Urban Bystander
In the Seventh Year of the Silent Lens, a memo surfaced from the Ministry of Illusions — not sent, but discovered stapled inside a procurement file for biometric chairs. It confirmed what many had long whispered: Islamabad’s 2,758 surveillance cameras are “fully functional.” The system, it claimed, operates at 110% metaphysical efficiency. “All cameras remain active,” it read, “in spirit, if not in socket”. It concluded solemnly: “Omnipresent. Omniscient. Operative.”
Then someone got mugged in G-9 — and all we had was a blurry image of a cat. The Ministry has since denied the mugging, the memo, and, if pressed, the existence of G-9.
Launched in 2016 with 1,950 cameras, billions in borrowed goodwill, and a promise of 360-degree vigilance, the Safe City Project now boasts 2,758 cameras, with another 3,200 AI-enabled eyes en route. Officials promise total coverage by 2026. Public confidence, however, remains stuck at buffering, not because the system shows too little, but because it shows too late, or not at all.
By 2018, over 500 cameras had blinked out of existence. Authorities blamed fibre cuts, expired software, infrastructure strain, and occasional cosmic misalignment. But a footnote in the leaked memo offered a more poetic excuse: “The cameras have evolved beyond optics and now monitor public sentiment on a quantum level.” One senior official, speaking off-record from under his desk, added: “Some cameras have simply lost the will to see.”
One camera, last seen weeping quietly behind Melody Market after someone tagged it in a wedding video. Another simply gave up and became a selfie mirror outside F-7 Markaz.
When SP Tahir Dawar was abducted from Islamabad in 2018 the system reportedly entered “a period of contemplative silence.” Footage wasn’t missing, it had refused to render, out of embarrassment.
A year later, in 2019, compromising footage leaked online: a couple eating bun kebabs, a man waving suspiciously at a parking cone. Four officials were dismissed. Their severance included a framed NDA and a USB labelled Definitely Not Surveillance Material.
By 2023, the cameras themselves became targets, stolen in what the Ministry described as “public-private reappropriation”. Two later appeared in a TikTok cooking video from Rawat. No questions were taken.
In 2024, a hacker, reportedly angered after his face appeared in the 2019 leak, entered the system via a backdoor named “admin123.” He downloaded the cafeteria menu, the complaints log (status: Pending), and a file titled SafeCity_Final_Final2_REAL.pptx. Officials assured the public: “No data was lost, no one knew where it was to begin with.”
Today, wires dangle like old festival garlands across poles and trees. It is widely believed one line still connects to a toaster in G-8, which glows faintly during high-crime hours.
Surveillance duties have now returned to those best suited to the skies. A nosy mynah near Aabpara runs unlicensed community surveillance and reports to the Deputy Director of Preventive Invisibility. Babloo, the Zone III pigeon, monitors rooftop bonfires and unlit chai spots. He has filed a complaint about the mynah’s unauthorised flyovers, last seen stuck in a printer jam since February.
Meanwhile, the e-challan system thrives, the allegedly dormant, traffic cameras remain inexplicably efficient. One driver was fined while parked inside his imagination. “True security,” the Deputy Director said, “is a feeling. And feelings aren’t always recorded.”
Elsewhere, cities march on. Singapore’s cameras predict danger. Tokyo’s recognise your dog. Chicago’s detect gunfire mid-latte. Islamabad’s? They have transcended optics. They are pure potential, unburdened by evidence, untroubled by crime.
But the illusion of safety must go on. “We are watching,” says the Safe City. And who are we to disagree? 2,758 eyes, 14 servers, one toaster in G-8 — and not a single clue when it matters most.
