July 19, Pakistan -- Pakistan is once again making news for all the wrong reasons: continuous rainfall, overflowing rivers, flooded streets, and a heartbreaking loss of life. As I write this, Islamabad and large parts of Punjab and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa are facing another wave of destructive floods that have already taken more than a hundred lives in just three weeks—half of them children who should have been splashing in rain puddles, not drowning in them. The images from Rawalpindi, Lahore, Swat, and Gilgit-Baltistan are heartbreakingly similar: families stuck on rooftops, rescuers navigating urban waterways with boats, mothers waving shawls at helicopters, hoping for help that arrives too late. Each year, we seem shocked by this disaster, even though we shouldn't be. This cycle is no longer just a matter of divine intervention; it's a reflection of our human shortcomings exposed by the overwhelming power of nature that we are contributing to. The 2022 floods should have been a harsh reminder of how unprepared we are when dealing with the climate crisis. Nearly one-third of Pakistan was submerged then. The country suffered around $30 billion in losses—an enormous figure for an economy barely surviving. Yet, just three years later, we're witnessing the same tragedy repeating itself with alarming frequency.
At the heart of this crisis is not only severe weather but also the intersection of global climate changes with local mismanagement. Pakistan's susceptibility is evident in the north, where Gilgit-Baltistan, known as the "third pole" due to its glaciers, is melting at a pace that outstrips our ability to manage it. Temperatures in these high-altitude regions have risen beyond 48 degrees Celsius, increasing the rate of glacial melting and causing sudden floods that destroy entire communities downstream. Villages such as Hamorkhay have seen large areas of farmland disappear under glacial floods. Adding to the problem, pieces of glaciers break off and block streams, leading to flash floods once they finally dislodge. The so-called early warning systems designed to monitor this are either broken, stolen, or not effectively connected to local populations, resulting in lost time.
Meanwhile, in the lowlands, our cities are submerged not only due to rainfall but also because years of careless development have covered natural drainage systems with concrete. Rivers have overflowed their banks because upstream reservoirs weren't emptied in time, a missed opportunity that might have lessened the impact of this flood. Even our everyday decisions, such as the reduction of green areas, uncontrolled city expansion, and the indifferent attitude towards environmental regulations, are bringing our children nearer to these floodwaters during each monsoon season.
Nevertheless, in the midst of this destruction, we must pose the question: What will we do differently? The usual response is to call for more foreign assistance, more relief efforts, more sandbags and plastic tents. However, if the 2022 floods have shown us anything, it is that simply having money, particularly borrowed funds, will not save us from this ongoing cycle of destruction. Pakistan took on billions in debt following the 2010 and 2011 floods—debts that we are still paying, which have come at the cost of schools, hospitals, and clean water initiatives. Ironically, when the next flood hit, we had to borrow once more to reconstruct what we should have built more resiliently in the first place.
It's time for us to end this cycle of flooding and neglect. We must change our approach to recovery. Firstly, we should stop viewing disaster management as a temporary task and instead treat it as a continuous national priority. Islamabad cannot remain a capital defined by reactive policies. We require real-time data systems that are reliable, trusted by local communities, and directly support clear procedures for emptying reservoirs before the peak snowmelt occurs. Our meteorological departments should not just provide weather forecasts but act as proactive crisis managers, converting these forecasts into actionable guidance for each district.
Second, our cities need to experience a revival. Urban expansion has transformed natural floodplains into concrete hazards. We require a significant shift in our approach to development. The clear reality before us is that construction within floodplains must be prohibited. Green areas alongside our rivers are not idle land; they serve as our final defenses. Islamabad, Lahore, and Rawalpindi should not be suffocated by unauthorized settlements that obstruct every pathway through which rainwater previously safely reached the rivers.
But let's go beyond bans and penalties that are rarely implemented. Let's change our approach to development. What if, rather than covering everything with concrete, we adopted local, eco-friendly building methods? Pakistan's self-reliant housing models, which use mud bricks and locally available materials, are not outdated traditions—they are affordable, environmentally conscious options that generate local employment, reduce supply chain lengths, and enable communities to reconstruct their homes after a disaster.
Third, our economic recovery approach needs to move away from its fixation on loans. The debt cycle has resulted in us sacrificing our future. Rather than spending billions on repaying previous debts, we should harness our population's potential. Pakistanis both within the country and overseas have a deep tradition of giving during crises, yet these contributions are frequently directed towards temporary charity rather than fostering long-term resilience. Picture a national climate resilience fund that utilizes private donations, domestic zakat, remittances from the diaspora, and local philanthropy to construct flood barriers, restore wetlands, and enhance drainage systems. We possess the social capital—what we need is to redirect it through a strategic plan, not an appeal for sympathy.
Ultimately, and arguably most crucially, we cannot overlook the invisible injuries that floods cause. Each instance of a home being destroyed or a child being carried away represents a loss that goes beyond financial impact. Emotional wounds remain. Following the 2022 floods, research indicated that prompt counseling and psychological support enabled survivors to restore their lives more quickly and completely. For communities to heal, we need to address trauma with the same urgency as we do damaged infrastructure. No family should experience isolation after the waters have gone down.
These are not idealistic concepts. They stem from the lessons we have already endured, at the cost of lives, incomes, and entire generations. Climate change is no longer a distant danger; it is present, roaring through our rivers and battering our roofs during every monsoon. However, although we contribute almost nothing to global carbon emissions, we do play a significant role in the inadequate planning that turns every rainfall into a catastrophe.
This rainy season should not be recalled only for the lives it took, but for the lessons we ultimately understood. Islamabad, Rawalpindi, Lahore, and all the vulnerable villages in Gilgit-Baltistan deserve more than the usual approach. It's time to aim higher than just tents and rescue vessels. It's time to rebuild more intelligently, not only for the next flood, but for the next generation who shouldn't have to stand on rooftops waving blankets at helicopters, questioning if anyone is paying attention.
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