Karachi's quiet privatisation of public space

In several parts of Karachi, particularly in middle-class areas such as Landhi, Korangi, Malir and Shah Faisal Colony, a quiet transformation is underway.

Streets that were once fully public are increasingly becoming controlled spaces, with barriers, private guards and resident-funded security arrangements. What begins as a response to crime is, in many cases, gradually evolving into something larger.

The justification is familiar and understandable. Mobile phone snatching, street robberies and other crimes have become part of daily life for many Karachiites. Faced with genuine fears and an often inadequate public security system, residents have sought ways to protect themselves. Few would dispute the need for safer neighbourhoods.

However, an important question is being overlooked: does the state’s failure to provide adequate security give private groups the right to take control of public space?

It is important to distinguish between private housing schemes and ordinary public neighbourhoods. Gated communities and enclosed residential projects operate under a different framework.

The concern here is not private developments but public roads, commercial streets and neighbourhoods where citizens have traditionally enjoyed unrestricted movement. Where shops operate, businesses function and public traffic flows, turning public space into controlled space raises legal and civic questions.

Across several localities, self-styled neighbourhood committees have emerged as powerful actors. They install barriers on public roads, hire guards, and collect funds from residents. While intended to improve security, these measures often create a parallel system of authority with limited transparency and weak oversight.

The legal position is clear. In April 2024, the Supreme Court of Pakistan ordered the removal of barriers and encroachments from public roads and pavements in Karachi.

The court held that access to public roads and pavements cannot be restricted and reaffirmed citizens’ right to free movement. The order also applied to barriers erected by government institutions, reinforcing that no individual or authority may obstruct access to public roads. While security concerns may be genuine, they do not automatically justify restricting access to public space.

Yet the reality on the ground remains very different. The phenomenon is not new. Variations of gated streets and neighbourhood barriers became increasingly common in parts of Gulshan-e-Iqbal, Nazimabad, PECHS and other upper-middle-class areas after the mid-2000s.

What is notable today is their expansion into middle-class localities such as these over the past four to five years. What was once a limited urban trend is now becoming a normal feature of everyday life in many parts of the city.

In many lower-middle and middle-class neighbourhoods, streets serve both residential and commercial functions, with small shops and informal businesses depending on local foot traffic.

In several Karachi neighbourhoods, visitors—including delivery riders and guests—are often stopped at barriers and asked for identification or purpose before entry. While intended for safety, such practices can cause delays and inconvenience in everyday movement and may also affect small businesses that rely on customer flow through neighbourhood streets, particularly in the evening.

The burden is not only physical but also financial. Most families in these neighbourhoods live in relatively small homes, often between 80 and 120 square yards, and many also reside in rented accommodation.

These are largely middle- and lower-middle-class communities already struggling with inflation, rising utility bills, transport costs and education expenses. For many households, additional monthly contributions for guards, barriers and committee expenses add another financial burden in an already difficult economic environment.

This raises a simple question: why should citizens pay twice for security—first through taxes, and then through informal neighbourhood collections?

In some neighbourhoods, residents who choose not to contribute may face social pressure or criticism from neighbours and committee representatives. As a result, contributions presented as voluntary can, in practice, become difficult to refuse.

Even more troubling is the issue of accountability. Who elects these committees? Who authorises them to speak for entire neighbourhoods? Who audits the funds they collect? And what mechanisms exist to address complaints against them?

Supporters of these arrangements often argue that street crime has reached a level where residents feel they have no option but to organise their own security. They see barriers and controlled entry points as practical responses to a deteriorating law-and-order situation. However, such reliance raises questions about legality, oversight, and the long-term sustainability of parallel security structures.

According to Citizens-Police Liaison Committee (CPLC) data, Karachi recorded over 43,000 street crime incidents in the first nine months of 2026 alone, including nearly 28,000 motorcycle thefts and snatching cases, and over 14,700 mobile phone snatchings.

While overall street crime reportedly declined in the first half of the year compared to the same period last year, mobile phone snatching continued to rise—a trend that authorities themselves have acknowledged. Yet an uncomfortable question remains: is locking entire neighbourhoods behind barriers and checkpoints really a solution, or does it risk turning communities into enclosed spaces in the hope of keeping crime outside?

To be fair, many neighbourhood committees are composed of well-meaning residents responding to genuine concerns. In some cases, these arrangements may help reduce petty crime.

Alternative approaches exist. In parts of Model Colony, for example, residents have arranged for guards to patrol streets at night without barriers or access restrictions—showing that community security does not necessarily require controlled entry points.

However, good intentions don't fix the absence of legal oversight and clearly defined limits on authority.

Power, once acquired, rarely remains limited to its original purpose. Residents in various localities have expressed concerns that some committees extend their influence beyond security matters. Parks, playgrounds, community spaces and other local affairs can come under informal oversight, with decisions affecting entire neighbourhoods being shaped by a small group without any legal or democratic mandate.

There is also the issue of personal privacy and dignity. Visitors, domestic workers, delivery riders and service providers are frequently questioned before being allowed entry. A security check is routine. Being interrogated by a guard before you enter your own street is not.

Guards employed by private committees are not law-enforcement officers and do not have legal powers of investigation or interrogation, yet their approval often determines basic movement within neighbourhoods. In some areas, residents also report that security arrangements create disturbances of their own—particularly around entry points during late hours.

A clearer divide is also visible across the city’s socio-economic areas. In upper-middle-class neighbourhoods such as Gulshan-e-Iqbal, Nazimabad and PECHS, gated streets and barriers have existed in various localities for years. In more affluent areas such as DHA and Clifton, security is typically managed at the household level through private guards. In contrast, lower-middle and middle-class areas rely more on collective arrangements, with security organised through informal committees and shared funding models.

Equally concerning is the role—or absence—of public institutions. Where are the municipal authorities? Where are the anti-encroachment departments? In particular, enforcement agencies appear largely absent, despite such barriers falling within their mandate. The silence of relevant institutions has allowed informal arrangements to flourish in a legal grey area.

The trend also raises concerns about emergency access. Barriers and restricted routes may delay ambulances, fire brigades and other emergency responders. While committees often claim to ensure emergency access, public infrastructure should not depend on private discretion during critical moments.

The answer to Karachi’s security crisis cannot be the gradual privatisation of public space. Citizens have every right to demand safety, but not at the expense of legality, accountability and civic freedoms. Public roads are not private property, neighbourhoods are not gated estates, and security cannot be used to justify restricting movement, collecting funds without oversight, or concentrating authority in the hands of self-appointed groups.

Karachi needs better policing, stronger local government and more effective public institutions. What it does not need is the normalisation of a system in which public streets are quietly turned into controlled zones.

Nobody disputes that crime exists. What's unresolved is how a democratic society should respond to it.

If public roads can be blocked, residents charged, visitors questioned and movement restricted by informal groups, a larger question emerges: where does state authority end, and where does the authority of self-appointed committees begin?

In a city still waiting for its institutions to deliver, the quiet transfer of public authority to unelected committees isn't fixing the problem. It's a symptom of the state walking away from it. Whether Karachi chooses to accept that trend as normal is a question that deserves far more attention than it currently receives.