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 : America was once the undisputed school of the world in science, technology, and engineering, a nation where others came to learn and then carried its lessons home. From the mid-20th century until the late Cold War, American factories, laboratories, and shipyards symbolized the pinnacle of industrial might. In 1950, the United States accounted for nearly 40 percent of global manufacturing output, its shipyards produced vessels at an unmatched pace, and its computing and aerospace industries led the world into the space age. Yet in a recent post, President Donald Trump admitted what few American leaders have been willing to say aloud: that the United States has fallen behind in industries it once dominated, and that it must now invite foreign countries not only to invest but to send their experts to train Americans in high-tech manufacturing.
Trump’s statement may have seemed surprising, but it reflected a deeper reality. He specifically referred to sectors such as semiconductors, computers, electronics, shipbuilding, and trains—industries that define modern power but where America no longer holds supremacy. The paradox is stark. In the 1940s, America built a ship a day; by 2023, it could barely complete a dozen large ships in a year. In the 1960s, Silicon Valley became the cradle of semiconductors, yet today the most advanced microchips are made in Taiwan and South Korea. Japan’s Shinkansen network moves millions at speeds America has never matched, while Germany and France supply high-speed rail across the globe. America, which once exported both products and expertise, now finds itself dependent on the very countries it once trained.
The reasons for this decline lie in decades of complacency. Armed with the privilege of the dollar as the world’s reserve currency, the United States could afford to consume more than it produced. It imported minerals, electronics, and machinery without sustaining its own industrial ecosystem. Other countries, more disciplined and forward-looking, used American know-how to build their own infrastructure and research systems. They learned from U.S. universities, hired American engineers, and then invested massively at home. Over time, they not only caught up but overtook the United States, becoming global leaders in industries that once defined American greatness.
Trump’s invitation, therefore, is both an admission of weakness and a recognition of necessity. He knows that foreign investment alone is not enough; factories and plants can be built with money, but skills cannot. To rebuild lost capacity, America needs foreign trainers who can transfer knowledge and expertise to American workers. This is why he implicitly points to Taiwan, home of TSMC, the world’s unrivaled semiconductor giant; to South Korea, where Samsung and SK Hynix dominate chips and Hyundai and Samsung Heavy Industries lead global shipbuilding; to Japan, still synonymous with bullet trains, advanced electronics, and industrial precision; to Germany, Europe’s powerhouse in machinery and engineering; and to France, where Alstom continues to pioneer high-speed rail. Switzerland’s ABB represents another pillar of excellence in precision engineering.
There is also China, the unspoken giant in Trump’s message. Today, China builds nearly half of the world’s ships, produces the bulk of rare earth minerals, and fields CRRC, the largest train manufacturer on earth. It is making rapid gains in semiconductors, despite American sanctions. Yet Trump could not openly ask China to train American workers without signaling humiliating dependence on a rival. His omission was deliberate, but the shadow of China looms large in the industries he listed.
The contrast between America’s past and present could not be sharper. In 1945, U.S. factories produced 96,000 airplanes, 57,000 ships, and millions of vehicles, an industrial surge that not only won the war but cemented American global dominance. By the 1980s, however, Japan had become the world’s largest shipbuilder, South Korea soon overtook it, and today China controls nearly 45 percent of global shipbuilding output, while the United States accounts for less than one percent. In semiconductors, America once produced over 35 percent of global supply in 1990; today, its share has shrunk to around 12 percent, with the cutting edge concentrated in East Asia. In high-speed rail, America has none, while China has built over 26,000 miles of bullet train tracks in just 15 years. These numbers tell the story more starkly than words. America’s industrial supremacy has been hollowed out, leaving behind a shell of what it once was.
Trump’s realization, while late, is significant. By calling on foreign trainers, he acknowledges that rebuilding industrial power requires more than tariffs or subsidies; it requires knowledge transfer. Yet even this approach is incomplete. America cannot rely forever on outsiders to teach what it once knew. Without rebuilding its research base, restoring university funding, and encouraging innovation, the country risks temporary fixes without long-term solutions. Trump’s policies, particularly his tightening of green cards and student visas, contradict his new appeal. America has historically thrived by welcoming foreign talent, with nearly half of Silicon Valley startups founded by immigrants. Restricting these flows undermines the very revival he envisions.
For a genuine renaissance, the United States must rebuild an entire ecosystem of innovation. That means investing heavily in research and development, raising public and private R&D spending back toward the 3–4 percent of GDP levels that once fueled its leadership. It means reforming education to emphasize science, technology, engineering, and mathematics from the earliest levels, while also revitalizing trade schools and vocational programs. It requires partnerships between universities, industries, and government to create hubs where innovation is tied directly to production. And it demands immigration policies that attract, not repel, the brightest minds from across the globe. Without this, inviting foreign trainers will only delay the inevitable decline.
There are lessons here not just for the United States but for the developing world as well. Nations in South Asia, the Middle East, and Latin America, including Pakistan, must recognize that industrial and educational neglect leads to dependency and decline. Trump’s words, though spoken for America, apply universally: without a strong base in research, training, and industry, no nation can secure its independence or its future. For Pakistan, the warning is urgent. It must align its education system with critical industries like electronics, semiconductors, rail technology, and advanced machinery if it hopes to avoid perpetual reliance on others.
In the end, Trump’s message is both sobering and revealing. America, once the global teacher, now seeks to become the student again. The post was not simply a call for investment but an acknowledgment that the world has changed, that others now hold the expertise once uniquely American. Whether this realization sparks a genuine revival remains uncertain. But one truth is clear: without rebuilding its foundations in research, education, and industry, the United States will remain dependent on those who once depended on it. The story has come full circle, and whether America can reclaim its role at the top of the global industrial order will depend not just on foreign trainers but on its own will to reform, rebuild, and innovate.

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 few months ago, I argued in a widely circulated article that the United States was constructing an “ark of defense” around the South China Sea and the Asia-Pacific to contain China’s growing influence. Washington’s strategy involved building aggressive alliances, deploying military assets, and reshaping regional security architecture to assert dominance. Initiatives like AUKUS and QUAD, enhanced military integration with Japan and the Philippines, and intelligence sharing under Five Eyes became central to this containment plan. Through joint naval patrols, expanded military exercises, and command restructuring, the U.S. aimed to deter Beijing’s assertiveness and limit its geopolitical reach.
However, after the events of September 3rd, 2025, a deeper realization emerged: while Washington was openly building its ark of defense, China was quietly constructing a far more formidable wall. Unlike the United States, which relies on military pressure and transactional security guarantees, China is reshaping the world through economic integration, resource dominance, and strategic alliances. Where Washington builds fences, Beijing builds bridges. Where America threatens, China invests. And this difference in strategy is transforming global power dynamics in ways the U.S. underestimated.
America’s containment policy rests on three key levers: military pressure, economic de-risking, and diplomatic isolation. Militarily, AUKUS deepens defense ties with Australia and the U.K., enabling Canberra to acquire nuclear-powered submarines for operations in the Taiwan Strait and South China Sea. QUAD, which includes Japan and India, coordinates maritime security, supply chain resilience, and regional influence. Meanwhile, the Five Eyes alliance—comprising the U.S., U.K., Canada, Australia, and New Zealand—has intensified accusations against China over cyber espionage and AI-enabled surveillance, framing Beijing as a systemic technological threat.
Economically, Washington’s “de-risking” strategy aims to reduce dependence on China’s supply chains by reshoring manufacturing, diversifying sourcing to countries like Vietnam and India, and restricting Chinese access to strategic technologies such as 5G, AI, and semiconductors. At the same time, the U.S. has leaned on its allies to align with these restrictions, even when it conflicts with their economic priorities.
Diplomatically, Washington has deepened bilateral defense pacts, particularly with Japan and the Philippines, initiating joint maritime patrols in disputed waters and upgrading command structures. These moves aim to militarily encircle China and politically isolate it, but Beijing has responded with a more subtle, long-term strategy that prioritizes influence over intimidation.
China’s approach is deliberate and multidimensional. Through its Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), Beijing has invested more than $1.3 trillion across 150 countries, building highways, railways, deep-sea ports, power grids, and industrial zones. These are not symbolic gestures but economic lifelines that tether local economies to China’s ecosystem. From Pakistan’s Gwadar Port to Kenya’s Lamu Port, Beijing has forged relationships that cannot be easily disrupted by U.S. pressure. The result is a sphere of influence rooted in shared development rather than military dependency.
China has also built a strategic shield through its dominance over rare earth elements and critical minerals—resources essential for iPhones, EV batteries, satellites, AI chips, and advanced fighter jets. Controlling 70–80% of global refining capacity, China holds enormous leverage over industries vital to Western economies and defense systems. In a potential conflict, Beijing would not need to launch missiles to undermine its rivals; it could simply restrict access to the screws, magnets, and chips that power modern technology and weaponry.
Complementing this economic and resource advantage is China’s “String of Pearls” strategy, which secures critical maritime chokepoints across the Indian Ocean, South China Sea, and Pacific Rim. Through strategic investments in ports such as Hambantota in Sri Lanka, Kyaukpyu in Myanmar, and Djibouti, China has quietly built a logistics network supporting both trade and potential naval operations. These assets secure China’s dominance over shipping lanes carrying more than 60% of global trade and provide its navy with unprecedented reach and resilience.
Unlike the U.S., China has also cultivated an edge in soft power by avoiding costly interventions that leave destruction and instability behind. While Washington’s invasions of Iraq, Libya, Syria, and Afghanistan created deep mistrust, Beijing has avoided regime change and instead focuses on building schools, hospitals, housing, and industrial parks in developing nations. Across the Global South, this has fostered goodwill, portraying China as an enabler of sovereignty rather than a manipulator of dependency.
The post–September 3rd developments make this shift undeniable. As Washington’s alliances fragment, Beijing’s partnerships deepen. Through BRI expansion, BRICS enlargement, and new global trade corridors, China now exerts influence over economies representing 60–70% of global GDP. Strategic partnerships with Brazil, Russia, Pakistan, Indonesia, South Africa, and much of the Middle East have strengthened China’s leadership in emerging markets. Even traditional U.S. partners like Saudi Arabia and the UAE have moved closer to Beijing, attracted by investments, energy deals, and access to Chinese technology.
Meanwhile, under Donald Trump’s second term, America’s relationships with Canada, Europe, and NATO have deteriorated. Longtime allies now openly challenge Washington’s confrontational policies, calling for “European solutions to European problems” and pursuing greater independence from U.S.-led security frameworks. Washington’s attempts to isolate China have, ironically, isolated itself.
This strategic reversal is stark. For years, Washington envisioned China as the encircled power, constrained by alliances and tariffs. Yet today, it is the United States that risks isolation. Outside of Israel, Washington struggles to maintain unified global support, while Beijing’s expanding economic partnerships have earned it gratitude and loyalty across Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. China’s strategy of integration attracts; America’s strategy of pressure repels.
This is a decisive moment in global history. While the United States continues to invest in its ark of defense—military alliances, sanctions, tariffs, and deterrence—China has quietly built a durable web of power rooted in roads, ports, minerals, markets, and trust. Beijing’s message is simple yet powerful: “This world is big enough for all of us to thrive.” Washington’s message, however, remains uncompromising: “We make the rules; follow them or face the consequences.”
In the long run, it is the strategy of interdependence, not intimidation, that will define the future. While Washington flexes its aircraft carriers and military alliances, Beijing is quietly reshaping the global order beneath the surface—one port, one railway, one strategic partnership at a time. And as history unfolds, it is this silent wall, not America’s ark of defense, that may ultimately determine the balance of power in the decades ahead.

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 : In the United States, democracy is held sacred, yet the question lingers uncomfortably: who really governs this nation—Congress, the embodiment of representative debate, or the president, who issues executive orders at a breakneck pace? Nowhere is this tension more alive than in the story of migration—both of people and of power itself—whose routes are shaped by promises, implemented under seal, and tested by the courts.
When Donald Trump took the oath for his second term in January 2025, the air crackled with urgency, a promise that the long stalemates of Congress would no longer stall America’s progress. In just 147 days, he signed his 163rd executive order—already surpassing the 162 orders President Biden issued in his entire four-year term. By the end of August, that tally had climbed to 198. Coupled with his 220 first-term orders, he had, in fewer than five years, issued more directives than any modern president. Only Franklin D. Roosevelt surpassed his total—and FDR’s presidency spanned a global depression and climate of war. The executive pen, once a tool of occasional recalibration, had become Trump’s primary method of governing, as if power itself had picked up suitcase and migrated swiftly from Congress to the Oval Office.
Many of these orders moved along the path of public endorsement. Campaign promises that had galvanized voters—slashing immigration, limiting foreign trade, remodeling federal architecture—were delivered with immediate force. Endorsed by rallies and ballots, these promises took shape: tariffs were imposed, immigration enforcement tightened, Washington’s monuments and streets cleaned up, and classical architecture mandated for new federal buildings. It was governance by immediate mandate, enacted before Congress could deliberate.
Yet these rushed crossings hit legal checkpoints. One order targeted birthright citizenship—stripping citizenship from children born in the U.S. to non-citizen parents. Courts swiftly struck back: judges across the country blocked it, arguing the constitutional protections of the 14th Amendment could not be overturned with a signature. Federal circuits remain divided, the issue escalated toward the Supreme Court, stalled in multiple hearings—a charge halted gate by gate.
Another directive aimed at expanding “expedited removal,” allowing deportations without judicial hearings for immigrants anywhere in the country. The Justice Department warned of expedited processing for up to a million deportations per year. But a district judge ruled that violating due process would be unconstitutional, and several states filed lawsuits. Detention centers overflowed, protests erupted, and the eruption of legal action forced a partial retreat. Trump’s rapid implementation had collided with America’s entrenched legal norms.
These legal battles multiplied. Orders banning transgender individuals from military service, cutting funding for gender-affirming care, and revoking passports with non-binary markers were met with court injunctions. Judges held fast to equal protection and free speech, labeling some orders as discriminatory. The result: a patchwork where federal policy differed starkly across regions, depending on the rulings in local courts. Democracy, in its procedural wisdom, slow-marched through lawsuits and hearings.
But even as rolling injunctions slowed or blocked dozens of orders, Trump’s economic narrative flickered bright. In the second quarter of 2025, U.S. GDP growth was revised to 3.3 percent—above the initial 3 percent estimate and marking a dramatic rebound from a 0.5 percent contraction in the first quarter. Consumer spending rose, AI investments surged, and stock indices climbed to new highs. The economy, for the moment, seemed to reward a government that governed swiftly. The Federal Reserve, sensing softening labor data, eyed interest-rate cuts. Consumer confidence, bolstered by job stability and spending, contributed to this upward trend.
Yet cracks appeared below the surface. Analysts warned of stagflation risks—tariffs pushing prices higher even as growth slowed. The OECD revised U.S. growth expectations downward, and economists cautioned that Trump’s economic rebound was fragile, driven by temporary factors like inventory shifts rather than sustainable demand.
On the geopolitical front, Trump touted himself as a peacemaker, claiming to have ended multiple wars—from conflicts in Africa to Asia. The reality was murkier: several of the cited wars continued, deals remained incomplete, and analysts called his claims exaggerated. At home, however, aggressive immigration enforcement, trade wars, and detention centers like “Alligator Alcatraz” symbolized executive power in action—power that enforced campaign promises but also fractured international goodwill.
Even policies aimed at improving the capital’s image became flashpoints. A White House order created a “Washington Safe and Beautiful” task force, deploying Park Police and the National Guard to clean encampments, scrub graffiti, and restore order around monuments. Soon after, another directive mandated classical architecture in new federal buildings—a symbolic reclaiming of civic aesthetics. Critics saw it as symbolism over substance, an aesthetic takeover rubber-stamped without consensus.
Behind the symbolic momentum lay legal resistance and civic concern. Immigration centers were sued by environmental groups and tribal nations, courts ordered facilities dismantled, and resistance grew across states, courts, and civil society. Difficult public policies had been enacted swiftly—but their permanence remained in question.
This generational tension—between unchecked executive speed and slow democratic process—was the hallmark of a nation on edge. Trump’s rapid delivery on campaign promises demonstrated both the power and peril of executive orders as tools for public mandate. Speed can enact change—but velocity alone is not governance.
Ultimately, the American story of migration—from promises to policy, from the Oval Office to the courtroom—asks a foundational question: Can democracy thrive when its channels are bypassed? Executive orders are powerful locomotives: they move policy quickly, visibly, sometimes effectively; but without democratic gears, they risk derailment.
In the end, Trump’s second term became the most vivid demonstration of that balance. His rapid implementation of executive orders did enable him to fulfill campaign promises, ease trade tensions, reshape government aesthetics, and catalyze economic growth—however briefly. Yet courts stood as gatekeepers, injunctions blocked orders, cities resisted, and allies questioned U.S. reliability. Power migrated swiftly—but settling it into the republic requires democracy’s architecture: deliberation, legitimacy, and institutional consent. As America moves forward, the question remains: will swift power prove foundational—or fleeting?