By S.M. Inam
In the aftermath of the recent four-day military engagement between Pakistan and India, a quiet but determined sense of resolve has taken hold across Pakistan. The country, often maligned or misunderstood in global narratives, stood its ground with discipline and strategic finesse. For the people, this wasn’t just a military response—it was a moment of reaffirmation that the armed forces, particularly the Pakistan Air Force, possess the courage and clarity to respond to threats with professionalism. But not everyone could accept this. Across the border, the Indian government was quick to seed an alternate version of events. In a familiar rhythm, it sought not only to dispute Pakistan’s operational success but to delegitimize it altogether. Prominent Indian voices, both in the political sphere and media, floated the claim that Pakistan’s effectiveness was not the result of its own military capabilities, but rather the product of Chinese satellite intelligence and technological assistance.
This wasn’t just an act of denial—it was an attempt to rewrite the narrative of a sovereign state’s moment of clarity and control. What made this more disheartening was how easily such claims found footing even within Pakistan, particularly across social media platforms where rumour often travels faster than truth. The idea that foreign help tipped the balance implies that the Pakistani forces were somehow incapable on their own. It is a dangerous notion—one that not only disrespects the armed forces but also undermines the country’s long-standing efforts toward strategic self-reliance. This isn’t a new project. Over the past two decades, Pakistan has steadily invested in its domestic defence ecosystem. From building its own drone technology to refining radar systems and modernizing training protocols, the military establishment has learned not to depend on others.
This conflict was not the first time these capabilities were tested, but it might have been the most publicly visible instance where they were demonstrated without doubt. The myth of dependence is just that—a myth. General Sahir Shamshad Mirza, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee, made this clear in a rare and pointed interview with a respected British broadcaster. He categorically rejected the notion of any foreign involvement in the 96-hour military engagement, insisting that no logistical, technical, or tactical aid from any state was sought or provided. The operations, he said, were homegrown—planned and executed by Pakistan’s own command structure, using its existing arsenal and indigenous systems. The success belonged not to satellites hovering over Beijing, but to pilots flying under the Pakistani flag and the leadership that directed them with precision and intent.
To suggest otherwise is to do more than spread misinformation—it is to ignore the discipline, training, and courage of the men and women who serve. These are not theoretical qualities. These are lived experiences, forged through years of effort, often in silence, far from camera flashes or public applause. To rob them of their due is to rob the nation of its self-worth. International observers, including seasoned military analysts, have taken note. Their evaluations have steered clear of politics, instead focusing on the sheer operational competence with which Pakistan responded. They spoke of coordination, speed, and strategic maturity. They compared this not to the size of inventories or international alliances, but to the strength of doctrine, execution, and adaptability. They saw, as many in Pakistan already knew, that capability is not always about having more, but about knowing how to use what you have.
One unexpected but important outcome has been the shift in how global powers perceive Pakistan’s defence architecture. Where once the country may have been viewed with suspicion or condescension, there is now a cautious but tangible respect. In diplomatic circles—from Washington to London—there’s talk not only of Pakistan’s composure during the crisis, but of the doors this might open in terms of strategic alignment and defence partnerships. Not as a junior ally. But as a state capable of holding its own. Still, the real battle is internal. The most corrosive idea Pakistan faces today is the belief that its victories must always come with an asterisk. That nothing can be purely its own doing. This mindset—whether born of postcolonial hangover or decades of self-doubt—must be dismantled. Not to boast, not to inflate egos, but to tell the truth. This victory was ours. Entirely. Unequivocally.
Now, as the moment begins to recede into memory, what remains is not just celebration, but responsibility. Pakistan must hold fast to the lesson that capability must be continuously cultivated. Investments in indigenous technology, support for defence research, and reforms that enable institutional efficiency must not pause. Likewise, the public must resist easy cynicism. Patriotism does not mean blind applause—but nor should it mean an automatic assumption that every success is borrowed or fake. In these times, as global politics grow more unstable and trust in institutions wears thin, self-reliance is not just a strategic choice—it is an existential necessity. Pakistan has taken a step forward not merely on the battlefield, but in reclaiming the narrative of who it is, and what it can achieve. It is time we stop asking who helped us win. And start acknowledging that we won. Because we could. Because we did.
(The writer is a former government officer and a senior analyst on national and international affairs, can be reached at inam@metro-morning.com)
