In the face of increasing evidence of climate change and pushed by massive public pressure, the world’s leaders finally came together in Paris in Dec 2015 and signed the first universal, legally binding global agreement on climate change. Unfortunately we’re already seeing countries ignoring the spirit of the Paris deal making it even more crucial for the public to remain engaged and for them to keep the pressure on their leaders. In his latest book ‘The Great Derangement: Climate Change and the Unthinkable’, Amitav Ghosh attempts to unpack the failure of literature and politics to grasp the enormity of climate change. Kartik Shanker talks to Ghosh about why literature and film have failed to accommodate climate change as part of our lives. In her book review, Rohini Nilekani highlights the ‘many rich threads’ that Ghosh weaves into his narrative.
Issue Editor: Marianne Manuel
Author: 3sc
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DonateThis issue brings together old problems and new possibilities. First, the old. We interview Corey Bradshaw about that permanent elephant in the conservation room – human population growth. Corey argues, provocatively, that there are no “quick fixes” to population growth, and that therefore, conservation action will be better-served by focussing elsewhere in the near future. GBSNP Varma spotlights a Nature paper that examined threats faced by over 8000 species on the IUCN red list and found that agriculture and over-exploitation of species continue to remain the most important
drivers of biodiversity loss.
Now, for the new: Anjali Vaidya writes about the work of anthropologists Piers Locke and Paul Keil, who are trying to build a bridge between ethnography and ethology to better understand human-elephant interactions. Caitlin Kight discusses a project that’s using cameras to remotely monitor nests of the critically-endangered Californian Condor.
And of course, like always, this issue also features exciting new content in our old (and not-so-old) regulars: the second volume of CC Kids, a Research in Translation piece by Vrushal Pendharkar on why sparrowhawks come in different colour morphs, and reviews of Paolo Bacigalupi’ s novels by Caitlin Kight.
Issue Editors: Hari Sridhar
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Vulpes vulpes, Little Rann of Kutch
A desert fox Vulpes vulpes pup stares curiously at the noise of the camera shutter.
Photograph: Kalyan Varma
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Dicrurus Paradiseus, Madhya Pradesh
A pair of greater racket-tailed drongos in Kanha National Park, Central India. Racket-tailed drongos are known to run a “protection racket” in mixed-species bird flocks in tropical forests; warning other species of predators while extracting a fee in terms of insect prey in return.
Photograph: Ramki Sreenivasan
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(India’s Great Industries No. 1.)
JC Kydd
Oxford University Press London, 1921
https://www.archive.org/details/teaindus -try00kydduoft
A BOOKLET THAT IS MORE AN APOLOGY TO THE TEA INDUSTRY AND ITS HISTORY
A 1921 booklet meant to introduce the Indian tea industry to children, among others, to stimulate interest in working in that industry (in a series that included cotton industry, shipyards, leather works, iron works and such!). A rather drab and uncritical description of the basic practice of tea cultivation in hill estates, with statements like, “There is only one thing better than one cup of tea and that is two.” More a pamphlet than anything, it may be read as a curiousity by people interested in the history of the tea industry.
The book has a few interesting old photographs of factories and workers, including of bare-torsoed factory workers in waist cloths. Child labour was apparently common in the factory, too, as the author says, “The leaf is spread thinly upon these trays – often by gangs of children under the careful supervision of an overseer.” It quotes the Commissioner of the Tea Cess Committee, charged with promoting a domestic tea market: “If all Indians habitually drank tea instead of water not only would internal illnesses and the death rate be very much reduced, but the general energy and initiative of the people would be much increased. Besides temperance workers advocate very strongly that the habit of tea drinking acts as a counter attraction to the habit of alcohol drinking.”
Hmm, where’s my cup of tea, now?
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J R McNeill
W. W. Norton & Company
ISBN: 0-393-04917-5 2000
https://www.amazon.com/SomethingUnder-Environmental-TwentiethCentury-ebook/dp/B001YWN9YW/ ref=tmm_kin_title_0
A FASCINATING ACCOUNT OF 20TH CENTURY ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY AND THE HUMAN FOOTPRINT ON THE PLANET
This book, which aims to present an ecological history of the 20th century, but which does more than that, is one of the first really comprehensive global environmental history books I’ve read. It is balanced, mostly neutral in tone, and has a historian’s caution in interpreting past and recent events and prognoses for the future. While generally well written, it is a little less engaging in the beginning but becomes better towards the end.
The span is impressive: the book examines environmental impacts on soil, water, air, ecosystems, and biodiversity in a historical perspective. It tackles themes of economic growth, industrialisation, farming of land and water and ocean and the so-called Green Revolution, dams and infrastructure, democratisation, coal, oil, and energy, globalisation, changes in medicine and public health, and, of course, environmentalism itself. Its pages encapsulate an amazing range of items and ideas: from the history of chainsaws and tractors to cars and nuclear power, from the history of chemical fertilizers and leaded gasoline to chlofluorocarbons (CFCs) and greenhouses gases.
Most fascinating of all are the accounts of the people responsible and the nations underlying these changes, and how people and nations have changed and been changed by the environment. There are some interesting sidelights to read here. How Fritz Haber, the co-inventor of the Haber-Bosch process that brought us today’s urea and nitrogen crisis, also spent World War I creating poison gas for the German military, which led his wife to commit suicide. How Thomas Midgely, the inventor of ‘freon’, the first of the ozone-depleting CFCs, and of the use of lead in engine performance, “had more impact on the atmosphere than any other single organism in earth history”. Midgely later contracted polio and invented a peculiar contraption to get himself in and out of bed, which ultimately went awry and strangulated him to death.
The chapter on air pollution makes fascinating and compelling reading, highly relevant in today’s context. The author describes how a London fog of 1873 was so dense that people walked into the River Thames because they couldn’t see it. How air pollution killed as many people in the 20th century as were killed in both world wars combined, “similar to the global death toll from the 1918-1919 influenza pandemic, the twentieth century’s worst encounter with infectious disease”. How, for people “… breathing Calcutta’s air after 1975 was equivalent to smoking a pack of Indian cigarettes a day. Nearly two-thirds of the population in the 1980s suffered lung ailments attributed to air pollution, chiefly particulates.” How “Coal soon signed its own death warrant as London’s fuel by killing 4,000 people in the fog of December 4-10, 1952. Chilly weather and stagnant air meant a million chimneys’ smoke…”. McNeill writes about urban smog and indoor pollution from burning coal and biomass in the domestic hearth, adding chillingly how air pollution only compounded the environmental crisis brought by water pollution in the twentieth century. “Indoor air pollution, particularly in the poorer countries where biomass and coal served as domestic fuels, produced the same ailments and probably killed millions more. That said, it is well to remember that polluted water caused far more death and disease than did polluted air in the twentieth century.”
Fascinating and manifold, McNeill recounts a range of events and issues of great environmental import: the Dutch transmigration of 1905 in Indonesia, the Soviets ploughing into the steppes, the Brazilian push into Amazonia, waste management in Curitiba and Tokyo and Mexico, Peru’s anchoveta collapse and the assault on the world’s fisheries, the dam-building boom in the 1960s when at least one dam was being built per day on average in the world, the ecological footprint of cities from Delhi to Beijing and Singapore to others, the oil spills in Nigeria and the history of dependence on coal and oil, about medicine and public health and the impact of small pox and its eventual conquest until only “samples of the virus remain in freezers in laboratories in Atlanta and the Siberian city of Koltsovo” and so on and on.
McNeill also has a quirky way of looking at world events. Writing about invasive alien species, he says: “So, in the tense Cold War atmosphere of the early 1980s, American ecosystems launched a first strike with the comb jelly and the USSR’s biota retaliated with the zebra mussel. The damaging exchange probably resulted from the failures of Soviet agriculture, which prompted the grain trade from North America: more trade, more ships, more ballast water.”
Writing about environmentalism and the global fixation on a single-point agenda of economic growth, he also draws on the Gandhi-Nehru divide, quoting Gandhi: “God forbid that India should ever take to industrial ism after the manner of the West…. If an entire nation of 300 million took to similar economic exploitation, it would strip the world bare like locusts.’ Gandhi was exceptional: most Indian nationalists, like Jawaharlal Nehru, wanted an industrial India, locustlike if need be.” And how independence from colonial powers did little to transform the trend of human impact on the environment: “In environmental matters, as in so many respects, independence often proved no more than a change in flags.”
McNeill draws a brief history of the environmental movement and how it was fostered by effective communication of science and ideas, singling out the work of the author of Silent Spring. “Successful ideas require great communicators to bring about wide conversion. The single most effective catalyst for environmentalism was an American aquatic zoologist with a sharp pen, Rachel Carson (1907-1964).” Yet how has the movement fared in bringing change? Mc Neill writes: “When Zhou Enlai, longtime foreign minister of Mao’s China and a very worldly man, was asked about the significance of the French Revolution some 180 years after the event, he replied that it was still too early to tell. So it is, after only 35 years, with modern environmentalism.”
In the end, McNeill highlights how both ecology and history are highly integrative disciplines (as this book itself highlights) and that they need to understand and work with each other if we are to make sense of our environmental movement, past and future.
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In rural India, domestic dogs roam widely into wild habitat, with or without humans, and interact with wildlife. If both pack size and the distance they travel from villages increase, these dogs can become a recipe for many kinds of disaster.
Ecological edge-effects can be positive or negative. Edges between two different kinds of habitats create ecological conditions (called an ecotone) that, in some cases, can actually increase biodiversity at the edge. However, when edges are a result of human modifications of habitats, such as when forests are clear-felled for agricultural use or human-settlements, then the subsequent edge can have deleterious effects for the fragmented natural habitats. For example, the creation of roads in the Amazonian rainforest alters the micro-climate of the region, aids in the spread of invasive species and ultimately results in the loss of habitat for edge-intolerant species. It was thought that the negative effects of edges extended to within 10-15 metres inside natural habitats. However, recent evidence shows that some human commensal animals such as generalist predators that occur in high densities in human-altered landscapes can traverse several kilometres into natural habitats. Movement of these animals creates a large-scale edge-effect that can have severe consequences for species inside natural areas, especially when such natural habitats are in small fragments.
In India, most natural and protected habitats are fragmented and are either surrounded by human-settlements or even have settlements enclosed within them. As with other rural areas throughout India, these settlements also harbour high densities of domestic dogs. These dogs roam widely into wild habitats either with or without human accompaniment. The risk that these dogs pose to wildlife is primarily explained by two factors: the density of the dog populations and how far dogs roam from their homestead. Higher densities of dogs increase the probability of pack formation,which makes them more effective when preying on wildlife or confronting other carnivores. Large populations of dogs near villages or households are unlikely to negatively affect wildlife.
Therefore, how far dogs are allowed to range from human settlements is a critical consideration. Dogs that travel several kilometres into wildlife habitat are more likely to come into contact with wildlife and thus have a potentially deleterious effect. Combine large populations with a propensity to roam widely and you have a recipe for a lethal scenario for many species of endangered wildlife.

The outcome of an encounter between dogs and wildlife can also depend on the kind of wildlife they encounter. Dogs are not particularly good at hunting wild animals. Low densities of dogs will succeed in killing large prey such as deer or antelope, but when this happens it appears dramatic and grabs headlines. However, the real cause for concern is when dog densities are high and they are wide ranging. For critically endangered species, such as the great Indian bustard, where every egg and every chick represents a substantial contribution to an alarmingly dwindling population, the risk of predation from even a single dog is unacceptably high. Furthermore, sustained harassment from attempted predation can result in high levels of stress in prey species, which under chronic conditions, can cause lowered reproductive output.
Dogs are also particularly dangerous to other kinds of carnivores, irrespective of their size, so even large tigers are at risk. The nature of this interaction, though, is quite different. For species smaller than themselves, dogs dominate by interference competition: chasing, harassing and in many cases even killing the subordinate predator. Thus smaller carnivores tend to avoid areas frequented by dogs or even abandon food resources that may normally be available to them. For example, golden jackals don’t scavenge from carcasses when dogs are found dominating these scarce but rich food sources. Interactions with larger carnivores is more in the form of exploitative competition, where dogs, by virtue of greater population densities, use shared prey resources faster than the native carnivores. In either case, the higher the density of dogs and the wider their ranging behaviour, the stronger these effects are likely to be.
Few dogs in India are vaccinated against common disease-causing pathogens such as rabies, canine distemper virus and parvovirus. These pathogens can be deadly to a variety of wild carnivores, from foxes and wolves to tigers and leopards.

Several well-established cases of disease-spillover from dogs to carnivores have been documented worldwide. Among the most famous examples was an outbreak of canine distemper virus that killed over a thousand African lions in Serengeti National Park in 1994. Genetic studies confirmed that this virus had originated in the large domestic dog population that resided in the villages on the periphery of the park.
Because a minimum threshold population density is required for pathogens to remain active in unvaccinated dog populations, low densities of dogs are unlikely to have a large effect, irrespective of their ranging behaviour. However, once populations get large enough for pathogen reservoir status to be achieved, ranging behaviour becomes more important. An unvaccinated wide-ranging dog that is part of a high-density, infected population has a high chance of coming into contact with carnivores and leaving infective materials in the environment. This kind of contact can have the most deleterious and far-reaching effect on wildlife, extending beyond individuals to entire populations.
Imagine a scenario where an epidemic of canine distemper virus, similar to the Serengeti one, were to hit the lion population in Gir. Within a relatively short period of time, a large proportion of the only population of Asiatic lion in the world could succumb to this disease, bringing to nought decades of hard-fought conservation success. Thus, dogs constitute a large-scale edge-effect, extending human-induced disturbances deep into natural habitats and potentially reducing the efficacy of protected areas that are supposed to be inviolate from anthropogenic influences.
More images of dogs interacting with wildlife.






Photographs: Vickey Chauhan and Kalyan Varma
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MASS VACCINATION OF DOGS IS RECOMMENDED AS THE MOST COST-EFFECTIVE, LOGICAL AND ETHICAL APPROACH TO CONTROL RABIES, PARTICULARLY IN RESOURCE-LIMITED COUNTRIES.
Rabies, also known as hydrophobia, is a highly fatal viral disease of mammals with widespread distribution, found on all continents except Antarctica. The causative agent is a neurotropic RNA virus belonging to family Rhabdoviridae, genus Lyssavirus. All mammals are susceptible, and transmission occurs mainly via bites of infected animals. This zoonotic disease is transmitted to humans by bites or licks of rabid animals, mostly dogs. Virus in the rabid animal’s saliva is deposited in the bite wounds. The virus then travels via the peripheral nerves towards the brain where it replicates. After replication, the virus then spreads to the major exit portal, the salivary glands. This is when the animal begins to exhibit the symptoms of rabies. Hydrophobia (fear of water) is a characteristic symptom of rabies in humans, while rabies in dogs is manifested either as a ‘furious’ form (typical mad dog syndrome) or a ‘dumb’ form (predominantly paralytic form). Once the symptoms of rabies develop in an animal or a human being, the patient rarely survives more than a week. Domestic dogs are the main reservoir and vector of human rabies, especially in developing countries. Canine or dog-mediated rabies contributes to more than 99% of all human rabies cases. Half of the global human population, especially in the developing world, lives in canine rabies-endemic areas and is considered at risk of contracting rabies. Rabies is the only communicable disease of humans that is almost always fatal. Though incurable after the onset of clinical signs, human rabies is nearly always preventable. Post-exposure treatment encompasses thorough wound treatment (immediate and vigorous wound cleansing with lots of water and soap), post-exposure vaccine regime, and inoculation of rabies immunoglobulin whenever deemed necessary.

Elimination or control of rabies in dog populations is essential to control and reduce the risk of disease transmission to humans, other domestic animal species, and wildlife. Mass vaccination of dogs is recommended as the most cost-effective, logical and ethical approach to control rabies, particularly in resource-limited countries.
RABIES IN INDIA: PUBLIC HEALTH IMPLICATIONS
As the principal reservoir and vector of rabies, domestic dogs are responsible for an estimated 20,000 human rabies deaths every year in India, which means one person dies every 30 minutes somewhere in India due to rabies transmitted by dog bite. A majority of these deaths (more than 90%) occur in rural areas. Despite the large number of human deaths, rabies remains a disease of low public health priority and is not a notifiable disease in India. A lack of an organised surveillance system for rabies results in under-reporting, and the actual number of human rabies deaths may be significantly higher than the estimated figure. There is no national program for the control and elimination of rabies in India.
RABIES IN INDIA: WILDLIFE ISSUES
Free-ranging rural dogs interact with local wildlife at multiple levels, and a potential exists for spill-over of diseases from the abundant reservoir host (dogs) to wildlife. Elsewhere, many threatened carnivore species have shown population declines and local extirpations due to introduction of rabies from nearby dog populations. For example, the wiping out of the African wild dog population in the Serengeti-Mara landscape (Tanzania / Kenya) in 1989 and the episodic population declines of Ethiopian wolves in Ethiopia in 1990, 1991-92 and 2003 have been linked to a rabies virus variant which is common in dogs. In India, species like leopards, wolves and golden jackals occur in close proximity to humans in many places, and the transfer of rabies from dogs to these species is a possibility. Such events could have other serious implications: rabies might be the most important factor explaining wolf attacks on humans. Most wolf attacks seem to follow the rabid-wolf pattern-a wolf travelling over large distances, biting many people and domestic animals. Rabies is a prime suspect if such a pattern is reported, as wolves are known to develop an exceptionally severe ‘furious’ phase of rabies, resulting in a ‘biting spree’.

Death due to rabies has been reported in wolf-bite victims who don’t receive appropriate post-exposure treatment, or those with bite wounds inflicted on the head and neck. Such attacks on humans by wolves are highly publicised by the local and regional media, and influence the attitudes of people towards wolves, and consequently towards wildlife policies and conservation.
ABOUT THE STUDY
India has a large dog population, consisting mostly of free-roaming, poorly supervised and unvaccinated animals. As reservoirs for important pathogens of humans and wildlife (eg. rabies, canine distemper virus and canine parvovirus), these dog populations are central concerns for public health and wildlife conservation, especially in rural areas. Yet field data on dog demographics, prevalence of important pathogens, and how diseases influence these populations is lacking.

The current project collects this data for multiple dog populations in rural India to fill such voids. Mass vaccination campaigns are conducted for several study populations, while simultaneously monitoring their effects on population growth rates. This information will provide the basis to model impacts of disease control measures, especially mass vaccination of free-ranging dog populations.
Photographs: Aniruddha Belsare, Ramki Sreenivasan
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DonateNON-NATIVE SPECIES: POTENTIAL SURVIVORS IN CHANGING CLIMATIC CONDITIONS
Conventional biological thought states that non-native species cause loss of biological diversity (genetic, species, and ecosystem diversity) and threaten the well-being of humans when they become invasive. However, recent studies have shown that not all non-native species cause biological or economic harm, and only a fraction become established and have an effect that is considered harmful. In some cases, however, this study shows that some exotics can also provide conservation benefits.
A subset of non-native species will undoubtedly continue to cause biological, economic, and social harm. But other non-native species could become increasingly appreciated for their tolerance and adaptability to novel ecological conditions and their contributions to ecosystem resilience and to future speciation events. A research paper by Schlaepfer and colleagues outlines their roles and advantages. The ways in which non-native species were found to contribute to conservation objectives were:
- By providing shelter and food for native species
- Catalysts for restoration
- As ecosystem engineers
- As ecosystem service providers
- By taxon substitution within ecosystems

Ecological roles in rapidly changing ecosystems
Non-native species are potential survivors of future climatic scenarios given their ability to tolerate and adapt to a broad range of biotic and abiotic conditions, as well as to expand their ranges rapidly. They can contribute to ecosystem resilience and stability. They can also be expected to contribute to some of the putative benefits of speciesrich ecosystems, such as increased productivity and stability.
Novel evolutionary lineages
Given sufficient time, non-native species can increase global species richness through speciation. Nonnative species can also contribute to the formation of novel evolutionary lineages among native species. They can also catalyse hybridisation events between native species that result in novel evolutionary lineages. Speciation events can also result from hybridis`ation between certain non-native and native species and between pairs of non-native species.
Thus, it becomes essential to manage non-native species well. The management of non-native species and their potential integration into conservation plans depends on how conservation goals are set in the future. A fraction of non-native species will continue to cause biological and economic damage, and substantial uncertainty surrounds the potential future effects of all non-native species. Nevertheless, the prediction is that the proportion of non-native species that is as benign or even desirable will slowly increase over time as their potential contributions to society and conservation become well recognised and realised.
Further reading:
Schlaepfer MA, Sax FD & JD Olden. 2011. The potential conservation value of non-native species. Conservation Biology 25(3):428-437.
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DonatePROXIMITY TO RESEARCH AND TOURISM ZONES DETERS PRIMATE POACHING
Primates are regularly hunted for bushmeat in tropical forests, and poaching, along with other human activities that lead to habitat modification, can drastically reduce the probability of persistence of primate populations. Though Tai National Park, Côte d’Ivoire, covers a massive area of 5363 square kilometres, ongoing deforestation of the remaining forest fragments outside the park has left it an isolated forest block surrounded by rapidly increasing human population. In a study conducted by Paul K N’Goran and colleagues, the density and spatial distribution of eight species of monkeys in the park were estimated and the factors affecting them were determined. Though the data were not enough to show if law enforcement directly affects monkey densities or deters poachers, they found that monkey densities decreased with higher human pressure, measured by a composite of proximity to villages and roads, and density of humans and villages. The monitoring data on human activity and poaching also helped effectively guide law enforcement to areas where hunting was concentrated. Remarkably, the density of monkeys was higher closer to the research station and the tourism site as these places are likely to deter hunting activity. The study concludes that if poaching can be deterred by targeted patrolling in the park, it may eventually lead to recovery of monkey populations.
In the larger context, when studied along with other factors like demography, behaviour and physiology, such studies can allow us to identify factors associated with the persistence of primate populations.
Further reading:
N’Goran PK, Boesch C, Mundry R, N’Goran EK, Herbinger I, Yapi FA & HS Kuhl. 2012. Hunting, law enforcement, and African primate conservation. Conservation Biology 26(3):565-71.
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DonateCOLONISATION OF RESTORED GRASSLANDS BY ARTHROPODS FROM NEARBY AREAS IS KEY TO THE SUCCESS OF SUCH RESTORATION EFFORTS
Grasslands are in danger in most parts of the world and agricultural intensification is one of the biggest threats. Agriculture promotes degradation as well as conversion of grasslands to cultivation lands. Increasingly, grassland restoration efforts in many countries focus on converting arable lands back to grasslands.
In most cases, grassland restoration is carried out by sowing species-rich seed mixtures containing seeds of target grass and forb species to speed up the natural regeneration processes. In this study, however, we used low-diversity seed mixtures (two or three species) after soil preparation and managed the sites by mowing and grazing from the first year after restoration. To gain a better understanding of the short-term effects of restoration, we compared the arthropod assemblages (spiders, true bugs, orthopterans and ground beetles) of one and two-year-old grasslands, using cultivated lands and natural grasslands as references.
A measure of species richness (number of different species in a community) is one of the most commonly used indicators to monitor changes after restoration. However, in conservation, the identity of the species is as important as or even more important than the number of species. Thus, we used species richness along with recently developed measures of habitat affinity (based on how specific a species is to a given habitat type , and on how stable the presence of a species in this habitat is ) to assess the progress of grassland restoration in the Hortobágy National Park, the oldest and largest national park in Hungary.

Our results showed that changes in vegetation after restoration were quickly followed by changes in species composition of arthropods. We found that arthropod species richness did not change in the first two years following restoration efforts. However, close examination demonstrated that the list of arthropod species in the communities changed due to the replacement of generalist species (not favouring any particular habitat type) by grassland specialist species.
Our study suggests that grassland restoration using only two or three foundation grass species can lead to rapid colonisation of arthropods from nearby areas. These results challenge existing views that advocate against restoration, citing restoration as time-consuming and a waste of money, both of which are debunked by the results of this study.
Also, based on our study and several others, we recommend the use of the recently-developed habitat affinity indices, because they are useful measures in detecting biodiversity changes following conservation actions.
Further reading:
Déri E, Magura T, Horváth R, Kisfali M, Ruff G, Lengyel S & B Tóthmérész. 2010. Measuring the short-term success of grassland restoration: the use of habitat affinity indices in ecological restoration. Restoration Ecology 19(4):520-528.
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DonateAN OBJECTIVE METHOD TO EVALUATE THE WILDLIFE PROTECTION ACT; BY CALCULATING CONSERVATION STATUS OF BUTTERFLY SPECIES
In 1972, the Indian government passed a landmark legislation, the Wildlife Protection Act (WPA), to dictate the levels of legal protection for Indian animals. The WPA has since been very effective for some species, especially charismatic large mammals, but not as effective for invertebrates, feels Krushnamegh Kunte, in an article published in Current Science in 2008.
The invertebrate listings are especially inaccurate, including species that are either wrongly named or that have not been chosen objectively, while leaving out endangered species.
Using butterflies of the Western Ghats as an example, Kunte illustrates the shortcomings of the current listings, and proposes an objective method that can be used to improve their quality.
Starting with an exhaustive list of 333 species from the Western Ghats, he collated information about them where they are found globally, whether they are restricted to some areas within the Western Ghats, what kind of habitat they prefer and how easily they are found. He then divided each characteristic into sub-categories, which were assigned numbers so that common species got low scores and ones found rarely (only in specialised habitats) got high scores. Finally, he totaled the scores for each species to get the ‘mean conservation value,’ a number between 9 and 40. Higher the value for a species, the more endangered it is.

Only very few species that got high conservation values in this study are listed in the WPA, showing that these listings are inadequate, at least for butterflies. For instance, it covers only 3% of the species in the butterfly family Hesperiidae (skippers). The study demonstrates the need for objectively assessing WPA lists for other groups, and revising them where necessary. Also, Kunte provides an easily workable framework for future studies, in which pre-existing information on species can be used, coupled with some careful analyses.
Further reading:
Kunte K. 2008. The Wildlife (Protection) Act and conservation prioritization of butterflies of the Western Ghats, southwestern India. Current Science 94(6):729.
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USING TRADITIONAL ECOLOGICAL KNOWLEDGE AS A NEW TOOL TO DESIGN BETTER CONSERVATION STRATEGIES
To some, traditional knowledge implies information frozen in time, while ecological knowledge is considered more rational-separating the biological from the social and spiritual. Indigenous people often consider both kinds of knowledge to be synonymous. Berkes, in 1999, defines Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) as “a cumulative body of knowledge, practice, and belief, evolving by adaptive processes, and handed down through generations by cultural transmission,” that describes the relationships of living beings (including humans) with one another and with their environment. Indigenous communities are often highly dependent on local natural resources like oceans, and could therefore become sources for information that might not be available in scientific literature.
Stacey and colleagues combined TEK and new technology in Indonesia to develop whale shark management strategies. One of the major communities involved in the study, the Bajo, also known as sea nomads, are highly dependent on resources in the waters of eastern Indonesia. The investigators conducted interviews with the Bajo and other communities on many islands, to gather information about presence and local migration routes of whale sharks, with a view to also determining ecotourism potential for the region.
The Bajo contributed extensive natural history observations of whale sharks, including locations of the sharks, their social patterns, timing of movement around their islands and their habits (feeding etc). They also had culturally driven prohibitions and customary beliefs protecting whale sharks.
Long-lived, wide-ranging large animals like whale sharks are difficult and expensive to study, and this study is an example of integrating local sources of knowledge with scientific studies to better understand a complex system. The authors suggest the use of community-based monitoring based on TEK to effectively keep records of this rarely-sighted migratory species. Further, this information could be used to develop ecotourism opportunities with the involvement of the local communities.
Further reading:
Stacey NE, Karam J, Meekan MG, Pickering S & J Ninef. 2012. Prospects for whale shark conservation in Eastern Indonesia through Bajo traditional ecological knowledge and community-based monitoring. Conservation and Society 10(1):63-75.
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DonateFOREST SOILS ARE IMPORTANT SINKS FOR METHANE, BUT CAN HUMAN USE OF FORESTS REDUCE THEIR EFFICIENCY?
Forest soils are known to act as sinks for atmospheric methane, a major greenhouse gas. Methane is the most abundant organic trace gas in the atmosphere, primarily created by biological processes of microbes (methanogenesis). It plays an important role in global climate change, and forest soils are known to be effective sinks for methane. In soils, methane is primarily utilised by bacteria that oxidize it to produce carbon. However, the effectiveness of soils as sinks is affected by land-use practices such as agriculture, and forest or woodland soils are considered more effective sinks than soils in human landscapes.
Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple Wildlife Sanctuary is located at the confluence of the biologically diverse regions of Western and Eastern Ghats. Until the eighteenth century, these forests were hardly accessible to those residing in the vicinity. They were earlier inhabited by the hunter-gatherer Soliga tribe, who lived on non-timber forest products and practiced shifting cultivation. Shifting cultivation was banned by 1972, when the area was declared as a wildlife sanctuary, and Soligas now practice permanent agriculture. However, they graze cattle and continue to gather non-timber forest products from the sanctuary.
Despite protection, these forests are increasingly affected by anthropogenic influences (animal grazing, forest fires, etc.) of the people living in the vicinity of the sanctuary. These disturbances can be chronic given their impacts on the ecosystem. Grazing of livestock inside the forest encourages the growth of vegetation, in turn encouraging firewood collectors. Intensive grazing by livestock and other anthropogenic activities could pose serious threats to the natural habitat, including to forest soils. Treading and trampling by grazing animals leads to soil compaction, especially in wet tropical conditions. Soil compaction decreases the number of soil pores, in turn decreasing soil aeration. The condition of reduced soil pore volume and increased water-filled pore space reduces the ability of soils to absorb methane. Methane oxidizers in soils are also sensitive to disturbances.
A study in this landscape investigated the variations of soil methane fluxes in disturbed and undisturbed forest sites across four seasons, with forest grazed by cattle regarded as disturbed forest. Gas fluxes at the soil surface were collected from disturbed and undisturbed forest areas, and samples were analyzed for methane using a gas chromatograph in the laboratory. The net methane sink was higher in undisturbed forest than in disturbed forest both overall and in each season. The accumulated methane sink value measured over four different seasons was highest during the monsoon, whereas the lowest value was post monsoon. During the monsoon, grazing activities are lower due to heavy and prolonged rainfall, which could be the possible explanation for higher methane sink values at this time. In contrast, the higher grazing pressure during the post-monsoon season leads to soil compaction due to livestock treading and trampling, thus creating anaerobic conditions in the soil with reduced airfilled pore spaces. This leads to increased methanogenic activity, and could be the possible explanation for the reduced methane sink during the post-monsoon season.
While human practices like agriculture are known to play a role in altering forest sink potentials, this study shows that disturbances due to animal grazing can also reduce soil’s methane oxidation potential, hence reducing the overall methane sink strengths of soils in forestlands.
Nani Raut is a researcher at the Norwegian University of Life Sciences, Norway. nani.raut@umb.no
Illustration: Kalyani Ganapathy
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FLESHY FRUITS PROVIDE NUTRIENTS FOR FRUGIVORES, WHO IN TURN DISPERSE THE FRUITS (SEEDS) AWAY FROM THE PARENT PLANT, RESULTING IN A MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL RELATIONSHIP. HOW DOES DISTURBANCE TO HABITAT AFFECT BOTH PARTIES?
A group of eager eyes watched me doing fruit counts on a warm December morning. The shepherds and goatherds nearby seemed to be busy observing me, probably wondering why I was more interested in counting fruits than having a handful to savour. The fleshy fruits were of a common shrub colloquially called chania ber (Ziziphus nummularia). It belongs to the family of fruits commonly termed as jujubes. The ripe fruits are a delicacy for humans, though many of the marketed fruits are hybrids with other species. Chania ber largely occur in dry climates and are common in much of the arid and semiarid tracts in India.
The process of eating fruits
Fleshy fruits spread by dispersal, which involves a specialised network of mutualistic interactions, where seeds are transported to new locations through a wide range of species—mostly birds and mammals. Such interactions are mutually beneficial to both the fruiteaters (food) and plants (dispersal of their seeds), and almost 90% of the plant species in tropical forests rely on animals for seed dispersal. Where precipitation is a limiting factor, fleshy fruits help supplement important nutrients and water for the frugivores. Fruit size and other characteristics determine its consumption, mobility and persistence within the environment. Regeneration of these plant species is also often dependent on the passage of seeds through the gut of animals. Fleshy fruits are typically produced in abundance, but are usually patchily distributed in space and time, which affects the movement patterns of the species consuming fruits (frugivores). In a way, the processes of frugivory and seed dispersal shape plant populations through complex interactions between the foraging decisions of animals and spatial arrangement of fruiting plants. Thus, frugivory and dispersal are important functions in an ecosystem, engendering long-term benefits, and therefore maintenance of these relationships is important particularly in human-altered landscapes.
Who eats chania ber?
In a human-altered savanna habitat in Abdasa, Kachchh, twelve species of animals and birds consumed the fruits of chania ber. These included seven bird and five mammal species: rosy starling, red-vented bulbul, white-eared bulbul, common babbler, lesser whitethroat, variable wheatear, Isabelline wheatear, black-naped hare, Indian fox, Indian porcupine, golden jackal and a rodent. How a frugivore handles a fruit actually says a lot about its potential as a disperser. If the species swallows the fruit and regurgitates the seeds at a location away from the fruiting plant, it is likely to be a disperser. However, if a species destroys the seeds in the act of frugivory, it is considered a seed predator. Some species may consume fruits but may not actually take the seed away from the parent plant and in such cases they are considered neutral in their function. Also, species that more frequently visit a fruiting shrub tend to consume more fruits than those species that visit occasionally.
Amongst the birds, the two species of bulbul were more frequent visitors at the fruiting shrub and were present throughout the fruiting window of the species (mid-December to early March), while rosy starlings maximized fruit consumption during the peak fruiting period (early January to mid-February). Bulbuls regurgitated seeds away from the fruiting shrub, indicating that they could be potential dispersers. The other bird species visited occasionally and consumed only the fruit pulp. Among mammals, blacknaped hare and Indian fox were the two most frequent frugivores recorded, and consumed almost half of all fallen fruits. While black-naped hares were ‘neutral’ frugivores, the Indian fox consumed whole fruits and defecated intact seeds, indicating it to be a potential mammalian disperser. The Indian porcupine was found to be a seed predator (consuming seeds and therefore preventing germination). Fruit consumption patterns also differed between birds and mammals. While birds responded to total number of fruits (fruit crop) in the shrub, mammals (black-naped hare and Indian fox) were not affected by the total number of fruits or the density of fruiting shrubs. This difference could be attributed to the fact that birds generally respond to standing fruit crop while mammals largely forage on fallen fruits. Fruit collection by the local people was a common sight during the peak fruiting season. Considered a delicacy, many of the fruits are collected for personal consumption, though a proportion also makes its way into local markets for sale. Market surveys showed that large quantities of fruits came from far away taluks (Bhuj, Nakhatrana and Mandvi) with very little collection in and around the study area, and depending on availability, prices varied within the window of sale (mid-December to mid-January), ceasing rapidly after.
Why target functional roles?
Chania ber is a commonly occurring shrub and its fruit consumers are equally common. Indian foxes and golden jackals are also found close to human habitation but how many of us actually think of them as mediators of plant dispersal? Unconsciously or consciously, our species-centric approach seems to obscure the importance of roles that a species performs in an environment. In India, priorities in conservation have been largely restricted to more speciose landscapes or charismatic animals. Arid and semi-arid tracts in India are currently undergoing a surge of development. We are losing vast tracts of grasslands and scrub habitats to industrial development and agricultural expansion. Considered largely as wastelands in India, they are being bargained by industrial honchos for solar farms and chemical industries. With these habitats vanishing rapidly, important ecological functions would certainly be affected. Though we may value species from an aesthetic or ethical perspective, functional roles are seldom taken into account. This necessitates further ecological research to create awareness amongst the human populace on the functional relationships that exist and how they benefit conservation efforts particularly in human-dominated landscapes.
Ber facts
- Family Rhamnaceae, fruit is called a drupe, has a stony endocarp within which are enclosed 2 seeds
- Multipurpose plant; leaves used as fodder, fruit for food and medicines, twigs used for fencing
- Distributed in India, Pakistan, Iran and Israel.
- Ber plants have a single fruiting season per year.
- Parts of the Ber plant are used widely in medicinal systems across India, including in Ayurveda.
Chandrima Home is a PhD student at the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment (ATREE), India. chandrima.home@gmail.com
Illustration: Kalyani Ganapathy
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DonateWHAT ARE THE IMPLICATIONS FOR HUMAN LIVELIHOODS AND NATIVE BIODIVERSITY AFTER THE ABANDONMENT OF TEA PLANTATIONS?
In the mid-1800’s, many large plantations were established at the expense of natural forest in many parts of India. The British and the subsequent Indian government leased these plantations to private developers on a long-term basis, usually for a period of 99 years or less. In recent times, many such plantations surrounded by forests have been notified as Protected Areas (PAs). While most of these plantations have continued to function for decades despite falling within the larger boundaries of PAs, many are now being abandoned either due to expiry of leases that have not been renewed subsequently by the Government, or simply due to the decline in profitability of the plantations. What happens to these plantations after they are abandoned?
Tea plantations within the Agasthyamalai range (southern Western Ghats, Kerala) have been vulnerable to poor markets, decreased demand, increasing labour costs, fluctuating global prices and insecurity over lease renewals. Litigation between plantations and the government or amongst the plantation stakeholders themselves (plantation owners and workers) has also been responsible for the non-maintenance or cessation of operations in plantations. Recent data from the Tea Board showed that between 2004 and 2007, the tea plantation area declined by about 55 % just in the Trivandrum division. In this short note, we examine what processes are under play in abandoned plantations in the Agasthyamalai hills, Kerala, regarding the recovery of native forest plants and tree species, and the social and economic consequences of abandonment for the plantation stakeholders (owners, workers, etc.).
Abandonment and Biodiversity
Following abandonment, if a plantation is left unmanaged and undisturbed, it experiences different colonisation patterns depending on its location. Many invasive species colonised plantations at different elevations. At the elevational range of 900-1000 metres above mean sea level, Lantana camara took over 70 to 80 % of the area in plantation abandoned for nineteen years. A similar trend was observed even in recently (seven year old) abandoned plantations between 600-1000 metres in Ponmudi (Kerala), with invasive species like Eupatorium sp., Cromolaena odorata and Lantana camara taking root. Many studies have highlighted that the growth and spread of invasive species leads to changes in plant community composition, which can affect the recovery of native forest species. At elevations of 1300 m and above, tea plantations abandoned for nineteen years were colonised by the tea plant itself. In such cases, they can grow into tall trees that completely shade the forest floor, making growth of sunlight-loving forest species difficult.
Social and economic consequences of abandonment
The tea plantation industry is one of the major agricultural sectors in India, providing the most employment. The current scenario of dwindling plantation areas leads to an increase in unemployment and livelihood-related issues of workers. In the Agasthyamalai region (Trivandrum division) of Kerala, many plantations have been abandoned and workers are struggling to find alternate livelihoods sources. Many families are working as causal labour in road constructions, or in some cases (eg., in Bonacadu estate) workers themselves started small areas of tea cultivation to sustain themselves, where they pluck the leaves and sell them to middlemen at low prices. In Ponmudi, after the Ecological Fragile Lands Act was enforced in 2003, many tea plantations could not sustain themselves, as the act prohibits estates from reviving non-cultivated areas within plantations. Managers from Merchiston and Ponmudi tea estates mentioned in conversation that now they do not have work all through the year for their plantation workers due to this Act. Workers from tea plantations are now registered under the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act to sustain their livelihoods.
The issues arising out of plantation abandonment are complex and need to be studied in greater detail. On the one hand there is an urgency to understand the ecological processes within the abandoned tea plantations and surrounding forests while on the other hand, social and ecological issues cannot be neglected, especially when large areas outside the PA network are constrained by newer laws. There are no win-win situations but a working compromise needs to be made where workers’ livelihoods and ecological stability of the landscapes are met.
HC Chetana is a PhD student at the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment (ATREE) and Manipal University, and T Ganesh is a Senior Fellow at ATREE. chetan@atree.org
Infographic: Kalyani Ganapathy, Suneha Mohanty
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FOREST-DEPENDENT PEOPLE IN THE SAME LANDSCAPE EXPERIENCE HUMAN-WILDLIFE CONFLICT IN DIFFERENT WAYS, BASED ON THEIR PRACTICES AND ATTITUDES
Altering or clearing forests for farming and other activities leads to fragmentation of wildlife habitat, which in turn results in a cascade of negative impacts. For instance, farmlands near or across an animal’s migratory route can lead to crop damage and losses to both humans and wildlife, a situation commonly known as human-wildlife conflict. The Mysore-Nilgiri corridor in southern India is both a traditional route for wildlife such as elephants and a resource base for local people, and holds considerable conservation value. While studies have investigated direct and hidden costs of conflict, we still need site-specific understanding of the issue to provide solutions. In this landscape as in others, most proposed conservation plans and forestry policy decisions tend to ignore the livelihood resources of forest dependents. Somewhat contrary to this, one paradigm of biodiversity conservation research opines that natural resource extraction by forest-dependent people is one of the most viable alternative options to reduce poverty and enhance local livelihood. Different forest communities within one landscape might differ in their practices, socioeconomic conditions and attitudes, all of which will affect the kind of conservation solutions that must be proposed for them.
Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple (BRT) Wildlife Sanctuary, recently declared a Tiger Reserve, is biologically diverse but has lost its connectivity with Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve, Western Ghats and Eastern Ghats. The landscape around BRT is completely transformed into farmlands, settlements, road networks, etc. Corridors such as DoddasampigeEdeyarahalli and ChamarajanagarTalamalai, at Punajanur and Mudalli, connecting BRT with Cauvery Wildlife Sanctuary on the east and Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve, on the south respectively, are also facing intense human presence. This leads to increase in crop raids, and human and animal loss.
The dependents
There are two major forest-dependent communities in the BRT-Sathyamangalam corridor: tribals and non-tribals. The Soligas were primarily a hunter-gatherer tribe and practiced farming through shifting cultivation for their subsistence. Following the declaration of BRT as a wildlife sanctuary in 1974 they were settled in forest lands close to the corridors. Then there are settlers from elsewhere who were allotted land for cultivation under the ‘land for food’ scheme, aimed at increasing crop production. They were allotted forest areas either close to or in the corridors.
According to recent work, around 60% of Soligas’ income was lost due to the ban on non-timber forest products collection in 2007—mainly amla, honey, lichen, soap nut, soap berry and fuel wood. However, there are still some people harvesting products for domestic use. Tribal and non-tribal communities also depend on the forest for raising cattle for ploughing as well as dairy products, whereas the goats and sheep are raised for sale as well as for meat consumption as alternative income sources.
On average, tribals hold about one acre of land per household (mainly forest land), while for non-tribals it varies from one to five acres per household with land tenure rights. Without similar rights over ‘their’ land, tribals are economically poorer than non-tribals whose landholdings are fixed assets.
Practices and damage
Traditional crops in the predominantly dry landscape include ragi (finger millet), field beans, castor and vegetables. This crop diversity has enabled a more reliable income, providing enough even if any one crop fails. In the recent past maize, turmeric, potato, sugarcane and banana are becoming major crops due to interventions for intensification and commercialisation of farming.
People have frequently seen a number of animals in the forest-farmland matrix and major crop damage, in decreasing order, is caused by elephants, wild boars, spotted deer and sambhar. Incidence of conflict is very high during ragi and maize cropping which necessitates guarding the crop over three to four months. Abstaining from guarding even for a single night during the harvest season affects a farmer’s entire effort, and puts pressure on his family because in addition to losing food security for a year, they have to search for alternative income sources. The increasing rate of farmlands being left fallow to avoid conflicts compounded with growing family sizes over the years directly affects net income levels.
Conservation attitudes
Tribals venerate the forest and its inhabitants, with the belief that their faith will earn them good harvests of both crops and forest products. Their philosophy tells them that the forest primarily belongs to wildlife. They do not consider conflict a major threat to their livelihoods compared to getting evicted from their present farmlands, which are mostly forest lands. Tribal farmers reminisce about strategies they followed in the past to reduce, not avoid, crop loss. Even today some of the settlements inside the forest cultivate coffee and other fruit trees instead of traditional crops to avoid crop damage by wildlife. In contrast to this, the non-tribal forest-fringe farming communities blame wild animals and management policies for their crop-loss.
While both groups are open to supporting any alternative strategies that could benefit forests, people and wildlife conservation, neither is ready to reduce their dependency on the forest. The tribals opined that the forest was their only source of income, and only a few of them worked in nearby coffee estates as daily wage labourers.
Because tribal lands are primarily forestlands, they are not allowed to use electric or solar fencing for their farms, and are also not eligible for compensation when wild animals raid their crops. The human-wildlife conflict is therefore a bigger problem for tribal farmers than non-tribals in the study area.
Both forest-dependent communities expressed their views regarding conservation strategies towards managing the forest resources and mitigating human-wildlife conflict.
Some of their suggestions and demands are listed below:
- Solar fencing is not affordable to all farmers.So, it would be better to share a ‘community-level solar fencing system’ for the forest as well as revenue land to be effectively maintained by a beneficiary member regularly.
- Crop insurance for crop loss/damage with the support of conservation agencies will be a good strategy to avoid exploitation by insurance companies.
- The existing compensation schemes and bureaucratic processes fail to generate support for conservation in the study area and it should be revised including inputs and requirements of the farmers.
- The state forest department must reconstruct the defunct elephantproof trenches in this area with revised measurement of width and depth as per the villagers’ needs and inputs.
- Formation of an ‘anti-depredation squad’ that would include both local residents and skilled forest personnel to prevent wildlife conflict and chase problematic animals during cropping seasons. This will also help bridge a good relationship between people and forest managers.
- Along with existing eco-development committees in many forest areas, special ‘Joint Corridor Management Committees’ can be formed exclusively to address the issues of wildlife corridor conservation for safe migration of wild animals.
The tribal and non-tribal communities have shown great cooperation and even provided inputs for conflict mitigation measures, aimed at achieving sustainable conservation and utilisation of the corridors. It is necessary to develop alternatives in order to reduce pressure on the forests, based on the local communities’ needs, mainly focusing on crop protection, participative management and crop insurance. These are affordable and reasonable strategies to help restore the habitat as well as livelihoods of forest-dependent communities.
M Paramesha is a PhD Student at the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment (ATREE), India. paramesh@atree.org
Photograph: www.shreniksadalgi.com
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A NEW BILL TO EMPOWER PEOPLE STAYS A PIECE OF PAPER
‘A piece of paper’ was how some Paniyas of Wayanad referred to compensation received under the Forest Rights Act, 2006 (FRA). Wayanad, a district in the Western Ghats of Kerala, lies in the state’s north-eastern portion. Thirty seven percent of Kerala’s adivasis (tribals) live here. These include, besides the Paniyas, the Kattunaikka, Kuruma, Adiya and Kurichian. The Paniyas were bonded serfs till the 1970s, after which bondage was abolished. They then became a timid and cheap labour source in local and settler farms. Despite government land distribution schemes after abolition of bondage, many continued landless. They form the majority of the landless in Wayanad.
The Forest Rights Act was passed in 2006, and aimed to redress “historical injustice” against tribals and forest dwellers, who were traditionally overlooked during the state appropriation of forests under the Indian Forest Act, 1927. This landmark bill aims to give forest dwellers the rights to own/claim land, cultivate, and collect non-timber forest produce, amongst other provisions. Why then were the Paniyas pessimistic about this piece of progressive legislation?
The process of vesting rights
The FRA requires a number of institutional structures to be set up to accomplish the goals of the Forest Rights Act. Gram Sabhas (local self-governments at the village or small-town level) are required to elect a Forest Rights Committee (FRC) from amongst their members. The FRC is to assist the Gram Sabha in conducting meetings, and in collecting and verifying claims. A tier above them, the Sub-District Level Committees (SDLC) collate and examine claims; and adjudicate on disputes. The District Level Committees (DLC) examine and approve claims in consonance with the Act’s objectives, and ensure that Gram Sabhas are conducted freely and openly, paying attention to participation by women at all levels.
In Wayanad, the State Tribal Department formed Gram Sabhas in December 2008 and FRCs were duly constituted. All the FRCs had Scheduled Tribe members with onethird being women in accordance with the Rules. The FRCs processed claims from colony members and verified them with the help of tribal promoters. These claims were then passed on to the tribal department from where they reached the SDLC. At the SDLC and DLC levels, most applications were approved. The process was well streamlined. Hand-written claims were computerized. Training was administered to persons involved in the online entry of the claims to be forwarded to higher authorities for approval. In Wayanad, this entire process was taken care of by three adivasi girls who had completed their schooling till tenth standard.
Entitlement Impacts
So what do the Paniyas from colonies in Noolpulzha and Pullpalli Panchayats have to say about the entitling process and the benefits? What collective dispositions towards the FRA do their comments suggest? The landless will remain so, they argue. Because of their earlier bondage to farmlands and later itinerancy as plantation labour, they did not possess forest lands in extents that the FRA’s entitling would render economically meaningful. Land rights now granted under the Act resulted in agriculturally unfeasible homestead rights. Additionally, with increasing population, three to four families lived in one house, and hence might not have been counted as separate eligible families when entitlements were paid. Records corroborate complaints over the small extents of lands that the Paniyas were vested with. The district received a total of 3,847 individual claims, with Paniyas representing a small fraction of this figure. Among Wayanad’s adivasi applicants, most received land under a three-tier distribution scheme. The first tier included adivasis who have applied for more than one acre of land, the second included those who applied for lands between fifty cents to one acre, and the third included all adivasis who applied for less than fifty cents of land. Most Paniyas featured in the third tier.
Although the vesting of land rights under the FRA in Wayanad was far more satisfactory in comparison to other districts and states, community rights have not been vested, though claims were processed. Both the tribal and forest departments have no clear explanation for the delay. The Paniyas had applied for community rights regarding firewood, fishing, amla collection, cattle grazing and burial grounds. A general feeling that they do not stand to gain much from such rights prevails, and is possibly the reason for the delay. While they did depend on forests for tubers, especially during bondage when they had little else to eat, post abolition of bondage, the situation changed. Work was available, especially in lands colonized and cultivated with cash crops by settlers, ensuring marginal income and food security.
Functioning realities
In Noolpuzha, Paniyas generally did not recall participating in FRC meetings. They knew of only two meetings that were held. The Pullpalli Paniyas recall only one FRC meeting being held. It is interesting that the Paniyas mention that only those who attend Gram Sabhas were aware of FRCs. Not everyone attends Gram Sabha meetings, as it is perceived that the meetings are talk with no evidence of implementation. Participation by women is also not at the levels prescribed. Paniya women in Noolpuzhla are otherwise occupied with routine work during meetings, which keeps them from attending. Such dismal Paniya representation is a function of combining factors such as prioritising of work over attending meetings, lack of awareness about such meetings and a perception that entitlements, especially land, were in extents that were not of much productive feasibility.
There is also not much dissemination, in Gram Sabha meetings, of community rights and duties prescribed under the FRA. Tribal promoters talk of such duties only in initial meetings. Only basic infrastructural problems are discussed, and people prefer to talk about lack of basic amenities. In discussions, Paniyas of Noolpuzha also talk of the forest department wanting them to vacate the forests. The Paniya, in general, exhibited a pessimistic disposition towards the FRA. For those who are familiar with these poor and powerless adivasis, the disposition will not come as a surprise. Many a state legislation on land reforms that sought to ameliorate the Paniyas’ condition did not have any cumulative and positive outcome. One particular Paniya’s opinion is representative of his people’s condition. He asks, “What help will the FRA bring? They are not giving us extra land. Only a paper for the house that we already own.” Further, “We are getting nothing more or nothing less than what we already have. And what we have is so little; two cents or five cents. If they were atleast giving us half an acre of land, one family could survive well. We could do agriculture”.
It is unfair to solely blame the FRA for not improving the Paniyas’ condition. The Act could end up adding itself to a long list of legislations that have remained ‘just papers’. But one had hoped that adivasis like the Paniyas would have benefitted a lot more from FRA entitlements.
Poorna Balaji and Siddhartha Krishnan are a PhD Student and Faculty, respectively, at the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and Environment (ATREE), India. poornabalaji@gmail.com
Illustration: Kalyani Ganapathy
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NEGOTIATING LIFE WITH LEOPARDS AND MODERNITY IN A SACRED-MORAL LANDSCAPE
The winter sun beat down as thin slivers of water irrigated an otherwise parched land. I was riding through familiar back streets, making our way to a remote corner of the maze of valleys cut by rivers that make up Akole taluka in northern Maharashtra. These valleys were historically arid and parched outside the monsoons. Irrigation schemes over the last two decades have transformed them into lush croplands producing sugarcane, grains, a variety of vegetables and dairy products.
The landscape would appeal to poets and geologists alike, for its rugged beauty, but it held no charms for us. I was here because people and leopards lived together in this human-dominated landscape. Conventional wisdom makes the presence of these big cats in such an area seem counterintuitive; the area is neither close to any conservation protected areas nor does it have any wild ungulate species that we imagine support large carnivores. Yet, the leopard population in the area is stable and in fact breeding. They live on a varied diet of dogs, pigs, chicken and rodents; not exactly our conception of a noble large cat but effective for survival nevertheless. Furthermore, they live not in ‘forests’ but in the safety of sugarcane fields, where they remain undisturbed for months on end.
In my initial visits to the area, I had braced myself for what I presumed would be overt conflicts between people and leopards. What I found instead, was a situation where people and leopards dynamically shared the landscape with a complex relationship ranging from conflicts to coexistence. Fascinated, I set out to probe these interactions and map the factors that create conflict and/or facilitate coexistence.
I explored the political, social and administrative institutions and strategies that were employed by people to share the landscape with leopards. The present journey I was making, with three local informers, was to the tribal belts, to engage with a cultural institution built around the large cats.
The road to the tribal areas penetrated deep into the mountains of the northern tip of the Western Ghats. These tribal areas are characteristically drier than the valley floors that are irrigated by water taken from the river systems that drain these areas. Besides being drier, the tribal areas are also perched on the political periphery of developmental activities, be it physical infrastructure or educational facilities or socio-economic integration. The tribal communities that live in these hills are primarily Thakkars and Mahadeo Kolis. They are primarily agro-pastoralists, though several members of the communities are also employed in the formal and informal sectors outside the village. Though good-natured and hospitable, the community I was visiting seemed reserved and guarded to my visible presence in the village. The reasons for this apparent wariness became evident in due course, but more on that later.
The time I spent in Akole, brooding over its reality, led me to realise that the physical landscape was pregnant with meaning, acquired through people’s interactions with each other and nonhuman species. In this sacred-moral landscape, the large cats had a towering presence that was difficult to ignore. The tribal communities have deified the large cats in the form of a local village deity called Waghoba (the female equivalent is Waghjaimata, but she has a more spatially and morally restricted presence). To believers, Waghoba is at once a benevolent and violent deity with a strong sense of morality. This deity delineates space allowing people to intensively use part of the landscape, while also allowing space for wilderness outside the domain of the village. These communities are conscious of the fact that their long-term survival depends on husbanding resources in both domains. In this context, Waghoba plays the role of a guardian deity, enabling community members to live in the landscape as long as they respect his presence. Rituals like Waghbarsi are dedicated to appease Waghoba while also expressing gratitude for his generosity and benevolence.
Over the years, I had encountered several people in the valley who had scorned the Waghoba and associated rituals. They dismissed them as ‘backward’ and ‘blind superstition’ (though many of them later admitted that they did participate in the rituals, which they claimed are a social event rather than a cultural one). There were also people in the town who held the area as a production landscape meant for use by people, who petitioned the forest department for compensation for depredation losses and insisted that the leopards be removed from the area. Such demands are rare in the tribal area, be it for compensation or removal of leopards. But then the tribal communities have fewer resources to spend on negotiating with the forest department and even less access to political patronage. Instead, they negotiate with the large cats directly.
Here the socio-cultural institution of Waghoba plays a central role. As a deity, ritualised negotiations are only one aspect of adapting to the presence of large carnivores in the landscape. I hoped to witness this negotiation and interview members of the community who participated in the rituals. Once we arrived in the village and were introduced to our hosts, I wondered if we would head off into the hills for the Waghbarsi rituals, as is the practice amongst communities living in the valley. Our host laughed and pointed to a hut in the heart of the village and said it is the Waghoba shrine where the rituals are performed. Most other Waghoba shrines I had visited were sited in the hills and at important crossroads. I wondered why this shrine was located in the heart of the village but was told that its significance was lost in antiquity.
After a quick meal at the host’s home, we planted ourselves near the Waghoba temple. Some village youth were milling around and started to chat with us. On hearing that we were interested in the Waghbarsi, they invited us into the temple and explained that Waghoba is a benevolent deity who ensures that no harm befalls the village. However, the youth added ominously, if one does not perform all the rituals with genuine piousness, the leopards and the tigers in the hills would harm our interest within three days. The youth named several individuals who had lost livestock to leopards till they performed rituals to appease Waghoba, after which the leopards caused them no harm! The rituals got underway with male members of households in the community taking turns to offer a rooster at the Waghoba shrine accompanied by a prayer; occasionally a dry coconut was broken and a coat of vermillion and oil was added to the shrine. The rooster was taken outside the shrine, pinned down and offered water before its throat was slit. It was then beheaded and the head was respectfully placed at the Waghoba shrine as a symbolic offering. After the bird was plucked and cleaned, it was taken back to be consumed by the family, relatives and neighbours. The temple priest and the youth had also set up a make-shift kitchen beside the temple, where they cooked a broth of chicken, rice, lentils and vegetables. This was later distributed among the children of the village and people gathered at the temple. The last animal to be sacrificed was a goat, which was owned by the whole community. After being ritually slaughtered, the head and hooves were offered at the shrine, while the rest of the meat was distributed amongst the villagers. Other Waghbarsi rituals I had observed, and heard reports of, did not involve animal sacrifices but involved a vegetarian feast instead. The gathering at this shrine pragmatically informed me that the offerings are symbolic, depending on the people participating. The important aspect of the ritual was piety and gratitude towards Waghoba.
Naively, I asked if the leopards and tigers in the area visited the shrine. The priest smiled and one of the youth said that earlier the shrine was uncovered and they would often see pugmarks of the big cats around it. Now that the shrine is covered, he added, they see pugmarks around the area but not inside the shrine. On being asked if they feared these big cats that could very easily kill a human, the gathered villagers responded that they were gods and would never harm anyone unless provoked. An elderly gentleman spoke up, saying that Waghoba governed the life of the village and wilderness. He concluded that Waghoba belonged to their pantheon of village deities that ensured that the villagers did not suffer undue misfortune.
I discovered that no one in that hamlet had suffered losses due to leopards. However, some people in the neighbouring hamlet had suffered depredation losses. The people at the shrine had a ready explanation for this claiming that the individuals had stopped doing these rituals or were doing it half-heartedly. Waghoba had punished them, and now they were once again participating in the rituals as they had for generations.
Towards the end of the day we headed back to the host’s house for dinner. I witnessed how carefully the livestock in the village was protected for the night. Our host said it was their responsibility to take care of the livestock. The big cats needed to eat meat as that was their way of life, but as agro-pastoralists the villagers could not rely on the benevolence of Waghboba alone but also needed to protect their livestock. As we were about to leave, we heard rumours that some villagers claimed we were from rationalist groups and had come to ensure that they would not be able to perform these rituals in the future. This explained their initial guardedness. However, in retrospect, I realise that these rumours were fueled by the tension between upholding traditional socio-cultural institutions anchored to their sense of identity and negotiating modernity.
On the one hand is the institution of Waghoba, which enables the community to adapt to living with large carnivores. The institution also underpins shared values that hold the community together and provides a context for symbolic negotiations with the large cats. This intimacy with the large cats has yielded a deep respect for them, which ensures that livestock in these parts are well protected. Even when there are depredation losses, no compensation claims are put forth to the forest department (partly due to their socio-cultural beliefs and partly due to the complexity of bureaucratic procedures). Furthermore, the ritual ensures that the community members eat a protein-rich diet, atleast for a few days of the year. However, many community members, especially the youth, are aware that outsiders do not understand their myths and beliefs and regard them as superstition.
On the other hand is modernity symbolised by the state, NGOs, technology and interaction with nonlocals. In this context, the leopard and tiger are large carnivores protected by the state and its law. Depredation losses are partly compensated by a fixed rate (depending on the forest department), but otherwise these communities have no option but to tolerate the presence of large cats in their midst.
The interactions between large carnivores and people in a morally and politically-charged landscape is complex and dynamic. The choices are stark but very real. Communities and individuals face divergent and contradictory value systems everyday. Within larger realities, both facilitate large carnivore conservation but one encourages coexistence through existing socio-cultural institutions, while the other imposes it through the state’s policing mechanism. While neither system is perfect, a little pragmatism can help integrate these two very different conceptions of nature and large carnivores. The outcome of these complex negotiations is far from clear and calls for a new (political and conservation) morality. Unfortunately, this window of opportunity is small and lacks an ‘undo’ button.
Sunetro Ghosal is a Research Fellow, Department of International Environment and Development (Noragric) at the Norwegian University of Life Sciences (UMB), Norway. ghosal@mtnl.net.in
Illustrations: Kalyani Ganapathy
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The irony of globalisation, creating conservation challenges even as it enables conservation research partnerships to address such crises, need not be lost here. Neither should we discount political criticisms of the ideological basis of many bilateral (typically temperate rich country-tropical poor country) conservation initiatives, which tend to privilege large carnivore protection by enclosing large spaces in tropical countries, excluding in the process the indigenous folks who farmed and foraged in these spaces. But the bilateral research partnership that has enabled the research being communicated here has been an inclusive one in more than just a social sense.
A cursory reading of titles of essays in this edition of Current Conservation could convey a threefold sense of research that lies behind them. In terms of range, there is research on greenhouse gas fluxes to research on pastoral and forest livelihoods and associated rights. In terms of representativeness, there is research on climate change, local knowledge, biodiversity, forest rights, plant-animal interactions, human-wildlife conflicts, hunting and ecological restoration. In terms of interdisciplinarity, there are the cultural aspects of hunting, ecological restoration and livelihoods, and Himalayan climate change and local perceptions. And in policy terms—pastoralism and policy, and the Forest Rights Act and livelihoods. In this essay, which puts into perspective the essays that follow, I provide the larger contexts in which such diverse research ensued even as I draw broad conservation implications from the research being communicated here.
Globalisation, Conservation and Inclusion
Globalisation, for our purposes, the increasing irrelevance of national boundaries in economic trade or its environmental consequences, a process best exemplified by climate change, has not only wrought negative changes but also fostered positive conservation partnerships between nations. The irony of globalisation creating conservation challenges even as it enables conservation research partnerships to address such crises need not be lost here. Neither should we discount political criticisms of the ideological basis of many bilateral (typically temperate rich country-tropical poor country) conservation initiatives, which tend to privilege large carnivore protection by enclosing large spaces in tropical countries, excluding in the process the indigenous folks who farmed and foraged in these spaces. But the bilateral research partnership that has enabled the research being communicated here has been an inclusive one in more than just a social sense. The research partnership, conceived as an academic exchange project ‘Conservation of biological diversity and sustainable use of natural resources: Capacity building for interdisciplinary research and application’, has been funded by Norway, a socialist nation, as part of its ‘country strategy’ for India, itself a nation which has been socialist for a major part of its independent history. Let us not harry ourselves here with liberal tendencies of Norwegian and Indian socialism, but engage with solidarity, the core tenet of socialism.
For instance, the institutions involved, the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment (ATREE), Bengaluru, and the Department of International Environment and Development Studies (NORAGRIC), University of Life Sciences, Norway, have historically sought solidarities between ‘ecology’ and the ‘environment’, and ‘environment’ and ‘development’, respectively, as institutional identities.
Let us subsume the environmental and ecological research topics at hand in that classic spatial unit within which much social-ecological work and thought has occurred in the past— the ‘region’. And for our purposes the regions would basically be two mountainous ones, the Eastern Himalayas and the Western Ghats.
Eastern Himalayan conservation: Pastoralism, climate change and hunting
Noted first for being a biodiversity hotspot, this region is now being noticed as a climate change hotspot. Glacial melt serves as emphatic evidence. But more evidence lies in people’s and plants’ sensitivities to warming. Thomas’ essay on the implications of conservation policy and climate change on pastoralism provides interesting insights into such sensitivities. From interviews with the pastoral Gurung and others of Tibetan origin in the Nepa‐Darjeeling‐Sikkim tri-junction, Thomas observes ‘great historical memory’ of climatic change. Memory that inevitably accrues from organised movement and stationing that regulates transhumance in the region, which entails winter descent to warmer plains and alpine and sub-alpine ascent in summers.The herders claim that summers have advanced. Early flowering is evidence. Similar phenological observations have been made by the Dokpa of North Sikkim. In Ingty’s essay, the high altitudinal Dokpa ascend even higher in winters to snow-free, windblown pastures. They, along with the Lachenpa, who like the Gurung descended in winter and ascended in summer, felt that winter snowfall had either ceased or decreased. But what was indicative of climate change for the Lachenpa was parasitical and not phenological, as was for the Dokpa. The Lachenpa mention mosquitoes, which they claim have made their presence felt in less than a decade. The higher altitudes are warming, was the point. The Dokpa noticed that plants that flowered just before winter were now flowering late and that some other plants were flowering elsewhere. Ingty got the Dokpa to identify five such species that had shifted their range and were growing at elevations that were anywhere from between 200 to 700 m higher. Range shifts were spatial and temporal. In a pastoral landscape, movement is adaptation. It is crucial. And now it appears that plants, like humans and livestock, are also moving. While other research findings have made a case for traditional knowledge serving as baselines for climate science, Thomas is wary of climate narratives taking off from ‘conservation narratives of similar urgency’. Conservation had earlier restricted movement— that crucial adaptive measure. Now climate change mitigation could reinforce conservation by incentivising forest enhancement and protection for carbon stocking. It seems we now have a geochemical—as against a biological—basis for conservation; and also a curious possibility of climate change mitigation whose benefits are intangible, trumping adaptation whose requirements are very tangible.
Pastoralism is not the only resource culture in the Eastern Himalayas that attracts anthropological and conservation attention. Hunting for wild meat also attracts such attention. Roy’s feature article seeks to explain its persistence in Arunachal Pradesh, despite the provisions of the Wildlife Protection Act, 1972. Hunting, Roy says, has socioeconomic and cultural roots and implications for the Mahayana Buddhist and animistic Donyi-Polo communities of Arunachal Pradesh. Cautioning against a trend of commercialisation of wild meat in the region, Roy also imparts some caution to conservation policies that attempt blanket hunting bans without considering the consequences. Presently there are institutional arrangements that regulate hunting, including religious beliefs or secular community rules. Legal bans would criminalise hunting-related religious or secular customs. Hunting would become a subversive activity far removed from a local institutional ambit that offers the best scope for sustainability.
Western Ghats and conservation: Restoring forests and rights; mitigating conflict and climate change
The Western Ghats have always been in the news. But in the last year and a half they were more frequently and intensely so. Newspapers and television channels reported conservation and related conflicts. Columns of print were dedicated to the efforts of one group of people to get the Western Ghats successfully nominated to the UNESCO’s World Heritage list, and the efforts of another group of people to identify ecologically sensitive zones in the Ghats that can be notified as such under the Environment Protection Act, 1986. In fulfilling their mandates, the former (an officially nominated committee), and the latter (an officially appointed panel), faced civil suspicion, both environmental and developmental, and administrative and ministerial apathy. Such conflicts cannot be elaborated here. But the requirements stated by UNESCO in deferring its examination of the nomination of Western Ghats present an interesting context to discuss the essays by Paramesha, Balaji and Chetana that are good case studies reflective of UN concerns. Among other things, UNESCO required the nominating party to take into account the recommendations of the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel, reflect fully on the ecological and biodiversity values of the Ghats, account for any changes in protection status, improve ecological connectivity, build stakeholder awareness and support and nurture participatory governance approaches.
Paramesha’s essay on human-wildlife conflicts in the Doddasampige-Edeyarahalli and Chamarajanagar-Talamalai corridors that connect the Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple (BRT) Tiger Reserve to Sathyamangalam and Malai Mahadeshwara forests, respectively, argues a case for strengthening ecological connectivity and building stakeholder awareness and support. Communities from Soliga adivasis to Tibetan refugees cultivate in these corridors. The Soligas who traditionally cultivated subsistence crops such as ragi and sorghum, frequently find their standing crops raided by elephants and boars. During the ragi and maize growing months, one has to guard not just against wildlife but also sleep, to prevent food insecurity and searching for alternate employment. Today, lands either bear non-subsistence crops or lie fallow. A local constituency for corridor conservation can ensue if people are compensated well for crop loss, and better still, provided with fencing assistance, argues Paramesha. Significantly, his essay mentions that the Soliga worry more about their eviction than crop raids. Granting of land and conservation rights is crucial.
The Forest Rights Act (FRA) guarantees such wellbeing as the Soliga desire. The Western Ghats Panel’s report explicitly supports the implementation of the FRA’s provisions. The FRA offers one of the best bets yet for the kinds of participatory forest governance that the UNESCO desires. Balaji’s and Krishnan’s essay examines how the FRA’s entitling of land and conservation rights process fared in Wayanad, a Western Ghats district in Kerala with a sizeable tribal population. Specifically it sought to get a sense of entitlement that the Paniya, an Adivasi people with a history of indentured labour, experienced. That the FRA was ‘a piece of paper’ was an expression that Balaji heard frequently from the Paniya. This pessimism, the essay explains, stemmed from a history of failed legislative attempts to regain land taken over by migrants and land entitlement not ensuring security, given the small forest landholdings amongst the Paniya. Following indentured‐labour abolition, they lead an itinerant life in search of work in migrant farms.
The FRA, then, has created a nationwide legal context for rights restoration. At a more regional level, some economic and legal contexts have emerged for ecological restoration, which relate to UNESCO’s other requirement of accounting for changes in protection statuses of lands. Chetana and Ganesh discuss one such context in their article on tea estates being ‘abandoned’ in the Agasthyamalai range. The expiry of long-term tea plantation leases or the final years of the lease had coincided with unfavourable market conditions and estate managements either favoured or were forced to stop plantation operations. Plantations thus abandoned were being colonised by invasives such as Lantana sp. and Eupatorium sp. Even as it considers restoration prospects in plantations, the article also grapples with socio-economic issues entailing the livelihoods of plantation workers and their families.
There is no corresponding phenomenon in the Western Ghats like the Himalayan glacial melt that triggers scientific and policy activity on climate change. Nonetheless, the ecosystems and resource cultures of the Ghats have adaptation needs and offer mitigation scope. The article by Raut communicates their measurements of methane fluxes from soils of BRT. Methane is one among other greenhouse gases that are implicated in global warming. The author offers comparative methane sinkage estimates across seasons in disturbed and undisturbed portions of BRT.
Carnivory and Frugivory: Conservation in production landscapes
Even as I write this section, the UNESCO has decided to inscribe 39 sites in the Western Ghats into the World Heritage list based on their significance for ecological evolution and biodiversity‐nurturing habitat values. But there are landscapes in India other than the Ghats or the Himalayas that serve as conservation legacies of their own devise involving unique social and ecological dynamics. And conservation also needs to move beyond protection landscapes and engage with production landscapes. Ghosal’s and Home’s articles examine human and large carnivore conflict and coexistence, and frugivorous activity, respectively, in agricultural landscapes. Ghosal reports from the sugarcanedominated landscape of Akole district of Maharashtra, at the northern fringes of the Westen Ghats, where leopards thrive despite no proximate conservation zone and the absence of wild ungulate species to support the carnivores. Ghosal elaborates upon an Adivasi custom of deifying the leopard that signals coexistence rather than conflict that symbolises the relationship between leopards and more urban sections in Akole. The Adivasi Thakkars and Mahadeo Kolis have deified the big cat as a local deity called Waghoba. Ghosal provides an institutional juxtaposition between customary and modern—read policing—negotiations with leopards.
Home’s article informs us of frugivory in the semi-arid Abdasa taluk of the Kutch district of Gujarat. The fruit is also harvested locally and so market surveys were also conducted. Seven bird and five mammal species were identified to consume the fruit. Even as she makes some interesting observations of fruit removal behaviours of birds and mammals, Home expresses concerns over the implications of new industry-oriented land use policies on plant-animal interactions. Conservation needs to begin engaging with agrarian landscapes also, which are threatened by industrial conversion.
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Tailings (residue) washed off from iron ore mines accumulate in reservoirs and adversely affect agriculture, people, and wildlife around these areas. These water bodies are also used as dumping grounds for excavated earth debris.
Photograph: Kalyan Varma
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DonateBookstands | Pavithra Sankaran
Edited By Mahesh Rangarajan and K. Sivaramakrishnan
Permanent Black, New Delhi, Delhi, IN, 2012.pp.464 & pp.614, 1850.00
While the essays span an admirable breadth across time, space, methodologies, theories and issues, understanding history only as a series of such individual accounts of events is to limit its function as well as our own understanding: a classic failure that nearly all school textbooks of history suffer from. History, as we encounter it in the education system, is often no more than a documentation of what went before, a simple compendium of occurrences, offering little besides the appeal of a story.
But history as process as rather than episode, as a continuous narrative of many and varied threads weaving together to create the present, carries far more: it surprises, reveals and teaches. This approach that IEH takes: examining not a series of events, but the gamut of processes that shaped (and continue to influence) the environment of the subcontinent through the centuries. Such an approach makes it possible, even for the uninitiated reader, to follow threads that whet their interest and explore further.
More importantly, it provides a variety of frameworks through which to examine and understand environmental conundrums of the present, not as sui generis, as they often seem, but as near-inevitable inheritances from the past. But how is the new reader, say a student of science rather than the arts, to identify these threads and frameworks? Editors Rangarajan and Sivaramakrishnan make that process both easy and greatly interesting in their superb introductions to both volumes. Although the proper office of an Introduction is to put the book into context for readers of all backgrounds and persuasions, rarely do they carry out this duty. Often, they further gate the book and cause trepidatious beginners to flee. The two introductions in IEH, however, triumph in this tricky task.
They provide a fantastic overview of materials from which history can be reconstructed—the use of oral, literary, archeological and more recently, ecological evidence—while directing the reader to be aware of the voices of each of these privileges. They guide the reader through the evolutions of debates and arguments that have accompanied tellings of the past and flag problems with the tools of these presentations. In sum, the introductions in IEH are what make the parts whole and illumine how and why we find ourselves at these coordinates at this time.
Pavithra Sankaran works with Education & Public Engagement team at Nature Conservation Foundation. pavithra@conservation.in
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Bos gaurus, Nilgiris
In the last decade, populations of the Indian bison or gaur have increased dramatically in the upper Nilgiris plateau and they are now a frequent site in gardens and tea estates.
Photograph: Prema Ganapathy
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Muddy Business in the Yellow Sea
Shorebirds complete some of the most incredible migrations, but their conservation is at a crossroads in a region where coastal management is highly contested.
Introduction
Looking out the window from the plane as I approach Incheon International Airport, which serves Seoul, the views of coastal reclamation become evident before my eyes, straight coastlines where cranes are erecting high rise buildings in newly created land. These very places used to be visited by many waterbirds not long ago. South Korea became one of the four Asian tigers, maintaining exceptional economic growth rates between the 1960s and the 1990s. Not surprisingly, this country is currently one of the richest in the world. However, some of the areas that have become icons of its economic development are also important for many species, whose survival is now dwindling. Here, I present an account that brings together a group of fascinating waterbirds, migratory shorebirds, and the politics of coastal reclamation in a region critically important for them.
What are migratory shorebirds?
Shorebirds are amongst the ultimate globetrotters. Many of these birds are typically associated with wetlands, either inland or along coastlines. Taxonomically, they comprise over 200 species within the order Charadriiformes, which includes many familiar species such as lapwings. These birds convey an incredible story of endurance, almost unimaginable. Many of them breed at high latitudes in the northern hemisphere in the boreal and tundra regions across the entire world. These places experience inclement winters, but during summer a surfeit of sunlight and milder temperatures provide shorebirds with a surge of feeding opportunities during their breeding season. As summer finishes, these birds begin their non-breeding season migrating to lower latitudes closer to the equator and even to high latitudes in the southern hemisphere across South America, Africa, Asia, and Australasia. Then, the shorebirds fly back to their breeding grounds once the northern hemisphere summer has returned. This cycle is thus repeated yearly.
But how can shorebirds migrate such long distances? The key seems to be in physiological and behavioural traits. Prior to migration, these birds feed voraciously resulting in an excess calorie intake that is deposited subcutaneously as fat, which fuels their constant flapping during their long journeys. Additionally, they tend to fly using tailwinds, as opposed to headwinds, hence reducing energy expenditure and flight time. Other adaptations include an increase in flight muscles and a reduction of digestive functions, such as stomach atrophy. However, the maximum single flights these birds can undertake are generally not enough to cover the entire distance between their breeding and non-breeding grounds and vice versa. Therefore, shorebirds must stop to rest and refuel along the way at so-called stopover sites.

One of the main coastal habitats used by these species outside their breeding season is intertidal mudflats, so the occurrence of these sites constrains where shorebirds live and how they migrate. These places provide them with a plethora of marine invertebrates that live on or in the mud, which shorebirds predate upon at low tide, when mudflats get exposed. Nonetheless, mudflats are not a pervasive feature of the world’s coasts. They are patchily distributed as they are formed in regions where a combination of factors must converge, such as high deposition of sediments usually discharged by large river systems, gentle slopes, and embayments where fine particles settle. Hence, the migratory paths of different shorebird species, occurring in different places during their non-breeding season, are funnelled through comparatively small regions where mudflats are available, constituting critical stopover sites for birds on migration. That is the case of Delaware and Chesapeake Bays in North America, the Wadden Sea in Europe, and the Yellow Sea in East Asia. The latter is the focus of this story.
The Yellow Sea in the spotlight
The Yellow Sea is a bottleneck for the migration of many species of shorebirds in the East Asian-Australasian Flyway. This sea, located in East Asia between China and the Korean peninsula, presents vast mudflats fed by large waterways discharging sediments, such as the Yangtze, Geum, Han, and Yellow Rivers. In the case of the Asia-Pacific, the East Asian-Australasian Flyway includes 22 countries through which over 50 shorebird species migrate. Their breeding grounds include mostly Siberia and Alaska, and their non-breeding grounds Southeast Asia, Australia, and New Zealand. In between their breeding and non-breeding grounds, are two very important stopover regions where birds rest and refuel during their migrations — the Yellow Sea and Japan. A flyway could be generally understood as a region that encompasses the whole migratory range of multiple bird species for which a common approach to their conservation is in place.
But the same factors which make shorebirds flock en masse to the Yellow Sea has also created an opportunity for land expansion. Gentle slopes along the coastlines of this region have facilitated the creation of land by filling or enclosing, intertidal mudflats. This process is known as coastal reclamation and has been practised for decades by different countries around the world, such as the Netherlands. However, this has been practised more recently at a large scale in the Yellow Sea, specifically in South Korea and China. A recent assessment of this sea’s intertidal mudflats has revealed a 65% decrease since the 1950s when they were estimated to cover 1.1 million hectares of the coastline. Traditionally, these newly created lands were primarily used for agriculture, but more recently there has been a shift towards their use as precincts for industrial complexes, housing, and transportation infrastructures, such as ports and airports. Thus, many of the places where shorebirds used to stop in large numbers during their migrations are no longer available to them.

While much attention has been devoted to the loss of other ecosystems, such as rainforests, the consequences of reclaiming intertidal mudflats are no different. In all cases, the loss and degradation of ecosystems result in declines in biodiversity and important functions. Intertidal mudflats provide habitat to a wide diversity of species. These habitats additionally protect coastal areas from storm surges and provide fishery resources, such as shellfish, to local people. As shorebirds get funnelled through the Yellow Sea during their migration, coastal reclamation in this region has a disproportionate effect on their flyway populations. Studies conducted at different sites within the East Asian-Australasian Flyway have revealed abundance declines of migratory shorebirds, many of which rely on the Yellow Sea. These trends are likely to be reflecting flyway-wide population declines. Consequently, five of the species occurring in this flyway have been listed as threatened by the International Union for Conservation of Nature.
The Saemangeum Case
The drivers of coastal reclamation in the Yellow Sea have been complex and involve the interaction of multiple factors. In recent times, the case has been fuelled in China by GDP growth targets set for local governments by the central government. By contrast, the reclamation of intertidal mudflats has been intertwined with political discourses of economic development in South Korea. Additionally, rice has been one of the staples in this country, and with 70% of its land being mountainous, there has traditionally been pressure to expand agricultural land. Since the 1960s, this country had a strong policy to increase national rice production as its yield was then insufficient to meet internal demand. As a result of this policy, the country reached sufficiency in the mid-1970s, which was also a consequence of decreased demand as South Koreans’ diets became more diversified.
The process of coastal reclamation in the Yellow Sea has comprised multiple projects; nevertheless there is little doubt that Saemangeum, in South Korea, has been by far the most prominent. This project, led by the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry, is considered to have triggered the rise of environmentalism in this country. Saemangeum is the estuary of the Mangyeung and Dongjin Rivers close to Gunsan City, 180 km south of Seoul, on the Yellow Sea coast. This area was selected for reclamation as a commitment made by President Roh Tae-woo during his campaign in 1987, but the site had initially been identified since 1971 as part of a national plan for the modernisation of the rural economy. The project officially commenced in 1991 and saw the final completion of a 33 km seawall in 2006, enclosing an area of 40,100 ha, of which 28,300 ha would be new land.

The consequences of Saemangeum for migratory shorebirds were considerable. With the seawall completed, the tidal flow was stopped, so mudflats were now either permanently underwater or permanently exposed. This outcome meant shorebirds could no longer access food resources. The submerged mudflats were now out of reach, while the exposed mudflats became devoid of marine invertebrates important for shorebirds, such as bivalves, because they perish in the absence of regular flooding. This estuary was one of the most important sites for migratory shorebirds in South Korea, as it used to provide a stopover habitat for up to half a million shorebirds during their northern and southern migrations each year.
The reclamation of Saemangeum had a turbulent history prompted by a previous environmental disaster. Despite little opposition on the horizon when initially proposed, there was a precedent that sparked environmental activism in an attempt to avert the debacle. Just a few years after this project had commenced, a similar project, known as Shiwha Lake, was being completed with unintended consequences. An estuary where six rivers flow, 35 km west of Seoul, had been enclosed by the construction of a dyke, a project conducted between 1987 and 1994. The purpose of this scheme was to create a freshwater lake for agricultural irrigation, as well as to accrue land for urban and industrial development. As a consequence of land-based pollution, primarily from factories established in the newly created land, the water from the lake became unsuitable for irrigation. Furthermore, any plan to remove the dyke was hampered by the presence of new constructions in low lying areas that would inevitably get flooded. Hence, the Shiwha Lake project rang alarm bells amongst NGOs and civil society about the potential consequences of allowing Saemangeum to proceed.
A disparity of values and powers set the scene for a battle amongst multiple stakeholders over the construction of Saemangeum. The initial purpose for the new land was principally rice production, but an expectation of potential industrial development similar to Shiwha Lake created support amongst some of the local people. This estuary is located in North Jeolla Province, a region quite far from Seoul and one of the least industrialised regions of South Korea. Hence the project gained the support of the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry, the government of Gunsan City, and some local people as well. On the flip side, NGOs, scientists, religious groups, and some local residents raised their voices against it, particularly as the consequences of Shiwha Lake became evident. Additionally, opposition came from the international sphere. For instance, the Ramsar Convention on wetlands leveraged views in favour of protecting this site, as did international NGOs, such as Greenpeace and Wetlands International. Concerns ranged from biodiversity conservation, including shorebirds, to potential pollution and loss of livelihoods for local fishermen.

The dispute was taken to court, but the final outcome was almost inevitable given the political nature of the proposal. The construction of Saemangeum was stalled for one year in 1999 amid the intensification of disputes between stakeholders but eventually resume after a feasibility study and an Environmental Impact Assessment. As a response to this outcome, a lawsuit was initiated by NGOs and some of the local people opposing the project, who sued the then minister of Agriculture and Forestry to relinquish the completion of Saemangeum. Even though the verdict was at first seemingly in favour of conservation, the defendant appealed the case to the high court, whose final, and ostensibly irrevocable, the decision was to allow the project. More recently, the plan for the area has shifted from primarily rice production to chiefly urban, industrial, and infrastructure development. In the meantime, the promise of economic prosperity for the region by destroying this wetland has yet to be fulfilled.
When history twists
Just north of Saemangeum is the Geum estuary, the mouth of one of the most important rivers in South Korea, the Geum River, and a tremendously significant site for migratory shorebirds. This estuary had also been selected by the central government to be reclaimed as part of a model underpinning economic development. In a twist, the central government withdrew its plans to reclaim it in 2007, but this decision would require negotiation with Seocheon, the local government area in question. After all, Saemangeum had promised to deliver economic benefits to the neighbouring city of Gunsan and the Seocheon local government was asking the central government for a similar plan to bring economic benefits to the region.

The central government swapped reclamation for research and education in this instance. Part of the alternative provided to Seocheon City included two government-affiliated research centres, the National Institute of Ecology and the National Marine Biodiversity Institute. The former opened in 2013, and the latter in 2015. These two institutions have research and education mandates. For instance, the National Institute of Ecology includes state of the art research facilities and an exhibition building containing an impressive collection of plants and live animals. Importantly, one of the goals of these institutes is also to draw tourism to the region, hopefully boosting the local economy. So far, the target number of visitors to the National Institute of Ecology has surpassed expectations. The establishment of these two institutes has also created a favourable setting for rolling out additional conservation initiatives. For instance, a Memorandum of Understanding on the conservation of the Geum estuary was recently signed by BirdLife International and the Seocheon local government.
Beyond the local, there is a range of institutional arrangements in the Asia-Pacific with relevance to the conservation of intertidal habitats in the Yellow Sea. Some of these include bilateral migratory bird agreements signed by China and South Korea with counterparts including Japan, Russia, and Australia. There are additional agreements, such as the Ramsar Convention on Wetlands, the Convention on Biological Diversity, and less formal ones, such as the East Asian-Australasian Flyway Partnership and a Memorandum of Understanding on migratory waterbirds signed by WWF and China’s State Forestry Administration.
Final remarks
While they may sound attractive, what do the brand new research institutes in Seocheon really mean for conserving the Geum estuary? Likewise, what can all the above mentioned institutional arrangements achieve to better manage coastal ecosystems in the Yellow Sea at large? Answering these questions is challenging. Commitments made by governments to conserve intertidal mudflats compete with other national interests that often seem to take priority. Reclamation has not been completely stopped either in South Korea or China. Nevertheless, at least the Geum estuary continues to have intertidal mudflats free from reclamation. Amid constant pressure for economic development in important shorebird areas, only time will tell whether actions by governments are sufficient to conserve the Geum estuary and many other sites they have pledged to protect.
Further reading:
Murray NJ, RS Clemens, SR Phinn, HP Possingham, & RA Fuller. 2014. Tracking the rapid loss of tidal wetlands in the Yellow Sea. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment, 12, 267-272.
Wilson HB, BE Kendall, RA Fuller, DA Milton, & HP Posingham. 2011. Analyzing variability and the rate of decline of migratory shorebirds in Moreton Bay, Australia. Conservation Biology, 25, 758-766.
Gallo-Cajiao E & RA Fuller. 2015. A milestone for migratory waterbird conservation in Asia-Pacific. Oryx, 49, 393-394.
Choi, YR. 2014. Modernization, development and underdevelopment: reclamation of Korean tidal flats, 1950s-2000s. Ocean and Coastal Management, 102, 426-436.
This manuscript is additionally based on ongoing research conducted by the author and the lab he belongs to. For further information go to: www.fullerlab.org
Photograph: Eugene Cheah, Nicholas Murray, Micha V Jackson, Jen Dixon
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The idea of compensation is not new to conservation policy across the globe. Payment for ecosystem services (PES), offsetting the depletion of carbon stocks, and rehabilitating livelihoods affected by wildlife protection have been concepts that both conservation science and policy have tried to operationalize for the last several decades. These compensations are a compromise that has to be struck between ecological requirements and developmental aspirations.
More recently, compensation mechanisms seem to have lost their stated purpose of reducing or offsetting ecological and livelihood losses. They have instead turned into funding mechanisms that have little or no intent to compensate for the damage to the environment or the communities who live in landscapes targeted for intensive development. In the last two years, two laws have institutionalized monetary compensation, paid by project developers to government agencies, as the sole form of addressing project impact on landscapes. These laws routinize loss of habitats and livelihoods and displacement on the basis of such financial compensation. In addition, they make it nearly impossible to hold individual projects accountable for the impacts they leave behind as it is the government agencies who receive these large funds that are vested with the responsibility of implementing projects and schemes that they consider as“compensatory”.
Recovery from Forest Diversions
Since 1980, the Forest (Conservation) Act (FCA) has legally required projects using forests for non-forest use to carry out compensatory afforestation (CA) in an equal amount of non-forest land or double the amount of degraded forestland. The objective was purportedly to reduce the loss of forests due to high-impact projects such as mining and dams and also to substitute what is lost by planting an equal or twice the amount of forest. For two decades the forest departments of all state governments managed this practice while the projects deposited the money needed to comply with this requirement. Money collections under the FCA have also included deposits arising out of penalties and fines. Nearly 24000 projects have been granted forest clearance on the condition that forest loss would be compensated. Did this happen? Yes, but mostly within government account books.
Prompted by the massive failure of operationalizing CA on the ground, in 2002, the Supreme Court’s Godavarman bench directed the setting up of a centralized Compensatory Afforestation Management and Planning Authority (CAMPA). Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) of India reports and state government affidavits filed in the Supreme Court had pointed out that there were three key reasons for this failure of CA. First, no land was available for afforestation, second that the money was not forthcoming by the user agencies and finally the funds that had been collected were mismanaged. Rather than reopening the logic of CA in which lay the seeds of its failure, the solution that the SC ordered is the centralized management of CA funds and the creation of an additional offset mechanism in the form of the Net Present Value, that expanded the fund and tied it to conservation.
In mid-2016 the Indian Parliament went a step further and legislated The Compensatory Afforestation Fund (CAF) Act to formalize the institutional mechanism to recover and disburse money arising out of forest diversions. It was headlined that this bold move would unlock INR 420 billion that remained unutilized. This money had been collected both in compliance and violation of the FCA, as it included money to be spent for penal afforestation to be carried out to compensate for damage caused. Even though it is established that compensatory afforestation cannot be realized due to structural reasons like the unavailability of land, ecologically valuable forests continue to be diverted under the FCA and the legal clauses for a CA fund legitimize forest loss for development.

Welfare funds from mining
The Mines and Minerals (Development and Regulation Act) 1957, amended in 2015, has enabled the creation of District Mineral Foundations (DMF) all across the country. The DMF draws its rationale from the ‘resource curse’ argument; regions rich in mineral wealth are left impoverished by the mining activity. The intent is to share the benefits accrued from mining with those who are affected by it. It acknowledges that gains from mining activity rarely reach the people who have lost their livelihoods and health and views the DMF as a benefit-sharing mechanism to compensate the losses incurred by people, even as mining is carried out unabated.
Mining companies are to mandatorily contribute 10-30% of royalty from their projects into the DMF, to be used for the welfare of the people living in the impacted area. The DMF is now under the national level Pradhan MantriKhanijKshetra Kalyan Yojana (Prime Minister’s Mining Area Welfare Scheme). While the state of Odisha tops the list of national DMF collections (INR 7.56 billion), Keonjhar district takes more than half of that share at INR 3.79 billion. One reason for this is because Keonjhar tops the list of six districts in Odisha with 31.28% of its area under mining activity. The Indian Bureau of Mines states that Keonjhar holds 75% of the iron ore reserves of Odisha and makes up more than 30% of the country’s reserves.
It just takes a short walk into any of the 200 villages surrounding any iron or manganese mine in the district to see what mining does to landscapes: the shaved face of hills that were ones forested, the air thick with fine dust created by blasting and trucks carrying the ore; piped water trickling into pots even as the streams run dry or red with slurry. These are just common visuals that cloud the justification for the DMF. With over two decades of unresolved issues, the mining companies are seen as necessary to fill up the DMF. Many who have lost lands and livelihoods to the mining have already moved away from Keonjhar. Those who remain are left fighting for small jobs, drinking water, and the right to public spaces like roads. Is it not clear who will benefit from DMF funds used to ‘improve’ public facilities in a district written off to mining? Would the government consider preventing more mines and impacts when companies and state agencies can make money hand over fist through more mining?
As projects pocket approvals more easily than ever, centre and state-level environmental regulators benefit from the monetization of the lawful destruction of landscapes. With so much money at stake through compensatory mechanisms, does conservation stand a chance? It is time for conservationists to engage the government and persuade them of the dangers of monetizing the destruction of ecological landscapes.
References:
Anon. 2016. Rs 42K crore green ministry’s unused funds to finally see light of day, New Indian Express, 13th October 2016.
Banerjee, Srestha. 2016. Odisha DMF’s budget allocation lacks focus on health, other basic services, Down to Earth, 18th August 2016.
CAG (Comptroller and Auditor General). 2013. Report of the Comptroller and Auditor General of India on Compensatory Afforestation in India (Report No. : 21 of 2013)
Kohli, K., M. Menon, V. Samdariya, and S.Guptabhaya. 2011. Pocketful of Forests:Legal debates on valuating and compensating forest loss in India.Kalpavriksh&WWF-India, New Delhi.
Pradhan Priyambada and Patra Sudhakar. 2014. Impact of Iron Ore Mining on Human Health in in Keonjhar District of Odisha. IOSR Journal of Economics and Finance (IOSR-JEF), Volume 4, Issue 4. (Jul-Aug. 2014), PP 23-26.
State-wise Summary of FCA projects on https://egreenwatch.nic.in/FCAProjects/Public/Rpt_State_Wise_Count_FCA_projects.aspx, accessed on 25.12.2016
The Supreme Court’s Godavarman bench in its order dated 26.09.2005 has defined Net Present Value (NPV) as “the present value (PV) of net cash flow from a project, discounted by the cost of capital”. In simple terms, it is arrived at by deducting the cost of investment from the present value of all future earnings. If the cost of putting up a project is I and the value of earnings from the project from now till the end of the project is X, then NPV is X-I
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Harini Nagendra is a Professor of Sustainability at Azim Premji University, Bangalore. She studies the interaction between humans and nature in cities using research methods spanning ecology and social sciences. Her book, Nature in the City: Bengaluru in the Past, Present, and Future which was published by Oxford University Press in 2016, derives from several years of her work on the urban ecology of Bangalore.
Bharti Dharapuram: What motivated your work on urban landscapes, studying the ecology of cities?
Harini Nagendra: I moved to ecology to do something that was more meaningful. One of the big attractions for me was working on conservation challenges of direct and immediate relevance. I worked on forests in the Western Ghats for my Ph.D., then in Nepal, North Bengal, and a number of different places. The main shift was in 2005-06 when I started looking at some of the impacts of our work, its policy relevance. I found that if you are not living in the forest it is very hard to make the policy connect. You are always doing policy-relevant work but to see those results getting translated into practice is a frustrating exercise. It has worked for some people but it was really not working for me. I started thinking about being located in a place – my place being Bangalore, and a chance to do something meaningful there.
A couple of other things happened that were more personal. We were building a house in Bangalore and I started thinking about creating a new place in the peri-urban city. For instance, the very rapid land-use changes which nobody is paying attention to. When my daughter was born in 2007, I started thinking about what kind of an experience she would get growing up in a peri-urban city that is full of pollution and filth. At the same time, I became a part of this group of people working with BBMP to restore the Kaikondrahalli lake near our house, which was getting degraded. This work satisfied me much more in terms of policy relevance, at which point I said – let’s start looking at this city.

BD: What were the challenges you faced while starting out – especially because your work is at an intersection of various disciplines?
HN: When I started looking at urban ecology I thought it would be a side project, something that would help us quickly say what the changes in Bangalore are from the past to now. And then I realized that there is no baseline data, and we spent years getting baselines of various kinds. We realized that baselines in Bangalore are so driven by social context that you need a baseline for home gardens, parks, streets – each is different in nature. Documentation is important, if we need to know what is wrong with certain changes and how to fix them, we need to know how they were in the past and why they were that way. The inter-disciplinarity was woven into the heart of this project because when I started, it was to do something which was a mix of research, outreach, and practice. Every new method was prompted by how to engage with people. I found that if you have a little bit of history at the beginning of a story, it makes people interested. That started us off, but then we found that there is so much in history which explains why we do what we do in the present. So, we looked at archival work – didn’t know how to access the archives, didn’t know where the archives were or how to read archival material. We had to really train ourselves along the way. There have been a number of studies we have discarded because the methods weren’t quite right and we didn’t have conclusive answers.
BD: How was the history of Bangalore shaped by ecology?
HN: When I started looking at the oldest information we have on the city, it was from inscriptions and I started digging into these. One of the things we started seeing was how the city turns out to be two kinds of places. If you are looking at the topography of the city, there is one part to the east which is the maidan or the bayalu – grassy, rolling plains where the soil is fertile, and some people suggest it gets more rainfall. The area to the west is rocky, undulating, there are a couple of ridges around it and they call this the malnad area. It has granite rocks and the vegetation it supported was very thin with open thorny-scrub, dry deciduous forest with a lot of wildlife. And not much rain because reports suggest that these areas were in the rain shadow region of the Western Ghats. Early settlements started off in the maidan and the inscriptions tell you that they were practising a particular kind of livelihood – creating tanks and using that for irrigated agriculture of paddy, around which you would have orchards of fruits or flowers, a temple, and a village civilization. In the malnad, villages settled later and the descriptions are of a very different kind of ecology. They talk about a lot of cattle herding, wildlife attacks, and cattle raid fights. It is these inscriptions that made me really aware of the fact that the city is actually two ecologies coming together. It has disappeared from our popular imagination and knowledge at some point – people don’t see the topography except that the underlying ecology is still there. All the low-lying areas that get flooded during the monsoons are basically wetlands that were built on, and if you had the drought mapping of the city I suspect many of these areas are in rocky places to the west.
BD: In the same context, what was the importance of lakes in Bangalore’s past?
HN: Bangalore is an unusual old city because it is distant from a large water source. And we clearly have evidence that Bangalore was a settled city and a centre of market trade a very long time ago. How did they do that in the absence of water from a large water resource? They built tanks, which we now call lakes, and inscriptions talk about clearing the jungle, scooping off the sand in the depression, and basically creating a rainwater harvesting reservoir. Around that would be this system – the lake, kalyanis , very tiny pools called kuntes, and large open wells. They were used for various purposes – irrigation, drinking, clothes, and cattle washing. They were spatiotemporally variant and most of the small ones were seasonal. They would dry out in the summer and you would take the silt and use that for fields. Irrigation was an overflow system – you would open the sluice gate and the entire overflow area became your rice or sugarcane field or whatever else you grew. When the water receded you had these indigenous fish species which would flop around in the mud. When that went away, you had these greens – you would either harvest and cook them or cows would graze them. This landscape had a continuous system of some kind of ecological use.
BD: How has Bangalore’s relationship with its lakes changed now?
HN: You have a very different system now – there is a fence and a boundary and everything within that is the lake, but the wetlands around are lost. You don’t have the wetlands which used to clean away a lot of the pollutants, sewage is coming in, there is no slew absorption, and lakes are silting up very fast. You have high levels of nitrogen and phosphorous, and eutrophication. Which, all of this put together, means there is a complete change in the ecology and social use of lakes over time. You have sewage-filled areas, even when they are clean eutrophication is a big challenge, and all you can do there is bird watching, jogging, and some fishing contracts go out.
In terms of when this happened, we can really trace the shift. Bangalore had three years of successive drought in 1891-92 and they are running out of water. Arkavathy is dammed and they pump water into the city. Now the entire city gets piped water, and as soon as that happens, we see a complete decay in the way lakes, wells, and kalyanis were treated and conserved. They now start talking of them as cesspools of sewage and the cause of malaria, plague, and cholera. They drain the water because they say these are sources of flooding. They become waste space that gets absorbed by the city, so you have bus stands, malls and all kinds of other things. The whole narrative around water changes completely.
BD: What do you mean by urban commons? How can it guide nature conservation in cities?
HN: Commons can mean two things from a definitional perspective – common pooled resources or a common property regime. In a city, it is hard to find the ‘common property regime’ type of commons because everything is owned by the municipality. What I’m talking about is ‘common pooled resources’ owned and managed by the community that serves a large proportion of people’s needs. We find a lot of biodiversity in the commons that we’ve studied – slums, sacred places, lakes, gunduthopes . All of these are commons because they are used by the community, which informally manages it in certain ways. There are rules and no one person can overharvest or degrade the place. Commons is where biodiversity survives because people use them for a variety of things and would want to protect them. Different people want different things from them, and the idea of having diversity is valued. They also create a lot of social capital. When you have commons, you have a community and cross-talk. When you know everybody and are using this space, it is very difficult for the government to come and take it over.
BD: Being an intimate account of nature in Bangalore, do you think your narrative resonates with people from other places?
HN: I have talked to people from a number of different cities and I did expect that let’s say, a friend of my colleague working in Uganda, or Mexico would relate to it, and they have. But I didn’t expect someone from London would say, “Oh, we have the same patterns here”. I realize now that many of these patterns – simplification of biodiversity and ecosystem service uses, or the perception of a city as a flat space without terrain, geography, and ecology – are as much a part of London today as they are of India. The processes are very similar and the challenges they face in terms of the way people think about nature are very similar.
BD: Why are there so few urban ecologists? Do we not know of their work or there aren’t any?
HN: They just don’t exist, there are very few in India and also globally. I think it is partly the fascination for forests with ecologists, I have that too. I worked in places where communities manage forests and I heard a lot of comments early on saying – “These are not real forests, so you can’t be answering questions of real ecological importance here. Social sciences are soft sciences, ecology is a quantitative science and you must focus on that.” When I started off, there was a lot of this coming in but I hear less and less of that now. I think people are realizing that even in the most pristine of areas, humans are there and are doing positive things.
We really need more studies of this kind in India. Because ecologists don’t look at cities and people who study cities do not look at ecology. There is a lot of very rich urban work, but they think nature in cities doesn’t really exist or it is just a by-line in their focus. Now we have some people working in Bangalore, Delhi, Pune, Bombay, Calcutta – larger cities, but nothing from our small cities. That’s such a huge gap. The ecology of cities has to be a part of their resilience, especially under climate change.
A version of this interview has appeared in the December 2016 issue of CONNECT, the magazine of the Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore.
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Hell’s Gate National Park located along the Great Rift Valley is one of Kenya’s most spectacular national parks. It was gazetted in 1984 to conserve wildlife whilst earning essential tourism revenue for the country and is under the management of the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS). Before the park was gazetted, it was an area inhabited by Kenya’s Olkaria Maasai community. This community currently lives within the park, with the constant threat of being pushed to the fringes, as development increases within the park.
The origin of the name Hell’s Gate is unclear. According to KWS, the park is named for the intense geothermal activity within its boundaries. Other KWS statements are that the name is derived from the most impressive feature in the park, the Njorowa (Ol Jorowa) Gorge which runs through the middle of the park. Some scholarly accounts however suggest that the park was initially named “hell’s ground,” translated from the Maasai language, but soon received the name “hell’s gate” from explorers Fisher and Thompson, after their defeat in a battle with Maasai warriors in 1883.
The park’s beauty though is undisputed. It measures approximately 68.25km2, and as far as the eye can see, towering cliffs, gorges, and rock towers, stand astride the dusty African savanna dotted with themeda grasses, and tarchonanthus and acacia shrubs. Large carnivores are uncommon, and visitors to the park enjoy cycling and walking past numerous baboons, common zebra, Maasai giraffe, Thomsons gazelle, Klipspringer antelope, African buffalo, and common eland. Birdwatchers can enjoy over 100 species of birds. These include vultures such as Ruppell’s vulture and White-backed vulture, Verreaux’s eagle, Augur buzzard, and swifts. In addition to nature trails, visitors to the park can go rock climbing or hiking in the gorge.
Hell’s Gate is a popular tourist attraction, and an unassuming visitor could not easily tell its tumultuous history. This history is well conceptualized by the ongoing conflicting ancestral claims by the Maasai in the area, legal claims by the development actors within the Park, and environmental concerns over geothermal development in the heart of this magnificent work of nature. Exploration began in the 1950s, however it was only in the 1980s that the attempts to produce geothermal energy from this area began to bear success.
Since then, geothermal activity has been developed at the Olkaria area within the park, with production in phases, at steam fields in Olkaria I (commissioned between 1981 and 1985), Olkaria II (commissioned in 2003 and 2010), Olkaria III (commissioned in 2000) and Olkaria IV (commissioned in 2014). By 2016, the country was producing 544MW of geothermal energy. All generated in Olkaria, and resulting in Kenya’s
ranking as the top producer of geothermal in Africa and among the top ten globally.
In addition to this, a Strategic Environmental Assessment (SEA) for an Olkaria geothermal expansion programme kicked off in January 2014. The programme aims to increase geothermal energy generation by 1,110MW between 2012 and 2020, and some of the proposed projects that form the expansion programme are located within the park. Proponents of geothermal energy have propounded that this long and continued existence of geothermal project development in Olkaria, is evidence of its successful co-existence with park activities and integration of social and economic issues.
The Environmental Concerns
On the ground however, production from Olkaria has been disputed. Located within a fragile ecosystem, the project implementation has raised challenges for conservation within the park and its environs. Through the installation of structures such as elevation steam pipes and power plants, and the use of fences, large sections of wildlife corridors and dispersals areas have been removed to accommodate the change in land use. As a result, the constricted and sometimes segmented corridors have become less effective as travel lanes for wildlife dispersal and other ecological functions.
The excavation for the project structures has resulted in the loss of habitat and interference with bird breeding sites, whilst the use of heavy equipment during geothermal development has contributed to the emission of uncontrolled noise. High vehicular and human traffic within the park has also significantly raised the project footprint, negatively impacting wildlife.
Conservation groups such as Nature Kenya, noting that unsustainable geothermal power generation within the park is a threat to biodiversity, have attempted to raise awareness on this issue and raise the profile of the park in national and international conservation fora. These groups have ensured the listing of the park as an Important Bird Area (IBA), in a bid to stem the decline in bird numbers.
Further, the substantial quantities of brine from production wells have contaminated water and soil, and the increased demand for water used for drilling geothermal wells has led to the use of water abstracted from Lake Naivasha (a Ramsar Site) for domestic and industrial purposes. The effects of geothermal production in the park thus extend beyond the park area, and have an impact on a wider community, as Lake Naivasha is the foremost water source in the area.
The aforementioned environmental concerns are occasioned by actions of project proponents, KenGen and Orpower 4, operating with the knowledge and co-operation of KWS. The KWS Hell’s Gate Management Plan (2010-2015) acknowledges that the construction and operation of geothermal plants constricts wildlife habitat and produces impacts such as gaseous emissions, noise, and potential ground subsidence. However, it points out that given the advantages of geothermal power over conventional power sources, the facilitation of geothermal power production with effective measures put in place to mitigate negative impacts is key. This highlights how KWS conceptualized the realization of wildlife conservation, where development priorities are in conflict.
Balancing Competing Interests
The Olkaria experience is a case study of what happens when environmental interests and development interests collide. On one hand, the state has a stated goal of enhancing conservation to stem the decline in wildlife numbers and loss of biodiversity. On the other hand, the state has in place an ambitious goal of substantially increasing geothermal energy in Kenya’s energy mix, by utilizing a good share of the estimated total geothermal potential of between 7,000 MW to 10,000 MW. An attempt at ensuring these two priorities co-exist has seen KWS lease part of the park to the project proponents, and enter into a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) with them to ensure a harmonious co-existence between conservation and geothermal project development. KWS and the project proponents hold joint quarterly meetings on the MoU, which deal with issues of environmental impacts and mitigation measures to be undertaken and highlights areas that require collaboration between the parties to ensure conflict-free progression of the projects. KWS has over time reviewed the MoU document to reflect developments in the field, and the MoU document is always attached to the tender document for geothermal
projects to inform contractors of the environmental obligations within the park. In addition to adhering to terms of the MoU, project proponents are required to implement mitigation measures to deal with the adverse impacts of the projects in park.
However, there have however been concerns that project activities are ongoing with inadequate mitigation measures in place. Further, the Olkari geothermal expansion programme aims to increase geothermal energy production by 1,110MW between the periods 2012-2020. With this new development, the impacts of geothermal production at Hell’s Gate are likely to be felt on a wider scale, as noted by the KWS Management Plan which highlights a concern that the expansion of geothermal activities is not well coordinated between KWS and KenGen, and conflicting land uses foster mistrust with other stakeholders.
Conservation and Community Livelihoods
The presence of the Maasai community further increases the conservation complexity at Hell’s Gate. This community has historically laid claim to the Olkaria area as part of their ancestral land, and has protested interference with their culture, due to the designation of Hells Gate as a National Park in 1984 and the geothermal developments since 1971. This is because the community has been repeatedly forced to move to adjacent lands initially to make way for the park, and each time a new geothermal project phase is initiated, negatively impacting community livelihoods.
Whereas KWS reached a solution with the community to allow them to cross the park along traditionally used routes to and from traditionally used grazing areas, a more recent concern for the community has been their improper resettlement to make way for geothermal production. Whilst KenGen asserts that resettlement has been proper and community livelihood interests are adequately considered in its operations through the implementation of various community projects, the local community is unsatisfied.
In 2014, members and representatives of the community filed a complaint with the World Bank’s Inspection Panel (IPN). Following this, an eligibility assessment and an investigation was carried out on the alleged issues of harm and related non-compliance with Bank Policies on Indigenous Peoples, Physical Cultural Resources, and Involuntary Resettlement. The Bank has now set up a mediation process between KenGen and the community, to agree on actions to address the issues facing the community. In the absence of a resolution for this issue, this clean energy project would stand accused of ‘dirty’ development, by aggrieved community members.
Indeed, large-scale infrastructure projects are complex around the world. However, as has been shown in this case study, the complexity increases in the case of the Olkaria power plants which are operating in an environmentally sensitive and culturally rich ecosystem. While a section of actors may term the success achieved in the development of geothermal energy in the park a perfect demonstration that geothermal development, wildlife conservation, and communities can co-exist, no conclusive evidence exists to support this school of thought. If anything, environmental and social concerns persist. Further, continued acceptance of extractive projects within this conservation area increasingly renders it more of an industrial area than a park.
National parks however remain a cornerstone of global conservation efforts, though oftentimes there exists a tension between conservation and livelihoods. On one hand, the objective of establishing a protected area should ideally be for environmental effectiveness; protecting biodiversity or cultural heritage. On the other hand, conservation measures may instead operate to the detriment of social equity, leaving affected communities contesting conservation and any other attendant developments authorized by those mandated to manage the conservation area. Whereas generation of energy derived from green, cost-friendly and stable sources is vital for driving Kenya’s economic development, the national need for it should not take precedence over the conservation needs of both communities and the environment. KWS, which under Kenyan law is mandated to enhance conservation, must therefore redouble efforts to ensure it actualizes this core mandate within Hell’s Gate National Park.
References:
Elizabeth Mwangi-Gachau, Expansion of Geothermal
Development in Environmentally Significant Areas:
The Case of Olkaria Geothermal Project in Hell’s Gate
National Park, Kenya.
John Schelhas and Max Pfeffers, ‘When Global
Environmentalism Meets Local Livelihoods: Policy and
Management Lessons,’ (2009) Conservation Letters.
Michael Cernea, ‘Population Displacement Inside
Protected Areas: A Redefinition of Concepts in
Conservation Policies’, (2006) Policy Matters.
Philip J. Barasa, Strategic Environmental Assessment
(SEA) for Energy Sector: Case Study of Olkaria Geothermal Expansion Programme in Nakuru County,
Kenya, (2016).
Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS), Hell’s Gate –Mt.Longonot
Ecosystem: Management Plan, 2010-2015.
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Climbing up out of the Kathmandu valley in Nepal through the Sunderjal waterworks and along the rising crest of the Thare massif toward Tibet, you pass through two small villages before finally reaching TharePathi, an isolated pasture about 50 miles from Kathmandu. In the summer monsoon months, you may hear the deep mellow sounds of lowing cattle and sonorous bronze bells well before you see the stone shelter amidst the heavy clouds and fog that envelop the mountainside at 3800m.
The cattle appear through the mist as they graze on the hillside, stumbling over rocks, standing braced on the steep slope, waiting for evening milking. They are dzomo, a cross between a yak father and a cow mother. They are all female – male crosses are called dzopkio and people in this region don’t keep them.
Livestock is kept by people in the Himalayas to provide transportation, agricultural labor, food (milk, meat, and blood), raw materials (wool, hair, and horn), and manure. Through the labor and products of animals, humans gain access to energy sources in the environment that are indigestible to people, such as plant cellulose, as well as materials needed for daily living. It is possible to combine herding, or pastoralism with agriculture, but not easy. Pastoralism requires mobility and access to adequate resources to support numbers of large animals; it can require just a few shepherds or be more labor-intensive if dairying is involved. Agriculture doesn’t move and requires intensive human labor in one spot. In the Himalayas, what you grow and what you herd is dependent on the local ecology in which you live and the historical and social factors that have shaped your culture.
The families who use the Thare Pathi pasture come from Melemchi, a village down below at 2600 m. Dzomo herding is a way of life with a long history in this valley. The region is called Hyolmo and its original settlers were lamas from Kyirong, Tibet, who established a series of Buddhist temples here in the mid-1800s. Each temple was surrounded by land and forest and ultimately grew into a village. Hyolmo villages are all situated high on the slopes of the Melemchi and Indrawati river valleys -at around 2550m. The only crops that can grow there are potatoes, high altitude wheat and barley, and at the lower spots, corn. It is the upper limit for lowland cattle (zebu) and water buffalo, which can be kept tethered and stall-fed in the village to provide household milk and manure.
Hyolmo temple villages vary in exposure, size, slope, and microclimate. Some have very steep slopes and no room for agricultural fields. Some are at the southern end of the valley and closer to roads and lower villages where rice and millet are grown. Melemchi village is spread out over a gentle slope on the western side of the Melemchi River. It is the most northern of the temple villages and has sole access to the forest resources on the hillside. Wheat, barley, and potato fields surround the houses and there is lots of open space. But it is dzomo herding that defines the village, not agriculture. As far back as living residents can remember, Melemchi families herded dzomo and they kept that way of life longer than all but one of the other 18 villages. There are no dzomo herds there today, but in 1971 when I began my work there, most residents lived with their herds. Over the years, I have come to know dzomo herding as a unique Himalayan adaptation with great time depth and much to teach us about how mountain people make a good life.
There is something incongruous about the appearance of a dzomo. Like their cow mothers, they have short hair, long faces, and long legs, and can produce a calf every year (yak produce calves every two years). Like their yak fathers, they have bushy tails, a stocky bulky body, and a physiological tolerance for high altitude and cold. In some ways, dzomo are an improvement on their parents. Dzomo produce more milk and lactate for longer periods than either cow or yak. And they have their first calf at an earlier age than either parent species. Dzomo are specialized for milk-production in high altitudes – or actually, the middle altitude zone of 2100m to 3600 m, which is too high for cows and too low for yak.

Dzomo herds are owned and managed by households; the family moves over the year with their herd, up to high pastures in the summer and low pastures in the winter. They live in temporary structures built with the bamboo mats they carry with them, although many pastures have a stone-walled floorless hut with a plank roof that provides more protection and comfort. Traditionally, men receive part of their parents’ herd when they marry, along with rights to the family pastures. The work of dzomo herding is relentless and difficult. Although a husband or wife can do it alone for a day or two, two adults are necessary to keep it going. Women do the milking twice a day, make butter, and manage the household. Men cut firewood and fodder, supervise livestock breeding, buy and sell livestock, carry the heavy equipment (churn, bamboo mats) to new pastures, and travel to resupply from the village or sell cheese and butter. Butter and cheese are made every other day. Children as young as 5 years old help with tasks at the pasture, so there is no benefit in curtailing family size. Five to ten times a year the family must move to a new pasture; some are over a half-day away. The bamboo mats are four adult loads; the household effects, another five. The family carries everything on their backs; dzomo don’t carry loads.
A dzomo herd is a dairy herd, usually 10 or more dzomo and a bull. Melemchi people prefer the dwarf Tibetan bulls because they do better at the higher altitudes where dzomo live, and they produce smaller calves called pamu, which are easier for their dzomo mothers to birth. The animals cluster around the shelter at night and, after milking in the morning, are sent out with one of the children to graze in the pasture and surrounding forest until late afternoon when they return for another milking. Dzomo are bred in the summer months at high pasture and give birth during the spring. They lactate for 3 to 7 months, including the first few months of their next gestation.
Dairy herders, the world around, face the same problem. In order to lactate, cows must give birth to calves, but dairy farmers want the milk, not the calf. The most common solution is to sell them. Melemchi herders can’t do this. A pamu is a second-generation hybrid. They have none of the vigor of their first-generation hybrid mothers. They are small, sickly, and produce less milk than their mothers. They have no market value. Kept through adulthood, they are a drain on the environment and the family’s energy and income. As Tibetan Buddhists, Hyolmo herders don’t kill animals. So, in fact, most pamu die of illness and neglect within the first few weeks of life. Some pamu are spared because their mothers won’t lactate without them and others thrive despite neglect, so most herds eventually accumulate several adult pamu.

There are other economic challenges to dzomo herding. You can’t recruit your herd from within. You need to buy your animals from people who breed cows and yaks, so you need a source of cash. Livestock is expensive so herders may buy a cheaper immature animal and raise her to breeding age, taking a chance that she may not thrive or be a good breeder. Since you can’t kill dzomo, injured, unproductive, or elderly animals must remain in the herd so ultimately the herd becomes less and less productive. Keeping a bull alive and healthy at altitudes beneficial for the health of dzomo takes knowledge and extra work. In fact, experience with and knowledge of livestock management is essential, and forms a core of traditional practice that is held in this community without access to veterinary medical care. Harsh and unpredictable weather, predators, and disease also increase economic risk and uncertainty.
In the early 1900s, residents of Melemchi had large dzomo herds and few grew anything in the village. They traded butter and cheese for agricultural products or sold them for cash to buy salt or tea or the few manufactured commodities they needed. Even though they lived with their herds away from the village, the village with its temple or gomba was the center of community life. The land surrounding the gomba is endowed for its support, so even those out with herds are members and are responsible for maintaining the gomba and for its annual ritual cycle. Physical labor, as well as taxes in the form of grain, butter, or cash, are required from each household. Eventually, some people built houses in the village, for their old age, or to store things, or to live in when they were between herds. As families and herds grew in size, they could spare time and people to manage both crops and herds, so house numbers grew. Agriculture began to be more practical when people were around to do the work. Economic diversification reduces risk in an uncertain and harsh environment.
The dzomo herding system, combined with winter rain-fed annual crops like wheat, barley, and potatoes, provides a flexible subsistence system for families in Melemchi where there is access to excellent pasture above the village, a large open village space with good water sources, and a low population density.

Over the twentieth century, Melemchi grew into a large village, with increasing numbers of houses. When my husband and I lived there in 1971, wheat, barley, and potato fields occupied the central area and 24 families herded dzomo. There were 30 houses in the village, but only 6 were lived in year-round. The others belonged to herding families whose members occupied them for short periods to tend crops or help with village work. By 1986, the fields remained but there were 78 houses and the number of herds had dropped to 20. Still, lots of those houses were empty – in addition to absent herding families, other families were building roads and working construction in Tibetan Buddhist areas of the Indian Himalaya. People moved back and forth throughout the year, bringing back money for houses and living expenses for themselves and their relatives, and in a few cases, for new herds of dzomo. Today there are more than 125 houses, as well as a school, seasonal road access, and electricity. The agricultural fields are still there, with new housing and the school built on the edges. Many Melemchi people live outside the village and send money home to their families remaining there.
Diversification and flexibility are hallmarks of successful mountain communities everywhere. In the Nepal Himalaya, at 2600 m, the dzomo, a hybrid yak-cow, built and sustained a Tibetan Buddhist lifestyle for thousands of people into the twenty-first century. While no one in Melemchi today herds dzomo, there are still dzomo herds in a few Hyolmo villages, as well as elsewhere in Nepal. Young and old continue to live in Melemchi, or maintain their houses there for future visits or residence following their stint as global workers. The children and grandchildren of our herder friends may live in Kathmandu or abroad, yet they return often to visit and participate in village business and ritual obligations from afar via satellite phones and social media. Regardless of residence and current occupation, dzomo herding continues to define a heritage that is now spread around the globe. Many Melemchi people living today in places as far-flung as Korea, Crete, Qaatar, and Jackson Heights, New York grew up in dzomo herding families and carry that knowledge, heritage, and conviction into their lives and into their futures. It defines who they are and provides sustenance and value as they encounter new challenges.
Further Reading
Bishop, Naomi. 1998. Himalayan Herders. Harcourt Brace and Company. (reprinted 2002, Thomson Publishing).
Photographs: John Bishop
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Nature in the City: Bengaluru in the Past, Present, and Future
by Harini Nagendra
ISBN-13: 978-0199465927
Oxford University Press, 1 June 2016
This year, one of Bangalore’s largest citizen protests incidentally followed the publication of Harini Nagendra’s book – ‘Nature in the City – Bengaluru in the Past, Present, and Future’. It saw thousands raising their voice against the construction of a massive steel flyover that aimed to ease traffic en route to the airport but at the cost of several hundred trees. Such struggles to conserve nature amidst rapid urbanization exemplify the relevance of Nagendra’s book today – of the need to understand nature and its immense contribution to the ecological, social and cultural fabric of a city.
Nagendra has close ties with the city she describes – she grew up here, and is now a Professor of Sustainability at Azim Premji University, Bangalore. She draws greatly from her academic research, covering the ecological history of Bangalore going back several centuries, and gives a detailed account of changes nature has undergone in its private and public spaces leading to the present. She looks at the ecology of Bangalore from various vantage points – home gardens, slums, avenues and parks, sacred places, and lakes. But this is done in a very personal way, by weaving her findings with stories of people who interact with nature every day and whose reality is the changing face of this city. These multiple experiences of nature and people in Bangalore, come together to offer a picture that speaks of the city’s disconnect from its underlying terrain, a shift in the role of nature in people’s lives, simplification of biodiversity, and reduced access to nature.
The most compelling parts of Nagendra’s book are where she talks about the city’s history. There are several interesting details here – the historic recognition of Bangalore as its malnad (rocky region) and maidan (plains) parts, written records of settlements in the city from as far back as the 6th century, records of tigers and wild boars in now residential areas, or the turbulence of 17th century Bangalore when it changed hands between half a dozen dynasties. Nagendra uses history as a tool to explain ecological patterns today and the story of Bangalore’s lakes is one of her most moving narratives. Starting from a description of Agara lake from the 9th century to Col. R.H. Sankey’s construction of Sankey lake in the 1880s, she describes the centrality of lakes to the existence of Bangalore using several archival sources. She details the key events leading to their degradation, causing historic lakes such as Dharmambudhi to be converted into the city bus terminus, and Sampangi lake to be built over as Kanteerava Stadium.
Against the image of Bangalore’s past, Nagendra’s descriptions of the city’s present take a new meaning. The shrinking of nature becomes apparent, not just in physical space, but also in the mental space of people who no longer directly depend on its trees and lakes. Those who do, are marginalized even further. One example is of the basket weavers on Krishna Rajendra Road in Basavanagudi, who worked in the shade of its large avenue trees for over half a century but were forced to move a few years ago when these trees were felled for the Bangalore Metro Rail project. Nagendra talks about people’s protests against this move, which unfortunately failed, but also many other civic protests in Bangalore’s history that were successful. Though the book makes one feel grim about the fate of nature in cities today, Nagendra is optimistic that collective action can still help make nature an integral part of cityscapes.
Nagendra’s work is a synthesis of Bangalore’s ecological history and an extensive case study of the effects of urbanization on nature. To someone who is familiar with the city, it offers more – names and places evoke intimate images in the mind and the book speaks to the reader on a very personal level.
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In a paper* published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA in 2014, Corey Bradshaw and Barry Brook argued that, given the current momentum of human population growth, no demographic “quick fixes” will be enough to change its trajectory in the near future. Therefore, environmental policy will be served better by prioritising measures such as technological and social innovation and reductions in consumption, while treating population reduction as a long-term goal. On his recent visit to Bengaluru, Hari Sridhar spoke to Corey Bradshaw about the genesis of this study and its implications.

Hari Sridhar : You say “our models clearly demonstrate that the current momentum of the global human population precludes any demographic “quick fixes.” If that is the case, what do you suggest should be done
instead?
Corey Bradshaw: I’ll back up a little bit and give you some of the contexts for writing the paper, which will sort of explaining the title and that particular conclusion. Often when I gave public seminars, where I would talk about some environmental problem and future predictions of its worsening, some member of the audience would stand up at the end and say: “Well, the problem is humans. There are just too many of us. So all we need to do is focus on reducing the human population and we will fix all of these other problems. ” That came up so often that I began to think: “Well, how quickly could we fix the overpopulation problem?” Being, among other things, a population dynamics modeller, I decided I could model the human population just as well to look at that question. What would it take, and how long, for the human population to start to decline, either from interventions or catastrophes? Human demographers don’t typically consider catastrophe scenarios when they project human populations. It’s instead done under very strict policy criteria, typically under the expected status quo, with some slight variation in things like family planning and structural change; you know, things like age structure. But we decided to try out more extreme scenarios as well to address that question.
So first we said, “let’s just see what happens when we only adjust fertility.” We did that and the population trajectory was more or less insensitive. Then we said, “let’s see what happens if we impose mass mortality events of various types – a third world war, pandemics, nuclear warfare” – and still the population was fairly resistant, even to these big changes. What we took away from these results was this: yes, population size must be addressed and we should have started looking into this seriously, probably post World War 2 when we were just under two billion people.
We need to address overpopulation, but it’s not going to be something that can be fixed suddenly or be reduced anytime in the next few decades. It’s a century-scale issue. Should we be aiming to reduce the total human population? Yes. Should we be encouraging fertility reduction and family planning? Yes. It’s just that these will have positive outcomes at the century-scale. Now, most of our environmental problems are not things that we can ignore for a century. They have to be dealt with now. So our argument basically was that if we can’t address the human population problem, in the sense of reducing its size quickly, then we need to turn our attention to more immediate fixes, such as addressing consumption and various environmental mitigation policies. That was our main message. But in so doing we managed to anger both sides of the ideological position on the human population debate. In saying that something must be done but it can’t be done quickly, we upset the low-growth proponents. And by saying that we should nevertheless aim for long-term population reduction, we upset the people who are utterly opposed to any sort of fertility reduction or any action on human population growth.

HS: That’s something I want to ask you about – tell us about the attention this paper got within academia and in the media.
CB: Yeah, in the academic setting it was interesting. There were only a few critiques written about the paper and they were fairly weak. As the saying goes “All models are wrong but some are useful”, but what our model said was defensible. I suppose some of the terminology and the interpretation were points of contention with some people, but by and large, the scientific community was satisfied with the result. But in the media, it was completely different. Almost every single journalist I talked to put a particular slant on the results. Because of those two diametrically opposite opinions, people appeared to read anything they wanted to into it. Most people in the media didn’t of course read the paper. They read the title and maybe the abstract and the odd sentence here and there, and took from that whatever their ideological position dictated. There were right-wing media, there were left-wing media, and each had its own bias. I think only a handful of interviewers seemed to grasp the concept, which I didn’t think was that difficult. It also got a lot of responses on these comment streams. I don’t read those most of the time, but there are a lot of crazy people on the internet now. I got all sorts of hate mail, and even indirect death threats. Not serious ones. Just some random person telling me I should be removed from the face of the planet, and things like that. That happens from time to time when you deal with controversial topics.
HS: In the paper, you come up with some figures for what the population will be in 2100, under different scenarios. Could you tell us how much uncertainty there was around these figures?
CB: There was probably much less uncertainty than for most other species that are modelled. Humans tend to census themselves fairly well and we have a reasonable understanding of how many of us there are right now. While demographic data like age-specific survival rates are missing from some parts of the world, generally speaking, at the scale of regions it’s well-known. So in terms of measurement error, the current and even the trends in those demographic rates are robust. Some of the assumptions, such as how much longer we’ll live given future medical innovations, are somewhat uncertain. But as it turns out, we are living so long now that even slight adjustments to longevity don’t make much difference in the long-term to total population size. And even large assumptions about, say, juvenile mortality, don’t make a huge difference, because for a long-lived mammal the most important parameter that modifies population growth generally is the survival of breeding females. And breeding-age women around the world tend to have the highest survival rates, so all the other parameters have smaller effects on population size. So while environmental variability has a large effect on small populations, it has a comparatively small effect on large populations. And we are a very large population. Incorporating a lot of uncertainty didn’t really make much of a difference. But the future scenarios were uncertain – will there be a war, will there be climate change reductions in food availability that will lead to higher juvenile mortality, etc.? We know little about the probability of these things occurring and how important they’ll be.
HS: You say that the momentum is such that we are not going to be able to do much about population growth in the near future, but we could have done something in the past? What do you think we could have done and when?

CB: Well, I will come back to my colleague and friend, Paul Ehrlich and his book “The Population Bomb”, where he was saying in the late 60s and early 70s that we really should have been addressing this issue right after the Second World War when we had the opportunity to keep populations small. But the philosophy or ethic was quite the opposite. The emphasis was on recovery and population and economic growth, fueled by an economic system that depended on a large number of consumers. And the environmental damage wasn’t as obvious as it is today. I think people are still generally of the mindset that we live on an infinite planet and there isn’t any way the human population could change things, like the climate, and kill off entire species. Today, pollution, deforestation and climate change are in everyone’s face, even though some people still prefer to bury their heads in the sand.
But that wasn’t in the psyche of most countries 70 years ago. Some perhaps, like China, clearly had a different view of things, but the Chinese have nearly always had a different view on most things over the course of the last 150 years. And they dealt with it in their own way, controversially of course. And India has had some controversial interventions as well – forced sterilisations and that sort of thing. I think very few countries could put their hands on their hearts and say they haven’t done something wrong in the past with respect to family planning. But Paul was a lone voice in the 1960s in a sea of promotion of growth. Now lots of people argue that Paul Ehrlich was wrong then. But he wasn’t wrong, he was just perhaps a little out of date. He projected what we are going through now, a little bit earlier than it has actually happened. But everything he talked about is coming true. That’s another reason why modelling this stuff mathematically is useful, because it gives you a timeline. It’s approximate, but it tells you whether you need to deal with issues on decadal or century scales.

HS: That brings me to a question I had about this debate of overconsumption versus overpopulation, which is often set up as a developed versus developing world debate. What is your personal take on this?
CB: They are inseparable and can’t be seen as a dichotomy. Several analogies have been used, for example, “two sides of the same coin”. Or the one Paul uses all the time: he says that “arguing whether consumption or population is more important for sustainability is like arguing whether the length or width of a rectangle is more important for calculating its area”. It’s obvious that total damage arising from a population is a product of those two components. If you have a large population with low consumption or a small population with large consumption you have the same result. It’s the same amount of damage, same total consumption. But it is a very sensitive topic; when someone like me, a white fellow from a developed nation, says that the world must reduce its consumption. It seems hypocritical and I would be the first to agree with that. Australians, for example, while only 23 million people have the highest per capita emission rates in the OECD ( Organisation for Economic Co-operation Development). We are one of the highest per capita water users on the planet, even though we live in a desert. We are superlative wasters. Do we need to address that? Absolutely. The possible advantages, I think, many developing nations have is that they have seen the paths that developed nations have gone down: fossil fuel exploitation, reduction of natural resources, and the rising pollution as a result.

In other words, the developing world has very good examples of what not to do, what not to follow. Moreover, the consumption pathway has led to all sorts of corollary issues – obesity, diabetes, heart diseases. Even political stability is not guaranteed. There are plenty of things to avoid. Now I know every country has a set of issues and problems, but I always argue that taking Western societies as examples of what not to do is how developing nations can learn to do better. Because now the technology and knowledge are there, and alternative pathways are now available, which weren’t necessarily the case when Western nations were developing. We didn’t have access to renewable technologies or nuclear power and we didn’t have family planning in mind. So in some ways the developing world is at an advantage and I guess that’s the message I try to get out. Absolutely, I will be the first to scream out that my government isn’t doing enough on the consumption side, just as I will say that to Indians, the Chinese or Africans. In fact, I would also say that my country is probably not doing enough on the population side either.

HS: When you say Australia isn’t doing enough in terms of population, do you mean in controlling immigration? That is something you briefly touch upon in the paper, but which you didn’t include in the regional analysis.
CB: Not in that paper, but I’ve written a subsequent paper about Australia in particular that specifically deals with the immigration issue, which of course is a loaded gun as well; it’s entirely politicized. In Australia, right now, that’s almost the number one election issue: how we deal with refugees in particular, but with migration in general. I myself am an immigrant to Australia: I came from Canada and was naturalised twenty-odd years ago. And there is a certain amount of racism involved there. I happen to be the same colour as most Australians, and so my entry into Australia was probably a little bit easier than someone from say, Sudan or Indonesia. But Australia has a classic European-like demographic structure, in that we don’t really have any intrinsic growth. We are hovering at a slight increase or stability. All of our growth – pretty much all of it (98%) – is from immigration. And that’s a political choice.
We have approximately 2,15,000 net immigrants per year, which is about 1% of the population. So in that paper, we put this in the context of meeting future emission targets. We are already such high emitters, and the addition of more people makes reaching those targets even more difficult. How much more difficult? As it turns out, we have so far to go that even high immigration rates are only going to modify that capacity by 10% or so over the next 50 years. But the other issues are that Australia is a very dry place and has poor soils. The continent has had no glaciation since the Permian, and no major volcanism, so our soils are depleted. We need lots of area to grow food for our own population and we are sustained in a large way by global trade, like many countries these days. One could even argue that we have already exceeded our carrying capacity, so any additional people will put more pressure on our natural systems. We have already lost over 40% of our forest cover in the last 200 years, and the remainder is highly fragmented.
We are losing our world-class coral reef system from agricultural practices and climate change. Overfishing has also been an issue, and we have some of the highest densities of feral animals in the world. We also have the world’s highest mammal extinction rate. People cannot point to Australia as a model for conservation. We have a large protected area network, but even in our largest park, Kakadu, Mammal reductions of up to 95% have happened in the last 35 years. On paper, we might look good, but we’re still having conservation issues like everyone else. Because our lands are marginal and because agricultural development is the primary determinant of deforestation, historically as well as recently, adding more people is just going to put more and more pressure on our natural systems. It will be a case of diminishing returns – every extra person will require food from increasingly marginal resources.

HS: Part of this paper also focuses at the regional level. Could you say a little about what the future scenario for the Indian region looks like?
CB: India is an interesting case. With projected declines in fertility and the rising middle class, the likelihood of increasing much more than doubling, by the end of the century, is low in India. In many parts of Africa, it’s likely to be five to seven times. Therefore, while doubling the number of Indians is definitely something to be concerned about because there are so many already, the main problem is population density; the subcontinent will have the highest population density on the planet by 2100. That’s pretty much non-debatable. What that means for regional political stability, for water availability, for rural politics, etc. is anyone’s guess. Being a population ecologist, one of the truisms I subscribe to is that density feedback happens to every single species and population. The likelihood of conflict is higher, the denser the population. In addition, India is one of the most biodiverse parts of the world. You have the Western Ghats Biodiversity Hotspot next door to Bangalore, for example, which has lots of species but is also highly threatened — this region is probably where we stand to lose a high number of species, maybe second only to Africa. And more than political stability, what concerns me is that all these amazing endemic creatures are going to disappear. Big mammals like the tiger are probably some of the first to drop off the perch, but there are many smaller species that have already been lost and that are in the process of being lost.
HS: I have a couple of questions not specifically about this piece of work. One is about your research interests: correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like, though you started doing very small-scale, often single-species studies, most of the work you do now is at much larger scales – primarily spatially, but also temporally, i.e., related to long-term datasets. Was that a conscious shift? Do you feel that this kind of research might be more relevant for conservation?
CB: Yes and no. First of all, it’s probably because I get bored easily. I’m a little bit autistic, so I get easily distracted by things. So, I look for different topics and approaches because they interest me more than anything else. On the side of incorporating more than biology into what I do, I think most conservation people who have been in the field for a bit will have the same feeling. I have a bit of a joke about this. I say “Old ecologists never die. They just turn into untrained social scientists”. That’s gotten a bit of a chuckle from many of my friends. When you’ve been around for a while, you realise that the basics of conservation biology have been covered reasonably well. We know that fragmentation is a problem, we know that small populations are a problem, we know that low diversity leads to lower resistance, etc. These basics we established over the last 50 years or so, and now the conservation issues that remain are largely to do with managing human systems-economics, psychology, marketing and the like—that we are not trained in. I’ve tried to delve into that myself. You realise that, as a biologist, you are just sort of fine-tuning our narrative of the devastation. That maybe we can contribute more, I think, societies like the Society for Conservation Biology (SCB) and other national societies are starting to realise. If we want to be relevant, we will have no choice but to incorporate the human component into our work. I think the Society for Conservation Biology is even contemplating a name change because of this phenomenon. There’s also the fact that I enjoy the quantitative side of things. I feel that maths has less nonsense than pretty much any other human endeavour because it’s not ideologically based. One plus one equals two; it’s simple, it’s straightforward. It’s the implications of mathematics that have the politics associated with it. But because I am ‘in the zone, so to speak, when I do my maths, that skill set has allowed me to address questions that are outside of my field with relative ease. Of course, I collaborate with people that are specialists, but that skill has given me the capacity to shift around a bit. That’s something I often say to younger people in the field – if you want to make yourself attractive to employers, supervisors or funding agencies, train yourself to be able to address different problems using mathematics. It’s not the only way of course, but it’s a powerful way.
HS: What first got you interested in ecology and conservation?
CB: That’s a bit of a long story, but I can summarise by saying that it probably began during my childhood in western Canada. I grew up in a small, remote town surrounded by bush and mountains. My father was a fur trapper and hunter, so he took me ‘out bush’ so often that I began to value the very systems we were exploiting for fur and meat. Yes, it was entirely consumptive, but I learned to appreciate functioning ecosystems and the bounty of biodiversity from an early age. My father was also something of a counter-intuitive conservationist in his own way. While a hunter and trapper living off the land, he and his ilk were commonly the most vocal opponents of deforestation by logging companies. When the forests were felled, their livelihoods disappeared. I didn’t know it at the time, but that exposure laid the foundation for my future conservation ethic. But conservation advocacy was never going to be enough for me. The call to science appealed to me greatly and through a fortunate set of circumstances, I was able to complete several degrees and pursue a career in academia. Initially, I was more focused on mainly ecological theory, but I eventually turned to more applied pursuits in the field.
HS: This is my last question –what according to you are the big issues that conservation research has to tackle in the near future?
CB: I think there are several issues that represent ways forward, in not just conservation biology, but in ecology and the interface with many other disciplines. The first one is that moving out of your comfort zone is hard to do. Lots of people avoid this because it takes courage. But moving into a different space, not just working with people in another field, which I call a ‘multi-disciplinary’ approach, but actually engaging in these disciplines yourself; this is true ‘transdisciplinarity’. Moving out of your chosen discipline gives a fresh perspective on things when you cross disciplines with appropriate guidance and the expertise of your collaborators. Often you will discover novel ways to deal with problems. In terms of what to study, I think moving more towards the demonstration of how changing biodiversity affects humans directly. Now a lot of people worry about the monetization of conservation values, for example, the controversy over REDD+ and things like that.
But even demonstrating little things that the average person, who doesn’t necessarily value biodiversity intrinsically, can understand is essential. We’ve done some work on deforestation and flooding events, and the epidemiology of emerging infectious diseases and agricultural practices and how that’s affected by the removal of natural systems. Or looking at wetland dynamics and the production of filtered fresh water, or the frequency of cyclones and other devastating events that kill children and the elderly. Or how much your crop yields will go down if you reduce your pollinators in adjacent forests. Those are things that farmers understand, that the average person on the street understands. No one wants a child to suffer. Putting a service value on everything might sound a little bit contrived sometimes, but I don’t think that we are getting anywhere fast without doing it.
And I also think we need more quantification; we need to quantify these relationships and show them to people. It’s one thing to quantify, but it’s another thing entirely to get the message out. But eventually, even the politicians get the message: this is bad for us, so we shouldn’t do it. But to achieve this uptake, just by publishing your results in a journal and then moving on to the next thing isn’t really going to cut it. We have to be good communicators to a much wider audience. But we are getting better at that; however, as the sea of nonsense in the great Twitter-sphere drowns out all messages, we have to be even more vocal. We have to get into that marketing side of things. And I would promote advocacy. I think scientists can be advocates without sacrificing their objectivity. That said, I don’t think science is the pursuit of objectivity; it’s the pursuit of subjectivity reduction. That’s a topic for another discussion, but a strong argument I have heard many times is that advocating a position based on evidence somehow sacrifices objectivity. I think this view is utter nonsense. We are the people (scientists) who are best informed about these issues, and if we have strong evidence underlying a recommendation we should be vocal about it. Of course, there are associated value systems and ideologies underlying these things, but we shouldn’t just stand back and say we’ve done our job merely by writing about the problems. If that’s all we do, nothing will change for the better.
*Bradshaw CJ & BW Brook. 2014. Human population reduction is not a quick fix for environmental problems. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 111: 16610-16615.
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