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 : For nations blessed with oil, the central question is never geological. It is political. Oil can finance schools, hospitals, roads, dignity, and independence—or it can finance coups, client rulers, sanctions, wars, and broken states. The difference is not the size of the reserves under the sand. The difference is whether the owners of that oil are allowed to own it in practice.
Before 1953, Iran’s petroleum was not simply an export commodity. It was an imperial system. Britain’s Anglo-Iranian Oil Company dominated production and refining, and Iran’s share of value was widely viewed inside Iran as humiliating—wealth extracted from Iranian soil, feeding foreign prosperity while ordinary Iranians remained poor. In 1951, Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh took the step that shook the entire post-war order: he pushed legislation to nationalize Iran’s oil industry.
That single principle—“Iranian oil is for Iranian people”—was treated in London and Washington not as a commercial dispute but as a strategic revolt. In August 1953, Mosaddegh was removed in a coup funded by the United States and the United Kingdom, and the Shah’s rule was restored. From the Iranian public’s perspective, this was not merely regime change; it was a message to every oil-producing nation: ownership is tolerated only until it threatens the architecture of Western control.
This is how the “oil curse” is manufactured. The curse is not oil itself. The curse is what happens when a nation tries to convert oil into sovereignty.
Look at the sheer scale of what is at stake. Venezuela sits on roughly 303 billion barrels of proven reserves; Saudi Arabia about 267 billion; Iran about 208.6 billion; Iraq about 145 billion; Kuwait about 101.5 billion; Libya about 48.4 billion; and even gas-rich Qatar holds about 25.2 billion barrels of proven crude reserves. In today’s prices, this is not “resource wealth.” It is civilizational leverage—trillions upon trillions of dollars in potential value across generations.
So the key fight is not only over barrels in the ground, but over the entire chain that converts those barrels into money: drilling technology, service contracts, shipping insurance, tankers, refining capacity, trading houses, dollar clearing, and finally the security umbrella that protects friendly producers and suffocates defiant ones.
That chain is where American and British power has historically lived.
In the Gulf monarchies, the relationship evolved into a bargain: security and survival in exchange for strategic alignment. The U.S. became the guarantor of maritime routes and regime stability, and in return the Gulf became the world’s most important energy reservoir within an American-led order. The United States itself is also a giant producer—about 21.91 million barrels per day in 2023, the largest share of world production—so “control” is not only about imports; it’s also about shaping global pricing, shipping lanes, sanctions enforcement, and who can sell to whom.
But when a producer refuses alignment, the logic flips: oil stops being “their national asset” and becomes “the world’s problem”—a justification for pressure.
Iran is the classic case. After the Shah was imposed back into power with Western backing, Iran became a central pillar of Western strategy—until popular resistance exploded into the 1979 revolution. The hostage crisis was a symptom, not the root: the deeper driver was the belief among millions of Iranians that their wealth had been managed for outsiders and for a domestic elite seen as subordinate to foreign interests. The revolution survived because it was not merely a government; it became a public identity—built on defiance and sacrifice. That is why decades of pressure did not dissolve it.
Then came the region’s great furnace: the Iran-Iraq war. Saddam Hussein was treated as a counterweight to revolutionary Iran; the result was catastrophic human loss and the militarization of the entire Middle East. Even when that era ended, the template remained: defy the Western order and you face isolation, sanctions, and, if the moment suits, destruction.
Iraq’s later destruction was sold to the public with dramatic claims. But the deeper strategic obsession was always the same: who commands the oil state, and whose system the oil state finances.
And now, in December 2025, the pattern is unfolding—loudly—in Venezuela.
Reuters reports that on December 20, 2025, the United States intercepted an oil tanker near Venezuela. The vessel was reportedly carrying 1.8 million barrels of Venezuelan crude bound for China. Reuters also reports that U.S. authorities are pursuing additional vessels, describing an expanding crackdown and blockade concept aimed at sanctioned flows.
This is not symbolic enforcement. It attacks the bloodstream of the Venezuelan economy, which relies heavily on oil revenue. Reuters notes exports falling sharply (from over 1 million bpd in September to an estimated ~702,000 bpd in December), implying severe fiscal strangulation.
And notice the exception that exposes the logic: even as “dark fleet” shipping is disrupted, Chevron continues operating under a U.S. license structure. The Wall Street Journal describes Venezuelan shipping largely stalling “except Chevron,” underscoring how sanctions enforcement can separate “illegal oil” from “licensed oil”—meaning the barrel is acceptable when it flows through approved channels. Reuters similarly describes Chevron’s continued role under restricted authorization.
This is the modern oil empire: not necessarily ownership of the wells, but command over the rules of extraction, trade, and cashflow.
Across the region, Western majors remain embedded where states permit them—often through partnerships, service contracts, or joint ventures. Iraq, for instance, is again signing major deals with U.S. and European firms; Reuters reports ExxonMobil’s return via an agreement tied to the giant Majnoon field. Libya’s National Oil Corporation is engaging BP and Shell to study major fields, a sign of how foreign expertise re-enters when political conditions allow. Qatar’s North Field expansion, the backbone of future global gas supply, includes partnerships with ExxonMobil and other Western companies. Even in the Saudi-Kuwait “Neutral Zone,” Chevron’s legacy role appears in joint operations alongside state entities.
So when the West “benefits,” it is not always by directly stealing national revenue in one crude transaction. It benefits by sitting at multiple toll booths: technology and services, project equity stakes, shipping and trading, refining margins, finance and insurance, and—most importantly—strategic power: the ability to punish a seller, freeze a buyer, choke a port, or seize a ship.
That is why oil becomes a curse precisely at the moment a nation tries to treat it as democratic wealth. The moment leaders say, “this belongs to our people,” the system asks: will you still obey? If yes, you are protected. If not, your “resource blessing” is recast as a reason you must be disciplined.
This is the real warning to oil nations—whether in the Gulf, in Africa, or in Latin America. Oil is wealth only if you are allowed to keep it wealth. If you attempt to convert it into independence against the priorities of great powers, oil becomes the trigger for destabilization, sanctions, and war.
And that is why the same barrel can build prosperity in one country and produce ruin in another. The difference is not the oil. The difference is who is permitted to command the oil.

Timothée Chalamet has finally quashed rumours that he is cult anonymous rapper EsDeeKid – by performing alongside him in a new video.

Speculation has run riot that the Oscar-nominated US actor has been leading a double life as the masked rapper, who only ever reveals his eyes.

Some followers spotted an apparent resemblance with Chalamet’s eyes, and when the BBC questioned the star about the connection earlier this week, he responded: “No comment… You’ll see, all in due time.”

Now, the actor – who adopted the hip-hop moniker Lil Timmy Tim in high school – has scotched the conspiracies by posting a video of himself rapping alongside EsDeeKid on a remix of the musician’s top 40 hit 4Raws.

In the music video, Chalamet appeared to refer to the rumours by starting with only his eyes on show, like the drill artist, before pulling down the bandana from his face and dropping the bars: “It’s Timothée Chalamet chillin’, tryin’ to stack $100 million.”

He then referenced his partner Kylie Jenner with the line: “Girl got $1 billion.”

The clip was filmed at Andover Minimarket Off Licence in north London, and was reposted by EsDeeKid.

The speculation has been seized upon by fans in recent weeks, and both sides stayed silent as EsDeeKid reached the UK top 10 and Chalamet promoted his new film.

BBC Radio One’s Greg James also quizzed Chalamet in an interview this week about his connection to EsDeeKid, where he responded: “All will be revealed in due time.”

James updated his caption on social media overnight noting “all was revealed”.

Chalamet even gave his movie, Marty Supreme, several shout-outs in the new collaboration, building on an already savvy marketing campaign for the film.

But it was always far-fetched that the two people could be one and the same, and that Chalamet could have pulled off rapping with EsDeeKid’s Liverpudlian accent.

Their collaboration quickly went viral, with British rapper Central Cee replying “Naaa” with crying and laughing emojis, Tinie Tempah posting “Hahha this is sickkk” and US star Shaboozey declaring “This going #1”.

Additional reporting by Lola Schroer.

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c79x4yqx0ngo

Taken From BBC News

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 : A strange new alarm is being manufactured in our time—an alarm that travels faster than facts. In social media clips, in talk shows, and now even in parliamentary and congressional messaging, we are hearing a rising cry that “Sharia must be banned” in the United Kingdom and the United States. The claim is repeated with an air of urgency, as if a parallel state is quietly taking over, as if Western civilisation is under legal siege, as if courts have been replaced and constitutions have been hijacked. It sounds dramatic. It sounds mobilising. It sounds like a culture war slogan designed to trigger fear. Yet when one pauses and asks the basic question—what does “Sharia” mean in the UK or the USA in real, legal terms?—the entire narrative starts to collapse under its own exaggerations.
First, Sharia as it exists for Muslims living in non-Muslim countries is not a state law, not a criminal code, not a government “replacement” for British or American law. In practice, what is most often being discussed are voluntary religious opinions and community-based mediation on personal matters such as marriage, divorce, family disputes, and inheritance—issues that Muslims want resolved in a way that aligns with their faith while still living fully under the law of the land. Even in the UK debate, reputable fact-checking has repeatedly stressed that these bodies are not “courts” in the sense of legal authority; they do not override national law, and the word “court” itself misleads the public into imagining a sovereign parallel judiciary.
The “numbers” that inflame public panic are a classic example of how fear grows when precision is absent. Some voices insist that there are “300 Sharia courts” in Britain, and that the UK is “gradually turning into a Muslim country.” But the most responsible public record is blunt: no one has an official, definitive count, and credible estimates vary widely. Reuters, citing the UK’s own independent review, notes that the number of Sharia councils operating in England and Wales is unknown, with academic and anecdotal estimates ranging roughly from 30 to 85—and, importantly, that to the best of the review’s knowledge there were no such councils in Scotland. Full Fact has likewise explained that there are no definitive figures and that claims about large totals often bundle together everything from major councils to small local forums and online services, turning a complicated social phenomenon into a simplistic “invasion” statistic. Even evidence submitted in the UK parliamentary process has described the number as disputed, pointing to research that identified around 30 “major” councils while acknowledging smaller local bodies might not have been captured—again, a far cry from the certainty with which “300 courts” is shouted in viral posts.
So why does this fear persist? Because it is emotionally profitable. In politics, the easiest way to rally a base is to create a symbol of threat, strip it of nuance, and repeat it until the public stops asking questions. When Nigel Farage famously claimed there were “80 practising Sharia courts” in the UK, the line travelled further than the careful corrections that followed. That single sentence became fuel for a decade of “no-go zones,” “Muslim ghettos,” and “parallel legal systems” rhetoric—even though the legal reality remains that Britain’s law is Britain’s law, and religious mediation cannot lawfully supplant it. In Parliament, Baroness Cox has been among the most prominent figures pushing legislation aimed at restricting or regulating these councils, presenting her campaign as a protection against discrimination—particularly against women—while critics argue the wider debate too often spills into civilisational suspicion rather than focused legal reform.
Now look at the United States. Here, the phrase “Sharia courts” is even more misleading. There is no recognised network of Sharia courts governing cities, no constitutional pathway for such a thing, and no American jurisdiction where Islamic law overrides U.S. law. PolitiFact has addressed the underlying rumour directly: there are no communities “under Sharia law” in the United States in the sense alarmists claim; any attempt to force religious code as law would collide immediately with constitutional limits and civil courts. Yet the political theatre continues. “Anti-Sharia” messaging has not been confined to fringe social media; it has been institutionalised through recurring legislative attempts, often framed as “foreign law bans,” even when American courts already operate under the Supremacy Clause and constitutional protections.
The scale of that legislative churn is not small. A well-known academic/public-policy tracking project notes that since 2010, over 230 anti-Muslim bills have been introduced or enacted in U.S. state legislatures, and that “anti-Sharia” efforts are part of that ecosystem of institutionalised othering. The Southern Poverty Law Center has documented waves of anti-Sharia bills over the years, including a spike in state-level introductions in the late 2010s. And now, in the current congressional atmosphere, the slogan has returned again in high-profile federal proposals. Congress.gov records legislation explicitly titled to keep America “Sharia-free,” and House text for a “No Shari’a Act” frames its purpose as reaffirming that only American law governs American courts, even though that principle is already foundational.
The names behind these pushes matter because the user asked for “renowned politicians,” and because the political mainstreaming of suspicion is precisely the engine of Islamophobia. In the United States, Senator John Cornyn and Senator Tommy Tuberville publicly announced a “No Sharia Act” in October 2025. On the House side, public communications around “No Sharia” legislation have been promoted by figures such as Congressman Randy Fine, with references to support from other lawmakers. Separately, Congressman Chip Roy has promoted a “Preserving a Sharia-Free America Act,” reflecting how the phrase has become a repeatable political brand rather than a response to a real legal takeover.
In the United Kingdom, the roster looks different, but the pattern is the same: claims about large numbers, claims about demographic replacement, claims about enclaves, and claims that Britain is “becoming” something else. Petitions have demanded bans on the basis of “85 courts,” illustrating how figures—accurate or not—become a rallying device. The Times has described the UK as a “western capital” for these councils and repeated the figure of 85 in its own framing, which then further recirculates through social media as “proof” that a parallel state exists. Meanwhile, fact-checkers and parliamentary materials keep insisting on what the public debate keeps forgetting: there is no legal authority here that outranks national law, and the uncertainty of numbers is routinely exploited by those who want certainty of fear.
All of this is producing something far more dangerous than the imaginary menace it claims to prevent: a widening social permission structure for hostility toward ordinary Muslims. The suspicion is no longer only about “law.” It bleeds into clothing, prayer, diet, family life, neighbourhoods, and identity—turning everyday religiosity into a presumed pathway to radicalisation. In this climate, even the most basic Islamic principle for minorities living in non-Muslim lands is erased: Muslims are religiously obligated to respect the law of the land they live in, and if a society forbids core worship entirely, classical teachings emphasise either compliance with law or relocation rather than rebellion. The modern anti-Sharia campaign, however, behaves as if Muslims are secretly trained to undermine constitutions—when, in reality, most Muslims are simply trying to preserve family norms, marry, divorce, and distribute inheritance in a manner consistent with faith while remaining loyal citizens bound by national law.
And here is the tragedy of misunderstanding that your narrative rightly points to: Western publics are often told that Islam is “incompatible” with Western civilisation, as if Islam is built on hatred of the West. But the deeper truth is that Islam obliges belief in the prophets revered in Judaism and Christianity, including Jesus (peace be upon him) and Mary—an interfaith common ground that is rarely highlighted in angry soundbites. When that commonality is buried, fear fills the vacuum. Demagogues then sell the public a simplified enemy: “Sharia.” It becomes a code-word, not for a real legal system in London or Texas, but for the presence of Muslims themselves.
If the aim is genuinely to protect women’s rights and protect citizens from coercion, then the honest path is specific reform: ensure civil marriage registration, strengthen legal aid and awareness, clarify that any religious mediation cannot pretend to be a state court, and prosecute coercion or abuse wherever it occurs—without turning an entire faith into a suspect class. That is what serious governance looks like. What we are watching instead is the conversion of ignorance into policy branding, and policy branding into social hostility.
This is why the new “ban Sharia” wave must be confronted with calm, verified facts and moral clarity. In the UK, we do not have “300 Sharia courts”; we have contested estimates of voluntary councils—often described in the range of about 30 to 85 in England and Wales, with no confirmed presence in Scotland in the cited independent review. In the United States, we do not have Sharia-governed towns; we have recurring anti-Sharia bills and rhetoric that treats Muslims as a fifth column even while the Constitution already governs the courts.
The time has come for philosophers, thinkers, and religious scholars—Muslim, Christian, and Jewish—to raise the level of discourse in public spaces, especially on social media where fear spreads fastest. If the West can learn once more to distinguish between a citizen’s private religious ethics and the public law of the state, then Muslims who live in the UK and the USA—obeying the law, contributing to society, paying taxes, raising families, and pursuing dreams—can continue to live in peace, with dignity, and with the freedom that Western civilisation itself claims to cherish.