The Tiger (41 page)

Looked at from this perspective, Russia’s conservation efforts have been a resounding success. The presence and current viability of tigers in the Russian Far East may have begun as an accident of history, but it has been maintained by human intention, often at considerable personal risk. And now it may require more: in October 2009, the international Siberian Tiger Monitoring Program reported a precipitous drop in tiger sightings in its sample areas. The decrease—approximately 40 percent below the averages recorded over the previous decade—has been attributed to several factors, but chief among them is poaching. Even though the fine for killing a tiger in Russia is severe—approximately $20,000—the vicissitudes of Russian law make it nearly impossible to convict tiger poachers. In order to succeed in court, one must be able to produce a dead tiger, a suspect, and two witnesses—a hard combination to come by in the deep forest. Some of the details may differ, but in terms of the collective impact on Amur tigers, it is the early ’90s all over again.

While Inspection Tiger and its sister agencies have been “reorganized,” disempowered, and starved for funding over the past decade, the responsibility for wildlife protection in Primorye has been shifted from the federal government to the territory. The territorial government has, in turn, handed this job to the Committee for Hunting Management, which oversees sixty thousand registered hunters. The results are analogous to privatization: a job requiring objective oversight has been given to an entity with conflicting interests. Hunting managers don’t, as a rule, like tigers very much because a single tiger can kill scores of deer, boar, or elk in a year, thus depriving hunters of game they feel is rightfully theirs. Add to this the fact that, since 2000, the number of active wardens in Primorye has been slashed and slashed again to the point that one warden may be responsible for overseeing thousands of square miles of forest, and the new data, though inconclusive, begin to make more sense.

As of this writing (December 2009), fewer than four hundred tigers may remain in the Russian Far East. Elsewhere in Asia, tiger populations continue to slip as well. If the tiger is permitted to go extinct in the wild, it would be the largest carnivore to do so since the American lion (Panthera leo atrox) died out at the end of the Pleistocene, approximately ten thousand years ago. The extinction of the American lion happened to coincide with the dawn of our current era, which some scientists have taken to calling the Anthropocene. It is characterized by increasingly dense concentrations of human beings living in permanent settlements on a landscape that has been progressively altered and degraded in order to support our steadily growing population.

The difference between the extinctions at the close of the Pleistocene and the bulk of those taking place today is one of consciousness: this time, however passively they may occur, they still amount to voluntary acts. Simply put: we know better. This is not an opinion, or a moral judgment; it is a fact. And yet, just as the tiger has not evolved to understand that contact with modern humans and their possessions is generally fatal, we have failed to grasp the fact that we can no longer behave like small bands of nomads who simply move on to the next valley—or oil field, or foreign market—when the current one is exhausted. It is in this context—the meeting of immediate needs versus long-term self-preservation—that the inherent similarities, and limitations, of tiger nature and human nature reveal themselves most starkly. In the case of the tiger, this is less surprising.

To be fair, ten thousand years is an astonishingly short time for a species to fundamentally remake its relationship to the systems that keep it alive. But humans are astonishing, and that is precisely what we have done: by mass-producing food, energy, material goods, and ourselves, we have attempted to secede from, and override, the natural order.* Now with the true costs of this experiment becoming painfully apparent, we must remake this relationship yet again. In this, the tiger is a bellwether—one of thousands of similarly vulnerable species, which are, at once, casualties of our success and symbols of our failure. The current moment is proof of our struggle to evolve (perhaps “mature” is a better word) beyond outmoded fears and attitudes, to face the fact that nature is neither our enemy nor our slave.

So how does one remake this relationship in the Russian Far East—with a tiger?

One could start by restoring oversight in the form of well-trained and well-funded agencies like Schetinin’s Inspection Tiger. In addition to protecting tigers and leopards, these agencies would protect the prey base, not just for big cats, but for human hunters, too. One might then propose the creation of jointly managed wildlife preserves on the Russian-Chinese border. If this was agreed to, one would assemble an international team to assess forest cover in the border region to see if it could, given sufficient quantities of prey, support a viable population of tigers. If this was found to be the case, one would go a step further and initiate a program to start removing the thousands of snares and other trapping devices that plague Manchuria’s remaining forests like so many landmines. A system of protected corridors could then be created, allowing predators and prey to migrate naturally and safely across the border as they always have, while increased pressure is brought to bear on the cross-border tiger trade.

With China engaged as an active participant in the effort to revive one of its most revered and potent symbols, there would be the opportunity to move beyond the defensive posture that country has so often taken toward foreign initiatives and begin to share the wealth of knowledge that Russians, Indians, Americans, and others have accumulated with regard to tigers and related matters of wildlife conservation and management. In order to herald this new era, an international tiger conference could be convened in a Far Eastern border city, showcasing the Amur tiger and celebrating the renewed spirit of cooperation between these two enormous and sometimes tigerish countries. With any luck, this event might coincide with the Chinese Year of the Tiger, which comes around every twelve years.

Such scenarios may look like pipe dreams, but, in fact, all of these things have either recently occurred or are currently in the works. In 2002, the four-hundred-square-mile Hunchun Nature Reserve was created in China’s Jilin province, adjacent to the North Korean and Russian borders. Between 2002 and 2007, Chinese volunteers removed thousands of snares and traps from the Hunchun Reserve. In that same period, reports of tiger sightings increased by roughly 2,000 percent—from about five per year to nearly a hundred sightings annually. In 2004, an active cross-border migration route was discovered on the Ussuri River, and researchers have concluded that roughly a dozen more tigers are living in that area. Another viable conduit exists between the Sikhote-Alin and China’s Wandashan Mountains in Heilongjiang Province, and the possibilities of a preserve are being explored there as well.

In 2008, Tatyana Aramileva, one of the most competent policy makers in the region and well-versed in conservation issues, was put in charge of Primorye’s Committee for Hunting Management. Her appointment represents the potential for a sea change in wildlife protection across the region. In June 2009, the Global Tiger Initiative, an international alliance that includes the Smithsonian Institution, the World Bank, and the World Wildlife Fund, among others, announced the creation of a generously funded new program dedicated to training game wardens in the interdiction of tiger traffickers. In the fall of 2009, China—for the first time ever—actively solicited the advice and opinions of NGOs on matters of tiger conservation, the tiger bone trade, and that country’s central role in the rapid decline of tiger populations across Asia. In October 2009, at the Khatmandu Global Tiger Workshop, Russia announced that it would host an international conference on tiger conservation to be held in Vladivostok in the fall of 2010. Because 2010 is the Chinese Year of the Tiger, the conservation community has adopted it as a slogan and rallying cry to draw attention to the critical state of the world’s wild tigers. The commitments made and the actions taken in this pivotal year will likely determine whether or not tigers remain viable in the wild.

What these agencies and the millions of private citizens who support them are ultimately seeking is what Dale Miquelle calls “The Coexistence Recipe,” an enlightened and multifaceted approach to mediating the complex, and sometimes conflicting, needs of the humans and tigers who share a common landscape. This recipe is elusive, costly, and time-consuming to prepare, but one thing is clear: its active ingredients are not grief or guilt, but vision and desire. John Goodrich, the longtime field coordinator for the Siberian Tiger Project, said it best: “For tigers to exist, we have to want them to exist.”1

Now more than ever.

* The only other warm-blooded creature that rivals us in number is chickens. After that, you must go to rats and mice to find a comparably numerous species. In terms of our collective impact on the planet, one would have to look to asteroids and supervolcanoes in order to find a comparison.

Sine qua non is not usually used in the plural, but in this case, it is the only way to describe the contributions made by the following people:

Dr. Dmitri Pikunov, director of the Laboratory for the Ecology of Large Mammals at the Far Eastern Institute of Geography in Primorye, is the veteran tiger researcher who first documented these tragic and signal events. I am grateful for his passion, and for his time.

Sasha Snow is the British filmmaker who brought this story to a wider audience in the form of the multiple award-winning drama-documentary Conflict Tiger. His vision, generosity, friendship, and enthusiasm emboldened me to go to Russia, and have nourished me ever since.

Yuri Trush, of course, is the linchpin of this story. His patience, kindness, and willingness to explain in detail a series of events that are, at times, almost unbearable to contemplate gave me a life-changing window into one Russian soul. On a daily basis, Trush manifests the verity that faith is a physical act. It is my fervent hope that this book reflects that fact.

Josh Stenberg accompanied me on every step of my journeys through Manchuria and Primorye. Josh speaks eight languages, including Mandarin and Russian, and his contributions went far beyond those of an ordinary translator, at times including those of fixer, minder, cultural advisor, counselor, and historian. In short, Josh was my Dersu; I can safely and proudly say that, without him, this book would be a different and lesser thing, if it had come to be at all.

I am continually amazed by—and grateful for—the generosity of strangers. The residents of Sobolonye and Yasenovie were welcoming and helpful in spite of all they have endured. In particular, I wish to thank Alexander Borisov, Tamara Borisova, Sergei Boyko, Denis Burukhin, Lida Burukhina, Ludmilla Gvordzik (Baba Liuda), Viktor Isayev, Leonid Lopatin, Sergei Luzgan, Alexei Markov, Irina Peshkova, Irina and the late Andrei Onofreychuk, Yevgeny Sakirko, Igor and Tatyana Sedykh, Anatoly Sukhanov (Kopchony), and Danila Zaitsev.

In Krasny Yar, Vasily and Natalya Dunkai were gracious hosts of strangers as were their daughter, Olga, and her husband, Lyanka. Thanks also to Mikhail Dunkai, Nikolai Gorunov, Alexander Konchuga, and Natalya Pionka.

In Luchegorsk, Yuri Trush’s wife, Lyubov, welcomed and fed us day after day while putting up with marathon interviews.

A number of current and former rangers, wardens, and inspectors from various hunting and wildlife protection agencies took the time to share their memories, opinions, and documents, among them Anatoli Khobitnov, Alexander Lazurenko, Yuri Pionka, Vladimir Shibnev, Yevgeny Smirnov, Vitaly Starostin, Anatoli Tarasenko, Yevgeny Voropaev, and Sergei Zubtsov. I am especially grateful to Vladimir Ivanovich Schetinin, founding chief of Inspection Tiger, for his refreshing candor and profound dedication.

There is a distinguished legacy of conservation in Primorye, and the fact that it has persisted so vigorously, against all odds, is a key reason there are still tigers and leopards living wild in the Far East. The courage, determination, and sacrifice of these individuals cannot be overstated and, collectively, they have given this book a larger purpose beyond mere storytelling. In particular, I wish to thank Sergei Bereznyuk and his colleagues at Phoenix Fund, Vasily Solkin of the Far Eastern Institute of Geography, Sergei Sokolov of the Primorye Institute for Sustainable Resource Management, Sarah Christie of 21st Century Tiger, Michiel Hötte of the Tigris Foundation, and John Goodrich of the Wildlife Conservation Society. I am grateful to Aleksandr Laptev who generously granted me permission to visit the Lazovski Zapovednik, and to Linda Kerley, Vasily Khramtsov, and Galina Salkina, who shared their deep knowledge of that beautiful place. I am equally grateful to Anatoli Astafyev for granting me permission to visit the Sikhote-Alin Zapovednik, and to Vladimir Melnikov and Nikolai Rybin for sharing their extensive knowledge of the Sikhote-Alin tigers. Thanks also to Viktor Yudin for his time and tigers, and to Yevgeny Suvorov for sharing his remarkable collection of data on human-tiger conflict in Primorye. Namfou Rutten and Alex von Kemenade were generous hosts in Beijing, as was Audrey Perestyuk in Khabarovsk.

I owe a special debt of gratitude to Dale Miquelle, director of the Wildlife Conservation Society’s Siberian Tiger Project, whose generosity, hospitality, and openness to all manner of questions and requests served as a touchstone and reality check throughout this process.

A portion of the proceeds from this book are being donated to several organizations working on the front lines of the tiger protection effort in Primorye:

In addition to supporting Yuri Trush’s work in Udeghe Legend National Park, Phoenix Fund, www.phoenix.vl.ru, based in Vladivostok, is currently assisting more than a dozen inspection teams in Primorye.

The Tigris Foundation, www.tigrisfoundation.nl, based in Amsterdam, and 21st Century Tiger, www.21stCenturyTiger.org, which is affiliated with the London Zoo, are both supporting the work of inspection teams in Primorye.