Articles are hitting headlines – and hearts – as Karachi is once again ranked among the least liveable cities in The Economist’s latest global survey. The metropolis is stated to have ‘ranked 170 on a list of 173 countries, and a score of 42.7 on the index score, with a score of 100 being most liveable’. Accounting for five categories: health care, culture and environment, education, infrastructure and stability, the feature leaves people wondering whether Karachi really is as bad as it seems. Constantly finding itself being the target of memes and stereotypes, the only labels it appears to attach itself with are polluted, thievery and dangerous.
But perhaps the real question isn’t why Karachi ranks so low – but why we’re so quick to agree.
Having spent several months of each year in my Nani’s house in the relatively central part of Karachi, we were always recited a list of cautions before stepping outside the folds of our home. ‘Keep your phone down, hide your jewelry and don’t wave around your possessions.’ The popular saying, ‘look both ways before crossing the road’ was implemented all too well there, with people looking both ways and behind their backs each time they were walking in public. But what made Karachi the way it is now?
A disorderly mixture of factors such as historical shifts, political instability and weak governance all layered onto the city’s geography. Post-partition in 1947, an influx of refugees resulted in the city’s population doubling almost overnight. This sudden demographic boom not only overwhelmed the city’s infrastructure but also created deep ethnic divisions that further led to political conflict. Claiming to represent the rights of the Muhajirs, MQM along with political groups such as PPP violently fought for control. Ethnic groups became politicized and often, weaponized.
Although weak law enforcement is a characteristic seen across the country, Karachi suffered the most, with such fragility allowing mafias, extortion networks and political militias to thrive. Land grabbing, water & electricity theft, and smuggling became normalized in certain areas, feeding a shadow economy. Municipal services that were meant to be readily available such as water, sanitation and waste disposal remained underfunded, or in more clear-sighted words, mismanaged. Even now, not a square-inch of Karachi remains clear without garbage littering the streets like confetti.
Sharah-i-Noorjahan is littered with garbage.—Fahim Siddiqi / White Star
Newspapers refuse to show mercy, adopting the same old narratives when it comes to describing Pakistan’s former capital. However, what such acclaimed papers overlook, as do many, is the heartbeat of creativity, entrepreneurship, and unyielding spirit that lies beneath such headlines.
Art and activism in the city have flourished against all odds. Aurat March, also known as Women’s March, started in Karachi in 2018. It began as a collaboration between women’s collectives and the Pakistani #MeToo movement. The first march was held on International Women’s Day, March 8th, in the city. Now evolving into an annual protest held in Pakistan to advocate for women’s rights and challenge patriarchy, the organization has expanded to be held in major urban areas, and has become a focal point for social and political debate.
Even though it frequently sparks criticism and controversy, it has been successful in shattering taboos surrounding subjects like consent, reproductive rights, and domestic abuse. The movement has empowered a new generation of feminists and directly challenged patriarchal standards by reclaiming public spaces and employing daring, imaginative protest art and slogans. Its yearly presence has made it hard to overlook women’s demands in spite of opposition.
T2F, also known as The Second Floor, is a community space founded by Sabeen Mahmud that promotes democratic discourse and conflict resolution through intellectual and cultural engagement. T2F includes a cafe, bookstore, and exhibition gallery, and hosts a variety of programs, performances, workshops, and seminars. In a country where free speech is limited and expression has been constrained to Pakistani societal norms, T2F serves as a refreshing change in environment that provides a safe space for people of all kinds. Unfortunately, the cafe carries the legacy of its founder, who was shot and killed by a gunman while returning home from a seminar that hosted a debate on the Balochistan conflict.
Despite incidents like these that serve as a stark reminder of the world outside spaces such as T2F, terrorism and underdevelopment has never given the residents of Karachi a reason to back down. The recent Gul Plaza incident became a focal point for communities and local citizens to gather together to offer reconstruction, private rescue coordination and worker compensation. All this was done ahead of official systems.
In the forgotten Lyari, teachers work tirelessly to give children a way out – not just from the hardships around them, but towards a life beyond them. Their classrooms become small spaces of hope in a place too often defined by struggle.
On one of my many visits a few years ago, I was taking Quran classes with a teacher of mine who lived in a fairly backwards part of the city. While floods from the monsoon weather were something that didn’t really bother us, we were also fortunate enough to feel this way, as those who belonged to impoverished areas did not have the luxury of sitting back and enjoying the change from the humid weather.
I had rang her phone this one particular evening when we were seeing on the news how homes had been flooded, and before anything else, had asked her how the situation was on her end. The following is a paraphrase of what she said to me, which undeniably speaks for the resilience of Karachi’s community. “Korangi’s submerged. There’s no government help, so we started cooking at home and giving out packets on our own. Strangers joined us. We didn’t ask who was Sindhi, Baloch, or Muhajir – we just worked together. That’s Karachi. When no one else comes, we show up for each other.”
Last year, Kitab Ghar along with Inspire Pakistan and UNHCR hosted a fantastic display of art made by Afghan refugee youth in Karachi titled, ‘Even Though I Was Silenced’. A great achievement on behalf of not only the beautiful artists but also a step towards social cohesion, and not one newspaper can be found reporting on such a stride.
What this country lacks is self-appreciation and self-recognition. Instead of celebrating our sports players, we see them cooking street food for a living. Rather than encouraging our daughters to pursue swimming in international competitions, we doubt why they stand on that platform in the first place. Pakistan, but specifically Karachi, anchors some of the most wonderful stories in the world, without anyone to listen to them.
If our reporters took a break from talking about the latest infrastructural destruction, they would find that there is much more to this city than meets the eye. They would find a city pulsing with creativity, resilience, and quiet triumphs. They would meet young poets performing in hidden cafés, women leading flood relief drives, and children in Lyari playing football with Olympic dreams in their eyes. They would see artists painting resistance on crumbling walls, startups rising from one-room tiny flats, and strangers building solidarity where the state has failed. They would find that Karachi is not a headline of despair, it is a heartbeat of possibility, just waiting to be heard.
