War hysteria: Insanity disguised as patriotism

Federal Minister for Planning Ahsan Iqbal announced that the government will place the National Flood Protection Plan IV before the Council of Common Interests for approval. The price tag is now Rs 700 billion. The same plan was approved by the CCI in 2017 at roughly half that amount. The minister was candid: the previous governments failed to implement it, and the 2022 floods forced a revision. Nearly a decade and a half after the plan was first conceived after the 2010 floods that devastated the country, we are back where we started, except the bill has grown by Rs 360 billion. But there is a problem with the numbers, and it is not a small one. In November 2025, Secretary Water Resources Syed Ali Murtaza testified before the Senate Standing Committee on Water Resources that NFPP-IV comprised 375 schemes with a total cost of Rs 824.493 billion. The provincial component alone stood at Rs 746.961 billion, while the federal share was only Rs 77.533 billion. He told the committee that provinces had refused to contribute their shares, escalating the matter to the CCI. Eight months later, the same plan is being presented at Rs 700 billion with a 50-50 federal-provincial split. The total has been trimmed by roughly Rs 124 billion despite inflation and rising cost of construction, and the provinces’ burden has been halved. A plan that shrinks by fifteen percent despite the increased costs and flips its cost-sharing formula in eight months is not rigorously costed. It is still being negotiated politically, not finalized technically. After the 2022 floods, international donors pledged $11 billion for reconstruction and flood protection. Three years later, Pakistan had utilized less than $3 billion. Finance Minister Muhammad Aurangzeb admitted that Pakistan failed to prepare a single credible, bankable project to access the funds. The money sat in files while the people sat in mud and water. It is one thing to lack funds. It is quite another to hold the funds and lack the institutional capacity to spend them. So when the government now asks for Rs 700 billion, the question is not whether we need the plan. We do. The question is whether we have earned the right to spend it, or are simply paying compound interest on a decade of negligence. In 2017, When the CCI approved the National Flood Protection Plan in 2017, the Punjab Assembly had already passed the Flood Plain Regulation Act of 2016. That Act designated flood plains, mandated annual surveys, prohibited all construction without written permission, and criminalized unauthorized building. Section 20 gave it overriding effect over all other laws. It was a good, careful law. And for ten years, we ignored it. Then came the 2022 floods, killing more than 1,700 and displacing 33 million. The 2023 Punjab Irrigation Act, strengthened the framework further. . Then came the Infrastructure Audit Programme of January 2026, promising to inspect and certify every embankment before the rains. The NDMA had warned in November 2025 that the 2026 monsoon would bring 22 to 26 percent above-normal rainfall. In May, Chairman Lt Gen Inam Haider Malik was briefed the Emergency Response Committee. The warnings were not classified. They were reported in media across the country. And still, on July 31, as the Sawan rains continue and Bhadoon approaches, we are told that a Rs 700 billion plan is about to be placed before the CCI. The human cost of this incompetence is measured in lives, not spreadsheets. Between June 26 and July 25, 2026, NDMA recorded 97 deaths and 297 injuries in rain-related incidents. House and roof collapses were the leading cause, with Khyber Pakhtunkhwa reporting the highest toll, followed by Punjab. The authority evacuated 3,841 people. These are not abstract figures. They are preventable losses and deaths in a country that had years to prepare. Meanwhile, last year’s federal budget slashed water sector allocations by 27 percent, from Rs 184.6 billion to Rs 133.4 billion for the water sector. Even the flagship Diamer-Basha Dam saw reduced priority. The message is clear: politically visible projects win funding; invisible embankments lose it. We are also building vulnerability into the landscape faster than we are building protection. The hundred-arch bridge near Shahdara was designed a century ago to let Ravi floodwater pass freely. In September 2025, the M5 motorway near Jalalpur Pirwala collapsed after the Sutlej River breached its banks, blocking natural channels with inadequate culverts. Modern infrastructure is failing where century-old engineering succeeded because hydrology is no longer part of the design brief. Every stakeholder knows what needs to be done. District officials know where encroachments choke flood channels. Engineers know where embankments need reinforcement. Satellite imagery can map floodplains with precision. Yet these tools are shelved while development authorities continue to approve new roads, schools and BHUs for permanent dwellings that should not have been there to begin with.  New high profile housing schemes are regularized in natural river basins. The National Water Policy, approved by the CCI in April 2018, promised real-time telemetry by the end of 2021 and a National Water Council chaired by the Prime Minister to meet annually. Seven years later, the Council has convened only once, in October 2018. The telemetry system is five years past its deadline. The unfinished cost of ongoing water schemes stands at approximately Rs 1.27 trillion. What would it take to believe this time will be different? Not more money. We have enough money to drown in. What we lack is accountability that lives on the riverbank. The Infrastructure Audit of 2026 must be opened to the public, if it was ever done. The names of every certifying officer who signed off on an embankment must be known, and if a structure fails, the officer must stand beside it and explain. And if not, we need to ask why not? The early warning system must learn to speak to the village, not the province. Alerts must name villages and localaties, expected water levels, and designated evacuation routes. They

By Sharjeel Zafar “Nuclear security is first and foremost a national responsibility.” This principle is not merely a diplomatic commitment – it is the minimum requirement for any state operating nuclear facilities. Against this fundamental principle, the reported data breach involving India’s largest nuclear power station, the Kudankulam Nuclear Power Project (KKNPP), which came to public attention on 15 July 2026, represents a serious setback to confidence in India’s nuclear security architecture and highlights vulnerabilities within one of its most critical strategic facilities. The exposure of sensitive engineering documents from one of India’s flagship nuclear facilities is not just a cybersecurity failure; it is a warning sign of deeper vulnerabilities within a nuclear establishment that seeks to expand rapidly while struggling to secure the infrastructure it already operates. According to cybersecurity researchers, thousands of engineering files related to Kudankulam Units 3 and 4 were reportedly exposed following a ransomware attack on Reliance Infrastructure, a contractor associated with the project. The leaked material allegedly included drawings of ventilation and cooling systems, layouts of auxiliary control rooms, inspection records with site photographs, supplier information, and insurance documentation. Indian authorities have maintained that no reactor-core designs or operational control systems were compromised. Yet modern cyber operations seldom begin by targeting the most protected assets. Instead, adversaries assemble seemingly routine engineering documents, contractor records, and infrastructure layouts to build an intelligence picture that can support future cyber intrusions, supply-chain compromises, or physical sabotage. In this context, the significance of the breach lies not merely in what was leaked, but in what such information can enable. The incident is particularly concerning because it follows an earlier cybersecurity breach at the same facility. In 2019, malware attributed by cybersecurity researchers to the Lazarus Group infiltrated an administrative network associated with Kudankulam. Although the Nuclear Power Corporation of India Limited (NPCIL) maintained that operational systems remained isolated, the episode demonstrated that India’s nuclear infrastructure had already become a target for sophisticated cyber actors. The recurrence of security incidents involving the same strategic installation suggests that vulnerabilities within India’s broader nuclear ecosystem, including contractors, suppliers, and administrative networks, remain insufficiently addressed. Such repeated breaches raise questions about the effectiveness of existing cybersecurity protocols and the resilience of critical nuclear infrastructure against evolving cyber threats. More troubling, however, is that Kudankulam represents only one aspect of a much larger problem. Over the past four decades, India has witnessed repeated incidents involving the theft, illegal possession, and trafficking of radioactive materials. Police have intercepted attempts to sell uranium and other radioactive substances in Maharashtra, West Bengal, Bihar, Jharkhand, Uttarakhand, and Dehradun involving stolen radioactive material. These repeated incidents raise serious questions about the effectiveness of India’s nuclear security mechanisms and its ability to maintain strict control over hazardous materials. These incidents expose a dangerous gap between India’s claims of maintaining a robust nuclear security architecture and the reality demonstrated by repeated security breaches. The timing of these concerns is particularly alarming. India is simultaneously seeking to dramatically expand its nuclear energy sector and introduce greater private-sector participation. Expansion without institutional strengthening creates a dangerous contradiction: the country is increasing the size and complexity of its nuclear ecosystem before fully resolving vulnerabilities already visible within the existing system. Private participation may bring investment, technological expertise, and efficiency, but it also introduces additional layers of complexity into nuclear security governance. Unlike a purely state-controlled system, a larger private-sector ecosystem involves multiple contractors, subcontractors, software providers, equipment suppliers, and service companies that may require access to sensitive information, digital networks, or operational support functions. Each additional entity connected to nuclear infrastructure expands the potential attack surface and creates new points at which cybersecurity failures, insider threats, inadequate security practices, or supply-chain compromises can occur. Differences in security standards, compliance capabilities, and oversight mechanisms among private entities may further complicate efforts to maintain uniform protection across the nuclear sector. Without strict regulatory control, mandatory cybersecurity standards, and continuous monitoring of third-party participants, privatization could unintentionally widen the pathways through which hostile actors attempt to access sensitive nuclear information or critical infrastructure. The implications extend far beyond India’s domestic energy programme. India’s expanding nuclear industry increasingly relies on international technology, foreign vendors, global supply chains, and cross-border investment. Consequently, vulnerabilities within one national nuclear programme can have wider strategic repercussions. A successful cyber operation or compromise of sensitive engineering information could undermine confidence in India’s nuclear security practices, raise concerns among international partners, and expose weaknesses in critical infrastructure protection within an increasingly interconnected nuclear industry. As civilian nuclear programmes worldwide become more digital and commercially integrated, cybersecurity failures in one country inevitably become matters of broader international concern. The Kudankulam breach should therefore serve as a strategic wake-up call, not another incident to be contained through official statements. A nuclear power’s credibility is not determined by the number of reactors it operates or the ambitions it announces, it is determined by its ability to prevent unauthorized access, protect sensitive information, secure radioactive materials, and maintain public confidence in its institutions. The question is whether the international community would still stay silent over a State’s perpetual weak demonstrated performance in nuclear security and remain vulnerable to risk of nuclear terrorism, cyber terrorism, illicit proliferation, and black market or transnational ecological disorder? India’s nuclear programme stands at a critical crossroads. Rapid expansion combined with unresolved security weaknesses creates a dangerous environment where a single successful cyber operation, insider compromise, or supply-chain failure could produce consequences far beyond financial losses or reputational damage. In the nuclear domain, prevention is not optional, and security lapses cannot be treated as routine administrative failures. The most serious threat facing India’s nuclear ambitions may not come from external adversaries seeking to undermine its programme, it may come from vulnerabilities that remain unaddressed within the programme itself. A nation aspiring to become a major nuclear power cannot afford a security culture built around reassurance after failure. It must build one based on prevention before disaster. The Kudankulam leak is not merely

The real meaning of 14th August and the unfinished journey of Pakistan Every year, on 14th August, Pakistan dresses itself in green and white. Flags appear on buildings, vehicles and streets. National songs fill the air. Speeches remind us of the sacrifices of our forefathers, and we proudly celebrate the creation of Pakistan on 14 August 1947. And rightly so. Pakistan was not created without sacrifice. Millions suffered displacement, countless families were torn apart, and an entire generation endured enormous pain to establish a homeland. But every Independence Day should also make us ask a difficult question. What does independence actually mean? Is independence merely the absence of foreign rule? Or is true independence something much deeper? A country may possess a flag, a national anthem, a constitution, a parliament, an army and a sovereign territory, and yet its people may still remain trapped in poverty, injustice, corruption, ignorance, inequality and institutional weakness. If so, then perhaps political independence has been achieved, but the journey toward real national freedom is still incomplete. Freedom from whom, and freedom for what? The independence of 1947 gave the people of this land the right to govern themselves. But self-government carries a responsibility. The purpose of independence was not simply to replace foreign rulers with local rulers. It was to create a society in which people could live with dignity, justice, security and opportunity. The real question, therefore, is not whether Pakistan is an independent country. Of course it is. The real question is: Have we built the kind of society for which independence was meant to provide the opportunity? A nation is not truly free when an ordinary citizen cannot obtain justice without influence. A nation is not truly free when merit is defeated by connections. A nation is not truly free when public resources are treated as private property. A nation is not truly free when people are forced to pay bribes to obtain services that are already their legal rights. A nation is not truly free when the powerful can escape accountability while the weak struggle to be heard. And a nation is certainly not truly free when its citizens themselves participate in the corruption, dishonesty and lawlessness that they condemn in their rulers. The uncomfortable truth, governments are not the only problem We often blame politicians, bureaucrats, institutions and rulers for everything that is wrong with Pakistan. There is certainly plenty to criticize in our institutions and governance. But there is another uncomfortable question that we must have the courage to ask: What about us? Can a dishonest society produce an honest system? Can people who routinely evade taxes demand an honest government? Can someone who gives a bribe to get his work done then claim that corruption exists only in government offices? Can a person who uses political connections for personal benefit demand meritocracy when someone else gets an opportunity through influence? Can we demand justice from the state while refusing to practice justice in our own homes, businesses, workplaces and communities? This is where the real challenge begins. A nation’s character is ultimately reflected not only in its rulers, but also in the everyday conduct of its citizens. Corruption does not survive because only corrupt officials exist. It survives because there is often an ecosystem in which the giver, receiver, beneficiary and silent observer all contribute to its continuation. Independence without character is incomplete. The greatest weakness of a nation is not necessarily poverty. Nations can recover from poverty. They can recover from economic crises. They can rebuild after wars and natural disasters. But when dishonesty becomes socially acceptable, when corruption becomes a normal shortcut, when merit becomes negotiable and when people stop believing that laws should apply equally to everyone, the foundations of the state itself begin to weaken. This is why national independence must eventually become moral and civic independence. We must become independent from the mentality that says: “If everyone is doing it, why shouldn’t I?” We must become independent from: Corruption, bribery, nepotism, political favoritism, tax evasion, dishonesty in business, misuse of public property, intolerance, lawlessness, the worship of wealth and status, and the belief that rules are only for ordinary people. These are not merely personal weaknesses. When they become widespread, they become national problems. The mirror of 14th August Perhaps this Independence Day we should look into a mirror instead of merely looking at the flag. The flag tells us that we have a country. The mirror asks us. What kind of people are we becoming? We proudly say that Pakistan is a nuclear power. We proudly celebrate our armed forces, who have made enormous sacrifices in defending Pakistan. But a truly strong Pakistan must also possess strong institutions, rule of law, economic stability, justice, education and honest citizenry. We speak proudly about our sovereignty. But do ordinary citizens have economic, social and legal security? We celebrate democracy. But do we practice democratic values in our everyday lives? We demand accountability from rulers. But are we prepared to hold ourselves accountable? These questions may be uncomfortable, but Independence Day is precisely the right occasion to ask them. Real independence begins with the individual. We often imagine that changing Pakistan requires a great leader. Of course, competent and honest leadership matters. Good institutions matter. Strong laws matter. Independent courts matter. Professional administration matters. Transparent elections matter. But no institutional reform can permanently succeed if society itself refuses to change. Real national transformation begins much closer to home. It begins when a citizen decides. I will not give a bribe. It begins when an official decides: I will not misuse my authority. It begins when a businessman decides: I will not deceive my customer. It begins when a taxpayer decide. I will fulfil my responsibility. It begins when a teacher decides. I will teach honestly. It begins when a student decides. I will earn my degree through knowledge, not cheating. It begins when a voter decides. I will not sell my vote for

By Muhammad Imran, Staff Member, SAHSOL-LUMS and Sadia Hammad, Advocate & Internship Coordinator at AGHS, Lahore and Muhammad Abdullah, Law Student, SAHSOL-LUMS Introduction: Article 11 of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, 1973, enshrines one of the most fundamental guarantees of human dignity by unequivocally prohibiting slavery, forced labour, human trafficking, and the exploitation of children. It declares that slavery is non-existent and forever prohibited within Pakistan while simultaneously outlawing all forms of forced labour and trafficking in human beings. The constitutional prohibition reflects not merely a legal norm but a profound moral and civilizational commitment to safeguarding human freedom, dignity, and equality. It embodies the universal principle that no individual may be treated as the property of another or compelled to labour against his or her free will. In contemporary constitutional democracies and under international human rights law, slavery has been universally condemned as one of the gravest violations of human rights. Accordingly, the Constitution places Article 11 within the Chapter on Fundamental Rights, thereby elevating freedom from slavery and forced labour to the status of an inviolable constitutional guarantee. Islamic Foundations of Article 11: The constitutional prohibition is deeply rooted in Islamic jurisprudence. Islam fundamentally transformed the institution of slavery by encouraging emancipation, prohibiting oppression and exploitation, and affirming the equality of all human beings before Allah. The Holy Qur’an and the Sunnah of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) consistently emphasize justice, compassion, and the liberation of human beings from servitude. Since Article 227 of the Constitution mandates that no law shall be enacted which is repugnant to the injunctions of Islam, Article 11 represents not merely a constitutional guarantee but also the constitutional manifestation of Islamic principles concerning liberty, equality, and human dignity. Scope and Constitutional Character of Article 11: Article 11 prohibits slavery, forced labour, and trafficking in human beings. Although the Constitution does not expressly define “forced labour,” it generally includes work extracted against a person’s free will through coercion, intimidation, abuse of authority, economic compulsion, or without adequate remuneration. Judicial developments have also recognized that persistent non-payment or unreasonable delay in wages may, in appropriate circumstances, amount to forced labour because it creates conditions of economic dependency. Clause (1) employs categorical constitutional language by declaring slavery to be non-existent and prohibiting all forms of forced labour and trafficking. The emphatic wording demonstrates the framers’ intention to leave no room for legislative or executive action that legitimizes involuntary servitude. Consequently, Article 11 possesses a near-absolute constitutional character. Constitutional Obligations of the State: Article 11 imposes both negative and positive obligations upon the State. Negatively, the State itself is prohibited from authorizing, encouraging, or tolerating slavery and forced labour. Positively, it must protect individuals from exploitation by private employers, industrial enterprises, landlords, traffickers, and other non-state actors. This dual obligation requires the enactment of effective legislation, robust enforcement mechanisms, and meaningful judicial remedies to eradicate all forms of involuntary labour and human exploitation. Judicial Interpretation: The Supreme Court of Pakistan significantly expanded the scope of Article 11 in Darshan Masih v. The State (PLD 1990 SC 513). Acting upon a telegram received from bonded labourers employed at brick kilns, the Court exercised its constitutional jurisdiction to investigate widespread bonded labour practices. Recognizing bonded labour as a direct violation of Articles 9, 11, and 14 of the Constitution, the Court adopted a purposive approach by issuing comprehensive directions for the eradication of bonded labour and the protection of vulnerable workers. The judgment remains a landmark example of public interest litigation and constitutional activism in Pakistan. Comparative Constitutional Perspective: Comparative constitutional jurisprudence reveals a similar constitutional commitment in the United States. The Thirteenth Amendment abolished slavery and involuntary servitude following the American Civil War. Section 1 prohibits slavery and involuntary servitude, except as punishment following lawful conviction, while Section 2 empowers Congress to enforce the Amendment through appropriate legislation. This constitutional framework enabled the enactment of extensive federal laws against slavery, peonage, human trafficking, and forced labour. Honorable Justice Fazal Karim (late), in his Access to Justice in Pakistan: A Sine Qua Non for district judiciary practice,  and Opus Magnum Judicial Review of Public Action, has quoted legal scholar Moyle, who aptly describes slavery as “a condition of absolute rightlessness,” emphasizing that slavery deprives an individual of legal personality and fundamental rights. This understanding stands in sharp contrast to the notorious decision in Dred Scott v. Sandford (1857), where the United States Supreme Court denied citizenship to persons of African descent. The ratification of the Thirteenth Amendment in 1865 decisively repudiated that reasoning and firmly established the constitutional principle of human liberty. Provincial Legislation after the Eighteenth Amendment: Following the Eighteenth Amendment, labour became a provincial subject predominantly, enabling the provinces to enact legislation implementing Article 11. Punjab enacted the Punjab Restriction on Employment of Children Act, 2016, together with other labour welfare statutes. Sindh enacted the Sindh Bonded Labour System (Abolition) Act and comprehensive child labour legislation. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa introduced the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Prohibition of Employment of Children Act, 2015, while Balochistan enacted legislation regulating and prohibiting child employment in hazardous occupations alongside other labour laws. Notwithstanding provincial legislative competence, bonded labour continues to be principally governed by the Bonded Labour System (Abolition) Act, 1992, a federal statute enacted before the Eighteenth Amendment. Following constitutional devolution, responsibility for its implementation largely rests with the provincial governments, which are obligated to establish Vigilance Committees, enforce labour laws, prosecute offenders, rescue bonded labourers, and ensure their rehabilitation. Protection of Children: Article 11 also provides special constitutional protection for children by prohibiting the employment of children below fourteen years of age in factories, mines, and other hazardous occupations. When read together with Article 25A, which guarantees free and compulsory education for children between the ages of five and sixteen years, the Constitution clearly envisages education rather than labour as the primary occupation of every child. Effective implementation of Article 25A would substantially reduce child labour and promote children’s physical, intellectual, and social development. Constitutional Exception:

When France first levied a 3% tax on the domestic revenues of large technology companies in 2019, the move was presented as a modest, temporary fix. Five years later, the temporary fix has become a global patchwork. More than 20 countries now operate some form of digital services tax, the United States has threatened retaliatory tariffs, and the multilateral replacement intended to tidy it all up remains unsigned.   The question at the heart of the scramble is disarmingly simple and technically complex: where should a company that sells everywhere but is physically located almost nowhere pay its taxes?   For most of the last century, international tax rules rested on physical presence. A company was taxed where it had offices, factories, or personnel. That principle struggled as companies like Google, Amazon, and Meta built business models in which value is derived from users, data, and online advertising in one country, while profits are booked in another, often lower-tax, jurisdiction.   The scale of the mismatch sharpened after the 2008 financial crisis. The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) launched its Base Erosion and Profit Shifting (BEPS) project in 2013, estimating that profit-shifting cost governments $100 billion to $240 billion annually in lost revenue. By 2018, public pressure to act on highly visible technology firms accelerated political timelines faster than the OECD process could move.   The result was the rise of the unilateral digital services tax, or DST.   Unlike corporate income taxes, DSTs are typically levied on gross revenues, not profits, generated from specific digital activities online marketplaces, search engines, social media platforms, and targeted advertising within a country’s borders. Rates are low, generally 2% to 5%, but they apply broadly. The United Kingdom’s 2% DST raised over £800 million in 2024-25. France, Italy, Spain, Austria, India, Turkey and others adopted similar measures, each with slightly different thresholds, definitions, and scopes.   Proponents argue DSTs restore a basic link between economic activity and taxation. “If a platform earns substantial revenue from French users watching French ads, the French tax base should reflect that,” a senior official at the French Ministry of Finance said in 2023. For many developing economies, where consumption of digital services is large but physical presence of providers is minimal, DSTs are also a matter of fiscal sovereignty.   Critics, including the technology companies themselves and the U.S. government, point to three problems. First, taxing revenue rather than profit can penalize low-margin businesses and be passed on to small businesses and consumers who use the platforms. Second, the proliferation of different rules creates compliance complexity and the risk of double taxation, where the same income is taxed in multiple jurisdictions. Third, Washington has long argued DSTs are discriminatory by design, targeting predominantly American firms.   That third argument carried trade consequences. Under Section 301 of the U.S. Trade Act, the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative (USTR) investigated DSTs adopted by France, India, Italy, and others, concluding that several did discriminate against U.S. companies. Tariffs of up to 25% on selected imports were prepared, then suspended pending a global deal.   That deal was meant to be Pillar One.   In October 2021, 136 countries and jurisdictions representing more than 90% of global GDP agreed to a two-pillar framework brokered by the OECD/G20 Inclusive Framework. Pillar Two, a 15% global minimum corporate tax, has largely moved forward and is now in force in dozens of countries. Pillar One is the more ambitious and more fragile.   Under Pillar One’s Amount A, a portion of the residual profits of the world’s largest and most profitable multinationals  those with global turnover above €20 billion and profitability above 10% would be reallocated to market jurisdictions where their customers and users are located, regardless of physical presence. The scope was deliberately expanded beyond tech; excluding extractive industries and regulated financial services, it would cover roughly 100 multinationals across sectors.   In exchange, countries would be required to withdraw DSTs and similar measures and commit not to introduce new ones. A Multilateral Convention (MLC) would implement the rules, replacing a web of unilateral taxes with a single, coordinated mechanism. The OECD estimated in 2023 that Pillar One would reallocate $200 billion in profits and generate $13 billion to $36 billion in additional global tax revenue annually, a figure comparable in aggregate to existing DST receipts, though distribution would differ markedly by country.   Negotiations have since slowed. The original goal of signing the MLC in 2023 was missed. A target for 2024 was also missed. In 2025 and early 2026, several governments, including the UK, revised their internal planning assumptions to 2027, while confirming that their DSTs “remain in operation” until a convention enters into force.   Several factors explain the delay. The convention requires ratification, including in the United States, where any tax treaty must secure a two-thirds majority in the Senate. Bipartisan skepticism about ceding taxing rights and concerns about revenue impacts have made ratification uncertain. Some emerging economies have argued that the thresholds for Pillar One are too high and the reallocation too small to benefit them meaningfully, preferring instead to retain DSTs or pursue a parallel negotiation at the United Nations on international tax cooperation that could run until 2027. In Washington, meanwhile, successive administrations have maintained that any acceptable deal must include robust DST withdrawal provisions.   The result is a holding pattern with real costs. In October 2021, Austria, France, Italy, Spain, the UK and the United States announced a transitional agreement: as long as Pillar One progressed, the U.S. would not impose retaliatory tariffs, and European DST liabilities would be creditable against future Pillar One obligations. That truce has largely held, but it depends on continued progress.   For businesses, the uncertainty complicates planning. A multinational may face a DST in India, a diverted profits tax in the UK, a Pillar Two top-up in the EU, and the prospect of Pillar One reallocation all with different calculation bases and documentation requirements.

Feelings operate like an inner radar system that signals what type of frequency our mind is currently broadcasting. A story beautifully highlights this reality: A young student once felt highly anxious before a critical meeting with his spiritual guide. He arrived tense, clutching his notebook and worrying about his performance. When he finally sat before the mentor, his breathing was heavy. The mentor smiled warmly, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and offered him a simple cup of water. In that single instant, all the accumulated tension drained away from the student. He felt completely safe and filled with high-frequency positive energy. Driving back from the meeting, even when someone cut him off on the road or honked aggressively, he remained utterly untroubled. Even if his corporate boss started shouting the moment he walked into the office, his inner peace remained unshaken because he was overflowing with positive energy. Now consider the absolute opposite scenario. You wake up with a jolt to a loud crashing sound outside. Moments later, you hear your spouse shouting from the adjacent room—it is the third time she is attempting to wake up the kids, and they are completely ignoring her. She is furious, venting her frustration on them and calling out to you as well. When you step out, she glares at you and demands that you go fetch breakfast because the kitchen gas supply is down. Rubbing your eyes, you head to the crowded marketplace, wait in a frustratingly long queue, and finally bring food home, only to see her brow still furrowed with deep tension. You hurriedly change and leave for work. In this deeply negative emotional state, even the most beautiful scenery on your commute cannot move you, and the warm smiles or pleasant mood of your office colleagues will fail to lift your spirits because your primary emotional anchor is entirely negative. When your thoughts are positive, the whole world looks beautiful; when your thoughts are negative, everything tastes bitter. Statistics reveal that a human mind processes nearly 70,000 thoughts per day, while core human feelings can be classified into two fundamental pillars: positive and negative. These two emotional streams branch out into roughly 30 to 60 distinct emotional expressions. Consider what is easier to manage: tracking 70,000 chaotic daily thoughts or monitoring 60 distinct feelings? The answer is obvious. By focusing your energy on regulating your feelings, your thoughts naturally align themselves, preventing you from getting lost in a labyrinth of mental anxiety. A vital question often arises: Can an individual actively stop or cancel out a deeply ingrained, negative thought sequence? The ultimate answer is no. If you forcefully try to fight, delete, or suppress a negative thought patterns, you end up giving it more power, and it anchors itself deeper in your subconscious. Imagine a spiritual guide telling you, ‘Close your eyes and meditate for five minutes, but whatever you do, absolutely do not think about a black monkey.’ Within seconds, your mind will be entirely flooded with images of a black monkey. This is because the subconscious mind cannot process a negative command in isolation; it focuses heavily on the core imagery provided. Instead of trying to aggressively cancel out negative thoughts, the correct strategy is replacement. The moment a negative sequence takes root, shift your attention entirely to an opposing positive thought or an active feeling of deep gratitude. Our mind cannot actively host two completely contrasting emotional states simultaneously. By choosing to step out of the mental labyrinth and leaning into positive memory, appreciation, or prayer, you naturally starve the negative loops of energy. Developing deep concentration and continuous awareness is the master key to mastering this mental landscape. While it sounds simple, maintaining absolute focus on your inner state requires active practice, especially when daily life pulls your attention in a hundred different directions. Engaging in regular, meditative prayer or mindful contemplation helps quiet the chatter of the ego and firmly anchors your spirit in a high-frequency state of gratitude. True inner mastery begins the moment you consciously choose which feelings you allow to run your day.