How Saudi-Pakistan defence deal signals new security order in the Gulf

When Saudi Arabia and Pakistan’s leaders met in Riyadh on September 17, they signed what Pakistan’s Foreign Ministry described as a “Strategic Mutual Defence Agreement,” pledging that “any aggression against either country shall be considered an aggression against both.”

The accord arrives amid widespread outrage in the Gulf following an Israeli airstrike in Doha that killed six people, highlighting fears among Arab states that US protection may no longer be guaranteed.

In Islamabad, Defence Minister Khawaja Mohammad Asif was unusually forthright. Speaking to Geo TV, he declared: “What we have, and the capabilities we possess, will be made available to (Saudi Arabia) according to this agreement.” The reference was unmistakable.

Independent estimates by the Federation of American Scientists place Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal at about 170 warheads. Though the agreement’s text does not explicitly mention nuclear weapons, the suggestion that such capabilities might be extended to Saudi Arabia lends significant weight to the pact.

Asif also attempted to downplay the nuclear angle, telling news agencies that atomic weapons were “not on the radar” of the agreement. The ambiguity reflects both the sensitivity of the issue and the advantage of keeping adversaries uncertain.

Saudi officials have likewise avoided precision. When asked whether the pact obligates Pakistan to provide a nuclear umbrella, a senior Saudi official told Reuters: “This is a comprehensive defensive agreement that encompasses all military means.”

In a separate comment, Pakistan’s Deputy Prime Minister Ishaq Dar underlined the wider horizons of the accord: “The door is not closed to others.” The implication is that other Arab or Muslim states could be invited to join, reviving periodic talk of an Islamic NATO.

The idea of such a bloc is not new. Riyadh already hosts the Islamic Military Counter-Terrorism Coalition, with 41 nominal members, commanded since 2017 by former Pakistan Army Chief General Raheel Sharif. Although that coalition remained limited to training and intelligence-sharing, but the defence pact with Pakistan hints at something more structured.

An Islamic NATO, if it materialises, would likely depend on Saudi financing, Pakistani manpower and nuclear expertise, and logistical or base contributions from other Gulf states. While it would not match NATO’s integrated command overnight, even a looser collective defence arrangement among a few Arab and Muslim countries could alter regional deterrence calculations.

Analysts see the timing as no accident. Faisal Mir, a Sydney-based observer quoted by Al Jazeera, noted: “Pakistan’s relative position has improved, and new space has opened for expanding the Pak-Saudi cooperation on both bilateral defence and regional security matters.” Others have described the deal as Saudi Arabia marrying its financial clout to Pakistan’s nuclear-armed military — a combination certain to concentrate minds in Tehran, Jerusalem and New Delhi alike.

The underlying relationship is not new. Pakistan has stationed troops in the kingdom for decades. According to research by Harvard University’s Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs, about 1,500 to 2,000 Pakistani personnel are currently deployed in Saudi Arabia on training and advisory missions. In the 1980s, the numbers were much higher, with tens of thousands rotating through on security assignments.

Financial links go back even further. The Financial Times has reported that in the 1990s, during the sanctions era, Saudi Arabia cushioned Pakistan with free oil supplies. Brookings and other think tanks have cited allegations of earlier Saudi contributions to Pakistan’s nuclear ambitions, though both governments have consistently denied any formal arrangement. The allegations are hard to verify, but they form part of the backdrop against which today’s pact is being interpreted.

What has changed is the context. The Israeli strike on Doha — a sovereign Gulf capital — was once unimaginable. That it happened with no visible American pushback has deepened unease in Riyadh and elsewhere about the durability of US commitments. As one Reuters report observed, the new arrangement “appears to highlight Saudi Arabia’s efforts to diversify its security partnerships.”

For Washington, the pact raises awkward questions. Successive administrations have insisted that US military guarantees to Gulf partners remain firm, but the optics of Israeli jets striking Qatar and Saudi Arabia turning to Pakistan for defence speak to an erosion of confidence.

For Israel, the mere suggestion of a Pakistani nuclear umbrella for Saudi Arabia is destabilising. For Iran, it signals that Riyadh has options beyond US bases or European assurances. And for India, which has fought wars with Pakistan and watched its nuclear build-up warily, the implications of Saudi Arabia entering that frame are troubling.

None of this means a Saudi bomb is imminent, or that Pakistani warheads will suddenly be stationed on Saudi soil. But the careful ambiguity in the public statements, the high-level signatures on the document, and the timing after Doha together mark a shift. It is a public declaration of solidarity that carries within it the potential for a nuclear undertone.

Yet the idea of an Islamic NATO is easier to evoke than to realise. The first obstacle is political diversity. The Muslim world is far from united: many Arab governments distrust Pakistan’s closeness to Turkey, while sectarian rivalries with Iran remain acute. Any collective defence pact that explicitly excluded Tehran would deepen the Sunni–Shia divide, turning the grouping into a bloc that might provoke rather than prevent conflict.

A second constraint is practical. NATO functions because its members pool intelligence, integrate command structures and operate with interoperability drilled through decades of joint exercises. The Islamic Military Counter-Terrorism Coalition, despite its 41 nominal members, has never come close to such integration. Without standardised equipment, shared doctrine or unified leadership, any Islamic NATO would risk being more symbolic than operational.

Trust is also an issue. Some Gulf states remember how, in 2015, Pakistan’s parliament refused to endorse sending troops for the Saudi-led war in Yemen. That episode left doubts about whether Islamabad can always be relied upon when Saudi interests are at stake. The new pact may signal commitment, but memory of past hesitations lingers.

Financial sustainability presents another challenge. Saudi Arabia can bankroll such an alliance, but would other states contribute? A defence bloc in which Riyadh pays and Islamabad fights could reinforce perceptions of imbalance, making smaller members hesitant to sign on.

Finally, there is the risk of external backlash. Washington would view a fully-fledged Islamic NATO with suspicion, seeing it as a competitor to existing US-led security structures in the Gulf. India would see any Saudi nuclear umbrella mediated by Pakistan as a direct threat. Israel, already alarmed by the Doha strike’s fallout, would read it as escalation. Even China, despite its closeness to both Riyadh and Islamabad, might prefer bilateral ties over a new bloc that could complicate its Belt and Road investments.

For these reasons, an Islamic NATO remains more a slogan than a reality. Yet the symbolism matters. By keeping the door open, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan are signalling that the world’s only Muslim-majority nuclear power and its wealthiest monarchy could, if pressed, build something larger. In a region unsettled by shifting alliances and American ambivalence, that possibility alone is enough to alter calculations.

Bound by shared faith, finances, and security, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan’s Riyadh pact makes those ties explicit at a time of heightened regional anxiety. It formalises what was previously left unsaid: that in a dangerous neighbourhood, the kingdom is willing to look beyond Washington for its ultimate security, and Islamabad is willing to provide it.