Shekar Dattatri is an award-winning wildlife and conservation filmmaker who has worked as a producer and cameraman for some of the world’s leading broadcasters and production houses.   He has also served on the final jury of wildlife film festivals, including Wildscreen, the world’s most prestigious wildlife film festival.  He is the recepient of a Rolex Award for Enterprise (Associate Laureate) for his work in conservation filmmaking.  More information on his work can be found at www.shekardattatri.com

March 1989, Chalakudy forest, Kerala:  Standing on a ridge in the predawn darkness, perspiring and out of breath, there was no time to rest and let my heartbeat return to normal.  I had another climb before me, and this one was straight up.  My companions, Krishnan from the local Kadaar tribe, and volunteer field assistant, Suresh Sharma, stood silently, well used to the routine that was to follow.  Setting my backpack on the ground, I turned to face the huge rainforest tree that rose up into the inky sky.  My destination was a small platform 25 metres up, near its crown, where we had earlier put up a hide for filming a great pied hornbill nest.  Gingerly, I put my foot on the first rung of the flimsy looking, homemade rope ladder. Although it swayed a bit, I knew it wouldn’t break under my modest weight.  A torchlight hanging from my neck cast a small pool of light and, looking neither up nor down, I began the ascent carefully, focusing on one rung at a time.  With no climbing equipment or safety harness, a slip could be fatal, but fear wasn’t an option.  For months, my colleagues and I had hoped to find a filmable nest, and this was an opportunity not to be missed.

A female hornbill and her chick occupied the nest cavity in a tree opposite the hide.  They were completely dependent upon the male to bring them food, and my climb in the dark was to ensure that he remained completely unaware of my presence. Sending my helpers away, I would sit alone in the hide the whole day, in complete silence, and climb down only after dark.  This is the universal dictum of responsible wildlife filmmaking: your subject’s safety comes first.

Once on the platform, I lowered a rope threaded through a pulley to haul up whatever I would need  – a heavy tripod, the backpack containing the camera, and food and water for the day.  Then the wait began.  Everyday, for ten days, I sat in the hide up in the treetops for what would turn out to be a 3-minute sequence in our documentary on south India’s shola forests.  The film, ‘Silent Valley – an Indian rainforest’ went on to win national and international awards, and catapulted us into the rarefied world of international wildlife filmmaking. Since then, much has changed – equipment, techniques and programming styles – but one thing remains the same: it is still extraordinarily difficult to succeed as a professional wildlife filmmaker.

Making it as a wildlife filmmaker The specialized field of natural history filmmaking has never been easy to break into, no matter what your nationality is or which country you live in.  The rate of attrition is extremely high and only the most persevering and talented can even gain a foothold.  The odds are even higher for Indian filmmakers, who have to contend with a host of special difficulties. To survive and grow in this profession one must gain the acceptance of reputed international channels as a producer or cameraperson.  But with no support of any kind, and lacking outlets for wildlife films on Indian television, Indian filmmakers have virtually no opportunities for gaining the experience and expertise needed to compete in the highly crowded and intensely competitive international arena. Although India now has a bewildering number of homegrown television channels, none of them commission wildlife programmes, which are highly expensive and time consuming to produce.  The Indian arm of the Discovery Channel and the Asian arm of the National Geographic Channel sometimes acquire films made by Indian filmmakers, but are not yet into commissioning programmes in a big way. Exorbitant government filming fees and highly restricted access to wildlife compound the problem, and are sounding the death knell for this genre of filmmaking even before it has a chance to bloom properly.

Problems aplenty The most basic assurance that a wildlife filmmaker needs is reasonably unrestricted access to his or her subjects for extended periods of time. Without this basic assurance, no film can be planned, and no proposal can be submitted to a broadcaster.  Most wildlife in India, especially the charismatic species that are attractive to television audiences, exists only in Protected Areas such as Wildlife Sanctuaries and National Parks, which are controlled by the government.  Special permits are required for filming in PAs, and these are usually not easy to obtain.  When granted, they invariably come with a whole host of restrictions.  Wildlife films often take months to shoot, if not years, but the people in charge of issuing permits rarely understand this.  Recently, a friend of mine who applied for permission to film in a rainforest for ten days was told that since his presence “would disturb the forest”, permission would only be granted for three days of filming!  Needless to say, my friend, an experienced and dedicated naturalist, had to give up the shoot. 

In the event that you manage to get permission from the government for an extended length of time, you are then faced with many field restrictions that make filming difficult, if not altogether impossible.  Take the entry and exit times from PAs, for instance.  The hours around sunrise and sunset are the most crucial times of the day for wildlife filmmakers because of the possibility of beautiful light and because there is often a lot of animal activity at dawn and at dusk.  You need to reach the point where your subjects are before sunrise, and be there when the sun goes down.  However, if you’re only allowed to enter the park at 6.00 am along with all the tourist vehicles, and have to leave the park at the same time as the tourist vehicles, you end up missing the best times of day for filming. 

Hide photography is another case in point: a great deal of wildlife filmmaking happens from hides either on the ground or up in trees.  Yet, getting permission to put up a hide in an Indian National Park or Sanctuary is often very difficult.  The same goes for accessing areas that are off-limits to tourists, such as the core area of a National Park.  So, in effect, a wildlife filmmaker in India is usually only allowed the privileges extended to ordinary tourists but, unlike the ordinary tourist, he or she has to pay a hundred or thousand times more for the same privileges. 

Until the mid 90s, filming fees in PAs were fairly reasonable, often not more than a few hundred rupees a day.  This meant that an independent filmmaker in possession of the right equipment could scrape together some money and spend time in the forest collecting footage, with the idea of eventually turning it into a film. This situation changed when PAs were thrown open to foreign crews with liberal budgets in dollars and pounds.  This opening up happened at a time when wildlife filmmaking was at its peak internationally, and dozens of crews poured into India.  As a result of this influx, almost all states hiked up park fees into the stratosphere, with no distinction made in most states between struggling Indian filmmakers and well-funded foreign filmmakers.  Today, park fees across most of the country are so high that only those representing big broadcasters can afford to film in India’s PAs.  Aspiring Indian filmmakers without the ‘right contacts’ can only watch in frustration from the sidelines.

The challenge of new technology Changing technology has added to the woes of present day wildlife filmmakers.  Until about 6 years ago, most wildlife films were shot on 16mm film stock.  The cameras were simple and rugged, and were virtually indestructible.  Even if you could not afford top of the line, new equipment, you could get by with old, used equipment. Many cameras allowed the use of still camera lenses with a lens adapter, helping to cut costs.  Today, international broadcasters require programmes to be shot on Hi-Definition.  The sophisticated cameras and accessories needed for this cost upwards of $100,000, putting them out of the reach of most independent filmmakers.  Almost certainly, the cost of this equipment will come down with time, but, unlike film cameras, video equipment goes obsolete every three years.  So, unless you have very deep pockets, or manage to hire your equipment out to other productions when you are not using it, it is impossible to think of owning such equipment.  Even the rent for hi-definition cameras is extremely high at the moment – as much as Rs.25,000/per day, and this without the special lenses and accessories needed for filming wildlife!  In any case, renting equipment is never practical for wildlife work because most equipment hirers in India will send two people along with the camera, and the equipment may not be available when you need it.

The road ahead So where does all this leave the aspiring Indian wildlife filmmaker?  In an extremely unfortunate state, I’m afraid!  There are now more people eager to enter this field than ever before, but the challenges have never been more daunting.  Even established production companies in the west are struggling to survive.  During the slump of the late 90s, dozens of big name production houses had to shut shop and many veterans had to throw in the towel.  Recently there has been a slight upsurge in international wildlife film production, but budgets are now lower than they were six years ago.  Broadcasters no longer allow filmmakers the luxury of spending years shooting a film.  Today an innovative storyline is more important than capturing unusual animal behaviour.  Filmmakers are expected to produce ‘exciting’ films quickly, and on a budget that would have been laughed at a few years ago.  Yet, in India, park fees keep going up, regulations are becoming tighter and wildlife scarcer.  Unless there is a sea change in the policies governing wildlife filmmaking, and a drastic reduction in filming fees for Indian filmmakers, the dreams of most aspirants to this field will come to nothing. This will be a great loss, not just to the few affected individuals, but also for India.  At a time when the planet is in great peril, India needs talented filmmakers to increase public appreciation for the wild wonders of our country and the ecosystems that sustain all life.  Without this awareness, there can be no understanding or action.

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Wildlife Filmmaking – changing international trends:

This is not a chronological account of the history of wildlife filmmaking, merely a quick peek into how international trends have been changing during the last three decades. 

Internationally, the UK and the USA have been the strongholds of natural history television programmes because of a vast and dedicated viewership.  In the UK, the BBC has been the driving force behind natural history films, although several companies such as the famed Survival Anglia gave it stiff competition in the past.  Between them, and a host of independent production companies in the two countries, natural history filmmaking was transformed into a high art form, with extraordinarily innovative techniques and breathtaking production values.  The advent of rugged 16mm cameras that were compact and silent enabled wildlife cameramen and women to go out into the remotest habitats and bring back images never seen before.  Filmmakers like Alan Root, Dieter Plage and Des and Jen Bartlett, among many others, pushed the boundaries of wildlife filmmaking with each production, spending years on location to capture amazing animal behaviour on film.  At the same time, others, like Peter Parks, Sean Morris and their colleagues at Oxford Scientific Films, were developing astounding techniques for macro cinematography, capturing the fascinating lives of insects and other small creatures for the first time.  These astonishing scenes, which we now take for granted, required specialized equipment that had to be designed from scratch and built by hand.  Today, a veritable arsenal of equipment is readily available for those who can afford it – periscopes, borescopes, time slice, time lapse, motion control, night vision, incredibly long zoom lenses and ultra close-up macro lenses; but the driving force still remains the vision and dedication of the men and women who wield these tools.

Filmmakers in the west benefited immensely from the ‘competitive creativity’ that was unleashed with the popularity of the first wildlife films.  Every time a new technique was showcased, someone else refined it and took it further in the next production.  A highly efficient and talented fraternity developed, where information was freely shared and ideas constantly exchanged.  While the cinematographers were the heroes, a vast support system evolved around them – producers, researchers, writers, specialist editors, composers, sound designers, narrators and graphic artists.  This synergy, and the resulting cross-pollination of ideas, made it possible for filmmakers in the UK and the US to reach an unimaginable level of creative and technical excellence.  The relatively plentiful television slots for wildlife programmes meant that literally hundreds of people could make a decent living working exclusively on natural history programmes. 

Blue chip – the driving force For decades, the mainstay of natural history on television was the so-called ‘blue chip natural history film’, which is, usually, a painstakingly crafted film about a single species or an ecosystem.  Such films typically take over two years to produce, and require a huge budget. But thanks to their timeless appeal, they tend to be long-term money-spinners for the broadcasters, getting sold all over the world and being shown repeatedly.

Blue chip programmes were extremely popular until cable TV burst onto the scene in a big way.  Suddenly, from requiring just a few hours of natural history programming every week, broadcasters found themselves needing many hours worth of programmes everyday, resulting in a boom in film production.  But, without much more money to play with, broadcasters began spreading their resources thin.  The market was soon flooded with low-budget, mediocre films, which didn’t go down well with audiences who had become used to seeing very high quality programmes.  Ratings plummeted and the demand for blue chip went down, forcing many production companies to shut shop. 

Enter the ‘Crocodile Hunter’ It was at this time, in the mid-90s, that a brash Australian zookeeper burst onto the scene.  Steve Irwin was his name, and jumping on crocodiles was his game.  Dubbed the ‘Crocodile Hunter’ his daredevil antics and his over-the-top mannerisms quickly became a big hit.  Broadcasters were quick to realize that this was a win-win formula, and sensational ‘presenter-driven’ shows became the norm on wildlife television. The public, seemingly, couldn’t get enough of this brand of television, in which presenters got ‘hands-on’ with creatures great and small.  Broadcasters struggling to survive got a fresh lease of life, as this new brand of programmes was relatively easy and cheap to produce, and garnered high ratings.  For the price and time taken to produce one blue chip film, a broadcaster could film 3- 4 episodes of a presenter-driven programme. Blue chip became a bad word literally overnight, ending the careers of a great many giants among the wildlife filmmaking community.

Today, as with anything that becomes commonplace, the popularity of cheap presenter-driven programmes is slowly tapering off.  With the advent of spectacular high definition television screens, there seems to be a move to produce new blue chip films.  Whether adequate budgets will be available for a true blue chip renaissance, only time will tell.  SD

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The challenge:  can Indian wildlife filmmakers compete with their counterparts in the west and ‘make it’ on the world stage?

The answer to this question is, yes, no and maybe!  The good news is that there is no discrimination in this field.  If you have the talent, and can deliver the goods, western broadcasters will treat you on par with their own. The bad news is that, having watched a number of films made by aspiring Indian wildlife filmmakers during the last few years, I’m dismayed by the poor quality of camerawork and the low production values.  Granted, Indian filmmakers face many constraints, but there is no reason why a low-budget film should be badly shot and sloppily put together in this day and age. 

Poorly made films may sometimes win awards on the strength of their powerful subject matter, but such awards rarely sway the broadcasters.  The only thing that matters to them is whether they can count on you to deliver world-class films consistently, justifying their investment.  During the last 25 years only a small handful Indian filmmakers have made a mark in the world of international television.  With most of them on the road to retirement, there is now a space for young talent to take over.  It won’t be easy, but then, it never has been.

What every commissioning editor will want to see from a newcomer is an impressive first film or show reel. Even if the footage hasn’t been shot on the most expensive format, he or she will specifically look at storytelling ability, the construction of sequences and the quality of the camerawork.  Aspiring producers should somehow go out and make at least one good film, even if it’s just 10-minutes long, enter it in festivals and ensure that as many industry professionals as possible see it.  Aspiring cinematographers should put together a show reel that will demonstrate their abilities and impress busy Commissioning Editors.  In this highly competitive sphere, if the first three minutes of a film or the first few shots of a show reel don’t impress, there is little chance of making it further.

Wildlife filmmaking in India is not a ‘growth industry’.  Given all the constraints and obstacles, only a half a dozen people can survive doing this full time.  To succeed in this specialized field, one not only needs talent, natural history knowledge and aptitude, but also patience, perseverance and dogged persistence.  The ones who are most like to succeed are either those who can do excellent camerawork and have a good understanding of the grammar of filmmaking, or producer/directors who have good storytelling abilities and can assemble a top class team to work with them. SD

December 31st, 2005 was an environmentally historic day that went virtually unnoticed, even by most environmentalists.  It was the day on which a landmark judgment of the Supreme Court of India took effect, bringing the curtain down on a mining operation that was causing havoc in the Western Ghats of Karnataka.  The Supreme Court’s order was all the more remarkable because what was closed down was no two-bit operation but a massive, government-owned, export-oriented, profit making corporation, the Kudremukh Iron Ore Mining Company Limited (KIOCL), one of the so called ‘Mini Ratna PSUs’. 

The Judgment was the culmination of a hard-fought campaign led by a Bangalore based NGO, Wildlife First, and serves as further proof that a small band of committed people can make a big difference. 

A tragedy in the hills 

 Most people will recognize the name Kudremukh as a place where iron ore comes from.  But few are aware that this iron ore has been extracted from the heart of one of the most spectacular and biologically rich tropical rainforest landscapes in the country. 

Open cast mining is a highly destructive activity and Kudremukh is one of the worst places to have situated such an operation.  The hill slopes are steep, and the region receives a mind boggling 6500 mm of rain a year, most of it as heavy downpours during the four months of the southwest monsoon between June to September.  Compounding the problem is the fact that the mined slopes are just above the River Bhadra.  Every monsoon, over 100,000 tonnes of loose soil are washed down from the slopes and into the river, depositing iron ore laden silt on the fields of farmers cultivating downstream, and finally emptying into the Bhadra Reservoir.  The mining company’s much touted ‘profit-making’ status did not take into consideration the much greater economic losses caused by the siltation.  In fact, the enormous silt loads have drastically reduced the water holding capacity of the Bhadra Reservoir, which was designed to have a lifespan of 180 years.

Most ironic of all, the ore extracted from Kudremukh at this tremendous cost to the environment was of a low grade and did not go towards fulfilling any vital national need.  It was exported to China, Taiwan and Japan.

Lakya – a ticking time bomb 

 The problem with low-grade iron ore is that it generates a vast amount of waste, known as tailings.  In the case of Kudremukh, with an iron ore content of just 30%, the remaining 70% of waste mud had to be dumped somewhere.  That ‘somewhere’ turned out to be the forested Lakya valley, across which a tailings dam was constructed.  This dam now contains over 150 million tonnes of iron ore tailings and is a disaster waiting to happen.  In 1994 it developed a serious crack, leading to panic.  People were evacuated as far away as 45 km downstream, and emergency repairs were carried out.  A big earthquake or extraordinarily heavy rainfall is all it would take to break the dam and cause a disastrous mud flood.   Such accidents have occurred worldwide.  One of the worst instances of this nature was when a tailings dam in the Stava Valley in Italy broke on July 19, 1985, sending six million cubic feet of semi-fluid mud hurtling down towards an unsuspecting community, killing over two hundred people and totally destroying homes, buildings and bridges.  The estimated financial damage: 133 million Euros.  Since then there have been 33 incidents of tailings dams breaching, including 8 in the United States. 

Other impacts of mining The impacts of mining go beyond the extraction of ore and the dumping of the tailings.  The Aroli-Gangamoola range of hills in Malleshwara, where the Kudremukh mine is located, was previously virtually inaccessible.  So a ghat road had to be built from the plains to reach it.  A large self-contained township was then created to house the workers and management. Additional roads were cut through pristine forest and grasslands to provide access for giant earth moving machines, and blasting was taken up in earnest to loosen the soil.  To get the iron ore to the pellet plant in the port city of Mangalore, a 67 km pipeline was laid through the forest, with a road created to service it.  Everyday iron ore, in the form of slurry, was pumped downhill to the pellet plant.  The slurry pipe is prone to breakage, and in the year 2000 alone, it broke four times, spilling an estimated 4000 tonnes of concentrated iron ore into crystal clear rainforest streams.

The damage does not end there.  To portray itself as a ‘green’ company, KIOCL went on a massive tree-planting spree, planting some 8 million saplings of exotics like Eucalyptus and Acacia on 2000 acres of natural grasslands, in the name of ‘compensatory afforestation’.  These invasive alien species are now spreading by themselves, and it is feared that they could gradually replace the native species in the shola forests. 

These are the impacts of mining that are visible even to the casual observer, but the long-term ecological damage goes even deeper.  One of the more serious consequences of the mining is the massive habitat fragmentation that has taken place.  Scientific research during the last three decades has revealed that habitat fragmentation is the single largest threat to biodiversity and biological integrity.  Kudremukh and its surrounding forests comprise one of the largest blocks of tropical rainforests in the Western Ghats and harbour many rare and endemic species including the lion tailed macaque and great pied hornbill. 

A reprieve  

Because of its biological importance Kudremukh was declared a National Park in 1987, thus bringing it under the purview of the Wildlife (Protection) Act, which disallows any non-forestry activity, including mining, within a protected area.  But KIOCL was allowed to continue, thanks to a 30-year mining lease.  However, even after the expiry of its lease in 1999 the company continued mining under ‘temporary extensions’ of its permit.  More ominously, it applied for a renewal of its lease for another 20 years and sought permission to open up new areas to mining.  This is when Wildlife First decided to go to court.  In association with Delhi based NGO LAW-E, an Interlocutory Application was filed in the Supreme Court in 2001 under the Godavarman Thirumalpad vs. Union of India omnibus forest case.

After two years of arguments, during which the petitioners produced overwhelming evidence of environmental destruction, a three-judge bench of the Supreme Court, headed by the Chief Justice, handed down their order in October 2002 to close down all mining operations in Kudremukh by December 31, 2005.  Numerous appeals by KIOCL failed to move the court and, on the appointed day, operations were shut down, bringing to an end three decades of horrific destruction in a fragile ecosystem.

Healing the wounds With all the topsoil long gone, healing the devastating wounds left by mining is going to be an extremely challenging task that could take decades of diligent and patient work by an army of horticulturists.  But before any planting can even begin the mined slopes will have to be carefully studied and, in some cases, may have to be stabilized to prevent landslips.  Unfortunately KIOCL is now trying to use this issue of slope stability as a ruse to continue mining for another three years, although expert opinion clearly indicates that slope stability, if required, can be achieved through standard geo-technical practices such as soil nailing and geo-meshing, which do not require the moving of large amounts of earth.  This issue is still pending before the Supreme Court.

The campaign to stop the mining in Kudremukh, although successful, was by no means a simple, painless process for those involved.  Apart from harassment and intimidation of various kinds, 13 criminal cases, on baseless grounds such as “trespass into the National Park” and “collecting water samples from the Bhadra River”, have been filed against 18 individuals in 4 courts spread over 3 districts in Karnataka by a forest official apparently working at the behest of the company.  A sustained effort has also been made by vested interests to discredit the NGOs by planting scurrilous stories against them in newspapers, magazines and TV channels.  Thankfully, higher courts have stayed all 13 cases, and the NGOs have served legal notices on the publications that carried the blatantly defamatory stories. The Kudremukh saga has clearly shown the disturbing trend of how big businesses, including PSUs, attempt to subvert even Supreme Court judgments by co-opting the media through the lure of advertising revenues.  It is to be seen whether the long arm of the law will finally bring these unscrupulous publications, renegade government officials and their paymasters to book. 

SHEKAR DATTATRI
(The writer is a wildlife and conservation filmmaker)

Should forest dwelling tribal people be given permanent rights within our National Parks, Wildlife Sanctuaries and Tiger Reserves?  Will such a move really benefit them? Is it in the best interests of the nation?  Are tribals ‘integral to the very survival and sustainability of forest ecosystems, including wildlife’, as claimed in the Scheduled Tribes (Recognition of Forests Rights) Bill?  Can we make peace between wildlife and human communities sharing the same forest habitat, as suggested by the Tiger Task Force?

Having spent a significant amount of time with members of the Irula tribe of Chengalpet District, Tamilnadu, and the Kadar tribe in the Kerala forests, I feel a deep empathy with these simple folk.  I believe however that the record needs to be set straight on the assumption that all indigenous forest dwellers live in ‘harmonious coexistence’ with nature, needing or wanting nothing more. 

Living in equilibrium with natural habitats would have been true of many human communities in the past, when people inhabited vast tracts of wilderness at low densities, and used the resources of nature purely for their own needs.  Today, you will find such a lifestyle only among a few ‘primitive’ cultures in remote parts of the world, such as the Amazon forest, New Guinea, and North Sentinal Island in the Andamans.

In India, forest dwellers now predominantly live at high densities in shrinking forest areas, putting natural habitats under tremendous pressure.  Most are in a state of transition, straddling two worlds – the forests, where they reside, and the villages, towns and cities where they sell forest produce and buy goods.  With cash and commerce having entered their lives they no longer collect forest products just for their own subsistence but to supply bottomless markets. 

Take my Irula friends, for example.  When snake skins became a favoured export commodity in the 60’s, they roamed the countryside catching every snake they could get their hands on, skinning it alive and selling the skin to a trader.  It is estimated that between 1967 and 1968, Irula and other tribal people slaughtered no less than 10 million snakes for the industry, mainly cobras and rat snakes, which are valuable pest controllers. A similar scenario unfolded when the export of frog legs was at its peak in the late 70’s.  While I have no quarrel with poor folk for making a living using the only skills they possess, these are examples of the free-for-all that ensues when market forces enter the life of tribal communities. 

 In some cases, even personal consumption is no longer sustainable. In 1989 I enlisted a group of Kadar tribals in Kerala to help me film the rare great pied hornbill at its nest.  It turned out that they knew all about the bird’s nesting habits - because it was a favourite food item.  They were aware that the species was becoming scarcer each year; yet, whenever a nest was found, the helpless mother, as well as the growing chick, was collected for the pot. There was no talk of sustainable exploitation, self-regulation, catch limits or off seasons. 

 The reality is that tribal people are no different from anyone else when opportunity beckons.  The sooner we accept this, the better we can understand the problems of people living in and off forests.

 Life in the forest Those who perpetuate the idea of a peaceful and harmonious coexistence between people and wildlife have obviously never lived in a forest themselves.  Living in flimsy, leaky shelters in the midst of elephants, tigers and other large mammals is neither fun nor romantic. The only way to earn a living is by Indiscriminately and unsustainably collecting forest produce, or by poaching animals. Permanent poverty is a given because the actual profits from forest products are all made higher up the chain by various exploitative middlemen and corporations. 

 As for agriculture, it rarely succeeds within a forest because of low soil productivity and depredation by wildlife.  In fact, rather than ‘harmonious coexistence’ there is constant conflict between humans and wildlife when both try to share the same habitat.  

The way out Forest dwelling communities have no doubt suffered grave injustices that need to be redressed now.  But for any solutions to work, they must be firmly rooted in ground realities rather than our utopian dreams or atavistic yearnings.

 Most forest dwelling tribal people today are no longer naked, grub and tuber eating and ‘primitive’. They are well aware of life in the outside world and have the same aspirations as the rest of us in modern human society.  Most continue to live in the forest because they have no other choice, and many now realize that the only way their children can avoid a marginalized, forgotten existence is by moving out of the forest and joining the mainstream.

 One of the effective solutions to the perennial conflict between forest dwellers and wildlife is voluntary resettlement outside Protected Areas. In the Rajiv Gandhi National Park (Nagarahole) and the Bhadra Tiger Reserve in Karnataka, voluntary resettlement has shown great promise, thanks to close cooperation between human rights NGOs, conservationists and Government Departments. In both cases the resettlement package offered was excellent, procedures were transparent and the relocation devoid of any coercion.  From living a life of deprivation in the forest, over 650 re-settled families now have access to electricity, education, healthcare, markets and avenues of employment. What’s more, their net yields are far higher because there is no crop raiding by animals. Both people and wildlife benefited from the move.

 Being pragmatic India’s forests, which are the nation’s life support systems, survive tenuously as isolated fragments, with less than 5% of our land area under nature reserves. There is a desperate need to protect these fragments for the greater common good.    Large numbers of people – tribal or non-tribal – cannot coexist with wildlife, and cannot move forward in life merely by collecting fruits, nuts, roots and tubers from the forest. 

And as for making peace between wildlife and human communities, for how long can we persuade forest dwellers, whose crops are destroyed by elephants or whose livestock get eaten by tigers, to bear with their loss for the sake of peaceful coexistence?  The truth is, humans and wildlife trying to share the same patch of forest is a recipe for disaster. For lasting peace, there needs to be a spatial separation between humans and wildlife, wherever possible.

Resettlement schemes in the past often failed because of the insensitive way in which they were implemented.  This has led many to believe, justifiably, that one bigha of land in the bush is worth two in the unknown world outside. However if we decentralize the process, allocate realistic budgets, involve good NGOs and handhold the settlers until they find their footing, we can achieve the twin goals of improving the lives of people and decreasing the pressure on our forests.

While documenting the relocations in Nagarahole and Bhadra I interviewed many people before and after they had moved out, and their reactions where telling. Most mentioned that, for the first time in their lives, they were actually getting a proper night’s sleep.  In the forest they had to maintain a constant vigil over their crops to prevent wildlife from destroying their very means of survival.  In Nagarahole there was a ripple of laughter when I told a group of Jenu kuruba-s who had moved out of the park, that some social activist groups had opposed their relocation on the grounds that it would destroy their culture. “Our culture doesn’t reside in the forest, it resides within us.  Wherever we go, it is with us. We are happy that we are here.  We have been given good land and we now have better prospects.  We do not understand why some people are raising such issues – perhaps they have their own reasons”.

The welfare of forest dwelling communities cannot be ensured through ‘one-size-fits-all’ legislations or populist slogans. The need of the hour is to devise pragmatic, site-specific solutions, which take into account, both, the aspirations of affected people, as well as the precarious situation of India’s Protected Areas. The tendency to portray conservation as inimical to people - and conservationists as a special interest group with vested interests - is a crass misrepresentation. 

It is time to bury the myth of ‘harmonious coexistence between people and wildlife’.  If such coexistence were indeed possible, there wouldn’t be a tiger crisis, and we would all be living in an eternal Garden of Eden. All humans were once ‘tribals’ but most now live outside forests.  We humans, in fact, thrive outside forests, but wildlife cannot.   If we are truly serious about preserving what’s left of our natural heritage, we need to ensure that certain areas are kept inviolate.  Voluntary resettlement is a win-win solution to a chronic problem and is the only permanent way to resolve conflict between people and wildlife within our tiny Protected Areas. The time to act is now.

(The writer is a wildlife and conservation filmmaker)

Wildscreen, arguably the world’s most prestigious wildlife and environmental film festival, is coming to India, albeit in a highly abridged form.  Award-winning films from last year’s festival will travel to Delhi, Kolkata, Pune and Chennai, where special screenings will be held. The programmes will also include workshops and presentations by some of the top wildlife filmmakers from the U.K., courtesy Wildscreen, the British Council and the British High Commission. 

Wildscreen’s mission is to use the power of wildlife imagery to promote the appreciation and conservation of our living planet.  During its 25 years of existence, the festival has become synonymous with excellence in wildlife filmmaking, and its Panda Awards are to wildlife filmmakers what the Oscars are to the makers of feature films.  Held every two years at the Watershed Media Centre in Bristol, the festival is a fascinating mix of film screenings, debates, seminars, pitching sessions and master classes, lasting an entire week.  The delegates to Wildscreen, each paying about four hundred pounds to participate, represent every facet of this specialized industry – from powerful Commissioning Editors and seasoned pros, to wide-eyed wannabes hoping to strike that vital first deal. 

Competition for the Panda awards is stiff, and it all begins with over 400 films from around the world being entered in over a dozen categories.  The films vary in quality, from million dollar productions shot with the latest Hi-definition cameras, to small independent films made with no more than love and fresh air – and a Mini DV camera.  A nomination jury, made up mostly of industry professionals, and a few specialists from other disciplines such as journalism and conservation, sift the meritorious from the mediocre.  The final jury then views the short-listed films, usually four per category, and awards a Panda to the winner in each category.   There is also a ‘Best of Festival’ prize in the form of the coveted Golden Panda award.

In the past, most entries to Wildscreen tended to be of the straight natural history variety, depicting ecosystems and animal behaviour. These highly expensive ‘blue chip’ films were the virtual monopoly of the U.K. and the U.S., two countries that boast a wide and dedicated television audience for wildlife films.  In recent years, however, in keeping with changing tastes and concerns, a host of new categories have been introduced, including a Campaign Award and a News Award, in which content and conservation awareness take precedence over production values.  This has provided an opportunity for filmmakers from other countries to compete, notably, from countries like India, where many filmmakers have talent but lack the resources to produce cutting edge natural history films. The success of a few Indian films at recent Wildscreens, mostly in the newly added categories, has made Indian filmmakers more aware of this festival.   In the early 90’s there were usually just two or three Indian faces in the crowd.  Today, over a dozen filmmakers from India regularly attend Wildscreen, either with a film in the competition, or just to establish contacts.  In fact, among all the countries represented, India had the fourth largest number of delegates at Wildscreen 2004, the last one I attended.

This increase in numbers however, belies the sorry state of wildlife filmmaking in the country.  Contrary to expectations, wildlife film production in India is not on an upward curve, but is actually a dying genre of filmmaking. Not only are there no incentives at all for wildlife filmmakers in the country, there are a vast number of obstacles that make survival virtually impossible.

Unlike IT or biotechnology, which generate thousands of jobs, bring in huge foreign investment and provide valuable services cheap to global markets, Indian wildlife filmmaking will do none of the above, and is therefore of little or no interest to the government.  Indigenous television channels too seem to have no interest in wildlife, and are unlikely to venture into this specialized segment, given the cost and time involved in producing such programmes.  With Discovery, National Geographic and Animal Planet having captured the niche audience for this type of programming, there is little incentive for homegrown channels to jump into the fray.  But without local outlets that pay for and broadcast fledgling productions, aspiring wildlife filmmakers don’t have a chance to hone their skills.  Lacking experience, they will not be able to compete with filmmakers from the West, who have a far greater degree of access to knowledge, techniques, equipment, opportunities and funding. 

The other great obstacles faced by Indian wildlife filmmakers are the crippling costs of access to wildlife, and the non-viability of investment in new technology.  All National Parks and Wildlife Sanctuaries in India are under the control of the respective state governments and special permits are required for filming in them.  Apart from the red tape that is enough to quell most ambitions, there is no uniform policy or fee structure for filming.  With the enlightened exception of one or two states, Indian wildlife filmmakers do not enjoy preferential rates for filming and have to pay the same exorbitant fees as foreign crews operating with budgets in pounds and dollars.  Given that international budgets have dropped drastically during the last few decades, even foreign crews are finding India’s park fees hard to stomach.  A good wildlife film can take over a year to shoot, but with the fees being what they are, Indian wildlife filmmakers cannot afford to spend the requisite amount of time gathering footage.  Changing technology has also compounded the problem.

Until a few years ago, a really determined Indian filmmaker could just about scrape together enough money to buy a new or used 16mm or Digi-Beta camera and a few lenses, and either independently produce a film or get commissioned by a western broadcaster.  That era has now passed into history, with the world firmly set on the path to Hi-Definition broadcasting.  To protect their considerable investments in these programmes, most western broadcasters now only accept films shot with incredibly expensive Hi-Definition equipment.  This is a huge challenge even for freelance camerapersons in the west. Most Indian filmmakers can only fantasize about owning this kind of equipment.  Yet, without one’s own camera and specialized accessories, it is almost impossible to make wildlife films.  Hiring the equipment from commercial rental houses is highly expensive and impractical, given the uncertain durations of shooting schedules and the hostile field conditions in which one has to operate in.

In the past, a few of us managed to ‘make it’ in the highly competitive world of international television through a combination of grit, native ingenuity, talent and, often, secondhand equipment.  Could I do it again if I had to start from scratch today?  I seriously doubt I have the financial muscle it would take.

While the Wildscreen Festival in India is extremely welcome, it’s potential impact on wildlife filmmaking in the country is debatable.  That it will make more people aware of its existence is certain.  It is also fairly certain that it will lure a few more hopeful aspirants to Bristol.  But apart from Delhi, where a lot of aspiring filmmakers seem to live, the workshops scheduled for other parts of the country may not make much of a mark, given the general lack of interest in this genre of filmmaking.  The most unfortunate thing is that even if the festival manages to inspire and enthuse a whole lot of young people, nothing will change until India relaxes its restrictive policies in wildlife reserves and adopts a reasonable fee structure for those producing documentaries.

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Shekar Dattatri is an award-winning wildlife and conservation filmmaker based in Chennai.  He served on the final jury of Wildscreen in 2004.