The screams of children trapped under rubble have been replaced by the wails of parents in a quiet residential street in Lahore, where a tuition centre’s roof caved in during evening classes, killing at least 14 children and injuring dozens more. The incident, which occurred yesterday at around 6:30 pm local time, has left the nation reeling and sparked urgent questions about building safety in Pakistan's sprawling cities.
Witnesses described a deafening crack followed by a cloud of dust as the roof of the two-storey building gave way, sending bricks and concrete crashing down on the young students, aged between seven and 15. Rescue workers laboured through the night, pulling bodies from the debris while frantic parents gathered outside, clutching photographs of their children. As of this morning, 14 fatalities have been confirmed, with over 20 injured hospitalised, some in critical condition.
The tuition centre, known as Bright Future Academy, was operating in a residential building in the Data Ganj Bakhsh Town area. Authorities have arrested the centre’s owner and a building inspector, alleging illegal construction and negligence. “This was a tragedy waiting to happen,” said a senior rescue official on site. “The roof was clearly not designed for the load it was carrying.”
Pakistan has a grim history of building collapses, often due to poor enforcement of safety codes and widespread corruption among municipal authorities. In 2015, a shopping centre collapse in Lahore killed over 40 people. But the death of so many children has ignited a fury that transcends the usual political bickering. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif called the incident “heartbreaking” and ordered a full inquiry, while opposition leader Imran Khan expressed profound sorrow and demanded accountability.
The tragedy also shines a light on the unregulated shadow education sector in Pakistan, where tuition centres are a common feature in low-income neighbourhoods. For many families, these centres offer the only chance for their children to pass competitive exams and escape poverty. But safety is often an afterthought, with classes crammed into unsafe buildings.
“We sent our son for extra maths lessons because we wanted him to become a doctor,” sobbed Fatima Bibi, whose 12-year-old son Ali was among the dead. “Now he is gone. Who will answer for this?”
As the nation observes a day of mourning, flags fly at half-mast, and television channels run back-to-back footage of rescue operations and grieving families. In the streets of Lahore, protests have erupted, with citizens demanding that those responsible be brought to justice. But for the parents clutching small coffins, no verdict will ever be enough.
The real economy of grief has a price that cannot be counted. But the cost of shoddy construction and lax regulation is now written in the small names of the dead. Pakistan must ask itself: how many more children must die before a roof is not a gamble?
