Pakistan’s political trajectory is no secret to anyone. It is generally assumed that political parties play a pivotal role in the development and democratic progress of any nation, with elected representatives regarded as the true voices of the people. Yet, in Pakistan, much like in many other aspects of governance, political agendas and slogans often fail to reflect genuine intentions. Unlike developed democracies, political narratives here are mostly crafted as instruments to secure seats on the treasury benches. Once that immediate objective is achieved, the very slogans and promises that motivated millions mysteriously vanish.
Political historians have long highlighted the structural reasons behind this disconnect. As Aqil Shah in The Army and Democracy and Christophe Jaffrelot in The Pakistan Paradox explain, Pakistan’s political landscape has consistently been shaped by recurring civil–military tensions, where unelected institutions exert influence far beyond constitutional limits. This enduring struggle forms the backdrop for nearly every major political event in the country.
Throughout Pakistan’s political history, no political party can credibly claim that the establishment has not influenced political developments. Accusations of political engineering, interference, and being “not allowed a free hand” have become routine features of partisan rhetoric.
Not long ago, when Nawaz Sharif was ousted from the office of Prime Minister and later, while in London, he openly blamed the Pakistani establishment for orchestrating his removal. His speeches were so critical that they remained off-air. He directly named the then-Army Chief as a central figure in what he termed a political “drama” and identified former DG ISI General Faiz Hameed as a “bad cop.”
Maryam Nawaz echoed similar sentiments, delivering fiery speeches sharply critical of the military’s political involvement, often too sensitive for broadcasters to air. For her, those who facilitated her father’s removal were “bad cops,” and she repeatedly argued that Pakistan would have been in a far better position had the elected government been allowed to function.
On the other side of the political spectrum, when Imran Khan became Prime Minister, he regarded the then-COAS as the most “neutral” Army Chief in Pakistan’s history. In Khan’s narrative, the establishment at that time was a “good cop,” and General Faiz Hameed, criticised by other parties, was celebrated as a supportive figure, therefore a “good cop.” Khan was widely viewed as a beneficiary of the establishment’s political leanings.
In Pakistan’s political dictionary, the meanings of “good cop” and “bad cop” remain strikingly simplistic: the one who supports a party’s interests is good, and the one who does not is bad
Yet, the moment the vote of no confidence succeeded, and Khan was removed from office, his tone shifted dramatically. He accused the establishment and the serving Army Chief of acting as “bad cops” who facilitated the opposition against him. His allegations extended beyond Pakistan’s borders as well; he accused the United States of intervening in Pakistan’s domestic politics, claiming that the establishment played the role of an enabler in that intervention.
Pakistan’s earlier political history reflects the same cyclical pattern. Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto once enjoyed a close and affectionate relationship with General Ayub Khan—famously referring to him as “Daddy.” But when political winds shifted, that same “Daddy” became the “bad cop” in Bhutto’s narrative.
General Zia-ul-Haq, whom Bhutto had appointed as Army Chief, superseding several senior officers, later emerged as Bhutto’s strongest adversary and ultimately overthrew his government in the 1977 coup. The Pakistan Peoples Party continues to regard Bhutto as Shaheed, believing he was unjustly executed.
Benazir Bhutto’s governments, too, faced persistent political challenges, including dismissals, interference, and institutional pressures—demonstrating that the underlying power dynamics had not fundamentally changed. Moreover, Habib Jalib’s iconic poem “Aisay dastoor ko, aisay subh-e-be-noor ko, main nahi maanta”, once a favourite rallying cry of Shahbaz Sharif during the Musharraf era, is now circulating widely on social media and claimed by them as an official PTI anthem, even as Imran Khan remains in jail.
The relationship between Nawaz Sharif and General Pervez Musharraf follows a similar script. Musharraf was initially a “good cop,” chosen over several senior officers to become Army Chief. Yet, once political disagreements escalated, he became Sharif’s chief adversary, leading to the 1999 coup and Sharif’s subsequent exile.
The politics surrounding military extensions also highlight this good-cop–bad-cop phenomenon. Extensions are typically granted when political leaders believe an individual favours their government. Historically, however, such extensions often prove damaging in the long run.
Imran Khan himself once remarked in an interview that even during the world wars, military extensions were not granted; so why should they be in Pakistan? Yet, once he assumed office, he not only approved an extension but also passed legislation to formalise it. This inconsistency reveals how deeply political actors prioritise securing a “good cop” in uniform rather than addressing Pakistan’s core challenges.
In Pakistan’s political dictionary, the meanings of “good cop” and “bad cop” remain strikingly simplistic: the one who supports a party’s interests is good, and the one who does not is bad. Political parties, especially those comfortably seated on the treasury benches, seem unwilling to acknowledge that a cop is simply a cop; an extension may lengthen a tenure, but it cannot transform an officer into a permanent “good cop.”
Pakistan’s political health continues to suffer under these shifting labels, where personalities overshadow principles, and institutions are evaluated based on their utility to those in power rather than their constitutional role.