Rainforests finally gain a friend

Paying to keep forests intact - that idea I like.  An economic value to protecting natural reserves is probably the way forward?

Rainforests provide a public good. The world should pay to conserve them

At last, good news from the Brazilian Amazon. In the first eight months of 2023, the pace of deforestation has fallen by nearly 50% compared with last year. This reflects a change of government. Jair Bolsonaro, Brazil’s president from 2019 to 2022, was an outspoken chum of the loggers and ranchers who are slicing down and burning the rainforest. Not only did he make no effort to stop them; he went out of his way to hobble the agencies charged with policing environmental crimes.

 

His ejection by voters last year gave the Amazon a much-needed respite. His successor, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, actually cares about conservation. As we report this week, gun-toting federal agents are once again making a serious effort to shut down illegal mining operations and blow up their equipment.

But muscle, on its own, is not enough. To establish something resembling the rule of law in the Amazon, Lula is trying to clarify who owns it. This is long overdue. Currently, at least 22 separate Brazilian agencies register land claims there. They barely talk to each other, so vast swathes of the forest are subject to overlapping claims. And a whopping 29% of the Brazilian Amazon is “undesignated”, meaning it is public land but no one has decided whether it should be a nature reserve, an indigenous reserve, or something else.

Deforestation tends to be worst in areas where property rights are hazy. A lack of clarity about who owns a plot of forest makes it harder to assign blame for torching it. And a tradition of local officials tolerating land-grabbing encourages more of it. Ranchers seek to establish facts on the ground by chopping down trees, burning the undergrowth and putting cows on the newly created pasture. Many hope that even if their actions are illegal, they will eventually be recognised as the owners of the land, because this has often happened in the past.

Lula is trying to change these incentives. He is pushing to designate undesignated land as protected, and to integrate all the property registers into one coherent system. It is a huge task, involving clever use of satellite data and digital technology. It is also politically fraught, since many state and local politicians are cosy with the farming and wildcat mining lobbies and will jealously guard their influence over how land is apportioned. But it is an essential step towards imposing order on one of Earth’s most important biomes. The Amazon is a huge carbon store, a treasure vault of biodiversity and an essential regulator of the rainfall that feeds South America. Losing it would be a global catastrophe–and scientists fear it may be near a “tipping point”, when so much forest has disappeared that the water cycle that sustains it breaks down.

Which is why the rest of the world should help pay to preserve it. At the cop on December 1st, Lula asked for money to give local people in developing countries economic alternatives to cutting down rainforests. His environment minister outlined an ambitious plan: a $250bn fund that would pay a fixed sum per hectare of forest to countries that prevent their forests from shrinking more than a very small amount each year. The funding for this, Brazil hopes, would come from sovereign wealth funds. Several African leaders are making similar appeals, some involving debt relief in return for nature conservation.

Lula is unlikely to raise $250bn—it is far more than has been offered before. And not all the governments asking for cash are likely to spend it wisely. But there is a decent chance that Brazil could make good use of external financing, which it sorely needs. No amount of enforcement will stop people from chopping down trees if they see no other way of making a living—illegal miners whose equipment is blown up by the environmental police may simply go to work on beef farms carved out of the rainforest. Also, if Lula’s efforts to save the trees are all stick and no carrot, he is more likely to lose the next election to a more Bolsonaro-like rival. So rich countries should chip in. And Brazil, for its part, should be more open to foreign advice, expertise and help on the ground than it has been in the past. It is not too late to save the Amazon, but the clock hands are whirring like the teeth of a chainsaw. ■

The Attenborough echidna

The link has a little video clip of the creature.

First ever images prove 'lost echidna' not extinct

By Jonah Fisher and Charlie Northcott

Scientists have filmed an ancient egg-laying mammal named after Sir David Attenborough for the first time, proving it isn't extinct as was feared.

An expedition to Indonesia lead by Oxford University researchers recorded four three-second clips of the Attenborough long-beaked echidna.

Spiky, furry and with a beak, echidnas have been called "living fossils".

They are are thought to have emerged about 200m years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

Until now, the only evidence that this particular species 'zaglossus attenboroughi' existed was a decades-old museum specimen of a dead animal.

"I was euphoric, the whole team was euphoric," Dr James Kempton told BBC News of the moment he spotted the Attenborough echidna in camera trap footage.

"I'm not joking when I say it came down to the very last SD card that we looked at, from the very last camera that we collected, on the very last day of our expedition."

Dr Kempton headed a multi-national team on the month-long expedition traversing previously unexplored stretches of the Cyclops Mountains, a rugged rainforest habitat more than 2,000m (6,561ft) above sea level.

In addition to finding Attenborough's "lost echidna" the expedition discovered new species of insects and frogs, and observed healthy populations of tree kangaroo and birds of paradise.

Aside from the duck-billed platypus, the echidna is the only mammal that lay eggs. Of the four echidna species three have long beaks, with the Attenborough echidna, and the western echidna considered critically endangered.

Previous expeditions to the Cyclops Mountains had uncovered signs, such as 'nose pokes' in the ground, that the Attenborough echidna was still living there.

But they were unable to access the highest reaches of the mountains and provide definitive proof of their existence.

That has meant that for the last 62 years the only evidence that Attenborough echidna ever existed has been a specimen kept under high security in the Treasure Room of Naturalis, the natural history museum of the Netherlands.

"It's rather flat," Pepijn Kamminga the collection manager at Naturalis says as he holds it for us to see.

To an untrained eye it's not dissimilar to a squashed hedgehog because when it was first gathered by Dutch botanist Pieter van Royen it wasn't stuffed.

The importance of the specimen only became clear in 1998 when x-rays revealed it wasn't a juvenile of another echidna species but in fact fully grown and distinct. It was then that the species was named after Sir David Attenborough.

"When that was discovered, people thought, well, maybe it's extinct already because it's the only one," Mr Kamminga explains. "So this [the rediscovery] is incredible news."

Dr James Kempton lead the expedition to the Cyclops Mountains

The Cyclops Mountains are precipitously steep and dangerous to explore. To reach the highest elevations, where the echidna are found, the scientists had to climb narrow ridges of moss and tree roots - often under rainy conditions - with sheer cliffs on either side. Twice during their ascent the mountains were hit by earthquakes.

"You're slipping all over the place. You're being scratched and cut. There are venomous animals around you, deadly snakes like the death adder," Dr Kempton explains.

"There are leeches literally everywhere. The leeches are not only on the floor, but these leeches climb trees, they hang off the trees and then drop on you to suck your blood."

Dr Leonidas-Romanos Davranoglou looks at an insect on a treeImage source, EXPEDITION 

Once the scientists reached the higher parts of the Cyclops it became clear the mountains were full of species that were new to science.

"My colleagues and I were chuckling all the time," Dr Leonidas-Romanos Davranoglou a Greek insect specialist said.

"We were so excited because we were always saying, 'this is new, nobody has seen this' or 'Oh my God, I can't believe that I'm seeing this.' It was a truly monumental expedition."

Dr Davranoglou broke his arm in the first week of the expedition but remained in the mountains collecting samples. He says they have already confirmed "several dozen" new insect species and are expecting there to be many more. They also found an entirely new type of tree-dwelling shrimp and a previously unknown cave system.

Local scientist Gison Morib, a PhD student from Cenderawasih University, who was on the expedition, said: "The top of the Cyclops are really unique. I want to see them protected.

"We have to protect these sacred mountains. There are so many endemic species we don't know."

Sacred mountains

Previous expeditions had struggled to reach the parts of the Cyclops mountains where the echidnas live because of the belief of local Papuans that they are sacred.

"The mountains are referred to as the landlady," Madeleine Foote from Oxford University says. "And you do not want to upset the landlady by not taking good care of her property."

This team worked closely with local villages and on a practical level that meant accepting that there were some places they couldn't go to, and others where they passed through silently.

The Attenborough echidna's elusiveness has, according to local tradition, played a part in conflict resolution.

When disputes between two community members arose one was instructed to find an echidna and the other a marlin (a fish).

"That can sometimes take decades," Ms Foote explains. "Meaning it closes the conflict for the community and symbolizes peace."

Dr Kempton says he hopes that rediscovery of the echidna and the other new species will help build the case for conservation in the Cyclops Mountains. Despite being critically endangered, Attenborough's long-beaked echidna is not currently a protected species in Indonesia. The scientists don't know how big the population is, or if it is sustainable.

"Given so much of that rainforest hasn't been explored, what else is out there that we haven't yet discovered? The Attenborough long-beaked echidna is a symbol of what we need to protect - to ensure we can discover it."

Map showing Cyclops Mountains

Learning about Jamal Ara

Thanks to Sagarika, for sharing this article with me.  What a sad, poignant story - a story as much of gender and communal inequities, as of personal tragedy. Madhuca

Mystery of India’s first Birdwoman

Jamal Ara was a fascinating personality beset by tragedy: she overcame her lack of education to publish scientific papers on birds in top journals, but disappeared abruptly in 1988

Mystery of India’s first Birdwoman

Jamal Ara (1923-1995). Sketch/Uday Mohite

By Ajaz Ashraf

In these fraught times, it is elevating to read about Jamal Ara, India’s first ‘Birdwoman’, a title none less than the iconic Salim Ali bestowed upon her for scientifically studying birds of the Chota Nagpur plateau, Jharkhand. Her story was lost to us until researcher Raza Kazmi recently rediscovered and narrated it, with poignancy, in The First Lady of Indian Ornithology, a chapter in Women in the Wild, a book edited by Anita Mani.

Jamal Ara’s accomplishments dazzle as she had studied only till Std X. She wrote prolifically from 1949 to 1988, contributing over 60 papers and articles to the journals of the Bombay Natural History Society and Bengal Natural History Society, and the Newsletter for Birdwatchers, which catered to both amateur and professional ornithologists. She wrote Watching Birds, a guide for children, now in its 13th edition.

Hold on, she also worked as a journalist for a while, did a programme on birds for All India Radio, wrote fiction, and translated stories of litterateur K S Duggal, who remembered her, in his autobiography, as a “lonely woman” with a flair for writing in English.

Ara was just the person who should have been serenaded post-Independence, if not for anything other than as a riposte to Pakistan’s dire predictions regarding the fate of Muslims who stayed behind in India. But that, sadly, did not happen.

She suddenly disappeared, in 1988, from the Indian ornithology scene. Nobody wondered why she had stopped writing. The address she gave in the letters she wrote to journals was that of Doranda, Ranchi, where Raza Kazmi, too, resides. He made it his mission, in 2018, to search for the mysterious Birdwoman of Doranda.

Her address no longer existed, but Kazmi stumbled upon a 2006 story on Madhuca Singh, a celebrated basketball coach of Ranchi, who credited her achievement to her mother Jamal Ara, “a bird lover.” The search ended only last year, when Kazmi met Madhuca, who was named after Madhuca indica, the scientific term for the mahua tree. Madhuca narrated her mother’s story to Kazmi.

Born in 1923 in a conservative Muslim family of a police officer at Barh, Bihar, Ara was married to Hamdi Bey, a cousin and leading journalist in Calcutta, much against her opposition. Madhuca was born to them. But the marriage soon broke down. Ara and Madhuca could have been on the streets but for Sami Ahmad, a cousin and an Indian Forest Service officer of the 1940 Bihar cadre. A bachelor, Ahmad shifted them to his official residence in Ranchi.

Posted to different forest divisions of Jharkhand, then a part of Bihar, Ahmad would take Ara on his trips to the jungles. In her was kindled a deep love for the flora and fauna of the area, inspiring her to spend hours observing the avian life around her. But her skills as a writer were not honed. She found a teacher in Mrs Augier, wife of P W Augier, an IFS office senior to Ahmad, who also encouraged her to keep birding notes. As she began to chisel out good prose in English, Ahmad and the Augiers encouraged her to turn her notes into articles—and these began getting published. 

Theirs was an old world where companionship meant more than engaging in chitter-chatter.

But this old world was also encountering a challenge from the emerging post-Independence culture of corruption and impunity. The sparks the clash of the two worlds engendered singed Ahmad, after he arrested the son of K B Sahay, a powerful politician who later became the Bihar Chief Minister, for poaching at Palamu. The political system retaliated: Ahmad was suspended. His sorrow became unbearable after he was asked to serve, on his reinstatement, under an officer junior to him. He died in 1966.

Ara and Madhuca, then in college, were financially stricken and emotionally hollowed out by his death. But help came from the old world: a friend of Ahmad heard about their plight and became their safe harbour. His name: Jaipal Singh Munda, the man who had led the Indian hockey team to a gold in the 1928 Olympics and was now an Adivasi leader fighting for the rights of his community. He found a groom for Madhuca—a Gurkha army officer’s son.

It seems Ara turned to translating Duggal’s work, in addition to her ornithological writings, to overcome the emotional trauma the death of Ahmad had been for her. In 1988, she brought her semi-paralytic sister to live with her in Ranchi. But after the sister began walking, she left Ara. The abandonment shattered her; psychotic breakdowns plagued her. 

One day, she made a bonfire of all her writings, notes, and photographs. “It was useless,” Ara muttered. In 1995, seven years after having stopped writing, she died, unnoticed and unsung. 

After Women in the Wild was published this year, Kazmi went over to the residence of Madhuca. Since an irreparable retina scratch has severely impaired her vision, he read aloud his essay on her mother, who winged an arc as unique as that of migratory birds, with an end as tragic as that of those shot down before their return flight home.

The writer is a senior journalist

Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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I found this article in the TOI, with more about her writing, it kind of complements the previous essay.

Jamal Ara, cited as India's first 'birdwoman'

Sharmila Ganesan Ram / TNN / Oct 19, 2023, 20:19 IST

"With his large body, bald head and scraggy bare neck, he is not a pretty sight, but he is unrivalled in the perfection of flight." That's how the vulture found itself described in 'Watching Birds', an adorable Rs-55 children's booklet which cost Rs 2.50 when it was written five decades ago.

As keen a weaver of words as she was a viewer of birds, its author Jamal Ara—who was often mistaken for a man because of her name—was a rare, early bird who stood out amidst the flock of pioneering male ornithologists such as Samir Ali and Zafar Futehally.

Despite her prolific, seminal surveys of the fauna of Bihar spanning four decades, the late Ara would remain a sighting as rare as the pink-headed duck.

Her legacy remained unrecorded till Raza Kazmi—a young environmentalist—met her daughter and only living link, Madhuca Singh, in Jharkhand for an essay in the recent book on female biologists titled 'Women In The Wild'.

Born a century ago in 1923 Bihar to a cop father, Ara was one of seven children, two of whom would later migrate to Pakistan. After being deserted by her journalist husband Hamdi Bey, the young mother would find support in her cousin Sami Ahmad, an upright Indian Forest Service officer from the Bihar cadre.

'Akki'—as Madhuca called Ahmad—would put her through school and in the villages where he was posted, the little girl would grow up eating climbing trees, plucking fruits and devouring ant chutney.

Even as Ahmad gifted her books on birds, Mrs. Augier, wife of the nature-loving Anglo-Indian forest officer PW Augier, honed her English-language skills as she had studied only till the tenth standard.

The field notes that Ara took in the unexamined forests of south Bihar soon became articles in the journals of Bombay Natural History Society and Bengal Natural History Society.

Her 1949 piece on the rich wildlife reserves of undivided Bihar was not only the first of its kind work in the region but also remains a seminal peek into the natural bounty of present-day Jharkhand.

The first and possibly the last to look closely and record the birds of Kolhan in Singhbhum—an under-explored landscape in the state—she kept watching, waiting and writing.

When her quest for the rare pink-headed duck—which had last been spotted in Darbhanga in 1935—hit a dead end in 1953, she resolved to resume searching the following winter. Her keen ear for mating calls and hawk eye for the courtship habits of winged creatures, translated into a series of meticulous notes bolstered with graphs and tables.

"It is time the government of India stepped in and curbed the waste of public money. If the forests are not saved, we will be creating a desert. Let us not forget the examples of Babylon and Nineveh," she wrote in a letter published in TOI on September 2, 1961, which questioned and demanded details on the state government's claims of afforestation.

At a conservation conference in the US, she presented a paper on the near-extinct rhinos of Bihar and other vanishing herds of mammals then called 'Big Game'. "She had never been a hunter or came from a hunting/royal family background, and thus her approach towards conservation was solely focused on the preservation of wildlife rather than balancing out 'sport hunting' and preservation," says Kazmi to TOI, comparing Ara to the fierce American naturalist Rosalie Edge.

"Ara's prescriptions for preservation, just like Rosalie's ideas, were far ahead of their time—be it in her recommendation for the establishment of a separate wildlife department, recommendations for creation wildlife sanctuaries, banning of carrying of any arms by any person (irrespective of whether they are private individuals or even government or police officials except for the forest department itself), and so on. These ideas would gain mainstream currency in the Indian conservation sphere only from the 1970s onwards, while Ara was prescribing these remedies from the early 1950s itself," he says.

On All India Radio, listeners heard her swoon about the birds of Ranchi and present-day Jharkhand. Outside ornithology, her writing skills manifested a range of short stories and translations of partition-themed works such as a Punjabi novel titled 'Nahun Tere Mas' by Kartar Singh Duggal.

Her articles revealed her lyricism. "Two of her essays made me go wow when I first read them," says Kazmi, citing 'Sylvan Trails in Chota Nagpur' and 'Just a Weed', both published in a little-known journal called 'Thought'.

He quotes a small sample from the latter piece: "It has been said, “See Naples and die”; I would alter it to “See the Strobilanthes flower and die”. It is no exaggeration; there will certainly be no regrets....The shaded hill slopes and valley bottoms for miles on end are smothered under it and one motors along the forest roads as if in a blue haze assailed by the heavy camphor-like aroma of the flowers. If some Wordsworth had seen it, he would have promptly consigned his poem ‘Daffodils’ to the trash-can, and written another about the Strobilanthes.”

At a time when it was rare to find Muslim women in North India travelling, working and excelling, Ara did it all but when her cousin, Ahmad, died in 1966, she lost a pillar.

Later, her mental health collapsed. One day, she took all that she wrote and photographed to the verandah of her house and set the pile ablaze.

Birds continue to visit her Bihar housing board home, the only one in the street overridden with creepers, climbers, plants and flowers.

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Looking forward to reading her book.

The Miyawaki Method

I wonder if the Late Mr Miyawaki  thought that his method would become a one-size-fits-all?  I think he did his work for the temperate forests of Japan, and maybe it makes sense in some other countries with similar climactic conditions?  

It is definitely not suited to TDEF areas of India, which is a large swathe of the subcontinent.   And the definition of what is "native" - should include grasses and scrub, one would think.  

How%20Mr%20Miyawaki%20Broke%20My%20Heart%20%u2013%20The%20Wire%20Science

How Mr Miyawaki Broke My Heart

Fazal Rashid and Somil Daga

Representative image of a ‘Miyawaki forest’. Photo: BemanHerish/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0

It was half past midnight as we peeled our eyes off our computer screens. My colleague and I  leaned back to discuss whether the jhadber – a wild cousin of the common ber – is a ‘shrub’ or a ‘sub-tree’. “It does grow tree-like in Delhi and westwards,” I said. From the process documents we’d learnt that the ‘shrub layer’ was supposed to grow to a maximum of ‘human height’, no taller. We looked up the global average for human height. Fair enough. Glossing over its ecological complexities, we pronounced the jhadber a ‘shrub’ and moved on. Next step: to calculate how many jhadber saplings we’d need to ensure it constitutes exactly 8-12% of our so-called ‘native forest’. Apparently, the 8-12 range is the prescribed percentage of shrubs in forests across India (perhaps even the world). 

This was one of the first times we were creating a ‘native forest’ on our laptop screens. We felt like we’d found our ikigai. This work demanded meticulousness and a calculator. We had been given a process and we were going to follow it to the tee. We ensured that our ‘canopy layer’ – defined as ‘the tallest trees in the local forest’ – stayed firmly between 15-20% of our total plantation. We also went to great lengths to make sure our ‘sub tree layer’ – defined as ‘trees which are taller than human (sic)’ but still small compared to ‘normal trees found in forest (sic)’ – stayed exactly at 27.5%, no more, no less. This was because we wanted to give a little extra weightage to our ‘tree layer,’ which was defined ‘based on the average height of trees in your geography.’ 

Our spreadsheet planting complete, we moved on to soil. The process doc instructed us that ‘forest creation’ goes hand in hand with ‘soil creation’. A jar test result confirmed that our site’s soil was a sandy loam. Apparently, this was not good enough, so we needed to add 4 kgs per square meter of ‘perforator material’ in the form of wheat crop residue. Nor was our soil ‘water-retentive’ enough, so we’d need to add cocopeat (trucked in from Kerala) as a ‘water retainer’ material. Add to this cow manure and 1 kilolitre of jivamrit (a gobar and gomutra based liquid fertilizer) and voila: these ingredients would be mixed in approximately 200 hours by the long arms of a JCB earthmover to produce an instantly teeming ‘forest soil’ into which we’d plant the carefully chosen ‘layers’ of our ‘native forest’ all at once. It was about 2 am by now. We were done; we’d run the numbers; we were ready. We said arigato to the process files and lay down to sleep, eyes twitching slightly due to the prolonged laptop glare. 

We city boys had found our ikigai and we were out to save the world, one tree at a time. Best of all, a certain Mr Miyawaki – a Japanese botanist – seemed to have provided us with a way to do it: a “forest creation process”. This method promised an insta-forest: a rapidly growing plantation that leapt straight towards a climax ecosystem. We’d avoid all the gradual stages of ecological succession. Climax sans foreplay – that’s exactly what we needed. This method also promised speed. Apparently these ‘forests’ grow at a breakneck pace, no less than a bullet train slicing its way into the future. All of this sounded nice and marketable: grow a forest with Japanese speed and Japanese efficiency. This is what we were trying to sell to the CSR wing of one of India’s largest gutka companies. They wanted a ‘green belt’ around the bulging waistline of their massive glass-and-steel head office in a Delhi satellite city. We were out to sell them the silver bullet of the Miyawaki method of forest plantation. 

The natural jungle of the Thar Desert is a shrubland called ‘Roee’, a climax ecosystem without any trees! Photo: Arati Kumar Rao

Luckily, that project never came through. Our work at an ‘urban farming’ start-up in Delhi led us to this Miyawaki business. We mostly made kitchen gardens but our clients’ requests to plant native trees in their fortress-like farmhouses foisted us into the heady dealings of the professional tree-planting world. This was 2018 and India’s Miyawaki pioneers had just made their process open source. New non-profits – many with names like iTree, MeTree, and MyTree – were mushrooming all over the city, each trying to net the lakhs of CSR funds floating around. We were also about to enter the UN Decade of Ecosystem Restoration and nothing made us happier than to have a set of Excel sheets that would automate the ‘forest creation’ process. With this file in hand, we could avoid the slow process of engaging deeply with the nuances of our local ecology and landscape. We could become overnight native forest experts! What else could we ask for? With vaulting ambition, we leapt into the fray.

At the time, we were beginners in matters related to ecology. We were bootstrapping at the urban farming start-up, helping grow gajar and mooli on rooftops in Delhi’s dome of smog. We had picked up tree spotting as a hobby and soon realised the paucity of native trees in the city, and even more so of nurseries that focus on native plants. So we were immediately lured towards the Miyawaki method by celebratory articles and videos on a few goody-two-shoes, ‘better’ news websites. Who wouldn’t want to create a ‘forest’ that promised 10x faster growth, 30x more carbon sequestration and 100x more biodiversity than any other method of plantation in the world? It sounded too good to be true (and didn’t seem to require much work either).

No sooner had we started dipping our toes into the Miyawaki method, than a 200-acre ecological restoration project in Rajasthan fell into our laps. Our brief was simple and direct: Jungal bana do (Make me a jungle). We tinkered with our Miyawaki forest-making Excel sheet once again, punched in the numbers, and saw the material quantities and costs for this project shoot through the roof. We would have required tens of thousands of tons of manure and wheat crop residue; an Olympic-size swimming pool full of jivamrit, thousands of earthmover-hours, and over 2.4 million plants! Something didn’t make sense. 

We placed our calculators back on the table again. We couldn’t yet put our finger on it, but something felt wrong. When we tried to imagine the visual effect of this planting scheme, our minds got entangled in a dense thicket, unlike anything we had seen on our wanderings in Rajasthan. Perhaps we’d only seen highly degraded landscapes, chewed thin and scanty by endless hordes of goats and sheep. But, if a ‘climax forest’ were truly so cramped and impenetrable, where did any of our grassland and scrub fauna – the gazelle, the blackbuck and the ground-nesting bustard – live? Were they originally monkeying around in a dense woodland? When our calculator coughed up these gargantuan numbers, we felt like we were beating around the wrong bush and unable to look at reality as it were. We needed to seek alternative advice. 

An open natural ecosystem with grasses and herbs covering the entire ground, with trees and shrubs spaced wide apart. Nothing akin to a Miyawaki plantation.

We knew of Pradip Krishen from his book Trees of Delhi. We’d also heard that over the previous decade, he had ‘rewilded’ or ecologically restored a large tract of rocky desert in Jodhpur. We timorously contacted him about our site near Jodhpur and he immediately called us over for a chat. He was forthcoming and relaxed and he told us something along the lines of, “All you need to do, boys, is to really get to know your plants, study the soil and moisture regime at your site, find an intact ‘analogue site’ nearby that has the same characteristics as your site, and carefully make a note of all the plant species growing there and how they’re growing in relation to each other spatially. Then, bring back the seeds of these plants to your site and start a nursery, and plant the seedlings in a manner that resembles their natural arrangement on your reference site. Or at least as close as possible to that. And remember: don’t forget your grasses!” 

We looked at each other with our mouths agape. This sounded quite the opposite of our one-size-fits-all Miyawaki planning methods. Yes, the Miyawaki system does emphasise native species but it ignores ecological niche: the idea that species are adapted to very specific site conditions. For example, dry rocky slopes support a very different community of plants when compared to low-lying moist valleys. Calcium-rich or saline soils result in their own specialized suite of plants. But the Miyawaki system’s formulaic method ignores these subtleties, making generalised lists of native plants and shoving them all together in heavily manured soil. Add to this the heavy watering they recommend in the first two years and voila: the plants that tend to dominate Miyawaki plantations – at least the ones we’ve seen in North India – tend to be those that like nutrient-rich, moist situations like the desi babool. In fact, this is what the Miyawaki system does: create a specific ecological niche suited to plants that like deep, nutrient-rich soil and lots of moisture; it does not create a biodiverse community of grasses, wildflowers, shrubs and trees, each provided with the kind of open living room they prefer.

Khejri trees space themselves wide apart in sandy habitats in western Rajasthan to compensate for low nutrient and water availability in loose, sandy soils. Their roots spread far and wide, and go up to 30 metres deep to help them survive in this hot, unforgiving environment. Photo courtesy: Pradip Krishen

And so, after earnestly jumping on, we alighted from the Miyawaki bandwagon. We took a plunge into the local ecology and began doing field trips to learn about all kinds of plants: seasonal wildflowers; annual grasses; shrubs; lots of tiny things like lichens and, of course, trees. We climbed them to look closely at their flowers or to collect seed; knelt down to photograph tiny inflorescences; peered through a hand lens to look at minute grass florets. We troubled botanists to help us identify everything we were seeing. It was a slow and arduous process, but we began to develop a sense of connection to the plants and landscape. And to the local people that lived in them. This was exactly what the Miyawaki system – with its spreadsheets and formulas – ignores. Creating ecologically restored landscapes – let’s call them ‘native forests’ – demands that we slow down and peer closely into a landscape’s past and present conditions; understand its unique ecology and our role in degrading it; and then work with local communities to find ways through which ecological integrity can be restored. Japanese speed and efficiency have no role here. 

Also Read: Why the Miyawaki Method Is Not a Suitable Way to Afforest Chennai

As we went on, it didn’t take long for us to realise that in all our project sites, which lie in the semi-arid and arid parts of northwestern India, the natural forest (for the most part) is an ‘open’ forest with trees spaced apart, much like in a Savannah. Areas between trees are dominated by shrubs, grasses, and annual wildflowers that only live for a few months every year. We started understanding plants’ ecological niches: the very specific intersection of soil type, moisture regime and aspect in which those species really thrive. We learnt which plants are picky: they demand a specific soil mineral – like lime kankar or salt – to grow happily. Indrokh (Anogeissus sericea var. nummularia), for example, grows primarily in calcium-rich, nodular soils along seasonal streams. Some others are pioneers, like Daimal (Tephrosia falciformis). Daimal is among the first shrubs to germinate on a newly settled sand dune, and the moment other plants find a footing on the dune, it disappears. The Miyawaki system leaves absolutely no room for such nuances.

Earlier this year, we visited a three-year-old Miyawaki ‘native forest’ close to Jaipur. It was a long, thin strip of impenetrable green mass about as wide as a tennis court, abutting a bustling industrial area. A linear path cut through. As we entered, we were in the shade and the temperature fell. Not really what we wanted on a cold winter morning. Plants comfortable in deep, moist situations like the desi babool, moringa, siris and lasora dominated the canopy. The rest, at least the ones we managed to identify through the thicket, were hunkering below, assuming lanky forms, unlike anything we’d seen in natural open situations.

Some looked so different we struggled to identify them but this ‘forest’ was just too thick to get any closer to them. We felt dispirited, our curiosity subdued. This was straitjacketed wilderness at its worst: a veritable botanical zoo, but a badly designed one that created neither beauty nor allowed plants to express their real character. Here they were, the caged plants, packed like sardines by the human need for abstract formulas and processes. We were done; we’d seen the process and its results; we walked out feeling meh.

The Miyawaki forest we visited in Jaipur, with thin, lanky stems of trees, and the glaring absence of grasses and herbaceous annuals that form a key part of this ecosystem.

Just as we were exiting, we saw it. A few silvery, pale green stems, looking much thinner than usual, scrounging for sunlight. It looked as though this prostrate plant was attempting to drag itself out of this so-called forest. Surely this couldn’t be kheer kheemp (Sarcostemma acidum)? We leaned in a little closer and broke a stem. Milky latex oozed out. It was. Kheer kheemp is one of the few large succulents found in rocky habitats in western India. It looks like a starburst of pencil-thin pale green stems. The first time we saw a kheer kheemp in the wild was after a strenuous four-hour hike up a steep hill in the Aravallis near Sikar. As we reached the peak, we spotted it, right at the top. It resembled a massive terrestrial sea anemone with its long pale tentacles waving in the wind. It looked like the mountain had dreadlocks and this was its song of freedom. We stood there a moment in awe of this being that was showing us a glimpse of the sublime in one of the most inhospitable places you can imagine. But Kheer kheemp thrives in such conditions. Its roots are able to exploit thin, deep cracks in rock, and it photosynthesizes with its green stems. But in the Miyawaki forest, it was planted in a deep, loamy, heavily-irrigated soil under thick shade. A mighty shrub that clothes steep, rocky cliffs reduced to a puny, inconspicuous, sorrylittle plant. A friend once counted over 30 butterflies foraging on a single kheer kheemp in flower. Here it would probably never flower; it likely would not even survive.

Kheer kheemp, with pale stems, growing in sheer rock, in Zenana Gardens (Jodhpur). Photo courtesy: Pradip Krishen

The ironic thing about the Miyawaki system is that it’s wildly unreasonable, illogical and inappropriate. But it seems like we live in wildly absurd times where common sense is no longer common. Let’s do a little thought experiment: a Yemeni ecologist named Mr Mian Wali studies his local ecology over decades and arrives at a ‘system’ – a formula – that enables him and his team to easily restore their degraded ecosystems. Could you imagine an Indian businessman bringing Mr Mian Wali’s ‘system’ to India to help us restore our degraded landscapes with Yemeni effectiveness? We don’t mean any offence to Yemen, but this just sounds ridiculous. Then why have we let another Indian businessman convince us that we need a Japanese system to grow our native forests? Perhaps because we’re historically amenable towards Japanese speed and efficiency. (Not sure why either of these has any bearing on ecology.) Perhaps it’s an indicator of how deeply divorced contemporary Indian culture is from nature. Perhaps, the modern Indian mind is denser than Miyawaki plantations themselves? What’s clear is that many government agencies, NGOs and hubris-filled youth (like our earlier selves) have latched onto it as an easy way to make money and plant trees without needing to understand the nuances of ecology and biodiversity at all – and cause lots of damage in the process! How are we going to stop this Miyawaki mania? By slowing down and actually forming a connection with plants, landscape and local communities, but nobody seems to have the time for this, for such are the times we live in.

Fazal Rashid and Somil Daga are ecological gardeners working in Central India and Rajasthan. You can write to them at fazalrashid@gmail.com and somildaga@gmail.com

Idu Mishmi, tigers and the magnificent Dibang Valley

Hoping to meet the author of this essay - Sahil Nijhawan - when we visit next month... 17 Hydel projects?! 

Tribal Tigers

First published in Sanctuary Asia, Vol. 39 No. 4, April 2019

By Sahil Nijhawan

The Prelude

It was March 2012. I was in the Lower Dibang Valley district of Arunachal Pradesh conducting surveys for a renowned conservation organisation to determine tiger presence outside Protected Areas of Northeast India. “If you want to find a lot of tigers, you must go high up in the mountains. In our culture, tigers live on tall mountains," said an Idu Mishmi elder as I sat in his hut close to Roing town, the headquarters of the Lower Dibang Valley. I nodded, as you do when dismissing someone, politely. I was well versed in tiger ecology and knew that ‘a lot of tigers' didn't, and couldn't, ‘live on high mountains'. During my years in graduate school and then as a conservation practitioner, I had firmly believed, backed by hard data, that tigers were a conservation dependent species that survived when governments and NGOs, like the one I worked for, put in active measures to protect them. There were no tiger reserves in the area, no guards and the nearest sizeable tiger population was more than 400 km. away in Assam's Kaziranga. Surely the ‘tigers' that the Idu elder was talking about were either fictional or unfortunate remnants of a past population.

A few months later news arrived that two tiger cubs had been rescued from a dry well in a village close to Anini about 250 km. north of Roing towards the international border with Tibet. In December that year, with my local mentor, Jibi Pulu (whom I lovingly call Naba Jibi, Naba means father in Idu language), an exceptionally charming and eloquent English-speaking middle-aged Idu man, I spent 10 days asking numerous villagers about tigers. Most reported having seen the animal or its signs. We found tiger pugmarks from river valleys at 1,800 m. up to steep mountain slopes at 2,700 m. - ‘high up in the mountains - just like the Idu elder had suggested months ago. How many tigers lived in the rugged temperate forests of these frontier villages? More importantly, why were these tigers even there? Who was protecting them? Dibang Valley lies next to China, arguably the largest consumer of tiger parts, and it is widely-known that tigers exist in very low numbers in designated tiger reserves in the Northeast like Namdapha, Kamlang and Dampa. My incredulity was met with an even more curious response by Naba Jibi, “In our culture, tigers and Idus are brothers. We cannot kill them."  Was it simply a folktale or had the Idu culture protected the world's largest and most threatened feline? I knew I had to return.

The author (right) tied his study of tiger ecology with anthropology to understand the local socio-economic situation, forest use, and people's perceptions around tigers. He lived among the Idu families and worked closely with them. Photo: Ambika Aiyadurai.

The Methods

A year later, I was back in Dibang Valley armed with 100 automatic camera traps, a white Tata Sumo and some heavy-duty tents (which later became redundant as we began sleeping in caves and bamboo shelters much like generations of Idus before us). The tigers and the relevance of Idu-tiger ‘brotherhood' for their conservation were now the focus of my Ph.D. research. However, there was a major problem. There was no prior systematic large-scale study of wildlife or Idu culture in Dibang Valley - no baselines whatsoever! I tightened my belt and over the next two years (2013-15), combined ecology and anthropology to understand the Idu-tiger nexus. To study tigers and their prey, I deployed camera traps in nearly 220 locations and collected fecal samples. My local guides (usually the customary owners of their respective forests) and I would spend the day placing cameras; while in the evenings, as we huddled around the fire to keep warm, I tried to learn the Idu language - 20 new words a day. My repeated inability to correctly pronounce Idu tones made me the butt of everyone's jokes. I lived with Idu families, participated in local festivals, and helped with domestic and farm chores in order to understand daily interactions with nature. I spent time with Idu shamans (priests) to learn Idu mythology, customs and belief system. Over time, as I became conversant in Idu, I conducted hundreds of interviews to understand the local socio-economic situation, patterns of forest use and ideas around tigers.

Iho Mitapo, a dynamic, young Idu Mishmi whose support was indispensable in the field. His commendable commitment towards defending the biodiversity of the Dibang Valley earned him the Sanctuary Young Naturalist Award 2018. Photo: Sahil Nijhawan.

The Idu Mishmi

Idu Mishmis are one of the 26 recognised indigenous communities of Arunachal Pradesh and Dibang Valley is their ancestral homeland. Dibang Valley is an unending expanse of dense green mountains broken only sporadically by snow-covered peaks dotted throughout its enormous geography. In Arunachal Pradesh, unlike the rest of the country, land and forests are under the de facto ownership of local people while the Forest Department controls a meagre percentage of land. Each Idu village has exclusive rights over its mountains and forests. Within the village land, each family has its own forest land while some of it is communally owned. Ownership rules are strictly enforced and without the owners permission, Idus do not go into forests that are not theirs. Idus are predominantly animists. Traditional animists believe that non-humans such as animals and spirits have the same capacities of conscious decision-making as humans do. The world of the animists is full of good and bad spirits. To survive and prosper, one must ensure that these spirits are appeased with the help of a shaman who is the only one able to communicate with spirit and animal worlds. In the very north of the district, along the Tibetan border, lies Dibang Wildlife Sanctuary (DWLS), which is eight times as big as Corbett National Park but has fewer than 10 Forest Department staff. There are plans to tap the rivers of Dibang Valley in nearly 17 hydropower dams, a few of which would be amongst the largest dams in India.

The Idu Mishmi tribe's poignant cultural practices and beliefs have ensured the survival of the tiger and its habitat in the Dibang Valley in Arunachal Pradesh. Photo: Sahil Nijhawan/Panthera/APFDPhoto: Sahil Nijhawan/Panthera/APFD

The Tigers

I placed camera traps from tropical forests around 500 m. all the way to alpine meadows at 3,700 m. in altitude. About half of these were stationed in two valleys inside DWLS while the rest were in Idu-owned forests. The cameras captured an astounding diversity of animal life - 30 different species of mammals including clouded leopards, wild dogs, red pandas, golden cats and seven species of pheasants! Many more species were encountered in community forests than in DWLS. Twelve individual tigers were photo-captured - eight adults, two sub-adults around one-year-old, and two young cubs (under three months). An astounding eight of these tigers (six adults and two sub-adults) were found living in Idu-owned forests. Surprisingly, cameras captured no photographs of tigers in one of the valleys inside DWLS. I had only begun to scratch the surface as my cameras covered less than 10 per cent of Dibang Valleys forested mountains. Advanced statistical analyses indicated that there could be as many as 50 adult tigers in Dibang, up to 90 percent of which would live in Idu-owned forests. Unlike in the rest of their range, these tigers relied on a unique prey assemblage with two species of muntjac (Indian and Gongshan) making up most of their diet followed by mithun (a semi-domesticated form of gaur owned by the Idu), Himalayan serow and the Mishmi takin- a bizarre furry wildebeest-like mountain goat endemic to the eastern Himalaya.

They say tigers are the pulse of the forest - if tigers do well everything else does well too. Yet, I was curious to know how the tiger prey was faring. I used a novel method based on gas collision theory (developed by the physicist James Clerk Maxwell in 1860) to count the tiger's prey animals using camera traps. Results confirmed that Dibang Valley had just as many muntjac and wild pigs as other strictly protected tiger reserves. Dibang Valley indeed acted like a ‘well-guarded tiger reserve, except that there were no forest guards, systematic patrols, government funding, Tiger Conservation Plans, eco-resorts or tiger-tourists. The tiger, its prey and its habitat were protected in Dibang Valley by Idu culture, which in turn has been safeguarded by Arunachal's Inner Line Permit, a legal instrument that prohibits the influx of non-locals.

Photo: Sahil Nijhawan.

The Brotherhood

While the outside world may have just ‘discovered' tigers in Dibang Valley, the Idu Mishmi have for centuries known of and lived with tigers. That Idu and tigers are brothers is an ‘indisputable fact every adult Idu knows without fail. Idu children grow up on the story of ancestral brothers born to the same mother - the first Idu, from whom all Idus descend, and the tiger. A disagreement resulted in man conspiring to kill his brother. The creators rebirthed the tiger and sent it to the ‘tall mountains, away from his brothers villages, where it lives to this day. But the wilfull killing of the tiger by his own brother, an act of murder that spilled the blood of one's own kin, unleashed the misfortunes and diseases that still haunt the Idu. The two live separate lives however, the tiger does occasionally descend into his human brothers' villages in the lower mountains to steal his prized cattle, mithun, creating tense confrontational situations. Tiger killing of mithun is not mere livestock depredation; it is a re-enactment of the ancestral myth that intertwines man and tiger. Livestock depredation may be seen as a sign of conflict everywhere else in India, but for the Idu, it is a complicated matter. Despite the financial, emotional, spiritual and psychological stress, Idu beliefs concerning tigers prevent widespread and immediate retaliatory killing - elsewhere, a significant cause of tiger deaths.

For the Idu, the tiger has many meanings. It is an animal that lives in the forest, is feared, and kills mithun and it is the mythical brother who must not be killed, yet again. The Idu shaman is believed to have a tiger spirit that heals people. It is the shaman (along with his spirit-tiger) who brings children into the world and makes them ‘Idu', and lays the dead to rest. Even though Idus are increasingly linked to the outside world through western education and globalisation, shamans still hold a key position in the society. The Idu need the shaman, the shaman in turn depends on the tiger. Whilst the Idu fear the tiger and do not ever want to confront one, it forms an integral part of their identity.

Photo:  John Goodrich.

The Interconnected Futures

The Idu-tiger nexus is an example of a socio-ecological system where the two are co-dependent; their history, ecology, culture and destinies intertwined. The story of either one is incomplete without the other. It was therefore a severe shock to me as well as to the Idu Mishmis, when the Wildlife Institute of India's (WII) recent publication on Dibang's tigers made no mention of the Idu-tiger relationship or Idu Mishmis in any meaningful way. What makes these tigers truly unique isn't just that they are such formidable mountaineers, but the very reason for their existence in Dibang Valley - the Idu Mishmis themselves! Most Idus I spoke with were well aware of the value of tiger parts in illegal markets, but they would not kill tigers for the fear that it might invoke the ancestral curse of death and destruction. But for this cultural link, tigers in Dibang Valley would have long met the same fate as those in Sariska, Panna, and several reserves in the Northeast where organised poaching gangs took advantage of people's antagonism towards the Forest Department, not the forest or tigers.

Against this backdrop, the Idu-tiger story is a cause for celebration. It raises immense hope and urges us to look beyond one-size-fits-all models for saving tigers in a country as diverse as ours. It challenges our existing ideas of human-wildlife ‘conflict, who is best positioned to ‘protect tigers and where. Generations of wildlife researchers and practitioners have been trained in simplistic, yet flawed, ideologies that most find it difficult to conceive of endangered wildlife, particularly tigers, existing outside national park boundaries (I, for one, held similar views at the onset of this research). WII scientists headed directly for DWLS to place camera traps based on the unchallenged belief that it would be the best area for tigers, disregarding the obvious existence of the unbroken expanse of forest all around DWLS, because those forests were ‘unprotected. Yet, their own study found India's highest tigers in community-owned forests, not in the ‘protected sanctuary.

Conflicting Science, Conflicting Stories

In November 2018, the Wildlife Institute of India (WII) published results of a camera trapping study of tigers, which concluded that the Dibang Wildlife Sanctuary held the highest-living tigers in India. In response to reports that the sanctuary might be declared a tiger reserve based on the study's findings, the Idu Mishmi Cultural and Literary Society (IMCLS), the premier group representing interests of the Idu people, wrote a letter to the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA) and Chief Conservator of Forests, Arunachal Pradesh. In the letter, they asserted that WII's publication and the ensuing media reports only tell half the story and that too, with some vital omissions and misrepresentations. The letter argued that the publication:

1) leaves out the fact that photo-captures of tigers at higher altitudes of 3,246 and 3,630 m. occurred outside the sanctuary and in community-owned forests.

2) makes no mention of how many tigers were photographed inside vs. outside the sanctuary.

The letter, quoting Dr. Sahil Nijhawan's research, explained that nearly 65 per cent of Dibang Wildlife Sanctuary is above 3,500 m., which is the tree line in the region. Even though tigers may sometimes venture close to 4,000 m., these high elevations are unlikely to host tigers, or their primary prey, permanently. The tigers' most important wild prey in Dibang Valley - muntjac and serow - typically do not range above 3,000 m., while its domestic prey, mithun, is not found inside the sanctuary. Their largest wild prey, Mishmi takin, migrate seasonally spending nearly half the year in the higher mountains and the rest in lower elevations. Male tigers are known to travel long distances and, occasionally, to higher elevations in pursuit of takin. Females, however, particularly those with cubs, hold steady prey-rich home ranges in lower-mid elevation forests (1,500-2,500 m.), majority of which are community-owned. The male tigers that WIIs researchers photo-trapped at the 3,630 m. and 3,246 m. depend inextricably on the forests in lower hills owned by the Idu Mishmi. Notwithstanding its large size, Dibang Wildlife Sanctuary's highland geography makes it insufficient to hold enough tigers on its own to sustain a viable population.

The letter continues, “we believe that just because tigers are ‘discovered in a place, does not mean it must be declared a tiger reserve without understanding how and why those tigers have survived. We strongly believe that the right strategy for Dibang tigers would be to develop a new kind of tiger reserve that is built not with fences and armed patrol guards, but around a cultural model, a culture which has so far proven to be effective in saving the tiger. We have a real opportunity here to set the stage for a new tiger conservation paradigm; one that is grounded in the Indian constitutions mandate for Arunachal Pradesh - local tribal autonomy and sovereignty - and is based upon strengthening local cultural values." They demanded that the NTCA and state government must work with the Idu Mishmi in order to develop locally relevant measures to ensure that tigers continue to thrive in Dibang Valley. The letter concludes by highlighting the dangers of basing policy on incomplete and half-truths, “such a policy may either fail to deliver its intended results, or, as experiences from other parts of the country suggest, can be potentially destructive to the tigers it aims to protect."

If and when DWLS is declared a tiger reserve, it will surely exclude Idus from their ancestral land, but it is unlikely to keep the tigers in, or from occasionally preying upon mithun. However, instead of Idu culture and shamans mediating temporary episodes of conflict between people and tigers, the Forest Department will be held responsible. This will, at best, convert the Idu-tiger relationship into a monetary transaction via ill-designed compensation programmes. At worst, it will create a situation of perpetual enmity between Idu and the tiger which the culture is no longer able to encompass and explain. How long can the ‘Idu tiger' survive when it officially becomes the ‘Indian tiger' remains to be seen. So far, the tigers have thrived without outside intervention. Sometimes, the best thing is to not meddle.

(First published in: April 2019)

Arunachal tales

Roing, Mishmi, Dibang Valley....all exotic names for me so far.  Awaiting our MNS trip to these places next month.  Thanks to Yuvan for sharing this intro. 

How environmentalist Jibi Pulu is using ecotourism to turn Mishmi tribe conservationists

November 8, 2017

About 15 years back, working as a travel agent in Delhi, Jibi Pulu would ferry eager tourists to picturesque Arunachal Pradesh set amid the lofty Eastern Himalayas with rich and varied flora and fauna. But the mindless destruction of the ecology prompted him to return to his roots to save the environment. Today, his conservation efforts have transformed the local community from exploiters of natural resources to protectors of Mother Nature.

Jibi’s endeavours have resulted in the establishment of a community conserved area (CCA) covering two villages of 90 households of the Idu-Mishmi tribe in Lower Dibang district of east Arunachal.

Jibi says while there are community conserve areas in Arunachal, they are all in the western part. The conserve area set-up by Jibi is the first in the eastern part of the state and is the first grassland CCA in the country.

About 26 major tribes and 100 sub-tribes reside in the state. Among the main tribes are Adi, Nyshi, Mishmi, Singpho, Galo, Tagin and Apatani. The Mishmi tribe has three sub-tribes, namely Idu-Mishmi, Digaru-Mishmi and Miju-Mishmi.

Jibi, who himself is an Idu-Mishmi, says he was often vexed with the thought of how to mesh conservation with economic opportunity.

“It’s easy to talk of conservation. But it’s not possible to wean a person away from exploiting natural resources or hunting down animals unless you can provide an economically-viable alternative,” he says.

Jibi believes that development brings its own hazards such as the exploitation of resources, unregulated growth and construction and cheating of locals.

Being from the travel trade, Jibi worked on linking tourism to conservation so that the locals could earn a sustainable livelihood.

A member of the Idu-Mishmi tribe that has been living in harmony with nature for centuries. Pic: Flickr

Over years of study and interaction with other environmentalists, he zeroed in on the eco-tourism model that was a win-win for the community as well as the environment. “For centuries, the indigenous people have been living in harmony with nature. In our culture, we do hunt but for our sustenance and we do not sell meat,” he says.

However, with western education and a modern lifestyle, people moved away from their cultural roots. “They began to hunt for commercial purposes and poaching of animals became quite common. Felling of trees was also widespread,” he says. This provoked him to begin his conservation drive.

His idea is to promote voluntourism and research tourism along with other activities that will make the local community stakeholders in its development.

Voluntourism will involve volunteers from all over the world visiting Arunachal and living and working with the community and paying for the experience.

Research tourism will involve students from schools and universities visiting the area and learning about the flora and fauna, and conservation efforts.

From exploiters to protectors

The concept of a community conserved area is not new in Arunachal. There are nine community conserved areas in the state that have been declared over the past 15 years, covering about 1500 sq km of forests. The concept of a community conserved area is found in the provisions of the Indian Wildlife (Protection) Act 1972.

Jibi Pulu has helped the local community go back to its culture which is about living in harmony with nature. Pic: Flickr

It is a protected region in which the flora, fauna and culture and traditions of the local community are preserved.

The community conserved area gives the local community custodianship and user rights over the area’s natural resources.

The local community gets direct livelihood benefits from activities such as tourism, operating homestays, promoting local art, culture, handicrafts and cuisine, treks and nature trails. The reserve is managed by a Community Reserve Management Committee with representatives of the local community.

After his return to Roing in 2008, Jibi started meeting with his tribe people and holding interactions with the young and old, men and women and reasoning with them to turn their area into a protected area for preserving the ecology of the region.

Volunteers from Mishmi tribe work with Jibi for environment protection. Pic: Facebook/@Jibi-Pulu

The community had many doubts, especially regarding how they would earn their livelihood. Most people in the area do subsistence agriculture and contractual jobs for the government.

To convince them, Jibi took a few young men and community elders to Kaziranga to show them how the conservation model would work.

He even sent one of his brothers to study a conservation model in Malaysia so the good practices could be adopted here. Eventually, the community agreed to his exhortations and gave their consent.

In the traditional culture of the Mishmis, nature is part of divinity.

“We revere animals and forests. There is no group hunting and there are prescribed codes for hunting that are laid down by the Shaman (priest),” he says.

Even after hunting, the meat cannot be sold. It is to be shared with the clan. “I am trying to revive our traditional knowledge and wisdom and encourage people to adopt the old, eco-friendly way of living,” he says.

Creating a community of conservationists

In his work, Jibi has associated with several other organisations that are working in Arunachal on environment protection.

Jibi has several volunteers and researchers from all parts of India and even abroad who work under his guidance.

The researchers conduct a count of wildlife in the Lower Dibang area and document the flora and fauna which is an important part of the conservation effort. The researchers are paid by the NGOs with whom they are associated.

White browed gibbon is among the endangered species found in Mishmi Hills. Pic: Wikipedia

The volunteers are local boys from the Mishmi tribe who are working under the field biologists and researchers in their documentation work. They help in collecting data, monitoring the area and go for patrolling, setting up camera traps that captures photos of the animals.

Jibi’s efforts on the ground won him the gold medal at the Indian responsible tourism awards 2020. However, Jibi did not go to receive the award.

His logic is simple. “I am not doing this to earn a livelihood. This is my passion. I am doing this because I care for the environment, for the planet.”

Within the conserved area, Jibi plans to start tourism-related activities such as homestays, food art and culture shows, handicrafts exhibitions, treks and nature trails through which the locals will benefit.

The community conserved area has a management committee to look after the overall management of conserved area as well to liaise with collaborators and funding agencies. Team of experts from various fields will assist the management committee as technical advisor.

Jibi also brought in experts to educate the locals on the flora and fauna and ecology of the region, trained them as tourist guides, in management and operations to run homestays and other skills to provide jobs to the locals and earn a sustainable livelihood.

Jibi has also set up the Mishmi Hill Camp in Roing, a small eco-lodge where nature lovers can stay and experience the wildlife. 

The lodge has five rooms built in the traditional style where visitors can revel in the lap of nature. They can learn about the local people, culture and cuisine and go for treks, walks or bird watching.

Jibi conducts awareness camps and birding workshops in association with the Bombay Natural History Society and several other organisations. He has employed a few local men and women to manage the lodge and pays them a modest salary.

The ecology hotspot

The state is blessed with diverse flora and fauna. 

Arunachal Pradesh is among the 18 “biodiversity hotspots” in the world. Around 5,000 species of flowering plants are found here of which 238 are endemic to the state. 

It has over 500 varieties of orchids. The state also abounds with wildlife with more than 500 species of fauna including tigers, leopards, clouded leopards, snow leopards, golden cats and marbled cats.

Elephants and tigers abound in the thick, grassy foothills. The hollock gibbon, red panda and musk deer are found in the higher ranges. The Mithun, a bovine species found in the northeast, play a vital role in the socio-economic and cultural life of the tribal population. The Mishmi takin is a goat-antelope that is native to Arunachal Pradesh, Bhutan and China.

Mishmi Hill Camp in Roing, a small eco-lodge set up by Jibi Pulu. Pic: Mishmi Hill Camp

It has an amazing variety of avifauna with over 650 bird species including the Great Indian Hornbill, the Mishmi Wren Babbler and the Bangle Florican which are found only in Arunachal Pradesh.

Over time, factors such as fragmentation of natural habitats, deforestation, Jhum cultivation, timber felling, hunting, soil erosion and urbanization have led to a loss of biodiversity.

Return to the roots

Jibi grew up in Roing town in Dibang Valley. His parents were farmers and were illiterate. But they educated their five children who are all well-settled now.

Jibi studied initially in the village school then went to Delhi for higher studies and later worked in a travel agency. However, he was keen to return home after he saw how development efforts were wreaking havoc in the area.

Most of the tribes in Arunachal follow either Buddhism or practise animism.

But with education, development and modernisation, people have forgotten the old practices that were aimed at protecting the environment. “Modern education changed the outlook of people. Now they see everything as a resource to be exploited and not to be protected. This has led to the destruction of natural habitats,” he says.

Hunting and poaching became widespread as outsiders lured locals with money to hunt animals which led to a decline in animal numbers.

It was thus that Jibi began working at the grassroots level within his community to educate them and create awareness about the need for conservation.

He hopes in the coming years, other villages too will take up the eco-tourism model. “I am showing them a successful model. I can guide them but ultimately it is up to them to take the initiative to save our planet,” he signs off.

First published by 30 Stades on 3 Jun. 2022

A Dugong reserve announced

Better late than never: Experts on Tamil Nadu’s decision to go ahead with dugong reserve in Palk Bay

While India may be late, a conservation step such as this one is always welcome, they said

Marine biologists have welcomed the Tamil Nadu government’s recent decision to go ahead with the establishment of a conservation reserve for the elusive dugong (Dugong dugon), a sirenian species native to parts of the Indian littoral.

The Tamil Nadu government had announced September 3, 2021 that a dugong conservation reserve would be established in the Gulf of Mannar, Palk Bay between India and Sri Lanka, for the conservation of the animals.

“The Principal Chief Conservator of Forests and Chief Wildlife Warden has submitted a concept note towards establishment of a Dugong Conservation Reserve,” a note released by the Tamil Nadu government February 15, 2022, said.

“The Government, after careful examination have decided to accept the above concept note of the Principal Chief Conservator of Forests and Chief Wildlife Warden for creation of Dugong Conservation Reserve in Palk Bay,” it added.

The note directed the PCCF to send the draft notification of the proposal for obtaining the concurrence of the Union Ministry of Environment, Forest and Climate Change.

00:05 01:01  

The TN government also accorded administrative approval for a sum of Rs 25 lakh for the preparation of a detailed project report and carrying out baseline field studies.

Vardhan Patankar, marine biologist, Wildlife Conservation Society-India, told Down To Earth:

It is definitely a late step because dugongs are on the verge of extinction. In the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, their population is less than 100. There are very few left in the Gulf of Mannar. In the Gulf of Kutch, there are very few sporadic records. They were present in Lakshadweep but now are locally extinct. We are too late in the light of all this. But it is good that we are taking steps at least now to conserve the species.

Sajan John, head of marine projects, Wildlife Trust of India, called it a heartening step as the proposal has come from the government. “Most governments are pro-development and conservation takes a backseat,” he said.

But he said one would have to wait and watch as to how this would actually translate into conserving the species.

“We have already declared dugongs as a Schedule I animal under the Wildlife (Protection) Act, 1972. Legally, it was given the highest protection. It is hard to say right now as to how designating a conservation reserve just for dugongs will translate on the ground for their conservation,” he said.

Indeed, the implementation of the government’s order is going to be tough.

Declaring an area as ‘protected’ means there will be no human interference in there. “In forested landscapes, this is easy. There may be some tribal communities dependent on non-timber forest produce. But usually, fringe villages may not be that dependent,” John said.

“But in case of marine reserves, the sea is a type of commons. And coastal communities are highly dependent on it. By designating a protected marine area, you are literally denying the resources to such people. That is why there are community and conservation reserves. This will be a conservation reserve and it will be co-managed. But it still takes time for a management plan to be put in place,” he added.

Also, what next in dugong conservation in India? Patankar said massive awareness was needed about the dugong as very few people knew about them even in the Andamans where they are the state animal.

“The main cause of mortality for dugongs is accidental entanglement. They are marine mammals and have to surface every four minutes to breathe. Fishermen use gilnets and dugongs get trapped and killed in them unintentionally. This must be stopped,” he said.

This could be done through incentive programmes which many institutes already offer, Patankar said.

“For instance, if a dugong gets captured and is released by fishermen, they get Rs 5,000 if they provide photo documentation of the act. If the government ensures that every dugong release is celebrated it can work wonders,” Patankar noted.

Fishing communities should also decide to shift to other sources of food rather than hunt dugongs for meat if they want their future generations to see dugongs, he added.

“Also, dugongs are protected under Schedule I of the Wildlife (Protection) Act, 1972 which means they have the highest level of legal protection under Indian law. But very few people have been arrested, imprisoned or prosecuted for poaching dugongs. The enforcement of the law needs to be strengthened if you want to conserve the species,” Patankar said.

For John, the next step in dugong conservation is the preservation of the threatened seagrass ecosystem. “Ultimately, if there is no seagrass, dugongs will perish,” he said.

From Mandaveli to Mahabalipuram: How the ashy woodswallow receded from urban spaces - The Hindu

I now need to discover "Newsletter for Birdwatchers" that is quoted here, along with Santharam of Rishi Valley.  

I have seen these birds in the Kalakshetra campus.

I also looked up allopreening - the preening done by one bird on another.

From Mandaveli to Mahabalipuram: How the ashy woodswallow receded from urban spaces - The Hindu

From Mandaveli to Mahabalipuram: How the ashy woodswallow receded from urban spaces
As this bird’s breeding season reaches its tail end, a throwback to the days when nesting pairs could be seen in urban spaces, sometimes atop lamp posts. Despite being more easily sighted in Chennai and other bustling sections within its distribution range, an erroneous notion about the bird persisted for a long time
Prince Frederick
The ashy woodswallow — also known as the ashy swallow-shrike — inhabits palm trees where it chirpily attends to its domestic duties. Where only a smattering of palm trees exists, the bridge arm of a lamp post becomes home. Truth be told, in urban spaces, this adaptation is largely a thing of the past, existing mostly in birders’ anecdotes and ornithologists’ field notes.
Ornithologist V. Santharam had once written about a pair of ashy woodswallows that nested atop a lamp-post at a Mandaveli junction, in the Newsletter for Birdwatchers.
“That was in the mid-1980s, and Mandaveli was relatively busy. Just near RK Mutt Road and the bus stand junction, there was a lamp-post close to the petrol bunk, where an ashy woodswallow pair was nesting successfully for more than a year,” recalls Santharam, spotlighting how they disdainfully rejected a couple of palm trees standing diagonally opposite the lamp-post.
Were those palm trees taken by other pairs of ashy woodswallows; or any other birds? “No, these two were the only breeding pair in that area.”

1. Within its established range, the ashy woodswallow (artamus fuscus) is usually found in good numbers in areas marked by stands of palm trees.

2. Though the species is comfortable occupying power lines and poles, these are no substitute for palm trees.

3. On sections of ECR — for example, Pallipattu — that are marked by a proliferation of palm trees, these birds can be seen perched on power lines

4. Ashy woodswallows are a gregarious species known for their huddling and allopreening rituals, performed as they park themselves on the power lines

5. Both the male and female are a picture of familial commitment sharing nest-building, incubating and post-natal parenting responsibilities.

6. This bird sallies forth from its perch, snatches the prey while on the wing and even polishes it off before returning to the perch.

7. Birder Sidharth Srinivasan recalls a scene from Nanmangallam where waiting ashy woodswallows made quick work of butterflies that gained elevation after a mud-puddling session

8. Sidharth observes that the ashy woodswallow occasionally lets out a harsh call, one that is markedly different from its regular call. The ashy woodswallow is known to mimic other birds, certainly not as prodigiously and markedly as a drongo would, but will certainly slip in an odd note or two now and then.

The presence of the palm trees, within the hearing range of one wheezy call, probably put these birds at ease about the location. Santharam also recalls how in MRC Nagar, “largely an open area at that time”, ashy woodswallows would string the power lines, huddling and allopreening.
With palm trees on the decline even in semi-urban spaces, it takes a long drive to put oneself within the possibility of savouring such “ashy-avian” delights. An unthinking question could be: Aren’t there more power lines within the city now? The ashy woodswallow may find a comfortable perch in a power line, but does not usually see it as a substitute for a palm tree. These birds invariably “test” the strength of power lines found in a place that proliferates in palm trees. The further one drives down East Coast Road, the greater the chances of sighting gaggles of ashy woodswallows on power lines. Just ahead of Mahabalipuram, there are villages where one can make this association between palm trees and ashy woodswallow. As ashy woodswallows have now receded far from urban spaces, and farther still from our collective consciousness, one can take kindly to gaps in the overall understanding of their behaviour.
However, in decades past, when the species was hardly a will o’ the wisp, and put up live shows in residential localities, an erroneous assumption about its behaviour persisted, In retrospect, it looks indefensible.
It was largely believed that ashy woodswallow stuck to their towers and never descended to terra firma. Beyond casual conversations, the assumption was found validated even in some field guides.
Seeking to tackle this erroneous notion, Santharam wrote about in the edition of Newsletter for Birdwatchers that saw the light in January 1981. “I have seen this species on the ground on many occasions. The first such occasion was on 23.3.79 when a pair of these birds were pulling out some tufts of grass probably to line the nest at the open meadow of Adyar Estuary. One bird having collected a beakful of material headed towards some palm trees. The other bird remained on the ground for sometime and then flew in another direction,” Santharam penned his observations.
“On another occasion, I was observing a finchlark nest that had two chicks in June 80. An ashy swallow-shrike alighted on the ground a few yards away. On seeing the bird near their nest, the agitated parents, especially the female vigorously attacked the intruder and forced it to move away.”
Santharam ends his note by explaining what necessitated it.
“While the Handbook (Vol. 5) says that this species has “not been recorded actually on the ground, but may do so.....”, Whistler in the ‘Popular Handbook of Indian Birds’ asserts that this species never visits the ground. It was interesting to note that the nesting materials include fine grass, roots, fibres and feathers.”
Forty years on, Santharam has this to say: “Apart from the rare occasions when it comes down to take out the grass, this bird has no need to come down. It catches insects in flight, and sits on wires and poles. That is the reason why it (the bird’s rare descent to terra firma) was probably not reported. Or people thought it was not significant. Because both these people had mentioned specifically that it is not seen on the ground, when I saw it happen, I wanted to report it.” From past literature about this species, it is staggering to note that the species’ relationship with terra firma has a matter of deep speculation.
In 1951, the celebrated naturalist Charles McFarlane Inglis — who associated with the Zoological Society of London and the Royal Entomological Society in the forms in which they existed then — wrote a note about the ashy woodswallow to The Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society, and it got published.
At that time, Inglis was staying at Kenilworth in Coonoor, and he was calling attention to a discovery about the species he had made some years ago.
“Although I have no evidence of this swallow-shrike actually settling on the ground, I have proof of the nearest thing to it,” writes Inglis and goes on to present photographic evidence of an ashy swallow-shrike helping itself to a bird bath, which it shared it with a grey-headed myna. Inglish was “staying with my friend, the late H.V.O’ Donel, on the Huldibari Tea Estate in the Duars” when both made the discovery.
As Donel had a camera at hand, the rare event of an ashy woodswallow setting claws on object just inches above terra firma could be recorded for posterity.
(Uncommon Residents is about the resident birds of Chennai and surrounding areas that are rarely seen)