Islamabad Talks In The Shadow Of War: Pakistan Between Iran, Saudi Arabia And Israel |
The proposed dialogue between Iran and the United States in Islamabad is, at first glance, reassuring. It signals a degree of Iranian confidence in Pakistan’s diplomatic role, notwithstanding Islamabad’s military commitment to Saudi Arabia. At a moment of acute regional instability, Iran’s willingness to engage through Pakistan suggests that Islamabad still retains a measure of strategic relevance across competing alliances.
Yet this opening is framed by deeply contested narratives. Since the outset of the war, reports in the American press—The Washington Times and The New York Times—have alleged that Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman pressured President Trump to eliminate Ayatollah Khamenei, reportedly killed on the second day of the conflict.
However, such assertions warrant caution. Trump’s well-established tendency to deflect responsibility—onto Netanyahu, allies, or even members of his own cabinet—makes it difficult to separate fact from political expediency. The claim may carry weight, but only if one is prepared to extend the Saudis the benefit of the doubt.
More pressing, however, are the unresolved questions surrounding Pakistan’s Strategic Defence Agreement with Saudi Arabia. Concluded without meaningful public or parliamentary debate, the agreement remains opaque on critical points. Is it directed, implicitly or otherwise, at Iran, Israel, or both? What assurances exist for Pakistan if it faces threats from India or Afghanistan? These questions acquired urgency following cross-border tensions involving Kabul from late 2025 onwards, during which Saudi Arabia’s absence was conspicuous.
Recent statements from Saudi officials and commentators have suggested that the pact could be invoked if Iran continues to strike US bases on Saudi soil. This raises a fundamental question: under what conditions does the agreement become binding? Does it apply only in response to direct aggression, or might it extend to conflicts initiated or facilitated by one of the parties? If so, would Pakistan find itself compelled to provide military, material, or diplomatic support in a war not of its choosing?
The picture is further clouded by the entanglement of political authority with private economic interests. Individuals linked to ruling parties maintain extensive investments, property holdings, and commercial ventures across Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. These are not speculative claims but matters of public record. It is therefore reasonable to ask whether such interests influenced the speed and secrecy with which the agreement was concluded, bypassing Parliament and excluding public scrutiny.
The talks in Islamabad, therefore, are not simply about de-escalation. They are about whether the region continues to manage crises episodically—or confronts the structural causes that produce them
The talks in Islamabad, therefore, are not simply about de-escalation. They are about whether the region continues to manage crises episodically—or confronts the structural causes that produce them
Defenders of the arrangement argue that open debate risks jeopardising the livelihoods of Pakistani workers in Gulf countries. Yet this defence exposes a deeper structural vulnerability: the possibility that labour and remittances are being used as instruments of leverage. If so, the relationship begins to resemble dependency rather than partnership. It invites two uncomfortable questions. First, does financial patronage from Gulf states translate into strategic concessions by domestic political actors? Second, does Pakistan’s economic fragility serve the interests of both its elites and its external partners?
Remittances function as leverage only so long as Pakistan remains economically dependent—reliant on short-term inflows, loan rollovers, and limited financial relief in exchange for political access. This points to a deeper flaw: an economic model built on external dependence rather than internal productivity. It also helps explain why initiatives such as the China–Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), which prioritise long-term development, sit uneasily within this structure.
A comparison with India is instructive. Despite its close strategic partnership with Israel, India has maintained stable relations with Gulf states without jeopardising its workforce or economic interests.
Against this backdrop, Iran’s acceptance of Islamabad as the venue for talks may be read as a cautiously positive signal. It suggests that Pakistan, despite its constraints, is still perceived as a credible intermediary.
Yet the broader environment remains volatile. In the past 48 hours alone, President Trump delayed a planned strike on Iran’s electricity infrastructure by five days. Brent crude prices fell sharply from $113 per barrel to around $100, only to rise again to $103 within hours. Simultaneously, Israel’s Prime Minister Netanyahu asserted that decisions on a ceasefire would be made in Tel Aviv, not Washington. Such rapid shifts—in both policy and markets—invite a simple question: who benefits from this volatility?
Reports that the United States has conveyed a list of 15 demands to Iran via Pakistan may suggest the outline of a negotiating framework. Yet the absence of Israel—the principal initiator of the war—from the table remains a critical omission.
Equally critical are the substantive issues likely to define any negotiation. Is the dispute fundamentally about Iran’s missile range and nuclear programme? What does Tehran seek in return for any concession? More fundamentally, can any settlement endure without addressing the core political question of Palestine—recognition of a Palestinian state, withdrawal from occupied territories, and a return to the 1967 borders?
Would Israel concede on any of these fronts?
Even if Iran were to agree—temporarily—to limit its missile or nuclear capabilities, the underlying conflict would not disappear. It would merely be deferred, reshaped, and eventually return in another form, perhaps under even more dangerous circumstances.
The talks in Islamabad, therefore, are not simply about de-escalation. They are about whether the region continues to manage crises episodically—or confronts the structural causes that produce them.
On the battlefield, escalation continues. On 21 March 2026, Iran launched ballistic missile strikes targeting southern Israel, including areas near the Dimona nuclear facility and the town of Arad. The attack injured at least 180 people and marked a significant intensification. Iran described it as retaliation for an alleged strike on its Natanz facility. Netanyahu called it the most difficult night of the war. Yet key details remain obscured. If these missiles were capable of carrying nuclear payloads, why has this not been publicly clarified? Why the continued opacity?
At the same time, Iran claimed to have detected the much-acclaimed ‘invisible’ F-35 fighter jet, releasing radar footage in support. If substantiated, such a development would have serious implications for established assumptions about regional military superiority.
It was in the immediate aftermath of these developments that President Trump called for talks.
History, however, offers a stark warning. In 1973, when Egyptian and Syrian forces came close to defeating the Israel Defense Forces, Israel reportedly prepared nuclear-armed aircraft for potential deployment. Upon receiving intelligence of this, Henry Kissinger moved swiftly to ensure US resupply, bypassing bureaucratic constraints. Preventing Israel’s collapse was deemed imperative. The underlying doctrine remains unchanged: in the face of an existential threat, all options—including nuclear—remain available.
How long can Israel withstand sustained missile pressure from Iran? What constitutes its threshold of pain? And does the United States still possess either the capacity or the will to restrain Israel, particularly in the absence of figures such as Kissinger, and with a markedly different strategic leadership in Washington?
This is the shadow under which the Islamabad talks will unfold.