of an army that has never won a major war. These actions are not merely about personal vanity; they are about reinforcing the military’s mythos of heroism and indispensability.
Munir’s rhetoric, however, is what truly places him in the pantheon of Pakistan’s blustering generals. In speeches that would be considered recklessly provocative in any other country, he has engaged in explicit nuclear saber-rattling. “We are a nuclear nation,” he declared. “If we think we are going down, we’ll take half the world down with us.” On the issue of Indus waters, he insisted, “We will wait for India to build a dam, and when it does so, we will destroy it with 10 missiles… The Indus river is not the Indians’ family property. We have no shortage of missiles, Praise be to God.”
These statements are not the measured words of a professional soldier but the inflammatory rhetoric of a hyper-nationalist politician. They are designed for domestic consumption—to thrill the cadre of loyalists and the diaspora—and to signal resolve to India. But they also reveal a profound insecurity. The need to constantly assert strength often betrays a deep-seated fear of weakness.
The Civilian Facade and America’s Tacit Approval
The current civilian government, led by Shehbaz Sharif, is acutely aware of its place in this power dynamic. It is a convenient arrangement for the military: a civilian administration that can be blamed for economic failures and governance issues while the military retains control over foreign policy, security, and, most importantly, the narrative. Shehbaz, like his brother Nawaz before him, knows that crossing the “red lines” set by the establishment would result in swift retribution. Thus, he is left to play the role of the fall guy—managing the economy and absorbing public anger while Munir flexes his medals and makes threats.
Internationally, this dynamic is well understood. The United States, particularly under a potential second Trump administration, is likely to pursue a transactional relationship with Pakistan. Munir’s recent visit to the U.S., where he made unacceptable statements against India—a nominal U.S. ally—without any pushback, indicates that Washington is willing to give him a long leash. His obsequious offer to support a Nobel Prize for Trump underscores the pragmatic, and some might say amoral, nature of this engagement. For the U.S., Pakistan remains a tactical partner in the fight against terrorism and a counterweight to China’s influence. If that means tolerating Munir’s grandstanding and even his reckless rhetoric, then so be it.
The Dangerous Game: Nuclear Brinksmanship and Domestic Control
The most alarming aspect of Munir’s rise is his willingness to invoke Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal in such a cavalier manner. This is not just a violation of international norms but a dangerous escalation in a region already fraught with tension. The threat to “take half the world down with us” is a classic formulation of what security experts call the “stability-instability paradox”—the idea that nuclear weapons create a threshold for all-out war but also encourage lower-level conflicts and provocations. By making such statements, Munir is playing with fire, and the international community’s silence only emboldens him.
Domestically, this rhetoric serves to unite the population around a common enemy—India—and to position the military as the nation’s sole defender. It is a time-tested strategy to divert attention from internal failures: a struggling economy, rising inflation, and widespread corruption. By keeping the civilian government on a tight leash and periodically allowing it to take the blame, the military ensures that its own power remains unchallenged.
Conclusion: The Never-Ending Cycle
The story of Pakistan is, in many ways, the story of its military. From Ayub to Yahya, Zia to Musharraf, and now Munir, the pattern is depressingly consistent: a general oversteps his mandate, engages in reckless adventurism, and when failure inevitably comes, the institution closes ranks and rewrites history. The civilians are sometimes tolerated, sometimes manipulated, and often removed, but they are never truly allowed to govern.
Asim Munir’s self-appointment as Field Marshal and his provocative statements are not anomalies; they are the latest expressions of a deep-seated institutional culture that views itself as superior to the state it is meant to serve. Until this culture is challenged—either by a courageous civilian movement or by international pressure that goes beyond transactional diplomacy—Pakistan will remain trapped in this cycle, with the “Khalai Makhloog” continuing to pull the strings from the shadows.
Q&A: Understanding Pakistan’s Power Dynamics
Q1: What does the term “Khalai Makhloog” mean, and why is it significant?
A1: “Khalai Makhloog” translates to “extraterrestrial beings” or “aliens.” It was coined by former Pakistani Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif to describe the country’s military generals, whom he accused of operating as an invisible, unaccountable force manipulating politics from behind the scenes. The term is significant because it captures the essence of the military’s role in Pakistan—a power above the government that controls outcomes without being subject to democratic accountability.
Q2: Why did General Asim Munir award himself the rank of Field Marshal?
A2: The self-promotion to Field Marshal is a move rich with symbolic meaning. It evokes a colonial-era title that places the military leader above the civilian government. For Munir, it is a way to solidify his personal authority and signal the military’s dominance over the current civilian administration led by Shehbaz Sharif. It is also part of a long tradition of Pakistani generals using titles and awards to build a cult of personality and reinforce the myth of the military’s heroism.
Q3: How has the international community, particularly the United States, responded to Munir’s provocative statements?
A3: The response has been muted, driven by tactical and transactional considerations. During his visit to the U.S., Munir made aggressively anti-India statements that went unchallenged by American officials. This suggests that the U.S., especially under a potential Trump administration, is willing to tolerate such rhetoric to maintain Pakistan as a partner in counterterrorism and as a regional counterweight to China. Munir’s offer to support a Nobel Prize for Trump further illustrates the pragmatic, and some would say cynical, nature of this relationship.
Q4: What are the risks of Munir’s nuclear saber-rattling?
A4: Munir’s threats to use nuclear weapons—including statements like “we’ll take half the world down with us”—are dangerously irresponsible. They violate international norms and increase the risk of miscalculation in a region already prone to conflict. This rhetoric also encourages a false sense of security domestically, suggesting that nuclear weapons are a shield that allows for reckless behavior. Internationally, it could lead to further isolation or preemptive actions from adversaries.
Q5: Can the civilian government in Pakistan ever break free from military dominance?
A5: History suggests that it is extremely difficult. The military controls key institutions, including intelligence agencies and much of the media, allowing it to shape public narrative and political outcomes. Civilian governments are often destabilized through manufactured crises, judicial interventions, or outright coups. While there is occasional pushback—as seen with Nawaz Sharif’s criticism—the military’s ability to unite against external threats and its portrayal as the nation’s guardian make it a formidable opponent. Real change would require not only civilian courage but also a shift in public perception and reduced international tolerance for the military’s political role.
