An Organized Racket
Dr Rajan Kotru:
These are dark times for future Himalayan Development Pathways. The untamed ferocity of Monsoon-2025 has only underscored that the nature of the Himalaya is not only fragile but also that those who live in and live from it have lent their hands to make it even more sensitive. Hundreds have died and scores are missing when it comes to human casualties. We have no estimation of how many domestic and wild animals are missing, how much productive land is lost, what has been the damage to biodiversity, how much fertile soil has eroded away, and how many springs are gone. It is a clear case of known unknowns and perhaps even unknown unknowns (Donald Rumsfeld, 2002).
Often newspapers inform us of how many roads are closed, houses washed away, electrical transformers burned, or tourists and pilgrims stranded somewhere in the landscape. And on a positive note, how many NDRF/SDRF personnel are involved in rescue missions and how many helicopters have been put into action. Government-designated teams get summoned to assess the damage. Surely, some of us might be nominated to groups that will plan vision documents and updated climate action plans, and finally tell us what needs to be done. Year in, year out, we have seen a commonality of responses since the independence of our nation. We have witnessed all sorts of metaphors as formality so far: Himalaya Bleeding; Save Himalaya; Secure Himalaya; Mission Himalaya, etc. Such slogans, among others, bring funds and investments to institutions — whether governmental or non-governmental — projects to scientists and the business sector, and finally financing for so-called local body resilience plans. All of us become part of this economic cycle as an “organized racket.” Otherwise, how do we explain that if billions of rupees are flowing into Himalayan conservation and development programmes, we are still unable to build roads that last many summers, raise forests that conserve and stabilize catchments, or invest in Panchayat climate resilience plans that make things happen on the ground impartially?
Come winter, especially in the western Himalayan states, we will once again be confronting landslides, avalanches, roadblocks, and casualties. This list can be long and the extent of socioeconomic and ecological damage unfathomable. Given our proactive society — from media to social media, experts to common citizens, and from policymakers to practitioners and scientists — all give resounding statements on the fragility of the Himalaya. For some, it suits to say climate change is the culprit; for others, the type and trajectory of development we have taken up predestines us to where we are in 2025 (e.g., Chosoti in Kishtwar, Mandi in Himachal Pradesh, and Dharali in Uttarakhand). Only a few may question how we design and deliver development in the Himalaya and how we manage and monitor the effectiveness of development investments.
It is expected that the noise around the Himalaya will subside as soon as the legislative assembly and parliament sessions and Monsoon-2025 conclude. After all, development in this mountain chain cannot be halted, and the politics around this development cannot be ignored. The father of economics in the 19th century, Adam Smith, had quoted: “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest.” It fits squarely with the self-interest and actions of numerous stakeholders in and around the Himalaya. Some see it as a holy cow — a cultural legacy. These are the ones rushing to seek spiritual and religious blessings while littering unmitigated rubbish around holy places. Quite a lot see it as a milking cow — as development works can bring many dividends, and hardly anyone questions whether the design and earthwork related to a hydropower dam or to a new road or railway line is conducive to delicate geology. Then there are always those who see it as a stray cow. Many tourists who want value for their money fall under this category — all Himalayan states want as many of them as possible — with utter disregard for the amount of waste they may leave on the roads and riverbanks of ecologically sensitive mountains.
Overall, the aftermath of catastrophes brings us to regular complaints: policies not being conducive, planning not integrated enough, implementation riddled with fault lines, and public programmes and business sector activities not customized to the Himalaya, among much else.
In sum, it ends up with the choice of how good our design of conservation and development is, how genuinely we implement this design, and finally, how best we manage and monitor outcomes of our investments, both green and brown. To do this, it is time that we use the available data (climate and non-climate) for our planning, which by no means should now be in isolation by each department or investor. Rather, in an artificially intelligent world, we need to match our sectoral plans and ensure that these are integrated — preferably at the district and even Panchayat/Municipal Corporation levels (e.g., early warning systems must be known to all and preventive measures adopted by all).
In simple words:
Firstly, we must know who is doing what and where there is convergence for the adaptiveness of investment to mountains — in purpose, activity, and funds.
Secondly, it is time that implementation and management are rated performance-oriented and future public funds tagged to this performance (e.g., if a village practices good climate resilience-building, it must get incentives; and if a last-mile road design is messed up, disincentives must go to those who built it).
Lastly, proactive monitoring of outcomes of all investments and the need for corrective course must be realized timely and correctly.
The eight Himalayan countries (including India) mountain institution, the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD) at Kathmandu, often quotes that there is enough data to take the right actions.
To conclude, we can say that there are simple things in modifying our planning, in strengthening our management, and in gearing up our monitoring that must come under grip. Finally, the Himalaya needs a business plan and a central authority that works with the motto: If we plan without implementing, it is futile; and if we implement without a plan, it is fatal.
