By Khalid Khan
In the heart of Chitral, where the rugged mountains cradle one of Pakistan’s most precious natural treasures, a quiet massacre unfolds. Arandu Gol, once a sanctuary of towering deodar, kail, and spruce trees, is now a crime scene of greed and corruption.
Illegal logging, sanctioned by neglect and bureaucratic loopholes, has stripped the land of its protective green cloak, leaving behind a barren expanse where nature once thrived. The loss isn’t just financial—though Rs 8.67 billion has evaporated into the pockets of the powerful—it is existential, a slow-burning catastrophe that threatens the very balance of life in the region.
“Much-touted “Billion Tree Tsunami” project, a flagship initiative of former Prime Minister Imran Khan’s government. Yet, while headlines celebrated afforestation, the forests of Arandu Gol were being butchered in silence”
For decades, the forests of Arandu Gol stood resilient against time, sheltering diverse wildlife, preventing soil erosion, and acting as a crucial carbon sink. But chainsaws and unchecked plunder have changed that. With every felled tree, the land grows weaker, unable to hold itself together. The fragile soil, once anchored by deep-rooted deodars, now crumbles with every downpour. Landslides, flash floods, and erratic weather patterns are no longer distant threats—they are present realities, exacerbated by a system that rewards destruction over preservation.
The irony is bitter. The same province where this devastation takes place is home to the much-touted “Billion Tree Tsunami” project, a flagship initiative of former Prime Minister Imran Khan’s government. Yet, while headlines celebrated afforestation, the forests of Arandu Gol were being butchered in silence. The paradox is glaring—on one hand, a government boasting of planting trees; on the other, a government allowing the unchecked massacre of existing ones. If the Billion Tree Tsunami was truly meant to combat climate change, why did it coexist with such large-scale deforestation? Was it merely a smokescreen to distract from deeper systemic failures?
The Khyber Pakhtunkhwa government, tasked with protecting these forests, has instead overseen their ruin. In 2016, a policy was introduced allowing confiscated timber to be returned to local owners at a fraction of its market price. What was framed as a fair resolution quickly unraveled into a scandalous giveaway? The policy, which allocated 40% of timber revenue to the government and 60% to private claimants, fell apart when authorities inexplicably stopped enforcing it. Nearly 750,000 cubic feet of seized wood, worth billions, was left untouched, its fate unknown. What could have replenished the national treasury instead became a ghostly reminder of corruption in broad daylight.
The consequences of this negligence are far-reaching. Without forests to act as natural buffers, soil erosion intensifies, turning fertile land into lifeless dust. Streams and rivers that once flowed steadily now flood unpredictably, washing away villages and livelihoods. The impact of climate change, already visible in Pakistan’s increasing heatwaves and water shortages, is magnified by this reckless deforestation. Yet, despite the glaring warning signs, the silence from the KP government is deafening.
Arandu Gol’s tragedy is not just a regional issue—it is a national failure. It exposes the deep contradictions within Pakistan’s environmental policies, the convenient hypocrisy of ambitious tree-planting campaigns alongside unchecked logging, and the impotence of institutions meant to protect the country’s natural wealth. The question is no longer just about who profited from this destruction; it is about whether there is any will left to stop it.
As the sawdust settles over what was once a thriving forest, one truth remains: Pakistan cannot afford the cost of its own negligence. If accountability is not enforced, if the forests of Arandu Gol continue to disappear, then the next billion trees—if they ever come—will stand on eroded soil, shadows of what once was.
