Rare earths mining: what is the just way forward?

As many of you know, the fellowship program that funds my work in India holds weekly seminars. Each week, one or two speakers talks to us about various issues in India or developing countries or discusses a particular methodology (for example, cost modeling or randomized control trials). At yesterday's seminar, a professor in MIT's Department of Materials Science spoke to us about minerals cost forecasting. Specifically, he talked about rare earth elements.

For those of you who don't know about rare earth elements (I certainly knew nothing before yesterday), they are used in a lot of modern electronics, advanced motors, and other automotive parts. China is pretty much the only player on the rare earths market. China produces 97% of the world's rare earths, and India produces the other 3%. India has the world's second-largest reserves of rare earths, but those reserves have barely been tapped. India has tremendous potential to expand rare earths mining, especially in the states of Jharkhand, Orissa, and Chhattisgarh, home also to the largest concentrations of adivasis (indigenous people) and iron ore.

The professor somehow managed to talk about rare earth elements without talking about the sticky politics of mining those elements in India's adivasi heartlands, where a Maoist insurgency has taken root partly due to the perceived illegal exploitation of tribal lands for mines. To be fair, this professor is not a political scientist; he's a resource economist who tries to predict supply and demand curves of various minerals and then uses those predictions to advise mining corporations on how to prepare for future market behavior or engineering firms on which minerals to employ in their products. The point of his talk was not about the politics of mining in Jharkhand, Orissa, and Chhattisgarh, but about how supply and demand forecasting can influence material selection in engineering.

Last night, I briefly chatted with my friend Marena about the sloppiness and fuzziness of environmental justice, and it got me thinking about the rare earths talk. Mining rare earths is good for the global environmental cause: these elements are necessary for the magnets found in the motors of electric vehicles and wind turbines. If we want to ween ourselves off of petroleum-fueled vehicles and coal power plants to reduce carbon emissions and mitigate climate change, we're going to need a lot more of these minerals for our electric cars and wind farms. On the other hand, the mining process of rare earths devastates the local environment. Much like hydrofracking, the process is water-intensive and results in heavy contamination of local water resources. So, do we sacrifice the local for the global? What is the "just" thing to do?

Arundhati Roy would say the just thing to do would be to "leave the bauxite in the mountain." (Yes, I've referenced this quote before.) She feels so strongly about this issue that she declared the 2009 Copenhagen climate talks should focus on mining in eastern India rather than curbing worldwide carbon emissions. Roy is an ardent supporter of the Maoists, who oppose the mining operations. She implies that the Maoists represent the wishes and beliefs of all tribal people in the regions in which they fight. However, this is simply not true. It is difficult to quantify support for Maoism, as the Maoists tend to utilize intimidation techniques to garner support. While certainly there are genuine supporters, many adivasis who show support do so out of fear. Some agree with the Maoist ideology but disagree with their violent methodology. Others disagree with them altogether. Like any population, adivasis feel divided on politics.

I learned during my visits to Jharkhand that the poorest people do see the mines as a lucrative employment opportunity, especially because there are few other opportunities. It is very easy for the Maoists and Roy to paint the government and mineral companies as evil bullies stealing land from helpless tribal people at absolutely zero benefit to them, but it is not that simple. Mines do provide jobs, and jobs that pay well due to the dangers.

I'm not denying that the major mining corporations exploit the local communities. Of course they do. To admittedly simplify the issue: the forest lands belonged to the adivasis, and then the Indian government took those lands away and sold them to outsiders for huge sums of money--and adivasis haven't seen a rupee. But the answer cannot be to completely eliminate mining; the world needs the minerals (Japan definitely wants an alternative supplier to China!), and these impoverished states of India need the money. The answer has to involve some form of inclusive development. How can the benefits to the local communities be maximized and the risks to the environment be minimized? How can the profits be more equitably distributed so that adivasis see more advantages from these mining operations? The local communities need to be included from Day One in the planning of the mines--not just included for the sake of being included, but included as an equal partner with equal power--and the environmental damage needs to be adequately contained. (Ok, maybe I'm asking for a lot that is not realistic...)

For now, major corporations on the demand side, such as GE, are preparing for the potential decline in rare earths availability by trying to design induction motors that do not require rare earth magnets. One supply side player, Molycorp Minerals, has been developing more environmentally-friendly (or should I say, less environmentally-devastating?) mining methods that meet California's environmental regulations so that they can re-open the Mountain Pass rare earth mine (in 2002 California had closed Mountain Pass, the only rare earths mine in the US, due to environmental contamination). Certainly researching ways to reduce the demand for rare earths and ameliorate the environmental impacts of mining is a step in the right direction for environmental justice. But for the foreseeable future, rare earths mining is going to be in high demand and highly dirty--with potential for high profits. Given this reality, what is the just way forward in Jharkhand, Orissa, and Chhattisgarh?

Some further reading:
 
If you want to learn more about mining in India, it is definitely worth reading Roy,* even though I don't think she takes a nuanced-enough approach. She does make some strong points, so click here for her thoughts on mining and Maoists.

India Together's mining news here

Ernst and Young's "Mining India Sustainably for Growth" here

"India bets on rare-earth minerals," Wall Street Journal here

*My problem with Roy, really, is that she doesn't seem to recognize that the modern world has encroached on traditional tribal life. She never offers any alternatives for tribal development; she seems to think India should simply leave the adivasis alone. That might have been fine if they were always left alone, but now they're in this weird limbo between their traditional lifestyle and mainstream society as a result of various British colonial and Indian policies. The adivasis probably cannot revert to their old way of life given modern realities. I'm not saying India should force them to join mainstream society, but they should be included, somehow, in policy-making and be given the tools to make decisions about their own future. (Where I work, former forest-dwelling adivasis have been forced into a settled agrarian lifestyle due to various forestry policies. But they were not farmers before a generation ago, so they lack a lot of the knowledge and skills that are usually passed down from parents to children.) Ok, Roy rant over.

Adivasi Economy and Water Access (or lack thereof)

Pranam dobara, Jharkhand. (Or in English: Hello again, Jharkhand.)

I'm back in Jharkhand conducting a feasibility study for a solar thermal pump. Why a pump? As the tribes of Jharkhand have traditionally been engaged in hunting and gathering, they are relatively new to agriculture and thus have no irrigation infrastructure. Only 5% of the state of Jharkhand is irrigated; the rest rely completely on rainfall (this monsoon season's lack of rain is having serious consequences, which I will discuss later). Why solar thermal? Because diesel is soon to be deregulated and, without subsidies, it will become too expensive for poor farmers to purchase the fuel to operate their diesel pumps (assuming they even have pumps). As it is, legal diesel is not easily available to these communities. The farmers explained to me that they must buy diesel on the black market, and this diesel is often adulterated and thus the pump often does not work properly. Electricity, which is free or close to free for agricultural purposes in India, is either nonexistent or extremely unreliable in these villages. Meanwhile, the capital cost of solar PV pumps is too high. Solar thermal is much less expensive than solar PV, plus the fuel (sunlight, duh!) is free and available, so this could be a good irrigation solution. For some reason, I'm not sure why, it seems no one has attempted to develop a solar thermal pump, other than an NGO in Ethiopia, but they have faced some mechanical issues and their pump is priced too high for Indian farmers. I am also thinking about possibly including a built-in filter or still so that the water that exits the pump outlet is clean, but maybe this is getting too complicated. (I have not made a final decision about what my project will be; next week I will be doing a feasibility study for another, totally unrelated, project in the salt pans of Gujarat.)

I am spending my time in some of Jharkhand's poorest communities: adivasi (tribal) villages in Gumla district. Most villages I have visited belong to the Oraon tribe, who speak a language called Sadri, and the other villages belong to the Khadia and Lohar tribes, who speak their own language as well as Sadri (since Oraon is the dominant tribe in the area, the other tribes have learned their language). Their Hindi is at times difficult for me to understand because (a) it's a different dialect and accent than the Hindi I have learned (it is similar to Bihari Hindi), (b) when they don't know a word in Hindi (after all, it is their second or third language) they substitute a Sadri word, and (c) they don't use the usual English and Urdu loan words that I've gotten used to in Delhi and Shimla--they use the original Sanskritized word.

I have been interviewing farmers about sinchai (irrigation), and, obviously, this involves a lot of questions about khetibari (agriculture) and more generally about their livelihoods. I also stumbled upon a fantastic book in the NGO's office, Mainstreaming the Margins: Water-centric Livelihood Strategies for Revitalizing Tribal Agriculture in Central India* by Sanjiv J. Phansalkar and Shilp Verma. I don't think a more perfect book could exist for the project I'm currently researching. So, let's talk about the adivasi economy. (Note to Jhanvi: you had asked me for some more context to understand the coal cycle wallahs. Here it is.)


*The use of the term "mainstreaming" here does not mean assimilating the tribal communities into mainstream Indian society. The authors emphasize that there is "no inherent conflict" in preserving tribal identity and culture and an approach to tribal development that involves mainstream water technologies and ties to the mainstream markets. Besides, I tend to believe that cultures are dynamic. What culture has really stayed the same throughout the centuries? While there is certainly value in protecting certain aspects of culture, I would argue that it is more important to live a meaningful life free of poverty--not that being free of poverty necessitates sacrificing traditions. Of course it is preferable to both preserve culture and promote development, when possible. Anyway, the Christian missionaries have already altered tribal culture; a huge percentage of adivasis have converted from their animist religions to Christianity. As a reaction to this, Hindu missionaries swooped in and converted many adivasis as well. Fairly few people still practice their traditional tribal religions. Although I'm usually very anti-missionary, I have to admit that they have done some good: in Northeast India, especially Nagaland, Christianity has brought high literacy rates and an end to intertribal warfare. Ok, tangent-rant done.

Phansalkar and Verma explain that the adivasis participate in three economic spheres: (1) forests, (2) agriculture, and (3) migration. It is a very common misunderstanding among the mainstream Indians that all adivasis depend only on forest activities (forest activities basically means gathering "non-timber forest produce (NTFP)" such as wild fruits, tubers, and mushrooms). Each Central Indian adivasi group is different from each other, and while many (if not all) groups have roots in hunting and gathering, their engagement in NTFP today varies widely. The communities I have been visiting in Gumla have largely abandoned that way of life in favor of a settled agrarian lifestyle.

Well, settled to an extent. Phansalkar and Verma emphasize that tribal agriculture is not modernized and thus cannot sustain a community for an entire year. Tribal agriculture is rain-fed and has no irrigation inputs, so during the non-rainy seasons people must migrate to other parts of India to work as laborers. Some bring their families with them, while others send money back to their families.

After reading a bit about migration in this book, I decided to ask the villagers what they do during the rabi (November/December to February) and garmi (March/April to June) seasons if they don't cultivate their land. As expected, many answered that they migrate. I asked to where, and the answer surprised me: to brick industries in Uttar Pradesh and cement industries in Himachal Pradesh.

Wait, did I hear that right? Cement industries in Himachal Pradesh? They couldn't possibly be referring to Nalagarh, where I had worked with IIRD in 2011, could they? (You may or may not remember my two blog posts discussing Nalagarh's cement industry: the first and the follow-up, in which I briefly discussed the migrant workers I had at the time believed to be Bihari.) I asked them, "do you go to Nalagarh?" and now it was their turn to be shocked. "You know Nalagarh?!" "I worked in Nalagarh on village development planning," I told them. Apparently I had been wrong about the migrants in Nalagarh being Bihari; they were Jharkhandi, and from these villages! Who knew these two very remote, very different areas were tied to each other? And what a coincidence that I had worked in both the area that was demanding the migrants and the area supplying the migrants! India continues to astound me with what a small place it is, despite being a country of over a billion people. (Yes, I'm aware I've written that sentence before, possibly more than once. The smallness of India really never ceases to amaze me.)

Phansalkar and Verma argue that this migration is the biggest obstacle to the development of the tribal belt. What good are health and education initiatives if people aren't around to receive the benefits? They claim that the government and the missionaries (who have historically been the only ones helping the adivasis--that's why there are so many Christian adivasis) are attacking the symptoms, not the root cause, of the communities' poverty problems. To lift the adivasis out of their poor living conditions, they must be given assistance to build a more stable livelihood in their home villages, to build a life without migration. Only then will these health and education programs become effective. The key to ending migration? Irrigation that will allow year-round agricultural productivity. The root cause of tribal poverty, then, is poor access to water, according to the authors.

As I stated earlier, right now the vast majority of tribal communities depend solely on rain for their agricultural livelihood. This means most adivasis only grow one season of crops, the kharif (monsoon) crops. Unfortunately (unfortunately is an understatement), this year has seen drought-like conditions (the Government of India is refusing to declare a drought, but the Jharkhand state government is considering it). This is my sixth consecutive monsoon season in South Asia, and I can say it has certainly been the driest I've experienced. It is unbelievable to ride a motorcycle through these villages and pass acres and acres of land covered in grass and weeds from the previous season--at the end of July! Rainfall has been so low that farmers didn't even bother to turn the soil, let alone sow the seeds. Why waste the money on seeds, fertilizer, pesticides, and herbicides if there isn't enough water for the crops to grow? I do see a few tilled plots scattered here and there, but I haven't seen much of the beautiful, healthy florescent green rice paddies that I'm used to seeing in the monsoon.

This lack of rain is terrifying for several reasons: the kharif crops provide these communities with food for the rest of the year. If the kharif fails, then they will not have enough food to eat (and they have very little money to buy food from elsewhere)--people will go hungry. Additionally, people will go thirsty. In every village I have visited, people tell me that their wells dry up by the end of summer (which in India is April to June) and that usually the monsoon rains re-fill the wells. This year, however, the wells have remained dry. These wells provide the only source of drinking water for the entire year, and villagers depend on the rains replenishing these wells during the monsoon. Even after a good monsoon their drinking water supply is limited (this is why there is little to no agricultural activity during the rabi and garmi seasons; the wells do not have enough water for both irrigation and domestic purposes, and the communities consider drinking water more important), so a poor monsoon can be catastrophic. I cannot properly articulate how grave these circumstances really are and how scared I am for these communities for the upcoming year.

What does my pump idea have to do with all this? Well, I hope that by increasing access to groundwater (which is actually quite accessible in Jharkhand, where the water table is high at less than 15 meters), I could help reduce the dependence on rain. Of course the groundwater level itself depends on the rain, so utilizing groundwater wouldn't completely eliminate the problem. However, especially if coupled with groundwater recharge methods, pumps to access groundwater could certainly alleviate some of the issues (worst case scenario, just keep digging deeper until you hit water). The NGO facilitating my visit here has developed earthworks methods that have proven quite successful in aiding groundwater recharge; they have actually seen a rise in the water table where these techniques have been implemented. I hope that, if ultimately I do decide to work on a pump, the implementation would include groundwater recharge earthworks.

Not only would an affordable pump reduce rain dependence during the kharif, it would allow for additional crop seasons. A second (rabi) or even third (garmi) crop season utilizing groundwater irrigation would significantly increase a family's income as well as provide them with a stable year-round livelihood. They would no longer have to migrate for work. And, as I explained earlier, Phansalkar and Verma believe the end to migration is integral to raising these communities out of poverty, because staying put allows them to take advantage of social services.

Bas.

(PS: Sorry there are no photos. The Internet here is waaaay too slow for me to upload any.)

Jharkhand's Illegal Coal

Sorry I haven't blogged in the past month. I wish I could say it was because I didn't have access to Internet, or I was too busy even in the evenings, but that would be a lie. The real reason? I've just been super lazy.

To recap: since arriving in India, I have spent 2 weeks in Delhi, a week in Ahmedabad with day trips into rural Gujarat, a few days in Pune, a few days in rural Karnataka, and a week visiting villages in Jharkhand.

While traveling around Jharkhand, it is impossible to miss the hundreds of "koyla cycle wallahs" plying the highways. The koyla ("coal") cycle wallahs are men who push bicycles carrying huge loads of crudely-coked coal in jute sacks. My first thought upon noticing these men was this can't possibly be the Big Coal supply chain. Don't the coal companies use trains or at least trucks? They must make millions of dollars a year, so surely they can afford a more efficient transport system than men pushing bicycles! In fact, doesn't their business require a more efficient mode of transport?


koyla cycle wallahs on the Ranchi-Hazaribagh highway

 koyla cycle wallah gliding downhill (they walk the bikes uphill and sit semi-sidesaddle downhill)

My first stop in Jharkhand was Hazaribagh, where I stayed with my friend Surabhi. I asked Surabhi what the deal was with the koyla cycle wallahs. She launched into a rant about how India isn't a developed country like the US and here industries just are not mechanized the way they should be. It may very well be true that India's industries are not mechanized enough, but I didn't believe this could really be the answer in this case.

I joined an NGO called PRADAN around some villages (more to come on that in a future post), and I asked the employees there about the koyla cycle wallahs. They told me that these people are part of an illegal coal mining industry and sell the coal on the black market--so, in fact, I was right to think they were not employees of major coal mining companies. I tried to further probe--where do they get the coal from? are they stealing from the companies' mines or did they dig their own illegal mines? who runs these operations? is there an illegal coal cartel? where are they taking the coal to? who are the customers buying coal from the koyla cycle wallahs? how much money do the koyla cycle wallahs make from one cycle worth of coal? how much coal are they carrying on one bike? how many hours does it take to transport the coal? how many times a week do they do this? where are these guys from, local villages or are they migrants from other regions of India?--but the PRADAN employees told me they did not know anything more.

A few days later I visited villages with another NGO, the Gene Campaign, and I asked them all these questions as well. They told me that the koyla cycle wallahs are their own employers and there is no one orchestrating the operations. They said the koyla cycle wallahs participate in every step of the supply chain: they go into the mines themselves, cut the coal from the rock, coke the coal, load up their cycles, transport the coal, and sell the coal to consumers. The operations, according to this employee of Gene Campaign, are not run by anyone, and the mines are illegally constructed by local villages. It takes 2 days to transport the coal from the mines to Ranchi, and the koyla cycle wallahs earn Rs 1800 in one trip.

Some of this just didn't seem right to me. How could these men really do every part of the supply chain? Their bikes just have so much coal on them, more than could certainly be carried out of the mine by hand (or more likely, on their heads) in one trip. If this activity is illegal, then what would stop someone from stealing the coal off your bike while you go back into the mine for a second or third or tenth load? Plus it would just be terribly inefficient.

A quick Google search brought up this incredible article that answered all my questions: Coal Distribution Network Through Bicycles in Eastern India. According to this article, the koyla cycle wallahs are just one element of the supply and distribution network: different people cut the coal from the rock, carry the coal out of the mine, coke the coal, transport the coal (that's where the koyla cycle wallahs come in), and sell the coal. There is a coal mafia that steals coal from the legal major mines and transports the coal in trucks, but it operates at a much larger scale than the koyla cycle wallahs and does not seem to be involved in their operations. Instead, the illegal mines belong to the villages, and the coal from these mines meet the cooking, heating, and kiln demands of smaller users, such as households, tea shops, dhabas, and local workshops, who cannot acquire coal from either the state-owned companies (most legal coal goes straight to major power plants) or the mafia. The police collect bakshish (bribes) in exchange for turning a blind eye to their activities. Some of the mines are old abandoned mines originally built by large state-owned companies, and other mines are inexpertly dug by villagers. In both cases, the mines are extremely dangerous, because they are not structurally reinforced in any way. Collapses and accidents are not uncommon, and miners have zero safety equipment--no helmets, no headlamps, nothing. The mines are dimly lit with smoky kerosene lanterns. An average mine can produce 10 tons of coal per day. About 1000 koyla cycle wallahs deliver this coal to the town of Hazaribagh daily--and that's only one town. Throughout Jharkhand there must be several thousands of men involved. (Seriously, if you find this blog post interesting at all, you should really read this article.)

 
illegal coal supply chain (source here)

While walking along the highway, I spotted some koyla cycle wallahs taking a break and decided to talk to them. They thought my curiosity was strange and funny, but they were very friendly and patiently answered all my questions. They told me that they purchase the coked coal from a depot located near the illegal mine for about Rs 300, and they sell it to a distributor in Ranchi for Rs 1500 (or do they make a profit of Rs 1500, meaning they sell it for Rs 1800? I didn't have a translator with me so I might have missed or misunderstood some details). The distributors then sell the coal to people who would not otherwise have access to legal coal supplies, as I mentioned earlier. The load they carry on the bikes weighs 240 kg (~530 lbs). It takes 30 hours of walking over two days to reach Ranchi from the mines, and they ride the bikes back to the mines in one day. They make this trip twice in a week. The koyla cycle wallahs are all adivasi (tribal) and belong to villages surrounding the mines (so no, they are not migrant workers), and they often travel in small groups. All activities stop during the monsoon, as some of the mines become filled with water and these men must tend to their fields. The men I interviewed said their families grow rice and some vegetables.

Even if we assume the lower profit of Rs 1200, this is significantly more than the koyla cycle wallahs could make in a week of wage labor. The going rate in Jharkhand for labor is Rs 120/day. If you work all seven days in a week, you would earn Rs 840/week--versus Rs 2400/week schlepping coal. The income doesn't even compare, so it is clear why someone with no employment opportunities would choose this work, despite the dangers.

When I asked the koyla cycle wallahs what they use the extra money for, they told me they spend it on higher quality food for their families and their children's education. One man told me that the nearest secondary school was several kilometers away from his village, and the daily public transportation is expensive. He wanted to ensure his sons could go to this school so that they would not also have to become koyla cycle wallahs to support their future families (this man didn't mention whether or not he had daughters, and I didn't want to ask because that could have come across as accusatory, like how could you not educate your daughters?).

Arundhati Roy, a very outspoken author-activist who considers herself a champion of adivasi rights, famously wrote back in 2009, "will someone who's going to the climate change conference in Copenhagen later this year please ask the only question worth asking: Can we leave the bauxite in the mountain?" Well, Roy, I have a question for you: What if the adivasis don't want to keep the bauxite--or in this case, coal--in the mountain? What if mining, whether in legal state-owned mines or in small illegal village-owned mines, presents relatively lucrative employment opportunities that adivasis would otherwise not have? (If you click on the link, you'll see that she argues the Naxalite (Maoist) insurgency is evidence that adivasis do not want these mines. The truth about the Naxalites is more complex than she lets on. A lot of intimidation goes on to force villagers to support them.)



a similarly dirty industry--the legality is unclear--exists in the villages: stone crushing near quarries. all the haze in the photo was produced by the stone-crushing machines. people who work here can get lung cancer.

 a closer view of the stone-crushing machines. women do most of the heavy lifting here (note that woman carrying a dish of rocks on her head). sorry for the blurriness; I took this photo from a moving motorcycle.

In a related story, sometimes the Naxalites hijack coal trains and take the driver and goods hostage until the companies cough up a heavy "levy" to allow their train to continue to its destination, as was in the news yesterday (thanks Vincent for the link!). These Naxalite activities are separate from the mafia I mentioned earlier.

In an unrelated story, on the road toward Jamshedpur, a.k.a. "Tata Nagar" (it's a town completely created by Tata where they have many of their major factories, such as steel and car production) ("nagar" means town), I noticed there is an unusually large number of trucks. These trucks must be part of the huge Tata supply chain. I was bored during my travels so I started playing the license plate game, but only with trucks (all of you Americans reading this must know what I mean by the license plate game: I was counting the number of states the plates belonged to). During this game I noticed a disproportionately large number of NL, or Nagaland, license plates, and zero other license plates from the Northeast states. And then I noticed that the drivers were most definitely not Naga (Nagas look more similar to Southeast Asians than to "mainland" Indians, for lack of a better term). Upon investigation, I discovered the reason behind this profusion of NL plates: Nagaland's truck taxes are the cheapest of all the states in India, so many transport companies register their vehicles in Nagaland, even if they have no intentions of running operations in the state. Or at least this is what I was told by someone who runs a manufacturing equipment supply firm in Jamshedpur. Jharkhand was the first place I've ever noticed so many NL license plates, and I play the license plate game quite often--I wonder why trucks in other regions of India don't take advantage of the low Nagaland taxes to the same extent.

Alright, well, I think I have bored you sufficiently. I'm out.

The New Jersey of Himachal Pradesh

I just returned from a field visit to two villages in Nalagarh Tehsil, Himachal Pradesh. Nalagarh is an industrial area and looks like that section of the Jersey Turnpike with all the smokestacks and polluted air and general nastiness. This was my first visit to industrial India (as opposed to rural and urban India, though I guess this is still technically rural). While Nalagarh's situation is probably not nearly as bad as the steel plants in Jharkhand or the mines in Orissa, it wasn't pretty.

One village we visited, Baglehar, is home to a "stone-crushing" operation. Turns out this means a quarry. The other village, Melheni, does not host any industrial projects, but its residents participate in the "stone crushing." Basically, villagers go to the quarry, cut out large rocks from the earth (I didn't catch what type of rock), fill up tractor-pulled truck beds with these rocks (I didn't actually see any crushed stone), and deliver these rocks to cement companies, who I suppose are the real stone crushers. The main road in the area is clogged with tractor traffic going to and from the quarry.

This quarry has caused a number of problems in Baglehar, Melheni, and surrounding villages. The quarry appears to sit on a riverbed, and the river has all but dried up. What little water does remain is heavily polluted and unusable for drinking water or even irrigation. Therefore these villages have no water, which is, obviously, a tremendous problem. I was shocked to see the toilets at Melheni's primary school were locked. Apparently they have no water to flush the toilets, so they cannot use them--better to lock them so people don't try to. Instead, children must practice open defecation and urination. Melheni gets water delivered by large tanker trucks every few months, and this limited water supply has led to many conflicts among villagers. While Baglehar utilizes ground water, it is not enough (not to mention far from clean), and when tankers come some women must wait for 3 hours or more to collect their share of water.

In addition to the water problems, the workers are exposed to all sorts of harmful chemicals and will probably suffer from (and possibly die young of) some avoidable respiratory disease, like at any quarry or mine. Plus much of the quarry activity is illegal and run by a cement cartel that exploits the workers. All sorts of health and human rights issues. The cement cartel, like all cartels in India, wields its power through big politicians, and this corruption means stopping the cartel is next to impossible, unless India can successfully eradicate corruption from its political and bureaucratic systems--a very, very difficult task in this country.

One coworker was particularly distraught over the situation. "We need to protest!" he proclaimed. "We need to stop these illegal, harmful operations!" Well, it's just not that simple. This quarry has been successful in providing much-needed income that the villagers have thus far been unable to earn otherwise, as evidenced by the relative wealth in Baglehar (this relative wealth incited another coworker to comment, "Why are we even here? Look at these houses! This village is wealthy and does not need our help!") If one were to protest and shut down the quarry, who would really lose? The villagers. The corporations would simply move the operation elsewhere and still make their money (and harm other environments and people), while these villagers would lose their jobs. But I don't think the villagers would support a protest in the first place, and if they don't support it, then the protest could not be successful.

The upset coworker went around asking villagers if they would leave the quarry if provided with additional buffaloes so that they could sell more milk. After all, they only make Rs 150 per day at the quarry, and they could certainly make more than that selling dairy products--plus they wouldn't have to suffer the health costs. Their answer? No. And I do not find this surprising at all. Why?
  1. They don't understand the health costs. Sure, it may seem fairly obvious that if you're being exposed to harmful chemicals that you will have to seek expensive medical treatment. But (a) they don't know about the effects of the pollutants and (b) many will not seek medical attention anyway. (This is a big problem in the cookstove world. We say "hey all this smoke is killing your lungs" and they respond "well, everyone has a cough.")
  2. They don't want to go back to agriculture and animal husbandry. Yes, breaking rocks and loading them onto a tractor is very labor intensive. But so is taking care of buffaloes. You need to feed them, bathe them, clean up their excrement, milk them, take them to a veterinarian when they fall ill. And caring for animals could cost more than going to the quarry--for example, you need to buy fodder (there are no forests in the area, and while the fields provide some fodder after harvesting, that is only once or twice a year, and it is not enough). Plus agriculture and animal husbandry can be unpredictable, whereas the quarry provides a stable source of income.
So how could you convince villagers to leave the quarry? Devise an alternative livelihood opportunity that provides them with a stable income greater than Rs 150/day. And that is quite difficult--new ventures come with a great deal of uncertainty.

To me, this problem is similar to the global oil problem, or the deforestation problem in Madagascar. You can only stop these environment-degrading activities if you cut the demand. As long as there is demand for cement--and as India continues to develop, pave more roads, and construct more buildings, and upgrade its infrastructure, this demand will not be declining any time soon--there will be quarries and the associated environmental and social damage.