“The forest is our supermarket,” says anthropologist Anstice Justin, who has lived his whole life in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. “It is what we survive on.”
The Andaman and Nicobar Islands, a federally-administered territory off India’s east coast, comprise 836 islands, of which only 38 are inhabited. The Nicobar Islands, located some 150 km south of the Andamans, are now at the center of a controversial multi-billion-dollar development project planned for Great Nicobar Island.
India’s $9 billion project, sprawling across 166 sq km, aims to construct a transshipment hub, an airport, a power plant, and a township to integrate the region with global trade routes, particularly near the strategic Strait of Malacca. The government envisions that, upon completion in 30 years, the island will host 650,000 residents.
While the project aligns with India’s ambition to counter China’s regional influence, it has sparked widespread concerns among islanders and experts. Locals fear the destruction of their land, culture, and traditions, particularly the vulnerable indigenous tribes.
The Andaman and Nicobar Islands are home to five “particularly vulnerable” tribes: the Jarawas, North Sentinelese, Great Andamanese, Onge, and Shompen. While the Jarawas and North Sentinelese remain largely uncontacted, the Shompen, a nomadic tribe of around 400 people, rely entirely on the forests for survival. Anthropologist Justin fears the project will devastate their habitat and way of life. “Development in the outside world holds no interest for them,” he notes.
The environmental impact is equally troubling. Great Nicobar, with 80% of its 921 sq km covered in pristine rainforest, hosts over 1,800 animal and 800 plant species, many of which are endemic. Although the government claims only 14% (130 sq km) of the forest will be cleared—resulting in the loss of roughly 964,000 trees—ecologists believe the collateral damage will be far greater.
Ecologist Madhav Gadgil warns that infrastructure development will increase pollution, affecting the island’s fragile ecosystem. Marine life is also at risk. Galathea Bay, a nesting site for the endangered leatherback sea turtle, could suffer irreversible damage alongside other species such as saltwater crocodiles, water monitors, and giant robber crabs.
While the environment ministry asserts the project includes safeguards to protect biodiversity and tribal communities, skeptics remain unconvinced. Earlier this year, 39 international social scientists called the project a “death sentence” for the Shompen, citing their lack of immunity to external diseases like flu or measles, which historically have decimated isolated populations.
Justin shares this fear, recalling the fate of the Nicobarese, the largest tribal group, who were displaced after the 2004 tsunami. Resettlement efforts pushed many into manual labor and settlements, severing their ties to ancestral lands and traditional livelihoods.
For Justin and others, the stakes are clear: the ambitious project could irreparably damage both the environment and the indigenous tribes who have depended on the island’s forests for generations. “The Shompen don’t have the knowledge or means to survive in an industrial world,” he says, echoing a growing anxiety that the island’s delicate balance will be lost forever.
