[Reader-list] community protection of forests in Orissa

[Nagraj Adve]

A longish but excellent piece on community protection of forests in
Orissa, by Subrat Sahu

Piece below.



 Trees first

By Subrat Kumar Sahu

Communities throughout Orissa have been regenerating and protecting
their forests since the beginning of the 20th century. Today, around
17,000 village forest protection committees in roughly 19,000 villages
protect 2 million hectares of forests. That means that over a third of
Orissa’s total forest area is now under community control even though
‘legally’ it is state property

Read Part 1 of this series here
Read Part 3 of this series here
Read Part 4 of this series here
Read Part 5 of this series here
Read Part 6 of this series here

Sixty-five-year-old Joginath Sahu, or ‘Shramik Jogi’ (labourer-saint)
as he is fondly called in Kesarpur, in Orissa’s Nayagarh district,
attributes the village’s success in community forest management to its
‘green philosophy’. You ask what it is and he says simply: “Tree
first; that’s it! Gachcha, gachcha, gachcha… baki sabu katha pachcha!”
Loosely translated: “Tree, tree, and tree… then comes the rest, if
any!”

Shramik Jogi recollects how, before Independence, the village was
surrounded by thick, beautiful green trees that harboured a variety of
wildlife species. However, between 1950 and 1970 -- when the
government leased out vast stretches of forest land throughout the
state to contractors for commercial exploitation -- the forests were
completely destroyed. “Even the roots were not spared,” he says. “A
sort of demonic darkness descended on the people here. Due to soil
erosion, fertile lands were filled up and ruined; we even feared that
the village would be buried in soil one day. There was an acute
shortage of fuelwood; cattle did not find land to graze; perennial
streams and village wells dried up; the rains were irregular; the rich
wildlife disappeared.”
Shramik Jogi
Shramik Jogi, the headmaster who learnt and taught his ‘green philosophy’

“It was the wisdom of villagers like Udaynath Khatei (a farmer) and
Narayan Hazari (a professor at Utkal University in Bhubaneswar) that
saved the village to an extent.”

Shramik Jogi had just joined, in 1966, as headmaster of the local
Middle English School. He and Udaynath Khatei took it upon themselves
to “bring the dead earth back to life” along with his students and
fellow villagers. They set up a village forest protection committee
(FPC) and started with Malati hill, which had not a single tree left
on it. “Our first job was, of course, to plant trees. We would sit on
the roadside and touch the feet of every passerby, urging them to
plant a tree each. And they happily planted as many saplings as there
were family members, one for each member. Within four years, all 13
villages in and around the erstwhile forest joined in the campaign.
Like bees collect nectar from each flower they come in contact with,
we took advice and wisdom from each and all. It was such a collective
effort, and it still is.”

By 1970, there was a standing forest albeit one that was still in its
infancy. It needed protection against ‘predators’. The villages
started practising thengapali. Two villagers would find a bamboo stick
each morning on their doorstep; this meant it was their turn to guard
the forest that day. Today, all three hills -- Malati, Binjhagiri and
Maru -- are covered in a dense green canopy. Streams flow round the
year and the watertable has risen.
Rejuvenated forests at Kesarpur

In an inspiring three-hour conversation, the retired headmaster
described an incident in 1978 that he would never forget. “We had just
planted 5,000 saplings on Malati hill. A businessman who ran a stone
crusher there got his men to uproot and destroy all the saplings one
night. The next day we were heartbroken. We all cried. I lost my
senses. That evening, I got hold of a kitchen knife and was about to
set out to kill the businessman. Then I caught sight of myself in the
mirror and the knife dropped from my hand. I saw a demon in the
mirror. The entire night, my wife and I cried non-stop, sitting side
by side.”

“We tried to forget the incident and continued our work. Three years
later, the businessman came to us with his men and asked for
forgiveness. We hugged them and they all joined us in rejuvenating and
protecting the forests.”

A mass movement

The story of Kesarpur and the thousands of hectares of forests in the
region are a reflection of the enormous effort communities throughout
the state have put into regenerating and protecting their forests
since the beginning of the 20th century. Today there are about 17,000
village FPCs covering roughly 19,000 villages, protecting around
2,000,000 (2 million) hectares of forests in Orissa. That means, over
one-third of the state’s total forest area is now under community
control and care even though ‘legally’ it is state property.

Neera Singh, former director of Vasundhara, a Bhubaneswar-based NGO
working with forest issues in a number of districts, who now teaches
at the University of Toronto, Canada, wrote in Forests, Trees and
People (Newsletter No 46; 2002): “Forest protection by villagers
started as an informal phenomenon, with forest degradation and
scarcity of forest produce being the driving force for local action.”
A study in 1998 by Vasundhara shows that as much as 50% of rural
income in some districts of Orissa was from minor forest produce.
Singh adds: “During my long association with community forestry
practitioners in Orissa, I was struck by the spontaneity of this
phenomenon. From the villagers’ perspective, it was natural for them
to come forth and protect their threatened resource rather than stand
as mute spectators. The fact that the forests did not belong to them
was not a primary concern.”

Protection of forests by communities spread to newer areas in the
1960s. In the 1970s and 1980s, it took the form of a mass movement in
Orissa.

In many villages I travelled to, people told me they had been looking
after the forests for 100 years or more. Voluntary forest protection
by communities in Lapanga, in Sambalpur district, is the oldest
‘recorded’ instance.

According to records, villagers in Lapanga began the movement as early
as 1936. Following massive commercial exploitation of the forests
there, the distance between the village and the forests increased and
essential forest produce became scarce. The villagers appealed to the
then British administration in 1936, and a semi-judicial body
involving villagers, called Gauntia Panch, was set up. Land tax for
those who contributed to and protected the forests was exempted.
Ujagar Pradhan, 75, who is a member of the Lapanga Prajarakshit Jungle
(Lapanga’s people-protected forest) Committee, says: “That year
(1936), many landholders of the village donated parts of their land --
around 50 hectares in total -- to regenerate the village forest. A
village FPC was also formed. Villagers guarded the forests by
observing thengapali, which we still do. Also, each family used to
contribute some amount of foodgrain every month to meet the expenses
of the protection work.”
The famous community forest at Lapanga that has inspired many villages
in the state to adopt community forest protection

Hiradhar Sahu, an independent activist who works among tribals in
Debgarh district, says: “Urban people need to understand that there
are also large numbers of human beings on this planet who cannot live
without forests, just as they cannot live without urban facilities. In
Debgarh district today, we have nearly 700 FPCs in about 1,000
villages, and many FPCs are run by women alone.” Pradeep Mishra of
Vasundhara, who is looking after the community forestry programme,
explains: “Even though there have been communities protecting village
forests for a long while, the turning point in Debgarh district was
the historic people’s rally in the early-1990s that sought to higlight
issues of resettlement and deforestation in the wake of the Rengali
dam. This event helped spread the CFM movement far and wide.”

Women lead the way

The idea of women taking up cudgels to protect the forests, as
mentioned by Hiradhar Sahu, is not restricted to Debgarh district. It
has spread throughout the state. In Lunisahi, in Nayagarh district,
women had an interesting story to tell. The village of about 90
families has been guarding the forest since 1970; the FPC was largely
managed by men. Then, about three years ago, the men became embroiled
in petty politics and started fighting amongst themselves. “Well, the
forest had to bear the brunt of their madness,” says Shakuntala Sahu,
president of the present village FPC. Sanjubala Pradhan, an anganwadi
worker, elaborates: “Men’s political aspirations killed the impeccable
sense of belonging that we had for decades. They not only stopped
guarding the forest, they started cutting trees rampantly; timber
traders from outside also joined them. There was utter chaos in the
village. After witnessing this for months, the women got together and
deliberated over the situation. We formed an FPC with only women as
members. We issued the men a notice, giving them 10 days after which
entry to the forest would be banned for everyone without prior
permission of the FPC. That worked wonders! Now, we guard the
forests.”

“Each of the 90 families is engaged in the effort,” says Shakuntala.
“Sundays and Wednesdays are open for villagers to collect essential
forest produce. It’s more than 1,000 hectares of forest, guarded by
women alone. We even fight with the timber mafia that occasionally
manages to sneak in, and drive them away.”

In Rangamatia village, Debgarh district, another village FPC run by
women had to put up a check-gate to stop intruders. “The problem is
that the timber mafia is hand-in-glove with the forest officials,”
says Sukadei, a member of the Rangamatia PFC. “We often get into
terrible fights with the intruders; we even have police cases pending
against us. Once we stopped a group of intruders and the conflict
escalated to the point at which the divisional forest officer (DFO)
had to be called in. But instead of helping us he shouted at us: ‘Who
asked you to protect the forest?’”
A forest village in Debgarh district

She quickly adds: “Who are they to tell us about forest protection?
They are the plunderers. Look at the present DFO who got suspended
yesterday.” Hiradhar Sahu takes out a copy of the day’s newspaper and
shows me the front page news item about the suspension of the DFO for
his alleged involvement in smuggling and selling forest produce worth
millions of rupees. Sandalwood worth Rs 2 lakh was discovered at his
residence!

Lone crusader

No sooner had we stopped our motorcycle by the densely forested
hillock that the villagers call Kumudi Dongar, some 2 km from Aenlajor
village in Kalahandi district, when we heard a shout from the
wilderness. The voice kept coming closer, accompanied by the beating
of a baton. In a few minutes, an old man with a stick appeared,
walking fast, almost running towards us. Prabhakar Bhainsal (24), who
had joined me in Aenlajor as my guide, said: “That’s my grandfather.
For years now he has been guarding this forest all by himself.”

On learning that I had come there to talk to him about how the village
forest was being protected, Trinath Bhainsal (75) heaved a sigh of
relief and said: “Son, this dongar (hillock) has provided so much to
the village. But it is in the greedy eyes of the timber smugglers. So
I have to ensure the safety of my ‘Neeli Kumuden’ (Kumudi Dongar).
This is my goddess and my life.”
Trinath Bhainsal (75) guards 250 hectares of forest at Aenlajor
village in Kalahandi district

Prabhakar explained that after the villagers got entangled in politics
and other mundane things, they stopped caring about the forest,
leaving it to self-destruct. Since his grandfather took up the task of
protecting it, however, the forests have been getting denser.

Trinath adds: “It’s been 20 years since I started guarding the forest.
It’s a vast stretch of about 250 hectares. In 1997, under the
watershed programme, they planted some cashew plants. But they all
died. Then the forest department came up with a social forestry
programme in 2000, which also did not work. During that time, I was
promised Rs 1,000 per month for three years to guard the forest. I got
the money for 12 months and then they stopped my salary. I remember,
the officers and some villagers had a big feast with the money they
siphoned off! But, despite the lack of support, I have never stopped
taking care of my Neeli Kumuden. The villagers say: ‘You spend the
whole day in the forest, aren’t you scared of the spirits?’ I say: ‘If
the spirits eat me up, I would be immensely grateful. That is better
than being consumed by the greed of human beings!’

“An ex-MLA once promised me Rs 1,500 per month. I told him that I
could not consume that much; give me only Rs 1,000. But that also
never came.

“There are such big pythons in the forest, they can gobble you up in a
second. There are hyenas, monitor lizards, porcupines, salkatis (land
crocodiles), snakes of all kinds. I have to brave them all every day.
People call me insane. I say, it is only the insanity of this old man
that has kept the forest alive for you!”

After a while he took our leave and disappeared into the forest again.

A democratic process

In each of the 30-odd villages in the eight districts that I
travelled, what I found amazing was the functioning of the FPCs whose
rules are simple, yet binding. Apart from a ban on the entry of
outsiders, the rights given to local users are strictly need-based,
egalitarian, and religiously practised. While villagers are allowed to
collect minor forest produce according to certain guidelines laid down
by the village committee, they must seek permission from the committee
if they want to fell a tree. The need could arise if a house is being
built, a wedding planned, or if wood was required for the funeral
pyre. The FPC assesses the request and considers giving its sanction.
At times, the village may see the need to harvest part of the village
forest to earn income that will either go towards the village
development fund or be distributed equally among the villagers.
Outsiders caught by the villagers attempting to collect logs or other
forest resources are made to pay a fine. Many villages also adhere to
the concept of chuli chanda (contribution by the kitchen), in which
each family unit contributes either cash or foodgrain towards the FPC
fund. In some villages, schools have been constructed using income
from the forests; the high school in Kandhakel village, Balangir
district, is one such example.

So, what started as a spontaneous reaction by villagers to the
large-scale destruction of their forests now has the broader agenda of
development. In Ranpur area of Nayagarh district, for example, over
100 FPCs have come together to form a federation called Maa Maninaga
Jungle Suraksha Parishad that has been instrumental in streamlining
the collection and marketing of forest produce and the construction of
water-harvesting structures. The benefits of these go to the people
who depend on the forests.

The essence of this initiative by 19,000 villages that together
protect 2 million hectares of forests in Orissa is summed up in the
words of Achyut Rana of Bhogalpur village, Mayurbhanj district: “The
forest also has a life; if you ill-treat it, it will not let you live
in peace. You have to take care of it like a child!”
Achyut Rana and Kapura Murmu

Standing next to Rana as he handed me a pot of handia (liquor made
from rice mixed with herbs), Kapura Murmu, a young Santhal woman from
the nearby Salbanee village, said: “We have one committee combining
seven villages that protects the forest. The forest is both our
goddess and provider. If we don’t take care of it, who else will?”

I asked the obvious question: “What about the forest department?”

They looked at each other and smiled…

(Subrat Kumar Sahu is an independent writer and filmmaker based in New
Delhi. He was formerly with TerraGreen, a magazine on the environment
and sustainable development. He was awarded the Infochange Media
Fellowship 2009 to research the history of community forest management
in his native Orissa. This is part 2 of his series)

Infochange News & Features, March 2010