No to the Division of Punjab

To watch Shakarparian today is to mourn a broken promise. Not a fleeting vow, but a masterplan—conceived with purpose, codified on paper, and abandoned by design. I went through archives at Bazar Road, Iqbal Hall G-7, poring over the original master plan drawn up in 1960 by the great Greek architect and city planner Konstantinos Apostolos Doxiadis and his team. It was there that I first understood what Shakarparian was always meant to be. Doxiadis and his fellow planners did not design this triangle-shaped green expanse near Zero Point as an afterthought, a leftover patch of land between roads. They designated it, deliberately and explicitly, as the lungs of Islamabad — a temperature regulator, a natural sound barrier, a groundwater recharge zone, and a protective forest without which the city’s clean air was never meant to exist. This was not sentiment. This was engineering. And we have spent the decades since betraying it. Islamabad in 1961 was home to barely 117,000 people. Today it holds well over 2.4 million. That growth was not an accident — it was, in part, the very success of Doxiadis’s vision: a green, livable, breathable capital that drew people in from across the country and beyond. But success has a cruel irony here, because the same city that grew because of its green lungs has spent decades quietly cutting into them. Between 1961 and 2024, Islamabad’s temperature has already climbed by 5 degrees Celsius, with projections warning of a further 0.7 degrees by 2039 and 2.2 degrees by 2069. This is the urban heat island effect, and it is not an abstraction — it is Doxiadis’s temperature regulator being dismantled, piece by piece, exactly as he warned it must not be. Shakarparian itself covers roughly 1,376 hectares, formally absorbed into the Margalla Hills National Park in 1980, sitting almost at the very heart of the capital — an emerald set into the city’s crown, as it deserves to be called. A biodiversity survey conducted in November 2014 found 155 animal species sheltering within it: 23 species of mammals, 104 species of birds spanning 16 orders and 42 families, 22 species of reptiles, and 6 species of amphibians. The same survey catalogued more than 661 plant species across 28 families, with six distinct dominant vegetation communities knitting the forest floor together. This is not a park. This is a living, breathing ecological archive sitting in the geographic center of a national capital — a rarity almost nowhere else replicated in the world. It was Roedad Khan — the legendary civil servant and statesman — who understood the fragility of this inheritance early enough to act. In 1989 he founded the Margalla Hills Society, and for decades that institution has done more than most government departments to keep the wider Margalla ecosystem intact. But Shakarparian, sitting apart within it, has not been so fortunate. It has instead become a recurring casualty of the very authority meant to protect it — the Capital Development Authority itself. Piece by piece, lease by lease, CDA has allowed Shakarparian’s protective forest cover to be carved away. Look at what now occupies ground that was meant to remain forest: the Parade Ground, the Pak-China Friendship Centre, the Islamabad Club, the Gun and Country Club, Lok Virsa, an open-air theatre, and a string of upscale hotels and restaurants. Each addition was, in its own file, justified. Together, they are a forest reduced to a backdrop for institutions that no longer need it and increasingly cannot coexist with it. This has happened in direct violation of Regulation 4(3)(b) of the ICT Zoning Regulations of Islamabad, which exists for the explicit purpose of preventing exactly this kind of land-use change, allegedly under sustained political pressure. Satellite imagery from Landsat and Sentinel spanning the last twenty years tells the story without need for further commentary: the southwest region of Shakarparian shows a stark, measurable retreat of forest cover. The judiciary, at least once, was willing to look squarely at this. On January 11, 2022, the Islamabad High Court delivered its verdict in Prof. Zahid Baig Mirza versus Capital Development Authority, and the ruling was unambiguous: the shifting of the Parade Ground into Zone 3, the widening of roads through the forest, and the construction of the China Friendship Centre inside Shakarparian all violated the ICT Zoning Regulations. It was, on paper, a vindication of everything Doxiadis intended and everything CDA had ignored. A court verdict that is not enforced, however, is simply another document gathering dust the way the original master plan itself so nearly did. And here I have to say something that will not make me popular in certain circles of this city: the NGO sector stationed in Islamabad has failed Shakarparian as thoroughly as CDA has bulldozed it. The single biggest failure of these organizations is that they will not raise their own voice — they wait, always, for the government to raise it first, as though advocacy requires official permission. That is not activism. That is choreography. Too many of these NGOs are, in practice, family businesses wearing the language of conservation: leadership passed quietly within the same households for years, boards that never rotate, and a business model built not around planting a single tree in Shakarparian but around producing glossy reports, attending conferences, and mastering the art of recycling the same handful of buzzwords — resilience, sustainability, nature-based solutions — into slightly different sentences for slightly different donors. They are experts in rephrasing a crisis. They are not experts in stopping one. When the chainsaws reached the H-8 green belt, it was a lone campaigner and a worried student who spoke up first, not the well-funded organisations whose entire mandate is supposed to be exactly this. This failure is made worse by the fact that the government itself is not short of obligations it has already signed onto. Pakistan is a party to the Convention on Biological Diversity, which binds it to conserve representative ecosystems and halt biodiversity loss

Pakistan does not need an external adversary to explain its economic decline. It has one at home, operating out of two regulatory buildings in Islamabad: the National Electric Power Regulatory Authority and the Oil and Gas Regulatory Authority, backstopped by a Ministry of Power and a Ministry of Petroleum that have spent two decades signing contracts, indexing tariffs, and deferring hard decisions in ways that now function less like national stewardship and more like a slow, self-administered dismantling of the country’s own industrial base. There is an old Urdu instinct for this kind of failure — “apne pairon par khud kulhari maarna,” to swing the axe onto your own foot — and it captures the pattern better than any conspiracy theory could. Nobody needs to have plotted Pakistan’s energy collapse. Two regulators simply kept striking the same foot, quarter after quarter, determination after determination, until there was nothing left to stand on. Start with NEPRA, and start with the number that should embarrass every member of its board. On August 10, 2026, the Authority approved a 30-year, 9.4-US-cent tariff for the 102 MW Gulpur hydropower project — a project whose tariff history is itself a case study in regulatory drift, having been revised in 2015, modified again in 2021 for exchange-rate relief, and delayed by force majeure claims for the better part of a decade before finally being settled this month, over the recorded dissent of one of NEPRA’s own members. Three weeks earlier, the same regulator had approved a tariff of just 3.0899 US cents for a 269 MW hybrid wind-and-solar project at Dhabeji.  A regulator capable of holding both of those numbers in its hands in the same month and treating them as equally acceptable outcomes is not pricing risk. It has simply stopped asking what things should cost. Then, in February 2026, NEPRA turned the same instinct on ordinary citizens. Its Prosumer Regulations 2026 dismantled the one-to-one net metering framework that had made rooftop solar a rational household investment, replacing it with net billing: excess power sold back to the grid at the National Average Energy Purchase Price of roughly Rs 10–13 per unit, while the same household buys grid electricity back minutes later at full retail rates. A citizen who financed their own panels, took on their own installation risk, and asked nothing from the state now effectively subsidizes the grid every time the sun shines. Compare that to Gulpur’s sponsors, who face none of that asymmetry and are guaranteed indexed returns for three decades. The Ministry of Power approved this framework and let it stand, even after the Prime Minister was reported to have ordered a NEPRA appeal to protect existing solar users — an appeal that, months later, has changed remarkably little for new applicants. OGRA, the sister regulator for oil and gas, has been just as busy inflicting damage of its own kind, and its failures deserve equal billing, because it is the gas sector, not electricity, that has produced Pakistan’s most persistent circular debt crisis. By July 2026, Pakistan’s gas circular debt had reached roughly Rs 3.44 trillion, and the country had missed an IMF deadline for a gas tariff notification that the Fund treats as a structural benchmark for the entire bailout program. OGRA’s own determinations tell the story: SNGPL and SSGC continue to report system losses well above the “unaccounted-for-gas” allowances built into their tariffs — 8.8 % actual against a roughly 7 % allowance for SNGPL, and a startling 13.6 % actual against an 8.2 % allowance for SSGC — with the gap simply passed through to consumers as cost rather than treated as the operational failure it is. In July 2026, when OGRA’s own recalculated prescribed prices should have lowered consumer gas bills, the federal government instead chose to keep tariffs unchanged and let SNGPL bank a projected Rs 44 billion surplus and SSGC a smaller one, rather than pass relief to the households and factories paying the bill. This is not regulation. It is bookkeeping in service of institutional convenience, dressed up as prudence. The consequence of all this — NEPRA’s mispriced generation contracts, its punitive treatment of rooftop solar, OGRA’s tolerance of chronic system losses, and both ministries’ shared unwillingness to force a reckoning — is a business environment where foreign direct investors cannot model their own electricity or gas costs five years out, let alone thirty. Industrial production stalls not because Pakistani manufacturers lack skill or ambition, but because no factory can plan around a power bill and a gas bill set by regulators who reward legacy contracts over least-cost technology and who treat circular debt as something to defer rather than solve. Pakistan’s Interior Minister recently said publicly that “the system has collapsed” — a remark aimed at governance and security, but one that describes the energy sector with uncomfortable precision, and one the security establishment has been strangely slow to connect to its own economic consequences. A country cannot out-negotiate a debt crisis it keeps manufacturing at the regulator’s desk every single quarter. None of this requires believing anyone set out to sabotage the country. It requires recognizing that an institution can do a slow version of the same damage through nothing more than inertia, misaligned incentives, and a persistent unwillingness to price energy the way the rest of the world now prices it — cheaply, competitively, and honestly. NEPRA and OGRA do not need another IMF-mandated hearing or another quarterly adjustment. They need leadership willing to admit that thirty years of axe-swings at the country’s own foot is enough, and that the next tariff determination should finally start asking what things should cost, not merely what precedent allows. So who actually chooses the people who run NEPRA and OGRA? This is the part of the story that gets almost no scrutiny, and it should. Both chairmen are selected by the federal cabinet from shortlists assembled by selection committees chaired by a serving federal minister — for NEPRA, historically the Minister for

The signing of the Pakistan–Saudi Arabia–Türkiye defence agreement in Makkah on August 7 marks a significant moment in the changing security architecture of the Middle East and South Asia. Its declaration that an armed attack against one member would be treated as an attack against all three has immediately raised questions about the future balance of power. Is the region moving towards two competing strategic formations — an emerging India-Iran axis on one side and the Pakistan-Saudi-Türkiye triangle on the other? The answer is not yet definitive, but the direction of regional politics is becoming increasingly visible. The most surprising element of this equation is Saudi Arabia and Türkiye. Relations between Riyadh and Ankara have not always been comfortable. The rivalry and mistrust of the past, particularly during the period when Saudi and Turkish regional interests sharply diverged, made the two capitals appear more like competitors than strategic partners. Yet geopolitics has a way of bringing former rivals together when their security calculations begin to converge. For Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, security has become inseparable from economic transformation. Saudi Arabia’s ambitious Vision 2030 projects require uninterrupted energy exports, stable maritime routes and a predictable regional environment. The continuing threat to Red Sea shipping and the vulnerability of energy infrastructure have demonstrated that geographical distance is no longer sufficient protection. Türkiye offers Riyadh a valuable strategic instrument. Ankara possesses NATO experience, an expanding defence industry and significant diplomatic access across the region. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan can communicate with actors that may remain difficult for Riyadh or Washington to approach directly. Türkiye can therefore serve not merely as a military partner but potentially as a diplomatic bridge. This is where the role of Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan becomes particularly important. His experience in intelligence and diplomacy could provide Ankara with the capacity to pursue difficult negotiations involving regional conflicts, including the unresolved Saudi-Houthi security dilemma. For Riyadh, reducing the threat to the Red Sea and ensuring uninterrupted oil and trade routes is not simply a military objective; it is an economic necessity. Türkiye, meanwhile, also has its own economic calculations. Ankara needs investment, economic stability and stronger international partnerships. A closer relationship with Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, the United States and Western financial institutions could provide economic and strategic dividends. Thus, the partnership is not based on sentiment but on converging interests. Pakistan’s position is even more complicated. Islamabad has historically enjoyed close defence and political relations with Saudi Arabia while maintaining strong ties with Türkiye. Its military credibility and longstanding relationship with Riyadh make it a natural participant in such an arrangement. Pakistan can potentially emerge as the facilitator connecting the Gulf with South Asian security calculations. But there is a price. Pakistan’s traditional diplomatic strength has partly rested on its ability to maintain communication with opposing camps. Formal participation in a collective-defence arrangement may make Islamabad appear less like a neutral mediator and more like a contestant in an emerging regional confrontation. The question therefore arises: can Pakistan protect its strategic relationship with Saudi Arabia and Türkiye without damaging its relations with Iran? The Iranian response will be crucial. Tehran is unlikely to accept a new security architecture surrounding it without attempting to construct diplomatic counterweights. Here, India could become an important part of the equation. Iran and India possess longstanding economic and strategic interests, particularly around connectivity, energy and the Chabahar corridor. Their cooperation does not automatically constitute a military alliance, but strategic circumstances could push their interests closer. Iran also possesses diplomatic instruments of its own. Oman and Qatar remain particularly important because of their ability to communicate with multiple competing powers. Rather than immediately creating a formal counter-alliance, Tehran could seek to use diplomacy, maritime negotiations and regional mediation to prevent isolation. This is why the emerging equation should not be reduced to a simple military confrontation. It is a contest of diplomacy, technology, economics, energy security and strategic geography. The United States also remains an unavoidable factor. Washington’s relationships with Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, Pakistan and India mean that any emerging regional architecture will inevitably intersect with American interests. Yet it would be premature to describe the Makkah agreement as an anti-American bloc. Saudi Arabia remains deeply connected to the United States, Türkiye remains a NATO member, and Pakistan continues to maintain important relations with Washington. The real transformation may therefore be something more subtle: regional powers are increasingly seeking strategic autonomy instead of relying exclusively on one external guarantor. For Pakistan, this is a moment of both opportunity and danger. Islamabad can gain diplomatic weight from its position within the Pakistan-Saudi-Türkiye triangle, but it must avoid becoming trapped in a zero-sum regional rivalry. Its relationship with Iran cannot simply be sacrificed, nor can its longstanding partnership with Saudi Arabia be ignored. The emerging India-Iran axis and Pakistan-Saudi-Türkiye triangle may never become formal opposing blocs. But if regional tensions continue to deepen, the strategic calculations of these countries could increasingly move in opposite directions. The region is entering a new chess game — one in which missiles and drones matter, but diplomacy, energy routes, economic leverage and political alliances may matter even more. The challenge for Pakistan is therefore not merely to choose a side. It is to ensure that, while standing with its strategic partners, it retains enough diplomatic space to speak to everyone. Because in the new regional order, the strongest player may not be the one with the largest alliance — but the one capable of preventing the chessboard from becoming a battlefield.

By Tahseenullah For decades, labour migration in Pakistan has largely been viewed as a response to unemployment and poverty. While this perspective has served its purpose, it no longer reflects the realities of today’s global economy. In the twenty-first century, labour mobility has become far more than an economic necessity—it is a strategic investment in human capital, national competitiveness and economic diplomacy. Countries that can produce skilled, certified and globally competitive workers will hold a distinct advantage in an increasingly interconnected labour market. As ageing populations, declining fertility rates and persistent labour shortages reshape developed economies, demand for skilled workers is rising across Europe, East Asia and other advanced markets. Pakistan, with one of the world’s youngest populations, is well positioned to seize this opportunity. The real challenge is not whether Pakistan has enough young people willing to work abroad, but whether it can equip them with internationally recognised skills, qualifications, language proficiency and professional competencies that meet evolving global labour market demands. Pakistan’s labour migration journey began with the establishment of the Bureau of Emigration and Overseas Employment in 1971, following the Gulf oil boom. Since then, more than 15 million Pakistanis have migrated through regular channels, contributing significantly to infrastructure, healthcare, construction, transport and service sectors worldwide while improving the livelihoods of millions of families back home. Today, overseas employment remains one of Pakistan’s most important economic assets. According to BEOE, 862,625 Pakistanis migrated for employment in 2023, followed by 725,672 in 2024 and 762,499 in 2025, with early trends indicating sustained international demand in 2026. Meanwhile, the Pakistan Migration Report 2025 and the State Bank of Pakistan estimate workers’ remittances at approximately US$38.3 billion in FY2024–25, representing nearly 9.34 percent of GDP. These remittances strengthen foreign exchange reserves, reduce poverty and support macroeconomic stability. Yet labour migration has rarely been treated as a strategic pillar of Pakistan’s long-term economic planning. The global labour market is undergoing profound change. According to the World Economic Forum’s Future of Jobs Report 2025, demographic shifts, technological advances and the green transition will create millions of new employment opportunities over the coming decade. Healthcare professionals, engineers, IT specialists, skilled technicians, renewable energy workers, construction professionals and caregivers are expected to remain in particularly high demand. Pakistan possesses a valuable demographic dividend, with nearly two-thirds of its population under the age of 30. However, this advantage will only translate into economic gains through sustained investment in education, Technical and Vocational Education and Training (TVET), international certification, digital skills and language training. The challenge is clear. The Pakistan Migration Report 2025 shows that nearly two-thirds of Pakistani migrant workers remain low-skilled or unskilled. While their contribution is invaluable, low-skilled employment often results in lower wages, limited career progression and greater vulnerability to labour market shocks. In contrast, highly skilled migrants generally access better jobs, stronger labour protections and significantly higher earnings. Pakistan must therefore move beyond a traditional labour export model towards a human capital export strategy. Success should no longer be measured simply by the number of workers leaving the country, but by the quality, productivity and global competitiveness of its workforce. Achieving this transformation requires comprehensive reforms. TVET institutions must align training with international occupational standards and labour market needs. Language education in German, Japanese, Korean and Italian, alongside digital literacy, workplace ethics and intercultural communication, should become integral components of workforce development. Market diversification is equally important. While Gulf Cooperation Council countries will remain Pakistan’s primary labour destinations, excessive dependence on one region exposes the country to geopolitical uncertainty and labour market fluctuations. Pakistan should actively expand regular labour mobility partnerships with Europe, Japan, South Korea, Australia and Canada, where structural labour shortages continue to grow. Government-to-government labour mobility agreements should become a strategic priority. Such partnerships can enhance transparency, reduce recruitment costs, improve worker protection and strengthen employer confidence in Pakistani talent. Simultaneously, Pakistan should pursue mutual recognition of qualifications and internationally accepted skills certification to facilitate smoother labour market integration. Institutional coordination will also be essential. The Ministry of Overseas Pakistanis and Human Resource Development, together with the NAVTTC, provincial TEVTAs, Overseas Employment Promoters, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Pakistan’s overseas missions, should implement an integrated national labour mobility framework supported by labour market intelligence, digital recruitment platforms and evidence-based policymaking. Pakistan can draw valuable lessons from the Philippines, whose migration governance combines ethical recruitment, mandatory pre-departure orientation, comprehensive worker welfare and strong overseas support systems. Adapting these practices would strengthen Pakistan’s reputation as a reliable source of skilled and protected migrant workers. At the same time, addressing irregular migration must remain a national priority. Preventing dangerous migration routes requires expanding legal migration opportunities, strengthening career counselling, improving public awareness, dismantling human smuggling networks and ensuring aspiring migrants have access to reliable information and affordable recruitment services. Labour migration should no longer be viewed solely as a means of reducing unemployment or increasing remittances. It should be recognised as a cornerstone of Pakistan’s economic diplomacy, human capital development and long-term growth strategy. The countries that will lead the future of global labour mobility will not necessarily be those with the largest populations, but those that invest in producing highly skilled, internationally certified and globally competitive talent. Pakistan has already demonstrated its ability to contribute to the global workforce. The next step is to move beyond exporting labour to exporting talent. By investing in skills, strengthening institutions, diversifying labour markets and promoting ethical, well-governed migration, Pakistan can transform its demographic dividend into one of its greatest strategic advantages. The world is searching for talent. Pakistan has the youth. What it now needs is the vision to turn that potential into global human capital leadership. Tahseen Ullah is a development and migration sector practitioner specializing in labour mobility, migration governance, education and child protection.

By Asma Rahmat, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University and Muhammad Ameer Hamza, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University   The legal profession has long been regarded as one of the most respected and tradition-bound institutions in society, founded on human intellect, ethical judgment, and the pursuit of justice. Yet, like every other profession, it is now experiencing the profound impact of Artificial Intelligence (AI). Across the globe, AI is transforming industries by automating routine tasks, enhancing productivity, and improving decision-making. The legal sector is no exception. While countries with advanced legal systems have already begun integrating AI into legal practice and judicial administration, Pakistan is only beginning to explore its potential. The challenge before us is not whether AI will become part of the legal profession, but whether we are prepared to embrace this technological revolution while preserving the fundamental values of justice, fairness, and the rule of law. Artificial Intelligence has the ability to process vast amounts of information within seconds, making it an invaluable tool for legal professionals. Today, AI-powered software can conduct legal research, review contracts, summarize lengthy case files, identify relevant judicial precedents, and even assist in drafting legal documents. These are tasks that traditionally consumed hours or even days of a lawyer’s time. By automating repetitive and time-consuming work, AI enables lawyers to focus on the more complex aspects of their profession, including legal strategy, courtroom advocacy, negotiation, and client counseling. Rather than replacing legal professionals, AI has the potential to become a reliable assistant that enhances both efficiency and accuracy. For Pakistan, where the judicial system continues to struggle with delays and an ever-growing backlog of cases, the responsible use of AI could bring much-needed reform. Thousands of litigants wait years for the resolution of their disputes, often because courts are overburdened and administrative processes remain largely manual. AI can assist in organizing digital records, managing court schedules, classifying legal documents, and simplifying legal research for judges and lawyers alike. These improvements could significantly reduce delays, improve case management, and make the justice system more efficient without compromising judicial independence. Importantly, AI should support judicial decision-making rather than replace it, as the final responsibility for interpreting the law must always remain with judges. Beyond improving efficiency, AI also offers an opportunity to strengthen access to justice. A significant portion of Pakistan’s population cannot afford legal representation or lacks access to basic legal information. AI-powered legal assistance platforms, particularly those available in Urdu and regional languages, could provide citizens with preliminary guidance on their legal rights, court procedures, and available remedies. Such tools would not replace qualified lawyers but could empower individuals by helping them understand the legal system before seeking professional assistance. In a country where legal awareness remains limited, technology can become a powerful means of promoting legal literacy and strengthening public confidence in the justice system. The emergence of AI is equally significant for legal education. Law students now have access to intelligent research tools that can summarize judgments, explain complex legal principles, compare international legal systems, and assist in legal writing. These technologies can make legal education more interactive and research-oriented. However, they also present a challenge. Students must avoid becoming overly dependent on AI-generated content, as legal education is ultimately designed to develop analytical reasoning, critical thinking, and independent judgment. Future lawyers must learn not only how to use AI responsibly but also how to question its outputs, verify legal authorities, and apply legal principles thoughtfully. Despite its many advantages, Artificial Intelligence raises several legal and ethical concerns that cannot be ignored. AI systems are not infallible. They may generate inaccurate information, misinterpret legal authorities, or reflect biases contained within the data on which they were trained. A lawyer who relies solely on AI without verifying its results risks providing incorrect legal advice or presenting flawed arguments before the court. Furthermore, the use of AI raises important concerns regarding client confidentiality and data protection. Lawyers have a professional and ethical obligation to protect sensitive client information, and any use of AI must ensure that confidential data is handled securely. These concerns highlight the importance of developing ethical guidelines governing AI’s use within the legal profession. Pakistan currently lacks a comprehensive legal framework specifically regulating Artificial Intelligence. While existing laws address cybercrime and certain aspects of electronic transactions, they do not adequately address issues such as AI accountability, transparency, liability, algorithmic bias, or the protection of personal data in AI-assisted legal services. As AI becomes more prevalent, policymakers must establish a clear regulatory framework that encourages technological innovation while safeguarding constitutional rights, including privacy, equality before the law, and the right to due process. Such regulation will be essential to ensuring that AI serves society without undermining public trust in legal institutions. Perhaps the greatest misconception surrounding AI is the belief that it will eventually replace lawyers. In reality, the legal profession depends upon qualities that no machine can fully replicate. Lawyers do not merely apply legal rules; they exercise judgment, interpret complex factual situations, negotiate settlements, understand human emotions, and advocate persuasively before courts. Similarly, judges must balance competing rights, interpret legislation in light of constitutional principles, and deliver reasoned decisions based on justice and equity. These responsibilities require wisdom, experience, empathy, and moral reasoning—qualities that remain uniquely human. AI can provide information and support, but it cannot replace the conscience, ethical responsibility, and professional judgment that define the legal profession. The future of the legal profession in Pakistan therefore lies in collaboration rather than competition between humans and technology. Law schools should introduce courses on Artificial Intelligence, legal technology, and digital ethics to prepare future lawyers for an increasingly technology-driven profession. Bar councils and regulatory authorities should establish professional standards governing the ethical use of AI in legal practice, while the judiciary should continue investing in digital infrastructure to improve the administration of justice. At the same time, legal professionals must embrace lifelong learning so they can adapt to technological advancements without compromising the integrity

A few days ago, Mr. Hakan Fidan, the Foreign Minister of Turkey, briefed the media on the MJDA. He said that the operational mechanisms will be decided at the first meeting of the joint committee comprising the foreign and defense ministers and the Chief of General Staff. He also provided an overview of possible areas of cooperation. In this context, it is high time to discuss the future orientation of the MJDA, especially areas of cooperation and investment to build a future-oriented alliance. A few areas have been identified for consideration.   First of all, the three partners must understand that the era of traditional war is rapidly becoming irrelevant. The concepts of 5th-, 6th-, 7th-, and 8th-generation warfare are evolving into new dynamics: 9th-generation warfare. Thus, Cooperation under MJDA must be based on the new elements and needs of 9th-generation warfare, in addition to traditional areas. Now the question is, what is 9th-generation warfare? 9th-generation warfare has a few characteristics that distinguish it from past generations of warfare.   First, 9th-generation warfare will minimize, if not eliminate, the role of humans to a greater extent. The first glimpse of this type of warfare is evident in the form of unmanned UVs. Russia-Ukraine and USA-Iran wars further reinforce this argument. However, humans are still engaged in one way or another in wars, including devising and executing plans and engaging in face-to-face combat. For example, during the application of 4th- and 5th-generation warfare in the Middle East, humans remained a constant factor in leading and executing the wars. After the bombardment of Iraq, it was humans who captured the land.   However, it is anticipated that artificial intelligence will take over this job in future wars, and future wars will be run by artificial intelligence and its tools. For example, in 9th-generation warfare, artificial intelligence-based robots can take over the role of humans. Robots can invade a country, or they can also be used in guerrilla warfare. Countries can also use robots to conduct terrorist activities. They can send the robots with an anonymous identity, and no one will be able to trace the origin. Organized crime organizations can also use them to conduct their activities, such as targeted killings.   Let’s imagine another scenario. Robots are invading a country. They fight either humans or other robots. Countries with better technology can turn robots into double-edged weapons. On the one hand, robots will be fighting machines. However, they can also equip robots with destructive explosives, such as nuclear material or other explosives. Then what would be the opponent’s choices? How will opponents fight an explosive-ridden robot? They will take over the country if they do not stop the robots. On the other hand, if they try to destroy the robots, the nuclear explosives will detonate, which can cause serious damage. The scenario would be quite scary, and countries with advanced robot and AI technology can maneuver situations in their favor.   Second, the most developed countries have recently taken war into outer space, especially the USA. The USA’s obsession with and investment in outer space have compelled other countries to follow the suit. As a result, they are investing heavily, instigating an outer space race for dominance. The race has accelerated since the establishment of the US Space Force. According to the Vice President of the USA, Mr. Pence, the force was launched with four specific objectives. First, U.S. Space Command “will establish unified command and control for our Space Force operations; ensure integration across the military; and develop the space warfighting doctrine, tactics, techniques and procedures of the future.” Second, a military astronaut corps, which Pence called “an elite group of joint warfighters specializing in the domain of space.” Third, a Space Development Agency that will research and develop new technologies and “ensure cutting-edge warfighting capabilities.” Fourth, new bureaucratic structures that will define “clear lines of responsibility and accountability to manage the process of standing up and scaling up the United States Department of the Space Force.”   The USA and its allies are enhancing cooperation to outpace others and dominate outer space. As a result, they have launched a malicious campaign against China and Russia. They are portraying China and Russia as threats to global peace and to the use of outer space to attract public attention, support, and financial resources. At the same time, they also want to hinder the advancement of other countries in space technology to maintain their hegemony in the application of space technologies for war dominance. For example, during the Gulf War of the 1990s, the USA and allied forces used space technologies to outmaneuver their opponents. Since then, the USA and its allies have been working to further improve space technology and prevent other countries from developing these technologies.   Therefore, it is anticipated that space war will be multifaceted. On the one hand, there will be a race to control or maneuver opponents’ satellites by interfering with their software. This will be done to obtain information or spread disinformation. Sending arms into space to destroy opponents’ satellites is also possible. On the other hand, some countries have developed capabilities to hit satellites from the ground. This has opened a new field of military offense.   The use of space technology for military dominance created fear in the developing world. They fear that leading countries in space technology will use space for control and interference, collect information, and dictate to other countries. For example, the USA uses navigation systems to collect data and outmaneuver others in wars.   Third, in recent times, we have observed that COVID-19 has played havoc with humanity. It has shaken the whole world. The whole world came to a standstill. Markets were closed, and the tourism industry sank. It has introduced the world to a new danger of biological war. Biological war is considered one of the most lethal forms of war, as only one person can paralyze the world. One virus can shut down the whole world