Triple alliance and the regional situation

By Ali Hiader A certain segment in Pakistan has been gaining momentum in arguing that had dictator General Pervez Musharraf—like Imran Khan—said “Absolutely Not” to Washington, Pakistan might have been spared the scourge of terrorism and the subsequent economic hardships. However, such an argument attempts to view the decision made in 2001 through the lens of circumstances that emerged years later. The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, shook the United States and sent shockwaves through the global order; approximately 3,000 people lost their lives, and institutions regarded globally as symbols of American economic and military might were targeted. These attacks challenged the security of the world’s sole superpower and generated intense public pressure on the President George W. Bush’s administration to take retaliatory action. For the United States, inaction had become politically almost impossible. Responsibility for these attacks was attributed to Al-Qaeda and its leader, Osama bin Laden—a Saudi national who was living in Afghanistan under Taliban protection. Initially, Bin Laden denied responsibility for the attacks, but his later statements increasingly portrayed as a retaliatory response to American policies. Regardless of how these statements were interpreted politically, by the end of 2001, it was clear to Washington that Al-Qaeda was the primary enemy and that Afghanistan was the hub of its operations. This context holds particular significance for Pakistan because the Taliban government was harboring Osama bin Laden. Pakistan was not merely a distant spectator to this crisis; it shared a long border with Afghanistan and had spent two decades during the Cold War establishing an extensive political and intelligence network there. Consequently, the United States had no better option than Pakistan. Therefore, the fundamental question is: Did Pakistan truly have the option to simply say “absolutely not,” instead of joining the American war? Pakistan was already grappling with severe economic and diplomatic vulnerabilities during the post-9/11 crisis, as the United States and other Western nations had imposed harsh economic sanctions following the 1998 nuclear tests. These sanctions slowed the pace of development, hampered foreign investment, and strained relations with global financial institutions, leaving the country already burdened by heavy debt. The situation became further complicated when General Pervez Musharraf seized power in October 1999, overthrowing an elected government. The military coup added fuel to the fire, further damaging Pakistan’s global reputation and leaving the country diplomatically weakened at a time when it needed international support the most. Following the September 11 attacks, Washington made its expectations absolutely clear. According to Musharraf’s own account, US Deputy Secretary of State Richard Armitage delivered a stern message to Pakistan: it had to stand either with the United States or against it. Another remark widely attributed to the US position was that if Pakistan refused to cooperate, it could be sent “back to the Stone Age.” Although the exact wording of that phrase was never officially substantiated, the intensity of US pressure was undeniable. Did the United States have the capability to inflict devastating damage on Pakistan, despite Pakistan being a nuclear power? The answer to this is “yes.” Pakistan’s nuclear capability was primarily developed to deter India. Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal provided Islamabad with a strategic deterrent against its key regional rival, but this did not mean Pakistan was immune to American economic, diplomatic, or technological pressure. Pakistan lacked the long-range military capabilities to directly strike the U.S. mainland—located 7,000 miles away—whereas the United States held an overwhelming advantage in air power, naval strength, intelligence, technology, financial resources, and global diplomatic influence. Therefore, nuclear weapons were not synonymous with strategic parity with the United States. Pakistan could deter certain types of aggression from India, but realistically, it lacked the capability to inflict the same level of damage upon the United States. Another major reason for Pakistan’s importance to the United States was the intelligence network present in Afghanistan. During the Cold War, Pakistan was one of the United States’ key regional partners in supporting the Afghan resistance against the Soviet occupation. Pakistani intelligence agencies established extensive networks among Afghan groups, while the United States and Saudi Arabia provided arms and financial support for the resistance. Pakistan served as a crucial conduit for channeling this aid to the Afghan resistance. This historical relationship gave the United States a unique strategic advantage after 9/11. Pakistan possessed a combination of geography, intelligence networks, logistical routes, and institutional experience—assets that would have been extremely difficult to replace. Its cooperation could significantly facilitate U.S. operations in Afghanistan. Consequently, Islamabad chose the path it deemed relatively less damaging. Pakistan provided assistance through logistical support, access to airspace and facilities, intelligence cooperation, and other means, but did not directly join the war; in return for this strategic support, US sanctions were eased, economic aid increased, and Pakistan regained special diplomatic significance in Washington. This does not mean that the decision was without negative consequences. Pakistan itself became a major target of terrorism, resulting in the deaths of nearly 70,000 civilian and military personnels and economic losses of approximately $150 billion; Pakistan paid a very heavy price for this war. Furthermore, the repercussions of the strategic policies adopted during the 1980s and 1990s later manifested as problems for Pakistan—issues that perhaps could not have been fully foreseen in 2001. However, there is an important distinction here: criticizing the consequences of a decision and claiming that a different realistic course of action existed at the time are two separate things. A major irony of the Afghan war is that U.S. officials and analysts have repeatedly cited Pakistan as one of the primary reason for the failure to achieve American objectives in Afghanistan. When the question arises as to why the world’s most powerful military failed to achieve its objectives in Afghanistan, the answer is sometimes given in a single word: Pakistan. This should not necessarily be viewed as a badge of honor; rather, it reflects a complex relationship in which Washington needed Pakistan yet lacked trust in it, while simultaneously accusing certain Pakistani elements of supporting forces that were undermining

By Latif Tunio Imagine two people standing outside a bakery. One has not eaten since yesterday. The other has already had breakfast but buys every loaf on the shelf because nobody else should have one. The first person is hungry. The second is greedy. That is the difference we often forget. Human needs are surprisingly small. We need food, shelter, safety, affection and dignity. Yet somewhere along the road to modern civilization, our desires stopped listening to our needs. We no longer ask, “Do I need this?” We ask, “Will people notice if I don’t have it?” Perhaps that is why we live in an age where skyscrapers grow taller while patience grows shorter. Greed is not new. Kings fought wars for gold centuries ago. Empires swallowed nations for spices, land and power. But today greed wears expensive perfume, carries a smartphone and speaks the language of success. It no longer hides in dark corners; sometimes it sits on television panels giving motivational speeches. A hundred years ago, a respected person was often remembered for honesty, wisdom or service to the community. Today, many people first ask, “What car does he drive?” or “How much is she worth?” Character has quietly been replaced by price tags.Social media has made this worse. Every morning millions of people wake up and immediately begin comparing their ordinary lives with someone else’s carefully edited highlights. One person posts a luxury vacation. Another uploads a new phone. Someone else announces another achievement. Nobody uploads sleepless nights, unpaid bills or family arguments. We compare our behind-the-scenes life with everyone else’s movie trailer.Then we wonder why we feel poor. The market has discovered something dangerous: making people dissatisfied is excellent for business. If people become content, who will buy the next upgrade Advertisements rarely sell products anymore. They sell insecurity. Frankly They whisper, “You are incomplete without this watch.” “You are unsuccessful without this car.” “You are unattractive without this cream.” Apparently even happiness now comes with monthly installments. Yet greed is not always born from vanity. Sometimes it grows out of fear. A father worried about rising school fees saves every rupee he can. A mother fears another economic crisis. A young graduate sees unemployment everywhere and begins believing that only endless money can guarantee safety. Fear slowly changes saving into hoarding, and caution into obsession. There is an old saying often attributed to Mahatma Gandhi: “The Earth provides enough for everyone’s need, but not everyone’s greed.” The tragedy is that many people no longer know where need ends and greed begins. Another reason is that we have quietly lost the art of contentment. Previous generations owned fewer things but often worried less about owning more. Today many people possess wardrobes full of clothes while insisting they have “nothing to wear.” We buy bigger houses only to spend less time inside them. We own faster internet but have slower conversations. Modern life keeps promising that the next purchase will finally complete us. It never does. Greed also flourishes where justice is weak. When honest people struggle while corrupt people become celebrities, society learns a dangerous lesson. Bribes become “connections.” Fraud becomes “smartness.” Tax evasion becomes “good business.” Before long, honesty begins looking like a financial disability. The message becomes painfully simple: if cheating pays and integrity suffers, why remain honest? This is how corruption stops being an individual crime and becomes a social culture. The damage reaches far beyond bank accounts. Families break apart over inheritance before the funeral flowers have even dried. Lifelong friendships disappear over business deals. Brothers become strangers because land suddenly becomes more valuable than blood. Perhaps the saddest part is that greedy people rarely enjoy what they collect. They spend years protecting possessions they never truly have time to use. They own everything except peace. Nature also pays the bill. Forests disappear because cutting trees is profitable today, even if floods arrive tomorrow. Rivers become sewers because treating waste reduces corporate profits. Mountains are blasted apart, oceans filled with plastic and clean air sold back to us in expensive machines. Humanity has become astonishingly efficient at converting tomorrow’s disasters into today’s profits. Can greed be reduced? Not by preaching alone. Children should learn that success includes honesty, kindness and responsibility—not only salaries. Schools should celebrate integrity as loudly as achievement. Families should teach gratitude before ambition. We also need digital wisdom: learning that a perfect life on a screen is often nothing more than excellent lighting and careful editing. Governments have responsibilities too. Laws must punish corruption without asking whether the offender is rich, famous or politically connected. Justice loses its meaning when it becomes negotiable. Above all, we need to rediscover contentment—not laziness, but the wisdom of knowing when enough is truly enough. A society does not become civilized because it builds taller buildings or produces richer billionaires. It becomes civilized when people can trust one another, when honesty is rewarded instead of mocked, and when success does not require sacrificing conscience. The greatest poverty in the twenty-first century may not be empty pockets. It may be full wallets attached to empty hearts. The writer is a Social activist. He can be reached at tunio.latif786@gmail.com

 On the morning of June 23, 2026, oil traders watching screens in London and Singapore saw a rare combination: the price of Brent crude falling and tanker traffic in the Strait of Hormuz rising. The trigger was a one-page notice from the U.S. Treasury. Effective immediately, the United States would authorize the production, delivery and sale of Iranian crude oil and petrochemical products through August 21, a 60-day general license issued as American and Iranian officials concluded a first round of talks in Switzerland.   For a waterway that carries roughly one-fifth of the world’s oil consumption, the shift was significant. After months in which oil had spiked above $100 on fears of a closure of the Strait, Brent fell back below $85. European shares opened August higher on hopes that diplomacy would hold. The question now confronting energy markets and foreign ministries alike is whether this “Hormuz Corridor” arrangement marks the beginning of a stabilization of global energy security, or merely a tactical pause in a longer confrontation.   From Maximum Pressure to Managed De-escalation   To understand the current opening, it is necessary to recall how the Strait became a flashpoint. The Strait of Hormuz, a narrow channel 21 miles wide at its narrowest point between Iran and Oman, has long been the world’s most important oil chokepoint. About 20 million barrels of oil per day transit it, along with a third of global liquefied natural gas trade.   U.S.-Iran tensions over the waterway escalated sharply after 2018, when the United States withdrew from the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action and reimposed sweeping sanctions on Iranian oil exports. Iran, whose economy relies heavily on crude sales, responded by threatening to impede shipping and, at times, seizing tankers. The cycle repeated in late 2025 and early 2026, with a series of attacks and counter-threats that pushed insurance premiums for Gulf shipping to multi-year highs and forced major refiners in China, India, and South Korea to seek alternative barrels.   The talks that began in Switzerland in late June followed that period of acute risk. Mediated by Oman, Qatar and Pakistan, according to official statements, the first round concluded with what U.S. Vice President J.D. Vance described as a “good foundation for a successful final deal.” The resulting U.S. general license does not lift sanctions permanently. It is a temporary waiver, valid through August 21, designed to allow Iranian oil to flow legally while negotiators pursue a final peace framework within 60 days. Iran’s Foreign Ministry, for its part, said it was discussing a temporary safe route through the Strait and denied that direct bilateral talks were continuous, underscoring the fragility of the process.   For Washington, the calculus is twofold. Domestically, lower energy prices ahead of the autumn reduce inflationary pressure. Crude futures had risen sharply earlier in the year on supply fears, contributing to volatility in equities. Strategically, a temporary de-escalation allows the U.S. to reallocate diplomatic and military resources and to test whether Tehran is willing to agree to constraints on its nuclear program and regional activities in exchange for sanctions relief.   For Tehran, the incentive is economic. Iran holds the world’s third-largest proven oil reserves, but its exports had been curtailed to well below capacity. Even under sanctions, Iranian-linked tankers continued to move oil, according to tracking data, but at steep discounts and with high transaction costs. A legal channel to sell crude through August 21 provides immediate revenue and a measure of relief for an economy facing high inflation and currency pressure.   Market Relief and Market Skepticism   The initial market reaction has been cautiously optimistic. After reports that both sides had agreed on a roadmap, oil prices settled down more than 3 percent in a single session, with the more active August Brent contract settling around $73.86 to $79.04 per barrel in late June trading, down from earlier highs near $93. European equities, sensitive to energy costs, began August higher.   Analysts interviewed for this article point to two competing interpretations of this relief.   The optimistic view holds that the waiver creates a positive feedback loop. By allowing Iranian oil back into the formal market estimated at 1 to 1.5 million barrels per day of additional supply if fully utilized it eases global balances at a time when OPEC+ is managing voluntary cuts first announced in April 2023 and set to continue into August 2026. Lower prices reduce the incentive for further escalation, giving negotiators space to discuss the more difficult issues: the future of uranium enrichment, the status of Iranian support for armed groups, and verification mechanisms for any corridor through Hormuz that would give Iran a role in monitoring inbound traffic, as suggested in one proposal reported by Reuters.   The skeptical view, which currently dominates private commentary among Gulf-based energy executives, is that the structure of the deal itself reveals its limits. A 60-day license is, by design, reversible. It does not resolve the underlying lack of trust, nor does it provide long-term certainty for refiners and shippers to sign term contracts. Tanker operators continue to price in risk, and traffic data showed an initial uptick as talks progressed, but not a full normalization. One proposal that would give Iran formal control over inbound traffic through the Strait has alarmed some Gulf states, who have privately warned that such an arrangement could be used as leverage in the future.   Stakeholders Beyond Washington and Tehran   The implications extend far beyond the two principal parties.   For Gulf Arab states, particularly Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, the Hormuz arrangement presents a dilemma. They benefit from lower oil prices and reduced risk of a regional war that could target their own infrastructure, but they are wary of any deal that enhances Iran’s ability to control shipping lanes or that is reached without binding security guarantees. Iran’s recent warning that it could target Gulf states if the U.S. launches new strikes has reinforced that anxiety.   For

Every 14th of August we hear the same national narrative. Speeches recall 1947, flags are hoisted, and anthems are played at midnight. The symbolism matters. It reminds us of the cost of independence and the idea of Pakistan. Yet symbolism without substance risks becoming ritual. If we are to understand what independence means in 2026, we must look beyond the ceremony and toward the quiet, persistent work that sustains the nation through every crisis. That work is rarely televised. It is carried out by teachers in under-resourced schools, by health workers walking door to door, by engineers keeping the grid alive during heatwaves, by farmers adapting to erratic weather, and by young people building livelihoods from laptops in small towns. These are the stories of resilience that deserve a central place in our understanding of Pakistan, 79 years after its founding. Resilience is not an abstract virtue. It is a measurable response to constraint. Pakistan has faced recurring fiscal stress, energy shortfalls, climate shocks, and security challenges. In each case, state capacity alone has been insufficient. What has prevented collapse is a dense network of civic and professional effort that fills gaps, innovates under pressure, and restores basic function. Consider education. Official data continues to show millions of children out of school and low learning outcomes. At the same time, thousands of low-fee private schools, community learning centers, and volunteer tutoring initiatives operate in the same neighborhoods. They do not appear in headlines, but they keep children literate, prepare them for exams, and create a pathway, however narrow, to higher education. The same pattern appears in health. Lady Health Workers and polio teams travel on foot in heat and in risk, maintaining immunization coverage and maternal counseling in areas where clinics are distant or overburdened. Their work is repetitive, underpaid, and essential. Without it, disease surveillance and primary care would deteriorate far more rapidly. Economic resilience is visible in the informal sector and in the emerging digital economy. Pakistan’s labor market has never been able to absorb all new entrants through formal jobs alone. In response, millions have created their own employment: workshops, transport, retail, agriculture processing, and services. In the last decade, a new layer has appeared. Freelancers in Lahore, Karachi, Islamabad, Peshawar, Quetta, Multan, and Faisalabad now earn foreign exchange by writing, designing, coding, and providing remote services. They pay no rent for office space, require little imported capital, and learn through online courses. This is not a substitute for industrial policy, but it is a real expansion of opportunity. It represents a form of independence: the ability of an individual to earn without waiting for a large institution to hire them. The state’s role here should be to reduce friction, ensure reliable electricity and internet, and simplify taxation and payment systems, so that this energy is not wasted. Climate resilience is now inseparable from national security. Floods in 2010, 2014, and 2022 displaced millions and damaged infrastructure worth billions. Drought and heatwaves threaten wheat and water. The response has included both engineering and community adaptation. Farmers are experimenting with drought-tolerant varieties and more efficient irrigation. Urban volunteers organize tree planting and waste management in their streets. Provincial and federal programs have attempted large-scale afforestation and watershed management. Progress is uneven and often underfunded, but the impulse is clear: adapt or lose. The most effective adaptations are local, because they are designed around specific soil, rainfall, and social networks. National policy can support them by providing data, credit, and technical extension, but it cannot replace the judgment of people who live on the land. What ties these examples together is a refusal to wait for perfect conditions. Resilience in Pakistan is not optimism. It is a practical calculation that problems will persist, and that action must proceed anyway. This attitude is visible in small businesses that maintain generators and solar panels to cope with load-shedding, in parents who pool money to hire a tutor, and in journalists and lawyers who document cases despite pressure. It is not heroic in the cinematic sense. It is tedious, repetitive, and often thankless. That is precisely why it matters. Nations are built not only in founding moments but in the accumulation of ordinary competence over decades. As we mark 79 years, the task is to recognize this resilience and to institutionalize it. Recognition means collecting data that captures informal work, community schools, and local adaptation, and then designing policy around them. Institutionalization means protecting merit in recruitment, ensuring predictable funding for primary services, and removing regulatory obstacles for small enterprises and freelancers. It also means telling a different story about Pakistan. The dominant story is one of crisis and rescue. The more accurate story is one of persistence and incremental gain. Both are true. But a country that only narrates its crises will train its citizens to expect failure. A country that also narrates its resilience will train its citizens to contribute. Independence, therefore, is not a date. It is a practice. It is the practice of showing up to teach, to heal, to build, to adapt, and to hold institutions accountable when they fall short. The midnight speech reminds us why we began. The morning work determines whether we continue. If we wish to honor 1947, we should honor those who, without fanfare, keep Pakistan functioning every day between 15th August and the next 14th. Their work is not perfect, and it is not sufficient on its own. But it is the foundation on which any serious reform must rest. To see it, to name it, and to support it is the most patriotic act available to us now.

By Eng Saqlain Abid Last weekend, U.S. President Donald Trump declared on Truth Social that the United States and Israel were fully prepared to strike Iran’s critical power infrastructure, warning that military pressure would continue until Tehran surrendered completely. Around the same time, Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi reportedly conveyed messages through Pakistan’s Chief of Army Staff, Field Marshal Asim Munir, and Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan, emphasizing that any major attack on Iran would be met with a determined response against GCC partners and strategic regional assets if no diplomatic option remained. Yet within hours, the rhetoric shifted dramatically. Trump announced that although American and Israeli forces were fully prepared, he had decided to postpone military action following appeals from Gulf states and international mediators, citing “humanity” and the possibility of reaching an agreement. Reports suggested that negotiations revolved around two major conditions: keeping the Strait of Hormuz open to global shipping and ensuring that Iran would not pursue nuclear weapons. At first glance, the story appears simple—a crisis narrowly avoided through diplomacy. In reality, however, it represents a sophisticated narrative war in which every actor seeks to project strength while avoiding the devastating costs of a prolonged regional conflict. For Washington, the challenge is not merely military capability but strategic credibility. The United States undoubtedly possesses overwhelming conventional military superiority over Iran. However, superiority does not automatically translate into political success. Internal assessments by CENTCOM and the Pentagon have reportedly warned that any large-scale conflict could extend well beyond expectations, potentially lasting until 2027. Such a scenario would coincide with America’s domestic political calendar, including congressional elections, while risking declining public support for another costly Middle Eastern war. The lessons of Afghanistan continue to shape American strategic thinking. Airpower alone may inflict significant damage, but permanently degrading Iran’s military capabilities without ground operations remains an uncertain objective. Any decision requiring “boots on the ground” would carry enormous political and economic consequences. Consequently, Washington’s repeated threats increasingly resemble a strategy of coercive diplomacy rather than an immediate roadmap to invasion. A superpower is expected to demonstrate resolve, but maintaining global leadership also requires restraint when the costs outweigh the benefits. Iran, on the other hand, continues to rely on its long-established doctrine of strategic resistance. Despite mounting military pressure and repeated warnings, Tehran has sought to demonstrate that it retains the ability to impose costs across multiple theatres. The Strait of Hormuz remains one of the world’s most strategically significant maritime chokepoints, and any disruption immediately reverberates through global energy markets. Meanwhile, continued instability around the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, largely influenced by Iran-aligned Houthi forces, further complicates regional trade and shipping.   These maritime flashpoints have created understandable concerns among Gulf states. Countries investing billions of dollars in economic diversification projects—including Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030 and NEOM—depend heavily upon uninterrupted trade routes and stable energy markets. For Gulf capitals, preventing a regional escalation has become not merely a security priority but an economic necessity. Israel’s strategic calculations are equally complex. Since the beginning of the confrontation, Israeli policymakers have consistently sought firm American backing while remaining conscious of the domestic burden imposed by prolonged conflict. Extended military campaigns strain national resources, disrupt civilian life, and test public resilience. Consequently, Israel also has incentives to support diplomatic arrangements if they preserve security objectives without expanding into an open-ended regional war. Ultimately, today’s confrontation extends beyond missiles and military deployments. It is a contest of narratives, deterrence, and political signalling. Every side seeks to appear uncompromising while simultaneously avoiding a conflict whose consequences none can fully control. The prospect of a prolonged regional war is becoming increasingly difficult for any major stakeholder to sustain. Iran continues to deepen its strategic relationships with China and Russia, while the United States prefers negotiated constraints over another indefinite military campaign. Pakistan and Turkey have emerged as important channels of communication, but expecting either country to shoulder the diplomatic burden of resolving one of the world’s most dangerous geopolitical crises would be unrealistic. History repeatedly demonstrates that wars are easier to begin than to conclude. In the current Middle Eastern crisis, the loudest battlefield may not be defined by bombs or missiles but by competing narratives, diplomatic manoeuvres, and carefully calculated restraint. Whether this fragile pause evolves into a lasting settlement or merely delays another round of confrontation will determine not only the future of Iran but also the stability of the wider region and the global order.

By Engineer Arshad H Abbasi, ahabasi@gmail.com, edited by Engineer Musa Arshad H Abbasi I write this from Islamabad, not as a diplomat or a historian, but as someone who spends his working life measuring rivers, glaciers, and energy systems — and who has spent the last year watching the instruments of my own profession become instruments of geopolitics instead. I am a water, energy and climate professional, not an expert in international relations. But you do not need a doctorate in strategic studies to feel what it means to live in a capital that sits within reach of two active fronts at once, and to watch a third, farther away, threaten the fuel that keeps my own country’s lights on. To the east, the Indus itself has become a weapon in a dispute I once only studied on paper. Since April 23, 2025, one day after the Pahalgam attack killed 26 people in Jammu and Kashmir, India has held the 1960 Indus Waters Treaty in abeyance, and as recently as July 3, 2026, New Delhi reaffirmed the suspension will continue until Pakistan “credibly and irrevocably” ends cross-border terrorism. Pakistan calls any interruption of that water an act of war. I measure river flows for a living, and I can tell you that a treaty which survived two wars and decades of hostility between 1960 and 2025 was never really about engineering — it was about restraint. Watching that restraint erode between two nuclear-armed neighbors, over a river that irrigates the fields I grew up walking beside, is not an abstraction to me. It is personal. To the west, the war that began on February 28, 2026 between the United States, Israel, and Iran has turned the Strait of Hormuz — the channel that once carried roughly a quarter of the world’s seaborne oil and a fifth of its LNG — into a contested chokepoint. Iranian forces have mined and attacked shipping there on and off for months; a ceasefire and a June memorandum of understanding collapsed in July when Iran resumed strikes on vessels it deemed noncompliant. Even now, in mid-August, Tehran and Oman are still negotiating the terms under which the strait might fully reopen. Every Pakistani household that has watched fuel prices swing this year has felt that war, even though it is being fought a thousand miles from here. And Pakistan’s own western border is no longer a metaphor for instability — it is an active one. Since February 2026, Pakistan and Afghanistan have fought what both sides’ own defense ministries have called open war along the 1893 Durand Line, with Pakistani airstrikes on Nangarhar and Kabul, an Afghan cross-border offensive, and casualty claims running into the hundreds on each side before Qatar- and Turkey-mediated pauses briefly held. I know these are not the only fires burning on this continent, and an honest accounting has to look past South Asia. In Southeast Asia, a century-old dispute between Thailand and Cambodia over the ancient temples of Preah Vihear and Ta Muen Thom erupted twice in 2025 — first in July, then again in December — leaving at least 101 people dead and forcing more than half a million civilians from their homes before a fragile ceasefire, signed December 27, brought an uneasy calm. In East Asia, the map is a thicket of overlapping claims: China and Taiwan over the island’s sovereignty itself; China and Japan over the Senkaku/Diaoyu islands in the East China Sea; China and the Philippines over Scarborough Shoal and reefs across the South China Sea; and Japan and its neighbors over a scattering of other contested waters that keep regional navies on constant alert. Indonesia and Malaysia, too, carry an unresolved history — the armed 1960s Konfrontasi and a maritime boundary dispute over the oil-rich Ambalat block in the Sulawesi Sea that periodically flares even between otherwise friendly neighbors. And running beneath all of it is the oldest fault line of all: the decades-long conflict between Israel and its Arab neighbors, still reshaping alliances and battlefields from Gaza to Lebanon to Yemen, where Houthi strikes on Saudi infrastructure continue even this month. Set against all of that, look at Central Asia — building transit corridors instead of trench lines, settling water and border disputes through negotiation rather than force, and courting the same investors that war has driven away from South Asia, the Gulf, and the South China Sea. Even the Armenia-Azerbaijan peace process next door, however unfinished — initialed in Washington in August 2025, still unsigned a year later over Armenia’s constitutional language — has produced something rarer than victory: an actual framework both sides keep returning to, rather than abandoning for the battlefield. While I want to avoid romanticizing Central Asia to those who know the region far better than I do, it stands as a compelling model for peace. The region offers a practical demonstration that Asian states can prioritize economic integration over territorial reflexes—a choice that others, from Islamabad to Phnom Penh to Manila, have yet to make. The Ledger of Conflict: A Continent Still at War With Itself It is worth setting all of this down in one place, because scattered across a dozen news cycles it is easy to lose the scale of it. India–Pakistan, Kashmir and the Indus Waters Treaty. Held in abeyance since April 23, 2025; reaffirmed as of July 2026 to remain suspended until Pakistan “irrevocably” ends cross-border terrorism, in a dispute that touches the water security of more than 300 million people and involves two nuclear-armed states that have already fought a war in 2025. Iran, Israel, and the United States. War since February 28, 2026, with Iranian attacks on shipping through the Strait of Hormuz — a corridor carrying roughly a quarter of the world’s seaborne oil and a fifth of its LNG — still unresolved as Tehran and Oman negotiate terms for reopening it, even this month. Pakistan–Afghanistan, the Durand Line. Open war since February 2026 between two governments that have never