Flood crisis and collapse of governance

BY any measure, the scale of devastation unfolding across Pakistan is staggering. Since June, more than 700 lives have been lost to severe flooding, with the northwest province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KP) bearing the brunt. In just five days since August 15, over 300 people have died and nearly 1,000 have been injured, most in the mountainous district of Buner, followed by Swat, Shangla, Mansehra and Swabi. Entire communities are now left to dig through debris and boulders, searching for loved ones buried beneath. In the sweltering heat, the stench of decomposing bodies hangs heavy in the air. Meteorologists described the August 15 event as a rare cloudburst, 150 millimeters of rain in a single hour. But the real tragedy wasn’t the deluge. It was system’s predictably chaotic response, a crisis that laid bare the hollow core of the governance structures.

While KP drowned, Sindh and Baluchistan continued their descent into severe drought. This isn’t meteorological irony, it’s the result of seven decades of spectacular water mismanagement. In Buner, 73% of homes have been destroyed or partially damaged. Sixty percent of residents there, and 53% in Swat, can no longer support their families. The agricultural backbone of the region has collapsed: 80% of farmland in Buner is damaged, with farmers losing stored grains, standing crops and orchards. Nearly half of all livestock has died or been washed away. Forty percent of households are reporting cases of diarrhoea as water-borne diseases spread through contaminated supplies. Almost one-third of the population is showing signs of trauma, anxiety and psychological distress.

The human toll is heartbreaking. In Dalori Bala, residents described how raging waters and rocks swept through their homes after the cloudburst. Authorities confirmed the death toll in the region had risen to 365. Buner alone received over 150 mm of rain in one hour, killing more than 200 people, the single most destructive event of this monsoon season. Meanwhile, in southern Pakistan, heavy rains flooded major roads in Karachi, causing traffic gridlock and widespread power outages. TV footage showed cars floating on the city’s main thoroughfare, with rainwater entering homes in low-lying areas. Authorities reported 145 mm of rainfall and warned of further urban flooding.

This crisis echoes the catastrophic floods of 2022, when UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres called the event “a monsoon on steroids.” That disaster claimed over 1,700 lives and affected 33 million people. At its peak, a third of the country was underwater. Climate experts widely agree that human-induced climate change intensified the monsoon. Yet despite the scale of destruction, little has changed. Just three years later, history repeats itself. Rescue operations were delayed by 48 hours as bureaucrats shuffled approval of papers. Provincial authorities couldn’t deploy helicopters without federal clearance. Federal officials demanded cost-sharing agreements. People drowned while officials debated jurisdiction.

The Mi-17 helicopter crash, which claimed five crew members, epitomized dysfunction. More than an accident, it reflected broader systemic challenges: dependence on aging aircraft during flood emergency, limited navigation technology and procedural delays that left rescue teams underprepared during a critical emergency. This incident didn’t occur in isolation. It happened amid a national emergency where provincial authorities were already struggling to deploy helicopters due to bureaucratic gridlock. Owing to weakness of civilian institutions, disaster relief is governed by military command. The military render essential services during national emergencies.

Officials routinely cite “resource constraints” to justify their inaction. But this excuse rings hollow in a country that allocates just $47 million for disaster preparedness. The announced compensation of Rs 1.5 million per victim family ($5,300) follows a familiar pattern of misappropriation. During the 2010 floods, Pakistan’s Auditor General found 60% of international aid unaccounted for. In 2022, $1.6 billion in foreign assistance flowed in, yet millions still live in tents.

Recent scandals expose the depth of institutional rot. The Upper Kohistan mega-corruption case revealed PKR 30-40 billion siphoned off from provincial treasury accounts through forged cheques and phantom contractors, more than the entire annual budget of the Provincial Disaster Management Authority. International donors, too, bear a share of the responsibility. In 2023, the World Bank approved $2.3 billion for flood resilience projects in Pakistan. Yet, as those funds wend their way through the labyrinth of bureaucratic machinery, they dissolve into consultancy fees, feasibility studies and inflated cost overruns, consistently enriching the same politically connected firms.

The human cost of institutional failure became tragically clear in Buner, where residents received no advance warning despite meteorological forecasts. Mosque loudspeakers, traditionally used for emergency announcements, remained silent. Officials claimed the rainfall was “too sudden” to warn in time, yet the Pakistan Meteorological Department had issued alerts days earlier. The problem wasn’t prediction, it was paralysis. Warning systems exist on paper but collapse in practice, as responsibility diffuses across competing bureaucracies. Pakistan’s tragedy is not just natural, it is man-made. Until governance is reformed, institutions held accountable and disaster preparedness prioritized over defense spending and political patronage, the country will continue to drown, not just in water, but in dysfunction.

Written by: Assadullah Channa (The writer is an educator, based in Sindh.)

>> Source: Pakistan Observer