Sagarmatha Sambaad: Nepal Leads Global Call to Save the Himalayas

DIPAK KURMI

In a world increasingly defined by division, climate degradation is emerging as a brutal equaliser. The recently convened Sagarmatha Sambaad—Nepal’s pioneering global dialogue on the fate of the Hindukush-Himalaya (HKH) mountains—marks an extraordinary shift in the climate discourse. Held from May 16 to 18 in Kathmandu, this summit, aptly named after “Sagarmatha,” the Nepali word for Mount Everest meaning "Brow of the Oceans," sought to draw attention to the majestic but gravely endangered mountain range. The symbolism embedded in the name recalls the dramatic origin of the Himalayas from the ancient Sea of Tethys 50 million years ago—an evolutionary miracle now threatened by the modern curse of climate change.

The dialogue was remarkable not just for its subject matter but for the scale and diversity of participation. Countries from across the globe gathered in Kathmandu to discuss the HKH ecosystem within the broader canvas of global warming, environmental degradation, and social inequalities. The event, organised in partnership with the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD), saw ministerial-level representation from India, China, Bhutan, and Bangladesh—all of whom share the fragile HKH space. India’s presence was marked by Environment Minister Bhupender Yadav, whose active engagement in the summit was widely welcomed, particularly against the backdrop of simmering India-Pakistan tensions. Pakistan, for its part, was represented through civil society—a testament to the potential of climate diplomacy even amidst geopolitical hostilities.

The HKH region sprawls over 3,500 kilometres, covering an area of 4.3 million square kilometres, and spans across eight nations: Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, China, India, Myanmar, Nepal, and Pakistan. It harbours the largest volume of fresh water in frozen form outside the polar zones, making it justifiably known as the “third pole.” From its glaciers originate ten of Asia’s major rivers—the Indus, Ganga, Brahmaputra, Irrawaddy, Salween, Mekong, Yangtze, Huang He, Amu Darya, and Tarim. These rivers nourish the lives and livelihoods of nearly 1.9 billion people. The mountains act like umbilical cords, connecting the snows to the sea and linking the ecological past with the climatic present. Yet, the increasingly rapid rate of glacial melt—65% higher in the 2010–2019 decade compared to 2000–2009—now threatens to sever that ancient connection.

What is happening in the HKH is not just a regional concern; it is a global emergency. The accelerating glacial retreat is not only endangering biodiversity—already many species have vanished or teeter on the brink of extinction—but is also destabilising water security, agriculture, and disaster resilience across one of the most populous regions of the world. While the science is clear, the politics remains muddy. The geopolitical fault lines that crisscross the region often prevent even the most basic data-sharing efforts, such as information on glacial mass balance or seasonal river flows, as these are viewed through the prism of national security. The hoarding of environmental data in the name of sovereignty is, quite literally, melting away the future.

This is where the vision behind the Sambaad becomes invaluable. Convening such a conversation in Nepal, a country that sits at the heart of the HKH and suffers acutely from its changing climate, serves not just as symbolism but as strategy. Under the stewardship of ICIMOD’s Director General Pema Gyatso from Bhutan, the organisation has led commendable efforts in mapping glacier health and advocating for regional cooperation. But mapping alone is not enough. A tectonic shift in political mindset is needed—one that treats ecological resources not as negotiable assets of sovereign competition but as sacred commons deserving of shared stewardship.

The Sambaad echoed with a pressing question: Is it already too late to reverse the damage? While no definitive answer was offered, the consensus leaned towards urgency over despair. The stakes are simply too high for inaction. It was emphasised that mountain systems, rivers, forests, and oceans must be viewed not as inert resources to be divided but as living, breathing entities—nurturing yet vulnerable. This vision is not new to South Asia; in fact, it is deeply embedded in the civilisational ethos of the region. Across centuries, the people of this region have revered natural landscapes not as adversaries to conquer but as sanctuaries to protect. This cultural attitude can form the philosophical backbone for a uniquely South Asian model of ecological diplomacy.

Moreover, India, as the largest and most technologically advanced country in the region, has much to offer. It operates satellites capable of monitoring glacier health and predicting Glacial Lake Outburst Floods (GLOFs), an increasingly frequent hazard in the HKH. Its network of automatic weather stations already offers early warnings on cyclones, monsoons, and storm surges—critical capabilities that could be regionalised to benefit all eight ICIMOD countries. Yet, technological generosity is impossible without trust. And trust is the very currency depleted by conflict, nationalism, and strategic paranoia. 

The Sambaad also brought attention to the need for a united regional voice at global climate negotiations. Currently, the HKH does not receive recognition commensurate with its ecological importance and vulnerability. While the Arctic and Antarctic command scientific and financial resources, the HKH—despite being the lifeblood of nearly two billion people—is often sidelined. Nepal's leadership in this regard deserves praise, and future editions of the Sambaad could become institutionalised platforms to craft and amplify a collective regional voice. Inclusion of climate change adaptation, technology transfer, climate finance, and loss and damage specific to mountainous terrains in international frameworks must be aggressively pursued.

Beyond diplomacy and data, the region can also look inward. Best practices abound—from Bhutan’s carbon-negative development model to India's afforestation drives and Nepal's community forestry initiatives. Cross-border partnerships on these fronts could yield scalable, culturally attuned solutions. For instance, community-based disaster preparedness in the Ganga-Brahmaputra basin could inform similar efforts in the Indus or Mekong deltas. Cultural and spiritual connections to nature can help frame environmental preservation as not just a technical challenge but a moral one.

Importantly, the Sambaad steered clear of becoming a forum for political score-settling, focusing instead on the bigger picture. While diplomatic tension is inevitable, the looming ecological catastrophe dwarfs all regional hostilities in its potential for devastation. It could precipitate water wars, mass displacement, agricultural collapse, and economic disruption on a scale never seen before. Seen in this light, geopolitical rivalries seem almost petty—a view echoed by many participants at the dialogue.

Nepal’s initiative has brought the HKH into global consciousness, but this must not remain a one-off event. More such dialogues, followed by actionable frameworks, are essential. The region does not have the luxury of waiting. The glaciers will not pause while parliaments bicker or while borders remain closed. The HKH mountains, in their sublime silence, are screaming for attention.

The SagarmathaSambaad was not just a conversation—it was a clarion call. A call to wake up, to collaborate, and to act. If the nations that share these sacred mountains can rise above their divides, the HKH could become not the site of climate collapse, but the crucible of regional cooperation and ecological revival. It is, quite literally, a summit from which the world must not descend without commitment.

(Email: dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com)