Money can’t buy you… Love? That’s what you thought. I was thinking of something wilder—nature and wildlife, particularly big cat conservation. Given the multifaceted, interdisciplinary approaches, I can vouch for the fact that conservation knowledge comes from deep relationships, of understanding lived traditions of coexistence, not just by providing abundant resources. Do managers and policy makers capture the pulse of these underlying factors when they design their conservation action? As a person studying the Asiatic lions for over 20 years, the last decade or so particularly in understanding the issues at the human-forest interface of the Gir forest, I do give the topic a lot of thought backed by good on-ground data. I would like to present the case of the Asiatic lion in the wider context of human-carnivore conservation issues.
India’s forest lores and its wildlife are woven into our tradition, culture and history such that a vital slice of our everyday lives will be cut off without our wild animals. Our country’s natural heritage includes all that we assign as rich forests, wastelands, grasslands or scrubland that are home to a startling assemblage of biodiversity. A few decades back, the loss of prime habitats and direct persecution had gradually pushed the once abundant wild animals into smaller pockets of natural spaces, drastically shrinking both their range and population sizes. This drastic decline set off alarm bells across society — among policymakers, scientists, conservationists, local communities, and concerned citizens alike. Recognising the urgency, the Government of India enacted the Wildlife (Protection) Act in 1972, laying the foundation for structured wildlife conservation action. Under this Act, various categories of protected areas — including wildlife sanctuaries and national parks — were notified, providing legal safeguards for critical habitats. Additionally, diverse animal species, and later plant species, were listed under Schedules I to VI, enabling targeted conservation measures based on their level of threat and ecological importance.
Fortress conservation models, as they are called, in the early phases of India’s conservation history, focused on protecting species within the confines of designated protected areas. These efforts were a resounding success — in most cases, they resulted in bringing varied endangered species back from the brink of extinction. Such dedicated efforts gave wild species the opportunity to flourish, show a spurt in population growth and subsequently push back and widen their living space. This has been the trajectory for most of our favorite species — tiger, lion, elephant, and even the endearing macaques and langurs that are close to our hearts. Today, the resurrection of wild populations, followed by their search for additional refuge habitats, has led to new conservation challenges. What has also changed is that now policy makers want to go in one particular direction with their development plans; conservationists want it another way. And people have their own particular demands. Bringing together these threads to weave a conservation management plan has become a challenge.
The Asiatic lions are the flagship of the unique semi-arid biogeographic zone of India. We all know that Asia’s lions had a wide global range. Within India, they extended eastwards as far as Palamau until the latter half of the 20th century. Due to extensive hunting and habitat fragmentation, their numbers dwindled drastically. Today, the Asiatic lions exist as a single population in and around Gujarat’s Gir Sanctuary. The recent census confirms the continued growth and expansion of the lion population from 674 in 2020 to 891 in 2025. The announcement of the visionary Lion Project by Prime Minister Narendra Modi earlier this year, reveals the good intention and commitment to keep up this consistent growth.
The lions have dispersed and their range has expanded, with permanent populations now established in four districts across the Saurashtra region. What merits attention is not simply the rise in lion numbers, but the fact that nearly 50 per cent now reside outside the designated protected areas, moving across natural habitat patches, traversing village and farmland areas. This spillover, too, is not a recent phenomenon; human-lion interactions have been on the rise since the late 1990s, coinciding with the widespread dispersal of lions around the Gir Protected Area. The focus has now shifted to resolving what is described as ‘conflict’, or the negative outcomes of people-lion interaction at interface zones. Going forward, the situation calls for sensitive and sensible planning.
Given the challenge of managing spillover populations, conservation managers are now left scratching their heads with a toolkit of mitigative measures — none of which can make these challenges disappear completely. There is general confusion on defining the actual problem and identifying the drivers of the problem.
The local communities at the forest-human interface zones face the impacts of this wildlife ‘population revival-dispersal-reclaim lost territory’ phenomena. These communities face threats to their safety, quality of life and a lot of damage to livelihood and property. The earlier disregard for local communities’ concerns has, in recent years, recoiled in the form of resentment and revolt — prompting a revision of conservation policies to better accommodate local needs and address their genuine concerns. What is of grave concern is that the issues of human-wildlife interactions are beginning to take a political hue with ‘empathy’ for the local communities particularly swelling during election time, often misleading and misunderstanding some of the local people’s simple demands.
Conservation models today promote coexistence in shared spaces. These models look to maximise benefits while minimising the socio-economic costs for people residing at the forest-human interface. A large chunk of wildlife conservation budgets is now directed towards local communities as part of reconciling local needs with protection efforts. The disparity lies in what conservation practitioners see as costs and benefits in contrast to what the local communities perceive. So let us first examine the concepts of costs and benefits of human-lion interaction.
It was in 2010 when the lion dispersals — not just random forays — were at the starting phase. My study of over 3,000 interviews of residents within 5 km of the Gir boundary in 6 talukas (subdistricts) looked at people’s perception on costs and benefits of residing at the interface areas and their outlook on lion conservation. It turned out that the local people appreciated the ecosystem services provided by the Gir lions that translated into fertile farms and higher crop productivity. Their views on the positive effect of predation on crop raiding ungulates in my report resonated widely and gained traction across case studies.
Among households living along the Gir forest fringe, economic losses from lion or leopard depredation may seem significant but are often offset by low livestock upkeep costs and subsistence-level use. Communities near the Gir PA often accept some losses, influenced by cultural traditions and a deep-rooted affection for lions, which reduces resentment. Government ex-gratia payments, nearly matching market value, help mitigate the financial impact of depredation. Rather when asked, people perceive stringent enforcement of forest laws, heavy seasonal rains, and crop-raiding by wild herbivores as costs they incur residing close to the Gir forests, not as much livestock loss or even risk to human safety. For the farmer, crop loss from Nilgai and wild boar raids destroys the entire season’s hard work, making the loss more painful and provoking deeper anger. Good mitigation measures should thus be directed at actual costs as the forest department’s role does not stop short of designing conservation action around charismatic species. Monetary compensation is only a post-conflict mitigation salve, if, when thoughtlessly applied without identifying the actual problem, would be of no use. Additionally, intangible costs such as the uneasy fear of carnivores, loss of man-days at farms and emotional costs of depredation are not easy to mitigate.
As demonstrated, there is a gap in what conservation managers perceive and plan for, compared to people’s outlook on costs and benefits. A deeper engagement with local communities would give a better idea on where the conservation efforts and investments, literally, should be. The question to be answered here is whose values or needs define “what is benefit”. The flush of funds from a high budget endeavour such as the Lion Project, would probably lean towards so-called development initiatives such as roads, flagship developments and tourism infrastructure. While these are often welcomed as progressive changes, they risk wiping out the agrarian landscape. In this context, it is also well established that such development proposals or economic incentives do not necessarily reinforce people’s intrinsic value systems and conservation outlooks. Thus, there is a fine balance to be maintained in empathising, ameliorating losses and monetising the negative impacts of human-animal interactions. Therefore, the apparent proposals of ‘benefit’ only mean harm to the existing harmonious balance — it neither fulfils the basic livelihood demands of resident farmers nor is it conducive for the free-ranging lions of the landscape. Where should the government invest in providing benefits to local communities? Farmers are grateful for a bounty of crop production, seasonal rains and rich soils. Should tourism be thrust on them as a benefit package and worse, what would be the consequence on the land-use changes?
Now is the time to assess some aspects of lion-human interaction afresh — in a scenario of increased lion movement, have the people’s perceptions towards lions changed? These are some aspects of my ongoing study in the lion landscape. So far, there are some interesting outcomes of my interactions with local people. There are indications that better communication between management and local communities is needed to avoid misrepresentation of the intentions of conservation action plans. A case in point is the recent announcement of eco-sensitive zone around the Gir PA. Additionally, it transpires that local communities do not necessarily support tourism or the outcomes of recent land-use changes in their landscape.
The number of human deaths due to lion and leopard attacks are becoming frequent and this certainly calls for guidelines and better safety measures in the village areas. In this article, I am not touching upon the risks faced by lions in human landscapes. The Gujarat Forest Department is already doing a commendable job by integrating state-of-the-art technology, professional veterinary care, and a dedicated team of passionate frontline staff who put their lives on the line during every operation involving lions and leopards in human-inhabited areas. The conflict mitigation efforts are also equally impressive. This commitment hasn’t gone unnoticed as I perceive during my social surveys. In one of the fringe villages, I met a woman whose matured perspective stayed with me. Just a year ago, a leopard had entered her house and severely injured a family member. She appreciated the forest department’s prompt response, medical aid and empathy. When I asked her what she and other villagers expected from the large budget allocated for lion conservation, she paused and simply said, “What is our requirement? We manage comfortably with the income we get from our livestock. We don’t need more than what we have but yes, just fair compensation when we suffer a depredation loss.” A truly “made in India” response!
While these case-specific issues are important, it is important to examine if we are currently discussing these core conservation issues. The spotlight currently rests on the cheerful outcomes of the 2025 lion census. The lion census exercise was a well-publicised, well-funded activity with wide participation and visible enthusiasm. While the Gujarat Forest department was lauded for their continued management success, wildlife scientists raised questions with regard to the census techniques and long-term conservation outlooks. Should a manager feel affronted when their technique is questioned, especially when it is simply a matter of clarification? Should wildlife biologists get involved with the finer details of coefficient of variation and standard errors of census numbers when the gravity of the situation is the lion’s wide range, mean disposition of bureaucrats at the top level towards systematic research, mismatched correlation between need and delivery in conservation planning? Speaking on behalf of the lions, my opinion is that all conservation practitioners — managers, scientists and local people should decide on the direction the lion conservation efforts should take.
Meena Venkataraman is a wildlife biologist
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth