By Barrister Usman Ali, Ph.D.
Deforestation and greed have turned Pakistan’s northern paradise into a death trap
Pakistan’s northern valleys , from Swat to Gilgit-Baltistan , have long been celebrated as jewels of nature, where rivers weave through emerald valleys and snowcapped peaks pierce the skies. Today, those same valleys have become symbols of destruction. The tragedy unfolding here is not just nature’s fury , it is the product of decades of reckless human choices.
Deforestation, unchecked construction, and the blocking of water channels by hotels and commercial plazas have turned serene streams into instruments of devastation. Every monsoon, the same nightmare returns: floods tearing through villages, bridges collapsing, families broken. It is a disaster of our own making.
The recent flash floods in northern Pakistan are a grim reminder. In Khyber Pakhtunkhwa—especially Buner, Bajaur, and Swat—as well as in Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan, rain-fed torrents have killed more than 500 people. Hundreds remain missing. Entire villages and neighborhoods have been erased. Homes that took lifetimes to build vanished in minutes. Bridges, schools, and roads lie in ruins. Entire valleys are now cut off, with families surviving without food, shelter, or medical care. The human suffering is immense, and the financial losses already run into billions of rupees. This is not a natural calamity alone; it is a catastrophe magnified by human greed and neglect.
Pakistan is among the most forest-deprived countries in the world, with only about 5% of its land under forest cover. Since the 1990s, the country has lost nearly a quarter of its remaining forests due to illegal logging, population pressure, and unplanned development. Forests once blanketed these mountains, serving as nature’s defense. Trees anchored soil, slowed rainfall, and absorbed excess water. Stripped of this shield, the land stands defenseless. Heavy rains turn into torrents, soil slides away, and rivers swell with unstoppable fury. Swat , once called the Switzerland of the East , is now a region where beauty coexists with danger, where every storm threatens lives.
If deforestation weakened the land, reckless construction killed its resilience. Hotels and homes now sit on riverbeds; plazas choke tributaries. It is astonishing hubris , as if concrete walls could tame rivers. But when the rains come, rivers reclaim their ancient paths, sweeping away everything in their way. We’ve all seen the haunting images: hotels collapsing into raging waters, bridges twisted like wire, entire villages swallowed. And yet, after every disaster, rebuilding begins , on the same spots. Lessons written in grief are ignored.
The economic toll is crushing. Farmers lose land to erosion, their livelihoods gone. Tourism , the lifeblood of these valleys , collapses whenever floods strike. Investors retreat; visitors cancel trips. Families fall into poverty, forced to migrate to cities already burdened with unemployment and housing shortages. Meanwhile, governments spend billions on relief and reconstruction, never addressing root causes. We are trapped in a cycle of blindness, condemning ourselves to repeat this tragedy year after year.
This cannot continue. If Pakistan is to save its northern lifeline, urgent and uncompromising action is non-negotiable. Reforestation must begin now , not as a token campaign, but as a national priority. Forest departments need modern tools to crush illegal logging. Communities must be partners, rewarded for preservation rather than destruction. Green cover is not a luxury; it is a matter of survival.
Building on riverbeds must be banned outright. No hotel, no home, no market should rise where water flows. High-risk settlements must be relocated with dignity, backed by housing and financial support. Painful as this may seem, it will prevent far greater suffering in the future.
Blocked tributaries must be reopened. Embankments cannot replace the wisdom of natural geography. Infrastructure must be rebuilt for resilience , bridges designed to withstand floods, schools on higher ground, roads rerouted away from danger. And early warning systems must reach every valley so no family is caught unaware.
Communities need to understand the danger of building on riverbanks. Schools should teach children why forests matter. Tourism, too, must be reimagined , sustainable construction, eco-friendly designs, and penalties for environmental violations. Visitors don’t come to see concrete. They come for pristine rivers and forests. Protecting these wonders is the only way to keep tourism alive.
The loss of more than 500 lives in the latest floods, the hundreds missing, and thousands left homeless demand more than mourning , they demand a national awakening. These tragedies are not inevitable. They are the result of choices: to cut forests, block rivers, and defy nature. By making better choices , by embracing sustainability and discipline , Pakistan can save its valleys and its people.
Fail, and every monsoon will bring fresh graves and deeper despair. Act now, and the north can become what it was meant to be: a source of life, prosperity, and pride. The floods have given us their verdict. The question is , will we listen?
