D Rajiv Shankar, IFS
Working Plan Officer, Nagaland
When we look at the sky above Nagaland’s ridges and valleys, we see a world of clouds, sun, and monsoon rains. Yet, beyond what our eyes can see lies the ozone layer—a fragile but essential shield that protects us from harmful ultraviolet radiation. This year’s World Ozone Day, celebrated under the theme “From Science to Global Action”, is not only about distant policies or treaties; it is also about the choices that people in Nagaland make every day in their homes, fields, and markets. The global story of ozone is well known: when scientists discovered that chemicals like chlorofluorocarbons were destroying this protective layer, the world responded with the Montreal Protocol. Today, thanks to science and cooperation, more than 99% of those chemicals have been phased out, and the ozone is healing. The lesson for Nagaland is that, when embraced, science can guide communities toward solutions for environmental challenges that may otherwise feel overwhelming.
In our hills, the rhythms of life depend on water flowing from springs and forests standing firm on slopes. In recent years, many farmers in rural areas have noticed worrying changes in streams that feed their fields. Springs that once flowed year-round are drying earlier in the summer, leaving villages scrambling for water to sustain crops and households. This crisis of water availability is directly linked to shifting rainfall patterns, which are themselves influenced by global climate change. The Kigali Amendment to the Montreal Protocol, which addresses greenhouse gases used in cooling, shows how protecting ozone also helps reduce climate change. For Nagaland, the implication is clear: global action in the sky translates into local stability on the ground, giving our springs and streams a chance to flow again.
But science does not live only in treaties or laboratories. It is also found in the humble choices of daily life. In Nagaland, where most people live simply, climate-friendly products are not necessarily sleek gadgets or expensive technologies. They are often traditional items such as bamboo baskets replacing plastic bags, clay pots storing water cool without electricity, and handwoven textiles using renewable fibres instead of synthetics. These are products of culture, but they are also products of science – if science is understood as the careful study of how to live in balance with nature. Promoting their availability, supporting artisans who make them, and ensuring they reach households across the state are forms of climate action as real as building a solar farm.
Consider the Zabo system, where villagers built reservoirs on terraced slopes to capture monsoon rains. This traditional practice ensures water for crops, animals, and households long after the rains have passed. It reduces erosion and replenishes groundwater. Today, with climate shifts unsettling rainfall, reviving Zabo is more important than ever. With small scientific improvements—such as lining ponds to prevent seepage or adding solar pumps—this traditional system becomes a modern climate technology. Likewise, the revival of millets in Chizami is not just about food heritage; it is a deliberate strategy of climate adaptation. Millets need little water, withstand drought, and nourish families with high nutritional value. Making millet seed banks stronger, encouraging schools to serve millet meals, and linking farmers to markets ensures that this climate-friendly crop is not lost again.
At the heart of these stories lies something often forgotten: the valuation of ecosystem services. Forests, rivers, wetlands, and soils provide immense benefits—clean water, fertile ground, carbon storage, pollination, flood control. Yet because these services are invisible in money terms, they are undervalued until they are gone. A forest above a village may seem like just a stretch of green, but if one calculates the water it secures, the soil it protects, the carbon it absorbs, and the honey and firewood it yields, its worth runs into crores of rupees each year. When springs run dry, the cost of tankers and borewells makes us realize too late the value of what was once free. For Nagaland, where communities still manage land collectively, recognizing and quantifying these services is not only about conservation but also about economics. It strengthens the case that preserving forests and traditional practices is more profitable in the long run than degrading them.
This approach reframes climate mitigation and adaptation. Protecting forests is not merely about carbon credits—it is about safeguarding a water source that saves villages millions in tanker costs. Planting alder trees in jhum fields is not only cultural—it is equivalent to investing in a natural fertilizer factory that works year after year without expense. Reviving Zabo is not merely heritage—it is also more cost-effective and sustainable than building large dams. By counting these invisible benefits, Nagaland can demonstrate that conservation is the most sensible economic policy.
The experience of other mountain societies reinforces this. Bhutan, with over 70% forest cover, is the world’s first carbon-negative country. By valuing its forests and rivers as national assets, it built an economy that exports clean hydropower and imports happiness. Sikkim, by going fully organic, showed that agriculture rooted in ecosystem services such as healthy soil, clean water, natural pollinators can feed its people and create new markets. Meghalaya’s living root bridges, crafted by Khasi villagers, regulate microclimates and stabilize streams, offering lessons in infrastructure that grows stronger with time. Each of these stories demonstrates that when societies count the true worth of their ecosystems, they make choices that secure both livelihoods and landscapes.
For Nagaland, these lessons connect seamlessly with Mission LiFE—Lifestyle for Environment. This national movement emphasizes that small, sustainable choices by individuals ripple outward to transform industries and policies. In our state, Mission LiFE can mean scaling up bamboo products to replace plastics, restoring Zabo systems across villages, promoting millet in local diets, and valuing forests for the many invisible services they provide. It is about weaving science and tradition into a lifestyle that sustains both people and planet.
The healing of the ozone layer is proof that when science meets collective will, even seemingly insurmountable problems can be solved. The challenge of climate change, and the opportunity of ecosystem service valuation, now invite Nagaland to lead with its hills, forests, and traditions. From alder groves in Khonoma to Zabo ponds in Kikruma, from millet fields in Chizami to bamboo crafts in every market, our land is rich in both visible and invisible wealth. Recognizing, valuing, and protecting this wealth is the path from science to global action. As the ozone heals above us, let us also heal the land below, ensuring that the shield of nature remains intact for generations to come.
