Drenched in Poverty, Drowned in Neglect

Asem Mustafa Awan

Islamabad: In the sweltering summer heat of Pakistan, where temperatures soar past 50°C, children are dying—not from disease, not from war, but simply from seeking relief.

The tragedy is stark. Young boys sneak out to cool off in ponds shared by livestock, only to drown in muddy, leech-infested water.

Their crime? Wanting a moment of escape.

Their sentence? Death by neglect.

This is no isolated event. Across Punjab and Sindh, stories pour in of children, some not yet ten, slipping away from their homes to bathe in makeshift reservoirs. These aren’t recreational pools—they’re open pits of bacteria and parasites.

These are water tanks meant for animals, not children. But in a land where water is rationed by poverty, not policy, people make do with what they have—or die trying.

Behind each drowning is a story of deprivation. What drives these children to the water isn’t just unbearable heat—it’s fear. Fear of crossing 200 electricity units. A household using 200 units pays just over Rs 2,000.

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But using one extra unit means the bill explodes to Rs 8,000 or more. In homes where the monthly income barely scrapes Rs 20,000, running a fan becomes a calculated risk. Coolers are unplugged. Fridges sit idle. In that suffocating heat, children look elsewhere for relief.

And so they wander. To stagnant ponds. To uncovered canals. To drainage ditches masquerading as swimming holes. What starts as a splash ends as a silence. Their lifeless bodies are pulled from the water hours later—too late for help, too early for death.

Meanwhile, the elite have backup generators, solar panels, and swimming pools cleaned twice a week. The children of the privileged swim under lifeguard supervision in manicured clubs while those of the poor drown in sewage. In gated homes, the cool hum of air conditioners drowns out the cries from the alleys outside. The contrast is grotesque.

The government’s response offers little comfort. Instead of making bathing areas safe or installing barriers, law enforcement patrols the ponds—ostensibly to prevent more deaths. In reality, reports suggest these patrols often turn into extortion squads. Poor families, desperate for any reprieve, are scolded, fined, or worse. Once again, policy is reduced to punishment.

This isn’t a heatwave problem—it’s a governance problem. The Public Accounts Committee, tasked with auditing national spending, has never once declared a corruption-free fiscal year. Taxpayers, especially the poor, bleed for services they never receive. Roads remain broken, clinics understocked, schools underfunded. And as always, the most vulnerable pay the highest price.

The same neglect plays out in other forms. Helmet fines, for example, were recently raised from Rs 200 to Rs 2,000—ostensibly for safety. But most daily wagers can’t afford a helmet that meets approved standards. Just like sugar and wheat scandals, the helmet drive reeks of profiteering masked as reform. Behind every “safety campaign” lies a procurement deal, a quota, a name with influence.

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The tragedy is cyclical. Before monsoon season, children die from heatstroke. With the rains come drowning deaths. Different season, same apathy. Every year, the story repeats. Every year, the headlines fade. The only thing that stays constant is the suffering.

According to the World Bank, 45 percent of Pakistan’s population lives below the poverty line. That number is likely understated. UNICEF reports that over 60 percent of children face food insecurity.

And yet, electricity tariffs are hiked. Safety rules are enforced without subsidies. No plan is made for cooling centers, mobile health units, or subsidized utilities during heatwaves. The poor are expected to obey without support, survive without resources, and die without notice.

It doesn’t take billions to install fencing around dangerous ponds. It doesn’t require a task force to distribute basic safety kits. What it requires is empathy—and that, it seems, is in shorter supply than water.

In contrast, the powerful continue to enjoy perks at public expense. Free fuel, electricity, air-conditioned offices, security convoys—all funded by taxpayers who can’t afford to cool a single room in June. The very officials drafting energy policy often pay no bills themselves. How can policy be just when the policymakers are insulated from its consequences?

This isn’t just about governance. It’s about morality. Children shouldn’t die for being poor. They shouldn’t be punished for trying to live. They shouldn’t be caught in a cycle where every choice leads to danger—whether it’s turning on a fan or stepping into a pond.

Pakistan’s summer of death demands more than statements. It demands action. The state must build protective infrastructure, regulate utility pricing humanely, and prioritize emergency services in heatwave-prone areas. It must treat the lives of the poor as lives—not as statistics.

Until then, every drowned child becomes an indictment. Every funeral, a question mark on policy. Every grieving mother, a symbol of national failure. And each pond, a quiet graveyard for the promises that never arrived.

Another season. Another tragedy. Another chapter in a long history of punishing the powerless—while the powerful sign new contracts and raise toasts behind gilded walls.

Asem Mustafa Awan has extensive reporting experience with leading national and international media organizations. He has also contributed to reference books such as the Alpine Journal and the American Alpine Journal, among other international publications.

The article is the writer’s opinion, it may or may not adhere to the organization’s editorial policy.