Trump talks, Iran denies, Pakistan mediates

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

The geopolitical partition of the Indian subcontinent in the mid-twentieth century and the subsequent emergence of two sovereign nation-states remain among the most complex and defining chapters in modern global history. Within constitutional studies, postcolonial scholarship, and international affairs, this monumental shift has often been viewed through overly reductive lenses—frequently chalked up to imperial haste, nationalist fervor, or entrenched religious polarization. Yet, evaluated through a critical, detached twenty-first-century historical paradigm, a far more nuanced reality emerges: the creation of Pakistan was neither the product of a singular conspiracy nor a sudden historical accident. Rather, it represented a profound tripartite structural crisis triggered by Britain’s post-war imperial retreat, the Indian National Congress’s persistent anxiety over central authority, and the All-India Muslim League’s long-standing constitutional struggle to secure the political rights, economic safeguards, and existence of the subcontinent’s Muslim minority. To comprehend the foundational tier of this historical watershed, one must first analyze the global political economy and British colonial strategy of the 1940s. The devastation of the Second World War eroded the financial, administrative, and military underpinnings of the British Empire. British India—once celebrated as the crown jewel of the realm—had transmuted into an unsustainable administrative burden for Clement Attlee’s post-war Labour government in London. Official imperial correspondence compiled in The Transfer of Power 1942–47 exposes an unmistakable truth: London’s primary objective was no longer to establish an equitable political settlement in South Asia, but rather to execute a swift, low-cost exit that mitigated further economic and military liability. This imperial burnout precipitated Lord Mountbatten’s rushed exit strategy, which abruptly advanced the timeline for the transfer of power from June 1948 to August 1947. The human and spatial catastrophe that followed was exacerbated by the Boundary Commission led by Sir Cyril Radcliffe—a man with no prior familiarity with the subcontinent’s intricate demographic and cultural fabric, tasked with carving borders across maps in a matter of weeks. The chaotic fallout of the Radcliffe Award, the controversial inclusion of Muslim-majority tehsils like Gurdaspur into India, the bloody bifurcation of Punjab and Bengal, and the largest forced migration in human history were ultimately the catastrophic human costs paid by millions of South Asians for a retreating empire’s hasty flight. The second dimension of this tripartite framework involves the political, ideological, and constitutional stance of the Indian National Congress—a position frequently mischaracterized in one-sided narratives as sheer personal hubris or partisan bias. A rigorous, objective historical analysis of the Congress leadership, particularly figures like Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, reveals that their overriding strategic fear was the “Balkanization” of the subcontinent into scores of autonomous, warring princely states. The Congress maintained that governing a vast, culturally diverse land mass under a weak central power alongside sprawling princely domains was fundamentally unviable. They advocated for a highly centralized state capable of driving industrialization, economic cohesion, and geopolitical stability. Consequently, Congress consistently resisted flexible federal structures that granted extensive provincial autonomy, fearing that a weak central government would inevitably lead to the fragmentation of India’s geographical and political integrity. However, the third and arguably most crucial ideological and legal dimension was the constitutional resistance led by the All-India Muslim League under Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah—a struggle born out of the inherent limitations of majoritarian, “Westminster-style” numerical democracy. In culturally homogenous Western societies, the principle of “one person, one vote” forms the bedrock of democratic governance. Yet in the deeply stratified, multi-religious reality of the subcontinent, strict numerical majoritarianism effectively condemned a twenty-five percent Muslim minority to permanent political subordination under a seventy-five percent Hindu majority. For the Muslim population, this contest was never merely about securing a share of administrative power; it was a fundamental fight for legislative self-determination, economic survival, and cultural preservation. A close reading of the subcontinent’s constitutional trajectory demonstrates that the demand for Pakistan did not originate as a call for immediate territorial separation. From the Simla Deputation of 1906 and the constitutional reforms of 1909 to the Lucknow Pact of 1916, Jinnah’s Fourteen Points of 1929, and the Government of India Act of 1935, the primary objective of Muslim leadership was to secure provincial autonomy, separate electorates, and robust constitutional safeguards within a unified Indian federation. As the eminent Cambridge historian Ayesha Jalal highlighted in The Sole Spokesman, the demand for Pakistan functioned for a long time as a sophisticated strategic bargaining chip aimed at securing equal constitutional weight at the center, ensuring minority rights could not be overridden by sheer majoritarian dominance. The pivotal turning point occurred following the 1937 provincial elections. When the Indian National Congress formed unilateral governments across most of British India while sidelining minority representation, its twenty-month tenure transformed the Muslim League’s theoretical anxieties into stark political reality. The final, most promising opportunity for a united, decentralized India was the Cabinet Mission Plan of 1946. It proposed grouping British Indian provinces into three autonomous tiers, restricting the federal center strictly to defense, foreign affairs, and communications. Demonstrating extraordinary political foresight and statesmanship, Jinnah accepted the Cabinet Mission Plan despite heavy internal dissent, striving to preserve the geographic unity of the subcontinent while securing constitutional autonomy for Muslims. This fragile compromise collapsed in July 1946 during a press conference in Bombay, where Jawaharlal Nehru declared that Congress would enter the Constituent Assembly “unfettered by agreements” and free to modify the Cabinet Mission Plan. In his seminal work Partition of India: Legend and Reality, renowned Indian jurist and constitutional historian H. M. Seervai meticulously documented how Congress’s rigid insistence on hyper-centralization and rejection of a loose federation torpedoed the Cabinet Mission Plan. At that crucial juncture, the demand for a separate, sovereign state ceased to be an idealistic campaign; it became the sole viable, logical pathway to guarantee political equality, dignity, and constitutional security for millions of Muslims. Underpinning this prolonged political contest was an essential socio-economic reality often overlooked in conventional historiography. In British India, commercial networks, civil administration, and industrial capital were predominantly concentrated within the Hindu middle class, leaving the Muslim agrarian class, tenant

Inflation is at its peak all around the world, while some in one part of the world cannot afford clean fresh water, others are buying a cup of coffee worth more than 10 dollars just to meet their aesthetics for an instagram story. It has become a necessity to upgrade their phones each year as apples launch new versions, or to eat at fancy cafes just to take pictures of the food even if their rent is not due. These are the outcomes and aftermaths of the rise of social media trends.   A new occupation of being an online influencer has emerged. Where a decade ago A-list celebrities were paid to promote products, now the same can be done through influencers (which from a marketing point of view is a lot cheaper and faster for companies). An influencer makes a 30 second video of persuasively advertisementing customers which allows them to make sufficient amounts of income. Paradoxically  they may even be neglectful of the product they are branding being safe or useful. Thus, common people with normal 9-5 jobs are falling for these traps online.   Millennials and Genz, both have been found to indulge in these unnecessary shopping habits arising from the online advertisements of influencers. The lives of influencers may seem perfect. Contradictorily someone promoting a skin care treatment may have genetically clear skin, others promoting health and fitness programmes may in reality live an unhealthy lifestyle. Little by little, bit by bit people who scroll on social media platforms like instagram and facebook are convinced to purchase needless items with no useful impact in their lives.   Gluttony is regarded as one of the seven deadly sins. The newly emerged habit of online shopping is feeding into it. Young adults nowadays are often in debt, however not the usual student debt they owe to their colleges- but the ones they owe to the credit card companies whom they have failed to pay back for the haphazard jumble of products they have purchased while not being cautioned enough. Most of these purchases are done to fit in a trend and are often to please the society they are around rather than personal desires.   One after another, the oligarchs set up traps for the world and yet again and again we have been seemingly fallen for it. May it be big fast food chains labeling every ultraprocessed junk as “high in protein” whilst hiding the fact that the same products are also high in processed fats and preservatives or having addictive ingredients which release dopamine and makes the buyer destined to repurchase.   People often call this impulse buying “convenient” for it is delivered on doorsteps. In some cases it may be accuarte, but in truth it is another method of making people becoming indolent and shiftless. A 10 minute walk to the supermarket is avoided when apps like doordash are introduced to deliver groceries to doorsteps- the same 10 minute walk which is without a debate must for all ages. Not only is this extremely harmful for the human body physically but it has its dangerous impacts on psychological health leading to high profile cases of depression and isolation.   These habits start slow and seem innocent, until they become addictions and empty bank accounts while also destroying an individual’s ability to live a life in which pleasing others is not a priority. This trend does not seem to stop anytime soon- nevertheless it is expanding endlessly in all countries, cultures and environments. Even in this cycle the rich gain tremendously while the poor pay unconsciously thinking that their lives are improving. This is modern slavery where chains are replaced by computers given to people in their hands and control their lives through it.

By Muhammad Imran, Staff Member, SAHSOL-LUMS and Asma Rahmat, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University and Muhammad Ameer Hamza, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University Introduction: Pakistan appears to be entering yet another phase of constitutional uncertainty, engineering, or manipulation, where political developments, institutional pronouncements, and proposals for structural reforms are converging to reshape the national discourse. Recent statements by senior state functionaries have reignited debate over governance, federalism, constitutional amendments, and the future distribution of political power. Whether these developments represent genuine constitutional reform or another episode of constitutional engineering remains an open question. The debate was triggered during an Economic Summit when the Federal Interior Minister, Syed Mohsin Naqvi, observed that the existing “hybrid” governance arrangement had exhausted its utility. While acknowledging the efforts of the Prime Minister, he maintained that the present political system could no longer deliver effective governance and therefore required a comprehensive “reset.” He further warned that, unless structural reforms were undertaken, Pakistan risked witnessing the resurgence of what he described as the CJP as “Cockroach Janta Party”; do not take it as Chief Justice of Pakistan (CJP), a political phenomenon which, in his opinion, would be unsustainable. Within twenty-four hours, Lieutenant General Ahmed Sharif Chaudhry, Director General of ISPR, echoed concerns regarding governance during his media briefing. He emphasized that Parliament bears the constitutional responsibility to devise solutions to persistent governance failures. He further argued that Pakistan’s rapidly expanding population necessitates a serious national debate on the creation of additional provinces to improve administrative efficiency, public service delivery, and democratic accessibility. More significantly, he linked good governance with national security, observing that sustainable counter-terrorism efforts require not only military preparedness but also effective civilian governance and institutional stability. These successive statements have inevitably fuelled speculation regarding another phase of constitutional restructuring. Following the enactment of the person-specific (Justice Syed Mansoor Ali Shah) Twenty-Seventh Constitutional Amendment, which substantially altered Pakistan’s judicial architecture by establishing the Federal Constitutional Court (FCC) and redistributing the constitutional jurisdiction of the Supreme Court, political circles have begun discussing the possibility of a Twenty-Eighth Constitutional Amendment. Although no formal proposal has yet emerged, reports suggest that the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) remains cautious about any constitutional initiative that may dilute the federal autonomy secured through the Eighteenth Constitutional Amendment, particularly the post-NFC fiscal arrangement. Federalism and the NFC Question: Any discussion concerning new provinces inevitably intersects with Pakistan’s fiscal federalism. The Seventh National Finance Commission (NFC) Award and the Eighteenth Amendment fundamentally altered the Federation’s financial architecture by allocating a substantially larger share of federal revenues to the provinces. While these reforms strengthened provincial autonomy, they simultaneously reduced the fiscal capacity of the Federation. Successive federal governments have therefore expressed concern regarding the shrinking financial resources available to discharge expanding national responsibilities. Similar proposals for revisiting the NFC framework surfaced during the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) government; however, they never materialized because constitutional amendments require a two-thirds parliamentary majority—a threshold that remained politically unattainable. The Politics of New Provinces: The proposal to create additional provinces is hardly novel. For decades, constitutional scholars have argued that Pakistan’s demographic expansion justifies administrative decentralization. Provinces with populations exceeding those of many sovereign states inevitably face governance challenges, administrative inefficiencies, and unequal public service delivery. Yet constitutional necessity has consistently collided with political reality. Pakistan’s two dominant political parties—the Pakistan Muslim League (Nawaz) (PML-N) and the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP)—have repeatedly expressed conditional support for provincial reorganization while demonstrating limited political willingness to implement it. Their reluctance is attributable not merely to the enormous financial burden of establishing new legislatures, governors’ houses, provincial secretariats, judicial institutions, police organizations, and civil services. More fundamentally, new provinces would inevitably redistribute political influence, electoral constituencies, financial resources, and administrative authority. The current debate vividly illustrates this contradiction. The PPP has argued that provincial reorganization should begin with Punjab, Pakistan’s largest province by population. The PML-N, whose electoral dominance is centred in Punjab, has shown little enthusiasm for initiating such reforms within its own political base. Consequently, critics contend that the resistance to provincial restructuring reflects electoral calculations as much as constitutional considerations. Constitutional Amendments versus Constitutional Governance: Pakistan’s constitutional history demonstrates that amendments have frequently been employed as instruments of political expediency rather than mechanisms of democratic consolidation. Whether enacted by military governments or elected administrations, constitutional amendments have often reflected prevailing political necessities instead of broad constitutional consensus. The central question, therefore, is not whether another constitutional amendment should be enacted, but whether constitutional amendments alone are capable of resolving Pakistan’s chronic governance crisis. Experience suggests otherwise: No constitutional amendment—regardless of its political significance—can compensate for weak institutions, ineffective governance, deficient accountability, or inconsistent adherence to constitutional norms. Constitutional text may reorganize institutions, but it cannot, by itself, transform political culture. The Crisis of Democratic Representation: Pakistan’s more profound constitutional challenge lies elsewhere. A constitutional democracy derives its legitimacy from authentic political representation. Citizens must possess the genuine ability to elect representatives through elections that are free, fair, transparent, and universally trusted. Only under such conditions can Parliament legitimately exercise constituent authority on behalf of the people. Critics of Pakistan’s constitutional evolution have long argued that recurrent political interruptions, institutional interventions, and governance deficits have prevented representative democracy from maturing into a fully autonomous constitutional order. Consequently, civilian supremacy—despite being an essential constitutional aspiration—has often remained institutionally fragile, docile and compliant. Without addressing the quality and credibility of democratic representation, constitutional amendments risk becoming procedural exercises rather than substantive democratic reforms. Institutional Power and Constitutional Accountability: Recent political developments have also revived debate regarding the practical distribution of constitutional authority among state institutions. The Federal Interior Minister’s public assertion that the existing political system had “collapsed,” while continuing to serve in one of the most influential positions within the federal cabinet, generated significant constitutional commentary. Political analysts have interpreted this episode in different ways, but it has undeniably raised broader questions concerning constitutional accountability, institutional autonomy, civilian authority, and the practical operation of Pakistan’s

By Muhammad Imran, Staff Member, SAHSOL-LUMS and Asma Rahmat, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University and Muhammad Ameer Hamza, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University Article 12 of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, 1973, enshrines one of the oldest and most celebrated principles of criminal jurisprudence, namely nullum crimen, nulla poena sine lege, which means there can be neither a crime nor a punishment without prior law. This constitutional guarantee embodies the rule of law by prohibiting retrospective criminal legislation and protecting every individual from arbitrary prosecution or punishment. It ensures that a person may be held criminally liable only for conduct that constituted an offence under the law at the time it was committed, and that no punishment more severe than that then prescribed may subsequently be imposed. The first part of Article 12 prohibits the retrospective creation of criminal offences. A person cannot be convicted for an act or omission which was lawful when committed merely because the legislature subsequently criminalises that conduct. The second part prohibits the retrospective enhancement of punishment. Accordingly, where the law prescribes a maximum sentence of six months’ imprisonment or two years’ imprisonment at the time of the offence, neither the judiciary nor the legislature may subsequently impose or authorise a more severe penalty for that completed act. The constitutional guarantee thus preserves legal certainty, protects legitimate expectations, and prevents arbitrary exercises of legislative and executive power. Article 12 is founded upon the universally accepted doctrine of legal certainty, which requires that criminal laws be clear, prospective, and predictable. Individuals must be capable of regulating their conduct according to existing law without fear that future legislation will retrospectively criminalise their past actions or increase their punishment. The principle therefore operates as an indispensable safeguard against governmental arbitrariness and political persecution and constitutes a cornerstone of every constitutional democracy governed by the rule of law. The constitutional philosophy embodied in Article 12 is consistent with internationally recognised human rights norms. Article 11(2) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 1948, provides that no person shall be held guilty of any penal offence on account of any act or omission that did not constitute a penal offence under national or international law at the time it was committed, nor shall a heavier penalty be imposed than that applicable at the time of the commission of the offence. Likewise, Article 15 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), to which Pakistan is a State Party, reiterates the same prohibition against retrospective criminal liability while recognising only the limited exception relating to offences recognised under the general principles of international law. Comparable constitutional protection is also found in the United States Constitution, where Article I, Sections 9 and 10 expressly prohibit Congress and the States from enacting ex post facto laws. This prohibition has long been regarded as a fundamental limitation upon legislative authority and reflects a universal constitutional commitment to fairness in criminal justice. The superior courts of Pakistan have consistently treated Article 12 as an indispensable constitutional safeguard. In Mian Muhammad Nawaz Sharif v. The State, the Supreme Court reaffirmed that Article 12 embodies the constitutional prohibition against retrospective penal legislation and protects individuals from being subjected to criminal liability or enhanced punishment under laws enacted after the commission of the alleged offence. The Court emphasised that retrospective penal laws offend the rule of law because criminal consequences must always be determined according to the law in force at the relevant time. Similarly, in Benazir Bhutto v. Federation of Pakistan, the Supreme Court underscored that fundamental rights must receive a liberal and purposive interpretation so as to prevent arbitrary governmental action and preserve constitutional liberties. Although that case did not directly concern Article 12, its interpretative philosophy has significantly influenced the constitutional protection afforded to penal safeguards. A significant constitutional question concerns the offence of high treason under Article 6 of the Constitution. High treason, comprising the abrogation, subversion, suspension, or holding in abeyance of the Constitution, represents the gravest constitutional offence. Through the Constitution (Eighteenth Amendment) Act, 2010, Parliament expanded Article 6 to include persons who aid, abet, collaborate with, or validate such unconstitutional acts. Nevertheless, Article 12 continues to apply with full constitutional force. Even in prosecutions for high treason, criminal liability and punishment cannot be imposed retrospectively. Any legislative amendment increasing punishment or enlarging criminal liability can operate only prospectively and cannot constitutionally affect acts committed before its enactment. The historical experience of constitutional development further demonstrates the importance of this principle. Following the restoration of the English monarchy, the remains of Oliver Cromwell were exhumed in 1661 upon the orders of Charles II, symbolically hanged, beheaded, and publicly displayed. Although this episode belonged to a different constitutional era, it illustrates the dangers of political vengeance unconstrained by constitutional guarantees. Modern constitutional democracies reject such practices and instead insist that criminal justice must always be governed by legality, due process, and prospective application of penal laws. Article 12, therefore, is not merely a procedural safeguard but a substantive manifestation of constitutionalism itself. It preserves the supremacy of law over arbitrary power, protects individual liberty against retrospective criminal legislation, and strengthens public confidence in the fairness and integrity of the criminal justice system. Together with Articles 4, 9, and 10A of the Constitution, it forms an integral part of Pakistan’s constitutional architecture for the protection of human dignity, legal certainty, and the rule of law. Article 12 of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, 1973, is a cornerstone of constitutionalism and the rule of law. By prohibiting retrospective criminal legislation and the retrospective enhancement of punishment, it embodies the fundamental principle of nullum crimen, nulla poena sine lege, ensuring that no person is punished except in accordance with the law in force at the time of the alleged offence. In conjunction with Articles 4, 9, and 10A, Article 12 protects legal certainty, due process, and individual liberty while preventing arbitrary or politically

By Aleena Saif Ullah The writer is an MPhil Scholar in International Relations, specializing in global defence and security, University of the Punjab, Lahore. On February 28, the first day of Operation Epic Fury, a strike hit the Shajareh Tayyebeh girls’ elementary school in Minab, in Iran’s Hormozgan province. Iranian state media reported that 168 children and 14 adults were killed. Anadolu reported two strikes roughly forty minutes apart. President Trump said on March 7 that in his opinion Iran had done it, citing Iranian inaccuracy with munitions. Bellingcat had already established otherwise. Its researchers identified a Tomahawk cruise missile — a munition no other belligerent in the conflict fields — in footage released by Iran’s Mehr agency, and geolocated the strike sequence. The New York Times, the Associated Press and CNN reached compatible conclusions through independent satellite and video analysis. By March 11, NPR reported that a preliminary Pentagon assessment had determined the United States was at fault. Five months later, the accountability failure is not the one I described when I first wrote about this case, and the actual failure is more instructive. A process was initiated. On March 13, Secretary Hegseth announced a formal command investigation, with CENTCOM appointing a senior officer from outside the command to lead it — the correct procedural choice. Lawmakers have said that officer submitted an initial report in April. CENTCOM has held it since. On May 19, Admiral Brad Cooper told lawmakers under oath that the investigation was complex, near completion, and that “I’m fully committed to transparency” once it concluded. No findings have been published. Then in July, CNN reported the detail that reframes the case. Within a week of the strike, the first two stages of the battle damage assessment were complete, establishing that American forces had hit the location. The third stage — the standard review in which Defense Intelligence Agency analysts examine the full body of satellite imagery and intelligence to determine holistically what occurred — had not been ordered as of early July. One source familiar with the matter told CNN there had been no detailed analysis and that CENTCOM had locked down the investigation. NBC reported that preliminary findings pointed to outdated intelligence as the likely cause. This is a different kind of institutional failure from the one international lawyers usually describe, and it is worse. An absent process can be demanded. A process that ran, produced a document, and stopped is much harder to move, because officials can accurately say an investigation took place. The context makes it harder still. On May 13 the Pentagon’s own Inspector General found that the Department had systematically failed to implement its Civilian Harm Mitigation and Response Action Plan, with all eleven objectives reclassified as at risk and the legally mandated Civilian Protection Center of Excellence lacking key staff and leadership. The architecture built specifically to prevent and account for incidents like Minab had been allowed to decay before the war that tested it. Congress has asked the right questions and been ignored. A letter led by Senator Chris Van Hollen and signed by more than forty senators asked Secretary Hegseth directly whether American forces conducted the strikes, what the intended target was, whether AI tools were used in targeting, and whether a no-strike list was established before operations began. Answers were requested by March 18. More than 150 House members signed a parallel letter on the broader civilian toll. The comparison the Pentagon itself invites is unflattering. As NBC noted, the Department has publicly disclosed its role in comparable incidents before: a special forces raid in Yemen, a bombing in Iraq that killed more than a hundred civilians, the strike on an Afghan hospital that killed at least forty-two, a drone attack in Afghanistan that killed ten. Disclosure in those cases was not generous, but it happened. What Minab demonstrates is that the binding constraint on accountability is not evidence. Volunteer open-source investigators, working entirely from public material, established the essential facts within nine days. The state that conducted the strike established them internally within seven. The constraint is that no mechanism exists to compel publication of a report a government has decided not to publish — not the Rome Statute, to which the United States is not a party; not the Security Council, where it holds a veto; and not the Inspector General, who can find institutional failure but cannot release another command’s findings. One lever remains, and it is domestic rather than international. Congress can require declassified release of the findings through the National Defense Authorization Act. Whether it does will indicate more about the state of accountability for civilian harm than any further open-source analysis. The evidence is not missing. The report is not missing. Both exist. Neither can be read.