Nelson Mandela: The Statesman Who Transformed the …

A few years back, the 18th Amendment was introduced with the promise that devolution of power is necessary to solve the people’s problems. It was necessary to empower people and bring resources to the ground level to positively impact their lives. The devolution of power was promised through the establishment of strong local governments.    However, devolution stalled at the provincial level.  Provincial governments refused to grant the promised autonomy to local governments. Moreover, local governments do not have financial autonomy at all, which is a prerequisite to empower them. For example, political parties at the provincial level use it to get maximum financial resources and autonomy, but refuse to devolve it to local governments.  Therefore, instead of benefiting people and the country, it has added to problems. Now, it is on the verge of collapse. Many voices ask to roll back the 18th Amendment, and they are justified.     Now the debate has started about creating new provinces, and the size of provinces is portrayed as a problem, as devolution of power and local governments were portrayed before the 18th Amendment. However, before creating new provinces, there is a need to learn from the failure of the 18th Amendment. It is necessary to analyze the reasons for the failure of the 18th Amendment. There can be many reasons, but the most prominent ones were governance and political culture. Thus, there is a need to first understand these before venturing into creating new provinces.    What is governance? There are different ways to define governance, but for me, “governance is an art and a science for satisfying people’s needs, building institutions to protect their interests and life, and keeping people’s aspirations or dreams alive. Governance is a basic ingredient of state-building and sustaining it; rather, it shoulders the existence of the state. Why? Because it ensures justice and social justice, provides security, and protects people from injustice and security threats. It holds true from ancient times to modern statehood. Hence, it is used to measure a country’s success and failure.    Over time, humans have developed different models of governance. In modern history, there are three prominent models: Western, socialist, and empathy-based (Islamic) models. The Western model, based on Liberal democracy, prefers democratic governance, which hinges on elections and accountability. It works through the slogan “government of the people, by the people, and for the people.” Unfortunately, over time, this slogan and accountability began to weaken, and elections alone remain the main component. Moreover, manipulation of the election process and the use of money further weaken the system, as marginalized people get pushed out of the system. Popular slogans, identity, ethnicity, and hate become the driving force.      The socialist model is based on the slogan of people-centric governance and the whole-process people’s democracy. People-centric governance means all policies and actions must be people-oriented, and outcomes must serve the people and bring positive change in their lives. The whole process of people’s democracy means that the interaction between the state and the people is continuous, not just at election time. Moreover, the merit and character of governance actors are determining factors to ensure people-centric governance. This model was invented in China and is practiced there, where it has achieved remarkable success.     The Islamic model hinges on three fundamental pillars: empathy, people, and accountability, in accordance with Sharia law. Empathy and people must be the focus of all policies and actions at all levels. People’s say must matter at all levels. Accountability must be ensured at all levels, without any discrimination. Famous incidents of Hazarat Umer (RA) and Hazarat Ali provide the true essence of accountability and governance. Lastly, the actors of governance must have the highest virtuous character and should not engage in any form of prejudiced behavior. Unfortunately, it is not practiced anywhere in the contemporary world.       From the above comparison, it can be inferred that despite differences in philosophy and actions, the goal of each model remains the same: to serve the people. Serving the people is the key to sustaining power and the state.    Unfortunately, Pakistan does not follow any of these models. Pakistan has its own style of governance, which is a mix of everything, and we cannot say exactly what it is. However, the most prominent features of our governance are relationship-based networks, misuse of power, and a money- and power-driven system. The system is devised through complicated webs of laws, rules, and requirements. It makes the system prone to corruption and rent-seeking behavior, exclusiveness, and clubs of interest groups, which have become common elements. The system operates through money in exchange for favors, business deals, or power and influence, and is facilitated by relationship-based networks.    It has given rise to a new type of governance model: elusive governance. There is no systematic way to plan and execute the plans. Plans are being made for short-term gains, not with proper planning or a futuristic approach. Haphazardness has become the most prominent feature of governance. People and people’s interests are largely missing. Let’s try to understand it with an example from Islamabad, the seat of government.    A few years ago, the Pakistani government initiated the Safe City program. The government spent billions of rupees to complete the Safe City program. It was sold as a program to secure the people. After that, a new government came to power and initiated the construction of signal-free corridors by building underpasses and flyovers. The government again spent billions of rupees to build the signal-free corridors. People were told it was being done to serve them by facilitating mobility. The process is still going on.     After spending hundreds of billions on the Safe City program and signal-free corridors, the government one day decided to install check posts at major points. The installation of check posts severely disrupts traffic flow and puts the lives of hundreds of people at risk across the city every day. Now, a common-sense question is: why do governments spend

Educational debates in Pakistan usually begin with schools and end with universities. Somewhere in between lies a vast public college network that has quietly undergone a transformation without receiving the reforms necessary to sustain it. For decades, colleges were viewed merely as institutions imparting Intermediate education. That perception is now obsolete. Government colleges across Pakistan award four-year BS degrees, supervise undergraduate research, implement semester systems, and produce graduates completing sixteen years of education. They have become institutions of higher education in every meaningful sense except in the standards by which they recruit, promote and evaluate their faculty. The real crisis begins not when institutions disappear but when they continue to exist while quietly abandoning the purpose they were meant to serve. Pakistan’s college education system increasingly reflects this uncomfortable reality. Buildings stand, classrooms remain occupied, salaries are paid and degrees continue to be awarded, yet the intellectual purpose that ought to define higher education is steadily weakening. The system continues to function, but it no longer asks whether it is producing scholars, researchers and critical thinkers or merely issuing degrees. This contradiction is not merely administrative. It is national. Countries do not build knowledge economies simply by increasing enrolment or opening new campuses. They do so by ensuring that those entrusted with educating the next generation possess the intellectual depth, scholarly discipline and professional integrity demanded by higher education. Pakistan has expanded the responsibilities of its colleges without fundamentally reforming the standards governing those who teach in them. It is this mismatch between expanding responsibilities and stagnant reforms that explains much of the present crisis. History offers repeated warnings against confusing continuity with progress. Great civilisations have seldom been defeated by ignorance alone; far more often, they have been weakened by their refusal to reform. Ancient Troy believed its mighty walls guaranteed safety until destruction entered concealed within the famous wooden horse. Institutions, too, often collapse not because external forces overwhelm them but because internal weaknesses become too familiar to recognise. Pakistan’s colleges face a similar danger. The greatest threat is not inadequate infrastructure or declining enrolment. It is the quiet normalisation of standards that no longer correspond with the responsibilities these institutions now carry. Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in faculty recruitment. Every education system is ultimately only as strong as the people it appoints to teach. Laboratories, libraries and curricula matter, but they cannot compensate for weak academic recruitment. A nation’s classrooms reflect the intellectual standards it establishes at the point of entry into the profession. Countries that consistently perform well in higher education understand this principle with remarkable clarity. Finland recruits teachers from among its highest-performing graduates and treats teaching as one of the country’s most competitive professions. Singapore invests heavily in teacher selection, structured professional development and continuous evaluation throughout an educator’s career. South Korea subjects aspiring academics to rigorous competition, while Germany closely links academic progression with scholarly achievement and research productivity. These countries differ in culture, politics and economic history, yet they share one conviction that higher education depends first and foremost upon the quality of its faculty. Pakistan, regrettably, often operates on a different assumption. Recruitment is frequently treated as the culmination of academic achievement rather than its beginning. A lecturer appointed with only a sixteen years education may spend an entire career within the same system without acquiring higher qualifications or contributing substantially to research, yet still retire after holding senior academic positions carrying the titles of Associate Professor or Professor. Such a framework might have appeared understandable when colleges were primarily institutions for Intermediate education. It becomes increasingly indefensible once those same institutions award undergraduate degrees equivalent to those offered by universities. Academic titles should signify scholarly accomplishment rather than the mere passage of time. Across the world, the designation of Professor represents sustained intellectual contribution, recognised research, advanced qualifications and academic leadership. When promotion depends overwhelmingly upon seniority rather than scholarship, titles gradually lose their meaning. The loss is not symbolic alone. It diminishes public confidence in higher education itself. This is not an argument against experience. Experience remains indispensable in teaching. A seasoned educator often possesses insights that no newly qualified academic can immediately acquire. Classrooms are enriched by years of interaction with students, evolving pedagogical techniques and practical wisdom accumulated over decades. Experience, however, should complement scholarship, not replace it. Knowledge no longer remains static for an entire career. Disciplines evolve at astonishing speed. Artificial Intelligence is reshaping linguistics, medicine, engineering, law and the humanities alike. Climate science has transformed environmental studies. Digital humanities have altered literary scholarship. Advances in neuroscience continue redefining educational psychology. A qualification earned thirty years ago, valuable though it remains, cannot alone certify mastery over fields that have changed beyond recognition. Medicine provides an obvious comparison. No patient would willingly place complete trust in a surgeon who had never updated professional knowledge after graduation. Engineers continually adapt to changing technologies and safety standards. Judges engage with evolving constitutional interpretation. Military officers undergo regular professional education throughout their service. Every serious profession recognises that learning is continuous. Higher education cannot become the sole profession where intellectual growth effectively ends with appointment. The irony is that Pakistan’s college sector contains thousands of exceptionally capable teachers who have voluntarily pursued MPhil and PhD degrees despite limited institutional incentives. Many complete advanced research while balancing heavy teaching schedules, administrative responsibilities and family obligations. Their commitment deserves recognition because it reflects a genuine desire to improve professionally rather than merely fulfil formal requirements. Yet the existing structure frequently sends the opposite message. Promotion often rewards waiting more consistently than learning. When advanced qualifications receive insufficient institutional value, the incentive to pursue rigorous scholarship inevitably weakens. No education system can flourish if intellectual ambition appears optional while seniority remains sufficient. The anomaly becomes even more striking when one examines the present hierarchy within many public colleges. It is no longer uncommon to find an MPhil-qualified lecturer or even a PhD serving under an officer whose highest

For eighteen years, I have made a quiet, sometimes lonely case: that technology, not more paperwork and more offices, is the only honest path to good governance in Pakistan. I did not arrive at this conviction from a textbook. I arrived at it from a desk inside the Planning Commission, watching a system that was designed — on paper — to deliver development, and instead delivered delay, opacity, and grievance. Anyone who has sat through the sanctioning of a Public Sector Development Program (PSDP) project knows the ritual. The feasibility study is glowing. The PC-1 is approved with confident projections. Committees nod. Funds are released. And then the project disappears into the machinery of provincial implementation, where oversight thins out and accountability evaporates. What was promised on paper and what is delivered on the ground are, more often than not, two entirely different stories. I watched this happen again and again, and each time the gap between sanction and delivery was not explained by a shortage of money or expertise. It was explained by bureaucracy — a system built not to serve citizens but to preserve itself. This is not an abstract observation. It is the root of a very real and very dangerous problem. A significant part of the unrest we see in Balochistan, in Azad Jammu and Kashmir, and in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa is not simply about resources or geography. It is about the absence of transparency and the absence of governance that people can see, question, and trust. When a citizen cannot find out where a development fund went, when a project sanctioned in Islamabad never materializes as promised in a district headquarters, when the only visible authority is a bureaucrat with a stamp and a discretionary signature, resentment grows. People do not rebel against distance from the capital. They rebel against being governed by a system that treats them as subjects to be managed rather than citizens to be served. And here is the tragedy that too few are willing to name plainly: the bureaucratic architecture we still operate under was never designed to serve the governed. It was designed by the British Raj to control a colonized population — to extract revenue, maintain order, and ensure that authority always flowed downward from a distant center, never upward from the people. Files, layers of clearance, and the personal discretion of an officer were features of a colonial control system, not instruments of democratic accountability. We inherited that machinery at independence and, astonishingly, kept it largely intact. The tool built to pacify a colony has been repurposed, with barely a redesign, to govern a republic. It should trouble us deeply that a structure engineered to keep a colonized people in check is now one of the principal reasons that Pakistan’s most marginalized regions distrust their own government. So when the conversation turns, as it periodically does, to creating new administrative units — carving out new divisions, new districts, new tiers of provincial machinery — as the answer to Balochistan’s or KPK’s grievances, I feel obligated to push back, loudly. Before we draw a single new administrative boundary, we must confront the core disease, not multiply its symptoms. New units will not dilute bureaucratic power; they will replicate it. Every new administrative tier is another office, another set of discretionary signatures, another opportunity for the same colonial-era logic of gatekeeping to entrench itself further. For the aggrieved citizen in Turbat or Muzaffarabad or Bannu, a new secretariat is not relief. It is simply a new address for the same unaccountable authority. We would be handing the bureaucracy — an institution that has shown a consistent instinct for self-preservation — more territory to govern, not less power to abuse. Real relief requires shrinking the space in which discretion operates unchecked, not expanding the number of desks where it can be exercised. This is precisely why the moment for AI-enabled local governance has arrived, and why Pakistan can no longer afford to treat it as a distant aspiration. Around the world, and notably across India, urban local bodies and municipalities are moving beyond basic digitization toward what might be called algorithms of accountability — systems purpose-built to increase transparency, limit human discretion where it invites abuse, and protect citizen data. These frameworks generally rest on a few consistent pillars: ensuring that automated public decisions on things like welfare disbursement or tax assessment can be audited and challenged rather than buried in a file; protecting citizen data through clear legal safeguards; requiring any private vendor supplying government technology to disclose how its systems work; and actively checking automated tools for bias against marginalized communities. The Indian experience offers concrete, transferable lessons. Municipal bodies in cities like Delhi and Bengaluru now use satellite imagery and mapping systems to flag unauthorized construction and property tax discrepancies — but critically, they pair this with a human-verification step, so an algorithm’s flag is only ever an advisory alert, not a final punishment, creating a documented trail a citizen can actually contest. States such as Telangana and Maharashtra have deployed multilingual citizen chatbots to handle civic complaints, built with data-masking safeguards that strip personal information before it ever touches a broader system. Smart-city command centers in Surat and Pune operate under strict data retention rules, so surveillance footage is automatically deleted unless tied to an active investigation, preventing the machinery from becoming a permanent surveillance state. And where facial-recognition attendance systems have been used to track municipal staff, unions pushed successfully for dispute mechanisms so that a technical glitch never costs a worker their wages. None of these systems eliminate human judgment. What they eliminate is unaccountable, invisible, discretionary human judgment — the exact currency the colonial bureaucracy was built to trade in. That is the reform Pakistan needs at the local government level: not another administrative layer, but a transparent, auditable, citizen-facing system that makes it structurally difficult for a project to vanish between sanction and delivery, and structurally easy for a citizen in the

As the fourth week of the US–Israel military campaign against Iran unfolded in March 2026, a major geopolitical shift reshaped South Asia and the Middle East. For years, India’s rise under Narendra Modi had dominated regional diplomacy while Pakistan faced marginalization and economic struggles. However, the outbreak of war in West Asia created an opportunity for Pakistan to leverage its geography and relationships to regain global relevance. Within weeks, Pakistan mounted a proactive and unified diplomatic effort led by Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and military chief Field Marshal Asim Munir, reversing its isolation and, according to observers, redirecting diplomatic pressure toward India. This “peace offensive” highlighted Pakistan’s strategic agility and exposed perceived weaknesses in India’s foreign policy, marking a striking turnaround in regional influence. This resurgence began after the US and Israel launched their offensive against Iran on February 28, 2026, forcing countries into difficult alignments. Pakistan instead positioned itself as a neutral stabilizer, maintaining ties with both the United States and Iran while emphasizing its stake in de-escalation due to its shared border with Iran. A rare civil-military unity drove this strategy: Sharif engaged the Muslim world and framed mediation as a moral duty, including direct outreach to Iran’s president, while Munir used high-level connections in Washington to open backchannel communications. His rapport with US leadership enabled message exchanges between American and Iranian officials, helping establish a temporary de-escalation and cementing Pakistan’s role as a key diplomatic intermediary. The effectiveness of this two-pronged approach became evident when President Trump announced a conditional pause on plans to “obliterate” Iranian energy infrastructure. In his announcement on the Truth Social platform, Trump cited “VERY GOOD AND PRODUCTIVE” conversations, a tacit acknowledgment of the behind-the-scenes efforts being made by Pakistan. Building on this momentum, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif made a formal, public offer on March 24, 2026, stating that Pakistan “stands ready and honoured to be the host to facilitate meaningful and conclusive talks” between the United States and Iran. In an extraordinary diplomatic signal that underscored the shift in Washington’s attitude toward Islamabad, President Trump reposted Sharif’s offer on his Truth Social account. This repost was widely interpreted by analysts and officials in Islamabad as Washington’s de facto endorsement of Pakistan’s emerging role as a credible and neutral mediator, capable of hosting what would be a historic breakthrough in one of the world’s most volatile conflicts. While the White House cautioned that such talks remained speculative, the very fact that Pakistan was being discussed as a potential venue—and that its leadership was publicly coordinating with Turkey and Egypt to secure a fragile pause in hostilities—represented a monumental diplomatic victory for a nation that had spent years trying to shake off its image as an international pariah. The strategic ramifications of Pakistan’s diplomatic surge extend far beyond the immediate conflict in West Asia, striking directly at the heart of India’s long-standing foreign policy objectives under Prime Minister Modi. For years, a central pillar of India’s global strategy was the policy of isolating Pakistan, portraying it as a sponsor of terrorism and an unstable, economically faltering state. By deepening India’s strategic partnerships with Western powers, including the United States, Israel, and the Gulf monarchies, New Delhi sought to limit Islamabad’s diplomatic space and marginalize its influence on the world stage. However, Pakistan’s performance as the lead mediator in the US-Iran conflict has fundamentally challenged this narrative. By demonstrating that it possesses “strategic synergy” and can act as a “responsible nuclear power” and a stabilizing force, Pakistan has proven itself to be an “indispensable actor” in a crisis where a larger power like India cannot provide the same utility. This development has been described by scholars like Vali Nasr as a calculated and highly effective move to prove that Pakistan is more than a “problem child,” capable of “walking the talk” on global peace. This reversal has been so stark that it has prompted open criticism of the Modi government from within India itself. Congress leader Jairam Ramesh, a prominent voice in the Indian opposition, issued a series of scathing statements on March 24, 2026, acknowledging that Pakistan’s diplomatic engagement and narrative management had been “markedly superior to that of the Modi Govt”. Ramesh went further, stating that the international media reports identifying Pakistan as a potential intermediary represented a “severe setback and rebuff to India”. He directly attributed this disadvantage to the “self-styled Vishwaguru” (world leader) foreign policy of Prime Minister Modi, arguing that despite India’s military successes, its diplomatic space in the region had shrunk over the previous year. A key point of criticism was Modi’s “ill-advised” visit to Israel just days before the US-Israel strikes on Iran, a move that Ramesh and other analysts argued fatally compromised any claim India might have had to neutrality in the conflict. In contrast, Pakistan, despite being a close US ally, was able to maintain a balanced posture, leveraging its ties with both Washington and Tehran to become the preferred interlocutor. The once-celebrated “hug diplomacy” of Prime Minister Modi, which sought to build deep personal relationships with global leaders, was now being characterized by critics as “brutally exposed,” unable to compete with the practical, geostrategic value that Pakistan was able to offer in a moment of acute crisis. The architect of Pakistan’s success in securing such favorable access to the US administration is widely acknowledged to be Field Marshal Asim Munir, whose efforts to rebuild ties with Washington began long before the war with Iran erupted. Throughout 2025, Munir engaged in a methodical campaign to reverse the diplomatic isolation that Pakistan experienced during the Biden administration. A pivotal moment came when Pakistan nominated President Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize, citing his role in de-escalating tensions between India and Pakistan. This shrewd move, which played to Trump’s well-known desire for the prestigious award, was rewarded with an invitation for Munir to a one-on-one White House lunch—a privilege rarely granted to a foreign military leader who was not also a head of state. Furthermore, Pakistan aligned

The debate over Pakistan’s administrative structure has returned to the national stage after Interior Minister Syed Mohsin Raza Naqvi suggested that the country should seriously examine the question of creating new provinces or administrative units. Predictably, the discussion immediately descended into familiar political slogans. Some portrayed the proposal as a threat to federalism, others embraced it as the long-awaited solution to governance failures. Between these two extremes lies a far more important question: what does the Constitution of Pakistan actually permit, and what course best serves national unity at a time of unprecedented regional instability? The timing of the debate is significant. Pakistan today faces persistent security challenges in Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, constitutional sensitivities relating to Azad Jammu and Kashmir, continuing political polarisation, and a rapidly deteriorating strategic environment as conflict in the Middle East threatens to reshape regional geopolitics. In such circumstances, constitutional reform should not be driven by political expediency. It must be guided by constitutional principles, empirical evidence and the long-term interests of the federation. The Constitution of islamic Republic of Pakistan is neither silent nor rigid on the question of creating new provinces. Article 1 recognises Pakistan as a federation consisting of provinces and territories whose limits may be altered in accordance with the Constitution. However, Article 239(4) places an important constitutional safeguard on any proposal affecting provincial boundaries. No constitutional amendment that alters the limits of a province can become law unless, in addition to obtaining the prescribed parliamentary majority, it is approved by not less than two-thirds of the members of the provincial assembly concerned. This requirement reflects the federal compact. Provinces are not merely administrative divisions; they are constitutional partners in the federation. Consequently, no province can be divided, merged or otherwise altered through a simple parliamentary majority in Islamabad. Provincial consent is itself a constitutional requirement. This constitutional position explains why proposals for South Punjab, Bahawalpur, Hazara or other new provinces have repeatedly surfaced over the past two decades but have never matured into constitutional reality. Various drafts, often described collectively as proposals for a Twenty-Eighth Constitutional Amendment, have circulated in political and academic circles. They have contemplated the creation of additional provinces together with corresponding adjustments in Senate representation, National Finance Commission allocations, provincial institutions and administrative structures. Yet none has commanded the political consensus demanded by Article 239. Constitutional design has proved stronger than political rhetoric. The debate, however, should not begin with Article 239. It should begin with Article 140A. Inserted through the Constitution (Eighteenth Amendment) Act of 2010, Article 140A obliges every province to establish a local government system and devolve political, administrative and financial responsibility and authority to elected representatives. This is not merely a recommendation. It is a constitutional command. Unfortunately, after even lapse of 16 years, this remains a constitutional provision that has been implemented (sic) with greater reluctance. Successive provincial governments, irrespective of political affiliation, have preferred centralised provincial bureaucracies over constitutionally empowered local governments. Elections have been delayed, powers diluted, finances retained by provincial capitals and administrative authority reclaimed through executive control. The result is that Pakistan continues to speak the language of devolution while practising administrative centralisation. Before demanding new provinces, one must ask a more fundamental question: has Pakistan sincerely implemented the Constitution it already possesses? The empirical evidence nevertheless deserves serious attention. Pakistan has experienced extraordinary demographic transformation since independence. The country’s population has increased from approximately 34 million in the early years of independence to over 255 million today, yet the number of provinces has remained unchanged. The presentation recently unveiled on constitutional and administrative reforms demonstrates this remarkable contrast and argues that governance structures have failed to evolve alongside population growth. It further notes that each of Pakistan’s four provinces administers populations exceeding those of many sovereign countries and that, among major federations, Pakistan places an unusually large administrative burden upon each provincial government. Whether one accepts every conclusion of that presentation/study or not, the underlying constitutional question cannot be ignored. Effective governance depends not merely upon constitutional powers but upon administrative reach. A provincial capital hundreds of kilometres from remote districts inevitably encounters greater challenges in delivering education, healthcare, policing and justice than a more decentralised system. The presentation also links many development indicators with administrative distance from provincial capitals, suggesting that constitutional debate should be informed by measurable governance outcomes rather than political sentiment alone. However,  administrative efficiency is only one dimension of federalism. The second is national integration. Pakistan’s history demonstrates that provincial identities become dangerous only when constitutional grievances remain unresolved. Conversely, attempts to suppress legitimate constitutional debate merely strengthen centrifugal tendencies. The Constitution therefore wisely provides a peaceful and democratic mechanism through which territorial adjustments may be considered while ensuring that no province loses its constitutional status without its own consent. This balanced approach deserves preservation. Current security realities also counsel prudence. Parts of Balochistan continue to face organised violence supported by hostile external actors. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa confronts renewed terrorist activity along its western frontier. Azad Jammu and Kashmir occupies a unique constitutional and strategic position within Pakistan’s national policy on Jammu and Kashmir. Simultaneously, the widening conflict across the Middle East has introduced new uncertainties affecting regional security, energy supplies and geopolitical alignments. These circumstances require a stronger federation rather than a weaker one. That objective, however, should not be confused with excessive centralisation. Strong federations are built upon responsive institutions, constitutional legitimacy and public confidence. Citizens judge the State not by constitutional theory but by whether schools function, hospitals remain open, justice is delivered promptly and basic civic services reach every district. Equally important is the responsibility of political leadership. Statements by political actors—including repeated interventions by Maulana Fazlur Rehman on constitutional and provincial questions—must be evaluated through the prism of constitutionalism rather than political confrontation. Democratic disagreement is legitimate, but constitutional discourse should unite rather than inflame an already polarised polity. The Constitution provides lawful mechanisms for reform. Political mobilisation should reinforce those mechanisms, not substitute for them.

The effects of the defence agreement between Pakistan and Saudi Arabia were witnessed by the entire world during the recent US-Iran-Israel war. At the same time, there was continuous speculation about whether the scope of this defence agreement could be expanded in the coming days. For years, the defence of major Middle Eastern countries has largely depended on the United States. However, during the recent conflict, the US appeared unable to fully protect either these countries or even some of its own military bases in the region. When Iran attacked Saudi Arabia, Pakistan immediately issued a strong warning, stating that if Iran wanted to protect its own territorial integrity, it should avoid any aggression against Saudi Arabia; otherwise, Pakistan would honour its defence commitments. Soon afterwards, the world witnessed a different situation in areas where Pakistani forces were present. While attacks continued in various parts of the region, areas protected by Pakistani forces experienced a markedly different security environment. Against this backdrop, international newspapers began suggesting that the United States’ influence in the Middle East could be entering a period of decline. As the poet famously said: “Insha Ji, get up and leave now; What is the point of becoming attached to this city?” The peace talks between Iran and the United States, hosted by Pakistan and referred to as the “Islamabad Accord”, created further diplomatic momentum. Shortly after the first meeting, discussions surrounding the Pakistan-Saudi defence agreement began attracting global attention. Influenced by these developments, other countries in the region also started exploring the possibility of joining or cooperating with the defence arrangement. Pakistan is the world’s only nuclear-armed Muslim-majority country. Saudi Arabia is one of the world’s most influential oil-producing states and holds immense religious significance for Muslims worldwide. Türkiye, meanwhile, has established a strong reputation for its drone technology and non-nuclear missile capabilities. The combination of these three countries could have significant strategic consequences for the region. Their growing defence cooperation is unlikely to be viewed favourably by either the United States or Israel. Even before the reported expansion of the defence arrangement, statements from the United States and Israel indicated growing concern. The role of American military bases and radar systems located in several Muslim-majority countries has also come under greater scrutiny, particularly over their alleged role in supporting Israel during the conflict. One US think tank reportedly described the emerging regional landscape as involving two major blocs: a Sunni alliance and a Shia alliance, with Israel and the United States potentially prepared to confront both. Such assessments could be interpreted as an indication of changing strategic dynamics and a possible reduction in American and Israeli influence across parts of the region. As mentioned earlier, several other countries are reportedly watching the development of the Pakistan-Saudi defence partnership closely. Egypt is also said to have participated in preliminary discussions, and its potential inclusion in the future cannot be ruled out. If Egypt joins the arrangement, the strategic balance could become even more significant. Egypt controls the Suez Canal, one of the world’s most important maritime trade routes on which a substantial portion of global commerce depends. It also possesses one of the region’s strongest naval forces and a large fleet of military aircraft. Access to Egyptian territory and strategic waterways could therefore have major implications for the Middle East, Israel and Europe. With Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and potentially Egypt forming a broader strategic group, the combined military capabilities of these countries, supported by Saudi Arabia’s enormous energy resources and financial strength, could create a formidable regional bloc. This is one reason why the emerging defence arrangement is increasingly being compared with Article 5 of the NATO treaty. Under Article 5, an armed attack against one NATO member is considered an attack against all members, triggering a collective commitment to assist the country under attack. NATO invoked Article 5 for the first and only time in its history following the terrorist attacks against the United States on September 11, 2001. In the coming days, countries such as Egypt, Bangladesh, Kuwait and Jordan could potentially become part of broader defence cooperation, although their formal participation would depend on future diplomatic and strategic decisions. At present, Israel, the United States, India and Iran all appear to have concerns about the potential consequences of such an alliance. However, the coming months will reveal its actual structure, scope and strategic impact on the region.