hands that clean

The hands that clean Karachi

KARACHI: Before the city wakes up, thousands of sanitation workers are already at work. They sweep roads, collect household waste, clean neighbourhoods and, in some cases, enter sewer lines and manholes to clear blockages. Among them are many workers from Christian and Hindu communities who perform some of Karachi’s most difficult and hazardous jobs.

On August 11, Pakistan observes National Minorities Day. The occasion is usually marked with messages about equality, tolerance and the contribution of minority communities to the country. But for many minority sanitation workers in Karachi, the day will be no different from any other: they will be out cleaning the city, often while facing low wages, insecure employment, inadequate safety equipment and social discrimination.

Their problems extend beyond poverty. They include workplace safety, access to healthcare, employment benefits and the stigma attached to the occupation itself.

There is no reliable and up-to-date official figure showing exactly how many Christian and Hindu sanitation workers are currently employed in Karachi. A World Bank-linked environmental and social assessment, however, recorded around 11,400 sweepers and sanitary workers employed by the city’s district authorities. It also noted additional workers employed through SSWMB contractors and a large informal workforce involved in door-to-door waste collection and material recovery.

The 11,400 figure therefore does not represent Karachi’s entire sanitation workforce. The actual number is considerably broader once outsourced, daily-wage and informal workers are included.

Sanitation work in Pakistan has for decades been disproportionately associated with religious minorities. Research by Amnesty International has documented the concentration of Christians and Hindus in sanitation work and found evidence of discrimination in recruitment, employment and working conditions.

The issue therefore begins well before a worker picks up a broom. It is also about whether people from particular religious and social backgrounds are being denied opportunities to enter other occupations.

The question of wages is equally important. The Sindh government has announced a minimum monthly wage of Rs43,000 with effect from July 1, 2026. While the announcement is significant for low-paid workers, the more important question for sanitation workers is whether the amount actually reaches them.

A substantial part of Karachi’s sanitation work is performed through contractors, outsourcing arrangements and daily-wage employment. Previous reporting has documented workers employed through SSWMB contractors receiving wages below the applicable minimum wage. In one reported case, a minor working for an SSWMB contractor was receiving Rs15,000 a month when the minimum wage for unskilled workers was Rs32,000.

The new Rs43,000 minimum wage therefore requires more than a government notification. It requires effective enforcement and monitoring, particularly where public sanitation services are outsourced. If a worker performs essential public work through a contractor, there must be clarity about who is responsible for ensuring that he receives the legally prescribed wage and other employment rights.

For sanitation workers, however, low wages are not the only concern. The nature of the work itself can be fatal.

In September 2025, three sanitation workers died in Karachi’s Usmanabad area after inhaling toxic gases while cleaning a manhole. The victims were identified as 22-year-old Vishal, 19-year-old Shahir and 42-year-old George. A fourth worker survived after being rescued.

The deaths were followed by further fatalities. In October 2025, The Express Tribune reported that six sanitation workers had died from suffocation while cleaning sewers in Karachi in just over a month. The deaths occurred in Sohrab Goth, Garden and Landhi. According to the report, the victims were privately hired daily-wage workers who lacked adequate safety equipment and training.

On April 17, 2026, three private sanitation workers died in Surjani Town after inhaling toxic fumes while cleaning a choked sewerage line. Police identified the deceased as Wilson, Waqas and Nazeer and said all three belonged to the Christian community.

Such incidents follow a familiar pattern. A worker enters a sewer to clear a blockage. Toxic gases overcome him. Another worker may enter in an attempt to rescue him and can suffer the same fate. Without proper protective equipment, gas detection devices, training and rescue arrangements, a routine cleaning operation can quickly turn into multiple deaths.

The exact number of sanitation workers who have died in Karachi is difficult to establish because there is no comprehensive publicly available official database covering municipal, private, contracted and informal workers.

In October 2025, activist Naeem Sadiq told Arab News that approximately 100 manual scavengers die every year in Pakistan, including around 30 in Karachi. He also warned that the actual number could be higher because of underreporting. The figure is an activist estimate rather than an official government statistic, but it illustrates the scale of the concern.

At the national level, Amnesty International documented 80 sanitation workers who died in 50 manhole incidents between 2011 and 2023. Of these, 40 were Christians, 22 Muslims and 18 Hindus. Most of the deaths were associated with poisonous gases and asphyxiation.

The figures highlight a wider concern: minority workers are disproportionately represented in some of the most hazardous sanitation jobs, while also facing social and economic disadvantages.

A survey by the National Commission for Human Rights of 42 sanitation workers in Karachi provides further evidence of poor working conditions. Thirty-three workers, or 78.6 per cent, said they had never been provided personal protective equipment. Twenty-four, or 57.1 per cent, reported workplace injuries. The same number reported verbal or physical abuse, threats, non-payment or other forms of discrimination.

These findings raise a basic question about Karachi’s sanitation system: the issue is not only who will clean the city, but under what conditions the people cleaning it are expected to work.

Another study involving 400 sewerage and sanitary workers in Karachi found that 228, or 57 per cent, were sweepers and 172, or 43 per cent, were sewerage workers. The study found that 96.5 per cent had not been immunised against typhoid, hepatitis and tetanus, while 91 per cent were not using safety equipment at work.

For workers exposed daily to sewage, waste and potentially toxic environments, protective clothing, gloves, boots, masks, vaccination, health examinations and emergency support should not be treated as additional benefits. They are basic occupational safety measures.

The risks, however, do not end at the workplace.

Sanitation workers also face social stigma because of the nature of their occupation. Amnesty International found that 44 per cent of questionnaire respondents experienced stigma because of their profession. Workers reported derogatory names and discriminatory treatment in public places, including segregation involving food and eating utensils.

In Karachi, some workers say people avoid shaking hands with them, sitting beside them or even talking to them. There is also a perception among sections of society that physical contact with sanitation workers can somehow transfer germs.

Such attitudes turn a person’s occupation into a social identity. The irony is that the same society that produces enormous quantities of waste every day can treat the person removing that waste as though he himself is unclean.

A sanitation worker may clean the road outside a house in the morning, collect its waste and clear the surrounding area. Yet his uniform can become a reason for social distance once his work is identified.

The question is what happens after the worker removes that uniform.

If a person spends eight or 10 hours handling waste, sewage and contaminated material, responsibility for his health cannot end when his shift does. Sanitation work exposes workers to biological, chemical and physical hazards, yet many remain outside secure employment structures, particularly those hired through private contractors or on daily wages.

This creates a gap between government responsibility and private employment. The city needs the worker, the contractor needs the worker and the public needs the worker. But when that worker is injured, becomes seriously ill or dies, responsibility can become less clear.

Sanitation workers therefore need more than a monthly wage. They need secure employment, payment of the legally prescribed minimum wage, access to healthcare, social protection, occupational health examinations, vaccination, proper protective equipment, gas detection equipment, training before entering confined spaces and appropriate rescue arrangements. Families of workers who die or suffer permanent disability because of workplace accidents also need effective compensation and support.

There must also be a clear chain of responsibility between government agencies and private contractors.

The issue has implications for the next generation as well. Amnesty International has found evidence of discriminatory recruitment practices in which sanitation work is disproportionately associated with religious and caste identity. In its questionnaire, 55 per cent of respondents identified caste or religious identity as a factor in discriminatory recruitment and hiring practices.

Some workers reported that once employers knew they were Christian, sanitation work was effectively the only work offered to them.

This can create a cycle that is difficult to break. Limited employment opportunities push people towards sanitation work; the occupation becomes associated with particular communities; that association reinforces social stigma; and the same pattern can continue into the next generation.

A child from a sanitation worker’s family should not have to inherit the occupation simply because of his or her religion, caste or family background.

This is where National Minorities Day needs to move beyond ceremonies and statements.

The Christian and Hindu sanitation worker does not necessarily ask society to celebrate his occupation. He needs a safe workplace, a fair wage, medical protection and basic employment rights. He needs his family to be protected if he is killed at work. And he needs to be treated with the same dignity as any other worker.

The Sindh government’s Rs43,000 minimum wage is an important step, but its real test will be whether the money reaches the workers for whom it was intended.

The test of labour protection will be whether a sanitation worker can enter a sewer without putting his life at unnecessary risk.

And the test of minority rights will be whether the society that depends on these workers is willing to treat them with dignity.

Karachi’s cleanliness depends on people whose work is often invisible. Their contribution becomes noticeable only when garbage remains uncollected or a sewer is blocked.

On Minority Day, remembering minority citizens should therefore mean more than acknowledging their presence. It should also mean recognising the workers who keep the city functioning, ensuring that their rights are protected and questioning why those who clean Karachi are so often denied dignity themselves.

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His life remains compelling evidence that a single individual, guided by unwavering principles, extraordinary perseverance, and profound compassion, possesses the power to alter the course of history and leave an indelible legacy for generations to come. Nelson Mandela’s life demonstrates that while another individual may one day attain comparable moral stature and global influence, becoming another Nelson Mandela in the truest sense is extraordinarily difficult. His greatness did not stem merely from his imprisonment for twenty-seven years or his election as the

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    There is a particular kind of exhaustion that sets in when a war refuses to end on schedule. Five months into the conflict between the United States and Iran, we are living through it. Ceasefires are announced and collapse within weeks. Strikes are billed as decisive and are followed, days later, by more strikes. Each side insists the other will soon come to its senses, and each side is wrong. What we are watching is not a war moving toward resolution. It is a war that has become self-sustaining, and the longer it runs, the more countries get pulled into its logic whether they wanted a role in it or not. Saudi Arabia is the clearest example. For nearly four years, Riyadh had quietly extracted itself from the Yemen war, treating the 2022 ceasefire with the Houthis as one of the few unambiguous foreign policy wins of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman’s tenure. That restraint is now gone. When the Houthis resumed missile fire at Israel in solidarity with Tehran, and then began striking Saudi oil infrastructure directly, Riyadh had no real choice but to respond. It bombed Hodeidah. The Houthis retaliated against Aramco facilities in Yanbu and Jizan. A conflict Saudi Arabia spent years trying to bury is now, again, live on its border, not because Riyadh chose it but because a war between Washington and Tehran left no room for neutrality. This is the pattern worth naming plainly: nobody in this conflict is fighting the war they intended to fight. Washington launched its campaign framed around Iran’s nuclear program, wagering that decisive strikes would force capitulation or collapse. Instead it has strikes running past the two-week mark with no clear terminus, American service members killed in Jordan and Iraq, and a president publicly conceding that the exit could be “diplomatic or military” — which is another way of saying nobody currently knows how this ends. Iran, for its part, has responded to devastating strikes on its cities not with capitulation but with exactly the kind of asymmetric, proxy-driven defiance its doctrine was built for, activating fronts in Iraq, the Gulf, and now Yemen that cost it little and cost everyone else a great deal. The Strait of Hormuz tells the same story in economic terms. Daily vessel traffic through one of the world’s most important oil chokepoints has fallen to a small fraction of its prewar level. That is not an abstraction. It shows up in tanker insurance premiums in Piraeus and London, in fuel costs in Mumbai and Rotterdam, in the balance sheets of countries that have precisely nothing to do with this fight. War aims that once seemed narrowly bilateral — Washington versus Tehran, over centrifuges and missile stockpiles — have metastasized into a tax on global trade that nobody voted for and nobody can opt out of. It is tempting, watching this unfold, to look for a single culprit. Commentators sympathetic to Washington will point to Iran’s decades of proxy warfare, its nuclear ambiguity, its crackdown on its own protesters, and argue the current campaign is simply overdue accountability. Commentators sympathetic to Tehran will point to a US-Israeli strike that killed Iran’s Supreme Leader and ask what state, faced with the assassination of its head of state, would not treat that as an act of war demanding a response. Both arguments contain real grievances. Neither survives contact with what has actually happened since: a conflict that both sides insist is about narrow, defensible aims but that neither side has been able to keep narrow. Wars rarely stay the size their architects intend. What should worry observers most is not any single strike or retaliation but the absence of an exit ramp anyone believes in. Ceasefires here have not functioned as steps toward peace; they have functioned as pauses for rearmament, evidenced by how quickly each one has collapsed back into nightly bombing. That is the signature of a conflict without a theory of victory — one where both governments can inflict real pain on the other indefinitely, but where neither can convert that pain into a settlement it can sell to its own public. In that kind of war, the fighting does not stop because someone wins. It stops, if it stops, because the costs finally exceed what either government’s domestic politics can absorb — and on the evidence of the past five months, that threshold keeps receding rather than approaching. Saudi Arabia’s reluctant return to the Yemen battlefield should be read as an early warning rather than a footnote. It shows how a conflict that both Washington and Tehran describe as fundamentally about themselves keeps finding new participants who never agreed to join. If this war continues on its current trajectory, the question worth asking is not which superpower prevails, but how many other countries, currencies, and shipping lanes get quietly conscripted before it does.

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