Tree-planting has become the new buzzword in climate action. From selfie-filled social media posts to grand government campaigns, the image of people planting saplings is now synonymous with environmental responsibility. In districts like East Midnapore, especially during events like World Environment Day, a wave of green enthusiasm sweeps over — roadsides bloom with new saplings, plaques announce corporate CSR drives, and schools host ceremonial plantation programmes.
But beneath the surface of this “green revolution,” a quieter crisis is unfolding.
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“Are we truly making the earth greener, or are we just painting it green for the cameras?” asks Dr Mrinmay Mandal, senior research scholar at Vidyasagar University, who has spent years studying land-use patterns in the Patashpur-1 block of East Midnapore. His satellite-based research between 1990 and 2025 shows a modest increase — about 3 to 4 per cent — in overall vegetation cover. But that data comes with a caveat.
“Vegetation cover has gone up, yes, but that hasn’t solved the ecological problems,” says Dr Mandal. “In many places, things have actually worsened. The issue is not how many trees we plant, but what trees we plant.”
Fast-growing, commercially viable trees — often non-native species — dominate these plantation drives. These include species like eucalyptus, acacia, or hybrid teak, which grow quickly and are easy to maintain. But ecologically, they are almost sterile. “They neither support native birds, nor do they sustain the food chain,” Mandal explains. “It’s like growing crops on plastic soil — it looks fine, but nothing thrives in it.”
The consequences are already visible. In Patashpur-1, the once-frequent sight of Asian Openbill Storks nesting along the Keleghai River has dwindled. A 2023 field study recorded a sharp fall in their nesting sites. “The storks are not finding the right trees to nest in — mature, large-canopied species like Arjun and Peepal,” he says.
Subrata Purohit, a local conservationist, calls this phenomenon the rise of the “leafy desert.” He says, “It looks green, it even smells fresh after the rain — but there’s no life in it. No insects, no birdsong, no fruit-bearing undergrowth. Just a silent row of sterile trees.”