Beej Bachao Andolan

Over a hundred participants from 22 countries in Asia and the Pacific (including two from Europe and one from the US)  representing peasants, small farmers, agricultural workers, women, indigenous peoples’, fisherfolk organizations, and health, environmental and consumers CSOs attended the three-day Conference “Confronting Food Crisis and Climate Change” organized by Pesticide Action Network Asia and the Pacific, in Penang (Malaysia) on 27-29 September 2008. The conference culminated with a Unity Statement declaring the participants’ commitment to claim people’s right to food, to work together in regenerating nature and society, as well as, to further strengthen and consolidate the movements in advancing food sovereignty, gender justice and climate justice.

Beej Bachao Andolan was represented  at the Conference by Vijay Jarhdhari and Renu Thakur (ARPAN, Pithoragarh). Jarhdhari made a presentation “Food and Climate Crisis in Central Himalaya, Uttarakhand, India”. Renu presented the women’s perspectives on climate change at the various workshops held during the Conference.

By: Pankaj H Gupta

New production relations and out-migration are creating an unforeseen gender dynamic in Garhwal.

It is May, the wedding season in Garhwal, and the mountains reverberate with the sounds of drums and Scottish pipes. Colourful wedding parties can be seen winding their way through mule tracks. The wheat crop has just been harvested, and is now being threshed. Celebration is in the air. Against this backdrop, 72-year-old Bachni Devi has been asked to recollect her own wedding. What was it like coming, as a young child bride, to the village of Jardhargaon? She is both surprised and amused by the question. “My wedding? Oh, it was so long ago,” she says. “I was only 13. Now I am 72.”

After a pause, Bachni Devi continues: “In the beginning, I used to miss my parents a lot. There was so much work here. Sometimes I fell asleep while working! First thing in the morning, pound the grain, fetch water from the spring, clean the cowshed. There were 11 cows and oxen to take care of. After cleaning the cowshed, I had to take head-loads of dung and spread it in the fields. Even the fields were levelled by us. Then, we had to go to the jungle to get grass. By the time we got back, it was dark. At home, my in-laws had a large family, and they all had to be fed before I could eat. Then wash the dishes, and so it went. We got only two hours of sleep before another day started with the same routine. Sometimes we did not get enough to eat! We used to manage with whatever was available – rice, millet. Then, back to the fields…”

This may sound like the diary of a prisoner or a slave, but Bachni Devi’s account is no different from that of many other women of the mid-Himalayan region of Garhwal. In fact, the labour of women was a crucial element in the interdependent agro-pastoral system that was prevalent here until sometime during the 1970s. Material sustenance came from natural resources: domesticated animals converted grasses into milk, draught power and soil nutrients; the forests provided timber for house construction, fodder, firewood and water. But it was human labour that made all of this into a working system: levelling the terraced fields, sowing, tending to standing crops, cutting and threshing, fetching fodder and firewood, channelling water for irrigation, and caring for domesticated animals. Each of these activities was backbreaking in a difficult and hostile terrain. Gender roles complemented the production cycle. The men led a semi-nomadic life – grazing cattle on the lower slopes in the winter, moving up to the higher mountains in the monsoon, and helping with the ploughing, harvesting and maintenance of kools (small irrigation channels) in between. The women, meanwhile, were responsible for all of the other farming and household activities as well as the crucial task of seed preservation and propagation. Keeping the diverse stock of seeds resilient and robust is an essential feature of subsistence farming.

Despite the hard work, it was still a hand-to-mouth existence, with no surplus wealth. Yet unless there were successive years of drought, nobody ever went hungry. This food security was achieved by growing a highly diverse range of crops, with planting and harvests staggered around the year, and over a range of altitudes and ecosystems. This minimised the risk, as one or two crop failures – from among a dozen small ones each year – did not significantly affect the overall production. Furthermore, farmers in Garhwal practiced baranaaja (literally, ‘twelve grains’), a unique version of poly-cropping, or growing a number of crops mixed randomly on the same field, that optimally tapped the soil and solar energy, and also worked as a defence against pests.

This way of life began to change rapidly in the 1970s. At this time, the relative isolation of Jardhargaon, as with all of the Hemval River Valley and much of Garhwal, began to be breached by a succession of events. Roads were built, and agriculture extension services were set up to disseminate hybrid seeds, fertilisers and pesticides under an ambitious state plan to promote the ‘Green Revolution’ – despite questions about its appropriateness for mountain ecologies. It was also during this decade that the free allotment of small pockets of agricultural land, which had long been practiced in Garhwal first by the king and then by the state, also came to a halt. As a result, agricultural production could not keep pace with the growth of the local population.

A series of popular protests erupted around this time. The most prominent of these were the Chipko Movement to save trees in the 1970s, and in the 1980s the Uttarakhand movement for autonomous statehood, as well as the protest against the Tehri dam, which displaced or completely annihilated settled agriculture in scores of Garhwali villages. While these movements – spread over three decades – successfully raised popular consciousness and put a spotlight on the hills of this area, they also diverted a fair amount of men and women away from production activities, which in turn disrupted the local economy. Another blow to local livelihoods came in 1982, when a ban was enacted on the commercial felling of timber under the auspices of the Forest (Conservation) Act. The cumulative effect of these developments was the gradual weakening of subsistence farming and local self-sufficiency. By the 1990s, households were producing less than half of what they produced two decades earlier, and there was simply not enough food to last through the year. With negligible cash incomes, this meant starvation.

The local communities inevitably responded with migration. Though migration had always been a survival strategy in mountainous areas, the extent of the movement witnessed in the middle Himalaya in the last few decades was unprecedented. In Jardhargaon, every one of the 300 households had at least one – if not all – of the men in the family travelling to work in distant cities. From the 1990s onward, this became only more acute, as the rapid diffusion of television attracted a new generation to the charms of the city. Many also attribute this rapid out-migration to the spread of standardised formal education, which included a curriculum that made no distinction between rural or urban, let alone mountains or plains, and which prepared students for anything but local occupations.

Inevitably, the en masse migration of men resulted in new social and production dynamics. The level of pastoral activities, dependent as it was on the labour of men, dropped drastically. Within 30 years, the population of domesticated animals plummeted to just a tenth of what it had been. As terrace farming needed animal compost, this further exacerbated the decline of farm productivity. Socially, a typical pattern soon took shape: the younger men left for low-paying jobs in the cities, while their wives stayed on in the village, looking after the farm and the household, and keeping the ‘roots’ intact for the men. Meanwhile, for the latter, home was always the place where they were born and raised, despite the fact that they were visiting it for no more than two or three weeks every year. A dominant picture emerged, one of the absence of young and middle-aged men, and the predominant presence, instead, of children, old couples and young and married women.

Self-worth
Hitherto, Garhwali women and men had been partners in the agro-pastoral production system. This equation had dissolved under the compelling force of out-migration. The absence of men not only strengthened the dominance of women in farming, but also in other household affairs. Given the patriarchal structure, land ownership of course did not pass to the women, even while their dependence on cash remittances sent by the men also increased. Nonetheless, the influence of the absent husbands gradually diminished in local decision-making. During their annual visits, the men who visited from the city were generally objects of mild amusement for the other women – for the way they dressed, their new cultural orientation, and their fading grasp of how to do agricultural tasks.

In this way, and quite unexpectedly, a new recognition of self-worth slowly emerged among the women. Sudesha Devi, a Chipko veteran from Rampur, has some typically strong views on the gender question in the context of male out-migration. “The house that does not have a woman is a lonely house,” she says. “But a house whose men have gone away is still thriving! Only one man in a hundred can do household tasks the way women can. If all of us women went away from these mountains, leaving the men behind, life would collapse here in a matter of days. Men cannot survive here by themselves, but women can!”

In some ways, the move to the city was good for the men as well, as it made them more responsible. Most women with whom this writer spoke felt that households whose men were away were better off, as the remittances they received were far more valuable than the presence of men in the village, or their traditional contribution to the pastoral activities. It is also true that, traditionally, men did little during the six months that they were at home, when they were not busy with the cattle. What do men do? is a frequent refrain in these areas. Just play cards, drink and chat at the roadside shops! Even when the men were in the village, they followed the division of gender roles rather strictly; if they were idle, they would not lift a finger to do a task that would be categorised as ‘women’s work’.

With their superior purchasing power, the migrants tended to create something of an identity crisis for the men who remained back in the villages. Birender was one of those required to stay back to look after the kool maintenance, and to plough with the oxen. “What will I do outside [in the city]?” he asks. “Just work in a restaurant, washing dishes. I’ll never get a good job. It’s quite good here; our needs are so little.” But he concedes, with a twinge of regret, that when he was younger he lacked the courage to go to a big city and find work. Although he was quite bright and finished high school after studying science, his father had not let him study any further. “So I stayed at home,” he says. “If I had studied a little more, I could have gotten a job.” Many such men responded by joining the local cash economy. When the state offered hybrid seeds and fertilisers for trial in Garhwal, many switched to commodity crops as a way of gaining cash income and regaining self-esteem. Ever since, farmers here have been growing soybeans, hybrid rice, tomatoes, French beans, potatoes and peas.

Over time, a clear pattern of gender divide has become visible in the two co-existing economies. The first is a cash economy of remittances and commodity crops controlled by men, while the second is the women’s informal economy of household chores and subsistence farming. The cash economy made the lives of the women significantly easier, at least at the outset. Even with meagre remittances, cooking gas provided an alternative to fetching vast amounts of firewood. With the decline in livestock numbers, demand for fodder was also reduced. Despite this, however, for many women – especially of the older generation – the previous regime of subsistence farming was preferable to the new monetary culture. For one, the social status of women went down as subsistence farming became socially devalued, compared to the higher value ascribed to activities that brought in cash; this was especially so as all of the decisions and labour for growing commodity crops became a male preserve. In addition, for some, like Bachni Devi, who do not have sons in the city to send them remittances, the new monetary culture has been hard, as it has come with a breakdown in community linkages. “Earlier, people used to lend their oxen during sowing time,” she says. “Now, you can get oxen only if you can pay for their hire.” But without a cash income, where would she get the money to hire oxen or buy food?

No wonder that, among the newer generation of women, toiling through farming is no longer a preferred option. “Earlier, when boys went to ask a girl’s hand in marriage, the girl’s family would consider the proposal based on how much cultivable land the boy had,” says Raghu Jardhari, a young farmer-activist. “Now it’s the reverse. Now, they will say no to a farmer, and yes to a city migrant.” In fact, out-migration from these mountains has recently entered a new, more permanent phase, driven by a desire for English-medium education for the children. Whole families are now moving to urban fringes, preparing their children for jobs in the information-technology sector. Even locally, the service and trade sectors have grown, fuelling urban-based service occupations in nearby towns such as Chamba and New Tehri. Villages like Jardhargaon, just a few kilometres by road to thriving Chamba and New Tehri towns, are now more akin to residential suburbs than thriving agro-pastoral ecologies.

What changes lie ahead for the young people of Jardhargaon? How will women fare in this new milieu, and will they feel more liberated or more oppressed? Already at just 15, Kabita straddles two worlds: in Delhi, where her father has a job, and in Jardhargaon, where her mother continues with subsistence farming. Kabita acknowledges her own conflicting loyalties: “It’s better to be in the village and do some good work here. In a city, even if you have your own business or work, it is no good. It’s only worth it if you have a good job in the city.” She admits, though, that she herself is not interested in farming, though she does not mind doing household chores. Her brother, Mukesh, volunteers for a UNESCO-sponsored community radio station in Chamba, and is preparing himself for the service sector. For him, “The difference is in mental power. A person doing physical work is paid 80 rupees a day, but a computer operator gets a thousand!”

Whether Mukesh and Kabita eventually live in a big city or get absorbed into the emerging local service sector, it is clear that for the new generation in Garhwal, subsistence farming is no longer much of an option. This could mean the end of a unique culture that has accorded women a special, central status, to be replaced perhaps by a new dynamic that makes them subservient to an economy controlled by men.

Pankaj H Gupta is a visiting fellow at the Centre for Interdisciplinary Studies in Environment & Development, Bangalore.

Excerpts from Report in InfoChange News & Features, October 2008

Dead end on the road to development

By Deepti Priya Mehrotra

Three films screened at the PSBT Open Frame International Film Festival in September critique the dominant development model by examining the lives of three communities — subsistence farmers in Uttaranchal, the fisherfolk of Chilika, and Delhi’s ragpickers

Three documentaries, screened at the PSBT Open Frame International Film Festival on September 16, 2008, together provide a powerful critique of the dominant developmental model. Two films discussed the ‘vanishing local’ — the crumbling of subsistence agriculture in Uttaranchal (Apna Alu Bazar Becha, by Pankaj H Gupta), and the destruction of fisheries in Orissa (Chilika Banks — Stories from India’s Largest Coastal Lake, by Akanksha Joshi). The third film explored Delhi’s scrap industry, run largely by ragpickers (Scavenging Dreams, by Jasmine K Roy and Avinash Roy). The films depict the lives of millions of ordinary people, barely surviving behind the façade of Shining India.

* * *

Jardhargaon, a village in the Garhwal Himalayas, led a relatively isolated existence until three decades ago. The people here followed an agro-pastoral system that sustained human life and the environment over centuries. Today, it is in the midst of a hectic social and environmental transformation. Commodification is leading to the breakdown of local livelihoods.

Vijay Jardhari is trying to conserve biodiversity, to enable people to exercise some control over agriculture and therefore over their lives. He explains: “We have crop varieties that have been used for thousands of years, and which require no, or very little, investment. But today, traditional seeds are being snatched away from the farmers.”

Septuagenarian Bachni Devi recalls that when she came to Jardhargaon as a young bride, she worked at levelling the land, planting, transplanting, weeding, harvesting and cooking: a demanding schedule that left her with barely two hours of sleep every night! However, she looks back on those days as preferable to the present: “We had love, fellow-feeling and cooperation. We worked in each other’s fields. Today, if somebody pays money he can hire a worker. Otherwise nobody will help.”

Surat Singh says: “We ate well. We had roti and drank a litre of curd, and felt happy. We had few needs. We got manure from the cattle, and fodder from the forests. It was a good life.”

Dhoom Singh Negi explains the traditional baranaja (literally ‘12 grains’) method: “A dozen varieties were planted on one plot. Thus, a family could meet all its nutritional needs from a small field.” Subsistence agriculture provided the essentials of life. It began to break up by the 1970s, and, within the space of one or two generations, has been irretrievably lost. Surat Singh recalls a traditional saying: “Sell your potatoes in the market, and buy them back at a higher price.” This was the logic that local people began to face. Their produce fetched a market price, but it was typically lower than the price of other commodities in the market. They became net losers. The land was unable to sustain their burgeoning lifestyles. Khem Singh says: “Now people sell whatever they can. If their cow gives half-a-litre of milk, they go and sell it!”

Negi explains: “Money is equated with ‘progress’. It has penetrated deep into the area. Today, a packet of seeds costs Rs 500-600. To plant a crop, the farmer has to take a loan. Agriculture has become a gamble because new cash crops involve higher investment and greater risks. Self-reliance is gone. The small farmer has become a farm labourer, working for wages.”

Sahib Singh, a biodiversity activist, says: “Our Beej Bachao Andolan (Movement to Save Seeds) is trying to conserve the agriculture of the area. But sometimes we ask: Who are we conserving it for? Young people all want to go away to cities.”

Rajbir Singh, 35, is visiting from Mumbai. He says: “If I depend on agriculture, I will be able to grow enough for one month. What will we eat the rest of the year? What future is there in the village? We have to go out to earn. Even if I don’t feel like going, I have to.”

Khem Singh insists: “They will come back. The city is just for coming and going. If they get stuck in a job, they stay on. If they don’t find a job, they come back. And after their job, this is where they will return. This is home.”

(Deepti Priya Mehrotra isa Delhi-based writer)

The film ‘Apna Aloo Bazaar Becha’ (Sold One’s Potatoes in the Market), based on traditional agro-biodiversity and on the work and people of Beej Bachao Andolan won the Golden Deer award for the best short film at the ECOFILMS festival held in Rodos, Greece in June 2008. The film, made by Pankaj H Gupta is slated to be screened at a number of other festivals and venues in the coming months.

In his acceptance speech,  read in absentia, at the award ceremony, he said, ” Few mountain communities, however remote, remain untouched by globalization. Jarhdhargaon, a typical village of middle Himalaya in the Indian province of Garhwal (Uttarakhand), led an isolated, egalitarian existence until just 30 years ago, living off an agro-pastoral system that had sustained human life and the environment for over six centuries. Today, it is in the middle of a rapid social and environmental transformation. This short documentary, based entirely on local perspectives, reflects on this process of change - what triggers the shift to modernization and what impacts it has on the personal, social and environmental spaces. In particular, the film focuses on the primary subsistence activity of farming: whether it can survive in the face of steady out-migration, and if the attempts by Beej Bachao Andolan (Save Seeds Movement) to resist modernization can be successful.”

Pankaj Gupta is a visiting fellow at the Centre for Interdisciplinary Studies in Environment & Development in Bangalore (India). On the filming, he says, “The film has a simple message - that our relations with nature, and with each other, are of vital importance. It is encouraging to know that the dilemmas of a remote mountain community in India has found resonance in far-off Europe…. In a sense, the award is really a tribute to the values that the film represents and to all the people in front of the camera for baring their souls.”

Beej Bachao Andolan had its annual  gathering of friends and farmers on17-19 May 2008.

The subject for this year’s discussion was “Kheti par maar - Van pashu, mausam aur sarkar“. In English, this would roughly translate as “The attack on farming - wild animals, climate and the government”.