Pakistan is a middleman, not a mediator: The perils of punching above its weight

Pakistan has long been a fascinating case study. Since its inception as a nation-state, born out of mayhem and violence in the name of religious exclusivity, it has sought to play global hardball, readily picking sides to advance its interests — often prioritising short-term gains over long-term stability. The recurring problem, however, is Islamabad’s tendency to mistake being present in the room for being in control of it.

The latest example is the West Asian crisis, where Pakistan once again finds itself clutching the diplomatic microphone, only to realise it is not plugged in. Yet, as always, the performance continues. Headlines are manufactured, chests are thumped, and high-sounding statements are issued — in the latest case, a tweet was drafted, of course with editorial assistance from the United States.

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To be fair, Pakistani politicians and generals deserve credit for consistency. For decades, the country has played a peculiar role: presenting itself as a negotiator while functioning more like a middleman waiting for its cut.

Interestingly, the applause for this performance is not entirely confined to Pakistan. While leaders in Islamabad congratulate themselves for “bringing parties to the table”, there is also a surprisingly enthusiastic audience across this side of the border. For some in Bharat, every Pakistani “intervention” becomes a “masterstroke”, every handshake a “historic pivot”, and every statement a “tectonic shift” in global politics. No wonder a columnist in Delhi applauded Islamabad for “punching above its weight”. And a former chief minister of a former state could not stop gushing over Pakistan’s achievement, stating how it has brought the world back from the brink of the Third World War.

Reality, however, tells a different story.

When a supposed mediator requires approval from another capital before issuing a ceasefire message (read the Financial Times story on how it was the White House that pushed Islamabad to broker a temporary ceasefire with Iran), the term “broker” becomes overly generous. When commitments appear in official statements only to be disowned hours later (a New York Times report shows how the Trump administration was directly involved in shaping Pakistan’s ceasefire post before it was published on ‘X’, and it included Lebanon in the ceasefire region, but later the US denied making any Lebanon commitment), the idea of a “trusted intermediary” begins to look farcical.

This pattern is not new, however.

In the late 1960s and early ’70s, Pakistan played a crucial role in facilitating a secret diplomatic channel that reshaped global geopolitics. It was, undeniably, a moment of immense strategic relevance when Nixon’s America shook hands with Mao’s China. But this ended disastrously for Pakistan in 1971. Overconfidence in its perceived global importance contributed to catastrophic miscalculations in East Pakistan, culminating in its dismemberment and the creation of Bangladesh.

The pattern repeated in the 1980s. Pakistan again sought to “punch above its weight”, becoming a frontline state in what was the Great Game played between the two superpowers of the era — the United States and the erstwhile Soviet Union. Once more, it saw itself as indispensable and central to great power strategy. But the long-term consequences were severe: it not only unleashed regional instability, but also legitimised political Islam and brought the jihadi genie out of the bottle.

In 2026, Pakistan finds itself in a similar situation. It is once again eager to position itself as a “negotiator”, hoping to score a few narrative points and project influence. However, in the age of social media, diplomacy-as-performance unravels quickly. While trying to project itself as a mediator, Pakistan has instead brought to the fore its real face: that of a power broker — or worse, a middleman.

There is nothing inherently wrong with seeking proximity to global power. There is nothing wrong in projecting oneself as a powerhouse. The real danger lies in believing one’s own projection, in falling for one’s own lie. Pakistan has, in the past, mistaken access for influence, and visibility for leverage. Each such episode of overconfidence has been followed by strategic missteps with lasting consequences, especially vis-à-vis its immediate eastern neighbour.

Today, buoyed by its latest self-proclaimed “achievement”, Islamabad may again be tempted to test the waters with Bharat. Convinced that it enjoys the backing of multiple global powers, especially the US and China, as it had erroneously believed in the 1970s and ’80s, it may attempt to complete its unfinished task: its hostility towards Bharat, which is neither accidental nor episodic, but structural, ideological and civilisational. The Pakistani state was born in opposition to Bharat and legitimised in the name of religion. Islamabad must be itching to carry forward this unfinished ‘civilisational’ task.

The consequences, if this pattern persists, are unlikely to be any less severe than those in the 1970s. If anything, given the no-nonsense Indian approach, especially since the 2016 Pathankot terror attack, Pakistan, after any such misadventure this time, may not remain the Pakistan we know today.

(Views expressed are personal and solely those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect Firstpost’s views.)