Scorched in Silence: The Untold Struggles of Pakistan’s Private Security Guards
Fiza Zahid
Islamabad: As summer’s intensity scorches cities across Pakistan, thousands of private security guards stand vigil under the punishing sun — their presence largely unnoticed, their resilience rarely acknowledged.
Clad in suffocating polyester uniforms and earning meager wages, these men are stationed at the gates of homes, offices, banks, and commercial buildings, silently bearing the burden of safety and endurance. For them, each day is a battle — not only against rising temperatures but also against fatigue, neglect, and invisibility.
To shed light on the reality faced by these silent sentinels, the Associated Press of Pakistan (APP) spoke to guards from across the country. Their accounts paint a portrait of dignity in hardship and strength in silence.
“While others celebrate with their families, we stay on duty because security is a top priority during holidays,” said Muhammad Yaqoob, a security guard at a private bank in Islamabad’s Gulberg Greens. Originally from Rawalakot, Azad Kashmir, Yaqoob hasn’t taken a single day off — not even on Eid.
“It’s not easy to hear laughter from afar while standing guard,” he said, “but we do it so others can celebrate in peace.”
For many, the summer heat is not just uncomfortable — it’s dangerous. Standing for 12-hour shifts under the blazing sun, with no access to shade or rest, is an everyday reality.
Muhammad Rizwan, stationed outside a gated society in Karachi’s Gulistan-e-Johar, begins his shift before sunrise.
“There isn’t much shade where we are. Occasionally, we find a tree to stand under. There’s no place to sit, no rest room, not even a water cooler,” he shared.
Rizwan brings a plastic stool and a small thermos from home — his only respite during the long hours of vigilance.
While the physical strain is relentless, the uniforms themselves add another layer of suffering. Most guards are issued cheap polyester outfits — synthetic and stifling — that trap heat and offer no ventilation.
“This polyester fabric burns the skin,” said Naeem, a middle-aged guard posted at Lahore’s Golf Avenue Society. “We don’t choose these uniforms. They’re handed out. If someone can afford it, they buy a better version. Otherwise, we wear what we get.”
Medical experts warn of serious health risks. Prolonged exposure to heat, combined with long hours of standing and unsuitable clothing, can lead to dehydration, heatstroke, skin infections, and fatigue.
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“Polyester traps heat and prevents the skin from breathing,” explained Dr. Zainab, a skin specialist in Islamabad. “In hot climates, cotton is a much safer and healthier choice.”
Dr. Aqeel Abbas, who runs a hospital in Ali Pur Farash, emphasized the need for employers to take basic precautions.
“Employers must ensure access to shade, water, and regular rest breaks. These guards are frontline workers in extreme conditions.”
Despite the physical and emotional toll, the guards rarely complain. Fear of losing their jobs, coupled with limited alternatives, keeps most from voicing their grievances. Many are the sole breadwinners of their families, often living far from loved ones.
“My children live in Peshawar with their grandmother,” shared Saleem, a guard stationed at a private school in Quetta. “I see them twice a year. They think I work in a big city office.”
Some guards manage double shifts due to understaffing. Others speak of delayed salaries and the absence of medical or insurance support. Yet, their demands remain modest — cotton uniforms, a daily wage, a shaded rest area, and at least one day off a week.
“We don’t ask for much,” said Rizwan. “Just the basics. A chair in the shade. A glass of cold water. A break to breathe.”
In a country grappling with rising temperatures and a growing urban sprawl, perhaps it is time to truly acknowledge the human cost of round-the-clock security. These men — anonymous to most — guard not just gates and doors, but the daily rhythms of modern life, with a quiet dignity and resilience that too often go unnoticed.
It’s time to see them — not just as uniforms on the periphery, but as workers, fathers, sons, and citizens who serve without recognition.
The feature story was released by APP. All information provided in this report is the sole responsibility of the organization.
