When Power Cuts Down the Coast: Sindh’s Mangroves at the Edge of Political Influence

Along the southern coast of Sindh, where the Indus River finally meets the Arabian Sea, mangroves have been doing something for generations that no concrete wall can do as naturally protecting people.

They stand in salty water, their roots buried in mud, facing waves, storms and rising seas. For coastal communities, they are not simply trees. They are fishing grounds, breeding places for marine life, a source of livelihood and one of the few natural shields protecting villages and coastal land from erosion and storms.

Yet these forests are under pressure from almost every direction Illegal cutting, coastal development, land reclamation, pollution, declining freshwater flows and the growing pressure on coastal resources are gradually weakening one of Sindh's most important natural defences. The Sindh Forest Department estimates that the Indus Delta's mangrove ecosystem covers around 600,000 hectares and describes it as one of the world's largest arid-climate mangrove systems. It also recognizes the forests as a natural barrier against cyclones, flooding, erosion and other coastal hazards.

The question is no longer simply whether mangroves are being lost?

The bigger question is: who is allowing their destruction, and who is accountable when environmental laws are ignored?

Mangrove cutting is often discussed as if it were only a problem of poor communities collecting firewood or local people using forest resources. That explanation is far too simple. Coastal communities certainly depend on mangroves, but the pressures on the Indus Delta are much broader. Urban expansion, industrialization, pollution, land pressures, reduced freshwater discharge from the Indus and the over-exploitation of coastal resources have all contributed to the degradation of the ecosystem. The Forest Department itself identifies these pressures as major threats.

This is where political and institutional influence matters.

When a poor fisher cuts a tree to survive, the law can reach him quickly. But what happens when environmental destruction is connected to a powerful developer, a politically influential interest, an approved land-use decision or an institution with greater access to decision-makers?

A protected forest should not become protected only on paper.

Sindh has known the importance of these forests for decades. In fact, the history of forest management in the province offers an interesting lesson. During British rule, forests received formal administrative attention partly because the colonial government required large quantities of timber for the Indus Steam Flotilla and other purposes. The British system was certainly driven by colonial economic and administrative interests, not by today's understanding of environmental justice. But it also introduced more systematic forest management and demarcation.

After independence, the importance of the Indus Delta mangroves became increasingly recognized. In 1954, the forests at the mouth of the Indus were formally recognized as a vital and ecologically unique ecosystem. In 1958, about 364,000 hectares were declared protected forests. The reasons were practical as well as ecological: the mangroves helped protect Karachi Port from siltation, provided breeding grounds for fish and prawns, supplied fuel and fodder, and supported wildlife.

There is something powerful in that history. More than half a century ago, authorities understood that destroying natural ecosystems could eventually damage the economy and the people who depended on them.

Today, with climate change accelerating coastal risks, that lesson should be even clearer.

Mangroves are a form of natural infrastructure. They reduce coastal erosion, absorb wave energy, trap sediments and provide nursery grounds for fish and other marine species. The Sindh Forest Department says the Indus Delta provides subsistence to approximately 200,000 people and supports communities connected to the fishing economy.

So when a mangrove disappears, the loss does not end with the tree.

A fisherman may lose access to a productive fishing ground. A family may face declining income. A village may become more vulnerable to erosion. Saltwater may move further into agricultural land or groundwater. A young person may be forced to leave a community where his or her family has lived for generations.

Environmental destruction eventually becomes a human story.

And that is why the issue deserves much more attention than it receives. Sindh has also shown that mangroves can recover when people, governments, scientists and conservation organizations work together. Restoration efforts over the past decades have increased mangrove cover in parts of the Indus Delta. But restoration should never become an excuse for allowing destruction to continue.

Planting new trees cannot justify cutting mature forests. If one side of the coastline is being restored while another is being cleared, the country is simply moving the problem from one place to another.

The priority should therefore be protection first, restoration second.

That means stronger monitoring of protected forests, transparent information about coastal land-use decisions, effective action against illegal cutting, proper environmental assessments for development projects and greater involvement of the communities who actually live beside these forests.

It also means asking difficult questions.

o Who owns the land?

o Who approved the project?

o Was the area legally protected?

o Was an environmental assessment conducted?

o Were local communities consulted?

o If mangroves were removed, who authorized it?

o And if the law was violated, what action was taken?

These are not political questions in the narrow sense. They are questions of public accountability.

There is another group that has a particularly important role in this struggle: young people.

Sindh's youth are already using social media, photography, community campaigns and volunteer networks to raise awareness about environmental issues. Their role can go much further. Young people can document changes in coastal areas, support mangrove restoration, participate in community awareness programmes, conduct university research, produce environmental journalism and use digital platforms to demand transparency from institutions.

A young person with a mobile phone can document a disappearing forest.

A young journalist can ask who approved the land conversion.

A university student can turn satellite imagery into evidence.

A community volunteer can help restore a degraded creek.

And thousands of young voices can make it politically difficult to ignore environmental destruction.

But young people cannot carry this responsibility alone.

They can plant mangroves, but they cannot replace environmental regulators.

They can report illegal cutting, but they cannot replace law enforcement.

They can educate their communities, but they cannot replace government accountability.

The responsibility ultimately rests with those who have the power to make and enforce decisions.

Sindh's coastline should not be treated as empty land simply because it is far from the centers of political power. It is home to communities, wildlife and ecosystems that protect the wider province.

The mangroves of the Indus Delta are part of Pakistan's natural wealth. They belong not only to today's generation but also to those who will inherit this coastline tomorrow.

Political power should be used to protect public resources, not to make environmental laws easier to bypass.

Development is necessary. Economic growth is necessary. But development that destroys the natural systems protecting people cannot be called sustainable development.

The real test of leadership is whether we can build a future without destroying the foundations that make that future possible.

A mangrove may look like an ordinary tree standing alone in seawater.

It is not.

Behind that tree is a fisherman trying to earn a living. Behind its roots is a nursery for fish. Behind its branches is a habitat for wildlife. Behind the forest is a village protected from the sea.

And behind all of it is a question that Sindh can no longer afford to ignore:

When environmental destruction happens under the shadow of political or institutional influence, who will stand up for the trees—and who will hold the powerful accountable?