What should have been brushed aside as an implausible rumour has instead been elevated into a full-blown political spectacle — thanks, largely, to the government’s own overreaction. Whispers that President Asif Zardari might step down and be replaced by the army chief were not just far-fetched; they were absurd. Yet, the flurry of official rebuttals that followed suggests the rumour struck closer to the bone than anyone in power would like to admit.
In a political environment where real authority visibly rests with the military establishment — a fact rarely contested anymore — it defies logic that the establishment would jeopardise its carefully curated civilian façade. With the hybrid arrangement seemingly functioning to its satisfaction, why would it risk unsettling its civilian partners by triggering a move as provocative as replacing the president?
The answer lies not in the credibility of the rumour, but in the paranoia that thrives within hybrid systems. In such arrangements — where power is shared, obscured, and negotiated behind closed doors — even the flimsiest speculation can trigger panic. Rumours flourish because the lines between optics and authority have already been blurred. Coalitions formed under such fragile understandings are inherently prone to distrust and backroom manoeuvring. It doesn’t take much to destabilise them.
The swift and layered denials — from Senator Irfan Siddiqui’s unsolicited praise of President Zardari, to Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi’s talk of “certain individuals” being bothered by civil-military harmony, and PPP’s Syed Nayyar Bukhari’s reminder of Zardari’s constitutional status — indicate just how anxious the ruling elite is about maintaining appearances. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif’s reported statement affirming that “Field Marshal Asim Munir” has no presidential ambitions, only deepens the irony. In a democracy, one shouldn’t have to explain why a serving military chief is not in line to become head of state.
What is more telling is not the rumour itself, but the reaction to it. The episode laid bare the fundamental weakness of Pakistan’s political structure: civilian leaders scrambling to reassert relevance in a system where elected office has been reduced to symbolism. When politics becomes more about perception management than policy and power, when civilian posts are meant to mask real control rather than exercise it, then even whispers — however baseless — are enough to shake the stage.
This is the true cost of sidelining democratic norms. As power moves further from elected representatives and deeper into unelected institutions, mistrust hardens, governance suffers, and politics becomes theatre. In the absence of genuine civilian supremacy, hybrid regimes may appear to function smoothly on the surface, but underneath, they remain brittle, insecure, and prone to crisis at the slightest provocation.
In the long run, such systems do not foster stability — they breed suspicion. And when the credibility of elected office is eroded, it is not just the politicians who suffer, but the entire democratic project.
