Comments
LETTERS TO LA -
Wildfires have caused historic, unprecedented destruction in Los Angeles, but our region is not alone. We asked people who have survived natural disasters in communities around the world to write letters to us to share what they have learned about what comes next.
Islamabad, Pakistan
Every disaster is different.
But in every case, people immediately need an influx of resources—tons of them. I’ve been a disaster logistics coordinator for almost 24 years, getting supplies, medicines, volunteers, and services to affected areas and helping people rebuild amid large-scale destruction. It takes a village (or two, or three), and a lot of collaboration with local, national, state, and international governments and organizations. Angelenos might find some useful insights in my experiences, now and in the coming weeks.
I lost my mother at 12 and barely survived a cocaine addiction in my teenage years, so you can say my life has been a disaster of sorts. I guess I came into this line of work semi-prepared. I played music professionally for a good two decades (I still play music for my charity’s fundraising efforts and still wear tie-dye shirts) and was visiting New York City to play for some record executives in 2001. I’d gotten a deal from music biz legend Sid Bernstein, who brought the Beatles and the Rolling Stones to the U.S., and he set me up with a showcase gig at CBGB. It was scheduled for September 12.
After the 9/11 attacks, I sprang into action. I left my hotel, headed down to the site of the fallen Twin Towers, and helped set up an outdoor convenience store for first responders with food, medicine, socks, underwear, supplies, dust masks, Visine, and medicines just a block from Ground Zero. It was at the corner of Church and Liberty Streets, across from Zuccotti Park, just outside a temporary NYPD headquarters set up inside a Burger King. It became a hub where people would get things and drop things off. I ditched music and shifted into humanitarian work, and, since then, I’ve worked in almost 30 different disaster zones across 15 different countries—earthquakes, floods, tsunamis, hurricanes, typhoons, and conflict zones.
Since 2005, I’ve lived in Pakistan, running Comprehensive Disaster Response Services, a non-profit that specializes in humanitarian aid and development work during and after disasters. Floods have become more frequent here: The Indus River’s 2010 flood was the biggest in Pakistan’s history (at the time). Flooding from torrential downpours in 2011 now seems small in comparison to 2010; 2022’s floods were the worst—immense and widespread. Balochistan, Sindh, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Gilgit-Baltistan, Azad Kashmir, and parts of Punjab were all hard hit. An area approximately the size of Italy was submerged in the Indus River Basin, affecting 30 million people. Over 1,700 deaths, over 2 million homes destroyed, and at least $40 billion in damages.
I have 135 employees now: doctors, healthcare professionals, engineers, operations experts, drivers. We work all over Pakistan, can go anywhere in Pakistan within two to 24 hours, and can stay there for as long as needed.
In 2022, our work began in August where the floods began, in Balochistan near the Afghan border, a full month before the floodwaters moved into Southern Punjab and Sindh and the public really became aware of the disaster. Thousands of villages were completely flooded—some under a couple of feet, some under 30 feet of water. Vast areas were completely cut off and supply lines and trucks were obstructed. Many who left their flooded villages camped out with whatever they had: a charpai (a simple bed made from rope and wood), or a tent and a few belongings. People congregated on elevated highway roadsides, which became like islands.
That’s where we came in. As soon as I got word of the flash flooding, I put my team into action, placing orders for supplies and food, arranging transport, and informing donors so funds could start flowing. We were able to reach even the remote locations of Qila Abdullah, Qila Saifullah, and Qamar Din Qare, and provide rations and medicines. Over the next three weeks, I traveled by road from Pakistan’s northernmost villages all the way down to Karachi, on the Arabian Sea, visiting several projects along the way.
Those living on the flood plains in Pakistan know there is risk of flooding, like those living in California must know there is some risk of fire. But in both cases, the natural disaster was worse than people thought it would be.
My organization delivered food, diapers and baby products, hygiene products, tents, blankets, mosquito nets. Each tent village had food, water, a generator, fuel, a masjid, and a community center for people to congregate and for kids to play and have school lessons. We set up a dozen community kitchens that served hot meals every day—rice, chickpeas, daal, and chicken. The Pakistan Army provided boats, trucks, and manpower. We did the best we could to make people comfortable in extremely challenging conditions.
Our doctors set up medical camps to manage gastroenteritis, cholera, and all kinds of waterborne diseases, providing care and medications for malaria and chronic ailments like diabetes and high blood pressure. In some highly populated areas where people were displaced, our engineers pumped the endless supply of floodwater through filtration units we deployed, making it safe for drinking. Our veterinary teams treated and fed over 25,000 goats, donkeys, cows, buffalo, and horses with grain and hay—saving people’s livestock and livelihood.
Through these efforts, we were able to assist hundreds of thousands of people in every province of Pakistan.
Disaster relief efforts end two ways: when the need runs out or when the money runs out. We rely on donor funds, the majority from Pakistani Americans. When there’s a big disaster, people give—and then after a year or so, especially if some other crisis happens, often that’s it. It’s understandable. People see something that’s more of an emergency, more acute, more in the news, and the money starts flowing to that.
One reason this disaster was so bad was that many impoverished people lived in the flood plain, where the soil is fertile and they could make a decent living growing crops. But the downside is when there’s a major flood, they get displaced and lose whatever property and sources of income they had. And then there were many towns and cities that flooded that weren’t necessarily the poorest of society; the floods were very tough for them, too. They’re used to a higher standard of living.
I imagine this is how Angelenos who lost their homes are feeling. Those living on the flood plains in Pakistan know there is risk of flooding, like those living in California must know there is some risk of fire. But in both cases, the natural disaster was worse than people thought it would be.
Much more could’ve been done by local, state, and federal governments to prevent the devastation, in both Pakistan and in California. We hope our local leaders and politicians will be proactive, but most often they are caught unprepared. They also have their own agendas and ideas of where they want to spend their time and resources, some self-serving. Citizens should force elected officials to take these kinds of things seriously and put systems in place to help reduce the impact of a disaster once it hits. Because once it hits, all bets are off.
I’ve seen firsthand so many people victimized by disasters. And one thing that I can say, it’s cliche but it’s so important: If you and your family made it out, you can rebuild. It’s going to take time, it’s going to be a terrible thing to go through, but you’ll be alright. There will be good people that will step forward to help you.
(Todd Shea is founder and CEO of Comprehensive Disaster Response Services. Primary editor: Talib Jabbar | Secondary editor: Eryn Brown. Republished from ZocaloPublicSquare.org)
