Correcting the Asymmetry: Why Bangladesh Needs UN-…

If a protest is peaceful, does not create problems for the public, and remains free of violence, it is a basic human right. In fact, protest is a sign of a living society. Dead people cannot protest or resist. Unfortunately, in our society, the protests of ordinary and poor people are often looked down upon, even though every protest should be judged on its own merits. People often complain that today’s generation is not as good as the previous one. But history shows that every older generation has made the same complaint about its youth. Even centuries ago, elders believed that young people had lost their values. Times have changed, but this mindset has remained the same. I believe that every new generation brings something better than the one before it. Today’s young people have access to knowledge in ways that no previous generation could have imagined. The internet and artificial intelligence have placed the world’s knowledge within everyone’s reach. As a result, today’s youth are more informed, more curious, and more aware. This is exactly what can be seen in the recent **Generation Z protests in India**. These young people are presenting their demands in a calm and respectful manner. Their speeches are based on logic rather than emotion. Whether boys or girls, they explain their concerns with confidence and reason. According to the protesters, **152 examination papers have leaked over the past ten years**, affecting nearly **70 million students**. They believe that Education Minister **Dharmendra Pradhan** should take responsibility and resign. They are demanding reforms in the education system, action against police officers who used force on students, medical treatment for the injured, the release of arrested protesters, and the withdrawal of cases filed against them. One female student said that their movement should not be turned into a Hindu-Muslim issue. She explained that her closest friend is Muslim and that religion has never come between them. According to her, the real issues are education, employment, and a better future—not religious divisions. She also argued that public money should be spent on schools and hospitals instead of fueling religious politics. Another young protester remarked that India’s two prominent leaders, Prime Minister Modi and Yogi Adityanath, do not have children of their own, so they may not fully understand the struggles faced by students and young people. Some protesters also mocked allegations that they were receiving funding from Pakistan or China. Holding packets of chips and spices, they jokingly referred to them as their “Pakistani funding,” using humor to challenge what they described as baseless accusations. The movement has not relied only on slogans. Students have also used songs, poetry, and creative performances to express their message. In some places, however, clashes with the police have occurred. The movement traces its origins to remarks made by **Justice Surya Kant** of the Supreme Court of India, who reportedly compared some unemployed young people to “cockroaches” during a court hearing. Many students felt insulted by the comment, which eventually led to the formation of the **Cockroach Janata Party** protest movement. The movement focuses on issues such as examination paper leaks, unemployment, and reforms in the education system. Among its well-known figures are **Abhijit Deepke** and **Sonam Wangchuk**. Wangchuk carried out a 26-day hunger strike before being taken into custody and moved to a hospital. What began in Delhi has gradually spread to other cities across India. Reports indicate that police have used baton charges, tear gas, and water cannons against demonstrators. Several international human rights organizations have expressed concern over the use of force against peaceful protesters. The students argue that India is the world’s largest democracy and that the right to peaceful protest must be protected rather than suppressed. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has announced that cases involving examination paper leaks will be referred to fast-track courts and that those responsible will face strict action. However, many protesters believe that promises alone are not enough and that concrete reforms are needed. History has shown that governments often underestimate public movements in their early stages. If legitimate concerns are ignored, such movements can grow into much larger crises, as has happened in several countries in the past. If the demands of these young people are genuine and reasonable, the government should engage with them directly, listen to their concerns, and reform the education system where necessary. If officials have failed in their responsibilities, they should be held accountable. A strong democracy is one that listens to peaceful voices instead of trying to silence them.

I have stood on the dry floor of the Aral Sea, and I can tell you that no photograph prepares you for it. It is not a desert in the way the Sahara is a desert, ancient and self-consistent. It is a wound — a seabed still faintly shaped like the water that used to cover it, salt crusted white across the sand, rusting fishing trawlers stranded kilometres from any shore, and children playing in the hulls of boats their grandfathers once sailed to catch sturgeon. It is, without exaggeration, the worst environmental tragedy I have ever witnessed with my own eyes. And I have spent thirty years of my life witnessing tragedies of water, in one direction or the other. The Aral Sea was once the fourth-largest inland body of water on Earth, spread across more than 68,000 square kilometres between what is now Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, fed for centuries by the Amu Darya and Syr Darya rivers. Soviet planners diverted those rivers at massive scale to irrigate cotton fields, and the sea began to die — slowly at first, then catastrophically. More than ninety percent of it is gone. What remains has splintered into four smaller lakes covering barely 3,500 square kilometres. The fishing economy that once fed the region collapsed entirely. The exposed seabed, laced with agricultural pesticide residue and salt, now rises on the wind as toxic dust that settles on crops and in human lungs hundreds of kilometres away. Villages that once sat on the water’s edge now sit stranded in a dead landscape, and the world, for the most part, has forgotten this happened at all. That forgetting is its own quiet tragedy. I did not come to this subject as a tourist of disaster. I have spent three decades campaigning for the preservation of the Himalayan glacier system, including a sustained, and ultimately unsuccessful, effort to see the Siachen Glacier converted into a demilitarised peace park — a proposal grounded in a simple technical fact: Siachen is melting faster than almost any glacier on Earth, in significant part because of the sustained military presence stationed on its ice. I made the case, repeatedly, that removing that military footprint would slow a specific, measurable source of glacial loss, feeding directly into the Indus watershed that sustains hundreds of millions of people downstream. I did not succeed. The glacier continues to melt. The troops remain. I say this not as a complaint but as an honest accounting: I have given a large share of my working life to glacier preservation, and by the plainest measure — ice mass — I have not stopped the loss. That failure has not left me cynical. It has left me convinced that the scale of the response has to match the scale of the crisis, and that we have consistently chosen the smaller response. I think about this every time I look at the Maldives. It is a nation of low coral islands, its highest natural point barely more than two metres above sea level, and it is not speaking in metaphor when its own government has warned that the country could become uninhabitable, and eventually vanish beneath the waves, within this century if sea-level rise is not slowed. I do not think most people outside the region understand how literally existential that threat is. This is not a country that will lose some coastline. This is a country that could, within the lifetime of children alive today, cease to have any land at all. That is the other half of the water crisis I have spent my life watching, and it is the mirror image of the Aral. Where the Aral Sea disappeared because rivers were mismanaged and diverted without thought for the consequences, the oceans are rising because the atmosphere has absorbed decades of greenhouse gas emissions, and the ice sheets and glaciers that once held the planet’s frozen water in reserve are releasing it. Through most of the twentieth century, global sea levels rose at roughly 1.4 millimetres a year — barely perceptible within a human lifetime. Between 2006 and 2015, that rate had already accelerated to roughly 3.6 millimetres a year, and it continues to climb. A rise measured in inches sounds trivial until you understand what it does: it turns rare storm surges into routine flooding, drowns wetlands that once buffered coastal cities, backs up drainage systems and rivers, and makes what used to be called a hundred-year flood into a fixture of ordinary life. New York and Miami already experience “sunny-day flooding,” where nothing more than an unusually high tide sends seawater into city streets with no storm at all. Shanghai, Bangkok, Kolkata, Mumbai, and Dhaka — cities holding tens of millions of people and trillions of dollars of infrastructure — face the same mechanism at a scale that could displace populations larger than most countries. And the danger does not arrive gently. In July 2025, an 8.8-magnitude earthquake off Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula — among the ten strongest ever recorded — sent tsunami warnings racing across the Pacific, triggering evacuations from Russia to Japan to Hawaii to the western coast of the United States. It was, by fortune more than design, a disaster the world mostly escaped. Scientists have been explicit that higher baseline sea levels make the next such event, and the next cyclone, more destructive than the last one would have been at a lower starting point. We are not simply facing more disasters. We are facing the same disasters arriving on a stage that has been quietly raised beneath them. I do not believe these two crises — a vanished inland sea and a rising global ocean — are separate stories. I believe they are the same failure, viewed from opposite ends of the same hydrological system: a civilisation that has never learned to treat the planet’s water as a single, finite, interconnected balance, to be managed with foresight rather than reordered by short-term convenience and corrected only after

President Donald John Trump occupies a singular place in the history of American leadership. He is at once a politician, a successful businessman, and an enthusiast of freestyle wrestling. His manner of thinking, planning, and decision-making bears a character distinctly different from that of his predecessors; indeed, many observers contend that it has few, if any, precedents in the annals of modern American politics. Analysts frequently describe him as a man of remarkable flexibility, yet they also acknowledge that a position defended with absolute conviction at one moment may, in the next, be replaced by its very opposite without the slightest hesitation. This characteristic became strikingly evident following the commencement of large-scale military operations against Iran on 28 February 2026. A careful examination of the period, particularly up to the defence of the Memorandum of Understanding concluded in June, reveals no fewer than seven significant shifts in President Trump’s strategic approach. At the outset, he dismissed economic concerns altogether, declaring that the financial difficulties of the American people were of no consequence and that the sole imperative was to prevent Iran from acquiring a nuclear weapon. By the time of the G7 summit, however, his tone had undergone a marked transformation. He began advocating the necessity of an agreement capable of shielding the global economy from a crisis comparable to the Hoover era and the Great Depression, pointing to instability in the financial markets as evidence supporting this revised position. His initial call for regime change in Iran was equally unequivocal. In a video address, he urged the Iranian people to rise against their government, declaring that the moment might represent their final opportunity for generations to come. Yet subsequent statements quietly abandoned this objective. Instead, he began speaking of normalising relations with Iran and cooperating with its existing leadership, occasionally describing those very leaders as more “reasonable” than before. During the early phase of the conflict, the complete destruction of Iran’s missile program, the industries responsible for its production, and the naval forces supporting it was presented as a principal objective. Later, however, his position softened considerably. He observed that while missiles might inflict damage upon limited areas, they were incapable of destroying the world, and since other nations possessed similar capabilities, Iran might also retain a limited missile arsenal. It was for this reason that the Memorandum of Understanding contained no provision requiring the dismantlement of Iran’s missile program. A similar evolution occurred regarding Iran’s nuclear program. Following the military operations of 2025 and again in 2026, it was asserted that Iran’s entire uranium enrichment capability would be eliminated and that the nuclear threat would be extinguished permanently. In time, however, the objective was narrowed simply to ensuring that Iran would not acquire a nuclear weapon. Rather than insisting upon total dismantlement, reliance shifted towards international monitoring and continued negotiations. Control over highly enriched uranium, initially regarded as a non-negotiable and indispensable condition, was subsequently treated as a matter of secondary importance. It was argued that preventing the production of a nuclear weapon remained the essential objective, while questions concerning enriched uranium would be addressed in future negotiations. The instruments of pressure likewise underwent a profound transformation. Economic sanctions and financial restrictions, once regarded as the principal means of coercion, gradually gave way to incentives. Discussions emerged concerning the release of frozen assets, temporary licences for Iranian oil exports, and the possibility of reconstruction assistance amounting to hundreds of billions of dollars, with additional concessions to be granted subject to Iran’s future conduct. Likewise, the original determination to terminate Iran’s support for regional proxy groups gradually receded into the background. In its place, greater emphasis was placed upon securing a direct ceasefire and addressing the broader requirements of peace and stability throughout the Middle East. These strategic adjustments were accompanied by repeated tactical oscillations, in which stern threats were frequently followed by the postponement or cancellation of military action. A chronological review compiled up to 3 August reveals numerous announcements of major strikes that were ultimately abandoned. The latest example occurred on 1 and 2 August, when military action was suspended following requests from Iran and several regional parties, together with the emergence of preliminary outlines for a possible understanding involving the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz and measures aimed at removing the nuclear threat. On 7 April, shortly before the expiration of an ultimatum in which President Trump had threatened strikes against bridges and power stations, a two-week ceasefire was agreed. He had warned that such attacks could extinguish an entire civilisation. On 21 April, at the request of international mediators, the ceasefire was extended indefinitely, although hostilities resumed at a later stage. On 18 May, a major military operation was deferred to allow serious negotiations to proceed, but when those negotiations faltered, military action recommenced. On the night of 11 June, President Trump threatened an overwhelming assault upon Iran together with the seizure of its oil and gas resources. Yet only hours later, citing what he described as a significant diplomatic breakthrough, he cancelled the operation, thereby paving the way for the Memorandum of Understanding. Signed on 17 June, the Memorandum provided for a ceasefire, the temporary reopening of the Strait of Hormuz, limited economic relief, and a framework for sixty days of negotiations. It nevertheless expressly reserved the right to resume bombing should its provisions prove unsatisfactory. At the beginning of July, following attacks upon commercial shipping, the ceasefire was declared terminated. Military strikes were launched against dozens, and subsequently scores, of targets. Congress was formally notified, and the Administration adopted an increasingly uncompromising public tone. Yet negotiations continued simultaneously. The naval blockade was reimposed, retaliatory operations persisted, and on 27 July the intensive daily bombardment was once again suspended in order to afford diplomacy another opportunity. Even in early August, fresh threats eventually yielded to renewed consideration of a possible political framework. Oil sanctions followed a similarly fluctuating course. Temporary export licences were granted, only to be withdrawn as sanctions were reimposed.

Pakistan laid the foundation for a NATO-style alliance among Muslim nations as Pakistan Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif signed the Mecca Joint Defence Agreement on August 7, 2026. The agreement represents a powerful recognition of Pakistan’s growing strategic importance.   The other two signatories included Saudi Crown Prince and Prime Minister Mohammad bin Salman, and Türkiye’s President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, who, along with Sharif, gathered at Al-Safa Palace in Mecca. In a joint statement, these countries announced that the agreement is “guided by the longstanding historical ties among the three states, based on the enduring bonds of brotherhood and Islamic solidarity that unite them, and building upon their shared strategic interests and longstanding defence cooperation.” The agreement asserts a commitment to treat an armed attack against any one of the three countries as an attack against all three.   The historic trilateral defence agreement was held at the Mecca Al-Mukarramah Summit for Joint Defence. It was also attended by Pakistan’s Chief of Defence Forces (CDF) and Chief of the Army Staff Field Marshal Syed Asim Munir, Defence Minister Khawaja Asif, and Deputy PM and Foreign Minister Ishaq Dar. The foreign and defence ministers of Turkiye and Saudi Arabia were also in attendance. While the Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan described the agreement’s terms as technically comparable to NATO’s Article 5, it is pertinent to note that the pact is not equivalent to NATO. Its precise operational mechanisms and institutional framework are yet to be developed. Both Pakistan and Turkish officials have, however, reinforced that the agreement is not directed against any particular country. It is also not designed to replace any existing alliance or strategic relationship, and this particularly holds for Türkiye, which is already a member of NATO. That said, the Mecca agreement is merely a defensive arrangement. It is crucial to make this distinction because these countries are not preparing for war. Instead, they are attempting to make collective security more credible. Simply put, the goal is to protect each other from outside threats. This is where Pakistan serves as the main pillar of the arrangement. Pakistan has earned its seat at the table owing to the evolving strategic position under Sharif and Munir. Throughout his tenure, Sharif has strengthened Pakistan’s diplomatic relationships not only with Saudi Arabia and Türkiye, but also with other regional powers. Munir, at the same time, oversaw Pakistan’s most significant military conflict in recent years, prompting the country’s expanding role in regional security diplomacy. Together, they bring credible diplomacy and military strength. Pakistan did not emerge as a catalyst for the agreement overnight. The foundations of the Mecca agreement were laid by Sharif and Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman in Riyadh roughly a year earlier. On September 17, 2025, they signed the Strategic Mutual Defence Agreement between Pakistan and Saudi Arabia. The agreement declared that aggression against either country would be considered aggression against both. Building upon a nearly eight-decade-long relationship, the two countries committed to strengthening the defence alliance and mutual deterrence. That pact was a crucial achievement for Sharif’s government. Pakistan and Saudi Arabia have often described their relationship as strategic and deeply rooted in shared interests. Although Pakistan’s military personnel have trained and worked alongside their Saudi counterparts for decades, Sharif’s diplomacy has transformed the relationship into a more structured partnership covering defence, investment, politics, and regional diplomacy. The September agreement essentially laid the foundation for the trilateral defence framework, now strengthening Pakistan-Saudi longstanding ties by bringing Türkiye into the alliance. Sharif does not treat Pakistan’s relationships as isolated bilateral partnerships. He refuses to choose a single ally and maintains strong ties with multiple powers. Be it Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, China, Iran, or the US, each serves different strategic interests for Pakistan. This gives Islamabad greater flexibility and independence in its foreign policy, without becoming overly dependent on any single country. The flexibility paid off in 2026 when the Iran crisis forced Pakistan into one of the most challenging diplomatic balancing acts. Pakistan is Iran’s neighbour, but it also has ties with Saudi Arabia and Türkiye. Iran shares a long border with Pakistan and longstanding economic, political, and cultural ties. A regional war involving Iran thus constituted a direct threat to Pakistan. Islamabad could have chosen to shelter behind its borders and wait for the crisis to pass; however, it chose to influence its trajectory. Sharif spoke directly with regional leaders, whereas Munir directed the security framework of the mediation initiative. On April 9, the Prime Minister’s Office stated Sharif and Munir reviewed Pakistan’s peace efforts and expressed satisfaction with the positive de-escalation achieved at that stage. The two also reiterated Pakistan’s commitment to support the parties in securing a negotiated settlement. On April 25, Sharif discussed the regional crisis and Pakistan’s diplomatic efforts with Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian. Prime Minister’s Office later reported that Pezeshkian extended his gratitude to Sharif, Munir, and Deputy Minister Ishaq Dar for their pivotal roles in fostering peace. A month later, the Iranian President once more reiterated his appreciation for Sharif and Munir for their efforts to bring peace to the region. This was a turning point for Sharif. He shifted Pakistan’s foreign policy from simply reacting to regional crises to actively steering their outcomes. As Sharif drew the diplomatic map, Munir gave it a military backbone. The evolution became especially evident in May 2025. The clashes between Pakistan and India transpired as the most serious direct military crisis between the two nations in decades. Following the April 22 Pahalgam attack that left 26 dead, India launched airstrikes across Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir. Pakistan retaliated with Operation Bynyan-ul-Marsoos, which led to both sides agreeing to a ceasefire on May 10. It became a defining moment for Munir. Pakistan demonstrated the potential of its armed forces to conduct sophisticated operations under extreme pressure. It also proved that its military apparatus could impose high costs on a much larger military. That is the cornerstone of credible deterrence for Islamabad. As for Munir, the Pakistan-India conflict redefined

A man’s hand emerges from a moving car window on Lahore’s Ferozepur Road, opens, and lets go, garbage tumbling onto the road like something the city never asked for. He drives on, does not look back. Nearby, another man treats a red light as inconvenience, not command, and guns through it because the road, for one careless breath, looks empty, not realizing a motorcyclist is already crossing into that emptiness. Neither would call himself careless. Ask them, and they will say, with the confidence of the unexamined life, that they are decent, law-abiding citizens, and narrowly, they are not wrong. Neither has broken a law that will ever find them. What they are missing is something smaller than law and, in the end, far heavier: civic sense. Civic sense is a phrase worn smooth by overuse and rarely defined. It is not patriotism, that loud, flag-waving thing. It is not obedience, that bowed, fearful thing. It is, instead, a kind of seeing, the awareness that one’s actions ripple into rooms one will never enter: the neighbour’s wall, turned dumping ground; the footpath, swallowed by parked motorcycles, leaving the pedestrian nowhere to stand but the road; the river downstream, carrying someone else’s filth to a family that never asked for it. It is the quiet discipline of behaving as though other people exist and matter, even when no policeman stands at the corner. Pakistan is not short of laws. Karachi’s bylaws on waste disposal would look entirely respectable in any city hall in the world. Islamabad’s traffic regulations are detailed enough to please the most exacting planner. What is missing is not ink on paper but something beneath the skin: the private sense that a rule is worth keeping even when no one is watching. This is why civic sense cannot be legislated into being, however many statutes are stacked atop one another. You can fine a man for littering. You cannot fine him into loving the street he lives on. Take something as unremarkable as a queue. Anyone who has stood at a bank counter, a railway window, a hospital OPD here knows the choreography by heart: the line exists as an idea until someone decides their time outweighs everyone else’s, and it dissolves like sugar in water. This was never really about queues. It is about a deeper assumption: that public space belongs to no one in particular, and rules, somehow, are meant for other people. Multiply that across a city of ten million restless souls, and you get gridlock that swallows whole afternoons, bins overflowing like wounds left untended, and parks abandoned within a year of their own birth. There is a cost to all this, rarely counted honestly. Karachi bleeds away enormous productive hours each year to congestion worsened, not created, by drivers who treat lanes as suggestions and red lights as optional punctuation. Public health suffers when open drains and uncollected waste become nurseries for disease, an arithmetic residents of nearly every major Pakistani city have learned to expect each monsoon. None of this appears, tidy and legible, in a budget document. It appears in hospital wards, in wages lost to sick days, in a low-grade sense that public life is something to survive rather than inhabit. It would be convenient to lay the blame entirely at poverty or lack of schooling, and there is a grain of truth there; a person fighting daily to feed a family has little room left for civic virtue. But the explanation only carries so far. Plenty of well-off, well-schooled Pakistanis fling litter from car windows and treat public parks as private gardens annexed from the commons. Civic sense is not a simple function of income. It is a habit, built through repetition, example, and whatever a society quietly agrees to call normal. This is precisely where schools could do far more. Civic education in most Pakistani classrooms, where it exists at all, survives as a chapter memorized for an exam rather than a practice lived out. A child taught that littering is wrong, who watches the adults around her litter daily without flinching, will absorb the adults’ hands, not the textbook’s words. Civic sense must be modelled, not narrated: teachers who insist on a clean classroom, parents who do not fling wrappers from car windows in front of watching children, local governments that follow a complaint through to its end instead of letting it dissolve into some forgotten file. None of this demands grand reform. It demands a shift in what ordinary people find embarrassing. In cities where civic sense runs deep, a litterer feels a small, hot flush of shame, not because a fine is coming, but because it simply is not done, the way one does not spit at a wedding. That social pressure is more powerful, and far cheaper, than any enforcement machinery a government could design. Building it takes time, and begins small: a shopkeeper sweeping the pavement outside his door, a driver waiting his turn at a roundabout though no one would know if he cheated, a resident reporting a broken streetlight instead of learning to walk around the dark. Cities are not, in truth, built by planners and engineers alone. They are built street by street, choice by choice, by the accumulated decisions of the people who walk them. A country may possess the widest roads and tallest towers in the region and still feel chaotic if the people moving through them share no responsibility toward them. Civic sense is not a lesson for children, nor a slogan for a billboard. It is the invisible infrastructure, unseen and indispensable, that makes every other infrastructure actually work. The writer is serving as Director of the Institute of Humanities and Arts at Khwaja Fareed University of Engineering and Information Technology, Rahim Yar Khan, Pakistan.

The role of media should not be confined to disseminating news and information but must also highlight public awareness regarding climate change. The media, in its reporting, is required to use appropriate terminology and diction to raise awareness, highlight the causes, and provide a way forward. The media, in its reporting, is expected to project the environment not as a resource to be used by humans but as a living environmental and ecological process that must not be disturbed by humans. For example, while writing such reports, if the media says that natural resources are diminishing or facing extinction, it must similarly highlight that the environmental system is being affected or impacted negatively . Recent studies have also reinforced this perspective. Penz and Fill (2022) observe that ecolinguistics promotes and fosters environmental awareness while supporting and strengthening the connection between humans and nature for sustainable development. In this context, Alexander and Stibbe (2014) argue that ecolinguistics plays a key role in highlighting the relationship between humans and the environment, as well as its impact on addressing environmental challenges and shaping a sustainable future. It is pertinent to highlight that while reporting any incident about environmental degradation or natural disasters, the media, apart from reporting, is also expected to provide solutions and a way forward to help face such incidents in the future. In reports about floods, wildfires, and rising temperatures, the media is also required to provide guidance and suggestions on how to combat or lessen the impacts of such environmental changes. The reporting must not be based only on presenting news and subsequently creating fear or chaos but must also give a sense of hope among people that through various techniques and the use of technology, such natural disasters can be managed effectively. The media must not consider floods, droughts, fires, or other environmental disasters merely as natural disasters but should link such impacts with environmental changes, industrial pollution, deforestation, human intervention with nature, and so on. Fairclough (1995), in his study, states that media should cover and highlight the areas that , on the other hand, are ignored and not given consideration by the masses. Therefore, the media is expected to sensitize the masses regarding such disasters and create a way forward to combat or tackle such environmental change disasters and their impacts on people and society as a whole. On the other hand, equally important is environmental equity or justice in society. It has been widely observed and noted that in floods, droughts, disasters, and environmental changes, the major impacts are faced by the underprivileged in society. It is the role and responsibility of the media to highlight and become a voice for such voiceless people, representing them and creating a sense of ownership among the poor and marginalized sections of society. The media is also required to highlight and create awareness among people about science and technology related to the environment and provide them with knowledge that through the use of such technology, they can tackle the horrors of disasters. The study of ecolinguistics reminds the media that humans are, in no way, different from society and can never be detached from society and vice versa. Hence, media reports are also expected to discuss humans, rivers, oceans, flora, fauna, biodiversity, and the ecosystem as a whole to give them significance and bring them into the limelight of the coverage. Media reporting is also required to use environment related terminology and diction, such as environmental war, ecological emergency, and other relevant terms, in its reports to highlight environment related information. Recent studies highlight that similes and metaphors have a significant impact on human thinking. Hence, the media is encouraged to resort to this method to mould public opinion towards environmental conservation and protection. Moreover, media personnel are required to engage in investigative journalism and cover incidents and events from different angles , examining their pros and cons deeply. If there are frequent flash floods in any area, the media is expected to discuss the causes and the role of concerned authorities in handling the incidents . Media houses, along with environmental protection organizations and other stakeholders, are required to impart knowledge and training to journalists. There is also a significant role for environmental funding organizations in sensitizing media personnel. In training sessions, they are expected to invite environmental experts, scientists, and scholars who have made significant contributions in this area. Media reports and the diction used therein have great significance. They must highlight a green and stable future through sustainable development initiatives and become partners in facing the challenges and effects of environmental degradation. They must give hope to people that the media stands with them and will continue contributing its responsible and positive role. This is the major objective of ecolinguistics. Societies such as ours widely need the use of ecolinguistics in the media.