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By Aditya Malaviya The black sand of Kollam district in coastal Kerala is classified as ‘strategic’ because it contains minerals for atomic energy and defence applications. Therefore, indiscriminate mining of the sand can continue, regardless of damage to the ecosystem and the livelihoods of people
This is the story of a simple people who are cursing the day the world beat a path to their door, or, more accurately, to their shores… It all began with the discovery that the south Alapuzha coast and a stretch of Kollam district was rich in mineral sand -- commonly referred to as “black sand”. This sand is mixed with heavy minerals like monazite, ilmanite, rutile and zircon, which gives it its characteristic black colour. And their uses are as exotic as their names: ilmanite and rutile are used in the production of white pigment, titanium metal and as flux for welding electrodes; zircon is used in the ceramics and refractory industries, as a raw material for the production of metal, and as an alloy for use as structural material in nuclear power reactors. Monazite is radioactive because it contains thorium and uranium. It is estimated that the heavy mineral content in the area is 17 million tonnes out of a total raw sand reserve of 242 million tonnes (the ilmanite content itself is an impressive 9 million tonnes). The four panchayats of Chavara, Neendakara, Ponmana and Alapada, which include the villages of Pandaraturuthu, Cheriazhikal, Alapada, Kuzhithari, Parayakadavu, Sriyikkdu and Azheekal in Kollam district of coastal Kerala, are fighting a losing battle against black sand mining, as bulldozers and JCB machines continue to take huge bites out of the sea front. 
“The sea is being blamed for land loss, but Kerala Minerals and Metals Ltd (KMML) cannot distance itself from it. Mining started here way back in 1902, as part of an Indo-Norwegian project. Then, the East India Company expanded the scope of mining and widened the area being mined. After Independence, Indian Rare Earths (IRE), a Government of India undertaking, and Kerala Minerals and Metals Ltd took over the mining, and so it has been ever since. However, IRE’s activities here have been interrupted for the past 10 months because of protests against mining by people living in and around the project area,” says Krishna of Sewa Mandir, an NGO spearheading agitations against black sand mining in Kollam and the surrounding areas. He adds: “Because there is no formal organisation leading these largely spontaneous protests by people in project-affected villages, some political parties have jumped into the fray if only for the sake of political mileage.” According to Krishna, people who have been living here for generations say that about five kilometres of land have been washed away by the sea in the last 100 years. “After the seawall was built about 25 years ago there has been a decline in land erosion,” he explains, pointing to the meandering wall of mammoth boulders stretching along the shoreline. 
“The company has declared 17 km of our coast a mining area. Today, sand mining is (taking place) along a seven kilometre stretch here, while in another stretch, Chavara, mining is over because the area has been stripped bare. In the next stretch, Palama, mining is complete in almost 50% of the area,” says Murli Azheekal, a poet-turned-activist who has been agitating against sand mining operations for almost a decade and is upset at the callousness displayed both by company officials and the local administration over the plight of fishermen whose livelihoods and homes are on the brink of being washed away, quite literally. Murli says: “For years we have been watching helplessly as huge machines chew large chunks of beach sand everyday, which is carried by tipper truck to the plant where ilmanite is separated. The waste sand is then dumped back on the shoreline, only now it is white because the mineral content has been extracted.” He continues: “To make matters worse, in 1998, the Department of Atomic Energy reviewed the policy of beach sand heavy mineral exploitation and published an extraordinary notification allowing private sector participation in setting up plants. With the way clear, the Kerala government issued a mining lease to Kerala Rare Earths and Minerals Limited (KREML) in April 2003, without, however, conducting any ecological studies to assess the impact of its decision on the shoreline. This was too much for our people to swallow. Incidentally, KREML is a joint venture between Cochin Minerals and Rutiles Limited (CMRL), a private sector company that has been exporting mineral sand for years, Indian Rare Earths, a public sector unit engaged in black sand mining in Chavara, in Kollam district, for more than 80 years, and Kerala State Industrial Development Corporation.” Each season, the Arabian Sea claims large chunks of the shore in several parts of Kerala. Murli is not surprised. In his native Kollam district, about 250 km south of Thrissur, as local fishermen go about the daily business of getting their trawlers ready for fishing, they know that every monsoon will bring with it a new set of problems; that rising sea levels, thanks to the relentless sand mining, will exacerbate their already precarious lives and livelihood. In the village cluster of Alappad, the situation is bleak. A 16 km strip of land, Alappad is sandwiched between the Arabian Sea and a canal and is, at places, less than 50 metres wide. Yet, bulldozers are busy gouging out black mineral sand between the tides, unmindful of the sea hungrily lapping at the main road in the village. Alappad was one of the worst affected coastal areas of Kerala when the tsunami struck, and there are signs of it everywhere. But, while the tsunami may have temporarily halted the sand mining, today it’s business as usual despite local protests and court interventions. “These minerals are of strategic importance: the sand is classified as ‘strategic’, because of the importance of the minerals in atomic energy and defence applications, and it is thus exempt from India’s CRZ (Coastal Regulation Zone) notification of 1991. And so while the CRZ notification aims to protect the fragile ecosystem of coastal areas, unfettered mining that lowers the shoreline and allows brackish seawater to mix with onshore freshwater bodies will devastate the water table and ecology of the area,” says Dr T N Prakash, senior scientist with the Centre for Earth Science Studies in the state capital Thiruvananthapuram. A specialist in marine geology, coastal processes, placer deposits and integrated coastal zone management plans, Dr Prakash is more than familiar with the hazards of coastal mining. “As per the CRZ norms you cannot take sand from the coast, but the exemption of these minerals does not mean (that you can carry out) unsustainable mining,” he says. “If mining continues unchecked and is driven purely by economics instead of ecological determinants, then there is a very real danger of the sea breaching the shore at many places and encroaching inland,” says Dr Prakash. “As a rule, we estimate 60,000 metre cube of sediment arrival per one kilometre of shoreline, and the quantity that can be mined should ideally be 60%-70% of this number. This could be sustainable; any more and there is great risk of damaging the local ecology, even permanently.” Dr Prakash believes that since the beach builds up post-monsoon, that is the best period to mine the beach, not during the monsoons when sediment is being deposited. “There is a need to do what we call, in our parlance, ‘sand budgeting’ or ‘sediment budgeting’, which, very simply, is the sum of what is being deposited and what is being taken out. Sustainable mining needs to balance this number.” As if the sand mining were not enough, indiscriminate construction of seawalls to stop the sea from encroaching further inland is another problem for local inhabitants since it hinders fishing by damaging boats and fishing equipment. While there is no denying that “certain areas need seawalls, these must be constructed scientifically, and maintained periodically,” says Murli, pointing to the meandering wall of huge boulders constantly being pounded by the sea. “We should have a mix of technology and coastal vegetation cover to prevent loss of land. Developing mangroves and encouraging locally suitable coastal vegetation to grow could be explored,” he says.
“In earlier days, the dug area was left as it was. Now it is being filled by waste white sand that gets washed away as soon as it rains,” says Murli, adding, “the mined area is swallowed up by the sea. As a result, drinking water is now only available through tubewells which have to be sunk to almost 1,000-1,200 feet. Water at shallower levels is not fit for drinking.” “Before the land was swallowed up by the sea, people were able to fish near their homes, as in Kambavala village. This village had nearly 100 people engaged in fishing in a half-kilometre radius around the village. Now it’s not possible largely because of erosion and the construction of a seawall. Now the fisher folk have to go out to sea to fish, making fishing a very expensive process. Some families are resorting to growing kitchen gardens,” says Murli. As a case in point, Murli says that 50 years ago his family grew paddy on 700 acres of coastal land. Now all this land is under the sea, including his ancestral home! “The KMMC is offering us compensation of Rs 17,000 for every cent of land if we move out (one cent is 1/100th of an acre; in square feet, one cent is 435.6 square feet). How can this be enough? What will we do with this paltry sum? The company wants us to move immediately and is not giving us any employment either. It seems there is a larger political game behind this,” says Sharda, who was in jail for a day because she protested against the company. Sharda and her husband Binu have been living on their land for generations and are flummoxed as to why anyone would want to force them off their land. Binu fishes for a livelihood and earns Rs 12,000 a year. “There are only 200 families left here out of the original 2,500 villages which were here earlier. Everyone’s left, either having sold off their land or waiting for the sea to swallow it before being forced to leave,” says Panmana despondently. Rekha, 16, stands in the shadow of her mother, Bhasura, a widow with three children. “We are afraid the sea will swallow us all soon. We are willing to sell our land to the company if it offers us employment,” Bhasura says resignedly. Her 22-year-old son, Suchit, fishes for a livelihood. “We will stay as long as the sea offers us sustenance. As mining increases, the sea is coming nearer and we may soon have to leave. In the name of elections, politicians promise a lot but nothing happens. People are forced to flee or sell because they are bereft of any livelihood options,” he says, his eyes flashing in anger. Krishna looks down at his notes: “Opposition to granting rights to private companies to mine ilmanite-rich mineral sand between Alapuzha and Neendakara in Kollam is gaining strength with the formation of (at least three) mineral sand-protection committees. According to them, such mineral-rich sand with a high percentage of ilmanite, raw material for producing titanium dioxide, is available only here. In fact, a resolution passed at a titanium pigment manufacturers conference held in 1993 in Chicago had recorded that good quality ilmanite would be available only in Kerala coast after 2008. The race is on…” (Aditya Malaviya is a Bhopal-based journalist and researcher) InfoChange News & Features, April 2008
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