The heavy rains of late November 2025 devastated many countries in South East Asia. Indonesia was hit the hardest, with more than 953 lives lost in Aceh, Sumatra Utara, and Sumatra Barat in the floods and landslides. The tragedy kindled public anger, and social media has been flooded after the resurfacing of a 2024 speech by President Prabowo, where the President undermined the risks that result from increasing oil palm production as well as the deforestation that has been happening in Sumatra. Beyond momentary outrage, these events have signaled a deep reflection for Indonesia about palm oil and the international political economy of our everyday lives. 

Opportunity & Meeting Global Demands 

Ever since 1970, the demand for palm oil has increased fortyfold. In 2024, Indonesia had the largest consumption of palm oil in the world at 20.35 million metric tons. To meet such demands, not to mention the export-led growth targets, Indonesia has rapidly increased its palm oil production, and now is the largest producer in the world. However, alongside this change game a range of social and environmental grievances. Sumatra, the region hit hardest by the recent floods, contains the most extensive palm oil plantation area in Indonesia. This is no coincidence.

Palm oil production in Indonesia is complex interplay between state corporations, private corporations and smallholders. The majority of palm oil production in Indonesia is controlled by private corporations. The state has supported plantation expansion and eased trade barriers since the post Soeharto era of private corporations who can produce faster with their technology, to increase foreign-exchange earnings. Moreover, private corporations rely heavily on monoculture systems. Given that private corporations operate on large-scale areas of land, monoculture significantly reduces biodiversity and weakens soil stability as oil palm trees have shallow roots. Therefore, it increases the risk of flooding and soil erosion. 

Environmental Responsibility

The environmental consequences of Indonesia’s massive palm oil production play out alongside a shifting global political economy agenda that is more climate-conscious. On one hand, China, one of Indonesia’s largest importers of palm oil, has begun an ambitious path towards greener supply chains. On the other hand, Indonesia faced a trade dispute with the European Union over environmental concerns of palm oil production. Although Indonesia recently won the dispute, it cannot ignore the mounting global expectations for sustainability. Many countries have also developed more international environmental standardization in trade. For instance, the Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil (RSPO), a voluntary internationally recognized certification, has also gained more usage in Indonesia, but its reach remains limited. 

To raise environmental standards and international competitiveness, Indonesia currently has the Indonesian Sustainable Palm Oil (ISPO), a certification regulation introduced in 2009. Although the number or certificate holders have increased, as of 2025, only 39.33% have obtained ISPO certification. Additionally, Presidential Decree No. 16 of 2025 has pushed for stronger implementation, however overall compliance remains low and slow. However, critics argue that the ISPO falls short in addressing key issues such as post-plantation land rehabilitation. 

The moratorium regulation aimed at halting the expansion of palm oil plantations in Indonesia between 2018-2021 was deemed as a step forward in sustainability efforts. However, the policy was not renewed, and expansion in regions such as Sumatra has continued.

Overlooking the Smallholders & Everyday Lives

Smallholders, defined as those who own less than 25 hectares of land, make up roughly 40% of oil production in Indonesia. Despite this, they are often overlooked and occupy a precarious position. Some smallholders are associated with private corporations, while others are fully independent. The latter has less financial capacity, knowledge and technology, making them vulnerable within the supply chain compared to private corporations. Moreover, they do not have the access to the markets that private corporations do.

A study on palm oil justice movements in Indonesia highlights how the dominating practices of state elites and private corporations have not only weakened smallholders’ political and economic aspirations, but also cause the most environmental damage. 

The November floods pose a strong reminder that the government’s negligence to govern palm oil production has ultimately impacted the lives of the grassroots communities such as smallholder farmers. The palm oil sector supports more than 16 million workers, whose livelihoods bear the immediate heaviest burden—losing homes, schools, and roads to the very mud of private corporations misconduct and policies. 

As consumers, without realising, palm oil is embedded in our everyday lives whether it be the food we eat or the products in our bathroom cabinets. Hence, we cannot simply stop consuming it, especially since many people depend on the industry for their livelihoods. While we can make more mindful choices, the government must make a more strategic position.

Moving Forward

Several research studies have suggested that the “bottom-up” approach of supporting smallholders may be a practical solution to reconcile higher output with environmental protection. Approaches include investing in capacity building and exposure to international markets. Evidence also shows that the adoption of sustainable practices leads to increased productivity.In light of the hundreds of lives lost, focusing on the narrative of the palm oil industry as a ‘blessing from the almighty’ that should be expanded ignores the failure of the government to empower and protect those who contribute the most. Focusing on corporate expansion while ignoring the power asymmetry of smallholders undermines environmental implications, long-term competitiveness and rural welfare. If the government lacks the political will to empower and protect those at the base of the supply chain, the cost of the next flood will be even higher.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Menstrual Products, Image sourced from Roboflow Universe | CC License, no changes made

During the ongoing war in Ukraine, Russia has quietly threatened many of its neighbors, gauging their ability to withstand future Kremlin aggression. The battlefield for global influence between NATO and Russia extends far beyond Ukraine. While reports of Russian drone incursions into Poland made it to front pages across the world in September 2025, far fewer people have heard of the struggles for political dominance in the tiny nation of Georgia, or Russia’s campaign of sabotage against Estonia in Northern Europe. While not as violent or destructive as the full-scale war raging in Eastern Ukraine, each struggle plays an important role in the broader conflicts between world powers. Given the strategic advantage that would be afforded to Putin if he achieves success along these smaller fronts, it is vital for NATO to take decisive action and begin taking these challenges more seriously. The most crucial steps for NATO and its allies in their struggle against Russia include an increased military presence in threatened allied countries, a stronger effort towards leveraging soft power and information campaigns within the various political battlegrounds across Eurasia, and a coordinated initiative to ease Baltic policies against the Russian language that feeds Kremlin narratives of marginalization.  

One of the most important theatres of Russia’s competition with Western powers lies in the local politics of much smaller nations. Georgia, a nation of nearly four million people located south of Russia, has seen a shift in popular support towards NATO and the EU in the last two decades in defiance of Russian aggression. This strategic victory for the West has begun to deteriorate after Georgia’s request to join the EU was halted in protest of what the EU described as democratic backsliding. More recently the Georgian government passed a controversial foreign agents law, sparking massive protests after critics accused it of mimicking Russian legislation targeting NGOs. Georgia is not the only small country that Russia has been making efforts to win over. Russian officials have been paying friendly visits to Kyrgyzstan to solidify friendly relations, despite the fact that the Kyrgyzstani government has passed laws against the Russian language in their home country. These laws closely resemble similar laws passed in the Baltics, which have ignited outrage from the Kremlin and are used as the justification for increased hostilities and aggressive actions against the tiny EU member states Latvia and Estonia. Altogether, while seemingly distant scenarios, these situations share an opportunity for strategic action by NATO and its allies. 

Kyrgyzstani pushback against the degradation of their native tongue represents a perfect opportunity for NATO to leverage the situation to their political advantage. Russian is the second most spoken language in Kyrgyzstan and has been frequently used in broadcasting, business, and governance, leading to legislative pushback seeking to ensure the preservation of Kyrgyz as the dominant language. This effort has gained traction in light of a surge of Russian migrants into Kyrgyzstan due to the invasion of Ukraine, primarily in 2022 and 2023. These migrants are perceived by some locals as a threat. The Kyrgyzstani government passed a law resembling controversial laws in Estonia and Latvia that mandate increased usage of Kyrgyz in broadcasting, government, and the names of various locations. While these laws have sparked Russian outrage against the Baltics, it is interesting to note that Russia has still maintained a cordial relationship with Kyrgyzstan, likely due to Kyrgyzstan’s strategic value to the Russian economy, particularly in its effort to avoid tariffs. Given the fact that some within the Kyrgyz population have voiced frustrations against the prevalence of the Russian language within its borders as well as Russian immigration, this is likely the most effective argument for NATO to convince Kyrgyzstan to expand its relationship with the West. NATO faces an uphill battle to achieve diplomatic wins in a nation bordering Russia, with a high population of ethnic Russians, a significant trade relationship with the Kremlin, and a location isolated from the democratic world, signaling that any potential opportunity cannot be ignored. It would work towards NATO’s benefit to increase public awareness in Kyrgyzstan of this controversial surge of Russian migrants, putting pressure on the Kyrgyz government to become more vocally critical of Russia’s actions. This could be quickly acted upon via American and European state-funded news, NGO funding within Kyrgyzstan, and diplomatic dialogue. 

To the Southeast lies the Caucasus, a region divided by the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, home to the ancient nation of Georgia, which is currently balancing a tightrope between Russia and the West. After a decade of growing popular support for membership in the European Union which signaled a political loss for Russia, the Georgian government enacted a controversial law to the dismay of both the European Union itself and supporters for Georgian membership. This “Foreign Agents Registration Act” has stoked massive protests in the capital of Tbilisi, accused of mirroring a similar Russian law. Given that until recently NATO had been gaining ground in the country which harbored anger against Russia due to the military annexation of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, these recent developments have marked a drastic turn of events. By investing in diplomatic and grassroot efforts aiming to swing the advantage back in their favor, Western powers would be taking the first step towards addressing one of the most contentious power struggles in their competition with Putin. 

An imminent reinforcement of military strength and capability in Estonia is vital for ensuring European security. Estonia is largely considered to be the most vulnerable EU member state to a Russian attack, and constant Russian aggression has proven that this vulnerability is not one to be ignored. Russia has cut internet cables in the Baltic Sea, flown aircraft in Estonian airspace, and even sent a drone over the border, “Estonia now finds itself in what officials describe as a ‘silent war’—a campaign of hostile actions that stop short of open conflict but aim to destabilize and intimidate.” Despite spending an exorbitant portion of their budget on national defense and announcing plans to increase military spending in the future, Estonia’s active-duty armed forces still number fewer than ten thousand. One counterargument against the case for bolstering troops in Estonia is that it is the least tactically important nation in the Baltics. If Russia chose the most anticipated strategy for invasion, Estonia would be cut off from the rest of Western Europe, and any foreign detachments stationed there would become trapped. Despite the truth of this argument, neglecting to increase NATO’s military presence within the country would jeopardize deterrence efforts. By continuing to bolster its meager number of troops in Estonia, NATO would display a powerful and unwavering commitment to its members not only to Russia, but to the entire world. 

While Estonia is more vulnerable to invasion, Latvia and Lithuania are considered the most likely Russian targets for a major offensive against Europe. The Suwalki Gap is a sparsely populated stretch of Lithuanian and Polish land separating Belarus with Kaliningrad, a small Russian enclave within mainland Europe. Many military strategists believe that Russia would target this gap in the case of an invasion, solidifying this location as well as all of Lithuania as a crucial piece of land to defend. As seemingly straightforward as the need to bolster these defenses may be, the effort to do so has been slow moving. By 2026 NATO will have a Brigade size force stationed within Latvia. Germany also made a significant move by pledging to station a full brigade in Lithuania by 2027, but in the case of a full-scale war the Suwalki Gap would likely need a division sized force (15,000-20,000). If EU lawmakers follow through on increasing defense spending in 2026, stationing a larger force in the Baltics is not only feasible, but vital to European security amid ongoing tensions with Russia.  

The Baltic states’ approach towards handling the Russian language should be softened and humanized to ease domestic tension and prevent handing the Kremlin free political capital, which will in turn benefit Western powers in the information war. When it comes to winning over hearts and minds, Russia has used the Baltic states to its advantage by attacking their policies against the Russian language as harsh and discriminatory. It is not just the Russian government that has been enraged, but the Russian minority has responded harshly to the Estonian government in Tallinn, especially towards the removal of monuments to Soviet soldiers. This is a similar narrative to the position the Kremlin has taken to justify their invasion of Ukraine launched in 2022. The fact that laws dealing with the Russian language in Kyrgyzstan (a country that has been important to Russia in its efforts to survive tariffs) have not met a similar outcry from the Russian government suggest that accusations against the Baltics and Ukraine of marginalizing their Russian minorities are likely as strategically motivated as they are ideological. Russia will likely use these allegations as a justification for force in the event of a conflict in the Baltics regardless of their truth, yet it nonetheless remains vital to ensure that these narratives lack any truth altogether. Any developments dispersed to an international audience that align with Russian claims work to legitimize Russian claims and degrade NATO’s values of freedom and democracy for all. This leaves proper treatment of the Russian minority in Estonia and adherence to their rights as Estonian citizens of paramount importance, regardless that many native Estonians associate this minority with the harsh memories of a Communist past. 

Ukraine is only one sphere of the ongoing struggle between Putin and the West; many smaller post-Soviet countries remain critical in their strategic value. NATO’s position necessitates coordinated and persistent efforts by policymakers, diplomats, and intelligence agencies on behalf of democracies across the world, while also maintaining respect for each nation’s core values and sovereignty. NATO leaders, especially those within mainland Europe, must remember that active efforts towards the defense of member states and the advocation towards Western values of self-determination must be a constant priority to preserve stability. NATO must increase its forces in the Baltics, settle tension with Russian minorities, and capitalize on political opportunity in Georgia and Kyrgyzstan with urgency today to prevent Russia from exploiting vulnerabilities in the future.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: NATO Headquarters, Image sourced from Flickr | CC License, no changes made

Over the past decade, artificial intelligence has moved from a niche technological frontier to a transformative global force. The number of new AI firms financed globally has increased four times, and investments have increased fifteenfold, a rate of acceleration that is starting to represent the dawn of the fourth stage of production, governing principles, and social existence. Asia-Pacific countries are also trying to ride this wave. However, according to a recent UN report, the initial positions of the countries in this region are highly unequal. The IMF AI Preparedness Index shows this contrast: while advanced economies like Singapore, South Korea, Australia, and China are at ease with scores well above 70 percent, weak or low-income states can barely score above 20. For many, the new AI environment poses an external threat, creating more gaps between countries unless carefully handled.

This gap is not only a result of differences in the level of technological enthusiasm, but is also structural. The nature of some economies has built the foundation of AI based on good digital infrastructure, uninterrupted power supply, good data systems, and high-speed connectivity. On the other hand, some continue to struggle with intermittent power supply, lack of adequate data governance, and low-level internet access services. These concerns define who is part of the AI-controlled change and who is left behind. While Singapore experiments with large-scale AI deployment in finance, healthcare, and public administration, several South Asian and Pacific Island economies still struggle to build reliable data centres or digital authentication systems. The technological race, therefore, begins on an uneven track. 

These inter-regional divisions lie over centuries-old inequalities even within nations. Income and wealth are very concentrated in the upper ten percent in most regions of Asia and the Pacific. Those with access to higher education, urban connectivity, and access to capital are in a better position to reap the benefits as AI tools become part of the workplace and change the forces of demand. At the same time, low-income employees, informal labourers, and rural communities are more vulnerable to these changes. AI is not just a reward for those with skill; it increases existing privilege. Without international policy intervention, the AI revolution may strengthen deeply-rooted structural inequalities.

The aforementioned UN report highlights the fact that the inclusive adoption of AI needs to reinforce both hard and soft infrastructure. Hard infrastructure is defined as the physical infrastructure of digital transformation: cheap internet, reliable and clean power, data center cooling, and sufficient computing power. Though the use of the internet has increased in the region, huge disparities exist. Some economies continue to experience a lack of affordability, lack of equal coverage between rural and urban areas, and gender differences in access. Such gaps are important since AI systems are based on stable high quality connectivity. It is impossible to jump into advanced governance with AI-driven technologies when a high percentage of the population does not have the basic access to high-speed data transmission.

Soft infrastructure also plays an important role in this issue. The capacity of societies to take up the opportunities of AI without falling into its pitfalls is determined by human capital, robust state institutions, and reputable regulatory systems. There is an acute skills shortage in data science, machine learning, cybersecurity, and advanced analytics in many countries in the Asia-Pacific. The education systems in some countries do not yet match the rapidly changing requirements of the AI economy. Meanwhile, public institutions are not able to adopt or establish ethical protection, privacy, and algorithm accountability measures. Unchecked AI adoption is unlikely to deliver sustained growth. Without effective governance, AI will be deployed unevenly and unpredictably, exposing countries to heightened risks of surveillance abuse, labour displacement, and the entrenchment of digital monopolies.

This is due to another dilemma created by AI and gender. In the Asia-Pacific, women are more exposed to AI-based automation than men. This is mainly due to the fact that women are overworked in clerical, administrative, and routine cognitive work-places; these are the areas that are highly prone to algorithmic replacement. This feminine vulnerability is aggravated by the inequalities that exist in access to digital devices, education, and labour participation. Devoid of intentional inclusion policies, the region is prone to establishing a future where technological advancement will replace women more than it empowers them.

The interplay of inequitable infrastructure, institutional underperformance, labor shortage, and gender inequality implies that the AI transition cannot be delegated to the market forces alone. The coming decade of AI uptake in Asia-Pacific will determine the growth direction of the economies, geopolitics, and stability of societies. The countries able to implement AI in manufacturing, services, and governance can gain significant productivity, while the others will become losers in a new technological tier of divergence. More to the point, the social gap between connected and disconnected, skilled and unskilled, and protected and unprotected workers might become even more rigid without early government intervention.

A multilayered solution beyond an increase in infrastructure is necessary to establish a more equal AI future. States should manage AI as a challenge of development and governance and reinforce public institutions, reestablish education systems, and invest in digital rights infrastructure that protects citizens against exploitation and expands access to opportunity. The key to inclusive adoption will be the ability of countries to democratize the benefits of AI, not just allowing them to be concentrated among elites. It is not a question of whether the Asia-Pacific will embrace AI—the actual question is whether the region will permit AI to intensify the existing inequalities or whether it will adopt the course of joint technological development.

If the Asia-Pacific can close its preparedness gaps and build cohesive, inclusive AI ecosystems, the technology has the potential to become a force for development, resilience, and inclusive growth. But if disparities remain unaddressed, the region may soon find itself confronting a new digital divide, one defined not by access to the internet alone, but by access to the future itself.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: AI, Image sourced from Peak Outsourcing | CC License, no changes made

In October 2025, a South Korean man escaped human trafficking captivity in Cambodia. When he rushed to the Korean Embassy in Phnom Penh for help, he was reportedly turned away—it was outside office hours. There was no 24/7 consular response. The embassy had just one police attaché and two staff to handle a surge in kidnappings, fraud cases, and rescue operations, out of a total of fifteen personnel.

The Cambodia crisis of 2025 saw 513 suspected cases of missing Koreans reported to local police between January and early November. The incident exposed what analysts had long suspected: South Korea’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA) lacks the institutional capacity to match the country’s expanding global role. In an effort to ensure adequate responses to future crises, the ministry has promised to expand the consular division with increased funding. However, the incident shed light not only on overseas Korean missions but also on an institutional problem that spans the entire Korean diplomatic apparatus.

Korean diplomats stride onto the global stage with Indo-Pacific initiatives, APEC summits, and nuclear-submarine negotiations. But the very institution tasked with sustaining this momentum has changed far more gradually than the demands placed upon it.

Inside Korea’s Foreign Service Shortage

In 1994, MOFA headcount was about 2,092; in 2024, it stands at just 2,896, a mere 30 percent increase over three decades. By comparison, the U.S. Department of State employs nearly 27,230 people, while mid-sized powers like France and Japan field diplomatic corps many times larger. Italy, a country with a comparable population, employs approximately 7,000 career diplomats, more than twice the number Seoul affords. Meanwhile, of Korea’s 193 overseas missions, 102 operate with five or fewer staff. At MOFA headquarters in Seoul, there are 935 staff members in 2025, up from just 814 in 1994. 

Meanwhile, South Korea’s global engagement has exploded over the past 30 years. Trade volume has surged more than sixfold since the early 1990s. Outbound tourists have increased more than twentyfold. Seoul has gone from zero free-trade partners in 1994 to 22 FTAs with 59 countries. As these international linkages broadened, MOFA’s staffing structure changed more slowly.

The Foreign Ministry Is Bleeding Its Mid-Career Core

Voluntary resignations within the foreign ministry have more than doubled, jumping from 34 in 2020 to 75 in 2023, concentrated among mid-career professionals bearing the heaviest workloads. 

The appeal of a foreign service career is fading: the competitiveness ratio for the entry-level diplomat cadet exam fell from 42.8:1 to 36.2:1, converging with other civil service tracks it once far outranked. Experts cite long hours and heavy workloads, coupled with pay that fails to compensate for the intensity of the work.

The Interplay of Personnel and Expertise

On paper, this appears to be a simple personnel shortage. But this has been compounded by a deficit of specialized expertise, creating situations in which a single diplomat handles portfolios across multiple divisions.

The generalist model remains one of MOFA’s defining characteristics in its hiring and retention of personnel. Career diplomats follow a single track: a grueling two-round civil service exam, a year of training at the Korean National Diplomatic Academy, then rotations every two to three years across headquarters and overseas postings.

But as global diplomacy grows more technical, the monolithic hiring process has come under renewed discussion, and Seoul’s foreign ministry has tried to diversify at the margins. It designated “open positions” for mid-career temporary hires and, in 2013, created a separate application track to encourage regional and functional specialists to join the foreign ministry, exempting them from the first-round examination.

The special intake of functional and regional experts peaked at 31 percent of new diplomats in 2013, then plummeted to 8 percent by 2020 before being scrapped. A renewed specialist exam introduced in 2021 yielded five hires in its first year, then none in 2024 or 2025. The regional specialist track was also quietly halted in 2022.

The “open positions” program, intended to source mid-career individuals for temporary, senior-level positions at MOFA for a fixed period, has fared no better. From 2023 to 2024, MOFA converted 10 positions meant for external talent into internal postings filled by career diplomats. Half of those jobs had never once been filled by an outsider; they were repeatedly filled by insiders until MOFA claimed no suitable external candidate could be found.

When Outsourcing Fails

In theory, the foreign ministry can simply “outsource” functions to specialized agencies, making it more efficient. The creation of the Overseas Korean Agency in June 2023 appeared to support this approach. When the new agency launched to handle diaspora programs, MOFA’s Korean Nationals Overseas Protection Division was halved, dropping from 28 staff to 14.

But the Overseas Korean Agency focused on diaspora welfare rather than consular emergencies. The headquarters division it replaced was the ministry’s crisis-management hub—responsible for coordinating surge deployments, triaging overseas incidents, and linking embassies with domestic law enforcement. Halving that unit left missions without an institutional backstop when caseloads surged. Cases involving Korean nationals abroad had already grown from 10,664 in 2014 to 23,596 in 2024, a 121 percent increase.

The consequences surfaced in Cambodia. After reports of deaths in captivity in October 2025, MOFA scrambled to dispatch 40 temporary consular officers to Phnom Penh. The government recently approved a minor amendment to restore—and expand—the previously slashed consular division.

How Other Countries Adapt

Governments elsewhere have moved in the opposite direction. Japan has set a national goal to increase the number of diplomatic personnel from 6,674 in 2024 to 8,000 by 2030, with an emphasis on regional experts and longer-term geographic assignments. According to the Lowy Institute’s 2024 Global Diplomacy Index, Türkiye has recently increased its overseas posts so rapidly that it surpassed Japan and France. India is also enlarging its diplomatic posts as its global role grows.

Several major powers have also institutionalized specialist tracks alongside generalist rotations. Germany’s foreign ministry largely separates headquarters-based policy specialists in the Auswärtiges Amt (Federal Foreign Office) from field-based, operation-heavy diplomats in the Federal Office for Foreign Affairs (BfAA), allowing both to develop distinct competencies. The United States operates a special counsel fellow track for regional experts, and the UK focuses heavily on hiring economic specialists in its foreign service program, separate from generalist diplomats.

A Foreign Policy Without Institutional Muscle

Analysts have long noted that South Korea’s diplomacy swings wildly with domestic political winds, and that bipartisan polarization leads each new administration to reverse or discard its predecessor’s foreign policies, preventing sustained strategies and leaving no consensus on handling key relationships with China, Japan, or North Korea. Some observers question whether Seoul’s diplomacy follows a coherent long-term vision or is simply reactive dealmaking with whichever great power exerts pressure.

In this context, MOFA’s difficulties in retaining talent, cultivating specialists, and incorporating outside expertise may be one factor preventing the ministry from anchoring a consistent line.

To its credit, MOFA has initiated organizational restructuring. In May 2024, it announced the annexation of its Office of Korean Peninsula Policy into a broader Office of Strategy and Intelligence—though the reorganization downgraded the ministry’s only unit specializing in inter-Korean affairs, burying it under a larger office housing three other bureaus. In 2025, MOFA launched an AI Diplomacy Division and signaled interest in external hires.

The ministry is also moving to significantly improve the once-slashed consular division: the official FY2026 budget shows a 6.3% year-on-year increase in funding for working conditions and a 5% increase in capacity-building for overseas mission staff. It also promises to create a subdivision within the current consular division for protecting Korean nationals abroad.

Yet even with recent moves to increase consular staffing after the Cambodia crisis, the overall personnel picture remains stagnant. The ministry’s November budget presentation projected slower growth in ordinary personnel costs, from 4.6 percent in FY2025 to 3.5 percent in FY2026—suggesting little meaningful shift toward a larger or more specialized corps.

During a recent in-flight press conference returning from the G20 summit, President Lee remarked that he felt the need to “reorganize Korea’s foreign-affairs workflow in a much more systematic way,” noting that external relations remain “extremely fragmented.” He had reportedly discussed the matter thoroughly with the foreign minister and national security adviser. Perhaps such reform would position MOFA as a central agency to coordinate the fragmented apparatus. Perhaps it would begin with hiring more diplomats across a wider range of specialties.

After all, Korea’s diplomatic crisis doesn’t begin at the 38th parallel or in the contested West Sea. It begins in the ministry’s own hallways.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: MOFA Building, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made

In 2013, a Philippine high school expelled three students. Their crime? Speaking their native language. Their school’s policy mandated the use of English in all on-campus interactions, punishing the use of any other language, but especially those indigenous to the Philippines. While the decision to expel the offending students was uniquely harsh, the school is not alone in strictly enforcing English language education.

Many Filipinos believe that proficiency in English is key to the country’s economic and political success, and encourage its use in academic settings. However, with a declining number of people speaking certain Philippine dialects, mandatory English policies are also seen as hindrances to Philippine culture and catalysts for language extinction. While English language policies are also present in government and legal settings, it is the sphere of education that directly impacts the most Filipinos, and is thus at the center of this linguistic debate.

Modern-day English language education in the Philippines has its roots in 1898, when the United States officially took control of the islands after the short-lived Spanish-American War. Prior to 1898, very few Filipinos spoke English. Most elites had some knowledge of Spanish from the previous colonial era, but the majority of Filipinos used a variety of local languages and dialects to communicate. However, when the United States took charge of the Philippines, English became the standard, at least when it came to education. 

In 1901, the Second Philippine Commission (a U.S.-appointed body tasked with governing the Philippines) enacted Philippine Public Law Act 74 Section 14, which proclaimed that “The English language shall, as soon as practicable, be made the basis of all public school instruction.” The Philippine Commission cited three main reasons for implementing this law: English was practical, Filipinos needed a common language to unite them, and English education would instill Western values in Filipinos.¹

After decades of mandated English education systems, the Commonwealth of the Philippines was established in 1935. It operated as a transitional government between American colonial administration and full independence. The Commonwealth’s government acknowledged the benefits that English language education had provided in terms of Filipino literacy rates, but wanted to insert native Philippine languages into the narrative as well. In its first year, the Commonwealth ordered the adoption of an indigenous language as an official language of the Philippines alongside English. Ultimately, the government landed on Tagalog, the language which it believed was most linguistically developed and most likely to be accepted by the largest number of Filipinos.

While this progress was being made, the Commonwealth still emphasized the need for proficiency in English. As the so-called “language of democracy,” it was perceived as the key to meaningful interaction with other countries and Philippine growth on the global stage. Therefore, even after decolonization occurred in 1946, English language education persevered. In 1987, the Department of Education, Culture, and Sports established Order No. 52, setting guidelines for which languages should be used in which academic fields. Specifically, it proclaimed that English should be used in order to advance technological education in the fields of science and math, but Tagalog should be used in all other subjects. 

This, however, drew opposition as globalization increased and many came to believe that English was critical to economic and political progress. Limiting the use of English to two subjects, many claimed, was not enough to propel the Philippines forward. So, in 2003, President Arroyo issued an executive order mandating the use of English as the primary language of instruction in all public and private schools at the secondary level, stating that English should be used no less than 70% of the time in educational settings. More recently, in 2024, Republic Act 12027, also known as the “Act Discontinuing the Use of Mother Tongue as Medium of Instruction,” required that kindergarten through 3rd grade teachers move away from local dialects and instead teach solely in English or Tagalog.

These gradual shifts away from local languages and dialects have prompted debate among Filipinos, as some schools have adopted strict language policies that punish those who do not speak in English. These regulations are especially common in high schools and universities. The three expelled high school students drew massive media attention in 2013, and just this year, on February 3, 2025, another controversy arose when the University of Cabuyao implemented a policy stating that all official interactions and meetings on campus must be held in English. 

While some defend these schools, arguing that English language education creates global citizens who can get outside of their comfort zones, others say that extensive English use limits the expression of cultural identity and hinders critical thinking. Albert Madrigal, a former president of the University of Cabuyao, pushed back on the current administration’s policies, saying “quality education is not solely defined by fluency in English but rather by the ability to think critically, solve problems and communicate effectively in various contexts and languages,” further adding that English-only rules, by limiting the use of languages Filipinos are most comfortable with, can inhibit meaningful collaboration and connection. 

Opponents of English language mandates also point out that as many as 59 indigenous Philippine languages are facing extinction, with two already considered extinct. This problem is often tied to the longstanding dominance of not only English in Philippine society, but also Tagalog, especially in education. And because one language is indigenous to the country while the other was originally a foreign imposition, English attracts the most backlash.

Debates about the use of English in Philippine schools remain contentious, with no end in sight. There is no clear-cut solution to this linguistic conflict; English language use in the Philippines is inherently a double-edged sword. Balancing global collaboration, crucial for economic and political power, and cultural expression is not easy and is a dilemma many countries face in today’s increasingly interconnected world. Language policies express a country’s values and aspirations. The Philippines and similarly positioned countries want to be global players, but also protectors of cultural heritage. The Philippines’ historic English language policies have shown an emphasis on the former, and while this is understandable, it ultimately comes with a price.

1.  Isabel Pefianco Martin, The Filipino Bilingual: A Multidisciplinary Perspective (Linguistic Society of the Philippines, 1999), 134. ↩︎

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Philippine School, Image sourced from RawPixel | CC License, no changes made

By August of last year, Myanmar’s ruling military Junta, the Tatmadaw, appeared to be on the brink of collapse. Since seizing power from the nation’s democratically elected government in 2021, the Tatmadaw, under the iron-fisted rule of Min Aung Hlaing, has faced numerous defeats at the hands of the pro-democracy National Unity Government (NUG) and its allies in the nation’s civil war. By August of last year, it allegedly controlled less than a third of the nation’s towns. However, the still-fragile Tatmadaw has since made a surprising comeback, even recapturing the strategic town of Kyaukme in October 2025. Coincidentally, the Tatmadaw has started receiving an abundance of military and diplomatic support from a likely ally: China.

In the early years of the war, China sought a balanced approach to the various sides of this highly unpredictable conflict. Despite tacitly supporting the Tatmadaw, Beijing has also maintained ties with various rebel groups. This is perhaps best displayed by China’s implicit support for Operation 1027, a widely successful rebel offensive by the anti-Junta Three Brotherhood Alliance. And yet, possibly fearing the establishment of a pro-American democracy by the NUG and viewing Min Aung Hlaing’s government as more stable than it initially appeared, China has now more heavily thrown its support behind Myanmar’s ruling military Junta.

Despite increased Chinese support, the Tatmadaw continues to face strong opposition from the NUG and other rebel groups, with many believing it is still likely to lose the civil war. And yet, the United States, hyper-focused on the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, not to mention its escalating tensions with Venezuela, has failed to provide any form of military aid to the NUG or its allies, nor has it put any meaningful pressure on the ruling military Junta. In maintaining this stance of neutrality and non-intervention, the United States is missing out on a golden opportunity to help establish a pro-US democracy on the border of what is perhaps its greatest rival, while helping to eliminate a brutal dictatorship in the process.

So why hasn’t the United States provided military aid to the NUG? There are several explanations. 

Unlike the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, the conflict in Myanmar does not involve or potentially threaten key US allies like NATO and Israel. In a world where these two wars have taken center stage, Western media outlets often describe the Myanmar Civil War as “forgotten.” As such, many Americans view Myanmar as a far-off corner of the world that the United States has no obligation, nor reason, to protect, especially considering increasing economic problems within the US, the tens of billions already given to support Ukraine and Israel over the past three years, and the much closer threat of Venezuela. Many also argue that providing military aid to the NUG would antagonize China, as Beijing would likely see US military support as little more than a hostile act of Western interference in East Asian affairs.

Despite these reservations, the benefits the United States would reap from providing military aid to Myanmar are enormous. With US support, the NUG would be well-positioned to topple Min Aung Hlaing’s oppressive regime and restore democracy. This would not just be a victory for democracy over authoritarianism, but with enough support, it could bring about a pro-American federal state strategically positioned to counter China’s rising influence and military reach. A democratic, pro-US government in Myanmar would undermine China’s influence and hegemony in East and Southeast Asia. Moreover, Myanmar’s position along the Andaman Sea would give the US greater ability to blockade the Malacca Strait, a vital waterway which China relies on to import critical materials like oil. The threat of a blockade could severely restrict China’s ability to pursue military aggression in the region. This could help deter a Chinese invasion of democratic Taiwan, or at the very least provide a military advantage for the United States should a horrific war break out between these two powers.

Of course, a new democratic government in Myanmar would not necessarily be fully pro-American and anti-Chinese. Still, it is vital to consider both the Tatmadaw’s great unpopularity in Myanmar and, more recently, the historic surge in anti-China sentiment among the Burmese populace as a result of Chinese support for the Junta. While it would be naive to assume that a democratic Myanmar would naturally become a close US ally simply because both countries are democratic, it makes sense that extensive US military support in toppling an unpopular, oppressive regime would win some gratitude and loyalty from the NUG and the general populace. Moreover, should the NUG and its allies succeed in reestablishing a democratic state despite Chinese military aid to the Tatmadaw, this new government would naturally have a negative disposition towards China and would likely seek support from a more powerful nation to counter the hostile influence of Beijing. A democratic US, having just provided extensive military support to the new government, would be a natural choice for establishing military pacts and improving ties. Alternatively, should the NUG emerge victorious even without US support, the new government would likely emerge from the conflict with no favorable disposition towards the United States. Such a government may even be wary of American influence and choose instead to deepen ties with another democratic nation, such as nearby India.

The many atrocities committed by the Tatmadaw since 2021 provide a compelling moral argument for the United States to support Myanmar’s pro-democracy rebel groups. In addition to the brutal suppression of civil liberties, the Tatmadaw is guilty of numerous human rights violations conducted with appalling cruelty. Since 2021, the military Junta has conducted countless massacres against its own people, often using lethal machine guns, explosive weapons, and, more recently, motorized paragliders. Earlier this month, the Tatmadaw used such devices to slaughter more than two dozen civilians at a religious festival in Sagaing, adding to an already extensive list of atrocities. Aerial bombardment campaigns like this one, far from unusual in present-day Myanmar, were known to have displaced roughly 3 million people by 2024.

Min Aung Hlaing’s Tatmadaw also engages in brutal war crimes against rebel forces and vicious terror campaigns against Myanmar’s populace. These atrocities include torturing, mutilating, beheading, and even burning captured rebel soldiers alive, many of whom were in their teens or early twenties. The Tatmadaw has gone as far as forcing local villagers to watch these gruesome executions as part of a twisted fear tactic, and has reportedly started using chemical weapons on their own people. Such atrocities have been widespread throughout this war, and appear more horrific than even the better-known atrocities committed by Russia and Israel thousands of miles away. As such, the United States ought to take a much stronger stance against Min Aung Hlaing’s brutal regime, not just to advance its own strategic interests, but also to put an end to the Junta’s unparalleled atrocities and support both life and liberty for the Burmese people.

American foreign policy regarding the conflict in Myanmar has thus far failed to live up to the ideals the nation professes to hold so dearly. While the Biden-era BURMA Act of 2022 provided humanitarian aid to many rebel groups and sanctioned an array of Tatmadaw-linked organizations, this legislation failed to deliver the military support the NUG actually needs to bring lasting change and establish a pro-US democracy. Moreover, the recent dropping of US sanctions on critical Tatmadaw allies by the Trump administration serves only to bolster Min Aung Hlaing’s China-backed regime while betraying core American Interests and values.

Such policies run contrary to America’s strategic interests in both Southeast Asia and the wider world, and allow for the continued existence of a brutal dictatorship guilty of numerous atrocities. By providing moderate military aid to the NUG and some of its allies, the United States could help establish a pro-American democratic state in Myanmar, advancing US foreign policy goals while providing freedom and humanity to the long-ravaged Burmese populace.

For nearly half a decade, the Burmese jungles have burned under the heel of authoritarianism. With American support and military aid, the NUG can restore democracy, and freedom may yet return to the “Golden Land.”

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Mandalay People’s Defense Force Female Commander and Recruits during Training, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, Cropped

For five days in late July 2025, the world witnessed violence erupt once again on the Thailand-Cambodia border, one of the most prominent flashpoints in Southeast Asia. This time, it wasn’t merely the intensity of the violence that made the situation different, but rather the sudden and dramatic diplomatic engagement of U.S. President Donald Trump, who guided the two nations to a ceasefire and returned to the world as the essential broker for Indo-Pacific peace.

Trump wasted no time identifying himself as victorious and touted himself as “the president of peace.” His prompt actions were more than crisis management for an emerging situation in a volatile region; they were clearly directed at improving his own reputation and candidacy for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Trump’s Strategic Diplomacy

Trump’s engagement came at a time of rising nationalism sentiment, with the two parties blaming each other for attacks against civilians and ancient temples. The crisis was in danger of spiraling out of control with over 38 killed and 300,000 civilians displaced. Trump’s move was both forceful and transactional: he put a hold on every trade deal with the region and threatened new tariffs unless the conflict stopped. By making a series of phone calls behind the scenes to international leaders, in addition to public declarations, he evolved a regional stalemate to a test of statesmanship on an international scale.

His pressure was rewarded. High-level discussions in Kuala Lumpur—facilitated by Malaysia in its capacity as ASEAN chair but endorsed by both Washington and Beijing—resulted in a ceasefire at midnight on July 28, 2025. Both Thai and Cambodian leaders, having seen the carrot of resumed trade and the stick of diplomatic ostracism, did recognize Trump’s “decisive mediation” and credited him for restoring peace.

A Global Campaign for Recognition

But the Southeast Asia ceasefire was neither the only nor even the primary goal for Trump. And, in the weeks prior to the crisis, he had already been passionately pursuing international kudos for other conflicts he had settled, including ceasefires between India and Pakistan, and Israel and Iran. Trump has long sought Nobel acknowledgement, famously whining that, no matter the peace he creates, he receives “no credit.”

This time, however, it was governments themselves who were falling all over each other to respond to his call. Pakistan formally nominated Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize, highlighting his “decisive diplomatic intervention” both in their standoff with India and, now, in Southeast Asia. Pakistani spokespeople described him as “a genuine peacemaker,” and insisted that his mediation prevented a nuclear escalation in South Asia. Israel quickly followed suit, and Prime Minister Netanyahu submitted Trump’s name for consideration, complimenting Trump on his “unwavering commitment” to peace in multiple hot spots around the world—including the Middle East and Southeast Asia. Other nations and commentators have also commented that Trump is not just a mediator; he’s a leader trying to change America’s image around the globe to an image of being a power of dialogue instead of a power of domination. 

Beyond the ceasefire: ambition and legacy

There are, of course, naysayers who feel that Trump’s peace deals’ continuous success is tenuous at best and that he makes crises for his own benefit, both to play a key role in the ceasefire later and to sponsor Lockheed Martin and Boeing weapons industry. But in the case of the Thailand–Cambodia ceasefire, a deadly border clash has stopped for now, and an important trade route remains open.

Trump’s intent is clear: he wants to be remembered—and recognized—as a maker of peace, not a maker of war.  By being involved in multiple, high-profile conflicts, taking center diplomatic stage, and securing backing from international allies such as Pakistan, Israel, and several others, he has thrust himself into the discussion of speculation of Nobel Peace Prize winners. It is still widely debated whether this is statesmanship or self-promotion, or a bit of both. But right now the former president is closer than ever to the ultimate title he covets: not only “president of peace” but maybe, at last, Nobel laureate.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Trump Speech, Image sourced from The Flat Hat | CC License, no changes made

When Pakistan issued 75-rupee commemoration banknotes in 2022 to mark the seventy-fifth anniversary of its independence, the symbolism was hard to miss. The new note was meant to celebrate freedom from colonial rule as well as the birth of a nation carved out of South Asia’s tumult in 1947. Yet, holding it in my hand, I could not help but wonder: how different is it, really, from the banknotes once stamped with King George VI’s portrait or the five British monarchs before him?

As Pakistan nears its eighth decade of independence, the question grows sharper: is this the country that people imagined when they inherited the sacrifices of Partition–the largest mass migration in history? 

Pakistani sociologist Hamza Alvi argued that Pakistan, like other post-colonial societies, inherited an “overdeveloped state structure”: institutions designed for imperial needs that outlived the empire. These habits still shape Pakistani society–its culture, education, power, consumerism, mannerisms, and collective psyche, fueling an inferiority complex and crises of self-perception.

My own journey into this subject began with a professor’s question in class: how do colonialism and Orientalism shape the subjectivity of people in post-colonial societies? Dr. Tahir Kamran maintains in his book, Chequered Past, Uncertain Future, that Pakistan bears neocolonial attitudes. In my exploration of this subject, one thing was clear: Pakistan still struggles to escape the shadows of its colonial inheritance, the echoes still reverberating. I thus questioned, is this independence or are we still carrying colonialism in our identity, our institutions, and even our everyday aspirations?

Reflecting on this, whereby the legacy of colonial rule is not only political or administrative, but deeply psychological as well, the result is a country that is formally sovereign yet still, in the words of postcolonial theorist Robert J. C. Young, living in a state of “in-dependence” rather than independence.

While this legacy is visible in many places, it is nowhere more stark than in the education system in Pakistan. Pakistan today has three parallel systems: elite private schools where English is the medium of instruction, underfunded public schools where most children study in Urdu, and religious madrasas where curricula often leave students disconnected from modern economic life. 

A child educated in an English-medium private school is effortlessly on top of the hierarchy and their chances of a better future are bright. A child educated in a public school may never fully catch up, while a child educated in a madrasa faces an even steeper climb. These divisions are not merely economic, they are cultural and psychological. 

English fluency, for instance, is a marker of status and accomplishment. Parents proudly boast when their child’s first words are in English, while speaking one’s mother tongue in elite circles can invite quiet shame and exclusion. Growing up, I could feel this divide. Educated in a private school, I could easily check the box on forms asking “K-12 medium of instruction in English?” That privilege, however, contrasted painfully with the millions of children for whom the question is irrelevant, locked out of opportunity not because of talent but because of socio-economic background and languages. For instance, the divide between O-levels and matriculation isn’t merely academic–it often creates social distance, where students on either side may look down on the other in condescending ways, reinforcing exclusion and existing hierarchies.

The divide has long been documented. For instance, a 2014 Dawn report noted how several scholars had pointed out Pakistan’s fragmented language policy. Another professor whose work and research nudged me to see how language policy perpetuates inequality in the country, linguistics scholar Dr. Tariq Rehman, observed that Pakistan had never had a uniform national language policy, with the state and provinces pursuing different goals. Education consultant John McGovern highlighted the gap between policy and classroom reality, warning that without coherence, reform would remain futile. The report also quoted British Council’s Punjab Director Richard Weyers, who said that only three per cent of students in Pakistan had access to private schools offering proper English instruction, while the remaining ninety-seven per cent were left to public schools unequipped to teach in English. So, all of this only deepens existing hierarchies and social divides, and leaves real learning stagnant.

But worse, it doesn’t start or end in classrooms—it spills into our screens, wardrobes, and everyday imagination. Pakistani media, through soap operas, advertisements, and popular narratives, reinforces these divides and entrenches the hierarchy in the collective psyche.Turn on a television drama: the modern, successful character is often shown in Western clothes, fluent in English; the naïve or uneducated character speaks Urdu or a regional language, wears traditional attire, and sits on the floor; modernity is dressed in a tie, while backwardness is wrapped in a dupatta; a person in a suit is seen as authoritative, while someone in traditional shalwar kameez may be dismissed as unsophisticated, rowdy, uneducated. This bias goes beyond personal perception—it reflects a deeper societal hierarchy. The danger is not only cultural amnesia but also deepening inequality. A society where opportunity is determined by language and dress will always reproduce its divides and continue to embrace colonial imports. 

In such a context, English and Western dress have therefore become shorthand for being “modern” and “intelligent” thereby a ticket to mobility, respect and authority. While this condition is not unique to Pakistan; this cultural and linguistic hierarchy no doubt masks a deeper loss: the erosion of heritage.  Pakistan is heir to one of the world’s oldest civilizations, from Mehargarh to the Indus Valley, and to centuries of rich traditions in poetry, music, and art across its many languages and ethnicities.

Yet too often these traditions are sidelined or commodified without context. Urban elites spend lavishly on clothes and ornaments inspired by “ethnic” patterns, but cannot name the region or history they come from. A Sindhi ajrak or a Balochi Doch embroidery becomes a fashion accessory stripped of its meaning. Similarly, Punjabi, Pashto, or Siraiki proverbs that once carried deep wisdom are now dismissed or forgotten. TikTok trends, ethnic fashion shows, and diversity campaigns celebrate surface-level aesthetics while hollowing out the substance beneath. Songs in traditional languages or rooted in folklore are often sung by artists who have no connection to the ethnicity they represent; they may not even know the history of the songs they perform. Listeners, meanwhile, “vibe” to the music without paying attention to the lyrics or the stories behind them.

Worse still, local accents and identities are mocked—Punjabi speech is linked with illiteracy, while Pashtun and other ethnicities are caricatured as crude or unintelligent in films, dramas, and jokes. Even many music platforms may profit from new covers and remixes of traditional songs, and people may listen, but this too is a form of consumerism and commodification. What happened to orature; to the living oral archives of stories and songs passed down from generation to generation?

Moreover, the same pattern repeats beyond songs and symbols. What is sold as “heritage”; from architecture to historic sites and site visits, sadly, becomes another product to consume. In tourism, hotels rise on historic remnants where the wealthy ‘buy’ culture at high prices, and ordinary visitors, often unaware of its significance, deface walls with graffiti, trample fragile areas, and sometimes remove or damage artifacts, still contribute to the site’s erosion. In the end, both play a role in its destruction. Lahore’s Walled city is one such example. 

So, when heritage becomes a commodity, identity becomes hollow. Reclaiming it is not nostalgia, it’s survival. This struggle to protect living heritage from erasure is not Pakistan’s alone; across the world, others have wrestled with how to reclaim what colonialism once fractured.

African poets, for instance, have written powerfully against cultural erasure, and they haven’t rejected English rather refused it to define their worth. South African poet Mazisi Kunene once wrote, “We are not driftwood of distant oceans, our kinsmen are thousand centuries old.” For Pakistanis, this means remembering that their civilizational roots long predate the empire. Similarly, Nigerian-British poet Ben Okri laments the loss of cultural heritage and destruction by colonial powers. He writes in the poem Lament of the Images, “They took the masks … They burned what they could not / Understand.” Writers like Nigerian Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie remind us of the danger of reducing identity to “a single story.” 

The words of African writers remind us that decolonization is not unique to us, it’s a shared struggle to reclaim one’s story. They warn of a familiar trap: mistaking political freedom for psychological or cultural liberation. Pakistan must avoid the same trap and combat it by finding its voice, for true independence lies not in sovereignty alone, but in self-belief. Reviving local languages, celebrating our own art forms, and teaching children to take pride in their history can help them see their true selves and tell their own story. Colonialism’s legacies are stubborn, but not immutable. 

Pakistan can move beyond its neo-colonial attitudes—when freedom is felt, not just declared; when even the newest currency notes carry the imprint of confidence and memory. Because true independence is not what we print or perform; it is what we practice and internalize.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Pakistani Schoolgirls, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made

The skies roared overhead as two Mi-17V5 helicopters cut through the air at the Independence Day Parades in New Delhi, one bearing the Indian tricolor, the other a banner declaring victory in Operation Sindhoor. For India, the operation was a decisive triumph in a decades-long rivalry rooted in ideology, religion, and fierce nationalism. For Pakistan, it was a stark reminder of its neighbor’s growing confidence and expanding geopolitical ambitions.

No matter how often these two nuclear-armed states find themselves on the brink of war, “peace” in South Asia rests not on reconciliation, but on the fragility of their rivalry. In this region, it is not the absence of conflict that preserves stability, but the constant, simmering threat of it. Skirmishes along the Line of Control, artillery exchanges, and fiery rhetoric from both capitals function less as preludes to war than as strategic reminders to the other side that the cost of escalation will be catastrophic.

When Pakistani military leaders, such as Field Marshal Asim Munir, boast that they “will take half the world down” with them, India dismisses it as mere saber rattling. When New Delhi issues its own warnings of swift and devastating retaliation, Islamabad responds with equal indignation. This cycle of provocation and counter-provocation is more than political theater; it is the South Asian iteration of an old doctrine: Mutually Assured Destruction.

During the Cold War, this doctrine kept the United States and the Soviet Union from annihilating each other. In South Asia, it plays out yet again between two nuclear powers. Pakistan’s democracy remains heavily influenced by its military, and its generals know that any unilateral attack on India would invite overwhelming retaliation, and perhaps even the destruction of the Pakistani state as we know it. India, meanwhile, has risen into the ranks of the world’s great powers, rivaling the U.S., China, and Russia in both diplomatic influence and military reach. Its expanding role in global politics has drawn the attention of major powers worldwide, but its ambitions remain constrained by its Achilles’ heel: a neighbor whose political volatility and nuclear arsenal cannot be ignored.

New Delhi understands that although it may outrank Pakistan in almost every measure of power, an all-out conflict could destabilize Pakistan’s nuclear command and control. Such a collapse could place atomic weapons in the hands of extremist networks, many of which have ties to Pakistan’s espionage agency and the highest echelons of Pakistan’s military diplomacy complex. That is a risk no Indian prime minister, including Narendra Modi, is willing to take.

This uneasy balance has held for more than two decades, even during moments of acute crisis. The 1999 Kargil War erupted just a year after both nations tested nuclear weapons. In 2019, India launched airstrikes in Balakot following the Pulwama terrorist attack that killed 40 paramilitary troops. Most recently, the April 2025 attacks against tourists in Kashmir, attributed to Pakistan-backed militants, triggered Operation Sindhoor, in which India struck terrorist infrastructure across Pakistan. In each case, both nations approached the brink of escalation but ultimately pulled back, aware that full-scale war could prove catastrophic.

The danger lies in mistaking this fragile peace for stability. A single miscalculation: an unverified intelligence report, a rogue strike, or a terrorist attack that spirals out of control could shatter the deterrent balance. The Cold War’s hair-trigger moments, like the Cuban Missile Crisis, have their South Asian equivalents. And unlike the Cold War superpowers, India and Pakistan share a border and a violent history oftentimes marred by the ideological battles of religious fervor, which magnifies the risk.

Still, for now, both nations appear to accept the grim reality: escalation could spell doom for both. Behind the public rhetoric, there is a tacit recognition on both sides that this precarious game of geopolitical chess is not just about their own survival; it has a role in ensuring the continuity of the broader international order.

In South Asia, war and peace are not opposites. They are two sides of the same coin, balanced uneasily within the region’s turbulent history and volatile geopolitics. And for better or worse, it is only through this controlled conflict that the region and perhaps the world continues to avoid catastrophe.

For the next generation of South Asians and global leaders, the India-Pakistan rivalry is more than a matter of history or headlines. It is the backdrop against which future diplomats, policymakers, and citizens will shape their identities and choices. Youth in both nations inherit not only the legacy of mistrust, but also the responsibility to imagine alternatives to perpetual conflict. Understanding the mechanics of this fragile peace is the first step toward influencing it, whether that means maintaining the balance, reshaping it, or finding the courage to replace it altogether. Achieving this will require sustained investment in crisis hotlines, Track II diplomacy, and confidence-building measures to ensure that the region’s fragile peace does not collapse into catastrophe.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Nuclear Plants, Image sourced from The Diplomatic Envoy | CC License, no changes made

In the once-packed streets of Surat, Gujarat, the dissonance of polishing machines and voices has lulled to a halt. A sign of life in the streets of the diamond capital of India has been replaced with an unsettling hum of hundreds of thousands’ uncertain futures. The cause? A hike in U.S. tariffs amounting to 50 percent under the Trump administration. Thousands of diamond cutters are now facing unemployment, a reminder of the inherently fragile scaffolding upon which India’s economy has historically relied. 

However, amidst the silence, there lies a story of the importance of legacy, perseverance and adaptation. India’s path from colonial constraints to being the fastest-growing major economy is riddled with periods of transformation, where adversity has often instigated innovative economic policies. Indeed, the challenges posed by these tariffs act as another catalyst for policymaking, shaping Modi’s ‘Atmanirbhar Bharat’ policy of self-reliance. Yet, with the diamond industry’s collapse, calls to reassess and dismantle the vulnerable foundations of such neglected industries become louder and louder. 

Surat’s diamond industry, which employs around 800,000 workers and sustains nearly 5 million livelihoods, has been a fundamental pillar of India’s exports. Polishing around 90% of the globe’s diamonds, this Indian city is where almost every diamond sold is cut and cleaned. It generates significant trade, with the U.S. serving as its single largest buyer, purchasing around $5 billion worth of stones in the last fiscal year. However, an apocalyptic wake has surfaced as the recent imposition of a 50% tariff on Indian gems has been placed: orders have been cancelled, factories are closing, workers are facing layoffs, and the beginning of a serious unemployment crisis shakes Gujarat, the home state of the current Prime Minister, Narendera Modi.

As opposition to Modi’s government grows from within the political nation, India struggles to form a united front during its shift towards an economic policy somewhat mirroring that of protectionism, when this is perhaps most needed. Since Trump’s “brokering” of a ceasefire between Pakistan and India in the long-disputed region of Kashmir in May earlier this year, the slogan “Narendra Surrender” has circulated. This slogan was spread by Rahul Gandhi, leader of the opposition in India’s parliament and grandson of the previous Indian Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi. Framed by the opposition, Modi is an incompetent victim of Trump’s bullying, whilst across the Pacific, Modi is the leader of Russia’s ongoing war against Ukraine, with a White House Official referring to the situation in Ukraine as “Modi’s war.” 

It is precisely this rhetoric in the White House which has brought about these problematic tariffs. Since the invasion of Ukraine in 2022, India has become Moscow’s largest oil buyer with about 2 million of the 5 million barrels of crude oil it imports per day arriving from Russia, amounting to $140 billion fed into Russian oil markets. The issue of India’s oil trade is that it indirectly finances Russia’s war against Ukraine, freezing the Indian government in a perplexing moment of decision-making. Do they stop or reduce Russian oil imports and diversify their oil trade with the hopes of America’s tariffs disappearing, or do they, like Indira Gandhi did, treat the U.S. “as a friend, not a boss” and stand stoic and firm in their trade decisions?

Either way the Modi government chose to act, it was not acting with full independent agency. Rather, this agency was overshadowed by the colonial legacy of India’s economy and its inherent issue of overreliance on exports and, particularly, certain heavy industries.

Divesting oil from Russia and elsewhere would create “a significant tightness into market,” potentially increasing the price of crude from current levels of around $67 a barrel to over $80, says Premasish Das, head of analysis of oil markets in Asia at S&P Global Commodity Insights. Continuing to trade with Russia at its current rates would result in the feared 50% tariffs, which would make exporting to the U.S. incredibly hard, diminishing trade with India’s largest export partner.

With the 50% tariffs imposed upon India on August 27, 2025, the world witnessed the Indian economy’s dependence on the stability of geopolitics. Thus, the diamond and textile sectors in particular exemplify the broader tension between historical legacies and modern realities. The recent escalation of U.S. tariffs exposes far more than a short-term economic setback; it reveals the structural fragilities that have long underpinned India’s global trade. It is the neglected industries, like the diamond trade, heavily dependent on American consumers, that illustrate these issues and the risks of overreliance on a few markets in a volatile geopolitical environment. The contradictions of Modi’s self-reliance agenda become clearer: while framed as a path to economic independence, it is in practice constrained by historically entrenched dependencies and the absence of market diversification.

Under British rule, India’s trade was cultivated to serve primarily the British economy, allowing for the gradual dissolution of India’s export trade altogether. As H.H. Wilson notes, the British manufacturer “employed the arm of political injustice to keep down and ultimately strangle a competitor with whom he could not have contended on equal terms.” This forced millions of artisans into deprivation, as policies redirected demands towards British imports, and polluted India’s previously flourishing textile work as part of the ‘Silk Road.’ By the nineteenth century, the colonial government had turned India into a supplier of raw materials and a chronic consumer of imported British goods.

 The East India Company, an English joint-stock company, was granted a royal order exempting the materials they purchased in India for export to Europe from inland duties, further limiting the success of local businessmen in their respective trades. In turn, this pushed such local artisans out of business and towards factory labour as a means to sustain their, and their families’, livelihoods. In 1813, Calcutta exported 2 million pounds of cotton goods to London, whereas by 1830, this trade dynamic was entirely reversed, with 2 million pounds of British cotton manufactures being imported into Calcutta. Romesh Dutt, in his ‘The Economic History of India, Under Early British Rule,’ identifies the methods used by the British Empire to establish a systematically dependent economy: “but England was unwilling…to become subservient to India in manufacturing industry. She strove for commercial supremacy.” 

India’s independence in 1947 is yet another reminder of the way in which economic pasts and futures are inherently harboured by geopolitics. Following this liberalisation, Indian policy was largely shaped to dismantle any methods of colonial rule over the economy, instead embracing import substitution and protectionism under the Industries Development and Regulation Act of 1951. As state intervention became the way of navigating an unstable economy that remained detached from global trade (India’s trade deficit widening from $0.1 billion in 1948 to $6.3 billion in 1980), it became clear that the colonial legacy of India impacted more than just its culture, people, language and politics—it affected the capacity of the country to operate as a stable economy in the global market and the capacity of the local worker in a city like Surat to be prepared for the coming day. 

As the 1991 liberalisation reforms marked a re-entry into the international economy with trading of IT services, petroleum, pharmaceuticals and oil and steel, India demonstrated the dangers of an economic policy such as Modi’s current hope for ‘self-reliance.’ It seems that in a global order defined by volatility, the notion of economic self-reliance becomes a gamble, for no nation can shield itself from the adversities of international politics. Without trade ties, it risks isolation; with them, it remains vulnerable.

So what does this mean for Modi’s government and the current economy of India? 

Well, what has been made clear throughout studies of this nation’s economy is its irrevocable tendency to depend, whether that is on itself or on other nations. It is India’s colonial past that has permeated history and continues to define the path that economic policies undergo today. The creation of an economy dependent on Britain and robbed of artisanal businesses that did not provide success to the British Empire has moulded the Indian economy into that of a victim of colonialisation, chains it attempts to rid itself of to this day.

Surat’s current crisis is the product of a culmination of neglect and underinvestment in industries that were originally ignored more than a hundred years ago. What we see is the legacy of several structural vulnerabilities: over-reliance on single markets, lack of diversification, and labour market constraints. 

Yet, what Surat perhaps most significantly exposes is the sheer impact that decisions single international leaders place have on the most common and ordinary lives across the globe, regardless of sociogeographic or economic borders. In the apocalypse of Surat rests a glimmer of hope.

India’s government has, in some ways, acted upon this opportunity for retrospection and reform. It has extended cotton import duty exemptions to support the weakening textile industry and continues to explore new and more reliable trade partners, such as the UK and China, in hopes of divesting their economy’s dependence on the U.S. 

For India’s diamond industry, diversifying export markets and investing in technology and workforce development are necessary steps towards overcoming historical foundation issues. Surat’s craftsmen would benefit from specialised technical programmes designed to develop and spread their technical skills and adaptability in an increasingly competitive global market. 

The challenges posed by U.S. tariffs on India that affect the diamond and textile sectors are significant and have triggered the unemployment of thousands. The President of the Gujarat Diamond Workers Union predicts it to”completely destroy” their industry. However, these are overcomable. Through reflecting on its past economy, its colonial legacies and patterns that permeate it, India could consider implementing reforms tailored to supporting the local artisans to support the industry’s sustainability and protect them from turbulent geopolitics. 

In a moment of crisis, India is presented with an opportunity to transform its export economy whilst restructuring its colonial legacies from the foundations, policymaking starting with neglected industries at a grassroots level. Skills and training programmes, financial support in the form of low-interest loans, as well as health, accident and pension insurance for artisans and providing smaller cooperatives with the tools to negotiate more fairly within international trading systems, are all policies that would help the sustainability of such industries. They could incentivise small business owners to continue their trade as opposed to moving into what are viewed as more reliable industries that are currently untariffed, and prevent future impoverishment of local artisans as a result of such politics. Building a more secure diamond trade domestically, as part of the policy of ‘Atmanirbhar Bharat,’ would further insulate cities like Surat.

The recent tariffs have exposed structural weaknesses in India’s economy that trace back to its colonial past, leaving artisans and small business owners at the mercy of geopolitical shifts far beyond their control. For the diamond cutter in Surat or the textile weaver in Varanasi, the consequences of decisions made in Washington or Paris are immediate and often devastating. To move beyond this inherited instability, India must redefine these historically neglected industries as foundations for a more resilient and secure economy. Until India breaks free from the legacies of its colonial economy, global politics will continue to write the fate of its most vulnerable.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Diamonds, Image sourced from Flickr | CC License, no changes made