An Amur tiger, also known as a Siberian tiger, tests the waters in Russia
Tamim Ridlo/Shutterstock
Tigers Between Empires
Jonathan C. Slaght, Allen Lane (UK); Farrar, Straus and Giroux (US)
The Siberian tiger is an awesome animal, with “cuts of black and washes of orange”, writes conservationist Jonathan Slaght, a roar like “some terrible tide”, at home in the bitter winters of Russia’s far east, the only tiger to share a home with bears. More precisely, geographically, it is the Amur tiger, its range fanning out from the Amur river basin, one of Asia’s largest watersheds. The Amur delineates the border between Russia and China in the east, and it is the interplay of these two great empires, and the potted fortunes of their tiger, that form the spine of Slaght’s compelling new book Tigers Between Empires: The journey to save the Siberian tiger from extinction.
There may once have been upwards of 3000 tigers spread across this vast tract of north-east Asia. Already under threat, in 1947, the Soviet Union became the first country in the world to legally protect tigers. For a time, their numbers rallied, Slaght tells us. But large carnivores have always had a particular way of mirroring human politics. The collapse of the Soviet Union impoverished people in these far-flung reaches of the country, forcing them to turn back to trapping to survive. By the end of the 20th century, tigers were severely threatened on both sides of the border, their numbers decimated by hunting, logging, the poaching of their prey and a general sense their presence was indicative of a backwards civilisation.
It was into this environment that the New Englander Dale Miquelle arrived to manage the Siberian Tiger Project. In 1992, Miquelle landed in Primorye, the furthest eastern reach of Russia, hard up against the Sea of Japan, a land of wild, untrammelled forests and rich, intact ecosystems. Slaght, who has spent decades here himself, is a wonderful guide, his descriptions of this unique landscape bristling with detail and feeling. As I read, I ached to be there, where cliffs forested with Korean pine and oak meet the ocean, and tigers prowl the beaches.
Slaght, also a field biologist, understands the obsession of those working on the project, some from the US, most Russian, who happily head into the woods for weeks to ski after tiger tracks. There is a shifting cast of both humans and tigers, and we become as wedded to the fortunes of the cats – proud Olga, brave Severina, orphaned Zolushka – as we do to the people who have dragged them back from the brink, one individual at a time. As is so often the case, changing the narrative is as important as the science. In one moving scene, a farmer recounts how he chose not to shoot Olga because of the stories Miquelle had told him about her. Coexistence was possible, Miquelle realised, because the farmer saw her now as an individual.
In an era of surging nationalism, the project, and this book, is a timely reminder of what collaboration across borders can achieve. For 30 years, Americans and Russians worked side by side, driven by a greater, shared purpose, with remarkable results. So little was known about Amur tigers when they began, and their dedication and pioneering techniques have given this magnificent animal another chance.
In 2022, Miquelle left Russia, 30 years after he began his work. Foreign-run non-governmental organisations were no longer welcome in the country. But when he left, the area of Amur tiger habitat under protection was six times larger than when he arrived. There are 500 of the tigers in the wild, twice as many as in the mid-20th century. Nothing is stable; we can take nothing for granted. But such hope is a heady tonic for today’s world.
Adam Weymouth is the author of Lone Wolf, shortlisted for the Baillie Gifford prize
Topics:
