Across the world, the harsh realities of climate change are becoming impossible to ignore. From wildfires in Europe and record heatwaves in the Gulf to hurricanes battering North America, nature is striking back with a force that feels unfamiliar in its scale and frequency. Scientists have long warned that a warming planet would bring more intense storms, erratic weather and fragile ecosystems pushed to the brink. For Pakistan, one of the most climate-vulnerable countries, these warnings are no longer forecasts but lived realities.
This summer, the skies over Pakistan did not just rain, they burst open. In August, flash floods and cloudbursts swept across Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Gilgit-Baltistan and Azad Jammu and Kashmir, turning valleys into rivers of destruction. In Buner, more than a hundred people were killed in a single spell. In Bajaur and Battagram, families were buried under mud and debris. Ghizer in Gilgit-Baltistan reported multiple deaths after roads collapsed and bridges were washed away. More than 1,300 tourists trapped in Mansehra’s Siran Valley were rescued, a rare success in a season of tragedy.
Nationwide, the toll has climbed above 550 deaths since late June. Thousands more have been injured or displaced. For many families, this monsoon has been a cycle of evacuation, loss and mourning. Pakistan has faced floods before, but what makes this year stand out is not only the scale of destruction but the speed and frequency of disasters.
Cloudbursts, once rare in the Himalayas, are now striking Pakistan with alarming regularity. These violent storms can unleash more than a hundred millimeters of rain in an hour, creating instant flash floods. In valleys where slopes are steep and channels narrow, water behaves like a wall of rock and mud, sweeping away homes, crops, livestock and people. What was once called freak weather now feels like the new normal.
The science explains why. A warmer atmosphere holds more moisture, about seven percent more for every one degree Celsius of warming. That means when the skies open, rainfall is heavier. A recent study by the World Weather Attribution group concluded that monsoon rainfall in Pakistan was at least ten to fifteen percent more intense due to human-induced climate change. Many Pakistanis already know this truth instinctively: the country is paying the price for a crisis it did not cause.
Local factors magnify the destruction. Unusually high summer temperatures accelerated glacial melt in Gilgit-Baltistan and Chitral. Rivers were already swollen when the rains began. Glacial lakes destabilized by heat burst their ice dams and joined the torrents. Years of deforestation have stripped hillsides of cover, while unchecked construction on floodplains has left entire communities in harm’s way. In cities, blocked drains meant rainwater had nowhere to go but into homes and streets.
Institutional failures added to the losses. The Meteorological Department issued warnings, but many villages never received them. A farmer in Bajaur said he realized danger was coming only when he heard the roar of water behind the hills. By then, it was too late. Families in Battagram fled with children in their arms, only to be overtaken within minutes. Every year, government response is limited to damage management, not even damage control, with little thought for long-term sustainability. Without political will to invest in resilience, the cycle of destruction and relief will continue.
The responsibility, however, cannot rest with the state alone. The private sector must channel investment into green infrastructure, renewable energy and corporate initiatives that reduce vulnerability. Society as a whole must embrace climate awareness, from schools teaching preparedness to communities organizing volunteer rescue teams. Humanitarian organisations can provide training and equipment, but resilience has to be built into the social fabric.
Behind the figures are families torn apart: parents digging through mud for missing children, farmers watching their animals carried away, women who lost their only shelter and face the monsoon nights under open skies. For them, climate change is not an abstract theory, it is the river that swallowed their village.
The way forward requires more than relief. Early warning systems must be strengthened so alerts reach the last household in a valley. Natural defenses should be restored through reforestation and slope stabilization. Building codes and land-use laws must be enforced, and encroachments on waterways removed. Infrastructure must be redesigned for a changing climate, with elevated roads, reinforced bridges and safer homes.
Pakistan’s case also highlights the demand for climate justice. The country contributes less than one percent of global greenhouse gas emissions, yet pays one of the highest prices. In 2022, floods submerged one third of the nation. Three years later, we are again counting our dead and displaced. Adaptation is urgent, but without international financial and technical support, Pakistan cannot carry this burden alone
The 2025 monsoon is not just another season of loss, it is a warning from the future. Heavier downpours will come more often. The evidence is undeniable: our way of living is dangerously exposed. The question is whether we act now, or wait until the next cloudburst writes another headline of grief. The skies will open again, and whether the next torrent becomes another national tragedy depends entirely on the choices we make today.
The author is: A communications and media professional based in Islamabad .Email: [email protected]
