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akistan is learning the hard way that you cannot cut down your natural defences and expect to survive the storms. The landslides that bury villages in the north, the floods that submerge farmlands in the Punjab and Sindh and the deadly smog that poisons entire cities in winter are not natural disasters. They are man-made hazards resulting from decades of deforestation, reckless land-use change and sheer disregard for ecological balance.
From climate debate to climate reality
Not long ago, the very idea of climate change was contested. In the late Twentieth Century, environmentalists warned of global warming. However, the industrial lobbies of the developed world — and later the emerging economies of China, India, Korea and ASEAN — dismissed these warnings as obstacles to double-digit, emissions-driven growth. Today, the science is undeniable and the evidence visible: rising temperatures, erratic precipitation, record-breaking heatwaves, devastating floods, lean winters and the steady loss of snow cover in the north. The natural balance has been disturbed — perhaps beyond repair.
Ecology: more than just science
For non-specialists, ecology can sound abstract, but its meaning is simple and urgent. Ecology is the study of how living organisms interact with their environment — the relationships between soil and water, plants and animals, humans and climate. When a part of this chain collapses, the rest follows. In Pakistan, this collapse is no longer theoretical. We see it in sudden downpours that deliver a year’s worth of rainfall within hours, in cloudbursts that wash away entire valleys and in temperatures that break records every summer. This is no longer an exception — it has become a pattern.
A shrinking green shield
Forests were once Pakistan’s green armour. They held mountain slopes in place, absorbed the monsoon rains, filtered rivers and stored carbon. They were the frontline of defence against floods, landslides and climate shocks. Today, forests cover less than five per cent of Pakistan’s land — one of the lowest ratios in the world. Even that thin cover is shrinking. Since 1992, forest area has fallen from 3.78 million hectares to 3.09 million hectares in 2025 — an 18 per cent decline in three decades.
Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, once thick with virgin forests, now loses some 11,000 hectares annually to logging, grazing and unchecked development. These figures tell only a part of the story. They do not capture the slow degradation, the felling of mature trees and the silent disappearance of old-growth forests that took centuries to form.
Deforestation is not just about counting trees lost or saplings planted. It is also about the collapse of relationships — soil losing its anchor, rivers filling with silt, pastures withering and villages crumbling. In the summer of 2025, we saw this repeatedly: bare hillsides collapsing after cloudbursts in Swat, Shangla, Buner, Bajaur, Gilgit and Hunza; rivers choking with debris; flash floods sweeping through valleys; homes, roads and entire communities wiped out in minutes.
2022: the warning we ignored
The catastrophic floods of 2022 should have been a wake-up call. Within weeks, a third of the country was underwater. Thirty-three million people were affected, eight million displaced and damage ran well above $10 billion. Instead of serving as a turning point, it became another entry in Pakistan’s long list of ignored warnings.
Fast forward to 2025, and the disasters have multiplied in scale and geography. From Gilgit-Baltistan to Bajaur, from Neelum to Kohistan, the pattern has repeated: glacial lake outburst floods (GLOFs), cloudbursts, landslides and silt-choked rivers are not random calamities. They are the predictable outcome of lost forests, unstable slopes and fragile watersheds.
What we have lost
Swat, Kaghan, Kumrat, Battagram and Tirah valleys were once more than just beautiful landscapes; they were functional ecosystems, serving as watersheds that absorbed heavy rains and fed rivers in a sustainable way. Today, they are shadows of their past. The trees that anchored their soil are gone, the slopes are bare and the watersheds broken. When rain falls, it no longer seeps into the earth — it races down in torrents, carrying away soil, stones, homes and lives.
The stark numbers
Perhaps the starkest figure is this: Pakistan has just 0.05 hectares of forest per person. The global average is nearly one hectare. In other words, the world enjoys twenty times more forest cover per person than Pakistan. Plantation drives like the Billion Tree Tsunami are welcome but insufficient. Planting saplings cannot compensate for the destruction of old-growth forests. Without strict protection against timber mafias and land grabbers, plantations will be little more than photo opportunities.
Failed guardians
Let us be blunt: Pakistan’s forests have not been lost to poverty or ignorance, but to collusion. Timber mafias, backed by political and bureaucratic patrons, have stripped the north bare. The very department tasked with protecting forests — the Forest Department — has often been accused of aiding exploitation rather than stopping it. Until this nexus is broken, no number of plantation drives will restore ecological balance.
The way forward
The way forward is clear. It demands political will.
Zero tolerance for illegal logging: Crack down on timber mafias with real enforcement, not token raids.
Community stewardship: Forests must be owned and protected by local communities, with sustainable alternatives like eco-tourism and non-timber forest products creating livelihoods without destroying trees.
Reform the Forest Department: Root out corruption and turn it into a genuine conservation body.
Ecological scrutiny of projects: Roads, dams, and power projects in the north must be planned slowly and carefully, with strict environmental impact assessments.
Recognise forests as national security assets: Like dams, highways and defence systems, forests are critical infrastructure. Without them, Pakistan will continue to bleed billions in floods, landslides and climate shocks.
A national security question
Forests are not just about beauty or biodiversity. They are also about survival. They are our shield against a changing climate. Without them, every storm, every flood, and every drought will hit us harder. Pakistan must realise that the price of inaction is too high: more poverty, more displacement and more disaster.
We are running out of time. The question is no longer whether Pakistan can afford to save its forests. The real question is whether Pakistan can afford not to.
The writer is an associate professor in development studies at University of Peshawar, with over 12 years of extensive academic, development and humanitarian assistance experience in Pakistan and South Asia.