Letter from Lhasa: Nurturing sustainable future on Qinghai-Tibet Plateau

by Huang Yaoman

LHASA, Aug. 15 (Xinhua) -- For years, I had taken Xizang's pristine skies, crystal-clear waters and emerald mountains for granted, assuming the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau's breathtaking beauty was simply "nature's gift." But a recent visit from my family shattered that illusion, revealing just how much of this paradise on the plateau is the result of human effort.

As we drove from the airport to Lhasa, the regional capital, my uncle stared in disbelief at the lush slopes flanking the valley. "I can't believe how green these have become," he murmured, recalling his 2013 trip to Xizang, when the same slopes were nearly barren.

His awe took me by surprise. After three years here, I had come to accept the greenery as normal, never pausing to wonder how it had come to be.

That night, driven by curiosity, I dug deeper and discovered that since 2021, an ambitious afforestation campaign has transformed the mountains north and south of Lhasa.

Planting trees above 3,600 meters above sea level is no small feat. Workers carve deep holes into sheer cliffs, haul extra soil up by mule, and hand-water each sapling like nurturing a newborn.

As noted in a 2025 white paper, over 705,000 hectares of trees have been planted in Xizang in recent years, an area 4.5 times the size of London.

Xizang's green revolution extends far beyond its forests. Sunlight bounces off solar panels lining the highways, wind turbines churn atop the ridges, and in 2024, an impressive 99 percent of the region's electricity came from clean energy, the highest in all of China.

Given this remarkable figure, it's easy to understand why the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau has already achieved carbon neutrality, setting the benchmark for the rest of the country.

Yet I practically saw the most profound harmony between development and nature in June, during a patrol of Changtang National Nature Reserve, a 4,500-meter-high wilderness dubbed a "paradise for wildlife."

Accompanying ranger Kelsang Lhundrup, I stepped into the depopulated zone for the first time and spent a few nights there.

In the wild, I was enchanted by the turquoise lakes and raptors soaring above artificial nests when, suddenly, Kelsang Lhundrup gestured toward the horizon. A vast sea of Tibetan antelopes stretched as far as the eye could see, numbering up to 10,000 according to his estimate.

I had seen wildlife migrations in documentaries, but never with my own eyes. It was simply breathtaking!

Serving as a ranger since 2016, Kelsang Lhundrup is familiar with the vast grassland and its wildlife. "It's birthing season. The female antelopes are heading to their traditional calving grounds," he explained.

High altitude, harsh weather, rough roads and the lack of phone signal in the core zone of the reserve make life as a ranger incredibly challenging.

Deep within the reserve, at a wildlife conservation station, I met Gama, a 36-year-old ranger who played his wife's old voice messages repeatedly. "No signal here, but this voice keeps her close," he whispered softly.

I was at a loss for words. His silent dedication, much like saplings holding fast to sheer cliffs and antelopes roaming on their territory, spoke a truth far more powerful than any statistic could convey. Xizang's ecological miracles are built drop by drop, tree by tree, and watt by watt, a living testament to what is possible when humanity chooses to nurture rather than exploit the roof of the world.

(Edited by Lyu Qiuping)■