A Man-Made Catastrophe Demanding Accountability
Sheikh Ishtiyaq
The floods that struck Jammu and Kashmir in mid-August 2025 were not an act of fate. They were the direct result of human negligence, greed, and unplanned development that has systematically destroyed the fragile Himalayan ecosystem. More than nature’s wrath, this was a disaster of our own making.
Days of heavy rainfall, with some areas recording over 600 mm in a short span, triggered landslides, flash floods, and river overflows. The Jhelum River breached danger marks at multiple points, forcing emergency alerts across the Valley. In Kishtwar, a flash flood on August 14 killed several people, while later landslides buried entire families alive. In the Jammu division, bridges were washed away, villages submerged, and schools remained closed until September 5. Lives were lost, homes destroyed, and livelihoods swept away in a matter of hours.
These incidents are not isolated. They are part of a recurring pattern. Each monsoon season, rain that should be manageable turns into catastrophe. The reason is clear: unchecked human interference with natural water systems.
For decades, Jammu and Kashmir’s wetlands, floodplains, and lakes served as natural shock absorbers. They soaked up excess rainwater and reduced the impact of floods. Today, most of them are gone. Rapid urban expansion has consumed Hokersar wetland, once the Valley’s largest flood basin. Illegal constructions in Pahalgam and Sonmarg have choked eco-sensitive zones. Dal Lake, strangled by pollution and siltation, has lost its ability to act as a sponge. The Jhelum, the Valley’s lifeline, is now a clogged drain unable to carry even moderate flows.
Encroachment on flood channels has been rampant. Entire settlements, hotels, and commercial complexes have come up on riverbanks with political backing. In Srinagar, the natural flood channel, meant to carry excess water away from the city, is blocked by illegal structures. The result is predictable: the city drowns with every major spell of rain.
Deforestation has made matters worse. Hillsides once covered with trees have been stripped bare for fuel, roads, and construction. Without forest cover, the soil cannot hold water. Rainfall turns into sudden runoff, rushing into rivers and overwhelming towns downstream. Experts have repeatedly warned that the loss of forests increases flood risk, yet infrastructure projects continue to cut through green belts with little regard for consequences.
We saw the same in the catastrophic 2014 floods, when nearly 300 people died and property worth thousands of crores was destroyed. A decade later, no serious lessons have been learned. Reports by the National Institute of Disaster Management and other agencies highlight the same causes: illegal encroachment, unregulated urbanization, and shrinking wetlands. Yet, permissions for construction in flood-prone areas continue to be handed out, often greased by corruption.
The impact of this neglect is devastating. Thousands of families have been displaced in the current floods. Crops have been destroyed in South Kashmir, deepening poverty among farmers who depend on a single harvest. Roads, hospitals, and schools lie in ruins. The damage runs into billions, stalling recovery in a region already struggling with unemployment and economic uncertainty.
Socially, the burden falls hardest on the poor. Wealthier families can rebuild or relocate, but marginalized communities are left stranded in makeshift camps. Women and children suffer disproportionately, lacking access to safe shelter, healthcare, and basic dignity. Environmentally, the floods erode soil fertility, kill fish stocks, and damage biodiversity. The long-term scars may take decades to heal.
Despite these realities, political responses remain cosmetic. Relief packages are announced after every disaster, but they treat the symptoms, not the disease. The state calls for central aid, distributes compensation, and moves on until the next monsoon wreaks havoc. What is missing is accountability. Who allowed construction on flood channels? Who authorized the filling of wetlands? Who ignored repeated scientific warnings?
The way forward is clear, though politically inconvenient. Anti-encroachment drives must be enforced with sincerity, not as token gestures. Illegal structures on water bodies and flood channels must be razed, regardless of ownership. Wetlands like Hokersar must be restored through reforestation and desiltation. Urban planning must shift from profit-driven projects to ecological sustainability. Forest cover must be rebuilt to stabilize hillsides and improve water retention.
Most importantly, those who sanctioned illegal encroachments must be held accountable. Without political and administrative responsibility, every promise will remain hollow. If we fail to act now, floods will continue to return, each one deadlier than the last.
The floods of 2025 are a mirror held up to Jammu and Kashmir’s society. They show us the cost of denial, greed, and short-term thinking. If we do not accept the truth—that these disasters are man-made—we will remain trapped in a cycle of destruction. The waters will rise again, and once more, we will pay with lives, land, and livelihoods.
