I no longer live in the same Pakistan as our leaders

We watch villages wash away while billions are spent on roads

Do we exist in the same Pakistan as our leaders? It feels as if we have been asking this question for a long time, but it remains just as relevant today. We did, after all, nationally witness nine people cling to each other helplessly in the middle of a surging Swat River, only to watch each other disappear into its swollen waters, never to be seen again.

We also just witnessed hail the size of baseballs strike Islamabad to leave every second vehicle with smashed windshields that were later held together by tape. When you called a neighbor to confirm they were safe after the storm, they burst into tears because both of their cars were left uncovered, and they cannot afford the repairs.

A classmate texts the group chat asking if anyone else’s home had also been flooded. Oh, just a casual few feet of water, seasonal rains tend to do that, I guess. “All the furniture destroyed,” he informs us, as reports from the Sialkot flooding make waves on social media.

As Kartarpur drowned, 85 villages in the larger Sialkot district evacuated, and thousands were displaced, two mega road projects were announced in Islamabad, amounting to an estimated Rs2.7 billion, to ease gridlocks and modernize traffic control, or whatever.

What is it that allows us to remain so ignorant of each other’s plight? Are we, as people, so removed from each other that the homelessness of fellow countrypeople is just another ticker on the bottom of our TV screens?

We are not apathetic as a people, however. When torrential rains flooded Karachi main roads and people were unable to tell if there were uncovered 13-foot deep manholes, a man sat guard in multiple feet of water to prevent accidents.

It is the governing bodies on high that I am talking about. Who will focus on what is happening in Punjab when they are so wrapped up in the dysfunctionality of their own cities? Karachi still smells of sewage water weeks later, and bodies from the Swabi flooding are still being uncovered.

As I sat to write this, it came from a place of critique and frustration, resentment even. All I am left with now is an impending sense of doom. I have never enjoyed the rain, something to do with the moisture, but that is hardly acceptable if you are from Islamabad. A friend of mine, in particular, would dutifully tell me off each time it rained. She loved it, something to do with the lush trees standing slightly taller and the air clearing enough to see the Margallas from her terrace. I woke up today, though, to her frantically texting about the rains. She was no longer enjoying it.

This is the climate crisis we live with, of absolving ourselves of the responsibility of the Earth giving up on us. The West must have something to do with it? Surely, as they contribute hugely to greenhouse emissions and climate change. India conspired against Pakistan and released water to flood Pakistan? Well, I suppose their choices were rather limited, seeing as their own dams and reservoirs were threatening to burst. Blame is easy. It lets us off the hook, and we can generously pity ourselves.

But it is not a solution. Our leaders can no longer feel sorry for the flood victims, and visit a few of their homes. It is time for lasting and effective change. And I pray it is immediate, we can barely afford the alternative.

Lastly, the Ravi now holds water again. Maybe not for long, but it does. I hope, my beautiful land, you never have to fend for yourself like that again. May we show up for the land that homes us. May we never have to witness such a horrific wake-up call again.