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On July 23, 2025, renowned social commentator and activist Israruddin Israr posted a terse but potent remark on Facebook that sliced through the fog of apathy clouding Gilgit-Baltistan’s environmental crisis. In his words, he lamented how the unchecked and lavish use of precious timber—particularly the prized deodar—by government officials to panel their offices and decorate bureaucratic spaces had done more to encourage deforestation than to prevent it. Israr points out that the valuable timber used for interior paneling in Gilgit-Baltistan is sold in the cities of the down country at prices nearly a thousand times higher than what it fetches locally. Given this alarming disparity and the ongoing exploitation of natural resources, he emphasizes that the catastrophic environmental consequences we are currently witnessing may actually be far less severe than what lies ahead if this trend continues unchecked.His observation pierced the very heart of a disturbing reality: those entrusted with the responsibility to conserve nature are themselves fueling its destruction.
Israr's post was not just a condemnation; it was a mirror held up to the face of a complicit system and an oblivious society. By making opulent woodwork a norm in public offices, the powerful have inadvertently—or perhaps, indifferently—set a damaging example. The general public, especially the affluent class, found inspiration in these government trends. Lavish timber paneling became a symbol of status, elegance, and authority, trickling down into private homes, guesthouses, hotels, and commercial spaces.
In the same vein,Forest Denudation and the Babusar Tragedy: A Stark Warning
In a recent piece titled the Forest Denudation and the Babusar Tragedy: A Stark Warning,published in Media Lens, Aamir Hussain reflects on the Babusar tragedy, drawing attention to the long-standing exploitation of forests in Thak and other nullahs of Chilas, Darel, and Tangir. These forests, he notes, once served as a critical frontline defense against natural calamities, but have been subjected to relentless deforestation over the years.
Expanding the scope to the national level, Aamir cites data from Global Forest Watch, revealing that between 2001 and 2022, Pakistan lost more than 146,000 hectares of forested/tree-covered land. Alarmingly, Diamer district tops this list in terms of forest loss. Focusing specifically on Thak Nullah, he underscores a staggering 28 percent reduction in forest cover within just six years—a figure that paints a deeply troubling picture.
He further highlights the scientifically established link between deforestation and increased flooding, reinforcing the urgent need for action. His concerns echo those raised by prominent social activist Roshan Din Diamiri, who recently wrote a similarly compelling piece on this very issue.
But this mimicry comes at a grave cost. The forests of Gilgit-Baltistan—already sparse due to its high-altitude terrain and harsh climate—cannot withstand such pressures. The region is not Punjab or Sindh where reforestation is easier; every tree here takes decades to grow. The result is catastrophic deforestation, soil erosion, and destabilization of an already fragile ecosystem.
Maisum Qasmi, in a deeply insightful and well-articulated piece, expanded on this theme with a broader societal lens. He lamented the cumulative impact of negligence, poor policy implementation, and public apathy that has led to the gradual but steady diminishment of Gilgit-Baltistan’s forest cover. According to Qasmi, the irony lies in the fact that while global climate discourse stresses conservation and sustainability, our regional leadership continues to treat natural resources as ornamental commodities rather than ecological lifelines.
He decried the inconsistent and reactive nature of governmental policies—often announced with fanfare but rarely implemented. “The jungle is not just a patch of trees,” Qasmi emphasized. “It is a protective shield, a water source, a climate moderator, and a guardian of biodiversity. To destroy it is to invite disaster.” His words resonate painfully in light of the recent climate-induced calamities in the region—devastating floods, erratic weather patterns, and frequent landslides—all pointing toward nature’s retaliation.
The tragedy lies in the normalization of forest abuse. While laws exist to regulate timber cutting and forest conservation, their enforcement remains conveniently lax. Corruption, collusion with timber mafias, and lack of public awareness all contribute to the worsening scenario. Forest guards are ill-equipped, conservation departments underfunded, and the ecological message buried under bureaucratic red tape.
Israr's post and Qasmi’s essay converge on a critical truth: environmental destruction in Gilgit-Baltistan is not merely the result of natural change—it is man-made, systemic, and silently sanctioned. Unless immediate and sincere corrective measures are taken, the region is set to face worsening disasters that no amount of relief funds or infrastructure rebuilding can undo.
What is urgently needed is:
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A strict ban on the use of deodar and other native timbers for decorative purposes in all government and public buildings.
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Incentivizing eco-friendly and alternative materials in construction.
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Empowering local communities to serve as stewards of nearby forests through participatory conservation models.
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Revamping forest policies with emphasis on enforcement, transparency, and accountability.
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A region-wide awareness campaign on the ecological cost of deforestation.
The forests of Gilgit-Baltistan are not infinite. Their protection must begin where the destruction has been sanctioned the most—within the corridors of power.
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