aving recently observed the International Day for Biological Diversity this year, Pakistan is confronted with an often overlooked but urgent truth: biodiversity in Pakistan is under threat. From the snow-draped peaks in the north to the mangrove forests lining our southern coasts, nature’s orchestra is falling silent. The causes are many: climate change, habitat loss, overexploitation and pollution. Beneath these apparent threats lies a fundamental problem: we continue to view biodiversity conservation as an external concern, rather than an integral part of our national development and community wellbeing.

This year’s theme, Be a Part of the Plan, could not be more fitting, particularly for Pakistan, where participation and local ownership are the missing links in the conservation narrative. The need is no longer to merely protect forests and species in isolation, but also to embed biodiversity into the core of our policymaking, economy and education systems.

Living in Islamabad, we often marvel at the Margalla Hills that cradle the city - a microcosm of the ecological treasure Pakistan holds. Yet even these protected areas are increasingly threatened by unplanned urban sprawl, illegal logging and poor enforcement of environmental regulations. The contradiction is stark: how can we speak of climate adaptation and sustainable development while our capital city fails to safeguard its ecological lungs?

What Pakistan urgently needs is a paradigm shift. We need to re-imagine conservation not as a burden, but as an opportunity to uplift communities, enhance resilience and build a new economy rooted in sustainability. The answer lies in scaling up community-based conservation (CBC) models that place local people at the heart of environmental stewardship. Such initiatives have already proven their worth. Take, for example, the Makran Coastal Conservation Project. By empowering local fishermen to embrace sustainable practices, not only were marine resources preserved, but livelihoods were also improved. Similarly, in the snow-clad mountains of northern Pakistan, herders who once viewed the endangered snow leopard as a threat are now its protectors thanks to innovative schemes that provide compensation for livestock losses and promote alternative income sources like eco-tourism and handicrafts.

These examples are not just success stories but signposts for the future. Imagine the impact if such community-driven conservation efforts were replicated in rural Sindh, Balochistan and the Punjab. Imagine a Pakistan where protecting biodiversity is synonymous with boosting local economies, preserving cultural heritage and strengthening social cohesion.

What stands in the way? The reality is that CBC in Pakistan still faces significant barriers: lack of awareness, inadequate funding, weak institutional coordination and political short-sightedness. These are not insurmountable barriers. The real challenge is conceptual; we need to fundamentally rethink who conservation is for, and who should lead it.

Biodiversity is not just about tigers and turtles. It is also about the very systems that sustain life: clean water, fertile soil and breathable air. In losing biodiversity, we risk losing ourselves. 

For too long, biodiversity conservation in Pakistan has been the domain of elite-led organisations and government departments, often disconnected from the people most impacted by ecological degradation. We must break this top-down model and invest in bottom-up change. That means training local youth as biodiversity ambassadors, integrating traditional knowledge with modern science and offering micro-grants for village-led eco-projects. It also means using digital tools, such as mobile phone apps for wildlife reporting or AI-powered platforms for tracking deforestation, to democratise data and make conservation a participatory process.

In Islamabad, where policy dialogues are frequent but implementation often lags behind, we must lead by example. Biodiversity should be a central pillar in the city’s urban planning strategy. Green roofs, rain gardens and pollinator corridors are not utopian ideas; they are practical, cost-effective solutions that many global cities have embraced. Why can’t Islamabad be the biodiversity capital of South Asia? Why not turn every park, school and mosque lawn into a micro-habitat that supports local flora and fauna? Such actions not only improve urban resilience to climate shocks but also reconnect people with nature, something sorely missing in our increasingly screen-dominated lives.

Education is key to this transformation. We must go beyond one-off awareness campaigns and embed biodiversity into the school curricula, not as a chapter in a textbook, but as a lived experience. Field trips to wetlands, biodiversity audits in schoolyards, storytelling sessions led by local elders are the kind of immersive activities that build environmental empathy from a young age. Let us teach our children not only to name the Indus River Dolphin or the Markhor but also to understand why their survival matters.

Policy, of course, remains a vital lever. Pakistan must align its biodiversity goals with its climate and development agendas. This means updating outdated environmental laws, increasing budgetary allocations for the Ministry of Climate Change and incentivising private sector participation in biodiversity-friendly projects. Whether it’s green bonds to fund restoration of degraded forests or tax rebates for organic farmers, the government has a range of tools at its disposal to build what one would call a “nature-positive economy.”

All this will only work if civil society, academia and local governments are brought into the fold. Too often, biodiversity is seen as the sole responsibility of environment protection departments. It must cut across every sector: agriculture, water, health, tourism and education.

We urge fellow Pakistanis, especially policymakers, the youth and media to think outside the box. Let us re-imagine our relationship with nature not as dominators, but as caretakers. Let us draw inspiration from our past from the indigenous wisdom of communities who have lived in harmony with nature for generations. And let us look to the future with a bold, inclusive vision that sees biodiversity not as a luxury, but as a lifeline.

The stakes could not be higher. Biodiversity is not just about tigers and turtles. It is also about the very systems that sustain life: clean water, fertile soil and breathable air. In losing biodiversity, we risk losing ourselves. If we get it right; if we put people at the centre of conservation; if we dare to innovate; and if we align our policies with the planet’s needs, Pakistan can emerge not as a victim of environmental decline, but as a leader of ecological renewal.

We have the tools. We have the knowledge. What we need now is the will to be part of the plan.

The writer is a policy analyst and researcher with a master’s degree in public policy from King’s College, London.