Can Pakistan’s Students Compete in an AI-Dri…

Decolonization is often thought of as the process through which colonized nations became free from foreign rule. Flags changed, colonial governments were removed and national governments were. Political independence was officially given back. Yet political freedom did not always mean intellectual, cultural, linguistic or psychological freedom. In places that were once colonized the structures of colonialism stayed long after the colonizers left. These structures continued through education systems, languages, cultural expectations, literary standards, social organizations, economic systems, media portrayals and inherited ideas about what’s considered knowledge, civilization, intelligence, progress and even beauty. This ongoing influence brings up a question: Can a country really be independent if its people still judge themselves using the intellectual standards of their former rulers? The point of this article is that political decolonization is not complete without the decolonization of the mind. Decolonizing minds does not mean rejecting everything from the West. Does it mean replacing one way of thinking with another? Instead it means looking at the systems of knowledge that have been passed down, finding voices that have been ignored, acknowledging indigenous ways of thinking, challenging language and culture hierarchies and building confidence to create knowledge based on one’s own history and society while still being open to global ideas. The idea of the “colonization of the mind” is very important because colonialism was not about politics or money. Colonial powers often tried to show that their language, literature, religion, schools, social systems and ways of knowing were better than those of the people they ruled. The people who were colonized were. Sometimes forced to believe that the culture of the colonizers was modern while their own traditions were backward. The result was a system where the colonized person started to see themselves through the eyes of the people who ruled them. Frantz Fanon in his books about the psychology of colonialism showed how colonial control gets into the minds of the people who are oppressed. So colonialism does not end because the person in charge leaves. Its biggest success happens when its ideas and beliefs become part of the colonized person’s thinking. The mental impact of colonialism is one of its lasting effects. A colonized mind may feel ashamed of its language, accent, literature, clothing, history, traditions and ways of thinking. It may think that foreign things are advanced and local things are outdated. A student may think that an English source is automatically more important than a source from their country that is just as good. A university may value ideas from Europe or North America while not giving attention to ideas from Africa, Asia, Latin America or native communities. A society may celebrate culture while thinking its own traditions are old-fashioned. These views are not always because of individuals; they are often the result of historical systems that have taught generations what to admire and what to ignore. Education is one of the important places where decolonization needs to happen. Colonial education systems were often built not to help the people they ruled but to serve the needs of the rulers. Even though schools today have changed a lot, many still repeat the ways of knowing. The lessons may focus on history, Western books, European philosophy and Western science while giving little space to local knowledge and traditions. This does not mean that Shakespeare, Aristotle, Kant, Newton or other great thinkers should be removed from the lessons. That would only replace one kind of exclusion with another. The real goal is to have balance. Students should read Shakespeare along with writers from South Asia, Africa, the Caribbean and other areas. They should study philosophy while also learning about philosophies from Asia, Africa, the Islamic world and native communities. The purpose is not to get rid of knowledge but to make the learning more wide. A decolonized class asks tough questions about who has been allowed to create knowledge. Who writes history? Who is considered important in literature? Whose language is seen as academic? Whose knowledge is seen as scientific? Whose view defines life? These questions show the politics of knowledge. Knowledge is never made in a vacuum. Schools, universities, publishers, governments, colonial systems and international groups have often decided which types of knowledge are accepted. Decolonization means we have to see these systems and think about them carefully or just accept them as better. Language is possibly the obvious place where intellectual decolonization needs to happen. Colonial languages like English, French, Spanish and Portuguese still hold positions in many countries that used to be colonized. English in particular has become a language and gives access to international learning, technology, jobs, diplomacy and higher education. So the argument for decolonization can’t just be to stop using English. That would be unrealistic. Might even hurt students who need to speak English to communicate internationally. A better argument is to have languages. English should be seen as one tool, not a measure of smartness, civilization or social value. In countries where many languages are spoken, local languages carry histories, memories, identities, oral stories, cultural knowledge and different ways of looking at the world. When a language is pushed aside an entire system of thinking can be weakened. Losing a language is not just losing words; it can also lose knowledge about nature, stories, cultural memory, native words and community identity. Decolonizing the mind means people need to see that speaking a language does not make someone less educated and speaking English does not automatically make someone more intelligent. Knowing a language and being smart are things. A person can be very educated and still express themselves best in a language. At the time, decolonization should not make people dislike English or other global languages. English has been taken by writers, scholars, activists and thinkers from countries and used to show their own experiences. Writers like Chinua Achebe, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Salman Rushdie, Derek Walcott, Wole Soyinka and many others have shown ways to use colonial languages. Their work shows that language can

​To diagnose the profound structural, intellectual, and economic stagnation gripping contemporary Pakistani society, one cannot analyze it merely through the lens of conventional lamentation or superficial moralizing. This pervasive crisis of the state and society is not the byproduct of a sudden natural calamity, but rather the logical culmination of a long-standing political economy where the unequal distribution of state resources, flawed policymaking mechanisms, and elite capture have systematically closed off all avenues for collective intellect. The devastating budget cuts inflicted on the social sector—specifically education, healthcare, and research institutions—under the relentless guise of International Monetary Fund (IMF) bailout packages and structural adjustment have compounded this crisis. When foundational pillars of a state are subordinated to personal self-interest, temporary political loyalties, and non-productive extravagances instead of fostering a productive economy, a leadership crisis ceases to be an accidental anomaly and entrenches itself as a permanent, systemic reality. The roots of this historical tragedy undeniably lie in the colonial state apparatus engineered by the British Empire to secure its subjugation over this region; yet the tragic reality is that post-independence, the domestic elite simply stepped into the shoes of the white master, retaining this exploitative machinery intact while refining it to serve their own interests. ​A hard look at ground realities and economic indicators reveals a deeply alarming landscape. The state’s warped priorities are laid bare in the fact that the lion’s share of federal and provincial budgets is routinely swallowed by debt servicing, non-productive administrative and defense expenditures, and lavish exemptions for the privileged class. Conversely, human capital development—education, scientific research, and health—languishes at the very bottom of the national agenda, treated as an unwelcome afterthought. Data from the World Bank and UNESCO confirm that Pakistan allocates a mere 0.2 to 0.3 percent of its Gross Domestic Product (GDP) to Research and Development (R&D), whereas dynamic economies like South Korea invest upwards of 4.8 percent and Israel surpasses 5 percent. This truncated, abysmally low allocation compared to regional peers is a damning indictment. When a nation’s educational budget is starved, and university leadership is appointed through political patronage, personal recommendations, and favoritism rather than merit, vision, and academic pedigree, the system ceases to radiate light, breeding instead sycophancy, boot-licking, and intellectual sterility. Such a decayed framework might churn out compliant manual laborers and clerical cogs for offices, but it will never produce a conscious citizen or independent critic courageous enough to question flawed state policies. ​The most agonizing casualty of this policy paralysis is the relentless brain drain—the systematic migration of our brightest minds abroad. Immigration bureaus and professional research data confirm that Pakistan’s finest intellects—top-tier engineers, specialized surgeons and physicians, global IT experts, scientists, and dedicated researchers—are abandoning their homeland in droves for Europe, North America, and the Gulf states. The state has never paused to calculate the immense national cost of educating and training a youth only to witness that capital, and the future it represents, vanish across borders. When policymakers trample over merit to appease political cronies, the meritocratic class finds itself fighting a losing battle for sheer survival. This is not mere emigration; it is the intellectual execution of an entire generation, sacrificed at the altar of incompetent governance. Nations like Singapore, Malaysia, and South Korea reached a historic crossroads where they discarded empty political rhetoric in favor of rigid meritocracy, transparent governance, and rigorous education, whereas our polity cultivated a culture that treats politics as a lucrative enterprise and the state as spoils of war. The dividends of that mindset surround us today. ​Another compounding driver of this societal decline and intellectual regression is the entrenched feudal and imperial character of our state structure, which bars the common human and ordinary citizen from accessing basic constitutional and human rights. In a stratified society where the rule of law is selectively enforced against the weak while endless judicial backdoors remain open for the powerful, justice becomes an elusive mirage. The ordinary citizen must endure decades of legal labyrinths just to secure elementary justice, while the resource-hoarding elite exploit every legislative loophole to remain above the law. This glaring injustice has bred an overwhelming sense of alienation, systemic frustration, and moral decay. When the younger generation observes that honesty, hard work, and integrity hold zero currency in this system, and that influence, corruption, cronyism, and deception are the lone keys to advancement, the moral fabric of society shatters. This ethical erosion metastasizes into a national malignancy when state patronage actively paralyzes intellectual spaces and universities, stifling critical discourse and strangling freedom of thought. ​Escaping this deep quagmire and resolving the crisis of leadership requires courageous structural reforms. First and foremost, the state must fundamentally overhaul its national priorities, elevating scientific self-reliance, research autonomy, and intellectual sovereignty to the core of national security alongside physical defense. Pushing the cumulative budget for education, science, and research to a minimum of four percent of GDP without delay is non-negotiable if we harbor any genuine ambitions of building a knowledge economy. Second, purging public administration, the civil bureaucracy, and state enterprises of political interference while establishing the ironclad supremacy of merit is paramount to ensure decision-making is driven solely by professional capability. We must transition away from traditional public service delivery by handing policy formulation over to empowered task forces composed of domestic and international technocrats. Concurrently, genuine autonomy must be restored to the Higher Education Commission (HEC), backed by stringent constitutional safeguards against political appointments in academia. To stanch the bleeding of brain drain and transform it into a “brain gain,” the state must proactively craft an attractive, enabling ecosystem that leverages the capital and expertise of the overseas Pakistani diaspora through modern remote research initiatives. ​True, visionary leadership rises above the hollow temptation of cheap, temporary popularity to lay enduring foundations for generations unborn. Until those occupying our corridors of power step outside the narrow confines of personal, familial, and factional self-interest, and until society sheds emotional sloganeering in favor of scientific, logical, and critical inquiry, the vicious

The fourth part of this series argued that reforms fail when their design ignores the constitutional rules, institutional incentives and political interests that determine implementation. Pakistan’s problem, however, goes deeper than the capture of individual tax measures. The state itself has gradually become accustomed to obtaining resources through rents rather than creating the conditions for sustained production. A rent is an economic benefit obtained through control over a privilege, resource, regulation or strategic position rather than through corresponding productive activity. Rent-seeking begins when individuals, institutions and organised groups devote their energies to obtaining such benefits from the state instead of producing goods, improving services, developing technology or competing in open markets. Pakistan’s political economy has long rewarded access more generously than enterprise. Access to state land, subsidised credit, protected markets, statutory exemptions, import licences, public contracts, regulatory concessions, tax amnesties, administered prices and preferential treatment has frequently generated returns exceeding those available from productive investment. The result is an economy in which political connections can matter more than innovation, and proximity to authority can be more valuable than efficiency. This system is sustained at two interconnected levels. Domestically, privileged groups compete for benefits distributed through state power. Externally, the state repeatedly seeks resources by converting Pakistan’s strategic location and security relevance into financial assistance, debt rollovers, deposits, concessional oil arrangements and diplomatic support. The interaction between these two levels is central to understanding Pakistan’s continued dependence. External financing is not inherently harmful. Developing countries require foreign capital, technology and access to markets. Borrowing can finance infrastructure and productive capacity that generate future income sufficient to service the debt. Strategic partnerships can provide security and economic opportunities. The problem arises when external inflows substitute for domestic transformation. Pakistan has repeatedly treated foreign exchange availability as proof of economic recovery. Reserves rise after an IMF disbursement, bilateral deposit, commercial loan or rollover. The immediate threat of default recedes. The exchange rate stabilises and the government declares that confidence has returned. The underlying productive structure, however, may remain unchanged. The IMF completed the third review of Pakistan’s Extended Fund Facility in May 2026, permitting immediate disbursements of approximately US$1.1 billion under the EFF and US$220 million under the Resilience and Sustainability Facility.  Total disbursements under the two arrangements consequently reached about US$4.8 billion. The Fund also reported progress in rebuilding reserves and achieving the agreed primary surplus. These developments provide necessary breathing space. They do not constitute economic independence. Recent events offer an unusually clear illustration. Pakistan reportedly requested a US$10 billion exchange-stabilisation facility from the United States after playing a diplomatic role in the Middle Eastern conflict. Economists quoted by Reuters questioned whether fresh financing would address the reforms Islamabad had repeatedly avoided. One analyst described the proposed support as “geopolitical rent”. Pakistan had earlier repaid US$3.5 billion to the United Arab Emirates and obtained a US$3 billion Saudi backstop to help fill the resulting gap.  The episode is not remarkable because Pakistan sought assistance during a difficult external shock. Responsible governments must protect reserves and manage emergencies. Its significance lies in the familiar institutional response: once again, strategic usefulness is expected to generate the liquidity required to postpone a deeper restructuring of the economy. However, fresh liquidity can purchase time. It cannot manufacture productivity. Pakistan’s external relationships have repeatedly followed this pattern. During the Cold War, the country received assistance because of its strategic position. The Afghan war transformed Pakistan into a frontline state and brought large flows of military and economic support. The post-2001 “war on terror” renewed the same bargain under different circumstances. Regional conflicts, security alliances and diplomatic mediation continue to create opportunities for financial support. Each inflow temporarily relaxes the pressure for reform. It also strengthens those institutions capable of negotiating and managing the strategic bargain. The constitutional consequence is profound. A state financed substantially through its citizens must negotiate with them. It requires a productive economy capable of generating taxable income and a political order capable of securing broad consent. A state able to obtain resources externally can delay that negotiation. This is one reason why taxation and representation cannot be separated. Dependence upon external rents weakens the fiscal relationship between citizen and state. Governments remain less accountable to taxpayers when foreign creditors, strategic partners and captive domestic sectors provide the resources necessary for survival.  The burden of adjustment is then transferred to those lacking political protection. Salaried persons face deduction before receiving their income. Documented businesses encounter withholding taxes, minimum taxes, advance taxes and delayed refunds.  Consumers pay indirect taxes and levies through electricity, fuel, telecommunications and ordinary purchases.  Powerful sectors negotiate exemptions, reduced rates, amnesties or deferred enforcement. External rents and domestic privileges are therefore not separate distortions. They reinforce each other. The article, “The age of implosion: exhaustion and the hollow core”, recently published in Business Recorder, offers a useful metaphor for this condition. It argues that financial movement can create the appearance of vitality while the productive foundations of the economy continue to weaken. Loans, deposits and other inflows may keep institutions operating outwardly even when their inner capacity is being exhausted.  The metaphor requires institutional precision. Pakistan has not ceased functioning. Taxes are collected, budgets are passed, debt is serviced, imports continue and administrative structures remain active. The state survives through a combination of borrowing, external support, remittances, taxation of captive sectors and periodic transfer of costs to future generations. This should not be mistaken for resilience. It is deferred adjustment.  The official Pakistan Economic Survey 2025–26 continues to organise the country’s performance through conventional categories of growth, investment, trade, fiscal development, public debt and social indicators. These measurements are necessary, but they do not fully capture the political mechanisms determining why available resources flow towards consumption, protection and rent extraction rather than productivity, human development and technological advancement.  A rent-based economy also shapes the behaviour of the private sector. Businesses rationally adapt to the incentives created by the state. Where profits depend upon tariff protection, regulatory discretion, government contracts,

In the hierarchical world of international diplomacy, mediation between adversaries is traditionally the preserve of foreign ministries and veteran envoys. In recent months, that role has been assumed, unusually, by a uniformed officer from Islamabad.   General Syed Asim Munir, Pakistan’s Chief of Army Staff, has moved beyond the conventional mandate of an army chief to position himself as a conduit for de-escalation at a moment of acute global volatility. His emergence as an interlocutor during the recent period of heightened confrontation between the United States and Iran, and his parallel effort to formalize defense cooperation between Pakistan, Turkey and Saudi Arabia, marks a significant shift in how Pakistan projects power and how regional security is being negotiated.   The development raises a central question for international observers: can a military leader serve as a credible bridge-builder in a region where traditional diplomacy has stalled?   From Barracks to Backchannels   To understand General Munir’s diplomatic turn, context is essential.   Pakistan has long balanced a complex set of alliances. It is a Major Non-NATO Ally of the United States, with decades of security cooperation, while also maintaining a 900-kilometer border with Iran and deep cultural and economic ties with its western neighbor. That dual positioning has often placed Islamabad in a difficult spot during US-Iran escalations, but it has also given it unique access.   General Munir, who previously served as Director General of Military Intelligence and Director General of Inter-Services Intelligence, is seen within Pakistan’s security establishment as an institutionalist with deep familiarity with both Gulf and Western security concerns.   According to diplomatic sources in Islamabad and Ankara, it was during the peak of US-Iran tensions earlier this year, when direct channels were limited and rhetoric was escalating, that General Munir engaged in a series of quiet consultations. The approach, described by one senior Pakistani official as “military diplomacy focused on de-confliction,” involved relaying assessments and emphasizing the cost of miscalculation to all sides.   In Washington, the priority was to avoid a broader regional conflict that would endanger US forces and global energy supplies. In Tehran, the priority was to prevent further isolation while maintaining deterrence. Pakistan’s message, as articulated by its military leadership, was consistent: dialogue over confrontation.   While the full extent of the mediation remains confidential, as is common in such backchannels, analysts in Washington noted a distinct softening of public statements from all parties following a round of regional visits that included Pakistan. A former US State Department official familiar with South Asia said, “When civilian political space is constrained, military-to-military channels become the most reliable mechanism for crisis management.”   The Trilateral Gambit   If the US-Iran de-escalation effort established General Munir’s credentials as a crisis manager, his second initiative is more structural in nature.   In recent weeks, officials from Pakistan, Turkey and Saudi Arabia have confirmed discussions toward a shared defense understanding. The framework, still under negotiation, is understood to focus on defense industrial cooperation, joint training, counter-terrorism intelligence sharing, and interoperability rather than a NATO-style collective defense treaty.   For each country, the rationale is different but complementary.   For Saudi Arabia, under Vision 2030, there is a clear drive toward diversifying its defense partnerships and building domestic defense manufacturing capacity. Turkey brings a rapidly advancing defense industry, with its drone programs and naval systems. Pakistan offers a large, battle-tested military, nuclear deterrence expertise, and extensive experience in counter-terrorism operations.   “This is not about creating a bloc against anyone,” a Turkish defense analyst explained. “It is about strategic self-reliance. For decades, these three countries have been dependent on external suppliers. They are now asking whether they can co-produce and co-secure.”   For Pakistan, the pact represents a long-sought goal: moving from being a security consumer dependent on external aid to being a security provider and partner among major Muslim-majority states. For General Munir, who has repeatedly spoken about the link between economic security and national security, such partnerships are seen as central to national stability.   Perspectives and Challenges   The reception has been cautiously optimistic but not without complexity.   In Riyadh and Ankara, the initiative is viewed through the lens of pragmatic national interest rather than ideological unity. Saudi and Turkish officials have been careful to frame any cooperation as open and defensive, not directed at any third party, including Iran or Western allies.   In Washington and European capitals, the reaction is twofold. On one hand, there is recognition that a trilateral arrangement that increases burden-sharing and promotes stability could be beneficial, particularly if it helps contain transnational threats. On the other hand, there are questions about interoperability with existing alliances and the long-term implications for arms procurement and regional alignments.   In Tehran, observers have watched the developments closely. Any defense cooperation that excludes Iran will inevitably be scrutinized. Pakistani diplomats have sought to reassure Iran that Islamabad’s engagement with Saudi Arabia and Turkey does not come at Tehran’s expense, pointing to the earlier mediation effort as evidence of Pakistan’s balanced approach.   The most significant challenges are internal. Trilateral defense cooperation requires sustained political will, financial commitments, and harmonization of defense systems  all of which are difficult to achieve. Pakistan faces severe economic constraints, Turkey navigates its commitments to NATO, and Saudi Arabia is managing a complex regional normalization process.   Critics within Pakistan also question whether the military should be leading diplomatic initiatives that are traditionally the domain of the Foreign Office. Supporters counter that in Pakistan’s hybrid governance structure, the army chief is inevitably a central actor in foreign and security policy, and formalizing that role can bring clarity.   The Diplomat in Uniform   The broader phenomenon of the “diplomat in uniform” is not new. In Egypt, Jordan, and indeed in the United States itself, senior military leaders have often served as critical channels when civilian diplomacy has faltered.   What makes General Munir’s case distinct is the narrative he is projecting for Pakistan itself: from a country

When France first levied a 3% tax on the domestic revenues of large technology companies in 2019, the move was presented as a modest, temporary fix. Five years later, the temporary fix has become a global patchwork. More than 20 countries now operate some form of digital services tax, the United States has threatened retaliatory tariffs, and the multilateral replacement intended to tidy it all up remains unsigned.   The question at the heart of the scramble is disarmingly simple and technically complex: where should a company that sells everywhere but is physically located almost nowhere pay its taxes?   For most of the last century, international tax rules rested on physical presence. A company was taxed where it had offices, factories, or personnel. That principle struggled as companies like Google, Amazon, and Meta built business models in which value is derived from users, data, and online advertising in one country, while profits are booked in another, often lower-tax, jurisdiction.   The scale of the mismatch sharpened after the 2008 financial crisis. The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) launched its Base Erosion and Profit Shifting (BEPS) project in 2013, estimating that profit-shifting cost governments $100 billion to $240 billion annually in lost revenue. By 2018, public pressure to act on highly visible technology firms accelerated political timelines faster than the OECD process could move.   The result was the rise of the unilateral digital services tax, or DST.   Unlike corporate income taxes, DSTs are typically levied on gross revenues, not profits, generated from specific digital activities online marketplaces, search engines, social media platforms, and targeted advertising within a country’s borders. Rates are low, generally 2% to 5%, but they apply broadly. The United Kingdom’s 2% DST raised over £800 million in 2024-25. France, Italy, Spain, Austria, India, Turkey and others adopted similar measures, each with slightly different thresholds, definitions, and scopes.   Proponents argue DSTs restore a basic link between economic activity and taxation. “If a platform earns substantial revenue from French users watching French ads, the French tax base should reflect that,” a senior official at the French Ministry of Finance said in 2023. For many developing economies, where consumption of digital services is large but physical presence of providers is minimal, DSTs are also a matter of fiscal sovereignty.   Critics, including the technology companies themselves and the U.S. government, point to three problems. First, taxing revenue rather than profit can penalize low-margin businesses and be passed on to small businesses and consumers who use the platforms. Second, the proliferation of different rules creates compliance complexity and the risk of double taxation, where the same income is taxed in multiple jurisdictions. Third, Washington has long argued DSTs are discriminatory by design, targeting predominantly American firms.   That third argument carried trade consequences. Under Section 301 of the U.S. Trade Act, the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative (USTR) investigated DSTs adopted by France, India, Italy, and others, concluding that several did discriminate against U.S. companies. Tariffs of up to 25% on selected imports were prepared, then suspended pending a global deal.   That deal was meant to be Pillar One.   In October 2021, 136 countries and jurisdictions representing more than 90% of global GDP agreed to a two-pillar framework brokered by the OECD/G20 Inclusive Framework. Pillar Two, a 15% global minimum corporate tax, has largely moved forward and is now in force in dozens of countries. Pillar One is the more ambitious and more fragile.   Under Pillar One’s Amount A, a portion of the residual profits of the world’s largest and most profitable multinationals  those with global turnover above €20 billion and profitability above 10% would be reallocated to market jurisdictions where their customers and users are located, regardless of physical presence. The scope was deliberately expanded beyond tech; excluding extractive industries and regulated financial services, it would cover roughly 100 multinationals across sectors.   In exchange, countries would be required to withdraw DSTs and similar measures and commit not to introduce new ones. A Multilateral Convention (MLC) would implement the rules, replacing a web of unilateral taxes with a single, coordinated mechanism. The OECD estimated in 2023 that Pillar One would reallocate $200 billion in profits and generate $13 billion to $36 billion in additional global tax revenue annually, a figure comparable in aggregate to existing DST receipts, though distribution would differ markedly by country.   Negotiations have since slowed. The original goal of signing the MLC in 2023 was missed. A target for 2024 was also missed. In 2025 and early 2026, several governments, including the UK, revised their internal planning assumptions to 2027, while confirming that their DSTs “remain in operation” until a convention enters into force.   Several factors explain the delay. The convention requires ratification, including in the United States, where any tax treaty must secure a two-thirds majority in the Senate. Bipartisan skepticism about ceding taxing rights and concerns about revenue impacts have made ratification uncertain. Some emerging economies have argued that the thresholds for Pillar One are too high and the reallocation too small to benefit them meaningfully, preferring instead to retain DSTs or pursue a parallel negotiation at the United Nations on international tax cooperation that could run until 2027. In Washington, meanwhile, successive administrations have maintained that any acceptable deal must include robust DST withdrawal provisions.   The result is a holding pattern with real costs. In October 2021, Austria, France, Italy, Spain, the UK and the United States announced a transitional agreement: as long as Pillar One progressed, the U.S. would not impose retaliatory tariffs, and European DST liabilities would be creditable against future Pillar One obligations. That truce has largely held, but it depends on continued progress.   For businesses, the uncertainty complicates planning. A multinational may face a DST in India, a diverted profits tax in the UK, a Pillar Two top-up in the EU, and the prospect of Pillar One reallocation all with different calculation bases and documentation requirements.

The debate over the creation of new administrative units and provinces in Pakistan has once again occupied the national discourse after Federal Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi declared that the country’s existing governance system had “collapsed” and argued that governance must be brought closer to the people through new administrative units. His remarks have revived an issue that has periodically surfaced since independence but has rarely moved beyond political rhetoric. While some interpreted his statement as a call for creating additional provinces, others argued that he was advocating broader administrative restructuring. Regardless of terminology, the debate has exposed the structural weaknesses of Pakistan’s governance architecture and compelled policymakers, constitutional experts and political parties to revisit an important question: can Pakistan continue to be governed effectively under its existing administrative framework, or has demographic growth, urban expansion and governance complexity made institutional restructuring unavoidable?  Pakistan today is home to more than 250 million people, yet it continues to function primarily through four provinces established under historical rather than administrative considerations. At independence in 1947, the population and governance challenges were dramatically different. Since then, urbanisation, economic diversification, internal migration and increasing demands for public services have transformed governance requirements. Provincial capitals often remain geographically and administratively distant from citizens living in peripheral districts. Residents of South Punjab, Hazara, southern Balochistan, merged districts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and interior Sindh frequently complain that decision-making remains concentrated in provincial capitals, resulting in unequal development, delayed service delivery and inadequate representation. Mohsin Naqvi’s argument rests on the proposition that governance has become excessively centralised and that citizens are compelled to travel long distances merely to access basic government services, courts and administrative offices. He further argued that countries with expanding populations have responded by creating additional administrative units rather than maintaining outdated structures. Whether one agrees with his assessment or not, his central observation deserves serious consideration because governance effectiveness is measured not by the size of government but by the accessibility, responsiveness and accountability of institutions.  The debate itself is not new. Successive governments have proposed South Punjab Province, Bahawalpur Province, Hazara Province and even administrative restructuring in Karachi and Balochistan. Parliamentary resolutions regarding South Punjab have previously been adopted, yet constitutional consensus has remained elusive. Political parties have often supported new provinces while in opposition but have shown considerably less enthusiasm after assuming power. Consequently, proposals have become election slogans rather than governance reforms.  Critics of creating new provinces argue that administrative fragmentation alone cannot solve governance failures. They point out that Pakistan’s primary problem is not necessarily the number of provinces but weak institutions, bureaucratic inefficiency, political interference, corruption and inconsistent implementation of laws. According to this perspective, multiplying provinces without institutional reform merely replicates existing inefficiencies across additional administrative boundaries. New provincial governments would require assemblies, governors, chief ministers, secretariats, police structures, judicial infrastructure and enormous recurring financial expenditures. Unless accompanied by governance reforms, decentralisation may simply increase administrative costs without improving public service delivery. Supporters, however, contend that administrative proximity improves governance outcomes. Comparative international experience demonstrates that countries such as India have periodically reorganised states to improve administrative efficiency and political representation. Smaller administrative jurisdictions often enable faster decision-making, improved monitoring, stronger accountability and more equitable distribution of development resources. Citizens generally experience better governance when government institutions are physically and administratively closer to them. These arguments have gained renewed attention following Naqvi’s intervention.  However, the current debate suffers from one significant omission. It largely ignores Pakistan’s weakest democratic institution: local government. Before creating additional provinces, policymakers must honestly evaluate why local governments have repeatedly failed. Pakistan has experimented with local government systems under different constitutional and political arrangements, yet these institutions have rarely been allowed to function independently and consistently. Elected local governments are frequently dissolved, elections are delayed and financial autonomy remains severely restricted. Provincial governments often resist devolving meaningful authority because local governments are perceived as political competitors rather than governance partners. This brings the issue of local body elections to the centre of the discussion. The Constitution envisions democratic decentralisation, yet local government elections have remained irregular across several provinces. In many cases, elected councils complete only partial terms or remain financially dependent upon provincial governments. Consequently, citizens seeking municipal services, sanitation, water supply, local roads, building regulation or community development frequently confront administrative paralysis. A country that struggles to sustain functioning local governments cannot realistically expect that merely creating additional provinces will automatically improve governance. The experience of Pakistan’s devolution reforms provides valuable lessons. The Local Government reforms introduced in the early 2000s attempted to decentralise authority by empowering districts and local councils. Although those reforms had weaknesses and generated political controversy, they demonstrated that bringing government closer to citizens can improve responsiveness when accompanied by fiscal authority, administrative autonomy and institutional accountability. Unfortunately, subsequent governments reversed or weakened many of these arrangements, resulting in repeated cycles of centralisation and decentralisation. Political reactions to Mohsin Naqvi’s proposal reflect Pakistan’s broader constitutional divisions. Some leaders have welcomed discussion on governance reform while supporting greater administrative decentralisation. Others have questioned both the timing and constitutional implications of the proposal, expressing concerns that restructuring provinces without broad political consensus could intensify ethnic, linguistic and regional sensitivities. There are also concerns that debates over provincial boundaries could distract attention from more immediate governance priorities, including economic recovery, inflation, institutional reforms and electoral credibility. The political diversity of these reactions demonstrates that constitutional restructuring cannot succeed through executive statements alone; it requires sustained parliamentary dialogue, provincial participation and national consensus.  The constitutional dimension cannot be overlooked. Creating new provinces requires constitutional amendments and political agreement among federal and provincial stakeholders. Such reforms inevitably involve questions relating to resource distribution, National Finance Commission allocations, Senate representation, civil service restructuring, judicial jurisdictions and provincial assets. Therefore, any attempt to redraw administrative boundaries without extensive consultation risks generating political instability rather than administrative efficiency. The opportunities nevertheless remain significant. Properly designed administrative restructuring could reduce regional disparities, improve public service delivery, enhance