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Kerala is looking at an increasingly dramatic response to an increasingly difficult problem: what to do with wild animals that repeatedly enter human settlements.
The state, squeezed between a dense human population and the forests of the southern Western Ghats, is considering a combination of carrying-capacity studies, habitat restoration, stronger rapid-response systems, translocation of conflict animals and, in exceptional circumstances, even airlifting them.
The idea sounds technologically impressive. But wildlife experts say the harder question is not how to move an elephant or a tiger. It is whether moving the animal addresses the reason it entered a human landscape in the first place.
Kerala’s forests are not isolated islands. Elephants, tigers, leopards and gaur move through a landscape increasingly divided by villages, plantations, roads, tourism and other infrastructure. Animals cross these boundaries in search of food and water, follow traditional movement routes or respond to changes in habitat and climate. For people living along forest edges, the consequences can be devastating: destroyed crops, damaged homes, economic losses and, sometimes, deaths.
Forest and Wildlife Minister Shibu Baby John has proposed a more scientific approach to the crisis. The government has sought the Wildlife Institute of India’s assessment of the carrying capacity of Kerala’s forests, with particular attention expected on places such as Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary and its tiger and elephant populations. The state is also considering the relocation of conflict tigers to suitable habitats elsewhere, subject to scientific assessment and statutory approvals.
At the same time, Kerala wants to strengthen Rapid Response Teams, repair and expand solar fencing, improve wildlife monitoring, restore grasslands and habitats, control invasive species and improve compensation and insurance for people living in conflict-prone areas. The emphasis on science is welcome. But translocation is where the real caution begins.
“Proper caution must be undertaken,” says wildlife biologist P O Nameer, pointing to the risks involved even when decisions are preceded by scientific studies.
T V Sajeev, scientist at the Kerala Forest Research Institute, describes wildlife translocation as “risky and challenging” and says expert opinion must be sought before such interventions are undertaken.
Not all translocations are the same. Moving an injured animal to a veterinary facility is fundamentally different from moving an animal to establish or restore a population in suitable habitat. Both are different again from capturing an animal because it has repeatedly entered human settlements and releasing it somewhere else.
An elephant entering a plantation may be following an ancient movement route blocked by development. It may be responding to seasonal changes in food and water. Or it may have learnt that crops are an abundant and easily accessible source of food.
Similarly, a tiger entering a village may be moving through fragmented habitat or responding to changes in prey availability. If the reason for the animal’s movement is not understood, moving the animal may merely move the problem.
Asian elephants have large home ranges, extraordinary memories and complex social relationships. They remember water sources, feeding areas and movement routes over long periods. Research elsewhere has shown that translocated elephants may attempt to return to their original ranges, sometimes travelling through unfamiliar landscapes and human settlements. Some wander extensively rather than settling in the release area. Translocation can therefore spread or intensify human-elephant conflict rather than eliminate it. That possibility has serious implications for Kerala.
An elephant removed from a plantation in Wayanad does not necessarily regard another forest as its new home. It may attempt to return to its original range, crossing roads, plantations and settlements along the way. The destination itself may already support a resident elephant population. A newcomer then has to find food and water while negotiating an established social landscape.
A measure designed to remove conflict from one village could consequently create conflict somewhere else. There is another fundamental question: which elephant should be moved?
An animal that occasionally enters a farm is not automatically a problem animal. A bull repeatedly raiding crops may have become habituated to agricultural food. Another elephant may simply be following a traditional corridor that has been blocked. These are different ecological situations and require different responses.
Treating every animal that enters a human settlement as an identical “conflict animal” would be the beginning of bad wildlife management. Tiger translocation has a stronger conservation record when the purpose is to rebuild populations in suitable habitats.
India has considerable experience in moving tigers as part of conservation programmes. Sariska Tiger Reserve in Rajasthan, for example, became a major example of tiger reintroduction after the local population disappeared. The objective was to restore a viable population in a habitat judged suitable for the species. That is fundamentally different from capturing a tiger because it has become involved in conflict.
In conservation translocation, the central question is whether the destination needs the animal and can support it. In conflict translocation, the immediate question is often how to get the animal away from people. The distinction cannot be ignored.
A responsible translocation requires assessment of habitat, prey availability, population structure, genetics, disease risks and the suitability of the release site. The animals need intensive monitoring after release, often through radio or GPS collars. The operation does not end when the animal is released. That is when the real test begins.
If Kerala decides to move conflict tigers to other states, the same level of scientific scrutiny will be necessary. It will also require cooperation between states and the communities living around the release sites.
Airlifting could nevertheless have a legitimate role in exceptional circumstances. An elephant trapped in a pit, an injured tiger requiring urgent treatment, an animal stranded after a landslide or a rescue operation in an inaccessible landscape could benefit from rapid air transport. In such cases, reducing the time spent in captivity or difficult ground transportation could improve animal welfare and make otherwise impossible rescues feasible. But a helicopter solves only the transportation problem.
Before a large animal can be flown, it has to be captured, restrained and, in many cases, chemically immobilised. Anaesthesia carries its own risks, including physiological stress, overheating, respiratory complications and injury. Loading and unloading an animal weighing several tonnes adds another layer of danger.
Such operations would require specialist wildlife veterinarians, trained handlers, engineers and aviation personnel, besides a carefully assessed destination. The technology may be impressive. The ecological question is much harder. Carrying capacity is not a simple number.
The proposed Wildlife Institute of India study could become the most important component of Kerala’s new strategy. But carrying capacity should not be reduced to a simple number of animals that a forest can “hold”. Forests are dynamic systems. Food and water availability change with rainfall, seasons, fire, invasive species, habitat degradation and climate change. Wildlife responds by moving.
An elephant population may remain inside a forest during one season and enter farms when natural forage becomes scarce. A tiger population can be ecologically healthy while an individual animal moves into a livestock-rich landscape because prey is easier to find there.
Research on elephant movements in Kerala has shown that rainfall, food availability, temperature and crop habituation can influence movement and crop-raiding behaviour. The question, therefore, should not simply be: how many elephants or tigers can Kerala’s forests support?
If the answer involves fragmented habitat, blocked corridors, degraded forage or altered food and water availability, removing animals will not solve the underlying problem.
Kerala’s forests form part of the larger Western Ghats landscape, extending across Kerala, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. Wildlife moves across these political boundaries without carrying a map.
An elephant does not know when it has crossed from Kerala into Karnataka. A tiger does not recognise a forest department boundary.
Any interstate translocation programme would therefore require coordination among forest departments, scientific institutions, wildlife veterinarians, the Union environment ministry and local communities. People living around proposed release sites must have a voice in the decision. Otherwise, Kerala may simply export its conflict.
The most effective elements of Kerala’s proposed strategy may ultimately have little to do with helicopters. Protecting wildlife corridors, restoring degraded habitats, improving early-warning systems, maintaining scientifically designed barriers, protecting crops and livestock, strengthening Rapid Response Teams and ensuring timely compensation can prevent conflict before an animal has to be captured.
Camera traps, GPS collars, drones and real-time alerts can increasingly help officials understand animal movements and warn communities before wildlife reaches settlements.
Even fencing, however, needs careful planning. A poorly designed or badly maintained barrier can simply redirect elephants towards another village.
Before routine translocation begins, Kerala should establish a transparent protocol based on independent scientific assessment. Officials should determine whether an individual animal is genuinely responsible for repeated conflict, whether the ecological cause has been identified, whether the destination can support it and whether moving it could create another conflict.
There must also be a plan for what happens if the animal returns or begins entering settlements elsewhere.
For communities in Wayanad, Idukki, Palakkad and other forest-fringe districts, this is not an abstract conservation argument. Human-wildlife conflict can mean lost crops, damaged homes, financial insecurity and sometimes death. For wildlife, meanwhile, an increasingly fragmented landscape offers fewer places to move.
Kerala therefore needs a policy that protects people without treating wildlife simply as a population to be removed.