This week’s unprecedented White House lunch between President Donald Trump and Pakistan’s powerful army chief, Field Marshal Asim Munir, is more than just a diplomatic curiosity — it is a troubling symbol of Washington’s deepening comfort with authoritarianism abroad, so long as it serves immediate strategic needs.
Field Marshal Munir is not Pakistan’s president. He is not its prime minister. He holds no electoral mandate, and his visit to the United States was not on behalf of a civilian government. Yet he was received by the U.S. president with the warmth and recognition usually reserved for heads of state. This signals not only a departure from diplomatic norms, but a willful blindness to Pakistan’s ongoing democratic collapse — one in which its military is both the primary cause and chief beneficiary.
Trump, basking in the optics of diplomacy, praised Munir for helping prevent a regional war between India and Pakistan, and thanked him for Pakistan’s role in apprehending the suspected Abbey Gate bomber. These are not small achievements. But to celebrate them while ignoring the brutal repression unfolding within Pakistan’s borders is to treat democratic principles as optional.
Over the past two years, Pakistan has seen its civilian leadership hollowed out, its courts undermined, and its press gagged. Imran Khan, the last elected prime minister with mass popular support, was ousted and jailed. Judges who challenged military overreach were removed or coerced into silence. The 2024 elections — marred by widespread allegations of rigging and manipulation — delivered a civilian government that answers not to voters, but to generals.
This military consolidation has not occurred in secret. It is visible to any honest observer — including those in Washington. And yet, rather than confront this creeping authoritarianism, the Trump administration appears eager to reward it. General Munir’s photo-op with the American president is not just diplomatic theater; it is a signal, to Pakistan and the world, that democratic backsliding can be forgiven if you remain a “useful” partner.
The United States has walked this path before. From the Cold War to the post-9/11 era, America has embraced Pakistani generals when it suited its interests — only to find itself entangled in cycles of instability, anti-American sentiment, and human rights abuses. Each time, short-term gains were prioritized over long-term democratic development. Each time, the people of Pakistan paid the price.
Now, as the Middle East teeters and China expands its influence, Washington is tempted once more by what seems like a stable, reliable partner in the Pakistani military. But this illusion of stability masks a deeper rot. A military that crushes political dissent, controls the courts, and rigs elections does not make for a stable ally — it makes for a brittle regime, sustained only by fear, not legitimacy.
By embracing Munir while ignoring Pakistan’s democratic crisis, the U.S. risks repeating a familiar mistake: confusing control for governance, and silence for stability.
If the Biden administration — or a second Trump term — is serious about promoting democracy and the rule of law, then it must reassess the terms of its relationship with Pakistan. Military cooperation may be necessary. But it should not come at the cost of legitimizing a regime that operates outside constitutional bounds and against the will of its people.
Pakistan’s generals have long mastered the art of tactical compliance — offering cooperation on terrorism, regional diplomacy, or economic access when needed — while dismantling democratic checks at home. Washington should not be fooled.
Engagement with Pakistan must be principled as well as pragmatic. That means demanding greater transparency, respect for judicial independence, and space for political opposition. It means insisting that the military return to the barracks — and stay there. And it means recognizing that long-term security in the region depends not on generals in uniform, but on governments chosen by their people.
Democracy cannot be an occasional talking point in American foreign policy. It must be a core condition — even, and especially, when inconvenient.
If this lunch was a reset, let it not be a repeat. Let it be a reckoning.
