LAST week, the prime minister found time to inaugurate two flyovers in Islamabad. Despite the “live coverage” on television, it was not news that attracted much attention.

Most people were too busy discussing judicialthe failed attempt to sell PIA, or smog in Lahore and the rest of the Punjab, with the provincial capital garnish pollution charts worldwide.

But as the discussion focused on Lahore’s ranking and the dirt that most city dwellers in Pakistan inhale throughout the year, there is also a gray originated in Islamabad. By the end of the week, the winter sun in the capital had disappeared, as had the unobstructed view of the Margalla Hills.

Although this is relatively new to Islamabad, it is not unfamiliar. An exceptionally dry spell the previous winter had blanketed our lives with similar dullness. In other words, the infamous smog has reached the capital as well; it stays until it rains. It is true that Islamabad cannot be compared to Lahore, but it is a start. And we know how this story ends – in many shades of gray and no sun.

But what does this have to do with the Prime Minister’s presence at city events in Islamabad, some may wonder. All. Because while we moan and groan about the poison that people breathe in, day in and day out, and discuss industrial pollution in cities and how winds from India are guilty, the issue will not be addressed until we change our way of thinking. Cities cannot become concrete jungles of flyovers and intersections for the comfort of cars and still ensure blue skies and clean air.

Politicians continue to obsess over physical projects, equating them with development and good governance. In this antiquated worldview, roads, crossings and intersections are the cool kids of development projects. Today’s Lahore is one Testament to that; where concrete crept forward on large parts of ‘elite’ Lahore — Gulberg, Liberty, Model Town, DHA. Roads were widened, signal-free corridors were added, and when all else failed, flyovers were squeezed in so cars could zip around.

In the process, the green areas were narrowed and even abolished altogether. Ask those who remember the green belt that made up Gulberg Boulevard before it was shrunk, planted with palm trees and the road widened. Few may remember, but they may have noticed that the wide road is no longer sufficient for the traffic, which has grown exponentially since then.

Cities cannot become concrete jungles of flyovers and change and still have clean air.

As Kevin Costner once told us, build and they will come. What we in Pakistan did not realize and do not realize is that once roads are built the cars will come; so many that the major roads are not enough either. And with traffic comes air pollution, which is a much bigger cause of smog than winds from India.

The same solution/problem was imported to Islamabad during the Gen Musharraf years, when roads were widened unnecessarily. Unnecessary because more than a decade after Musharraf left, the traffic in the city is still not enough to justify these wide roads. But we keep building more roads, widening the existing ones and building overpasses because traffic has to whiz through a city like it does on freeways and expressways.

No one complains or protests because it suits the policy makers and the rich – the same people who will petition the courts for Monal, stone crushingand the sanctity of Margalla Hills but never about the concrete that is conquering the city. Roads suit those who can afford cars, so it’s easier to pretend it’s not about the environment.

Roads, frankly, are a project of the rich and for the rich. Anyone who lives in Islamabad will realize this if they look sideways while hurtling down a wide road at 80 or 100 kilometers an hour. On either side are ordinary people trying to figure out when to run across without being run over; they must run because there is no dignified way to cross many roads.

Motorists may also notice, if they cared to look, the people standing patiently at one end of the overpass hoping for someone to slow down and offer them a lift to the other end. Because that crossing takes only seconds for a car to cross but a pedestrian much longer.

Without public transport and these highway-like roads in the middle of a city, the message to everyone is that a car or a motorcycle is essential for life. Without one, the city won’t work for you. How can it, because while cars require four- to six-lane roads, people are asked to climb sky-high stairs to cross a road because pedestrian crossings are there for the convenience of motorists.

These footbridges are really a desi invention, because I have never seen one in western big cities where the traffic moves slowly so that people can walk. In fact, in the rest of the world, city planners are tearing out overpasses and major roads, limiting traffic. But Pakistan continues to move in a different direction. In fact, our idea of public transport also starts with roads. Before the bus is even purchased, roads are built for it.

This affects one all the more in Islamabad, as the capital was conceived as a 15 minute city. Take a closer look at any of the older parts of the city and it’s obvious: the small parks are easy to place and wide walkways (despite the encroachment of generators and security guard rooms) and small markets are included in every sub-sector, ensuring that a grocery store is within walking distance from each house. Move further afield to the newer sectors and most of these amenities are missing; but big roads and the dust are always present.

This turned into a bit of a rant. But as a layman, I don’t know how else to say that Pakistani citizens will not enjoy the luxury of clean air until there is an overhaul of our development model and urban planning. Dirty air cannot be fixed by trial and error.

The author is a journalist.

Published in Dawn, November 12, 2024