youth extremism fight

Youth, Extremism, and the Fight for Tomorrow

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.

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History repeatedly shows that leaders who enter politics with reformist ambitions can gradually become defenders of the very system they once challenged. Dharmendra Pradhan’s own political journey illustrates this paradox. As a student, he participated in protests against irregularities in the 1986 Odisha Board examinations. Decades later, he found himself at the centre of another wave of student discontent. His story is a reminder that institutions often shape leaders more profoundly than leaders reshape institutions. If that is true, then meaningful political change requires more than replacing ministers or governments; it requires reforming the institutions through which power is exercised. India is far from unique in facing this dilemma. Democracies across the world have witnessed protest movements that successfully remove leaders but struggle to transform the institutions that produced them. Bangladesh’s 2024 student-led movement offers one of the clearest recent examples. What began as opposition to the quota system for public-sector jobs gained momentum after inflammatory remarks by Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina toward protesters. The movement eventually culminated in Hasina’s resignation and the formation of an interim government under Nobel Peace Prize laureate Professor Muhammad Yunus. It also compelled the authorities to reduce the controversial quota allocation from 56 percent to 7 percent. These were significant achievements. Yet history reminds us that changing a government is not the same as changing a political system. The departure of a leader does not automatically reform the institutions that enabled that leader to accumulate power. The Bangladeshi experience raises a broader question. Why do youth-led movements repeatedly succeed in bringing down governments but struggle to transform the institutions that generated the public grievances in the first place? The answer lies in the slow nature of democratic decline. Democracies seldom collapse overnight. More often, they weaken gradually as institutions become vulnerable to political capture, allowing successive governments to consolidate power regardless of who occupies office. This pattern can be seen in India’s debates over institutional accountability, Bangladesh’s uncertain transition, and Pakistan’s recurring cycles of political instability. Public discourse often centres on individual leaders, while far less attention is given to strengthening the constitutional, judicial, electoral, and administrative structures that determine how political power is exercised. As a result, governments change, but the deeper institutional weaknesses remain. None of this diminishes the importance of protest. Public demonstrations remain one of democracy’s most powerful instruments of accountability and, in many cases, the only effective means available to citizens confronting unresponsive governments. The challenge, however, is to ensure that protests do more than produce changes in political leadership. Their long-term success should be measured by whether they make it harder for any future government—regardless of ideology or electoral mandate—to manipulate state institutions for partisan advantage. The lessons extend beyond South Asia. The Arab Spring demonstrated both the promise and the limitations of revolutionary politics. Popular uprisings removed long-standing rulers in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and Yemen, but the outcomes differed dramatically. Tunisia initially achieved a negotiated constitutional transition. Egypt saw the return of military dominance. Libya descended into prolonged civil conflict, while Yemen entered one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises. Together, these experiences underscore an enduring lesson: removing rulers without strengthening institutions rarely produces lasting democratic change. For South Asia, sustainable democratic reform depends less on replacing individual leaders than on rebuilding the institutions that organise political power. Youth movements can play an important role by advocating transitional constitutional and institutional reform commissions that bring together young lawyers, academics, technocrats, policy professionals, and civil society representatives. Their agenda should also include judicial independence, electoral integrity, civil service reform, stronger oversight institutions, and more effective legislative accountability. Digital mobilisation can amplify public grievances, but it cannot by itself draft constitutions, reform public institutions, or build resilient democracies. That requires broad and sustained coalitions involving labour unions, bar councils, journalists, academics, and civil society organisations long after the energy of street protests has faded. Bangladesh’s 2024 movement, alongside similar experiences in India, Pakistan, and the Arab Spring, shows that removing a government is only the first step. Toppling a government is an event; building institutions is a generational project. In the end, the true measure of democratic success is not which leaders fall, but whether stronger institutions emerge in their place.

  • America First, Hormuz Next? Trump’s Dangerous Ir…

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  • A New Axis of Stability: Pakistan, Türkiye and Sa…

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Its location provides access to the Arabian Sea and proximity to key trade and energy routes linking South Asia, Central Asia, and the Gulf. Türkiye offers a military with NATO operational experience, combined with one of the fastest-growing defense industrial bases outside the traditional Western suppliers. Over the last decade, Ankara has demonstrated capacity in unmanned aerial systems, naval platforms, electronics, and aerospace subsystems. Its geographic position, connecting Europe, the Mediterranean, and West Asia, makes it a natural bridge between different security theaters. Saudi Arabia adds financial depth, energy influence, and a central role in Gulf security. Under Vision 2030, Riyadh has prioritized localization of defense manufacturing and diversification of partnerships. The Kingdom also carries substantial weight in the Arab and Islamic world, giving any trilateral initiative immediate political resonance across a wide geography. When viewed together, these capabilities form the basis for a partnership that is both symbolic and practical. Symbolically, it represents a commitment by three major Muslim-majority states to take greater responsibility for regional security. Practically, it creates opportunities for joint development, procurement, training, and operational coordination that can reduce duplication and increase efficiency. The regional importance of this alignment can be understood in several contexts. The Middle East and South Asia continue to face a complex mix of traditional and non-traditional security challenges. These include maritime threats in the Red Sea and Arabian Sea, the proliferation of unmanned systems, cyber intrusions, and the persistent risk of transnational militancy. A structured mechanism for consultation among Pakistan, Türkiye, and Saudi Arabia provides an additional channel for de-escalation and coordinated response. In maritime terms alone, the cooperation could contribute to the security of sea lanes that carry a significant portion of global energy and trade. Equally important is the dimension of defense industry collaboration. All three states have expressed a desire to move away from over-reliance on external suppliers and to build indigenous capacity. A trilateral format allows for economies of scale in research and development, co-production, and technology transfer. Areas of immediate potential include air defense systems, drones and counter-drone technology, armored vehicles, naval ships, and cybersecurity infrastructure. Beyond the military domain, such industrial cooperation often generates spillovers into civilian sectors such as aviation, shipbuilding, and advanced manufacturing, thereby supporting broader economic diversification goals. There is also a clear utility in the area of human security. The armed forces of Pakistan, Türkiye, and Saudi Arabia have all been involved in humanitarian assistance and disaster relief, both domestically and abroad. Institutionalizing cooperation in logistics, medical support, and rapid deployment can enhance the region’s ability to respond to natural disasters, which have become more frequent and severe due to climate change. At the global level, the impact of this pact should be assessed within the framework of a multipolar world. The era of reliance on a single security provider is receding. States are increasingly building flexible, interest-based coalitions. The Pakistan-Türkiye-Saudi Arabia arrangement fits this pattern. It is not designed to replace existing alliances, but to complement them. All three countries maintain important relationships with the United States, China, the European Union, and Russia. The trilateral framework offers them greater flexibility and reduces exposure to disruptions in supply chains or shifts in political conditionality. For the wider Muslim world, this initiative presents a model of cooperation based on functional objectives rather than ideological or sectarian lines. It demonstrates that collective action is possible on issues of security, technology, and economic resilience. If successful, it could encourage similar arrangements in Africa and Southeast Asia, contributing to a more decentralized and networked global security architecture. From an economic perspective, defense cooperation often acts as a catalyst for deeper trade and investment. Joint ventures in defense production can lead to partnerships in technology, education, and infrastructure. Secure and stable regions are also essential for the trade corridors that all three states are seeking to develop, whether linking the Gulf to South Asia or connecting Anatolia to Central Asia. The long-term effectiveness of this pact will depend on how it is institutionalized. Three considerations will be decisive. First, the framework must remain open and consultative, so that it is not perceived as an exclusive bloc. Second, communication must be clear that the purpose is defensive and stabilizing, to avoid unnecessary misperceptions. Third, the cooperation must be rooted in sustainable industrial planning and regular exercises, rather than remaining at the level of declarations. The timing of this alignment is significant. The world in 2026 is marked by geopolitical competition, technological disruption, and climate-related stresses. In such an environment, states that can pool resources and coordinate policy are better positioned to protect their interests and contribute to regional stability. In essence, the trilateral defense cooperation among Pakistan, Türkiye, and Saudi Arabia reflects a pragmatic recognition that security in the 21st century is interconnected. No single state can address maritime security, technological change, or humanitarian crises alone. By aligning their capabilities, these three countries are creating a platform that can deliver tangible benefits in deterrence, industrial development, and crisis response. This is not merely a defense agreement. It is an expression of strategic convergence among states that share geography, history, and a stake in a stable international order. If implemented with consistency

  • Debtocracy & bankruptcy of ideas   

    Pakistan’s debt problem has entered a new phase. The headline figure is alarming: total debt and liabilities reached Rs. 99.59 trillion by the end of fiscal year (FY) 2025-26. The deeper concern, however, lies in the composition of this debt, the burden of servicing it and the channels through which public borrowing now affects every productive sector of the economy. According to the latest State Bank of Pakistan data, total debt stood at Rs. 97.88 trillion. Gross government domestic debt reached Rs. 59.44 trillion, while external debt amounted to Rs. 36.20 trillion. Central government debt increased by 7.39% over the preceding year to Rs. 83.64 trillion. External debt and liabilities stood at US$138.85 billion. These numbers confirm the central argument developed in the a ten-part series published in these columns [‘Bankruptcy of ideas—X: Debt, Taxes & Democracy’, Minute Mirror, June 21, 2026]. Pakistan has not merely borrowed against its future. It has increasingly borrowed to service earlier borrowing, while failing to create sufficient productive capacity from the accumulated debt.   ‏The external debt-servicing profile for FY2026 makes this particularly clear. Pakistan serviced US$21.59 billion of external debt during the year. An extraordinary US$10.14 billion—nearly half of the annual amount—fell in the final quarter alone. Quarterly servicing was 2.63 times the amount paid in the preceding quarter, mainly because principal repayments jumped from US$2.70 billion in the third quarter to US$8.81 billion in the fourth. This concentration of repayments is as important as the overall debt stock. A country may carry a large debt if its economy generates sufficient revenue, exports and foreign exchange to service it. Pakistan’s difficulty is that debt obligations have expanded much faster than the productive and export capacities needed to meet them. The debt accumulated over decades cannot be attributed to one government or one fiscal year. Persistent fiscal deficits, a narrow and inequitable tax base, losses of state-owned enterprises, the energy-sector circular debt, excessive recurrent expenditure, exchange-rate depreciation and repeated balance-of-payments crises have all contributed to it. Borrowing became the preferred substitute for reform.  Governments borrowed because they could not tax influential sectors, restructure loss-making enterprises, reduce wasteful expenditure or build a competitive export economy. External lenders financed temporary stability, while domestic banks financed the fiscal deficit. Each arrangement postponed difficult decisions without removing the causes of the crisis. The Ministry of Finance reported public debt at 70.7% of GDP by June 2025. The ratio may improve when nominal GDP grows faster than debt, especially during periods of inflation, fiscal consolidation and lower interest rates. A declining debt-to-GDP ratio, however, does not necessarily mean that the debt burden has become harmless. Pakistan’s debt stock is still increasing. What has improved is the immediate cost of servicing parts of it. Total debt and liabilities servicing declined from Rs. 13.16 trillion in FY2025 to Rs. 11.97 trillion in FY2026. Interest payments on debt fell by more than 23%, from Rs. 9.47 trillion to Rs. 7.27 trillion, largely because lower policy rates reduced the cost of servicing domestic government debt. Interest payments on gross government domestic debt consequently fell from Rs. 8.08 trillion to Rs5.99 trillion. This is welcome relief. It should not be presented as the end of the debt crisis. Lower interest rates reduce the flow cost of debt; they do not extinguish the stock. Principal repayments on external debt and liabilities increased from Rs. 3.47 trillion to Rs. 4.47 trillion during FY2026. Pakistan therefore obtained relief on domestic interest payments while facing a substantially heavier external repayment burden. The distinction is between debt management and economic transformation. Pakistan may be moving from an acute debt-accumulation crisis towards a more manageable financing position. It has not escaped debtocracy—the system in which fiscal policy, taxation, banking, foreign relations and development priorities become subordinate to the requirements of borrowing and repayment. Debtocracy does not remain confined to the accounts of the Ministry of Finance. It is transmitted throughout the economy. The first channel is the banking system. Government securities offer banks sovereign backing, liquidity and attractive risk-adjusted returns. Lending to the government is easier than evaluating businesses, financing innovation or supporting small and medium enterprises. A large domestic borrowing requirement therefore creates continuous competition for available liquidity. The result is crowding out. The State obtains the funds it requires, banks earn relatively secure returns and the private sector bears the adjustment. Productive businesses face limited access to credit, higher risk premiums and shorter financing horizons. Smaller enterprises suffer the most because they cannot compete with the sovereign for bank liquidity. This creates a financial system that can remain profitable while the productive economy remains weak. Deposits are mobilised from citizens and businesses, channelled into government securities, and then used substantially to meet recurrent expenditure and service earlier debt. Banking expands without an equivalent expansion in productive capacity. The second channel operates through foreign exchange. External debt repayment creates demand for dollars. That demand places pressure on reserves and the current account. Any resulting exchange-rate depreciation increases the rupee value of external liabilities and raises the domestic price of imported fuel, machinery, raw materials and intermediate goods.  The chain is direct: External repayment creates foreign-exchange demand; reserve pressure increases exchange-rate sensitivity; depreciation generates imported inflation; and inflation raises working-capital requirements and production costs. Debt consequently becomes a corporate balance-sheet issue. An industrial enterprise may have no external loan, yet still bear the effects of sovereign external debt through a weaker rupee, costlier imports, higher energy prices and restricted access to domestic credit. Consumers ultimately pay through inflation, reduced employment and lower real incomes. The third channel is fiscal. Every rupee allocated to debt servicing is a rupee unavailable for education, health, water, climate resilience and productive infrastructure—unless the State raises additional revenue or borrows again. Pakistan then enters a circular arrangement: borrowing creates servicing obligations, servicing compresses development expenditure, weak development limits growth and revenue, and insufficient revenue necessitates further borrowing. This is why a primary surplus, though necessary, is not sufficient. It can stabilise debt dynamics, but

  • The Orchard Classroom: Remembering Dr Pervez Butt

    Dr Pervez Butt died on the 26th of July, 2026, at the age of 84, and with him Pakistan lost one of the last living architects of its nuclear age. The obituaries will rightly recount the long arc of his public service: joining the Pakistan Atomic Energy Commission in 1963, cutting his teeth on the design of KANUPP-I, Pakistan’s first commercial nuclear power plant, spending years at GE Canada absorbing the discipline of reactor engineering, and eventually rising to chair the PAEC from 2001 to 2006 — a tenure during which he oversaw the expansion of Chashma and laid groundwork that would carry Pakistan’s nuclear power programme well into this century. He would go on to serve as Federal Secretary for Science and Technology, as an adviser at the Planning Commission, and, until his final days, as a quiet counsel to the National Command Authority. Nishan-i-Imtiaz, Hilal-i-Imtiaz, Sitara-i-Imtiaz — the honours are a matter of record.     But I did not know him first as a chairman or a decorated public servant. I knew him as a teacher who happened to hold the keys to some of the country’s most consequential engineering decisions, and who chose, for reasons I am still grateful for, to hand a few of those keys to me. I want to remember him the way I actually experienced him — not through the official biography, but through three long afternoons at his house in F-11 Sector, Islamabad, where he taught me something the textbooks never quite manage: how the price of nuclear electricity in Pakistan is actually determined. Anyone who has sat through a lecture on tariff determination knows how dry the subject can be made to sound — EPC cost, fuel cost, capacity purchase price, energy purchase price, indexation, decommissioning liability. Dr. Butt made none of it dry. He made it a ritual. Each session began the same way, and the way it began told you everything about the man. There was no walking straight into the numbers. First came tea — always a full spread of dry fruits, delicate sandwiches, fresh fruit, chana chaat, and cappuccino. It was in his drawing room that I had my first Cortado, and my first Mocha, both poured by a man who clearly took as much pride in introducing a good cup of coffee as he did in explaining a heat-rate calculation. Only once the plates were cleared did the real class begin. He held nothing back. The sessions ran from ten in the morning until nearly four in the afternoon — six hours at a stretch, with no formal lunch break at all. Instead, somewhere past midday, a trolley would appear, loaded with Lahori chanay and naan, and he would keep teaching straight through it, tariff formulas in one breath and the economics of fuel fabrication cost in the next, a piece of naan in hand the whole time. I have sat in university seminars with more structure and far less learned. What I remember most, though, is the break. Every two hours, without fail, he would stop — not because he was tired, but because he knew I smoked, and he had built an orchard directly across the road from his house for exactly this purpose. We would walk over together, and his waiter would already be there ahead of us, a fresh cappuccino on the table, an ashtray set out with wet tissue paper folded neatly beside it — a small, deliberate touch that told you this man planned for his guests down to the last detail. And it was in that orchard, not at his desk, that the real teaching happened. He would ask me, plainly, to repeat back what I had just understood. Not to test me — to correct me, gently, if I had drifted, and to make sure the idea had actually landed before we walked back inside for the next round. I was, I suspect, an unlikely student for him to invest that kind of care in. I have never been a person drawn to nuclear energy for its own sake — the physics of it, the fission and the neutrons and the reactor cores, left me largely unmoved. What pulled me toward him was the economics: how a country decides what a unit of nuclear electricity should cost, how the capital recovery on a plant like K-2 or C-3 gets built into a tariff, how fuel cost and EPC cost and decommissioning liability all get stitched together into a number that regulators can defend and the public can pay. That was the language I wanted to learn, and he taught it to me the way he taught everything — thoroughly, patiently, and without ever once looking at the clock. Looking back, I think that was the most VIP treatment anyone taught by him could have asked for — not a title, not a certificate, but three full days of a man who had chaired the PAEC choosing to spend his mornings, his working lunches, and his smoking breaks making sure a subject I hadn’t cared about a week earlier had become one I could speak on with confidence. Pakistan will remember Dr. Pervez Butt for KANUPP and Chashma, for the plants he helped design and the institutions he helped build — the Pakistan Welding Institute, the nondestructive testing facility at Taxila, decades spent quietly ensuring that a technically demanding and politically sensitive programme kept working. Those achievements belong to the history books, and they are considerable. I will remember the orchard. I will remember a Cortado poured by a man who insisted the tea come before the tariff, and a lecture that never stopped even for lunch. That was his real gift — not just what he knew, but how completely he was willing to give his time to make sure someone else knew it too. Rest well, sir. The lesson stayed.

  • Iran’s Nuclear Program: From American Partne…

    By Ali Haider Iran’s nuclear program has been frequently described as defiance of the West. But the history reveals a different picture. It appears paradoxical that the very infrastructure of the nuclear facilities in Iran was built under the patronage of the Americans during the Cold War period. The project, which initially symbolized cooperation between Washington and Tehran, became one of the most dangerous confrontations in international relations. This transformation demonstrates how alliances shift in geopolitics.   The roots of the Iranian nuclear program can be traced back to the Cold War period in which the United States and the USSR were locked in idealogical and geopolitical rivalry. In 1950s, when the two superpowers were trying to increase their sphere of influence on the planet by establishing new alliances, US President Dwight Eisenhower introduced the initiative “Atoms for Peace” in 1953. On surface level, the program was devoted to the peaceful use of nuclear energy, however, it fulfilled the geopolitical interests of Washington as well. Several countries, including Pakistan, India, Japan, South Korea, Turkey, and Iran get benefited from the program. Yet the degree of aid was dependent on the strategic significance of each country. Iran, under the rule of Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, became one of Washington’s closest regional allies. When Mohammad Mossadegh came to power in 1953, he nationalized the Iranian oil industry that ultimately affected British economic interests and aroused American fear that Iran would align with the Soviet Union. In order to save Iran from becoming a Soviet ally, the CIA, along with Britain’s MI6, undertook Operation Ajax, resulting in the ouster of Mossadegh and the restoration of power to the Shah. Such close relations between the United States and Shah Reza Pahlavi facilitated the signing of a civil nuclear cooperation agreement in 1957. The United States helped establish the Tehran Research Reactor, aided Iran with highly-enriched uranium to be used as reactor fuel and provided training to Iranian scientists in American universities. At that time, the nuclear aspirations of Iran did not provoke any concerns in the global community due to the fact that the country was considered a loyal ally of the United States. The technology that is now considered a threat by USA, used to be advertised by Washington itself as a tool of development. The situation changed drastically after the 1979 Islamic Revolution when Shah was overthrown and the Islamic Republic of Iran was created under Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini who pursued the agenda of anti-Americanism. Seizure of the US Embassy in Tehran and the resulting hostage crisis broke off diplomatic relations and transformed allies into bitter enemies. Initially, Iranian leadership suspended its nuclear program, and Khomeini showed religious concerns about it. However, soon the Iran-Iraq War changed the perspective of Iranian leaders.In the ensuing years, Iran started rebuilding its nuclear program with the help of Russia and China, while at the same time pursuing the development of uranium enrichment facilities independently. This dramatic reversal transformed Iran’s nuclear program from a symbol of strategic partnership into a source of deep geopolitical mistrust that continues to shape Western policy toward Tehran. Matters came to a head in 2002, when the National Council of Resistance of Iran revealed the existence of two undeclared facilities, Natanz and Arak. Subsequent inspections of the sites by the International Atomic Energy Agency found no evidence of an active nuclear weapons program, but criticized Iran for not reporting certain nuclear activities before. This became the core of the conflict: the West demanded transparency from Iran, while Iran claimed that its rights were enshrined in the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Gradually, the situation developed into an international crisis. In 2006, the IAEA referred the case of Iran to the UN Security Council, after which the UN imposed a series of sanctions on Iran for refusing to stop the enrichment program. The US and EU imposed sanctions on Iran and restricted its banking system and oil exports, these sanctions brought Iran’s economy to its knees, causing severe damage to its currency. However, unprecedented economic pressure did not cause Iran to abandon its enrichment program.The Iranian case demonstrates that technological capability alone is rarely the real source of international conflict; rather, it is the absence of trust and transparency that transforms civilian nuclear technology into a geopolitical crisis. In 2015, the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action was signed which was considered the most important non-proliferation deal in the modern world. Iran was willing to place strict limits on the enrichment of uranium, reduce its enriched uranium stocks, and make changes to its nuclear sites in return for the lifting of the sanctions. This deal proved that effective diplomacy can be used to manage the risk of nuclear proliferation instead of coercion. Nonetheless, this was short-lived. The success of the JCPOA, despite its eventual collapse, illustrated that diplomatic engagement can achieve outcomes that years of sanctions and pressure often fail to deliver. In 2018, President Donald Trump left the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action saying that the deal overlooked the ballistic missile program, activities in the region, and the sunset clauses. America re-imposed tough sanctions and put maximum pressure on Iran. This move did not make Iran sign another deal but led Iran to abandon all of its commitments step-by-step and expanded uranium enrichment to levels of up to 60%. Indeed, the nuclear question is still relevant today. The program that was developed with the assistance of the US nearly seven decades ago has now become America’s major concern. Iran claims that its nuclear program is purely peaceful, whereas the US and its Western allies believe that increasing enrichment capacity of the country may pave the way for developing nuclear weapons. Sanctions could not prevent Iran from developing its nuclear capacities, whereas the JCPOA demonstrated that negotiation and transparency measures can be far more efficient in preventing proliferation than coercion. The history of Iran’s nuclear program illustrates two important lessons. First, it is not the technology that causes conflict between states, but mistrust. Second,

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