Trent Brown, Australia

Uttarakhand was the last stage my journey. My research had already taken me to Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh and Punjab. I had been trying to learn more about the potential of people”s initiatives for sustainable agriculture to make a difference for rural development – about how a small number of committed people can make big changes to their regions and to popular consciousness. In Uttarakhand, I would be learning about the Beej Bachao Andolan (BBA), a twenty-five year old movement to conserve traditional seeds and agriculture. Spending some time with BBA was an exciting prospect for me. It was an opportunity to meet with the surviving members of the Chipko Andolan, India”s most famous movement for social and environmental justice, and to learn more about the work that they are doing today.

I travelled to the Henwalghati Valley, the base of BBA, from Dehra Dun, after spending a few days with Biju Negi’s family, who are long-time supporters of the BBA cause. I was dropped off at the taxi stand in the early morning. My bags were stacked on top of a jeep, and we waited about an hour for enough passengers to climb inside as to make the journey financially viable for the driver. Thirteen people were squeezed into the ten-seat vehicle (admittedly, a modest achievement by Indian standards), and we set off along the road to Rishikesh. I felt a giddy excitement stirring in my chest as we travelled through the monkey-populated forests and began our ascent into the Himalayan foothills.

The Henwalghati Valley is about half way between Rishikesh and New Tehri, in the district of Tehri-Garhwal. The dominant source of livelihood is agriculture and most of the work in the field is done by village women. Farming is done on terraces carved into the sides of the mountains and is mostly unirrigated. The majority of families only have access to a few terraces each, meaning that they generally pursue agriculture for domestic consumption only, rather than sale on the market. Notably, agriculture in this region is highly dependent upon surrounding forests. Farmers depend upon the forest not only as a source of firewood and fruits for their families, but also as a source of food for livestock and of green manure for the fields. The people also assert that where forests are conserved, there tends to be more rain throughout the year.

Tehri-Garhwal is a region with a long history of social movements. During the colonial period farmers resisted the restrictions imposed on them by the British forestry department, who refused them access to the forest – effectively denying them their agriculture, livelihood, lifestyle and ultimately, survival. The same issues arose again in the 1970s, when local contractors attempted to establish commercial forestry in the region, cutting down the forests that were so crucial to local villages. Famously, the people of the villages, and particularly the women, took to the forests and clung to the trees so that the contractors could not harm them. Their powerful gesture resonated throughout the nation, and was ultimately successful, with Indira Gandhi, the then Prime Minister of the country, placing a ban on commercial forestry in the region in 1980.

The Chipko Movement not only resulted in legal safeguards to protect the forest – it also valorised local people in their concern for forest, and brought to the forefront of their consciousness the extent to which they rely upon forests for their livelihoods. Following the success of the Chipko Movement, several villages in Henwalghati formed van panchayats, or forest councils, to protect their local forests and ensure that they would not be encroached upon. Furthermore, many villagers took to planting trees around their homes and in the fields, recognising the diverse benefits that these would bring.

The effects of this are visible. As I made my way to Rampur, the village in which I was to stay for a month, I was struck by the sense that I had entered a kind of ecological paradise. The fields are green with the growing wheat crop and alive with a diversity of trees. Unlike in most parts of the South Asia, the water is clean and safe to drink and the air is pure. One hears only the chirping of birds and the gentle trickle of the water running through the old stone irrigation channels.

I stayed in the home of Sudesha Devi, a highly respected activist. During the time of the Chipko Andolan she had rallied the women of Rampur to take to the forests. She had done this in spite of opposition from her husband, recognising that it was more important to protect the future generations than to strive for money and fame in the present. She and many of the other women of Rampur village were arrested for their direct action against the contractors and spent ten days in prison. Now Sudesha is in her seventies and lives a quieter life, but she still passionately stands up for the principles she believes in, whether it is the protection of forests or the conservation of traditional seeds. She has ensured that the values of Chipko are passed on to the next generation.

My first few days in Rampur were very happy. Sudesha took the time to explain to me her involvement in the Chipko Movement and how she and others have kept its spirit alive in Rampur, through Beej Bachao Andolan and other movements and initiatives. The hospitality of her family was wonderful. We would spend the evenings talking over rotis and some of the world”s tastiest alu (potatoes), in a mixture of fractured Hindi and fractured English. The number of topics we were able to discuss was quite amazing, given that neither side was fluent in the other”s language. Ultimately this was possible because of the combination of sympathetic patience and general good humour which define Garhwali culture.

On the surface it seemed that the people of Rampur village were happy in their “ecological paradise”. They worked hard in the fields during the day, and enjoyed their time together in the evenings. The stunning visual surroundings and the tranquillity of the hills give a sense of peace which is hard to come by in India. But as I began to scratch the surface of village life, it became apparent that there is trouble in this village paradise.

Each day during my stay in the valley, I would travel to nearby villages to speak with activists and farmers about some of the issues they are facing and their hopes for the future. Everywhere, I heard the same story. Agriculture, the heart of village life, is in decline. As the global ecology begins to shift and the national policies become increasingly indifferent to the rural majority, the people of Henwalghati are finding adaptation a growing struggle. Questions of survival have been raised once again, and many feel uncertain about their future.

By far the greatest challenge for the hills is climate change. Over the past few years there has been very little rain in the region; in fact, the drought in the region has been so severe that at one point last year the Henwal River ran dry for the first time in living memory. This has been a disaster for local livelihoods, particularly in villages that have no access to irrigation water, as they depend solely upon rains for their crops. Farmers have struggled even to keep their sturdy, drought-tolerant millet crops alive, and have found themselves depending upon the market for their food supplies – an undesirable outcome when cash incomes in the region tend to be very low.

BBA, through its awareness campaigns in the region, has been vital to ensuring the survival of the villages during these difficult times. Beej Bachao Andolan”s philosophy rests upon two practical cornerstones: the use of traditional seeds and biodiverse cropping. In the context of climate change and decreasing rains, both of these contribute to crop survival in their own ways.

Biodiverse cropping ensures that there will always be at least some plants in the mix which can withstand the adverse conditions of reduced rain and increased mean temperature. On the other hand, when farmers plant monocultures, as advocates of the Green Revolution had encouraged, they risk losing entire crops as climatic patterns shift. The traditional mixed cropping system of the hills, known as Baranaja (Hindi and Garhwali: “twelve grains”), has proven to be particularly resilient to climate change. Jardhariji (as Vijay Jarhdhari is respectfully called), one of the main protagonists of BBA, has recently been travelling to other parts of India to teach the method to other farmers who are desperately seeking alternatives. Other BBA supporters have been teaching it internationally, travelling as far as Malaysia to spread the message.

Traditional seeds are also incredibly important to the challenge of climate change. BBA asserts that since the traditional seeds have survived long droughts in the past, they are in a better position to survive in a changing climate. This is a stark contrast to the hybrid seeds, which have not withstood the test of time in the same manner. Indeed, hybrid seeds require far greater quantities of water to thrive than their traditional counterparts, and water is a resource that the people of Garhwal can hardly afford to spare. They also require the application of chemical fertilisers, which most Garhwali farmers cannot afford. Nonetheless, the seed companies, hungry to make profits even from the poor farmers of this remote part of the world, have tried to make in-roads in the region, encouraging farmers to sow hybrid and the so-called HYV seeds and apply chemicals to their fields. Fortunately, due to the awareness that BBA has built, the majority of the farmers in Henwalghati regard these salesmen with great suspicion, recognising the devastation that would come with these laboratory seeds at this critical point in their history.

I am told that in the time since I left India (April 2010), the rain has come. But it came violently, in the form of fierce floods. There has been widespread damage to crops, and in some parts of Uttarakhand, houses have been washed away. Across the state, over 40 people have lost their lives.

It is tragic to see that these families in the hills have been among the first to bear the blows of climate change. They bear no historical responsibility for the problem; their carbon footprint is extremely light. In fact, these farmers can be seen as actively helping to take excess carbon out of the atmosphere, through their conservation work in the forest and their use of millets in the field – which are known to be very effective at sequestering carbon in the soil. Still, the effects of climate change have caused them to suffer a lot, and very little has been done to help them adapt.

Another growing concern for farmers in the region is the impact of wild animals on their farming. The construction of the Tehri Dam in 2006 not only displaced the people of old Tehri – it also deprived many thousands of animals of their habitat. Consequently, many have tried to resettle in other parts of the hills, but this has caused conflict with the farmers. Wild pigs and monkeys have caused damage to crops, further threatening the fragile livelihoods of the people of the villages. Last year, activists from BBA held a rally to demand that something be done about this issue – such as building fences and planting trees in the local forests whose fruits are tasty to the animals – removing their need to encroach upon farmland in search of food. The Uttarakhand State Government agreed that something would be done about this, but the villagers continue to wait. Encroachment by wild animals continues to cause significant distress.

Partly fuelled by the effects of climate change and wild animals on agriculture, many people have been abandoning their traditional homes in the villages. Given the adverse conditions, many people see no hope of finding livelihoods in agriculture any more. Furthermore, the lack of sustainable and regionally appropriate development has meant there have been very few jobs created to add value to agricultural produce. In response to this, the vast majority of the younger generation are leaving their villages as soon as they come of age, in search of employment in the cities.

One finds rural people across India confronted with the same scenario. State and central governments speak hypocritically about how India is a “nation of villages”, but their policies tell a different story. Overwhelmingly, India”s recent growth has occurred in major metropolitan cities. In the villages, economic growth rates of 8-10 per cent are only felt in the form of increased food costs. Once again, this adds to hardships of the struggle to survive.

This exodus is having a destructive effect on the fabric of village society and culture. Sunderlal Bahuguna, the famous spokesperson of both the Chipko Andolan and the movement against the Tehri Dam, has described Uttarakhand as a “money order” economy. Local livelihoods are diminishing, there are no new sources of employment, and people depend upon the cheque that comes in the mail from their family members in the cities. Years ago, before the completion of the Tehri Dam, Bahugunaji had proposed that instead of building this gigantic structure, the state government should have invested in a series of much smaller dams, which would have provided electricity, water and employment for the people, without the tremendous ecological harm. The fact that the government paid no attention to his proposals is a reflection of their priorities.

BBA has also been a strong advocate for the creation of village level employment through ecologically sustainable activities. The traditional farming systems that it has been tirelessly promoting employ more people and result in superior quality food than can be achieved through chemical alternatives. BBA has also fostered the development of supportive social networks, both within and between villages, to ensure that the collective needs of all people in the valley are met, even in the harsh times.

BBA has also inspired several local NGO workers to take up their vision of sustainable, village-level development. Mr Sanjay Maithani from Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam (Sanskrit: “The Whole World is One Family”), has been supporting small scale local industries to add value to the high quality locally grown food of the Himalayas. It is promising to see some small businesses developing for these purposes, as they provide employment for the youth, thereby putting a slight break on the flood of young people leaving the region.

The unfortunate reality is that despite these initiatives, life for the people in the valley remains difficult. Though the spirit of the people and of the people”s movements is strong, there is a need for a broader paradigm shift in the way governments think about development, and in the value that Indian society places on its villages and rural communities. The outlook of the people of Henwalghati is largely pessimistic. The older people lament the lack of company since their families have departed. When asked where they see their villages being in ten years time, the most common response is “Empty – everyone will have left”. Others, feeling even more dejected, suggest that with climate change occurring and no support coming from government, starvation remains a possibility, albeit a remote one.

On the morning when I left the valley, I woke to find Sudesha Devi was missing. Her grandson told me that she taken the cows out to graze. I was disappointed that I would not get the chance to say goodbye to this inspirational activist and thank her for her generosity in allowing me to stay in her home for the previous month. Unfortunately, I needed to move on, as the bus to Rishikesh only comes through Rampur a couple of times per day.

I packed my bags and squeezed my way into another crowded vehicle. As Rampur village began to disappear behind a big, terraced hill, I saw Sudesha and the cows along the side of the road. I banged on the window to get her attention and waved goodbye. She smiled broadly and waved back. And she continued to wave until I could see her no more.

Where I had entered the valley with excitement and jubilation, I was now leaving it with a profound sense of sadness. It was not only the sadness of leaving this beautiful place and its generous people behind; it was more a general sadness for the uncertain future of the valley. Before leaving, Sudesha”s sister-in-law Kamala had asked me when I would return. I told her that I would hopefully be able to come to visit them again within three to four years. As I sat compressed in the bus I wondered what Rampur would be like by then.

Time passes quickly, and I imagine village life will be much the same. Perhaps things will be better – perhaps people will continue to follow the message and the spirit of Beej Bachao Andolan, and work cooperatively to overcome the troubles they are facing. I sincerely hope it does, but the tide currently appears to be pulling in the opposite direction. A shift in consciousness, both in India and globally, is required to give ecological paradises like the Henwalghati Valley, and the people who live within them, a fair opportunity to survive. We need a kind of consciousness based on justice, sustainability and profound respect for all living things: the kind of consciousness that Beej Bachao Andolan has been promoting now for many years…

(Trent Brown is a PhD student, conducting his research at the University of Wollongong, Australia. His research concerns civil society initiatives for sustainable agriculture in India. He can be contacted by email at trentpbrown@gmail.com.)