Of windmills and women
Wind farms are generally a beneficial source of renewable energy. But what happens when they cut through ancient tribal land, stoking fears of lost livelihoods and identities? India Fellow Aneesh Mohan finds out.
“If I asked you to leave your home, the clothes you wear, the family you love and all that surrounds you because tomorrow I want to build a mall on the stacked pyres of your identity, you couldn’t fathom it. You won’t. So why must I? Why must your development come at the cost of who I am?” roared Janaki, a woman from the pastoral Maldhari community from the Rabari tribe of the Kachchh district in Gujarat.
Roughly five years ago the first pavanchakki, windmill, was installed in her area.
There was no outcry when the renewable energy project was first proposed. The villagers, themselves unaware, welcomed the development.
But it did not take long before they realised the windmills they had welcomed would soon make them protest.
Development often happens at the expense of those who are forcefully kept at the bottom of society’s hierarchy.
An identity rooted in the land
For centuries the Rabari tribe has lived in and around the forest on the edge of Sangnara village, which has some of India’s most diverse flora and fauna.
The Maldharis identify the land as gauchar, meaning it is reserved for grazing.
The folk derive their traditional medicine from the various herbs and shrubs growing there. Their livelihoods, their animals, their homes and identity are deeply rooted in the forest.
Harnessing wind energy in Kachchh
But in recent times the Kachchh district is also home to a gorgeous corridor for farming wind energy – in fact it is the largest in Asia.
The general belief in the scientific community is that wind farms are generally safe and have few negative ecological ramifications. Cattle have been found grazing right at the foot of the turbines. However, the ecological discourse is diverse.
Wind-farms have due considerations before being established – including not disrupting local homes or grazing fields for livestock.
Wind turbines in cattle land
But lo and behold, there is a proposal for 80 such wind turbines that will fall right on the patch precious to the Maldharis, and will result in the felling of 38,000 trees – a big blow to a community dependent on the forest.
Half of the turbines have already been constructed and the locals of Sangnara and 15 to 20 nearby villages have been protesting to prevent the construction of the rest.
Even the National Green Tribunal described the land as conveniently skewed in the proposal maps to permit the construction of a wind-farm.
In the past five years the Maldharis have continuously lost land. Many fear that with so many trees gone their livestock will not prosper. While their protests have gained traction, it is still not enough.
Protests against wind mills
In one such protest that I joined, I saw a gallant collaboration of sangathans, or local groups and panchayats.
One woman, Janaki, initially was hesitant to speak to me. In what was like a comedy of errors, thanks to my broken Gujarati, she first thought I was supporting the construction of the windmills and asked me to leave. So I did.
After the procession and speeches were over, Janaki looked for me and said that she would answer my questions. Happily, I agreed and reassured that I have neither the power nor the intent to construct any windmills in her land.
She looked at me unfazed.
“It doesn’t matter. If you are good, you could just smile. But if you’re bad, then I will change your heart,” she said confidently. A fierce response indeed.
Fear of losing the land and livelihood
I started with the basic interview-like questions. What do you do? Why are you protesting? Why are the windmills bad?
I received interesting but not unexpected answers to each, but I wasn’t getting that prescient response to how the windmill construction affected her life as a woman? For it was the social anxieties and ramifications of these new wind farms which I most wanted to understand.
She kept saying she was worried that she would lose her animals that she loved like her own children.
“If my cows don’t give me milk, how will I feed my family?” she said.
As with all scenarios in my life, my dimaag ki batti, the flash of an understanding, lit up a little late. It is not that hard to miss and yet I did. It is so obvious, yet it isn’t.
Loss of livelihood and its impact on women
For I slowly realised that in a family where the woman is the one who feeds the family, taking away that role or making it harder for her to provide for her family will obviously make her anxious.
If we go by the Hello Sakhi Helpline data of the past two years, or even by my own anecdotal experiences, when livelihoods are taken away from a family (whether because of lockdowns or the construction of wind turbines), the net suffering of the family ends up being projected on the woman, at least in the current prevalent patriarchal set-up.
Janaki’s friend giggled and then said, “My husband gets irritable if food is not on the plate. Sometimes he’ll even throw a tantrum that it isn’t his favourite meal. Favourite meal seven days a week? I am not a magician.”
The conversation was longer than these couple of sentences. However, what continues to play over and over is just a simple fact about food on the plate – or the lack thereof – and the ‘butterfly effect’ on the well-being of women – beginning from trees making way for turbines.
Perhaps that is why it is women and children are at the forefront of these protests.
They are not weak.
They are not scared.
To paraphrase musician Ariana Grande’s famous lyrics, “I want it, I got it” – they want it and they will try to get it.
The lead photo at the top of this article is of India Fellow Aneesh Mohan.
Aneesh Mohan was an India Fellow in 2020. He worked with tribal communities in the rural areas of Kachchh, Gujarat helping them use direct action and strengthening the insights of women empowerment.
