Trump reopens the Saudi nuclear deal

The Post-2027 Financial System in Pakistan strategy paper, released by the Ministry of Finance, is an important acknowledgement that the elimination of Riba [Quranic term for unjust gain and enrichment by exploitative use of capital without any real underlying economic activity] can no longer remain an open-ended constitutional promise. The paper correctly links the transition to the Federal Shariat Court judgment of April 28, 2022, and the Constitution (Twenty-sixth Amendment) Act, 2024, which inserted a deadline into Article 38(f) for the complete elimination of Riba before January 1, 2028. The main weakness is that the paper converts a binding constitutional requirement into a gradual, conditional and partly voluntary programme. The strategy therefore supports the objective of eliminating Riba while simultaneously preserving routes through which interest-based finance could continue after the constitutional deadline. The Islamic legal standard is stricter than the strategy’s policy language. The Federal Shariat Court held in Shariat Petition No. 30-L of 1991 and connected matters that Riba is prohibited in all its forms and manifestations, while the International Islamic Fiqh Academy’s Resolution No. 10 (10/2) of 1985 treats any stipulated increase on a loan or overdue debt as prohibited Riba. The Qur’anic rule permits the creditor to recover the principal but not an agreed increase merely because time has passed, while Sahih Muslim 1598 condemns the receiver, payer, recorder and witnesses of an interest transaction. The legal test is therefore based on economic substance rather than terminology. The contract does not become Islamic merely because interest is renamed as profit or mark-up where the financier receives a predetermined debt increase without genuine ownership or risk. The strategy’s most serious contradiction concerns foreign-owned financial institutions. The paper expects most domestically owned institutions to convert, but it makes the transformation of majority foreign-owned banks voluntary and later suggests that such banks may continue offering both conventional and Islamic products. The exemption is inconsistent with Article 38(f) of the Constitution because the constitutional character of Riba cannot depend on the nationality of shareholders. The same interest-bearing loan cannot be prohibited when issued by a Pakistani-controlled bank and acceptable when issued by a foreign-controlled bank [Rethinking Pakistan’s economic model—III: Banking, debt & Illusion of Reform, Minute Mirror, May 3, 2026] The exemption would create a two-tier market in which domestic banks bear conversion costs while foreign institutions retain conventional products. The strategy should instead impose an activity-based rule under which no licensed institution, regardless of ownership, may originate a new interest-bearing contract in Pakistan after December 31, 2027.   The treatment of existing conventional debt creates a second constitutional problem. The strategy promises that obligations contracted before the deadline will continue according to their original terms and that conventional public debt will be replaced only when each instrument matures.  The approach may preserve interest payments for years after January 1, 2028, where sovereign bonds, multilateral loans or syndicated facilities have long residual maturities. The concern does not mean that Pakistan should repudiate contracts, because unilateral default could trigger litigation, acceleration, cross-default and loss of market access. The Government must distinguish unavoidable transitional obligations from liabilities that can be refinanced, converted or redeemed early. The policy should require a debt-by-debt register showing principal, interest, maturity, governing law, conversion options, creditor consent and final sunset dates rather than granting a blanket exception until maturity. The language governing new finance is also too weak. The strategy says that the Government will “explore all options” for Shariah-compliant domestic funding and will “strive” to obtain Islamic foreign financing where reasonable and commercially viable options are available. The constitutional obligation is not a best-efforts commitment conditioned on pricing convenience. The revised policy should prohibit new interest-bearing public borrowing after the cut-off and require every proposed Murabaha, Ijarah, Istisna, Salam, Musharakah, Mudarabah or Wakalah structure to receive documented legal, fiscal and Shariah approval. The legislative programme must also identify the precise amendments required to the State Bank of Pakistan Act, 1956, the Banking Companies Ordinance, 1962, the Financial Institutions (Recovery of Finances) Ordinance, 2001, the Government Securities Act, 2006, the Securities Act, 2015, the Companies Act, 2017, the Deposit Protection Corporation Act, 2016, the Insurance Ordinance, 2000 and relevant tax, insolvency and provincial laws. The paper’s assertion that banking-law amendments are “minor” understates the scale of the required transformation. The monetary policy framework requires scrutiny because Shariah compliance cannot be achieved merely by relabeling conventional central bank instruments [Who will draft Riba Prohibition Law? Minute Mirror, April 7, 2026]. The strategy states that the State Bank will use Shariah compliant open market operations and standing facilities, yet SBP’s DMMD Circular No. 24 of 2021 provides that the expected return on its Mudarabah based standing facility equals the conventional overnight reverse repo ceiling rate. The use of a conventional benchmark does not automatically invalidate a genuine Mudarabah, but mechanical replication creates a material form over substance risk. The revised framework should require transparent profit pools, ex-post reconciliation of returns, genuine exposure to permissible assets and clear treatment of losses—Is Riba free banking possible?, Dawn, April 27, 2012. The framework should also explain how reserve requirements, lender-of-last-resort support, liquidity absorption, foreign-exchange operations and monetary transmission will function without continuing dependence on an interest-rate corridor. The proposed hybrid Ijarah-cum-Murabaha Sukuk and Assets Registry Company are practical responses to the shortage of sovereign assets, but they require stronger safeguards. The paper states that the hybrid structure could support Sukuk issuance approaching twice the value of underlying assets and that registered federal assets would remain in governmental use. The International Islamic Fiqh Academy requires Sukuk to establish true ownership, effective disposal rights and corresponding liability rather than fictitious or circular asset transfers. The registry should disclose title, valuation, encumbrance, beneficial ownership, usufruct and the exact risk transferred to investors. The treatment of retained earnings also requires a purification methodology separating lawful capital and trading income from identifiable interest-derived earnings. The paper’s statement that converting banks may keep retained earnings is incomplete unless independent Shariah audit, charitable disposal of prohibited income and transparent

“The ‘I’ of Bulleh Shah represents man in his very essential capacity as a unit of creation”. —Najm Hosain Syed, Recurrent Patterns in Punjabi Poetry  Najm Hosain Syed’s reading of Bulleh Shah rescues one of Punjab’s most familiar poems from the ease of popular applause. Bullah ki jaana main kaun is commonly heard as a graceful confession that ultimate truth cannot be known. Najm sees something more demanding. Bulleh’s “I” is the elemental human being confronting the question “who?” Every answer offered by history—religion, institution, inherited status, nationality, relationship or dogma—tempts the seeker with a final identity. The poet accepts none as sufficient. His negatives are not an escape from commitment; they refuse to let any socially manufactured label exhaust the meaning of being human. This makes Bulleh Shah indispensable to our inquiry into poetry, power and humanity. Shah Hussain crossed the narrow passage between possession and freedom [Poetry, Power & Humanity—III:  Shah Hussain: Crossing the Narrow Passage of Love & Rebellion, Minute Mirror, July 21, 2026]. Bulleh Shah interrogated the walls on either side. Who constructed them? Who benefits when human beings are separated into pure and impure, believer and unbeliever, ruler and subject, high-born and low-born? His poetry exposes how identity, initially a source of belonging, can be converted into an instrument of hierarchy. اُٹھ گئے گوانڈھوں یار رَبّا ہُن کیہ کریے Uth gaye gawandhon yaar Rabba hun ki kariye The Beloved has left the neighbourhood; Lord, what am I to do now? اُٹھ چلّے ہُن رہندے ناہیں ہویا ساتھ تیار رَبّا ہُن کیہ کریے Uth chale hun rehnde nahin Hoya saath tayyar Rabba hun ki kariye He has risen and departed; the caravan stands ready, and he will remain no more. Lord, what am I to do now? ڈاڈھ کلیجے بل بل اُٹھے بھڑکے بِرہوں نار رَبّا ہُن کیہ کریے Daadh kaleje bal bal uthe Bharke birhon naar Rabba hun ki kariye The depths of my heart are aflame, kindled by the fire of separation. Lord, what am I to do now? بُلھا شاہ پیارے باجھوں رہے اُرار نہ پار رَبّا ہُن کیہ کریے Bulla Shah piyare bajhon Rahe uraar na paar Rabba hun ki kariye Without the Beloved, says Bulleh Shah, I remain stranded midstream, reaching neither shore. Lord, what am I to do now? The kafi begins with departure, though it does not end in private sorrow. The familiar neighbourhood has lost its centre; the traveller is left between shores. This is the existential moment preceding Bulleh’s interrogation of identity. Once the familiar world departs, inherited answers can no longer shelter us. “What am I to do now?” becomes the cry of every human being whose social certainties have collapsed. Bulleh Shah lived in a Punjab experiencing political dislocation, declining Mughal authority and sharpening religious and social conflict. His spiritual choice itself challenged inherited hierarchy. Born into a Syed family, he accepted Shah Inayat, traditionally identified with the Arain community, as his murshid. Knowledge and spiritual worth were thus placed above genealogy. Their relationship was not merely devotional; it denied the proposition that dignity could be inherited by one group and withheld from another. His choice of Punjabi carried similar democratic force. Persian was associated with administration and cultivated elites; Arabic commanded religious authority. Punjabi was the living speech of cultivators, artisans, women, faqirs and labouring communities. Through the kafi, philosophy ceased to be the exclusive property of courts and seminaries. It could be remembered, sung and transmitted without permission from those controlling formal knowledge. The kafi was central to Bulleh Shah’s poetic expression and to the wider Sufi traditions of Punjab and Sindh. Bulleh’s resistance becomes sharper in the following kafi, where he compares the ostentatiously pious with dogs. راتیں جاگیں کریں عبادت راتیں جاگن کُتے تیتھوں اُتے Raatin jaagein karein ibaadat Raatin jaagan kutte Taithon utte You remain awake at night in worship; dogs keep vigil too— and surpass you. بھونکنوں بند مول نہ ہندے جا روڑیں تے سُتے تیتھوں اُتے Bhonkanon band mool na honde Ja roorin te sutte Taithon utte They never cease their watchful barking, then sleep upon a refuse heap— and surpass you. خَسم اپنے دا در نہ چھڈدے بھاویں وجن جُتے تیتھوں اُتے Khasam apne da dar na chhadde Bhaven vajjan jutte Taithon utte They never abandon their Master’s door, though struck repeatedly— and surpass you. بلھے شاہ کوئی رَخت وِہاج لے نہیں تے بازی لے گئے کُتے تیتھوں اُتے Bulleh Shah koi rakht vihaaj lai Nahin te baazi lai gaye kutte Taithon utte Bulleh Shah, acquire provisions for the journey, or the dogs will carry away the prize— and surpass you. The poem reverses an established hierarchy with deliberate audacity. The dog, conventionally treated as impure, becomes the moral teacher; the visibly devout human being becomes the object of satire. Bulleh does not ridicule worship. He asks what worship is worth when it produces neither loyalty nor humility. The dog remains at its master’s threshold despite hunger, rejection and blows. The worshipper may remain awake, although ritual performed for reputation can coexist with pride, cruelty and the pursuit of power. This distinction is critical. Bulleh Shah’s target is not religion but its conversion into social capital. Piety becomes another possession—something to display, trade and employ against others. In Erich Fromm’s terms, the mode of “having” invades faith: one “has” learning, sanctity, lineage and followers. Bulleh insists upon the mode of “being”, where truth appears through conduct rather than claim. The dog’s fidelity defeats the worshipper’s performance. The same assault on borrowed identity culminates in three immortal lines: بلھیا! کی جاناں میں کون Bulleya, ki jaana main kaun? Bulleh, how can I know who I am? نہ میں مومن وچ مسیتاں نہ میں وچ کفر دیاں ریتاں Na main momin vich maseetan Na main vich kufar diyan reetan I am not confined to the believer in the mosque, nor to the rituals called unbelief. نہ میں موسیٰ، نہ فرعون Na main Moosa, na Firaun I am neither Moses nor Pharaoh. Bulleh removes the available answers one after

Calling Babarloi Bypass the “Strait of Hormuz of Sindh” would not be an exaggeration. In Sindh’s nationalist political discourse, the name Babarloi Bypass has repeatedly resurfaced in connection with the “Babarloi Dharna” (sit-in). Babarloi is an ancient settlement in Khairpur district. According to historical accounts, including Tareekh-e-Masoomi and Tarkhan Nama, this was the place where Mughal Emperor Humayun, after being defeated by Sher Shah Suri and forced into exile, stayed for nearly six months before heading towards Iran. Today, Babarloi Bypass has emerged as a crucial junction on the National Highway N-5. This strategic corridor connects Sindh with Punjab, Balochistan and upper Sindh, making it a vital artery for trade and transportation. Economically, Punjab and Sindh are deeply interdependent. On one hand, Punjab relies on Sindh for imported goods arriving through Karachi’s ports, including machinery, industrial raw material, chemicals and electronics. It also depends on Sindh for the transportation of oil and petroleum products, as some of Pakistan’s major oil refineries and import terminals are located in Sindh. On the other hand, Sindh depends heavily on Punjab for wheat, flour, sugar, textiles, engineering goods, agricultural products, poultry, dairy and other food supplies. However, in comparative terms, blocking Babarloi Bypass on the N-5 route would cause a far greater economic disruption to Punjab than to Sindh because of Punjab’s larger dependence on this transit corridor for trade flows. Whether the issue is the controversial six-canal project or the debate over the creation of new provinces, some political stakeholders in Sindh view Babarloi Bypass as a pressure point against Punjab and the federal government. Their strategy has been to send a message that before raising questions about the division of Sindh, Punjab and the federation must recognise the consequences of alienating the province. For these groups, Babarloi Bypass has become Sindh’s equivalent of a strategic pressure point — a place through which pressure can be exerted on the federal centre. Last year, a major protest was staged at Babarloi Bypass (Khairpur, Sindh) against the federal government’s proposed project to construct six new canals from the Indus River. The eleven-day sit-in, organised by lawyers, nationalist parties, farmers’ organisations and civil society groups, continued from April 18 to April 29, 2025. As a result, the National Highway N-5 remained blocked at Babarloi Bypass, disrupting movement between Sindh and Punjab. The transportation of goods was almost suspended, affecting supplies of vegetables, fruits, cotton, rice and other agricultural commodities to Punjab. Several industries faced delays in receiving raw materials, while hundreds of trucks remained stranded for days, causing losses worth millions of rupees to transporters and traders. The protest eventually ended after negotiations between a delegation of the Sindh government and the lawyers’ action committee. The agreement included the following assurances: The Council of Common Interests (CCI) would decide the future of the controversial canal project, and no progress would be made without consensus among all provinces. The government assured the issuance of an official notification addressing the lawyers’ demands and promised to provide relevant legal documents. The Babarloi Dharna was considered one of the significant political protests of 2025 because it increased pressure on the federal government, disrupted the land link between Sindh and Punjab for several days, and played a role in bringing the canal issue back to the platform of the Council of Common Interests.   The following year, Babarloi Bypass once again became the centre of a major protest. On July 23, 2026, a second sit-in was staged, this time not against the canal project but to demand the recovery of 27 missing children from Sindh, including the high-profile case of Priya Kumari. The protest was attended by lawyers, civil society activists, nationalist political workers, families of missing children and ordinary citizens. During the protest, the debate over the creation of new provinces, particularly from Karachi and federal circles, once again gained momentum. As a result, Sindh’s nationalist politics was once again seen aligning itself with anti-centre and anti-Punjab sentiments during the demonstration. Moreover, some separatist elements reportedly raised slogans such as “Pakistan Na Khappe” (We do not want Pakistan) and “Pakistan Murdabad” (Down with Pakistan) during the sit-in. However, unlike the previous year, the protest was brought to an end by the Sindh government with the assistance of police authorities. The Babarlo police, in their own account of the incident, accused the protesters of obstructing police vehicles, resorting to stone-pelting, and raising anti-Pakistan slogans during the standoff. According to reports, police took action to disperse the protesters, several individuals were arrested, and later cases were registered against 13 named persons and around 150 unidentified individuals under various provisions, including anti-terrorism laws. The manner in which the Sindh government dealt with this year’s sit-in suggests a different political approach compared to nationalist leaders. It indicates that the provincial government was reluctant to escalate tensions with either the Punjab government or the Pakistan Peoples Party’s political partners at the federal level. The Sindh government also appeared unwilling to allow the closure of Babarloi Bypass to turn the issue into a larger confrontation. The PPP leadership is aware that preventing child abductions and ensuring the recovery of missing children is primarily the responsibility of the Sindh government; neither Punjab nor the federal government can be held directly accountable for such matters. Therefore, before nationalist groups could create a situation that might politically embarrass the PPP at the federal level, the Sindh government moved to end the sit-in and restrict the influence of protest organisers. Whether the two major political parties have reached an understanding behind closed doors under the spirit of the Charter of Democracy remains a matter of speculation. However, the way both parties continue to engage in verbal confrontations during the Azad Jammu and Kashmir elections appears, to some observers, to be part of a broader political strategy.

If someone were to say today that neither Iran nor the United States actually wants war, the immediate question would be: “Then why is this conflict happening?” The answer depends on whom you ask. Each side presents its own narrative, blaming the other for provoking the crisis and insisting that it is merely responding to aggression. From the Iranian perspective, the United States is portrayed as a global bully with a long history of military interventions. Iranian supporters argue that Washington has once again resorted to force, launching a sudden attack on February 28 that allegedly eliminated Iran’s top political and military leadership. They contend that the reported killing of Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, along with members of his family, is an act that cannot simply be forgotten or forgiven. In their view, they now possess the moral right to seek revenge. If their highest leader was targeted, they argue, then retaliatory action against U.S. President Donald Trump, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, and those associated with them is justified. For many in this camp, revenge has become a national rallying cry. The American position is fundamentally different. Washington argues that Iran’s religious establishment under the doctrine of Wilayat al-Faqih has destabilized the Middle East for more than four decades. According to this view, Tehran has built, funded, and armed militant proxy groups not only around Israel but also across neighboring Gulf and Arab states. U.S. officials point to Syria, where former President Bashar al-Assad—despite belonging to a minority sect—was accused of carrying out decades of repression and mass violence against the Sunni majority, allegedly with Iran’s political and military backing. Similar accusations are made regarding Iraq, where Iranian influence is said to have fueled years of instability. In Lebanon, critics argue that Hezbollah, widely regarded as Iran’s most powerful proxy, has effectively established a state within a state, operating beyond the authority of the Lebanese government. They claim the group has not only maintained continuous hostility toward Israel but has also contributed to Lebanon’s internal political and economic paralysis. According to this narrative, tensions have escalated to the point where Lebanon’s elected government has explored understandings with Israel aimed at confronting these armed groups. American officials further argue that Iran’s regional influence has created deep anxiety among Israel as well as neighboring Gulf Arab governments, who fear that Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) or its affiliated groups could threaten their security at any time. They also maintain that the military action taken on February 28 was rooted in the events of October 7, when Hamas—described by Washington as an Iranian-backed organization—launched an unprecedented attack inside Israel that killed approximately 1,200 civilians and resulted in around 250 hostages, including women and children. Despite these deep divisions, the United States and Iran, with the mediation of Pakistan and Qatar, reportedly signed a Memorandum of Understanding aimed at reducing tensions. One of its key provisions allegedly guaranteed that the Strait of Hormuz would remain open, allowing international shipping to pass freely without Iran imposing fees, restrictions, or obstacles. However, according to the American account, tensions flared again when missiles were reportedly fired at Saudi and Qatari vessels passing through waters near Oman. Critics questioned the justification for such an action, arguing that instead of acknowledging responsibility or seeking de-escalation, elements within Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps insisted that the Strait of Hormuz should remain closed to commercial shipping. They further allege that the IRGC instructed Yemen’s Houthi movement to block the Bab el-Mandeb Strait in order to disrupt Saudi oil exports to Europe. If the Strait of Hormuz has already strained Asian energy markets, they argue, closing Bab el-Mandeb could create similar disruptions for Europe. Such developments would pose serious economic and strategic challenges for the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Adding to these concerns, Yemen’s Houthis—who are widely viewed by Western governments as being aligned with Iran—have reportedly threatened to strike Saudi oil infrastructure. It is within this context that Pakistan has chosen to clarify its position. Beyond the longstanding religious, diplomatic, and strategic relationship between Islamabad and Riyadh, Pakistan has repeatedly maintained that any attack on Saudi Arabia would be regarded as a direct threat to Pakistan itself. Against this backdrop, Pakistan’s leadership reportedly conveyed a clear message to Tehran: “An attack on Saudi Arabia will be treated as an attack on Pakistan. That is our red line.” In line with this policy, Pakistan has reportedly deployed fighter aircraft and thousands of military personnel to Saudi Arabia, with forces positioned near the Yemeni border. Alongside air and ground deployments, Pakistani naval units are also said to be prepared to cooperate with Saudi and U.S. forces in securing maritime routes and responding to Houthi activities if required. Given these escalating tensions, Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps is urged by its critics to recognize the gravity of the situation and avoid actions that could bring Pakistan and Iran into direct confrontation. They argue that disrupting both the Strait of Hormuz and the Bab el-Mandeb would not only inflict severe damage on the global economy but would also deepen international opposition toward Iran—an outcome they believe Tehran can ill afford. According to this perspective, divisions are already becoming visible within Iran itself. Some observers argue that the country’s elected political leadership is increasingly uneasy with policies that risk further isolation and conflict. They see growing differences between Iran’s political and military establishments, even though these tensions remain largely behind the scenes. The funeral of Iran’s Supreme Leader reportedly drew millions of mourners, reflecting widespread public sympathy. Yet critics argue that this did not necessarily indicate universal support for perpetual confrontation or calls for vengeance. Reports also suggested that hardline supporters directed slogans accusing President Masoud Pezeshkian of betrayal, while Foreign Minister Seyed Abbas Araghchi allegedly faced verbal hostility and even physical attacks during the proceedings. Those who criticize Iran’s hardline factions argue that such behavior deserves condemnation rather than praise. In their view, the greatest burden of continued escalation will ultimately

Since its inception, Pakistan has been confronted with a multitude of complex and interwoven challenges that have persistently constrained its political stability, economic progress, institutional development, and social transformation. While the nature and intensity of these challenges have evolved over time, their cumulative impact has continued to impede the country’s pursuit of sustainable development and national prosperity. Among these enduring national challenges, the governance crisis has emerged as one of the most pressing concerns, posing serious implications for sustainable development, institutional resilience, socioeconomic progress, and the country’s long-term stability. A number of instances can be quoted to highlight the dismal situation of governance in Pakistan. The very first among these is the lack of citizens’ interest in participation. Citizens are not sufficiently aware of their participatory rights; therefore, they do not keep an eye on public officials and don’t raise their voices when their legal rights are violated by the elite class of the state. Moreover, in terms of transparency, Pakistan is far behind the required standards. According to the 2025 Corruption Perception Index published by Transparency International, Pakistan scored 28 out of 100 and ranked 136th out of 182 countries, indicating a high perceived level of public sector corruption. Furthermore, it is our bad luck that the situation of the rule of law has always been in trouble since 1947. Unfortunately, the rule of law has been confined to the conventional concept of law enforcement, internal security, and crime control, while, at the same time, it overlooks the basic elements, including transparency, accountability before the law, and the equal, just, and clear application of the law. Although, the state has numerous accountability committees and agencies to hold corrupt individuals accountable and curb corrupt practices in society. But still, the state is struggling to implement accountability in its true sense. Ignoring the major causes that have led to the deplorable situation of governance in Pakistan would be totally unjust. These include a number of factors that have directly or indirectly facilitated its existence. In this context, political instability is the biggest cause of bad governance in Pakistan. For most of the time, a myopic approach is adopted by political parties to establish their own governments. They remain engaged in the struggle for power while toppling governments by hook or by crook. Likewise, the relevant institutions do not respond immediately to the emergence of new challenges, leading to dearth of responsiveness in institution’s working.   In addition to it, the lack of strategic vision of the political leadership is also a factor which hits the structure of governance in Pakistan. Quite understandably, Political leaders have failed to foresee Pakistan’s emerging challenges and to cope with the persistent challenges that the state has been confronting for a long time. Keeping in view the crunch of governance, whom should be blamed and held accountable? It is the need of the hour that well-crafted and result-oriented policies regarding governance be formulated and effectively implemented to address the issue in its true spirit. Social media should play its crucial role in spreading awareness. Democracy should be strengthened. Posting, transfer, and promotion of bureaucrats should be done on merit. Last but not the least, the right to information should be guaranteed to citizens as provided under Article 19A of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. These bold steps can place Pakistan in the list of countries having good governance.

By Malik Khuda Bakhsh Awan, former Additional IG Punjab &  Engineer Arshad H. Abbasi In the early 1990s, operating a manual typewriter was not merely clerical work; it was a test of patience, precision, discipline and endurance. When our office typist disappeared without notice, the responsibility for preparing official reports fell upon us. There was no computer, no backspace and no “undo” button. Every word had to be typed carefully because a serious mistake could mean rewriting an entire page. We still remember spending almost eight hours preparing a single report, only to finish physically and mentally exhausted. Then, during a visit to Dubai on a different occasion, we witnessed Microsoft Office running on a modest personal computer, and it seemed almost magical. Microsoft Word could correct mistakes instantly, paragraphs could be moved without rewriting a page, and Excel could transform rows of figures into calculations, forecasts and financial analysis. We returned home convinced that technology would usher Pakistan into a new age of efficient governance, better engineering and more transparent economic management. In many ways, it did. Typewriters disappeared, computers transformed offices and the internet connected institutions. Yet another lesson gradually became clear: technology can change the tools without changing the people using them. Computers did not automatically eliminate corruption, inefficiency or institutional inertia. A powerful laptop in the hands of an uninterested official remained merely a powerful laptop. The same paradox emerged with PowerPoint. A tool designed to communicate information became, in some institutions, a substitute for serious analysis. Complex national problems were reduced to attractive slides, risks disappeared behind optimistic charts, and weak policies could be made to look impressive. “Death by PowerPoint” became more than a phrase; it became a warning about governance. We saw how major national decisions could be presented as technical successes while their long-term financial, economic and strategic consequences received insufficient scrutiny. The lesson is important because Pakistan is now entering another technological revolution, and this time the technology is far more powerful. Artificial intelligence is no longer limited to answering questions or completing simple prompts. The next generation is moving towards what we may describe as synthetic intelligence: increasingly autonomous systems that can receive an objective, break it into multiple tasks, use software tools, analyse information, check their own results, identify errors, revise their approach and continue working when a particular step fails. AI is also becoming multimodal, allowing systems to process text, images, sound, video, sensor information and structured data together. The next frontier is the integration of digital intelligence with the physical world through robotics, sensors, autonomous machines, industrial systems, medical technology, logistics and manufacturing. A system may eventually be able to observe a problem, formulate a plan, execute several steps, monitor the consequences and adapt its strategy without continuous human instruction. This is a profound transformation from statistical prediction towards increasingly structured problem-solving and autonomous action. Yet we must be careful about what this technological progress actually means. AI can calculate faster than humans, search more information than humans and identify patterns that humans may miss. It can optimise a supply chain, forecast electricity demand, analyse satellite imagery, detect anomalies in financial accounts and assist engineers in complex modelling. But none of this means that machines have acquired human wisdom. Intelligence and wisdom are not the same. A machine can calculate the most efficient way to distribute water, but it cannot independently determine what constitutes justice between competing communities. It can forecast a food shortage, but it cannot decide the moral priority between those who can pay and those who cannot. It can optimise an energy system, but it cannot decide whether a development project is worth the environmental and social cost. It can generate an economic model, but it cannot experience the hardship of a family facing inflation, unemployment or unaffordable electricity. The danger, therefore, is not simply that machines will become more intelligent. The greater danger is that human beings will begin surrendering judgement to machines. We must never confuse computational power with wisdom, information with understanding, or automation with responsibility. For Pakistan, this distinction is not an academic argument. It is a matter of national survival. Whatever happens to artificial intelligence during the next 100 years, human beings will still need food, water, energy, shelter and economic security. AI may transform the way these resources are managed, but it cannot abolish their physical foundations. An algorithm cannot manufacture a Himalayan glacier. A chatbot cannot create a river. A computer cannot grow wheat. A digital platform cannot replace a watershed. A robot cannot simply manufacture energy from nothing. AI can help us forecast rainfall, optimise irrigation, monitor groundwater, improve agricultural productivity, manage electricity demand, reduce transmission losses and identify climate risks. It can help us make better decisions, but it cannot remove our dependence on nature. This is particularly important for Pakistan because our national future is inseparable from the Indus Basin. Agriculture depends on water. Cities depend on reliable water supplies. Industry depends on energy. Food security depends on agriculture. Economic stability depends on affordable energy, productive agriculture, exports and functioning infrastructure. These systems are interconnected. Water affects food. Energy affects water. Food affects inflation. Energy affects industry. Climate change affects all of them. If water security deteriorates, agriculture suffers. If agriculture suffers, food prices rise. If energy becomes unaffordable, industry becomes uncompetitive. If industry weakens, employment and exports decline. If these pressures occur simultaneously, no AI system will magically rescue the country. This is why the belief that technology alone can solve Pakistan’s fundamental problems is dangerous. We have already made this mistake with computers and digitalisation. We must not repeat it with AI. Technology can amplify competence, but it can also amplify incompetence. If dishonest data enters an AI system, the machine may produce sophisticated dishonesty. If flawed assumptions enter the model, AI may produce a highly polished version of a flawed conclusion. If the objective is politically manipulated, the most advanced algorithm cannot convert a bad objective into good governance. The