By - Imlisanen Jamir
In Nagaland, the line between field and forest has grown thin. Farmers often wake to find their year’s work flattened overnight. Elephant herds move through paddy fields and kitchen gardens, leaving behind silence and loss. For most of these families, it isn’t about conservation policy or environmental ideals. It’s about hunger, debt, and survival.
The “Grain for Grain” initiative by the Wildlife Trust of India and Fondation Segre, carried out with the Wildlife Division, Dimapur, offers a rare kind of response. One quintal of rice was distributed to each of the 123 households that lost crops to elephants. It may not sound like much, but it means that someone recognised their loss. It is a gesture that carries weight because it acknowledges an uncomfortable truth: conservation has a cost, and the poorest have been paying it alone.
For decades, the conversation around coexistence has been shaped by people who do not live with wildlife. Policies and campaigns call for tolerance and compassion, often without considering what that looks like in a village where fields are trampled and granaries emptied. When people are told that elephants were here first, it can feel like being asked to bear someone else’s conscience. The “Grain for Grain” programme marks a shift. It may be small, but it speaks a different language—one that treats local communities not as obstacles to conservation but as partners in it. It recognises that coexistence cannot mean that one side sacrifices while the other applauds from afar. Real empathy is not emotional. It is practical, measurable, and accountable.
Conservation in India often fails not because people lack awareness but because institutions lack systems. “Grain for Grain” works because it builds a structure around empathy. It replaces slogans with a response that is predictable and humane. The rice distributed is not charity; it is an admission of responsibility. When help arrives after loss, it builds trust—something more durable than any awareness campaign. That trust matters. A farmer who believes support will follow is less likely to see elephants as enemies. A department that listens becomes part of the community rather than a distant authority.
Relief alone will not end conflict. Elephants will keep coming, and fields will keep falling. What Nagaland needs is a consistent policy framework: crop insurance that covers wildlife damage, early warning systems, and coordination between forest and revenue departments. Awareness must be tied to action, and empathy must be written into administration. The “Grain for Grain” initiative offers a blueprint—one where compassion is not episodic but institutional. Coexistence will not be sustained by slogans or sympathy. It will last only when fairness becomes policy, and when those who share space with wildlife are no longer left to bear its cost alone.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
