Nicobar’s Ecological Hubris, When Development Trumps Stewardship
The National Green Tribunal’s decision to quash a batch of petitions questioning the environmental clearance granted to the Great Nicobar Island Development Project exposes the gap between institutional definitions of environmental safeguards and the reality on the ground. While the NITI Aayog’s plan to construct a transshipment terminal, an airport, a power plant, and a new township has the blessings of the NGT, a collection of essays and interviews titled Island on Edge, edited by Pankaj Sekhsaria, interrogates the environmental ethics of the project and urges readers to wake up to the toxic nature of the massive waste that is being dumped in the area.
The collection serves as a powerful counter-narrative to the official story of progress and development, reminding us that there are other ways of measuring value than the language of GDP and strategic importance.
The Scale of Destruction
In the initial essay of this collection, Mr Sekhsaria, an associate professor at IIT Bombay’s Centre for Technology Alternatives for Rural Areas, who has written extensively about the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, points out that “a massive 130 square kilometres of largely pristine tropical rainforest” will be cleared to bring this project to fruition. Estimates about the number of trees that will be cut vary from 8,65,000 to 9,64,000 to 10 million.
One wonders how a country that celebrates the Chipko movement, an eco-feminist revolution that saw villagers hug trees to prevent their felling, can allow this potential ecocide. The irony is painful. The nation that taught the world that forests are worth more than the timber they contain is now preparing to clear-cut one of its last remaining pristine ecosystems.
It is hard not to think of Gieve Patel’s poem “On Killing A Tree”, that staple of Indian school textbooks, while trying to wrap one’s head around these alarming statistics that frame deforestation as violence. Patel writes, “It takes much time to kill a tree, / Not a simple jab of the knife / Will do it. It has grown / Slowly consuming the earth, / Rising out of it, feeding / Upon its crust, absorbing / Years of sunlight, air, water, / And out of its leprosy hide / Sprouting leaves.”
The poem reminds us that a tree is not just biomass; it is a living being with its own history, its own relationship to the earth and sky. To kill a tree is to erase that history. To kill a million trees is to erase an entire world.
The Carbon Calculus
Marine scientist Rohan Arthur and wildlife scientist T R Shankar Raman’s essay “An Obit for Patai Takaru” draws attention to the ideological tensions between environmentalism that is rooted in stewardship and resistance, and a bureaucratic green agenda that advances development priorities at the cost of climate goals.
These scientists argue that the Environmental Impact Assessment “fails to recognize that deforestation of mature tropical rainforests can release as much as 650 tonnes of carbon dioxide per hectare, or over 4.3 million tonnes of CO2 by deforesting 6,599 hectares, which is equivalent to burning over 1.6 billion litres of diesel.”
This is not just a local issue; it is a global one. The carbon released from clearing these forests will contribute to climate change that affects the entire planet. In the name of development, we are making the world hotter for everyone.
The irony is compounded by the fact that India has committed to ambitious climate goals under the Paris Agreement. How do we reconcile those commitments with projects that release millions of tonnes of carbon? The answer, it seems, is that we don’t. We simply look away.
The Original Stewards
Also worth noting is the scientists’ insistence that the forests have survived so far due to the traditional ownership and conservation of the Great Nicobarese, the original inhabitants who call their island “Patai Takaru”, and the Shompen, a tribal group with a population of around 250.
These communities have lived on these islands for centuries, perhaps millennia. They have developed ways of life that are sustainable, that do not deplete the resources on which they depend. They have been the true stewards of this ecosystem.
Now they are being told that their stewardship counts for nothing. Their forests will be cleared, their lands taken, their way of life destroyed—all in the name of a development they did not ask for and from which they will not benefit.
The Shompen are among India’s most vulnerable tribal groups. They are hunter-gatherers who depend on the forest for their subsistence. If their foraging grounds are destroyed, they do not have the option of moving to the city and finding a job. Their way of life, evolved over millennia, would simply cease to exist.
The Illusion of Compensation
“To compensate for the environmental destruction, the government announced the creation of three sanctuaries for displaced leatherback turtles, corals and Nicobar megapodes on Little Nicobar, Meroe and Menchal Islands,” writes journalist Leesha K Nair in her essay “20 Christmas After the Tsunami.”
She punctures the jubilation surrounding these announcements by pointing out the obvious: you cannot compensate for the destruction of an ecosystem by creating a sanctuary elsewhere. An ecosystem is not a collection of species that can be moved around like furniture. It is a complex web of relationships that has developed over millennia. Destroy it, and what you create elsewhere is not a replacement but a facsimile.
The leatherback turtles that nest on the beaches of Great Nicobar do so because those beaches have the right combination of sand, temperature, and access to the sea. A sanctuary on another island may have different characteristics. The turtles may not find it suitable. Even if they do, the population that nests on Great Nicobar will be lost.
The same logic applies to the corals and the Nicobar megapodes. You cannot simply pick them up and move them. They are adapted to specific conditions. Change those conditions, and they may not survive.
The Hubris of the NGT
The NGT’s decision to allow the project to proceed despite these concerns reveals a deeper problem: the gap between institutional definitions of environmental safeguards and the reality on the ground. The tribunal has accepted the government’s assurances that adequate safeguards are in place, but it has not independently verified those assurances. It has not conducted its own assessment of the environmental impact. It has not spoken to the tribal communities who will be displaced.
This is not what the NGT was created for. It was meant to be a forum where environmental concerns could be raised and adjudicated by experts. By deferring to the government, it has abdicated that responsibility.
Conclusion: A Choice of Values
The Great Nicobar project forces us to confront a fundamental choice about what we value. Do we value GDP growth and strategic infrastructure above all else? Or do we also value biodiversity, ecological integrity, and the rights of indigenous communities?
The official answer is clear: development trumps everything. But the essays in Island on Edge remind us that there is another answer, another way of seeing. They remind us that forests are not just timber, that islands are not just real estate, that communities are not just obstacles to be overcome.
As Gieve Patel’s poem reminds us, it takes time to kill a tree. It takes even longer to kill a forest, an island, a way of life. But we are doing it, and we are doing it quickly. The question is whether we will stop before it is too late.
Q&A: Unpacking the Great Nicobar Controversy
Q1: What is the scale of deforestation required for the Great Nicobar project?
The project will clear approximately 130 square kilometres of largely pristine tropical rainforest. Estimates of trees to be cut range from 865,000 to nearly 10 million. This deforestation would release massive amounts of carbon—up to 650 tonnes per hectare, equivalent to burning over 1.6 billion litres of diesel for just 6,599 hectares. The full project area is nearly twice that size.
Q2: Who are the indigenous communities affected by the project?
Two communities are directly affected. The Great Nicobarese, who call their island “Patai Takaru”, have traditionally conserved these forests. The Shompen are a particularly vulnerable tribal group of around 250 people who depend on the rainforest for subsistence as hunter-gatherers. Their way of life, evolved over millennia, would be destroyed if their foraging grounds are cleared.
Q3: What compensatory measures has the government proposed?
The government announced the creation of three sanctuaries for displaced leatherback turtles, corals, and Nicobar megapodes on Little Nicobar, Meroe, and Menchal Islands. Critics argue this is inadequate because ecosystems cannot simply be relocated—they are complex webs of relationships developed over millennia. A sanctuary elsewhere is a facsimile, not a replacement.
Q4: How does the project conflict with India’s climate goals?
Deforestation of mature tropical rainforests releases massive amounts of carbon—over 4.3 million tonnes of CO2 from just 6,599 hectares. This is equivalent to burning 1.6 billion litres of diesel. India has committed to ambitious climate goals under the Paris Agreement, yet this project would significantly increase emissions. There is a fundamental contradiction between stated climate ambitions and this project’s reality.
Q5: What does the NGT’s decision reveal about environmental governance in India?
The NGT accepted the government’s assurances that adequate safeguards are in place without independently verifying them. It did not conduct its own environmental assessment or consult affected tribal communities. This reveals a gap between institutional definitions of environmental safeguards and reality on the ground. The tribunal, created to adjudicate environmental concerns, deferred to the government rather than fulfilling its independent mandate.
