— Khawaja Asif’s defence of his Marilyn Monroe puzzle response may settle the question of who runs his X account, but it raises a more troubling one: does a defence minister understand the scrutiny that comes with public office?
By Irum Saleem
KHAWAJA Asif’s response to an AI-generated Marilyn Monroe puzzle was hardly a national crisis.
But the defence minister’s insistence on defending his social media intervention has turned an inconsequential online episode into a revealing exercise in misplaced priorities.
The controversy began when Asif reshared an AI-generated image of the Hollywood icon and correctly identified a smartwatch as the item that did not belong in a picture supposedly depicting the 1950s. The original post has since been deleted. Social media users mocked him, and Indian media outlets seized on the episode.
On Friday, appearing on Geo News, the PML-N stalwart was emphatic that he operated his X account himself.
He described himself as an ordinary human being who enjoyed a normal life and argued that there was nothing unserious about answering the riddle.
Technically, he was right. A smartwatch in a purportedly 1950s image was an obvious anachronism, and there is nothing inherently wrong with a politician participating in online banter.
Public office does not require its occupants to abandon their personalities, humour or private interests.
But that is the easy part of the argument.
The harder question is whether Asif understands the distinction between his personal identity and the responsibilities attached to his office.
A defence minister is not simply another social media user.
He occupies one of the most sensitive positions in the state, entrusted with matters of national security, military policy and strategic preparedness. His public interventions are inevitably viewed through that lens, whether he likes it or not.
His response — “Am I not Khawaja Asif?” — misses the point.
Of course, he is. But he is also the defence minister of Pakistan. The office does not erase the individual; it raises the standard by which the individual is judged.
Nor is the criticism necessarily about his ability to spot a smartwatch.
It is about the disproportionate energy spent defending a trivial online exchange while the public has far more consequential reasons to demand clarity, seriousness and accountability from its elected representatives.
Asif was entitled to dismiss the mockery. He was equally entitled to explain that he ran his own account.
Yet his insistence that there was nothing unserious about the episode appeared to reduce the entire controversy to a question of personal freedom, sidestepping the larger issue of public perception and ministerial responsibility.
There is also an irony here.
Politicians routinely invoke the dignity of their offices when facing criticism, yet sometimes insist on being treated as ordinary citizens when their own conduct attracts scrutiny.
Public office cannot be switched on and off according to convenience.
To be clear, a defence minister answering an internet puzzle is not evidence of incompetence, nor does it establish anything about his handling of national security.
But neither does the fact that he identified the smartwatch make the episode worthy of such an elaborate defence.
The real test of political maturity is not whether a minister can withstand online trolling. It is whether he can recognise when a controversy deserves a response — and when it is better left to wither in the relentless churn of social media.
Asif may have won the riddle. His defence of the episode, however, has done little to demonstrate a comparable grasp of the larger responsibilities of his office.
