The Government of Telangana has recently projected its relocation initiatives in tiger reserves as a model of “transformative conservation,” combining ecological restoration with improved livelihoods for tribal communities. In the Amrabad Tiger Reserve, the State has announced a rehabilitation package covering hundreds of tribal families, offering compensation or resettlement with land and housing. At first glance, such initiatives appear to align conservation with development. However, a closer examination of both law and ground realities reveals a deeply troubling pattern—one where constitutional safeguards, statutory mandates, and community rights are being systematically sidelined in the name of conservation.
Indian law does not mandate the displacement of forest-dwelling communities for wildlife conservation. On the contrary, the Wild Life (Protection) Act, 1972, particularly Section 38V, read with the Forest Rights Act, 2006 (FRA), explicitly requires that forest rights be recognized and vested before any relocation is considered. The law is clear: coexistence is the norm, and relocation is an exception, permissible only when it is voluntary, informed, and demonstrably necessary. Even then, it must comply with the rigorous safeguards of the Right to Fair Compensation and Transparency in Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation and Resettlement Act, 2013 (LARR). The oft-cited ₹15 lakh compensation under the National Tiger Conservation Authority is not a substitute for these legal entitlements but merely a component of a larger, legally enforceable rehabilitation framework.
Yet, evidence from the field suggests a stark divergence from these principles. A recent study by Dhaatri on the relocation of Maisampet and Rampur villages from the Kawal Tiger Reserve reveals that the process, though officially termed “voluntary,” lacked free, prior, and informed consent. Gram Sabha procedures were either bypassed or reduced to formalities; forest rights were neither fully recognized nor settled; and critical steps such as social impact assessments and transparent rehabilitation planning were not meaningfully undertaken. The relocation, in effect, preceded the law rather than followed it, undermining both due process and the rights of affected communities.
The consequences have been severe and immediate. Families that once depended on forests for sustenance and livelihood now find themselves landless or with unproductive land lacking irrigation and legal title. Access to minor forest produce—once a cornerstone of local economies—has been completely severed. Livestock holdings have drastically declined due to the absence of grazing land, and promised infrastructure such as water supply, schools, and livelihood support remains either inadequate or non-functional. Women, in particular, have borne a disproportionate burden, facing exclusion from decision-making processes and denial of entitlements, leading to a sharp erosion of both economic independence and social agency.
Compounding these concerns is the recent notification of the Kumuram Bheem Conservation Reserve through G.O.Ms. No. 49 dated May 30, 2025. Spanning nearly 1,500 square kilometres and affecting hundreds of tribal villages, the reserve has been declared under Section 36A of the Wild Life (Protection) Act to establish a tiger corridor linking Kawal and Tadoba-Andhari reserves. However, the law mandates prior consultation with local communities before such declarations—an obligation that appears to have been inadequately fulfilled. Protests from affected villages underscore a fundamental deficit of meaningful engagement, raising serious questions about the legality and legitimacy of the notification.
More critically, the notification overlooks the centrality of the Forest Rights Act. Large tracts within the proposed conservation reserve fall under the jurisdiction of Gram Sabhas, where Community Forest Resource rights either stand recognized or remain pending. These rights vest governance authority with the Gram Sabhas, fundamentally altering the notion of “state ownership” over such lands. Proceeding with conservation measures without completing the recognition of these rights is not merely a procedural lapse—it is a violation of a central legislation enacted to remedy historical injustices.apaa
The broader issue at stake is not the legitimacy of conservation itself, but the model through which it is pursued. India’s constitutional framework, reinforced by laws such as the FRA and PESA, envisions a form of environmental governance rooted in community participation, decentralization, and social justice. Conservation, in this framework, is not about exclusion but about stewardship—where forest-dwelling communities are recognized as custodians rather than obstacles. Any approach that disregards this principle risks not only legal invalidity but also ecological failure, as it alienates those who have historically sustained these ecosystems.
If conservation is to be both just and effective, it must be anchored in law, guided by consent, and informed by lived realities. The current trajectory in Telangana suggests a departure from these foundational principles. It is imperative, therefore, that the State revisits its approach—halting questionable notifications, ensuring full recognition of forest rights, and restoring the primacy of Gram Sabhas in decision-making. Only then can conservation truly align with the constitutional promise of justice, dignity, and sustainable coexistence.
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