Watching ‘The Snow Leopard’ as an eco-smallholder: who should I empathise with?

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● Poster for the film ‘The Snow Leopard’.

I. Who truly cares for the snow leopard?

The posthumous work of director Wanma Tsairmatar, which won Best Film at the Tokyo International Film Festival, tells a simple story: on the snow-capped highlands, a herder’s sheepfold is attacked by a snow leopard, resulting in the death of nine sheep. This incident sparks conflict and entanglement among four different groups. The herders are those who suffered the loss. The eldest son, Jinba, traps the ‘killer’ snow leopard in the fold and guards it strictly, insisting on its release only once government compensation is paid. The younger son, the young ‘Snow Leopard Lama’, feels boundless compassion for the creature; having shared two life-and-death encounters with this particular leopard, he feels a deep bond with it. A devout believer in Tibetan Buddhism, he hopes his brother will release the leopard unconditionally. Local journalists, arriving on the scene, seem indifferent to whether the leopard is freed or whether the herder is compensated; they only wish to capture compelling footage. Even as the herders struggle in desperation, the journalists boisterously celebrate a colleague’s birthday, illustrating the idea that human joys and sorrows are not interconnected.

Meanwhile, the grassroots officials and police officers sent to handle the situation merely urge the herder to release the leopard quickly, brushing over the matter of compensation with vague promises. Their primary concern is that if any harm should befall this first-class protected species, no one will be able to avoid the responsibility.

● Still from ‘The Snow Leopard’.
The grassroots officials demanded the leopard be released first, while the herder demanded compensation first; thus, the situation reached a stalemate. Among the various parties, only two attempted to break the deadlock. One was the ‘Snow Leopard Lama’, who offered to sell the camera he used to photograph the animal to cover his brother’s losses, though the proposal was rejected. The other was the elderly father, who offered the savings he had spent years accumulating for a pilgrimage to Lhasa to resolve the dispute.

II. A film that captures only the tip of the iceberg

Humans raise sheep for money; snow leopards eat sheep for survival. Both are doing what is necessary within their own worlds, yet this makes them enemies. ‘The Snow Leopard’ does not delve deeply into the reasons why the leopard attacked the livestock, focusing instead on the conflict resulting from the event. The leopard’s lack of release appears to stem from Jinba’s stubbornness: if he simply let go of the compensation and released the animal, everyone could move on in peace. However, we cannot simply place the blame on the victim. This herder is not merely ‘headstrong’; he admitted that if the leopard had killed only one or two sheep, he would not have minded, viewing it as an offering to the spirits of the snowlands. But with nine sheep dead, the loss is immense for a herder already facing harsh living conditions. He also believes the root of the problem is that his hunting rifle was confiscated, leaving the snow leopards without any deterrent and emboldening them to act without restraint. But is the frequent attacking of livestock truly just because herders lack guns to intimidate them? The primary reason wildlife destroys crops or attacks livestock is likely because their habitats have been compressed or their survival threatened. Whether it is the fragmentation of habitats caused by human over-development or the upward shift of the treeline due to global warming, these are factors that cannot be ignored.

III. Who exactly is intruding into whose life?

The plot reminds me of the 2021 northward migration of elephants in Yunnan, which captivated the nation. A herd of Asian elephants travelled from their original habitat in the Xishuangbanna Nature Reserve, heading north for 500 kilometres to Kunming, eventually returning to their habitat only after government intervention. Short-distance migration is not uncommon for elephants, but the distance this herd travelled far exceeded the scope of normal migration, and they did not follow a fixed route. Consequently, scientists believe this was not a migration, but rather a search for a new home. In fact, thanks to government and public conservation efforts, the number of wild elephants in China has increased from 193 in the 1990s to around 300 today. This increase means they require more habitat. However, increasing urbanisation and human interference have further fragmented, diminished, and eroded these habitats. Yet, restoring or expanding wildlife habitats is a daunting and lengthy undertaking. In a reality where environmental issues are worsening and ‘human-animal conflicts’ like those in the film are frequent, how we can coexist harmoniously with wildlife is a question that warrants deep reflection.

IV. As a smallholder, who do I empathise with?

If I had watched this film a few years ago while working in the city, I might have been most moved by the young lama’s compassion. Now, as a farmer, I find myself instinctively empathising with the herders. Over the past year of practicing ecological farming, I have come to realise exactly how many compromises and sacrifices are required to farm without damaging the environment.

● A peach tree that has just been bagged; the whole of May is spent thinning and bagging apples and peaches.

After “graduating” from Foodthink’s first Ecological Farming Internship Programme, I moved to Weihai to run a small ecological orchard on my own. It sits halfway up a mountain; to the north, just across a road, is a natural scenic area, and to the south is a mixed woodland. To the east and west are shallow gullies, beyond which lie other people’s orchards.

● The orchard is surrounded by mountains.

Since taking over the orchard last spring, I have been implementing ecological planting: no pesticides, no chemical fertilisers, making enzymes and compost, letting the grass grow, and introducing a variety of crops to enhance biodiversity. Without the “high-tech” boost of chemical inputs, the first year’s yield was indeed pitifully low.

● Practising ecological agriculture by using weed compost.

Because the orchard is on the edge of the woodland, wildlife often leave their mark—magpies, pheasants, wild rabbits, and more; there is a constant stream of visitors.

The birds love to dig up newly sown seeds to eat, or fly to the branches to peck at the largest, ripest fruit. The rabbits are pickier, ignoring common weeds in favour of legumes and cruciferous plants; whether I plant soybeans, peanuts, radishes or greens, they are eaten to the roots just as they sprout.

● The famous British picture books about Peter Rabbit tell stories of clever, mischievous rabbits outwitting humans in vegetable gardens, which were later adapted into a film. When the story happens to you, the rabbits aren’t quite so cute.

Yet, the vegetables grown by the older folks in the neighbouring orchard remain untouched; only mine suffer. Upon inquiring, I realised why the birds rarely plague their crops: they mix pesticides into their seeds, which prevents both soil pests and birds from eating them. As for why the rabbits only visit me, the difference between our orchards makes it clear. In the other orchards, the weeds are hoed clean, whereas in mine, the grass reaches knee-height before I mow it. In other orchards, rabbits are too exposed; mine is full of hiding places for them.

Like the herders in the film, I initially took my frustration out on these animals. My original intention in ecological farming was to protect the environment, yet once the environment improved and attracted wildlife, I began to resent them.

● The un-mowed orchard has become a paradise for small wild animals; pheasant feathers can be found on the ground.

After some self-reflection, I began exploring ways to deter rabbits and birds without harming them. I tried fencing the vegetable plots, but fences don’t stop birds, and in the frequent force-seven or eight gales of Weihai, my simple fences didn’t last long before being blown down. I also tried using scents and sonic deterrents to drive away the rabbits, but to no avail. Finally, on a fellow farmer’s advice, I used insect netting to build small arched shelters to keep out the birds and rabbits, and I can now finally grow beans and vegetables on a small scale.

Compared to the neighbours who can solve everything with pesticides, it has been a real struggle. But I had mentally prepared myself for this effort before choosing the path of ecological farming, so I don’t find it bitter.

● Small arched shelters built with insect netting on the advice of a fellow farmer.

While I empathise with the herders in the film regarding the trouble wildlife brings to farming, our situations are fundamentally different. I chose to leave a glamorous city job (aka. the life of a corporate drone in Big Tech) for ecological farming because I believe its essence isn’t just producing safe food, but fostering a harmonious, sustainable relationship between agriculture and the environment. Recognising the urgency and severity of climate change, I actively chose to cede some of my “interests” as a farmer to nature.

In contrast, the herders of the high plateau—practically “invisible” in modern society—are almost entirely passive victims of ecological degradation. In the pursuit of rapid GDP growth, we often shout slogans about achieving goals “at any cost”, while ignoring whether those who actually pay “the cost of development” are willing participants. Only when environmental issues become global priorities do people start talking about wildlife protection. In this process, we see the government’s determination and the researchers’ efforts, but we rarely hear about the grassroots farmers and herders who suffer economic losses because of wildlife.

This is why I have always admired Director Wanma Tsêden: he doesn’t portray Tibetan life through an exoticised lens, but with a genuine care for life, exploring the complex relationship between the ordinary individual and the era, society, and nature.

《Snow Leopard》 is like a prism reflecting various social issues, used to explore the philosophical proposition of how humans coexist with heaven, earth, and nature. As I farm here in the mountains of Weihai, I am deeply grateful to Director Wanma Tsêden for allowing me to truly see the plight of the herders from a cinema in a town thousands of miles away. Leaving the cinema, I will continue to explore the harmony between humans and nature through my ecological farming practices.

Foodthink Author
Li Pengyue
Former IT professional, now an ecological small-farmer running an ecological orchard independently in Weihai, Shandong. A participant in Foodthink’s first Ecological Farming Internship Programme, with a keen interest in and curiosity about environmental issues.

 

 

 

 

Unless otherwise noted, images are provided by the author

Editor: Mei Ying

Published by Foodthink