Sajjad Munir
Once again, nature has reminded us of its fury, and once again, we were unprepared. On Thursday, a powerful monsoon spell swept through northern Punjab, claiming over 60 lives and injuring nearly 300 people within just 24 hours. Rawalpindi, Chakwal, and Jhelum were among the hardest-hit areas. As water poured in from the skies, cities and villages were submerged, and emergency services scrambled to respond. The scenes were tragic, chaotic, and, above all, avoidable.
In Rawalpindi, torrential rains caused a sudden flood in Leh Nullah, flooding streets and homes across the city. The damage didn’t stop there. In nearby Chakwal, the River Soan overflowed and broke through a dam, flooding several villages and parts of Jhelum. Entire communities were cut off, and rescue efforts required the deployment of the army. People were airlifted or pulled from rooftops, a haunting reminder of the floods of 2022.
Other parts of Punjab, including Lahore, also experienced intense rainfall. Although the damage there was less severe, the city still witnessed yet another episode of urban flooding. Roads turned into rivers. Houses filled with water. And still, the government was caught off guard.
Disaster management authorities have now warned of four more intense monsoon spells expected before the end of August. These could be just as strong as Thursday’s storm, if not worse. The message is clear: this is not a one-time event, and more danger lies ahead.
What makes this crisis more troubling is not just the weather, but the response—or lack of it. According to officials, this year’s monsoon intensity is 60% to 70% greater than last year. Climate change is real, and it is clearly making weather patterns more extreme. But using climate change as a blanket excuse is not only irresponsible—it is dangerous.
Governments around the world are adapting to the challenges of climate change through planning, investment, and better governance. In Pakistan, however, we see the same failures repeated every year. Early warnings were issued well before the monsoon began. Disaster management agencies had informed all provincial governments of the risk. Yet, drains remained clogged, rivers were not cleared, emergency plans were either missing or ignored, and rescue teams were under-equipped.
This is not the first time we have suffered the consequences of poor planning and governance. The 2022 floods should have been a wake-up call. But instead of investing in infrastructure, early warning systems, and disaster preparedness, our political leadership continued to focus on public relations campaigns. Billions of rupees have been spent in Punjab alone on advertising and political marketing. That money could have been used to reinforce flood defences, clear drainage systems, or upgrade rescue services.
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The people who suffer most in these disasters are always the same—rural villagers, the urban poor, families living near nullahs and rivers, and those who lack the resources to escape or recover. These communities have every right to feel abandoned. The politicians who speak passionately about climate resilience rarely back their words with action. Plans are made on paper, but the funding is either too little or too late. Most flood-prone areas are still waiting for basic infrastructure improvements that were promised years ago.
What Punjab needs is not more promises or public relations, but a fully funded, long-term climate adaptation plan. This plan must focus on both structural improvements—such as better drainage systems, reinforced embankments, and floodwater storage facilities—and institutional reform to ensure better coordination, quicker response, and greater accountability.
Thursday’s disaster should not be seen as an isolated tragedy. It is part of a growing pattern of climate-related disasters, worsened each year by human negligence. Without bold and immediate action, we risk facing even worse outcomes in the near future—more deaths, more displacement, and even greater economic losses.
We must learn from what has happened, and not just repeat our regrets. Every monsoon should not become a national emergency. We have the data, we have the warnings, and we know the vulnerable areas. What is missing is the political will to act before disaster strikes.
The cost of inaction is always higher than the price of preparation. It is time for Pakistan—especially its provincial governments—to shift their focus from slogans to service. The lives lost on Thursday are not just numbers. They are a reflection of systemic failure and misplaced priorities. We cannot control nature, but we can control how we respond to it.
If we want to avoid more disasters like this, we must treat climate adaptation and disaster preparedness as urgent national priorities. That means investing in infrastructure, improving emergency systems, and empowering local communities to respond effectively. Only then can we hope to face the storms ahead—not as victims, but as a nation ready to protect its people.
