Burning Bright

I've just watched a nice little wildlife documentary about the reintroduction of tigers into an India nature reserve. I followed the adventures of Bagani, a handsome female tiger as she found her feet (or possibly paws) in her new territory. I watched tensely as, after days of failed stalks, ruined by birds and monkeys heckling her and scaring off her prey at the critical moment, she finally managed to catch a fawn for her first meal. We watched her confront, kill and apparently half-eat, a leopard encroaching on her new territory. We watched her meet up and mate with the male tiger introduced for this purpose, laying the foundations of a (presumably inbred) new dynasty.

Unfortunately, the male was poisoned by local villagers, whose cattle he had taken to poaching. But a new male was found, the villagers persuaded to relocate elsewhere, and the documentary ended with a glossy stout-ish Bagani hauling a deer carcass about and looking pretty pleased with life. Tigers - one: villagers - nil.

As so often, I was struck by the perspective of what I was watching. Had the documentary been following the struggles of a family of Indian deer, I would have watched the untimely death of Scutter, a spindly six-week old Sambar fawn, in the jaws of a female tiger, with horror and dismay. The story of Luna the leopard, as she struggles to feed her cubs after her territory is invaded by a female tiger, who eventually stalks, kills and eats her leaving her family to starve, would be pretty strong stuff.

Then there is the story of the Indian villagers whose livelihoods are threatened by a deliberately introduced male tiger, and their subsequent deportment after they try to defend their cattle.

One advantage of this last story is that anthropomorphism need not apply – these people are already human. They are not, however, endangered (at least at species level), furry, or cute.

How do you tell a group of villagers that their well-being is less important than that of a tiger? That the animal they killed, which had been expensively winched and flown, complete with an entourage of tiger-experts, medics and film-makers, into their proximity, was much more valuable and interesting than the families whose livelihood it was threatening?

There are only 1,700 Bengal tigers left in the wild (1,699 now, presumably) but there are many billions of people. And if a few starve to death because an endangered tiger predates their cattle, or lose heart in exile after taking revenge, they can easily be replaced.

Perhaps we could have a new documentary following the introduction of the displaced villagers into their own new territory. We could watch them trying to find their first meal, and being heckled by locals. Maybe we could watch them founding a new dynasty. But woe betide them if they confront and kill a leopard. Or anything else rarer and more photogenic than themselves