It’s one of the toughest jobs in the world, Mayor of Karachi. Whatever you do, you can never make everyone happy. It’s also a thankless job, because whatever happens that is bad in the city, you will be blamed for it. And whatever good you do or try to do will generally go unnoticed, with little or no praise, the usual refrain being: “Oh, so what, he’s just doing his job.”
I happened to meet Karachi’s Mayor, Barrister Murtaza Wahab, some days ago. He is already two-and-a-half years into his four-year term as mayor of one of the world’s biggest, most complex and most challenging cities. Karachi is not just a megacity; it is a constantly expanding organism with decades of accumulated neglect, overlapping authorities, fractured governance, and expectations that far exceed the resources available to any one office.
I asked him if he plans to run for mayor again. His response was characteristically restrained. He said this was a decision for the party and that if he was entrusted with the task again, he would be there to serve. It was not the response of a politician obsessed with the next election, but of someone focused on the job at hand.
Our conversation naturally turned to the deeply tragic manhole incidents that have dominated headlines in recent weeks. The Mayor said that he, his administration, and his team at the Karachi Metropolitan Corporation (KMC) were doing everything possible to prevent such incidents from recurring. The scale of the problem, however, is immense, and so is the responsibility.
Karachi’s sheer size often gets lost in the emotion of these tragedies. Administratively, the city is divided into 25 towns, each governed by a Town Municipal Corporation (TMC) that receives funds from the KMC. Each TMC is further divided into union councils, of which Karachi has 246.
These union councils are directly responsible for municipal services in their jurisdictions. After the recent manhole tragedy, the Mayor’s office immediately released Rs 100,000 for each union council, specifically earmarked for covering missing manholes. That is not a symbolic gesture; it is a practical intervention designed to decentralise responsibility and enable immediate action at the grassroots level.
Karachi has long suffered from a politics of blame, where governance failures are personalised, ethnicised, and weaponised
The most recent tragedy, disturbingly, was entirely avoidable. The manhole cover was not missing; it had been removed and placed to the side. Why this happened is under investigation. But as the Mayor himself acknowledged, no investigation, no report, and no fixing of responsibility can bring back the life of a child. That loss is permanent, and it is devastating.
In 2025 alone, a staggering 27 precious lives were lost in Karachi due to manhole-related incidents, many of them children. This is a number that should shame all of us. The pain of the grieving families cannot and must not be forgotten. Accountability is essential. But, as the Mayor stressed, these tragedies should not be reduced to political point-scoring exercises.
“We all live in this city, and we all have to take ownership of it,” he said. “I expect opposition parties like Jamaat-e-Islami to oppose what I am doing, that is their role. But what about ordinary residents of Karachi? There is this automatic bias against the PPP and against Sindhis, as if they are all corrupt regardless of any work they may have done for the city and the province.”
It is a point worth reflecting on. Karachi has long suffered from a politics of blame, where governance failures are personalised, ethnicised, and weaponised. This approach may generate television soundbites, but it does little to fix broken infrastructure or save lives. Cities are not run through slogans; they are run through systems, budgets, coordination, and persistence.
Make no mistake about it, running Karachi is a deeply unforgiving job. You will never be able to please everyone. Even sincere efforts are met with cynicism, and structural reforms rarely produce instant results. Yet incremental improvements matter, even if they do not dominate headlines.
Take, for instance, the refurbishment of Karachi Zoo and Gandhi Gardens. Long neglected and written off by many, large sections have now been upgraded. The lion enclosure has been fully revamped and expanded, built along the lines of international zoo standards with open enclosures that prioritise animal welfare. These are not cosmetic changes; they reflect a broader attempt to reclaim public spaces and restore civic pride in a city that desperately needs it.
Similarly, work on parks, roads, underpasses, drainage, and solid waste management continues, often quietly, often without fanfare, and frequently amid criticism that ignores the constraints under which local government operates in Sindh. The Mayor does not control the city’s traffic, electricity, law and order, or major revenue streams, which come from the provincial or federal government, yet is routinely blamed for failures in all these areas.
None of this is to argue that criticism should be silenced or that mistakes should be ignored. On the contrary, scrutiny is essential. But criticism should be informed, fair, and constructive. Karachi will not be fixed by tearing down whoever happens to be sitting in the mayor’s office. It will only improve if institutions are strengthened, responsibilities are clarified, and continuity is allowed.
Barrister Murtaza Wahab comes across as someone acutely aware of these realities. He is not claiming miracles, nor is he denying problems. What he would like to see is a measure of fairness, a recognition of scale, and, in particular, a shared sense of responsibility.
Karachi deserves better than perpetual outrage and selective accountability. It deserves sustained governance, difficult decisions, and leaders willing to absorb criticism while continuing to work. In that context, supporting the Mayor’s efforts is not about party loyalty; it is about giving the city a chance to move forward, however slowly, towards being safer, more liveable, and more humane.