Opinion
Ansar Mahmood Bhatti
August 15, 2025, will be remembered as yet another dark day in Pakistan’s troubled history. In the past 48 hours, devastating floods in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KP), Gilgit-Baltistan (GB), and parts of Azad Jammu and Kashmir (AJK) have claimed more than 200 lives. Entire villages have been washed away, roads destroyed, and families torn apart by nature’s fury. The tragedy comes barely a day after terrorists struck in KP on August 14 — a day meant for national pride and celebration — killing scores of innocent citizens.
What is there to celebrate when the country remains engulfed in crisis? What joy can be found in waving flags and singing anthems while our fellow countrymen drown, are buried under debris, or are killed by bullets? The reality is grim: amidst Independence Day parades, fireworks, and official speeches, Pakistan bleeds, mourns, and waits in vain for genuine change.
The latest floods have been described as among the worst in recent memory. Torrential rains over the past week swelled rivers beyond capacity. The Swat River, once again, became a symbol of devastation — a haunting reminder of past tragedies that we never truly learned from. Entire stretches of road have collapsed into rushing waters, bridges have been swept away, and communication lines in several areas have gone dead.
Villagers in upper KP recount harrowing scenes of loved ones being swept away in seconds. In GB, rescue operations have been severely hampered by landslides blocking access routes. In AJK, already fragile infrastructure has been completely overwhelmed, leaving thousands stranded. Relief is slow, rescue efforts are disorganized, and for many, help will come too late.
The Swat River tragedy few weeks ago should have been a turning point in Pakistan’s disaster preparedness. It wasn’t. Lessons were never learned; systems were never fixed. Instead, year after year, we witness the same script: heavy rains lead to floods, people die, the government announces relief packages, and then life moves on — until the next tragedy strikes.
We keep asking the same questions: When will we awaken from this national slumber? When will we shift from lip service to real, practical measures? When will we take the safety of ordinary citizens seriously, instead of treating disasters as mere seasonal inconveniences?
The National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA), created to coordinate disaster response, has once again failed to deliver. Each time tragedy strikes, the Prime Minister rushes to the NDMA headquarters, where officials present elaborate PowerPoint slides filled with charts, forecasts, and “strategies.” And that’s where it ends.
The irony is that crisis management in Pakistan was often more effective before the NDMA existed. Back then, response relied on swift, on-ground action by local administrations, armed forces, and volunteers. Today, bureaucracy and red tape slow everything down, while NDMA remains an organization that talks big but acts little.
As the floods claimed lives in the north, terrorism reared its head once again in KP. On August 14, when the rest of the country was busy celebrating Independence Day, terrorists targeted innocent citizens, killing many. This was not an isolated attack — it is part of a disturbing trend that has seen violence spike in the past year, particularly in border regions.
What does it say about our priorities when our cities are lit up with fireworks, yet rural communities live in fear of both nature’s wrath and man-made violence? The celebration rings hollow when the state fails in its most basic duty — to protect lives.
Adding to the sense of disconnect was the government’s decision to hand out awards in abundance during the Independence Day festivities. Many of these honors went not to the truly deserving, but to those who follow the “masters’ voices” — individuals celebrated for loyalty rather than merit. Meanwhile, countless genuine heroes, including those who risk their lives in floods and terror attacks, were ignored.
Yet, amidst the usual self-congratulatory atmosphere, there were a few brave voices who refused to accept their awards in protest of this injustice. Their stance deserves recognition and emulation — a small but powerful reminder that dignity and integrity still exist in this country.
Decades ago, American journalist Christina Lamb captured Pakistan’s political and social dysfunction in her book Waiting for Allah. Written in the 1990s, it painted a portrait of a nation caught between hope and despair, crippled by corruption, mismanagement, and short-sighted leadership. Sadly, her observations remain relevant today.
From disaster response to governance, from counterterrorism to the allocation of national honors, nothing fundamental has changed. We remain stuck in the same cycle of tragedy, outrage, empty promises, and eventual amnesia.
Lip service has become our default mode. Every time disaster strikes, we hear the same phrases: “We stand with the victims,” “Relief efforts are underway,” “An inquiry will be conducted.” These words have lost all meaning because they are never followed by sustained action.
Practical steps require political will, transparency, and long-term investment — qualities that have been in short supply. Flood defense infrastructure remains inadequate, urban planning ignores climate realities, and emergency services are underfunded. Terrorist networks continue to operate in certain regions because dismantling them would require systemic reforms that challenge entrenched interests.
It is the ordinary citizen — the farmer in Swat, the shopkeeper in Skardu, the teacher in Muzaffarabad — who pays the price for this chronic negligence. They lose homes, livelihoods, and loved ones. They watch as politicians fly in for photo opportunities, then fly out to resume business as usual. They know that the next disaster is not a matter of if, but when.
The events of August 14 and 15 should be a wake-up call — not just for the government, but for the entire nation. We cannot continue to treat disasters and terrorism as routine. We cannot allow incompetence and corruption to be normalized. We cannot afford to spend another decade “waiting for Allah” to solve problems that are within our power to address.
Real change requires more than speeches. It demands investment in infrastructure, honest governance, and a culture that rewards merit over sycophancy. It requires that we take the concerns of ordinary people seriously, whether they live in Karachi, Swat, or the remotest village in GB.
August is supposed to be a month of pride for Pakistan — a time to remember the sacrifices that built this nation. But pride without responsibility is meaningless. As we mourn the more than 200 lives lost in the floods and the victims of terrorism, we must confront the uncomfortable truth: our tragedies are not just acts of fate. They are the result of choices — choices to neglect, to delay, to favor loyalty over competence, to celebrate instead of act.
Until we change those choices, August will keep bringing us anniversaries not just of independence, but of grief. And history will keep repeating itself, one flood, one attack, one tragedy at a time.
