Books

PEOPLE, PARKS AND WILDLIFE: Towards Coexistence by Vasant Saberwal, Mahesh Rangarajan and Ashish Kothari. Orient Longman, New Delhi, 2001.

IN a recent panel discussion on BBC, the country’s foremost conservationist and high-visibility wildlife crusader, Valmik Thapar held forth passionately on the need to constitute a separate federal ministry in charge of protecting India’s wildlife, with enough money and guns to detract the most diabolical of designs on India’s biological wealth. The book being reviewed, in striking contrast, acknowledges the crisis facing conservation in India but argues for exactly the opposite.

People, Parks and Wildlife deals with the issue of conservation in its historical, scientific, socio-economic and political dimensions. Indeed, the scope of the book’s argument is civilizational – how do we, as a civilization, propose to conserve our natural heritage for posterity? The authors plead for a move away from conflicting dualities and clashing worldviews, towards a synthesis of political realities and scientific incertitude. They make an argument for letting the people in, opening the business of conservation to local communities, and dismantling the traditional monopolies of scientists and the exclusive urban conservation community.

Without dishing out philosophical jargon, the case for an alternative conservation paradigm is laid out, calling for an avoidance of dogmas and biases on which the prevailing paradigm is based. In a refreshing and innovative strategy, the three authors claim authorship of individual chapters while retaining joint ownership of the overall argument.

The current paradigm of conservation springs from the credence that all human activities are inimical to conservation, concluding logically in the ideal of ‘wilderness’, or nature sans humans. This ideal has resulted in the institutionalization of an exclusionary system in the form of national parks and wildlife sanctuaries from which all human presence is sought to be removed, if necessary by force. The book begins with Mahesh Rangarajan digging at the roots of the biases inherent in this exclusionary logic. Locating the debate in the feudal and colonial origins of the ideology and practice of exclusion, the first few chapters trace the evolution of conservation awareness among the Indian elite through the last century and a half, culminating in the ecological dictatorship of Indira Gandhi in the ’70s. In a riveting discussion on hunting, the specious construction of the sovereign as conservationist and the subaltern as the nihilist in the colonial period and its consolidation in the post-colonial period is laid bare.

In the next chapter, Vasant Saberwal takes on the science that is routinely paraded in justification of exclusion of humans from conservation areas. He explodes the myth of ‘wilderness’ and demonstrates the invalidity of the ideal, arguing that human agency has been instrumental in shaping landscapes that today might seem ‘pristine’. Using examples from the Amazon, Africa, North America and the Himalaya and arguments from archaeology, ecology and conservation biology, the chapter outlines the historical role of fire, grazing and indigenous farming systems in shaping, altering, and maintaining the biological profiles of entire regions. Repudiating the notion that all human interaction with the natural world is necessarily destructive, Saberwal provides compelling evidence to the contrary, contending that some human use, under certain conditions, is actually beneficial to overall biological diversity.

Turning their attention to the politics of conservation in the next chapter, Vasant Saberwal and Ashish Kothari delineate the human costs of the practice of exclusion in India. The chapter presents evidence of the miseries brought upon rural population due to restrictions in national parks and sanctuaries and of the consequent loss of support for conservation agendas among local communities. The costs of such alienation, argue the authors, are being paid in terms of encroachment of development interests such as power projects and mining into protected areas and active collusion of local communities in poaching. Further that the hostility of local communities invariably results in political reticence in enforcing exclusion in all but the most high-profile protected areas.

Somewhere between the lines lies the argument that this haphazard implementation, while alienating local communities, still fails in its objective of ‘preservation’. The apparent contradiction, between the inability to implement exclusion in all but the most high-profile areas and the simultaneously rising human costs in all conservation areas, is never clearly resolved in the book. However, the state’s response to growing criticism of the policy of exclusion and its inefficacy, in the form of the ‘ecodevelopment project’, though accepted by the authors in principle is severely criticized for the glaring aberrations in its practice, pronouncing it ‘inadequate’ to the task. A ‘drastic reorientation’ is what is called for.

The final chapter lays out the alternative paradigm. Building on the ecological premise that all human interaction is not bad for nature, and on the political wisdom that local communities would be the best allies in any conservation programme, the authors plead for setting up institutional structures at the local level that ensure tenurial security to resident peoples and provide for an effective flow of benefits from conservation, such as tourism revenues, to local communities.

Moving on to a higher level, the book proposes an expansion of the focus of conservation from protected areas to the level of the landscape. Arguing that the protected area network in India, comprising of less than 5% of the landmass, is grossly ‘insufficient to support viable population of most large mammals, there is a need either to increase this network, a politically unlikely event, or to expand the current conservation focus beyond the existing network to include areas used by humans.’ To this end, the appendix to the book lists several categories that could be added to the ones currently used, bringing a larger area under the conservation umbrella without the hitherto concomitant exclusion of humans.

The book appears to be a voice of sanity in the prevailing cacophony of claims and counterclaims, charges and countercharges. It also raises the debate beyond a discussion on the number of tigers left in the wild or the number of guns required to catch poachers. Most importantly, it brings the silent majority into the equation and assigns them a stellar role in the alternative scheme of things. This call for reason, it is important to emphasize, is sedate and erudite, eschewing an apportionment of blame or guilt. It is as welcome a development in the Great Indian Conservation Debate as it is unusual.

A few loose ends, nevertheless, remain. The authors insist that ‘conservation practice is... a profoundly political process’ as it ‘necessarily entails the imposition of regulations over access to certain resources, with specific people or institutions attempting to define who has access to which resources, and on what terms’ (emphasis added). While the book puts a face on the people who are affected by this ‘imposition of regulations’ and also caricatures the divisions within the state that is not as effective in imposing those as our ‘specific people and institutions’ would want it to be, there is no attempt to explain who these ‘specific people’ are.

Several times in the course of the arguments, references are made to ‘exclusionary conservationists’, ‘Indian Forest Service and most wildlife conservation groups’, ‘urban conservationists’ and ‘urban middle class and conservation community’. If this group is so powerful as to decide and direct the overall strategy of conservation then it needs a face. If the book is an attempt at dialogue with this group, this lack of clarity is a handicap. One gets the sneaking suspicion that this group is sinister and powerful from the defensive posture of the authors. Every few pages, the book asserts the authors’ fear that the mainstream conservationists will interpret their arguments to mean unrestricted access to the protected areas leading to disaster. Every few pages, we (and presumably ‘they’) are assured that the converse is true; ‘We are not arguing that any and all land usage is compatible with maintaining biological diversity’ (emphasis in original). The constant repetition of the disclaimer, possibly for the cynical, is puzzling in the light of the excellent arguments otherwise presented.

The book takes apart the central exclusionary logic of Indian conservation with great skill and fervour. However, in doing so, it focuses exclusively on only one aspect of conservation practice. The exclusionary logic also extends to debarring the presumably disinterested citizenry, both urban and rural, from a say in decisions. The tradition whereby the community of scientists and urban wildlife enthusiasts, the ‘they’ in the equation, has usurped the high moral ground vis-a-vis conservation wisdom needs to be challenged and rolled back. In addition to expanding the scope of conservation from a few protected areas to the entire landscape, the alternative paradigm should also aim at inculcating a conservation ethic in the citizens. If, as a democracy and as a civilization, we have to dwell on the best way of conserving our natural heritage, we need to be informed and educated in the nuances of the problematique first, hopefully as children. But, for starters, this book is an excellent first step.

Ashwini Chhatre

 

THE OXFORD ANTHOLOGY OF INDIAN WILDLIFE: Hunting and Shooting (volume I); Watching and Conserving (volume II) edited by Mahesh Rangarajan. Oxford University Press, Delhi 1999.

THE jungles of India have for decades attracted hunters and naturalists alike, who have indulged in the sport of hunting and many who, over a period of time, have so grown to love the jungles and its denizens that they have turned avid conservationists. In the two volume Anthology of Indian Wildlife the editor, Mahesh Rangarajan, has attempted to present a brief history of India’s wildlife by a careful selection of writings which spans over a century and half.

The Indian subcontinent is home to an amazing array of animals, birds, and plants in its forests, mountains, rivers and oceans. The number of plant species in India is estimated to be over 45,000 representing about 7% of the world’s flora. The country’s faunal wealth is equally diverse. With over 81,000 species it represents about 6.4% of the world’s fauna. However, we are losing this biological wealth at an alarming rate. In the last century we have lost some key species and several unknowns have disappeared even before discovery. The last authentic record of the Cheetah in India is from 1948 when the Maharaja of Korwai (in Bastar, Chhatisgarh) shot three juvenile males for sport one night in the glare of the headlights of his car. It has been officially declared extinct since. The pink-headed duck which once inhabited the swampy grasslands and forests of east and north-east India was last seen in 1935 in Bihar.

India, with its abundant wildlife held fascination for all who ruled this country and hunting game was popular with princes, landowners and other gentry alike. Hunting was pursued by many because the Indian mystique lay hidden in the country’s jungles. For others it was a source of entertainment. And for some a good pawn to be used in the game of diplomacy. The Nawab of Junagadh made the hunting of the lion an exclusive sport meant for only a ‘chosen’ few. Elephants were meant to be captured alive because they were used in warfare. This involved a totally different set of skills.

With the advent of the British Raj, hunting for sport gained more popularity. From the historical point of view, this era heralded the death toll for India’s wildlife. The meaningless slaughter for the mere thrill of it leaves one aghast. An account of a duck shoot gives a grand total of 3511 birds being killed in one day! The stone writings in the Keoladeo Ghana National Park in Bharatpur are mute testimony to this slaughter even today.

But there is more to this anthology than just hunting feats. The writings open a window to the vast and diverse Indian landscape, deliberately chosen to cover the wide expanse of the country. They also reflect what existed and what has been lost. The quality and even the type of habitat has changed or been altered over an expanse of time. G.C. Mundy in writing of the 1820s talks about a lion shoot in Haryana. He describes the area as, ‘one vast sheet of wild jungle, abounding in game’ – a scene hard to imagine in the present state of Haryana. Frank Simson describes how he hunted the two rhinoceros species in West Bengal. The Javan rhino that he shot in the Sunderbans now survives in only two places – a reserve in Vietnam and a national park in Indonesia. The larger Indian rhinoceros, though in a narrower range, is still found in eastern and north-eastern India.

In the days when travel was mainly by horseback, hunting meant journeying over a wide expanse of area over a long period of time. The anthology presents anecdotes, some thrilling and others disgustingly bloodthirsty, and by doing so, brings to the fore, the infinite knowledge and love these people had for the quarry and its surroundings. It is this love and intimate knowledge of wildlife that brought the realisation of how much had been lost and ultimately a change in attitude. A true sense of the loss is best captured by A.J.T. Johnsingh and G.S. Rawat who follow the route Jim Corbett took when trailing a particular man-eater in 1938. A sad account where the authors find that the glory of the land is all but lost in a span of 45 years.

The fall of the British Raj in India heralded a new era in the history of wildlife. However, some effects of the Raj still lingered and hunting was prevalent until the 1960s. In fact it probably accelerated with the newly found ‘freedom’ of the country. The advent of automobiles, long range rifles and other implements of ‘modern civilisation’ helped to further hasten the decline of India’s wildlife. The turning point was the formation of the Wildlife (Protection) Act of 1972. There was now a law which dictated what could and could not be hunted. The law was also a landmark because it designated areas that were to be kept aside for the conservation of wildlife. Protected areas in the form of national parks and sanctuaries were designated under this Act. Attitudes were also gradually changing. Conservation was replacing slaughter. The excerpt from Jim Corbett’s ‘The Man-eating Leopard of Rudraprayag’ where he prefers to watch the beautiful Kashmir stag or Hangul, instead of shooting it, is an indicator of a change in attitude. The pursuit of the quarry remained the same, the thrill and excitement the same, but the end result was different. Instead of a trophy, people came back with detailed accounts of wildlife observed or spectacular photographs.

The conservation ethic brought to the fore the need for good research. R. Sukumar’s meticulous documentation of the family life of wild elephants gives a flavour of the rigour and concentration required for good field research. The concept of ‘nature’ itself changed to incorporate smaller and less conspicuous species providing an interesting transition from wildlife to the concept of biodiversity.

Wildlife enthusiasts were beginning to write about animals other than just tigers and elephants. Zai Whitaker’s description of the nesting of Olive Ridley turtles provides as much excitement as a tiger hunt. Wildlife conservation had by now become a hobby; a passion for some. Animal and bird watching replaced hunting. Bird watching was of course a hobby pursued even by the British who helped perpetuate this by maintaining meticulous documentation. One of the earliest documentation on the birds of Delhi was by a British officer, Major General Hutson and published in 1854. This kind of documentation brought focus on urban areas and encouraged people to appreciate faunal wealth in urban areas. Delhi perhaps has been more fortunate than other cities. Usha Ganguly published another book titled A Guide to the Birds of Delhi Area in 1954.

The editor’s selection of writings, however, do not reflect the present scenario of Indian wildlife. Wildlife in India is at present in a crisis situation. The reasons for this are different than they were a century ago. The population of the country has grown manifold and with this, so also have the needs and aspirations of people. Along with this are the increasing commercial interests that perhaps pose the biggest threat that wildlife faces in the country.

Commercial monoculture plantations of eucalyptus, wattle, silver oak and teak for timber and pulpwood have severely fragmented the forests and affected animal populations like elephants. Exotica introduced for ornamental and other reasons have taken over, pushing away native species in many areas. The commercial demand for many animal products has encouraged poaching and led to the decline of the animal. Protected areas where wildlife has been relatively safe for the last 40 years or so are also falling prey to these pressures. So great is the demand from the commercial sector that loopholes in the law are being sought to ‘denotify’ areas once considered sacrosanct for wildlife. The anthology fails to cover aspects of this crisis.

The bigger crisis is from the conflict between local communities and the authorities that are meant to protect wildlife. Local communities over the ages have got a raw deal. Several writings in the anthology indicate that the ‘native shikaris’ were considered reckless and the methods they employed in hunting cruel. It was ironic that these locals hunted for sheer existence while the aristocracy hunted for pleasure. Some of the authors have however acknowledged the locals for their skills and even used them. Corbett in one of his articles mentions the information system he had established through local people to get information about man-eaters. This was, however, not the universal opinion that was far more negative and neither has it changed over the years.

The general feeling towards the local communities is one of mistrust and suspicion. With the setting up of the Colonial Forest Department and the establishment of the Wildlife (Protection) Act in 1972, the local communities probably got the worst deal. Wildlife sanctuaries and national parks, established for the protection of wildlife, limited the local communities’ access to these areas that were their mainstay for fodder, fuelwood, food and medicines. Local people have been seen as intruders, poachers and destroyers of wildlife and biodiversity.

They have never been taken as partners in conservation. As the conflict heightens, alternatives involving communities in the management of natural resources are being tried. Several contemporary writings on this aspect are available and could have been introduced.

Another aspect of wildlife conservation in India, overlooked in this anthology, is the intricate relationship many communities have shared with wildlife over centuries. India has an equally rich cultural heritage with over 461 tribes, making it a country with the largest indigenous population. These tribes have been intricately linked to the biological wealth of the country mainly because they depend almost entirely on natural resources for their survival. Wildlife in India has deep cultural and religious significance. Communities in different parts of the country still protect wildlife species for their religious and cultural significance. Much has been written about the Bishnois in Rajasthan and their efforts in protecting the blackbuck. A sample of such writing would have added to the richness to this anthology.

In the final analysis it appears that Volume II of the anthology could perhaps have covered a lot more ground and sought more authors for a better understanding of contemporary wildlife issues. The concluding piece in Volume II suggests a focus on urban wildlife. A lot of interesting writing on this exists. Ranjit Lal for example, has written extensively about wildlife in the Delhi Ridge (a unique city forest). His writings have been a source of inspiration for many Delhi birdwatchers. Perhaps the editor was constrained by the fact that there is not so much published material available. One is not sure if this accounts for six pieces out of thirty by M. Krishnan! There are many such as Anwaruddin Chaudhary, D.K. Lahiri Chaudhary and Madhav Gadgil who could have contributed to contemporary wildlife issues. There is also a lot of available writing by relatively unknown authors that may have been accessed, particularly if the possibility of accepting unpublished material existed. Wildlife writing today has become compartmentalised into various factions such as research, popular readings, and people-oriented issues. There is clearly a need to put all these together in a systematic manner. A third volume of the anthology that focuses on contemporary wildlife issues could be thought of.

For someone who grew up in a transition world where hunters gave way to trained wildlife biologists, the inspiration to become a conservation specialist came from stories of yore written by naturalists like Jim Corbett and Salim Ali. This was a time when like-minded people nurtured and groomed the younger generation with similar interests. They made a special effort to take interested youngsters bird watching and relate stories from the wild. For most of us interested in the subject, people such as these, and books, were the sole source of inspiration. In the 21 century, where dreams are lived through ‘virtual reality’ and television, and even books are written in ‘bytes’, the two volume anthology comes as a breath of fresh air.

Seema Bhatt

 

LAND, POWER AND MARKET by Jacque Pouchpadass. Sage Publications, Delhi, 2000.

Jacque Pouchpadass (JP henceforth), research professor at the Centre Nationale des Researches Scientifique in Paris, is currently engaged in monitoring French researches in India. His tryst with India began in 1974 when he wrote his doctoral dissertation on the 1917-18 peasant movements in Champaran. Recently, he has published two books in English, Champaran and Gandhi (based on his dissertation) and Land, Power and Market (under review) – the latter an exercise in the political economy of Champaran through the analysis of the effect of market penetration into Champaran’s structured peasant society and on its power relationship during the colonial period.

In his introduction Pouchpadass has raised the question of the method of studying a structured peasant society based on institutions of caste and religious ideas, now interacting with institutions fashioned out of western liberalism and individualism. Towards this end he has placed his trust in the Annales school of historical anthropology, as the framework includes the totality of human experience, including the mentalities and worldview.

In most societies, he argues, it is not possible to dissociate economic relationships from social and power relationships. The Brahmin tenants of Champaran, for example, received concessional treatment in rent fixation as compared to other castes. Then there is the semantic gap in the discourses of colonial records and the local relationships. The peasants do not keep records. The colonialists treat peasants primarily as tax/revenue payers and write about them and their condition, which is recorded. In such a situation, the historian is faced with the task of getting into the mentalities of those record-keepers. The Annales school, JP claims, helps him to do this. He has, however, also drawn liberally from the analytical concepts of Polanyi and Dumont, both of whom in turn drew from Marx and Weber.

Through an excellent marshalling of archival materials, he has shown that in the initial decades of the 20th century the crop production of Champaran declined. But neither were any new investments nor technological innovations forthcoming (Ch. 1 to 6), since the peasants were unwilling to take any initiative. The effort by the colonial state to introduce perennial canal irrigation was partial and pitifully inadequate. One is reminded here of the stories about the dominant farmers of 17th and 18th century Europe who were induced towards technological innovation in their farm land by market expansion, increasing industrial and urban development, and by successfully restraining feudal control.

None of this happened in Champaran though, as is well recorded in this book. Under such a situation the food crop market that developed in Champaran benefited mainly the dominant landholders while the subalterns suffered. Further, the rich had other sources of income from rent, credit, and so on. The income from crop selling constituted a small percentage of their total income, which made them all the more indifferent to efficient agricultural production. The external non-food crop market, comprising of indigo and opium, was controlled by colonialist planters, patronised by the state and earned enormous profits which was siphoned out of the region.

Development of the land as well as the credit and labour market – all interlinked – that took place was deeply influenced by the political and social power relations as well as caste and religious relations (Ch. 7 to 13). The colonialists undertook some initial reform work for these infrastructure developments, but hesitatingly and by compromising with local customs and power structures, thereby introducing immense complexities and interrelated layers of power relations into the system. All these certainly affected the markets in Champaran as elsewhere, benefiting the rural gentry. In the concluding chapter, JP adduces that this gentry included a large percentage of backward castes who were more conscious about their caste and less concerned about their role as patrons for the poorer labouring classes unlike their upper caste landholding brethren. This possibly explains the current bitter caste divide in Bihar.

The bibliography is a researcher’s delight, more so since it contains many references to literary sources. These sources, however, have not been accorded centre-stage in his analysis. One is reminded in this respect of the achievements of subaltern historiography (without joining their ranks) in using such sources for unravelling the mysteries of peasant mentalities. This small disappointment, however, does not take away the enormous contribution of this work in the historiography of colonial India, still relatively under-researched compared to the ancient and modern periods.

Hrinmay Dhar

 

The Unorganized Sector: Work Security and Social Protection edited by Renana Jhabvala and R.K.A. Subrahmanya. Sage Publications, Delhi, 2000.

THE concerns that led to the writing of this book are spelt out in a forceful preface by Ela Bhatt, the founder of SEWA. Social protection is not available to the poor. The reason for linking work and social protection lies in the observation that ‘poor women all work ...for them the security of work is synonymous with security of life.’ Moreover, that the situation has worsened with liberalization, so that the growth process is not generating answers to the security needs of the poor.

The concept of ‘social security’ is one that originated in the West and in the context of economies in which ‘the core of income and welfare is assured through regular participation in work and production, leaving only specific contingencies which need to be tackled through public policy’ (Rodgers 1999: 1). In developing countries, however, few persons are fortunate enough to have regular and reasonable earnings. The weak link between social security and economic growth is due to structural factors such as uneven distribution of assets, income and employment (Prabhu and Iyer 1999). In exploring questions relating to social security, we rapidly come up against fundamental questions on the nature of society. Mihir Bhatt, in a chapter on ‘Integrating disaster mitigation and social security’ suggests that ‘disasters or conflicts are opportunities for social transformation through the victim’s social security.’

In the wake of the Gujarat earthquake, with its unprecedented toll in loss of life and livelihood, these are particularly pertinent questions; to recognize the vulnerability of a large proportion of our people even in normal times is itself sobering. Conceptually, there are several terms used when talking of social security: social protection, social insurance, social safety nets, social assistance, to name a few. Social insurance generally refers to systems in which workers make contributions; social assistance and safety nets are likely to be non-contributory (Lund and Srinivas 2000). Different plans and programmes for providing security have different mechanisms of financing and of giving entitlement.

The perspective through which this book has been written is to record experience and experiments in social security, not theorize about it. The existing policy framework, strategies and emerging trends are discussed in the first few chapters by Renana Jhabvala and/or R.K.A. Subrahmanya. These narrations lead to a number of issues that need to be the subject of public debate. First, the traditional notions of liability and responsibility are difficult to transfer to workers in the unorganized sector, which is 90% of all workers. Among other reasons, there is generally no clear ‘employer’ in this sector. Does this absolve the ‘employer class’ of responsibility? Should their contributions be taken through general taxation? Should the liability be sectoral, using the mechanism of cess collection on an industry’s products – as in the case of the Beedi Workers Welfare Fund? Should entitlements be linked to work, or to vulnerability?

The book reviews in simple and clear language a number of different experiments that have been initiated all over the country, including the welfare funds which are discussed in an interesting chapter by R.K.A Subrahmanya who cautions that in the Indian context, tax based schemes may be better than contributory ones. If these funds are developed sector by sector, the result is heavy overheads; some way of integrating schemes needs to be developed.

Health insurance schemes have been developed for the poor unorganized sector. The SEWA experience is described by Mirai Chatterjee and Jayshree Vyas, and the Sewagram experience by U.N. Jajoo. The financial aspect of security is only part of the picture. The other part is the actual availability of health/schooling/care infrastructure. The SEWA (Rural Team) have been able to tackle this problem by giving local recruits short, intensive training. They observe, ‘This policy was found to be far more effective than recruiting city bred technicians.’

Mina Swaminathan argues that there should be a comprehensive ‘maternity and child care policy’. Presumably, however, different women have different needs, and the actual operationalization of such a policy would take different forms in different places. One attempt to provide child care to construction workers is profiled in the chapter by Brinda Singh on Mobile Creches.

Other groups in need of attention include widows. As Marty Chen points out, widows are often young women whose needs may be better met through access to jobs and child care than through widow pensions. Moreover, as she says, ‘Both the fact that so many widows have to manage on their own and the fact that the maintenance of widows who live as dependants with others is conditional on their perceived contribution to the household reflect inherent weaknesses in the traditional family and community based form of social security.’ The same could be said of the elderly, whose special problems are discussed by R.K.A. Subrahmanya. However, the difficult question of how far institutional care is to be recommended over family and community based care remains controversial as ever.

Although this book attempts simply to describe a range of experience with social security programmes, underlying this is a more fundamental concern which is articulated in the chapter on disaster management. In essence, tackling the question of social security for the poor requires that we tackle ‘existing relationships’ and ‘develop new institutional structures that will allow disadvantaged victim groups to reduce their vulnerability by social security.’ In very general terms, success in this direction will require decentralized efforts and accountability to users, a role for the state that is enabling rather than managerial, and a responsibility for financing that is distributed over all stake-holders, including some contribution from workers.

Finally, the book also suggests that we need systems that are ‘suitable to our culture, social ethos and economy.’ Perhaps the meaning of this last is that we need to look within ourselves for solutions that people have devised for themselves and build upon them, rather than trying to impose something based on ‘theory’.

In sum, then, the simplicity of this book, the directness of presentation, and the clarity of its exposition, stands in contrast to the complexity of the issues and the difficulty of emerging with any clear or simple call to action. But given the importance of the issues one can only hope that it will lead to sustained debate as well as concrete action.

Ratna M. Sudarshan

 

References

Gerry Rodgers. ‘Poverty, Exclusion and Insecurity: Issues and Policy Frameworks’ Paper presented at the seminar on Social Security in India, organized by Institute for Human Development and the Indian Society of Labour Economics, New Delhi, 15-17 April, 1999. Draft.

K. Seetha Prabhu and Sandhya V. Iyer. ‘Financing Social Security in India: A Human Development Perspective’. Paper presented at seminar on Social Security in India, organized by Institute for Human Development and the Indian Society of Labour Economics, New Delhi, 15-17 April, 1999.

Frances Lund and Smita Srinivas. Learning from Experience: A Gendered Approach to Social Protection for Workers in the Informal Economy. Geneva, International Labour Organization, 2000.

 

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES ON ENVIRONMENTAL ISSUES IN INDIA edited by George A. James. APH Publishing Corporation, New Delhi, 1999.

THE coverage of the book is wider than what its title suggests. It deals with environmental ethics in India’s religious traditions and modern philosophical thought, the history of their decline and perspectives of development. The author became interested in the subject because he found that despite the high values associated with nature in India these came to be neglected in recent centuries. His interest deepened when controversies started; thinkers like Ado Leopold, Lynn White and Roderick Nash pleading for abandonment of western ethics in favour of eastern, particularly Indian ethics, and the other camp led by John Passmore forcefully contending that Indian ethics exacerbated environmental crisis by its legitimisation of child marriage and moral injunctions to produce sons.

How could a country which allowed its citizens to starve in the streets or make a living by exhibiting their deformities, be credited with environmental ethics? The upholders of western thought felt that they had been able to establish a superior civilization by rejecting the view that nature is sacred, that humanity and nature are one, and that harming living things is intrinsically wrong. The latter group felt that eastern thoughts are deficient in rationality and have a propensity to focus on images rather than theories, on inimitable experiences rather than arguments, on metaphors rather than logically demonstrated truths; hence attempts to appropriate conceptual resources from Asian traditions were fraught with danger.

Both the schools of eastern and western thought shared the ‘we and they’ feeling. Thinkers like Callicott sought to replace this dichotomy and build a common ecological conscience by drawing on a multiplicity of traditions as well as the latter-day international scientific worldview. But here, too, Callicott faced problems. Hindu metaphysics has a propensity to regard the world as an illusion and its doctrine of karma fuels the urge to seek liberation from every kind of earthly bondage: how could these be then compatible with improving the environment? As against this, the Hindu view of transmigration of soul, which suggests that the soul of a human being might have came from the soul of an animal, implies an organic solidarity between human and animal life. Similarly Vedantic philosophical thought that all life is one implies reverence and care for all of nature.

Transcending all academic debates came India’s Chipko movement which was universally acknowledged as rooted in Gandhian principles and the foundational concepts of Hindu philosophy. If Hindu teachings were life-denying, how could these give rise to such a pioneering environmental movement? These queries led the editor to delve into India’s traditions and Indian problems. The book under review is the product.

After raising these central questions, the editor, however, preferred to place the papers relevant to these questions in the latter section of the book. Only Vandana Shiva’s paper, which rightly claims that the pioneering environmental movement got its inspiration from the feminine principle of forestry which is the core of Indian philosophical thought, finds its place in the earlier section. The need to include the reprints of earlier published works of some authors perhaps led to this oddity in arrangement.

The paper by O.P. Diwedi and B.N. Tiwari ‘Environmental Protection in the Hindu Religion’ provides a rich collection of quotations from the Rig Veda, Yajur Veda, Atharva Veda and a large number of Upanishads, Puranas and the epics to show that sanctity of life was embedded in Hindu tradition and that India’s source books do not assign man any higher value than to other species of creation; therefore, humans have no right to take liberty with other species. The quotes show that the Hindus contemplate divinity as the one in many and the many in one; hence, there is no conflict with either monotheism or polytheism. The conflict between dualism and non-dualism also gets resolved in the Hindu view which argues that the creator is one with have many manifestations or attributes.

The Hindu worship of different planets, animals and plants was intended to teach that the plants and stars, the sun and the moon were created by the same supreme reality who also made earth with its animals, birds, trees, flowers, rivers, mountains and men, and left them all to interact for further evolution. The doctrine of non-violence, the injunction against killing of animals for food, the use of plants in different religious functions, the regarding of every tree as the abode of some deity or the other, the concept of worshipping animals as ‘mounts’ of gods and goddesses, the celebration of vana mahotsavas were all intended to teach that the flora and fauna and the inanimate world have a protective role. Curiously, certain Puranas and penance codes forbade the polluting of wells, ponds and rivers, throwing excrement and dry garlands and washing clothes in the rivers. How could, then, India’s environment in recent centuries, be so degraded? Dwidevi and Tiwari refrain from giving the answers in this paper for paucity of space but refer to their published work for those interested. Nevertheless, this paper is indeed a rich compilation of Indian scriptural verses about nature protection.

This reviewer would, however, like to point out that the term ‘Hindu religion’ is best avoided, for there is no religion called Hinduism. Hindu culture and Hindu philosophy of religions are more appropriate terms. Indulgence in loose expression, apart from creating confusion, breeds avoidable conflicts.

Madhav Gadgil’s paper, ‘The Indian Heritage of Environmental Ethics’ points out that India lies at the trijunction of three bio-geographic realms – Ethiopian, Palaerectic and Indo-Malayan. As a result, its heritage of plant and animal diversity exceeds that of any other land mass of comparable size; equally that this tremendous biological diversity is paralleled by an equally remarkable diversity of cultures. This paper shows how ‘traditional Indian society elaborated an organisation of resource use that strongly favoured the prudent utilization of natural resources.’ It also shows how a cultural ethos favouring conservation of natural resources tends to evolve in societies inhabiting stable environments, where populations are close to saturation and not too mobile, where human groups are closed and when technologies are not fast changing. Interestingly, it also shows (i) how the castes in Indian society – which resembled tribes in being endogamous and traditionally self-governing groups and yet were unlike the tribes in not being occupants of exclusive territories – avoided competition over limited resources by developing specialised modes of resource use and by establishing relationships of barter; and (ii) how changed ecosystemic conditions gave rise to cultural ethos to suit conservation of resources. Notably, Jainism, which encodes extreme form of conservation, found its strongest hold in Rajasthan and eastern Uttar Pradesh, the two regions where population pressure was high in relation to productivity and where the danger of over-exploitation was perhaps the most acute.

The answers withheld by Dwivedi and Tiwari are provided by Madhav Gadgil. Modern, i.e. ‘nature-conquering’ science and technology, introduced by British rulers lowered the prestige of religion as well as undermined India’s conservation ethics. The adverse impact of the cancellation of the local community’s rights over forest resources and the unregulated exploitation of timber for British shipbuilding, railway sleepers and cantonments led to the destruction of forests, triggered devastating floods and droughts and drastically reduced the productivity of land. The introduction of monocultural plantations during British days, and the post-independence development policies favoured the urban, industrial and intensive agricultural sectors at the cost of small and marginal farmers, the rural landless, artisans and the nomads leading to over-exploitation of natural resources and poverty. India’s environmental ethos, cut off from older traditions rooted in religious sentiments as well as from the latest in life sciences, lost its way.

Vandana Shiva’s paper ‘Women in Forest’ dilineates the difference between eastern and western ethics by quoting Tagore: ‘Contemporary western civilization is built of brick and wood. It is rooted in the city. But Indian civilization has been distinctive in locating its source of regeneration, material and intellectual, in the forest, not in the city... The culture that has arisen from the forest has been influenced by the diverse processes of renewal of life which are always at play in the forest, varying from species to species, from season to season, in sight and sound and smell. The unifying principle of life in diversity, of democratic pluralism, thus became the principle of Indian civilization.’

The forests, as the highest expression of the earth’s fertility and productivity, nurtured an ecological civilization in harmony with nature. Whereas the folklore of the temperate zones often regards forests as dark places of danger, in India’s traditional view, people and forests are equal occupants of a communal habitat.

She further argues that lip homage to forestry will not do; what is needed is the feminine principle of forestry which means forestry for food production, for providing stable, perennial supplies of water for drinking and irrigation, and for providing the fertility directly as green manure or as organic matter cycled through farm animals.

Maintaining the diversity of plant species and animal species critical to this feminine principle, is, distinct from the masculine principle of forestry, which plants only a few species of trees for commercial returns, and is insensitive to the needs of people, animals and soils. No wonder, the real leaders of India’s first ‘save forest’ (Chipko) movement were women. ‘They were Mira Behn (one of Gandhiji’s closest disciples), Sarla Behn, Bimala Behn, Hima Devi, Gauri Devi, Ganga Devi, Bachni Devi, Itwari Devi, Chamuna Devi. The men of the movement like Sunderlal Bahuguna, Chandi Prasad Bhatt, Ghanshyam Shailani and Dhoom Singh Negi have been their students and followers.’

The author denounces limited-species plantations in the name of social forestry, the privatization of the commons to the detriment of poor people’s sustenance in the name of wasteland development, and the genetic engineering of trees on the plea of producing plants of ‘superior characteristics’. Any attempt that seeks to replace the natural-cycle-maintaining diverse resource flows by cash flows is unecological and anti-people.

Brief mention needs to be made of three other papers, particularly because their conclusions will be readily accepted by Indians and possibly all people of the South. ‘The Hindu Understanding of Population and Population Control’ by S. Chandrasekhar says that though the quest for sons to escape punishment in hell often led to large average size of the Hindu family, the Hindus considered prevention of conception legitimate and the texts prescribed certain techniques and enjoined certain instructions to achieve this. Though the Hindus generally frowned upon abortion, it was considered necessary in certain cases. Non-surgical, herbal methods of abortion were in vogue. Since maintenance of inter-species balance and the limiting of the apex animal, man, is of the essence in ecology, this pointer should be considered important.

Chandrasekhar has a dig at the Christian Catholic Church which advances the ‘sanctity of life’ argument against abortion. It would have been admirable had this argument been invoked against all wars. Is only the life of the foetus sacred, not of the adult human beings? Shekhar Singh, in ‘Sovereignty, Equality and Global Environment’, pleads that the countries of the North must acknowledge their predominant role in degrading the global environment and that the world cannot be saved by them alone or for them alone. Also, ‘Countries of the South, if they have to get out of the vicious cycle of low productivity and the resultant poverty, would have to transform their societies into efficient production units which can satisfy the basic needs of the population in a sustainable manner. For this, they need the support of each other, and of the countries of the North...’ This reviewer would like to add that the yearning for access to the North’s latest technologies often become fetters on the countries of the South. Moreover, these technologies are often unfriendly to nature and the poor, hence unsuitable.

Ramachandra Guha’s paper, ‘Radical American Environmentalism and Wilderness Preservation’ makes an interesting point. In the name of ‘deep ecology’ the so-called radical American environmentalism invokes eastern spiritual tradition and focuses on the preservation of unspoilt wilderness. Its anti- humanism becomes obvious in its advocacy of a 90 per cent reduction in human population to allow the restoration of pristine forest environment. This is naked imperialism and anti-poor aggressivism. The author also unmasks those who blame only the fast growing population of the South for the environmental crisis. The question is not merely about the of number of mouths to be fed but also of the character of the appetite. Countries with smaller population but gargantuan appetites can inflict greater damage to Mother Earth.

Anil Agarwal’s paper, ‘Human-Nature Interactions in a Third World Country’ is a moving document of the Indian experience. Though written 16 years back, its relevance is even greater today. It should be ‘compulsory reading’ for every planner, bureaucrat, legislator, judicial officer to know how we are heading towards disaster and how in the name of ecology, we indulge in isolated thinking. Political activists who pontificate about class struggle ought to know how, in the name of development, the worst forms of robbery against the poor are being perpetuated.

This reviewer has some reservation about the last point in Agarwal’s paper – the call for low-energy, low-resource-input urbanisation. How low-energy and low-input can urbanisation be? Howsoever low, it will still be far higher than in village life. The solution has to be found in improving amenities in rural areas, decreasing the attractions of urban life, and determinedly reducing the rate of growth of urbanisation.

The final two papers are ‘Rabindranath Tagore’s Vision of Ecological Harmomny’ by Amit Roy and ‘Gandhian Environmentalism’ by T.N. Khoshoo. Both the poet and the philosopher statesman wanted nature to play an important role in the moulding of each individual. No doubt, certain differences between them on educational philosophy surfaced in their life time. But to conclude, as Amit Roy has done, that Tagore’s vision of environmental education was wider than Gandhi’s would not be proper. After all, it is Gandhi, whose pithy statements are now inspiring the world’s ecological movements.

Gandhi’s classic statements, ‘The country’s development has to be in harmony with nature;’ ‘Each member of a community has to live in communion with nature;’ ‘The earth has resources to meet everybody’s needs, but not anybody’s greed;’ ‘Man must voluntarily limit his wants;’ ‘We must learn to live lives of simplicity and austerity;’ ‘Everybody must do manual labour every day to earn the right to bread’ are the beacon light for ecological movements.

Gandhi’s pointed question: ‘How many planets will India require to match British type of development?’ and his warning that ‘Europeans will have to change their outlook, if they are not to perish under the weight of comforts to which they are becoming slaves,’ show that Gandhi’s vision was no less wide. It was a vision of an alternative civilisation encompassing polity, economy, technology and culture.

Sailendra Nath Ghosh