When US Vice-President JD Vance arrived in Switzerland for talks aimed at preventing a wider Middle East war, he began with what sounded like a joke.
“I have joked that I have two very, very important people in my life," he said. “An Indian and a Pakistani."
The Indian was his wife, Usha Vance. The Pakistani was Field Marshal Asim Munir.
Then came the remarkable part.
Vance revealed that he had spent much of the preceding months in contact with Pakistan’s army chief and declared: “We would not be here without his statesmanship and military leadership."
For many Indians, the statement was baffling. India is the world’s most populous country, one of America’s most important strategic partners, a major technology power and a central pillar of Washington’s Indo-Pacific strategy. Pakistan, by contrast, is struggling economically and politically.
Why, then, was the Vice-President of the United States publicly praising a Pakistani general?
Consider how such remarks would sound elsewhere.
Imagine a US Vice-President declaring that Britain’s Chief of the Defence Staff or France’s Chief of the Defence Staff had become one of his most important diplomatic interlocutors and that “we would not be here without his statesmanship and military leadership."
The reaction in London or Paris would be immediate. Commentators would ask why an elected government appeared to have been bypassed. Parliamentarians would demand explanations. Constitutional questions would follow.
Yet Vance’s remarks produced little surprise in Pakistan.
That is because Washington long ago learned a reality that diplomats seldom state publicly. In moments of crisis, Pakistan’s military leadership is often a more consequential centre of power than the country’s civilian institutions.
Vance was not merely complimenting a foreign general. He was publicly acknowledging where Washington believes power resides.
And that brings us to the uncomfortable truth that New Delhi has spent decades trying to avoid.
America does not value Pakistan for ‘what’ Pakistan is. America values Pakistan for ‘where’ Pakistan is.
That distinction explains one of the longest-running misunderstandings in Indian strategic thinking.
For years, Indian commentators have predicted the eventual collapse of the US-Pakistan relationship. The argument seems persuasive. Pakistan’s economy repeatedly approaches crisis. Civilian governments come and go. American officials routinely complain about Pakistani behaviour.
Yet the relationship survives every disappointment.
The reason is simple. Washington’s attachment to Pakistan is not ideological. It is geographical.
Pakistan sits at the intersection of nearly every strategic fault line that has preoccupied American policymakers since the Second World War: India, China, Afghanistan, Iran, Central Asia and the Gulf.
Governments change. Generals retire. Presidents come and go. The map remains.
This is not a new phenomenon.
In 1971, when President Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger sought a secret route to Communist China, they did not turn to democratic India.
They turned to Pakistan.
General Yahya Khan became the intermediary who enabled Kissinger’s clandestine trip to Beijing, helping to reshape the Cold War and alter the global balance of power.
More than half a century later, the names have changed but the logic remains strikingly similar.
When Nixon wanted Beijing, he called Yahya Khan. When Vance needed help navigating a Middle Eastern crisis, he called Asim Munir.
Half a century separates the two episodes, but the strategic logic is identical.
Pakistan’s importance to Washington has rarely depended on its prosperity or political stability. It has depended on its ability to provide access, channels and influence in places where the United States has limited reach of its own.
This is where many Indian analysts make a fundamental mistake. They assume Washington must choose between India and Pakistan. Washington sees no such choice.
The two relationships serve entirely different purposes.
India is a strategic investment. Pakistan is a strategic utility.
America’s relationship with India is built around the future: technology, supply chains, maritime security and balancing China. Its relationship with Pakistan is built around crises: Afghanistan, Iran, militant networks, intelligence channels and diplomatic back doors.
One relationship is about long-term power. The other is about immediate leverage. That reality is increasingly visible in Pakistan itself.
Even Pakistani observers acknowledge the shift. Shuja Nawaz, author of Crossed Swords: Pakistan, Its Army, and the Wars Within, recently described Munir as being ‘far more hands-on in matters of governance and foreign policy than his predecessors.’
American officials understand this perfectly.
When they require formal diplomacy, they engage Pakistan’s civilian leadership. When they need to know who can actually deliver results, they also pay attention to Rawalpindi.
This is not an endorsement of military rule. It is an acknowledgement of political reality.
Indeed, Vance’s comments were revealing precisely because he did not praise Pakistan’s democratic institutions, parliament or economic reforms. He praised a general’s “statesmanship and military leadership."
In most Western democracies such a statement would sound extraordinary. In Pakistan it sounded like recognition of an existing power structure.
The broader lesson for India is uncomfortable but important.
America does not maintain ties with Pakistan because it loves Pakistan. Nor does it maintain them because Pakistan has somehow outperformed India. It maintains them because geography still matters. A map can outlive governments, ideologies and alliances. That is why every few years Washington rediscovers Pakistan’s usefulness, however frustrated it may become with Islamabad.
The Vance remarks offered a rare glimpse into how American power actually works. Diplomacy, like journalism, reveals its priorities not through press releases but through phone calls. And when the Vice-President of the United States publicly admits that one of his most important foreign interlocutors is a Pakistani general, he is telling us something larger than the story of one crisis.
He is reminding us that great powers are rarely sentimental. They are practical. America may not always trust Pakistan. It may not always like Pakistan. But until somebody redraws the map of Asia, Washington will continue to keep Rawalpindi’s number close at hand.
