Where Do the Maheshes of the World Go? A haunting question lingers as the global climate crisis deepens, leaving vulnerable communities and their livestock with nowhere to turn. This stark reality hit home during the recent climate conference in Belém, Brazil, where I found myself immersed in conversations that revealed the intricate web connecting climate change, livelihoods, and the fate of animals like Mahesh, the cow from Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s poignant story. But here’s where it gets controversial: while vegan activists outside the conference hall demanded an end to animal-based food, inside, the voices of pastoralist communities like the Datooga of Tanzania and the herders of Bangladesh’s Bathan grazing grounds were barely heard. And this is the part most people miss: the climate crisis isn’t just about melting ice caps—it’s about the disappearance of traditional grazing lands, the loss of native livestock breeds, and the erosion of cultural practices that have sustained communities for centuries.
The conference, held at the Hangar Convention and Fair Center of the Amazon and the Waldemar Henrique Theater, brought together representatives from 24 countries, including myself, staying at the Barbosa house in Belém. Each day, a bus ride of over an hour took us to the venue, where discussions ranged from climate financing to adaptation strategies. On the third day, I met German Qaghay Sedoyeka, a representative of Tanzania’s Datooga community, whose nomadic lifestyle is under threat from droughts, untimely rainfall, and the migration of young people to cities. German’s story mirrored the struggles of Bangladesh’s herders, who once tended cows with names inspired by Bangla film heroes, but now face water scarcity, heatwaves, and annual floods that submerge their pastures.
The Datooga, like the herders of Sirajganj and Pabna, share a deep bond with their livestock, viewing them as family. Yet, as German pointed out, these animals—and the people who depend on them—are conspicuously absent from climate discussions. But here’s the bold truth: multinational meat production is a significant driver of climate change, yet corporate interests often overshadow the needs of small-scale pastoralists. Vegan activists outside the venue held banners declaring, “Animals are our friends, not food,” while inside, the complexities of livelihoods tied to livestock were largely ignored. This disconnect raises a critical question: Can we achieve a ‘just transition’ without addressing the intertwined fates of humans and animals?
For the first time, Bangladesh’s Ministry of Fisheries and Livestock participated in the climate conference, emphasizing the need to showcase the country’s strengths alongside its vulnerabilities. Yet, the reality on the ground is grim. Native livestock breeds have been replaced by hybrid cows confined to farms, traditional herding systems have vanished, and heatwaves are spawning new animal diseases. Bangladesh’s famous fish habitats are also under threat due to rising temperatures and changing spawning conditions. Despite these challenges, the ministry aims to produce millions of metric tons of fish, meat, milk, and eggs by 2024–25. And this is where it gets even more complex: How can these targets be met without addressing climate shocks, financing gaps, and the welfare of animals and rural communities?
The ‘just transition’ debate took center stage at the conference, with speakers like Pieternel Boogaard of IFAD stressing the importance of financing local communities’ traditional adaptation methods. Ruleta Camacho Thomas, climate envoy of Antigua and Barbuda, urged immediate climate finance, while Rwanda’s Environment Minister Dr. Bernadette Arakwiye highlighted the need for local innovation. Mukhtar Babayev, Azerbaijan’s Minister of Ecology and Natural Resources, called for an inclusive, gender-sensitive, and community-based financing process. Yet, the question remains: Will these efforts prioritize native species, traditional grazing lands, and rural women’s knowledge, or will multinational corporations continue to dominate the livestock trade?
As I refilled my conference-issued water bottle, I met Fanuel Operi Murangi, a farmer from Namibia’s Bandero indigenous community. In the Omaheke region of the Kalahari Desert, droughts and bushfires are making livestock rearing nearly impossible. Fanuel’s story echoed the plight of Gafur, Amina, and Mahesh from Chattopadhyay’s tale—a farmer driven to despair by the loss of his grazing land and the harsh realities of climate change. Today, countless Gafurs, Aminas, and Maheshes face similar struggles, trapped between colonialism’s legacy, inequality, and the relentless march of climate shocks.
Here’s the provocative question I leave you with: In a world shaped by human greed and indifference, where can the Maheshes of the world escape? Will their plight ever find a place on humanity’s climate stage, or will they remain silent victims of our collective failure? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s spark a conversation that challenges the status quo and seeks justice for both humans and animals alike.
