Islamabad Was a Forest. Now It’s an Environmental Warning

News Desk

Islamabad: Once a green crown overlooking Islamabad, Shakarparian now tells a different story, one of exposed soil, vanishing shade, and a growing disconnect between official narratives and environmental realities. 

What was until recently a thick forest belt near Lok Virsa has been transformed into vast, barren patches, igniting public anger and reigniting a broader debate about how Pakistan manages its fragile ecology amid accelerating climate threats.

At least four plots spanning over 15 acres along Shakarparian Road have been stripped of trees, leaving behind a landscape residents describe as “bald and lifeless.”

For many Islamabad citizens, the transformation has been both sudden and shocking. Where dense foliage once blocked the view of the Islamabad Expressway, concrete and traffic are now clearly visible, a stark symbol of how rapidly green buffers can disappear.

The Capital Development Authority (CDA), however, maintains that the operation targeted only paper mulberry trees,  a non-native species widely blamed for triggering severe pollen allergies in the spring. 

According to the authority, the removals were carried out under a Supreme Court directive and are part of a city-wide effort to replace allergenic trees with indigenous species.

Yet this explanation has failed to convince residents, environmentalists, and even former lawmakers.

A Question of Credibility

Citizens argue that the claim of “100 per cent paper mulberry” defies both ecological logic and visual evidence. Usman Ahmed, a frequent commuter on Shakarparian Road, challenged the CDA to identify any three-acre stretch in Islamabad dominated exclusively by paper mulberry.

“A single Google image can tell you the difference,” he said, pointing out that light green foliage belongs to paper mulberry, while darker leaves indicate native species like sheesham. “What we are seeing is not selective removal. It looks like indiscriminate cutting.”

Others echoed similar concerns. Ashraf Khan, who described Shakarparian as a personal refuge from the city’s chaos, said gaps now appear even in areas previously inaccessible due to dense forest cover. “This wasn’t thinning. This was clearing,” he said.

Such skepticism reflects a deeper trust deficit between public institutions and citizens, one that extends far beyond Shakarparian.

A Pattern Across the Capital

Tree cutting has not been confined to Shakarparian alone. 

Along Islamabad Expressway in Sector H-8, mature roadside trees were felled as part of a park upgradation project. In Chak Shahzad, large-scale clearing accompanied the construction of a dual carriageway linking Park Road to a CDA-DHA housing scheme, including a proposed interchange.

Individually, these projects are framed as development initiatives. Collectively, they raise troubling questions about cumulative environmental impact — a concept often missing from urban planning in Pakistan.

Environmentalists warn that Islamabad’s green belts are not decorative luxuries but essential climate infrastructure. They regulate temperature, absorb carbon, manage stormwater, and serve as buffers against extreme heat, a growing threat as Pakistan ranks among the world’s most climate-vulnerable countries.

“Tree cutting in the name of development, without transparent ecological assessments, is short-term thinking in a long-term crisis,” said one environmental expert, requesting anonymity.

Pollen Allergy vs Climate Reality

The government insists the campaign has yielded health benefits. The Health Ministry claims that more than 29,000 paper mulberry trees have been removed across Islamabad, with each tree replaced by three indigenous saplings. Officials cite a reported 23 per cent reduction in pollen allergy cases over the past two years.

While public health concerns are legitimate, critics argue that the solution cannot be mass removal without independent verification, phased execution, and ecological safeguards.

Saplings, they point out, cannot immediately replace mature trees, especially in a warming city. The loss of canopy cover, even temporarily, can push temperatures higher, worsen air quality, and exacerbate urban flooding risks.

“The climate does not wait for saplings to grow,” said Aiman Khan, another resident. “By the time these trees mature, the damage may already be done.”

Political Silence,Reactive Governance

The CDA operates under the Interior Ministry, yet despite public uproar and social media backlash, decisive political action has been slow. 

Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi recently stated that road alignments were altered elsewhere to save trees, but no inquiry was announced into Shakarparian’s clearing until the prime minister intervened.

Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif has now sought a detailed report from the CDA, following sustained criticism from civil society and politicians, including former Senator Mushtaq Ahmed Khan. The move, while welcome, underscores a recurring pattern in Pakistan’s environmental governance: action follows outrage, not planning.

In response to criticism, the CDA launched a plantation drive at Shakarparian, inviting media to cover the effort. While symbolic, many see it as damage control rather than accountability.

Beyond Shakarparian

Shakarparian is not an isolated case. It is a microcosm of Pakistan’s environmental dilemma — where development, health policy, and climate resilience collide in the absence of transparent, science-based decision-making.

As Pakistan faces intensifying heatwaves, erratic rainfall, and worsening air quality, the cost of poor environmental governance will be borne not by institutions, but by citizens.

The question Shakarparian now poses is not just how many trees were cut, but whether Pakistan can afford to keep losing its green defenses in a climate emergency, while explanations remain contested and accountability elusive.