Smoke Over the Himalayas: What Disappears When We Look Away

In early autumn, when much of the Himalayan wilderness begins preparing for winter, a flash of orange fire burst across one of Earth’s most fragile landscapes. It lasted just 52 seconds, but its impact will linger for years.

What was framed as an “environmental tribute” was, in reality, a marketing display that left behind 1,050 fireworks, holes drilled into alpine turf, and debris scattered across the slopes.

A Performance in the Wrong Place

The spectacle took place in Gyangze Relong, sitting at over 4,700 metres above sea level, an area defined by thin alpine meadows and slow-growing, carbon-rich vegetation that takes decades, sometimes centuries, to recover once disturbed. These high-altitude ecosystems are not built to endure explosions or heavy human intervention.

An orange trail of fireworks erupts across the Himalayas

What might look like barren land is, in fact, alive with delicate biodiversity:

• Himalayan Pika and Tahr, species already facing population decline.

• The Snow Leopard, with fewer than 10,000 individuals left in the wild.

• Rare alpine flora like the Himalayan Poppy and Noble Rhubarb, growing in just a few centimetres of organic-rich soil.

The true residents of the ridge: Himalayan Tahr, Snow Leopard, Pika, and Langur

When fireworks rain down microplastics, heavy metals, and toxic residues, it’s not only the air that suffers. Soil, water, and glaciers absorb the impact: pollutants settle, black dust accelerates ice melt, and toxins leach into water sources relied upon by both wildlife and herders downstream.

Destruction ≠ Art

This isn’t the first time art has met nature, but it’s rarely been this careless.

More than five decades ago, artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude offered a different vision. Their monumental works, like Valley Curtain and Surrounded Islands, were vast, temporary, and self-funded, but never destructive.

“Valley Curtain” by Christo & Jeanne-Claude

They treated nature as a collaborator, not a canvas to burn. Every project was designed for complete restoration, often leaving the landscape cleaner than they found it.

“Surrounded Islands” by Christo & Jeanne-Claude

In 2015, Mammut marked the 150th anniversary of the Matterhorn’s first ascent with a chain of climbers illuminating the peak’s historic route.

A tribute of light, not destruction. It honoured the mountain and those who first climbed it, showing that reverence can shine brighter than spectacle.

Mammut Campaign on the Matterhorn

Their approach reminds us: True environmental action never means destruction.

The Real Cost of “Eco-Marketing”

Today, many brands borrow the language of sustainability but forget its meaning. The Himalayan fireworks show framed as a “tribute to nature” became a collision of commerce, art, and ecology.

In just 52 seconds, over a thousand fireworks scarred a 3-kilometre ridge, leaving aluminium pipes, copper wires, and plastic debris buried in fragile alpine soil. Holes pierced the grass mat that holds the ecosystem together; adhesives seeped into the ground.

What’s left behind: copper wires, plastic tape, aluminium pipes, and waterproof glue buried in the alpine soil

At these altitudes, recovery takes centuries. What was meant as homage became harm, proof that true sustainability isn’t performed, but practised.

Reimagining Responsibility

At DE1 TEA, we believe environmental responsibility starts small, but runs deep.

From compostable materials to earth-safe production, we aim to design products that return to the soil as gracefully as they arrive in your cup.

Because a perfect brew should never come at the planet’s expense.