When I first came to Nagpur last July, at the beginning of the second of two poor monsoons that followed the village's move, my colleagues Rucha Ghate & Mukund Kulkarni of SHODH, a small research NGO, were very concerned about the new village, which had been named Kolzari. They had heard that many of the people in Kolzari were close to starvation. A small group of villagers decided to return to their old village - although the government had bulldozed the village after their departure, at least there they could take advantage of their old irrigation facilities to grow some crops and collect forest produce so they wouldn't starve. The villagers were promptly arrested. After I returned to the US, Rucha & Mukund drove down to Chandrapur to visit the jailed visitors and talk to village leaders.
Traffic Jam on road to Kolzari - about four hours drive south of Nagpur.
Rucha & Mukund had first met the villagers of Botezari in the late 1990s when they had conducted a survey of forest dependence among the six villages inside of the Tiger Reserve. The Tadoba-Andhari Tiger Reserve was expanded in the 1990s to an area of about 650 sq km - or 150,000 acres, and in the process, swallowed six new villages (two other villages were relocated out of the older park boundaries in the 1970s). This includes some of the best quality dry tropical forest (and tiger habitat) in central India - it is home to roughly 50 tigers, as well as many other wild animals - leopards, sloth bears, langurs, several species of deer and antelope, hundreds of bird species, etc. To get a sense of the kind of forest, you might re-read Rudyard Kipling's Jungle Book, which is said to have been set in one of the forest areas a little to the north of here. Although they expected to find that the villagers were poor and living harmoniously with the forest, the picture that appeared from the research was more complex. Although the villagers were poor, they were able to harvest many things from the forest which greatly supplemented their income from working for the Forest Department and the rice they grew in their paddies. Much of what they harvested was done illegally (basically no extractive uses are legal inside protected areas). They were not necessarily harvesting things "sustainably," although subsequent research showed that the villages on the periphery of the forest outside of the reserve - which had access to good roads and markets - were having a much greater impact on the forest than the interior villages, which had difficulty transporting the goods they harvested.
In addition to their research findings, Rucha, Mukund, and colleagues discovered that the people of Tadoba were warm and friendly. Spending a few weeks in each of the villages, they made many friendships. They found the people of Botezari particularly welcoming. Over succeeding years, they continued to return to the area to conduct research, and also to provide a little help to the people. One summer they organized a set of summer camps for the children living in the reserve - they brought down art teachers and other experts from Nagpur - some of the childrens' watercolor paintings won national recognition. Rucha also organized her friends in Nagpur to provide new clothes to some of the women of Botezari.
The issue of relocating villagers from national parks, in India and elsewhere, is fraught with controversy. Are these relocations just? Is it right to privilege tiger conservation over the rights of the traditional inhabitants of an area? How would you feel if you were told that you were being kicked out of your home to make way for the conservation of an animal? We might hope at least that appropriate compensation would be given, but it is all too common for the inhabitants of wildlife sanctuaries in developing countries to be given minimal compensation for their lost land - to become, as it were, ecological refugees. The story isn't so different from the removals of native peoples that happened in the US to make way for farming, mining, and other developments in the 19th century.
Do relocations serve the purpose of conservation? There are certainly studies showing that inhabitants of wildlife sanctuaries harm the cause of wildlife protection, and that wildlife populations improve after relocation, but there are also studies showing, for example, that the farming activities of sanctuary inhabitants improve the habitat for the protected species. There are cases where wildlife populations have declined following removals. There are also cases where the removals have had little impact because the real threat to wildlife came not from the poor villagers living in the park but from the well armed poachers or loggers or miners living outside, and venturing in to steal resources. In these cases, park residents may in fact provide protection for the wildlife by serving as monitors and wardens. Given that people have been living alongside wildlife for tens of thousands of years, it ought not to be surprising that some wildlife are adapted to live alongside some kinds of farming practices. But both the number and intensity of these practices has changed dramatically, particularly in the last 100 years, and it should also not be surprising that removals can have positive impact. Given the deep moral questions that removal policies raise, I would like to at least know that when they occur they are based on sound, in-depth studies exploring the likely ecological and social implications, and making sure that (a) the removals are actually likely to have a positive impact on wildlife protection, and (b) the needs of the oustees are carefully considered.
I don't know if either of these analyses were conducted in Tadoba. It has been documented, however, that the villagers of Botezari left voluntarily. They may have felt they had little choice in the matter - by law, all of the 6 villages in the reserve are to be relocated. Since the designation of the reserve, their means of livelihood have become illegal, and their villages have been unable to receive improved services - the government will not build roads, schools, or health centers in villages slated to be relocated, even if the relocations are not scheduled. Even without these restrictions, their village was remote, isolated, poor, and subject to alot of disturbance by wild animals (no one wants their cattle eaten by tigers). Thus, they may have hoped that by leaving, they could find a better place to live. Some of the landless villagers may have been tempted by a promise of land in the new village. There also appears to have been some complicated (and possibly not very appropriate) last minute pressure by local officials on the village to move.
Back to the present, or rather to last August, when Rucha & Mukund were driving back to Nagpur after visiting the disheartened villagers. The new village had not realized their hopes. They were even poorer and hungrier than they'd been before, and if they went back to their old village, they would be thrown in jail. Rucha & Mukund felt terrible for their friends. After decades of working and writing on tribal issues (Rucha is an academic economist, Mukund a journalist with a PhD in history), they felt like their work still had not had the positive impact they wanted to see. Perhaps it was time to do something different - more hands on - more direct.
Another visit to the village, and they found that a group of young men had started a youth club. They had the will and inclination to do something about the village's plight, but largely lacked the means to get started.
Young village leaders meeting with Rucha & Mukund
1 year and 52 visits later, and much is going on in the village. Although the Forest Department had cleared 500 Ha of land for the new village, not all of it had been given away. They agreed to loan 8 Ha to the new collaboration between Rucha & Mukund's NGO, Shodh, and the organization they helped set up in the village. The landscape is a strange one.
On one side of the road is the rough open forest that is the result of heavy human use of the land for grazing, firewood, bamboo poles, and other non-timber forest products. On the other side is a big clearing that looks like a shelterwood clearcut - the only trees the forest department left are the big Mahua trees which produce valuable flowers and fruit. Except for the project's land, no crops are being cultivated (remember the problem with irrigation and tillage?), and so the land is a mixture of grass and little shrubby trees (many of the forest trees here will resprout vigorously from their stumps).
Then there is the project land. A big piece of it is in rice - rice is the dominant crop of the region, grown during the four month monsoon when abundant rains make its cultivation possible. Few areas have sufficient water to grow any crops during the long hot dry season - for four months the daytime temperature rarely drops below 40 C (about 105 F), and regularly tops 47 - close to 120 F, and nighttime lows are hot enough to be a hot summer day in New England. I'm a farmer, but I find this ecosystem puzzling. Can you really grow crops in standing water? and I know about tough perennials, but what kinds of trees can survive months of such scorching?
They have built a large tank - in part to store water, but in part to raise fish. In the picture, Bhaskar and Mukesh, two of the key leaders of the group, are releasing the fish we brought from the government hatchery into the tank. By March, when we plan to harvest them, they may weigh 4 pounds, but now they are just tiny little fry, 1 thousand in each little garbage bag.
Then there are 100 half-grown Emus! The goal of the project is not, in fact, to start a collective farm, although that is the work that is being done now, but rather to use the demonstration farm as a base for helping the members of the village become financially independent. Rucha told me that in 10 years, she'd like to see at least half of the households in the village earning 10000 rupees per month - that is about $200. It doesn't sound like much, but right now the villagers are working for the project at the rate of 80 rupees (less than $2) per day or 2000 (about $40) per month. And those wages are good relative to what they could get working as agricultural labor in neighboring villages. The shoes I was wearing - American running shoes - would cost these people 2 months of wages. The emus, it is hoped, will become one of the bases of financial independence for the villagers - a few pairs of emus for each family will produce a regular income in eggs, which fetch a good price in Nagpur. The farm will serve as a hatchery, perhaps eventually selling emus to other neighboring villages. It is a business model that has yet to be tested, but Rucha and Mukund seem optimistic that they can make it work. They are also working on developing a poultry operation, but during the summer heat, the poultry they had did not do well, and they sold them. I suggested developing a design for pastured poultry to be combined with vegetable production, and all seemed eager to try it out.
There are various plots of vegetables and grains - here you can see corn in the foreground, okra in the background, and then the traditional mud hut which serves as a kitchen, the covered enclosure which is the dining/meeting area, and the under construction house, which will eventually serve as an office and a place for guests (i.e. people who don't live in the village a kilometer away) to stay in. They had had a second mud hut serving this purpose, but it collapsed at the start of the rains, and so they decided to build something more permanent - this is a normal looking small Indian house, but constructed with hollow bricks which have similar cooling properties to the traditional mud homes during the hot summer. I have heard that there are designs for traditional mud huts that are more sturdy and permanent like brick, but do not know where they can be found. They have sunk several borewells which, thanks probably to the abundant surrounding forest, have plentiful water even in the heat of May, and can be used to irrigate the vegetables. The cost of sinking borewells and getting a transformer to convert powerline current for pumps is prohibitve for local people - hundreds of thousands of rupees. With government subsidies, it has proved just as cheap to install a combined wind/solar system for pumping and general electric as to connect to the electric lines, which are anyway quite unreliable.
Many areas, including the sides of paths and the bunds around the irrigation tank, are planted with toovar - also known as pigeon pea - one of my favorite dals. As you can see, weeding is done laboriously with short-handled tools and bent backs. I would love to get a design for a long-handled hula hoe or other long handled weeding tool that could be fabricated locally (they have plenty of long bamboos here that make strong handles).
As some of you know, I'm rather obsessed with growing vegetables. The first seedling is called "palak" as in palak paneer. This is always translated as spinach, but I've never seen spinach growing in temperatures this high (in my experience, there is no variety of spinach that will stand more than a week at temperatures above 80 F without bolting).
I think this looks exactly like a swiss chard seedling, which confirms the impression I've had in marketplaces, that palak is actually and not spinach, or else is a more general term for green vegetables than commonly imagined.
This is purslane, a common garden weed back home. This upright version is obviously a cultivar - in my garden it creeps along the ground, forming a mat rarely more than an inch or two high. The Gond villagers said that they do not eat this, but Rucha claims that she buys it in the markets in Nagpur.
We planted some trees - some for fruit, and some that are sacred trees.
For digging planting holes, mixing concrete, moving construction debris, leveling land, and clearing weeds, they use the same tool - a heavy a broad hoe with a short handle. It is a very practical tool, and I wish I could find one in the US.
One of the laborers was a very tiny woman - I come from a family of small people, but I don't think I've ever met such a short adult. 
In the picture, she is standing while another woman stoops over washing dishes. Rucha told me that when they had started the project, in addition to the three men I saw taking leadership roles, there was a fourth man - her husband. He was also tiny - even smaller than her, and couldn't do heavy labor, but was still a big contributor to the farm. They had a seven year old son. A few months ago, he fell sick. At Rucha's urging (and funding) they took him to a doctor, who prescribed antiobiotics, but his condition did not improve. He was taken to a hospital, then transferred to a bigger hospital in Chandrapur, where they were told he needed a blood transfusion in order to stay alive. The cost (rs. 600 - about $13) was prohibitive, and no one could afford to stay with him in Chandrapur (public hospitals in India do not have much in the way of nursing care - relatives have to provide food and care for and clean the sick). They took him home, and a few days later, he died. Rucha told me that she had asked the woman why she hadn't sought help to pay the hospital bill. The women replied that the hospital would have been of no use. Her husband died because he was possessed by devils.
One of the many reasons I have chosen to work in India at this stage of my life is that on previous visits I was moved to try to do something to help people who are less privileged than I. Of course there are many ways to do this. Working as a teacher at Indiana University, I have tried to raise the awareness of my students about linkages between poverty and the environment, and about some of the things they can do to help. My research also aims to help develop ideas about how policies can be improved. But the linkages here are weak and indirect. Policy research rarely has direct impacts on policy-making - although in the long-run it can result in significant changes in the ways that people think which can have very positive impacts. Raising the awareness of 60 IU undergrads felt good - but what will the impact of that be? I've always wanted to complement this work with more direct involvement in helping people. In the past I've donated money to a wonderful school in Sarnath (a suburb of Varanasi and the site where the Buddha gave his first sermon) which serves children who otherwise would probably not have an opportunity to go to school. But I've also wanted to do something more directly connected to my environmental interests.
The Kolzari Project fits my vision. It is a project that is designed to help people who are deeply disenfranchised and impoverished - but who also have potential. All of the villagers now own land, even if they don't have the means to cultivate it. And the villagers I interacted with were strikingly intelligent and eager to improve their situation. There was no lack of motivation here.
Bhaskar, the treasurer of the youth group, and his wife.
Rucha & Mukund are not development professionals, and have not run a project like this before. They have known these villagers for years, respect them, and are eager to learn alongside of the villagers. They seem to share my belief that improvement in the lives of the poor need not follow a prescribed pattern, and that the role of aid-givers should be to facilitate the development of independent minds and incomes. They worry that it will be difficult to gain the trust of people who have been betrayed so often in the past - a genuine concern - but it seems that at least some of the villagers have taken ownership of the project. The project is also highly uncoercive - unlike many development interventions, those who wish to participate can, but those who wish to go their own way are largely unaffected. Finally, there is a clear ecological consciousness at work.
The help that I can give the Kolzari project is in some ways limited. I cannot, for example, give much practical advice about how to start a successful agricultural enterprise - I might be able to provide a little of this in the northeastern US, where I know many successful and not-so successful farmers, and where I am familiar with the strains the climate puts on agriculture. But here I am out of my element. Although I can spend a day working alongside these people, perhaps helping them see that even a white-skinned sahib thinks that agricultural labor is (or ought to be) a dignified profession, there is no scarcity of strong & skillful hands here, eager to work for a pittance, and the contribution of my labor itself is negligible.
I can, perhaps, help bring some technical expertise to the project, and almost certainly I can help raise some money. We don't know exactly how much it will cost to develop this project so that it can achieve its goals over the next 5-10 years - perhaps half a million dollars will be needed. Rucha & Mukund have successfully raised a decent amount of money from local sources, but I know that there is much more money in the US than in India. I'm trying to think about organizations that might be interested in funding a project like this - and would appreciate ideas.
Monsoon sunset with rainbow, seen from Kolzari, August 11, 2010
