Every day sanitation workers are dying. these aren’t just accidents, they’re crimes of neglect.

After a long day of work, I sat with Riaz Masih and Tariq, who were both sanitation workers. They were tired, and their faces showed it. While we were sitting on the side of the road, we heard that another sanitation worker had died, this time in Lahore and before that in Karachi.

Riaz’s face was heavy. He broke the stillness, and his voice was shaking:

Brother, I experience the fear every time I go down into a manhole. I imagine what would happen if today were my last day. What if I don’t come back? Who will take care of my kids? Who will take care of my wife and feed them? When I see the bodies of workers being brought out, I think of myself lying there. I can’t quit thinking about it.

I could feel his pain since it was mine too. Not only am I an organizer, but I also work in sanitation. Tariq looked at me and said:-

Yes, it’s true that we still don’t get fair wages, safety measures, protection, or a better future.

We hear of another death almost every other day, and it goes away from the news without any notice or justice. But this quiet can’t go on. It’s time to pay attention to what we have to say.

We need to ask for fair wages, social safety nets, and protection from harmful gases, heat stress, and other dangers.

Ours and the lives of our other sanitation workers are not cheap, and our blood should not be the price of clean cities.

Riaz, these aren’t just accidents; they’re crimes of neglect. It feels like a part of us dies every time a sanitation worker dies. But please keep in mind that you’re not alone. We hear these heartbreaking stories every day, but our union is not quiet. We are fighting for all of us, yelling while others are quiet, and saying that no one should have to die in the filth for this labor. Tariq Said

We all feel that fear when we go into a manhole. But keep in mind that we are not alone. When others don’t speak up, our union does. We have been marching, protesting, and asking for safety, insurance, and respect for years. If we don’t stick together, no one will look out for us. The union is our primary protection, and when we work together, that protection gets stronger.

But we realize that we can’t stop resisting at the city level. Workers throughout the region are involved in our fight. That’s why unions in Pakistan worked with the global federation PSI and workers from India, Nepal, Sri Lanka, and Bangladesh to sign a regional campaign in Kathmandu, Nepal. Tariq mentioned. Brother, when we signed, it was simple. We signed so we get safety, we signed so we get respect, and we signed so our families get help if a worker dies. That’s all we want.

Riaz watched with close attention, and his eyes softened with hope. So you mean I won’t have to worry about my kids when I go to work? he questioned.

He smiled and said, Yes, brother. That day will arrive if we stay together. These signatures mean more than just words. They give us hope for our family and strength in our fight. We are building a wall of safety around us with the names of every worker and the voices of every union member. Together, we will turn fear into dignity and silence into respect.

This isn’t only Riaz’s story or Tariq’s story. It’s the story of every sanitation worker in Pakistan, South Asia, and the rest of the world. Every day, they all go down into the dark with the same fear: Will I come back alive? What will happen to my kids if I don’t? Every worker has these questions in their hearts. But even with all this pain, there is still one light: the unions.

Unions and their allies are the only ones who can help us, from local fights in our streets to global efforts across countries. They are the ones that turn silent tears into strong voices, fear into pride, and hopelessness into change. These voices can save lives if the world listens. No worker will ever have to die in the Gutters of streets again.