In recent years, as debates around neocolonialism and colonial reparations have intensified, there have been numerous renewed calls to repatriate several of these artifacts to their places of origin. Most recently, with the opening of the Grand Egyptian Museum in Giza, the museum world has been abuzz with calls to return artifacts like the Rosetta Stone and Bust of Nefertiti to Egypt, where they were created. In an interview for BBC, Dr. Zahi Hawas, former minister of tourism and antiquities for Egypt, said: “I need three objects to come back: the Rosetta Stone from the British Museum, the Zodiac from the Louvre and the Bust of Nefertiti from Berlin.”

With the renewal of this debate, there has been an onslaught of discussion around the importance of historical preservation; specifically, the question of whether Western museums are justified in retaining colonial-era artifacts on the grounds of preservation and the protection of global cultural heritage, or if they are morally responsible to return them to where they were taken from? Discussion has also spotlighted how notions of preservation may perpetuate continued colonial exploitation. 

A deeper look at these questions reveals that Western museums’ claims of preservation do not justify the continued possession of looted colonial artifacts. Rather, this ongoing retention induces grave cultural, psychological and moral harms.

Western museums have never just been neutral institutions, removed from the horrors of colonialism. Instead, they have long functioned as ideological extensions of empires rooted in imperialism, shaping public perceptions of colonized peoples and communities through displays that whitewash colonial brutality and plundering. For instance, psychology Professor Geraldine Palmer presents that many Western museum displays continue to operate within the structures of white supremacy shaped by colonial racism. Focusing on the British Museum specifically, Palmer notes that “the museum remains a trope of empire… it is still an imperialist institution resistant to attempts to dismantle a dominant British culture of the past.” This is especially evident through the organisation and labelling of artifacts, which often foreground aesthetic value while minimising the colonial conditions under which they were acquired, reinforcing imperial narratives.

Museums in the Western world play a significant role in legitimizing a system of racial hierarchy, one that situates Western cultural values as the universal standard and reshapes historical narratives to align with them. This trend can be seen in many ways. For example, in a recent research paper, anthropologist Margareta von Oswald describes how museums do not just showcase artifacts obtained through colonial plundering, but actively construct the narratives that uphold notions of European colonial power. 

Examining catalogue labels ascribed to the Benin Bronzes, the largest collection of which is at the British Museum, Oswald recounts how a “selection of textual descriptions…, apparently neutral texts, reveal a range of racial prejudices and lack serious scientific analysis regarding their function and their author.” Oswald criticizes that the artifact descriptions of the Benin Bronzes undermine the artistic culture of the people of Benin and justify British possession of their intellectual property. The Bronzes are a collection of highly detailed plaques and sculptures made by the Kingdom of Benin (in present day Nigeria), looted by British forces in 1897. 

This reveals how even seemingly objective museum descriptions can embed bias, shaping how visitors interpret these objects while obscuring the colonial violence behind their acquisition and normalising their continued possession in Western institutions.

This process evidences how museums can forge biased interpretations that shape how the public perceives looted artifacts and the culture of the communities that created them. Even when under the guise of scholarly neutrality, the way objects are displayed in museum spaces, as well as how they are described and contextualized in exhibit text labels, can create inaccurate and biased portrayals of the artifacts and their origins.

The reality of many western museums withholding colonial artifacts from the communities that created them does not merely help maintain colonial structures, in many cases it actively perpetuates harm. Artifacts can be integral components of their origin’s heritage, and their continued absence can intensify the wounds of cultural harm left behind by colonialism. 

As international law professor Federico Lenzerini outlines, for some indigenous people, their “cultural heritage defines their distinctive identities as people.”  Lenzerini explains  that “depriving indigenous peoples of their cultural heritage, therefore, does not simply mean stealing their material property but also can involve mutilation of an element of their belief system essential to their existence.” 

Withholding these artifacts prevents source communities from celebrating their history and transmitting their culture to their descendants, creating what can only be described as a sustained identity crisis across generations. For example the aforementioned Rosetta Stone, taken by British forces from Egypt in 1801 and still is housed in the British Museum, remains a powerful symbol of Egyptian heritage that continues to be separated from the people to whom it holds cultural significance. 

For Lenzerini and others, artifacts, to their makers,  have immense significance that extends beyond just materiality. When colonizers looted the Rosetta Stone from Egypt, the Benin Bronzes from the people of Benin and the Koh-i-Noor diamond from the subcontinent, they gained valuable objects, but the people of these lands lost something much greater: continuity of their cultural identity. Today, these objects remain sealed by museum glass in Western countries, thousands of miles from their origins, leaving descendant communities with cultural interruption and fresh colonial wounds. Artifact repatriation, therefore, is not merely a transfer of ownership, but a restoration of disrupted heritage.

The harm caused by this cultural disruption also produces large-scale psychological consequences for the communities from which these artifacts have been stolen. Professor Palmer at Adler University explores these impacts extensively, arguing that Western museums perpetuate intergenerational trauma, reinforce feelings of cultural inferiority and extend colonial presence within Indigenous communities. 

On the integral nature of preserving heritage to overall health, Palmer notes that the preservation of cultural heritage strengthens community health, citing evidence that “protecting heritage has improved the health of Aboriginal Australians, and preservation of rock art has fostered well‐being among Indigenous People.” 

When colonial powers remove relics, and Western museums continue to hold on to them, this relationship between heritage and wellbeing is severed, placing the psychological health of descendant communities at risk. Stolen cultural artifacts and images leave members of these communities questioning their place in their own history, asking: “Am I missing from the picture all together?” 

Western defenses for continued colonial artifact retention often hinge on cosmopolitan arguments. Kwame Appiah is one of the most influential proponents of this view, arguing that,“True art is cosmopolitan. It knows no country,” and  because of their historical significance, colonial artifacts do not just belong to any single country or culture, but rather are a “world heritage.” 

Appiah challenges the idea that specific cultures have ownership over historical artifacts, an idea he calls “cultural patrimony”, claiming several of these artifacts were created “before the modern system of nations came into being, by members of societies that no longer exist,” and therefore, cannot be meaningfully tied to any community today. 

However, arguments like these collapse in the light of historical context. They ignore that, in unequal power structures like colonialism, consent cannot and does not exist. Therefore, the argument that Western forces acquired relics legitimately is null and void. This is evident in the coercive conditions under which many artifacts were acquired, where local populations had little to no ability to refuse, and agreements, if made, were shaped by overwhelming political and military dominance rather than genuine consent,

Scholars like Amara Esther Chimakonam explain this further, arguing that within colonial systems, what is often framed as a “legitimate transfer” of artifacts and relics was in reality shaped by coercion and deception, reflecting a fundamental “lack of free, prior, and informed consent”, a condition she identifies as a “basic feature of colonialism.” 

Across scholars, the evidence presented showcases that: the possession of colonial artifacts by Western museums continues to inflict moral, psychological and cultural harm within the descendant communities of their original makers. These artifacts, reduced to mere displays behind glass cases, represent something much greater for the communities from which they were looted; they are expressions of identity, collective memory and cultural continuity.

The question that follows, however, is what the future of museology must look like. An ethical museum future lies in a shared stewardship model, where artifacts are returned to their source communities, and Western museums serve only as their temporary custodians, via long-term loans, temporary exhibitions and fully transparent agreements. Such a model preserves access and scholarship without acting as an instrument of empire. 

This shift toward a more ethical museum model is increasingly reflected in practice. In 2025, the Netherlands returned 119 Benin Bronzes to Nigeria, acknowledging their colonial looting while retaining a small number on long-term loan, demonstrating how repatriation can coexist with global access. This signals a broader change toward recognizing the rights of source communities and rethinking ownership as collaborative rather than imperial. In this context, the outrage surrounding incidents like the Louvre heist reveals a deeper irony: Western institutions fiercely protect objects as universal heritage while resisting their return to the communities to which they hold the greatest cultural significance. Repatriation, then, is not the death of global heritage, but a restorative path to a more just celebration of it in a post-colonial world.

The views expressed in opinion pieces do not represent the views of Glimpse from the Globe.

The months-long conflict began on May 28, 2025, following a skirmish between the Thai and Cambodian military troops. The two countries share a 508-mile border, and fighting was concentrated at the crux of a long-contested border area between the two nations, primarily the remote site and surrounding land of the ancient Preah Vihear temple in the Dangrek Mountains. 

The dispute has its roots in a colonial-era map from 1907, which Thailand asserts is inaccurate and dates to when Cambodia was still under French control. Thailand has long maintained that the temple is within its territory. A 1962 ruling by the International Court of Justice (ICJ) awarded sovereignty over the land to Cambodia, which the ICJ reaffirmed in 2013. 

The fighting between the two countries reignited with full force in early December 2025, bringing the most vicious clashes since the countries fought for five days in July. Escalating military tensions and botched diplomatic negotiations, including a fragile-turned-failed ceasefire attempt endorsed by United States President Donald Trump, prolonged the conflict. On Dec. 27, 2025, Cambodia and Thailand agreed to a new ceasefire agreement that called for no new military advances. However, it remains to be seen whether the new agreement will hold amid ongoing border tensions. 

At least in the month of December, Thailand reported that the renewed fighting resulted in the deaths of 26 soldiers and one civilian. While Cambodia didn’t release an official figure for military casualties, it stated in December that at least 30 civilians were killed. However, independent estimates suggest that the conflict resulted in the deaths of at least 101 people during the renewed aggression in November and December. 

Alongside the military altercations, according to a report by the World Health Organization, the conflict has had significant humanitarian consequences, putting millions of civilians at risk. Immense community displacement has depleted local resources in both countries, disrupting daily life for civilians. In just the month of December, shortly after the fighting restarted, the Guardian reported that more than 400,000 Thai civilians and more than 101,000 in Cambodia were evacuated to shelters. 

For Cambodia, the rate of displacement is unprecedented. According to a report from the Cambodian National Committee for Disaster Management, as of Dec. 15, over 421,100 people had been evacuated. While local authorities and various groups provided basic necessities to displaced families, the scale of the crisis continued to exceed the available resources, with needs for shelter, food, water, sanitation and healthcare insufficiently met. 

In Thailand, while limited information is available, estimates indicate the conflict displaced over 437,000 people as of December 2025. International non-governmental organizations such as the International Committee of the Red Cross, Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch called on the two countries to protect civilians, urging the governments to de-escalate the conflict and comply with international humanitarian law. 

Health risks also endanger those affected by the fighting. Due to artillery exchanges, air strikes, and intense military confrontations, casualties and injuries have proliferated. Along with disease risk at displacement sites due to overcrowding, such as malaria and influenza, psychological distress as a result of exposure to violence, displacement and loss of loved ones also afflicts people. Additionally, both countries have faced infrastructure disruptions. In Thailand, at least 1168 schools and 212 hospitals closed. Moreover, an article by the Khmer Times reveals that, as of February 2026, more than 100,000 Cambodians remain unable to return home.

Although both countries have expressed a commitment to a peaceful resolution, negotiations have proven more complicated than anticipated. Although territorial claims are at the core of the conflict, the fighting has expanded to encompass diplomacy, trade and growing nationalist sentiment in both countries, complicating efforts to reach a mutual resolution. Different countries, along with the United Nations, demonstrated efforts to reach an agreement between the two countries. Malaysia played a large role in initially brokering a ceasefire in July, with pressure from Donald Trump, who threatened tariffs on the two nations. China also urged an end to hostilities. Additionally, both countries signaled a fierce commitment to the contested territory, unwilling to back down despite harm to citizens on either side of the border, resulting in continued hostility.
Cambodia’s Defense Minister, Tea Seiha, claimed that the December ceasefire would pave the way for displaced people living in border areas to return to their lives. Thailand’s Foreign Ministry also said the agreement included provisions for “joint humanitarian” operations to quickly “ensure the safety of military personnel and civilians in border areas.” With hardship continuing to afflict communities on both sides of the conflict severely, the humanitarian impact underscores the need for the governments of Cambodia and Thailand to take concrete steps to ensure the safety and continued security of their civilians at home.

Nonetheless, the opposition against the nuclear plant’s construction was vociferous. A principal concern for the opposition group was the fear of foreign interference, particularly from Russia. The Russian oil company, Rosatom, had expressed interest in funding the power plant, despite its legacy from the Chornobyl disaster in 1986. Worries arose that allowing such an intervention would increase Kazakhstan’s dependency on Russia, from whom it gained independence in 1990 at the precipice of the Soviet Union’s collapse.

In the days leading up to the referendum, reports emerged that the government attempted to suppress peaceful political protests by activists who opposed the approval of the power plant. Activists were denied entry to audience halls where the power plant was being debated, detained while leaving public hearings and an increased law enforcement presence was noticed around journalists.

The climax of the contention was in September 2024, a few weeks before the actual referendum election. In Almaty, the country’s largest city, groups of activists took to the streets to voice their opposition to the proposed power plant. The Kazakh government clamped down on the protests through arrests. Five men, one named Aidar Mubarakov, were detained in the city for protesting the nuclear proposal, accused of “organizing mass riots” according to Article 272 of the Criminal Code.  Article 272 states that the organization of violent riots is punishable by imprisonment for a period of four to ten years; however, the reported protests carried out by Aidar Mubarakov and his colleagues remained peaceful, with the men arguing that they had no intention of inciting violence and were exercising their inalienable constitutional liberties. Accordingly, many citizens viewed this case as a breach of the government’s legal framework, portraying ordinary citizens, who were pacifist in their actions, as criminals or security risks, engendering worries that Kazakhstan’s criminalization of peaceful activism was a step toward potential authoritarianism. 

One of the protesters, Aidar Mubarakov (56), had previously spoken out against the government’s actions only a few years prior. While Mubarakov is arguably not as famous as other Kazakh human rights defenders in the region, his civic anonymity renders his story compelling. In 2022, Mubarakov and his friend, Erkin Kaziev, were similarly criminally charged for an art performance in which they chained themselves to a large cage with wheels and held signs stating “Kazakhstan is a large prison” above their heads. Police used scissors to cut the chains and began launching tear gas canisters against the protesters. 

Accordingly, it can be concluded that Mubarakov is no longer simply a protester with a just cause, but something more. The government’s violation of Mubarakov’s protective freedoms during the nuclear plant protest under the guise of protecting the public from the “disruption of a state event” and “illegal assembly” designates Aidar Mubarakov a political prisoner.

What does that mean? According to the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly, a person is considered a political prisoner if their detention was imposed in violation of a fundamental guarantee of their liberty, such as freedom of thought or assembly, the prisoner was detained for purely political reasons if the charges are clearly out of proportion with what the accused was doing and if the arrested was subject to an unfair and biased trial. Mubarakov was indeed detained during a peaceful protest, was simply an everyday worker who was arrested for expressing his concern about a government project and was unjustly sentenced to a 5-year arrest.

Initially, Mubarakov’s case received minimal international attention, and within Kazakhstan itself, the arrest went largely unnoticed. As momentum behind the referendum began to build, however, many organizations started to remark on the campaign against the nuclear power plant and the various opposition movements to its approval. For instance, Radio Free Europe, a private journalism organization that prides itself on promoting democracy and debate in countries where the free press is restricted, published an article highlighting Mubarakov’s arrest in early October. While this detailed publication garnered some attention, the case was brought up again a few months later by the Open Dialogue Foundation in its annual report on the 2024 human rights violations in Kazakhstan. Summarizing Kazakhstan’s numerous violations with the stark title “Tough Year for Human Rights,” the report outlined over 48 political prisoners subjected to captivity within the nation and the continued curtailment of human rights implemented by the government, demonstrated through anti-terrorism legislation.

The related anti-terrorism rhetoric and counter-terrorism legislation directly impinge on the security that peaceful protesters face daily. The government reportedly positions authorities outside their homes, jobs and places of recreation in an effort to brazenly intimidate activists into changing their minds. This highlights the bravery exhibited by the nuclear plant opponents, such as Aidar Mubarakov, who took to the streets in protest despite reports of intimidating threats by the government. 

The most prominent question that emerges from Mubarakov’s story and detention inquires into the current state of Kazakhstan’s politics. Is Kazakhstan sliding back into authoritarian rule, reviving the Soviet-style repression it once fought to escape and threatening the democratic future it has struggled to build? The answer is multifaceted. In recent years, Kazakhstan’s government has been critiqued internationally as repressive, particularly after it handled the Bloody January protests across the country in 2022. What began as peaceful protests against fuel prices erupted into violence when soldiers and armed vehicles shot at protesters, resulting in 238 casualties. The government attempted to mask the event through anti-terrorist rhetoric and the denial of lawyers to those who were arrested; however, internal and international human rights groups were quick to publicize the atrocities that occurred, leading to harsh criticism from international governments, with the U.S and EU criticizing the government’s actions. To this day, there remains little accountability for the 2022 events and the government administration’s failure to acknowledge its severe actions during and after the protests.

Despite the oppression, Kazakhstan’s current president advocates for increased citizen participation in local decision-making and has established the Constitutional Court to address public human rights appeals. Furthermore, while his government remains autocratic, the country is considered more open and free than its neighboring nations. 

The current state of Mubarakov’s liberty remains ambiguous, with sources remaining difficult to authenticate. In Nov. 2025, the Appellate Court of Almaty reduced Mubarakov’s prison term from four years to two years of restricted freedom. However, the government refused to acquit him of his charges and to rescind its accusations and banned him from participating in public activities. The verdict was handed down in accordance with the principle that the protesters were inciting mass violence and distributing brochures opposing the power plant’s construction. 

The most effective way to combat these kinds of human rights violations is to advocate alongside local organizations, through social media posts and reposts, online campaigns and contact with Kazakh groups and government organizations, such as Orda, Open Dialogue and Human Rights Watch. Additionally, the Prosecutor General’s Office of Kazakhstan (at gov.kz) offers an appeals page listing judicial leadership officials who can be contacted via email. Although these approaches may seem inefficient, they are steps toward the release of political prisoners in Kazakhstan. Ultimately, power belongs to the people, and in their hands they hold the key to change. 

The autumn breezes of that fateful day in October were ephemeral, passing without notice. However, the actions enacted by Mubarakov and his colleagues against the referendum are permanent, establishing a potent opposition to the nuclear base implementation and the potentially disastrous repercussions it could provoke. While the referendum may have succeeded, the movement created by Mubarakov and those who protested alongside him will continue. Mubarakov’s detention is more than an arrest, but rather an illustration of the intensifying crackdown on political protesters in Kazakhstan and of the deep internal tensions testing the resilience of its democratic institutions.

The views expressed in opinion pieces do not represent the views of Glimpse from the Globe.

Saudi Arabia is expected to see the most gains from these new AI developments, with a PWC report projecting that AI will account for 12.4% of the Kingdom’s GDP by 2030. The same report projects that AI is anticipated to account for nearly 14% of the UAE’s GDP as well as 8.2% of Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman and Qatar’s combined GDP by 2030.

The AI sector offers the Gulf, a region rich in oil, an opportunity to diversify their economies. While many economists already recognize that economic reliance on oil is unsustainable in the long term and seek other means for economic growth, oil still makes up approximately one-third  of Gulf states’ total GDP.

Beyond diversification, AI can also increase efficiency in sectors such as finance, and healthcare, public services and smart city infrastructure. For example, the UAE is already beginning to apply AI in government sectors, including using AI sensors to monitor traffic, implementing facial recognition to track driver fatigue and integrating chatbots to improve customer service.

The United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia are the forefront AI leaders in the region and have made several advancements regarding AI investments. For instance, the UAE’s state-sponsored MGX AI investment firm, is involved in several major projects, including a $500 billion project known as Stargate. Stargate was officially announced in January 2025 by U.S. President Donald Trump, and is a major AI infrastructure initiative involving the collaboration of several major global tech companies such as OpenAI, Oracle and SoftBank. Moreover, the UAE has made notable advancements in its data centre ecosystem with Khazna Data Centers, a data centre operator originally owned by one of Abu Dhabi’s sovereign wealth funds. Recently, the company introduced a 100 MW AI facility in Ajman as well as future plans to install additional capacity.

Saudi Arabia, on the other hand, is currently the largest Gulf investor in AI. At LEAP 2025, an annual technology conference, the Saudi government unveiled AI projects worth $14.9 billion and also announced other related initiatives, including a $100 billion Transcendence AI Initiative, backed by the Public Investment Fund (PIF). Amazon Web Services has also made a $5.3 billion commitment to build new data centres in the country. 

Nevertheless, these ambitious plans have to face a major obstacle: water. The Middle East is already the most water scarce region in the world, with minimal rainfall and extreme temperatures.  Moreover, the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries produce about 40% of the world’s desalinated water, with over 400 desalination plants operating in the region. However, water desalination, which is powered primarily by natural gas, is heavily relied on for water needs in the Gulf. The World Bank estimates that water availability per capita is expected to be halved by 2050. 

The lack of available water makes building data centres a major challenge, since these centres require vast amounts of water in order to cool their processor microchips as well as the buildings where microchips are housed. For instance, Google’s data centres in the U.S. alone used an estimated 12.7 billion litres of fresh water in 2021 to cool their servers. 

This is a problem that is not getting better. As AI investment expands, so does the need for more water. By 2027, the water demand for AI data centres is estimated to reach between 4.2–6.4 billion cubic meters worldwide, which corresponds to more than four to six times Denmark’s annual water use. Gulf nations, with growing populations and increasing water demand, already face pressing water problems. Ambitious plans to expand AI infrastructure and build larger data centres only risk exacerbating this issue. 

Is there yet a solution? Some facilities are piloting ideas, such as implementing closed-loop cooling systems for their data centres, which recycle wastewater. However, AI runs the risk of shifting rather than resolving the water crisis in the Middle East if such techniques are not widely adopted. 

Announced as a “special military operation,” Russia officially invaded Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022. Since then, the West, led by the United States and the EU, has donated billions of dollars worth of equipment, humanitarian aid and more to Ukraine in an effort to stall and hopefully fully repel Russia’s invasion. This support had been widely covered by international media, with Ukraine frequently encouraging allies to send more aid. However, many people may not know that the United States actually began donating to Ukraine following Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014. In 2017, Trump’s administration continued sending weapons to Ukraine, primarily sending Javelin antitank missiles. This practice continued and increased following the Russian invasion in February of 2022, when the United States Congress passed a $13.6 billion aid package to be sent to Ukraine. 

By Feb. 27, 2022 the European Union responded swiftly and similarly with a 500 million euro, roughly $577 million,  military package composed of 90% “military equipment and platforms designed to deliver lethal force…”  By the end of May 2022, Ukraine had received two billion euros ($2.3 billion) from the European Union, $55 billion from the United States, and over 1.3 billion pounds ($1.7 billion) from the United Kingdom. The start of this war shook the geopolitical landscape of the world. Countries were shaken, frightened at what more could come and were staunchly motivated to resist Russia’s encroachment into Ukraine’s territory. With over $59 billion in aid, Ukraine was able to launch its 2022 Kherson counteroffensive, taking back Kherson, the only regional capital that Russia was able to occupy since its initial invasion. 

This huge financial package and commitment from the West signaled the West’s support for Ukraine and its opposition to Russia’s actions. However, the war has now lasted over three years and sees no clear end in sight. Therefore, it begs the question of how long can this commitment last? 

The last U.S. aid packages sent to Ukraine came in the form of $3.4 billion in “direct budget support” on Dec. 30, 2024 and $500 million worth of military aid on Jan. 9, 2025. These packages were approved by the Biden administration, presumably to preempt changes before the Trump administration took over. 

Since the start of the second Trump administration, the United States has suspended all aid to Ukraine. In doing this, Trump seems to be applying pressure on Ukrainian President Zelensky to sue for peace, stating that Zelensky is “gambling with World War three.” The EU on the other hand, has not slowed down its aid. From January to Aug. 31, 2025, the EU has already given roughly $50 billion worth of aid to Ukraine, ranging from direct financial support and loans to military equipment.

From these donation patterns, conclusions about the United States and European Union’s differing attitudes towards Ukraine appear. Evidently, the European Union has not been experiencing Ukrainian fatigue as they continue to donate billions of dollars worth of equipment to Ukraine in an effort to fight Russia. The EU likely feels a larger threat from Russia than the United States does. If Russia were to take over part or all of Ukraine, Russia would be closer to the EU than to the U.S., essentially knocking on the EU’s doorstep. If a war were to occur, it would likely be on Russia’s Western front making it significantly closer to the EU than to the U.S. This difference suggests differing threat perceptions between the U.S. and EU with the second Trump administration stalling funding. 

Furthermore, this does not seem likely to change any time soon as the relationship between Trump and Zelensky has been shaky at best following their clash in the Oval Office. However, a “Supporting Ukraine Act of 2025” bill has been introduced to Congress on July 31, 2025, though has not been voted on by the Senate or the House of Representatives. While U.S. aid has stalled at the federal governmental level, public support echoes this attitude as well. While 46% of polled Americans say U.S. assistance to Ukraine is not enough, the other 53% of Americans polled state that American assistance to Ukraine is either the right amount or too much. 

However, it is worth noting that the sentiment of sending American support to Ukraine is on the rise. In December 2024, only 30% of Americans said not enough aid was being sent, and by March, 46% said it was not enough. The contrast between EU and U.S. relations with Ukraine highlights a shift in Western engagement: while Europe views the conflict as a more immediate security threat, the U.S. political landscape reflects growing wariness over long-term involvement.

While the world focused on the clashes between Indian and Pakistani forces in May 2025, it is important to remember that the Kashmir conflict has not only been shaped by the two states, but also by various armed non-state actors with conflicting goals, ideologies and allegiances. This article seeks to explore the various armed non-state actors that have shaped the conflict in Jammu and Kashmir, focusing on their histories, ideologies and relations to the Indian and Pakistani states and intelligence services.

Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF) – Pro-Independence

The Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front was founded in the late 1970s, with considerable support from the British-Pakistani diaspora, most of whom trace their origins to Mirpur in Pakistan-administered Jammu and Kashmir. After carrying out attacks on Indian military personnel, diplomats and Kashmiri Hindus, JKLF shot to prominence with the execution of key leadership and the conclusion of the 1987 elections in Jammu and Kashmir, widely regarded as rigged in favor of a pro-India Kashmiri party. This prompted many Kashmiri youth to pick up arms to fight Indian rule, starting the armed Kashmir conflict. 

JKLF initially received support from the Pakistani intelligence agencies with the common goal of separating from Indian rule, but the group adopted a relatively secular, Kashmiri-nationalist ideology that sought to unite Indian-administered Kashmir and Pakistani-administered Kashmir as an independent country. 

In the mid-1990s, a diversion of funding from Pakistani intelligence services to pro-Pakistan militant groups combined with crackdowns from India and Pakistan saw JKLF renounce violent struggle in 1994. They continue to operate politically on both sides of the ceasefire line dividing the region, advocating for independence, but face restrictions from both countries. 

Currently, Pakistan restricts political activity by JKLF and other pro-independence groups in Pakistani-administered Kashmir, and India has banned JKLF since revoking Indian-administered Kashmir’s semi-autonomous status in 2019.

Hizbul-Mujahideen (HM) – Pro-Pakistan

Another non-state armed group, Hizbul-Mujahideen, emerged in 1989 after the 1987 elections. HM, like the JKLF, was predominantly composed of Kashmiri Muslims seeking to separate from Indian rule. However, unlike the JKLF, they sought to merge all of Jammu and Kashmir with Pakistan, and justified their struggle as a jihad against India in contrast to secular nationalism. By the early 1990s, they overtook JKLF as the foremost separatist militant organization in the Indian-administered Kashmir with Pakistani support. 

The group has historically enjoyed close ties with Jamaat-e-Islami Kashmir, an Islamist political party in Kashmir. HM has engaged in attacks against Indian armed forces, Jammu and Kashmir police officers, pro-Indian politicians in Jammu and Kashmir and Kashmiri Hindus, leading to the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits in 1989-1990. They are accused of committing the 1998 massacre of Hindus in Prankote. They are also held responsible for the Wandhama massacre of Kashmiri Hindus in 1998. Furthermore, a popular HM commander was killed by Indian security forces in 2016, prompting massive protests in Kashmir. Indian forces were widely criticized for the usage of pellet guns to quell the protests which caused severe injuries, including blindness, to hundreds of Kashmiris. 

HM is designated as a terrorist organization by India, the U.S., Canada and the European Union. It is a legally operating organization in Pakistan. It remains active, but severely weakened due to Indian crackdowns and infighting.

Ikhwan ul-Muslimeen – Pro-India

The Ikhwan ul-Muslimeen was formed around 1993-1994, backed by the Indian intelligence services. Pakistan’s intelligence services initially supported multiple armed groups in the JKLF umbrella, but later concentrated support on the pro-Pakistan HM. This led many other militant organizations to lose their weapons, training, funding and bases, pressuring members to defect to HM. Many militants became disillusioned, and instead sought revenge on HM and other pro-Pakistani organizations. Indian intelligence services and their collaborators organized these groups together to form the Ikhwan. They recruited Kashmiri Muslims with pro-India leanings, those seeking revenge against HM due to loss of resources or friends and family members to militant attacks and suspected, surrendered and imprisoned militants who sought freedom and protection from both India and HM. 

While considered effective by India for counterinsurgency operations, they were widely criticized in Kashmir for egregious human rights violations, including torture, extortion and extrajudicial killings. Lack of popularity in Kashmir pressured Indian forces to disband and remove security from the organization, leading to the killing of many Ikhwanis by rivals. Others were absorbed into the Jammu and Kashmir police force (JKP) or Indian army. Many joined the Special Operations Group (SOG), a specialized counterinsurgent unit of the JKP. While the SOG is officially affiliated with the state, recruiting police officers from the various ethnic groups of Indian-administered Jammu and Kashmir, it is also widely accused of serious human rights abuses, with particular concern that cash incentives from the Indian military for killing militants has encouraged SOG members to kill civilians and label them as militants for financial rewards.

Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) / The Resistance Front (TRF) – Pro-Pakistan

The LeT was established in 1990 in Afghanistan, as one of the various Mujahideen organizations, after the merger of two Islamist missionary organizations. After the Soviets were defeated in Afghanistan, it shifted its focus in the mid-1990s on fighting India with the objective of merging Jammu and Kashmir with Pakistan. Unlike Hizbul-Mujahideen, who were mostly made up of Kashmiris, most LeT fighters were Pakistani Punjabis. The group expanded from suicide bombings and shootings in Kashmir to attacks in major Indian cities, becoming notorious for both the 2001 attacks on the Indian Parliament, and the 2008 Mumbai attacks, where 10 LeT fighters sieged the Taj Hotel and killed more than 160 people. The group is also accused of collaborating with Indian Muslim extremist groups in coordinating attacks, and enjoys ties to al-Qaeda and the Taliban. It is designated as a terrorist organization by the UN, European Union, U.S., India and Pakistan.

 In spite of its official ban, Pakistan’s intelligence services are widely accused of continued support to the organization, particularly through allowing its charity front, Jamaat ud-Dawa (JuD), to continue its activities within Pakistan, as well as taking limited action against LeT leadership. While Pakistan has cracked down on LeT and JuD since 2018 to comply with FATF regulations, seizing assets and jailing leaders, criticism remains that the organization continues to receive covert support from military and intelligence circles. Top leadership have historically lived openly in Lahore, holding political rallies and appearing on television interviews, in spite of UN sanctions and American bounties.

The Resistance Front (TRF) has emerged in resistance to the 2019 revocation of Article 370 in Indian-administered Jammu and Kashmir. The group has become known for its attacks on Indian military personnel, Jammu and Kashmir police, migrant laborers and minorities. The group shot to prominence with the April 2025 massacre of Indian tourists in Pahalgam, prompting the military standoff between India and Pakistan. The group appears to have deliberately targeted Hindus during the attack, sparing those who could recite Islamic verses. Both India and the U.S. allege the group is a local proxy of the LeT, with considerable overlap between its leadership. Unlike the LeT, it has framed its struggle against India in more secular terms in an attempt to distance itself from the LeT’s religious rhetoric, seen as a strategic shift to win more tolerance for their cause.

Jaish-e-Muhammad (JeM) – Pro-Pakistan

Jaish-e-Muhammed (JeM) is a newer group, founded in 2000 in Pakistan by militants released from an Indian prison in exchange for Indian hostages from a plane hijacking. The group, like LeT, seeks Jammu and Kashmir’s merger with Pakistan, and largely draws membership from Pakistani Punjabis who had experience in the Afghan Mujahideen. The group became notorious for its suicide attacks, including on both the Indian Parliament and the Jammu and Kashmir legislative assembly in 2001, Indian consulates in Afghanistan and the Pulwama attack on Indian paramilitary forces in 2019. They also launched attacks on Indian military personnel in 2016. It is designated as a terrorist organization by the UN, most western countries, India and Pakistan. However, Pakistan remains accused of allowing the organization to effectively function, with no serious legal action or arrests against the organization. Pakistani intelligence is suspected of supporting the group in attacks against India and shielding its leadership, as well as utilizing it as a counter to the Pakistani Taliban which wages war against the state. Both JeM and the Taliban share ideological links from the Deobandi school, leading to competition for cadre. The group remains active.

Village Defence Guards (VDG) – Pro-India

The Village Defence Guards, formerly known as Village Defence Committees, were organized in the mid-1990s as a civilian militia against militants in Jammu. Villagers were predominantly recruited from pro-India ethnic and religious groups in Jammu, such as the Hindu Dogras, Hindu and Muslim Paharis, Sikhs and Muslim Gujjar-Bakarwals. The VDG system has been criticized for arming civilians, enabling them to settle personal scores. With most VDG members being Hindu, the program has also been accused of enabling majoritarian violence against Muslim Gujjar villagers. While inactive for most of the 21st century, the VDGs were resurrected after the abrogation of Article 370, particularly as more militant attacks are shifting to Jammu from the Kashmir Valley. The VDGs are armed, trained and paid by the Indian army.

Conclusion

Armed non-state actors have played a significant role in Kashmir for decades, complicating the conflict beyond the formal militaries of India and Pakistan. For the Kashmir conflict to reach a resolution, and for India and Pakistan to resolve their differences, the complications arising from these various organizations are an important factor to account for and keep in mind.

Since the breakdown of inter-Korean ties and the failed Trump-era talks in 2019, North Korea has doubled down on nuclear weaponization. In 2022 alone, the regime tested over 70 ballistic and cruise missiles. It also reportedly continues to produce advanced fissile material, which experts say can fuel up to 90 nuclear warheads.

Pyongyang’s growing alignment with Moscow and Beijing has deepened the crisis. In exchange for supplying Russia with artillery shells, ballistic missiles and even troops for its war on Ukraine, North Korea has gained valuable political cover—and likely technological support—from the Kremlin. China, meanwhile, has provided an economic lifeline for the isolated nation and brushed off Western countries’ requests to pressure the regime. This emerging axis has emboldened Pyongyang, enhancing its missile and nuclear capabilities while forming a united front that threatens U.S. influence and the security of Japan, South Korea and the U.S. mainland.

Taken together, these developments cast doubt on the sincerity of Kim’s statement and the notion that talks could alter the North’s strategic calculus. Nonetheless, Washington seems intent on restoring diplomacy with Pyongyang in the hopes of resetting relations. 

Even if such a summit were to occur, it would likely yield little progress. For decades, the United States has insisted on denuclearization as the foundation for improving ties, oscillating between diplomacy and military threats as a way of bringing about the “complete, verifiable, and irreversible dismantlement” (CVID) of North Korea’s nuclear program. Successive administrations have tried different approaches—including the 1994 Agreed Framework, which temporarily froze the North’s plutonium production, and the 2012 Leap Day Deal, which briefly halted nuclear and missile testing—but each of these efforts ultimately unraveled as Pyongyang reneged on its commitments and pressed ahead with weaponization. Kim’s position on denuclearization continues this pattern, pouring cold water on the prospect of a negotiated settlement.

What, then, motivated Kim to make such a statement? Given Pyongyang’s upgraded weapons arsenal, he lacks the same incentive to extract concessions from Washington as during Trump’s first term. Back then, North Korea displayed a markedly different attitude toward negotiations; the historic Panmunjom Declaration with the South in April 2018 affirmed their shared goal of achieving “a nuclear-free Korean Peninsula,” and the Singapore Summit with Trump later that year fueled hope that U.S.-North Korea relations were entering a new chapter.

The talks ultimately collapsed in October 2019 due to disagreement between both sides over sanctions relief and the terms of complete denuclearization. This was because, despite the economic incentives, Kim was fundamentally unwilling to abandon the regime’s most important source of security and status—an arsenal his family had spent nearly half a century developing. Knowing that nuclear weapons were his regime’s primary source of leverage and domestic legitimacy, he concluded that maintaining this arsenal was worth the economic cost.

Nearly seven years later, Pyongyang’s upgraded nuclear and conventional weapons capabilities have strengthened Kim’s leverage. However, his demands have fundamentally changed: rather than seeking comprehensive sanctions relief or warmer ties with Washington and Seoul, he is solely focused on persuading the White House to recognize North Korea’s nuclear status.

This would confer several benefits to his regime on the domestic and international stage. Shaped by the trauma of the Korean War (1950-53) and President Harry Truman’s nuclear threats, North Korea has long viewed its nuclear arsenal as the sole means to guarantee its survival. For years, Kim has cited the examples of Libya and Iraq as cautionary tales against denuclearization. In this vein, recognition by the United States would not only strengthen his regime’s legitimacy, but also the narrative that North Korea’s nuclear status is irreversible and a key pillar of its national identity—boosting Kim’s leverage at home and abroad.

Nuclear recognition would also give North Korea more room to maneuver between Moscow and Beijing. China remains wary about Pyongyang’s rapprochement with the Kremlin, fearing it will undermine both its economic leverage and its ability to balance between the United States and its allies in the region. It has thus adopted a more cautious stance toward the nuclear issue, officially supporting denuclearization yet refusing to meaningfully pressure the regime; such caution would evaporate if Washington were to recognize Pyongyang as a nuclear power. Although this would not eliminate all sources of friction within the Russia-China-North Korea axis, it would enable Kim to effectively balance ties between Moscow and Beijing, strengthening the regime’s regional and global influence.

Given Kim’s hardened stance on the nuclear issue, the United States must develop a clear, comprehensive strategy to constrain Pyongyang. Instead of yielding to Kim’s demands, Washington should reaffirm its commitment to denuclearization as a way to blunt the axis’s destabilizing influence and avoid nuclear brinkmanship in East Asia. This includes tightening enforcement of existing sanctions on North Korea and imposing secondary sanctions on Russian and Chinese firms that enable Pyongyang’s nuclear ambitions. Washington should also continue to deepen trilateral security cooperation with South Korea and Japan, expanding joint military exercises, facilitating allied weapons transfers and increasing high-level coordination among top security officials as a strong signal to the regime of the alliance’s continued resolve. President Trump’s Asia trip last October was a positive step in that direction, but the administration must continue to build on this momentum and pursue additional measures to counter the regime.

Additionally, Washington should craft a long-term strategy to deter the regime militarily. That includes reaffirming its extended deterrence commitments to Tokyo and Seoul, and, if necessary, maintaining the option of targeted strikes against North Korea’s nuclear and missile facilities. Such action would be both unlikely and unwise, but it must remain viable to cast a shadow of power across the negotiating table.

The North Korean nuclear threat has grown dire in recent years. The regime’s rapidly advancing weapons arsenal and strategic alignment with Moscow and Beijing present an increasingly complex challenge for the United States and its allies. Although Kim’s offer to resume talks may seem like a tempting diplomatic offramp, Washington should stand firm and marshal all available resources to achieve the goal of peaceful denuclearization. This would not only bring stability to the Korean Peninsula but also strengthen Washington’s credibility among its allies in the Indo-Pacific and beyond, an outcome that would reaffirm U.S. leadership at a moment when it is being tested on multiple fronts.

The views expressed in opinion pieces do not represent the views of Glimpse from the Globe.

Healthcare workers were covered in Personal Protection Equipment (PPE) and wore double N95 masks cutting into the back of their ears. Some nurses and doctors shared their frustrations and grief but, for many, emotions could be seen solely in their eyes. Eyes became the only windows into seeing each other’s emotional spirit, and it was dwindling. The COVID-19 pandemic pushed healthcare workers to the breaking point, contributing to a healthcare provider shortage that is still vastly impacting medical institutions today. Although many people have moved on, choosing to forget COVID-19, its consequences are still reverberating. COVID-19’s impact did not just linearly diminish as the number of cases decreased. Therefore, the world cannot just ignore the statistically significant possibility of a future pandemic. 

The memories of COVID-19 cannot be shoved under the carpet; living in a false safety that this circumstance will not happen again is an extreme collective denial. Rather, it is vital that the world rebuilds with a new approach to protecting the global population from the next possible source of a global pandemic, what has become more commonly referred to as Disease X. 

Disease “X” is the World Health Organization’s (WHO) coined term for an unknown pandemic pathogen. This is a placeholder concept the organization has created for a pathogen that has not yet mutated into a global outbreak but could do so in the near future. Disease X was first introduced in the WHO 2018 Annual Review of diseases prioritized under the Research and Development Blueprint. The Disease X term was needed to discuss the threat of a hypothetical pathogen that is not known or exists yet. It is still largely debated whether COVID-19 (SARS-CoV-2) should be considered the first pathogen given Disease X classification. In fact, experts are also discussing whether COVID-19 is just a small taste of what is to come with a far more fatal Disease X. Ultimately, the Disease X concept is considered a pathogen which will hold the right characteristics and ingredients to create another global pandemic. Recognizing the growing threat, the scientific community has turned its attention to defining which types of pathogens the international community should be urgently monitoring. 

For instance, there is specialized focus on zoonotic diseases as the next possible source of Disease X. It takes what is known as a zoonotic jump for an animal virus to become transferable and infectious in human beings. The Center of Disease Control states that an estimate of  “more than 6 out of every 10 known infectious diseases in people can be spread from animals” whilst “3 out of every 4 new or emerging infectious diseases in people come from animals.” These statistics highlight that, in most cases, zoonotic spillover is an inevitability not an anomaly. 

This is especially the case since the boundaries between species have become increasingly  entangled because of deforestation, industrial agriculture, the wildlife trade and climate change. Environmental pressures and human behavior should not be overlooked when addressing zoonotic disease solutions. Notable origins of diseases from animals include Ebola virus, where bats are the suspected virus reservoir; Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, the human form of the prion disease Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (mad cow disease); Zika virus, which is transmitted by mosquitoes; and Avian influenza (bird flu), which originates in birds. These examples illustrate a disease landscape that could serve as the origin of Disease X and has well-established precedent.

Another potential source of Disease X that needs to be scrutinized is an engineered pandemic pathogen. Carl Jung, an influential Swiss psychiatrist and psychotherapist, warns that the “only real danger that exists is man himself.” Bioterrorism is a threat to humans created by humans. Alongside nuclear weapons, bioterrorism has become a new missile in the self-destruction toolbox. The development of biotechnology has allowed for advancements in many health sectors such as pharmaceuticals and vaccines. However, it has also made engineering pandemic pathogens that can be customized to have high virulence and fatality rates possible. During the cold war, viral agents were stockpiled as militarized weapons in the US and the Soviet Union. Viral bioterrorism puts everyone at risk and, whether the release of a bioengineered Disease X could be intentional or accidental, the impact would be globally devastating. 

All these factors suggest that Disease X is not a question of if it will cause the next global pandemic — it is a question of when.

Given this, organizations like The Coalition for Epidemic Preparedness Innovations (CEPI) have identified 25 different virus families that can serve as the host to the next deadly virus. CEPI hypothesizes that Disease X will come from one of these twenty-five different virus families. CEPI’s “100 Days Mission” aims to achieve the ability to respond to the next Disease X pandemic in just under three months by preparing globally accessible vaccines.  The 100 Day Mission is centered around swift and equitable vaccine deployment that will defend those at highest risk in order to stop the spread of an outbreak. Their research on “the most wanted viruses” provides a library of prototype vaccines to preempt the need for the next crucial vaccine by ideally supplying the world with an expedited prophylactic vaccine to contain the spread of the next pandemic. CEPI’s current diversification into the unknown of the 25 families is reimagining pandemic prevention in research. 

The Coalition for Epidemic Preparedness Innovations was born after the Ebola outbreak highlighted just how ill-equipped state and non-state actors are at containing epidemics. The WHO is often criticized for their inefficient reaction and response to the 2014 Ebola outbreak. The WHO did not have efficient intergovernmental cooperation nor the proper funding needed to execute a cohesive effective response. The Ebola outbreak sheds light on the significant gaps in the global health system, harkening the need for an innovative multifaceted approach to respond to epidemics and pandemics. Ebola should have been the wake-up call. Now, the COVID-19 pandemic is the writing on the wall. 

The COVID-19 Pandemic exposed global governments to a new crisis, a war against a common enemy — a virus. 

Sovereign states have the responsibility to protect and provide for the population in crisis. During the COVID-19 pandemic global health security was threatened. However, instead of nations banding together to contain COVID-19, there was global division and politicization of healthcare. The pandemic introduced two predominating questions: who was responsible for COVID-19 and what international actors were going to contain it? 

There needs to be a new framework to instill global cooperation, one that begins with framing viruses as a shared enemy rather than a localized problem. This reframing shifts responsibility not only to individual nations or institutions, but to collective action by changing the narrative to global commitment and shared responsibility. COVID-19 could have been a moment of unification, but it became a moment of polarization. This was not just seen on a global scale. Personally, many people in my own community that didn’t have immunocompromised family members decided it was not their responsibility to protect people from the spread of the virus. This is why framing the virus as a shared enemy and responsibility could create a stronger collective action against the next pandemic. 

 After World War II, global cooperation created the United Nations to prevent future conflict and another devastating world war. The U.N. served as a preemptive measure to ideally maintain peace and established a permanent institution for conflict resolution. Over time, the U.N. has become a platform for diplomacy and has helped shape postwar international order. In addition, the U.N. launched specialized agencies such as the World Health Organization (WHO), founded in 1948 to address global health issues. The WHO was established from the premise that health is inseparable from peace and security. Ten years after the WHO’s Constitution was created, the Soviet Union (USSR) proposed a WHO-led smallpox eradication program that would become a profound example of global health governance. In 1977, the last confirmed case of smallpox was identified and, by 1980, the WHO declared smallpox eradicated. This success was attributed to a moment of unprecedented global political commitment, even during the height of the Cold War, where the US and the USSR both agreed upon this shared goal of eradication. The program’s strength lay in its measurable objective for complete eradication thus countries systematically reported case detection and worked with the WHO. Nations shared the responsibility by sharing resources. The program had political backing and funding for over a decade. The WHO had a Smallpox Eradication Unit that was led by experts in the field like Donald Henderson, who later founded the Center of Civilian Biodefense Studies at Johns Hopkins. The smallpox eradication campaign can serve as a powerful model for international cooperation. Smallpox remains “the only infectious disease to achieve this distinction.”

The evolution of the WHO and the International Health Regulations (IHR) have made expansive strides in global healthcare. However, the accelerating pace of globalization and the changing global health landscape have revealed critical limitations. The WHO struggled to enforce effective governance during the COVID-19 pandemic. It was unable to coordinate an international response, delayed declaring COVID-19 as an international emergency and was not able to hold nations accountable for disease surveillance and timely reporting. The COVID-19 pandemic revealed domestic political agendas which led to a fragmented response and its politicization fueled skepticism on scientific advice globally. What this highlighted is that the WHO has arrived at a critical inflection point where the future of successful pandemic response must be able to transcend political pressures. 

Although the WHO has had a historical commitment to global health, another moment of international solidarity is needed — one where a global crisis becomes the catalyst for cooperation just as World War II served as the platform for creating the U.N. A virus may not be treated as a world war, yet its global consequences and strains are not unlike the destructive impacts of warfare. There are extensive fatalities, governmental instability, economic implications and a shared sense of fear and crisis. So, why isn’t there an international institution or organization solely dedicated and committed to preventing the next global pandemic? 

In 2015, Bill Gates performed a TED Talk where he outlined that the world is not prepared for a pandemic. Fast forward 10 years to today in 2025 the global health system is still not prepared for a pandemic. 

Bill Gates has now proposed a systematic multifaceted solution to prevent the next global pandemic. This solution is the Global Epidemic Response and Mobilization (GERM) team. 

The GERM team would be a permanent institution and organization that can combat and coordinate rapid responses to new potential infectious outbreaks. Ultimately the GERM team could be seen as another functional unit of global cooperation and governance. Additionally, they would be coordinated with the WHO. The GERM team would become a multinational unit that comprises over 3,000 full time specialists in epidemiology, vaccine development, genetic engineering, data science, computer simulation, emergency medicine, communications and diplomacy. The GERM team would be actively monitoring and researching threatening outbreaks. Disease X would be contained before it becomes a global health threat. Bill Gates states in his TED talk that if COVID-19 was caught in the first 100 days it would have saved over 98% of the lives lost. The first 100 days are crucial to stop the spread of an epidemic and the GERM team would be equipped to do so. 

The GERM team is an exemplary theoretical model solution that can transition into becoming a groundbreaking reality. For the GERM team to come into fruition it needs funding. Governments spent an immense amount of funds during COVID-19. Money was poured into economic relief programs, healthcare infrastructure and other aid response measures. The U.S government spent 4.6 trillion dollars and created the Coronavirus Aid, Relief and Economic Security (CARES) Act during the pandemic. The International Monetary Fund (IMF), a major U.N. financial agency, estimates that COVID-19 has cost the world around 14 trillion dollars. To put the GERM team’s funding into perspective, spending money on the GERM team now would save nations from spending trillions of dollars later. The GERM team will cost the world 1 billion dollars annually to maintain all the resources and on-the-ground manpower. This is a worthy investment for the survivability of our future. To apply Bill Gates’ motto here — “This is the billions we need to spend in order to save millions of lives and trillions of dollars.”

The funding needed for the GERM team would have an expansive impact beyond stopping Disease X. It could provide another opportunity to advance medical tools for efficiency in many different specialties. To prepare to prevent a pandemic there needs to be investment in diagnostic tools, vaccines and deliverance which will subsequently address health disparities and global accessibility. A case study on microneedle patch vaccines exemplifies the reach the GERM team could have on closing the health security gap. 

The GERM team would fund new research in vaccine deliverance such as microneedle patches. Microneedle patch vaccines provide an efficient delivery system to the dermis and epidermis layers of the skin. Research on this deliverance method has shown higher immunogenicity for some vaccines than the traditional intramuscular needle route. Microneedle patch vaccines could revolutionize immunization strategies because it allows fast global vaccine deployment and mass production. More importantly, this vaccine method does not need large infrastructure or manpower to distribute. The vaccine patches do not require refrigeration, making delivering vaccines in remote areas and rural regions easier, thus improving accessibility. As illustrated, the GERM team’s impact on healthcare development could provide more than just pandemic prevention but could also help remedy the gaps in global health security that disproportionately devastate populations that do not have access to proper healthcare infrastructure. New diagnostic tools and therapeutics, disease surveillance, strengthening existing healthcare infrastructure in low-income countries and pathogen genomic data sharing are just a few more examples of how the GERM team’s impact addresses narrowing the health gap. 

In this era of increasing interdependence between nations, international institutions play a critical role in global governance and are vital forums to address global crises. The United Nations, the World Health Organization and the World Trade Organization are international institutions that are fundamental to global stability in governance, economy and health security. Yet the capacity to respond through these institutions has been undercut by political resistance. The Trump administration, for example, has demonstrated a strong aversion towards global multilateral commitments and institutions. Recently, the administration has cut thousands of programs under the United States Agency for International Development (USAID). USAID has long supported global health, education, humanitarian relief and economic development for nations recovering from conflict or disaster. Increased efforts to defund and discredit governmental agencies and organizations such as the WHO have further politized healthcare and weakened international cooperation. The GERM team could have direct funding that could be insulated from shifting political pressures which would bypass bureaucratic delays and geopolitical conflicts. Detailed frameworks for pandemic response are still under development, but the most important promenet is addressing the governance and enforcement gaps by embedding pandemic preparedness into the core agendas of nations. 

The current geopolitical climate has revealed the fragility of global health governance within the hands of today’s leaders. The tension underscores the relevance of Complex Interdependence Theory, founded by Keohane and Nye, which establishes a framework where states are not solely driven by military power or security concerns. Instead, nations are deeply interconnected through shared economies, trade networks, security interests, technological advancements, international institutions, shared health dependencies and environment (Keohane and Nye). States do not operate in isolation. While interdependence is a defining feature of global order, many states perceive it as a liability during global crises, precisely when collective action is most critical. Disease X will not happen in isolation either, it will thread itself through the web of international interdependence. 

 Globalization has fueled more interconnectedness among states, making global cooperation the cornerstone for global stability. A global pandemic is a wicked problem characterized by its complexity. It requires a multifaceted approach that necessitates international cooperation and robust global governance. A single nation is not able to stop a global pandemic alone, yet a single nation’s outbreak can trigger a chain reaction sending the world into crisis. The GERM team is strategically and uniquely positioned to interrupt the chain reaction. However, the question still remains: Who is responsible for Disease X? The answer is everyone — Disease X is our shared global foreign enemy, and it is our collective responsibility to confront it.

The views expressed in opinion pieces do not represent the views of Glimpse from the Globe.

Titled ‘Safe, Secure, and Trustworthy Development and Use of Artificial Intelligence,’ the order’s purpose was to prioritize governing AI to tackle threats such as fraud, discrimination and disinformation. In practice, this entailed developments such as implementing new risk-management strategies, labelling AI-generated content and promoting competition through supporting small businesses. 

In place of Biden’s order, Trump’s replacement most notably maintains that the United States’ priority is to promote American international dominance in AI. Referred to as the ‘Removing Barriers to American Leadership in Artificial Intelligence’ order, both policies share the similarity of promoting innovation. However, that is where the resemblance ends. Following the recent trend of removing DEI-related content, nowhere in the six sections of the executive order is there any mention of equity. 

It is true that if the United States wants to remain competitive on the international stage — in both economic and national security contexts — it is important to devote resources to developing and implementing the best artificial intelligence products possible. From private use to military applications, AI technology is, in many ways, the new space race of today. The benefits to the American people, both in securing influence on the global scale and enhancing quality of life at home, should not be understated; hence the technology’s widespread adoption. 

Since the rise of generative technologies like ChatGPT, AI’s use has grown at a rapid pace and will only continue to do so. One study even suggests that “77% of companies are either using or exploring the use of AI in their businesses, and 83% of companies claim that AI is a top priority in their business plans.” Accordingly, this has led to the expansion of AI into countless fields and products, many of which actually go unrecognized in day-to-day life. From classic digital assistants like Siri and Alexa to early disease diagnosis in healthcare, the list is virtually limitless. 

Alongside this growth, the problem of inequity only becomes exacerbated. Tenant selection, financial lending and hiring processes have all been tainted by the inherent bias present in AI. One side of the issue lies within the information used for each of the above applications. As AIs are trained on data, whatever bias is present in the dataset will manifest itself in the decisions produced. Since companies that screen potential renters, borrowers or employees rely on old court data and criminal databases, they can reflect systemic prejudices. Sometimes, the trained system will just run incorrectly. In one woman’s case, she was denied an apartment thanks to a faulty background check, combining four other individuals’ records with her own. As all of the women had the same name, the system mistakenly attributed burglary, meth distribution, assault and more to her record. The evidenced potential for error, combined with the technology’s black-box nature, creates a situation where all parties are left confused.

The most concerning application of all is within law enforcement. Around the globe, implementation of artificial intelligence has been incorporated into crime regulating agencies’ operations, motivated by arguments for leveraging AI to increase efficiency and public safety. Out of all of the implementations, predictive policing is by far the most common. Essentially, this method utilizes data — from paroled populations to economic conditions — to forecast where, when and what crime will occur. Then, it provides recommendations to prevent it.

In terms of who is utilizing this technology, one example is Argentina. They are “us[ing]machine learning algorithms to analyze historical crime data to predict future crimes and help prevent them.” Additionally, Japan has also used predictive policing strategies, with AI having a “deep learning” algorithm that grabs real-time information about police force statistics and crime data on weather, time and geographical conditions. Most well-versed of all though, is Singapore. While law enforcement also relies on predictive technology, what distinguishes Singapore’s AI use in this sector is the scale at which data is collected through sensors. UAVs, facial recognition, drones and smart glasses are all part of how the police and civil defense forces record information. 

The U.S. takes similar approaches to its international peers. It varies by state, but the overall idea is the same. Machine learning (ML) — or computers’ ability to learn from data and subsequently perform tasks without explicit instructions — leverages large datasets in order to predict future criminal activity. This data typically contains information pertaining to what the crime was, when and where it happened, and further locational statistics such as median income and past crime rate. ML is often combined with computer vision, teaching technology like security cameras how to categorize objects like people, vehicles, and weapons in their field of vision through repeated exposure to visual information. 

Ideally, these tools would create sound predictions about crime, increasing efficiency while lowering costs. However, there are troubling drawbacks in this technology — many of which have already begun affecting society. Public mistrust of police has long been felt across the U.S. And for those who have consistently been at-risk, the increasing incorporation of AI-based technology isn’t helping. The core issue pertains to the historical crime data AI models are trained on. By relying on data which was collected in the midst of over-policing as well as the pre-existence of discriminatory criminal laws, predictive policing algorithms inherit bias. For example, “if a predictive policing system is trained on arrest data that reflects racially disparate enforcement practices, it may disproportionately flag certain communities as high risk, leading to the over-policing of already marginalized groups.” 

According to six U.S. Senators in a letter to the Department of Justice, “mounting evidence indicates that predictive policing technologies do not reduce crime… Instead, they worsen the unequal treatment of Americans of color by law enforcement.” So, what is there to do? The tool sought to improve policing seems to actually make it less effective. The Senators’ recommendation was to scrap the technology all together until further study of predictive policing took place. However, as is the case with many innovations, once they’re put into the world, it’s pretty challenging to take them out of it. 

Therefore, rather than instituting a full pause on the use of AI in law enforcement, perhaps it would be better to alter the approach. One recommendation is to prioritize human supervision with each AI implementation. By requiring continued human influence in automated processes, the black-box nature of artificial intelligence will begin to minimize, allowing people to further understand the models they are working with. An example of how this could be achieved in law enforcement and beyond is through required audits of AI usage. Through monitoring the outputs generated, the algorithm’s intention, and the use, it can be gathered how effective and ethical a model is. Another method of increasing an AI’s transparency is by incorporating explanations into its outputs. By engineering models to include descriptions of its logic — especially tailored to the expertise of the people it’s working with — the partnership between human and technology will become much more seamless, and further promote collaboration as opposed to replacement.  

Another side of ensuring equitable use of artificial intelligence is through legislation. Currently, there are no comprehensive, enforceable rules pertaining to how people use AI on the federal level. Some laws have attempted to increase oversight — such as the National AI Initiative Act of 2020 — but in reality the nation is left to rely on loose guidelines, such as Biden’s White House Blueprint for an AI Bill of Rights. At the state level, legislation varies. At least eight states have finished enacting laws regulating artificial intelligence, while three have not even proposed any. Federally, there are over 30 bills in the works. They seek to both increase AI implementation as well as mitigate its harms. In practice, this could entail leveraging the technology to speed up cargo inspections along the border (being the CATCH Act), or disclosing computer-generated respondents in text messages and phone calls (called the QUIET Act). In order to keep equity at the forefront of AI legislation, it will be important to incorporate legal checks, especially pertaining to the transparency of when and how the technology is used.

These two paths both work to minimize harm through regulating the use of artificial intelligence. Consequently, the narrative surrounding AI and equity is often a negative one. However, there still exists potential to change the conversation. Through using AI to promote the study of justice, it can transform a tool defined by uncertainty into a tool that defines the uncertain.

An instance of this effort can be found at the University of Southern California. Co-led by Drs. Benjamin Graham and Morteza Dehghani, the Everyday Respect project began after the Los Angeles Board of Police Commissioners asked them to analyze a year’s worth of bodycam footage. The request came in response to the success of a similar Stanford study, which started in 2014 after a $10.9 million settlement agreement about intense police misconduct required the Oakland Police Department to collect information on stops by race. 

Through this initiative, they are “working to develop community-informed AI models to study communication between officers and drivers during traffic stops.” After surveying stakeholders about what a “good” interaction entails, video annotators (ranging from those previously incarcerated to retired cops) now analyse bodycam footage to create an AI model which will automatically rate exchanges at stops. Once the algorithm is complete, it will be fed 30,000 LAPD police stops. This will allow for a better understanding of how different communities perceive officer behavior, which in turn should inform the creation of better training programs.

This process does not have to be limited to the LAPD. In fact, part of the project’s goal is to make the language model available to other police departments. As mentioned earlier, this transparency when dealing with artificial intelligence is part of what makes it trustworthy enough to rely on in the face of such significant, sensitive responsibilities like procedural justice. 

Professor Graham, one of the professors in charge of the project through USC’s Security and Political Economy Lab, agrees that this scalable process is one that countries would consider adopting to analyze their own police forces, if they were not already. “There are tools in the works in a lot of places that apply some version of AI to evaluate some aspect of policing,” Graham said. “I think we’re going to see a lot more of that over the next few years.”

According to Graham, there is a lot of potential in AI. The key is making sure it’s properly planned, considered and supervised. “It is not a technology without risks, but I think it enables analysis of data at scale, and it enables analysis of data in ways that respect the privacy of the people depicted in that data,” Graham said. “Carefully designed, it can be a really powerful tool for transparency, for accountability, for learning and improvement. So it can definitely be a powerful force for good.”

While it’s clear that inherent issues of equity arise as the use of artificial intelligence becomes more commonplace in every facet of life, the benefits are undeniable. Advances in technology at this scale do not come often, so it is not wrong to take advantage of them. However, if no concrete, widespread efforts to regulate this use emerge, then the nation may suffer the consequences of unjust policing, public mistrust, and overall inaccurate AI outputs. Hopefully, institutions — both national and international — keep in mind the importance that human supervision and legislation play in creating a more technologically sound future. Combined with the promotion of innovative ways to implement AI, such as through analyzing police interactions at traffic stops, there is faith that the technology can contribute to real good while minimizing negative impact.

While other international summits,such as the United Nations’ AI for Good Global Summit, have seen increased attendance in recent years, the overall presence of Southeast Asian nations remains disproportionately underrepresented, especially when considering the countries’ wide usage of AI platforms and softwares. 

As Brookings’ scholars Shaun Ee and Jam Kraprayoon point out, “If you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu.” Underrepresentation on the international stage means that Southeast Asia, and other regions alike, will be increasingly vulnerable to the risks posed by frontier AI systems such as OpenAI’s o1 reasoning models; according to the company, these new models utilize additional compute to spend more time “thinking”, enabling a greater capacity to tackle more complex tasks and problems. Reportedly, it performs near a PhD student level on challenging physics, chemistry, and biology tasks. According to Yosua Bengio, a computer science professor at the University of Montreal, this improved ability to reason can easily be misused to deceive users at a higher rate than GPT-4o. Hence, including Southeast Asia in the global dialogue for AI governance is crucial not only to the region, but also for the broader Global North, given that robust safeguard systems require diverse testing settings. Additionally, the capacity of AI system development can be expanded through transatlantic talent exchange. But what exactly does it mean to be on the menu, and what will it take to get them a proper seat at the table?

While the February Paris AI Summit discussed AI safety, threats to Southeast Asia were barely discussed, despite an alarming 82 percent increase in cybercrime throughout Southeast Asia and Singapore alone experiencing a 174 percent increase in phishing attempts between 2021 to 2022. Though broader safety concerns are often raised in these global summits, they are typically isolated from local contexts. For instance, in Myanmar, Cambodia and Laos, ‘scam centers’ are operating and affecting victims all across the region, but properly addressing them requires a specific understanding of the threat actors involved.. More importantly, when mitigating these threats, it is integral to note that several regions in Southeast Asia have more limited cybersecurity resources compared to North America and Europe. While Malaysia and Singapore have significantly strengthened their cybersecurity strategies over time, Thailand, Indonesia and the Philippines are still considered developing in terms of cyber capabilities, with many countries such as Indonesia facing limited cybersecurity funding. Although serious cyberattacks are common, the region’s cyber resilience remains relatively low. 

AI infrastructure in Southeast Asia is rapidly emerging, with drastic investments from major tech corporations such as Microsoft and Nvidia into data centers and cloud services. Yet, many local startups are missing out on their own AI boom. While approximately $20 billion is being invested into the Asia-Pacific region, only $1.7 billion has been invested into Southeast Asia’s young AI firms. This disparity has raised concerns regarding the region’s ability to develop its private sector and compete with AI leaders such as China and the United States. Yet how can the region be expected to address such rapid investment flows without being provided the space to participate in cutting-edge R&D and technical standards-setting? A seat in forums such as the International Network of AI Safety Institutes may incentivize domestic AI development, and such inclusion will certainly be as beneficial to global investors as it will be to the region; providing Southeast Asia with the needed technical insight and collaborative frameworks will better strengthen the local AI sector, which in turn can mitigate geopolitical risk and offer a more robust, innovation-friendly market to the global AI ecosystem. 

In order to push for a seat at the table, however, it is important to take a step back and assess why Southeast Asia is being left out to begin with. 

For starters, Global AI summits typically reflect the agendas of major powers. Intensified technological rivalry between the U.S. and China has fostered a polarized environment in global AI governance, which has trickled down into the structure and makeup of international summits.  For instance, the United Kingdom’s AI Safety Summit and Geneva’s AI for Good Global Summit typically consist of US-aligned countries such as the EU and South Korea, while Shanghai’s World Artificial Intelligence Conference and the BRICS Summits typically reflect China’s digital diplomacy interests such as sovereignty and state-centric regulation. 

Consequently, Southeast Asia’s non-alignment stance means choosing not to fully engage in these summits to avoid signaling alignment with one bloc over another. By design, many global partnership initiatives are also inaccessible to the region. For instance, The Global Partnership on Artificial Intelligence (GPAI) strives for broad international participation, but its only Southeast Asian member is Singapore. GPAI and summits such as the Bletchley Park and AI Seoul Summits uphold a restrictive membership process and are invitation-only, typically limited to countries with advanced AI R&D capacity. However, most Southeast Asian countries currently allocate less than 1% of their GDP into R&D, leading to talent shortages as capable professionals often end up moving abroad for better opportunities. These compounding factors contribute to the region’s lack of influence in AI ethics and policy circles, which serves as a core prerequisite for an invitation. 

Given these challenges, what will it take for Southeast Asia to get a seat at the table and enter the space of these ‘global’ summits? 

ASEAN as a whole must work towards a unified AI development and cooperation framework. The status quo of fragmented approaches to AI governance make it difficult for coordinated advancements and regulations. For starters, the most tangible regional action lies in the publication of the ASEAN Guide to AI Governance and Ethics 2024, which offers recommendations for government and non-government usage of AI in the region. However, this document is non-binding and thus unable to impose sanctions if different paths were to be adopted by member states. This visibly translates in the diversity of AI-readiness in the region, measured through pillars such as Government, Technology Sector, and Data & Infrastructure. As of 2022, while Singapore and Malaysia respectively scored 84.1 and 67.4, other countries like Laos and Cambodia scored 31.7 and 31.2. Meanwhile, ASEAN’s commitment to avoid being a rule-taker means continued exclusion in major policy dialogue spaces; the region must find ways to maintain its non-alignment approach without sacrificing representation in the most pivotal AI governance spaces. 

It is equally important that global powers recognize the urgency of the region’s inclusion. Collaboration with Southeast Asia is pivotal to strengthening global AI governance structure. The region’s linguistic, cultural, and socio-economic diversity provides unique datasets that can improve AI models’ adaptability and performance. For instance, projects like SEA-LION are building natural language processing tools for Southeast Asian languages, which may enhance AI applications in multilingual contexts. Further, the region’s rapidly growing digital economy and tech-savvy population presents great potential for AI-driven economic growth—one that remains largely underutilized; in fact, Southeast Asia’s internet economy is expected to reach $330 billion by 2025. Through increased collaboration, global powers may better engage with emerging markets and foster innovation—presenting significant opportunities for global AI companies to scale and localize their services in a rapidly-growing environment increasingly pivotal to global supply chains and data flows. 

Simultaneously, it is just as crucial for local governments to increase investment in their AI R&D budgets. In Indonesia, the National Research and Innovation Agency has collaborated with international NGOs and startups to leverage AI for predicting volcanic eruptions and flash floods in disaster-prone areas, which has reduced disaster response times by over 30%. In Vietnam, tech companies VinAI & VinBrain are investing millions in foundational AI research for products in healthcare, mobility and natural language processing. The company has developed DrAid, an AI-powered diagnostic platform to detect respiratory diseases, reducing diagnostic time by over 50% during the pandemic. If current investment trends continue, AI could add $79.3 billion annually to the country’s GDP by 2030. 

It is apparent that when more investments are poured into R&D, the results speak for themselves. It is also apparent that strides in the right direction are being made. And yet, the region still has much work to do in investing into R&D and developing robust regulatory frameworks to truly utilize its potential in the AI frontier, given that many of these countries are still left behind within the Government AI Readiness Index, with Indonesia being ranked 42nd, Vietnam being ranked 59th and others such as Laos and Cambodia ranked even lower. 

The table is set, the stakes are high, and yet, the chairs remain unevenly distributed. Whether it’s the G20 Hiroshima Process, Bletchley Park, Paris, or Seoul, the world’s most influential summits continue championing global cooperation while their guest lists suggest otherwise. While much work is to be done internally, we cannot undermine the role of geopolitical interests and inaccessible systems towards Southeast Asia’s absence in these crucial rooms. More so, the region cannot be expected to play catch up when it continues to be systematically excluded. At the end of the day, if Southeast Asia continues to be left out of the conversation, the world will miss out on the opportunity to empower local solutions, diversify the AI ecosystem and create unique opportunities for market growth and collaborative innovation; if it continues to be left out, global AI governance will miss a perspective the world cannot afford to lose, one that makes global governance a reality rather than a mere slogan.