Hasiru Dala by Amira Altamimi

 

Back in Bengaluru, we had the opportunity to meet with the waste picking organization Hasiru Dala. Hasiru Dala, whose name translates to "Green Force" in Kannada, was founded in 2010. It works to tackle the city’s growing waste management problems through sustainable systems and outreach, among a plethora of other things. 

Despite the fact that they often go unrecognized, waste pickers play a crucial role in the recycling chain. One of Hasiru Dala’s foci is the informal waste system. In India, there are two types of waste systems, a formal one funded and managed by the government and an informal one which relies on the efforts of waste pickers, traders, and sorters. Hasiru Dala not only supports the informal waste system but also takes charge in civic issues concerning specific neighborhood blocks. In neighborhoods they work in, each street is connected through a group chat in which homeowners can share concerns about things like power cuts or knowledge aboutthe issues faced by laborers, delays in services etc. In a place as large as Bangalore, this is a very innovative way to handle issues that otherwise would struggle to be addressed in a timely manner. 

However, as crucial as waste pickers are to the environment and the recycling process, their involvement in these waste management efforts raises questions about inclusivity. It seems that the places that are given the most attention in their efforts are also middle to upper caste neighborhoods. From our three-week stay, which included visits to various neighborhoods, villages, and organizations, it became clear that there is a significant disparity in how waste management and general upkeep is handled across different castes and the space they occupy, especially through the formal system. In particular, the middle to upper caste neighborhoods seemed to receive more focus and better resources for waste management. On the other hand, lower caste areas often face greater challenges and fewer resources. Initiatives such as Hasiru Dala and other organizations we interacted with can only do so much. Until the social and economic disparities between castes are addressed, waste management and other environmental efforts can never truly offer the support and healthy environment that these neighborhoods need. 

At Ward 177 and their lane composting process | Photo credit: Anna Guevarra

Hume Warmed My Heart by Nia Kennedi Cunningham

       Walking into Hume after the hour-long drive made me feel kind of lethargic, but after the presentations they gave us, giving us an overview of their work, I was really interested in the ways their research is helping communities combat climate change. A part of their presentation that stood out was how they made it a point to integrate useful technology that is both beneficial to them, and the communities they work with. They were very open and willing to share the different foci they had. For instance, man/animal conflict, rain collection/rain gauges, working with indigenous communities, farmers, and children within the surrounding area. As the presentations were being delivered to us, I remember hearing children upstairs singing and running around playfully. When they started speaking about the technology (rain gauges) they created to help track rainfall to help local farmers, I was immediately refocused. They set up the gauges around the Wayanad to help track the rain fall, which ultimately helps them predict potential landslides. I had never heard of a system like this so it seemed to be such a unique but simple way to combat the climate issues their region is facing. After the presentation had ended, we were invited upstairs, to see what the kids had been getting into.

An artwork made by the children at the Hume Center. 
Photo by Anna Guevarra

Artwork (figures made with clay and collage work) made by the children at the Hume Center.
Photo by Anna Guevarra 

        After walking into the class, I was immediately drawn to the walls, which were filled with the students' creations: drawings, paintings, handprints, clay objects, and so much color. We walked in and the teachers were telling us a little about the work they were doing. Something that stuck with me after talking to the teachers was the supportive energy they had toward the kids. They created activities that uplifted and supported their autonomy and allowed room for them to have space to be their authentic selves. They had explained the activity the kids had done, where they were tasked with using destructive energy to rip up a bunch of newspaper and then - after cleaning up - to recreate something out of that destructive energy. They were allowed to use their natural instincts of alchemy, to destroy, and then create something out of that destruction. The way they are allowed to be free while learning was so beautiful to witness.

The teachers at Hume giving us an orientation of this space. In the background (on the floor) are the crumpled newspapers that children are asked 
Photo by Amira Altamimi

Figures made of clay made by the students at the Hume Center.
Photo by Amira Altamimi

The other big takeaway I took from Hume was their emphasis on creating and finding technologies that will be beneficial to communities and not just research for research's sake. Putting the community first through working to help them seems to be at the forefront. When they took us to the landslide site to see the damage and the places people had been displaced from to gain a deeper understanding of the issue was really impactful. Being able to look at a mountain and point out the places where peoples' homes and livelihoods once were, was really sad but also impactful. But with the rain gauges and community alert system they created they are able to know when landslides and heavy rains are coming, which not only helps combat landslides, but also helps with agricultural planning and planting. The reach and intersection of the programs and research done at Hume was interesting to learn about, and has made me want to research the ways rainfall and climate change is impacting chicago.

Hume Center researchers showing us the rain gauge located in Chembra Peak. 
Photo by Anna Guevarra

Hume captured my heart during the trip; being with the children from around the area was really moving, seeing the future generations having so much fire for living. It’s interesting the ways Hume has used education as a means to combat climate change by teaching youth about their connection to place, their bodies, and the environment around them. Through this process and philosphy, they provided space for the community to blossom; this is an act of liberation in my eyes.

Dancing with the children at the Hume Center on the night where the children were practicing for their final performance. 
Photo by Anna Guevarra

The Children of the Kurichiya Community by Amira Altamimi

The Hume Center for Ecology was the third major stop on our trip, it was a somewhat "unplanned" one (in terms of the original determination of sites) but still a welcome change from the rainforest of GBS. The Hume center offered a fresh perspective on environmentalism, one that centered people along with nature. On our second day there, the program facilitators brought us to meet a tribal community in India: the Kurichiya community of Wayanad. The Kurichiya community is an indigenous community from the Wayanad district of Kerala. Traditionally, they are a matriarchal community known for their deep connection to the land around them. They have a rich culture that includes unique traditions, knowledge of local flora and fauna, and so much more. 

The beautiful land where the Kurichiya community live.
Photo by Anna Guevarra  

Walking to the house, we were immediately greeted by several curious children, notably all girls. They were incredibly friendly, even bringing a ball over to us and initiating a game of what I can only describe as a mashup of kickball, soccer, and catch. Our impromptu game quickly brought us to the side of the house to a volleyball net, its size dwarfing most of the children. This did not deter them from launching the ball over the net and starting the most intense game of catch I’ve ever played. The children were incredibly adaptive. Every time we introduced a new twist or variation to our game, they would immediately catch on, seamlessly incorporating it into the game. They were eager and excited to be playing with us and they never let the language barrier get in the way. We communicated in hand signs and high-fives.

The "game" of catch.
Photo by Anna Guevarra

Eventually the game came to the end as we all went indoors for lunch, a delicious meal of fresh jackfruit curry, pickled peppers, and flavorful side dishes served on a banana leaf in place of a plate.  

A home cooked meal by one of the Kurichiya women.  
Photo by Anna Guevarra

As we finished eating, we noticed the children outside doing something with the plants growing in front of their homes in hushed voices. After a while, they presented us with necklaces made of leaves and bouquets of hibiscus, one of which I kept and pressed into a book.This just showcased the innovation and connection to the land the people of the Kurichiya tribe had. The children understood their land intimately, they realized which plants would be the best for creating jewelry, they picked hibiscus and presented us with the most fragrant ones, they even figured out how to blow bubbles simply by using the stem of a certain plant. The land around them was intertwined with their lives, going beyond mere observation to become an integral part of their identity. They embodied the concept of people not being separated from nature, as we all are. They understood it because it was part of their livelihood. It was not only how they got their food, but also their entertainment and knowledge. Spending the day with them taught me that the land is a major part of the Kurichiya community, as it should be to ours. 

Me - after having been presented with a hibiscus flower by one of the children. 
Photo by Anna Guevarra

One of the children made a necklace that is made of a plant for Liana. 
Photo by Anna Guevarra

One of the children showing us how to blow bubbles from this plant's stem. 
Photo by Anna Guevarra

Rain Never Felt So Good by Liana Jeffries

After the Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary, reaching the Hume Centre for Ecology and Wildlife Biology would take two hours and thirty minutes. Everyone tried their best to get some sleep during the car ride. I was not able to sleep, but instead, I was able to say goodbye to the scenery along the way. When we arrived, I took in all of the children around us. Children aged seven or eight, fifteen, and one just-turned eighteen were sitting and eating throughout the building. Coincidently, every time we entered the Hume Centre from where we were staying down the road, it was the children's lunch or snack break. We were immediately welcomed. We began with a series of presentations on some of their conservation efforts and initiatives. 

One presentation discussed the effects of climate change, one of those changes being extreme rainfall throughout Wayanad. In 2018 and 2019, landslides resulted from this increase in rainfall. Lives were lost, and communities and families were displaced. As a result, the Centre launched a "regional weather prediction system" for the Wayanad district. It is conducted through "satellite imageries and global databases," and rainfall collection from existing rain gauges distributed all over Wayanad. The rain gauge's affordable material (PVC pipe) made it easily accessible for farmers and families alike. The Humes' weather prediction system aimed to predict local weather patterns so that they could give warnings about landslides. At the same time, farmers throughout Wayanad saw the importance and usefulness of this system that allowed them to predict the time to sow seeds and harvest their crops. 

That same day, we were taken to where one of the landslides took place as well as a tea estate that housed one of the rain gauges. We rode in a teal jeep; the back of the jeep had a large door and window. I got to sit closest to the window! As the jeep drove to our destination, I was cooled down by the refreshing winds. We were going up a mountain and became close to the clouds. There were no longer many stores or people that we passed by but gigantic trees and other mountains in the distance covered with greenery. I could smell the rain coming soon until it did. It was the best feeling ever. Droplets against my skin as I breathed in the cool air. What a time to be alive. We met with one of the workers at the tea estate and were shown the rain gauge. The farmers collect the data every morning and then share it with the Hume staff. This may be a "simple" system, but the impact is anything but that. Multiple times, the Hume Centre has notified communities of a potential landslide, which led to an evacuation before the landslide. It has supported many families' livelihoods and ensured the safety of their lives.

After the tea estate visit, we went to the landslide site. It continued to rain. When we arrived, seeing the trail the landslide left behind was surreal. Ranjini, one of the Hume researchers, explained that this relatively empty plot of land in front of us was where families lived. She continued to describe how the families had to leave, relocate, and separate from their community due to the landslide. I struggle to imagine and fathom the pain of a group of people being torn away from their homes. There was no trace of this vibrant community besides the pathway of a landslide. The Hume Centre's efforts demonstrate the importance of collective action and the vital role of affordable, accessible technology was commendable. Although community-focused solutions are a beautiful response to environmental injustice, the devastating impacts of climate change illustrate how essential it is to adapt and change our behaviors and never stop challenging the status quo, as collectives like the Hume Centre consistently do. 

Our driver who drove us to Chembra Peak.
Photo by Anna Guevarra

Chembra Peak in the Western Ghats of India covered with clouds.  
Photo by Anna Guevarra

One of the rain gauges located in the Chembra Peak area to help predict the rain for farmers.
Photo by Anna Guevarra  

One of the field researchers showing us the site of a landslide in the Chembra Peak area that destroyed a number of communities. 
Photo by Anna Guevarra 

I had to include the children I met at the Hume Centre. We danced and sang all night! I was so so happy to be there.
Photo by Anna Guevarra

We also got to play soccer, volleyball, etc., with the children of the Kurichiya community! They were so lovely. All of the children have been a blast.

A Selfie Photo by Anna Guevarra

The Women of GBS by Amira Altamimi

Photo by Amira Altamimi

There isn’t one word to describe my experience or feelings in my three-day stay at the Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary (GBS). Founded in 1981 in Kerala by German botanist Wolfgang Theuerkauf, GBS was initially a seven-acre plot that would become a shadow of its now seventy-acre botanical sanctuary and rainforest. The sanctuary's efforts have not only expanded its physical footprint but have also created a thriving ecosystem unlike any other. It presents an ecological experience unlike anything I’ve ever seen and seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. Everywhere I looked, I encountered a new species, each more fascinating than the last, from towering Banyan trees to moss carpeting the forest floor. The campus was full of insects and animals, a testament to the health of the forest. What struck me most about GBS though was its distinctive approach to conservation and forest management. It was unlike any other conservation effort I had encountered, partly because of the team behind it. Whether volunteers and permanent team members were drawn to the sanctuary for spiritual reasons, scientific research, or other personal motivations, GBS served as a unifying force. It brought together people from different walks of life who shared a common belief in the sanctuary's mission and the importance of its work. This is especially true of the women behind the botanical sanctuary.

The women of GBS held significant responsibility for the maintenance of the rainforest in various ways. Given its immense size and biodiversity, this was not an easy task. As we traversed through the campus, we encountered numerous women diligently engaged in activities such as repotting and tending to the health of the plants in their nursery. The most memorable part of GBS for me was the food. Every day, the kitchen would prepare a fresh meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For someone who had never experienced anything like it, the way the kitchen was operated was revolutionary to me. A group of village women, led by Wolfgang’s wife Leela, cooked three incredible meals a day using the fresh food cultivated on the land. Each meal fed dozens of people and each of them was just as unique as the last. From fresh Jackfruit curry to amazingly seasoned potato dishes, the sheer love and work put into the meals left me in awe.

Photo by Amira Altamimi

In discussions about the global south, western representation often overlooks women or, when acknowledged, portrays them within a framework of a racist and misogynistic context. GBS, however, challenges and dispels this limited perspective. While misogyny persists globally, the women of GBS play indispensable roles that are fundamental to keeping the sanctuary operational.

These women are the backbone of GBS, they quite literally run the sanctuary. Their involvement in GBS extends beyond mere participation; they carry with them the deep-rooted history of the rainforest. GBS owes its continued existence to these women who invest their lives in ensuring the rainforest continues. Their contributions, however, extend far beyond what is typically recognized, showcasing the disparities in how labor is valued and acknowledged especially when practiced by women from the local villages and towns. It often felt as if any of our questions about labor distribution were being dodged when brought up. When the issue of class dynamics within the sanctuary was raised, a topic of genuine interest for all of us, it wasn't really engaged with or addressed. This evasion seemed to recur across some of the NGOs we engaged with over the course of our trip. It therefore left unresolved questions about the allocation of tasks and how caste and class played out on the ground. Especially since manual labor in many of these sites, including GBS, predominantly fell to lower caste women from the local villages and towns. This disparity was indicative of a broader issue of the caste/class system that followed us during our 3-week trip. 

Short Stay In The Rainforest by Nia Kennedi Cunningham

   (excerpts from my personal journal)

   Day One: I have lost track of time, but it's our first morning at the Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary. This place almost feels like a dream, almost. Right now I am sitting outside of our “guest” bungalow listening to the birds chirping, malabar squirrels moving around in the trees, and the air around me is heavily scented with rainfall. The way the rains brighten the forest, is like when the sun sheds light on my face. Just as I smell the rain's nutrients in the soil and the leaves, I feel the sun kissing my face. The way our senses are interconnected with this experience of nourishment and knowing is brought to life in this space for me. Being surrounded by beautiful nature and knowing that people who care about the health and biodiversity of this space are pouring into it and nourishing it everyday makes me think about these things. How can the way we do things feel like the sun shining, and the rain falling? How can we reflect the nature that is within and around us while being subjected to urbanization and capitalism?

    Later that day: This morning we went on a walk within the sanctuary with Girish. He started it off with a moment’s affirmation. He started by giving gratitude to the abundance that surrounds us, that is within us. He mentioned how he is the mother and father of these plants and that they allow him/us to provide and support them as if we are supporting ourselves. In the moment it made me think about a quote I have written on a sticky note in my apartment that helps me through my days, “ Abundance is everywhere, beauty is within all things, see love, be love “ Being immersed into nature allows me to be reminded of all the abundance in the present moment that always exists despite other things going on. It allows me to dream outside of capitalistic boundaries that perpetuate ideas that make it seem like abundance is to be bought, stolen or controlled. It allows for the present moment to be remembered, connected to, and for nature to be at the center of that. 

    Day Two: Today after another garden walk, Ashvin asked if we wanted to go see the river. As a water sign, I  had to oblige. I didn't realize it was such a steep walk down, or that there were going to be so many leeches, but I made it. After watching Arjun jump in, l had to follow with a splash. Everyone was surprised I had jumped. The water felt so grounding, cooled me off, and it made me feel free, allowing the release of worry. The most freeing part of water is that it allows you to float. Much like the feeling of being detached, through being immersed into the forest. It’s a nuanced emotion because while it allows me to detach from worry, it is in fact allowing me to be connected to freedom. 

   Reflection: The time spent within the sanctuary brought up a lot of emotions. This space allowed me to be immersed with nature, to focus on the present moment and remember the abundance that naturally exists and that we are all connected to. The forest made me think about my attachment style and the ways I am deeply reliant on the comfort that capitalism provides. The space allowed me to be in a space where I could detach from normalized values, while also allowing me to confront the ways that even spaces like these can be limiting. The forest was a dream, and while the organization attached to it supported that dreamlike essence it is also exposed and affected by normalized ideals. The work they have done and continue to do is commendable. I enjoyed learning about their efforts to rewild the forest (the act of growing and sustaining native plants to then replant into the land), support women from nearby communities with work, and allow for people to experience the community they have sustained. While witnessing their impactful work, I was also reminded how these organizations, just like those back home, aren't perfect. We are all operating with the information and capacity that is accessible to us, which might not always be perfect, but that we all try to do our best. I felt that our stay could've been more accommodating and intellectually nourishing. I wanted to learn more about their relationship with the indigenous communities around them, and their structure as an organization, and the ways they have sustained it. Despite these shortcomings, overall, I am taking a lot away from our short stay in the rainforest. 

Photo by Gayatri Reddy

Photo by Nia Kennedi 

Photo by Nia Kennedi 

 

 

It's Okay to be Uncomfortable by Liana Jeffries

It’s cloudy and rainy. The rain pours harder. It’s monsoon season, which is the rainy season in India. I worry as I look out the window of the car and wonder how the driver is able to see the road. We’re on our way to the Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary. It’s a six-hour drive from Bengaluru until we’ll be separated from our daily activity: using the internet. No Wi-Fi, no laptops, and definitely no phones. The car finally approaches GBS up a narrow, rocky path. I take in the view. 

Large trees tower over us. The air is so fresh and cool. We make our way to the bungalow we’ll be staying in. Although I cannot fathom the beauty around us, I begin to realize my un-comfortability. As a child, I have always had a terrible phobia of all things related to insects and this was an environment where all insects or critters not only lived but thrived. Regardless, I try to center and calm myself. It was after meeting with the community, especially Girish and Ashvin that I was able to remind myself to enjoy what’s around me. The sounds of the forest were magical. I could hear the frogs croak and ribbit, the wind howling past my ears, the tree branches as they shook and danced for whenever a monkey or squirrel climbed it, the birds and crickets chirping alike but still so different. I was able to hear all of this and know that I am now a part of this work of art.

Our second day we visited the river. Nia jumped off the cliff into the river with Ashvin and Arjun! I was so thrilled for them. Professor Reddy and I stayed on the cliff to watch. I sat there and was able to relax and bask in the sun. I was no longer freaking out if I discovered a leech on myself, I’d simply remove it quickly. I was no longer scared to go to the bathroom with the spiders as big as my hand. Above all, I was able to discover a newfound appreciation for the life around me. Later on, when I learned about the vast orchid species throughout the rain forest and their diverse living conditions, I recognized their durability. I now understood how powerful adaptability was to one's surroundings. And that is exactly what I did, I adapted to my environment. It was not easy or quick and definitely not seamless, but I found myself enjoying my stay.

Photo by Gayatri Reddy 

 

   Video by Nia Kennedi Cunningham

My Introduction to Bengaluru by Liana Jeffries

As I ride in the auto in Bengaluru I enjoy the sounds of the car horns. Each driver is talking to one another through their beeps. One is saying, “Hey, watch out I’m about to go around you,” or “Get out of the way,” and “I’m coming around the corner.” It’s a symphony of beeping and they don’t all sound the same. Some are more musical than others, while some are small, quick sounds. I take in the large trees, small shops, and medium sized buildings as the auto continues to our destination. I feel the hot breeze against my face and try to savor it. One cannot be too picky with the temperature of the breeze considering the heat of today. I take pleasure in the variety of cows and calves I see alongside the roads. Red, brown, black, spotted, big, small, and most importantly so cute. And I cannot forget all of the dogs and a few cats throughout. I smile. 

The auto begins to come to a stop, and I exit out of the vehicle. We’re now at Lake Puttenahalli. Rohan D’Souza, teacher, researcher, and activist accompanies our group: Amira, Nia, and me, and Professors Guevarra and Reddy. We enter through the gate and are welcomed by sleeping dogs. We walk on a bricked gray path surrounding the bowl-shaped lake. It shimmers and reflects the trees surrounding. Although the trees throughout were separated from the lake with a green gate. The trees were not the only living beings detached from the lake, we were as well. Just like everyone else, our group was to stay on the path designed for us. It seemed that this lake was only something to be viewed. 

Small spots of green land with trees were found in the lake. I saw birds, some black and others white. The lake is calm and still unlike the sounds around us. D’Souza speaks. The stillness is interrupted by harsh realities. He explains the conflict between the ornithologists, naturalists and the fishing community. One community instilling their vision over the others, it’s a competition instead of a coalition. The ornithologist's priority of preserving and protecting the birds in the lake prevents the fishing community the opportunity to fish in the same lake. Thus, a hierarchy of care is enforced. Before restoration began in 2009, Lake Puttenahalli had been reduced to mere puddles of water due to the dumping of sewage, debris, and the expansion of living spaces. However, now that the lake has been restored, it promotes and allows access to a specific class of people. Its restrictive times do not keep in mind lower class individuals and the constraints they have to live within. How could one know a lake that reflects such beauty reveals complex hidden truths?

Photo of birds on the lake by Anna Guevarra

                      

The Gulmohar Tree by Amira Altamimi

Photo by Amira Altamimi

 

The first thing that struck me about Bangalore, and India in general, was the vast amount of trees. Even in an urban setting, the streets of Bangalore were filled with so many vastly unique trees. One that seemed to follow us was the Gulmohar tree, a large tree with vibrant red-orange flowers and interestingly enough, the Gulmohar tree is non-native to India. Despite the fact it was brought over in the 1800s by a Czech botanist from Madagascar, the tree has quickly become a crucial part in the lives of the people in India. For starters, the flowering of the tree is oftentimes a signifier of an early summer. On top of that, the flowers also have various medicinal uses, providing the local people with antibacterial, antifungal, anti-inflammatory, and wound healing properties on top of many others. This then brings us to the larger question of if the  Gulmohar tree should be removed due to its non-native status. Even the lakes of Bangalore could be considered “non-native" because they are entirely manmade. However, they still serve people in the city. Interestingly enough, they can’t be utilized for drinking water but they do exist for beautifying and servicing the cultural ecosystem. Through the efforts of various NGOs and even citizen initiatives, great care has been put into creating these paths for people to walk around and enjoy. 

A common theme we’ve run into in our nearly two week stay is the  similarities between people and nature. What does it mean for a plant to be non-native when it’s been brought over to another country and established its roots here? It has learned to live with the already existing landscape, it provides its own benefits and it has become part of the larger landscape. Removing it now would arguably cause more harm than good, especially to the people who have learned to integrate it into their lives.  On the other hand, non-native plants are not always an inherently productive addition to an ecosystem. Take for example various non-native parasitic vines that suffocate the native plant population and push them out of their natural ecosystems. Or even the Gulmohar tree which can out-compete with native populations if not managed properly. It’s incredibly easy to broadly categorize nature when in reality, it's far more complicated than non-native species falling under good or bad.

Photo by Amira Altamimi

 

 

Man Made Lakes In Bengaluru by Nia Kennedi Cunningham

Our first excursion in India involved visiting the lakes accompanied by a lake expert, Rohan D’ Souza. Besides being surprised by his martial arts and disco knowledge, I was not expecting that he was going to tell us that all of the lakes in Bengaluru, commonly referred to as "water bodies," are man made. The lake he took us to in Bengaluru, Puttenahalli, was surrounded by a gate, beautiful vegetation, and was formed into a bowl-like shape with a path built around it in order to accommodate recreational activities for the nearby community. Oddly enough, there were specific times you could go in and out of the space, noted by the hours placed on a sign at the entrance stating (6am-10am & 4pm-7pm). Notably, we were informed that these were usually times for middle class people to go and walk/workout, before and after work. It made me think about what bodies this space was intended for, and the impact that has on the nearby communities. 

Photo of the Puttenhalli Lake by Gayatri Reddy

                  

Photo of the man-made recreational path around the lake by Nia Kennedi Cunningham

 

                                                                                                                                

As a water body on public land, I would think it would be open, free and accessible to all other bodies, regardless of status, caste, class, or occupation. Interestingly enough, on the opposite side of the entrance of the lake there was a settlement of people who decided to build their semi-permanent houses within the boundaries of the lake. We were told this was technically illegal, but that there must have been a relationship between them and the people in charge of the space who let it happen. So, this space can be accessible, through loopholes perhaps. But what is accessibility if you have to figure out where the loopholes are? And how can a space truly be used for conservation? What is the space conserving? Who and what bodies are included in that process? For the Puttenahalli website to highlight the lake as a community-led conservation project makes me question what community they are trying to preserve. But then they are allowing for “illegal” settlements. What are they gaining from those bodies being there? Is it a mutually beneficial relationship? Why are these settlements even deemed illegal, why is there a gated boundary around the lake? It is manmade, created to fulfill human desires, but not for all living things, or even all humans.

Photo of the clothesline from the settlement by lake by Anna Guevarra

 

Photo of a motorcycle that belongs to the settlement around Puttenhali lake by Anna Guevarra

It made me think about Lake Michigan. For such a long time Lake Michigan was deemed inaccessible, especially for black and brown people. Historically, the lake and its beaches were segregated, a history that much of Chicago's landscape continues to reflect today. I grew up hearing stories of the race riot in 1919, when a black boy swam across the "race line" in this water body. Borders within water bodies. Because he swam across this invisible boundary, the boy was then stoned to death on the shore line. This is one of many stories that was passed down to me. The lake, like many other spaces, was created to be more accessible for certain bodies. Why is this a trend? Why are borders and boundaries around water so normalized? Today, the lake is a space that is a lot more accessible, and there are even initiatives that have created spaces for people to connect to their cultural backgrounds, and other people and cultures. 

This reminds me about the Public Trust Doctrine. The Doctrine speaks to the principle that certain public spaces and resources are held in sovereign trust for public use regardless of private ownership. This doctrine is usually overlooked in modern times, but why? This trust is what could uphold the commons and promote public spaces for use by all living things in a way that is mutually beneficial and sustainable. In what ways can conservation models and organizations reflect this idea? How can spaces be created to be more accessible, and in what ways does inaccessibility not allow people to connect to nature and further understand how climate change is affecting the spaces that sustain them.

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Man Made Lakes In India

An “urban dystopia”

Boundaries put on water bodies

Biodiversity could involve the inclusion of all living beings

 not some

Conservation or Gatekeeping

Transformation of the commons

What bodies thrive here

What bodies are allowed

Man Made Lakes In India

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