It can no longer be denied that Pakistan is bleeding on its roads. Every year, over 30,000 traffic accidents are registered, resulting in nearly 6,000 confirmed deaths, and innumerable maimed, disabled, orphaned and grieving families. Official statistics covering past years show a consistent pattern: for example, between 2016 and 2021, there were more than 51,600 crashes resulting in some 28,179 fatalities. In some years alone, the death toll climbed to over 5,800, and injuries numbered in the tens of thousands.
Why does Pakistan continue to suffer this epidemic of “traffic-murder”? Because the system does not treat it as murder. Because of privilege, perks, and protocol, these allow powerful families to circumvent accountability, while ordinary people pay with their lives. Because infrastructure is rotten, enforcement is weak, and public safety is considered optional.
In every large city – from Karachi to Lahore to Islamabad – reckless driving, gross negligence, speeding, unlicensed drivers, unroadworthy vehicles, and bad roads form a lethal cocktail. Experts estimate that in some provinces over 60–70 per cent of accidents result from reckless driving and overspeeding; in other cases, poor infrastructure and lack of pedestrian protection are at fault. In the province that includes Lahore (Punjab), accidents account for more than half of all crashes nationally, and fatalities per accident remain among the highest.
Worse: many of the vehicles on our roads, motorbikes, heavy vehicles, and large SUVs, are poorly maintained, often unregistered, and driven by people with little or no training. When tragedies happen like two young girls crushed by an SUV, the wheels of justice somehow stall. Accused individuals may be shielded by family influence; law enforcement may “botch the case”, and the cousins, sons or daughters of the well-connected may evade accountability.
Abuse of “protocol” and “privilege” has poisoned the idea of justice. It is not only the blaring corruption of “pardoning” killers who drive recklessly; it is the implicit social contract that powerful people do not lose anything even when lives are lost. It sends a chilling message: laws exist for the weak, not for the powerful.
Consider, by contrast, how some other countries address road safety – and why their systems, though imperfect, deliver markedly lower carnage.
The girls crushed under that Land Cruiser, their families forced to forgive the killer under pressure, are not an exception. They are a symptom of a broken system
In Dubai (UAE), fatality rates have dropped sharply over the past two decades. According to authorities, traffic deaths per 100,000 people fell from 21.7 in 2007 to just 1.8 in 2024 – a more than 90 per cent reduction. Pedestrian fatalities likewise plunged, and the combined rate of fatalities and serious injuries dropped drastically. Their success is credited to a “safe-system” approach: improved road engineering, strict enforcement, public awareness campaigns, reforms to licence issuance and vehicle use, plus collaboration between transport authorities and police.
In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia (KSA), a rapid decline in road-crash deaths has also been recorded: between 2016 and 2021, the number of road-crash fatalities dropped nearly 35 per cent. This was achieved through a high-level government commitment – a ministerial committee combining the ministries of health, transport, interior and others – to enforce stricter traffic laws, improve public awareness, and tighten vehicle regulation.
Even in populous democracies such as India, where the absolute number of road-accident deaths remains staggering (recently, daily death tolls approach 485, amounting to over 177,000 fatalities in a year), there is growing recognition and pressure to address reckless driving, overspeeding and poor infrastructure. Some states and localities are pushing reforms – though enforcement remains inconsistent.
Meanwhile, in high-income countries like the United Kingdom (and other European peers), road-traffic fatality rates per 100,000 population are among the lowest globally, thanks to decades of investment in safe roads, strict licensing, enforcement, public transport and trauma care.
What does Pakistan learn or refuse to learn from these comparisons? Three central failures emerge:
First, a failure of governance: our institutions lack the will or capacity to enforce traffic laws impartially when the offender is powerful. The fact that accused children of judges or elites are “pardoned” by victims’ families – under social, economic or political pressure – erodes public trust completely. When the state abandons victims in favour of powerful perpetrators, what deterrent remains?
Second, a failure of infrastructure and regulation: our roads are not built with safety in mind. Pedestrian pathways, proper signage, road maintenance, lane discipline, and safe crossings are all neglected. Reports by road-safety assessments show that only a tiny fraction of roads in Pakistan meet even minimal safety standards for pedestrians, bicyclists or motorcyclists. Vehicle-safety standards, licensing honesty, and inspection systems are all weak.
Third, a failure of social accountability: reckless driving, overspeeding, underage driving, unlicensed driving, SUV-culture, sense of entitlement – all flourish in a society where privilege shields individuals from consequences. The ordinary citizen – the scooty rider, the motorbike rider, the poor pedestrian pays.
If Pakistan does not act – with leadership, authority, and reforms – these tragedies will continue, and perhaps worsen. What we need is more than grief: we need a movement. A movement for justice for victims, accountability for perpetrators, system-wide reforms: safe roads, strict enforcement, fair and transparent legal process. We need to treat reckless driving that kills innocent people as murder, not an accident to be pardoned.
We need to demand from our leaders: no more protocol above the law. No more privileges for the powerful. No more pardons for lives lost. Because a life lost cannot be replaced by money, by apology, by dismissive “sorry”.
If Dubai could engineer a 90 per cent drop in traffic deaths, if Saudi Arabia could slash its road-crash fatalities by a third in five years, if other countries can treat road safety as a national priority, then so can Pakistan. What remains missing is political will, societal courage, and a sense that every citizen’s life matters, no matter who they are, no matter whose child they are.
The girls crushed under that Land Cruiser, their families forced to forgive the killer under pressure, are not an exception. They are a symptom of a broken system. It is high time Pakistan healed, starting from its roads and from its broken justice.