Opinion Government’s effort to count PVTG works only if it ensures their ‘habitat’ rights

The term PVTG deserves some scrutiny. Before 2006, these groups — themselves a subgroup of the larger tribal population — were called Primitive Tribal Groups. The term “vulnerable” was then added on to their description to emphasise their vulnerability. Currently, there are 75 such PVT groups spread across 17 states and the Union Territory of Andaman and Nicobar Islands. But what are they “vulnerable” to?

The ministry’s reason for wanting a separate Census for the PVTGs is to design development plans by taking into account their specific socio-economic status. Alongside, their specific cultural contexts will also be considered. These are commendable intentions. But we need to take a peek into the state’s track record in such matters since the Dhebar Commission submitted its report in 1961. The Dhebar report demarcated such groups as more vulnerable than the other tribal populations; the latter were comparatively better off in terms of their literacy rates, accessibility, agriculture and numbers. How has the state supported these tribal groups despite knowing their vulnerability to the mainstream forces that have encroached on their landscapes and territories?

The Niyamgiri movement is an instance. Over a decade ago, the Dongria Kondh people protested against corporate interests to save the “Niyam Raja”, their sacred hill, from being mined for bauxite. Though the Supreme Court ultimately ruled against the Vedanta Company, it was quite clear that the government of Odisha did not support the people. On the contrary, it harassed the tribal people who wanted to protect their lands, and allegedly filed false cases against them, including trying to find backdoor methods to help the company continue with the mining.

Similarly, the Shompen of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands are now threatened with their island being turned into a mega port. Their small population of about 300 individuals are about to be sacrificed for a megacity, an industrial port and an influx of new settlers that will outnumber them many thousand times. Even in this instance, the state has shown little inclination for dialogue with the people and violated its own legal codes. It is not difficult to imagine that the Shompen people may face extinction, at least culturally.

Other examples of state apathy abound across the country where the government — especially the MoTA or the Ministry of Environment and Forests and Climate Change (MoEFCC) — looks away as corporate interests wreak havoc on Adivasi territories. The Baiga in Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh have faced repeated displacement as their lands are being declared as Protected Areas. The Kolam in Maharashtra are faced with environmental destruction of their forests; the Pahadi Korba people in Chhattisgarh have lost their forests to coal. As the government recognises, these are vulnerable communities. But what does it do to support or buffer them when their lands are taken away?

The populations of most of these particularly vulnerable communities are quite small, about 19 of these groups have populations of less than 1,000, and four of them have less than 1,00,000. Many of these groups have specific skills that enable them to survive and earn a livelihood from their environment. The Mankadia of Simlipal, for instance, are people who work with the siyadi climber (Bauhinia vahlii), fashioning the fibre into ropes; the seeds are roasted and eaten; the leaves are used as platters. The lifestyle of the Mankadia is inextricably linked with that of the climber. The Kurumba people of the Nilgiri mountains are expert honey hunters, able to hang from rope-ladders over steep cliffs to reach the combs of the rock bee. The Baiga are expert cultivators who use the planting stick and grow a diverse field of crops, from legumes to oil seeds, tubers and gourds, with something available for harvest throughout the year. The Pando of Surguja are nomadic and move in elephant country, living off small game and tubers and a variety of forest fruit. All these people depend on their environment — what may be called their ancestral habitat — for their well-being and cultural identity. Their cultural identity and life skills are contextualised within their habitats.

The government recognises the need for Habitat Rights for the PVTGs. Section 3(1)(e) of the Forest Rights Act, 2006, is clear about this, and even defines the term “habitat”. Section 2(h) of the FRA defines this as areas traditionally occupied by PVTGs and by communities with pre-agricultural practices; it grants their rights in reserved, protected and other types of forests. Despite these provisions that clearly recognise the importance of protecting the habitats of the PVTGs, only 10 of 75 such groups have been granted these rights in the last two decades. Unless the habitat rights of such peoples are secured, their lands and cultural identities are in danger. It is by securing these rights that the government can address their vulnerability.

Though the proposed separate Census for PVTGs will add to existing government data and may suggest new methods to help them deal with contemporary reality, what is of utmost urgency is the recognition of their Habitat Right in its true spirit. Further, it is time that the government stands with, and not against, these communities in defence of these rights. If not, the new Census will remain another elaborate bureaucratic exercise.

The writer is author of Woodsmoke and Leafcups: Anthropology of the Durwa People