How Kerala was made vulnerable to Natural Disasters

This blog is part of a series on policy decisions, the causes and consquences of the Kerala floods. The first blog can be found here. 

There has been much discussion about the increased vulnerability of Kerala and Kodagu in Karnataka, to disasters of the magnitude that we saw recently. These have ranged from gentle and sorrowful remonstration, to strident ‘I told you so’ conclusions voiced by everybody from environmental activists, to religious bigots.

Yet, the question remains, how did we come to such a pass? Is this a recent phenomenon, or something that has taken a long time in coming?

As a Malayali, I was always intrigued by the maps of Indian empires that I saw in my school history books. Regardless of who or which group was the monarch of India at any given point of time; Ashoka, Harsha, Akbar, Aurangzeb or the Marathas, most of the tiny bit of the south-west of the Indian Peninsula was left out of their boundaries. A simple ‘Cheras’ written across that unconquered bit, was all that the history books would say about what we were, in the past.  The truth is that for much of recorded history and probably for millennia before, the western coast of India and particularly, the Kerala coast, was impenetrable for armies that came from the north or the east by the land route. The Western Ghats were an impenetrable barrier to them –  thick forests and fear of disease, dangerous animals and unknown threats deterred conquerors.

Yet, it was not as if Kerala was totally isolated; it looked outward to trade through the coast. For millennia, there is evidence of Kerala’s vibrant trade with other coastal powers and trading communities, ranging from Aden, through the Persian gulf, from the ports of what is today Pakistan and the more northerly western ports of India, to Mesopotamia and the Roman empire. Apart from the silk route, Kerala was probably the best way to get to the fabled riches of the east.

The renaissance saw an increase in European naval rivalry in the Arabian Sea, and after the venturesome Portuguese dominated the area in the sixteenth century, the British finally gained ascendancy, restricting the Portuguese and the Dutch in this region.

Britain on the other hand, had been cleared of its thick forests during the Bronze age itself. What forests remained were cut down to build warships and military hardware, required for their constant wars with European powers. Those of you who visit Europe and Britain and marvel at their efforts of conserving their greenery, often do not realise that their forests are but a tiny fraction of what they were. You can go for bracing treks in them, with nary a thought about what might happen to you.

Taking a walk in a forest in the Western Ghats is risky. There are at least six creatures that could kill you, if you left snakes out of the equation; Elephant, Gaur, Tiger, Leopard, Bear, Wild Dog.

Yet, the Western Ghats as it was, provided Kerala sustenance and succour. It attracted the area’s heavy monsoon rain, but also soaked it like a sponge and released the water over the year, into bountiful streams and rivers.

As Europe and Britain plundered their forests for timber to build their warships, they turned their eyes towards their burgeoning empires in the East.

Kerala was an easy target, once Britain was firmly ensconced in India. The forests were cut down with hardly a thought for their conservation. And the rivers flowed down to the estuaries and ports, not only with water, but with huge logs as well.

British colonialisation resulted in widespread destruction of forests starting from the latter half of the 18th and the early part of the 19th Century. In 1800, a Commission was appointed to inquire into the availability of teak. Six years later, the first Conservator of Forests was appointed to organise timber supply from the West Coast. This resulted in over-exploitation of teak forests along the Malabar coast for ship building for the British Navy, apart from the cutting down of Sandalwood trees of South India for the European market. In 1846, with most natural teak exhausted, the age of monocultures started, with the first teak plantation raised in Nilambur in Wayanad district of Kerala.

In 1855, the Government of India issued a memorandum outlining the rules for forest conservation across the country. Conservation, not in the sense of preservation of the biodiversity for future generations, but for the purpose of further exploitation, largely for the benefit of colonial powers.

More in my next blog.

Kerala Floods: Disaster resilience and an uncertain future

This blog is part of a series on policy decisions, the causes and consquences of the Kerala floods. The second blog can be found here.

The last couple of weeks have not been happy ones. Kerala, my home state, has been pounded by incessant rains the likes of which have not been seen for nearly a century. Kodagu, a beautiful hill district in my home away from home – Karnataka – has also been severely battered. People in both places have reacted with their customary fortitude. Governments have responded fast and alongside people across the country have quickly, with typical Indian generosity, contributed in cash and kind to the needs of the marooned and the rescued. True, there have been some discordant notes, with a few expressing glee at the suffering and hinting at divine retribution, but all of these trouble makers have been quickly put in their place by a groundswell of scorn and disgust from ordinary people.

People have low attention spans, though. So, as soon as the deluge of photos, selfies and videos on social media move to the next big thing, others will forget the event and move on. But for the survivors, this is only the beginning of a long climb back to normalcy. They will return from the relief camps to find their homes devastated, their precious belongings destroyed and their lives disrupted.

We will forget the last two weeks as a bad dream, till the next deluge.

And deluges, there will be. Probably stronger and more dangerous.

Without much scientific basis to support my observations, I have noticed a significant change in Kerala’s weather patterns. As a child, I remember the monsoon arriving with plenty of fanfare on the 1st of June – Edavapaathi, they call it – half way through the Malayalam month of Edavam. In April and May, the weather would grow oppressively hot and humid. There would be occasional thunderstorms, but they would not last more than an evening. The air would be suffused with the perfume of wet soil; it was only much later that I discovered that there is a word for it – petrichor. And then, as June came, it would bring a dark wall of unbroken cloud from the Arabian Sea. With a drum roll of thunder to herald its arrival, the falling rain would be accented by daggers of lightning. We children would run inside, terrified and excited. The yard would fill with water and we would tear up old exercise books to make boats, and rather nastily, in retrospect, float hapless ants in them as passengers. Sometimes conscience would strike and we would splash along our boats, intercepting them before they rushed into ditches, and deposit the bewildered ants back at their nests. We would imagine them recalling to their mates their sailing adventures and then settling down to a hearty meal at home.

After that initial grand entrance, the monsoon would settle into a steady rhythm. It would rain for weeks, never letting up. But the rain would be as gentle as a sigh; there would be no direct sunshine at all. The land would absorb the water like a sponge and then, when saturated, would give up their hoard, softly, into the rivers and backwaters.

Not any longer.

While on an average Kerala still gets more or less the same quantity of rain that it did previously, the number of rainy days seem to have diminished. There are sharp localised storms of unexpected violence, with howling gales uprooting trees and cloudbursts that disappear as quickly as they form. A couple of years back, my ancestral village was hit by one such storm during the pre-monsoon period, leaving hundreds of uprooted trees in its wake and disrupting electric supply and telephone connectivity for days on end. They say that severe storms are going to be the norm due to climate change, but whatever the science behind such predictions might be, there seems to be a discernible pattern in that direction.

Blame has been placed on uncontrolled urbanisation and the rapid increase in construction in sensitive hilly and coastal areas, for the magnitude of the current disaster. There is no denying that people have contributed to their vulnerability by such construction, but this is not a problem that will go away by stating it. Public policies on habitation and disaster resilience have to be crafted, or if they exist, have to be implemented strictly. That in turn carries political implications; nobody wants to be the first in line to advocate for a tough stand to be taken on stopping construction in no-go zones. And furthermore, there are other questions as well; what are the best and least impactful ways to provide housing for all? Who pays for the implementation of climate change mitigation policies, which may range from removing or retro-fitting constructions to protect them, to crafting a transportation policy that reduces the footprint of roads and bridges, which disrupt natural water flow channels?

My blogs over the next few weeks will attempt to look at these issues from the perspective of governance and public finance. I hope to go beyond discussing the immediacies of handling relief measures in the aftermath of a natural disaster, to looking at what may be done to mitigate future damage.

One thing seems to be clear, though. Disasters of the nature of what Kerala and Kodagu are experiencing now, are not going to go away. We have to be prepared for worse.

Sustainability and Accountability Issues of Common Service Centres

Wouldn’t it be great if each citizen in the remotest of parts of our country has easy access to all key government services? By easy access, I mean that citizens are able to use these services by visiting a nearby centre without the hassle of spending hours travelling to faraway government offices.

The central government has attempted to make this otherwise distant dream a reality by introducing the Common Service Centres (CSC) scheme under the Digital India Programme. Many states have set up such centres in the last three years with the purpose to provide IT-enabled services to citizens, especially in the rural and remote areas where accessibility has been a major challenge. The central government plans to establish at least one CSC in each of the 2.5 lakh Gram Panchayats across the country by the year 2019.  These centres are supposed to function as access points for the delivery of essential public utility services, social welfare schemes as well as healthcare, financial, education and agriculture services. They will be run by local entrepreneurs. Services that a citizen can expect from such centres are Government to Citizen (G2C) services like online filing of passport applications, requests for PAN cards, Aadhaar cards, birth and death certificates, and the withdrawal of money from accounts much like in the case of banks. These centres also have the flexibility to offer Business to Citizen (B2C) services that include mobile recharge and bill payments, and the renewal of dish TV subscriptions.

At first glance, the setting up of CSCs looks like a revolutionary step towards providing last mile service delivery from a single access point in remote areas. However, multiple challenges in the manner in which this scheme is currently being implemented have become apparent. These challenges can be broadly grouped into two categories. First, concerns with respect to long term sustainability of these centres and second issues that highlight an accountability gap. I recently participated in a workshop organised by the Azim Premji Foundation where these issues were discussed and debated in detail based on the findings of a sample survey on CSC owners and citizens accessing CSC services across 10 districts in Jharkhand. Among the workshop’s participants were CSC owners, members of the government and Civil Society Organisations. The primary matter of concern that emerged in discussions was this – can CSCs operate as businesses maximising profits for owners while simultaneously playing the role of public services providers? Also, are enough checks in place so as to make them accountable to the people they serve and provide quality services?

Sustainability Issues

CSC owners are local village level entrepreneurs (VLEs) trying to make a livelihood out of the PPP model (private-public partnerships). While most of the G2C services are offered at rates decided by the government, some basic services like banking are offered for free. There appears to be an understanding in government circles that CSCs should provide a large number of services to expand their profits so as to remain viable. Herein lies a dichotomy. While these centres aim to be self-sustainable by way of profits, they are also expected to work as public service agents by facilitating citizens in accessing services in areas that are difficult for the government to reach.

Many village-level entrepreneurs in Jharkhand pointed out that the average profit earned by them in the current commission-based model is quite low (ranging from Rs 3,000 to Rs 6,000 per month). They cannot charge the citizens beyond the rates prescribed by the government for the services offered. At the time of writing this blog, although we do not have enough data on the average monthly incomes for CSCs in other states, representatives from Rajasthan who participated in the workshop also confirmed similar levels of profits with wide monthly variations. In the current design of the scheme, it is not possible to ensure a basic minimum income. Will the entrepreneurs sustain themselves on such low levels of income in the long run? A question mark is also raised on whether CSC owners can then put a limit to free services offered by their centres and focus more on paid G2C and B2C services. This ties in closely with a third and a fundamental issue- should citizens be charged at all for G2C services that are otherwise available for free in government offices and funded through the taxpayers’ money? For now, answers seem few.

Also, all the services offered by the CSCs are online digital services which require uninterrupted and speedy internet connection throughout the day. However, poor internet connectivity in many of the interior villages in Jharkhand hampers efficient service delivery to the citizens. This results in delay in service provision as well as poor quality of the same. Without a well-functioning digital network in place, these centres cannot perform their role as envisaged by government.

Accountability Gap

The PPP model of the CSCs presently lacks a strong grievance redressal mechanism in case of failure in providing a G2C service for any reason. For instance, if a certain service applied through a CSC is rejected or if benefits of a certain scheme do not reach a citizen, an entrepreneur running the CSC cannot be directly held accountable because he merely acts as a facilitator and not being part of the government, he does not have any decision making authority in the provisioning of the service. In such a scenario, a citizen finds it difficult to approach a government authority directly for grievance redressal since he was coordinating with the CSCs till that point. Even if a citizen chooses to lodge any complaint against a CSC, there is no clear-cut formal route of doing so that assures timely response. Of course, there are phone numbers or email ids mentioned online by government, but that does ensure necessary action within a certain specified timeframe. In such a scenario, the essence of efficient service delivery at the last mile is lost.

Jharkhand is a forerunner in establishing CSCs in the country. The survey findings revealed that there is an emerging misconception among citizens in the state that CSCs are substitutes for government offices. For instance, CSCs in Jharkhand offer Aadhaar registration as per the rate decided by government. Wherever such centres are functional and offering this service in remote localities, additional camps are not set up by the government. As a result, a user has no choice but to visit the CSC and in the process ends up paying from their pocket, which could be accessed for free in a government-run camp. Similarly, the survey revealed instances of CSCs being projected as substitutes for banks for basic banking services such as deposit and withdrawal of cash. In the absence of a strong accountability mechanism, such practices can lead to confusion and also breed corruption because a large number of CSCs do not have the facility of passbook updation, which for many rural citizens will be the only valid way of tracking funds in their accounts. Should a CSC be working as a substitute for a government office?

So, should I be as thrilled as I was the first time I learnt that CSCs have been set up in remote villages across the country and would function as a point source to access a range of government services? I still feel the setting up of CSCs is a great move but certain changes are needed to make them accountable, efficient and sustainable. A strong accountability mechanism ensures a formal route for grievance registration and redress, regular government supervision and monitoring of the centres for enforcement of mandates, transparency through mandatory display of rate-list for all services offered among other things are required. At the same time, changes such as developing a mechanism for the CSC owners to earn some basic assured monthly income, and urgent investment in rectification and development of broadband internet connection in rural areas will be important for the long-term sustainability of the CSCs so that they can successfully play their role as last mile public service providers.