In June 2025 disastrous flooding hit Pakistan once again. Lengthy monsoon rains not only displaced thousands of people and destroyed crops worth millions but also overwhelmed the already confused and fragile local administrations. For many Pakistanis, the scenes felt disturbingly familiar.
The catastrophic floods of 2022 had submerged nearly a third of the country, affecting more than 30 million people, and exposed the limits of state capacity in responding to climate disasters. As climate shocks return with increasing frequency, disasters are no longer exceptional events in Pakistan. Limited state capacity leaves gaps in disaster responses which come to be filled by religious welfare organizations who provide human aid and shelter to the first line victims.
Climate disasters in Pakistan are usually analysed in terms of humanitarian loss, climate vulnerability, or governance & administrative failure. Far less attention is being paid to how disasters reshape religious authority and moral power. Yet moments of ecological collapse do more than destroy homes, dams and infrastructure. They generate urgent questions of meaning. Why did this happen? Who can explain suffering? And who has the authority to offer moral guidance when the state falters?
Pakistan has seen this dynamic before. Twenty years earlier, a natural disaster transformed not only the landscapes and lives, but the religious, social and political order of an entire region.
Earthquake of 2005: A Tragedy Unfolded Differently
On 8th October 2005, a sudden violent shaking of the earth surface struck northern Pakistan, devastating large parts of Pakistan-administered Kashmir, Hazara Division and Malakand Division. It was one of the deadliest natural disasters in the country’s entire history. Around 73,000 people were killed in seconds, around 2.8 million were left without a home, and over 7,000 schools were damaged.
Beyond the shocking human toll and miseries, the earthquake produced a profound collapse of governance in the affected regions. Roads disappeared, hospitals were destroyed, and the state institutions proved unable to meet even basic human aid. In far-reaching areas, relief arrived either late or not at all. Medical and ration camps became overcrowded and chaotic, and frustration with the official responses grew quickly.
Into this gap where government and administration were absent came a range of non-state actors, including religious and sectarian groups that mobilised relief, shelter, and moral explanation stepped in. For survivors searching not only for food and medicine but also for meanings and healings on what they have lost, these actors offered something that the state could not, an explanation of suffering that linked loss to moral purpose.
Welfare work and Religious Extremism
Among the most consequential of these actors was the Tehreek-e-Nifaz-e-Shariat-e-Muhammadi (TNSM), a movement that had long advocated the enforcement of Islamic law (Sharia) in parts of north-western Pakistan and in tribal areas dominated by Pashtuns. After the earthquake, TNSM had re-established its presence through welfare and rehabilitation activities, filling gaps left by an overwhelmed state institution.
Many characters emerged after the tragedy in the affected region, in particular Mullah Fazlullah, a famous cleric who used radio broadcasts to reach wide audiences across Swat, Kalam, Mingora and surrounding districts. His sermons and speeches did more than encourage charity and welfare. Fazlullah framed the earthquake as Azab-e-Elahi (the divine punishment by Allah) for moral transgression. This narrative interpreted the disaster as not random or natural, but rather, as a warning from Allah to live strictly according to Quran and Sharia (Islamic Law).
The message was severe but compelling in a moment of uncertainty and chaos. If suffering had a religious cause, it could also have a religious cure. Obedience to Allah, moral reform, and strict religious discipline were presented as paths not only to salvation but a protection from future calamities.
In a time of distress, humanitarian assistance and moral authority were fused together. Aid was not offered as neutral relief but as part of a moral & religious project. Through these welfare networks, community pressure and sermons, Fazlullah positioned himself as the one legitimate interpreter of suffering who could explain disaster, impose order and promise redemption and salvation.
Disaster Worked as an Opportunity
What unfolded in the post-earthquake Swat was not only the rise of fundamentalism and militancy, but a reordering of religious authority made possible by natural disaster. Disasters perform as social stress multipliers: they intensify already existing inequality, religious discrimination, weaken institutions, and opens space for alternative forms of leadership and authority.
Scholars of South Asian history have long noted how moments of administrative collapse allow religious authority to expand into governance and social regulation. David Gilmartin’s work, for example, shows how religious actors historically gained authority by mediating between moral order and political uncertainty.
In Pakistan, where religio-political parties already influence politics and public life, environmental catastrophes galvanise this role. When the state recedes, authority does not disappear but rather relocates. Those who can provide aid, explanation, and discipline gain legitimacy.
The longer-term consequences of this transformation became visible in the years that followed. Fazlullah’s authority did not remain confined to sermons and welfare. Over time, moral legitimacy hardened into coercive power. By the late 2000s, Swat witnessed the enforcement of strict social codes, orthodox Islamic rule, attacks on girls education, and violent punishment of dissent.
Only later did Fazlullah become internationally known as the Taliban commander associated with the attempted assassination of Malala Yousafzai in 2012. By then, his authority was already deeply rooted in northern tribal areas. It had been built not in sudden moments of open conflict, but in the aftermath of a natural disaster through relief work, religious explanation, and the moral disciplining of everyday life to those who have nothing in hand but faith.
Understanding this trajectory is significant because it challenges common assumptions about militancy and religious fundamentalism. Extremist leaders do not emerge fully formed in moments of episodic violence or polemic debates. They often consolidate authority earlier, during crises that appear humanitarian rather than political and channel their power gradually.
This does not mean that disaster inevitably produces religious extremism. But it does mean that climate adaptation cannot be understood solely in technical or institutional terms. Religious, social, cultural and ideological dimensions matter too. Who explains suffering? Who defines moral order in times of collapse? And whose authority grows when the state recedes are highly important questions specially when the state has serious national security issues.
Rethinking Climate Security in Pakistan
Policy discussions on climate security often focus on infrastructure, governance reform, and international aid. These are essential. But they remain incomplete if they ignore how disasters reshape social and religious authority.
The lesson from 2005 is not that religion directly causes violence. Rather, it is that disasters create moments of moral uncertainty and chaos and those who can translate suffering into meaning as Azab-e-Elahi gain power and influence. In Pakistan, where climate shocks are becoming annual routine, these moments are no longer exceptional.
As floods return year after year, the question is not only how many homes will be rebuilt and how many new climate relief projects Pakistan will get, but who will emerge as trusted interpreters of loss and hope. Understanding this dynamic is important, not just for preventing future violence, but for imagining more inclusive and resilient forms of climate adaptation.
Image: At a flood relief camp outside a religious seminary in Rawalpindi (author’s image).