By Sardar Khan Niazi

Environmental justice is not just an abstract, immaterial ideal or the concern of Western activists. It is a pressing, immediate issue for Pakistan–a country already grappling with rising temperatures, wrestling with water scarcity, fighting with air pollution, and struggling with climate-induced disasters. Yet, too often, environmental degradation in Pakistan is treated as a technical or developmental issue, divorced from the deeper questions of justice, equity, and human rights that lie at its core. Environmental justice demands that we examine not just what is being destroyed, but who is being harmed–and who benefits from that destruction. In Pakistan, it is invariably the poor, the marginalized, and the voiceless who pay the price for pollution, deforestation, unregulated industrial expansion, and climate change. Whether it is the brick kiln worker breathing toxic air in Punjab, the fishing community watching Karachi’s coastline drown in untreated sewage, or the farmers of Sindh devastated by floods, environmental harms are not evenly distributed. They fall disproportionately on those least responsible for causing them. Pakistan is ranked among the most vulnerable countries to climate change, despite contributing less than 1% to global greenhouse gas emissions. But vulnerability alone is not the full story. Within our own borders, we see stark environmental inequality. The affluent can install water filtration systems, live in air-conditioned homes, or retreat to greener areas. The poor must inhale the soot of diesel engines, drink contaminated water, and bear the brunt of floods, droughts, and heatwaves. Environmental injustice in Pakistan is often masked by the language of development. Mega-projects such as dams, highways, or industrial zones are presented as signs of progress. Nevertheless, who is consulted when these projects are planned? Who is displaced, and who profits? The environmental cost of development is often borne by communities who are excluded from the benefits, denied compensation, and silenced when they resist. Take, for example, the issue of coal power in Thar. While it is touted as a solution to our energy crisis, the environmental cost is staggering. Villages have been uprooted, groundwater depleted, and the air polluted. Yet the people of Thar–already among the most impoverished–have little say in how their lands are used or their lives disrupted. This is not simply a matter of environmental degradation; it is a violation of environmental justice. Justice also means accountability. In recent years, the devastating urban floods in Karachi and Lahore have highlighted how years of poor planning, unregulated construction, and weak enforcement of environmental regulations have created climate disasters. However, where is the accountability for the encroachment on natural waterways, the dumping of waste into rivers, or the failure to protect forests and wetlands? Without holding institutions and corporations accountable, environmental justice remains a slogan. Youth-led climate activism in Pakistan has been a rare beacon of hope, with students and grassroots organizations calling for climate justice and environmental reform. But their voices are often met with indifference from policymakers more focused on short-term economic gains than long-term sustainability. Environmental justice must become a cornerstone of national policy–not just an afterthought. This means integrating equity into climate adaptation plans, ensuring affected communities have a seat at the table, and investing in sustainable solutions that do not sacrifice the well-being of the poor for the profits of the powerful. Pakistan’s environmental crisis is not just about rising temperatures and shrinking glaciers. It is a crisis of justice. Until we treat it as such, we will continue to repeat the same patterns of destruction and displacement. Environmental justice is not charity–it is a moral obligation. And in a country as ecologically fragile and socially unequal as Pakistan, it is the only path forward.