IN a country grappling with rising environmental challenges, Pakistan’s much-publicized plastic ban was meant to mark a turning point.
Launched with fanfare and noble intentions, the initiative was billed as a crucial step toward curbing the country’s mounting plastic waste crisis.
Yet, several months after its rollout, the ban is faltering—undermined by weak government enforcement, lack of public awareness and a deep-rooted dependence on single-use plastics across every tier of society.
From the markets of Karachi to the lanes of Lahore, plastic bags continue to circulate freely.
They are handed out by shopkeepers with mechanical ease and received by customers with barely a second thought.
The promised crackdown—led initially by environmental watchdogs and local authorities—has fizzled into sporadic inspections and symbolic raids, doing little to stem the tide of daily plastic consumption.
The core issue lies not in the absence of regulation, but in the vacuum of implementation.
Although the Ministry of Climate Change and provincial governments have issued multiple directives banning the production, distribution and sale of plastic bags, compliance remains limited.
Manufacturers continue to operate under the radar, law enforcement is inconsistent and a significant portion of the public remains unaware of the need for change.
When the federal government first announced its ban on plastic bags in Islamabad in 2019, it was hailed as a progressive step toward a cleaner and greener Pakistan.
The initiative eventually expanded to other regions with various provinces adopting similar restrictions.
However, the policy’s rollout has been marred by delays, exemptions and a lack of coordination between federal and provincial bodies.
In Punjab, for instance, the Lahore High Court had to intervene multiple times to push the government toward stricter implementation.
Despite judicial prodding, plastic bags are still widely used in commercial hubs.
Meanwhile, in Sindh, where the provincial environmental agency announced a fresh ban earlier this year, enforcement efforts have been erratic at best.
Shopkeepers claim they receive little to no communication from authorities, and inspections, when they do occur, are brief and ineffective.
Even more concerning is the near-total absence of public education campaigns.
Without widespread outreach, the average Pakistani citizen has little understanding of the environmental harm caused by plastic pollution.
For many, the issue remains a concern for environmentalists, not every day consumers.
Environmental experts have long warned that plastic waste poses a severe threat to Pakistan’s ecosystem.
The country generates approximately 3 million tons of plastic waste annually, with nearly 65% of it mismanaged.
Much of it ends up clogging drains, choking rivers and harming wildlife.
During monsoon seasons, plastic-laden sewage systems contribute to urban flooding in cities like Karachi and Rawalpindi.
And in rural areas, discarded plastic is often burned in the open air, releasing toxic fumes that endanger human health.
Against this backdrop, the urgency of the plastic ban cannot be overstated.
Yet the disconnect between policy and practice continues to widen.
Industry stakeholders complain of inconsistent messaging from authorities.
Some allege that certain players are granted exemptions while others face sporadic fines—fostering an environment of confusion and resentment rather than cooperation.
This uneven enforcement is compounded by Pakistan’s deeply entrenched informal economy.
Small-scale vendors, street hawkers and grocery shops—many of whom operate without business licenses—make up a significant share of plastic bag distribution.
Targeting them without offering affordable alternatives only leads to temporary solutions.
On the policy front, there appears to be little political will to prioritize the issue.
In a country where inflation has eroded purchasing power, the shift to costlier alternatives like cloth or paper bags feels like a luxury.
The burden of change is often placed on consumers without sufficient state support or market incentives.
Moreover, urban infrastructure is ill-equipped to deal with waste even beyond plastics.
Recycling remains minimal and municipal waste collection is unreliable in many areas.
In such an environment, banning plastic without addressing the broader systemic failures risks achieving little beyond symbolic victories.
The private sector, too, remains largely disengaged.
While some high-end supermarkets and boutique stores have adopted biodegradable bags or encouraged reusable alternatives, mainstream retailers have been slow to follow.
Without clear policy signals or economic incentives, many businesses see compliance as an unnecessary cost rather than a civic responsibility.
As Pakistan confronts the looming threat of climate change—with rising temperatures and water scarcity, the failure to curb plastic pollution represents a missed opportunity.
A well-executed plastic ban could have served as a foundational step toward sustainable environmental governance.
Instead, it has become emblematic of a broader pattern: bold declarations that falter in the face of bureaucratic inertia and public indifference.
In the end, the plastic ban’s stagnation underscores the complex interplay between policy intent and societal readiness.
Without a concerted effort to bridge this gap, even the most well-meaning initiatives risk fading into irrelevance.
For now, the plastic bags continue to flutter from trees, float in rivers and clog the arteries of Pakistan’s cities – a silent testament to promises unfulfilled.
— The writer is an educator, based in Sindh. (channaassadullah320@gmail.com)
