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 : War Secretary Pete Hegseth’s recent address to defense-industry leaders began not with warnings about China or Russia, but with a stark admission that the gravest threat to American military readiness comes from inside the Pentagon itself — not the people, he stressed, but the entrenched acquisition bureaucracy that governs them. He described this culture as one of centralized planning and rigid five-year cycles that choke innovation, punish initiative, and turn paperwork into a substitute for performance. For a moment it sounded as though he were describing the old Soviet system or the Chinese Communist Party — until he delivered the line that made the room fall silent: the adversary, he said, is the Pentagon’s process.
Hegseth’s critique echoed a warning first delivered a generation ago by Donald Rumsfeld, who argued that the Pentagon risked becoming so slow, so complex, and so resistant to change that it could no longer respond to the real world. Two and a half decades later, Hegseth believes the problem has not evaporated — it has deepened. Deadlines are missed. Costs escalate. Layers of oversight multiply. And somewhere between offices, committees, forms and reviews, wartime urgency is lost. Worse still, the defense industry adapts to this environment, finding profit in delay rather than delivery, and learning that risk-taking is punished while caution is rewarded.
Yet the real story here is not simply about dysfunction. It is about something profoundly American — the willingness to confront problems openly rather than hide them. Hegseth’s speech is not merely a complaint about slow systems. It is the latest expression of a structural truth about the United States: this country remains powerful not because it is flawless, but because it possesses built-in mechanisms of reform, criticism and self-correction. When processes fail, leaders say so. When systems slow, they are publicly challenged. When institutions fall behind reality, the political and administrative machinery eventually pushes them forward again.
That culture of internal inspection is loud, messy and often uncomfortable. Democrats reform institutions in one way, Republicans in another. They criticize each other, undo each other’s work, and reshape systems again. But the result, over time, is not paralysis. It is continuous institutional evolution. That is why the U.S. military still fields the most capable force in the world. That is why the defense-industrial base, despite its flaws, still produces unmatched innovation. And that is why American universities, laboratories, companies and alliances continue to set global standards.
Hegseth followed his words with action, signing directives to streamline acquisition, break bottlenecks inside each service branch, expand surge manufacturing capacity, and unify arms-transfer authorities so that U.S. weapons reach allies faster when approved. The message was clear: process must once again serve readiness, not the other way around. Capability must matter more than compliance. And the system must be restored to wartime speed, not remain trapped in peacetime ritual.
Your central observation sits at the heart of this development. The United States has something many other nations lack — the courage and institutional space to admit fault and correct course. Authoritarian states bury failure, silence critics and falsify results. America argues, audits, investigates, legislates and reforms. This is not weakness. It is the only strength that survives history. It is the reason the country remains at the top of science, technology, defense, education, finance, diplomacy and culture, despite the demands and contradictions of global leadership.
Yes, American weapons feature in conflicts around the world — and that reality sparks intense ethical, strategic and humanitarian debate. But unlike systems that suppress dissent, the United States allows these debates to unfold in Congress, the press, universities, think tanks and courts. Excesses are scrutinized, decisions questioned, policy direction contested. It is an open-loop feedback system — sometimes slow, sometimes painful, but always alive.
In that sense, Hegseth’s speech is not an admission of decline. It is a reminder that a nation remains strong only as long as it remains honest with itself. When the machine jams, it must be repaired. When culture hardens into ritual, it must be shaken. When systems fall behind events, they must be dragged forward — not once, but repeatedly, across generations. The United States has done this again and again. That is why it still leads.
If America’s greatest adversary sometimes lies within its own bureaucracy, then its greatest strength lies there too — in the constant habit of self-examination, internal checks and balances, and relentless renewal. Other powers deny failure. America fixes it. And as long as that instinct endures, the nation will remain — loudly, imperfectly, but decisively — at the top of the world.

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 : Donald Trump has long styled himself as a man of peace, a leader determined to end America’s “forever wars.” Yet the reality of his second term tells a very different story. From Africa to the Middle East to the Caribbean, U.S. military power is being projected more aggressively than at any time in recent years, often outside clear multilateral mandates and sometimes against the wishes of the nations affected. The paradox is striking: a president who boasts of stopping wars now presides over an expanding web of military strikes, naval seizures, economic blockades, and strategic pressure campaigns that are reshaping how the world sees the United States.
In late December 2025, U.S. airstrikes in northwest Nigeria targeted militants linked to alleged ISIS. The operation was presented as a counter-terror measure, with Washington emphasizing the need to hit extremist networks before they metastasize. American firepower raining down on a sovereign African nation on Christmas Day, reinforcing the impression that the United States reserves the right to strike anywhere it perceives a threat, whether or not there is a public, formal mandate from international bodies. For many Nigerians, the attack stirred anger and unease, highlighting how fragile sovereignty can become when global superpowers decide their security extends into another nation’s airspace.
Just days earlier, the United States had already intensified air operations in Syria following the deaths of American personnel in an attack blamed on Islamic State affiliates. What was once framed as a limited U.S. footprint in Syria has quietly evolved into a semi-permanent military presence, supported by regular offensive strikes. Trump may describe these operations as decisive anti-terror action, but to much of the world they appear as continued involvement in a foreign conflict with no end in sight, in a country where the United Nations never authorized an open-ended U.S. role.
Somalia tells a similar story. Throughout 2025, U.S. drone and air operations there continued against alleged ISIS-Somalia and other militant groups. These strikes are often coordinated with Somali authorities, yet they form part of a much longer, largely undeclared military engagement that has persisted across multiple administrations. Trump campaigned on ending such interventions. Instead, the map of U.S. kinetic action has only widened, blurring the line between targeted counter-terrorism and perpetual low-grade war.
The Western Hemisphere—historically considered America’s strategic backyard—has not been spared this assertiveness. In December, the United States intensified its maritime campaign against Venezuela, intercepting and seizing tankers accused of violating sanctions. For Washington, these are enforcement actions. For Caracas, they are economic warfare—moves designed to choke off the country’s primary source of foreign revenue and weaken the government. The optics of U.S. ships stopping sovereign vessels in international waters evoke images of a superpower imposing its will far beyond its shores. To many observers, this resembles coercive regime-pressure more than a narrowly targeted law-enforcement effort.
Overlaying all this is Trump’s revived fixation on Greenland. He has again stressed its strategic importance to U.S. security, hinting at deeper American control or acquisition. To the people of Greenland and Denmark, such language is unsettling. It suggests a view of sovereignty as negotiable when strategic interests are at stake, reinforcing fears that U.S. policy is moving away from partnership and toward an overtly transactional and hegemonic posture.
This growing pattern of unilateral action sits uneasily with America’s post-war legacy. The United States was not only central to the creation of the United Nations; it championed the concept that the use of force should be governed by collective legitimacy. Even when Washington bent those principles in the past, it generally paid lip service to them. Today, the tone has shifted. The U.S. frequently vetoes UN resolutions on conflicts such as Gaza, insulating allies from accountability while asserting its own right to strike elsewhere without global consent. To critics, this makes Washington appear less like the guardian of a rules-based order and more like an exception-claiming power that enforces rules on others while exempting itself.
For much of the world, this has accelerated the erosion of U.S. soft power. Soft power rests not on aircraft carriers or sanctions, but on trust, perceived fairness, and moral authority. It once enabled Washington to lead coalitions, shape norms, and attract global goodwill. But each unilateral strike, each tanker seizure, each veto against widely supported humanitarian resolutions chips away at that intangible asset. Allies increasingly hedge their bets. Neutral nations edge closer to alternative power centers. And countries hit by U.S. pressure look elsewhere for protection or partnership.
China in particular benefits from this shift. Beijing projects itself—rightly or wrongly—as a power that avoids military entanglement and prefers development-based engagement. When Washington acts as global enforcer, and when those actions are seen as destabilizing or self-serving, it pushes many states into China’s orbit almost by default. The message becomes simple: if partnership with the United States carries risk, unpredictability, or coercion, perhaps alternative relationships offer greater stability, even if they come with their own compromises.
The tragedy of this trajectory is that it is not inevitable. U.S. leadership historically derived its strength from a mix of capability and consent. It was powerful, but also persuasive. It spoke the language of international law, legitimacy, and collective decision-making, even imperfectly. Today that balance is tipping. The more the United States acts alone, the more alone it may ultimately find itself.
There is also a domestic contradiction at play. Trump continues to present himself as a peace-first president, the man who avoids wars others might start. Yet the record of strikes, seizures, and escalating pressure tells a different story. The actions may be justified individually as tactical necessities. But collectively they signal a strategy of global projection, not global restraint. The rhetoric of peace is being used to mask a footprint of expanding conflict.
If this trajectory continues, America’s reputation risks hardening into something damaging and enduring: not the indispensable nation, but the unpredictable enforcer. That perception would not only undermine its moral authority but weaken its alliances, constrain its influence, and embolden rivals. Nations do not abandon superpowers overnight—but over time, they recalibrate.
The alternative path is still open. It lies in rediscovering the principle that force abroad should carry a legitimacy beyond national assertion alone, and that the institutions America helped build should not be dismissed when inconvenient. When diplomacy is prioritized over coercion, when multilateral consent tempers unilateral action, and when sovereignty is respected even in the face of threat, U.S. leadership strengthens rather than diminishes.
Donald Trump’s presidency will ultimately be judged not by how forcefully America acted, but by how wisely. Ending the paradox between the rhetoric of peace and the practice of war is the first step toward restoring global trust. Only then can the United States reclaim the soft power and moral authority that once made it a leader in both name and spirit.

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 : Capitalism, at its core, is a system built on freedom—the freedom to compete, to innovate, and to accumulate wealth without an upper limit imposed by the state. In a free-market economy, every individual has the right to amass as much wealth as talent, timing, risk-taking, and opportunity allow. Nowhere is this reality more visible than in the United States, where capitalism has produced astonishing prosperity alongside extreme concentration of wealth.
The scale of that concentration is often difficult to comprehend. The combined wealth of America’s ten richest individuals rivals—or exceeds—the total economic output of many developing nations, and is comparable to the GDP of more than a dozen smaller countries combined. At the same time, that wealth equals the collective net worth of tens of millions of ordinary Americans. This stark imbalance is frequently cited as evidence of capitalism’s moral failure. Yet this is only half the story.
History shows that capitalism is not merely a machine for accumulation; it is also a system that, at its most mature stage, often turns inward—forcing its greatest beneficiaries to confront uncomfortable questions about meaning, legacy, and responsibility.
As individuals approach the latter stages of life, a realization dawns with growing clarity: none of the wealth accumulated over decades can be carried beyond death. At that moment, capital—once a symbol of power, success, and security—becomes a burden unless it is transformed into purpose. It is here that capitalism, paradoxically, often produces its most noble outcomes.
The United States has seen this pattern repeatedly. Bill and Melinda Gates created one of the world’s most influential philanthropic foundations, targeting global health, education, poverty reduction, and disease eradication. Their work has saved millions of lives, empowered small entrepreneurs, and altered the trajectory of entire societies. This was not the rejection of capitalism, but its final evolution—capital redirected from accumulation to social investment.
Now, a new and potentially transformative chapter is being written.
Michael and Susan Dell have pledged an extraordinary sum—approximately $6.2 billion—toward an initiative designed to fundamentally alter the financial starting point of American children. The vision is both simple and radical: to open an investment account for every child born between 2025 and 2028, seeded at birth and invested in broad-based index funds. By the time a child reaches adulthood, this account could exceed $100,000, usable for higher education, home ownership, or launching a business. If left untouched until mid-adulthood, the value could rise several-fold—potentially surpassing $700,000.
This is not a handout in the conventional sense. It is not welfare, nor is it consumption-driven assistance. It is capital formation—distributed at birth.
What makes this initiative particularly striking is its momentum. Following the Dell announcement, other philanthropists and corporate beneficiaries of the American capitalist system have begun making similar pledges. What began as a single act of generosity is rapidly evolving into a movement—one that channels private wealth into a nationwide social investment framework.
If implemented at scale, the implications are profound.
For millions of families—rich and poor alike—the crushing financial anxiety associated with raising children could be dramatically reduced. Parents struggle to fund education, navigate healthcare costs, support young adults through early adulthood, and prepare children for a competitive world. This initiative shifts part of that burden from households to a class of individuals who benefited most from the system itself.
In effect, capitalism would be financing its own social correction.
Children who once would have been locked out of higher education due to lack of funds could now pursue academic excellence without lifelong debt. Young adults could start businesses without mortgaging their future. Families could enter marriage and parenthood with financial resilience rather than fear. Emergencies—medical, economic, or personal—could be met without catastrophic consequences.
From a macroeconomic perspective, this is seed capital for the nation itself. Millions of small endowments compounding over decades would translate into higher productivity, increased entrepreneurship, and greater social stability. In theory, it is a virtuous cycle: wealth creates opportunity; opportunity creates productivity; productivity sustains growth.
Yet for all its promise, this intervention raises a question that must not be ignored.
Struggle has always been a powerful engine of human development. Scarcity forces creativity. Hardship cultivates resilience. The absence of safety nets often compels individuals to innovate, persevere, and build character through adversity. Many of history’s most successful entrepreneurs, thinkers, and leaders were forged in environments of constraint rather than comfort.
This initiative introduces an unprecedented level of financial security at birth. While it removes destructive poverty, it may also reduce the constructive pressure that fuels ambition. The concern is not whether children will become lazy—an oversimplification—but whether the psychological edge that comes from necessity will be blunted. Will guaranteed capital reduce risk-taking, or will it empower smarter risk-taking? Will it foster entrepreneurship, or dilute hunger?
These are not ideological questions; they are empirical ones.
Before such an intervention is expanded nationwide, rigorous longitudinal studies must be conducted. Policymakers, economists, behavioral scientists, and educators must examine whether early financial security enhances productivity or dampens drive. The effects may differ across communities, cultures, and income brackets. The same intervention that liberates one child may unintentionally limit another.
The stakes are enormous. This is not a pilot program affecting thousands; it is a structural change that could shape the character of an entire generation.
And yet, despite these uncertainties, one truth remains undeniable.
Capitalism, when left to accumulate unchecked, produces inequality. But when its greatest beneficiaries consciously redirect wealth toward collective uplift, it can also produce social renewal on a scale no state-driven redistribution has ever achieved. What is unfolding in the United States today is not the abandonment of capitalism—it is its moral maturation.
The wealthy are not being coerced. They are volunteering. The system is not being dismantled; it is being refined. Wealth earned through free markets is returning to society not as charity alone, but as structured opportunity—invested in the future rather than consumed in the present.
America’s greatness has always rested on its ability to reinvent itself without destroying its foundations. If this initiative succeeds, it may stand as one of the most consequential innovations in social policy—not imposed by government fiat, but enabled by private conscience.
Whether it becomes a triumph or a cautionary tale depends on one thing: the willingness to study its impact honestly before scaling it irrevocably.
Capitalism has planted the seed.
Wisdom must decide how it grows.