TRAFFIC’s Tiger Report- Inside the Global Struggle to Keep a Species Alive

A Bengal tiger in a safari park.

A new analysis from the global wildlife trade watchdog TRAFFIC reveals a troubling shift: criminal networks are adapting more swiftly than the conservation systems meant to stop them. Despite decades of international safeguards, the illicit trade in tigers is not only thriving but increasingly centered on the trafficking of whole animals—both living and dead. Investigators suggest the surge may be linked to commercial breeding operations, as well as to animals seized soon after poaching or before their bodies can be processed. Rising demand for exotic pets and high-end taxidermy appears to be adding further fuel to this burgeoning trade.

The sixth installment of TRAFFIC’s Skin and Bones series paints an unflinching picture of the global tiger trade. Between 2000 and mid-2025, authorities around the world recorded 2,551 seizures—representing at least 3,808 tigers. From 2020 to June 2025 alone, officials logged 765 incidents, the equivalent of roughly nine tigers seized each month. The single worst year on record was 2019, with 141 cases, closely followed by 139 in 2023. While the majority of incidents occurred within the thirteen countries that still harbor wild tigers—most prominently China, India, Indonesia and Vietnam—nations with no wild populations, including the United States, Mexico and the United Kingdom, also reported significant activity. Although enforcement has strengthened over the years, so too has the sophistication of the illegal trade. Notably, the proportion of seizures involving body parts has dropped from 90 percent in the early 2000s to around 60 percent since 2020, signalling a marked rise in the trafficking of whole carcasses and live animals. In Indonesia, Russia, Thailand and Vietnam, more than 40 percent of confiscations now involve entire tigers.

The report also identifies critical enforcement hotspots: tiger reserves in India and Bangladesh, Indonesia’s Aceh province, the borderlands between Vietnam and Laos, and major consumption hubs such as Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. Regional demand patterns vary sharply as well. In the United States and Mexico, the appetite centres on live tigers kept as exotic pets; in Europe, interest leans toward traditional remedies and decorative taxidermy. Across much of Asia, however, the demand remains focused on skins, bones, claws and whole carcasses. Ultimately, TRAFFIC emphasizes that seizures tell only part of the story, urging governments to deepen cross-border cooperation and pursue intelligence-driven, multi-agency operations capable of dismantling the criminal networks behind this relentless trade. 

TRAFFIC’s findings amount to a stark warning: law-enforcement bodies and conservation organizations must urgently reinforce their efforts to shield tigers—and countless other imperiled species—from the criminal networks that profit from their decline. The report underscores the need for coordinated, cross-border action capable of dismantling the trafficking chains that span continents. Perhaps most unsettling is the evidence that captive-breeding operations are helping to sustain the black market. Many of these facilities—often referred to as “tiger farms” in China, Thailand and Vietnam—have existed since the 1980s, established expressly to produce a steady supply of animals for their body parts. Their products routinely flow into consumer markets, muddying the waters for investigators trying to distinguish the illegal trade in wild tigers and, in the process, reinforcing and normalizing demand in regions where wealth and consumption are rapidly growing. The report makes clear that rooting out these facilities and closing them permanently is essential. Without a decisive escalation in efforts to interrupt the trade at every link in the chain, the world faces the very real prospect of a future in which wild tigers vanish altogether.        

The Tiger Returns- A Gujarat Wilderness Reborn

The tiger that had entered Gujarat from Madhya Pradesh drinking from an artificial waterhole.

In the early months of 2025, an unexpected chapter began unfolding in the wild heart of Gujarat. For the first time in nearly three decades, the unmistakable presence of a tiger— a young, five-year-old male—was captured on camera. Having journeyed from the forests of neighbouring Madhya Pradesh, the solitary cat was first glimpsed moving quietly along the edges of the Ratanmahal Wildlife Sanctuary in Dahod district. What followed was months of careful observation. Forest officials tracked his silent patrols, his shifting routes, and his growing confidence in the unfamiliar terrain. Now, nine months on, they have confirmed what few dared to imagine: the tiger has settled. Ratanmahal, after 32 long years, once again hosts a resident big cat. The announcement has been hailed as a milestone for conservation. Gujarat’s Forest Minister, Arjun Modhwadia, called it a moment of immense pride—proof that the state’s patchwork of ecosystems is robust enough to welcome back one of India’s most demanding predators. Wildlife experts, too, have underscored the significance of this return, highlighting the success of the ecological corridors that link Gujarat with Madhya Pradesh. With the tiger now staking his claim in this landscape, the challenge turns to the future. Conservation teams are working to ensure a healthy prey base and secure habitat—essential ingredients for the long-term survival of this remarkable new resident.

Camera trap footage showing the tiger.

The tiger’s official return to Gujarat casts a revealing light on the quiet, painstaking work of conservation—on the wildlife corridors that stitch together fragmented habitats and allow long-lost species to reclaim their former territories. Once, tigers roamed freely from the northern reaches of Gujarat to its southern forests. But by the early 2000s, the species had vanished from the state, declared locally extinct after decades of decline. Then, in 2019, came a fleeting sign of hope: a lone tiger, having crossed into Mahisagar district from Rajasthan, was recorded within Gujarat’s borders. Its life, however, was tragically short—found dead only two weeks later, its promise unrealised. Now, six years on, a new chapter has begun. Another tiger has not only entered Gujarat but chosen to remain, settling into the landscape as if reclaiming a birthright. The news has stirred a sense of cautious optimism across the conservation community. With this remarkable return, Gujarat once again stands as a stronghold for all three of India’s iconic big cats: the Asiatic lion, the leopard, and now, once more, the tiger.

Another camera footage showing the tiger.

While safeguarding the future of this lone tiger is undeniably vital, its presence also signals a broader responsibility: to prepare Gujarat’s landscapes for the arrival of others that may follow. That effort begins with the careful mapping of wildlife corridors—natural pathways linking Gujarat with Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, and Maharashtra. Each corridor must be studied in detail, its reach traced, its connection to protected areas understood, for these routes form the lifelines that allow wide-ranging predators to move safely across the subcontinent.Within Ratanmahal and its neighbouring forests, a modest prey base already exists—four-horned antelope (chousingha), muntjac (barking deer), and wild boar. Though all are part of the tiger’s natural diet, they alone cannot support a stable population. Elsewhere in India, the tiger relies heavily on chital (spotted deer), sambar, and the mighty gaur (Indian bison)—species once common across North and South Gujarat, now lost to history. Restoring these animals to their former ranges would not only strengthen the prey density needed for tigers to thrive, but would also rejuvenate the ecological balance of the region’s forests.

Ratanmahal Wildlife Sanctuary

Equally important is the human dimension. Effective conservation depends on informed and engaged communities. Public awareness initiatives can help local villagers understand the ecological value of tigers and their prey, while equipping them with practical ways to reduce conflict and coexist safely with wildlife. The return of the tiger to Gujarat is more than an isolated triumph—it is a reminder of what remains possible. It offers renewed hope for the state’s wildlife, and for the long-term vitality of the forests that sustain them.                 

Saving the Blackbuck and Nilgai- India’s Most Humane Wildlife Mission

Nilgai in India's Ranthambore National Park

Across the plains of India roam two remarkable antelopes: the elegant blackbuck and the imposing nilgai, or “blue bull.” For centuries, these animals have lived not only in the landscape but in the imagination of the subcontinent, their forms etched into Mughal paintings and echoed through ancient texts. Their significance stretches beyond natural history into the realm of the sacred. The blackbuck, said to pull the chariot of Lord Krishna and revered as the vahana (mount) of Vayu, the god of winds, holds a special place in Hindu tradition. The nilgai, with its towering frame and subtly contoured horns—so reminiscent of domestic cattle—carries a sanctity of its own; its very name, meaning “blue cow,” hints at a spiritual kinship that has long granted it protection and respect. Here, in these creatures, the story of India’s wildlife and its cultural soul intertwine.

Blackbuck

Yet even creatures wrapped in centuries of reverence can find themselves in conflict with the people who share their land. For many farming communities, blackbucks and nilgais have become habitual raiders of precious crops, prompting several states to resort to culling in an effort to stem the losses. But in Madhya Pradesh, a gentler solution has taken shape—one that seeks to preserve both livelihoods and lives. In an ambitious 11-day operation, the state’s forest department, working alongside a 15-member specialist team from South Africa’s Conservation Solutions, undertook the relocation of 913 antelopes from farmland to forest. Conservationists trained local officers in the art of humane capture before the fieldwork began. From above, a Robinson-44 helicopter guided the animals toward a carefully constructed “boma”—a wide, funnel-shaped enclosure woven from grass and green netting, designed to usher the herds safely inside. Once secured, the antelopes were transported to protected havens including Gandhi Sagar Sanctuary, Kuno National Park, Nauradehi Wildlife Sanctuary, and Veerangana Durgavati Wildlife Sanctuary. According to Forest Divisional Officer Beerendra Kumar Patel, who oversaw the mission, the method ensured the animals experienced as little stress as possible. Veterinarians, he added, relied on remote dosing techniques to administer medicines when needed—an approach that kept the operation calm, controlled, and remarkably humane.

Illustration of nilgai by painter and naturalist Ustad Mansur.

Illustration of a lady and a blackbuck.

In the end, this humane approach to managing blackbuck and nilgai numbers has done more than simply shield crops from damage; it has fostered a renewed trust between local communities and the forest authorities. Villagers, once frustrated by the nightly incursions of large herds, became partners in the effort, sharing vital information that helped guide the relocation teams. The project has also drawn wide commendation—from Chief Minister Mohan Yadav to Shajapur MLA Arun Bhimawad—who hailed the initiative for bringing long-awaited relief to farmers whose livelihoods had been repeatedly threatened. As a pilot project, its success signals a promising new chapter in human–wildlife coexistence. A strategy that protects both people and antelopes, carried out with care, expertise, and respect, stands as a rare and welcome model. One hopes that this thoughtful, non-lethal method will inspire similar efforts across India, wherever the delicate balance between agriculture and wildlife still hangs in the balance.  

At Bandipur’s Edge- Navigating Human Fear and the Science of Tiger Conflicts

Bengal tiger

In southern India, along the mist-lined fringes of Bandipur National Park, a series of unsettling encounters has shaken the farming communities that border the forest. In October 2025, 35-year-old farmer Chowdaiah Nayak set out to plough his field—a routine task he had done countless times. But on this morning, the forest watched back. From behind, a tiger emerged, launching a swift and silent attack, dragging Nayak into the dense undergrowth. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, a search party of anxious relatives and villagers pushed their way into the forest. Deep inside a secluded ditch, they made a grim discovery: Nayak’s partially eaten remains. He was the third farmer to lose his life to a tiger in just days—each attack occurring along the vulnerable borderlands of Bandipur’s vast reserve. The news spread quickly, igniting outrage among villagers who had long felt unheard. Their frustration boiled over when Range Forest Officer Amrutha and her team arrived; some farmers, overwhelmed by grief and fear, reportedly attempted to confront her.

The escalating tension prompted swift action. Forest Minister Eshwara B. Khandre ordered an immediate halt to tourist safaris in Bandipur and neighboring Nagarhole, along with a suspension of trekking in conflict-prone zones. Every available staff member—right down to safari drivers—was called into service for a single mission: find the tiger. Days passed as trackers combed through ravines, riverbeds, and thickets where sunlight barely reached. At last, in Bandipur’s Moleyur range, they located a tiger matching the descriptions. The big cat was tranquilized and transported to Mysuru Zoo’s Chamundi Wildlife Conservation, Rescue and Rehabilitation Center. DNA analysis will ultimately confirm whether this animal was responsible. Yet forest officials already suspect the aging tiger, weakened and increasingly unable to hunt wild prey, had turned to easier targets along the forest edge—a tragic intersection of survival, territory, and human life.

Bandipur National Park

Before any conclusions can be drawn, the story now hinges on a crucial piece of evidence: the DNA tests. Only by comparing the captured tiger’s genetic samples with those taken from the attack sites can we know, with certainty, whether this animal was truly behind the three recent killings—and whether it should bear the grave label of “maneater.” By the National Tiger Conservation Authority’s own criteria, the manner in which Chowdaiah Nayak was killed fits the profile. But the question remains: is this the tiger responsible, or are we once again chasing the wrong shadow? History offers a cautionary tale. In 2023, following the death of a young boy in Nagarhole National Park, mounting pressure from frightened villagers led authorities to seize a tiger they believed was the culprit. During transport, the animal broke its canine teeth—an injury that sealed its fate. Unable to hunt, it could never return to the wild. And yet, in the end, it was not the killer. The true predator slipped back into the forest, unseen and unchallenged. It is a stark reminder of what can happen when fear overtakes patience, when communities desperate for safety demand immediate action. Today, as anger and anxiety ripple through the villages bordering Bandipur National Park, we can see a familiar pattern emerging. And once again, the future of a tiger—and the safety of those who live alongside this ancient wilderness—rests on whether we choose certainty over haste.     

Nagarhole National Park

Relying solely on a tiger’s age, its physical condition, or the wear of its teeth is no longer enough to determine whether it has turned to killing humans. Such clues may have served researchers in an earlier era, before the rise of modern genetics. But today, with sophisticated DNA analysis at our fingertips, we have the means to reach far more definitive answers. For that reason, the investigation into the three recent attacks must continue. By monitoring which tigers stray into villages and farmland, authorities can identify potential suspects, capture them safely, and analyze their DNA. Only then can we match each animal to each incident—and know, beyond speculation, which tiger was responsible. Crucially, the communities living along the forest’s edge must understand that this process takes time. Fear and frustration are natural responses, but pressuring wildlife officials into acting hastily does little to ensure anyone’s safety. Education, patience, and clear communication are essential if these investigations are to unfold without repeating past mistakes. And when a maneater is finally identified, I firmly believe its fate should not be death. Such animals—rare, dangerous, but still part of India’s natural heritage—should be placed under managed, captive care rather than shot. The same principle applies to leopards, especially in places like Maharashtra, where human–leopard encounters are increasing and where officials have even authorized shoot-on-sight orders. In moments like these, the challenge is clear: to protect human life without abandoning our responsibility to the wildlife that shares this fragile landscape.