Paris (Imran Y. CHOUDHRY) :- Former Press Secretary to the President, Former Press Minister to the Embassy of Pakistan to France, Former MD, SRBC Mr. Qamar Bashir analysis : From the dawn of human civilization, long before Judaism, Christianity, Islam, or Buddhism emerged to reshape the moral foundations of society, humanity lived under a brutal and irrational law: when one person committed a crime, entire tribes, cities, and nations were punished. The crime of an individual became the burden of thousands. A conflict between two men could trigger decades of warfare. A single act of adultery could unleash generational blood feuds. Ancient history is filled with examples of wars ignited by the wrongdoing of a few but fought by tens of thousands who had no connection to the original offense. Around 1200 BCE, the legendary Trojan War erupted because of the actions of one couple—Paris and Helen—but ended with the deaths of an estimated 40,000 to 100,000 warriors and the destruction of Troy. In 490 BCE, the entire city of Miletus was destroyed by the Persian Empire in retaliation for the Ionian Revolt, though only a handful of rebels had participated in the initial uprising. In 586 BCE, the kingdom of Judah was crushed and Jerusalem destroyed because King Zedekiah rebelled against Babylon; tens of thousands were exiled for the decision of one ruler. These ancient precedents reveal an era dominated by collective vengeance rather than individual responsibility.
When Judaism arrived, the moral code began to shift. The Torah introduced the revolutionary principle that “the children shall not be put to death for the sins of the father,” establishing that punishment must be confined to the perpetrators. Christianity later reinforced this concept through the teachings of Jesus, emphasizing forgiveness and individual accountability. Islam, too, declared unequivocally in the Quran that “no soul shall bear the burden of another,” and that punishment must be proportionate and directed only toward the guilty. These religions attempted to end the age-old normalization of collective punishment. Yet despite these divine instructions, humanity repeatedly drifted back into the primitive instinct of retaliating against entire populations instead of targeting the individuals responsible for the crime.
Modern history, too, is littered with catastrophic examples of collective punishment. When one person or one small group acted, nations responded with wars that killed millions. During World War I, the assassination of a single man—Archduke Franz Ferdinand—on June 28, 1914, by a 19-year-old Serbian nationalist, led to a conflict that killed over 20 million people. In World War II, the rise of a few extremist leaders drove humanity into the deadliest war in history, killing an estimated 70–85 million people between 1939 and 1945. In 1937, after one Chinese soldier went missing near the Marco Polo Bridge, Japan launched a full invasion that resulted in the deaths of 300,000 civilians in Nanjing alone. Again and again, the scope of punishment far exceeded the scope of the crime.
The twenty-first century has unfortunately normalized collective punishment in new and devastating forms. After the 9/11 attacks of September 11, 2001—committed by 19 individuals—America understandably pursued all those who plotted, supported, facilitated, or financed the attack. Justice against the perpetrators was necessary and morally justified. But the response soon expanded far beyond those responsible. The invasion of Afghanistan in October 2001 resulted in more than 170,000 Afghan civilian deaths over two decades. In March 2003, Iraq was invaded even though Iraq had no involvement in 9/11; the war killed between 300,000 to 600,000 Iraqis and displaced millions. Libya was bombed in 2011, leaving 30,000 dead. Syria’s civil war, ignited by a small protest in 2011, eventually claimed over 500,000 lives and displaced more than 12 million people—half of the population. These tragedies illustrate a dark truth: the punishment for the crime of a few was extended to entire nations.
In the most recent and heartbreaking episode, the October 7, 2023 Hamas attack on Israel killed around 1,200 Israelis and took approximately 250 hostages—a horrific and indefensible act that demanded justice. Yet the response unleashed upon the civilians of Gaza escalated into one of the deadliest campaigns of the 21st century. By late 2025, more than 70,000 Palestinians had been killed, 75 percent of the population displaced, nearly all hospitals destroyed, food and medicine blocked, and children left freezing under plastic sheets in harsh winter rain. Families buried under rubble, newborn babies dying without incubators, entire neighborhoods turned to dust—this was not justice against the perpetrators but a sweeping punishment against an entire population for the crimes of a few.
The world watched collective punishment become normalized once again. Instead of targeting militants, the response treated every man, woman, and child in Gaza as equally punishable, an approach that contradicts not only international law but the core moral principles of Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and every civilized system of justice ever established.
And now, in November 2025, America risks repeating this ancient mistake within its own borders. After a lone gunman killed one National Guard soldier and severely wounded another, the United States had every right and duty to pursue the killer and anyone who supported or facilitated him. The safety of American soldiers and citizens must always come first, and no one can dispute that justice must be delivered swiftly and firmly. But instead of targeting the perpetrator and his network, sweeping executive orders were issued that affected millions of immigrants who had no connection whatsoever to the crime. Immigration processing was halted. Asylum cases were frozen. Green card holders and legal permanent residents—people who have committed no crime, who work hard, pay taxes, raise families, and contribute to America’s GDP—were suddenly labeled suspicious, stereotyped as criminals, and threatened with deportation.
Collective punishment once again overshadowed common sense. American immigrants, who statistically commit fewer crimes than native-born citizens, found themselves trapped under suspicion because of the actions of one man. These families fled economic collapse, persecution, and violence in their home countries; now they face being thrown back into the very instability they escaped. Their dreams, their years of sacrifice, their contributions to the U.S. economy have been jeopardized by an act they neither supported nor participated in.
The logic is simple and eternal: punish the guilty, not the innocent. Every major religion, every moral code, and every civilized legal system supports this principle. Collective punishment is not justice—it is a return to the darkest chapters of human history. It destroys trust, divides societies, and creates new cycles of hatred.
The United States is a great nation with strong institutions and a history of self-correction. It has the capacity to distinguish between a criminal and an entire community. It can choose a path guided by law, reason, and fairness rather than anger. As President Trump often says, his movement is a movement of “common sense.” But common sense does not support punishing millions for the crime of one. Common sense teaches us to hold the perpetrator accountable, not innocent families. Common sense demands proportionality, fairness, and justice—not blanket retaliation.
The question now is whether America, and indeed the world, will learn from history. Will we continue to repeat the ancient mistakes of punishing nations for the crimes of individuals, or will we finally embrace the moral clarity that has been taught to us for thousands of years? The answer will determine whether humanity advances toward justice—or falls backward into its brutal past.

Paris (Imran Y. CHOUDHRY) :- Former Press Secretary to the President, Former Press Minister to the Embassy of Pakistan to France, Former MD, SRBC Mr. Qamar Bashir analysis : The 2025 G-20 Summit in South Africa will be remembered not only for the historic decisions taken, but equally for the loud, symbolic silence created by the absence of President Donald Trump and the United States’ high-level delegation. It was a vacuum that everyone felt, a political absence that lowered the temperature of the event, diminished its traditional stature, and yet, paradoxically, empowered the rest of the world to move forward without waiting for Washington’s approval. A gathering once shaped, dominated, and animated by American leadership unfolded without it — and the world did not stop. In fact, it moved with surprising confidence and determination, proving for the first time in decades that global cooperation no longer revolves around a single pole of power.
Trump’s official explanation for skipping the summit was both extraordinary and controversial. He alleged that South Africa was maltreating, harassing and killing its white population of Britain, France, Europe, and the United States origin,” and that the U.S. would therefore boycott the gathering in protest.
This justification stunned diplomats. The South African president and prime minister engaged in frantic outreach to convince Washington to participate at its traditional strength, but their efforts came to nothing. The United States remained absent, and the G-20 moved on. That moment alone signaled a shift: the world’s most influential economies were no longer willing to freeze or dilute their agenda because America chose not to show up.
In that vacuum, the G-20 delivered several major breakthroughs. Africa achieved its long-awaited elevation as a permanent force within the grouping. Its seat was strengthened with new mandates for development, debt restructuring, and large-scale infrastructure support — recognition that Africa is no longer a peripheral player but a central actor in the global economy. The summit also adopted the Global Debt Relief Framework 2.0, a comprehensive mechanism in which China, the United States (from the working-level side), and Europe aligned on a unified system for restructuring debt for developing nations. For the first time, the world’s largest creditors agreed on the principles of transparency, fair burden-sharing, and predictable timelines — a milestone that benefited dozens of struggling economies.
One of the most transformative decisions was the adoption of a global AI and digital governance pact. The world finally agreed on a shared code of conduct for artificial intelligence development, data transparency, cybersecurity protocols, and cross-border data flows. This was an agenda point expected to be heavily influenced by the United States, yet its absence did not hinder progress. The pact revealed a deeper truth: the world’s technological future no longer depends solely on Silicon Valley’s blessing. Beijing, Brussels, Pretoria, New Delhi, and Brasília demonstrated their ability to shape norms that will define the digital age.
Yet the most ambitious and visionary outcome was the creation of a $120 billion Green Energy Transition Fund. This fund aims to help developing and least-developed countries move away from fossil fuels and adopt solar, wind, hydrogen, and advanced battery-storage systems. It promises not only financing, but also technology transfer, expertise, and capacity building. The symbolism was profound: while Washington debates climate strategies through the prism of tariffs and industrial protection, the G-20 chose global environmental responsibility as a collective mission, marking a sharp contrast with America’s inward shift.
The summit also produced a roadmap to reduce global tariffs — a direct counterpoint to Donald Trump’s aggressive tariff wars. Leaders agreed that escalating tariffs undermine supply chains, inflate consumer prices, suffocate export markets, and weaken global economic stability. By committing to reduce trade barriers and revive the core principles of the World Trade Organization, the G-20 openly challenged the direction of U.S. trade policy and reaffirmed that globalization, though evolving, is far from dead.
Food security emerged as another defining pillar. The G-20 endorsed a multi-continental fertilizer and grain corridor network that would ensure developing nations have the ability not only to access essential agricultural inputs but also to build their own production capacity. The initiative aims to strengthen local seed development, introduce climate-resilient crops, and reduce dependency on vulnerable supply chains. It was a reminder that global hunger is not caused by scarcity, but by inequity, mismanagement, and geopolitics — and that collective action remains the only antidote.
Pandemic preparedness also received unprecedented attention. The G-20 agreed on a universal pathogen-sharing system, vaccine production guarantees for countries that cannot afford them, and the creation of global emergency stockpiles. COVID-19 had exposed the brutal reality that the world was divided between vaccine “haves” and “have-nots.” This summit promised not to repeat that inequality, committing to a global health shield that can activate instantly in the face of new threats.
Even tax justice — long a contentious issue — saw real progress. The G-20 endorsed a crackdown on tax evasion and illicit financial flows, expanding automatic exchange of banking data and creating stronger digital taxation systems capable of identifying hidden wealth and offshore transfers. It was a direct strike against corruption, financial secrecy, and the long-standing loopholes that have drained developing nations of trillions.
What is extraordinary is that these decisions, perhaps some of the most consequential in G-20 history, were made in the absence of the United States. Washington’s non-participation deprived the summit of its traditional weight, but it also gave the rest of the world a rare freedom — a chance to act without American vetoes, delays, or political bargaining. For the first time, the G-20 showed that global governance can continue even when America chooses not to lead.
This absence also reflects a deeper American decline. The United States has already withdrawn from key UN bodies, distanced itself from multilateral structures, and ceded leadership of global organizations to rising powers such as China and India. Across Europe and beyond, intellectuals are questioning the legitimacy of veto powers at the UN Security Council, arguing that one nation should not be allowed to overturn a resolution supported by nearly 200 states. The principle of unilateral veto is increasingly viewed as anti-democratic and incompatible with a modern, multipolar world. If that power is eventually dissolved, the United States — which relies heavily on the veto to protect its geopolitical interests — would suffer the greatest strategic loss.
Economists across Europe are also sounding alarms about the U.S. dollar. They note that gold prices have nearly doubled since Trump intensified tariffs, a sign that global confidence in the dollar as a reserve currency is eroding. History teaches that such erosion is initially slow and subtle — as with the British pound — until one day it becomes sudden and irreversible. A reserve currency survives on three pillars: military strength, predictable governance rooted in rule of law, and a robust, stable economy. Today, America’s economic dominance is shrinking, its global leadership is receding, its institutional predictability is weakening, and its geopolitical influence is being challenged by China, India, Russia, and an increasingly assertive Global South.
The South Africa G-20 Summit was therefore more than a diplomatic event; it was a mirror held up to the United States. It is a wake-up call for a nation that once led the free world with confidence but is now drifting into isolation, controversy, and self-inflicted decline. If the United States hopes to restore its leadership, stabilize its currency, and reclaim its global relevance, it must reverse its inward retreat, rebuild alliances, re-enter global institutions, and embrace cooperation instead of confrontation. Only then can it regain the trust of a world that, for the first time, has shown it can move forward without America — and perhaps, if necessary, beyond it.

Paris (Imran Y. CHOUDHRY) :- Former Press Secretary to the President, Former Press Minister to the Embassy of Pakistan to France, Former MD, SRBC Mr. Qamar Bashir analysis : On a gray November afternoon, just two blocks from the White House, the story Donald Trump wanted to tell about a “safe and peaceful” capital exploded in a hail of bullets. Two members of the National Guard, Specialist Sarah Beckstrom and Staff Sergeant Andrew Wolfe, were on routine foot patrol when an Afghan-born gunman walked up and opened fire in a sudden ambush that stunned the entire nation. The attack was quick, brutal, and merciless. Beckstrom died the next day, and Wolfe continues to fight for his life. It was an attack that pierced the heart of the security narrative Trump had been promoting, especially after deploying more than two thousand National Guard troops across Washington, D.C., in a show of restored order.
The shock to the system was immediate. Television screens filled with images of uniformed soldiers bleeding on downtown sidewalks in full view of the White House. What was meant to be proof of law and order became a terrifying reminder that chaos needs only one crack to break through. Very quickly, the identity of the attacker transformed the discussion from crime prevention to national identity.
The shooter, Rahmanullah Lakanwal, had entered the United States legally under Operation Allies Welcome after the fall of Kabul. He had been part of a U.S.-backed Afghan unit, passed multiple layers of vetting, and was given asylum earlier this year. Those facts did not matter in the political storm that followed.
Trump condemned the attack as an act of “pure evil” and moved instantly from grief to policymaking. His anger, already directed at illegal immigration, now expanded to encompass legal immigrants from what he calls “Third World countries.” He demanded a halt to asylum approvals, reviews of thousands of past green-card cases, and a wider freeze on visas from dozens of nations. A single criminal suddenly became the symbol of an entire global population.
For Afghan evacuees, the consequences are direct and devastating. Tens of thousands remain in legal limbo in Pakistan, the Gulf, and elsewhere, waiting for visas. Many served U.S. forces, risked their lives, and were promised safety. Now, because of one man’s descent into violence, their futures are frozen. Trump’s new directives also cast a long shadow over immigrants worldwide, including those who spent decades waiting for lawful entry. Families who followed every rule, gathered every document, passed every interview, and waited patiently for their priority dates now see their dreams threatened overnight.
My own family is among those who waited almost twenty years for a lawful, transparent immigration process. We began in 2007, sponsored by an American relative, and endured delays, repeated paperwork, bureaucratic hurdles, and shifting immigration quotas. Only in 2024 did we finally arrive as legal permanent residents. Our journey reflects the commitment millions make to follow the rules, respect the system, and contribute to American society. And yet today, even people like us — legal, vetted, documented — find ourselves under the shadow of suspicion because of one man’s crime.
Security failures deserve investigation. Policies deserve review. But collective punishment is neither justice nor strategy. The attacker passed multiple layers of security screening, worked alongside U.S. agencies, and seemed to deteriorate quietly while navigating a life of legal uncertainty and psychological distress in a new country. His actions were his own. To transform that into a blanket indictment of millions is a political choice, not a security necessity.
This instinct toward collective punishment has shaped some of the darkest moments of modern history. After 9/11, the United States invaded Afghanistan and Iraq, killing hundreds of thousands, displacing millions, and reducing entire societies to rubble, even though the attacks were carried out by nineteen individuals. In Libya, Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine, entire populations paid for crimes they did not commit.
On 7 October, Hamas militants carried out a brutal attack that killed Israelis. Instead of targeting only the perpetrators, the retaliation turned into the collective punishment of an entire civilian population in Gaza. More than seventy thousand people were killed. Seventy percent of Gaza’s residents became homeless, and many now face death from winter cold, hunger, and exposure. Instead of punishing those who committed the crime, an entire people paid the price. This same principle — punishing the innocent for the actions of the guilty — is now echoing across America’s immigration debate. Interestingly, human rights often vanish the moment U.S. strategic interests are invoked, and the victims are left with the consequences.
Trump’s anger is understandable on a human level. A young woman in uniform is dead. Another soldier may still die. His promise of security has been shattered in the most public and humiliating way possible. But leadership is not defined by anger; it is defined by what anger is allowed to unleash. Justice demands that the killers and any accomplices be punished fully and swiftly. It does not demand that millions of unrelated immigrants — in Kabul, Karachi, Nairobi, or Washington — be treated as guilty by association.
If America now shuts its doors to lawful immigrants, rescinds visas, freezes green-card approvals, and destroys the hopes of families who followed every law, it will not be making itself safer. It will be abandoning the principles that once distinguished its moral claim to leadership. The United States has always been strongest when it recognized the difference between a criminal and a community. That line is now dangerously close to being erased.
It is, of course, the duty of any government to protect its citizens and to learn from failures. The public has a right to know whether Operation Allies Welcome missed warning signs in Lakanwal’s background, or whether mental-health problems went unaddressed. But the emerging picture is not one of negligence; it is of a man who passed extensive biometric, biographic, and intelligence checks, worked with U.S. agencies, and then unraveled in the shadows of a new life.
In the coming weeks, investigators will uncover more about the gunman’s motives, background, and state of mind. Politicians will shout, the public will divide, and courts will be asked to intervene. But underneath all of this lies a single question that tests the values of the nation: Will America punish the guilty — or the innocent? One path leads to justice. The other leads to fear, prejudice, and betrayal of the very ideals engraved on the Statue of Liberty.
For the sake of the young soldiers who bled on the streets of Washington, and for the millions who still believe in the promise of America, one can only hope that reason, not rage, finally prevails.