Feature image: A family group of Floreana mockingbirds on Gardner Islet, Galápagos (Photo credit: Enzo M. R. Reyes)
Culture is often defined as the way of life—including customs and beliefs—of a particular group at a given time. While typically associated with humans, various aspects of culture such as music, art, literature, and languages are not exclusive to us. In animals, culture refers to learned behaviours and vocalisations passed socially across generations. Many social animals, such as whales, chimpanzees, and birds, exhibit cultural traits like tool usage and specialised vocal cues. Though animal culture differs from human culture, it shares key similarities in social learning and transmission.
Cultural evolution in bird vocalisations is well documented, with changes occurring over time and across regions. For example, North American white-throated sparrows recently shifted from triplet-ending to double-ending songs—a dialect that originated west of the Rocky Mountains and spread continentally. In small or fragmented populations, cultural evolution can be detrimental—as the limited number of tutors makes it difficult to transmit the original repertoire—leading to new song variations or maladaptive behaviours.
The Endangered Floreana mockingbird (Mimus trifasciatus) is a rare cooperative-breeding species endemic to the Galápagos Islands, and it likely inspired Darwin’s theories on evolution. Its main population vanished from Floreana Island just 50 years after his visit, leaving fewer than 300 individuals on two small offshore rocky islets—Champion (0.1 km2) and Gardner-by-Floreana (0.8 km2).
Floreana mockingbird perched on the top of an Opuntia cactus, Champion Islet, Galápagos (Photo credit: Enzo M. R. Reyes)
A major project by the Galápagos National Park aims to restore Floreana Island, including by reintroducing the locally extinct Floreana mockingbird. Birds from the two remaining populations will establish a third population on Floreana, thereby, reducing the risk of extinction. While ecological and genetic factors pertaining to reintroduction have been extensively studied for decades, behavioural aspects such as vocalisations have not received as much attention, despite the influence that this trait could have in the success of reintroduction.
A recent study published in Pacific Conservation Biology explored how the isolation of the two remaining populations—following extinction of the main population—may have accelerated cultural change. The study showed that the lack of connectivity between the two populations has led to the development of distinct ‘dialects’ in vocalisations on each island. This divergence in vocalisation patterns may have been influenced by differences in beak morphology between the populations, with birds from one population generally being larger than the other.
Furthermore, the study demonstrated how random variations in vocalisations between islands—known as ‘cultural drift’—could also have played a role in the divergence of vocalisations. The researchers tested this hypothesis by comparing recordings of the species from the 1960s with more recent recordings and observed differences in the vocalisations of the same population over time.
This study highlights the importance of considering behavioural aspects in conservation. The reintroduction of the Floreana mockingbird may encounter challenges due to vocal differences between the two source populations, potentially delaying the improvement in genetic diversity. For example, the reintroduction of individuals with different dialects could lead to individuals only pairing with those who ‘speak’ the same dialect, consequently slowing down group formation and gene mixing. However, further research is required as mockingbirds demonstrate great adaptability and can learn new vocalisations even in adulthood, which could aid in the integration of local vocal repertoires between the two source populations.
Further Reading: Reyes E. M. R., M. Roper Michelle, C. Sevilla, D. Rueda, H. Brunton Dianne, N. H. Smith Adam, and L. Ortiz-Catedral. 2024. Cultural divergence and morphological variation of isolated remnant populations of the endangered Floreana mockingbird. Pacific Conservation Biology 30: PC23055. https://doi.org/10.1071/PC23055.
Sustainability is often viewed as a modern challenge, yet India’s environmental consciousness has deep roots, shaped by the visionaries and institutions that have worked tirelessly to balance development with conservation. Inspirations: Individuals and Institutions that Defined India’s Sustainability Journey, authored by Mamata Pandya and Meena Raghunathan, serves both as a tribute and a historical documentation of these efforts.
Written in a laudatory style, through engaging narratives and personal reflections, the book focuses on 30 pioneering figures and their invaluable contributions to India’s environmental movement, while also shedding light on key institutions, initiatives and other changemakers.
Pandya and Raghunathan, having worked at the Centre for Environment Education (CEE) for decades, use their firsthand interactions with many of these individuals whose paths intersected with theirs, to add a unique personal dimension to their storytelling. With CEE completing 40 years in 2024, the book also offers reflections on its legacy.
It follows a biographical and institutional approach, highlighting the contributions of influential individuals from diverse sectors—scientists, policymakers, conservationists, and media personalities—who have shaped India’s sustainability landscape. Among the people profiled (a fifth of them women) are Vikram Sarabhai, MS Swaminathan, HS Panwar, Romulus Whitaker, Kiran Karnik and Sunita Narain.
The book not only delves into their professional successes but also educational backgrounds, national and international recognitions, and personal philosophies that shaped their work. Furthermore, it documents the birth and evolution of organisations and institutions, such as The Energy and Resources Institute, Centre for Science and Environment, and the Wildlife Institute of India, as well as landmark conservation milestones, such as the Chipko Movement, Silent Valley Campaign, Wild Life (Protection) Act, 1972, Project Tiger, and the creation of the Ministry of Environment, Forest and Climate Change.
One of the book’s strongest aspects is its compelling and accessible narration. Rather than presenting a dry, academic history, the authors humanise these leaders. By incorporating anecdotes and personal interactions, the book offers a warm and intimate look at these luminaries.
Inspirations also serves as a well-researched archive of India’s environmental journey, covering key moments such as:
The founding of the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) in 1883 and its role in early conservation efforts
The 1972 United Nations Conference on the Human Environment, where Indira Gandhi addressed the audience
The 1982 launch of Development Alternatives Group by Ashok Khosla, the world’s first social enterprise focused on sustainable development
The 1986 National Environmental Awareness Campaign under TN Seshan, which ran for almost three decades
This list also includes milestones in print and television media in India, such as the launches of the Journal of BNHS (1886), Sanctuary Asia (1981), the First State of India’s Environment Report (1982), Discovery Channel (1995) and Animal Planet (1999).
The book highlights community-based conservation efforts and their leaders. Examples include Anupam Mishra, known for his work in traditional water conservation, Vinod Raina, a key figure in the People’s Science Movement and the Right to Education Act, and MK Prasad, a grassroots activist in the Silent Valley Campaign.
At a time when climate change and sustainability dominate global discourse, Inspirations reminds readers of India’s early efforts in environmental protection. The stories of Lavkumar Khachar launching the Nature Club movement, and PR Pisharoty and Erach Bharucha’s pioneering work in remote sensing, highlight how individuals have played a transformative role in shaping practice, policy, and public awareness.
However, in addition to celebrating successes, as inspiration can also stem from challenges and learning from failures, exploring how these people and institutions overcame obstacles and setbacks would have further enriched the narrative, offering a deeper understanding of their resilience and impact.
The book is an informative tribute to India’s conservation and sustainable development journey. As the world grapples with climate change and biodiversity loss, revisiting the lives and legacies of India’s sustainability pioneers becomes more relevant than ever. Inspirations serves as a reminder that sustainability is not just a policy framework but a legacy built by passionate individuals who dared to imagine a better future.
As a source of guano (or bird poop)—a highly sought after agricultural fertiliser—seabird nesting sites have economic benefits. But beyond this, seabird poop also serves an ecological function, as a source of nutrients for corals. A recent paper published in Science Advances shows how seabird colonies, via the bird poop deposited there, can enable coral reefs to cope with climate change
In this study, researchers delved into the complex relationship between seabirds and coral reefs. Their findings revealed that seabird guano dramatically increases productivity in coral reefs. At the same time, it makes reefs more resilient to climate change.
Fantastic seabirds and where the authors found them
The study, led by Dr. Cassandra Benkwitt, a Senior Research Fellow at Lancaster Environment Centre, was conducted in Chagos, a group of 60 islands in the Indian Ocean. Over an electronic interview, she explained, “We have previously observed seabirds increasing fish biomass and growth rates. This led us to examine their potential role in coral reef recovery following marine heatwaves.”
Seabird poop, rich in nitrogen and phosphorus, is a natural fertilizer for coral reefs. Benkwitt noted that lab-based studies suggested, “certain nutrients might benefit corals against heat stress”. Field experiments revealed that reefs near the islands with thriving seabird colonies experienced twice the coral growth compared to reefs with fewer seabirds. The team also transplanted corals from areas with fewer to more abundant seabird populations. Within three years, the corals fully acclimatized and thrived in the high nutrient conditions. However, when they transplanted corals from areas with abundant seabirds to those with fewer, the results indicated a drop in growth rate.
Global shifts, local tricks
Seabirds, even in the islands of Chagos, are declining in numbers—primarily due to invasive alien species such as rats, bycatch in fisheries and climate change. The study sheds light on the impacts of this decline. Nutrient inputs to reefs were low in areas where seabird populations had decreased, with a similar reduction in coral growth. This, in turn, increased the chances of coral bleaching and disease.
A bleached Acropora with a healthy Acropora in the background. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons
This research highlights the importance of understanding the complex relationships within ecosystems, stressing the need to conserve seabirds to protect coral reefs. According to Benkwitt, only by protecting and restoring seabird populations will the nutrient cycle be restored. Thus, by protecting seemingly unconnected species, we can strengthen the resilience of entire ecosystems. Looking ahead, Benkwitt plans to track the fate of reefs over extended periods.
“Tackling global climate change is certainly a top priority,” stated Benkwitt, “but it is a huge undertaking, and progress has been slow.” She suggests looking into local remedies to support ecosystems. “We need easier, shorter-term, local solutions. These can help buy coral reefs time. Meanwhile, we continue addressing global issues.”
Our lands and seas are connected. Degradation of one can affect the other. This study emphasises the importance of ecosystem connectivity and why restoring natural connections should be part of conservation efforts. By taking advantage of these services provided by seabirds, we can work towards a better future for coral reefs and the countless species that depend on them.
Further Reading:
Benkwitt, C. E., C. D’Angelo, R. E. Dunn, R. L. Gunn, S. Healing, M. L. Mardones, J. Wiedenmann et al. 2023. Seabirds boost coral reef resilience. Science Advances 9(49): eadj0390. DOI: 10.1126/sciadv.adj0390.
A couple of days after Ajith passed away, a message on the WhatsApp group for his memorial enquired about his cat. But Malli would be fine because she inhabited many homes. Much like his beloved cat, Ajith had many institutional homes, and each one thought he belonged to them. As did each of the hundreds on the WA group and innumerable others. Ajith had a special place in everyone’s life.
Many encomiums have and will be written, as they should be. Ajith was an extraordinary person, in the true sense of that word. He was a passionate primatologist and exceptional wildlife biologist, but so are many others. He had an unquenchable thirst for travel to India’s wildest places, but he shared that with his brethren. He was a fine scientist, but he was not alone in that. He was a kind mentor and colleague, but some others are too.
Ajith was more than all that. His endless charm, the constant wit, an almost inexplicable calm in the face of all the slings and arrows of life such as it is, endeared him to just about everyone he encountered. To his academic colleagues, government officials, forest officers, students; to his own mentors, his peers, the next generation, the one after that, the list goes on and on. In a community where success is measured by individual brilliance, Ajith was the finest of collaborators. In an ecosystem where conservationists hold vitriolic, polarised opinions, Ajith walked the tightrope with ease, as if it were a stroll in his favourite forest. In a field where conflict is common, Ajith was unflappable. In a world where pettiness abounds, Ajith was generous to a fault with his boundless enthusiasm. With his stories, his ideas, with his affection.
Ajith began his research career in 1974 following a Master’s degree in Zoology from the University of Kerala. As a research fellow at the Zoological Survey of India in the late 1970s, his academic journey started with the enigmatic lion-tailed macaque (Macaca silenus) in the forests of the Western Ghats. In 1987, he went on to complete a doctoral degree, the first on the species, at the University of Cambridge, under the guidance of Professor David Chivers.
Photo by Divya Mudappa and T. R. Shankar Raman
Following his return, Ajith went on to teach and guide research at India’s premier wildlife institutions, such as the Wildlife Institute of India (WII), Dehradun and the Salim Ali Centre for Ornithology and Natural History (SACON), Coimbatore. During this period, he led several research projects not only related to primatology but also dealing with rainforest ecology and fragmentation, species diversity and small mammal ecology and conservation. He guided several students during this period and many of them have continued his legacy, becoming experts in their own right.
In 2004, with the Wildlife Conservation Society, the Centre for Wildlife Sciences and other like-minded institutions, Ajith established the Master’s Programme in Wildlife Biology and Conservation at the National Centre for Biological Sciences, Bangalore. With over 10 batches of students from different parts of India and beyond, this programme is currently one of the most sought after and productive enterprises in the Indian conservation sphere. During these years, Ajith also served as an advisor and mentor to many wildlife and conservation organisations in India. In 2024, fulfilling a long-held dream, Ajith conceptualised and convened the Indian Wildlife Ecology Conference (IWEC) which was attended by researchers from all over the country. Both the Master’s course at NCBS as well as the IWEC conference will continue to benefit from his legacy and vision.
To have your (strong) points of view, and yet accommodate a diversity of others, in fact to embrace them, is a very special skill. Ajith was thus uniquely positioned to be the founding director of his Master’s programme, which he led and advised for 20 years. He also brought that particular flavour to the many faculty positions and advisory roles he held in institutions across the country in his professional career.
Above all this, he was the teller of tales, a purveyor of odd ideas, a connoisseur of cheap rum, a fine fryer of fish (!) and an irresistible wave of merriment. He often said that he wanted to be reborn as an otter. Their love of water, their fondness for fish, some things about their social structure perhaps, resonated with him. Words will fail to capture all that was Ajith, his ineffable aura. Ajith Kumar may have passed away, but he will live long in all our memories. What better tribute can we pay than to try to be just that little bit more like him.
Target 2 of the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework calls for approximately 1 billion hectares of degraded land worldwide to be under effective restoration by 2030—just five years from now. While there is considerable optimism and passion supporting this ambitious global target, the financial costs and feasibility of ecological restoration significantly influence whether it can be achieved.
The problem is that restoration is expensive. Extensive research is often required to make informed decisions about where to implement specific actions, and labour-intensive processes such as native species revegetation plantings are typically needed. Restoration also requires long-term commitment and maintenance to ensure the success of ecological recovery efforts, further adding to costs.
To answer the global call for restoration, new technologies that are both cost-effective and scalable are required to help ease the burden on the restoration industry. One such technology—the use of drones—has increased in popularity in recent years and can be used across many aspects of the restoration journey. For instance, there are drones that are capable of dispersing large quantities of seed, enabling revegetation across difficult-to-access and remote terrains.
Although this new method offers the promise of scaling up restoration while alleviating labour costs, how does it compare to more well-established planting approaches?
Practitioners and policymakers planning for restoration urgently require guidance on how to accurately forecast restoration costs to help make decisions about what actions to implement, and where. However, comparisons of restoration costs are often limited and poorly documented. This makes it difficult to predict the potential costs of any given action. Each project is unique, with varying contexts (such as site remoteness, country and currency), requirements (such as maintenance needs, method of implementation) and scales, all of which influence overall costs.
Our research has developed a new, one-of-a-kind framework that allows for flexible yet consistent cost reporting to enable practitioners to equitably compare restoration methods. We demonstrate the application of our framework using a case study where we compare two restoration planting methods: 1) revegetating with native seedlings grown in a nursery, and 2) using planting drones to conduct seeding. We then compared variation in components of costs between both planting methods, and investigated how total costs varied with context and scale by populating our restoration case study costs across small (1 hectare), medium (10-100 hectares) and large (1,000 hectares) projects.
We showed that both methods exhibit economies of scale where the per-hectare change in cost relative to a 1-hectare planting decreased with each increase in scale. However, the economies of scale were greater for drone seeding. This finding was attributed to the higher costs required to propagate tubestock—young plants that are usually between 5–15 cm tall and ready for planting—in a nursery compared to seeds, resulting in higher consumable costs. Additionally, labour time and associated costs were higher for seedling plantings because the number of staff required to undertake a planting was greater compared to drone-facilitated plantings.
Our framework allows conservation managers to consider costs as well as project feasibility, such as labour time and project team availability, when planning a restoration project and selecting the correct planting methods that are suitable in the context of their project.
While our study focused on the costs of restoration, this is only half the story; different methods of planting may deliver different benefits over time. We also considered the potential benefits of each method using literature and theory. We expect that seedling plantings typically result in restoration benefits earlier in a project—plants mature two to five years earlier—compared to seed-based plantings. Depending on a project’s objectives and timeframes for delivering conservation benefits, this can help managers consider cost-effectiveness as a measure of both costs and benefits.
Our research demonstrates that drone-facilitated seeding is an important asset to the restoration community and can be combined with more interventionist methods such as seedling plantings to deliver large-scale revegetation plantings. More over, our cost reporting framework provides the context and clarity required by practitioners and funders to make complex financial decisions when planning for the restoration of ecosystems.
Further Reading
Andres, S. E., C. H. Mills, R. V. Gallagher and V. M. Adams. 2024. A framework for ecological restoration cost accounting across context and scale. Biological Conservation 295: 110671. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2024.110671.
As urban landscapes grow and change, wildlife living alongside us face countless issues and increased pressures. Habitat fragmentation, competition for food and resources, smaller home ranges, climate change, and artificial sounds and lights are just a few of the challenges they face. Amazingly, we’ve seen many species adapt to these circumstances and learn to live in our urban environments. However, they can’t do it alone and still need help.
From my own experience working in wildlife rehabilitation—providing animal care and medical treatment—I’ve seen thousands of distressed animals with issues that wildlife can’t adapt well to, many of which are caused by humans. The organisation I work with receives injured wildlife from dog and cat attacks, car strikes, fishing line entanglement, oil contamination from both natural seeps and human-caused spills, and much more.
Yet, despite the impact we might have on our local species, one thing is certain: people care about wildlife. With that in mind, we can all work to live better with our wild neighbours.
Traditional attitudes
Living around wildlife isn’t new to many people. As the human population has burgeoned, cities have expanded to meet our demands. Urban sprawl changes natural habitats, leaving massively altered spaces for previous wild tenants. While some animals find this challenging, others stay and adapt to a new life around people. Many animals, such as squirrels, raccoons, opossums, and gulls, have done this. Some animals do this so well that there are now distinct differences between urban wildlife and their more rural counterparts.
Many of these species who make urban spaces their home are often not held in the best light and are considered nuisances. Bunnies eat garden plants, raccoons and opossums rummage through trash, and gulls steal food, making them appear unsavoury in many circumstances. In reality, our wild neighbours are only trying to eat a good meal, find a warm space, and stay safe. Unfortunately, as they are unwanted, people try to eliminate them.
This response isn’t helped by the fact that much of the previous work that has gone into wildlife coexistence has been rather broad and disjointed. One popular avenue focuses on human-wildlife conflict to foster coexistence. This has led to work to deter larger, more popular species—animals such as coyotes, bears, and mountain lions.
While it is important to know how to live around these animals, focusing on approaches that emphasise avoidance tends to result in separation between humans and wildlife, rather than full coexistence. Research shows that a one-dimensional approach is often insufficient to support and maintain coexistence, and there are additional archetypes of coexistence that should be utilised as well.
Rethinking coexistence
To better facilitate coexistence, one such archetype focuses on mutual benefits and coadaptation. This relies on fostering an equal relationship with wildlife by helping them survive and receiving services in return, such as with opossums who help “clean up” carrion and control diseases such as rabies and Lyme disease by eating ticks.
This model of coexistence further highlights that while animals learn to adapt to live in our changing environment, we can adapt to their presence as well. This is important to consider because humans and animals living in a space together will have some influence on how the other behaves. By thinking of humans as equal actors with wildlife in these relationships, we can hopefully change perspectives from animals invading our space, to animals being our neighbours; after all, many animals were already in these places before we were.
Luckily, we can work on this in our own lives. While this may be newer in actual practice, many people are likely open to finding new ways to share our urban spaces. This can be highlighted through the success and support given to many wildlife rehabilitation centres, as people don’t want wildlife to die or go away, but may not know how to coexist.
Another concept that can help promote wildlife coexistence is through understanding the behaviour of wildlife around us. This is often an overlooked part when looking for advice on how to act around wildlife. Human activity can greatly influence wild animals and drive them to change their behaviour over time; they may switch to nocturnal sleeping patterns, become bolder around humans, or have more immediate effects like losing a meal or abandoning their young. It is important to remember that for many animals seeing something big and loud like a human can be very threatening and scary. Taking time to learn some basic wildlife behaviours can help inform future human-wildlife encounters.
Solutions
While we might not be able to stop our influence on wildlife altogether, there are things we can be mindful of to coexist with them in an urban space. With a little effort, we can change how we think about many of the wild animals that live around us and create mutually safe environments.
Human activity can greatly stress wildlife. One way to decrease our impact on wildlife is to give them space. While seeing wildlife can be exciting, our presence can be frightening to some animals. For example, shorebirds that live and nest on beaches, such as snowy plovers, will abandon their nest if humans get too close during a beach trip. It’s always a good idea to maintain a distance of 100 feet or more if possible.
Another common problem that wildlife encounter is finding a safe green space. We can help by understanding how different aspects of a yard may encourage or discourage the presence of wildlife. Food from bird feeders, sources of water, and dense foliage can all provide good and safe spots for wildlife to visit or live. You can also focus on native plants in your area, which are necessary for a healthy ecosystem. Providing these spots can help provide much-needed natural space for many species in an urban environment and can often be done in a way that keeps animals safe, as well as you and your family.
But it’s important to understand that all kinds of wildlife could show up, and not only specific animals you may want to attract. However, you can pair creating suitable habitat for animals with renovating aspects of your home that aren’t ideal for an animal to live in (such as a crawl space or a shed) by exclusion fencing or removing clutter. This lets both you and wildlife have a positive place to live together.
Ultimately, the best thing we can do for wildlife is protect natural habitats native to where we live. You can be a good neighbour to local wildlife by volunteering with groups in your area to protect green spaces and create habitats that are wildlife-friendly. These may be conservation groups that restore the environment or help wildlife in a local rehabilitation centre. By taking action yourself and sharing this information with others, we can all help to coexist with our wild neighbours.
Further Reading
Bruce, S. 2022. National Audubon Society. How to know if a shorebird is being disturbed. https://ct.audubon.org/news/how-know-if-shorebird-being-disturbed. Accessed on October 26, 2024.
Carter, N. H. and J. D. C. Linnell. 2023. Building a resilient coexistence with wildlife in a more crowded world. PNAS Nexus 2(3). https://doi.org/10.1093/pnasnexus/pgad030.
Gao, Y. and S. G. Clark. 2023. An interdisciplinary conception of human-wildlife coexistence. Journal for Nature Conservation 73: 126370. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jnc.2023.126370.
In the not-too-far-off past, Kolkata was home to a thriving population of Indian jackals (Canis aureus indicus, a subspecies of the golden jackal). Despite being confined to the outskirts, these intelligent creatures freely roamed the hidden nooks and corners of the city of joy, especially during the dark of night.
As urbanisation accelerated, their numbers gradually decreased, scattering them into small enclaves within the urban jungle. The encroachment on their territory forced these once-shy creatures to coexist in closer proximity to humans, which has significantly impacted their way of life.
One population of jackals has found comfort in a small part of north Kolkata, where they have displayed an incredible ability to adapt to their changing environment. They soon realised that the nearby dumping yards and bins kept by the city corporation at different locations contained an abundance of food, which was an utmost necessity for their survival. A carcass disposal ground of a state-operated veterinary college and hospital also serves as a treasure trove for these opportunistic feeders. Some times at night, they even enter the temporary shelters of nearby construction workers in search of a meal.
Along with a shrinking habitat, jackals face other challenges. Just as they rely on dumping yards for food, so do feral dogs and cats. While cats don’t pose as much of a threat, the dogs are relentless in their pursuit of jackals. Yet, jackals are still thriving, showing a remarkable ability to adapt to change. The transformation of Kolkata’s urban landscape has led to the decline and fragmentation of the once-abundant jackal population. But this species’ resilience and adaptability has been nothing short of astounding.
As a conservation professional, I’m rarely emotional about the fate of any species and optimistically believe that someone, somewhere will save it from extinction. The plight of the great Indian bustard, however, is an exception and provokes a deep sense of frustration given that supposed government-mediated conservation could be a façade for insidiously permitting development within its habitat. The species continues to quietly slide away into obscurity. In this perspective, I attempt to demonstrate how prevailing government action has ignored and circumvented good science founded on conservation biology and landscape ecology principles to bring the species back from the brink.
The evidence that the Critically Endangered great Indian bustard is on the precipice is stark. Endemic to India, less than 150 individuals persist within what remains of our arid and semi-arid grasslands. Although previously widespread in India and Pakistan, perhaps more than 90 percent of the global population is now restricted to the Thar Desert. There are only a few other areas in the country where the species still survives. Presently, the Gujarat and Karnataka bustards are the only confirmed evidence of the species outside the Thar Desert and these populations are certainly not viable.
I note with concern recent reports that as compared to 2023 when six individuals were seen in the Siruguppa grasslands in the Ballari district in Karnataka, only two were seen recently. In the Naliya Grassland (an Important Bird and Biodiversity Area) in the Kutch district of Gujarat, which previously supported a healthy population of bustards, there now appear to be only four females and no males.
Turning good conservation planning around
In my opinion, the government’s recognition of the imminent threats faced by great Indian bustards indeed began safeguarding the species through robust scientific research and planning. Through funds from the Compensatory Afforestation Management and Planning Authority (CAMPA) in 2020, it financed a study—conducted by the Wildlife Institute of India (WII)—in 4,200 km2 of bustard habitat in and around the Desert National Park in Rajasthan. The study found that transmission lines killed 84,000 birds of multiple species annually. The great Indian bustard is particularly prone to collision due to its large size, limited frontal vision and heavy weight—and many died through collisions with transmission lines.
The WII study also included systematic field surveys of bustard presence and satellite telemetry of several individuals across the Thar Desert. From these surveys, three areas were earmarked for safeguarding the species based on intensity of habitat utilisation: priority (13,000 km2), potential (78,500 km2) and additional important areas (around 6600 km2).
In April 2021, the Supreme Court—recognising the threat that transmission lines and wind turbines posed to the great Indian bustard—ordered that overhead transmission lines in priority and potential bustard habitats in Rajasthan and Gujarat be underground. The Central government, however, maintained that it’s impossible to follow this order due to costs and other factors. The Supreme Court then decided to rescind the 2021 order resulting in a fresh judgement in April 2024 that overturned years of good research and planning.
An insightful opinion piece by Debadityo Sinha for NDTV on April 11, 2024 indicates how facetious this ruling was, especially the Central government’s arguments that other threats are more significant than the impact of transmission lines, that prevailing technical transmission issues exist with undergrounding transmission lines and, rather sweepingly, that climate change will impact all biodiversity in the Thar Desert. Sinha’s key point is that “while this judgement is rooted in complying with climate change agreements, it contradicts our commitment to conventions such as the Conventions on Biological Diversity and Migratory Species (India was instrumental in categorising the great Indian bustard as a migratory species)”.
I further question the scientific and moral wisdom behind the Ministry of Environment, Forests and Climate Change sanctioning INR 56 crores (US$ 67 million) in July 2024 from CAMPA funds to restore populations of the great Indian bustard through captive breeding, reintroduction to the wild, and habitat restoration. While these seem bold steps to save the species from extinction, they sidestep the real issues behind the likely path to extinction for the species, and appear to be a controversial “offset”, fraught with uncertainty in terms of success and falling short of holistically safeguarding the Thar Desert habitat of the species.
The need for landscape-scale planning
In my opinion, there is justification for demarcating a large potential area. Both the WII surveys and those carried out by the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) in 2020–21, found great Indian bustard aggregations in the Desert National Park and the Pokharan Firing Range in the priority area. But bustards also dispersed southwest of the Pokharan Firing Range outside the priority area. Furthermore, less than 20 years ago, individuals were recorded north and east of the firing range.
These data indicate that while the bustards are largely confined to two aggregations, excursions from the priority area occur. Additionally, I’m certain that climate change influencing water and food resources and future land use could cause dispersals to areas where the species has not been seen before.
Bustard home ranges typically average around 100 km2. But long-term telemetry data collected by WII indicate that the population today is far more fragmented than when the species was distributed across western Rajasthan. There could be several reasons for this.
For instance, intrusions such as transmission lines or wind turbines could restrict dispersal. During my visits to the bustard priority area, I was astounded by the high density of transmission lines criss-crossing a landscape with spectacular biodiversity. These structures serve as a grim reminder that for several soaring birds, aerial space is also habitat and needs to be considered in landscape planning. Moreover, the 2020 WII study indicated that where transmission line densities increased, the great Indian bustard went locally extinct.
The government conservation strategy for the great Indian bustard currently includes:
Demarcation of grassland enclosures—thought to be breeding and foraging areas for the bustard by keeping them predator-free. The 2020 WII study reports that the feral dog populations in the Thar Desert landscape increased sixfold between 2015–17. Feral dogs predate on bustard nests and are believed to be a significant catalyst for their extinction.
Removing invasive tree and shrub species, particularly Prosopis juliflora as this does not allow natural grass growth, which is preferred habitat for the species.
Preventing incompatible land use, such as agriculture.
Banning the use of malathion, a pesticide which was used intensively to control a locust infestation in 2019, and which was linked to bustard declines in the WII report. The pesticide is potentially harmful to birds and could affect bustards through contamination of water resources and foraging areas.
Mitigating these threats could make these enclosures important source sub-populations for bustard recovery in the Thar Desert. Several enclosures already exist in the Desert National Park, the Pokharan Firing Range and adjacent to the Degrai Oran—a sacred grove—outside the priority area. However, I fear that akin to the decline of the small bustard populations in Karnataka and Gujarat, the reality is that they cannot survive in these enclosures alone and need to disperse over longer distances for foraging and breeding.
The isolation of these sub-populations is more pronounced than perceived. The two great Indian bustard enclosures close to Rasla village are adjacent to the Degrai Oran—the grove revered by the local communities and utilised frequently by bustards. Colleagues who have carried out extensive surveys close to these enclosures have reported that the oran is surrounded by transmission lines and high mortality of bustards could be expected.
There have been three known fatalities of great Indian bustards between 2020–23, and perhaps others that were not recorded. Central Electrical Authority guide lines require power lines in bustard habitats be equipped with bird flight diverters—devices installed on transmission lines that prevent birds from colliding with them by enhancing the visibility of the lines. Several transmission lines in this region do not have diverters or, if present, have limited efficacy because they are old and faded and do not contrast with the background. The absolute disregard for any norms to save the species is shockingly evident here and this disregard persists elsewhere despite regulations.
Human-induced mortality of great Indian bustards in these small, isolated sub-populations is catastrophic. A paper published by Suthirta Dutta and colleagues from WII in 2010 predicts that populations of less than 25 individuals have a 67–100 percent probability of going extinct in 100 years, if human-induced mortality is not completely controlled.
These results are ominous today. First, fragmented sub-populations are smaller than in the past, and even without human-induced mortality, are prone to extinction. Second, mortality from collision with transmission lines and wind turbine blades may occur more frequently than observed. The 2020 WII study reported an estimated 18 bustards could die each year from collisions with transmission lines.
Scientific solutions exist but delays are perilous
Why are we delaying pertinent actions to save the species? Several organisations, including WII, BNHS, Corbett Foundation and incredibly diligent grassroots conservation organisations, have provided adequate data and well-founded solutions for the conservation of the great Indian bustard.
As to where the power transmission lines should go underground the answer is obvious—those surrounding enclosures are priorities. The 2020 report demarcated certain areas as “critical migration areas”, allowing for dispersal and genetic exchange between isolated sub-populations. Undergrounding power lines in these areas could significantly reduce mortality. Debadityo Sinha, in his opinion piece, argued that costs for undergrounding are only 3–5 percent of the earnings from power generation. Given the environmental costs, typically never considered in a cost-benefit analysis, these costs are not prohibitive!
In other great Indian bustard areas with records of bustard presence in the last five years, diverters should be mandatory. The efficacy of diverters in reducing collision risk is not yet scientifically established. However, there is some guidance available from a related species—the Great Bustard (Otis tarda), found in parts of Europe and northern Asia. While the species has also been heavily impacted through collisions with transmission lines, there is a natural tendency to avoid transmission lines which could be enhanced through diverters.
A call for immediate action
We cannot let the great Indian bustard go extinct on our watch. That would be a travesty of environmental as well as climate justice. Excellent studies indicate that 10 percent of carbon sequestration in California occurs because of the Mojave Desert, also threatened by renewable energy expansion. Opening the Thar Desert to rampant renewable energy development would destroy unique habitats for numerous threatened and migratory species, the ecosystem services it provides, and ultimately our faith in the government commitment to safeguarding our unique biodiversity. The Bishnoi community has protected the desert tirelessly and cannot be let down!
In December 2024, the Supreme Court directed the Rajasthan state government to identify and notify its sacred groves (such as orans). An earlier Centrally Empowered Commission recommendation asking the state government to identify sacred groves and to declare sacred groves as “deemed forests”, barring highly fragmented ones, was delayed due to the state’s own interpretation of a “deemed forest”. This resulted in an affidavit objecting to the delay leading to the 2024 judgment further clarifying that the “deemed forest” classification should not depend on the size or extent of the groves, but instead focus solely on their purpose and cultural and ecological significance to the local community.
This judgement, despite the long delay potentially under mining conservation of threatened species like the great Indian bustard, could secure vital habitat in orans, especially when implemented with local communities. Safeguarding orans through legal action could also influence the location of transmission lines and wind turbines and prevent catastrophic fragmentation of the sacred groves, enhancing dispersal of bustards.
The balance between honouring India’s climate change commitments and preventing the great Indian bustard from going extinct is entirely feasible and requires:
Scrupulously protecting the source sub-populations from the threats described above
Ensuring that all existing and future transmissionlines are undergrounded in and around enclosures. The zone of undergrounding around the enclosure can be guided by the bustard habitat utilisation data from WII telemetry studies.
That existing and future transmission lines in the critical migration area are undergrounded
That bird flight diverters are made mandatory at other locations in the priority and potential areas where bustard presence has been reliably recorded in the last five years
That the Supreme Court empowers the committee to monitor the above actions and penalise defaulters
These actions should be ably guided by scores of scientists, conservationists, communities and government agencies. Let’s hope that the Supreme Court acts urgently and wisely to secure a national heritage.
Note: This article was inspired by the author’s deep concern for the fate of the great Indian bustard, especially given that pragmatic but unheeded solutions exist to prevent the species’ extinction. He has worked extensively across the bustard landscapes in Rajasthan and Gujarat. The opinions expressed in the article are his personal views and do not represent those of any organisations he works with.
Further Reading
Dutta, S., T. Karkaria, C. M. Bipin, Uddin, V. Kher, H. Sharma, H. Joshi et al. 2022. Bustard Recovery Program: Progress Report. Wildlife Institute of India, Dehradun.
Dutta S, A. R. Rahmani and Y. V. Jhala. 2011. Running out of time? The great Indian bustard Ardeotis nigriceps—status, viability, and conservation strategies. European Journal of Wildlife Research 57: 615–625.
Jhala, Y.V., S. Dutta, G. S. Bhardwaj, T. Karkaria, C. M. Bipin et al. 2020. Conserving great Indian bustard Landscapes through Scientific Understanding and Participatory Planning. Final Technical Report Submitted to Rajasthan State Pollution Control Board. Wildlife Institute of India, Dehradun 248001, India.TR/2020/21/.
Butterflies play a crucial role in the ecosystem—as pollinators, but also as prey for a wide range of predators, in addition to being bioindicators that signal the health of the environment. Their conservation in turn will lead to the bottom-up preservation of the entire habitat.
However, a lack of data on the life history and ecology of several butterflies poses a serious challenge to designing proper conservation interventions for the concerned species. One striking example of this is Ludlow’s Bhutan glory, a species that is rare in the wild and classified as Endangered on the IUCN Red List.
Ludlow’s Bhutan glory (Bhutanitis ludlowi) was first discovered by British naturalists Frank Ludlow and George Sheriff in 1933–34 in upper Trashiyangtse Valley, Bhutan. Alfred Gabriel formally described the species in 1942. In 2009, after a significant gap of 67 years, it was rediscovered in the same region. The butterfly was then considered endemic to Bhutan, following which the government took steps to study the species.
An expedition was soon arranged in the Trashiyangtse region, which reported more observations of the species from the Trashiyangtse Valley and small pockets of Bumdeling Wildlife Sanctuary. Along with his team, Tshering Dendup—Chief Forestry Officer of Pemagatshel Divisional Forest Office, Department of Forests and Park Services—documented the life history of Ludlow’s Bhutan glory. The species was then designated as the National Butterfly by the government of Bhutan.
Across the border
In 2011, three years after the rediscovery of Ludlow’s Bhutan glory in Bhutan, the species was first recorded in the neighbouring northeastern Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh. Later expeditions recorded more observations from Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary. While these findings significantly expanded the species’ range outside Bhutan—where it was previously considered endemic to the country—it is still only known to occur in a few localities across this range.
Despite being a protected species under Schedule I of the Wildlife Protection Act (1972), there are no projects or policies in place to conserve the globally threatened Ludlow’s Bhutan glory across its limited range in India. Moreover, there is a complete lack of information on the population status and life history of the species in the country.
The first photographic record of an early stage in the life cycle of Ludlow’s Bhutan glory was obtained in 2018 from Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary. In 2023, we—colleagues from Nature Mates-Nature Club, a Kolkata-based NGO dedicated to butterfly conservation across the country—initiated the first project in India focused on this species.
Through this project, we are studying the life cycle of Ludlow’s Bhutan glory as well as conducting awareness campaigns to involve the local community and state Forest Department staff in our conservation efforts. We are also working closely with the staff to estimate the population of the species. Despite the difficult mountainous terrain and unfavourable weather conditions, our team found a good number of adults inside the sanctuary.
Grave danger
Its highly restricted range and distribution make Ludlow’s Bhutan glory extremely vulnerable to extinction, even with slight changes in its environment. Unfortunately, the Indian population of the species is threatened by habitat loss and disturbance as well as illegal trade.
Like all other butterflies, Ludlow’s Bhutan glory is heavily reliant on its larval host plant Aristolochia griffithii and specific plants for nectar. The forests of Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary have seen a recent surge in unplanned developmental activities, which are often accompanied by indiscriminate logging, leading to the destruction of important resource plants for the species. Ludlow’s Bhutan glory is also internationally traded on account of its beauty as well as rarity in the wild. It is therefore listed under Appendix II of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES), which includes species that are not traded in large numbers but could be vulnerable if trade increases.
The way forward
Conservation efforts at Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary are mostly focused on birds and big mammals, while insects such as butterflies go unnoticed. Hence, we are working to incorporate butterflies into the existing ecotourism model followed by the local community. To this end, we conducted butterfly walks to spread awareness, which in turn will boost our efforts to conserve Ludlow’s Bhutan glory through the active participation of local people.
We are also collaborating with the Forest Department and members from the local Community Reserve Forest to increase vigilance and prevent illegal collection of Ludlow’s Bhutan glory—an initiative supported by the Conservation Leadership Programme.
The long-term conservation of this magnificent butterfly requires a holistic approach and relies on strong cooperation between local stakeholders, community members and administration.
Further Reading
Igarashi, S. and H. Fukuda. 2000. The life histories of Asian butterflies, Volume 2. Tokyo: Tokai University Press.
Wang, Z., W. Chan, N. Pham, J. Zeng, N. Pierce, D. Lohman and W. Meng. 2023. One in five butterfly species sold online across borders. Biological Conservation 283: 110092. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2023.110092
Migratory shorebirds are the ultimate globetrotters. Each year, they repeat a cycle of breeding primarily at high latitudes in the northern hemisphere and migrating south when winter hits. These bird populations are generally declining, with some species listed as threatened and at least one as extinct. It is clear that international cooperation for their conservation is needed given their vast movements and multiple threats. However, while multiple international agreements have been negotiated for their conservation, evaluation of such conservation tools has generally lagged. Without such assessments, we do not know whether these agreements are effective at all on achieving their conservation goals, and how they can be potentially strengthened.
International agreements are a well-known fixture of migratory shorebird conservation in the Asia-Pacific, a region also known as the East Asian-Australasian Flyway (EAAF). So, a look at these agreements in the EAAF may provide clues to inform ways to advance the conservation of these birds. There are now 28 such international agreements across the flyway. Against this backdrop, a key question relevant to conservation is whether this set of agreements covers the full life cycle of migratory shorebirds within the flyway relative to their threats. With two pressing and imminent threats to migratory shorebirds in the EAAF, namely habitat loss and hunting, we studied what such agreements cover, how they enable coordination, and how well they protect the flyway by country and shorebirds’ migratory cycle. Our research adopted a network analysis approach drawing on membership to international agreements, as well as on where shorebird species occur and how they move from country to country.
Encouragingly, we discovered that the sets of agreements for addressing habitat loss and hunting cover the entire flyway, though with some variations. First, there are more agreements for habitat conservation than for hunting management. Second, agreements for the former include a variety of members, such as national governments, intergovernmental organisations and non-governmental organisations, whereas members were restricted to national governments in hunting management agreements.
Third, the agreements around habitat conservation were built into a more resilient and robust network given by redundancy and reinforcement of connections among members, while those for hunting management resulted in a weaker network given by fewer connections. The East Asian-Australasian Flyway Partnership emerged as the most central habitat conservation agreement in this flyway. Notably, there is no agreement in place for flyway-wide coordination of hunting management. Lastly, agreements for habitat conservation covered more thoroughly the migratory cycle of shorebirds than those focused on hunting management.
Many of these agreements have emerged as a response to conservation pressures, such as coastal reclamation. However, it is important to acknowledge that each new agreement draws personal energy, political attention and financial resources for negotiation. So, shorebird conservationists should ask themselves if any additional agreements are worthwhile, considering there are already 19 agreements for habitat conservation and 16 for hunting management within this flyway.
Taking into account the limited resources available for conservation, such as capacity, funding and political bandwidth, we recommend that the habitat conservation issue requires no further agreements, but does need a much stronger focus on implementation. Conversely, while implementation of existing agreements for hunting management is important, a central coordinating agreement is still lacking. Hunting management needs to account for flyway-wide mortality and quota allocations per country, which are currently non-existent so a new agreement is needed.
Ultimately, international agreements for conserving migratory species need to be evaluated for the degree to which they fit the threats at hand. With such evaluations, conservationists need to make hard decisions on whether the focus should be on implementation or on addressing gaps by negotiating new agreements.
Further Reading
Gallo-Cajiao, E., T. H. Morrison and R. A. Fuller. 2024. Agreements for conserving migratory shorebirds in the Asia-Pacific are better fit for addressing habitat loss than hunting. Ambio 53: 1336–1354. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13280-024-02018-3.
Fieldwork is a crucial part of my education and career as a wildlife biologist. However, a significant challenge that people who menstruate (including women, such as myself) face during these trips is their monthly cycle. The reality of managing periods in the field can be daunting, yet this issue is rarely discussed or addressed. Changing a sanitary napkin or tampon requires privacy, water and a hygienic way to dispose of used products. These basic necessities are often unavailable in remote locations, with access to clean, private restrooms being a rare luxury.
Hidden impacts
While carrying out fieldwork in India’s Western Ghats, I have had to endure hours of discomfort because there was no appropriate place to change my sanitary napkin. The constant worry about leakage and the unease of not being able to clean myself properly made it difficult to concentrate on my work. The anxiety and distress that come with such situations are overwhelming, and they definitely affected my focus and productivity.
My sister, who is currently pursuing a Master’s in Geological Sciences, faced even more challenging conditions during her fieldwork in the Himalayas in Uttarakhand, India. She recalls one particular day when she was menstruating and had severe cramps. They were mapping a remote area, and there were no restrooms for miles. After several hours, she couldn’t bear the discomfort any longer and had to leave the group to find a place to change her sanitary napkin. Recognising her distress, her professor arranged a car for her to travel to the nearest toilet. This trip to the closest village took a significant amount of time, during which she missed important parts of the fieldwork.
While this solution provided temporary relief, it highlighted the extreme measures that menstruators often have to take to manage their menstrual hygiene in such challenging conditions. While my sister was lucky to have empathetic colleagues on this day, this is not the most common experience for most people who menstruate in the field.
Women often feel compelled to push through discomfort and health risks to avoid falling behind in their work. This can lead to burnout, health issues, and a sense of isolation. There’s also the fear of being perceived as less capable or dedicated. This prevents many women from voicing their needs or seeking help. In a field where your physical endurance and resilience are often equated with professional competence, that is particularly concerning.
Let’s do something about it
The stigma surrounding menstruation during fieldwork perpetuates a lack of understanding and support. Educating all team members, regardless of gender, about menstrual health is crucial. By fostering awareness and empathy, we can create a more supportive environment where menstruating individuals feel understood and accommodated.
Field sites often lack basic sanitary facilities, posing challenges for managing menstrual hygiene. It’s essential to equip field locations with clean and accessible options. Portable solutions such as sanitary tents or designated areas for changing menstrual products should be provided where permanent facilities aren’t feasible. Ensuring these facilities are available can significantly alleviate the stress and discomfort menstruators face during fieldwork.
Menstruation can bring physical pain and varying energy levels. Allowing for flexible scheduling and planning acknowledges these needs. By accommodating menstruating team members, we can help them manage their discomfort effectively while maintaining productivity and focus in the field.
Creating a supportive network where menstruators can openly discuss their menstrual needs is crucial. This can include establishing mentorship programmes or designating team leaders who understand these challenges firsthand. Such support systems not only provide practi cal guidance, but also foster a culture where menstruation is recognised and respected as a normal aspect of health in fieldwork settings.
Institutional policies play a significant role in addressing menstrual health during fieldwork. Advocating for policies that recognise and accommodate menstrual needs is essential. This could involve provisions for menstrual leave, inclusion of menstrual hygiene products in field kits, or guidelines for creating inclusive fieldwork environments that prioritise menstrual health.
Addressing the challenges of menstruation during fieldwork isn’t just a matter of convenience, but of equity and inclusion. By acknowledging and accommodating these needs, we can create a safer and more supportive environment for all researchers and professionals. It’s time to break the silence and make menstrual health a priority in the field.
Feature image: A settlement in Ngorongoro Conservation Area, Tanzania (Photo credit: Arash Ghoddousi)
Indigenous peoples manage about a quarter of the world’s lands, and many of them are working passionately to protect the species and habitats that these lands contain. However, rather than supporting them, external conservation projects often exclude them. This can have devastating impacts on their rights and well-being, and it can worsen conservation outcomes.
Conservation organisations and governments have made repeated commitments over several decades to shift to more inclusive practices, but so far, this shift has failed to happen. However, in 2022, 196 governments signed a new Global Biodiversity Framework at the 15th Convention on Biological Diversity that reiterates their commitment to shift to inclusive, rights-based conservation, and this has created a window of opportunity to transform the way that conservation is done.
In a recent paper in Biological Conservation, we set out 14 good practice principles on what researchers need to do to contribute to this change. A fundamental step is for researchers themselves to develop more inclusive ways of working with Indigenous peoples and local communities. This means opening up spaces for their participation at all stages of the research process. They will obviously vary in how and how much they wish to be involved, but the ideal is for research to be planned jointly and to address shared conservation concerns.
One example is the Indigenous-led Transformative Pathways project, in which biologists at the University of Oxford are supporting the Indigenous Ogiek in Kenya to monitor biodiversity on their lands. This will enable them to document and improve their biodiversity stewardship, which will also support their land claims. Similarly in the Arctic, researchers and Indigenous Inuit peoples have co-designed research to monitor the local impacts of climate change, which are threatening their way of life.
Mixed farm-forest landscape in Sabah, Malaysia (Photo credit: Helen Newing)
Another important consideration in moving towards more inclusive conservation research is the choice of methods. Ideally, this choice should be made jointly, to best address the agreed research aims. Some methods, such as questionnaires, are good at generating quantitative data that can be analysed statistically and provide robust scientific evidence. Others, including many qualitative and transdisciplinary methods, are more suitable for developing an in-depth understanding of an issue, including by building on Indigenous and local knowledge and perspectives.
For example, participatory video has been used effectively in Guyana by Indigenous peoples, with support from researchers in the UK, to document their views and experiences of state-run protected areas and help mediate conflicts with the government authorities. A common option is to use a mix of quantitative, qualitative and transdisciplinary methods, and thus benefit from their complementary strengths.
Local people in Annapurna Conservation Area, Nepal (Photo credit: Arash Ghoddousi)
Finally, conservation research with Indigenous peoples and local communities raises several ethical issues related to collective rights and impacts. These kinds of issues are not currently addressed in most research ethics protocols. Under international law, Indigenous peoples and some other groups have the right to participate in any decisions that may affect them, and to give or withhold their collective free, prior and informed consent for any activities on their customary lands. Therefore, researchers may need to obtain collective as well as individual consent for the research and the research should not go ahead unless consent is granted.
Consent must be fully informed, which means that the risks and potential impacts on communities need to be assessed jointly. This includes risks connected to how the research findings may be used. For example, conservation research is often designed to inform decisions by governments and others about spatial planning, development options, or about restrictions on natural resource use. These decisions may benefit local people, or they may have devastating impacts on them, including through forced evictions and dispossession.
While we are not suggesting that all research in conservation needs to be collaborative, more widespread adoption of collaborative approaches is a rational next step as we struggle to meet the immense challenges posed by the global environmental crisis. For this next step to be accomplished, conservation training curricula and research ethics protocols will need to be revised to incorporate the above considerations. Also, research funding and institutional requirements will need to become more flexible, enabling researchers to adapt to accommodate Indigenous timescales, knowledge systems and ways of working.
Further Reading
Mercer, L., D. Whalen, M. Lim, K. Cockney, S. Cormier, C. Irish and P. J. Mann. 2023. Towards more inclusive and solution orientated community-based environmental monitoring. Environmental Research Letters 18(6): 064003. https://doi.org/10.1088/1748-9326/accfb0.
Mistry, J., D. Jafferally, S. Mendonca, R. Xavier, G. Albert, B. Robertson, E. George et al. 2023. Video-mediated dialogue for promoting equity in protected area conservation. Oryx 57(3): 325–334. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605322000904.
Newing, H., S. Brittain, A. Buchadas, O. del Giorgio, C. Fallon Grasham, R. Ferritto, J.R Garcia Marquez et al. 2024. ‘Participatory’ conservation research involving indigenous peoples and local communities: Fourteen principles for good practice. Biological Conservation 296: 110708. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2024.110708.
Several years ago I co-edited a book called Walking the Wild Path. We invited wildlife researchers and conservationists to share their early ‘encounters’ with wildlife, and the experiences that launched them onto a lifelong journey of exploration of the natural world. From Romulus Whitaker to R Sukumar, Isaac Kehimkar to Ravi Chellam and Shekar Dattatri, the stories shared the common element of how early exposure to nature led to a lifelong passion and engagement with nature and nature conservation.
Go Wild! a new book ably edited by Bijal Vachharajani, compiles inspirations from equally passionate nature lovers, across generations. From Bittu Sahgal, Zai Whittaker and Ranjit Lal, conservation stalwarts who inspired me when I embarked on my own journey as an environmental educator and writer, to brilliant young naturalists and illustrators who are continuing to carry the baton for a greener future, this book brings together diverse celebrations, and shared concerns.
Bittu Sahgal in ‘My Nature Diary’ celebrates the natural wonderland that is India, reminiscing about visits to unspoiled forests and pristine islands, even as he finds glimpses of wildlife in the heart of the concrete jungle that is Mumbai. Prerna Singh Bindra looks through the eyes of a baby elephant who admires his mama—the matriarch of a herd in forests which are increasingly being encroached and threatened, while Ranjit Lal peeps into the politics and machinations in an ant colony.
Kartik Shanker takes us on a rainy walk in the Western Ghats, exploring its history, discovering hidden treasures, and celebrating a carnival of dancing frogs; but also sharing the grave consequences of the fact that these oases of biodiversity are being engulfed by numerous threats.
From real forests to concrete jungles, many contributors to this compilation share vignettes of close encounters of the wild kind, even amidst the hurly burly of urban life. Lavanya Karthik’s balcony garden hosts a family of pigeons. A single palash tree in Chennai gives Yuvan Aves hours of wonderful observation as it changes through the seasons, and attracts a fascinating murmuration of starlings and other feathered friends. Meanwhile, Shabnam Minwalla weaves a moving story of three friends who try to save a beloved tree from greedy builders in ‘The Banyan Tree of BD Kelkar Road’.
For the majority of children who live and grow in these urban jungles, these are reminders that nature and wildlife do not always have to mean tiger spotting in a dense jungle. That looking around us with fresh eyes can reveal a myriad of creatures big and small, some that have adapted to new environs; while some like Buddhiram Ulluji, the wise old owl in Ravikant Kisana’s touching story mourns the changes wrought to the landscape by the passage of time.
To appreciate the present one must know the past. Have we ever wondered, as we pick products off the shop shelves in their packaged form, where they came from and how they got to us? Meghaa Gupta goes back in history to trace the origin of plants that we consume and use every day. The only time water bodies are in the news is when they are badly polluted or blamed for flooding in cities. Seema Mundoli and Harini Nagendra share the history of water bodies in three cities, and a reminder of the critical services that these used to provide, whereas today, disfigured or filled in and built over, these are a sad remnant of their old selves.
The authors paint powerful word pictures in their pieces. But the wonderful part of the compilation is that so many of the authors are also talented artists who express themselves in words as well as visuals. The book is a visual treat with a variety of artwork. Priya Kuriyan’s colourful graphics tell a story of positive human-bird interaction. Salil Chaturvedi takes us on a photo tour with his wheelchair. We discover a teeming world in a tide pool through Rohan Chakravarty’s quirky illustrations and supporting text. Nidhin Donald’s single-colour, single-page sketch has enough details for one to discover something new every time. And Rajiv Eipe’s beautifully executed mantis drawings are indeed chuckle-worthy! Prabha Mallya’s cover and supporting illustrations pull it all together to make for an attractive browse-through before choosing which piece to dip into according to one’s mood.
All the stories share similar concerns about the rapidly increasing threats to the natural environment from the ever-increasing encroachment by humans. And yet these are not gloom and doom scenarios. They reflect hope, and a sense that all is not lost. Go Wild! is the message that will inspire the next generation as they too start their journeys of exploration and discovery, which will lead to positive action.
As Zai Whitaker reminds us:
Just worrying about the planet— That can’t really help much, cannet? We should match the worry With some useful scurry, And do our own little bit.
Less than two centuries ago, persecution nearly drove wolves to extinction across Europe. Only relatively recent environmentalist perspectives and protection laws have enabled the return of wolves. However, this recolonisation sparks controversy. Opinions on whether the wolf poses a threat or has the right to coexist with humans has split the masses. Studying these attitudes towards wolves and how they influence our behaviour is crucial to develop effective conservation strategies.
To do so, researchers usually ask people if they perceive wolves positively or negatively. Interestingly, most people say that they consider the wolves’ return a good development. But this can change drastically when wolves settle nearby. People at risk of losing livestock or pets to wolves are understandably displeased. They often report a crushing mental load beyond direct losses, built on constant vigilance and fear for their lifestyle. Many feel marginalised by the generally pro-wolf sentiment of the broader public, fostering distrust of politics and science. But intriguingly, similar attitude shifts are reported by locals who have seemingly nothing to fear from wolves.
Puppies from an Italian wolf (Canis lupus italicus)pack. (Photo credit: Martina Lazzaroni)
As a team of animal behaviour and psychology researchers, we were fascinated by this attitude shift that is often dismissed as irrational. We suspected that understanding the mental processes underlying individual perceptions of the wolf beyond self-reporting could help explain these polarised and shifting attitudes.
To unravel these processes, we integrated reported wolf attitudes into established attitude models from adjacent socio-cognitive fields. Our framework is built around evidence that people hold multiple attitudes. Some of them, we are consciously aware of (explicit attitudes) and are able to report, generally based on factual knowledge and social norms. But we also hold unconscious (implicit) attitudes—resulting from ingrained beliefs or deep-seated emotional experiences—that can influence us even without our constant awareness of them.
Which attitude guides our perception of wolves at any given moment depends on our current circumstances. Our model describes how this interplay may create “irrational” dynamics in wolf-related contexts. Unconscious attitudes always arise faster, but if one has the time and motivation to think about the situation, deliberate attitudes can overpower gut feelings with the aid of knowledge or socially-oriented beliefs.
Photo credit: Peter Kaut
Raised on fairy tales that vilify wolves, the thought of walking in wolf territory might initially feel uneasy to you. However, safe at home, you can recall facts—such as wolves rarely attacking humans—and dismiss these fears. But if you are stressed or emotionally drained, your ability to contemplate decreases, and gut feelings might start guiding your actions.
Moreover, emotional experiences strengthen attitudes, particularly when they are relevant to the current situation. If these implicit attitudes are contradictory to other beliefs, this creates ambivalence, confusion, and uncertainty, further complicating decision-making. Expanding on this example, if you find yourself lost and tired in a dark forest, the emotional weight of those old stories, or your neighbour’s recent trouble with wolves might feel far more relevant. Fear could override logic, leading to panic.
These mechanisms might explain the larger-scale patterns of shifts in attitude. When wolves are distant abstract packs, people focus on their beauty and ecological role—symbolic values that overshadow their real impact. But once wolves appear locally, their threat potential becomes more personal. Coupled with the stress and shared emotional stories in one’s social circle, people’s ability to internalise scientific evidence about the low risk posed by wolves makes way for more ambivalent gut feelings. Feelings of marginalisation and resentment towards pro-wolf movements may further amplify the emotional, oppositional reactions that seem disproportionate to the wolf’s tangible impact.
Our model therefore offers guidance on how sudden shifts towards negative opinions of wolves might not be as irrational as often proclaimed. Rather, they reflect different lived experiences and emotional realities between locals and the broader public. Recognising these differences and understanding the mental processes that drive attitudes could foster empathy between both sides. Reducing blame and stress in these discussions might then enable constructive dialogue about the wolf as an ecological species—rather than a symbol of opposing ideologies—and encourage collaboration.
Further Reading Capitain, S., C. Lamm, S. Marshall-Pescini and F. Range. 2025. Uncovering the full potential of attitude measures in navigating human-wolf coexistence. Biological Conservation 302: 110976.
Feature image: A greater one-horned rhino peacefully grazes on cropland in the morning, a testament to its remarkable adaptability to human-dominated landscape. (Photo credit: Arockia E J Ferdin)
Imagine a world where humans and wildlife coexist peacefully. This is not a utopian dream, but a reality that can be achieved with the right strategies and policies. Often, conflicts between humans and wildlife are in fact human-human conflicts. These arise from disagreements between different groups of people over how to manage wildlife and allocate resources, reflecting differing values, priorities, and interests within the community.
Local communities—whose livelihoods and well-being are threatened by wildlife—often have different needs and priorities than those of protected area managers. By involving local communities in the management of human-wildlife conflicts, we can ensure that their unique perspectives are considered, thereby balancing biodiversity conservation with community well-being.
Living alongside giants
Human-wildlife interactions are common and frequent in Chitwan National Park in Nepal, as in many other regions globally where agricultural areas border wildlife habitats. The park is renowned for its rich biodiversity, including the majestic one-horned rhinoceros, and is also home to numerous human settlements.
The rhinos are habituated to human presence as communities in Chitwan heavily rely on agriculture, inadvertently attracting wildlife. On my very first day in Chitwan, I saw a rhino walking on the streets, with tens of people taking videos and selfies—a unique experience. Elephants often walk into neighbourhoods at night searching for food, damaging property or crops. After sunset, other wildlife venture into human-occupied landscapes, which they consider as part of their extended habitat.
Locals drying their wet clothes on the barbed wire fencing that separates the core and buffer zones of the national park, illustrating the intersection of daily life and wildlife boundaries in Chitwan. (Photo credit: Arockia E J Ferdin)
Community perspectives
Chitwan’s conservation model details the importance of local communities in safeguarding wildlife. But what are the community’s needs and expectations? In a recent study led by Dr Arockia E J Ferdin, we assessed the effectiveness of human-wildlife conflict management strategies from the perspectives of community members in Chitwan. We compared farmers and non-farmers to see if they held different views on these strategies. Our survey not only covered community needs and expectations but also examined the types of wildlife damage and the specific wildlife responsible for it..
Our results highlight that crop raiding was the most common type of wildlife damage, followed by livestock depredation, property damage, and human attacks. The wildlife mostly responsible for these attacks were deer, rhino, wild boar, and elephants. Both farmers and non-farmers suggest that the ability to secure resources and awareness programmes on conflict mitigation need to be sustained. They also agree that the park management should focus on equipping people with skills needed to diversify their income sources—creating and supporting new economic opportunities for communities, and quick relief payments for wildlife damages.
We anticipate that our results will guide the park management in making informed decisions in allocating resources to manage conflicts, thereby gaining the local communities’ trust and fulfilling their needs while also benefiting wildlife. Human-wildlife conflicts will continue to be a problem for the park management as wildlife continue to take refuge in human settlements. With climate change intensifying these conflicts, our findings can influence park management policies to further the global objective of living in harmony with nature.
Fostering coexistence is a top priority for conservation management. The key question remains: will park management achieve their intended goal of increasing positive interactions between humans and wildlife?
Further Reading:
Ferdin, A. E. J., U. C. Aryal, N. Dhungana, B. R. Lamichhane, J. W. Chook and C.H. Lee. 2024. Prioritising human-wildlife conflict management strategies through importance-performance analysis: Insights from Chitwan National Park, Nepal. Journal for Nature Conservation 81: 126675. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jnc.2024.126675.
Foto 1. El humo de los incendios forestales en Chiquitanía, al este de Bolivia, ya se ve a primera hora de la mañana. Crédito de la foto: buna
Bolivia es rica en diversidad biológica y cultural. Como parte de un proyecto de investigación sobre la diversidad biocultural de los paisajes agrícolas del país, he pasado cuatro años estudiando las interacciones entre las personas y las abejas en los bosques secos de Chiquitanía, en el este de Bolivia, hogar de varios pueblos indígenas, entre ellos los chiquitanos y los guaraníes.
Este trabajo se realiza en colaboración con la Fundación Tierra, una ONG boliviana dedicada al desarrollo rural sostenible de comunidades indígenas y campesinas, que ha estado estudiando los conflictos socioambientales en torno a la tenencia de la tierra en esta región. Sin embargo, nunca el conflicto fue tan grande y evidente, o tan denso, como en 2024. En ese momento, el país perdió cerca de 11 millones de hectáreas durante la temporada anual de incendios, vinculada al establecimiento de un modelo de producción agroindustrial que promueve la deforestación y el acaparamiento de tierras.
El contexto político en el que se está produciendo esto es complejo. Los incendios están impulsados por el interés en el desmonte de tierras para establecer monocultivos de soja y ranchos ganaderos, e involucran a varios actores, incluyendo medianas y grandes empresas vinculadas a los mercados globalizados, comunidades menonitas, pueblos indígenas de las tierras altas de los Andes y valles bajos que buscan nuevas tierras para cultivar o vender. Sin embargo, independientemente de quién sea el responsable, millones de plantas y animales han muerto en los incendios, e innumerables personas han enfermado debido a la pésima calidad del aire. Además, el humo de los incendios daña los ojos y los pulmones, y se impregna en el cabello, la ropa y las casas de las personas. El humo incluso envolvió la ciudad principal del departamento de Santa Cruz, donde la gente usaba mascarillas protectoras todos los días.
Cuando visitamos las comunidades locales de Chiquitanía, vimos plantas y animales quemados, y también observamos que las abejas silvestres no salían de sus colmenas tan a menudo en busca de alimento: parecían entumecidas. Como agroecóloga que estudia abejas, me preguntaba qué estaban comiendo, con el hábitat destruido y con pocas plantas con flores como fuentes de polen o néctar. Los sonidos de los insectos habían desaparecido casi por completo: ¿volverían alguna vez?
En esta sombría situación, queríamos recordar, junto con la población local, que todavía hay esperanza para un futuro mejor. Con nosotras estaba una joven artista muralista, Angy Saku, a la que le gusta representar la vida silvestre y la vida cotidiana de la gente en las áreas rurales. Y así decidimos utilizar el arte para trabajar con la comunidad, para observar y ayudarles a considerar sus fortalezas frente a las fuerzas destructivas que los rodean.
Foto 2. La artista muralista Angy Saku pinta la fauna local. Crédito de la foto: buna
Con una persistente nube de humo sobre su cabeza, Angy Saku comenzó a pintar algunos de los temas de nuestra investigación en las paredes más a la vista de los sitios de las comunidades que visitamos. Mientras trabajaba, muchas caras curiosas comenzaron a rodearla. Los niños tenían varias preguntas que no dudaban hacer en voz alta: «¿Qué estás haciendo?», «¿Te gustan las flores y las abejas?», «¿Esa es mi abuela?».
Con el tiempo, se convirtieron en sus amigos y luego en sus colegas, cuando empezaron a pedirle instrucciones para ayudar con los murales. Angy Saku aceptó alegremente su ayuda y los guió en el uso del pincel y las formas de la naturaleza. No solo es una artista muy talentosa, sino también una buena maestra. Los padres de los niños también llegaron con el tiempo para ver, comentar e interpretar los murales. «¿Puedo hacerme una foto con el corechi ?», «¿Por qué no dibujaste a mi marido?». Se preguntaron muchas cosas entre risas y mientras compartían algo de comida. Casi nos olvidamos del humo y del dolor de cabeza que nos estaba causando a todos.
Foto 3. Niños mezclando pinturas de colores con Angy Saku. Crédito de la foto: buna
Foto 4. Mural en proceso: Angy Saku con sus pequeños colegas artistas. Crédito de la foto: buna
Después de diez días de marearnos con el humo, los murales estaban terminados. Representaban la diversidad biocultural a través coloridas imágenes de abejas y humanos interactuando, con un bosque seco en constante y rápido cambio de fondo. No es culpa de la población local que el «progreso» haya tomado la forma de incendios y deforestación, ni que sus devastadores efectos no siempre fueran visibles hasta que fuera demasiado tarde. Sin embargo, ver a niños y adultos identificarse profundamente con los animales y las plantas de los murales, así como ver a la gente observar detenidamente la composición de la obra de arte, muestra cómo el arte puede ser nuestro aliado en la lucha por proteger la naturaleza en estos territorios.
Foto 5. El primer mural «chiquitano» terminado. Crédito de la foto: Stefan Ortiz
La investigación no tiene sentido a menos que se compartan los resultados, ya sea en forma de palabras o utilizando otro medio. La intrincada red de la vida es tan vasta que traducirla en arte nos recuerda nuestra conexión con ella o profundiza su comprensión. En cualquier caso, el arte puede despertar algo en nosotros, despertando la el sentimiento de que vale la pena proteger la vida, humana y no humana.
Foto 6. El segundo mural «guaraní» muestra las interacciones entre humanos y abejas, y a los pequeños artistas. Foto: Angy Saku
Lecturas adicionales
Benavides-Frias, C., S. Ortiz Przychodzka y T. Schaal. 2022. Nature on canvas: Narrating human-nature relationships through art-based methods in La Paz City, Bolivia. Letras Verdes 32: 67-87. https://doi.org/10.17141/letrasverdes.32.2022.5393.
Feature image: Smoke from forest fires in Chiquitanía, eastern Bolivia, is spotted early in the morning. Photo credit: buna
Bolivia is rich in biological as well as cultural diversity. As part of a research project on the biocultural diversity of farming landscapes in the country, I have spent four years studying human-bee interactions in the dry forests of Chiquitaníain eastern Bolivia, and home to various Indigenous peoples, including the Chiquitano and the Guaraní.
This work is done in collaboration with Fundación Tierra—a Bolivian NGO dedicated to the sustainable rural development of Indigenous and peasant communities, which has been studying the socio-environmental conflicts around land tenure in this region. But never had the conflict loomed as large and clear—or smoky—as in 2024. This was when the country lost close to 11 million hectares during the annual fire season, linked to the establishment of an agroindustrial production model that promoted deforestation and land grabbing.
The political context in which this is taking place is complex. The fires are driven by an interest in land clearing to establish soybean monocultures and cattle ranches, and involve various actors, including medium and large companies linked to globalised markets, Mennonite communities, Indigenous people from the Andes highlands and lower valleys looking for new land to cultivate or sell.
Yet, regardless of who is responsible, millions of plants and animals have died in the fires, and countless people have fallen sick because of the terrible air quality. Moreover, the smoke from the fires hurts the eyes and lungs, and permeates hair, clothes and people’s houses. The smoke has even engulfed the main city of the Santa Cruz department where people were wearing protective masks every day.
As we visited local communities in Chiquitanía, we saw burnt plants and animals, and also observed that wild bees didn’t leave their hives as often in search of food—they seemed numb. As an agroecologist studying bees, I wondered what they were eating, with the habitat destroyed and few flowering plants as sources of pollen or nectar. The sounds of insects had almost completely disappeared—would they ever return?
It was in this grim situation that we wanted to remember, jointly with the local people, that there is still hope for a brighter future. With us was a young mural artist, Angy Saku, who likes to represent wildlife and people’s daily lives in rural areas. And so, we decided to use art to work with the community, to observe and to help them consider their strengths in contrast with the destructive forces surrounding them.
Mural artist Angy Saku painting local wildlife. Photo credit: buna
With a persistent cloud of smoke over her head, Angy Saku started painting some of the themes of our research on the most visible walls in the community sites we visited. As she worked, many curious faces started to surround her. The children had several questions that they didn’t hesitate to ask in high-pitched voices: “What are you doing?”, “Do you like flowers and bees?”, “Is that my grandma?”.
Over time, they became her friends and then her colleagues, as they started to ask for instructions to help with the murals. Angy Saku gladly accepted their aid and guided them on the use of a brush and the shapes of nature. She is not only an accomplished artist, but also a good teacher. The children’s parents also arrived in due course to see, comment and interpret the murals. “Can I take a picture with the corechi (southern three-banded armadillo)?”, “Why didn’t you draw my husband?” Many questions were raised amid laughs and over shared food. We almost forgot the smoke and the headache it caused us all.
Children mixing paint colors with Angy Saku. Photo credit: buna
Mural in progress: Angy Saku with her little art colleagues. Photo credit: buna
After ten days of the smoke making us dizzy, the murals were finished. They represented biocultural diversity through colourful images of bees and humans interacting, with a constantly and rapidly changing dry forest in the background. It was not the local people’s fault that “progress” took the form of fires and deforestation, and their ravaging impacts were not always visible until it was too late. Yet, seeing children and adults identify deeply with the animals and plants in the murals, and watching people carefully observe the composition of the artwork, shows how art can be an ally in the fight to protect nature in these territories.
The first “Chiquitano” mural completed. Photo credit: Stefan Ortiz
Research is meaningless unless the results are shared—whether in the form of words or using another medium. Life’s intricate web is so vast that translating it into art reminds us of our connection to it or deepens our understanding. Either way, it can stir something within us, igniting the belief that life—human and non-human—is worth protecting.
The second “Guaraní” mural showcasing human-bee interactions, and the little artists. Photo: Angy Saku
Further reading
Benavides-Frias, C., S. Ortiz Przychodzka and T. Schaal. 2022. Nature on canvas: Narrating human-nature relationships through art-based methods in La Paz City, Bolivia. Letras Verdes 32: 67-87. https://doi.org/10.17141/letrasverdes.32.2022.5393.
I am sitting, staring at a large tree—the Khokon tree (Duabanga grandiflora). It is perhaps 30 metres in height and it reminds me of an umbrella: a unique one where each cloth of shade cascades down, so that each layer of branch provides the requisite cover for the branches below, like a layered parasol. I can illustrate this, but my amateur rendering would make the tree look worn and naked, inaccurately shredded of any protective layer.
These branches—dressed in a gown of splaying leaves protrude outward in a lazy droop that forms an arch. From this distance, the flowering at the tips of these branches resembles grape-green olives amid tufts of white that look like grated radish. The tree is taller than its neighbour, a solitary, gigantic stem of bamboo. In the mild wind, the branches gently sway from side to side like a ponderous elephant. The leaves—bathed in the sparkle of sunlight play with the shadows to create an effect of blinking.
Earlier this morning, a black-throated sunbird fluttered through its foliage, and the tree conducted its own symphony of birdsong. But now, beyond the tumble and gurgle of the Eze river behind the tree, I hear the tuneless croaking of a distant voice over a karaoke soundtrack of classic Bollywood melodies. Stubbornly, my naturally tone-deaf right foot seeks to keep rhythm.
By this tapping foot is a fern, and a clump of bamboo stems that seem to mimic the larger tree. They also droop, their bodies curving in a smooth arc reminiscent of umbrella architecture. My parasol for the afternoon is a thatched roof of straw, which the sun catches and outlines below on the grassy ground with all the geometric delicacy of a shadow. In the near distance, I see a hill that resembles a large floret of broccoli, or perhaps several florets clumped together.
Though I continue to feel the soft touch of the wind, the clouds above are indifferent to the cajoling speech of the breeze. They instead remain, standing—or hanging—listening to the cacophony below, resolute in their decision. I, however, will hope for a more silent evening when I might recommence my admiration for the large Khokon tree whose leaves sleepily blink amid the sinking orange sun.
Photo credits: Rohit Naniwadekar – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=67032968.
Feature image: Sendi showing off the growth of a rose coral (Montipora capricornis) he ‘revived’ after securing a new piece of coral to an old one.
Coral is part of everyday life in the Maldives. On the surface, coral is found nested inside the walls of traditional homes, in the sediment and pigments used to make these walls, and the brave even add coral powder to dufun—areca nut chewed with betel leaves and spices—for a little flavour kick. Underwater, coral reefs shape the geography of Maldivian atolls and are fundamental for ocean livelihoods. They protect islands from waves and erosion caused by climate change, while coral fragments eventually become sand, allowing islands to withstand sea level rise without diminishing to smaller strips of land. In the middle of the Indian Ocean, where resilience is crucial for survival, life cannot be conceived of without coral reefs.
Coral reef biodiversity depends largely on a healthy variety of corals. Here, a giant clam attached to coral opens to show its full purple splendour.
The various forms in which Maldivians perceive and know coral reefs offer a glimpse into the islanders’ rich understanding of and coexistence with these underwater formations. In Dhivehi —the official language of the Maldives—there are over 25 different words for a reef. A thila describes a formation that is deep enough to go over it, while giri refers to a coral reef that is not connected to the main reef and can go up to shallow waters. Badhi stems from the Dhivehi word used to describe a coconut shell used to collect coconut sap and refers to arm-shaped reef formations that come out of the reef’s main wall. Muravi is a single species of coral that can grow so big as to be called a reef in itself, and the list goes on.
Yet, coral history in the Maldives is long and complex. After the first resort opened in the country in 1972, land reclamation became a common practice for tourism development. When land is reclaimed, stretches as long as 400 hectares of reefs are covered with sand to be built on. Our land-based view of ecocide fails to explain the impact caused by the destruction of entire coral reefs and the resulting loss of marine biodiversity. In the aftermath of reef destruction, ‘coral restoration’ has become a go-to measure to attract marine life to areas where water contamination and over-exploitation have degraded reefs to the point of gloomy rocks.
Checking on the growth of new rose coral in a formerly decaying reef. Brighter corals are alive, while the whiter, dull pieces serve as the foundations for coral revival.
In the Maldives, coral restoration is commonly carried out with so-called ‘coral frames’. Spider-like metal frames are introduced into shallow areas, and live coral clippings are attached to the frame. Despite the seemingly good intentions, the environmental impact has to be considered in what has now become a rapidly growing underwater business industry.
A metal frame with Acropora—one of the fastest growing corals—attached to it. If the coral dies, the frame remains on the bottom of the ocean.
Coral restoration using metal frames depends on continuous human intervention, and if frames are not properly maintained, they quickly become artificial structures remaining in the ocean. Fast-growing corals—such as those in the Acropora genus—are most commonly attached to the metal frames. The long-term success of this method and coral survival are still to be proven. Sendi, a seasoned ocean activist and professional dive instructor since 1981, describes the introduction of coral frames to ocean floors as “importing an alien species of bird and releasing it onto an island”. To this day, hundreds of metal frames have been deposited on Maldivian ocean floors, many of which have quickly become underwater metal cemeteries.
Aesthetic concerns aside, the introduction of an artificial structure into a delicate natural marine environment can affect broader ecological dynamics. For instance, an external coral barrier made of metal frames that is placed in an olhu—a natural shallow reef bay—can have impacts on marine life and humans alike. These structures can alter tide and nutrient flows, which has knock-on effects on the foraging habits of fish. Local fisherfolk, who follow an olhu’s natural cycles, adjust fishing times according to the tide and time of the day when bigger fish enter the bay. A seemingly small change to a natural bay’s structure can have large effects on marine life and the people who rely on them.
The ocean floor and the shape of this shallow reef are transformed by the extensive use of coral frames
Full of intricate patterns and unparalleled colours, a Maldivian coral reef can support up to 300 different coral species. Solutions to improve, conserve and promote coral growth must be locally adapted to each reef’s specific structure and species. Instead of restoration, we propose coral revival, where consideration for the entire marine ecosystem and its linkages with broader environmental factors are given priority.
Much like endemic reforestation—where special attention is given to native spaces and ecosystem restoration—coral revival takes various forms but primarily focuses on using local coral varieties to restore dead or dying sections of the reef. This method respects the reef’s original location and involves attaching live coral to decaying or dead coral structures. Common techniques include using ropes, marine cement plugs,or low-voltage electricity* to ‘nurse’ corals before transplanting them to existing reefs. (*Studies have shown that using an electrical current can stimulate coral growth.)
Acropora growing next to an old piece of coral. Using Acropora as the go-to coral restoration variety poses many challenges to maintaining coral diversity within a reef.
Across the Maldives, different coral revival initiatives are underway, experimenting with the specific types of coral and water conditions in each location to ensure the maintenance of the reef’s delicate balance. Following the classic Maldivian mantra of “leave nothing but bubbles”, coral revival relies on local ecological knowledge, which must be integrated into research and restoration efforts.
Although coral restoration initiatives have their limitations and cannot replace the urgent need to reduce environmental stressors—such as ocean acidification due to increasing carbon dioxide emissions—a reef-by-reef approach that integrates local communities’ deep ocean knowledge will be crucial to the success of ongoing Maldivian efforts to conserve and preserve unique coral species.
What once was a place vibrant with life now holds a tranquil stillness, inviting us to listen closely and embrace the quiet moments that linger. Leonard Cohen’s words echo in my mind:
“Listen to the hummingbird
Whose wings you cannot see.
Listen to the hummingbird
Don’t listen to me.”
It was my elder sister, Vidhatri, who first noticed the scouting bulbul pair. We had just moved into the house in the hot summer of May, in the bustling city of Bangalore. While the house was bare, waiting to be lived in, the terrace was a sea of green with hibiscus and white roses, a tank of water lilies with fish in it, along with other plants I have yet not learnt the names of. In the corner, as soon as you opened the door, the tall areca palm greeted you with its leaves wide open.
One scorching afternoon, a month after we had moved in, we opened the terrace door to see a rather chirpy pair of bulbuls on the clothesline, hopping around and inspecting the plants. It was nothing we hadn’t seen before, given how common bulbuls are, and yet we were in complete awe. Over the next few days, we cautiously opened the door as soon as they broke into song and argued about which one was male and which was female, hoping to find some sort of marking that differentiated them. Neither of us were seasoned birdwatchers and thanks to recent technological advancements, we scrolled endlessly through bird identification apps and bulbul blogs and stories on the internet. Being the amateurs we were, we still couldn’t tell the red-whiskered male from the female apart. Eventually, that did not matter.
By mid-June, the pair chose the areca beside our door to nest in. It was a spot that hid them from the exposed terrace and being under the shed, protected them from the rain. Not wanting to disturb them as they darted from one plant to another, we barely opened the door to look at them.
Hoping to catch a glimpse, one noon, I cracked open the door just enough to peek through. The birds were not there. I walked to the areca and in their absence something new had appeared in the nest—two tiny, brown speckled eggs! I called for Vidhatri excitedly, who took it upon herself at that very moment to document the lives of this new family that had made this place our shared home.
The bulbuls returned regularly, taking turns incubating the eggs, as the other went off in search of food. As a little experiment of our own, we left them some water but they remained doubtful of our offerings.
About two weeks after the discovery of the eggs, on yet another occasion when the nest was unattended, I dared to peek into it and saw two tiny blobs of pinkish red. Surely they were the most odd-looking little bird babies, I thought to myself, as they moved their tiny arms around and touched each other and lay snuggled in the little nest, eyes tightly shut to the world—and that was, perhaps, the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen! Minutes later the bulbuls returned with their loud warning calls.
The next few days were filled with their chirps and our excited whispering. We watched the parent bulbuls dart tirelessly back and forth with tiny insects and worms in their beaks. The chicks demanded a meal every few hours. We had taken to leaving fruit—grapes, jamun, anything we thought they would enjoy. The tired parents accepted the fruit to feed the ever-hungry chicks. Every morning, I could swear they had grown a tiny bit more than they had yesterday. By the end of June, they barely fit in the once spacious nest and had started sprouting feathers. They would react to the softest of footsteps, their mouths wide open and soundless, as they expected the return of the worm bringers. Trust me, the sight was hilarious!
The birds would never feed the chicks while we were around. Instead, they would perch on a nearby plant, chirping loudly, urging us to back off. Only when the coast was clear, did they swoop down to feed their young.
As July brought light rain, the bulbuls’ choice of the areca plant beside our door started making perfect sense. It was the best weather for snuggling in and enjoying the rain. The chicks slept and demanded food for most part of the day. The parents took shifts to fulfil all their demands. In their absence, we felt the strong urge to be the chicks’ guardians. They would be ready any day to flap their tiny wings and leave the nest.
The experience breathed new life into us until one morning in early July, one of the chicks went missing. Vidhatri and I searched the terrace frantically, hoping to find it. We thought it had attempted to fly and must be alone somewhere, in need of our help, but there were no signs, no chirps to indicate its presence. We told ourselves that perhaps the parents had moved it to a safer place, disturbed by our presence.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of Vidhatri’s panicked voice. “Get up!” she said, tears streaming down her face. “The other chick—it’s dead.” I scrambled out of bed and followed her out onto the terrace. There, lying among the plants was the second chick, its tiny body lifeless. Its feet were wrapped with the twigs from the nest, as if it had struggled to hold on. Ants had begun to gather around it. I stood there in shock. Surely, I must be dreaming? Perhaps I would wake up any moment and see the chick in the nest, flapping its wings. The air felt heavy all around me.
We speculated about what might have happened. Perhaps it was a crow or a black kite, both of which we had seen circling the neighbourhood. Or maybe it was one of the stray cats. The mystery remained. It is difficult to be angry and remain angry when you don’t know what you’re angry at. “It is the circle of life” we were told by family and friends. That noon, the bulbuls sat on our grilled door, so close that we could touch them and then they broke into a song, almost as if mourning their babies’ deaths. We were speechless.
But this is not a sad story. It is a story about opening our hearts and homes to the wonders of nature. In the busy city of Bangalore, where the noise often drowns out the little chirps, our terrace became a quiet refuge. I now spend my days watching the butterflies flutter from a bright flower to another. If you’re silent for a moment, you can still hear the song of the bulbuls.
An internet search for “Tsavo lions” will inevitably yield results of infamous “man-eaters” and the story of two lions that hunted railroad workers in the late 1800s along the Kenya-Uganda Railway. This grisly story, whose origins have been adapted into novels, films, and folklore, depicts a somewhat rare tendency of human-eating among Tsavo lions, while overshadowing their typical habits. Even today, little is known about these lions’ hunting and predation ecology, despite Tsavo—a region in southern Kenya—being a stronghold for these vulnerable cats in East Africa.
While it is home to approximately 450 lions, the Tsavo landscape also harbours two precious herbivore species introduced here in the 1960s as part of ambitious ex-situ conservation projects: the Critically Endangered hirola antelope (with fewer than 500 individuals remaining globally) and the Endangered Grevy’s zebra. Despite efforts to support their population recovery, both species have remained rare in Tsavo. Researchers have suggested that predation by lions and other carnivores might keep the somewhat localised hirola and Grevy’s zebra populations at low numbers. However, there is no conclusive evidence supporting this hypothesis.
To determine whether predation might take a toll on these two herbivores, and to gain a better understanding of lion diet and ecology in this landscape, between 2019 and 2023, we collected lion scats (aka poop) and identified undigested prey hairs in them to determine what species made up Simba’s menu. While such scat collection, curation, and sample identification is a painstaking and often smelly affair, when coupled with biomass models—a scientifically robust and widespread diet estimation technique—it can tell us not only what lions eat, but also how much!
We found that while Tsavo’s lions primarily feast on larger, more abundant species like Cape buffalo, giraffe, and waterbuck, they show a marked preference for the rare hirola and Grevy’s zebra. Together, these endangered species comprise about 5 percent of the lions’ diet—a significant proportion considering they represent just 1 percent of available prey in the landscape. This creates what ecologists call ‘apparent competition’, where abundant prey species maintain high predator numbers, inadvertently increasing pressure on rarer species. Think of it as an ecological trap: the success of common prey species keeps lion populations healthy, but this success might be hampering the recovery of endangered herbivores who are perhaps caught in a ‘predator pit’.
A pair of Tsavo lions hunting a Cape buffalo. Photo credit: Tsavo Trust
What does this all mean for the management and conservation of these two herbivores? Our study shows that lion predation may play a role in keeping the hirola and Grevy’s zebra populations at low numbers that were small populations to begin with; however, observational research with GPS telemetry on lions and other carnivores is needed to confirm these dynamics.
The story of the man-eaters of Tsavo will persist, but we hope that our study will pave the way for more directional research in this system to better understand carnivore-prey interactions in the wake of global climate change in this critical ecosystem.
A group of hirola in the front (pale-coloured) in a mixed herd with hartebeest in the rear (darker in colour). Photo credit: Tsavo Trust
Further Reading:
King E., S. Chakrabarti,F. Lala, S. Nyaga, G. Waiguchu, P. Chiyo, J. Kimaile et al. 2024. The Lion’s Share: Implications of a carnivore’s diet on threatened herbivores in Tsavo, Kenya. Oryx 58(4): 506–513. doi.org/10.1017/S0030605324000085.
Mangroves comprise approximately three percent of the world’s forest cover, but store 10 times more carbon per hectare than terrestrial forests. They serve as invaluable nurseries for countless marine species, including fish—some of which are important for food security—and also mitigate coastal flooding and erosion. Consequently, mangroves receive a significant amount of international funding for their protection and restoration. However, for restoration to succeed it’s vital to select suitable restoration sites.
What makes a site suitable for mangrove restoration? It’s usually a combination of factors. It’s infeasible to implement restoration actions, if the ecological conditions that mangrove species require aren’t met. Although they can tolerate high salt concentrations and flooded environments, too much of either can kill them. For instance, large-scale mangrove planting efforts are conducted every year, but a lot of the seedlings die because they are planted outside the species’ tolerance thresholds to flooding conditions.
While the ecological requirements of the mangrove species need to be considered, another key aspect to take into account when undertaking restoration is the people. Imagine if you woke up one morning to find someone had installed fencing around your beloved vegetable patch, and you could no longer harvest your fruit and vegetables. This may be similar to how some communities feel when an area they live in or utilise for local livelihoods becomes the target of conservation or restoration projects. Without local support, engagement or cooperation, restoration is unlikely to succeed.
Organic oyster farming in the Biosphere Reserve Marismas Nacionales Nayarit, Mexico. Photo credit: Jason Houston/WWF-US
In a recent study published in Conservation Biology, researchers investigated how the likelihood of restoration success could be increased through the integration of both ecological and socioeconomic data. The team used the Biosphere Reserve Marismas Nacionales Nayarit in Mexico as a case study to trial their approach. They analysed the suitability of restoration sites using only ecological characteristics, such as the ability of mangrove seeds to grow in changing sea levels. Next, they analysed site suitability using only socioeconomic characteristics, such as how the local community uses and values mangroves. Finally, site suitability was analysed using both ecological and socioeconomic data. The researchers found that when both datasets were considered simultaneously, they were able to identify sites with a higher chance of restoration success.
Unfortunately, it is typical for scientific information to not be incorporated into restoration projects. There are several reasons for this, including limited technical training, lack of access to information, and short delivery timelines for implementation. However, this study was conducted in collaboration with the managers of the biosphere reserve and NGOs that are working in the area. Therefore, it directly informs allocation of available resources and makes it a great example of science informing conservation decision-makers.
If significant amounts of conservation funding continue to be allocated to mangrove restoration, we want to make sure that these efforts are successful, and that the money is used wisely. This study provides an example of how this can be done effectively.
Further Reading:
Villarreal-Rosas, J., C. J. Brown, D. A. Andradi-Brown, R. Domínguez, P. Jacobo, A. Martínez, C. Mascote et al. 2024. Integrating socioeconomic and ecological data into restoration practice. Conservation Biology: e14286. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.14286.
The female lily trotter on the pond Has many broods, all cared for by their dads, Each knowing it’s her nature to abscond, Light-footedly across the lily pads In search of other males, as soon as she’s Laid eggs. Most mother birds will tend a brood, Yet lily trotter wisdom disagrees: Their single parenting is by the dude. Remarkably, this dad sits on the eggs. Once they are hatched, he rears the chicks alone, Then totes them, under wing, on gangly legs, Till they can better manage on their own— Exemplary parental care … His tale Reveals the feathered world’s most caring male!
Feature image: A fisher retrieving his nets in the Rio Madre de Dios in Bolivia. Previously, fishers in the area reported abundant catches but nowadays it increasingly common for fishers to return home empty-handed because of impacts from dams and gold mining. (Photo credit: Gretchen Stokes)
As human impacts on the environment rapidly accelerate, so does the need to understand those impacts and develop strategies to build resilience amidst growing threats. Often, researchers can identify the larger causes of environmental degradation (‘drivers’, such as climate change or pollution), observe changes in the environment (‘impacts’, such as habitat loss or poor water quality), and notice how species respond (‘responses’, such as changes in reproduction or population declines) to these changes.
However, it is much more challenging to link drivers, impacts, and responses as a direct cause-and-effect relationship. For example, illegal logging might cause increased soil erosion along a river and fishers may catch fewer fish, but documenting a direct link between land use change and fish mortality can be difficult. Yet, uncovering these driver-impact-response links can help identify opportunities for interventions and appropriate conservation actions.
Untangling the links
One logical approach to understanding these links is utilising documented evidence of drivers, impacts, and responses already published in the scientific literature. There has been a surge in the number of publications about global environmental change, which is useful for providing more evidence but challenging because of the high volume of papers, and in turn requires substantial effort to sift and extract information. However, artificial intelligence tools such as machine learning—computers that learn to detect patterns and make predictions based on the data—can help overcome this challenge.
In this study, we focused on understanding driver-impact-response links across 45 river basins and large lakes with the highest freshwater fish catch. Freshwater fish comprise over half of the world’s fish species and are a vital food source for billions of people. Yet, they are some of the most threatened animals on the planet.
We searched for relevant literature using keywords and extracted 9,336 abstracts for review. After reviewing over half of them, we realised that machine learning could help sort abstracts “with threats” and “without threats” into two categories. We trained and tested four computer models and chose the one that best detected abstracts with threats to sort the remaining abstracts. This process taught us a few things.
Lessons learned
First, we discovered that some threats are better documented than others. For example, pollution and dams were the most documented drivers and the most frequently linked to negative fish responses. Other drivers known to have substantial impacts on fish, such as climate change, were seldom documented with direct fish responses. This may be because it is difficult to link climate impacts in real-time, and because some drivers have complex interactions with other drivers.
Second, we learned that machine learning was much better at classifying irrelevant abstracts (those without threats) than at correctly classifying those with threats. We think this may be due, in part, to the unstandardised nature of fisheries literature. For instance, defining a fishery can be variable, so it is not surprising that computers would have a hard time learning text patterns with nuanced language. This contrasts with other fields like medicine, where language is more standardised for medical reports. High performance in classifying irrelevant abstracts is still extremely useful and quickly helped us eliminate thousands of papers.
Through this study, we were able to demonstrate a successful application of machine learning to improve efficiency—by over 50 percent—and optimise the extraction of evidence to inform conservation planning. While neither method of evidence synthesis (human or computer) could function independently, the combination of both methods proved useful.
Since ecologists often lack the specialised training to apply complex methods in machine learning, we also created a toolkit for users to extract evidence and understand performance metrics and outputs. Overall, our study provides a transdisciplinary bridge from computer science to ecology and a useful toolkit for evidence synthesis amidst accelerating global environmental change.
Further Reading: Stokes, G. L., A. J. Lynch, J. V. Flores, J. P. Wong, C. Morang, C. Romulo, S. Funge-Smith et al. 2024. Computational approaches improve evidence synthesis and inform broad fisheries trends. Conservation Science and Practice 6(8): e13167. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.13167.
As a group of young scientists who ventured from our homelands to pursue careers in biodiversity science in Europe, we found ourselves in a landscape of unparalleled research excellence. The scientific standards of this region are undeniably rigorous, and we are privileged to conduct research within countries with prosperous economies. As migrants, we bring diverse stories and backgrounds from our home of origin to the new places we live in. Several of us come from biologically and culturally mega-diverse countries.
When we began exchanging our impressions and experiences of working in top-tier research institutes, we were soon faced with some striking contradictions. For instance, a large proportion of knowledge produced in globally recognised institutions is often disconnected from the regions under study. The primary causes for this disconnection are disparities in financial resources and limited involvement of researchers from biodiversity-rich regions—areas that are often economically disadvantaged and underrepresented in the biodiversity research landscape—in global networks and applied synthesis science.
From our collective reflection, we identified four main challenges behind this systemic problem: (i) linguistic biases, (ii) undervalued research contributions, (iii) parachute science and extractive practices, and (iv) capacity constraints and accessibility. We decided to address this issue by publishing a set of strategies that aim to solve the problem in the journal Conservation Biology.
Proposed actions to promote more inclusive biodiversity research
Embracing diversity and dismantling systemic barriers to equitable collaboration requires integrated actions directed toward four main stakeholders in biodiversity research: researchers, institutions, funders, and publishers.
Researchers should reflect on their practices and encourage self-reflection among peers. This will increase awareness and promote meaningful, fair collaborations with local researchers from underrepresented regions. Additionally, researchers can improve research practices by broadening the scope of information sources, such as including literature from various languages and citing diverse authors.
Institutions—such as universities and research centres—can establish bridges of cooperation between over and underrepresented regions, and allocate resources for initiatives that reach global audiences, particularly underrepresented researchers.
Academic publishers could support multilingualism and improve the representation of researchers from underrepresented regions on editorial boards. Addressing financial barriers to publishing for low and middle-income countries is another action publishers can take to promote inclusivity.
Finally, funders can impact resource allocation by supporting projects that build networks focused on local researchers and by revisiting research priorities.
We conclude that, regardless of career stage and status, biodiversity research stakeholders can implement these actions to change the status quo and tackle the four main challenges hindering an equitable approach to biodiversity science. Collectively, these actions will have a cascading effect that positively impacts the way we do biodiversity research.
Further Reading:
Valdez, J., G. Damasceno, R. R. Oh, L. C. Quintero Uribe, M. P. Barajas Barbosa, T. Ferreira Amado, C. Schmidt et al. 2024. Advancing inclusive biodiversity research: Strategies for equitable practices and collective impact. Conservation Biology 38(6): e14325. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.14325.
Feature image: Zhagana, Gansu Province, China. Photo credit: Ziyue Hong
The Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework sets an ambitious goal: protecting 30 percent of the Earth’s land by 2030. This commitment may be at odds with the need for agricultural production, especially in regions with ‘fragmented croplands’.
While many are familiar with forest fragmentation, the concept of cropland fragmentation is equally essential for conservation efforts. Fragmented croplands—areas smaller than 10 hectares that are not well connected to other farmlands—are often located in challenging terrain such as hills and mountains. These areas typically suffer from poor soil quality and lack of water resources. The lower productivity and economic challenges associated with fragmented croplands directly impact food security and rural livelihoods.
In China, small-scale farmers play a dominant role in agricultural production, and fragmented croplands are widespread. This could impact the country’s ability to meet its Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), specifically by posing obstacles to food security (SDG 2: Zero Hunger) and pushing rural families towards poverty (SDG 1: No Poverty). The question then becomes: How can fragmented croplands be managed to contribute towards both conservation goals and sustainable development?
Here, I describe a new study that proposes a strategy to balance food production with environmental protection, offering potential solutions for managing fragmented croplands more effectively. This research aims to address the dual needs of agricultural productivity and ecological conservation in China’s complex agricultural landscape.
Ouping Deng and colleagues from Zhejiang University recently looked at how China manages its fragmented croplands. Their study, published in 2024, explored management policies that could lead to better environmental and economic results. Deng’s team used innovative simulations to predict China’s land use changes until 2050. Based on historical data, they considered factors like urban growth and shifts to large-scale farming. This approach helped forecast how different strategies might impact fragmented croplands, offering valuable insights into the country’s future agricultural landscape.
Their study revealed an encouraging finding: 90 percent of China’s croplands are suitable for aggregation into larger farms exceeding 10 hectares. This presents a significant opportunity to address inefficiencies and environmental challenges associated with fragmented farmlands. The remaining 10 percent of croplands, which are often in remote areas, pose unique challenges. These areas contribute just 8 percent of the country’s total crop output, but consume 15 percent of nitrogen fertilisers.
So, how can these remaining fragmented croplands be improved? Deng and his team propose two potential solutions. The first involves changing the types of crops grown on these lands—a strategy known as ‘optimising crop structure’—and using some of the fragmented croplands for cattle grazing. This could reduce China’s beef imports, significantly cut nitrogen and greenhouse gas emissions, and boost animal food supply. Additionally, it could generate billions in economic benefits annually, offering a win-win solution for agriculture and the environment.
The second strategy—‘displacement of cropland’—offers a bolder approach. It involves completely retiring these scattered farmlands. Farming would shift to more suitable areas, where large-scale agriculture is possible. This could transform China’s agricultural landscape, potentially boosting efficiency while allowing fragmented lands to recover naturally. This strategy also aligns well with the ongoing efforts in the region. It builds on the success of the Grain for Green programme, which has already retired many farms over the past two decades. This history demonstrates that large-scale land conversion is not only possible but a proven approach in the country’s agricultural policy.
Moreover, the cropland displacement strategy could significantly boost China’s agricultural output, especially in livestock, vegetables, and fruits. It would also substantially reduce environmental impacts by cutting down nitrogen use and greenhouse gas emissions, and generate tens of billions in annual economic benefits, offering a transformative solution for agriculture.
Sanming, Fujian Province, China. Photo credit: Ni Zhang
You might think that more intensive croplands don’t seem environmentally friendly. While counterintuitive, this approach can benefit biodiversity through a ‘land sparing’ strategy. Land sparing involves concentrating agriculture in some areas and leaving other regions to recover. It often contrasts with ‘land sharing’, where farming and nature coexist. In 2019, Andrew Balmford and colleagues conducted a comprehensive study comparing these strategies across different cultures and contexts. They found that land sparing generally outperforms land sharing for biodiversity conservation in most situations.
While there are exceptions and nuances to consider, the 2019 study supports the idea that intensifying agriculture in some areas, as proposed for China’s fragmented croplands, can be an effective environmental strategy. Concentrating farming could free up more land for nature conservation, thereby benefiting biodiversity. Deng’s 2024 study highlights a crucial insight: croplands can play a vital role in achieving our biodiversity goals. This research reminds us that sustainable development isn’t just about nature conservation; it’s about creating harmony between human prosperity and environmental health.
As we face global challenges like food security, climate change, and biodiversity loss, solutions must consider the interconnectedness of social and ecological systems. By rethinking our approach to agriculture, we can improve human well-being while protecting our planet. This recent study underscores the importance of collaboration between macroeconomists, environmental scientists, and policymakers to create holistic strategies that balance human needs with ecological conservation for a sustainable future.
Further Reading:
Balmford, B., R. E. Green, M. Onial, B. Phalan and A. Balmford. 2019. How imperfect can land sparing be before land sharing is more favourable for wild species? Journal of Applied Ecology 56(1): 73–84. https://doi.org/10.1111/1365-2664.13282.
Deng, O., J. Ran, S. Huang, J. Duan, S. Reis, J. Zhang and B. Gu. 2024. Managing fragmented croplands for environmental and economic benefits in China. Nature Food 5(3): 230–240. https://doi.org/10.1038/s43016-024-00938-7.
This RIT is part of a series: ‘Letters from China’, which periodically summarises new research from ecology and conservation from China. It is curated by Dr. Eben Goodale, Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University, China, with editorial support from Chief RIT Editor Dr. Daniel J. Read. Click on the ‘Letters from China’ tag above the article title to read other RITs in this series.
Feature image: Participants from the study—representing multiple generations of the Ngāti Rangi—going out to test biocultural monitoringtools, with their sacred mountain Ruapehu in the background.
Note: The following text is described in the Ngāti Rangi mita (dialect), while concepts may be similar eg: Mouri = Mauri, the spelling reflects the tribal vernacular.
In Aotearoa (New Zealand), the Department of Conservation’s biodiversity strategy implementation plan—Te Mana O Te Taiao—published in 2022, prioritises addressing the drivers of biodiversity loss. Importantly, this strategy identifies the need for integrated approaches that incorporate Te Ao Māori (the Māori world) knowledge and systems.
Cultural-ecological constructs are key in relationships between Indigenous people and their environments. Biocultural approaches can contribute to reversing the current biodiversity crisis. Furthermore, the emphasis is on tools that can collect information to inform biodiversity protection with consideration for their environmental, social, cultural, and economic impacts. In our study, we developed a tool that is a step towards achieving these national goals.
We explored a biocultural monitoring tool based on mātauranga (Māori knowledge) to inform Ngāti Rangi (a central North Island Māori tribe) about the health of spatially separate but ecologically similar forests within their tribal estate. Here we report on the Ngāti Rangi example of parametrised metrics for forest health, embedded in their worldview, and how this expression supports the Ngāti Rangi’s assertion of rangatiratanga (self-determination) in their co-management aspirations.
We conducted a series of noho taiao (community workshops) and one-on-one interviews to collect values that express a Ngāti Rangi worldview, to measure the health of the ngahere (forest). Gradients and indicators were developed to apply as a measure of forest health. The interviews provided an observation of ngahere health and assessed inter-generational differences in how it’s perceived.
Rongoā (medicinal plants), manu (birds), ahua o te ngahere (nature of the forest), wai (water), and tangata (people) were themes prioritised by the Ngāti Rangi. An example of the metrics that the tribe wanted to measure was captured in Question 8: are there any significant trees present? This was related to significant roosting locations—such as that of their taonga or sacred bird species in the area—and cultural or spiritual practices that were held at these trees. This metric allowed the tribe to record the tree’s location, its name, and the use it was traditionally known for. This was recorded as either presence or absence, with the option to make notes on its significance and cultural heritage.
Another example of culturally important information was encapsulated in Question 13: what is the rongo of the wai in the ngahere? The rongo in this instance is related to the vibration or sound that the water makes, in relation to its interface within the forest. This was measured using a metric called mauri ora—the essence of healthy living—where key taonga species were abundant in quantity and diversity, receiving a ranking of ‘3’. The next rank ‘2’ reflected a reduction of the previous observations at each stage, until the metric reached ‘0’ or mourite rongo, where the mouri was seen to be inactive or in a state of revealing or uncovering its living essence or vitality. At this stage, an absence of significant species and an overall decline in species diversity, presence, and vitality were observed.
The above cultural tenets were considered the most relevant traits of a forest thriving from a cultural perspective. Through our study, we demonstrated a biocultural monitoring tool as one facet that the Ngāti Rangi can use to reconnect, reclaim, and build new knowledge around their forests. Biocultural approaches are an opportunity to reverse not just ecological declines but also socio-cultural impacts from colonial legacies.
These understandings exemplify what a biocultural approach can look like in place. A full sensory evaluation of forest health facilitating a deep relational connection to place, coupled with philosophies such as reciprocity and whakapapa (genealogical hierarchy highlighting connection to the environment through kinship relationships) are vital features of a biocultural conservation approach.
Participants from the Ngāti Rangi whanau (extended family group) testing and providing feedback on the biocultural monitoring tool we developed.
Further Reading: Reihana, K. R., O’B. P. Lyver, A. Gormley, M. Younger, N. Harcourt, M. Cox, M. Wilcox et al. 2023. Me ora te Ngāhere: visioning forest health through an Indigenous biocultural lens. Pacific Conservation Biology 30: PC22028. https://www.publish.csiro.au/PC/PC22028.
For years, I saw her come and go. She wandered the roads around my neighbourhood, at first cautiously but growing bolder each year. She raised several litters of kits in the woods nearby, finding food scraps humans left out for her, purposefully or not. My family enjoyed seeing the little grey fox family each year. The pups played through backyards and the mother brought food and taught them how to survive the dangers of cars and dogs. Then, she grew too brave, approaching humans and even accepting food from a neighbour’s hand. We didn’t see her again after that season.
Stories like this happen every day. As cities continue to grow and expand, the space for wild animals shrinks. Many of them adapt to become less and less wild. Humans provide food, through efforts to sustain wildlife and an abundance of waste. Some species, such as coyotes, are becoming braver and adapting to thrive in urban areas surrounded by humans. Urban coyotes behave differently than their rural counterparts, who live where humans are scarcer and more likely to chase them away or harm them. This difference in behaviour may lead urban coyotes to attack humans for food or simply because they do not fear them. Other species, like raccoons and squirrels, also lose their fear of humans when fed, and damage homes and yards as they come closer to find food and shelter.
We may mean well
Some well-intentioned actions, such as putting food out for wildlife, posting cute photos or bringing animals to wildlife rehabilitators, can have harmful effects.
Humans enjoy the connection they gain with wildlife they feed, not realising the dangers they create. Even bird feeders can be hazardous. They expose wild birds to disease by spreading bacteria and parasites if feeders are too crowded or not cleaned regularly. Feeding wildlife increases bold behaviours, puts humans and wildlife in risky situations, and may cause unintended selection of unnatural traits (like begging) that allow animals to gain more food.
Humans who love animals often share photos of them online. However, social media has proven dangerous for wild animals. It has encouraged humans to get too comfortable around wildlife by keeping them as pets or approaching them in the wild. Photos of individuals petting tigers and dressing monkeys in baby clothes support the illegal wildlife trade by increasing the demand for wild animals as pets. This creates dangerous situations when wild animals are obtained without the proper knowledge needed to care for them safely and appropriately.
Additionally, some humans rescue wild animals that do not need rescuing—for example, by separating babies from adults that have left momentarily or moving animals like turtles away from their homes. Deer, for instance, leave their babies alone for several hours while they forage. Fawns are sometimes picked up by well-meaning individuals who think they have been abandoned.
In many areas, keeping wildlife is illegal, though tales of humans raising raccoons and squirrels in their homes abound. Those laws protect humans from exposure to disease and injuries caused when frightened animals lash out. They also protect animals from receiving improper care. Wildlife rehabilitation centres can usually take these animals but will often caution against removing them from the wild if they are not injured.
Seemingly benevolent actions may help an individual animal for a short period of time, but ultimately, they can lead to that animal becoming dependent on humans for survival. Some do not survive. Others are released, only to become nuisances after frequently approaching humans for food. They may be killed to protect humans and pets, or placed in zoos or rescues. Efforts to relocate or haze wildlife, which involves frightening animals away from humans, may be made but often fail when humans continue to feed wild animals.
Knowledge is key
Educators can help provide knowledge and alternative actions to those engaging in dangerous activities with wildlife. They can supply them with better options to support or connect with wild animals, such as planting native plants in their gardens, providing a non-stagnant water source, or observing natural behaviours from afar. Humans are social animals. Many detrimental interactions with wildlife are caused by a desire to feel connected with them. Allowing humans to find that connection through safer avenues, while also providing information to help wild animals remain wild will—pardon the expression—kill two birds with one stone.
When educators cannot interact with other humans face to-face, the media can provide valuable links between humans, organisations and animals. When used effectively and responsibly, social media can benefit conservation by creating connections to wildlife that humans crave. It can introduce them to animals already in human care and provide their stories as sources of factual information and also help build empathy.
Tips to coexist
The coexistence of humans and wildlife means walking a thin line as we seek to help wildlife without making them dependent on us. One small action we can take to help wild animals is to leave natural areas in our backyards, including food sources, such as flowers or berries, and piles of fallen leaves, which provide invaluable habitat for pollinators, such as bees, during the winter. We can also secure trash containers to limit access for wild animals, clean bird feeders regularly, use healthy food in those feeders (such as sunflower seeds, millet and cracked corn), and keep pets indoors or supervised so they can’t harm wild animals.
On a larger scale, we can support conservation organisations like accredited zoos or nature centres, become more aware of what we put into the world that may cause harm—such as pesticides, litter and images presenting wild animals as pets—and spread the word that our world still has hope! We can all continue to learn about best practices regarding interactions with wildlife, knowing that best practices may change in the future. Just as wildlife adapt to coexist with us, we must keep adapting to coexist with them. Together, we have the power to make a positive difference!
Further Reading
Elliot, E. E., S. Vallance and L. E. Molles. 2016.Coexisting with coyotes (Canis latrans) in an urban environment. Urban Ecosystems 19(3): 1335–1350.https://doi.org/10.1007/s11252-016-0544-2.
Griffin, L. L. and S. Ciuti. 2023. Should we feed wildlife? A call for further research into this recreational activity. Conservation Science and Practice 5(7): e12958. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.12958
Svensson, M., T. Morcatty, V. Nijman and C. Shepherd. 2022. The next exotic pet to go viral: Is social media causing an increase in the demand of owning bushbabies as pets? Hystrix, the Italian Journal of Mammalogy 33(1):51–57. https://doi.org/10.4404/hystrix-00455-2021.
Feature image: Most human-elephant conflicts in northeast India are a result of crop damage by elephants, as seen here with this large bull eating ripened paddy. One such event can cause significant economic loss to farmers.
A dense fog envelops us as we sit atop a bamboo mat raised on stilts. Every few minutes, Dhan da flicks on the flashlight and tries in vain to penetrate the characteristic winter night fog of the floodplains of the Brahmaputra river in northeast India. We are guarding his paddy fields from elephants that use the cover of darkness to forage on the delicious crop.
Human-elephant conflict in this region claims the lives of a hundred people and tens of elephants every year. Massive deforestation coupled with nutritious paddy grown on the same land that elephants had historically used has led to these clashes becoming more serious each year. In order to understand how better to keep elephants and human beings safe from each other, I chose to study the two species in the floodplains of the Brahmaputra.
One of the most widespread consequences of human-elephant conflict on people is the constant fear that people live in, with the dread of losing their livelihoods or lives at any moment in the night. In order to remedy this, a simple solution in the form of a non-lethal fence was put into practice by the state of Assam and NGO partners. This fence delivers a sharp but non-lethal jolt to animals that come in contact with it, creating a psychological barrier and effectively securing the area it encloses. However, in order for this to work, it has to be maintained—the technical machinery needs to be checked regularly and undergrowth around the fence needs to be cleared. This is low-intensity, easy and quick work. Since these fences typically enclose villages, the households within the benefitting village are entrusted with the task of this maintenance.
Unexpectedly, and despite the high effectiveness of this solution, 65 percent of the fences in the landscape were not maintained. This was primarily due to the individuals in the community failing to come together and work collectively. I wanted to understand why this was the case for my Masters’ thesis. What were we missing that led to such a suboptimal, counter-intuitive and dangerous outcome?
On this journey, I came across the work of Elinor Ostrom, who dedicated her academic life to understanding how people avert the ‘tragedy of the commons’ in different contexts across the globe. She formulated a framework for social-ecological systems (SES) and wrote extensively on the factors that predicted their sustainable use over time. Not having worked on such problems previously, I was skeptical of whether I would be able to put this wide framework into practice during my fieldwork.
The author (second from the right) trying to understand the barriers to collective action by talking to local residents
However, within the first few days of being in the field, I was amazed at the power of this system. It proved to be a strong guide to identify factors that influence collective action in these complex, chaotic systems where society and ecology exert such strong influences on each other. For instance, right out of Ostrom’s principles, we found that the predictability of the system was of critical importance. There was the incentive to maintain fences when elephant raids were either very frequent or infrequent but unpredictable, as opposed to the cumulative damage incurred by a community (in the form of crop/ house damage and human injury or death). This was a novel insight for practitioners who generally went by the yardstick of the total damage to gauge the level of conflict.
We kept refining our provisional models with newer insights from the data being collected. This iterative process was a departure from conventional ecological studies where all the data is collected in one go and then analysed, to prevent one from getting biased by the data. Through this approach, we were able to explore the causal mechanisms driving the outcome of the fences in great detail. In particular, this helped us understand the non-material costs and benefits that people consider.
For instance, all the farmers in a village where a fence had failed due to poor maintenance mentioned that when duly maintained, the fence was 95 percent effective in deterring elephants and they reported a reduction in damage to their crops by at least half. In a purely economic sense, this saved orders of magnitude of crops. However, the fence had fallen into disarray after a tiny minority of households that lived in the center of the village refused to partake in maintenance efforts (which involves walking the perimeter of the fence, about 3 km/30 mins, once a month). This led the other individuals, including those for whom the material benefits greatly outweighed the costs, to voluntarily disengage from maintenance.
Ostrom has aptly termed this the ‘sucker effect’, where collective action fails because people do not want to feel like ‘suckers’ for keeping a promise that others are breaking. Over the course of our study, we found that non-material costs and benefits like these played a critical role in securing collective action.
Being an iterative process, we would collect data, analyse it back at the field base with my guides and then return to the field to pick on threads. On one of my visits, just as I made myself comfortable on the mud beside his fishing pond, Dhan da saw me, beamed a bright smile and said, “I love it when you come and speak with me — you keep asking the real questions—the most meaningful ones!” which I felt was a compliment to Ostrom’s SES and not really to me!
A large part of elephants’ ranges are outside protected forests, and include areas such as tea estates where they interact closely with humans
In another village, on discussing the monitoring and governance of these fences with a State Forest Department official, he said: “Actually, I just thought of this now—when we are establishing these fences, we largely think about how good it is, and that it is so much better than staying up all night and chasing elephants. But this is food for thought, we do not actively consider the length of the village, the number of people, and coordination amongst them, which is just as important—and makes or breaks a fence. I am definitely going to think about this next time.” This is identical to the layered governance systems aspect of the SES, which recommends looking at the geographic range and size of the system at scale.
We are currently implementing the findings of this study on the ground to create more robust community institutions to further human-elephant coexistence in uman-dominated areas. The results so far have been encouraging, with the State actors and community members actively drawing on these results in practice. Other studies from across the Indian subcontinent have used the SES successfully to explore the governance of urban lakes, forests, fisheries and drinking water. Established diagnostic tools like the SES can be of great help when working on interdisciplinary problems, especially in the conservation space.
