
Revamped Green India Mission: A matter of vulnerable ecosystems and livelihoods
The government's decision to revise the Green India Mission (GIM) and focus on restoring vulnerable landscapes, such as those in the Aravalli range, the Western Ghats and the Himalaya, is welcome. Framed in 2014 during the last days of the UPA government, the mission is not only crucial to meeting India's climate commitments, it is also important for biodiversity conservation and food and water security. The initiative has resulted in an appreciable increase in the country's tree cover. However, it has been criticised for taking a plantation-centred approach and not doing justice to the mission's broader goal of ecological revival. The GIM's revised document attempts to course correct. Especially salient is its emphasis on zeroing in on micro-climatic zones through 'regionally conducive best practices'. This initiative should be combined with addressing another concern of the original GIM, which has largely remained on paper — creating income-generating opportunities for people who rely on these ecosystems.
The Western Ghats, the Aravalli range and the Himalayan region face various challenges including deforestation, human-wildlife conflicts and changing rainfall patterns. Infrastructure development and unregulated tourism have added to their vulnerabilities. Last year, the catastrophic landslide in Wayanad underlined that the depletion of green cover and erratic rainfall had made the area susceptible to disasters. The new GIM document also notes that the Western Ghats ecosystem has degraded due to the felling of trees and illegal mining. Similarly, several studies have shown that the destruction of large chunks of the Aravalli ecosystem — especially its hills — has brought the Thar Desert close to the National Capital Region and this desertification has aggravated the area's pollution problem.
The restoration of most ecological hotspots in the country has been trapped in the environment-development binary. In 2011, a panel chaired by ecologist Madhav Gadgil underlined the need to regulate developmental activities in the entire 1,60,000 sq km stretch of the Western Ghats. Its recommendations were met with resistance across the political spectrum. The suggestions of the K Kasturirangan panel have also remained on paper. Similarly, illegal quarrying has persisted in the Aravalli range despite several SC orders, including as late as May 29. The problem is also that green initiatives have rarely taken people along. The challenge for the revamped GIM will, therefore, be to find ways to sustain and improve people's livelihoods while enhancing ecological security.
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Words follow policy. The vocabulary of welcome has expiry built in. And the words that remain - alien, illegal, suspect - shape what follows: detention, denial, disappearance. The refugee becomes shorthand for disorder. For dilution. For danger. Rarely for history. Rarely for justice. Also Read: From Balochistan to Kashmir, the Region's Unresolved Grievances Refuse To Stay Buried Language is never neutral. It becomes architecture, brick by bureaucratic brick, affidavit by affidavit, silence by silence. In speeches and televised declarations, the refugee shifts from someone who lost protection to someone who must be monitored. In India, the term – intruder - echoes through everyday speech. 'Each is a threat to the nation,' the Home Minister thundered in 2018, drawing applause and lines deeper than any border wall. Even South Asia's moments of magnanimity have not translated into permanence. India's hospitality to Tibetans has endured, but few have been offered citizenship. Bangladesh shelters over a million Rohingya, but the political vocabulary frames them as guests overstaying their welcome. Pakistan's have become political flashpoints. The language of protection erodes with each electoral cycle. South Asia has no refugee convention. No regional asylum framework. No mutual recognition system. Protection is not a right, it is a favour. Refugees are logistical problems, not political subjects. None of the region's principal states are signatories to the 1951 Refugee Convention or its . The UNHCR is allowed to operate, not empowered to enforce. Statelessness becomes a feature of sovereignty, not a failure of it. Laws shape the absence of rights as much as their presence. In leaving them behind, the region sketches a different kind of map, one where citizenship is conditional, belonging revocable, protection dictated by whim. The refugee is not the exception. He is the evidence. What happens at the border does not begin there. It begins in speech, in silence, in statute. What begins in silence ends in disappearance. The crisis ahead And the tide is rising. The crisis ahead will not be driven by war alone. Environmental degradation will multiply displacement. Rivers swell. Coasts recede. The are becoming a geography of waiting. They retreat inland, inch by inch. Communities follow. Villages drown, slowly, bureaucratically. Himalayan melt and glacier ruptures threaten entire valleys. This isn't tomorrow's crisis. It is today's reality. The land is sinking while policy treads water. These people are not yet called refugees. But they will be. In the Maldives, the a little more each year. No refugee camps have formed, yet. Only models, projections, and a growing fear that someday soon, even the memory of return will feel fictional. The region's smallest state may soon become its loudest metaphor. To watch this region is to witness a quiet reconstitution of belonging. Citizenship is redrawn by ancestry. Rights are filtered through religion. Bureaucracy the border. Today, exclusion is no longer stamped, it is scanned. In places like India, the Aadhaar system has made identity digital, and disappearance easier. Refugees are not simply those who have lost a country. They are reminders that nations can also lose their people, one document, one silence at a time. Global comparisons do little to flatter South Asia. The EU's asylum system is contested but codified. Africa's Kampala Convention acknowledges the displaced within borders. Latin America's Cartagena Declaration expands protections. South Asia has no such moral vocabulary, only the grammar of delay. Also Read: Fighting Terrorism Demands Partnership, Not Primacy The international community treats this displacement as static. The world has grown accustomed to the camp, but not to the cause. It funds containment as if mercy were enough, and forgets that recognition, not rations, is the measure of justice. Aid flows. Resettlement trickles. The architecture endures. Host states perform hospitality but deny permanence. Across South Asia, refugee governance is not built for permanence. This is not a failure of resources. It is a blueprint. It is a waiting room with no exit, where time is suspended and return is myth. Refugees are not the fallout of collapse alone, but of intent, of someone deciding who belonged, and who did not. Displacement here is not a crisis. It is a . The refugee is not the aberration; he is not the exception, but the system's most faithful creation. For too long, the region has redrawn its maps, of territory, memory, citizenship, while erasing those it first cast out. When return is impossible, memory becomes the last homeland: fragile, portable, and haunted. Refugees carry their histories. Sometimes, they carry their wars. They may leave the battlefield, but the battle does not leave them. Wounds travel. And where they are ignored, they deepen. They are not stranded between countries; they are disowned by the very lands that once claimed them, named, then unmade. That alone should remind us that displacement begins not with movement, but with abandonment. If the world is serious about reducing forced migration, it must do more than feed the symptom. It must confront the sovereign impulse to erase. What's needed is a politics that names the displaced not as burden, but as evidence, of what states deny, and what justice demands. Statelessness is not sovereignty's accident. It is its design, and its deepest cruelty. Until that is reversed, borders will remain: not as protections, but as the quiet scars of decisions made, and never confessed. Somewhere, another border will be drawn. And somewhere else, someone will vanish into it. Shyam Tekwani is a professor at the Daniel K. Inouye Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies. The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not reflect the official policy or position of DKI APCSS, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Government. The appearance of external hyperlinks does not constitute endorsement by the United States Department of Defense (DoD) of the linked websites, or the information, products, or services contained therein. DoD does not exercise any editorial, security, or other control over the information you may find at these sites. The Wire is now on WhatsApp. Follow our channel for sharp analysis and opinions on the latest developments.