There are now several private and government agencies providing certification in India as third parties, such as the Chhattisgarh certification society, which began in 2003. The new scheme aims to regulate certification agencies and procedures by mandating the registration of certification bodies with the National Accreditation Board and by providing certification based on criteria and indicators set by the government under the National Working Plan Code, 2023.

This raises an important question about whether certification can lead to sustainable management of India’s over 70 million hectares of forests and benefit state forest departments, forest-dependent communities, and farmers growing trees on their farms.

The concept of sustainable forest management in India is not recent but starts from the colonial period. After the Indian Forest Act, 1865, the government took control of forest land to maximise timber production for ship building and laying railway sleepers. Dietrich Brandis, India’s first Inspector General of Forests between 1864 and 1883, first proposed the concept of sustainable forest management.

The idea was to sustainably harvest timber from the forest. For this, each forest division was to be divided into working circles of different timber tree species. Each working circle would be subdivided into compartments. By rotating the harvest of trees across compartments, the regeneration of the forest was assured and a wood stock was maintained. The aim was a sustainable supply of timber to the colonial government.

A forest working plan was to be prepared for each of the forest divisions, describing the estimated volume of timber available and how it would be harvested over a 10 to 15-year period. The first national forest working plan code, which was to serve as a guideline for preparing working plans, was published in 1881.

However, the sole objective being maximising timber production, other aspects of sustainable forest management, such as biodiversity and the livelihoods of forest-dependent communities, were largely ignored in the colonial period. Aggressive plantations of teak (Tectona grandis), a valuable timber tree was taken up in wildlife-rich areas, and they can still be seen in many tiger reserves in India. Timber from Deodar trees in the Himalayas were extracted until exhaustion in a few places such as the Sutlej valley.

After independence, the extraction of timber from forests continued rather indiscriminately till 1996 when the Supreme Court intervened. The case, famously referred to as Godavarman versus Union of India, was a landmark in Indian forestry. The petition was filed due to the felling of trees on private land and the Supreme Court ruled that the forest, irrespective of ownership, should be treated under its working plan. This meant that the felling of trees on private land would be in accordance with the working plan and permission must be sought from the forest department for it.

This ruling had the positive effect of greatly reducing deforestation on private land and in forests situated above 1,500 metres and in north-east India, where it completely banned tree felling. Its negative effects were that it made many state forest development corporations obsolete and provided farmers no incentives to grow trees on their farms.

The state forest development corporations were set up on the basis of the recommendations of the National Commission for Agriculture in 1976. The objectives of the corporations were to raise forest plantations and harvest timber and non-timber forest products in a sustainable manner, thereby supporting the country’s economy.

After the 1996 ruling, the activities of many state forest development corporations, like the Himachal Pradesh Forest Development Corporation, were reduced to collecting resin (from Pinus roxburghii) and extracting salvage trees from the forest. The Lok Vaniki scheme initiated by Madhya Pradesh in 1999 to help farmers grow trees on their farms did not succeed because even small and marginal farmers with land holdings of less than a few hectares had to follow bureaucratic procedures to obtain the government’s permission for tree felling. This, in effect, discouraged them from growing trees.

Why forest certification?

Globally, the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) established as a non-profit organisation in Bonn, Germany, in 1993 is the leading forest certification agency. The FSC aims to promote environmentally appropriate, socially beneficial, and economically viable management of the world’s forests. It claims on its website that the certification covers about 160 million hectares of forest land in 89 countries.

Forest certification has been, over the years, shown to reduce illegal logging in some countries such as Chile and Peru, but has not been identified as the only factor to have reduced deforestation in countries such as Mexico and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Forestry researchers still debate the effects of certification because several other factors influence sustainable forest management, such as recognition of community rights, policies on forest protection, and so on.

When it comes to non-timber forest produce, the certification looks even less important.

Further, certification is a costly affair. A case study on the certification of acacia plantations in Vietnam showed only marginal returns from certification and that too only if the plantations were more than 3,000 hectares. This clearly indicates there were no benefits for farmers with smaller land holdings.

In the case of India, a study commissioned by the International Tropical Timber Organisation notes that in 2020 the demand for roundwood in India—mainly used for furniture making, paper and pulp, panels and plywood, and construction—was around 57 million cubic metres, of which 47 million cubic metres was met domestically. Of this, 45 million cubic metres was from trees outside forests and only a meagre 2 million cubic metres came from state-owned forests.

In this context, certification looks a meaningless exercise because large quantities of timber will be produced from trees outside forests as block plantations of poplar, teak, and eucalyptus exist and domestic buyers are least likely to care for certified timber. In terms of export, very little timber from teak and sisham—0.01 million cubic metres—was exported in 2020.

Any shift in demand for certified timber domestically or internationally could tilt the scale in favour of wealthy farmers who can afford certification costs. It could also discourage small farmers from growing trees on their farms.

When it comes to non-timber forest produce, the certification looks even less important. Produce such as mahua flowers, sal seeds, and tendu leaves in central India and rhododendron flowers and pine cones in the Himalayas are gathered and marketed locally. There is no evidence of any of these being exported in their raw form.

India aimed to boost its agroforestry through the National Agroforestry Policy in 2014. However, almost a decade later, there has hardly been any improvement in agroforestry.

As for state forest departments, the Supreme Court’s 1996 restrictions on extracting timber are still in place and they have to prepare working plans and get them approved according to the latest working plan code. This should include the volume of timber that can be sustainably extracted without affecting biodiversity and the needs of forest-dependent communities. Only then will the certification be a value addition if the forest products are exported.

For forest-dependent communities, community rights are recognised in about 6.5 million hectares of forest land under the Forest Rights Act (FRA), 2006. Communities using their Community Forest Rights (CFR) provisions have been sustainably extracting NTFP and marketing thereby making good economic gains. Many more millions of forest dependent communities still depend on NTFP for their livelihood even without rights. Further, there is no provision for extracting timber under the management rights given to communities, though forest departments run plantations in forests with recognised community rights.

India aimed to boost its agroforestry through the National Agroforestry Policy in 2014. It made tree saplings easily available to farmers and eased restrictions on tree felling and transit. However, almost a decade later, there has hardly been any improvement in agroforestry. A recent study titled “Severe Decline in Large Agroforestry Trees in India over the Past Decade”, to which I contributed, noted a severe decline of mature trees on farms in India because of changing cropping patterns, mechanised farming, and farmers perceiving no economic benefit in having trees on their farms.

In sum, the global experience shows forest certification can at the most increase the market value marginally but this comes with high certification costs, which doesn’t help marginal farmers and forest dependent communities and certification alone does not lead to sustainable forest management or help in increasing agroforestry.

Towards sustainable management

In India, the causes of deforestation are diversion of forests to non-forestry purpose such as mining, roads, and other infrastructure and degradation due to fire, cattle grazing, and invasive species such as lantana.

Caution must be exercised to not raise plantations on grasslands and other open natural forest, which are important ecosystems in themselves.

Sustainable forest management is important to ensure ecosystem services such as the flow of streams and rivers, to support the livelihoods of forest-dependent communities, and for a forest-based economy. More than certification, what is required is a good working plan to manage the forests and sustainably extract timber and other non-timber forest produce.

The National Working Plan Code, last revised in 2014 and 2023, provides guidelines on managing forests sustainably through a working plan that considers biodiversity, carbon sequestration, and the livelihood needs of local communities, including grazing and firewood collection.

A study in the Congo basin has shown that a forest management plan with rotational harvest of timber and a clear benefit-sharing plan with forest-dependent communities were much more effective than forest certification in sustainable forest management.

To meet the growing domestic demand for timber, plantations outside forests can be increased. This can reduce the logging pressure on natural forests and reduce deforestation. A possible way forward is to encourage forest development corporations to raise plantations on degraded land and farmers to plant trees on their fallow or uncultivable land. Waterlogged and degraded land with invasive trees such Prosopis juliflora could also be utilised for raising plantations.

Some of colonial era plantations of pine and eucalyptus could be slowly removed and planted with native oak and sal trees, which are more resourceful. Communities having CFR in degraded land could also be encouraged to raise plantations with a clear procedure for getting full benefits from the timber produced. Lastly, procedures to fell trees according to a working plan, transit and market them should be made easy for both states and farmers.

However, caution must be exercised to not raise plantations on grasslands and other open natural forest, which are important ecosystems in themselves. There is a need to strengthen the capacity of state forest departments to prepare good working plans that can identify plantation areas, raise quality plantations, and sustainably harvest timber—all the while preserving natural forests for ecological security.

To conclude, these few steps would help improve sustainable forest management in India and increase the income of farmers and state forest departments much more than forest certification.

This article was originally published on The India Forum.

In the process, we run rough-shod over local communities, Indigenous peoples and the environment. The current system is clearly unfair and relates to a deeply moral issue: what kind of planet and society are we leaving our children and future generations?

Anti-extractivism and resource nationalism

Almost everyone finds some mining objectionable, be it the mine in our village or all coal mines in the world; mining from the oceans or extracting in protected areas. 

Yet almost no-one demands a complete stop to all extraction planet-wide. Because it would mean no more phones or cars, no iron or gold, and everyone would be living in houses made from plants. This is quite unimaginable, and many peoples’ living conditions still need to improve.

In minerals-rich countries, two visions exist simultaneously. At the local level, anti-extractivist communities rightly object to mines in their areas, while at the national level, there is hope that selling minerals would help eliminate poverty and bring prosperity (“resource nationalism”). How can we reconcile these perspectives?

Natural resources as a shared inheritance

Where extraction does go ahead, all stakeholders must be treated fairly: extractors, employees and contractors, governments, local communities, the environment, etc. But a key stakeholder is usually forgotten: the owner of the minerals before extraction.

Nation states have permanent sovereignty over their natural resources. Ownership of minerals is usually assigned to some level of government representing a collective (state/province, tribe, etc.). In effect, minerals are held on behalf of the people that constitute the collective. And since the collective is a perpetual, multi-generational entity, the natural resources are the right of all future generations as well.

If we see natural resources as a shared inheritance, from the mineral owner’s perspective, extraction is the conversion of mineral wealth into other forms of wealth. Intergenerational equity and sustainability require us to ensure that future generations inherit at least as much as we did. 

We then have two choices. 

Either the anti-extractivist way: leaving the minerals where they are, our children will inherit them like we did, this is the only way to achieve intergenerational equity.

Or the resource nationalist way: extracting and investing to ensure our children inherit total assets that are at least as valuable as the extracted minerals.

How can the people benefit from their natural resources, now and in the future?

If extraction is essentially the conversion of wealth, then the extractor is merely an outsourced wealth management service provider, who should be managed, regulated and paid accordingly. 

The goal of the mineral-owning representative government should be zero loss in value in the conversion process. Unfortunately, huge losses are common place, and what is received is treated as income and consumed. 

Between the extractor, the politicians and their cronies, the desire for wealth and retaining power drives most of the human rights and environmental abuses that accompany extraction. 

Present and future generations are being cheated, and in a cruel twist, the wealth that is being stolen from them is being used to sustain the corrupt system. 

In order to achieve fair mining, beyond zero loss when selling mineral wealth, the entire mineral sale proceeds must be invested in assets that retain value over generations. Traditionally, this was land, precious metals and stones. Today, Norway’s oil fund, as an endowment fund with inflation-proofing, is rightly considered a best practice in saving for future generations. 

And the income from the fund should be distributed equally to the general population as a commons dividend. Future generations will inherit the fund and benefit from it. 

Crucially, the dividend creates a link between the entire population and their fund and mineral inheritances, which then makes zero loss more likely in practice.

From an economic standpoint, it is easy to show that this is superior to current best practice. And most of all, it is fair.

But this is not enough. Extraction impacts other inheritances and fair mining requires them to be properly addressed as well:

1. To protect the environment and local communities, under the Precautionary Principle, we must create no-go areas. We must guarantee local communities’ Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC), ensure strong environmental regulations, and prohibit potentially high-risk practices. We must cap extraction across multiple projects to limit cumulative damage. Under the Polluter Pays Principle, we must require the Mitigation Hierarchy–avoid, restore, offset, compensate. We should leave future generations with more forests, clear streams, etc. than we have. Mining projects should improve the environment and leave the community better off, not simply avoid harming them. Some minerals like fossil fuels have trans-national impacts, and this again requires both capping extraction globally as well as compensating for loss and damages.

2. The jobs and income that extraction creates are also inherited opportunities that deplete with extraction. This understanding drives the widespread demands for local content, local procurement and local employment. Mineral owners must have the first right to these opportunities. Further, extraction must be capped to ensure future generations can also benefit from the income from extraction. 

3. Similarly, the opportunity to use the mineral for useful things (swords or ploughshares) is a valuable one-time inheritance. This understanding drives some countries to designate some of their minerals as strategic reserves for future generations to use while importing minerals for their current needs. 

4. Another inheritance is the opportunity to use extraction to develop other aspects of the society. Some countries have deliberately used a new mine to create shared-use infrastructure at low incremental cost. Other countries insist on domestic value addition, with the eventual goal to create core competencies. As these are one-time opportunities, it is essential to capitalize on them.

What could this mean for civil society?

Protecting great inherited wealth against theft, loss or waste requires a mindset of stewardship to ensure we fulfil our duty to ensure future generations inherit at least as much as we did. This suggests potential global campaigns for the civil society:

1. In order to prevent theft during the extraction process, the trustee/manager must implement a first-rate control system. This includes a high security mineral supply chain system, best practices from outsourcing contracts, system auditors, a whistleblower reward and protection scheme, etc.

2. Thieves should not be entrusted with humankind’s wealth. Further, minerals are a regular part of money laundering/terrorism finance. Fit and Proper Person Tests (and Integrity Due Diligence more generally) are essential for all involved in handling our wealth.

3. We each have a duty to future generations to ensure that our shared inheritance is intact. Therefore, the people, as the real owners, should be empowered to verify that their duty to future generations has been fulfilled. This requires Radical Transparency including open access to the public to all data in real time at no cost. Extractors should be required by law to disclose all extraction information without exception. This goes far beyond the EITI standard.

Only if ALL of this takes place would we truly achieve intergenerational equity and sustainability. Anything less cheats our future generations of their inheritance–they would prefer we leave the minerals in the ground. We hope more in civil society will join with us to advocate for the shared inheritance approach to mineral wealth and extractives. Together, we can make great changes!

This article has been lightly edited by the authors for IDR. This article was originally published on Publish What You Pay.

Over the past three years, Land Body Ecologies (LBE)—a global transdisciplinary network exploring the deep linkages of mental and ecosystem health—has sought to understand the long-standing connections between forests, land, and people. LBE is based in the Arctic North, India, Kenya, Uganda, Thailand, and the United Kingdom. It aims to document stories of loss emanating from being at home and yet feeling that your own home is leaving you. This concept, solastalgia—coined by Glenn Albrecht—was resonant across all our research sites.

In India, we worked with communities in the eco-sensitive zone of the Bannerghatta National Park (BNP), located on the outskirts of Bengaluru city. The BNP was declared a national park under the WPA in 1974, with a notified conservation area of more than 250 square kilometres.

The BNP eco-sensitive zone comprises 16 hamlets or doddis, which are typically quite small, with fewer than 20 houses. The doddis are home to a diverse mix of people, such as settled agricultural communities, indigenous populations that have been moved out of the forests, migrant pastoralists, and other marginalised groups that have found a refuge here. For our research study, we engaged with more than 55 respondents in Bannerghatta through design research methodologies, including in-depth interviews, and activities that involved the community using polaroid photos to document spaces in their doddis and then telling us the stories of the photos they took.

The Iruligas are an Adivasi community living in the region. There are many theories about the origin of the word ‘iruliga’—some believe it comes from ‘irulu’ (darkness), while others trace it to ‘ili’ (rat)—a reference to the widely held view that Iruligas hunt and subsist on rats. However, in the Bannerghatta region, Iruligas are identified by other communities as panditru, or forest saints, in recognition of their deep knowledge of the forest—including the medicinal properties of various herbs—and their understanding of animals, rooted in centuries of lived experience.

Madamma, an old Iruliga woman, recalls how her people relied on their awareness of medicinal herbs in the forest. “When we fell ill, we would medicate by applying the knowledge passed down from our grandparents. We would use the juices of the roots and plants available to us. Why would we need to get injections and tablets when our forest can take care of us?”

For the Iruligas, the forest has been an intrinsic component of their culture—this has engendered in them a duty to care for it. Thimarayappa, an old Lambani conservationist in Bannerghatta, adds, “If they (the Iruligas) had to chop down a tree, it would be a very thought-out decision. If they had to cut greens, it would be only the top parts, not the roots. If they had to dig a root vegetable, they would not remove it completely from the roots because they believe it needs to be there for the coming year. Not one tree would be chopped down unnecessarily.”

Thimarayappa attributes his familiarity with the forest to the time he spent learning from the Iruliga elders, and is keen to give them the credit and respect they have often not received. “I want to reiterate one important thing—if the forests are surviving today, it is because of these people. They have been the unofficial forest department for centuries. But look at their plight now. For all the work they have done for the forests, they have only got humiliation and hurt in return. This is why they do not like the forests any more.”

So what has caused the Iruligas to feel a disconnect with their homes?

Based on our work in the region, the implementation of the WPA and the Forest Conservation Act has contributed to this disconnect. The WPA states that “no individuals can damage, destroy, exploit or remove any wildlife or forest produce” and that flora and fauna are categorised as “government property”. It also put in place harsh control measures in the form of penalties including a three-year prison sentence, a fine of INR 25,000, or both.

The control measures on the conservation laws have led to the state taking on the role of sole owner and guardian of the forest while alienating and meting out harsh treatment towards the Iruligas, who contest this space with the state. An elder spoke about how these acts have become an excuse to harass and detain her community. “The forest officials beat and lock us up in police stations. We have become tired of this nuisance. We do not need this. Going to the forest brings us shame, so now we have stopped going.”

It must be noted that while the Forest Conservation Act technically allows for communities to use forest produce for ‘personal use’, this does not happen in actuality. Instead, they are often stopped from even entering the forest by local authorities. 

With the passage of these two acts, the state positioned itself as the protector of the forest and viewed the local tribal communities as a threat to the flora and fauna of the BNP and as an obstacle to the preservation of the ecosystem. This in turn affected tribal livelihoods, disrupting their economic activities and eroding their cultural identity.

This loss has further given rise to an intergenerational conflict within the community. The Iruliga elders, regarded as unofficial stewards of the forest, now face the painful reality of their children trying to shed this identity and seek a new one.

An elder we spoke to lamented about how their generation worked hard to raise their children, who now turn around and accuse them of having done nothing. “The youth don’t understand our circumstances and how much we struggled. Now the forest department comes and imprisons them and uses them as scapegoats if anything happens in the forest. That is why they are angry.” Thimarayappa adds, “They are not interested in learning about medicines or the forest any more.”

“There is no work for us here,” says a young man. “We too want a ‘standard’ life. None of my friends here are married and nobody will let their daughters marry someone who lives near the forest. They say we don’t have any facilities or a future here. We are looking for opportunities in Bengaluru so we can move away.”

Today, the Iruliga youth are in search of a new identity that commands respect; for example, living as a gainfully employed person in Bengaluru. This decision to move away has been met with disappointment and concern and is echoed by Madamma, who says, “In my time, we were struggling to survive and nobody drank that much. Now the youth are confident of earning INR 1,000 wherever they go. With this, they do not mind buying alcohol and drinking. They have learned everything and none of us are able to control them or help them get off alcohol. We are trying to help them salvage their lives, but they do not listen to us any more.”

Through all this, the role of the state must be examined. The implementation of the WPA and the Forest Conservation Act has been successful, to some degree, in achieving its goals of increased forest cover and protection of wildlife. However, it has failed to provide alternatives to the communities it has upended, while also falling short in curbing commercial activities such as mining within and outside the boundaries of the forest. Communities like the Iruligas that live in the BNP region must be meaningfully integrated into the state’s efforts to preserve the forest and wildlife. Scholars who have highlighted the varied kinds of mistreatment and discrimination faced by the communities have also emphasised the need for the state to take on measures such as providing alternate livelihood opportunities as well as revisiting and easing the strict control of forests. This will allow communities like the Iruligas to reforge their connection with the forest in a way that can revive a culture on the brink of disappearing.

Romit Raj contributed to this article.

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Know more

• Listen to this podcast to learn more about solastalgia.
• Read this article about increasing incidents of human-wildlife conflict caused by climate change.
• Read this report to understand how forest-dwelling communities in Madhya Pradesh are systemically prosecuted under wildlife protection laws.

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While renewable energy promises to hold off the planet’s carbon build-up and (hopefully) slow its climate meltdown, this is not the only outcome we need to consider. Renewable projects should be weighed as the sum of their parts, with the social and ecological costs of their value chains factored into the calculus—from the origin of their minerals to the disposal of their photovoltaic panels and turbine blades. They are infrastructure projects at the end of the day, dependent like any other on land, water, material, and labour, and the way they utilise these resources will determine how clean and green their energy is.    

Ironically, words like ‘green’ and ‘clean’ prefixed to RE create blind spots that prevent us from recognising and solving for the detrimental impacts of these projects, a problem that is compounded by their exemption from certain land-use, water, and environmental regulations.

But because the sector is relatively young and amenable to change, there’s room to build out best practices that can contribute to driving an environment- and people-centric transition to clean energy. Here’s how it can be done.

1. Land and livelihood 

The challenge

By one estimate, solar and wind infrastructure may need up to 95,000 sq km of land by 2050, an area equivalent to the size of Bihar. Land marks one of the key resources for the sector and its procurement through lease or acquisition takes top priority. In the past, however, land deals have sometimes left landowners and stakeholders—such as landless labourers, pastoralists, women, scheduled castes, and scheduled tribes—dissatisfied with the terms of the trade. Their grievances range from inadequate compensation to reneged promises of jobs to lost livelihoods.     

Reports suggest that the potential for employment at mega solar power plants is often overestimated by contractors and brokers to encourage locals to give up their land. At the Pavagada Solar Power Park in Karnataka, for example, only one-tenth of the jobs promised by contractors have been made available to locals. Typically, the jobs are low-skill roles for panel cleaners, guards, and grass cutters, rather than skilled technical roles in installation, operations, and maintenance.

Social impact assessments have been cited as reasonable safeguards against negative community impacts, but it is typically the larger developers financed by foreign investors and multilateral development banks (MDBs) who are held accountable to these checks and measures. The exemption of the rest from these surveys can levy a social and economic toll on disaffected communities, who may end up rejecting or obstructing the project altogether.   

An approach to consider

RE developers need to collaborate with the community to ensure that a project does more than extend short-term benefits for its long-term gains. It can do this by custom-building for the context, tailoring a project to the specific conditions of a site—whether social, cultural, or environmental—through business models that foreground social justice and economic resilience of the community.

Consistent and inclusive engagement can make this happen. By inviting people to articulate their concerns about livelihood and land use and working with them to arrive at solutions that are relevant to them, RE developers can emerge as genuine game changers in the region. They can harness local skills, hone them through skill-development and capacity-building programmes, and create sustainable livelihoods that assure permanent and scalable work. (According to the study ‘India’s Expanding Clean Energy Workforce’, the country’s solar and wind sectors have the potential to employ 1 million workers to meet the 500 GW goal.)

Also to be considered are multi-land use models like agrivoltaics, where land is utilised simultaneously to generate photovoltaic power and for agriculture. These adaptive approaches can limit the negative impact on farmer livelihoods and enable communities to retain a sense of ownership and connection to the land.

Developers and/or the state should also proactively plan for land-use change after the life cycle of the project, in order to ensure that it continues to contribute to local resilience. Constructive measures could be phased in gradually to test their effectiveness and to prevent a sudden escalation of costs for the developer.

2. Environment and biodiversity

The challenge

The large-scale procurement of land for solar projects can lead to spatial conflicts with the natural world. Biodiversity, for one, is lost when plant and animal life on pasturelands have to cede ground to solar panels. In the case of wind turbines, habitats are disrupted when land is levelled to erect towers and trees felled to widen roads for the passage of large turbine blades (more than 150 ft in length), particularly through wooded areas.  

Some small hydroelectric power projects (less than 25 MW) have been known to produce a different domino effect. Studies have observed that—depending on the topography, soil, aquatic diversity, and biodiversity—the range of potential impacts can include river fragmentation, altered water chemistry, and diminished riverine fish stocks.

While India is yet to build a regulatory framework for solar and wind energy projects, their exemption from the Environment Impact Assessment Notification, 2020, can heighten the risks of habitat and biodiversity loss, and undermine the positive pay-off of clean energy. And when environment impact assessments (EIAs) are conducted at the behest of international investors, they often lack rigour and commitment. Checklists for junior staff, they end up focusing on a limited area rather than the whole landscape that the project stands to affect, and only home in on impacts evident at the time of evaluation rather than anticipate problems that may emerge over the 20–25-year lifespan of the project. Even when these assessments are conducted diligently and impartially, their results are not always prioritised by decision-makers.

An approach to consider

Sound EIAs can anticipate and mitigate ecological risks—displacement of wildlife, disruption of migratory routes, degradation of local vegetation, diversion of water sources—that could prove costly to the developer, the local community, and the ecosystem in the long run. An environmental assessment at Jaisalmer would have alerted wind and solar developers to the risks that overhead transmission lines pose to the critically endangered Great Indian Bustard, averting the additional cost of having to bury the cables below the ground later, on the orders of the Supreme Court.

Public consultations—requisite of EIAs—allow external evaluators to learn from local communities about ecological impacts and ecosystem services not immediately apparent to them. A stronger commitment to these assessments is therefore crucial. When foreseeable environmental impacts are flagged early on, it becomes easier for developers to devise solutions prospectively rather than retrospectively, saving them resources and time, and earning them local goodwill.

Developers can strengthen natural ecosystems, making them more resilient and productive.

In some parts of the world, ‘solar grazing’—where farmland-turned-solar parks now double as pasturelands—has yielded the dual benefits of improved soil quality and well-fed livestock. And so, by siting their projects in low-impact areas, planning these projects around local conditions, and introducing innovations at the design stage itself, developers can actually strengthen natural ecosystems, making them more resilient and productive.

3. Mining and recycling 

The challenge

As the low-carbon energy sector grows, its appetite for minerals grows too. According to the International Energy Agency, the market for key transition minerals such as lithium, nickel, and cobalt has doubled from 2017 to 2022, spurred by the energy sector, and is expected to grow sixfold by 2050. Keen to secure the supply chain for its solar PV modules, wind turbines, and batteries, India has accelerated its mining programme and is preparing to tap new lithium deposits in Jammu and Kashmir, lithium being one of the critical minerals India imports.

But the adverse consequences of mining—polluted groundwater, respiratory diseases, human rights violations, child labour—remain the same from coal to cobalt, a problem made chronic by weak regulation. Without stringent mechanisms for oversight and accountability, the renewables sector may be as culpable of these charges as its hydrocarbons-based predecessor.

Another trapdoor the sector should be cautious of is the one that leads to the landfill. As India races to become a leading producer of RE, it is dogged by the spectre of the waste it stands to generate. Already the fourth largest producer of installed solar capacity, the country is predicted to produce 4 million tonnes of photovoltaic waste by 2050. The lifespan of a solar PV module is 25 to 30 years; that of a battery is three to 10 years (depending on its chemistry); and a wind turbine reaches end of life after 20 years. By 2050, the world will have 43 million tonnes of turbine blade waste on its hands. 

However, RE components can turn to RE waste well before their expiry date. Damage can occur during transportation, installation, and operation, and due to weather events such as hail or storms. The lack of convenient and cost-effective mechanisms for solar waste disposal compels RE developers to store defunct PV panels at their facilities, risking their workforce and site to toxic leaching.

Panels and batteries that do pass through informal recycling channels expose waste handlers to hazardous elements such as lead, cadmium, tin, and antimony, compromising their health and safety, and that of the environment through contamination of surface and groundwater.  

An approach to consider

Reducing waste, recovering usable material, and regenerating resources is key. There’s already stricter regulation around RE waste, with the E-Waste (Management) Rules 2022 making producers and manufacturers accountable for its safe processing and disposal.

The additional benefit of responsible recycling, apart from human and environmental safety, is the recovery of critical minerals and metals—which can account for 50 percent of the total material of the module. This plugs into India’s larger goal of resource autonomy, a project that gains particular significance in the face of global export controls on solar cell minerals. Some solar manufacturers are already taking the long view by setting up recycling units and extending recycling service agreements to developers.

The ideal approach is to design for circularity at the very outset.

However, recycling can only address part of the waste problem, for the quality of recoverable material reduces progressively through repeated processing. The ideal approach is to design for circularity at the very outset, with a view to extending the value and longevity of materials such as concrete, plastics, minerals, and metals required for RE components and infrastructure.

A circular value chain for the renewables sector would employ materials designed for optimum recovery, produced by clean technologies, and based on globally accepted design standards. The value chain itself would operate within a collaborative, cross-sectoral ecosystem for the quick and convenient repurposing of parts.

Some solar panel manufacturers in India are already moving towards circularity by manufacturing for maximum material recovery, which can be up to 90 percent of the module. If the value of a conventional panel was INR 100, recycling of these first-generation modules, which were not designed for extraction, would only fetch INR 2–3. But a panel worth INR 100, designed for recovery, might earn INR 30–40 after recycling. Making a strong business case for circularity could be one way to promote extended producer responsibility for manufacturers, and at the same time, identifying value and revenue streams early on can help defray decommissioning costs for developers.

Raising the bar

The past has taught us that speed and volume, with a business-as-usual approach, will only compound our problems in the future. The new energy economy must be more ambitious. What’s needed is a just and regenerative pathway, which comprehensive environmental, social, and governance (ESG) standards and strict regulatory policies can help pave. The lack of proper government regulation has made ESG criteria—mandated largely by foreign financiers and investors, MDBs, and corporate governance bodies like SEBI—the strongest guardrails for the sector.

But in the absence of standardised metrics and strict oversight, ESG criteria can be arbitrary, setting an uneven, sometimes low, often voluntary baseline for action that recommends reparation rather than reformation. However, RE businesses that proactively and pre-emptively set high standards for their operations will have a firmer foothold in their chosen location and become more resilient to unexpected challenges. They will align their business ambitions with broader socio-ecological objectives, and pursue them through participatory decision-making and transparent and fair supply chains.

Only then will renewable energy truly flip the switch.

With inputs from Saksham Nijhawan, Principal Strategist – Energy and Climate Change, Forum for the Future.

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Know more

• Read this article to understand the social and ecological benefits of ‘wastelands’ and why they ought not to be the default choice for siting RE projects.    
• Listen to this podcast to learn more about decentralised RE and its untapped potential for social inclusion. 
• Read this article to know how old wind turbine blades can be creatively repurposed for public infrastructure.

However, this categorisation fails to view semi-arid, non-forested landscapes as distinct ecosystems and instead sees them as degraded forest land. It does not acknowledge that these wastelands encompass diverse ecosystems such as grasslands, shrublands, and deserts. These ecosystems are often referred to as open natural ecosystems or ONEs, and have immense ecological and social value.

Not all wastelands are lying waste

ONEs are found in only 10 percent of India’s dry, sub-humid, and semi-arid zones, particularly in states such as Maharashtra, Gujarat, Rajasthan, and Andhra Pradesh. They are rich in biodiversity and contain several animal species including the great Indian bustard, the blackbuck, the Indian fox, the Indian wolf, and the striped hyena. They also have immense potential for sequestering or storing carbon from the atmosphere. Grasslands, for instance, can capture about 146 tonnes of carbon per hectare below the ground each year. Additionally, approximately 25 nomadic pastoralist communities in India such as the Dhangars in Maharashtra and the Rabaris in Rajasthan depend on ONEs. As noted by the Planning Commission in the Report of the Task Force on Grasslands and Deserts 2006, ONEs provide nearly 50 percent of the fodder for India’s 500 million livestock.

A lack of awareness about the value of ONEs and their subsequent misclassification as ‘wastelands’, however, makes it easier to divert these lands, threatening the very existence of these landscapes and that of the communities who depend on them.

Proposed climate solutions are creating a new set of pressures on wastelands

As India races towards achieving its net-zero carbon goals, wastelands are being earmarked for various climate-related projects by businesses, nonprofits, and the government. While these initiatives are being lauded as an important part of India’s climate goals, they directly impact the health of ONEs.

Greening wastelands: The idea of greening wastelands through afforestation and tree plantations is proposed as a potential pathway to create additional carbon sinks and to increase green cover. Actors advocating for this include the forest department and other government agencies, CSR wings of private sector companies, and well-meaning development consultants and nonprofit organisations.

While tree plantations have become a trending environmental intervention, they can destroy the ecosystem of these semi-arid landscapes. For one, they can alter the soil composition in the area. Additionally, species that are planted often require large amounts of water, leading to the deterioration of groundwater tables, and ultimately resulting in the depletion of water resources in an already water-scarce landscape. Such interventions can also alter the biodiversity present in the region.

The Banni grassland in Gujarat’s Kutch district provides an interesting insight into the same. The grassland is home to more than 40 species of grass that support a variety of wildlife, including several migratory birds and the Indian desert fox. In the 1950s, to keep the salinity of the region in check, the state government introduced a South American tree called Prosopis juliflora, locally referred to as gando baval or mad babul. The tree adapted to the region very quickly and now covers more than 50 percent of the grassland. This, however, has had a devastating impact on the desert fox, which uses the saline grasslands as its habitat. Since woods are unsuitable for fox habitation, their number has rapidly declined.

Energy transition: Another significant arena of climate action is the transition from a fossil-fuel-based brown economy to a green low-carbon economy run on renewable energy. Dismantling the ‘brown’ economy, however, requires large swathes of land for setting up solar, wind, and green hydrogen energy power plants. ONEs, majorly under the wasteland classification, are seen as ideal for setting up the physical infrastructure required for this.

Since the construction of the solar park, however, the grazing patterns of herders have been disrupted.

States such as Gujarat, Rajasthan, Tamil Nadu, Maharashtra, and Karnataka, with the largest number of ONEs, are also the ones identified as having high potential for renewable energy. This could have consequences for the ecological health of the landscape as well as for the people and communities dependent on these lands. For example, the setting up of solar energy parks and wind energy projects in Rajasthan and Gujarat has led to a decline in the population of the great Indian bustard. In addition to loss of habitat, power lines act as a hazard, resulting in mortality from electrocution and collision. Such projects also restrict access to common grazing lands for pastoralists. For example, India’s first solar park, which was built in Charanka, Gujarat, in 2012 on a dryland area of 2,180 hectares, of which more than 1,000 hectares was classified as wasteland. This area has been historically used by semi-nomadic Rabari herders. Since the construction of the solar park, however, the grazing patterns of herders have been disrupted, affecting their mobility and resource use. They can no longer access these areas to collect firewood or graze their livestock.

What needs to change?

While such interventions may be well-intentioned, they fail to take into account the varied ecosystems that fall under the wasteland categorisation. The unintended consequences of these actions can, in fact, undermine our climate goals. To ensure that India’s green energy transition doesn’t happen at the expense of vital ecological resources like ONEs, governments, businesses, and the development sector must focus on the following:  

1. Strengthening protection of ONEs through reclassification of wastelands

As a first step in ensuring the legal protection of ONEs, government bodies must carry out a reclassification of these lands. ONEs are weakly protected, particularly due to their classification as wastelands. Approximately 70 percent of the areas with ONEs overlap with landscapes that the government classifies as wastelands. Additionally, less than 5 percent of ONEs come under the government’s Protected Area network, which comprises national parks, wildlife sanctuaries, and reserves. This leaves them deprioritised as significant areas for conservation and makes them vulnerable to ecosystem degradation and diversion to other types of land use. The Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation and Resettlement Act, 2013, also lays down a clause that mandates the creation of an inventory of unused or barren lands at the district level. This in turn makes it easier for government and private actors to bypass the rights of communities and divert lands that may fall under the wasteland category.

2. Proposing evidence-based interventions

Land-use decisions must be well informed and consider ecological and social factors. Prioritisation exercises carried out by government and non-governmental stakeholders can play a key role in this process. These involve evaluating and ranking different parcels of land to determine their significance or allocation for particular purposes. This can help identify land that needs to be prioritised for conservation as it may contribute to carbon sequestration, or is heavily used by communities, or is rich in biodiversity. Such a prioritisation should include calculating trade-offs that need to be made when identifying lands suitable for renewable energy projects or for other land uses. These exercises should also be used to determine future wastelands classification and incorporate the needs and voices of local communities in decision-making processes. This can help ensure that the energy transition aligns with the unique socio-ecological needs of different landscapes and doesn’t further deplete ONEs.

3. Regulating the renewable sector

The adoption and development of green energy has become pivotal to India’s climate goals. While this is a critical piece, it has taken priority over conserving biodiversity, protecting natural ecosystems and existing carbon sinks, and upholding the rights of local communities. Notably, the green energy industry in India is exempted from both social as well as environmental impact assessments, making ONEs particularly susceptible to diversion. For example, in 2020, a local community in Rajasthan had to resort to legal action to contest the development of the 1,500 MW Fatehgarh Ultra Mega Solar Park in Jaisalmer district. They argued that their livelihoods depended on the land being diverted for the solar project, even though the state government that claims control over the land had categorised it as a ‘wasteland’.

There is, therefore, a need to formulate a policy that mandates impact assessments for such projects that significantly threaten peoples’ access to these landscapes as well as risk destroying biodiversity and carbon sinks.

4. Safeguarding climate-resilient livelihoods

While the transition to renewable energy sources is a crucial step in climate change mitigation, it is equally important to focus on supporting climate-resilient livelihoods. Arguably, pastoralism is one of the more climate-resilient and sustainable livelihoods in India, contributing to 4.5 percent of the GDP, according to the Meat Atlas 2021. Pastoralists have traditionally been using several strategies to adapt to climate variabilities. These include developing climate foresight and migrating based on weather patterns and resource availability as well as selecting appropriate breeds to rear based on climatic and geographical conditions. Pastoralists also use ONEs and wastelands for grazing livestock and to transit through migratory routes. The role of grazing has been acknowledged in the maintenance of these ecosystems. Securing the livelihoods of pastoralists, therefore, can significantly contribute to the sustenance of ONEs. 

However, pastoralism isn’t recognised officially by the government. The government must first collect official data on the number of pastoralists in the country and formally recognise pastoralism as a distinct land-use category. There is a need not only to conserve the landscapes they rely on, but also to ensure the right of access for pastoralists.

5. Learning when not to intervene

In the shift from a brown economy to a green economy, it is essential not to oversimplify the narrative as ‘green good, brown bad’. An important point of action for various stakeholders is to recognise when not to intervene. Governments, businesses, and the development sector advocating for the utilisation of ONEs must cultivate a deeper understanding of these landscapes. They must be able to identify which landscapes should remain untouched by industries and other interventions, taking into account the characteristics of specific ecosystems and the needs of the people who are dependent on them. This will help them recognise where interventions are inappropriate, and where they are not.

A transition to renewable energy should be accompanied by a transition in how we view natural ecosystems. Sustainable management of land, rights of local communities, and issues of equity need to be strengthened in the face of changing pressures on land and livelihoods. It is imperative for the various stakeholders intervening in the landscape to be cognisant of the harmful impacts of greening initiatives on ONEs and push for science and context-based programmes and initiatives that protect people and natural landscapes. ONEs are rich in biodiversity and play an important role in carbon sequestration. Protection of these ecosystems should thus be an important aspect of our climate goals.

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Know more

• Read this to learn about threats to grasslands in India. 
• Read this to learn more about how wastelands are classified in India.
• Read this to learn more about pastoralism and climate change.

This photo essay captures the community members’ journey of conservation, highlighting the challenges they encountered while developing and sustaining this model. It also showcases their unwavering commitment to both the animals and the environment as they continue to fight for the preservation of their common land.

Coming together for livestock and land

Thana village is home to approximately 1,200 animals, including cattle, sheep, and goats. Livestock farming is the primary livelihood of most people living here. Droughts are common and ensuring an adequate supply of fodder, especially from late winter to mid-summer, is a major challenge. Shyam Gujjar, a resident of the area, shares, “During the drought in 2022, many animals perished from hunger, particularly those abandoned ones that resorted to eating plastic out of sheer desperation.” Kalu, Shyam’s friend, adds, “We empathise with the stray animals, but it’s a struggle to feed our own livestock.”

During this period, feeding a single animal for survival itself could cost up to INR 10,000, and a significantly larger investment is required for them to thrive. Shyam explains, “During these months, the price of wheat stocks soars to INR 20 per kilogram or INR 600 per 40 kilograms. Just one animal would need at least 600 to 700 kilograms to survive and approximately 4,000 kilograms to thrive.”

Without common land, there’s also a loss of the sense of community.

Furthermore, the encroachment of common land by community members who wield social, economic, and political power worsens the problem for smallholder farmers. They are forced to allocate a significant portion of their earnings to purchase fodder, which is an expense they could cut down on if they had ample common land for their animals to graze freely.

Without common land, there’s also a loss of the sense of community. Shyam says, “Collective ownership differs from individual ownership. An individual can choose to build a 6-foot wall around his land and decide who is allowed and who is not. But with commons, the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor have an equal stake. They can determine how they want to use it; the wealthy may use it for leisure, while the less fortunate can earn a livelihood.”

In 2006, Balulal Gujjar, Shyam’s father, took the lead in mobilising the village against encroachments on their shared land. The villagers recognised the critical importance of safeguarding and improving these resources for food security, and wholeheartedly supported the initiative. That year, an informal committee was formed, which collaborated closely with local authorities for the development of these lands. To ensure fair decision-making, the people of Thana established a structured system. They conduct meetings on the 5th and the 20th of every month to decide upon vital matters, such as when to allow grazing and setting grazing fees for the villagers, and share updates on encroachment removal and the identification of new encroachments.

While its inception was informal, the committee was officially registered as the Charagah Vikas Samiti in March 2021 under the Rajasthan Panchayati Raj Act, 1996, thus obtaining legal authority to mobilise local resources, raise funds, and seek government support for various development projects aimed at improving the living standards of the community. Under the act, the committee is legally empowered to make decisions concerning the management of these lands, ensuring equitable access for all residents, and enforcing regulations related to land use and environmental conservation.

Taking back the commons

Thana village has approximately 2,000 bighas of common land, nearly all of which were encroached upon at some point. Thanks to the persistent efforts of the Charagah Vikas Samiti, 10 percent (200 bighas) of this land has been successfully reclaimed from encroachers.

Kalu explains, “Reclaiming this land is quite challenging because the encroachers are often fellow or neighbouring villagers. We attempt negotiation first, but there are times when we have to invest our own resources and travel 100 kilometres to Bhilwara to file a formal complaint against the offenders.”

Encroachment tactics vary. While some individuals gradually expand the boundaries of their private properties into the common land, others create ramps for their cattle to cross over into the commons. People have also attempted to establish shrines and, in one instance, invited a baba (religious guru) to reside on the common land, thinking that people will be afraid of taking any action against him and so he can facilitate the takeover of the land.

The committee employs various methods to combat these encroachments. For example, when confronted with stone boundary walls built by the encroachers on the land, committee members dismantle them and reuse the stones to construct the commons’ walls. In cases involving the construction of ramps, heavy machineries such as bulldozers are summoned for removal. When a resident from a neighbouring village put up a stone shrine, Kalu took matters into his own hands, physically relocating the stones to near the homes of those who attempted to establish the shrine.

He explains that encroachers employ such tactics because shrines hold religious significance, making it unlikely for anyone to remove them out of fear of divine retribution. Shyam adds, “In the case of the baba who settled on the common land, we mobilised the entire village, making announcements using microphones and drums. By the time we all gathered, the baba had fled the area.”

Securing resources for the development of the reclaimed land

While removing encroachments is a significant achievement, developing the reclaimed land is equally crucial to make it productive and fulfil its role in ensuring food security for livestock. However, development in this context involves more than just financial resources. Shyam emphasises, “Beyond money, people have contributed their labour to develop this land. Individual families took on specific responsibilities, such as building sections of the boundary wall.”

In addition to monetary contributions and labour inputs, institutional support plays a pivotal role, and the Charagah Vikas Samiti facilitates these efforts. The committee collaborates with the gram panchayat, block, and district development officers to ensure the efficient use of government schemes such as MGNREGA and Mukhya Mantri Jal Swavalamban Yojana for planned land development. Most of the land’s development, including the construction of durable boundary walls, ponds, check dams, and contour trenches, has been accomplished through the coordinated utilisation of these schemes.

Shyam highlights, “Countless hands have contributed to the land’s development, with people from Thana village and neighbouring villages—some from as far as 8 kilometres away—coming to work on this land. We estimate that work worth more than INR 1 crore has been completed, benefitting the local community. While the financial benefit per individual may not be substantial, it’s far more equitable than money going into the hands of a single contractor.”

 An estimated annual budget of INR 2.5–3 lakh is needed for the proper maintenance of the charagah. 

To generate funds, the committee conducts auctions of grass and fruits harvested after the monsoon season, which earns them approximately INR 50,000. This money is used to hire a security guard for several months in the year to prevent stray animals from entering the charagah and to ensure that no one allows their animals to graze without permission. The guard is paid INR 6,000 per month.

Apart from the auctions, the committee lacks a regular income source. Shyam estimates that an annual budget of INR 2.5–3 lakh is needed for the proper maintenance of the charagah. These funds are required for boundary wall repairs, tree planting, and hiring of security guards for both morning and night shifts throughout the year. Kalu emphasises that support from the government or philanthropic foundations would greatly help in these endeavours.

Harvesting the fruits of conservation

When it comes to the benefits derived from the development of the charagah, there are two distinct categories. Firstly, there are direct advantages, primarily in the form of an extended fodder supply during critical months. This translates to substantial annual savings of approximately INR 6,000 per animal, if not more. Secondly, there are increased employment opportunities through MGNREGA, which not only boosts direct income but also allows nutritious fodder and thus healthier livestock.

For the people in and around the village, the reclaimed and replenished land also offers a place for peace and leisure. Shyam explains, “Kalu and I often come here to sit in silence, listening to the birds chirping.” Kalu describes the experience saying, “It’s so serene that if you come here hungry, you’ll forget your hunger.”

This profound sense of ownership and attachment to the land stems from the fact that the community members themselves reap the rewards of their labour. The beneficiaries extend beyond the human community. The village’s domestic animals, as well as wild creatures such as blue bulls and hundreds of bird species, enjoy the bounties of the land.

Shyam and Kalu say, “We plant different types of fruit and trees on the land. This benefits numerous wild animals and birds, providing them with nutritious sustenance and contributing to the overall conservation of biodiversity.”

To further enhance this effort, it is essential to strengthen the provisions for the Charagah Vikas Samiti. Kalu and Shyam say, “A source of regular income could help reinforce the system we have developed here. If the government can allocate an annual budget [for the upkeep of common lands], it would encourage more panchayats to establish samitis like ours—helping more people, animals, and the environment in general. Even private institutions and nonprofits can assist with funds for specific initiatives or contribute by sharing conservation knowledge and helping in improving our committee functionality.”

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Know more

• Learn how an adivasi activist from Rajasthan composes songs to encourage the conservation of natural resources.
• Learn about sustainable livelihoods and resilience through community forest management.

Lantana camara severely affects the productivity of the forest ecosystem, which comprises several varieties of grasses, shrubs, and herbs. Once an invasive species like lantana takes over, it replaces the native flora of a place on which a variety of birds, insects, and animals feed. In the course of The Corbett Foundation’s (TCF) work as a nonprofit in the buffer zones of the tiger reserves of Corbett, Bandhavgarh, Kanha, Satpuda, and Kaziranga, we have seen the infestation of lantana threaten the long-term functionality of these forest ecosystems. When the ecological balance is disturbed in this way, it may have several repercussions, including an increase in pests that adversely impact agriculture. There are other concerns, too. In areas in and around tiger reserves, dense lantana thickets provide an ideal hiding place for tigers, leopards, and sloth bears. Since people living near these areas frequently visit the forest to collect non-timber forest products (NTFPs), firewood, and fodder for their sustenance and livelihood, they are prone to animal attacks.

Considering the large-scale impact of lantana in forest areas, in 2017, TCF decided to start a year-long pilot project in a buffer region near Bandhavgarh National Park in Madhya Pradesh. We partnered with the state forest department for this project. It involved fencing off five hectares of forest land and weeding it. After witnessing positive results on that small plot, we scaled our habitat restoration programme to larger forest areas in Madhya Pradesh and to other states such as Gujarat and Uttarakhand.

The importance of habitat restoration

Habitat restoration involves removing invasive species and planting trees with gaps between them to allow the regeneration of local flora. While doing this, we must make sure to only plant flora that is native to that region. We should avoid introducing any new plant species, even if non-invasive, so as not to disturb the ecological balance of the area. In regions such as Kachchh in Gujarat, which is primarily a grassland habitat in a semi-arid landscape, another exotic invasive species Prosopis juliflora has proliferated, destroying large swathes of this unique ecosystem.

Weeding a forest is a difficult process that demands persistence.

It is against the principles of habitat restoration to tinker with the natural environment of a place; this is what sets it apart from blanket plantation. Those working on reforestation should let these regions remain as they are. It is also much more effective when compared to expensive and ad hoc plantation drives we have seen in the country over decades that have failed to increase India’s green cover.

However, weeding a forest is a difficult process that demands persistence. Lantana has to be removed from a patch of land for at least two to three years continuously. During this period, that land is fenced off and no grazing is allowed in the area. We also dig pits for planting the saplings of native plants, and sometimes even create water bodies so that we can harvest rainwater to replenish the groundwater table and to attract birds and other fauna.

In the first year, it is massive work because we are clearing fully grown thickets. In the second and third year, too, we have to remove some amount of the lantana that will regrow because it is a hardy species. From then on, its growth decreases and the weeding process requires lesser labour input.

Involving the people who matter

Community members from nearby villages are employed to work on the weed removal and reforestation, and are paid according to the rates prescribed by the forest department. We have also started self-help groups with the villagers in places like Kanha Tiger Reserve. These groups are now engaged in growing the saplings of native trees that we have linked to the Government of India’s Aajeevika Yojana, and these saplings will eventually be purchased by either TCF or other government departments for plantation. Some of the villagers are also employed as security guards at the site to prevent vandalism, trespassing, or livestock grazing.

As a nonprofit, we become the bridge between the villagers and the forest department.

When grass grows after the monsoon, villagers come to the area to harvest the quantity that they need to stall-feed their cattle. We keep a record of how much grass was harvested and how much lantana was removed from a particular site in a year. After three to five years, the locals are able to harvest NTFPs from the trees on the plot; they no longer have to venture deep into other forest areas with their livestock and put themselves and their livestock at risk with the wild animals. We also periodically monitor the wildlife in the region and assess the increase in numbers of species.

We work very closely with the forest department, whose officials visit the sites regularly to check on the progress of these patches taken up for restoration.

As a nonprofit, we become the bridge between the villagers and the department because of the historic conflict between the forest department and the forest-dependent communities over forest access. Immediately after the survey of an area, we reach out to the village development committee or eco-development committee, made up of representatives from the villages and the forest department around a reserve forest or tiger reserve respectively. We hold meetings with the committee to help them understand the restoration project. It is important that the villagers are a part of the project from the very beginning; they should be aware of what is being done and why. A tripartite agreement is signed by us, the forest department, and the village development committee, which clearly states each partner’s role. The villagers are explained why they shouldn’t graze their livestock in areas fenced off for reforestation and should instead practice stall feeding. The forest department retains the ownership of the land, provides the necessary permissions to execute the work, and monitors the project periodically.  

A nonprofit cannot take care of the forest forever, so after five to seven years we hand over the site to the forest department. However, the agreement with and involvement of the villagers ensures that the forest doesn’t degrade again. 

The uphill task of keeping a forest healthy

Restoring a forest is not an easy job. When reforestation is done without a clear plan and understanding of the local ecology and topography, it can have damaging results. In the past, eucalyptus trees were planted by the forest department in many areas. Eucalyptus is a species that should never be planted in any Indian forest because it is alien to our ecosystem. Moreover, it is a water guzzler that affects native species. There are however plans to completely remove existing eucalyptus plantations and restore these areas to create mixed forests instead.

Our habitat restoration model is replicable across forests in the country.

These days forest departments do a lot of work, weeding and reforesting core areas of the forests they manage. When you go to Kanha Tiger Reserve or Satpura Tiger Reserve, you can see uprooted lantana shrubs kept upside down to prevent them from regerminating. But the department has limited funds and the extent of degradation is enormous. Even if you just take the North Shahdol Forest Division, it has more than 5,000–6,000 hectares of degraded forest land.

Organisations like TCF that have access to CSR funding can help the forest department. But the funders who put their money in such projects need to also understand that they will not see immediate results. They cannot fund restoration for one year and then move out. The support should continue for at least five years so that the results are apparent.

Our habitat restoration model is replicable (with locale-specific tweaks) across forests in the country. In fact, after working with us, the Madhya Pradesh Forest Department has partnered with private organisations to fund their restoration efforts in other forest areas. We believe our work in Madhya Pradesh can be easily reproduced in regions such as Vidarbha in Maharashtra where the culture of the local communities, vegetation type, and climatic conditions are similar.

Weeding any plot of land is a challenge, but when that plot is an entire forest, the difficulties double. Yet, it can be done when every stakeholder puts their head and hands to the task.

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Know more

• Read this article to learn more about India’s battle against lantana camara.
• Read this article to understand the process of natural assisted regeneration and its importance in forest conversation.
• Read this article to learn how different approaches to reforestation impact local communities and the environment.

But efforts to increase global tree cover to limit climate change have skewed towards erecting plantations of fast-growing trees. The reasons are obvious: planting trees can demonstrate results a lot quicker than natural forest restoration. This is helpful if the objective is generating a lot of timber quickly or certifying carbon credits which people and firms buy to supposedly offset their emissions.

While plantations on farms and barren land can provide firewood and timber, easing the pressure on natural forests and so aiding their regeneration, ill-advised tree planting can unleash invasive species and even dispossess people of their land.

For more than 200 years India has experimented with tree plantations, offering important lessons about the consequences different approaches to restoring forests have on local communities and the wider environment. This rare long-term perspective should be heeded by foresters today to prevent past mistakes being repeated.

Plantations in colonial-era India

Britain extended its influence over India and controlled much of its affairs via the East India Company from the mid-18th century onwards. Between 1857 and 1947, the Crown ruled the country directly and turned its attention to the country’s forests.

Britain needed great quantities of timber to lay railway sleepers and build ships in order to transport the cotton, rubber and tea it took from India. Through the Indian Forest Act of 1865, forests with high-yielding timber trees such as teak, sal and deodar became state property.

To maximise how much timber these forests yielded, British colonial authorities restricted the rights of local people to harvest much beyond grass and bamboo. Even cattle grazing was restricted. Indian communities retaliated by burning down some of the forests.

Meanwhile plantations of teak (Tectona grandis), a species well adapted to India’s hot and humid climate and a source of durable and attractive timber, spread aggressively. Pristine grasslands and open scrub forest gave way to teak monocultures.

Eucalyptus and other exotic trees which hadn’t evolved in India were introduced from around 1790. British foresters planted pines from Europe and North America in extensive plantations in the Himalayan region as a source of resin and introduced acacia trees from Australia for timber, fodder and fuel. One of these species, wattle (Acacia mearnsii), first introduced in 1861 with a few hundred thousand saplings, was planted in the Nilgiris district of the Western Ghats.

This area is what scientists call a biodiversity hotspot–a globally rare ecosystem replete with species. Wattle has since become invasive and taken over much of the region’s mountainous grasslands.

Similarly, pine has spread over much of the Himalayas and displaced native oak trees while teak has replaced sal, a native hardwood, in central India. Both oak and sal are valued for fuel, fodder, fertiliser, medicine and oil. Their loss, and the loss of grazing land, impoverished many.

Restoring forests in India today

India has pledged to restore about 21 million hectares of forest by 2030 under the Bonn Challenge. A progress report released by the government of India and the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) in 2018 claimed around 10 million hectares was under restoration.

Afforestation harms rural and indigenous people who depend on these ecosystems for grazing and produce.

This focus on increasing the area of land covered with trees is reflected in India’s national forest policy, which aims for trees on 33% of the country’s area. Schemes under this policy include plantations consisting of a single species such as eucalyptus or bamboo which grow fast and can increase tree cover quickly, demonstrating success according to this dubious measure.

Sometimes these trees are planted in grasslands and other ecosystems where tree cover is naturally low. The result is that afforestation harms rural and indigenous people who depend on these ecosystems for grazing and produce. The continued planting of exotic trees risks new invasive species, in a similar way to wattle 200 years ago.

There are positive case studies too. The Forest Rights Act of 2006 empowered village assemblies to manage forest areas which had once been in traditional use. Several assemblies (known as Gram Sabhas) in the Gadchiroli district of central India have restored degraded forests and managed them as a sustainable source of tendu leaves, which are used to wrap bidi (Indian tobacco). In the Kachchh grasslands of western India communities were able to restore grasslands by removing the invasive gando bawal (meaning “mad tree”) first introduced by British foresters in the late 19th century.

Future forests

The success of forest restoration efforts cannot be measured by tree cover alone. The Indian government’s definition of “forest” still encompasses plantations of a single tree species, orchards and even bamboo, which actually belongs to the grass family.

This means that biennial forest surveys cannot quantify how much natural forest has been restored, or convey the consequences of displacing native trees with competitive plantation species or identify if these exotic trees have invaded natural grasslands which have then been falsely recorded as restored forests.

Planting trees does not necessarily mean a forest is being restored.

Natural forest regeneration and plantations for timber and fuel should both be encouraged, but with due consideration of how other ecosystems and people will be affected. This includes carefully choosing plantation species to ensure they don’t become invasive.

The objective of increasing tree cover should be assessed in terms of its implications for forest rights, local livelihoods, biodiversity and carbon storage. Some of the best practices on restoration through communities such as Gadchiroli should be studied and scaled up.

Planting trees does not necessarily mean a forest is being restored. And reviving ecosystems in which trees are scarce is important too. Determining whether local people and the environment are benefiting is a more helpful measure of success than simply scanning a forest canopy from above.

This article was originally published on The Conversation.

Stalin spoke to IDR about what it takes to build a people’s movement, why such movements should not be labelled ‘anti-development’, and why litigation is every environmentalist’s last recourse. 

Based on your experience of mobilising support for the Save Aarey movement, can you speak about the importance of public participation in environmental movements?

Climate change is not going to be restricted to a select class of people. The rich may get away with whatever resources they have to mitigate its impact, but the poor—who are more in number—will still suffer. Any decision or event related to climate change will have a bearing on the larger public. So it’s important that they—the ones who deal directly with solutions to the issue—be its spokespersons.

But the problem is that there’s no consensus on the solution. Different stakeholders are never at the same table. This disconnect makes it difficult for the global population to move forward in unison to fight the effects of climate change. It is therefore important that every movement has people participating from all walks of society—from different socio-economic strata and with different academic qualifications and means of livelihood.

When the Save Aarey movement began, the criticism levelled at us was that it was ‘an English-speaking people’s movement’. And yet, the first people to break into the Metro car shed site to save the trees were the tribals who said, “This is our forest; you’re not touching it.”

The Save Aarey movement consisted of people from all walks of life. There were doctors, engineers, actors, teachers, homemakers, students, and professors. And standing alongside them were labourers, mathadi workers (head loaders), fishers, Adivasis, students, senior citizens, women’s rights organisations, and, curiously, even the political class.

Aarey was offered as a sacrificial lamb to help builders, and we have the documents to prove it. People understood this, which is why they rallied around the cause. This is why the movement was a success. In a city like Mumbai, where getting 10 square feet of land out of the government’s or builders’ hands is a Herculean task, we managed to secure 830 acres of forest. This is what the citizens who fought for it achieved, and we take pride in it. We couldn’t stop the Metro car shed from being built, but in today’s world, wherever democracy is crumbling, it is difficult for people to win immediately. The government bulldozes every sort of opposition and uses every resource it has—from disinformation to intimidation—to do what it wants.

How did you mobilise wide participation across different strata of society?

When news of the tree felling first came out in 2014, schoolchildren—for whom we conduct environmental education sessions—started asking us about Aarey. We told them that the forest was being cut down and the children said that they wanted to see it before that happened. So we took them there. They climbed trees and hugged them and that was the first protest, the first ‘Chipko’ in Mumbai.   

Then it became contagious, spreading to citizens who lived around Aarey. They felt connected with it and understood its value. They were the ones who mobilised more people. The cause eventually became viral, with a protest being organised every Sunday. However, this was not a planned movement at all. We could have never imagined that it would go on for nine years.

For a movement to be successful, it has to be ground up and local.

One of the factors that influenced its success was nostalgia. Many of the protestors in their 40s and 50s had strong childhood memories of Aarey. You always want to retain a part of your childhood, and so you’ll step up to defend those sites. When you come in with your children, and they see your connection with the place, they too will support your cause. So we were lucky in that sense. The movement happened in a city where people still remember Aarey as a forest and a picnic spot.

Another example of a successful citizen’s movement was the one at Nanar in Ratnagiri district, where the villagers’ protests led to the proposed oil refinery being relocated to another village, Barsu-Solgaon. Women were at the forefront of those protests, and eventually, the people’s will triumphed. Now the residents of Barsu-Solgaon too are fighting against the refinery.

Are these protests against development? They are not. Because you’re not taking your projects to places where people don’t have access to water or are suffering from other socio-economic hardships. These projects should go there and help those people. Instead, you’re disrupting the economic and social fabric of people who are self-sufficient and peaceful. And you call it development!

If you want people to support a cause, there isn’t a single formula you can apply; every context will be different. But for a movement to be successful, it has to be ground up and local. Having said that, I do think people will rally around you if you hit the right buttons—talk earnestly and present evidence to support your claims.

How does one strike a balance between the needs of a growing city and preserving urban ecosystems?  

Cities today face the effects of climate change from sea-level rise, increasing temperatures, pollution, and solid waste management. Let us look at all four factors. When the sea pushes into the land, what do you do? You can’t push back; you have to withdraw. You must give space to the sea to come in and go back. But what are we doing? We are pushing into the sea. We are building a coastal road. That coastal road is like giving a person with liver cirrhosis a bottle of country liquor. It’s the worst thing to do for the coast. The road could have been built on stilts if it was such a necessity. Now, it will only create more pressure points along the coast where the water will push its way into the city and cause more flooding.

The second factor is rising temperatures. How are you combating it? By chopping down more trees and concretising roads to reflect heat back into the atmosphere.  

Then comes pollution. If you go to the slums, there is no ventilation, no circulation, no open spaces; people live next to sewers and children are born with diseases. Every Mumbaikar has respiratory problems because of the dust in the atmosphere from never-ending construction and the increasing number of vehicles.  

There’s water pollution, too. Mumbai is blessed with two beautiful wildlife areas, one of which is the Thane Creek Flamingo Sanctuary, a Ramsar site. There are 1.5 lakh birds there. What is in their creek? Only sewage and plastic. And yet those birds are desperately trying to stay there because that’s the only habitat left for them. So, you’re losing your wetlands and polluting what wetlands are left.

What is the state of our solid waste management? India’s biggest garbage dump is the Kanjurmarg dumping ground, built on 120 hectares of wetlands. The law specifically prohibits the construction of waste landfills on salt pans, in coastal regulation zones, on wetlands, and inside mangroves. But all of Mumbai’s dumping grounds are inside mangroves.

What can be done for the environment when laws are flouted?

I would say whatever is saved today is because of the judiciary. But the judiciary has a lot more to do and the orders are not coming at the pace they should. If you’re starving for a long, long time, and someone gives you a packet of biscuits, you’re still grateful to them. Every so often, the judiciary hands us a packet of biscuits, and we are grateful because we are starving.

There is another systemic shortcoming—the people hearing environmental matters are not experts. The specialised body for environmental disputes is the National Green Tribunal (NGT), which consists of judicial members who are experts on law and members who have expertise in environmental matters. But the NGT’s orders are often challenged in the Supreme Court, and many times stay orders are issued. Then these cases take forever to be heard and disposed of. Take the case of the Mumbai Coastal Road Project. In 2019, the Chief Justice of the Bombay High Court, Justice Pradeep Nandrajog, rightly noted that this was a land creation project and not an infrastructural one. But his order was overturned by the Supreme Court, which told the BMC that they could go ahead with the work, subject to the Supreme Court’s orders. How will you restore the natural landscape of the coast if you hear the case after 10 years and then realise you did something wrong?

In such a situation, is litigation the last recourse?

It’s the very last recourse. It’s a painful decision for us to go to court. But we do believe that you stand a chance to get justice there. However, justice delayed is justice denied. And in matters of the environment, time is of the essence. We move heaven and earth before we go to court—making requests, pleading with officials. It’s only when nothing happens that we’re forced to go to the judiciary. And then, the first thing you have to do in court is prove that you don’t have a vested interest in the case, because there’ll be all kinds of accusations brought up by the other side.

Moreover, those with money and power know how to prolong litigation, hoping to wear you down. In one case, there were court orders to put a stay on mining in a forest. The hearing was yet to begin, but the government held a public hearing with the intention of starting the work. When we approached the concerned officers with the court order, they smiled at us saying, “How long will you stop us? We will come back after two years, or after 10 years. But the mining will happen.”

The warnings about climate change started coming in as early as 2006. But what was predicted to happen by 2030–40 is already happening now. We can’t sit back and say we still have time to get our act together. We’re behind the clock. What we are trying to do is grab on to something to stop our free fall. Litigation is not rosy. It takes resilience and patience, and it also creates disillusionment, depression, and anger when you see your efforts defeated time and again. But we need to persevere. We’re happy with the odd success that comes our way. It is better than not doing anything at all.

What holds people back from doing more than volunteering?

People are not ready for the long haul. They want instant results, and they want to satisfy their conscience. They ask us why we haven’t taken this or that matter up. We tell them, you do your part, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll help you. But don’t expect us to fight every battle. People call us to say mangrove trees are being cut in front of their houses. But their interest is only limited to their view, not their love for trees. We say call the cops. But they don’t. Their fear is understandable; the amount of intimidation people can be subjected to is worrying.

The deterrent to greater environmental activism is lack of money, bandwidth, strength, and courage.

During the Save Aarey movement, people were picked up randomly and detained. Cops would take videos of people protesting and ask them, “Who called you here? Where do you stay?” The common person doesn’t want to get into all this. There’s a Marathi proverb, “Shivaji janmala aana paije, pan aamcha gharat nahi.” We want Shivaji to be born, but not in our house. Because we don’t want our children to take the risks that the great warrior king took.

People need to step up, but that’s not happening. You need the resources and the bandwidth to stay on this course for a long time. The deterrent to greater environmental activism is lack of money, bandwidth, strength, and courage.

What are your takeaways from environmental activism?

We should continue our fight in whatever way we can. People try to cleanse their minds or souls by planting a sapling and forgetting about it. That’s the worst thing to do. If you spend time talking to that sapling and making it grow into a tree, it’s a different story. It is said that you should have the fortune to sit in the shade of the tree that has grown from the sapling you once planted.

Environmentalism is not only about judicial activism or advocacy. It’s a mixture of everything; it’s about connecting with nature and taking that relation to its logical end. Every person must individually connect their soul with nature, not just because religion or a political party demands it. I believe that each citizen should give at least two years of their life to the cause of conservation. That karma will stay with you.

The conversation today is about mitigation of damage done. But how do we build better at the very outset?

How to build is a very valid question. Every government project can be executed without destroying the environment. If you want to go from point A to point B and there’s a forest in between, go overhead without touching the trees. You have the design, the technology, and the money to do it. If you can build a railway line 30 metres below the ground, you can certainly pass over a forest. Infrastructural projects should factor in the environment. It can be a win-win for everyone. But there’s a reluctance to spend money to make it happen. The standard defence is, “I’m cutting 2,000 trees here and planting 10,000 saplings in Timbuktu.” If it’s raining in Mumbai, I’ll need my umbrella here, not in Delhi.

It has been ingrained in our system that development must happen at the expense of the environment.

But the reason for going through the forest is never for the convenience of the road itself; it is to perforate the forest and create land parcels inside it. Let the law state very clearly that no built project should destroy the environment. Which law in our country allows you to destroy the environment? Even the Tree Act is a preservation act, not a tree-cutting act. It’s the Environment Protection Act, not the ‘Destruction Act’. The term ‘sustainable development’ is unfortunately an oxymoron.

It has been ingrained in our system that development must happen at the expense of the environment. But there’s always a workaround where the environment can be preserved. Yet, those technologies are not being deployed; the money is not being spent where it should be.

What implications will the amendment to the Forest (Conservation) Act have on wildlife and the environment?

These amendments are not at all welcome; they will only promote more destruction.

The amendments say defence areas need to be protected. My counterview is that you can still do that through engineering and design. Habitat destruction shouldn’t be the collateral. The government could have recommended working around those habitats, or at least providing the animals there with a suitable alternative habitat if they intend to take away their current one. If your intentions are right, you have no dearth of resources. Our Constitution tells us to be compassionate. Where’s the compassion in watching an animal lose its habitat and starve to death?

Wildlife and forests are inseparable. When you remove one from the equation, the other suffers. Unfortunately, forested lands are seen as free to plunder. India has set a target of 33 percent forest cover, but it is currently only 21 percent. When you already accept that it is less, how can you go on decimating it? What they did with the Forest Survey report itself was ridiculous—by classifying sugarcane plantations, grasslands, everything as forests, and saying the forest cover had increased.

When you talk of habitat and forest destruction, you’re also talking of depleting water. Forests and water have an inseparable relationship that is not understood by the government. By depleting forests, we are pushing India into water scarcity.

Given the vested interests in land and the political pressures exerted on businesses, can environmentalists rely on philanthropy/CSR funding in the long run?

At Vanashakti, CSR comes for educational, plantation, and livelihood activities. Philanthropy pays for litigation, because there are people who strongly believe we are doing the right thing. But funds are very hard to get.

FCRA clearances have been taken away from many nonprofits on the argument that the money is being used to sabotage India’s interests. This has caused many organisations to shut down or go dormant. The government is trying to starve nonprofits. Again, the fundamental question is, what is in the nation’s interest and what is not? Is it in the national interest for us to sit back and watch a forest being destroyed and tribals being displaced, farmers losing their farmlands, and industrialists giving them jobs as labourers? As per the current regime, borrowing foreign money to destroy ecosystems is acceptable, but trying to save the environment using foreign money is a crime.

What you’ve shone a light on paints quite a bleak picture. Is there hope for the future?

There is hope, so long as you are willing to put your resources into it. It’s like this: There was a man who kept praying to God asking why he didn’t win the jackpot. He kept asking for over a month, and one day God said, “But you need to buy the lottery ticket first!”

So it’s not enough to just pray, you have to do something; everyone has to do something. There is always hope. We have to keep that hope alive and keep at it. When you’re starving, be grateful for every packet of biscuits you get. You never know when you’ll land up at the buffet.

Someday, the masses will demand for conservation to be at the forefront of governance. With that hope, we continue our struggle.

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Know more

• Learn more about India’s progress on climate action through this tracker.
• Read this article on lessons from five decades of conservation work in coastal Gujarat.
• Read this photo essay about the Adivasis of Aarey and their protest against the Metro car shed.

At the heart of the current discourse on land governance lies the profound impact of open data (Sorensen 2018). Despite this, it’s noteworthy that almost a quarter of a century has elapsed since the last documented assessment of India’s common lands took place in 1998. This dearth of comprehensive data and knowledge has engendered weak policies, conflicts, and inadequate public oversight. The opacity has also paved the way for the appropriation of such lands, unsustainable resource use, and missed opportunities for conservation. Despite judicial calls for action urging their protection (see, for instance, the case of Jagpal Singh & Others vs State Of Punjab & Others), common land resources are presently undergoing a swift and alarming decline (Pandey 2019).

Adopting data-centric strategies to shape decision-making emerges as the next logical step. Since the governance of common lands transcends administrative boundaries and involves multiple stakeholders with varying interests, it requires a dynamic collaboration to co-create data, tools, and processes to enhance the effectiveness of land management. As the crucial first step, a comprehensive registry can help establish an integrated and holistic framework for the governance of these lands.

If you can’t measure it, you can’t manage it

A common land registry goes beyond a mere public record of land parcels; it serves as a repository of shared resources, encompassing geographical data, political boundaries, and legal cadastre. While the United Kingdom has been a prominent example, diverse forms of such registries also exist in countries like Uganda, Peru, and Tanzania. Although Indian states have inventoried public lands for ‘land banks’ in the past, these efforts are primarily aimed at steering them towards more productive uses, such as urban expansion, infrastructure, industries, and, more recently, compensatory afforestation.

In contrast, a common land registry seeks to inform resource management, facilitate decision-making, and safeguard customary rights. To this end, it can include information about land categories based on historical and customary use, precise land parcel boundaries, restrictions on land use and alienation, documentation of shared access and resource rights, along with details of ownership and management entities.

Roughly three-quarters of land-related conflicts in India revolve around common lands.

Integrating digital maps with advanced geographic information systems (GIS) can provide a more accurate understanding of the on-ground situation. A prime example is Delhi’s e-Dharti GeoPortal, which combines legacy drawings like maps and lease plans into a GIS-enabled system, showcasing the potential in this regard. The concept of an integrated GIS-enabled land portal, available at the national, state, district, block, and village levels, also aligns with the vision set forth by the Draft National Land Reforms Policy of 2013.

This act of opening land data to the public can strengthen social accountability and facilitate continuous improvements in its administration. Harnessing technology and enabling stakeholders to remotely access and verify data can improve transparency, reduce information asymmetry, and curtail instances of fraud. Roughly three-quarters of land-related conflicts in India revolve around common lands, often materialising as on-ground protests due to an inadequate recognition of rights (Rights and Resources Initiative & Tata Institute of Social Sciences, 2016, Wahi 2019). An open, digital common land registry holds the potential to reshape conflict resolution by reducing ambiguities and fostering transparency. GIS applications can further deter encroachments through historical analyses, as is being done with water bodies in Tamil Nadu. This could prove particularly valuable to dispute resolution authorities such as the Public Land Protection Cells (Chandran and Singh 2022).

Establishing the common land registry as a definitive reference point requires an understanding of the dynamic nature of common lands—where rivers shift courses, grazing occurs seasonally, and governance rules constantly evolve. State governments, vested with the constitutional power to devise their land-related policies, are best positioned to anchor the process. Nevertheless, given the existing heterogeneity of regulations, practices, and even land categorisation within each state, the involvement of the central government becomes crucial to establish baseline standards or a guiding framework, akin to the efforts made under the centrally-sponsored Digital India Land Records Modernisation Programme.

Integrating data and knowledge systems 

Over the years, state departments have progressed in developing data systems and digitising paper records to support their primary areas of operations. Yet, the lack of well-coordinated information across government units remains a challenge. A case in point is observed in Andhra Pradesh, where numerous villages recently urged their district authorities to include their common lands in the Prohibitory Order Book (POB)¹. Doing so ensures that these lands, otherwise categorised as ‘wastelands’, are reserved for communal use and safeguarded from diversions for alternative purposes.

Although several villages saw lands entered into the POB following their requests, the communities’ rights to manage the resources usually did not get documented. This results from the historic disconnect between the land revenue departments and local governing bodies under the Panchayati Raj system. The former, concerned primarily with documentation and land records, can sometimes overlook the social, cultural, and economic significance of common lands. On the other hand, the latter, while engaged with local communities, lacks the legal mechanisms required for formal recognition and protection of lands beyond the panchayat circle. This scenario is exacerbated by vague land boundaries, encroachments, and competing claims.

Yet, this August, hope emerged in the village of Chintamakulapalle, Andhra Pradesh, when the panchayat received a long-awaited letter from the revenue department, officially acknowledging their custodianship of the hard-fought common lands. As a definitive step forward, the panchayat promptly entered the lands into their panchayat asset register, planting the seed for others to follow. Even without clearly established processes to secure tenure, the community’s rights and customs can hold weight in a court of law.

This triumph resonates as more than a local victory: it echoes the need to harmonise India’s diverse land information management practices into a cohesive whole. A cohesive strategy is needed to break down data silos and integrate different knowledge systems. This should empower communities to make well-informed decisions that safeguard the sustainability of common lands for generations to come.

Common land registry as the single source of truth

Recognising community stewardship is at the core of this initiative. As the primary stakeholders, communities should form the foundation upon which the registry is built, making their active participation and ownership pivotal to its success. The process begins by harmonising existing documents such as the panchayat asset register, people’s biodiversity register, and other records maintained by committees entrusted with local natural resource management. In Assam, for instance, village-level committees are designated as the guardians of land resources. They oversee the preparation of and update the village ‘land bank’ and ‘knowledge bank’, ensuring resource protection.

Similar responsibilities are undertaken at various tiers of government. This is seen in Karnataka, where the taluk panchayat has to consolidate, maintain, and update a database of pertinent socio-economic information and a map of natural resources. Rajasthan elevates this with a multi-layered structure where Charagah Vikas Samiti (pasture-land development committees) at the panchayat, block, and district levels prepare records and development plans for grazing lands within their jurisdiction. At the apex, the Waste Land and Pasture Land Development Board has to create and maintain a statewide database.

The registry itself is not a panacea for all land-related challenges.

Central to the registry’s success is the principle of being a “single source of truth”, housing accurate, comprehensive, and up-to-date information. Achieving this goal requires a multifaceted approach that spans legal, technical, administrative, and community engagement dimensions. It also needs synergy among various horizontal and vertical nodes of decision-making. Progress is already being made at the intra-departmental level within states. Assam, for instance, has launched the Integrated Land Records Management System, aimed at improving the interconnectivity among different revenue departments for property registration, land records updation, revenue collection, and transfer approvals of immovable property. It is equally important to enhance inter-departmental collaboration to ensure the accuracy and comprehensiveness of the registry. This initiative will require the participation of key players such as the departments of land revenue, Panchayati Raj and rural development, forest, agriculture, information technology, and urban development.

The registry itself is not a panacea for all land-related challenges; it must exist within a broader strategy. For instance, the process of documenting and harmonising the boundaries can unearth conflicts within and among communities. This emphasises the need to incorporate boundary negotiations, conflict resolution processes, and fostering trust among stakeholders as integral facets of registry development. Concerns surrounding digital land grabbing have also surfaced, necessitating a more robust legal regime for communal property and collective stewardship (GRAIN, 2022). Appropriate checks and balances, such as carrying out regular land audits and geospatial analysis, can also thwart the potential for misuse. It is also vital to continue strengthening digital infrastructure at the local level while building capacities of panchayats to maintain registers and records, as outlined under the National Capability Building Framework.

While acknowledging these caveats, the need for evidence-based planning and sustainable resource governance also remains indisputable. The registry has the potential to evolve into the foundational data source that can be used across sectors and domains. This can further empower decision-makers at various levels to base their choices on reliable data, thus facilitating the development of more effective, targeted policies. In this manner, the registry can transcend its role of being a mere data repository, and intricately weave together the threads of traditions and technology, resulting in a unified fabric of progress.

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Footnotes:

1. The Andhra Pradesh Assigned Lands (Prohibition of Transfer) Act, 1977 details the procedure for how different categories of land including wastelands and Poramboke lands can be assigned by the Revenue Department.  

This article was originally published on Ideas for India.