Mahtab Bashir
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
Islamabad
When floods drown villages, when earthquakes level homes, and when lives are lost not by dozens but by thousands, a familiar chorus rises in Pakistan: “It is the wrath of God.”
It’s a refrain repeated with solemnity, broadcast from pulpits and parliaments alike. But is this divine anger or human failure dressed in spiritual language?
Let’s ask a simple question:
Why is it always the poor who face God's so-called wrath?
Why do slums collapse while gated colonies stay standing?
Why do tin roofs fly, but ministerial mansions hold firm?
For countless years, the blueprint for building dams and water reservoirs has gathered dust, while clogged drainage systems and crumbling embankments are left to rot with indifference. Emergency protocols, if they exist at all, are relics of a forgotten era, ignored until disaster strikes. These floods are not acts of God, but symptoms of man-made apathy, where corruption drowns responsibility, and pious rhetoric becomes a smokescreen for failure.
Why do countries like Japan and the Netherlands, where religion is often a private affair, not public policy, survive nature’s worst with minimal loss of life? Why does Tokyo stand when tremors shake its core? Why doesn’t Amsterdam drown beneath the sea?
Let’s ask a simple question:
Why is it always the poor who face God's so-called wrath?
Why do slums collapse while gated colonies stay standing?
Why do tin roofs fly, but ministerial mansions hold firm?
Every year, as monsoon rains swell rivers and inundate cities and villages across Pakistan, devastating floods become a grim routine rather than an unforeseen disaster. Yet, instead of proactive planning, investment in infrastructure, or timely relief measures, the state often responds with complacency wrapped in fatalism. Leaders and officials deflect blame by calling these disasters the “wrath of the Almighty,” using divine attribution as a shield against scrutiny. This narrative conveniently masks decades of mal-governance, rampant corruption, and institutional decay that have left the country vulnerable to predictable natural events.
For countless years, the blueprint for building dams and water reservoirs has gathered dust, while clogged drainage systems and crumbling embankments are left to rot with indifference. Emergency protocols, if they exist at all, are relics of a forgotten era, ignored until disaster strikes. These floods are not acts of God, but symptoms of man-made apathy, where corruption drowns responsibility, and pious rhetoric becomes a smokescreen for failure.
Why do countries like Japan and the Netherlands, where religion is often a private affair, not public policy, survive nature’s worst with minimal loss of life? Why does Tokyo stand when tremors shake its core? Why doesn’t Amsterdam drown beneath the sea?
Because they plan.
Because they prepare.
Because they do not blame the skies for what they failed to fix on the ground.
In Pakistan, however, we hide behind faith like a curtain. A broken dam is not an engineering failure; it is a “test from Allah.” A collapsed school was not poor construction; it was “God’s will.” This mindset is not humility - it is a refusal to take responsibility.
It is easier to declare a flood a punishment than to ask why illegal housing projects were allowed in floodplains.
It is easier to weep and pray than to admit that funds were eaten by corruption and roads were built without drainage.
It is easier to blame “sin” than to confess to incompetence.
This is not piety, it’s escapism.
And this escape has a cost: real human lives. Children buried under rubble. Families swept away by rivers that should’ve been dammed, diverted, or at least warned of. Each time we declare these disasters "divine tests," we pass the blame upwards, and in doing so, we fail every test of governance below.
Let’s be clear: God is not in the negligence that failed to reinforce a bridge.
God is not in the embezzlement that left relief camps empty.
God is not the one who rejected science, disaster training, and early warnings.
If anything, God endowed us with the intellect to prevent such tragedies, and we chose to ignore it.
The Quran itself encourages reflection, planning, and the pursuit of knowledge. Yet, in Pakistan, we have made faith an excuse to not think, to not build, to not prepare. We have confused surrender with laziness, and patience with passivity.
Because they do not blame the skies for what they failed to fix on the ground.
In Pakistan, however, we hide behind faith like a curtain. A broken dam is not an engineering failure; it is a “test from Allah.” A collapsed school was not poor construction; it was “God’s will.” This mindset is not humility - it is a refusal to take responsibility.
It is easier to declare a flood a punishment than to ask why illegal housing projects were allowed in floodplains.
It is easier to weep and pray than to admit that funds were eaten by corruption and roads were built without drainage.
It is easier to blame “sin” than to confess to incompetence.
This is not piety, it’s escapism.
And this escape has a cost: real human lives. Children buried under rubble. Families swept away by rivers that should’ve been dammed, diverted, or at least warned of. Each time we declare these disasters "divine tests," we pass the blame upwards, and in doing so, we fail every test of governance below.
Let’s be clear: God is not in the negligence that failed to reinforce a bridge.
God is not in the embezzlement that left relief camps empty.
God is not the one who rejected science, disaster training, and early warnings.
If anything, God endowed us with the intellect to prevent such tragedies, and we chose to ignore it.
The Quran itself encourages reflection, planning, and the pursuit of knowledge. Yet, in Pakistan, we have made faith an excuse to not think, to not build, to not prepare. We have confused surrender with laziness, and patience with passivity.
If natural disasters were punishments, then the sinful capitals of the world would be dust. But they stand - protected not by morality, but by infrastructure. They don't rely on divine mercy alone. They rely on policies, systems, and respect for the laws of nature that God Himself set in motion.
So, quite an emotional stuff. But, again, the question is:
As pledges of aid begin pouring in from countries around the world, Pakistan’s political leadership and bureaucracy wait eagerly, not to rescue the flood victims, but to oversee the inflow of funds they see as yet another opportunity for personal gain. While the poor wade through stagnant waters, salvaging what little remains of their lives, the powerful prepare to count donations and quietly channel them within their own circles.
By the time the funds are "disbursed," the floodwaters will have receded, leaving behind devastated communities and forgotten promises. For the victims, survival means bracing for yet another monsoon, another year, another flood, the same betrayal.
So, quite an emotional stuff. But, again, the question is:
When disaster strikes in Pakistan, is it really God’s wrath, or our own betrayal of the duty to protect our people?
Until we stop blaming heaven for what we haven’t done on earth, we will continue to dig graves with our negligence and blame the heavens for the deaths.
