Karachi's shrinking mangroves and why they matter

Tariq Alexander Qaiser does not see the Karachi coastline as a wasteland; he sees a "Forest in Peril," the title of his film exploring the vulnerability and resilience of mangrove ecosystems on Bundal Island, which is still breathing despite the city’s best efforts to stifle it.

For over 15 years, Qaiser has navigated the narrow channels of the Indus Delta, documenting a world most Karachiites, the children of Kolachi, have forgotten.

As an architect, Qaiser understands that a city is only as beautiful as it is livable.

"Beauty is about wellness," he explained in an exclusive conversation with Pakistan TV Digital. To him, the mangroves are not merely trees; they are the city’s primary infrastructure.

Speaking of Pakistan’s unique position, he said, "Pakistan is truly blessed with aquifers. Our subsurface water resources are incredible."

He envisions a future in which we "create micro-climates in zones along the entire length of Pakistan," turning riverbeds into vast "oxygen machines." It is a grand architectural vision, yet one grounded in biology.

Pakistan is one of the few countries with a riverbank long enough to run the entire length of the country, and it is “very doable” to plant trees along the bank, he said.

The story Qaiser tells is one of documented loss. In 2011, the delta was a different world.

"The canopy was in the range of 50 to 60 feet," he recalled. "The density was so deep and dark that rays of light would come through like shards of light ... it felt primordial."

In those days, the channels were so narrow, barely four feet wide, that you had to duck under branches to pass, he said.

Today, those same channels have widened to 15 feet as mangroves are cut down for fuel or land clearing.

"Those areas that I have on record at 50 to 60 feet," he noted with almost clinical sadness, "are currently in the 20s." The loss is the dismantling of the city’s natural defense system.

Despite the profound changes that sometimes taint the sea air, Qaiser refuses to look away. He urges Karachi's residents to reconnect with their roots.

"We, the children of Kolachi, are people of the sea. We must recognize our foundations, our roots, and where we were born.”

He invites the city to go to the shore, to "breathe in the scent of nature," and to recognize that while we have spoiled much, the potential for recovery is "low-hanging fruit."

Qaiser’s mission is a ten-year commitment to a landscape that refuses to die. His documentation is a bridge between what was and what could still be. For him, the math is simple: If we protect the mudflats and the old growth, the city survives.

"The Indus River is not dead as yet," Tariq insisted, his voice carrying the weight of nearly two decades of observation. "And we need to bring it back. We need to bring it back."