Pakistan’s steady descent into authoritarianism continued last month with the passage of its 27th constitutional amendment.
At its core, the amendment is a move to constitutionally enshrine the army’s supremacy under the guise of modernization. Since Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and his Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz party solidified its power via a 2024 election that was widely viewed as fixed, their government has leaned on the military establishment for support and, in turn, shown a great willingness to reinforce the army’s institutional dominance.
The new amendment restructures Pakistan’s national security architecture under the newly created title of the chief of defense forces, a role that will be held by the army chief, Asim Munir. It also creates a commander of the National Strategic Command (CNSC), a new four-star position intended to oversee strategic planning and readiness across the services. While the prime minister formally appoints the CNSC, the nomination must come from the army chief. By design, the role will be filled exclusively by an army officer.
While supporters describe the amendment as a step toward integrated defense coordination and clearer civil-military structures, critics argue that it instead constitutionally cements the army’s supremacy across joint military affairs. While debate in Islamabad has so far focused on the amendment’s domestic implications and the acceleration of democratic backsliding, the implications extend far beyond domestic governance.
By restructuring the armed forces’ command hierarchy, the reforms also introduce unsettling ambiguities for Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal, which has long relied on a delicate command and control architecture under both civilian and military oversight. The implications are grave.
Without legal and procedural alignment, these new constitutional measures could weaken the checks that have kept Pakistan’s deterrent system disciplined for more than a quarter century since its overt nuclearization. Most gravely, it threatens an equilibrium that has been a quiet yet critical source of stability in South Asia’s volatile security environment.
Since the turn of the century, Pakistan’s nuclear governance has combined centralized control with internal balance—strong enough to prevent unauthorized use yet broad enough to ensure collective judgment.
In 2000, Pakistan established the National Command Authority, later codified in 2010, as a joint civil-military structure to regulate and control its nuclear arsenal. The prime minister chaired the National Command Authority; key cabinet ministers, along with the chiefs of the army, navy, and air force, served as members. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee (CJCSC), senior to the three individual service heads but without direct command of troops, acted as a coordinator between the branches. The Strategic Plans Division (SPD), a military-run secretariat within the National Command Authority, reported to the CJCSC and ensured that no single service dominated nuclear planning, operations, or security—although it has traditionally been headed by three-star army general.
Under this structure, decisions to employ nuclear weapons must be taken by consensus within the National Command Authority. Once approved, the SPD implements the National Command Authority’s directives, coordinating with the relevant service strategic force commands through dedicated channels. But because internal rules, authentication procedures, and real-time decision protocols remain classified, the public record offers only a schematic—not fully transparent—picture of how, exactly, a nuclear launch order would be validated and executed.
This complex, if convoluted, design ensured that nuclear decision-making combined civilian oversight with military input. It prevented any one service—particularly the army, which has historically dominated Pakistan’s defense establishment—from unilaterally controlling nuclear policy.
The 27th Amendment disrupts this equilibrium. By abolishing the CJCSC post and vesting the chief of defense forces—now the army chief—as the top uniformed officer, the reform removes a neutral interservice bridge. Adding a CNSC, again from the army, further consolidates control in one institutional silo.
Supporters argue that these reforms will streamline decision-making and reflect the realities of modern warfare, where rapid integration across domains is vital. But efficiency at the cost of deliberation, redundancy, and balance is a dangerous bargain—especially in nuclear governance.
The National Command Authority’s tri-service composition once guaranteed that all three military branches had a voice in shaping doctrine and operational priorities. The CJCSC’s lack of direct command gave the air force and navy confidence that their nuclear roles, especially in sea-based deterrence, would not be sidelined.
Replacing that role with the army chief/chief of defense forces blurs this separation. In formal terms, the navy and air force remain represented on the National Command Authority. In practice, however, they will now report to the same office that commands the army, controls the SPD, and recommends the head of the new strategic command. What was once coordination, oversight, and collaboration is now at risk of becoming subordination.
This hierarchy also risks altering Pakistan’s deterrent development. A credible second-strike capability depends on robust naval and air components. If the new setup marginalizes these perspectives, then the country’s nuclear posture could tilt heavily toward land-based forces. The chain of command may become simpler but at the expense of a diversity of judgment.
The constitutional changes also collide with existing law. The National Command Authority Act of 2010 still defines the CJCSC as the deputy chair of the Development Control Committee, a body within the National Command Authority that sets nuclear policy, oversees nuclear force development, and is the principal military coordinator for the National Command Authority. It also authorizes the prime minister to delegate powers to the CJCSC and the director-general of the SPD.
These discrepancies leave critical questions unresolved. With the CJCSC position now abolished, to whom are its former authorities transferred? Does the CNSC replace the SPD’s director-general or sit above him? Will the prime minister’s delegated powers flow through the new army chief/chief of defense forces position?
Only a formal amendment to the National Command Authority Act or new statutory rules issued by the president or the prime minister’s office could resolve these questions. In the meantime, these ambiguities amount to structural blind spots.
Without legally defined lines of authority, routine decisions can become discretionary, and crisis-time decisions can become contested, creating the risk of parallel chains of command. Along with the swelling alphabet soup of new authorities, this institutional overlap between the chief of defense forces, CNSC, and SPD creates multiple, potentially competing nodes of control.
In a nuclear crisis, even a momentary dispute over who can issue an order, authenticate a launch directive, or activate readiness protocols can produce paralysis or—worse—improvised decision-making. Legal frameworks that once ensured procedural clarity are being overtaken by organizational experimentation. Unless the National Command Authority Act is amended to align with the new structure, Pakistan’s nuclear command will rest on uncertain constitutional ground.
Proponents of the reform present a straightforward rationale: Modern warfare demands unity of command. Having a single, empowered chief of defense forces could speed decisions during conflict, minimizing bureaucratic delays.
That logic works for conventional military operations, but nuclear command requires something else: institutional restraint. Its design must regulate decision-making enough to ensure that every order reflects consensus, a critical guardrail against decisions based on an individual’s will or panic. Concentrating both conventional and nuclear command in one person—particularly the army chief—risks collapsing that separation.
The army already dominates Pakistan’s security bureaucracy, controls the bulk of nuclear delivery systems, and oversees the SPD. Elevating the army chief as the chief of defense forces therefore does not create a new neutral coordinator; it formalizes the most powerful service chief as the single point of authority, further weakening interservice balance.
In moments of acute crisis, such as an Indian air incursion, the temptation to act swiftly can be immense. Yet speed can also narrow perspective. If deliberative channels shrink, dissenting professional judgments—especially from the navy or air force—may never reach the table. Pakistan’s deterrent credibility has long rested on procedural discipline. A more centralized structure could erode that discipline precisely when it’s most needed.
Beyond authority, there’s a competence issue. Effective oversight of nuclear forces requires understanding air, sea, and land doctrines. These each have distinct professional cultures and technical domains. Pakistan lacks a mature system of joint professional military education comparable to NATO or the U.S. Joint Forces model, where officers rotate across services to build integrated expertise. As a result, most army chiefs have limited exposure to naval or air operations. Without this institutional grounding, future chiefs of defense forces may struggle to adjudicate cross-domain disputes or grasp the operational implications of air- or sea-based deterrent missions.
That gap could create what military theorists call “command friction”—an uncertainty about roles, reporting lines, and decision authority. In conventional warfare, friction can slow operations; in nuclear command, it can prove catastrophic. Pakistan’s deterrent posture has so far benefited from layered oversight and redundancy. Reform that prizes speed over structure risks trading safety for simplicity.
Several safeguards could mitigate the risks posed by the 27th Amendment. First, Pakistan should rotate the chief of defense forces post between the army, navy, and air force. A rotating leadership model would ensure that no single branch institutionalizes its dominance. It would also foster the joint ethos essential for credible nuclear deterrence in a multidomain era—one in which survivability no longer rests solely on land-based forces but increasingly depends on air- and sea-based deterrents. Without leadership that understands and represents all three domains, the country’s nuclear posture risks becoming lopsided and brittle.
Second, Islamabad should amend the National Command Authority Act promptly. Clarifying the relationships among critical players such as the chief of defense forces, CNSC, SPD director-general, and prime minister would prevent legal and operational confusion. In nuclear command structures, vague authority can paralyze decision-making in a crisis.
Third, Pakistan should invest in joint command education. The country’s National Defence University and staff colleges should build pathways for officers across services to train in nuclear planning, crisis management, and strategic communication. Without cross-domain competence, the centralization of authority will outpace the expertise required to wield it.
Finally, Islamabad should retain a joint services consultative platform, perhaps chaired by the CNSC or SPD director-general, to preserve interservice dialogue on doctrine and procurement. Abruptly dismantling existing forums risks disruption at a time when India’s defense modernization and regional exercises already heighten strategic uncertainty.
Rewriting the command hierarchy without recalibrating its legal and professional foundations risks upsetting a domestic and regional security balance that has endured for decades. Streamlining may sound efficient, but in nuclear affairs, restraint is the ultimate form of control. In the quest for speed and authority, Islamabad could end up undermining the very strategic prudence that has kept South Asia from the brink.