"Our wells and springs are drying up, and as a consequence of this depletion, our groundwater quality is also deteriorating" Credit: Manipadma Jena/IPS

By Rachita Vora and Smarinita Shetty
MUMBAI, India, Oct 29 2019 (IPS)

A majority of India’s water problems are those relating to groundwater—water that is found beneath the earth’s surface. This is because we are the largest user of groundwater in the world, and therefore highly dependent on it.

At just over 260 cubic km per year, our country uses 25 percent of all groundwater extracted globally, ahead of USA and China. And because 70 percent of the water supply in agriculture today is groundwater, it will remain the lifeline of India’s water supplies for years to come.

Despite this, we have an extremely poor understanding of groundwater, which impacts both policy and practice. In our conversation with Himanshu Kulkarni and Uma Aslekar of Advanced Centre for Water Resources and Development (ACWADAM), they walk us through some of the reasons why this is the case.

Why is it that we neither understand nor prioritise groundwater in our policies?

This is largely because of two reasons: Groundwater is invisible—it is literally not visible to the eye because it is well below the ground. What is out of sight, is usually out of mind! Groundwater is also a highly complex subject that is governed by many ‘conditionalities’. It is this ignorance, by both users and people in governance, that has contributed to the situation we find ourselves in today.

Moreover, groundwater education still focuses largely on ‘exploring’ new sources of groundwater that will lead to the ‘development’ of groundwater resources. The subject of groundwater in aquifers is often considered quite complex as compared to providing groundwater supplies from wells, even if these wells continue to become deeper and deeper as groundwater levels decline. In the gap between supply on one side, and demand on the other, we are losing out on components of groundwater management from many systems of education delivery.

We need a demystified but correct understanding of aquifers (underground rocks that are sources of groundwater), their properties and how they are used, so that we can make the critical mass of users and decision makers understand them and act on them appropriately.

We neither understand nor prioritise the groundwater issue because what is out of sight, is usually also out of mind. | Illustration – Priya Dali

What will that take?

We at ACWADAM conduct training programmes for various organisations and government agencies. If one is explaining the concept of aquifers, for instance, the semantics, pedagogy, and the delivery of training on the whole will need to be different for different stakeholders.

If one has to explain aquifers to a groundwater agency, hydrogeologists, or people with a technical background, one will need to use a different language than that when one is speaking to communities and end users.

Similarly, the lexicon on groundwater will need to be completely different if one is talking to decision makers and technocrats, who have no technical knowledge on the subject. The ability to clearly articulate and communicate the groundwater problem and the possible solutions, is therefore, the key to implementing processes of groundwater management.

If you were to state, simply, the primary issues when it comes to groundwater in India, what would they be?

There are basically three issues. The first is depletion. Our wells and springs are drying up, and as a consequence of this depletion, our groundwater quality is also deteriorating.

When there is less water in an aquifer, the concentration of ions increases. When aquifers get recharged sufficiently, contaminants are diluted. Whether it is groundwater use in agriculture or in domestic supply, serious issues of contamination like fluoride and arsenic, which are no longer isolated cases and are found across large regions of the country, must be addressed. This contamination is the second problem, and it is very often related to the first problem of depletion.

We need a demystified but correct understanding of aquifers (underground rocks that are sources of groundwater), their properties and how they are used, so that we can make the critical mass of users and decision makers understand them and act on them appropriately

The third, which is not readily perceived as a problem, is that of the increasing disconnect between groundwater and ecosystems, particularly due to the environmental impact of depletion and contamination. As a consequence of large-scale groundwater usage for human needs, the value of the service that aquifers provided to the environment—say to river flows—has significantly reduced. How does one then make the connection between the environment and groundwater, especially when that connection has been altered and severed?

Therefore, we need an integrated approach. Even if in one area, depletion seems to be the biggest problem, we need an approach that addresses contamination, and recognises the ecosystem role of groundwater in resolving the problem of depletion. Doing one and not the other will not help resolve any one problem in its entirety.

How then, do we solve the problem in its entirety, at scale?

Broad brush approaches implemented at scale will not work. Let us consider an example: you have a new idea to solve a groundwater problem, and it has five critical elements. The district you are working in has 20 talukas. You cannot implement all five components of your idea in those 20 talukas. So, what will you do? You will likely take the easiest option and leave the rest. This doesn’t work out since the complex natures of aquifers and human behaviours cannot be solved with a broad brush of a simple, big ticket solution. You need an appropriate (scientifically validated) and acceptable (communities must be able to agree and co-operate in implementation) solution to make impact.

Alternatively, you might choose to implement all five ideas in one village of each taluka, where they are possible to implement. But then scaling-out such solutions becomes challenging. There are thus no big-ticket solutions in groundwater. All the same, it is necessary to work at the micro level even though it is challenging to engage with policy makers who would rather have groundwater solutions that run across large swathes of the landscape; many of them would prefer solutions at scale that create a buzz in the short-term rather than an impact in the longer-term.

Given these inherent challenges, what is it that India needs to do?

If we are to address our water problems, there are a few things that the country needs:

Aggregate micro-level solutions to construct a larger picture that can inform policy

Groundwater in India is rather disaggregated in terms of its occurrence, usage, and problems. Hence, we need disaggregated approaches leading to customised solutions that are appropriate to locations and situations of groundwater problems. Further, it is important to pull together these smaller solution pieces to construct a larger picture. This is the reason why we need practitioners who have worked on the ground and attempted to solve the problems, to be actively involved in policy framing; else, things will not change and the divide between policies, and practices on groundwater management will only continue to widen further.

Stronger public institutions dedicated to groundwater management

Additionally, we have an institutional vacuum when it comes to dealing with groundwater. Let us consider an example from Maharashtra. More than 80 percent of Maharashtra’s rural drinking water supply comes from groundwater wells. Protecting and sustaining this source is a function of how groundwater is used in agriculture so that drinking water supply in the villages of the state remains secure.

The Ground Water Survey and Development Agency (GSDA) falls under the ambit of the Ministry of Drinking Water and Sanitation. It has little to do with water used for agriculture—which accounts for less than 5 percent of water used in rural Maharashtra—and hence cannot influence policy or usage with respect to that. Organisations like GSDA must be strengthened and encouraged to engage in partnership models of working with grassroots organisations that are working on community-level water management.

This is just one example of how a lack of institutional thinking impacts solutions. Many states don’t even have a GSDA equivalent. Strengthening agencies dealing with groundwater becomes quite important in this regard.

To demystify the science and involve people in solution-making

Some important questions we need to consider include: How does one get people to participate and cooperate in efforts dealing with groundwater management? How do communities convert competition and conflict to participation and cooperation? Our experience at ACWADAM is that when you undertake an effort in demystifying science, and involve communities and committed people in the development of that science, you can achieve improved decision making at any level. And once you achieve this, your outcomes automatically change even though they are often not ideal. However, even such imperfect outcomes significantly enhance water security in regions that depend on groundwater.

More attention and investment in promoting partnerships and collaborations

There is a grave need for infusing interdisciplinary science in the processes of groundwater management and governance. Only if and when such science is made to bear upon achieving decentralised water governance, will we be able to solve many problems on groundwater. It is important, therefore, to realise that no single agency holds the key to problem identification and resolution in the sector of groundwater. Hence, catalysing collaborations that integrate the many disciplines required to develop sustainable groundwater management solutions, is needed; such partnerships must form the backbone of public efforts to protect, restore, and manage groundwater resources.

Rachita Vora is Co-founder and Director at IDR. Before this, she led the Dasra Girl Alliance, a Rs. 250 crore multi-stakeholder platform that sought to improve maternal and child health outcomes, and empower adolescent girls in India. She has over a decade of experience, having led teams in the areas of financial inclusion, public health and CSR. She has also led functions across strategy, business development, communications and partnerships, and her writing has been featured in the Guardian, Stanford Social Innovation Review, Next Billion and Alliance Magazine. Rachita has an MBA from Judge Business School at Cambridge University and a BA in History from Yale University.

Smarinita Shetty is Co-founder and CEO at IDR. She has more than 20 years of experience leading functions across strategy, operations, sales and business development, largely in startup environments within corporates and social enterprises. Prior to IDR, Smarinita worked at Dasra, Monitor Inclusive Markets (now FSG), JP Morgan and The Economic Times. She also co-founded Netscribes–India’s first knowledge process outsourcing firm. Her work and opinion have been featured in The Economist, Times of India, Mint and The Economic Times. Smarinita has a BE in Computer Engineering and an MBA in Finance, both from Mumbai University.

This story was originally published by India Development Review (IDR)

Credit: Lalsu Nogoti

By Saahil Kejriwal and Rachita Vora
Mar 25 2019 (IPS)

The remarkable story of an Adivasi lawyer and social activist who has led peoples’ movements against state development policies, and sought redress for human rights violations of his people in conflict-ridden regions of Maharashtra.

Lalsu Nogoti is an independent elected member of the Zila Parishad in the district of Gadchiroli, Maharashtra. He is also the first lawyer from the Madia Gond Adivasi community in that district. A firm voice against large-scale diversion of forest land for numerous mining projects, Lalsu has also been part of several peoples’ movements against the state’s development policies. The focus of his work is on the effective implementation of laws that protect Adivasi rights.

He has been engaged in seeking redress for human rights violations of Adivasis resulting from the crossfire between Maoist insurgent and paramilitary operations in the district. His vision lies in ensuring that the Madia Gonds retain their rights over natural resources of the region. In 2017, he was selected for the Indigenous Fellowship Programme by the United Nations Office of the High Commissioner of Human Rights.

In this interview with IDR, Lalsu highlights the importance of engaging with law and politics to bring about social change, and the important role that local self governance plays in securing the rights of Adivasi groups.

Could you tell us about your early life?

I think the first turning point of my life was when I was three or four, and my father passed away. I come from a remote village, Juvvi, in Gadchiroli which borders Chhattisgarh’s Bastar region. In our tribal community—we are Madia—there is a custom of remarriage, so my mother remarried and returned to her home state, Chattisgarh. The community looked after me. I would help with all kinds of chores, from guarding the farm from birds to grazing the cattle.

Later, the village elders sent me to Lok Biradari Prakalp, at Hemalkasa, so that I could get food and shelter. That was a project by Ramon Magsaysay Award winner, Dr. Prakash Amte. I went to school there. I could not write until I was in grade 5, and I understood very little, but I studied hard. Each year, I stood among the top five in the annual exams. When I topped my grade 10 exams, Prakash bhau offered to send me for higher studies.

Throughout my childhood, there were people who supported me along the way. I was raised by the community around me, and I was offered help at various points, which I never refused. While pursuing higher studies, I would do any work that came my way—chopping tree branches, sweeping, helping in the School for the Disabled, and working at Yuvagram.

One day, Dr Dhairyasheel Shirole, a trustee of Fergusson College, Pune, was visiting Anandwan. Bharati vahini, one of my guardians, asked him, “Here is a Madia boy who is good at his studies and is honest. Would you take him to Pune to study further?” Bharati vahini also told him that I was an orphan, and had no money.

My law degree may have given me technical knowledge, but working with the community, I learn new things every day. You can become literate and aware through formal education, but the knowledge of local challenges can only come from working with people.

Fergusson had an ‘earn and learn’ scheme—if I found work, I could earn money and pay for my education. So I decided to go. A few other Adivasi students from Hemalkasa were offered the same opportunity, but weren’t willing to travel so far.

This was a time of many firsts for me: my first time travelling by train; and the first time I was made aware of my Adivasi background. People made fun of me for not speaking Marathi. I never learned Marathi because Madia is my tribe’s language. No one in my village speaks Marathi even today.

But by the time I graduated college, I had a degree with a specialisation in Marathi literature. I then went on to study law.

What made you choose law as a career?

When I was in college, many Madias were becoming doctors, but not lawyers. I felt that fighting the issues we were facing needed a knowledge of the law, and so I enroled in ILS law college.

At the time, you would rarely find Adivasi students in these colleges; they were scared to go to such places. My roommate at Fergusson asked me why I wanted to study at ILS. He said, “You will fail. It’s quite hi-fi. You don’t know English.”

I was not afraid to fail. In fact, when I stood first and informed my community, they asked, “Is that a good thing or bad?” They were really not bothered.

Apart from completing law, I also got a master’s in sociology, a bachelor’s degree in journalism, and a master’s in communication and journalism.

In 2006 I returned from Pune to Nagpur, where I practiced law for one year. I had studied law to be able to help my people, but soon realised that the Nagpur Court was inaccessible for them. If I continued working there, I would have earned well but I wouldn’t have served the people for whom I studied law. I wanted to help my people directly, be with them, and discuss their issues face-to-face. And so, I moved to Aheri and worked at the court there.

In the years since, I worked with many organisations on issues relating to tribal rights, including Srujan, Tata Trusts, Ecotech, and Oxfam India.

In 2016, you entered politics by contesting the local election. What prompted you to do this?

I used to believe politics was a dirty game. But having been closely involved with local governance, I have come to believe that in addition to the law, politics is an important tool for social change. In fact, if we keep shying away from politics, no good person will ever enter this space.

The Lok Sabha or Vidhan Sabha are not going to work for the poor. And so we have to enter politics, so we can make laws that are useful for us. For instance, because I helped translate the Forest Rights Act from Marathi to Gondi and Madia, I was able to bring the issues of the Adivasis into those documents.

Can you tell us about your experience with using the gram sabha as a tool for local self-governance?

The gram sabha has emerged as an important local government body, one that can make laws and rules for the village. The seat of government in Mumbai is not the only government. The local government at the village level also has the same powers—for instance, managing the market and what goods can be sold freely, regulating or curtailing money lending activity, and deciding what village-level initiatives are introduced and how their funding is allocated.

The gram sabha’s role in local governance has been strengthened with the passing of two acts: The Forest Rights Act (FRA) and the Provision of Extension to Scheduled Areas Act (PESA). These have been important instruments of social change.

Credit: Lalsu Nogoti

Could you elaborate?

Let us first talk about the Forest Rights Act (FRA). Before it was passed in 2006, no law had ever mentioned that traditional forest dwellers and scheduled tribes have been subjected to historical injustice. This was the first time that the government acknowledged the injustice, saying that the Act was an effort to correct this.

The Act has also been crucial because it recognises the rights of scheduled tribes and other traditional forest dwellers over forest land. Over the years, these rights have been curtailed as a result of increasing state control over forests, as well as developmental and conservation activities. The FRA, with its provision of individual forest rights (for homestead and agriculture), community rights (for gram sabha rights over forest resources) and community forest resource rights (for gram sabhas to use, manage and protect forest resources), has guaranteed tenurial security over Adivasi peoples’ land and livelihoods.

The FRA also recognises ‘Habitat rights’ of the Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups (PVTG),¹ a subcategory of scheduled tribes (ST) that is characterised by low literacy and nutrition levels, and subsistence level of economy. My tribe, Madia, was also declared a PVTG by Union Ministry of Tribal Affairs. This provision is among the most important within the FRA, as it extends beyond the administrative units of the household or the village, and recognises the rights of a larger clan of villages of the same community—in Bhamragad area for instance, there are 108 villages that form a habitat, or ilaka. This traditional structure, with its own traditional leadership, offers livelihood and resources, as well as being socially and spiritually important to the community.

In practice, there are many steps that the people must take to claim these rights (the overall process is controlled at a state level); there are also many Adivasi groups who are eligible to claim these rights but don’t know that they can. This is where the gram sabha’s role becomes even more important, because all initial claims must first be submitted to and verified at the village level.

And what about the PESA Act?

The PESA Act was passed in 1996. The right to forest produce is the most important part of it. For the first time, the people and the gram sabha can collect the tendu leaves on their own without the interference of middlemen. They can package it, and sell directly to companies. The Act lists many other items as well, including resin, honey, lac, timber, and bamboo. With PESA, more and more people in my area have been able to establish ownership rights over forest produce.

Where I work, the gram sabha is dealing directly with the company. These are new processes, not only in Bhamragad but in many places across the district. And there is much work that activists are doing across the district. The ownership rights over forest produce have resulted in higher incomes, and we are now seeing higher expenditure on education and health.

Adivasi culture and the forest are intricately linked. Where there is a forest, the culture remains alive. PESA thus looks after both.

Under PESA, the gram sabha has the authority to handle financial dealings of an area, and control or manage local trade. This helps the people regulate the sale of intoxicants like alcohol or tobacco, and curtail informal moneylending. Further, the PESA Act covers land acquisition and displacement. Now, if anyone wants to buy land for mining, they have to consult the gram sabha and take their consent after a public hearing.

FRA and PESA are very important tools to strengthen the gram sabha and ensure autonomy of the Adivasis. Using these laws, we can increase awareness among people, and give them the confidence to raise their voices.

We have now started a movement to spread legal literacy in Adivasi areas—about FRA, PESA, Biodiversity Act, RTI—and bring about societal change by law. We have also translated the constitution in Marathi.

What are some of the challenges associated with your work?

Given that we work in a Naxalite area, engaging with the law and politics can be especially challenging. The local police believe that if Naxalites support a law, the government must oppose it. Thus, for them, anybody who supports that law is assumed to be a Naxalite. The police ask people if they agree with, or support, the PESA act. If they do, they are branded as a Naxalite.

Another challenge is that the laws keep changing to suit the ruling government. When the ruler changes, the language changes. For our grassroots activists who believe in this law and support it, the challenge is sustaining that support, especially when someone sitting in the capital can change the law, or cancel it all together.

We also have limited resources, and limited connection with the outside world, especially people located in the corridors of power. Then, what is my strength? Sitting in Bhamragad, I can’t do much. Even still, it is important for me to stay here, and work for my people. My law degree may have given me technical knowledge, but working with the community, I learn new things every day. You can become literate and aware through formal education, but the knowledge of local challenges can only come from working with people.

Apart from challenges in carrying out my work, there are other, more deep-rooted challenges that Adivasis face, chief among them being language. Indian states are divided linguistically—Marathi is spoken in Maharashtra, Gujarati in Gujarat, Bengali in West Bengal. Gondi speaking people have been living in this country from the beginning, but have been scattered across different states, due to which they must learn different state languages. I am in a ‘Marathi cage’. My mother is in Chhattisgarh, where they have to learn Hindi; she’s in a ‘Hindi cage’. In this way, we are left unable to communicate with each other. Our own language has suffered because of this. Plus, we don’t have a formal organisation or structure. Our community is our area of work. There is no office. Our village—Gotul or local space—is our office. So how can we band together, work together on these cultural and political issues for our people?

Translated from Marathi into English by Anupamaa Joshi.

Footnotes

1. PVTG is a subcategory of scheduled tribes (ST), characterised by a pre-agricultural level of technology, stagnant or declining population, extremely low literacy rate and subsistence level of economy. There are 75 listed PVTGs in India.

Saahil Kejriwal is an associate at IDR. He is responsible for sourcing and editing content, along with online and offline outreach. He has completed the Young India Fellowship, a postgraduate diploma in liberal studies, from Ashoka University. Prior to that, Saahil worked as an instructional designer at NIIT Ltd. Saahil holds a BA in Economics from Hansraj College, University of Delhi. He spent his early years in Guwahati, Assam.

Rachita Vora is Co-founder and Director at IDR. Before this, she led the Dasra Girl Alliance, a Rs. 250 crore multi-stakeholder platform that sought to empower adolescent girls in India. She has a decade of experience, and has spent the past eight years working in the areas of financial inclusion, livelihoods and public health. She has led functions across strategy, business development, communications and partnerships, and her writing has been featured in the Guardian, Stanford Social Innovation Review, Next Billion and Alliance Magazine. Rachita has an MBA from Judge Business School at Cambridge University and a BA in History from Yale University.

This story was originally published by India Development Review (IDR)