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Conservation 'wars': Global rise of green militarisation

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PERSPECTIVES
Conservation ‘Wars’
Global Rise of Green Militarisation
Trishant Simlai
Wildlife conservation is
increasingly being portrayed
as a “war,” where conservation
organisations take moral
positions against poaching.
Military methods are being
heavily used to complement
the already existing fences.
The discourse advocating
militarisation largely ignores the
complex underlying historical,
social, economic and political
drivers of poaching. This article
argues that militarisation in
conservation is problematic
not just from a philosophical
position but also has significant
practical implications on the
ground upon which conservation
projects operate.
Trishant Simlai (trishantsimlai@gmail.com)
is a conservation scientist with research
interests in political ecology, systematic
conservation planning and human–wildlife
interactions.
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 12, 2015
N
“ ot just for the Taliban any-
more,” reads a news article
describing the proposed use of
surveillance drones to curb poaching in
Kaziranga National Park in the north-
eastern state of Assam. “It’s a war out
there,” says Valmik Thapar, a famous
Indian conservationist, advocating the use
of paramilitary forces in anti-poaching
operations, while the current Indian
Prime Minister in one of his pre-election
speeches claims that rhino poaching in
Assam is being driven by a demand for
land to settle Bangladeshi immigrants,
making aggressive threats and promising
vengeance. All these reports equate a com-
plex conservation problem to terrorism,
war and political instability. What also
remains common is the proposed re-
sponse—a more violent and militarised
approach.
Conservationists all over the world are
increasingly making the analogy of “wag-
ing a war” as a means of saving endan-
gered species (Duffy 2014). International
conservation campaigns present a specif-
ic image to the general audience: an im-
age of “parks” as battlefields, “righteous”
conservation non-governmental organi-
sations (NGOs) and individual “heroes”
battling armies of financially motivated
and organised criminal poachers to pro-
tect wildlife. Such a “war” is presented as
a legitimate response to protect large,
charismatic and endangered species like
tigers, rhinos and elephants. This show-
cases a substantial and momentous shift
from participatory approaches such as
community-based natural resource man-
agement from the 1990s to a more re-
newed model of fortress conservation,
one that is more militarised in nature.
Such a model has been referred to as
“green militarisation” (Lunstrum 2014),
a process by which “military approaches
and values are increasingly embedded in
vol l no 50
conservation practice” (Duffy 2014; Lun-
strum 2014).
Imagery of Violence
Biodiversity conservation is replete with
the imagery of violence, war and con-
flict: “rape of the earth,” “the battle to
save biodiversity,” and Malthusian visions
of scarcity (Duffy 2014). Public support is
being garnered to back efforts of conser-
vation organisations to preserve, protect
and save species by drawing from the
principles of “responsibility to protect”
(R2P) that centres around the inter-
national community’s moral duty to stop
genocides, ethnic cleansing and crimes
against humanity (Gierycz 2010; Bellamy
2008), in this case making the killing of
endangered species morally equivalent
to such crimes. However, with no hidden
intention to kidnap, murder, rape or in-
volve any other human-associated crime,
poaching inherently is non-threatening
to the human society (Humphreys and
Smith 2014). This leads to the poacher
being viewed in an alternate section of
the society as not a criminal but an op-
portunist responding to the basic human
requisite of economic survival. In that
case, anti-poaching in its militarised
form by the state or other agencies re-
quires greater scrutiny that elucidates
how poaching and anti-poaching remain
in a wider “grey area” of moral, strategic
and legal complexities.
This article attempts to explore this
complexity that lies behind gruesome im-
agery and dramatic headlines that over-
simplify the tiger–rhino–elephant conser-
vation debate, and suggests that conserva-
tionists and NGOs placing an overwhelm-
ing moral urgency on the protection of
certain selected species and presenting
graphic images to the outside world are
not being completely forthright and are
deceiving the general audience by not ad-
equately addressing the complex social,
economic and political processes that
drive these conservation issues.
Furthermore, the article attempts to
demonstrate why militarisation in con-
servation is problematic and is not just a
philosophical question but has severe
practical implications that threaten to
39
PERSPECTIVES
undermine relationships on which suc-
cessful conservation projects are built.
Current Trends
Conservation policies often lead to the
forcible displacement of people from
areas that are to be protected for saving
endangered species, causing immense
hardship to the displaced because of loss
of livelihood and social support struc-
tures. Such policies are extremely diffi-
cult for conservation professionals to
defend morally or politically (Agarwal
and Redford 2009), but current trends
suggest an even more aggressive and
violent stance than displacement or for-
tress conservation. Conservation and
animal welfare charities now regularly
use their resources to train and arm park
rangers in several Asian and African
countries to counter the sharp rise in
poaching. This support has seen the
International Fund for Animal Welfare
(IFAW) providing weapons, ammunition,
vehicles and even aircraft to the Kenyan
wildlife service, while the World Wide
Fund for Nature (WWF) has hired special
services veterans of the British Army to
train park rangers in catching elephant
poachers in Nigeria (Leake 2010).
The increasing violent stance and use of
force in biodiversity conservation origi-
nates not just from a sense of desperation
to save species from imminent extinction
but also from wider social and political un-
dercurrents at work in the global system.
As the Cold War “high politics” of state sur-
vival and international security decline,
issues of insurgency and “low politics” that
comprise interlinked green issues associ-
ated with the global economy, population
growth, the environment and biodiversity
have grown in prominence (Humphreys
and Smith 2011).
Peluso and Vandergeest in their land-
mark review of the political ecologies of
war and forests (2011) argue that
through the 1950s and 1970s, forests in
South-East Asia were drawn in as sites of
counter-insurgency activity to deepen
state power in areas where it had limited
reach. A similar argument can be made
in relation to the war for conservation
where wildlife and natural landscapes
are remade to extend power in areas
that are difficult to reach or are already
40
entrenched in conflict. This stands par-
ticularly relevant for Maoist-controlled
areas in Central India and areas with in-
surgencies in North-East India.
Conservationists, NGOs states and the
private sector regularly justify the rise of
militarised conservation on the argu-
ment that certain key species are at the
brink of extinction due to a recent and
rapid rise in criminally organised poach-
ing. However, the complexities of poach-
ing are concealed under simplistic mes-
sages. It is extremely important to un-
derstand how poaching, its origins and
the motivations of poachers overlap
with wider regional and global dyna-
mics. Often poaching is defined very
crudely and given a blanket definition
for all its forms: as the hunting of any
animal that is deemed illegal by the
state or a private owner (Duffy 2014).
This is largely due to the persistence of
the historical definitions of poaching
and its colonial legacy. If we are to un-
derstand the origins of the “war for bio-
diversity” it is crucial to delve deeper
into the historical creation of “poachers”
as a category, its links to poverty and its
political economy. These aspects are
rendered almost invisible in the dem-
ands and calls for more military appro-
aches towards conservation.
Historical Legacy of Colonialism
To establish control over natural re-
sources, authorities in British colonies
often outlawed traditional methods of
hunting with snares and traps resulting
into the criminalisation of subsistence
hunting practices of local communities
(Steinhart 1989). The practice of hunt-
ing for sport resulted in game laws that
systematically eliminated the hunting
rights of poorer communities and tribals
(Gadgil and Guha 1993; Mackenzie 1997).
British sport hunters were portrayed to
be more humane and compassionate
than the “savage” tribals who hunted
cruelly (Hussain 2010). Representations
of tribals as cruel poachers fit in perfectly
with imperial fears of poor local commu-
nities as uncivilised savages. This reflect-
ed very well in the declaration of certain
Indian hunting tribes like the “Bahelias”
and “Pardhis” as criminal tribes (Radha-
krishna 2001; D’Souza 1999; Nigam 1990).
december 12, 2015
Incidentally these tribes remain commonly
imputed during poaching incidences.
Early years of the 20th century saw
hunting expeditions by high profile fig-
ures such as Prince Charles and Theo-
dore Roosevelt that brought the idea of
safari to international attention (Storey
1991; Steinhart 1989). Over the years
cameras replaced guns, feeding a boom-
ing safari industry in fortress-styled pro-
tected areas. This process of enclosure
removed all rights to subsistence hunt-
ing and contributed to crunching poverty
among local communities living around
protected areas. Many communities all
over the world continue to ignore and
resist legislation protecting wildlife
because they believe they have a right to
use natural resources that they have had
access to for generations (Robbins et al
2009; Neumann 2001).
These historical dynamics have led to
very simplistic understandings of the
definitions of poaching. Subsistence
poaching, commonly referred to as
“hunting for the pot,” relies on crude
methods such as traps, snares and hand-
guns because targets are often small
game such as wild boar, deer or pheas-
ants (Adams 2009). In contrast, com-
mercial poaching relies on organised
groups or gangs, well-placed networks,
sophisticated firearms and navigation
technology such as Global Positioning
System (GPS) and mobile phones, target-
ing valuable species such as tigers, rhi-
nos and elephants (Leakey 2001; Duffy
2010). However, it is now getting diffi-
cult to separate subsistence hunting
from large-scale commercial poaching.
The arrival of logging companies, large
infrastructure projects and mining cor-
porations brings in a workforce that has
to be fed and transport links for easier
access to urban centres (Duffy 2010).
This is leading to the rapid transforma-
tion of small-scale subsistence hunting
into a more commercialised form blur-
ring the boundaries between the differ-
ent definitions of poaching (Alvard et al
2003; Duffy and St John 2013).
Linkages to Poverty
The links between poverty and poach-
ing are extremely complex and conser-
vation NGOs tend to accept the rather
vol l no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly

blunt and stereotypical argument that
poor people poach because they are
poor. However, while it does encourage
people to poach, poverty is not necessa-
rily the driver or initiator for poaching.
Unless there was a demand from wealth-
ier communities, individuals from poor
communities would not engage in the
poaching of commercially valuable spe-
cies (Duffy 2010). Conservation NGOs
tend not to thoroughly investigate the
reasons of poaching, as in the past the
key driving issue for campaigns was the
“fact” that animals were being poached
(Peluso 1993).
However, poaching and wildlife traffi-
cking can be very intricate and require
an understanding of its underlying
drivers such as opportunities offered to
local people to poach, individual moti-
vations of poaching, incentives of not
engaging in poaching and knowledge of
the global networks involved in organis-
ing poaching and trafficking (Duffy and
St John 2013). It also requires an under-
standing of human decision-making.
The reasons that drive an individual to
poach are shaped by the social, political
and economic context of the individual’s
environment (Jacoby 2003; Dowie
2009; Adams 2009). Decisions made by
people are heavily influenced by socio-
psychological factors, economic require-
ments and behaviour in society (Duffy
and St John 2013).
The major legal and illegal importers
of wildlife have been wealthy industrial
economies. A report by the wildlife trade-
monitoring network TRAFFIC-ASIA con-
cluded that the rises in incomes in the
region were directly related to the increase
in illegal hunting of wildlife. The report
explored the complex links between
rural harvesters, professional hunters,
middle men, wholesalers, traders and
retailers in the region and established
that the final consumers of wildlife ended
up in locations distant from the source
of the product (TRAFFIC 2008).
It is also important to place poaching
in the wider political context of a region
leading to a better understanding of
what produces poaching and what meth-
ods can be used effectively to address it.
A study in 2014 concluded that civil
unrest and political instability in Assam
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 12, 2015
was significantly and positively associ-
ated with the rise in rhino poaching in
Kaziranga National Park (Lopes 2014).
There are reports of the United Libera-
tion Front of Asom (ULFA) separatists
carrying out rhino poaching in Assam
during the period of civil unrest in order
to fund their armed struggle through
the sale of rhino horn (Menon 1996).
There are also reports of the China-
based Longhui pharmaceutical company,
which is a subsidiary of arms manufa-
cturer Hawk Group approaching rebel
groups in Assam to supply rhino horn in
exchange of advance weaponry (Gray
2013). These underlying factors need to
be addressed in conjunction with tack-
ling poaching by any form of enforce-
ment; it is crucial to understand what
makes an individual engage in poaching
in the first place. Calls to engage in more
aggressive and militarised forms of anti-
poaching ignore such complex dynamics
and are based on very simplified and
outdated understandings of drivers of
illegal hunting.
Anti-poaching
There is growing literature by histor-
ians, geographers and anthropologists
documenting the coercive qualities of
wildlife conservation in colonial and
postcolonial eras, and the violence asso-
ciated with displacement during cre-
ation of national parks (Dowie 2009;
Brockington and Igoe 2006). However,
there appears to be a systematic and
qualitative shift in the styles of violence.
This shift cannot be confirmed yet, but it
can be argued that biodiversity conser-
vation and this “war on poachers” has
created a new context for violence unlike
anything that preceded it historically
(Neumann 2004). Militarisation of anti-
poaching is not completely new and
goes back to colonial times; game
wardens in British colonies were often
ex-military personnel. However, there
appears to be no evidence of hardline
strategies such as “shoot to kill” for wild-
life conservation during those periods
(Neumann 2004).
The physical manifestation of anti-
poaching in its militarised form is part
of a trend that resembles some notable
developments in late modern warfare,
vol l no 50
PERSPECTIVES
which places an emphasis on close targe-
ting of individuals or groups (Humphreys
and Smith 2014). This approach is
broadly identified in current military
discourse as “targeted killings or ‘man
hunting.’” Derek Gregory, a political
geographer, identifies this pattern as
“the individuation of warfare” where
targets are no longer whole areas or
cities such as Warsaw in the World War II,
but instead are individuals—for ex-
ample, drone strikes killing Taliban leaders
in Afghanistan and Pakistan (Gregory
2013). This individuation represents the
most rudimentary and primitive form of
group violence—“the hunt”; it also hints
deeply into an archaic human desire to
protect and control a resource—in this
case wildlife, and the land containing the
resource (Humphreys and Smith 2014).
Shoot to Kill
Conservation groups and advocates of
militarised forms of conservation justify
the necessity of shoot to kill approaches
by pointing out that forest guards and
rangers encounter poachers armed with
sophisticated weaponry during pat-
rolling and they must be able to defend
themselves against such groups. This
justification largely relies on the premise
that guards will only react to defend
themselves when fired upon. However,
in reality there is evidence of the use of
shoot to kill approaches taking a much
more active and preventive form. In the
early 1990s, rangers in Zimbabwe were
encouraged to shoot at sight, which is
not a reactive strategy (Duffy 1999). For-
est guards in Kaziranga National Park
are shielded from prosecution for killing
poachers in the line of duty by the exten-
sion of state laws, there are also reports
of these forest guards receiving cash
bonuses or “rewards” in their salary if
they successfully kill or wound a poacher.
(Agarwal 2013; Jacobson 2011). Such
reactive strategies raise questions
around the use of assumption that any-
one found in a protected area is poten-
tially engaged in criminal behaviour.
Supporters of militarised approaches
narrow the scope of discussion by reduc-
ing the question to how guards respond
to an immediate attack, rather than how
can poaching be tackled more effectively?
41
PERSPECTIVES
Such reductive approaches use self-
defence to legitimise and justify milita-
rised conservation.
Collateral Damage
Violence associated with such hardline
protocols includes extrajudicial killings
as regular occurrences in different coun-
tries and national parks. Shoot to kill
approaches have now been documented
in five countries and are becoming rela-
tively commonplace in certain parks in
Africa. Incidents of murder, rape and
torture by conservation agents, both
state and private, have been documented
in Malawi, Tanzania and Botswana.
According to a human rights report pro-
duced by the National Initiative for Civic
Education (NICE), park authorities trai-
ned by South African mercenaries have
been killing, raping and torturing local
villagers caught inside the Liwonde
National Park in Malawi (Jamali 2000).
NICE officials claim that park guards had
killed over 300 people between 1998
and 2000 and another 325 people were
missing, the report also claims that
guards routinely kill people inside the
protected area boundaries and leave
bodies for scavengers to consume (Jamali
2000). National park officials have
dismissed these reports as one-sided
asserting that guards only fire in self-
defence and that rapes were not com-
mitted, but instead women caught in
poaching incidences offered sex in order
to be released from prosecution (Jamali
2000).
Contrary to the claims by officials,
NICE investigators have maintained that
most of those killed have been unarmed
peasants, including women from nearby
villages. The report presents evidence of
an estimated 250 rape cases, which
included women caught inside the park
being handcuffed and gang-raped by
park guards (Neumann 2004). Some
cases presented evidence of local villag-
ers being shot while merely fishing
illegally. There was a case of a man
beaten to death (Neumann 2004). Al-
though there is no evidence of such
forms of violence in India, there are re-
ports of other methods of exploitation
such as demanding bribes or bartering
access to resources in exchange of milk,
42
other food products and services of
labour. However, with a de facto shoot
to kill policy in place in Kaziranga
(Dutta 2013; Lopes 2014) and calls for
more militarised techniques in other
parks there is always the risk of power
being exercised via violent methods as
has been observed in other cases where
similar powers have been given to polic-
ing authorities, namely, the Armed Forces
(Special Powers) Act (AFSPA) which is in
practice in Kashmir and the North-
Eastern states.
The Drone Age
Rece
Recently the use of new technologies or
existing technologies deployed in new
ways is being reflected in the militarisa-
tion of conservation. This includes the
use of unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs)
or drones, camera traps, GPS and satellite
and thermal imagery to assist guards
against anti-poaching. Many tiger re-
serves in India are now in the process of
initiating the use of drones for monitor-
ing anti-poaching and wildlife activity.
As part of Google’s global impact
awards, WWF was recently granted more
than $5 million to develop approaches
for drone and camera trap use for anti-
poaching operations. Drones have been
synonymous with controversial methods
of warfare, the fall in costs of production
and high performance provides inroads
to new markets such as conservation for
UAV manufacturers (Duffy 2014). “Con-
servation drones,” a United States (US)
based non-profit claims that bringing
military solutions to conservation’s thin
green line would be a game changer and
a standard item in the toolbox of protect-
ed area managers (Norman 2014). How-
ever, this rush for new technologies
seems to overlook issues around the
boundaries of privacy and pervasive
surveillance.
In 2012, a drone in Malta shot down
as it was being used to enforce unpopu-
lar conservation legislation (Times of
Malta 2012). Will local communities in
countries like India accept drones flying
over their houses, where a large number
of people live inside protected areas and
use them for their daily livelihood
needs? Seen from the ground and
through the eyes of local people, the use
december 12, 2015
of drones may be viewed as an attempt
to violate their privacy (Humle et al
2014). How long before we start hearing
calls for armed drones to be used
against poachers? Experienced conser-
vationists involved with anti-poaching
initiatives acknowledge the fact that
technology is not a substitute for basics
such as having sufficient numbers of ad-
equately equipped, motivated and well-
looked-after field staff (Duffy 2014). It
has been recognised that anti-poaching
needs certain minimum densities of
staff to patrol large areas. New techno-
logies, such as drones, will still require
personnel on the ground to make them
effective, an issue well-documented in
warfare. In India, where field staff
struggle with basic necessities, such as
suitable footwear and clothing, the use
of drones is almost a faux pas. Further-
more, the long-term cost effectiveness
of drones to control poaching remains
untested, drone data may only be useful
when fed into robust management and
legal systems which are lacking in many
countries (Humle et al 2014).
Dangers of Militarisation
States frequently frame their tigers,
elephants and rhinos not merely as wild-
life but an embodiment of the nations’
natural wealth and heritage. Such fram-
ing is used to shape official discourse of
the state’s militarised response, inevita-
bly authorising and legitimising it. Once
reframed as national heritage, especially
one that is sheltered in a state-controlled
space, the legitimised use of violence
and militarisation is effortlessly author-
ised as an answer to the multifaceted
problem of commercial poaching (Neu-
mann 2004). It is essential to question
the effectiveness of militarised appro-
aches especially where risk of detection
and likelihood of punishment are low.
Military approaches assume that in-
creasing risks in relation to the rewards
for committing the crime will reduce
poaching. However, it is widely ack-
nowledged that the probability of being
detected, arrested, convicted and then
punished is perceived to be low which
in turn makes poachers take greater
risk even in the face of harsh sentences.
Militarised anti-poaching can potentially
vol l no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly

be counterproductive in the long run
with its draconian penalties resulting in
undesirable sociological outcomes.
The anti-poaching ranger force of
Kruger National Park in South Africa
became a paramilitary force in the 1980s
and since then it was never demilitarised
(Lunstrum 2014). The apparent success
of shoot to kill protocol in Kaziranga has
led to calls for the method to be repli-
cated in other parks of India. If respons-
es to poaching by states in the past are
anything to go by, it can be safely said
that once conservation practice is milita-
rised it stays so. If the use of drones and
forms of aerial militarisation prove use-
ful, it will be difficult to suspend its
practice and also terminate the underly-
ing partnerships with military firms.
Military technologies in conservation
are only likely to spread as long as polic-
ing and regulation are major challenges
and the use of natural resources embod-
ies competing values. This suggests an
urgent need for more research on green
militarisation and the “war for biodiver-
sity conservation.” Does militarisation
empower the state and large corpora-
tions to strengthen their hold on natural
resources and further deprive local com-
munities from their traditional liveli-
hood and their ownership of natural
resources? How are earlier forms of
fortress conservation hardening and
how do these new models of authori-
tarian and often violent methods fit in
and shape community-based conserva-
tion efforts, especially with growing
normalisation of militarisation and cost-
effective technology? Such questions
require investigation.
In India
Militarisation of conservation in India
has not yet reached remotely close to
that of some countries and parks in
A frica, however there are signs that
point towards this shift. Kaziranga
National Park is a well-known example
for its hardline policies. It is widely ac-
cepted that Kaziranga’s success in pro-
tecting the Indian one-horned rhino is
majorly because of extreme methods
like shoot at sight used there (Balmford
2012; Saikia 2009). There are calls for
the Kaziranga model to be replicated in
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 12, 2015
other tiger reserves in India. The
Wildlife Institute of India (WII) and the
National Tiger Conservation Authority
(NTCA) in partnership with the WWF
have already “successfully” tested drones
in the Panna Tiger Reserve. Wireless
networks of radar systems are now
under development, to be implemented
in Panna to track movement of tigers and
people in the national park. The system
that was originally designed to monitor
the US borders with Mexico works by
alerting wardens when a human enters
the national park and when a tiger
leaves it. Some scientists at the Indian
Institute of Science are working on
infrared systems that will ignore sway-
ing of trees and shrubs and only detects
“intruders” while scientists at the Indian
Institute of Information Technology in
Allahabad are working on developing
fibre-optic cables that will raise an alarm
when humans or tigers step through
them by detecting changes of pressure
on the surface (Hodson 2014). The crea-
tion of these virtual military-styled
fences wrongly presumes that tigers will
stay inside protected area boundaries
and that every human that enters a pro-
tected area is a potential threat.
There is also a dedicated Special Tiger
Protection Force (STpF) active in 13 tiger
reserves of India. A press release from
the Ministry of Environment, Forest
and Claimate Change states that 100%
central assistance is provided to tiger
states for raising, “arming” and “deploy-
ing” battalions of STPF in sensitive
tiger reserves (Press Information Bureau
2012). The central paramilitary forces
train the STPF, drawing from a syllabus
prescribed for the India reserve battal-
ion (Suneja 2010). The military terms
used here mirror the global discourse of
the war for biodiversity. A significant por-
tion of the STPF staff is to comprise of
residents from local communities, al-
though this appears as an attempt to
be socially just, its sociopolitical dynam-
ics should be examined carefully. How
would local residents react to penalties
enforced on an individual by a fellow
community member? What effects would
that have on the socio-psychological
environment of the staff member? There
is a need for these developments to
vol l no 50
PERSPECTIVES
be carefully observed and their effec-
tiveness questioned.
Conclusions
This article is not meant to justify poach-
ing. I too fear for a world without tigers,
rhinos and elephants and support efforts
for their conservation. I too deeply sym-
pathise with forest guards and rangers
that risk their lives everyday in the line
of duty. What I intend to question is the
growing militarisation of conservation
efforts and the language used to justify
it. This approach not just militarises the
traditional fortress approach but also in-
herently rests on the rationale of using
violence as an acceptable means of re-
solving conflict (Dowler 2012).
Parallels can be drawn between the
war for biodiversity conservation and
the language of interventionism, where
it is argued that the international com-
munity has a moral responsibility to pro-
tect wildlife and that military interven-
tion may be required to save them. Such
discourse raises challenges for conserva-
tionists as these give rise to violent,
repressive and coercive policies that can
lead to unjust social outcomes. In his cri-
tique of environmental security, Daniel
Deudney (1999) argues that for conser-
vationists to clothe their agendas in the
blood-soaked garments of militarisation
and war betrays their core values and
shrouds the real challenges at hand.
Without fundamental necessities on
the ground, such as well-trained and
well-equipped staff, the faith in military
technologies such as UAVs/drones is
arguably an illogical and a new conser-
vation fad to assist in the war against
poachers. Furthermore, without proper
consultation and consent, such techno-
logies can contribute to a negative
relationship between local communities
and conservation agencies. This further
leads to alienating the very people
on whom conservationists depend on
to protect wildlife. It is unlikely that
local communities will support conser-
vation efforts by rejecting recruitment
in poaching rings if they have to deal
with violent military tactics. The funda-
mental reason why military solutions
fail is because they do not resolve the
complex underlying drivers of people
43
 PERSPECTIVES
participating in poaching in the first
place, the role of global trade networks
and the continued demand from end-us-
er markets. Eventually military methods
and this war for conservation result in
extremely unjust, intimidating and
counterproductive approaches to biodi-
versity conservation.
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EPW Index
An author-title index for EPW has been prepared for the years from 1968 to 2012. The PDFs of
the Index have been uploaded, year-wise, on the EPW website. Visitors can download the Index
for all the years from the site. (The Index for a few years is yet to be prepared and will be uploaded
when ready.)
EPW would like to acknowledge the help of the staff of the library of the Indira Gandhi Institute
of Development Research, Mumbai, in preparing the index under a project supported by the
RD Tata Trust.
december 12, 2015
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