In the shadows of Pakistan’s rising skyline, amidst the hum of development and promise, exists a haunting paradox, the outstretched hand of a beggar. It is a hand not merely seeking alms but exposing a tear in the moral and structural fabric of society.
Beggary, though often viewed as a nuisance or a personal failure, is in fact a mirror held up to the face of a nation. It reflects not only poverty but systemic dysfunction, societal neglect, and the quiet normalization of human despair. In cities like Islamabad, Lahore, Peshawar and Karachi, the hubs of governance, culture, commerce, and diversity, the presence of beggars at traffic lights, markets, mosques, and even upscale neighbourhoods presents an unspoken indictment of our collective conscience.
The roots of beggary in Pakistan are tangled and deep, growing from centuries-old traditions of charity, socio-economic disparities, and modern failures of governance. Islam encourages almsgiving (zakat and sadaqa), making charity a virtue. But when charity becomes routine without accountability, it risks enabling professional begging rackets rather than alleviating need. What was once compassion has been commodified into an industry, often exploitative, occasionally criminal, and tragically permanent.
In Islamabad, the planned capital designed to symbolize order and dignity, beggary is disturbingly rampant. Outside its glittering diplomatic enclaves and posh sectors, barefoot children and disabled men crowd the intersections. Despite various drives by the ICT administration and police to arrest beggars or rehabilitate them, the phenomenon persists, shifting only in location but not in intensity. According to local estimates, over 6000 beggars operate in the capital, many trafficked from other provinces or managed by organized mafias. These networks transport beggars daily, allocate territories, and collect profits at the end of each day. Some even resort to maiming children to attract more sympathy, a horrifying reality hidden in plain sight.
Lahore, with its rich cultural heritage and status as Punjab’s heart, presents another troubling case. Despite being the seat of several provincial welfare institutions, the city sees thousands of beggars roaming streets, shrines and underpasses. Recent surveys suggest that the number of beggars in Lahore exceeds 25,000, a significant portion of whom are children. What’s even more alarming is the increasing trend of drug addiction among street children and beggars, linking the issue to a broader cycle of vulnerability, crime, and social decay.
In Peshawar, the capital of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and a gateway to the tribal belt, beggary takes on additional layers of complexity. War, displacement, and decades of instability have contributed to a large floating population of vulnerable individuals, including widows, orphans, and internally displaced persons. While many are genuine victims of conflict or poverty, the absence of a regulated welfare system has led to the emergence of exploitative networks. At major intersections, beggars, sometimes entire families, set up daily, with some reportedly earning more than minimum wage. Yet, they remain outside the ambit of formal economy, healthcare, or education.
Karachi, Pakistan’s economic powerhouse, offers a striking confirmation, a city that generates over 20 percent of the country’s GDP is also home to one of the largest beggar populations. The scale and diversity of the problem here are immense. Reports suggest over 130,000 beggars operate in the city at any given time, though exact numbers are elusive due to the migratory nature of the population and weak monitoring. The existence of beggary mafias is an open secret, with some reportedly enjoying police protection or political patronage. In some slums, begging is even passed down generations, a profession sustained by poverty, protected by complicity and ignored by policy.
As Pakistan aims for digital progress and global stature, it must not trample its most invisible citizens. Every beggar is a reflection of systemic failure. True development lies in lifting the lowest, for a nation’s moral worth is measured by how it treats its most vulnerable.
Across all major cities, one truth persists: the beggar is not just a passive recipient of charity but part of a broken system. This system fails to provide education, employable skills, safety nets, or rehabilitation.
The state’s approach has been fragmented at best. Despite the presence of laws criminalizing forced or organized begging, enforcement is erratic and often counterproductive. Arresting beggars without offering alternatives leads to revolving-door justice. Shelters, where they exist, are underfunded and overcrowded. Welfare departments often operate in silos, with little coordination between police, judiciary, and civil society. Moreover, there is little to no investment in understanding the psychological and economic drivers of the phenomenon, the trauma of children born into street life, the disabled left with no vocational pathways, the women turned to begging after being widowed or abandoned.
Beggary in Pakistan is not just an eyesore or a moral lapse, it is a deep-rooted socio-economic crisis demanding urgent attention. The state must move beyond viewing it as a nuisance and instead enforce laws against organized begging mafias while prioritizing rehabilitation. This includes vocational training, education for street children, shelter, and integration into society. Civil society, religious leaders, and philanthropists must shift from random giving to structured support through certified programs. Zakat and donations should empower, not entrap. Public campaigns must redefine compassion, from pity to practical help. Technology can aid with digital tracking, real-time reporting, and transparent aid distribution.
As Pakistan aims for digital progress and global stature, it must not trample its most invisible citizens. Every beggar is a reflection of systemic failure. True development lies in lifting the lowest, for a nation’s moral worth is measured by how it treats its most vulnerable.
