The world has been generous in its applause for Pakistan’s apparent solar energy surge. In speeches at clean energy summits and reports by development banks, the country is lauded for its leap in solar investment over the past two years. Billions of rupees have flowed into the sector. Solar panels are now more visible across rooftops and commercial structures, especially in urban centers. But despite the grand narrative of green progress, the question hangs uncomfortably in the air: has Pakistan truly stepped into a solar revolution? The answer is more inconvenient than inspiring. No, not yet. Not even close. For all the statistical triumphs and international headlines, the reality on the ground tells a story of misdirected intentions and uneven gains. The immense financial commitment to solar infrastructure has not translated into any meaningful public benefit for the average Pakistani.
Instead, it has largely padded the fortunes of the already powerful. At the heart of this misalignment lies a policy framework shaped by those who have the most to gain, not the most to lose. One of the most telling examples is the drastic, almost theatrical, reduction in import duties on solar equipment—by as much as 90 percent. It was presented as a policy to make solar more accessible, a way to bring clean energy to the masses. In practice, however, it served a select audience: real estate magnates, industrialists, and influential middlemen. The wealthy imported in bulk, stockpiled equipment, and swiftly deployed solar installations across private projects. Meanwhile, ordinary citizens—those facing the brunt of energy poverty—found themselves locked out, priced out, and increasingly frustrated.
There’s no shame in policy benefiting businesses, provided there is a public payoff. But that return simply never came. What makes matters worse is the simultaneous unfolding of another scandal: the exploitation of solar energy by independent power producers, or IPPs. These energy giants, already accused of profiteering under previous contracts, found new ways to inflate their margins by incorporating solar into their portfolios. The government, for its part, staged a performance, announcing lower per-unit prices from IPPs with great fanfare. But the relief never reached the consumer. If anything, the cost of power remained high, and in some areas, it actually increased—this time under the green banner of sustainability.
Karachi presents perhaps the most jarring contradiction of all. Here, in a city of over 30 million, where temperatures now routinely cross 45°C, solar energy should be a savior. Yet it is sold to the people at prices even higher than those of furnace oil-based generation. For the working poor in New Karachi, Liaquatabad, Surjani, Orangi Town, Baldia Town, Korangi, and Malir, this isn’t just unaffordable—it is grotesque. They sweat through power cuts of 12 to 14 hours a day and sometime it reached upto 20 hours, then wake to utility bills that punish them for being poor. All the while, solar-generated electricity flows into elite neighborhoods and centralized air-conditioned houses.
The root problem lies in how Pakistan imagines energy justice. Instead of free laptops or small cash handouts through Benazir Income Support Program, aiming at getting votes from the poor, the PPP-led Sindh government could make a truly transformative shift: offer interest-free solar systems to the middle class and the lower-middle segments, with installation linked directly to national identity cards. Such a move would not only undercut the market dominance of monopolistic energy providers like Karachi Electric but also create decentralized energy ownership, empowering communities in ways that aid cannot. Of course, this kind of policy would require more than promises. It would demand real accountability from installation companies, with contracts that mandate free maintenance for at least five years. This would help break the cycle of broken public goods and quickly deteriorating infrastructure.
More importantly, it would introduce a culture of service that the energy sector in Pakistan desperately lacks. Then there are the charitable giants—organizations like JDC and Saylani—who do commendable work but remain stuck in a narrow framework of feeding street wanders. Handing out food, while noble, is not a long-term solution to poverty or powerlessness. What if they instead financed interest-free solar systems for families, offering them a way out of chronic energy insecurity? But again, such a shift would threaten entrenched interests. There is an entire economy around crisis management in Pakistan—be it land grabs in the name of welfare projects or political influence secured through handouts. The last thing these actors want is for people to become self-reliant.
Karachi’s electricity woes in the summer of 2025 are no longer seasonal inconveniences—they are full-blown humanitarian crises. Data from Karachi Electric suggests that 651 out of 2,127 feeders are subject to load shedding, with nearly 500 suffering up to ten hours of daily outages though actual period of loadshedding is far longer. That is a grim figure, but it still does not capture the extent of suffering. Ask the residents of Lines Area or Quaidabad, and they will tell you that electricity disappears without warning, often for days. No load-shedding schedule is followed; no helpline offers solutions. Sometimes, an entire neighborhood is plunged into darkness under the pretext of “maintenance”—a word that now provokes anger rather than reassurance.
Yet, somehow, the official spokespersons continue to deny any unscheduled loadshedding. They say regional faults are to blame, or that feeders trip due to overuse. It is a masterclass in avoiding responsibility. The chasm between official statements and daily life grows wider with every blackout. What the government fails to understand—or worse, ignores—is that electricity is not just a utility. It is a lifeline. It powers hospitals and water pumps. It enables small businesses to survive. It helps children study. Denying it to a quarter of a city like Karachi while pretending progress is being made on solar energy is more than dishonest. It is inhumane.
Pakistan’s flirtation with a solar revolution risks becoming another story of elite capture dressed up as development. Until the benefits of this energy transition are felt in the homes of the working class, until rooftop panels become as common in Orangi as they are in DHA, until policies are designed for empowerment instead of enrichment, there can be no celebration. There can only be more heat, more darkness, and more broken promises. The sun may shine brighter than ever, but its light has yet to reach those who need it most.
