Erbil, the Green Capital

When we enter our capital, Erbil, today, we smell the scent of trees and notice the absence of dust. This is not a coincidence. 15 years ago, Erbil was a city choked by dust and heat in the summer. The city decided to break this pattern and declare, "If the city grows, green spaces must grow with it." In other cities, trees are the first to be cut down as palaces, complexes, and factories expand around the ring road, yet in Erbil, the opposite has happened. The "Erbil Green Belt" project began encircling the entire city with trees. The idea is simple yet profound: to surround Erbil with a green shield that blocks the dust coming from the plains of Mosul and Kirkuk (both hot and usually dry cities in the summer), and to temper the hot summer air that used to sting the faces of people in its narrow streets, no more than 100 meters and 60 meters wide. The first thing affected by the disappearance of trees is the heat, and everyone who lives in Erbil knows this well. The concrete of new housing complexes and sidewalks absorbs the July sun completely and reflects it back into our faces at night. But when we walk down a tree-lined street like Salahaddin Street or inside Sami Abdul Rahman Park, the difference is very obvious, we get shade, humidity, and a gentle breeze. This is a phenomenon known as "the urban heat islands," and we experience it every single day. For workers waiting for taxis, the students, and the elderly, the difference between shade and sun is the difference between exhaustion and endurance. The same applies to the air. The tree leaves in Erbil trap dust from sandstorms and absorb nitrogen dioxide, sulfur dioxide, oxygen, and carbon dioxide, giving us free oxygen through a process called photosynthesis. One tree won't eliminate pollution, but a city with a green belt has a second lung. There are many other benefits as well: it reduces traffic noise on the 120-meter-long street, provides shelter for birds that have returned to the parks, and makes strolling through the old markets and Erbil Citadel a pleasure. But what is the problem? It is that as the city grows, contractors remove trees under the guise of expansion, which leaves them without water, soil, or care. This is exactly where the strength of the Green Belt project lies. It's not just about planting; it's about planning. They selected species that can withstand Erbil's heat and drought—adapted local varieties—and provided them with ample space for roots and water. What is the main objective? It is that in 10 years, when we arrive in Erbil from Diyala or Kirkuk, the first thing we see is green space, trees, and vegetation, not concrete—a clear message: "We want our city to breathe." Erbil's residents have always known the value of land and orchards, and today they are witnessing their restoration through a project unprecedented in Iraq. This is the model we should follow in Duhok as well, and the rest of the region. We are not saying stop building; of course, we need houses, schools, roads, and towers, but why is the tree always the first casualty? The solution lies in making trees an integral part of the plan from the outset, protecting existing trees and planting new ones. Ultimately, the citizen feels the difference: who walks in the shade, who takes their family to Sami Park in the afternoon, who sits in a café surrounded by pretty flowers that smell amazing and trees instead of in the scorching desert. When the heat intensifies here, these small details in Erbil have become a matter of life and death. These matters are as essential as life itself.