| M |
y first encounter with internally displaced people (IDPs) was during the catastrophic floods of 2010, when I visited parts of south Punjab. Among the many haunting images that have never left me was that of families sitting under the open sky, stripped of everything they had owned, with only a small trunk—holding their daughter’s dowry—tied to the highest branches of an old tree, the last possession spared by the waters. Equally distressingly unforgettable were the stories of people forced to make impossible choices between saving their children or their livestock, some choosing the latter, because the survival of their animals meant the survival of everyone who depended on them. Fifteen years on, the tragedy feels painfully familiar. Pakistan is once again in the grip of relentless floods, this time beginning with flash torrents in the northern districts of Buner, Swat, Mansehra and Bajaur, before surging into the Punjab and Sindh. Rivers swollen beyond recognition have swallowed villages, destroyed crops and forced millions to flee. The sight of people uprooted, clutching what little they can salvage, reminds us that the human toll of displacement is not measured in numbers alone, but also in memories of homes, livelihoods and lives washed away.
Hundreds of people are known to have died, many more are stranded: parents trying to shelter children, elders caught unawares and people whose quiet lives were swept into chaos by water that came too fast. In the Punjab, meanwhile, three rivers—the Ravi, Chenab and Sutlej—have swollen beyond recognition by relentless monsoon rains, submerging towns and farmland. More than four million people across the country have been affected. Over two million have been forced to flee, not knowing when, or if, they’ll ever return home. The floodwaters spread daily, and with them spreads fear that this disaster is far from over.
Rescue operations have been extensive. They also underscore the sheer scale of the crisis. In Jalalpur Pirwala, for example, more than 25,000 residents were evacuated overnight. Even so, tragedies unfolded during these frantic efforts. In some cases, boats capsized in floodwaters, killing families, including children who had only been pulled from collapsing homes. These stories illustrate just how fragile and perilous evacuations become when disasters strike suddenly and communities are left with little or no time to prepare.
The brunt of displacement has been borne by Pakistan’s most vulnerable. Low-income communities, agricultural labourers and smallholder farmers have seen their homes and fields washed away, stripping them of their livelihoods. For countless families, the loss has been twofold: the roof over their heads and the land that sustained them are both gone. Many now find themselves in crowded relief camps or living under temporary shelters, dependent on overstretched aid. For the poor, who had no savings or safety nets, the floods have not only destroyed possessions but also erased fragile means of survival. The psychological trauma of losing homes, land and hope has compounded the physical hardships, creating a sense of despair among those who are already the least resilient.
For many, however, leaving behind their homes is not an option they can accept. Villagers who have lived on the same land for generations often resist evacuation, even as waters rise, because their homes, livestock and fields are all they have ever known. Their reluctance is compounded by the state’s record in past disasters: lofty promises of rehabilitation seldom translate into lasting recovery. Survivors have watched pledges of full compensation fade into bureaucratic delays and incomplete programmes. In the face of a disaster of this scale, assurances of comprehensive rehabilitation sound hollow. For those being asked to abandon everything, the fear of never regaining even a fraction of what is lost makes displacement feel like an irreparable wound.
The floods have also exposed deep systemic weaknesses in our system. As the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan observed, these disasters are “no longer merely natural.” These are aggravated by negligence and poor governance. Deforestation, weak infrastructure, unchecked encroachments and corruption have made matters worse. Construction on floodplains and the absence of serious land-use planning mean that communities remain directly in harm’s way. Many analysts have pointed out the failure to invest in resilience; to modernise the water management systems and to enforce environmental protections.
In the face of mounting losses, the government has declared a climate and agricultural emergency. This signals recognition, at the highest level, that floods, erratic weather and crop destruction are no longer sporadic misfortunes but systemic threats needing urgent policy action. Beyond symbolism, the declaration has arrived at a time when food inflation is already noticeable. Prices of wheat and tomatoes have surged by 10-12 percent in many markets within a few weeks as supply chains are disrupted and crops lie ruined.
For a people already stretched by rising costs, unemployment and unfulfilled disaster-relief promises, the hope of full rehabilitation, though vital, seems too much in the short term. The scale of damage—crops over millions of acres, livestock and homes—makes guarantees of complete recovery appear unrealistic.
One of the clearest lessons from the catastrophe is the urgent need for robust early warning systems. Timely alerts and predictive tools can make the difference between orderly evacuation and tragic loss of life. In some areas where warnings were issued effectively, evacuation, though still difficult, was more systematic and gave families precious hours to move to higher ground. Where warnings were late or absent, the outcomes were much worse. An effective system allows farmers to harvest crops early, secure livestock or prepare emergency storage. It ensures that women, children, elderly people and those with disabilities, who are often the last to leave or the least mobile, are not left behind. Most importantly, it reduces the likelihood of being trapped in rising waters with no chance of escape. Early warning also helps governments and relief agencies mobilise resources ahead of time; pre-position food, medical supplies and shelter; and coordinate rescue operations more effectively. Without these, the response remains reactive rather than proactive, and the poorest continue to pay the heaviest price.
Looking ahead, several measures could reduce future displacement and human suffering. Pakistan needs to establish a nationwide early warning infrastructure that uses satellite data, river gauges, weather forecasting and community alerts to monitor flood threats. These systems must be tied to local education and preparedness drills so that even remote and underserved communities understand evacuation routes and gathering points.
Strategic reforms in land-use and urban planning are essential. Preventing construction on floodplains, reclaiming encroached land, restoring natural waterways and investing in modern drainage would lessen future risks. Reforestation and watershed management can help slow runoff, reduce soil erosion and increase absorption capacity, mitigating the worst impacts of heavy rainfall.
For small-scale farmers, flood-resilient crops, raised storage platforms and crop insurance schemes could provide a buffer against the repeated cycles of loss that now define their lives. Equally important is the transparency and equity of relief operations. Aid must not be politicised or distributed through patronage networks; it must prioritise the needs of the most marginalised, restoring dignity and trust to those who have lost everything. Policy reform, including the long-overdue establishment of a national water policy, investment in reservoirs and modernisation of the canal system, is vital to ensure that climate science informs development.
The waters will eventually recede. What they leave behind—shattered lives, broken trust and the realisation that the disaster will likely recur—cannot be ignored. For the families huddled under tarpaulins or stranded on embankments, survival today does not erase the dread of tomorrow. Pakistan’s floods are not a one-off calamity but recurring tests of resilience that demand more than short-term relief. Unless early warning systems are strengthened, land use is reimagined and governance matches the urgency of the climate crisis, displacement will continue to be written into the lives of the most vulnerable. The choice before us is stark: either invest in foresight and protection or watch as each monsoon washes away more than homes, eroding hope.
The writer is a communications, public relations and sustainability professional. Her X handle is FatimaArif.