South India – Day 8, part 1
Wednesday, February 12, 2025
On the road with Roy and Wajid
This morning, I was picked up at 9:00 AM, Indian Standard Time, by Roy David and his trusty driver Wajid to make our journey to Roy’s home in the neighboring state of Karnataka. Roy David and his wife Shammi are both graduates of ARI. In 1981, they started a non-profit organization called CORD – Coorg Organization for Rural Development, through which they fearlessly tackle deeply ingrained, systemic social injustices. Their website is quite good and though I may be lazy for always directing you to websites, I just don’t see the point of writing what has already been beautifully written, especially when it comes with compelling photos and videos! (https://cordngo.org/) Rather, I’d like to share my personal experiences with Roy and Shammi, which on this visit mostly encompass their work with the Adivasi.
I know I have already written much about these forest dwellers or tribals as they are also referred to, but my most moving experience is still yet to come – a meeting with Adivasi leaders in their forest home. Roy David has been fighting for the rights of the Adivasi his whole life, and I don’t use the word “fighting” in this context lightly. Much of his work is about obtaining land rights, and these are hard won. Violent confrontations are not rare and guess who bears the brunt of the violence. It’s not the ones wearing a uniform that is for sure.
As we made our way up the winding road, Wajid’s personal playlist of twangy Indian hits, most likely from another era, set the mood. I know what kind of music dads listen to, no matter which culture. It was easy to see what Suma had been saying about this “forest.” We passed through long stretches of teak plantations, followed by eucalyptus, and acacia, broken only occasionally by swaths of native jungle. Our immediate destination was Nagarhole National Park.
Coorg AND Kodagu
Some of the random conversation that always accompanies long drives landed on the name Coorg. Coorg, the “C” in CORD, their NGO, refers to a district in Karnataka that is no longer called Coorg, but Kodagu. Coorg was British. But in the usual manner in which India’s numerous name changes are handled, people use both names interchangeably. Therefore, when Coorg became Kodagu, CORD did not switch to KORD.
To continue with the fun, I learned that the climate in Coorg is similar to that of Wayanad, so they grow a lot of coffee here, too. While in Kodagu, white water rafting is a popular attraction. Hey, I wouldn’t mind a little rafting. But no time. It’s time for breakfast and here is a place serving one of my favorite foods from this part of the world – fried bananas. I could eat them endlessly.
Jail mates
One of the Adivasi leaders I would meet that afternoon is Mr. J. K. Thimma, whom Roy David proudly described as his jail mate. During a protest to try to keep government officials from entering forest areas where the Adivasi live, they were promptly arrested. In answer to this they started a hunger strike. So troublesome, apparently, was this pair that the authorities pleaded with them, “please go out.” Meaning, they got kicked out of jail. That is quite a feat.
Thimma brings legal cases against the government regarding land, and one such case involved his own house. He built a house on what had legally become his own land but the Forest Department of the Indian Government said he was encroaching. He took the case to court and won.
A step forward…
The Adivasi have some degree of land rights now, assured them in the Indian constitution. In 2006 a huge contingent of Adivasis from all over the country converged in Delhi to demonstrate. The protests were sparked by a government plan to evict a million Adivasi, but it was also the culmination of the years of wrongs against them, combined with recent efforts to help them organize and stand up for their rights. Roy David and his group of Adivasis from Karnataka participated in a long march in the capital and then sat on a hunger strike until the Forest Rights Act was passed. Wondrously, it worked, though I am sure there was a lot happening behind the scenes as well. That December, the parliament passed the Forest Rights Act which provides a degree of protection and autonomy to the Adivasi.
…and a step back
So, problem solved? Of course not. Making laws is one thing. Getting them to actually work is something completely different. So, although the 2006 Forest Rights Act was a landmark achievement that Roy David and all the Adivasi leaders had been fighting hard for, their struggle continues to this day.
The fact that Thimma could have land and build a house on it is significant. Rather than tossing the Adivasi out of their forests, the government is now giving some of them land and houses. In Karnataka, they are required to provide electricity, water, and roads. But why did Thimma have to go to court to keep his home? And why is it that when they seem to have made some progress, they suddenly find themselves losing ground again – literally?
Calls from the forest
The meeting took place just outside the national park under a canopy of magnificent trees, spaced perfectly to provide both shade and sunlight. Cool breezes put the boughs high overhead in a gentle dance. A large plastic sheet had been prepared for attendees to sit on, and special guests, that is Roy David and me, were given chairs.
When we first arrived, we found only Thimma and a few others, but then I began to hear voices calling out names from across the forest. Thimma’s father, I should mention, was a shaman, which helps explain his deep connection with this forest and his people. Gradually, more and more men and women came, seemingly out of the trees themselves, some having walked many kilometers. Their easy relationship with Roy David was obvious from the casual way they greeted each other, though the Adivasi are shy and tend to be tense around outsiders. Roy sporadically introduced folks to me, saying, this is Somaya the Panchayat president. A Panchayat is like a council for a group of villages. This is Udaya and this is Rama Krishna. Mani, in the yellow shirt, lives in an area with elephants so they build their houses in the trees. He is on the forest rights committee. And this woman over here is Shanti. She is a good fighter.
Voices from the “hadi”
The name of this village is Nanachi Gadde Hadi and Roy David started working with them in 1986, just two years after he took up the cause of the Adivasi. Hadi means village, and this hadi has achieved both individual land rights and community land rights according to the 2006 Forest Rights Act. Individual rights means a family can live on and cultivate up to four hectares. Community land rights has no limit regarding area and allows a whole village to utilize the resources of the forest as their ancestors did. But even with these systems and guarantees, they cannot live in peace.
The meeting officially started with Roy David addressing the group in their own distinct language. By the few words I could catch, like “servant leader,” I could tell he was talking about ARI. Then he turned to me and indicated it was my turn, so I started off with my favorite question.
Today was a chance to hear the voices of the Adivasi directly. A rare opportunity. Even though it may be disjointed, jumping from here to there, I want to write just as I heard, without providing extra clarifications. Through this chorus of jumbled voices, let’s see what kind of story emerges.
Beauty and sorrow
My favorite questions is, “What is the beauty of your community?” Without hesitation several people spoke up.
We have our own land, our water, our forest, our dress. The water is clean. The air is pure. Our temple is under the trees. These are our sacred places. The Goddess of the land, water, and forest are living here. The spirits of our ancestors are all in this forest.
Environmentalists come and say we are destroying the forest. Look around you. The forest is alive and thriving. We have lived in the forest for a thousand years. When the forest department people come, they don’t know anything. We have to take them around to show them what they want to see. We use only what we need from the forest. We don’t sell its products to make money. It is the Forest Department and the rich people who are destroying the forest, not us.
Keep in mind, this is paraphrasing through Roy’s translation and it is very raw. Roy added that the Adivasi don’t have temples. They don’t put their gods inside a box. They worship the whole of nature and their ancestors.
Our natural way of life is disturbed. We can’t raise our own food and have to eat government handouts. When we are evicted from our homes, there is no compensation. If it happens to others, non-tribals, they are compensated.
Our village, one man explained, was evicted with no compensation. We are 3,418 families and we should get compensation and individual land rights, so we took the matter to the high court. On February 21 a survey team will come to assess the situation, so there is maybe some small hope for the right thing to be done.
Tigers and elephants
These days people are being attacked by wild animals, but we are never attacked. We live together with them. We Adivasi know when an elephant is a hundred meters away. When the elephants find roots to eat, they don’t eat them all. They leave some and we go and eat them too. Now there is tiger conservation. When they do a tiger census, the tigers are hurt. They use a tranquilizer gun and attach a radio collar. A tiger cannot hunt for 15 days after this. The forest department does not use our knowledge of these animals.
The forest department puts the blame on us, but we never have trouble with animals. When a tiger kills an animal, it doesn’t eat the whole thing, so we take the rest. The WWF and the NTCA speak of tiger conservation, but they killed 17 tigers for the sake of research. Is this conservation? To control the elephants, they build fences using railway rails. Elephants get injured and die on them. And, now the forests are turned into plantations. They use Roundup chemicals so no grass grows under the trees. This makes a huge fire hazard. And the plants and straw the elephants eat are no longer there. [The WWF is the World Wildlife Fund and the NTCA is the National Tiger Conservation Authority.]
To this, Shanti “the good fighter” added:
We were always healthy. We never get sick. Now we get sick and the government tells us to go to their hospital. And even when we are not sick, the government comes and gives us injections. [An allusion to the COVID vaccine.]
Roots and honey
I listened silently to their struggles and complaints. Sometimes I had questions, but I let those go. It was time to listen. But I did go ahead and ask this, “What is it you want to pass on to the next generation?”
When we dig wild roots, we take a portion and leave the rest so sprouts can grow. The same is true for our medicinal plants. We are always thinking of tomorrow. But “they” build big factories and take everything. Our hope for the future is that life should be like it was before, including how we educate our children.
At this point they brought out roots and honey, the treasures of their forest. Sharing is the Adivasi way and so they generously gave us these precious things. These are the roots they dig in the forest and the honey is harvested from tall trees. It was the sweetest honey and goes perfectly with the roots. I can see why they are so healthy, eating this every day. The Adivasi in this region are famous honey collectors and climb to dizzying heights to gather the nectar. It was particularly sad when they later spoke of their “honey trees” being cut down. How can they go back to how it was before? Is this really possible? But at the same time, we are losing a wealth of indigenous knowledge, and in our ignorance and greed, do not even recognize the value of this loss.
Tomorrow
My last question was, “if I come back here in five years, what will I see?”
Those who have gained their land rights will do organic cultivation. We have never used chemical fertilizers and will continue organic for our future. Also, we must learn from and share about the lives of our ancestors. We want to revive our traditional value systems of sharing and caring. We must teach our children.
We used to produce our own liquor from roots, but now it is illegal and the government confiscates it. Now we are provided Indian and even foreign liquor and some of our people become drunkards and their health is ruined.
In the next five years we need to develop the next generation of leaders who will keep our values. And we want to live sustainably by organic farming.
In five years, I want to see paddy, vegetables, goats, cows, and chickens, all without destroying the forest. I want to live from our own land without buying things from outside.
The song
At this point, they had a question for me. “Are there any tribals in Japan?”
Japan is a homogeneous country, but yes indeed, there are tribals. I told them about the Ainu of Hokkaido and Northern Honshu. These people have almost completely disappeared – not by eviction, but by integration. There are few left who can speak the Ainu language. To this they responded: If we lose our language, we lose their identity as a people. Already, it has started to change.
At that moment a hawk or a kite flew over and everyone looked up. I’m sure they knew exactly what kind of bird it was and why it was here. It seemed to be indicating that it was time for the meeting to end, and with that a man stood up to sing. It was a plaintive song and everyone clapped along without smiling, their eyes gazing somewhere I could not see. I’m sure it was a song of their loss and sadness of their plight.
Sharing food
After this, Roy led me over to a clearing in the trees where the biggest pot of rice I had ever seen was cooking over a fire. A man scooped out generous portions, garnished it with fresh vegetables and a spicy chutney, and served all around, not only meeting goers. Leftovers were given to the dogs, who carefully avoided the spicy parts. Though some people were chatting, the overall atmosphere of the song seemed to linger in the breeze and after finishing their food, everyone began to disappear quietly back down the forest roads and paths. We also got back in our car, along with a few people who needed a lift, and headed out.
