On the onset of Ramadhan, one of my colleagues, Mr. Shabir Ahmad from Srinagar, gently suggested that I write something about the holy month. I hesitated as my writing, more often than not, remains focused in environmental concerns, Wular Lake, pollution, degradation, social development and our collective failure to protect what sustains us. Ramadhan, I thought, from every pulpit and page. I politely declined. But the suggestion stayed with me till the late night.
As the day passed, a thought began to take shape: Why should Ramadhan be separated from responsibility? Why should fasting be detached from the ethical obligations that faith demands in everyday life, towards people, towards society, and towards the Earth itself? And so, I decided to pick up the pen, not to write a conventional Ramadhan piece, but to reflect on environmental responsibility through an Islamic lens, especially in an age suffocating under polythene plastic.
The polythene bag has quietly become the most dangerous symbol of modern convenience. Used for minutes, discarded without thought, it survives for centuries, poisoning soil, choking water bodies, killing animals, and eventually returning to us through contaminated food and water. What appears to be a small, careless act has turned into a collective moral failure.
Environmental degradation today is not merely a scientific or administrative issue; it is a crisis of conscience.
Across our towns and villages, plastic clogs drains, floods streets, suffocates lakes, and renders fertile land unproductive. Cattle die after ingesting plastic waste. Birds and aquatic life disappear silently. These are not abstract environmental terms; they are lived realities unfolding before our eyes.
Centuries ago, this reality was captured with striking clarity in the Al-Qur’an:
ظَهَرَ ٱلۡفَسَادُ فِي ٱلۡبَرِّ وَٱلۡبَحۡرِ بِمَا كَسَبَتۡ أَيۡدِي ٱلنَّاسِ لِيُذِيقَهُم بَعۡضَ ٱلَّذِي عَمِلُوا۟ لَعَلَّهُمۡ يَرۡجِعُونَ.
“Corruption has appeared on land and sea because of what the hands of people have earned” (Surah Ar-Rum 30:41).
This verse reads today like a written auspicious for our times. Pollution is not accidental. It is earned, through neglect, excess, and the preference for convenience over responsibility. The Qur’an does not place the blame on nature, fate, or circumstance; it places it squarely on human hands.
Islam teaches that the Earth was created in balance, order, and purpose. Humanity was entrusted with Amanah, a sacred trust that includes land, water, animals, and future generations. Allah says: “Indeed, We offered the Trust (Amanah) to the heavens and the earth and the mountains…” (Surah Al-Ahzab 33:72)
(O Muslims! This earth is part of that Amanah. We were not created as exploiters, but as caretakers)
The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said: “The world is green and beautiful, and Allah has appointed you as stewards over it.” (Sahih Muslim)
A steward does not destroy what he is entrusted with. Using polythene irresponsibly, throwing it into streets, fields, rivers, and lakes is not a small sin, it is a betrayal of trust. Environmental destruction, therefore, is not merely poor governance or weak civic sense; it is a betrayal of trust.
What makes plastic pollution particularly troubling is its moral invisibility. We speak passionately about rights, justice, and development, yet remain largely silent about an injustice that affects everyone, rich and poor, urban and rural, present and unborn. A plastic bag discarded today may outlive the person who threw it, but its consequences will be inherited by children who had no say in that choice.
Ramadhan is meant to awaken restraint, discipline, and empathy. Fasting teaches us to control desire, reduce excess, and feel the pain of deprivation. Yet, paradoxically, Ramadhan often witnesses an increase in waste, especially plastic waste, through excessive packaging, disposable culture, and careless disposal. This contradiction demands introspection.
Religious wisdom across traditions converges on one truth, to harm nature is to harm ourselves. Christianity teaches that the Earth belongs to God. Hindu philosophy views nature and human life as inseparable. Buddhism emphasizes interdependence. Judaism forbids needless destruction even in times of war. Islam, however, places stewardship at the heart of faith, linking belief directly to responsibility.
Faith that ends at rituals but ignores roads, rivers, and marketplaces becomes hollow. True belief must be visible in everyday choices, what we consume, what we discard, and what we protect. In Islamic tradition, even removing a harmful object from a public path is considered an act of charity.
Narrated Abu Hurayrah (may Allah be pleased with him): “Every joint of a person must perform charity every day the sun rises: to judge between two people justly is charity; to help a man with his mount, lifting him onto it or hoisting up his belongings onto it is charity; a good word is charity; every step you take toward the prayer is charity; and removing a harmful thing from the road is charity.” (Ṣaḥih al-Bukhari, Sahih Muslim).
By that measure, allowing plastic to poison our surroundings is not a neutral act, it is a moral lapse.
Environmental disasters, floods, water scarcity, and climate instability are not random occurrences. They are warnings written into nature itself, urging humanity to pause, reflect, and reform. Ramadhan, as a month of reflection and self-correction, offers a powerful opportunity to realign our faith with our actions.
Saying no to polythene, choosing reusable alternatives, disposing waste responsibly, and teaching children environmental discipline are not minor gestures. They are acts of faith, citizenship, and responsibility.
To pollute the Earth is to pollute our conscience.To protect it is to protect life itself.
The time for symbolic concern has passed. What is needed now is moral courage, by individuals, communities, institutions, and governments alike. The Earth can heal, but only if humanity first chooses to change.
The Author, hailing from Bandipora, is a writer and can be reached at saltafrasool@yahoo.com.
