A Law of Expediency? Farmers And Experts Question Kerala’s Wildlife Protection Amendment

More than fifty years ago, Vargheese arrived in Wayanad as a child, part of the great migration that reshaped the Malabar hills. Families from Central Travancore—driven by hunger for cultivable land and dreams of better livelihoods—moved in their hundreds to the forested slopes of the Western Ghats. They cleared the dense canopy, carved out homesteads, and laid the foundations of a settler community that would transform the social and agricultural landscape of northern Kerala.

Vargheese recalls being ten years old when his father and relatives began converting forests into fields in what is now a border village between the Wayanad and Kannur districts. Hundreds of migrant families like his turned cheap, uncultivated land into productive farmland. “Those days we showed how man can bend nature. We cleared the forest, made fields, and that changed our lives, the land, and even the culture here,” he says. “But that’s long gone. Now it’s we who suffer. Wild animals come into our farms, eat up everything, and we live in fear. Their numbers keep growing, and the system cares more for them than for poor farmers like us.”

Vargheese’s fears are far from isolated. Across Wayanad and other hilly belts of Kerala, many families share his sense of being cornered. What began decades ago as a journey of hope—migration into fertile, forest-fringed highlands—has, in recent years, turned into a story of retreat. Man-animal conflict and climate change are driving people away, fuelling a slow but steady reverse migration.

The encounters with wildlife have grown sharper and deadlier. In the last fifteen years alone, more than 1,500 people have lost their lives to wild animals in Kerala. Forest Department records list snakes, elephants, tigers, wild pigs, and gaur as the chief killers—striking both inside and outside reserve boundaries. For settlements pressing against the forest edge, marauding elephants and prowling tigers are no longer rare intrusions, but an everyday dread.

Every such attack jolts public opinion and catapults the issue into the political arena. Yet, the outrage fades quickly, leaving those on the fringes to cope with their losses in silence. Farmers across party lines complain that successive governments have remained indifferent, even as tragedies repeat with alarming frequency.

It is against this backdrop that the Kerala government has introduced a Bill to amend the Wildlife Protection Act, 1972. The proposed amendments seek to empower the Chief Wildlife Warden to order the immediate killing of wild animals that attack and inflict serious injuries in public or residential areas. The Bill also empowers the state to declare any Schedule II species as ‘vermin’.

Wildlife protection lies in the concurrent list, but experts point out that this is the first time a state government has attempted to amend the Union law in this domain. While the Opposition has extended its support, it has also questioned the political expediency behind the move.

“Any attempt to address the issues faced by people living in forest areas should necessarily involve them in the process,” observes environmentalist Sridhar Radhakrishnan. “Before contemplating any action to mitigate their suffering, the government should have initiated proper consultations with affected communities, experts, and conservationists. Instead, what we see is a set of proposed amendments driven not by science or ecology, but by political expediency.”

Radhakrishnan warns that certain provisions raise serious concerns about legality and implementation. “For instance, empowering the Chief Wildlife Warden to order the killing of a wild animal simply because it strayed into human habitation is deeply problematic. The Wildlife Protection Act already lays down clear procedures and safeguards. Diluting these protections through ad hoc powers is not only legally untenable but also dangerous—it risks setting a precedent for indiscriminate killings under the guise of conflict management.”

According to him, such measures fail to address the root causes of escalating human-wildlife conflict. “The real challenge lies in habitat fragmentation, unregulated development, and the absence of effective community-based mitigation strategies. Without tackling these systemic issues, knee-jerk responses, like culling or blanket powers, will only worsen the crisis.”

It is not just environmentalists who object. Farmers’ groups—many of which have long demanded stronger measures, including culling—are also sceptical of the government’s intentions. The Kerala Independent Farmers’ Association has dismissed the bill as a “political gimmick”, arguing that the state is deliberately venturing into the Union government’s domain, knowing it is unlikely to secure Presidential assent.

Association chairman Alex Ozhukayil points out that the state has consistently failed to use existing powers under the law. “Even district collectors can order the killing of wild animals if they are found dangerous to human lives,” he says. “Instead of implementing these provisions, the government is trying to create an impression of decisive action with amendments it knows won’t pass legal scrutiny. This is nothing but an attempt to score political points while farmers continue to suffer.”

Farmers’ organisations argue that far from offering relief, the Bill will prolong uncertainty. “What we need are timely interventions, quick responses when lives are at risk, and serious efforts to prevent encounters through scientific measures. A law that looks good on paper but collapses in court is of no use to us,” Alex stresses.

Forest Minister A.K. Saseendran, however, has defended the Bill, claiming it will greatly help mitigate conflict and protect both wildlife and people once in force. The Bill has now been referred to a subject committee.

Not everyone is convinced. “If straying animals are to be killed, then why not order the killing of dogs, which bite and sometimes kill people?” asks P.S. Easa, wildlife biologist and former director of the Kerala Forest Research Institute (KFRI). He argues that both human and wildlife concerns must be taken into account. “A proper strategy should include both short-term and long-term plans,” he adds.

Veteran farmer and biodiversity campaigner T.C. Joseph, who migrated to Wayanad from Kottayam district six decades ago, echoes this concern. He acknowledges that wild animal populations have risen, but attributes it not merely to conservation, as many allege, but to unchecked human interventions. “When forests are fragmented, corridors blocked, and habitats disturbed, animals are forced into human settlements in search of food. This is not just an animal problem but a symptom of ecological imbalance,” he explains.

For Joseph, the path forward lies in science and community-driven approaches. “Habitat restoration, better land-use planning, and local mitigation strategies are the way to go. But political parties give scant regard to ecological science. They stoke farmers’ anger to suit their ends, leaving us caught between promises and reality. This amendment is a travesty. It neither addresses the root causes nor offers sound remedies. It only adds confusion while diverting attention from real solutions. To truly resolve the crisis, meaningful dialogue, science-based policies, and collective action are essential—otherwise, both people and wildlife will continue to lose.”