Understanding Pakistan’s illusion of strength

Pakistan is a state whose economy is fragile and dependent on International Monetary Fund (IMF) funds. It survives on repeated bailouts, emergency loans, and financial lifelines from friendly nations. Saudi Arabia has stepped in more than once to keep Islamabad afloat. China has long been presented as Pakistan’s “all weather friend” and economic backbone, though many now describe that relationship less as partnership and more as a debt trap. Yet in spite of all this dependency, Pakistan wants the world to believe a different story. It wants to appear economically strong, militarily confident, and financially independent. What Pakistan is doing today is not economic reform. It is rhetoric. It is showing the outside world that it is signing defence deals, selling aircraft, and exporting weapons, trying to prove that its economy is steady and its future secure. But this is an image, not a reality. The strength being displayed is performative. The weakness is simply hidden behind uniforms, fighter jets, and loud announcements.

Pakistan is not fixing its economy. It is disguising its vulnerability with military symbolism. The louder Pakistan speaks about defence exports, the quieter it becomes about its real economy. Inflation, unemployment, energy shortages, and debt dominate the lives of ordinary people, yet these issues vanish from official speeches. Instead, fighter jets and arms deals take centre stage. When Pakistani leaders claim that arms exports could replace IMF assistance, it sounds inspiring. But inspiration does not pay debts. A few billion dollars in defence contracts cannot rescue an economy that bleeds far more every year through mismanagement and corruption.These statements are not financial strategies. They are emotional distractions. For a struggling population, this messaging is powerful. It tells them: we are not weak, we are respected, the world is buying from us. It is national pride used as economic anesthesia. The pain is real, but the narrative numbs it. The arms industry becomes a showcase, not because it is saving Pakistan, but because it is one of the few areas where Pakistan can still claim competence. And so, it is inflated, glorified, and sold as proof of national revival.

The JF-17 fighter jet has become the symbol of Pakistan’s supposed rise. It is constantly described as “combat-proven” and “battle-tested,” especially in relation to India. But the aircraft itself is not extraordinary. It is affordable, basic, and politically convenient. Its
value lies in accessibility, not superiority. Yet Pakistan markets it as if it were a technological triumph. Conflict is used as certification. War is turned into advertising. The message is simple: we fight, therefore we are strong. This logic is dangerous and dishonest. It transforms instability into pride and tension into marketing. It ignores the aircraft’s limitations, past safety concerns, and modest capabilities. But in Pakistan’s narrative, facts matter less than perception. The jet is no longer just a machine. It is a storytelling tool. It allows Pakistan to say: We are not just borrowers. We are sellers. We are not desperate. We are capable. The tragedy is that this confidence exists mostly in speeches.

Look at where Pakistan is selling its weapons. Libya. Sudan. Regions torn apart by civil war and instability. These are not healthy markets. They are survival markets. Pakistan is not exporting to strong economies. It is exporting to broken states. This reveals the real nature of its defence trade. It is not a mark of global trust. It is a sign of opportunism in chaos. Pakistan is positioning itself as a supplier to conflict, not stability. And then there is Bangladesh. Any military cooperation here is less about commerce and more about politics. It is aimed directly at India. It is meant to disturb regional equations and reopen old wounds. Even a small deal carries massive symbolic weight. Against India, Pakistan’s defence exports become a narrative weapon. Not a military one, but a psychological one. They are meant to say: we still matter, we still challenge, we still shape the region. The problem is that symbolism is replacing substance.

In Pakistan, only one institution truly thrives: the army. It is the strongest, richest, and most powerful organization in the country. Defence exports do not uplift the people. They strengthen the military’s grip on the economy and politics. Factories, real estate,
business empires, and now arms exports all sit within the military’s shadow. The army prospers while civilians struggle. Soldiers are celebrated while workers search for bread. Jets are showcased while hospitals crumble. This is not national development. It is institutional enrichment. Pakistan’s arms-export story is less about economic independence and more about military dominance over national narrative. The country’s future is being narrated through the language of weapons, not welfare. Pakistan wants to look powerful. It wants to be feared, respected, and acknowledged. But power without stability is just performance. Selling weapons while begging for loans is contradiction dressed as confidence. The IMF keeps Pakistan alive. Saudi Arabia keeps it solvent. China keeps it afloat. And the army keeps it loud. This is not sovereignty. It is dependency with better branding. The world is not witnessing Pakistan’s economic breakthrough. It is witnessing Pakistan’s rhetorical survival strategy. When reform is too difficult, image becomes the alternative. When prosperity is unreachable, pride becomes the substitute. Pakistan is not exporting recovery. It is exporting reassurance. Pakistan has always shown the world that it is strong, disciplined, and unbreakable. But behind that image, its people struggle with poverty, inflation, and hopelessness. The economy remains wounded and dependent, while only the army grows richer and more powerful. Fighter jets rise into the sky, but ordinary Pakistanis remain grounded in hardship. The nation looks powerful from the outside, but inside, its strength is uneven, fragile, and painfully selective.

 

Pakistan’s endless bailout cycle: Selling national assets to stay afloat

Pakistan’s Finance Minister Muhammad Aurangzeb has become one of the busiest travelers in global finance. One week he’s in Washington, lobbying the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for yet another tranche of emergency funding; the next, he’s in Riyadh or Abu Dhabi pitching the sale of Pakistan’s national assets from Pakistan International Airlines (PIA) to airports and energy infrastructure.

In many ways, Aurangzeb is less a finance minister than a broker of desperation, auctioning off what remains of Pakistan’s economic sovereignty. The country’s fiscal crisis is not new but continues to be in a risky phase. Pakistan is no longer merely borrowing to stay solvent; it is now being compelled to sell off the remnants of its public sector to keep the economy breathing.

Yet, despite repeated bailouts and promises of reform, the fundamental ailments of Pakistan’s economic system, that is entrenched elite capture, structural inefficiency, and the outsized role of the military in its financial life, remain untouched. Pakistan’s economy has teetered on the brink of default for over three years. In April 2022, the country narrowly averted a sovereign debt crisis. Its inflation skyrocketed to approximately 38 per cent in May 2023 while foreign exchange reserves dropped exponentially to $8.7 billion by February 2023.

Since then, Islamabad has received two IMF bailout packages, multiple loan deferments from China and oil and gas deferred payment options from the Gulf states. But these have merely bought time, not transformation. The numbers tell the story. Pakistan’s external debt has hovered above $130 billion for over a year, while foreign exchange reserves remain dangerously thin, currently at around $19 billion which can cover only a month and half of its imports.

Inflation has oscillated between 3 and 38 per cent, which has qualitatively eroded the purchasing power of ordinary Pakistanis. The rupee continues to slide with 1 USD priced at over 285 PKR whereas energy prices remain high with petrol priced at PKR 265 per liter and diesel at PKR 275 per liter have soared. Moreover, the unemployment rates are only increasing and are currently recorded at around 8 per cent whereas nearly 40 per cent of people battle multidimensional poverty as per latest statics from UN Development Programme (UNDP).

Yet, what stands out is not the depth of Pakistan’s economic pain but the shallowness of its political will to reform. Each IMF program since the 1980s has come up with a familiar checklist of reducing subsidies, broadening the tax base and improving fiscal transparency. And each time, Pakistan has promised compliance but never moved beyond policy rhetoric. The current government’s “reform agenda” under Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and Finance Minister Aurangzeb has been no different. While the rhetoric of “structural transformation” fills speeches and communiques, but the reality is cosmetic tinkering.

Take the case of broadening the taxation base of the country. Despite years of IMF insistence, Pakistan’s tax-to-GDP ratio remains stuck at around 9 per cent, which remains one of the lowest in Asia. Its situation has been worsened by the fact that the wealthy elite, including feudal landlords, industrial magnates, and military-linked conglomerates, have largely found ways to escape the tax bracket. Meanwhile, the burden falls disproportionately on the salaried middle class and consumers through indirect taxes.

–IANS