Ecolinguistics and the Role of Media

The boundless and dynamic history of Seerah—the prophetic biography—bears witness to how every era’s intellectual currents, scholarly demands, and civilizational pressures have played a pivotal role in shaping the style of this sacred literary genre. In the earliest biographical periods, the primary objective was the preservation of prophetic traces and historical continuity, which later evolved during the medieval age into polemical, defensive, and theological debates. Up until the mid-twentieth century, the major goal of Seerah writing remained a reasoned defense against Western Orientalist objections alongside historical verification. However, in this fast-paced, technology-driven, and metaphysics-averse scientific age of the twenty-first century—where the prevailing trend is to test every narrative against data, logic, and objective criteria—there has been an intense, growing need to present the Seerah of the Prophet (PBUH) with an intellectual cadence that steps outside traditional rhetoric to directly appeal to the modern scientific mind and international academic paradigms. To bridge this intellectual gap, Dr. Ashfaq Ahmed—a distinguished professor of computer science and engineering at the University of Texas at Arlington and director of the Center for Advanced Computing Systems—authored a valuable English work titled The Perfect Human, Muhammad (PBUH). To bring this book into the broader Urdu sphere and facilitate access for intellectual and academic circles, Saqlain Shaukat translated it into Urdu under the title Bashar-e-Kamil: Muhammad ﷺ, an endeavor that undeniably holds a prominent and esteemed place in our intellectual world. The most distinctive quality of this book is that its author is not a traditional graduate of a religious seminary or a conventional orator, but rather a scientist accustomed to weighing every phenomenon through algorithmic precision, systematic models, and multi-level bibliographies. The undertaking of Seerah by a computer science professor with such meticulousness—weaving historical events into a fact-based narrative—bestows upon the account a rare academic and objective validity. Abandoning traditional emotional hyperbole, the author adopts a methodology of historical and documentary evidence that convinces the reader the life of the Prophet (PBUH) is not merely a scattered collection of emotional episodes, but rather the most authentic and actionable code for human evolution and global civilizational formation. The first part of the book comprises fifty-three detailed chapters, presenting a continuous historical narrative of the Prophet’s (PBUH) life. The true uniqueness of this section lies in how the author intertwines nearly fifteen hundred Quranic verses and authentic references from other heavenly scriptures into the text with such skill that the Quran itself becomes the speaker of the Seerah. In particular, the critical analysis applied to the Constitution of Medina (Mithaq-e-Madinah), the documentary treaties of the Medinan state, and other political and social conditions offers rich intellectual nourishment for students of international law, modern political science, and sociology. The second part of this scholarly masterpiece represents an entirely novel and unique chapter in the history of Seerah writing. This section encompasses comprehensive research statements based on one hundred distinct human attributes extracted from the individual, collective, and moral life of the Prophet (PBUH). Each attribute is connected to the historical and Quranic evidence of the first part in such a way that it ceases to be mere verbal advice and instead becomes a living, dynamic model of action. For today’s globalized world—which suffers from materialism, moral decline, and severe intellectual chaos—these one hundred attributes serve as a Magna Carta fully capable of restoring the fractured equilibrium of modern man. The most significant aspect distinguishing this work from traditional Seerah books is its systematic model and algorithmic framework. As an engineering professor, Dr. Ashfaq Ahmed has transitioned the study of Islamic history and the Seerah away from traditional narrative and into a structured system and source code. The one hundred attributes listed at the end of the book are essentially a reverse engineering of the Seerah, providing modern humanity, the corporate world, and academic institutions with a moral source code that any organization in the world can implement to achieve professional success—provided it is applied independently of its colonial and unjust frameworks. Furthermore, the balanced academic perspective that Dr. Ashfaq Ahmed establishes to foster interfaith harmony and intellectual tolerance acts as a robust intellectual bridge for the new generation living in the West and for non-Muslim academies. However, when this book is examined critically through the lens of objective, deep Islamic thought and history, certain fundamental contradictions become apparent in its methodology and narrative, limiting its universal utility to a degree. It is most important to clarify here that Islam is by no means opposed to science or objective research. Throughout Islamic history, illustrious Muslim scientists such as Ibn al-Haytham, al-Khwarizmi, and al-Biruni enlightened humanity precisely by integrating faith with scientific reasoning. Therefore, Dr. Ashfaq Ahmed’s methodology is not an inherent intellectual deviation; rather, its true tragedy lies in the fact that, in its scramble to satisfy the modern scientific mind, it sidelines Islam’s divine and metaphysical essence. The understanding of the prophetic Seerah in Islam is not merely a dry collection of historical events, political treaties, or social algorithms. It is built upon a spiritual equilibrium of divine revelation from heavenly sources, miracles that transcend intellect, and a profound love for the Divine—elements that cannot be entirely imprisoned within the mold of computer science source codes. When an author begins to present the Seerah as a corporate model, they inadvertently weaken the metaphysical beauty of the religion, which offers humanity deep spiritual fulfillment alongside intellectual satisfaction. The second critical observation regarding this assessment is that, in attempting to satisfy the modern scientific mind, the author occasionally reduces historical events to material causes, effectively rendering the original element of miraculous and divine succor either entirely absent or marginalized. An authentic Muslim intellectual perspective maintains that while the material causes of Islamic history hold their proper place, the operational force behind them is divine will and unseen support—the fundamental catalyst without which the entire narrative of the Seerah feels incomplete and lifeless. The book’s assertion that the Magna Carta of the Prophet’s (PBUH) attributes serves as a source code for the

In my view, Nawaz Sharif’s political revival is no longer just a possibility; it is clearly taking shape. His decision to return to the political frontline and personally lead the Pakistan Muslim League (N)’s campaign in Azad Jammu and Kashmir shows a leader who understands timing, patience and political strategy. The massive rallies in Muzaffarabad and Mirpur were not just election gatherings; they carried a much bigger political message. They demonstrated, in my opinion, that Nawaz Sharif still has the ability to attract large crowds and energise his supporters. For many party workers and voters who had been missing his direct presence, his return to the campaign stage created renewed confidence and enthusiasm. At the same time, these rallies sent a strong message to his political opponents and to those analysts who had predicted that Nawaz Sharif had retired from active politics. His presence on the ground has challenged that narrative and shown that he remains a central figure in Pakistan’s political landscape. During my last two meetings with Nawaz Sharif — one in the Galyat hills near Murree and another at Jati Umra, Raiwind — I observed a leader who appeared to be carefully planning his political revival. My impression was that he was not looking for a short-term political comeback but working on a long-term strategy. I have seen this before — not once, but twice. The first time was in 2006, when Nawaz Sharif came to London after leaving Saudi Arabia following his years in exile. I observed how he patiently rebuilt his political network, reconnected with party workers and gradually prepared the ground for his return to Pakistan’s political arena. The second time was before the 2024 general elections. During the more than three years he spent in London, I saw a similar approach — careful planning, political consultations and a gradual strategy to return at the right moment. In my opinion, the current phase follows the same pattern. Nawaz Sharif has relied on a team approach. At the centre, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif has focused on managing difficult economic, diplomatic and political challenges. His supporters believe his administration has helped improve Pakistan’s international engagement and presented the country as an important voice on global issues. On the other hand, Maryam Nawaz Sharif has emerged as a key part of this political strategy. As Chief Minister of Punjab, she has focused on development projects, infrastructure, public service delivery and administrative reforms. In my view, her performance has helped create the perception of a new generation of leadership within the PML-N. Punjab has, in my assessment, become an important example of the party’s governance message — that provinces can deliver through development, better infrastructure, improved administration and stronger public services. Nawaz Sharif’s political strength is also linked to his record as Prime Minister. His supporters highlight his focus on infrastructure development, including motorways, energy projects and large-scale national schemes. They argue that during his governments Pakistan moved towards economic stability, with greater emphasis on investment, connectivity and development. While political opinions about his governments differ, there is no doubt that Nawaz Sharif remains one of Pakistan’s most experienced political figures. With decades of experience in public life, he is among the most senior leaders in the region and has maintained relationships with world leaders. His experience in governance, diplomacy and international affairs remains one of his biggest political assets. Today, in my view, Nawaz Sharif is attempting another carefully planned political comeback. His direct involvement in the Azad Kashmir election campaign suggests that he is once again taking command of the political direction of his party. I believe his strategy is working because he is repeating a formula he has used before: patience, organisation, strengthening his team and returning to the people when he believes the political environment is favourable. History will ultimately be judged by the voters, but from my observations over the past two decades, Nawaz Sharif’s political revival appears to be following a familiar and carefully planned path.

Connecting Gilgit-Baltistan (GB) to the National Grid—and guaranteeing a dedicated clean hydro quota—is not merely an infrastructural goal; it is an ecological imperative and the definitive key to realizing the region’s full potential. High in the Karakoram and Himalayan ranges, where soaring glaciers feed the roaring Indus River, sits Gilgit-Baltistan—a land defined by its breathtaking landscapes, strategic geopolitical footprint, and an excruciating policy failure. Though this high-mountain region acts as the primary water tower of Pakistan, generating the very lifeblood that sustains the nation’s agricultural heartland and downstream hydroelectric dams, its own citizens spend their lives in perpetual darkness. For nearly eight decades since independence, the people of Gilgit-Baltistan have endured a chronic, soul-crushing energy crisis. In the harsh high-altitude winters, when temperatures plunge far below freezing and regional run-of-the-river hydel plants freeze solid or lose flow, power outages stretch to an agonizing twenty-two hours a day. Entire cities like Skardu and Gilgit grind to an absolute halt. Modern medical facilities run on expensive, precarious diesel generators, students study by the dim flicker of kerosene lamps, and families are forced to strip fragile mountain ecosystems of firewood simply to survive the winter. This domestic isolation becomes outright tragic when set against the backdrop of broader South Asian regional integration. Today, cross-border grid interconnections are becoming standard practice across the subcontinent. India has built high-voltage transmission lines linking its power architecture with Bhutan, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Myanmar, while making major technical strides to link Sri Lanka across the Palk Strait. Under frameworks like the “One Sun, One World, One Grid” initiative, neighboring nations seamlessly buy, sell, and route cross-border electricity to balance seasonal surpluses and deficits. Bhutan finances its national development by wheeling clean hydro power directly into the Indian market. Nepal trades its monsoon hydro surpluses across borders to avoid spilling water, pulling power back when river flows decline. Even nations separated by deep political, geographic, and sovereign boundaries manage to run copper and steel across international borders so their citizens do not sit in the dark. Yet, after 79 years of shared history, Pakistan presents an embarrassing anomaly. The state has built a national power grid that spans thousands of miles from the Arabian Sea to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and downcountry Pakistan often wrestles with systemic generation capacity surpluses, yet it has failed to link its own sovereign territory of Gilgit-Baltistan to the National Grid. Gilgit-Baltistan remains an island—an off-grid enclave stranded inside its own country, cut off from the main transmission backbone. While foreign nations in South Asia trade thousands of megawatts in real time across sovereign borders, Pakistan’s own northern frontier cannot draw a single kilowatt from the national thermal and solar reserves down south during the freezing winter months. This policy neglect is even more absurd considering that mere miles from where local populations freeze, one of the greatest engineering feats in South Asian history is taking shape. The Diamer Basha Dam Project, currently under construction near Chilas on the River Indus, boasts an astounding installed generation capacity of 4,500 megawatts and an expected annual output of over eighteen billion units of clean, renewable energy. The dam will transform Pakistan’s national economy, but it raises a fundamental moral and legal question: will it transform the lives of the people living in its shadow, or will the power simply pass over their heads to serve distant urban centers while local towns remain dark? To correct a structural imbalance that has persisted since 1947, the Federal Government of Pakistan and the Water and Power Development Authority (WAPDA) must formally dedicate a guaranteed quota of 500 megawatts of power from the Diamer Basha Dam directly to Gilgit-Baltistan. This allocation is not an act of federal charity; it is a pragmatic, economically transformative, and ethically mandatory policy that aligns local resource rights with national progress. To understand why a 500-megawatt direct allocation is essential, one must look at the region’s fragile, isolated micro-hydel infrastructure. Historically, Gilgit-Baltistan has relied on small-scale localized plants built on seasonal mountain streams. While these plants function adequately during the summer melt, they are acutely vulnerable to climate shifts and freeze cycles. When winter arrives and glacial run-offs plummet, local power generation drops by over eighty percent. Because the region is not connected to the main transmission grid, it cannot import balancing power, leaving the local economy frozen. Despite possessing immense potential as an international hub for eco-tourism, organic agriculture, high-altitude software hubs, and gemstone processing, serious industrial investors routinely stay away due to acute energy insecurity. The cost of doing business is artificially inflated by reliance on imported fossil fuels, creating a cycle of underdevelopment that forces educated, talented youth to migrate to major cities downcountry in search of basic livelihoods. Allocating 500 megawatts out of Diamer Basha’s 4,500-megawatt capacity represents just eleven percent of the dam’s total output. For the national power sector, absorbing this slight allocation is negligible. For Gilgit-Baltistan, however, this capacity is transformative. It represents complete regional energy self-sufficiency, year-round grid stability, and surplus capacity to fuel industrial growth for generations. To execute this vision cleanly and equitably, a structured cost-sharing implementation model must be established between the federal center and the region. The federal government and WAPDA must formally ring-fence a 500-megawatt generation quota from the powerhouse specifically for the region at concessional local tariffs. In return, the regional government of Gilgit-Baltistan must take complete ownership of downstream execution. The regional government must build high-voltage transmission lines connecting the powerhouse at Chilas to major regional load centers like Gilgit, Skardu, Hunza, and Ghizer, while overhauling local grid stations and distribution lines. By dividing responsibility—federal generation matched by regional distribution—both parties build a long-overdue partnership rooted in shared accountability. An allocation of this scale does far more than illuminate living rooms; it fundamentally reshapes the socio-economic trajectory of the entire northern frontier. With a dependable baseload, Gilgit-Baltistan can transition from a subsistence economy to a value-added manufacturing and processing hub. Local mineral wealth—including high-grade marble, granite, and precious gemstones—can be processed

For much of the past half-century, the Middle East was described in binaries: Arab and Israeli, Sunni and Shia, American ally and adversary. That framework is no longer sufficient. In the span of 18 months, two events have forced a fundamental reassessment of regional order: a Chinese-brokered handshake between Saudi Arabia and Iran in March 2023, and the eruption of war in Gaza in October 2023. Together, they have set in motion a realignment that is testing old alliances, elevating new mediators, and leaving the future of American-backed normalization efforts deeply uncertain.   The significance extends well beyond the region. How power is distributed between Riyadh, Tehran, Ankara, Cairo and Tel Aviv shapes global energy markets, maritime security in the Red Sea, nuclear non-proliferation, and great-power competition between the United States and China. What emerges is not a new stable order, but a fluid period of transactional diplomacy in which ideology is increasingly subordinated to regime survival and economic interest.   A Rapprochement Brokered in Beijing   The agreement announced on March 10, 2023, that Saudi Arabia and Iran would restore diplomatic relations after a seven-year rupture was remarkable less for its content than for its venue. The deal was negotiated over four days in Beijing, with China acting as guarantor.   The context was pragmatic. For Saudi Arabia, under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, foreign policy has become inseparable from Vision 2030, an ambitious plan to diversify the economy away from oil. That vision requires regional calm. The years preceding the deal saw drone and missile attacks on Saudi oil infrastructure at Abqaiq and Khurais, a costly and inconclusive war in Yemen where Tehran backed the Houthi movement, and rising oil price volatility. De-escalation with Iran offered a path to contain those risks.   For Iran, the calculus was equally material. Facing stringent international sanctions, inflation above 40 percent at the time, and domestic unrest following the death of Mahsa Amini in 2022, Tehran sought diplomatic breathing room and economic openings, particularly with Gulf states that could provide investment and trade channels.   China’s role was both opportunistic and strategic. As the largest buyer of both Saudi and Iranian crude, Beijing had unique leverage and a direct interest in the stability of Gulf shipping lanes. The mediation allowed China to present itself as a responsible alternative to the United States, a power broker capable of delivering outcomes Washington could not, given its lack of diplomatic ties with Iran. Analysts in Washington and Brussels were quick to note the limits of this shift: China did not replace the U.S. security umbrella that Saudi Arabia and the Gulf states continue to rely on, nor did it offer a framework for resolving deeper sectarian and strategic rivalries. The agreement did not settle disputes over Yemen, Syria, Lebanon, or Iran’s nuclear program. It did, however, establish that regional rivals were willing to manage competition through dialogue rather than direct confrontation, and that Beijing was willing to facilitate it.   The Abraham Accords on Hold   If the Saudi-Iran détente represented one vector of realignment, the Abraham Accords represented another. Signed in 2020, the U.S.-brokered agreements that normalized relations between Israel and the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, and Morocco marked a paradigm shift. They rested on the premise that shared concerns over Iran and shared economic interests could advance Arab-Israeli normalization even without resolution of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.   By mid-2023, attention had turned to the potential prize of Saudi-Israeli normalization. U.S. officials pursued an ambitious package that would have linked a Saudi-Israel deal with U.S. security guarantees for Riyadh and support for a civilian nuclear program, alongside concessions toward the Palestinians.   The war in Gaza, triggered by Hamas’s attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, which killed approximately 1,200 people and led to the abduction of more than 250 hostages, and followed by Israel’s military campaign in Gaza, which Gaza health authorities report has killed tens of thousands, has fundamentally altered that trajectory.   Saudi Arabia has not abandoned the idea of normalization, but it has recalibrated its public conditions. Riyadh has stated repeatedly that any deal now requires a credible, irreversible path toward a Palestinian state. This position reflects both genuine concern over the humanitarian situation in Gaza and a reading of domestic and wider Arab public opinion, where images from the war have generated widespread anger.   For the UAE and Bahrain, which maintained their embassies in Israel throughout the war, the Accords have endured but become more subdued. Economic and security cooperation, particularly on technology, trade, and air defense against Iranian drones, has continued behind closed doors. Public-facing celebration of the accords, however, has largely been suspended. The experience has highlighted a duality: the Accords have proven resilient as state-to-state security arrangements, but fragile as instruments of broader regional integration without progress on the Palestinian question.   Gaza and the Redistribution of Influence   The prolonged conflict in Gaza has accelerated several regional trends. First, it has restored the centrality of the Palestinian issue to Arab diplomacy, after a period when many policymakers assumed it could be sidelined.   Second, it has empowered non-state actors and redefined deterrence. The near-daily exchange of fire between Israel and Hezbollah until a late-2024 ceasefire, attacks on international shipping by the Houthis in the Red Sea that disrupted an estimated 12 percent of global trade at its peak, and direct Iranian-Israeli missile exchanges in April 2024 demonstrated that escalation management has become the defining security challenge of the region.   Third, it has created space for middle powers to mediate. Qatar, alongside Egypt and the United States, emerged as a central mediator in hostage and ceasefire negotiations due to its channels to Hamas. Turkey has sought to leverage its political support for the Palestinian cause while maintaining economic ties with Israel. Oman has continued its quiet role as a back-channel facilitator.   For the United States, the war has illustrated both its indispensability and its constraints. Washington remains the only power capable

One question stayed with me long after I attended a workshop under the project titled ‘Digital Trust and Free Expression in the Era of AI’, organized by the Department of Media and Development Communication, University of the Punjab with the support of the U.S. Mission to Pakistan in partnership with the Pakistan-U.S. Alumni Network, was, ‘How will we preserve digital trust and free expression in the age of AI’? As AI becomes an integral part of digital journalism, the question is no longer whether it should be used, and more importantly who should be held responsible when things go wrong. Artificial Intelligence has definitely proven to be a powerful tool for journalists. It can summarize long reports, translate content into multiple languages, follow breaking news, analyze vast quantities of data and even write complete news reports in seconds. All of these capabilities have revolutionized newsroom processes and enabled journalists to process information more efficiently than ever before. But efficiency is not the only measure of ethical journalism. Journalism isn’t about being fast, it’s about informing the public accurately, fairly and responsibly. One of the most valuable lessons I learned from the workshop was that AI does not understand information; it predicts the most likely response based on patterns in the data it has learned from. This distinction is important because when reliable information is unavailable at the time, AI generates responses that seem convincing but inaccurate, but are wrong, which is often referred to as AI hallucination. What’s most concerning is that the AI generated mistakes can appear convincing enough for people to accept them as true. This poses an ethical question: Who should be held responsible if AI-generated news contains misleading information? The burden can’t be placed entirely on the algorithm. AI has no moral judgement or legal accountability. It cannot distinguish between public interest and public harm and is not aware of the social consequences of publishing inaccurate information. This means that the responsibility rests with those who decide to employ these technologies: journalists, editors, newsroom leaders, and media organizations. While AI can help create content, it cannot replace responsibility. This is where ethics become more important than technological advancements. Checking information should not take a back seat to the ‘Publish first’ mentality. With all of the digital platforms that exist today, misinformation can spread from continent to continent within minutes and corrections often fail to reach the same audience. Each unverified headline altered photo or AI-generated mistake can damage the public’s trust, both in a specific news organization and in journalism.   The discussions also reinforced the importance of Media and Information Literacy (MIL). Verification is not only the responsibility of journalists, but also something that is necessary for every digital citizen. Learning how to use reverse image search, source verification techniques, and critical evaluation of online information is no longer an option, it’s essential for protecting ourselves from deception. As AI-generated content becomes increasingly sophisticated, it is essential to verify information before accepting it as true. AI will continue to evolve and so will digital journalism. The challenge is not innovation itself but using it responsibly. Trust is not something algorithms can build, it is something that can be gained only through transparency, accountability and a steadfast dedication to truth. While adopting new technologies to do journalism, let’s not forget that the tools should enhance journalism’s values, not shape journalism. AI may help write the news, but only humans can uphold the ethics behind it. The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in this blog are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the U.S. Mission to Pakistan or USEFP.

By Dr. Shahzad Ali Gill There are two numbers Pakistan’s policymakers should learn to say in the same breath. The first is USD 100 billion, which the Ministry of Maritime Affairs (MoMA) believes the blue economy could be worth every year if the country’s coastline, fisheries, shipping lanes and offshore basins were properly developed. The second is USD 5.8 bn, what a single badly handled investment agreement, in a mining project nowhere near the sea, once cost the national exchequer in an international arbitration award. Until we learn to think about these two numbers together, the first will remain a slogan and the second will remain a warning we keep failing to heed. Pakistan’s maritime endowment is not in question. The country has a coastline of 1,001 kilometres along Sindh and Balochistan, and an Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) of 240,000 square kilometres, expanded by a further 50,000 square kilometres continental shelf claim that the United Nations approved back in 2015. And yet, by the MoMA’s own reckoning, the blue economy, shipping, fisheries, offshore energy, coastal tourism and the activity that clusters around them contribute barely 0.4 per cent to Gross Domestic Product (GDP), or about USD 1bn a year. The same ministry has set its sights on USD 100 bn annually through “Maritime@100”, a roadmap to reach that target by 2047, at a time when the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) projects the global ocean economy will exceed USD 3 trillion by 2030. According to the 2026 report of UN Trade and Development (UNCTAD), the ocean trade has already reached USD 2.5 tn in 2025. The gap between what Pakistan has and what it is leaving on the table is, by any measure, enormous. Closing that gap will not happen through speeches. It will happen, almost entirely, through two unglamorous legal instruments that include concession agreements and implementation agreements. A concession agreement grants a private party the right to finance, build, and operate a public asset – a port, most often – for a fixed term in exchange for tariffs or a share of revenue, with the asset reverting to the state once the term ends, a model commonly called build-operate-transfer or build-own-operate-transfer (BOT/BOOT). An implementation agreement works differently. It is a direct undertaking between the government and a project company, sitting alongside a commercial contract such as a power purchase agreement (PPA), through which the state offers sovereign guarantees, regulatory consents and tax assurances without handing over rights to any public asset. Every deep-sea port, LNG terminal, and offshore drilling concession Pakistan signs over the next two decades will be built on one or the other. That is precisely why getting their terms right matters the most. What Gwadar already taught us We do not need to imagine how this plays out; we have Gwadar. The original Gwadar Port Concession Agreement, signed in 2007 between the Gwadar Port Authority (GPA) and a foreign operator, Singapore Port Authority (SPA), and later transferred to the China Overseas Ports Holding Company (COPHC) in 2013, carried a 20-year corporate tax exemption and a government revenue share of 9% of port income plus 15% from the adjoining Special Economic Zone (SEZ). That should have been the ceiling. Instead, between 2015 and 2020, the Economic Coordination Committee (ECC) of the cabinet extended the income tax holiday to 23 years, widened it to cover contractors and sub-contractors as well, and granted the 923-hectare Gwadar Free Zone a land lease running up to 99 years. Each renegotiation made the deal more generous to the investor, never less. That is the pattern to watch for since the concessions in Pakistan rarely tighten once signed. They only ever loosen. This should trouble us more than it does, because Article 77 of the Constitution reserves the power to levy federal taxes exclusively for Parliament. Yet most of these concession-era tax holidays and customs exemptions are not legislated at all; they arrive through Statutory Regulatory Orders (SROs) and amendments to existing tax schedules, executive instruments that nonetheless bind the state for 20 to 40 years at a stretch. And Gwadar is not the exception; it is the template. The number of special economic zones (SEZs) has surged from seven to 44, under the second phase of the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), carrying broadly similar concession packages. Every one of them represents a slice of fiscal sovereignty quietly signed away by the executive, on terms that no future Parliament will find easy to unwind. The warning we already received If Gwadar shows how concessions deepen, Reko Diq shows what happens when they collapse, and although it is a mining dispute, not a maritime one, the lesson is structural, not sectoral. After Balochistan denied a mining lease to the Tethyan Copper Company (TCC) in 2011 and the Supreme Court of Pakistan voided the underlying exploration agreement in 2013, the International Centre for Settlement of Investment Disputes (ICSID) ruled against Pakistan in 2019 under the Pakistan-Australia Bilateral Investment Treaty (BIT), awarding damages of roughly USD 5.8 bn, one of the largest sums in the history of ICSID. A separate dispute brought by the Turkish power producer Karkey under the Pakistan-Turkey BIT had already cost the country USD 760 million the year before. Both were eventually settled out of court. Reko Diq in 2022, with Barrick Gold taking a 50 per cent stake alongside federal state-owned enterprises (SOEs) and the Balochistan government, each holding 25%, but the exposure that produced those numbers in the first place has not gone away. Every offshore exploration block, port concession, and LNG agreement Pakistan signs carries almost the same treaty protections and the same risk of ending up before the same arbitration tribunals. The other half of the bargain There is a second risk that rarely gets discussed alongside the first. The Foreign Exchange Manual issued by the State Bank of Pakistan (SBP) under the Foreign Exchange Regulation Act (FERA), 1947, governs how the profits, dividends, and disinvestment proceeds promised under these agreements can actually leave the country.