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Many parents give smartphones to their children and a major reason behind this behaviour has now been identified. Parents who experience stress tend to give their children devices to keep them occupied or calm while also being less likely to enforce limits on screen time. A study conducted by the Center for Children and Families at Florida International University included 822 parents raising children between the ages of 4 and 8. The participants provided information through online surveys about their children’s behavior, parental stress and screen-time habits. The findings showed that parents tend to allow their children to use smartphones for longer periods when their children’s behaviour becomes difficult to manage. Researchers said parents should not hesitate to seek support for managing their own stress. They also advised parents to set limits on children’s screen time and provide them with purposeful, age-appropriate content. They emphasized that parents should establish appropriate boundaries and spend quality time with their children to promote a healthy environment. A considerable amount of research has been conducted on children’s excessive smartphone use. A study published in January 2026 explored links between online content and problems related to children’s development. Similarly, research published in BMC Public Health in October 2024 found that spending excessive time in front of screens can have negative effects on mental health. The risk of depression, anxiety, irritability and other problems was particularly higher among children aged 9 and 10. The research found that the more time children spent in front of screens, the more severe their symptoms of depression tended to be. According to the study, activities such as video chatting, watching videos and playing video games were associated with a greater increase in this risk.

By Rai Saad Ali Three folders, two green and one crimson, changed hands beneath a portrait of Saudi King Salman at Al-Safa Palace in Mecca, the ink still fresh on the pages inside. Erdoğan, Crown Prince Muhammad bin Salman and Shehbaz Sharif held them up for the cameras at the Makkah Al-Mukarramah Summit for Joint Defence on August 7th, 2026. It was a carefully staged image, and the message was unmistakable: three of the Muslim world’s most consequential states, standing together in Islam’s holiest city, making clear that the region’s old security order is no longer one whose terms they are content merely to accept. The Mecca Joint Defence Agreement, signed that day by Türkiye, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, commits each signatory to treat an armed attack against any one of them as an attack against all three. It builds on the bilateral Strategic Mutual Defence Agreement signed by Islamabad and Riyadh in 2025, but Türkiye’s accession changes the strategic arithmetic considerably. What was previously a two-country understanding, rooted in a decades-old relationship, is now a trilateral framework spanning the eastern Mediterranean, the Gulf and South Asia — and it was signed without so much as a courtesy call to New Delhi. That mutual-defence clause is exactly what has prompted comparisons to NATO’s Article 5, which treats an attack on one member as an attack on all. But the parallel does not hold up well under scrutiny. It would be misleading to oversell this agreement as a “Muslim NATO.” It is not one. The pact names no adversary, creates no joint military command, and does not specify what response would be required if a signatory were attacked. It establishes a framework for defence cooperation and coordination rather than a NATO-style alliance with clearly defined operational commitments, and Saudi officials have stressed that the agreement is defensive in character and not directed against any particular country. That distinction matters. NATO is more than seventy years old and has evolved into a mature institutional and military alliance over generations; the Mecca Agreement is still in its infancy. Over time, it could develop stronger institutions and deeper coordination that bring it closer in character to NATO. For now, that remains a possibility rather than an established trajectory. Yet dismissing the agreement as merely aspirational would be its own mistake. Frameworks matter, especially when they are signed in Mecca rather than in a foreign ministry conference room. The choice of venue was not incidental. It was a statement about whose summit this is, and who now gets to convene the Muslim world’s most powerful states at a moment when Washington’s security guarantees have begun to look less than absolute. That erosion of confidence in Washington is precisely what makes the partnership’s internal logic so coherent: each partner brings something the others lack, and that complementarity is the pact’s real substance. Turkey supplies NATO’s second-largest standing military and an increasingly self-sufficient defence-industrial base — the same industry that in 2023 sold Saudi Arabia drones in what Ankara called its largest defence export deal to date, and which has for years supplied Pakistan with warships and trainer aircraft. Pakistan brings the only nuclear deterrent in the Muslim world and a military establishment with decades of experience training and advising Gulf forces. Saudi Arabia brings the capital and the religious legitimacy that only the custodian of the two holy mosques can offer. What ties these three complementary roles together is a detail that deserves precision rather than a slogan. Pakistan’s air force flies the JF-17 Thunder, co-produced with China. Türkiye, a NATO member since 1952, has simultaneously built its own defence-industrial relationship with Beijing even as it remains formally inside the Western alliance system. That a NATO state, a nuclear-armed South Asian state with deep Chinese defence ties, and the Gulf’s foremost oil power can now sit inside the same mutual-defence framework shows how far the unipolar security order of the post-Cold War decades has already eroded. This is not a Pakistani ambition imposed on the region. It is a regional response to a security vacuum that Washington’s and Tel Aviv’s conduct in West Asia has itself created. The timing explains the substance. The pact was signed more than five months into the US-Israel war on Iran, a conflict that has sent missile and drone fire onto Gulf infrastructure and shipping, with Houthi strikes compounding the sense among Gulf capitals that American deterrence no longer covers them the way it once did. Riyadh, battered directly by this spillover, has drawn the obvious conclusion: a security guarantee is only as good as the willingness of the guarantor to honour it, and Washington’s recent conduct has not inspired confidence on that score. Ankara and Islamabad, for their part, were the two capitals best positioned to answer that call — one with hard power, the other with a record of reliability as a security partner to the Kingdom stretching back decades, long before this agreement made it formal. While Ankara and Islamabad were positioning themselves as reliable partners, New Delhi’s response has been telling in its caution. The Ministry of External Affairs said only that India is “closely following” developments and will “study the implications” — the language of a capital reacting to events it did not shape, rather than one setting the regional agenda. That contrast is the real story here, more than any single clause in the agreement’s text. That caution is not merely rhetorical. The substantive concern for India is not abstract: analysts have already flagged the live question of how a mutual-defence clause would be read if India were to conduct cross-border counter-terror operations against targets inside Pakistan, as it has in the past — even as others note such operations sit in a different legal category from state-on-state aggression. That ambiguity is itself a diplomatic cost to India: a Gulf partner it has spent two decades cultivating on energy, trade and counter-terrorism cooperation has now formally elevated Pakistan to treaty-partner status, indifferent to how