The Rise of Field Marshal Asim Munir: What Does Pakistan’s Most Powerful Man Want?
It’s June 18. In the stately halls of the White House, Field Marshal Asim Munir—the man leading Pakistan’s powerful military—sits across from Donald Trump over a private lunch. Just weeks earlier, Pakistan had engaged in a tense skirmish with India. And now, there he was—being courted by the same America that had, for over a decade, quietly drifted away from Islamabad while cozying up to Delhi.
Barely a month later, in a dramatic snub to India, Trump brands its economy “dead” and slaps a 25% tariff on Indian exports. In the same breath, he hails a new trade pact with Pakistan. The message is unmistakable: the winds of geopolitics are shifting, and Field Marshal Munir is at the eye of the storm.
From Isolation to Relevance
America’s relationship with Pakistan has long been a pendulum. Warm during the Cold War. Strained after 2011, when Osama bin Laden was found hiding in Abbottabad. Cold after the chaotic U.S. exit from Afghanistan. But now, it seems that Washington is once again adjusting its sights.
According to The Economist, Pakistan is being re-engaged—not just as a security partner, but also as a player in trade and Middle Eastern diplomacy. With the Biden administration historically critical of Pakistan’s missile program and human rights record, it’s ironic that it may take a Trumpian worldview to recalibrate the relationship.
Meanwhile, India—long considered the West’s democratic darling in the region—is witnessing growing skepticism, especially as its Hindu nationalist agenda sparks global unease.
Pakistan, under Munir’s watch, is now quietly repositioning itself. There’s talk of renewed U.S. arms sales, including night-vision gear and armored vehicles, while counterterrorism cooperation is once again on the table. America, which once dismissed Pakistan as a duplicitous partner, is now reconsidering that stance—especially as it seeks leverage in the Middle East and with Iran.
A General with a Quran in His Heart and Strategy in His Mind
What makes Field Marshal Munir different?
For one, his personal background. The son of an imam, educated in a madrasa, and a Hafiz-e-Quran—Munir represents a blend of Islamic discipline and military pragmatism. He is also the first army chief not trained in the U.S. or Britain, signaling a deliberate move away from colonial military influences.
And yet, insiders describe him as “well-versed in the West.” He’s no ideologue, despite his religious piety. According to Lt Gen Ahmed Sharif Chaudhry, the military’s media face, Munir abhors those who commercialize religion and is firmly against jihadist outfits operating on Pakistani soil. He’s more Mohammad bin Salman than Mullah Omar—religious but modern, conservative but calculated.
He prays five times a day, but those who’ve worked with him say he doesn’t let that bleed into statecraft. He’s not here to turn Pakistan into a theocracy. He’s here to turn it into a power again.
Civilian Façade, Military Nerve Center
On the political front, Munir’s popularity surged after the brief conflict with India earlier this year. With the civilian government now commanding a two-thirds majority in parliament, rumors are swirling that he could become president, formalizing Pakistan’s fourth period of military rule since 1947. The military denies this, of course. Chaudhry calls it “nonsense.”
Yet, Munir was elevated to the rare rank of Field Marshal in May—Pakistan’s first since Ayub Khan. And like Ayub, his grip on the state feels total.
There’s no term limit on the army chief position. At just 57, Munir could remain in power for years.
India, Kashmir, and the Next Flashpoint
On India, Munir’s tone is stark. After the April 16 speech—delivered just days before the Pahalgam attack in Indian-occupied Kashmir—his position became clear. Pakistan denies any role in the incident, but the speech wasn’t ambiguous. According to the ISPR chief, it was a declaration of intent: a message shaped by the rise of Hindutva and Modi’s increasingly aggressive posturing.
The threat is chilling. If India strikes again, Pakistan “will start from the east,” the military spokesman warned. “They also need to understand they can be hit everywhere.”
This is not the language of reconciliation. It is the language of deterrence. It echoes the sentiment that Pakistan is done absorbing hits quietly—Munir is not here to play defense.
What Does Munir Want?
This is the question at the heart of Pakistan’s future—and increasingly, at the heart of South Asia’s stability.
He wants recognition. Not just for Pakistan, but for its military. He wants Pakistan to be treated not as a pawn in global chess games, but as a power with agency—one that can negotiate, retaliate, and lead.
He wants to balance America and China, rather than being seen as Beijing’s junior partner. He wants economic sovereignty—hence the outreach to Gulf states, crypto investors, and Western tech partners. But he also knows the terrain is fragile: Pakistan’s investment climate is riddled with risk, and the economy is still crawling out of a debt spiral.
He also seems to want a legacy—not one of coups and crackdowns, but of recalibration. A modern, resilient Pakistan that doesn't flinch in the face of India, doesn’t beg from the IMF, and doesn’t bow to Western hypocrisy.
Is that vision achievable? Perhaps. But it’s a high-wire act—balancing India’s wrath, America’s expectations, China’s interests, and Pakistan’s own internal chaos.
If he pulls it off, Asim Munir won’t just be remembered as a powerful general. He may go down as the man who redefined Pakistan’s place in the world.