By: Nabeela Siddiqui

The news of Madhav Gadgil’s death on January 7, 2026, at age 83 in Pune has prompted many to look back at his extraordinary contributions to ecology in India. Known as a trailblazer in the field, Gadgil spent decades arguing that protecting nature must go hand in hand with fairness for ordinary people, especially those living near forests and hills. Just months before his passing, the United Nations recognised his lifelong efforts with the Champions of the Earth Lifetime Achievement Award in 2024. Yet, in India, many of his key suggestions for laws and policies gathered dust or faced strong pushback. As the country deals with more frequent floods, landslides, and loss of wildlife habitats, his thinking feels more urgent than ever. It’s time to revisit his approach—one that puts local voices at the centre and relies on solid science—to shape better environmental rules.

Gadgil grew up in Pune, influenced by his father, the economist D.R. Gadgil, who stressed fair distribution of resources. After studying at Harvard and earning his doctorate in 1969, he returned to India determined to establish ecological studies there. He set up the Centre for Ecological Sciences at the Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore in 1983, turning it into a major center for research. His writings, such as the book “This Fissured Land” co-written with historian Ramachandra Guha, explained how India’s environment has been shaped, and often damaged—by historical inequalities.

But the heart of Gadgil’s influence—and the biggest controversy—came from his leadership of the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel in 2010-2011. The panel’s report suggested dividing the Western Ghats, that vital chain of mountains rich in unique species and vital for water supply, into levels of protection.

Where Gadgil really shaped laws was in pushing for systems that involve communities directly. He played a big role in drafting the Biological Diversity Act of 2002, which created ways for villages to record their own plants, animals, and traditional knowledge through People’s Biodiversity Registers. These documents have helped rural groups in places like Maharashtra stop harmful practices, such as dumping chemicals in rivers or allowing unchecked mining, by providing legal proof of damage. He also supported the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act of 2006, which granted long-overdue rights to tribal communities over the forest lands they had relied on for generations. Another milestone was his work in creating the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve in 1986, India’s first, showing how protected zones could support both wildlife and human needs.

But the heart of Gadgil’s influence—and the biggest controversy—came from his leadership of the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel in 2010-2011. The panel’s report suggested dividing the Western Ghats, that vital chain of mountains rich in unique species and vital for water supply, into levels of protection. The strictest zones would limit big mines, dams, and factories, and any project would need approval from local village councils. The goal wasn’t to block growth but to make it last longer, safeguarding livelihoods based on farming and fishing while preventing disasters.

Powerful groups, including industry leaders, politicians, and some religious organisations in states like Kerala, strongly opposed it, calling it a barrier to jobs and progress. The central government set it aside and introduced a milder version under the Kasturirangan panel, covering a far smaller area. Gadgil often pointed out how this ignored evidence for the sake of quick gains. He also criticised older laws, such as the Wildlife Protection Act 1972, for treating people as outsiders in conservation, sometimes making it difficult for farmers to defend against animal attacks without breaking therules.

Gadgil’s strength was in challenging the powerful while trusting ordinary folks as guardians of nature.

In today’s context, these unaddressed ideas stand out sharply. Recent tragedies, such as landslides in Wayanad and heavy flooding in Kerala, match exactly the risks the Gadgil panel highlighted from loose controls on quarrying and building in fragile spots. With climate shifts bringing stronger rains and heat, India’s forests shrinking, and wildlife conflicts rising, sticking to business-as-usual invites bigger problems. Recent changes to forest laws that speed up project approvals without strong local input go against what Gadgil stood for.

Some say his plans were too strict and might slow development in poorer hill areas. In regions dependent on mining or plantations, people worried about lost income. However, Gadgil always clarified that he supported responsible progress, not a complete halt. The real costs of ignoring warnings, lives lost in disasters, ruined farms, and dried-up rivers have proven to be higher than any short-term benefits.

Gadgil’s strength was in challenging the powerful while trusting ordinary folks as guardians of nature. He believed decisions should be open, based on facts, and include those most affected. As leaders from various parties offer condolences and praise his vision, the real tribute would be action: giving more power to village assemblies in green clearances, enforcing sensitive-zone rules properly, and blending local wisdom with scientific monitoring.

Losing Gadgil reminds us that environmental policy isn’t just about rules on paper, it’s about choosing between fleeting profits and lasting health for land and people. His call for a more democratic approach to caring for nature could guide India through its current crises toward a more balanced and resilient future. If we listen now, his work won’t have been in vain.

In Loving memory of Padma Bhushan Madhav Gadgil (1942-2026)