- By: Awrang Khan
When one-third of Pakistan lay underwater during the catastrophic floods of 2022, television screens were filled with dramatic rescues and heartbreaking images of families stranded on rooftops. For weeks, the disaster dominated headlines and talk shows. Then, as the waters receded, the cameras quietly moved on. They returned again in 2025, this time to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa’s mountainous district of Buner and surrounding valleys, where sudden cloudbursts and flash floods tore through villages with terrifying speed. Houses were swept away within minutes, roads collapsed, bridges vanished, and entire communities were cut off from rescue teams. Landslides buried homes. Families fled in the dark with nothing but the clothes they were wearing. Across the country, the monsoon season left more than a thousand people dead, thousands injured, and over two hundred thousand homes damaged or destroyed. Yet once again, when the immediate drama faded, so did the national conversation..
This familiar cycle reveals a troubling truth: in one of the world’s most climate-vulnerable countries, traditional media still treats climate change as breaking news rather than a permanent emergency. Pakistan’s television channels, newspapers, and radio networks — platforms that shape daily public opinion — largely reduce the climate crisis to occasional disaster footage. They rush to cover tragedy but rarely stay long enough to examine its causes or consequences. In doing so, they miss a critical opportunity to inform, educate, and mobilize society. Traditional media in Pakistan has enormous influence. It frames elections, sets political agendas, and defines what the public considers urgent. For millions, especially in rural and mountainous regions with limited internet access, television and radio remain the only reliable sources of information. When these platforms neglect an issue, it effectively disappears from public consciousness.
Climate change is precisely the kind of complex issue where consistent media guidance matters most. Most citizens do not read scientific reports or climate models. They rely on journalists to explain what melting glaciers, rising temperatures, and erratic monsoons mean for their everyday lives. Without sustained coverage, the crisis feels distant, something unfortunate but unavoidable. Instead, Pakistan’s media remains reactive. Coverage spikes during floods, heatwaves, or smog episodes, then fades once the immediate crisis ends. Climate disasters are framed as unfortunate acts of nature rather than the predictable result of policy failures, poor planning, deforestation, and unchecked urban expansion.
The consequences are visible everywhere. The 2022 floods displaced more than 30 million people. Karachi’s recurring heatwaves have silently claimed hundreds of lives. Lahore frequently ranks among the world’s most polluted cities. And now districts like Buner, Swat, and Shangla have faced increasingly violent cloudbursts and flash floods that arrive with little warning. In Buner this year, entire villages watched helplessly as torrents of muddy water surged through narrow valleys. Crops were destroyed overnight. Schools and clinics were damaged. Rescue workers struggled to reach stranded families because connecting roads had simply disappeared. For residents, climate change was not an abstract debate — it was the sound of rushing water smashing through their doors. Yet switch on prime-time television and you are far more likely to see political shouting matches than discussions about flood preparedness, water management, or renewable energy.
Sensational politics attracts ratings. Climate reporting demands patience, expertise, and long-term commitment. As a result, environmental stories are pushed to the margins while partisan drama dominates airtime. This imbalance is not merely disappointing, it is dangerous. When media fails to sustain attention on climate issues, policymakers escape scrutiny. Governments feel little pressure to strengthen early-warning systems, enforce building regulations, or invest in resilient infrastructure. Industries that pollute operate with minimal accountability, and silence becomes complicity. Even when climate issues are covered, the quality often falls short. Reports lack scientific depth, expert voices, or meaningful context; complex problems are oversimplified into brief headlines. Few journalists receive specialized environmental training, making it harder to convey the scale and urgency of the threat.
Traditional media still holds unmatched reach and credibility. A single television segment can reach millions. A front-page investigation can spark national debate. Few institutions possess comparable power to shape public attitudes and behavior. Used wisely, this influence could transform Pakistan’s climate conversation. Imagine nightly segments explaining how deforestation worsens flooding. Investigations into why housing schemes are approved on floodplains. Documentaries following farmers adapting to drought. Regular expert panels discussing solutions instead of merely displaying destruction. Most importantly, human stories must remain at the center. When viewers see a farmer in Sindh losing crops, children missing school after floods, or families in Buner rebuilding homes from mud and debris, climate change stops being a distant concept. It becomes personal. And when it becomes personal, it becomes political.
There are encouraging signs. Young activists, NGOs, and independent journalists are raising awareness online. Social media campaigns are filling some gaps. But digital efforts alone cannot replace the authority and mass reach of traditional media. Without television, radio, and major newspapers, climate communication remains fragmented and limited. Pakistan cannot afford that fragmentation. The country contributes less than one percent to global emissions yet suffers disproportionately from climate impacts. This injustice demands louder, more consistent coverage, not quieter headlines. Editors must rethink priorities. Climate change should not be treated as a seasonal topic that resurfaces only during disasters. It deserves dedicated desks, trained reporters, and regular airtime, just like politics, business, or sports. Partnerships with scientists and universities could improve accuracy. Sustained reporting could build long-term awareness and push policymakers toward action.
Audiences, too, share responsibility. Viewers must demand better journalism and support outlets that provide it. Media organizations ultimately follow public interest. But leadership must begin inside newsrooms. Journalism’s purpose is not merely to entertain or chase ratings. It is to inform society about the issues that determine its survival. Few issues are more consequential than climate change. The next flood, the next heatwave, the next village washed away in places like Buner is not a question of if, but when. The cameras will return, as they always do. The real question is whether Pakistan’s media will finally stay long enough to tell the deeper story — and help prevent the next disaster — or once again turn away when the water dries