Pakistan is not just a victim of geography; it is a mirror of our choices. We have cut down our forests for firewood and housing schemes. We have paved over our floodplains for gated communities. We have treated the environment as an enemy to be subdued, rather than a covenant to be honored.
The question is not whether Pakistan will survive climate change. The question is whether we have the will to change before the land decides it no longer knows us. The Indus is waiting. The glaciers are listening. And the air, thick with our own making, holds its breath.
I have walked the length of the Indus, from the glacial snouts of Karakoram to the mangroves of the Arabian Sea. And what I have witnessed is a slow, deliberate undoing. The great river—our cradle, our bloodstream—no longer roars. It wheezes. Upstream, the glaciers are retreating like wounded armies, leaving behind fragile lakes that could breach and drown entire valleys. Downstream, the sea is gnawing at the delta, salt water poisoning the roots of our rice and the lungs of our children. the environment of pakistan by huma naz sethi
But I have also seen hope. A woman in Cholistan who builds rainwater cisterns from clay. A boy in the Swat Valley who plants a hundred pines for every one cut down. A fisherwoman in Ibrahim Hyderi who collects ghost nets from the sea. These are the quiet warriors. They know that saving the environment is not about saving trees or rivers—it is about saving ourselves.
And then there is the water. Oh, the water. We squander it for cash-crops in water-scarce deserts while villages in Thar watch their infants die of thirst. We pump our aquifers dry as if the rain owed us a debt. Climate change is not a future warning here; it is a daily headline. The floods that come are biblical—washing away villages, schools, entire harvests. Then come the droughts, cracking the earth into a mosaic of grief. Pakistan is not just a victim of geography;
By Huma Naz Sethi (inspired narrative)
Look closely at the land stretched beneath the arc of a saffron sun. This is Pakistan—a country born of rushing meltwater and ancient alluvial soil, yet now gasping under the weight of its own ambitions. We have treated the environment as an enemy
We speak of development, yet we have forgotten the language of the earth. In Lahore, we choke on smog thick as a winter shroud—a poison brewed from brick kilns, crop burning, and the unchecked hunger for more cars, more concrete. In Karachi, the Arabian Sea swells with rising temperatures, pushing tides of plastic and despair into the mangroves that once stood as natural barriers against cyclones.