“Consider the claim that Mhadei is merely a “transit corridor.” This has been the government’s refrain for years. Yet, camera-trap evidence has shown the presence of adult tigers. Even if cub-rearing has not been recorded, it is misleading to dismiss the area as unimportant. Corridors are not incidental; they are lifelines. Tigers, like most large mammals, depend on continuous forest landscapes for survival. Fragment those corridors and you strangle the species. By downplaying Mhadei’s role, the state essentially signals that connectivity doesn’t matter, which runs counter to the very principles of conservation.”
When it comes to wildlife conservation, governments often reveal their priorities not in grand speeches but in the silences, evasions, and carefully crafted arguments they present in courtrooms. The Goa government’s recent submission before the Central Empowered Committee (CEC) on the question of declaring Mhadei a tiger reserve is one such moment of truth.
Goa has told the committee that the Mhadei forests are nothing more than a passage for tigers moving between Maharashtra and Karnataka. In other words, they are corridors, not habitats. By this logic, the government says, there is no justification for giving Mhadei the status of a tiger reserve. The state has also argued that the recommendations of the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA) are not binding, that there is no scientific proof of resident tigers, and that the livelihoods of nearly one lakh villagers living inside notified areas would be at risk. On the surface, these points sound pragmatic. Scratch deeper, and they reveal a familiar story of governance that bends over backwards to avoid protecting land and wildlife when it clashes with other, more immediate interests.
Consider the claim that Mhadei is merely a “transit corridor.” This has been the government’s refrain for years. Yet, camera-trap evidence has shown the presence of adult tigers. Even if cub-rearing has not been recorded, it is misleading to dismiss the area as unimportant. Corridors are not incidental; they are lifelines. Tigers, like most large mammals, depend on continuous forest landscapes for survival. Fragment those corridors and you strangle the species. By downplaying Mhadei’s role, the state essentially signals that connectivity doesn’t matter, which runs counter to the very principles of conservation.
Then there is the fear-mongering over resettlement. The government paints a dire picture: one lakh villagers uprooted, widespread unrest, perhaps even violence. But this is a classic case of inflating numbers to provoke panic. Declaring a tiger reserve does not mean wholesale eviction of entire populations overnight. Across India, tiger reserves have been created with careful negotiations, phased relocation, and compensation packages. The Forest Rights Act also provides safeguards for communities. To suggest that declaring Mhadei a reserve would instantly devastate village life is a convenient exaggeration—one that plays well to populist anxieties while distracting from the government’s reluctance to confront vested interests operating in and around these forests.
Mining interests, for instance, have long eyed the mineral-rich Mhadei belt. Infrastructure projects and unregulated tourism too have chipped away at its ecological fabric. A tiger reserve status would bring stricter regulations, stronger monitoring, and national-level oversight, making it harder to push through environmentally destructive ventures. That, more than concern for villagers, may explain the government’s resistance.
The reference to “limited forest cover” is equally disingenuous. Goa may be a small state, but its Western Ghats stretch is part of a global biodiversity hotspot. The forests of Mhadei, Bhagwan Mahavir, and adjoining sanctuaries form a crucial green belt that sustains not just tigers but leopards, gaur, elephants, hornbills, and countless other species. To argue that these forests are too small or too crowded to matter is to admit a failure of imagination. Conservation is not about dismissing what remains but about protecting it precisely because it is fragile.
Politically, the move also reflects a lack of courage. Supporting a tiger reserve would have signaled foresight, aligning Goa with India’s proud record of tiger conservation, which has revived populations in states from Madhya Pradesh to Uttarakhand. Instead, Goa chooses the path of denial, downplaying evidence, exaggerating threats, and hedging its bets. It is easier to plead helplessness than to show leadership.
The CEC will now weigh the arguments of all stakeholders before reporting to the Supreme Court. It is possible the court will see through Goa’s evasions. But the very fact that the state government has positioned itself against a tiger reserve is telling. It shows a vision of development where forests are expendable, wildlife is negotiable, and the long-term ecological health of the state is sacrificed at the altar of short-term convenience.
The tiger, as India’s national animal, is not just a species but a symbol of ecological integrity. To reduce Mhadei to a mere “transit corridor” is to betray that symbol. Goa has a choice: it can embrace its responsibility as steward of the Western Ghats or it can continue to duck and dodge, hoping that by denying the tiger a home, it can keep the doors open for everything else. The people of Goa—and the forests themselves—deserve better.
