Who Is Responsible for the Truth?

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

What happens when the misogynistic cultural mindset of men forces them to lock the women in  their community inside four brick walls and suddenly there are no women to harass and assault on the streets? Some may assume that now they may only assault their wives, sisters and daughters inside their homes, unfortunately that is far from the truth. This in contrast induces them to prey on adolescent boys who are young enough to have a feminine innocence installed in them.   In Afghanistan and many parts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in Pakistan, there is a horrendously horrific custom known as Bacha Bazi in which old men scout, groom and buy young boys from their families, or forcefully take the ones who are orphans on the run trying to survive. The literal meaning of Bacha Bazi translates into ‘Boy Play’ which is an illegal abuse normalized by the majority.   These underage boys possess soft features, hairless bodies and no voice. They are forced to wear clothes of women, often dresses and skirts. They are taught to dance, sing and to be painfully silent. This can be located and traced back to the poverty in these provinces where selling daughters and sons can be the only possible course of action to avoid starvation. Many documentaries have been filmed as well as the interviews of the culprits who are asked the possible reason of their disgusting misdoings to which they have only one answer – ‘it is our need’.   Another terrifying leisure activity is quite common among the truck drivers, however not much of the population possess any knowledge of it. The overwhelming majority of these drivers on the road for hours each day have an underage boy with them to use in ways not comprehensible to most. The district police, politicians and those in charge are extremely aware of this filth- yet they choose to blind themselves and no just action is ever taken. These men pollute this world with their abusive methods and turn the abused into the next abuser. It can be said that many of these rapists were in fact themselves hunted upon from a very young age.   People yearn for women rights every hour of the day- yet they somehow forget to raise their voices for these young boys who do not know what family, protection or a warm bed is. We point out the West of having billionaires who rape little children but we forget that our own country allows the same violations to be performed by ordinary low income men.   Imagine being born in this world, your mother died in childbirth and if alive is covered with bruises, your sisters were sold at the age of six so you could eat and now the money is running out and the only way to survive is for you to dance for older men in skirts so your younger siblings can go without starving. This is the reality of millions of young boys untold and unheard of.   Thousands of gatherings take place everyday where these young boys perform for their ‘owners’ no matter how tired, exhausted or embarrassed they may feel. Once they turn 18 and are no longer young enough to satisfy the technical needs of pedophiles, they are often employed with sustainable enough wages to teach the younger recruits on the tricks and methods of performing and satisfying. Hence the cycle repeats and a chain is formed.

Pakistan was achieved on the fourteenth of August in the year nineteen hundred and forty-seven, after sacrifices of a magnitude that still stir the soul and a struggle whose tirelessness remains an enduring lesson. Millions crossed borders in those turbulent months, leaving behind ancestral homes, familial graves, and the familiar soil of generations, so that a new homeland might rise where Muslims could live according to their faith and their free will. We stand now upon the threshold of the eighth decade of that hard-won independence. I, a Pakistani by birth and by conviction, have myself lived nearly fifty-eight years within the borders of this free land. This country conferred upon me an identity that no foreign power could erase, furnished me with the means of an independent existence—schools in which to learn, roads upon which to travel, markets in which to earn my bread—bestowed a measure of respect in the eyes of the world, and, in some degree, granted me a name among my fellows. Yet the question returns, quietly and persistently, like a debt long deferred; what have I given in return? Have I ever paused long enough, in the press of daily concerns, to weigh that debt with honesty? The same inquiry must be put, with equal seriousness and without partiality, to the institutions that were meant to serve as the pillars of the state, and to the rulers and authorities who have held power through these eighty years. What account can they render of their stewardship? Parliament was intended as the voice of the people; the courts as the guardians of justice; the civil service as the steady hand of administration; the universities as the nurseries of thought and character. Have these bodies discharged their duties with fidelity, or have they at times become arenas of personal ambition, partisan calculation, and the slow corrosion of public trust? The rulers who succeeded one another, whether civilian or military, received the same inheritance of soil, of people, and of hope. What have they added to the national store of justice, of prosperity, of self-respect, and of unity? The record is mixed, and the gaps are painful to contemplate. Have we, as a people, ever undertaken a true reckoning of our collective performance—not the ritual of speeches on national days, but a sober examination of conscience? And if such an accounting was made, did it lead to any genuine reformation of our ways, or did we merely resume the old habits once the anniversary had passed? Where, in truth, does Pakistan stand as a state at this present hour? We possess a land rich in rivers and fertile plains, a people endowed with resilience and talent, a strategic position that nature itself seems to have marked for consequence. Yet we continue to wrestle with the burdens of poverty that still touch too many homes, with the lingering shadows of disorder in parts of the country, with the uneasy balance between institutions that ought to complement one another, and with the persistent temptation to place private gain above the common good. Have we preserved, or have we frittered away, the sacred trust that our ancestors placed in our hands when they bequeathed us this country? That trust was not lightly given. It demanded vigilance against tyranny, honesty in public dealing, a willingness to educate the young in both knowledge and character, and a readiness to place the welfare of the whole above the advantage of the few. Looking back across the decades, one is compelled to ask whether that demand has been met in full measure. I do not exempt myself from this examination. For nearly six decades I have drawn from the well of national life—the protection of law, the opportunity to work and to speak, the simple privilege of calling myself a citizen of a free land. Have my contributions matched the gifts received? Have I laboured, in whatever sphere was allotted me, to strengthen rather than weaken the fabric of the republic? Have I spoken truth when silence was easier, practised fairness when partiality promised profit, and taught the rising generation that freedom is not a birthright to be consumed but a responsibility to be renewed? Honesty requires that each of us answer such questions in the solitude of his own heart, without the convenient shield of collective excuses or the comfortable habit of blaming those who came before. Enough, then, of evasion. The hour has come for every citizen, high or low, including the writer of these lines, to conduct a personal audit. Let each examine what he has taken and what he has returned. Let the institutions examine their fidelity to the purposes for which they were created. Let those who hold authority examine whether their decisions have served the enduring interests of the state or the fleeting interests of the moment. Only through such unsparing self-examination, followed by the hard work of reform, can the trust of the founders be renewed and the promise of Pakistan still be fulfilled for those who will inherit what we leave behind.

A familiar and recurring phantom is once again haunting the political and intellectual horizon of Pakistan: the clamor for administrative redistribution and the carving out of new provinces. Whenever structural collapse, economic decay, and institutional governance reach their absolute nadir, the sanctums of power and the opaque enclaves of the establishment begin to chant a singular, predictable refrain. The root of all systemic malady, we are told, lies in the sheer geographical expanse of our existing provinces, and the ultimate panacea is the relentless division of the state. When one scrutinizes the subterranean motives, logical contradictions, and political expediencies governing this discourse, an uncomfortable truth starkly emerges. This persistent endeavor to shift the blame for chronic misgovernance and policy failure onto geographical boundaries, cultural entities, and ethnic identities is merely a resurrection of a time-worn colonial playbook—a deliberate diversion designed to distract the citizenry from real structural grievances while consolidating the apparatus of absolute control. History bears poignant witness to the reality that whenever ruling elites fail to mask their administrative ineptitude, systemic incompetence, and constitutional deviations, they seek refuge behind the seductive mirage of better governance, transforming the republic into an endless laboratory of reckless experimentation. One is compelled to ask: does any sound mind truly accept the medical wisdom of amputating a limb simply because a malignant ulcer has taken root in the arm? Are the pathologies of governance so superficial that merely redrawing cartographic lines will spontaneously engender distributive justice, institutional merit, the rule of law, and administrative transparency? A careful, unvarnished reading of pre-partition South Asian history reveals that this formula of administrative fragmentation was never a native or democratic innovation. Rather, it was a tested and ruthless instrument of British imperialism, rooted entirely in the cynical philosophy of “Divide and Rule.” In October 1905, when Lord Curzon partitioned the sprawling province of Bengal under the alluring and deceptive banner of administrative efficiency, improved governance, and better public service delivery, the official justification was identical to today’s rhetoric: that managing such a vast demographic mass from a single center was untenable. Yet history dealt a merciless blow to that colonial experiment. The people of Bengal rightly perceived the partition as a direct, existential assault on their linguistic, cultural, and political integrity, rising in fierce and unyielding resistance. Ultimately, the imperial master was forced into an ignominious retreat, revoking the partition of Bengal in 1911. That historical episode remains an enduring monument and a stark warning to contemporary rulers who imagine they can trifle with the collective historical memory, cultural affinity, and geographical unity of a populace under the intoxicating influence of unchecked power. From the very inception of Pakistan, the ruling classes consistently spurned the genuine principles of cooperative federalism, choosing instead to enshrine coercive and authoritarian centralism as the ultimate guarantee of their survival. During the formative decades of the republic, when the delicate question of distributing democratic rights among diverse constituent units arose, the dominant factions lacked the political maturity required for a pluralistic state. Instead, they forced all the western provinces and states into an unnatural straitjacket known as the “One Unit” scheme. That dark chapter of authoritarian engineering laid bare the callous indifference of the ruling elite toward the historical identities and rich diversity of the people, subjugating all societal bonds to the preservation of concentrated power. When that forced administrative edifice eventually fractured under the weight of unrelenting public resistance, the four-province federal structure was reluctantly conceded. Yet the true spirit of federalism was never allowed to breathe. The constitutional imperatives of provincial autonomy were systematically subverted, resources were inequitably distributed, and the unquenchable thirst for hegemony converted the federation into a fragile, crisis-ridden entity perpetually at war with its own constituent parts. Renowned scholars and theorists of public administration and cooperative federalism universally agree that when any sub-national unit exceeds optimal parameters in territory and population, it inevitably succumbs to bureaucratic inertia and administrative paralysis. According to global academic consensus, effective public service delivery demands a balanced proportional equilibrium between geography and demography, ensuring that the writ of the state and essential services penetrate even the most peripheral districts. However, the high-performing federal democracies of the world—such as the United States, Canada, Australia, or Germany—do not achieve excellence in governance merely because their constituent units happen to be geographically compact. They succeed because they rigorously enforce the foundational principle of **Subsidiarity**, which dictates that governance decisions must always be executed at the lowest possible tier capable of addressing them, rather than being arrogated by a distant center or provincial capital. Conversely, the powerful elite who orchestrate policy from behind the veil in Pakistan remain profoundly detached from this philosophical prerequisite. The core issue here is not the mere physical size of a province; it is the centralization of coercive power, deep-seated fiscal distortions, and a bankrupt political intent. In a country like Pakistan, where provinces already depend abjectly on federal transfers through the National Finance Commission (NFC) Award, attempting to carve out new provinces without addressing the fundamentals of fiscal federalism will only exponentially multiply the economic burden. If one merely replicates provincial capitals, bloated cabinets, and superfluous administrative secretariats without dismantling the underlying corruption, nepotism, and systemic incompetence, the public will find no relief from their miseries. Instead, the state will be pushed deeper into fiscal insolvency and bureaucratic suffocation. This brings us to the most fundamental and inescapable question: if four provinces were to be multiplied into eight, sixteen, or thirty-six administrative units tomorrow, would traditional political parties magically vanish? Would the actors occupying the corridors of power in these new provinces descend from another planet, or would they simply be the identical political dynasties and entrenched interest groups of the Pakistan Peoples Party, the Pakistan Muslim League, or Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf donning new nameplates? When the foundational structural architecture, the prevailing political culture, and the patronage networks of the elite remain utterly unaltered, how can the mere shifting of administrative borders dissolve the cancer of corruption, the

Across the world, a quiet but powerful realization has taken hold among policymakers, educators, and security experts alike: the battle against extremism and terrorism cannot be won through force alone. It must be won in classrooms, community centers, sports fields, and digital spaces where young people spend their formative years. Youth, who make up more than half the population in many developing nations including Pakistan, represent both the greatest vulnerability and the greatest opportunity in this struggle. When disenfranchised, unemployed, and disillusioned, young people become easy targets for radical recruiters who promise purpose, belonging, and revenge for perceived injustices. But when engaged, educated, and empowered, that same demographic becomes the most formidable wall against violent ideologies. The logic is simple yet often ignored by policymakers fixated on military and law enforcement solutions. Extremist organizations have long understood that idle, aggrieved youth are their most fertile recruiting ground. Poverty, lack of education, unemployment, and a sense of alienation from mainstream society create psychological vacuums that radical narratives rush to fill. Counterterrorism strategies that ignore this reality and rely solely on kinetic operations may eliminate individual militants but do nothing to stop the conveyor belt producing new recruits. A zero-tolerance approach to extremism must therefore be twofold: uncompromising against violence itself, while simultaneously investing heavily in prevention through youth engagement. Several nations offer instructive models. Indonesia, home to the world’s largest Muslim population, faced a serious extremist threat in the early 2000s following the Bali bombings. Rather than relying exclusively on security crackdowns, the government partnered with religious scholars and civil society organizations to run De radicalization programs specifically targeting young former militants and at-risk youth. These programs combined vocational training, religious counter-messaging, and psychological support, helping thousands reintegrate into society while simultaneously building a broader national narrative of moderate, tolerant Islam that appealed to younger generations disillusioned with violent rhetoric. Denmark’s Aarhus Model, developed to address the flow of young citizens joining the Islamic State in Syria, similarly emphasized rehabilitation over pure punishment for youth who had not committed serious crimes. Mentorship programs paired returning young people with community figures, psychologists, and former extremists who had themselves walked away from radical ideologies. The approach recognized that shame and exclusion often push vulnerable youth further toward extremist communities that offer unconditional acceptance, whereas structured reintegration paired with firm legal consequences for actual violence creates pathways back to mainstream society. The United Kingdom’s Prevent strategy, despite facing criticism over profiling concerns, demonstrated the value of embedding counter-extremism awareness within schools and universities, training teachers to recognize early warning signs of radicalization and intervene before ideological commitment hardens. Meanwhile, Nigeria’s response to Boko Haram insurgency increasingly incorporated youth-focused economic empowerment programs in the northeast, recognizing that widespread poverty and lack of opportunity in the region had been ruthlessly exploited by militant recruiters promising financial incentives to jobless young men. For Pakistan, which has paid an enormous price in blood and treasure fighting terrorism over the past two decades, these international examples carry urgent lessons. The country’s youth bulge, with a median age below 23, is simultaneously its greatest asset and its greatest vulnerability. Regions historically affected by militancy, including parts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan, continue to suffer from inadequate educational infrastructure, high unemployment, and limited access to vocational training, conditions that extremist networks have historically exploited with alarming success. A national strategy that couples uncompromising military and intelligence operations against active terrorist networks with sustained, well-funded investment in youth education, sports programs, technical training, and civic engagement could fundamentally alter the recruitment landscape over a generation. Digital literacy must also become a central pillar of this strategy. Extremist recruitment has migrated substantially online, where algorithms on social media platforms can inadvertently funnel vulnerable young users toward increasingly radical content. Countries that have invested in digital counter-narrative campaigns, training young social media influencers and content creators to actively challenge extremist messaging with authentic, relatable content, have seen measurable success in disrupting online radicalization pipelines. Pakistan’s own vibrant youth culture, increasingly connected through smartphones even in remote areas, could be harnessed similarly if government and civil society organizations invest in training a new generation of digital counter-extremism voices. Ultimately, the fight against terrorism cannot be sustained through security operations alone, however necessary those remain against active threats. Zero tolerance for violence must be matched with zero tolerance for the conditions that breed it: poverty, ignorance, and hopelessness among the young. The examples of Indonesia, Denmark, the United Kingdom, and Nigeria demonstrate that no single formula guarantees success, but all share a common thread, treating youth not as suspects to be monitored but as partners to be invested in. For a nation like Pakistan standing at a demographic crossroads, the choice is stark and urgent: empower this generation of young people as guardians of peace, or risk watching extremist networks continue to recruit from among society’s most overlooked and underserved.

I recently completed the AI, Justice, and the Rule of Law course, developed by the Saïd Business School at the University of Oxford in collaboration with UNESCO. The course was designed to equip legal professionals, judges, policymakers, researchers and justice sector practitioners with a comprehensive understanding of how artificial intelligence is transforming legal systems and the administration of justice while safeguarding the rule of law. Artificial intelligence (AI) is no longer a future possibility but an integral part of modern justice systems. A UNESCO survey of judicial operators from 96 countries found that 44% already use AI in their daily work, while only 9% have received formal AI training. AI is already being used in courts across more than one hundred jurisdictions to support legal research, document review, transcription, translation, case management, document summarisation, and drafting assistance. However, AI should not be viewed as a single technology; rather, it should be understood in terms of the specific task it performs within the judicial process. This functional approach is essential because the legal implications of AI depend on where and how it is used. Different categories of AI create different opportunities and risks. Administrative AI is primarily used for case management, transcription, translation, and other routine functions that improve court efficiency. Research and analytical AI assists legal professionals in identifying relevant legislation, precedents, and legal principles. Decision-support AI helps analyse patterns and provide recommendations, while generative AI produces summaries, drafts legal documents, and generates text. Each category presents distinct legal, ethical, and governance challenges, requiring different levels of scrutiny and oversight. A central theme in the course was that AI should support judicial work rather than replace judicial decision-making. Judicial authority must always remain with human judges, who retain ultimate responsibility for interpreting the law and deciding cases. AI can assist by improving efficiency and providing analytical support, but it cannot substitute independent legal reasoning or judicial discretion. The principle of Human-in-the-Loop (HITL) is emphasized, under which meaningful human oversight remains essential whenever AI influences legal processes or outcomes. There are considerable opportunities AI presents for improving justice systems. AI can significantly accelerate legal research, improve case management, automate transcription and translation, summarise lengthy legal documents, and reduce the administrative workload of judges and court staff. By automating repetitive tasks, AI enables judges to devote more time to hearings, legal analysis, and reasoned decision-making. AI has the potential to improve access to justice by making legal services faster, more efficient, and more accessible. Alongside these benefits, there are risks associated with AI in the justice sector. Generative AI may produce hallucinated legal authorities, inaccurate citations, or misleading legal analysis. Algorithmic bias may reinforce existing inequalities, while automation bias can encourage users to place excessive trust in AI-generated outputs without independent verification. Other important concerns include the lack of transparency in ‘black box’ algorithms, risks to privacy and confidentiality, and the possibility that excessive reliance on AI may gradually erode the professional skills and independent judgment of legal practitioners. The responsible adoption of AI requires governance rather than simply introducing new technology. Effective implementation depends upon institutional AI policies, comprehensive risk and human rights impact assessments, pilot testing before deployment, continuous monitoring and evaluation, transparency, explainability, and accountability. The importance of multidisciplinary oversight involving judges, technologists, policymakers, and civil society to ensure that AI systems remain trustworthy and aligned with the principles of justice and the rule of law. Another important aspect of the role of AI is in promoting access to justice. AI-powered legal assistants can help self-represented litigants understand legal procedures, prepare legal documents, translate court materials into different languages, and support mediation and dispute resolution processes. These applications have the potential to make legal information and services more accessible, particularly for individuals who face financial, linguistic, or geographical barriers in accessing justice. However, the ethical and professional responsibility always remains with human legal professionals. Regardless of how sophisticated AI systems become, judges remain accountable for their decisions, and lawyers remain responsible for the accuracy, quality, and integrity of their work. AI cannot replace professional ethics, judicial independence, impartiality, or the duty to provide transparent, reasoned, and legally sound judgments. Overall, AI should be viewed as a powerful judicial support tool rather than a judicial decision-maker. Its responsible use depends upon understanding the function of each AI system, maintaining meaningful human oversight, safeguarding fundamental rights, ensuring transparency and accountability, and adopting strong institutional governance so that technological innovation strengthens, rather than undermines, the rule of law.