Opinion

I have a confession to make before I make an argument: I am not a neutral observer of Uzbekistan, and I have never pretended to be. My grandmother was born in Bukhara, and something of that inheritance has stayed with me my whole life, quietly, the way a language half-learned in childhood never fully leaves you. When I finally visited Uzbekistan as an adult, I did not feel like a foreign visitor taking in unfamiliar streets. I felt something closer to what my grandmother must have felt looking at me — an unearned, uncomplicated warmth that asked nothing in return. I have come to understand that feeling as the quiet, private secret of belonging to a place through blood rather than through a passport. Tashkent is, in every way that matters to me, my second home. It was in that spirit, long before he held the office he holds today, that I once had the chance to meet and listen to Shavkat Mirziyoyev. He was not yet President of Uzbekistan when I encountered him, and I remember being struck less by any title he carried than by the scale of what he was already thinking about out loud: an economic vision that did not stop at Uzbekistan’s borders, a water and energy strategy built for the whole of Central Asia, and a sense — unusual in a region that had spent decades looking inward — that Uzbekistan’s future was inseparable from the future of its neighbors, and ultimately from the future of Asia itself. I did not know, at the time, that I was listening to a future head of state. I knew only that I was listening to someone thinking at a scale most officials never attempt. That background should not surprise anyone who looks closely at his biography. Mirziyoyev is, by training, an irrigation engineer. He graduated in 1981 from the Tashkent Institute of Irrigation and Melioration with a degree in mechanical engineering, and went on to earn a doctorate in technical sciences — a foundation in water management and applied engineering, not in the abstractions of political theory. I find something quietly reassuring in that. A leader who has spent his formative years thinking about the physical realities of water — how it moves, where it is wasted, how a system either functions or fails on the ground — tends to bring a different discipline to the running of a country than one who has only ever studied power itself. When he took the presidential oath on 14 December 2016, he inherited a country that had spent decades in careful, deliberate isolation under his predecessor, Islam Karimov. What he has built since is, by any honest measure, one of the most consequential transformations Central Asia has seen in a generation. Mirziyoyev dismantled that isolation almost immediately. Borders that had been tense and heavily restricted with Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan were resolved through negotiation rather than standoff. Trade and cross-border travel, once treated with suspicion, were opened. And rather than settling for improved bilateral relations, he proposed something more ambitious still: formalizing the informal annual summits among Central Asian leaders into a standing “Community of Central Asia,” with a rotating presidency and a permanent secretariat, built around shared trade, water management, transport infrastructure, and coordinated engagement with Afghanistan. It is the kind of regional architecture Central Asia lacked for the entire post-Soviet period, and it is very hard to picture it emerging under any of his predecessors. The economic numbers now validate what, in that early conversation, still sounded like ambition rather than achievement. Uzbekistan implemented $43.1 billion in foreign investment in its most recent reporting period, of which $38.2 billion arrived as foreign direct investment — a 24 % surge over the prior year, and enough to make Uzbekistan the largest recipient of accumulated FDI stock in Central Asia, ahead of Kazakhstan. FDI absorption climbed from $19.5 billion in 2023 to $31.9 billion in 2024 before reaching this year’s historic peak, with a single record quarter bringing in $1.7 billion in net balance-of-payments inflows. China remains the leading investor at $17.1 billion, followed by Russia at $4.8 billion, with Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Germany, the UAE, and the United Kingdom all expanding their footprints. The capital is not concentrated in one sector either: energy and renewables lead at $7.1 billion, including ACWA Power’s $2.4 billion wind installation in Karakalpakstan, alongside major investment in agriculture, construction, and mining. The country’s foreign reserves stood at roughly $63.75 billion as of June 2026, after peaking above $77 billion earlier in the year, while real GDP grew 7.7 % in 2025 and is projected to hold near 6.8 % through 2026. None of this happened by accident. Uzbekistan built nearly a thousand Free Economic Zones offering genuine tax relief and simplified customs. It collapsed business registration into a single electronic government portal, cutting the cost of starting a company to roughly $27. It fully liberalized its currency and removed the foreign exchange barriers that once made profit repatriation a genuine deterrent to investors. This is not a country hoping investors will come. It is a country that examined, line by line, every friction that had historically kept them away, and removed it. But the achievement I find most remarkable is geographic, because geography is the one obstacle policy alone usually cannot solve. Uzbekistan is one of only two doubly landlocked countries on Earth — a nation whose neighbors are themselves landlocked, placing it about as far from open water as any country can be. For most of its history, that was treated as a permanent constraint. Mirziyoyev has instead treated it as an engineering problem to be solved, which is precisely how an irrigation engineer would see it. The Trans-Afghan Railway, first proposed by Uzbekistan in 2018 and finally formalized in a trilateral framework agreement signed with Afghanistan and Pakistan in July 2025, will run roughly 650 kilometres from Termez on the Uzbek border through Mazar-i-Sharif, Kabul, and Logar, crossing into Pakistan

I recently completed the AI, Justice, and the Rule of Law course, developed by the Saïd Business School at the University of Oxford in collaboration with UNESCO. The course was designed to equip legal professionals, judges, policymakers, researchers and justice sector practitioners with a comprehensive understanding of how artificial intelligence is transforming legal systems and the administration of justice while safeguarding the rule of law. Artificial intelligence (AI) is no longer a future possibility but an integral part of modern justice systems. A UNESCO survey of judicial operators from 96 countries found that 44% already use AI in their daily work, while only 9% have received formal AI training. AI is already being used in courts across more than one hundred jurisdictions to support legal research, document review, transcription, translation, case management, document summarisation, and drafting assistance. However, AI should not be viewed as a single technology; rather, it should be understood in terms of the specific task it performs within the judicial process. This functional approach is essential because the legal implications of AI depend on where and how it is used. Different categories of AI create different opportunities and risks. Administrative AI is primarily used for case management, transcription, translation, and other routine functions that improve court efficiency. Research and analytical AI assists legal professionals in identifying relevant legislation, precedents, and legal principles. Decision-support AI helps analyse patterns and provide recommendations, while generative AI produces summaries, drafts legal documents, and generates text. Each category presents distinct legal, ethical, and governance challenges, requiring different levels of scrutiny and oversight. A central theme in the course was that AI should support judicial work rather than replace judicial decision-making. Judicial authority must always remain with human judges, who retain ultimate responsibility for interpreting the law and deciding cases. AI can assist by improving efficiency and providing analytical support, but it cannot substitute independent legal reasoning or judicial discretion. The principle of Human-in-the-Loop (HITL) is emphasized, under which meaningful human oversight remains essential whenever AI influences legal processes or outcomes. There are considerable opportunities AI presents for improving justice systems. AI can significantly accelerate legal research, improve case management, automate transcription and translation, summarise lengthy legal documents, and reduce the administrative workload of judges and court staff. By automating repetitive tasks, AI enables judges to devote more time to hearings, legal analysis, and reasoned decision-making. AI has the potential to improve access to justice by making legal services faster, more efficient, and more accessible. Alongside these benefits, there are risks associated with AI in the justice sector. Generative AI may produce hallucinated legal authorities, inaccurate citations, or misleading legal analysis. Algorithmic bias may reinforce existing inequalities, while automation bias can encourage users to place excessive trust in AI-generated outputs without independent verification. Other important concerns include the lack of transparency in ‘black box’ algorithms, risks to privacy and confidentiality, and the possibility that excessive reliance on AI may gradually erode the professional skills and independent judgment of legal practitioners. The responsible adoption of AI requires governance rather than simply introducing new technology. Effective implementation depends upon institutional AI policies, comprehensive risk and human rights impact assessments, pilot testing before deployment, continuous monitoring and evaluation, transparency, explainability, and accountability. The importance of multidisciplinary oversight involving judges, technologists, policymakers, and civil society to ensure that AI systems remain trustworthy and aligned with the principles of justice and the rule of law. Another important aspect of the role of AI is in promoting access to justice. AI-powered legal assistants can help self-represented litigants understand legal procedures, prepare legal documents, translate court materials into different languages, and support mediation and dispute resolution processes. These applications have the potential to make legal information and services more accessible, particularly for individuals who face financial, linguistic, or geographical barriers in accessing justice. However, the ethical and professional responsibility always remains with human legal professionals. Regardless of how sophisticated AI systems become, judges remain accountable for their decisions, and lawyers remain responsible for the accuracy, quality, and integrity of their work. AI cannot replace professional ethics, judicial independence, impartiality, or the duty to provide transparent, reasoned, and legally sound judgments. Overall, AI should be viewed as a powerful judicial support tool rather than a judicial decision-maker. Its responsible use depends upon understanding the function of each AI system, maintaining meaningful human oversight, safeguarding fundamental rights, ensuring transparency and accountability, and adopting strong institutional governance so that technological innovation strengthens, rather than undermines, the rule of law.

The first part of this series concluded with a question that goes deeper than the contractual forms employed by conventional or Islamic banks: who should possess the power to create money—society through its sovereign monetary authority, or commercial banks through the expansion of credit? It is impossible to reconstruct a financial order without answering this question. Popular understanding of banking remains surprisingly detached from the way modern money actually comes into existence. The conventional explanation suggests that people first deposit their savings with banks and banks subsequently lend part of those deposits to borrowers. Banks thus appear principally as intermediaries between savers and investors. Modern banking does not operate quite like this. The Bank of England, explaining the process in unusually clear terms, acknowledges that most money in a modern economy is created by commercial banks when they make loans. A bank granting financing normally credits the borrower’s account and simultaneously records a corresponding asset on its own balance sheet.  The deposit is created through the act of lending rather than necessarily representing money previously deposited by another saver. When the loan principal is repaid, the corresponding bank-created money is extinguished. This requires an important correction to the familiar expression “fractional-reserve banking”.  Banks are certainly required to maintain reserves, liquidity and regulatory capital, but contemporary money creation cannot accurately be understood as a mechanical process in which every rupee of reserves is successively multiplied into a predetermined number of rupees of loans.  Lending is constrained by capital requirements, liquidity, creditworthiness, profitability, regulation, settlement requirements and ultimately monetary policy. It nevertheless remains true that deposit-taking commercial banks create a substantial part of the money used by society. Pakistan is no exception. State Bank of Pakistan’s monetary data show that at end-June 2026 broad money was about Rs. 46.46 trillion. Currency in circulation was about Rs. 11.94 trillion, while deposits with banks were approximately Rs. 34.47 trillion. The greater part of what Pakistanis use as money does not consist of notes issued by the State Bank. It consists of claims recorded in the banking system. This distinction has profound consequences for our discussion of riba. Commercial-bank creation of deposit money should not automatically be declared riba. The Quran does not prescribe a reserve ratio, a central-bank structure or a particular technique for creating currency.  To equate fractional-reserve banking itself with riba would unnecessarily turn a question of monetary system into a theological declaration. The real objection is different. A society must ask whether the privilege of creating generally accepted purchasing power should be exercised primarily through private debt contracts; who receives the initial benefit of newly created purchasing power; towards which activities the new credit is directed; who absorbs the losses when excessive credit creation produces instability; and whether private institutions can earn a predetermined return from money whose creation depends ultimately upon the sovereign monetary and payment system. These are questions of political economy and distributive justice. Pakistan provides an especially revealing example. SBP’s provisional monetary aggregates at end-June 2026 recorded net government-sector borrowing of more than Rs. 37 trillion.  Net borrowing from scheduled banks was overwhelmingly larger than direct borrowing from SBP, while credit to the private sector stood at around Rs. 11.4 trillion. The precise categories require care in interpretation, but the broad structural message is difficult to miss: the banking system has become deeply intertwined with financing the State itself. Banks operate within an extraordinary circle. The State confers the banking licence, provides the settlement infrastructure, regulates deposits, maintains monetary stability and acts ultimately as guardian of systemic stability. Banks create deposit money through their financing operations and then deploy enormous resources in government securities carrying returns ultimately serviced through public revenues. The citizen appears at both ends of the transaction by providing deposits to the banking system and later pays taxes from which sovereign financial obligations are serviced. The arrangement may be perfectly lawful under the existing system, but a project seeking elimination of riba cannot ignore its structural implications. Conversion of conventional banks into Islamic banks does not, by itself, answer this problem. An Islamic deposit-taking institution can participate in the same process of deposit creation when it extends financing. If its balance sheet remains concentrated in sovereign instruments and if its returns remain indirectly anchored to the prevailing interest-rate structure, conversion of contractual terminology leaves the underlying monetary structure substantially intact. This is one reason why the proposal recently advanced by Muhammad Munir Ahmad for an alternative riba-free system deserves serious consideration. It correctly asks whether money creation and commercial financing should be separated. Its criticism of the privileges inherent in the existing banking structure identifies a problem much larger than the replacement of an interest-bearing loan with murabaha or ijarah. The proposed solution, however, requires considerable refinement. One possibility is a system under which transaction money is fully backed by sovereign money.  Current accounts used for salaries, business payments and ordinary transactions would represent money held for payment and safekeeping. Banks would not be permitted to use these balances to create additional financing. Investment would take place through an entirely different window. A person seeking a return would knowingly place funds in an investment account. Those funds could be employed in mudarabah, musharakah, leasing, trade finance and other genuine commercial arrangements. Return would arise from investment, ownership, enterprise or service rather than merely from allowing a bank to create a debt against a transaction deposit. This idea is neither historically unprecedented nor uniquely associated with Islamic economics. During the Great Depression, economists associated with what became known as the Chicago Plan proposed 100 per cent reserve backing for transaction deposits, expressly separating the monetary function of banks from their credit function. Irving Fisher became one of its prominent advocates.  Decades later, an International Monetary Fund (IMF) working paper by Jaromir Benes and Michael Kumhof revisited the proposal and modelled potential effects including greater control over credit cycles and reductions in private and public debt. The paper was research rather than IMF policy, but

Saudi Arabia, Pakistan and Türkiye have signed the Makkah Joint Defence Agreement on 7 August in 2026 and this signing is far more significant than what ceremony and symbolism it carries. Signed in Makkah by Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, Turkey’s President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif, the deal provides that an armed attack against any one of the three countries will be considered as an attack against all the three countries.  But its sincerity was greatest not in the denouncing of a specific enemy but in an understanding of the strategic environment which has produced an enemy. It is not a moment for defining the agreement as an “anti-Iran, anti-Israel, anti-American pact. There’s no mentioning of any of these states being specifically called out as the target state. Instead, the agreement seems to be part of a larger strategic pivot amid a more complicated security landscape in the Middle East. Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan have divergent agenda in foreign-policy, but all three countries have an interest in lessening strategic vulnerability while gaining more ‘room for manoeuvre’. For the capital of the Hejaz, the key strategic priority is defending its territory, which contains important military bases, energy resources and trading lines, set in a much-changing environment. Saudi Arabia has close relations with Washington, but its foreign policy in recent years has been firmly founded on a strong sense of need for building more than one strategic partnership with the outside world. As such, the Makkah deal is more a tool for “strategic hedging” and less a statement of opposition to a specific regime. The participation of Türkiye is especially significant. While Ankara is a NATO country, it is also developing an autonomous regional foreign policy. In particular the dealings of its government with Iran, Russia, the Gulf monarchies, Europe, and the United States make it difficult to pigeonhole current Turkish strategy into a neat geopolitical box. The importance of this in the context of Türkiye’s presence in the country is such that shooting multi-alignment rather than sectarian or bloc confrontation. On the other hand, Pakistan has years of defence cooperation with Saudi Arabia and a growing institutionalized strategic ties with Türkiye. The deal provides Islamabad a chance to take the existing military cooperation into a larger strategic partnership. However, Pakistan needs to prudently guard its ties with the neighbouring country Iran as well as its ancestral ties with Saudi Arabia and also protect and carry forward its strategic partnership with China. The most sensible thing for Pakistan to do, then, is not bloc politics but calibrated multi-alignment. Particularly noted is Egypt’s non-participation in the defence pact, but it is too early to draw a clear conclusion that the country had been denied its membership due to the influence of any other country, including the United States and Israel. Indeed, Egypt has been continuing its strong partnerships with Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan within the framework of R4. In June 2026, all four countries’ foreign ministers met in Cairo and reiterated their efforts in the realm of consultation and regional stability and coordinated diplomacy.  This isn’t necessarily a foreign veto in action, then, that Egypt is not a party to a certain military arrangement, but could be partly because of its own strategic decisions. The same level of skepticism should be applied towards the general pronouncements about Israel. As Türkiye’s rival relationship with Tel Aviv and the Saudi Arabia’s major role in the Arab-Israeli conflict weighs in, Israel will increasingly be considered a part of the “strategic equation” of the region. However, to date there is no visible evidence that the Makkah agreement was essentially a plan against Israel. Likewise, any potential Pakistani naval base at Pasni or the potential major shift of Pakistan’s maritime strategy should be viewed currently not as policy, but as potential options. The rising significance of geography at sea is much more evident. National security is entangling in increasing ways with the Arabian Sea, the Gulf of Oman, the Red Sea and network of commercial and energy corridors. Nowadays, ports and shipping routes are not just economic infrastructure, but strategic assets, in a world of geopolitical dynamics and fragile supply networks. This geographical locational aspect highlights the significance attributed to Pakistan as going beyond its geographical limelight in geography. Chances are on the rise that China will play a key role in this new order. Beijing has already got noticeable economic presence in Pakistan and the Gulf countries, and importantly, it has built a long-term strategic presence in the Indian Ocean via the Belt and Road Initiative and CPEC. However, China has tended towards more flexible economic and diplomatic ties rather than military alliances. Saudi-Türkiye-Pakistan cooperation thus puts Beijing in a stronger position to maintain room for manoeuvre within the new framework without having to join it formally. The emerging picture is rather not that of a straightforward American power-substitution than one of an American power-displacement. Instead, the Middle East seems to be shifting towards a more pluralist and networked security configuration, in which governments have multiple relations with rival entities at the same time. Saudi Arabia can cooperate with the US and work towards closer ties with Pakistan and Türkiye; Türkiye can be in NATO and yet have a policy of its own in the region; Pakistan can have closer relationship with China, and Saudi Arabia and Türkiye; and at the same time take part in the dialogue between Pakistan and Iran and the West. After signing the Makkah agreement, its ultimate effect will be determined. Though it might turn into a regular framework of intelligence sharing, joint exercises, defence production and operational co-ordination it could serve as a lasting centrepiece of regional security. Its impact will be more limited, if it is kept largely declaratory. But at this time the most credible inference is that the Makkah pact is far from being an alliance against a common enemy but rather a strategy for the breakdown of one

Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and Turkey signed the Makkah Joint Defense Agreement (MJDA) to strengthen their defense cooperation. The agreement was signed at a critical juncture in history, both globally and regionally. On the global front, the old order is in disarray, and conflicts are breaking out one after another. The West’s dominance and hegemony are fading. Economic power, which the West once used to rule the world, is in decline. Western control over weapons of destruction has weakened. Simultaneously, Western diplomatic influence has softened, and their grip on the UN and decision-making has weakened.    This has destabilized global peace, and in 2025 alone, 50 countries were engaged in conflicts or wars. As a result, new powerhouses, in economic, diplomatic, and defense production, have emerged. On a regional level, the Middle East and South Asia have emerged as flashpoints, where conflict or war can break out at any time due to the reckless behavior of Israel and India in their respective regions.    In this context, the signing of the Makkah Joint Defense Agreement has raised many questions, and people are exploring possible answers. First, what does the Makkah Joint Defense Agreement include? According to available information at this time, the three Muslim countries have joined hands to strengthen their defense cooperation. It sends a strong message to opponents and enemies that any attack on Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, or Turkey will be treated as an attack on all. The aggressor will have to face the wrath of three powers.    Second, why is it important? It is important for two reasons. First, three countries are in hostile regions and face numerous security challenges. Let’s start with Saudi Arabia. Saudi Arabia is in a region where Israel is committing the worst genocide in modern history. The genocide in Gaza has destabilized the whole region. Unconditional support from the USA and the West allows Israel to continue the genocide in Gaza with complete immunity. They are providing all types of weapons of mass destruction and financial support to Israel. Even the USA and some Western countries are threatening the International Court of Justice or other UN agencies for asking for accountability of Israel. The USA and Israel’s attack on Iran has further complicated the situation. Iranian attacks on regional countries in the context of US bases are threatening a wide-scale war in the region. Saudi Arabia is also facing direct attacks by the Houthis on Saudi Arabia, especially on oil installations, which pose serious threats to the whole region.     For Pakistan, it has two hostile neighbors, India and Afghanistan. In 2025, India attacked Pakistan based on self-assumed allegations. However, a strong, full-scale retaliation from Pakistan compelled India to come to its knees. Pakistan destroyed many Indian fighter jets and missile systems. India rushed to the USA to beg for a ceasefire. On the other border, Pakistan is facing terrorism originating from Afghanistan. Afghanistan, with the support of India and Israel, has launched a full-scale proxy and terrorism war. It is also harboring terrorist groups such as BLA, TTP, etc. India, acting as a proxy of Israel, is providing full support to terrorists and fueling terrorism in Pakistan.   In the case of Turkey, it is facing multiple threats, including direct threats from Israel, Greece, and some regional proxies. Over the past few months, Israel has begun to portray Turkey as a new threat to Israel. Greece has also been encouraged by Israel and other Western powers to create problems for Turkey. Some Western countries also have historical grievances with Turkey and are seeking opportunities to harm it.    Therefore, this agreement is extremely important for the three countries and for both regions, the Middle East and South Asia.    Third, how will regional countries react, and what impact will the MJDA have on the region? First, Israel will not like it at all. Why? Because it will view it as a hurdle to creating a Greater Israel. Therefore, Israel will do everything to sabotage the agreement. It can use this agreement to create a sectarian divide in the region by portraying Iran as the enemy. It can conspire to instigate sectarian violence in the region, especially in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and Turkey. The USA and Western countries can also join hands to facilitate Israel. President Trump’s recent statement on the potential role of Syria in tackling the issue of Hezbollah is a strong indication of this strategy. He is urging Israel to stop attacking Lebanon and let the Syrian government fight Hezbollah. Lastly, Israel can also exploit the civilizational context and emotions of the custodians of the Arab, Iranian, and Turkish civilizations. It can trigger feelings of self-greatness and urge each civilization to pursue past glory.     Simultaneously, some elements in Iran, especially those pro-Israel or influenced by Israel, can propagate the MJDA against Iranian interests. They can argue that it will undermine Iran’s status and create hurdles for Iran to become the region’s major power. Proponents of this view can argue that, in the presence of this alliance, it will be difficult for Iran to dominate the region. It would be an ideal situation for Israel and other elements to create a divide along sectarian lines and fan sectarian violence in the region and in respective countries. Therefore, all countries (Pakistan, Turkey, Iran, and Saudi Arabia) need to be extremely vigilant and coordinate closely.     Fourth, what would be the reaction of the global community, especially from the USA and China? China and the USA are important because they are major powers at this point in time. First, I do not believe the USA will have an independent view or reaction. It is strongly suspected, rather sure, that Israel will dictate the American response. It is an open secret that Israel does not want peace and stability in the region. Thus, the USA will follow this policy.    It is also in the USA’s interest. How and why? The USA considers the Middle East and South Asia vital to

The world may not have officially entered an artificial intelligence war, but it is already living inside an AI power struggle. The United States and China are competing to control the technologies that may define economic growth, military strength, scientific discovery and political influence for decades. The weapons in this contest are not only missiles or drones. They are advanced computer chips, data centres, algorithms, research talent, cloud infrastructure, global standards and access to enormous quantities of data. Both countries present their ambitions as beneficial to humanity. Yet their policies increasingly speak the language of winning, leadership and strategic advantage. America’s AI Action Plan, released in July 2025, explicitly describes AI development as a race the United States must win. Its strategy is built around accelerating innovation, expanding domestic infrastructure and exporting American technology, models and standards to allies. China, meanwhile, is embedding AI across manufacturing, science, education, public services and governance through its “AI Plus” initiative. By 2027, it aims for AI agents and new intelligent devices to reach a penetration rate exceeding 70 percent in key areas. This is not a simple competition between one country that innovates and another that follows. According to Stanford University’s 2026 AI Index, the United States produced 59 notable AI models in 2025, compared with China’s 35. However, China led in the volume of AI publications, citations and patent grants. By March 2026, the performance difference between the strongest American and Chinese models had narrowed to only 2.7 percent.  The race is therefore real, close and rapidly intensifying. At its centre lies the semiconductor. Advanced AI requires enormous computing power, and that power depends on specialised chips. Washington has repeatedly restricted China’s access to advanced processors and semiconductor-manufacturing equipment, arguing that such technologies could support military modernisation. Although some licensing policies have changed, chip access remains a tool of strategic pressure. China has responded by investing in domestic chips, efficient models, industrial applications and alternative technological ecosystems. What began as commercial competition is producing two increasingly separate AI worlds. Countries may eventually be pressured to choose whose chips, clouds, platforms, security systems and technological standards they will use. This is where the Global South enters the battlefield, not necessarily as a combatant, but as a market, data source and zone of influence. America wants allied countries to build on American AI technology. China presents its approach as more open to international cooperation and has announced training opportunities, AI application centres and capacity-building programmes for developing nations. In July 2026, China also promoted a new World Artificial Intelligence Cooperation Organization and promised 5,000 AI training opportunities for developing countries over five years. Both approaches offer genuine opportunities. Developing countries need computing access, technical training, investment and affordable digital infrastructure. But assistance can also create dependence. A country that relies entirely on foreign AI systems may surrender control over its data, public services, information environment and national decision-making. The most dangerous part of the contest is its military dimension. The United States is expanding AI use across its national-security institutions and armed forces. China’s military strategy has been described by the US Department of Defense as moving towards “intelligentized warfare,” in which AI supports surveillance, command systems, autonomous platforms and battlefield decisions. China publicly maintains that military AI must remain under human control and says it does not seek an AI arms race. These public commitments are important, but declarations are not enforceable safeguards. AI can analyse satellite images, identify possible targets, guide autonomous drones, generate military plans and conduct cyber operations at speeds humans cannot match. Speed may appear to make defence more effective, but it can also make war less controllable. A flawed system could misidentify a civilian vehicle, interpret routine military movement as an attack or produce a false warning during a nuclear crisis. When two rival powers fear falling behind, caution begins to look like weakness. Each side accelerates because it assumes the other is accelerating. This is how an innovation race can become an arms race. The threat is not limited to physical weapons. AI-generated propaganda, deepfakes and automated influence campaigns could manufacture speeches, create false evidence of attacks or provoke public anger before facts can be verified. The United Nations has warned that AI-enabled cyberattacks can damage critical infrastructure within minutes, while fabricated audio and video can intensify political tension and even trigger diplomatic crises. Humanity should not be forced to choose between American technological dominance and Chinese technological dominance. It should demand a third option: internationally governed AI development centred on human survival and dignity. Life-and-death decisions must remain under meaningful human control. AI should never independently authorise nuclear action or select human targets without accountable human judgement. Countries need binding rules for autonomous weapons, military AI audits, crisis hotlines and mandatory reporting of serious AI failures. The International Committee of the Red Cross recommends prohibiting unpredictable autonomous weapons and systems designed to target people without sufficient human control. Civilian AI also requires cooperation. Scientific research, medical discoveries and climate technologies should not become inaccessible simply because they emerge on the wrong side of a geopolitical divide. Developing countries need a genuine place in global rule-making, not invitations to choose a technological master. America and China may believe they are competing to own the future. But the future does not belong exclusively to either of them. It belongs to the billions of people whose jobs, security, privacy, education and understanding of truth will be transformed by decisions they never helped make. The real victory will not be producing the most powerful machine. It will be ensuring that, when the race ends, humanity is still in control.

In the winter of 1979, a neighbour’s house caught fire. The Soviet Union had marched into Afghanistan, and the flames of war were licking at the walls of Kabul. From across the ocean, a distant power arrived at Pakistan’s door. It did not come with soldiers. It came with money, guns, and a promise: *”Let us fight this fire together. Use your roof. Use your roads. We will stand with you. We will not let the fire reach your house.”* Pakistan opened its door. What else could it do? The Soviet army sat on its western border. The world was divided into two camps, and neutrality was a luxury no frontline state could afford. For ten years, Pakistan became the staging ground for a war that was not its own. It hosted three million refugees. Its cities swelled. Its tribal areas became training grounds for fighters armed and funded by outside money. Weapons arrived by the shipload through Karachi. Pakistani officers coordinated strategy. Every bullet fired at a Soviet convoy in the Hindu Kush passed through Pakistani hands. The distant power paid the bills. It sent the Stinger missiles. It called the resistance fighters “freedom fighters” and Pakistan a “frontline state.” But the war was never truly about Pakistan’s safety. It was about bleeding the Soviet Union in a distant mountainside, using Pakistani soil as the operating theatre and Afghan bodies as the currency. Then, in 1989, the Soviet Union withdrew. The fire in the neighbour’s house went out. And the distant power that had promised eternal friendship turned its attention elsewhere. The billions dried up. The diplomatic interest evaporated. Afghanistan, the battlefield, was left to warlords who turned the weapons on each other. Pakistan was left with three million refugees who would not go home, a Kalashnikov culture that would not disappear, and a border that would never again be quiet. The weapons that had been given to fight the Soviets did not rust. They remained. They moved into streets, into disputes, into corners of the country where the state had never fully reached. The guest who had brought the fire extinguisher had started a blaze that spread to the host’s own house — and then moved to a new neighbourhood. The distant power won its strategic objective at the cost of Afghan and Pakistani soil, then walked away. Its own cities were never bombed. Its own children never became refugees. Its economy never staggered under the weight of someone else’s war. Pakistan, which had signed no formal treaty of alliance but had acted as an ally in every meaningful sense, was left holding the pieces. This is what happens when alliances are forged in the middle of a fire. The stronger partner does not need your victory. He needs your usefulness. He needs you to hold the front, to absorb the blow, to stand in a place where he does not wish to stand. And when the war ends, he will shake your hand and go home — while you remain amid the embers, wondering why the fire you helped extinguish has reignited in your own courtyard. History records a curious pattern. The alliances that have endured — the ones that outlasted their founders and shaped the world for generations — were almost never built while the house was burning. NATO was forged in 1949, not because the bombs were falling on Paris, but because the memory of war was still fresh and the desire to prevent it was shared. The parties had time to read the text, to negotiate the terms, to build institutions that could survive a change of government on either side. An alliance born in the middle of a fire is a different creature entirely. It is an emergency measure. And emergency measures have a way of becoming permanent arrangements that no one planned and no one fully controls. When you sign while the heat is at your back and the smoke is in your eyes, you do not have time to ask who owns the hose, who pays for the water, and who walks away when the flames are out. The Afghan episode is not ancient history. It is in our own lifetime. It is written in the smoke that still rises from our western border. And it is written in the simple fact that the weapons once aimed at a northern invader eventually turned inward, because no one had written a clause for what happens after the guest leaves. Pakistan has every right to defend itself. Pakistan has every right to seek friends in a dangerous world. But history offers a quiet observation for those who are listening: **the strongest alliances are built in peacetime, not borrowed in panic.** The fire is real. The neighbour’s house is burning. Yet the hand that offers protection in the middle of a war is holding a different ledger than the hand that offers partnership in the middle of calm. That is not a warning against friendship. It is simply what the record shows.

The picture of today’s Chinese factories is very different from the one we used to see in the past few decades. In present-day Chinese factories, alongside workers, there are robots, automated production lines, engineers and software systems. This image makes one realize that China’s role is not limited to being the world’s factory anymore. It is undergoing significant transformation that tells a story of a forward-looking vision. Now, China is moving from simply manufacturing products designed elsewhere to developing the technologies, brands and ideas behind tomorrow’s global economy.  There was a time when the words “Made in China” were associated with China’s role as the world’s manufacturing powerhouse. At that time, “Made in China” also represented a shift of China from merely a developing economy to a country widely known for mass production, affordable products and competitive prices. Whether it be clothes, toys, household goods or electronics, Chinese factories became an essential part of global supply chains. But China didn’t stop there. China considered going through a new transition after realizing that the world’s economic patterns were shifting and that new innovations and technologies were taking center stage. It was a change from merely producing goods for other people to developing its own technologies, brands, and business strategies. It was not a small change. It made sure that future should not only be defined by “Made in China”, but increasingly by “Innovated in China”.  China’s journey of becoming the world trading powerhouse began in 2001 when it joined the World Trade Organization (WTO). Within just eight years, China became the world’s largest exporter of goods. By 2013, it had taken the top position in total trade. Today, China’s total imports and exports are worth more than $6 trillion. Its manufacturing strength has given companies around the world access to competitive products and has helped make global trade faster and more affordable. But the more interesting story today is what China is producing through its own innovation. Electric vehicles (EV) industry is the best example that reflects this shift towards “Innovated in China”. In 1951, BYD was established as a domestic manufacturer. Over the years, BYD developed into a Chinese multinational company and the leader of the global EV industry. It is not just a manufacturer anymore but a company that makes its own ideas, develops its own technology and makes its own electric vehicles and batteries. It has created its footprint in global markets like South Asia, South East Asia, Europe, Latin America and other regions. Chinese electric cars are now being recognized more for their battery tech, design, software and performance, and not just their price. China has also built a huge domestic market for electric vehicles, giving its companies an environment in which they can improve rapidly. A similar change can be seen in renewable energy. China produces large number of solar panels, batteries, and other green technologies. All these steps make China a major driving force in clean energy industry. According to the International Energy Agency (IEA), China controls over 80% to 90% of every single key stage of the global solar supply chain, that makes it an undisputed global leader in solar photovoltaic (PV) manufacturing. This matters far beyond China. Lower-cost solar equipment has helped countries around the world expand renewable energy and pursue their climate goals. China’s strength in batteries is particularly important. Batteries are the beating heart of electric vehicles, energy storage and, increasingly, modern electricity systems. The Chinese companies have poured money into research on batteries and into increasing production. Companies such as CATL have become key suppliers to international automobile manufacturers. In this sense, Chinese innovation is no longer simply about producing a finished product; it is increasingly about supplying the technology that makes the next generation of global industries possible. Another important example is high-speed rail. China has developed the world’s largest high-speed railway network, connecting major cities across the country. Now, China’s experience and expertise can be used internationally. Chinese companies have participated in railway projects and infrastructure development in different parts of the world. Under the Belt and Road Initiative, China has also increased economic connections through investment and infrastructure cooperation. Digital technology is another area where China has moved from follower to innovator. Chinese companies have developed globally competitive platforms in e-commerce, digital payments, logistics and telecommunications. The widespread use of mobile payments in Chinese cities is a real-life example. Consumers can pay for food, transport and everyday purchases using their phones, while businesses can reach customers through sophisticated digital platforms. This innovation is supported by a huge domestic market. With more than 1.4 billion people, China provides its companies with an enormous testing ground. A new product or service can reach millions of users quickly. Companies that succeed at home can then adapt their products for international markets. This combination of scale, manufacturing capacity, engineering talent and growing research investment gives China a unique position in global trade. China’s investment in research and development also reflects this shift. Data from the World Bank show that China’s research and development spending has risen substantially over the past two decades. China is also among the world’s leading countries in patent applications. The sheer number of patents is not a measure of quality of innovation, but of the scale of China’s technological activity. This could be a very significant change for international trade. Globalization, in future, will not only be dependent on large factories producing inexpensive goods. It will increasingly be about technology, clean energy, AI, advance manufacturing, digital services and sophisticated supply chains. China is already very well positioned in many of these areas.  This does not mean China will replace every other manufacturing or technology center. International trade works best when countries specialize, compete and cooperate at the same time. China will continue to import raw materials, energy, technology and components while exporting finished products, machinery and increasingly sophisticated technologies. Its success will also create opportunities for businesses in developing countries that become part of Chinese-linked supply

“Federalism is self-rule plus shared rule”—Daniel J. Elazar The recurring demand for creating new provinces in Pakistan resurfaces with remarkable regularity. Whenever governance falters, regional disparities widen or perceptions of neglect become politically expedient, voices emerge advocating the redrawing of provincial boundaries. Southern Punjab, Hazara, Bahawalpur and other regions are periodically cited as compelling examples of territories whose aspirations can supposedly be fulfilled only through separate provincial status.  The proposition appears deceptively simple: smaller provinces would bring government closer to the people and consequently ensure better governance. Yet constitutional questions are seldom answered by geographical arithmetic. Before redrawing Pakistan’s political map, we must first answer a more fundamental question: what is the constitutional purpose of a province within a federation? The quote by Daniel J. Elazar, one of the foremost scholars of federalism is a simple expression that encapsulates the philosophy underlying every successful federation. A federation is neither a unitary state nor a loose confederation of independent entities. It is a constitutional partnership in which constituent units voluntarily participate in the exercise of shared sovereignty while retaining their distinct political identities. The essence of federalism, therefore, lies not in the number of constituent units but in the constitutional balance between unity and diversity. Pakistan’s provinces were never intended to function merely as administrative divisions. Punjab, Sindh, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan represent historical regions possessing distinct linguistic, cultural and political identities. Their constitutional status cannot be viewed solely through the lens of administrative convenience. They constitute a federal compact upon which Pakistan’s constitutional structure rests. Altering provincial boundaries is therefore not merely a question of improving governance; it involves reconsidering the architecture of the federation itself. None of this implies that demands for new provinces are devoid of merit. Those advocating separate provincial status often point towards genuine grievances. Regions distant from provincial capitals frequently complain of inadequate public investment, poor infrastructure, unequal employment opportunities, weak political representation and an enduring sense of neglect. Such concerns deserve neither dismissal nor ridicule. Every federation must continuously reassess whether its institutions are responding equitably to the aspirations of all its citizens. There are, undoubtedly, persuasive arguments in favour of creating additional provinces. Smaller administrative units may improve governmental accessibility, reduce bureaucratic distance, strengthen regional representation and permit more focused development planning.  India’s creation of states such as Chhattisgarh, Uttarakhand and Telangana was largely justified on similar considerations. In certain instances, administrative decentralisation has indeed facilitated more responsive governance. It would therefore be intellectually dishonest to dismiss the proposal merely because it challenges existing boundaries. Yet comparative constitutional experience also counsels caution. Nigeria expanded from three regions to thirty-six states without eliminating corruption, insecurity or administrative inefficiency. India itself continues to witness demands for further statehood despite repeated territorial reorganisation. The number of constituent units has never, by itself, guaranteed good governance. Effective administration ultimately depends upon the quality of institutions rather than the quantity of provinces. This distinction is often overlooked in Pakistan’s public discourse. Governance failures are frequently attributed to geography when they are, in reality, institutional. Weak local governments, politicised bureaucracies, uneven fiscal distribution, inadequate accountability and inconsistent policy implementation cannot be remedied simply by drawing new boundaries upon a map. Multiplying provinces without simultaneously strengthening constitutional institutions merely reproduces existing weaknesses on a smaller scale. Perhaps the most neglected dimension of this debate is local government. Modern constitutional democracies recognise that genuine democracy begins not in distant capitals but within local communities. The closer government remains to the citizen, the greater its responsiveness and accountability.  Unfortunately, Pakistan has historically oscillated between centralisation and reluctant decentralisation, often treating elected local governments as temporary administrative experiments rather than permanent constitutional institutions. Before concluding that additional provinces constitute the solution, we ought first to ask whether meaningful local self-government has ever been sincerely allowed to flourish. Equally important is the constitutional process itself. The creation of new provinces cannot become an instrument of transient political expediency or electoral bargaining. It must emerge from broad constitutional consensus, careful economic evaluation, administrative necessity and, above all, the informed consent of those directly affected. Constitutional engineering undertaken without social consensus has rarely strengthened federations; more often, it has deepened existing divisions. The debate, therefore, should not be framed as one between those who favour additional provinces and those who oppose them. The real issue is whether territorial reorganisation genuinely addresses the underlying causes of poor governance or merely offers an attractive political slogan. A federation derives its strength not from the number of provinces appearing on its map but from the confidence its citizens repose in the fairness of its institutions. Where constitutional principles are respected, resources distributed equitably and local governments empowered, both large and small provinces can flourish. Where these foundations are absent, no amount of territorial rearrangement can compensate for institutional decay. Pakistan’s future will ultimately be determined less by the cartography of its provinces than by the constitutional maturity of its federation. If new provinces emerge through genuine constitutional consensus and demonstrable administrative necessity, they may well strengthen the federal structure. If, however, they arise merely as instruments of political convenience or regional rivalry, they risk replacing the promise of federalism with the peril of fragmentation.  The challenge before Pakistan, therefore, is not simply to decide how many provinces it should have. It is to determine whether the federation can faithfully uphold the constitutional promise of self-rule and shared rule upon which every enduring federal democracy ultimately depends. _____________________________________________________________________________ The writer, lawyer and author, is former Adjunct Faculty at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), a member Advisory Board and Senior Visiting Fellow of Pakistan Institute of Development Economics (PIDE)