EVERY day, crowds gather outside the ruins of Gul Plaza. Every day, people wait for any word on the fate of their loved ones. They wait not for proof of life — no one survived — but for proof of death, for a chance to perhaps — somehow — identify the charred corpses and pieces of corpses, being brought out of the ashes.
They will be waiting a long time; such was the intensity of the blaze that the dead were rendered unrecognisable, their bodies charred black, their bones turned to ash. There is unreserved sorrow, there is eminently justified anger, and there is also that slim, singular glimmer of hope that is perhaps the only thing that sustains this city. And this hope comes not from the government (don’t be silly!) but from the people that flow through this city like life-giving blood through veins, from those very Karachiites who — loud, disruptive and messy as we are — are the only ones to come to our aid. These are the ones who offered to rush into the blaze themselves, who dove into sewer lines to save a child, who will stop to help you get your car out of a ditch or change a flat tyre.
We see them outside Gul Plaza, serving free tea and food and even perhaps bringing blankets for those waiting in despair. We see them as ‘posh’ malls, like Atrium and Dolmen, offer to open up their spaces for Gul Plaza’s retailers, with organisations like LadiesFund also stepping up to do the same, to name just a few.
There is a vacuum that the government cannot or will not fill.
We are also proud that Karachi is the birthplace of what the Guinness Book of World Records recognises as the world’s largest volunteer ambulance service — the Edhi Foundation — which has grown and inspired countless other such organisations. But there’s also a hint of bitterness in that pride because we know that the need for such volunteer services is due to a vacuum that the government cannot or will not fill. Cannot, because there are very real issues of capacity, resources and competence. We know this. We also know — as we are told ad nauseam after any such tragedy — that the real problem is Karachi’s balkanised administration and dysfunctional divisions.
What we are never told is how to fix that, or whether there is even any intention of fixing it. Surely, by now the chief minister of Sindh, who has been in power for nearly nine continuous years, could have addressed this? Surely the energetic mayor of Karachi could have pushed for it? But instead, we are told that the fire safety report compiled by the KMC in 2024 was only presented to the CM a few days ago in the aftermath of Gul Plaza. Instead, we are treated to the spectacle of the Karachi mayor complaining about lack of ‘enforcement’ of existing laws and regulations without perhaps any awareness of who exactly is supposed to be doing the enforcement. Instead, we are told that the Sindh Building Control Authority is now going to crack down on errant buildings and builders, who have been told to get their fire safety act in gear in three days, as if the neglect of decades can be remedied in 72 hours.
Now the government has received a gift in the shape of Mustafa Kamal asking for Karachi to be made a federal territory, thus allowing the debate to seamlessly shift to the division of Sindh and conspiracies against the 18th Amendment. Fingers are pointed, insults and accusations exchanged and inaction is thus effectively masked under a cloak of righteous outrage. Nothing will change. We know this because we have been here before.
Let’s go back to 2012, when the Baldia factory fire claimed nearly 300 lives. In response, the Sindh High Court set up a judicial commission which duly submitted a report highlighting failures in building codes, noting that the Factories Act, 1934, needed to be implemented. The Sindh Assembly also passed excellent legislation — the Sindh Occupational Safety and Health Act — mandating safety committees, regular inspections, fire safety training, etc. The Act was praised by the Supreme Court, which urged other provinces to adopt similar laws. They did. All stakeholders — a term we are oh-so-fond of — were brought on board, and factory owners, workers and government officials sat together to work out a plan to avoid such disasters in the future.
And, believe it or not, some small progress was made; by the end of 2014, over 700 previously unregistered factories in Sindh were brought into the administrative framework. Task forces were made operational and defunct OSH centres across the province were reactivated. It didn’t last; nothing good ever does here. From 2014 onwards, we saw that the laws were not being enforced, inspections remained ineffective due to a combination of short-staffing, political interference and corruption and, well, you know the rest. And if you don’t, rest assured you’re about to see a replay.
The writer is a journalist.
Published in Dawn, January 26th, 2026
