Opinion Fair feather friends

The Satajan wetlands of Assam glimmer with wings at dusk. The government won’t declare it a bird sanctuary. But for some years now, the Ranganadi Prakriti Suraksha Samiti, a group formed by the local people, has protected the birds from poachers. They have also taught themselves to name the birds in order to guide visitors. The wetlands are an example of how some of the most heartening stories in bird conservation lie outside the official pale of parks and sanctuaries.

Not long ago, the Amur Falcons that pass through Nagaland on their long journey from Russia to South Africa were killed in thousands by local tribes. But a grisly video prompted the traditional falcon hunters to give up killing, in spite of substantial economic costs, and become active participants in a conservation programme. Then there is the hornbill, whose falling numbers have been revived by various community efforts in the Northeast and Kerala. In Arunachal Pradesh, the hunter-warrior Nyishi tribe, which used the hornbill’s beak and casque for their headgear, has turned fiercely conservationist. Other materials have been found for the headgear and the local community is involved in locating, monitoring and protecting the nests, apart from organising jungle camps for visitors.

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Community-based conservation grew in the 1980s, in reaction to older models which saw the protected area as a pristine space, shorn of human presence. In India, the imperative of conservation has often come into conflict with the lives and livelihood of local populations. As villagers were displaced by sanctuaries, conservation became an oppressive agenda imposed from above. But social and environmental priorities need not be at odds. Giving local populations stakes in conservation and greater agency in directing its course could be a more productive model. As the government’s conservation project flounders in a thicket of rules or is overtaken by other priorities, India’s best hope may lie in its communities.