BURMESE ELEPHANTS

[Guest guest]

http://www.grist.org/news/maindish/2005/09/13/hile/

Burma Save

Logging keeps Asian elephants in business ... for now

By Jennifer Hile

13 Sep 2005

At a fork in the road, our guide points to the right. " That's the main road

there, " he says. " We'll go on this smaller road, deep into the jungle. " A glance

to the left reveals a narrow, unpaved track, which he tells us is used primarily

by logging trucks. It's the dry season in Myanmar, and dead leaves hang like

bats above us. The truck's idling motor blends with the cacophony of insects.

 

 

Beasts of burden.

Photos: Jennifer Hile.I'm sitting next to one of Asia's most dedicated elephant

conservationists, Sangduan " Lek " Chailert. In 1995, Lek sold her home and car,

using the proceeds to start the Elephant Nature Park sanctuary in her native

Thailand. She also runs a program called Jumbo Express, bringing free medical

care to the animals and their owners in the countryside.

 

Lek's nickname means " little. " She barely tops five feet, and looks to weigh

around 100 pounds -- yet she's spent her adult life throwing a shoulder against

the monumental downhill slide of Asian elephants. Three years earlier, I had

made a documentary about the sanctuary for National Geographic. A few months of

following her around with a camera had left me in awe of her work; when she

invited me to meet her for this trek, I jumped at the chance.

 

Lek -- whose shaman grandfather was once awarded an elephant for saving a man's

life -- has heard that the animal's numbers in Myanmar (formerly known as Burma)

are relatively stable. That's a stark contrast to the rest of Asia, where

populations have been shattered by poaching and deforestation. " This country, "

she tells me, " is one of the last places of hope. "

 

 

Pachyderms of Endearment

 

Myanmar is one of the last places in the world to see the centuries-old Asian

tradition of domesticated elephants and their keepers working side by side.

There are said to be hundreds of animals laboring throughout the country, but

the very thing protecting elephants there may one day do them in. Many of them

are used for logging; the country is home to more than half of Southeast Asia's

remaining closed-canopy forest. As we plan our visit to logging camps in the

central hinterlands, we know we will see a practice riddled with irony: these

creatures are surviving because they're shielded from harm -- solely for the

purpose of destroying their own habitat.

 

Just how many elephants we're talking about is unknown. As I prepared for my

trip, I expected population numbers to be tough to find -- Myanmar's iron-fisted

military government keeps it largely sealed off from outside observers -- but I

was stunned to learn that current stats are all but nonexistent for all of Asia.

A lack of funds, and often political will, means on-the-ground counts have been

few and far between. (International wildlife conservation organizations have

also faced criticism for working with ruthless leaders such as those in Myanmar

for any purpose.)

 

 

Haul in a day's work.Simon Hedges, Asian elephant coordinator for the Wildlife

Conservation Society, confirmed my finding. He emailed me an article he

coauthored for Conservation Biology in 2004. " For many forest elephant

populations, existing knowledge is often so inadequate that even deciding which

are the most important populations to protect is not possible, " the authors

wrote. " The frequently cited global estimate of 30,000 to 50,000 Asian elephants

is often acknowledged as little more than an educated guess ... Astonishingly,

these estimates of the global population have been accepted without revision for

a quarter of a century, despite major losses of Asian elephant habitat over this

period. "

 

When we spoke, Hedges was preparing to launch a study of the number and

distribution of elephants in Myanmar's Hukaung Valley. Its vast forests provide

ideal habitat, and scientists hope to find robust populations there. " What we

already know about [the country], however, suggests there are smaller numbers of

elephants than people had hoped, " he told me.

 

Wildlife biologist Peter Leimgruber, of the conservation unit of the

Smithsonian's National Zoological Park, has spent years studying the country and

its wild herds. Results from a recent search are called " sobering " on the

Smithsonian's website. Leimgruber's team sighted wild elephants only twice, and

the amount of dung they encountered " implies populations are significantly

smaller than expected, " he told me.

 

" I definitely would still consider the country a stronghold for the species, "

Leimgruber says, citing the amount of remaining forest and the importance of

elephants to the culture. " But it's amazing how much we don't know. "

 

What we do know is this: Asian elephants once grazed by the Yangtze River in

China and in the dark forests of Sumatra. Their range covered nearly 3.5 million

square miles. Now it's estimated at about 188,000 square miles total -- a 95

percent reduction -- spread across 13 countries. It's a patchwork of shrinking

forests, fast being dismantled and piled into the logging trucks that rumble

along the continent's back roads.

 

 

Tusk, Tusk

 

My trip with Lek started four days ago at a guest house next to the glittering,

colossal temple of Shwedagon in Yangon (Rangoon). We rented a car and headed for

the small town of Taungoo, in central Myanmar. I was beginning to wonder if we'd

manage to find any elephants, given the grim statistics. But it didn't take

long. Just outside Yangon, we saw our first -- in chains.

 

Myanmar's Department of Forestry keeps albino elephants on display for the

general public. With pink skin covered in short white hair, these curiosities

looked as if they'd been sprinkled with powdered sugar. They stared back at me

with eyes the color of pearls. I watched as the youngest paced back and forth,

reaching toward the others, bellowing and trumpeting with frustration. He will

most likely spend the rest of his life tethered to this platform. White

elephants, considered sacred throughout Asia, are said to bring peace and

prosperity to a nation. Leave it to a military junta to shackle their good

omens.

 

Lek and I didn't linger. As we drove off, she mused on the complexities of the

situation. " In Asia, elephants are a very mystical creature, a holy animal, " she

said, important to both Hinduism and Buddhism. " But the elephant is also used

for work and making money. " That contradiction means the animals are both

revered and violently subdued throughout Asia.

 

When we reached Taungoo, we asked the manager of our guest house to find Maung

Soe, a guide whom Lek had met three months earlier, and -- poof -- within a half

hour he appeared. " Easy to find elephant logging camps, " he assured us. " Be

ready at 5:30 tomorrow morning. "

 

Now, on our fourth day out, we've been driving for five hours when Maung Soe

points out the fork in the road. Before continuing on, Lek and I hop out to

stretch our legs. She spies elephant dung, then soldiers -- evidence of what we

came here hoping to find, and what we most hoped to avoid.

 

As the soldiers approach, wearing olive-green uniforms with old rifles slung

over their shoulders, I realize they are younger than I'd expect. It's quickly

obvious that they aren't concerned with us. No one asks for passports, a bribe,

or any of the other harassments you hear foreigners subjected to in this

hermetic kingdom. Instead, they tell us they're here to monitor logging

operations, pointing to the small hut where they stay. It reminds me of a

stranded whale carcass: ribs of bamboo arch across the top, with a few pieces of

ripped, gray canvas overhead. A fetid trickle of river runs adjacent.

 

 

Trucks pick up where trunks leave off.It's no surprise the government keeps an

eye on logging. In 2004, the timber trade brought in $430 million -- 15 percent

of the country's export earnings, according to the U.K.-based Global Witness. Of

that, $300 million came from teak; Myanmar provides 75 percent of the

international supply of that popular wood.

 

In fact, increasing global demand for teak and other woods means the illegal

trade is flourishing. " The most severe logging is taking place in northern

Myanmar " along the border with China, explains John Buckrell, a campaigner for

Global Witness. In recent years, he says, " over 98 percent of the timber

imported annually into China across the border was illegal. " Buckrell adds that

the area has been described as " one of the world's hottest biodiversity

hotspots. "

 

But logging with elephants may actually be keeping the devastation in check.

" The cutting is done selectively, one tree at a time, as opposed to

clear-cutting, " explains Matthew Lewis of the World Wildlife Fund's Asian Mammal

Conservation program. " That does a lot less damage to the forest " and doesn't

require new roads to be built.

 

And though the work is hard on the animals -- especially on their skin and

spines, Lek tells me -- it may be better than the alternative. When domesticated

elephants are replaced by logging machinery, Lewis says, their numbers usually

plummet. They are often abandoned and become crop raiders, likely to be shot by

farmers. Or -- like many of the 3,000 elephants that were put out of work when

Thailand outlawed logging in 1989 -- they wander dusty city streets as a tourist

attraction. There is little wild to return to.

 

 

Let's Get Trunky

 

Lek and I shake hands with the soldiers, then jump back in the truck, bumping

along for another three hours. The engine dies periodically. When the driver

gets out, he sinks into ankle-deep dirt as soft and thick as fresh snow. We

haven't seen an elephant today, but we've passed 16 logging trucks so far, their

open beds piled sky-high.

 

We drive southwest all day and the next before reaching the village of Pyaung

Chaung Wa, a cluster of bamboo huts along a shallow river. It's dusk, and the

men are coming home from a day's work; Lek and I are both thrilled to see a line

of elephants stretched behind them. Four adult animals lumber along, while one

baby stays within trunk's reach. She periscopes her trunk in our direction when

she sees us, sniffing the air, then darts behind her mother's formidable

backside.

 

The villagers gather the animals by the river and slide off their harnesses. The

elephants, wearing bells around their necks, wander slowly down the bank to

graze. The late-afternoon light casts the scene in a dark, filtered gold.

 

Maung Soe points Lek and me toward a small, open platform where we'll sleep. It

stands on stilts near the river; chickens nest beneath the floor. Children

gather around us, and Lek starts giving out whistles and balloons donated by a

volunteer at her sanctuary. In no time, every child is blowing like crazy.

 

Spend Your $.02

Discuss this story in our blog, Gristmill. " I worry that maybe one day there will

be no elephants left, " says Lek that evening, after a dinner of soup with fried

noodles and basil cooked over an open fire. " I think without them, maybe all of

Asia [will be] like an empty culture. " As we talk, a crowd of people three deep

encircles our sleeping platform. Every time I open my backpack or camera case,

heads crane to see inside. Travelers are rare in this area, and TV and radio

nonexistent. Tonight, Lek and I are the villagers' entertainment.

 

At dawn on my second morning at camp, the surrounding canyons blurred by mist, I

see the elephants marching slowly toward the village with a hodgepodge of men

and boys. I join the mahouts, or elephant keepers, to bathe the elephants in the

river, tossing bucketfuls of frigid water over massive gray backs. The villagers

are clearly surprised at my interest in their daily life, but are welcoming and

helpful. (Women in this society are strictly caregivers and cooks, but as a

foreigner, I'm exempted from social norms.)

 

After the bath, the mahouts tie a wooden harness to each animal and we head into

the jungle, a trail of chains dragging behind us. We hike to a hillside where

the villagers had cut down a dozen trees a few days earlier. Now the mahouts

de-limb the trees with an axe. Then they quickly wrap the chain attached to the

first elephant's harness around the base of one of the trees. Bamboo whips hover

threateningly as she starts moving. " Chiti! Shet tho! " the mahout hollers. Maung

Soe translates the directions behind me: " Left! Forward! " The elephant maneuvers

carefully down the steep hillside, the tree dragging behind at odd angles,

catching on debris.

 

At the bottom of the hill the elephant crashes into the river, deep enough in

places for the 500-pound log to half-float behind her. The rest of the elephants

and their cargo soon follow. The caravan begins making fast progress, kicking up

spray. The canyon walls tower above us, and bird calls echo all around. I feel

as if I've stepped into an ancient painting.

 

 

Sixteen Tons, and Whaddaya Get?

 

Later that morning, near the village, one of the elephant keepers points out a

monster tree protruding horizontally from the base of a cliff. He guesses it

weighs well over a ton. It fell years ago, and looks cemented into the granite

rocks. Nonetheless, soldiers have ordered the villagers to extricate it so it

can be used to build a nearby bridge. With trepidation, the men chain two

elephants to the ancient tree.

 

The animals trumpet with the effort of trying to heave it forward. The men start

shouting commands, hitting the elephants with bamboo whips, urging them on. The

tree doesn't budge. The elephants are straining so hard, their foreheads come

within a few feet of the ground with every tug.

 

 

Never break the chain.With a loud crack, part of a chain snaps, and one of the

elephants hits the ground hard, face first. A lesion on her stomach, probably

from the friction of the chain, bursts open. The pressure of the work is obvious

as the elephant struggles back to her feet. Today, this team catches a break. It

is considered bad luck for an elephant to be seriously injured, so the men don't

tempt fate. They quietly take off the chains and let the elephants off to graze

-- the soldiers will have to wait.

 

Back at camp, I'm eating more noodle soup when I look up to see an elephant

dragging our overheated truck up a hill in the distance. Maung Soe had been

fiddling with the engine, trying to figure out why it kept quitting, and it died

again. The villagers decided to help out by using the local power source. Now

Maung Soe sits behind the wheel as the truck moves forward, driver's-side door

thrown open, trying to rev the engine back to life.

 

While I stare at the scene, a few people around me stare at a Vanity Fair

magazine I've pulled out of my pack. I find myself wondering if we've already

done too much damage to the truck's engine to salvage it. And then I can't help

but think of the piecemeal destruction I've already seen, and of the work of

Lek, Leimgruber, and Hedges. Theirs is an uphill battle indeed.

 

 

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Jennifer Hile is a freelance documentary filmmaker and writer living in

Manhattan. Her National Geographic documentary on Lek Chailert's work, Vanishing

Giants, was nominated for an Emmy in 2003.