Vietnam as an Economic Lesson for Pakistan

In the space of a single year, Pakistan has moved from the periphery of Middle Eastern diplomacy to its center. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and army chief Field Marshal Syed Asim Munir have positioned the country as both a mediator between Washington and Tehran and, more recently, a formal treaty partner of Saudi Arabia and Turkey. The result  the Makkah Joint Defence Agreement, signed on August 7 in Islam’s holiest city  marks one of the most consequential shifts in South Asian foreign policy in decades. Yet it also raises hard questions about who is really steering Pakistan’s course, and at what long-term cost.   A war that reshaped the region   The backdrop is a war between the United States and Iran that erupted on February 28, drawing in Saudi Arabia, the Gulf states, Iraqi militias and Yemen’s Houthi movement, and disrupting roughly a fifth of the world’s seaborne energy supplies through the Strait of Hormuz. Missile and drone exchanges reached Saudi cities, unsettling a region that had spent years trying to de-escalate after the 2015 nuclear deal’s collapse.   Pakistan, one of the few states with working channels to both Washington and Tehran, stepped into the gap. Sharif’s government hosted preliminary contacts that produced the so-called Islamabad Memorandum, under which Iran signalled it would not pursue nuclear weapons  a pledge it had already made under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and the 2015 accord  in exchange for a mechanism allowing it to dilute stockpiles of highly enriched uranium. Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian later thanked Islamabad for its “constructive engagement” in securing a ceasefire and agreed to send negotiators to further talks in the Pakistani capital. Analysts at the Washington-based Stimson Center have noted that Munir personally staked considerable political capital on the diplomacy, given how easily it could have collapsed.       The Makkah pact   That mediating role fed directly into last week’s agreement. Saudi Arabia, repeatedly struck during the war by Iranian missiles and by Tehran-aligned forces in Yemen and Iraq, had already signed a bilateral defence pact with Pakistan in September 2025  struck, notably, just over a week after an Israeli strike on Hamas negotiators in Doha rattled Gulf capitals’ confidence in American security guarantees. The Makkah agreement extends that arrangement into a trilateral pact with Turkey, declaring that an armed attack on any one of the three signatories will be treated as an attack on all.   Pakistani officials describe the pact as purely defensive. Foreign Minister Ishaq Dar said this week it was “not directed against any country” and remained open to other regional states. President Asif Ali Zardari called it a reflection of “shared resolve for peace and security,” while Sharif credited Munir’s “tireless efforts” in securing an arrangement he said had been years in the making. For Riyadh and Ankara, the pact offers a hedge against dependence on any single outside power at a moment when American commitments to the region look less certain than they once did. For Pakistan, it offers closer ties with two wealthy allies, a symbolic role as guardian of Islam’s holiest sites, and outsized influence for a country whose economy remains fragile.   Praise, and pointed scepticism   The agreement has been celebrated in much of Pakistan’s domestic media as evidence that the country’s leadership  civilian and military alike  is finally translating decades of geopolitical positioning into tangible strategic weight. Supporters point to a similar dynamic in May, when a brief but intense military confrontation with India ended within days, after which the government promoted Munir to the rare, largely ceremonial rank of Field Marshal, only the second officer in Pakistan’s history to hold it.   But that same promotion has drawn sharp criticism from analysts who see it as part of a broader consolidation of power by the military at the expense of elected institutions. Munir, appointed army chief in November 2022, has presided over a period in which  according to critics including jailed former prime minister Imran Khan’s supporters  courts, the media and Sharif’s own coalition have operated increasingly under military direction, a system some commentators have dubbed a “hybrid regime.” The Middle East Institute has described Munir’s elevation as “a thunderous declaration of the military’s unassailable supremacy,” while other analysts note that his growing role in foreign and economic policy  well beyond the traditional remit of an army chief  blurs the line between civilian governance and military command in a country with a long history of that line collapsing altogether.   What comes next   None of this diminishes the immediate diplomatic achievement: a ceasefire process that, however fragile, has held; a new pact that binds three influential Muslim-majority states more closely together; and a Pakistan that finds itself, for now, indispensable to great-power diplomacy in a region convulsed by war. Whether that translates into durable stability  for the Gulf, for the broader Middle East, or for Pakistan’s own democratic institutions  remains an open question. The coming months, as the Islamabad talks resume and the Makkah pact’s practical implications become clearer, will test whether this new era represents a genuine diplomatic breakthrough or a further tightening of military control dressed in the language of strategic necessity.

Education  is no longer measured merely by the number of schools or students enrolled. In the modern era, success depends on transparency, accountability, quality learning, financial empowerment, and the effective use of technology. Over the past few years, the School Education & Literacy Department (SELD), Government of Sindh, has introduced a series of reforms that are gradually transforming the province’s education landscape. These initiatives reflect a shift from conventional administration to a modern, technology-driven education system focused on improving learning outcomes and governance. One of the most significant reforms is the Student Attendance Monitoring & Redress System (SAMRS). This digital platform records students’ attendance in real time, allowing school heads and education authorities to identify absenteeism, monitor enrollment trends, and intervene promptly to reduce dropout rates. By replacing manual reporting with digital monitoring, SAMRS enables data-driven decision-making and strengthens accountability throughout the education system. Complementing this initiative is FRAMES (Facial Recognition Attendance Monitoring System), a facial recognition-based attendance mechanism for teachers and non-teaching staff. By replacing traditional attendance registers with biometric verification, the system minimizes proxy attendance, enhances punctuality, and ensures greater transparency and discipline across government schools. Another landmark initiative is the e-Transfer System, which has digitized the transfer process for government school teachers. Instead of relying on lengthy manual procedures, teachers can now apply online, making the process more transparent, merit-based, efficient, and accessible while reducing unnecessary administrative delays. Financial decentralization has also emerged as a defining feature of Sindh’s education reforms through the School Specific Budget (SSB). During FY 2025–26, the Government of Sindh allocated Rs. 18.67 billion directly to government schools, empowering Head Teachers to manage repairs, maintenance, sanitation, furniture, learning materials, and other operational requirements according to local needs. Recognizing the positive impact of this initiative, the allocation was increased to Rs. 22.64 billion in the FY 2026–27 budget, representing an increase of approximately 21 percent. This reform has significantly strengthened school-level autonomy and improved service delivery. Equally important are the Curriculum Reforms, which aim to prepare students for the demands of the 21st century. The revised curriculum emphasizes competency-based learning, critical thinking, creativity, problem-solving, inquiry-based education, and student-centered teaching methodologies. Modernized textbooks and improved publishing standards are helping create a more relevant and engaging learning experience while promoting tolerance, inclusion, and responsible citizenship. A landmark achievement in inclusive education is the introduction of religious textbooks for Hindu students in government schools. For the first time, Hindu students are being provided with textbooks based on their own faith, ensuring that minority students can study their religion within the formal education system. This historic initiative reflects Sindh’s commitment to religious harmony, equal educational opportunities, and respect for diversity. These reforms are further reinforced through merit-based teacher recruitment, digital education management systems, improved monitoring mechanisms, free textbook distribution, and technology-enabled governance. Collectively, these initiatives demonstrate that education reform is no longer confined to infrastructure alone; it now encompasses transparency, accountability, innovation, curriculum modernization, and school empowerment. The transformation of Sindh’s education sector is an ongoing journey rather than a single achievement. Yet, the direction is unmistakable. Through digital innovation, decentralized governance, curriculum modernization, financial empowerment, and inclusive policies, the leadership of Syed Sardar Ali Shah has helped lay the foundation for a more transparent, efficient, and student-centered education system. If these reforms continue with the same commitment and consistency, Sindh has the potential to become a leading model of public education reform in Pakistan. Author: Dr Muhammad Rafique Wahi Pandhi, District Dadu

In both Pakistan and India, what citizens are resisting is no longer standard party politics, it is the structural weaponization of the state. In India, political movements that emerged from populist or anti-corruption roots, like the Cockroach Party,  Aam Aadmi Party, along with regional dissenters, activists, and journalists, have faced arbitrary arrests, custodial pressures, and continuous raids by central agencies. In Pakistan, the state’s military-civilian establishment has used mass roundups, military trials for civilians, social media blackouts, and political bans to strip away electoral mandates and crush dissent. The torture, surveillance, and intimidation targeted at ordinary organizers and political workers across both borders mirror each other. The state’s goal in both contexts is identical, to make the cost of resistance so high that the public submits out of sheer exhaustion. Is It Time to Change? The short answer is, It is long overdue, but swapping rulers will change nothing. For decades, the public in both nations has been trapped in a cyclical trap. In Pakistan, people rally behind one party to remove the military-backed regime, only for the new government to use the exact same military apparatus to crush the next opposition. In India, hyper nationalism and state control have been normalized to the point where institutional checks, courts, enforcement agencies, and investigative bodies have lost their neutrality. If “change” simply means voting in a different political party while leaving the underlying security state and unchecked executive powers intact, the fascism simply changes its coat. True change requires dismantling the tools of authoritarianism, not just replacing the hands holding them. To actually break this cycle of state suppression in South Asia, three fundamental shifts must take place from the ground . As long as investigative agencies, financial crime bureaus, and intelligence services answer directly to political  bosses, they will be used as weapons of torture and political elimination. The primary demand of any genuine popular movement must be strict, legally enforced operational independence for courts, election commissions, and law enforcement.Parties, whether AAP, Cockroach Party, PTI, Congress, or regional blocs, are vehicles, not saviors. Authoritarian regimes thrive on divide-and-rule tactics, convincing one group to applaud when their political rival is jailed. The public must build non-partisan civil fronts where an attack on any citizen’s fundamental right, journalist’s freedom, or political worker’s safety is met with collective public outrage, regardless of party allegiance.Fascist narratives in South Asia rely heavily on manufactured enemies, hyper nationalist rhetoric, and national security panics to justify state overreach. Resistance movements break this spell when they relentlessly ground the conversation in tangible economic survival,inflation, labor rights, land grabs, and local self-governance. When the public realizes that state coercion is being used to mask economic failure, the moral authority of the regime collapses. The resilience of the people in both countries is undeniable, they continue to take to the streets despite jail, violence, and state power. But for that resilience to yield real liberation, the focus must shift from merely fighting for individual leaders to systematically dismantling the legal and institutional machinery that makes fascism possible in the first place.

By Saman Aftab The Ebola outbreak in DRC is not getting the required traction from the world despite being categorized as the fastest growing infection so far recorded by the World Health Organization (WHO). Before diving deep into the threats posed by this disease, it is imperative to provide the readers with an overview of this viral infection. An Overview of Ebola Outbreak The Bundibugyo virus, one of the Orthoebolavirus species is responsible for causing severe Ebola disease known as Bundibugyo virus disease (BVD). It is a zoonotic disease, with fruit bats suspected to be the natural reservoir.  With the close contact of a human to the blood or secretions of infected wildlife (including bats or non-human primates), the human gets the infection. Consequently, the infection spreads from one human to other through direct contact with the blood, bodily secretions, and organs of the infected ones. The viral infection can also spread through close contact with the surfaces and materials contaminated with the bodily secretions of the infected individuals. Very similar to the Corona virus, the spread of this infection is particularly high in health-care settings having inadequate sterilization measures in place. Moreover, a direct contact with the infected deceased individuals during their burial can contribute to its spread as well. Incubation period and Clinical symptoms The incubation period for BVD ranges from 2 to 21 days, and infected individuals are not infectious until symptom onset. Fever, fatigue, muscle pain, headache, and sore throat may represent as the early symptoms of this disease. But the non-specific nature of these symptoms often makes the diagnosis difficult resulting in delayed detection. Without early detection, the symptoms of this disease aggravate leading to gastrointestinal symptoms and organ dysfunction. In some cases, haemorrhagic manifestations may also occur in the infected individuals. Diagnosis and Treatment In the absence of confirmatory tests such as Polymerase Chain Reaction (PCR) or antigen- or antibody-based assays in the laboratory, it becomes a challenge for the health care professionals to differentiate BVD from other endemic febrile illnesses such as malaria. Outbreak control depends on early detection, isolation and care, contact tracing, safe burials and strong community engagement. Since there are no approved vaccines or specific treatments available for BVD, the current mortality rate of 44% to 46% for this disease poses a great threat to the affected communities. Current situation of Ebola outbreak Ebola, which spreads through contact with bodily fluids and causes a hemorrhagic fever, has killed more than 15,000 people in Africa over the past 50 years. As per the reports of international media outlets, the Ebola outbreak in DR Congo has spread to sixth province as death toll passes 2,100 with 4665 confirmed Ebola cases. The World Health Organization has already warned about its pace- the Ebola epidemic, already the deadliest in the country’s history, is spreading faster than any previous Ebola outbreak. Until now, five Congolese provinces had recorded cases: Ituri, which borders Uganda and South Sudan, North Kivu and South Kivu, Haut-Uélé and Tshopo. The risk of cross-border spread of this infection primarily to Uganda and South Sudan is very high. To make things worse, the response to contain this virus in the DRC is hampered by stretched health services, insufficient clean water and safe toilets. Some of the provinces where Ebola is present are densely populated and have only a weak government presence and largely lacking health infrastructure. North Kivu and South Kivu are also split by the front lines between the Congolese army and the anti-government armed group M23, backed by Rwanda, which has seized vast swathes of territory. This makes the conflict-ridden territory extremely prone to viral spread. Should we be worried? According to WHO official statement, the organization hopes to reverse the spread of this deadly virus in DRC within a span of three months with proper medical intervention. However, the pace with which it is spreading within DRC and bordering areas, it is quintessential to take some preventive measures. Since the globalization of the world was primarily responsible for Covid-19 pandemic, it is essential to have preparedness in advance. The healthcare authorities should establish proper communication channel with their counterparts in DRC to have real time data in hand. Similarly, a stock of screening kits should be maintained in the repository. In our airports and seaports, no preventive measures are in place for the screening of any such disease. To put things into perspective, our agencies working in the airports handle body search of persons and their belongings with no protective gears. They do not even wear any mask while dealing with international flights. Most of the time, those passengers who present with clinical symptoms of disease like coughing, flu or fever tend to wear no mask. This puts the fellow passengers and the airport authorities at risk of many diseases. Therefore, the government should take proper measures in this regard. The seaport and airport personnel should be trained to wear masks and protective gear while handling the flights coming from DRC directly or indirectly. Proper screening booths should be installed having health care professionals equipped with medical kits and personal protective gear. There should be proper sanitization within the airports and seaports vicinities. All these measures will put us in a better position to prevent many contagious diseases beforehand. Prevention should be the top most priority of our health care system only then we can envisage a healthy future. In the end, let us hope the viral infection in DRC subsides before getting out of control.                  

“Remember your humanity, and forget the rest”— Bertrand Russell and Albert Einstein, The Russell–Einstein Manifesto, 1955   On the morning of August 6, 1945, Hiroshima was a living city. Children were preparing for school, workers were beginning another day, meals were being eaten, conversations remained unfinished and countless ordinary plans had been made for an evening many would never see. At 8:15 am, a single atomic bomb changed all that. In seconds, a city became an inferno and human ingenuity demonstrated what it was capable of when divorced from human conscience. Three days later, Nagasaki suffered the same fate.   More than eight decades have passed, yet the mind still struggles to comprehend what happened. Not merely the scale of destruction, but the extraordinary contradiction it represented. Human beings had acquired sufficient knowledge of physics to split the atom but apparently insufficient wisdom to prevent that knowledge from being used to incinerate fellow human beings. This raises an uncomfortable question: is man the cruellest animal?   Animals kill. Nature is certainly not a sentimental place. Predators hunt for food, animals fight over territory, mates and dominance, and some species occasionally kill for reasons other than immediate survival. Yet no creature other than Homo sapiens has transformed killing into an organised industry. No animal constructs factories to manufacture weapons capable of destroying entire cities. None develops elaborate ideologies to justify mass slaughter, calculates acceptable casualties or decorates members of its species for becoming exceptionally efficient at killing others. Only the supposedly “wise man” has achieved such sophistication.   The atomic bombings cannot, of course, be examined outside the horrors of the Second World War. Nazi Germany had perpetrated the holocaust. Imperial Japan had committed horrific atrocities across Asia. Cities had already been devastated by conventional and incendiary bombing. Millions of soldiers and civilians were dead. Defenders of the decision to use atomic weapons maintain that the bombs accelerated Japan’s surrender and avoided an invasion that could have caused enormous casualties on both sides. Critics have long questioned whether alternatives existed and whether the second bombing, in particular, was necessary.   Historians may continue debating these questions. Humanity must confront another. At what point does military necessity cease to provide moral shelter for the deliberate infliction of unimaginable suffering upon civilians? Perhaps the most disturbing legacy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is not simply that atomic bombs were used. It is that humanity had reached a stage where the destruction of enormous number of ordinary people could be incorporated into strategic calculation. Human beings had become numbers. Therein lies the first requirement of organised cruelty: dehumanisation.   Before we can inflict unbearable suffering upon others, we must somehow stop seeing them as ourselves. They become the enemy, an alien race, religion, nationality, sect or ideology. Children become unfortunate collateral damage. Dead bodies become casualty figures. Destroyed neighbourhoods become strategic targets. Language performs the anaesthesia that conscience might otherwise refuse. Once human beings are converted into categories, almost anything becomes possible.   History is littered with evidence. Colonial atrocities required subject populations to be regarded as inferior. Ethnic cleansing requires neighbours to become enemies. Genocide requires individual faces to disappear behind collective labels. Modern warfare similarly becomes easier to tolerate when suffering is viewed through satellite images rather than through the eyes of a mother holding her dead child. Perhaps that explains one of the strangest contradictions of our species. The same human hand that tenderly caresses a newborn can press the button that launches a missile towards somebody else’s newborn.   The same species that produces Mozart and Rumi, builds hospitals, writes poetry, explores distant planets and risks lives rescuing strangers from disasters also constructs concentration camps, torture chambers, chemical weapons and nuclear warheads. How can such tenderness and such barbarity inhabit the same creature?   We proudly call ourselves civilised. Yet civilisation cannot merely mean technological advancement. If anything, technology without corresponding moral advancement makes human beings more dangerous, not less. A primitive weapon can kill one person. Human intelligence created weapons capable of killing millions. Science gives us power. It does not necessarily give us wisdom. That distinction should haunt us.   The scientists who unlocked the secrets of the atom demonstrated one of humanity’s greatest intellectual achievements. But when knowledge becomes separated from ethics, achievement can become catastrophe. Ten years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Bertrand Russell and Albert Einstein, together with other distinguished scientists, issued their famous manifesto warning humanity about nuclear war. Their appeal was breathtakingly simple: “Remember your humanity, and forget the rest.”   What an extraordinary plea to have to make to human beings. Remember that the person across the border is human. Remember that the child beneath the rubble is human. Remember that the mother screaming outside a hospital is human. Remember that beneath uniforms, flags, religions, ethnicities and nationalities beats essentially the same vulnerable human heart.   Yet eighty-one years after Hiroshima, humanity still maintains nuclear arsenals capable of inflicting destruction on a scale those who witnessed 1945 could scarcely have imagined. Governments speak comfortably of deterrence, strategic balance, tactical nuclear weapons and acceptable responses. Behind this sophisticated vocabulary lies an elementary reality: we have created instruments capable of annihilating ourselves and entrusted their possible use to human beings subject to anger, ambition, miscalculation and fear. What could be more absurd?   Perhaps the problem lies in our understanding of civilisation itself. We measure progress through economic growth, scientific discovery, technological innovation and military capability. We celebrate artificial intelligence, space exploration and machines capable of performing tasks once thought impossible but are we becoming better human beings? Can technological advancement truly be called progress if our moral consciousness remains primitive?   The jungle may be brutal, but it possesses no Hiroshima, no Nagasaki, no Bosnia, no Rwanda and no Gaza. Animals do not convene conferences to plan genocide. They do not manufacture propaganda to persuade millions to hate strangers. They do not teach generations to inherit ancient hostilities. Above all, they have never developed

(When the water rises, who shows up and who is left waiting?) ‎I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. When the water rises in Muskingum County or the Punjab plains, who shows up, and who is left waiting? I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. ‎ ‎My mother and brother still live right near South Zanesville, just a stone’s throw from Crooksville. When heavy rains hit Perry and Muskingum counties, I don’t need to be there to know what it looks like. I can picture the heavy, chocolate-brown water backing up into the low spots, the damp chill that settles into a basement, the fears of what if the waters reach a house trailer, and that specific, exhausting smell of river mud that takes weeks to scrub out of porch boards and carpet. The worries of if the home has structural damage.. Halfway across the world in Pakistan, the landscape couldn’t look more different. But when monsoon season swells the rivers across the Punjab, the view from the ground is hauntingly identical. ‎ ‎Standing in a flooded doorway feels the same whether you are in Ohio or Lahore. The quiet shock is the same. The ruin of things you worked years to buy is the same. And the very first instinct is to grab your coat, shovel, a chainsaw and a pair of boots and go check on the elderly woman next door.. Start hauling wet furniture, debris to the curb and giving comfort, food and basics to those in need is entirely universal. Watching both worlds at once makes you look at governance differently. It strips away abstract political jargon and leaves you asking one fundamental question: When a community is hit with a crisis, does its system build capable people who can act, or does it leave them sitting on their hands, waiting for permission to survive? ‎ ‎What a Small Ohio Village Taught Me About Governance ‎ ‎Growing up around South Zanesville and Crooksville, you learn pretty early that small-town life relies on a very specific kind of quiet, distributed agency. ‎Crooksville isn’t a rich town. It’s a hard-working Appalachian village of under 1,500 people. But when the creek overflows, nobody sits around waiting for a press conference out of Washington, D.C., or a mandate from the state capital in Columbus. ‎ ‎The response moves in waves because the connections are already wired: ‎On the local levels we see neighbor checks on neighbor. The volunteer fire department turns on the sirens, pulls out the high-water gear, and starts the door to door knocks. At the County level we have the Perry County 911 dispatch and Emergency Management Agency (EMA) start tracking water levels and routing equipment where it’s needed most. At the State level, If the county gets overwhelmed, pre set legal triggers immediately call in the Ohio EMA or the National Guard. ‎ ‎Government here doesn’t replace the community’s instinct to help itself; it validates it, organizes it, and backs it up with real resources. The system trusts the people on the ground to know their own roads. Here in Pakistan, the human spirit is just as generous, if not more so. The impulse toward hospitality, neighborly charity, and mutual support runs incredibly deep. When disaster strikes, ordinary citizens open their wallets and their homes without a second thought. It’s just what they do… ‎ ‎And Pakistan’s has one of the world’s top class military engineering, a massive national disaster agency (the NDMA), and incredible private charities. The raw capacity is immense. Yet, too often, there is a however a very heartbreaking disconnect between that high-level power and the family standing in ankle deep water in a local neighborhood. An ordinary citizen here once described the country to me using a metaphor I’ve never forgotten: a child that was never allowed to stand on its own feet. An infant isn’t helpless because it lacks potential. It’s helpless because it hasn’t been given the space to build muscle, fall over, adjust its balance, and try again. If an authority figure picks the child up every single time it tries to pull itself up, the child never learns to walk—not from a lack of ability, but because the environment denied it the chance to build strength. ‎ ‎That is how systemic learned dependency takes root: Central authorities assume total control, bypassing local municipal councils. Neighborhoods are given no real budget or authority to fix their own drainage or organize local response teams. And when a flood comes, citizens have no choice but to wait for distant, top-down relief. The authorities look at the waiting crowd and say, “See? The people can’t manage without us.” ‎We witness power centralized even further, deepening the exact helplessness it claims to fix. Over generations, people adapt to the system they are given. If a system rewards waiting for a political patron, people learn to wait for patrons. If it rewards local initiative, communities build habits of self-reliance. It is very easy to blame culture or public apathy for civic passivity, but that misses the point entirely. Culture simply reflects the structural incentives people are given to survive and adapt. It is nature vs nurture and we have a break down when these two things fail to promote a cohesiveness and inclusion of what is a community and what that actually means. ‎ ‎Across the globe, the relationship between state control and citizen participation varies wildly, proving that central authority does not have to mean public powerlessness. In China, a deeply centralized state framework actively structures and expects local neighborhood committees and civil volunteer groups to manage community-level crises. Across much of Europe, comprehensive state safety nets exist alongside highly empowered municipal councils and professionalized local volunteer forces.