Negotiating Marginality: Conflicts over Tribal Development in India 0367137283, 9780367137281

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Negotiating Marginality

Providing a critical ethnography of five different tribal movements fighting against the big industrialization projects in the eastern Indian state of Odisha, Negotiating Marginality: Conflicts over Tribal Development in India presents a ‘thick description’ of the confrontation of the tribals with the authoritative forces of state domination. This confrontation, a counter-hegemonic discourse, is neither antagonistic to change nor against development. The author argues that the tribals are the subaltern citizens who aspire for not only more material and economic prosperity but also freedom from domination and deprivation. The book therefore seeks to answer one important question: how do the tribals negotiate marginality in their everyday lives in challenging domination and realizing their desires, wishes, anticipations and material prosperity as well as in coping with frustration and suffering. Drawing on long-term ethnographic fieldwork carried out over a decade (2006-16), the author challenges current theories of social movements. Questioning the established notion of ‘marginality as a problem’, he argues that ‘marginality’ in fact nourishes the capacity of the tribals to resist and to imagine and create a new world. The complexity of tribal politics, then, cannot be reduced to an opposition between ‘development’ and ‘resistance’. The book persuades us to reexamine the politics of marginality within the ideology of progressive social movements.

Rajakishor Mahana is an Assistant Professor and Head of the Department of Anthropology and Coordinator of the Department of Tribal Legal Studies and Tribal Rights at Kalinga Institute of Social Sciences (KISS), Deemed to be University, Bhubaneswar. He obtained his PhD degree from Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai, with fellowship from the Indian Council of Social Science Research (ICSSR), New Delhi and DAAD visiting fellowship from the Food Security Center, University of Hohenheim, Germany. He has a keen interest in the anthropology of development, the post-colonial state, indigenous movements, human rights and social power. His recent articles are published in Poverty and Inequality in Middle Income Countries (Zed Books, 2016), Transforming Gender and Food Security in the Global South (Routledge, 2016) and Swaraj and the Reluctant State (Aakar Books, 2018). He is a co-author of Human Rights: Rhetorics and Practices (Kaveri Books, 2018).

Negotiating Marginality

Conflicts over Tribal Development in India

Rajakishor Mahana Foreword by Nandini Sundar

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Rajakishor Mahana and Social Science Press The right of Rajakishor Mahana to be identified as the author has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Print edition not for sale in South Asia (India, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Bangladesh, Pakistan or Bhutan) British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-0-367-13728-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-02832-8 (ebk) Typeset in PLANTIN STD by Manmohan Kumar, Delhi 110035

To Maa, for the gift of life and making that life worth living; and to Bapa and Kuni, in loving memory, wherever you are. ... And to those noble and brave souls who sacrificed their lives in the bloody wars against ‘mega-development’ projects with the hope that human beings will learn to live together harmoniously.

As such, I was [am] not speaking of a marginality one wishes to lose—to give up or surrender as a part of moving into the center—but rather of a site one stays in, clings to even, because it nourishes one’s capacity to resist. It offers to one the possibility of radical perspective from which to see and create, to imagine alternatives, new worlds. – bell hooks, Yearning

Contents

List of Maps xi List of Figures xiii List of Tables xv Foreword by Nandini Sundar xvii Preface xix Acknowledgements xxiii 1. A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi: Rethinking Marginality, Development and Resistance

1

2. Producing Underdevelopment: The Politics of Hunger Deaths in Odisha

55

3. Contested Development: The Political Economy of Survival

81

4. Smell of Land: Internal Dynamics of Conflict over Land

117

5. Politics of Violence and Poetics of Resistance: The Police State and Tribal Anarchists

156

6. Politics of Territoriality: Keeping State at a Distance

214

7. Negotiating Marginality: Subaltern Citizens and the Challenges of Transformation

257

x Contents

Acronyms and Abbreviations Glossary Bibliography Index Photographs

284 287 293 322 331

List of Maps

1.1 Odisha showing districts under study (Jajpur, xxvii Rayagada, Kalahandi, Nabarangpur and Bargarh) 1.2 Jajpur district showing the area of study 35 (Duburi, Kalinganagar) 1.3 Rayagada district showing the area of study 38 (Kashipur) 1.4 Rayagada and Kalahandi districts showing 42 the Niyamgiri Hills and Lanjigarh refinery 1.5 Bargarh district showing the area of study 43 (Paikamal) 1.6 Nabarangpur showing the areas of study 47 (Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon)

List of Figures

1.1 Development as a dialectical encounter 20 2.1 The linear policy formation model 61 2.2 Linear hunger crisis and relief model 78

List of Tables

6.1 List of plants and land allotted to them in Kalinganagar 6.2 Status of displacement in Kalinganagar

222 222

Foreword Nandini Sundar

D

espite over a century or more of academic critique, it seems that some things just don’t change. Adivasis are still described in public discourse as ‘backward’ or ‘marginal’, needing to be ‘mainstreamed’ through development and civilization. The forces of capital and governmentality combined build upon colonial constructions and pre-colonial prejudices built over centuries, to wreak havoc on the lives of adivasi communities. The miracle, the wonder, and the sorrow (when they are defeated) – is that these communities are still alive, still resisting – with laughter and with hope. This book tell us that adivasis themselves inhabit their spaces of marginality as spaces of resistance; but it also asks the very important question – why and how does this resistance fall short? Terms like success or failure when applied to movements, often do not capture the complexity of what these movements do – they may have lasting effects on state-society relations and people’s confidence, even if they ostensibly fail or even if they superficially succeed. Drawing on five different movements against displacement in Odisha – the Anti-Tata Steel movement in Kalinganagar of Jajpur district, the Anti-Utkal Alumina International Ltd movement in Kashipur of Rayagada district, the Save Niyamgiri Movement in Rayagada and Kalahandi, the save Gandhamardan Movement in Paikamal of Bargarh district, and the anti-land alienation movement in Nabarangpur district – this book traces what they have in common, as well as their differences. Odisha is extremely important in the history of anti-displacement movements because they have been

xviii Foreword

largely peaceful, mass based and successful at various points in time. Despite being a very poor state, its people are rich in social capital and solidarity, as shown also by their village-led forest conservation efforts. The book contains fascinating material on resistance and hegemony, the way that movements are co-opted and repressed, the way that different ethnic and class and caste positions are played off against each other, the role of the state in repressing and yet working with adivasis, debates within movements on non-violence, electoral alliances etc. In addition, there are other interesting insights. For instance, Chapter 2 of the book shows us how hunger caused by resource dispossession is used as a justification for industrialization; while Chapter 4 provides a fascinating glimpse into the tensions between Bengali EPDP (East Pakistan Displaced Person) settlers in the Dandakaranya forest and local adivasis. The former has benefitted from being given land, SC status and other benefits and some have become moneylenders to the adivasis. The same chapter provides a glimpse of the conflict between Kondhas who were displaced from other areas and whom the forest department encouraged to settle in the forest in exchange for bribes, the Bengali settlers who also encouraged the Kondhas to cut so that they could later appropriate their land, and the VSS committees newly formed by the forest deparment with some adivasi leaders. Organizing in these circumstances, as Jagbandhu Majhi of the Dalit Samaj has been doing, takes remarkable skill and political acumen. And it is through these skillful negotiations on the ground that, Mahana argues, we need to understand the power of development as well as resistance to it.

Preface

They made us many promises, more than I can remember, but they never kept but one – they promised to take our land and they took it. – Dee Brown, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee

T

he colonial discourse constructed the indigenous (tribal) people of India, popularly and politically known as adivasis, as ‘backward’. The academic critiques for over centuries have not only failed to deconstruct the notion but also continued to reproduce the tribal people as ‘marginal’, though recently a few scholars have certainly problematised their backwardness (Sundar and Madan 2016; Rycroft and Dasgupta 2011; Sundar 2007; Baviskar 1995). Furthermore, while labelling such people as Scheduled Tribes (STs), the constitution of India did not recognize them as indigenous people for their disputed origin. The problem became acute when tribal people learnt to recognize themselves not by the properties and attributes of their own social being but by the ones imposed by their superiors (Guha 1983a). As a result of which the tribals were pushed further into the ‘margin’. Today, despite of all the normative constitutional provisions, inclusion of marginalized sections of society remains a paradox for democratic politics, both in theory and in political practice. In response to their historic marginalization, despite the state providing them welfare benefits over a period of a century in the name of ‘civilization’, ‘progress’ and ‘development’, the tribals

xx Preface

have simultaneously been dispossessed. Since liberalization in early 1990s, for instance, mining and industrialization have become highly contentious issues in the eastern Indian state of Odisha. Though Odisha is endowed with abundant natural resources and renowned for its cultural heritage, it has the dubious distinction of being known for its poverty, hunger deaths and backwardness, thus presenting a paradoxical picture of resource prosperity and economic poverty. Consisting of about 40 percentages of STs and SCs (23% STs, 17% SCs) to the total population of 42 million population (2011 census), Odisha has been an agriculture dependant state for centuries. But since early 1990s, both the state and central government have been promoting mining and industrialization as the new source of income to enhance national economy as well as to alleviate poverty and improve social justice. This push for mining and industrialization has triggered conflicts at the local level around the mining and industrialization sites, and fuelled intense public debate concerning the relationship between mining, industrialization, development and environment. Particularly the environmental and tribal movements have criticized the government, arguing that the large-scale mining and industrialization is neither compatible with the tribal people’s world-view and societal progress nor environmentally sustainable. The response of the government to social movements against largescale mining and industrialization has been to criminalize resistance and delegitimize it, blaming those criticize such projects as antidevelopmentalist, extremists and anti-national. By presenting such projects as an ‘imperative’, the government denies the need and possibility of a broader and deeper debate as to why and under what conditions such large-scale mining and industrialization can be socially desirable and acceptable, as well as what development alternatives other than mining might be reasonably pursued. On the other hand, without having any alternative means of survival particularly for the fear of losing their land, livelihood and identity, the tribals vehemently protest against such ‘development’ projects even at the cost of their lives. The war continues. So also the debate. Drawing on long-term ethnographic fieldwork carried out over a decade (2006–2016) on five different people’s movements fighting

Preface  xxi

against the mega-development projects in Odisha – the anti-Tata Steel movement in Kalinganagar of Jajpur district, the anti-Utkal Alumina International Ltd movement in Kashipur of Rayagada district, the Save Niyamgiri Movement in Rayagada and Kalahandi, the save Gandhamardan movement in Paikamal of Bargarh district, and the anti-land alienation movement in Nabarangpur district – the book presents a ‘thick description’ of the confrontation of the tribals to the authoritative forces of state domination. This confrontation, a counter-hegemonic discourse, is neither antagonistic to change nor against development. I argue that tribals are subaltern citizens who aspire for not only more material and economic prosperity but also freedom – freedom from domination and deprivation. In these contested spaces of ‘development’, the book therefore is an investigation of how tribals negotiate marginality in their everyday lives in challenging domination and celebrating their desires, wishes, anticipations and material prosperity as well as in coping with the ruins of frustration and suffering. In the first two chapters of the book (chapter 2 and 3), I look at how marginality is produced. The politics of the development interventions produce ‘underdevelopment’ of various kinds inviting further new interventions. For instance, when the development interventions failed miserably to solve the problem of hunger deaths in Kashipur, they tried to prove the lands of Kashipur as infertile. This justified setting up of mining and industrialization projects on the lands of the tribals in Kashipur, which further marginalized the tribal farmers. Tribal lands are also being transferred to other elite class communities. Bengali EPDPs (East Pakistan Displaced Person), for instance, were settled in Dandakaranya reserve forest who later appropriated tribal lands with help of local government authorities. The tribals continue to protest against such projects of land alienation and mining. The response of the government to these protests has been violent, very often killing innocent tribals. For instance, three tribals were shot dead in Kashipur in 2000, a dozen of tribal were killed in Nabarangpur in 2001, 13 were shot dead in Kalinganagar in 2006 and so on. In chapter 4 and 5, I attempt to record the coping mechanisms of the marginalized people in experiencing social and bodily suffering,

xxii Preface

suffering not merely of marginalization or corporal pain but also of dismemberment, of displacement and homelessness, of joblessness and food shortage, of shortened lives and ‘deaths without weeping’. Questioning the established notion of “marginality as a problem”, the book thoerises marginality as a form of resistance in the next two chapters (chapter 6 and 7). Particularly, it seeks to understand the ways in which the tribals negotiate marginality as a possible site that nourishes their capacity to resist and to imagine and create a new world. In doing so, I appreciate the creative and often contradictory means the tribals use in not only challenging state hegemony but also appropriating material benefits. The complexity of tribal politics, then, cannot be reduced to an opposition between ‘development’ and ‘resistance’. The book persuades us to re-examine the politics of marginality within the ideology of progressive social movements. In this process of imprudent development of capitalism, I will not be disappointed much if the tribals lose their identity. But I will be very contented to see, if at all possible, the tribals refuse to enslavement and degradation, and sing (Marley 1979): We refuse to be What you wanted us to be We are what we are That’s the way it’s going to be…

Acknowledgements

I

ntensive fieldwork and detailed ethnographic studies conducted in the five districts of Jajpur, Rayagada, Kalahandi, Nabarangpur and Bargarh in Odisha between 2006 and 2010 led to my PhD thesis which culminated in the writing of this book. For this, I am both grateful and thankful to the myriad institutions and persons that helped, supported and encouraged me in my endeavour. I am indebted to the Madras Institute of Development Studies (MIDS), Chennai, for providing me with space and institutional support throughout my PhD days. The research for my PhD was supported by a three-year fellowship from the Indian Council of Social Science Research (ICSSR), New Delhi, and supplemented by a one-year grant from the Malcolm Adisseshiah Trust, MIDS, Chennai. I am grateful to the Food Security Center (FSC) for granting me a visiting fellowship, and to the Department of Social Sciences in Agriculture, University of Hohenheim, Germany, for generously providing me with office space and institutional supportfor the same. Kalinga Institute of Social Sciences (KISS), Bhubaneswar, provided a condusive environment to work on the final manuscript that I developed into a book. The views expressed are my own and do not necessarily reflect those of MIDS, ICSSR, FSC or KISS. I am grateful to my PhD supervisor Ananta Kumar Giri for his wisdom and academic guidance. I am deeply grateful to a few other teachers including Ajit Menon, M. Vijayabaskar, C. Laxmanan, Anil K. Gupta, Volker Hoffmann, L.K. Mahapatra, Prassana Kumar Nayak, Sabita Acharya, B. N. Ray and Santosh Kumar Mohapatra

xxiv Acknowledgements

for their inspirational ideas and generous support in nurturing this work. I owe a special debt to Ajit Menon not only for reading some of the chapters of the thesis and book manuscript but also for being there always to provide encouragement, constructive criticism and personal help. Anil Gupta assisted me with a small financial support and office space at Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad, and encouraged me to rewrite some of the chapters of the thesis, now a book. I am all gratitude to Volker Hoffmann, my research supervisor at the Department of Agriculture in Social Sciences, University of Hohenheim, for his insightfulness and understanding that enabled me to redraft my thesis into its present book form. I am thankful to my PhD committee mentors namely S. Sumathi and Kripa Ananthpur for their suggestions and support. I have also benefited from the discussions with B. K. RoyBurman, David Wills, John Clammer, Detlef Virchow, Gideon A. Obera, Christoph Strawe, Maria Gerster-Bentaya, Aman Madan, Amita Baviskar, Satish Despande, Carol Uppadhyaya, Sundar Sarukkai, Raka Roy, Achyut Das, Vidya Das, Debaranjan Sarangi, Saroj Mohanty, Rabisankar Pradhan, Harihar Das, A. C. Sahoo and Pratap Kumar Singh. I will remain ever grateful to Pratap Kumar Singh for introducing me to Kalinganagar and Achyut and Vidya Das for introducing me to Kashipur along with sharing their magnanimity, insightfulness and debatable ideas. Most of the encounters and dialogues that are presented in this book took place in many villages and towns in different parts of Odisha. It is really difficult to convey my heartfelt gratitude to those who not only treated me like family and welcomed me into their homes but also shared so freely their time, resource, knowledge, joy, fear and despair. I am deeply indebted to Dudheswar Jhodia and his wife Ujala, in Maikanch village in Kashipur, Rayagada, for being such gracious hosts. Dudheswar treated me like his younger brother, providing me with food and accommodation for months together as well as going out of his way to ensure the success of my fieldwork and that I had a pleasant stay. He introduced me to the Kashipur Movement through his thrilling narration of his work as a leader of the agitation. I am equally grateful to his brothers

Acknowledgements  xxv

Tumbeswar and Trinath and their families for their hospitality and care. His youngest brother Krushna became my best friend and field guide and was invariably by my side. I owe a great debt to Damayanti Jhodia, Subarna Jhodia, Subash Jhodia, Daitari Jhodia, Dana Jhodia, Prakash Jhodia, Sibaram Naik, Gita Naik, Subash Naik, Prabhudan Naik, Danei Jhodia, Maina Jhodia, Surja Jhodia and all their families for their generous hospitality, love, care and fun. Words cannot adequately express my gratitude to Bhagaban Majhi and Laxmi Majhi of Kucheipadar village. Bhagaban deserves a special mention for selflessly spending hours being interviewed by me. He even travelled with me to many villages, reflecting and commenting on my research and sharing valuable documents of the PSSP. I am also thankful to Tankdhar Majhi, Sumi Majhi, Anchala Majhi, Rama Majhi and all their families for their hospitality and care. I am grateful to some of the elderly persons of the village namely Mukuta Majhi, Akhila Saunta, Laxman Majhi, Maharaja Majhi and Krushna Saunta. Nath Jani and Sankar Muduli of Bagrijhola, Manohar Jhodia of Siriguda, Bulka Miniaka and Alai Majhi of Barigaon of Kashipur deserve special mention for their hospitality, knowledge and experience. Bhagabat Prasad Rath of Rayagada town was an invaluable teacher to whom I owe special thanks. In Kalinganagar, Jajpur, I am thankful to Rabindra Jarika of Chandia, Hari Charan Hibru of Madhuban, Amarsingh Banara Belahuri, Rajendra Kalundia of Baligotha, Fakir Champia of Champakoila, Chema Hembram of Gadhapur and Sony Jamuda and Chakradhar Hibru of Ambagadia for their generous hospitality, time and knowledge. I am also grateful to Amarsingh and his family for inviting me to stay with them in their home. I am thankful to Jagabandhu Majhi in Nabarangpur for his hospitality and knowledge and for introducing me to the families of Dabulu Gond and Harabati Gond – two families who so willingly offered their homes to me during my fieldwork in Raighar, Umarkote and Jharigaon blocks. Harabati’s husband Duryodhan and brother Hanumant were very helpful in taking me to different tribal and Bengali villages to meet people and conduct interviews. In Baragarh and Sambalpur, Muktakantha Pradhan, Prasanna Kumar Sahu, Lingaraj Pradhan, Rabisankar Pradhan and Saroj

xxvi Acknowledgements

Mohanty deserve a special mention for their hospitality and insight. I will remain ever grateful to Chhutai Soren of Rairanjpur, Mayurbhanj, for giving me enough time and sharing his rich knowledge on Santali language movement, and to my friend Karu Marandi for his hospitality. I am grateful to my friends Prasanta Kumar Pradhan, K. Jayashree, S. Kumaran, Ann George, M. Arivalagan,  R. Manivasagan, C. Jerome Samraj,  Chandra Sekhar Bahinipati, Sushanta Kumar Mohapatra, Mahendra Kumar Nayak,  P. Chandrasekaran, R. Dharumaperumal and A. Bhavana at Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai; G. Uma and Vanishree Joseph of Gandhigram University, Madurai; Lalit Sati, Gautam Prateek, Anamika Dey, Meghal Choksi, Subodh Bishnoi, K. Unnikrishnan, R. Baskaran and Sonali Barma at Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad; and Christine Bosch, Vinzenz Bauer, Hossein Mahmoudi, Abhirosh Chandran, Elfadil Adam and Bashiru Fuseini at University of Hohenheim, Stuttgart, who stood by me during the gruelling days of my PhD. My deepest gratitude is due to them. More thanks are due to my friends Dilip Mishra, Jayashree, Prasanta, Lalit, G. Uma, Vanishree, Christine, Gautam and Abhirosh. I humbly thank Ajit Menon, Latha Venkatesan and Sindhu Ramachandran for their timely editorial help and Debaranjan Sarangi for sharing a few of his photographs. I am deeply grateful to my publisher Esha Béteille not only for her gracefulness in nurturing the manuscript but also for her friendship and editorial counsel as the manuscript developed into a book. I am very thankful to Radha Béteille for her editorial support and friendship. I could not have asked the publisher for a more supportive, brilliant and inspired reviewer for the manuscript than Nandini Sundar. I am forever indebted to Nandini Sundar for writing the Foreword to the book in record time. I am deeply touched by Devdas and Meera Mohanty. I am, forever indebted to my mother Taramani Mahana and my sisters Sakuntala and Manorama for their unconditional love, care, support and prayers. I am thankful to my sister Saraswati and her husband Umakanta Sahu for their encouragement and good wishes. I am grateful to Bapa and Bou and to their daughter, my wife, Monalisha. Finally, my greatest sources of inspiration and encouragement are my daughter Aditi and nephew Soumyaranjan.

Map not to scale

Map 1.1: Map of Odisha showing districts under study (Jajpur, Rayagada, Kalahandi, Nabarangpur and Bargarh). Source: Author

1

A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi Rethinking Marginality, Development and Resistance

Development is not policy to be implemented, but domination to be resisted. – David Mosse, Cultivating Development (2005: 5).

I

t was 2 January 2006. The day broke. The clock read 7.00 am. TATA Company contractors accompanied by the top government officials of Kalinganagar in Jajpur district, i.e., the district collector (DC), the superintendent of police (SP) and the additional district magistrate (ADM) with the protection of 27 platoons of armed police force1 reached the north end of Champakoila village. Six bulldozers and other heavy-duty earth moving equipment started levelling the paddy fields. Some of the tribals of Kalinganagar had already consumed the leftover country liquor that they had prepared for the celebration of the New Year. They were expecting something to happen as they were informed by the leaders of Bisthapan Birodhi Jana Manch (BBJM) – People’s Forum Against Displacement, in a meeting the previous day that Tata Steel Company Ltd. (hereafter TATA) was going to start the construction of a boundary wall at Champakoila 1

According to local reports, 27 platoons of armed police force were deployed. Police themselves claimed it was only 17 platoons.

2  Negotiating Marginality

village. They had decided to protest as they were not given proper compensation for their lands. Seeing the bulldozers at work, therefore, some persons of Champakoila village rushed to different villages to deliver the message about the arrival of company people in Champakoila. The news spread like wildfire. The reaction of the people was spontaneous. Many people rushed to the site. It was about 10.00 am. About 200–300 people gathered at the southern end of the football field of Champakoila. Gradually, a huge crowd from Chandia, Gadhapur, Ambagadia, Gobarghati, Baligotha, Belahori and other nearby villages joined the gathering with an equal strength of women folk. On seeing the work in progress, they wondered what could be done. A delegation met the government officials to question the illegal occupation of their private land without payment of proper compensation. But the collector, the SP and other officials refused to listen to their grievances. The ground levelling work continued. As their request for a dialogue with the government officials had been turned down, the delegation decided to directly request the TATA company workers to stop the work. As they started moving towards the bulldozers, defying the police, countless landmines exploded. Birsingh Gope (27) of Chandia village was the first victim of the blast, losing his legs. Several others were injured. This enraged the tribals. There was violent clash between the armed police force and the adivasis. Though the tribals were afraid, their spirits remained high buoyed by the words of their leaders who had told them in previous meetings that there would be no police firing. It was around 11 o’clock. Lathicharge, tear-gas shells, rubber bullets and actual bullet firing followed in quick succession. The firing was indiscriminate. A boy standing a long distance in front of his house was hit by a bullet and died. Another bullet hit the roof of a nearby house. Many people, in and around the site, sustained injuries. Many injured fell to the ground. Others tried to rescue them. While saving the injured, many of the tribals had also been hit in their back. Four persons died on the spot. The enraged police captured the injured Mukuta Bangira (40), and Bhagaban Soy (25), and kicked them with their boots, killing them mercilessly. The tribals started running back. As there was continuous firing, the

A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi  3

people lay down on the ground and started crawling remembering the words of their leaders, ‘if by chance there is any firing, lie down and crawl’. Thus, by running and crawling people covered almost a kilometer of ground, after which they rushed to nearby villages. In the meantime, some of the severely wounded persons were rescued and people started attending to their injuries. Later, people found out that four tribals had died on the spot and that police had taken eight of the injured into custody, of which six were reported to be dead and two were admitted in hospital. One person died in the hospital. From that day, the tribals of the area blocked Daitari-Paradeep road from both ends of Kalinganagar. They were waiting for the dead bodies (taken by the police) to be returned for cremation. Two days later the corpses were returned to them. They were shocked to see that both the palms of six corpses had been chopped off and the genitals of the four men and breast of one woman mutilated. In total, in this, police firing 12 tribals were killed (later the toll rose to 14) and 48 (the official figure is only 18) were severely injured. In addition, one policeman was killed and four were injured. This incident has been condemned, as reported by the media, in unequivocal terms as ‘nothing short of a massacre’ (The Hindu 2006a: 16; JOHAR & JMACC 2006: 22), ‘pre-planned action’ (Das 2006a: 16), ‘tragic incident’ (Das 2006e: 13), ‘great tragedy’ (Das 2006c: 14). It was also said that ‘Odisha had never witnessed such a large number of deaths in police firing since independence’ (The Hindu 2006b: 12). In fact, many such incidents had taken place in other parts of Odisha too. For instance, in 2001, five tribals were killed in police firing and another six people lost their lives in inter-group fights in Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon blocks in Nabarangpur district where the tribals were trying to retrieve their land from the illegal encroachment of Bengali refugees. In 2000, three tribals were shot dead in police firing in Maikanch village while protesting the establishment of a mining project by Utkal Alumina International Ltd. (UAIL) in Kashipur block of Rayagada. Reading the newspaper clippings, I reached Kalinganagar just a few days after the police firing. The tension in the area was still running high. With the exception of a few local journalists,

4  Negotiating Marginality

the entry for others to Kalinganagar site was highly restricted by the andolanakaris (the activists). I met Dr Pratap Kumar Singh, a lecturer in Anthropology in Sukinda College and a local elite, who was staying in Duburi – the local market of Kalinganagar. He took me on his bike. After driving just two kilometers from Duburi southwards on the Daitari-Paradeep road, we entered the ‘no entry’ zone crossing the road blockade from both sides of Kalinganagar. We reached Ambagadia, the village where the embers of the funeral fire of the martyrs were still warmth. He introduced me to one of his students, Sony Jamuda, an eyewitness to the police firing, who escaped injury by good luck. ‘They have killed our niriha adivasis [innocent tribals]. Now we would prefer to die than to part with our lands. They have killed 14 people. Now we have received support from all parts of the country. If they want to take our land by force, let them kill another 1400 of us’, Sony told me with a mix of hatred and anger stressing ‘they’ – indicating the TATA company and government authorities – disdainfully as if she was referring to a group of criminals. The same afternoon I met Haricharan Hibru, the opposition leader of BBJM from Madhuban village. ‘TATA is providing huge money for all the displaced families for their all-round development. I wonder why people fail to appreciate and accept it,’ he argued. This testifies to the fact that ‘development’ is always desirable for many adivasis like Hari, though their desires and aspirations have time and again been betrayed. This created ‘space of hope’ is so compelling that it reinforces the fortification of the development interventions one after the other. Realizing it well, therefore, Rajesh Chintak, the Assistant General Manager of TATA Steel Project in Kalinganagar, whom I had an opportunity to meet in his office one year after the police firing, would argue for another development intervention in Kalinganagar. ‘You know, the average per capita land holding of the tribals in Kalinganagar is half an acre and half of them are landless. Moreover, the land is not very fertile and people do not have enough employment opportunities even after the establishment of a dozen companies here. How would they sustain their livelihood? Therefore, their standard of living is very poor. Now, we are giving them a good price for their lands. I am sure we would be able to provide capacity

A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi  5

building and jobs to all the DPs [Displaced Persons]. Overall we ensure that all of them lead a better life. But they are tribals. They do not understand what development is’, Rajesh Chintak convincingly told me as if TATA company, given an opportunity, would bring a fortune to the tribals of Kalinganagar. But Bulka Miniaka, an old tribal leader of Barigaon village in Koraput district, challenges the very concept of development. ‘What is development? Whose development? Does development imply cars and vehicles for everyone? The chief minister and others may need cars but why does everybody need it? Is it possible to give cars and vehicles to everyone? We do not need cars and motors. We are the people of the soil and our lives revolve around the soil. We cannot live without our land. We will die to save our land,’ he told me thoughtfully one late evening in September 2007 while slowly enjoying his pikka, a country cigar made of tobacco rolled in sal leaves, sitting on his narrow verandah. Further, having strong faith in adivasi ekata (tribal unity) and giving life to the tribal spirit of resistance, Chakradhar Halda, a tribal leader from Sukinda, remembering the martyrs of Kalinganagar police firing, sings in a public meeting, ‘ladheire mukti achhi, muktire santi achhi’ – there is freedom in struggle and peace in freedom.

~ It is usually thought that the countryside, and particularly the adivasis who inhabit it, are the signature realm of underdevelopment and inertia, an idle space and a margin that can and must be overcome by the forces of transformation always assumed to come from outside. The marginality attributed to tribals, as the opening tale highlights, for example, is a space of deprivation, oppression and humiliation. Therefore, while referring to them as niriha adivasis, what Sony meant was that they are the people who are not only poor and helpless, but also powerless. They have been robbed of their voices or silenced like the martyrs of Kalinganagar. Many of Haricharan Hibru’s hopes for progress have been betrayed by the politics of development. Moreover, their life-worlds as well as their very lives are dominated and controlled by the modern agents of development, particularly by the likes of Rajesh Chintak. I explore, with the help of multi-sited

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ethnography, the space of marginality, a space produced mostly by the development and transformative endeavours of the state and market and how adivasis cope with it and articulate alternatives. In this study, I seek to understand the conflicts over development and movements for dignity, freedom and livelihood among the tribals of Odisha. While trying to understand the tribals’ critique of mainstream development and their hope for freedom – freedom from deprivation, poverty and domination, I explore marginality as much more than a space of deprivation. In fact, I propose the opposite, namely that marginality is a site of resistance, a space for radical possibilities which not only challenges domination but also mitigates misery. Usually the tribals are perceived as marginalized but the tribals do not necessarily look at themselves in this way. Participation in movements enables them to look at their spaces of marginality as sites of resistance and transformation (cf. hooks 1990). My argument here is that a group’s self-identification as ‘adivasi’ is neither natural or inevitable nor simply invented, adopted, or imposed. It is, rather what Tania Murray Li calls as ‘positioning’, the adivasi takes as a distinct category of being (cf. Skaria 1999) – ‘a positioning which draws upon historically sedimented practices, landscapes, and repertoires of meaning, and emerges through particular patterns of engagement and struggle. The conjunctures at which (some) people come to identify themselves as indigenous, realigning the ways they connect to the nation, the government, and their own, unique tribal place, are the contingent products of agency and the cultural and political work of articulation’ (Li 2000: 151). This marginality, I argue, is the central location for production of a counter-hegemonic discourse in generating power for much more than just challenging domination, and, in fact, for creating a space and hope for an alternative to development too. Particularly, the book focuses on the argument that adivasis, through people’s movements (both discourse and practice), not only just question the old hegemonic politics but also seek ‘a new way of doing politics and a new way of sociability’ for ‘construction of a different social power’ (Escobar 1992b: 81). In the process, the study makes a critical assessment of the authoritative and destructive forces (power) of the state and market in killing and displacing tribals and the resultant pain and suffering the tribals

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endure, without losing sight of the attributes they give to their own actions of resistance, and the emergent power they have to challenge domination and mitigate misery (cf. Appadurai 2007). I use both the concepts of ‘domination’ and ‘power’ in the Weberian sense of the term. Domination, Max Weber defines, is ‘the probability that specific commands (or all commands) will be obeyed by a given group of persons’ (Weber 1978: 212). In the context of my study, both the state and the MNCs with all the characteristics of Weber’s legitimate authority have dominated the life-worlds of the subalterns in multiple ways, for example, the authoritarian and bureaucratic ‘development’ imposed on the tribals. This kind of domination is the core of Gramsci’s notion of hegemony. The implication of the idea, hegemony, for my purpose here, is that the dominant rule is effective not so much by sanction and coercion of the elite classes, state and market as much by the consent and passive compliance of the subordinated classes. However, it is not clear how far this hegemony is voluntary and complete, as critics argue, even on close reading of Gramsci.2 The resistance waged by the subaltern groups against the hegemony of the dominant forces of the state and market is ‘hegemonic’ too, in the sense that the subalterns build alliances to fight to establish their own counter-hegemonic point of views (see Mahadevan 2009: 118). Gramsci writes, ‘A social group can, and indeed must, already exercise “leadership” [i.e. be hegemonic] before winning governmental power (this indeed is one of the principal conditions for winning of such power)’ (1971: 207). Weber defines power as ‘that opportunity existing within a social relationship which permits one to carry out one’s own will even against resistance and regardless of the basis on which this opportunity rests’ (1962: 117). I consider that as the power by which the subaltern groups establish their counter-hegemonic point of views against the systems of dominant forces. Here in particular, I have focused on two dimensions of power – the repressive dimension and the creative dimension. On the one hand, I have attempted to understand how power generated by the subaltern’s counter-hegemony challenges the hegemony of the dominant forces. On the other, I have explored 2

For an excellent critique, see Joseph Femia (1975).

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how power generates knowledge, provides services and transforms lives, at least partially, by envisioning and working on alternatives to mainstream development. Critically reflecting on the discourse and practice of five different people’s movements in Odisha – the Anti-Tata Steel Movement in Kalinganagar of Jajpur district, the Anti-Utkal Alumina International Ltd Movement in Kashipur of Rayagada district, the Save Niyamgiri Movement in Rayagada and Kalahandi, the save Gandhamardan Movement in Paikamal of Bargarh district, and the anti-land alienation movement in Nabarangpur district (see Map. 1.1) – the study focuses on the study of confrontation between adivasis and hegemonic forces of power and development. This confrontation, a counter-hegemonic discourse, found not just in the words, actions, struggles, dharnas (sitins), lie-downs, bandhs, gheraos and boycotts but in their fragmentary play of aspirations, dreams and desires, in their betrayed and ruined hopes, in their habits of being and ways of lives, is neither antagonistic to change nor anti-development, but rather, I argue, that the adivasis articulate their aspirations for more material prosperity and freedom – freedom from domination and deprivation. The study therefore confronts a simple question: how does marginality as a site of resistance create a space and possibility for the adivasis not only to resist domination but also to mitigate misery? I seek answers to the question not by heroizing the resistors or romanticizing resistance, but by examining the dynamics of power in ‘everyday forms of resistance’. By everyday forms of resistance, I refer to James Scott’s concepts of both ‘hidden transcripts’ that critiques power through off-stage talks, behaviour and mannerisms of the subalterns and ‘public transcripts’ that resist domination through public interactions between the dominators and the subalterns (Scott 1990). Thus, I would examine the diverse forms of resistance the tribals use in their everyday lives to fight against the dominant state, MNCs and other elites. This includes tribals’ singing revolutionary songs during dhemsa3 dance and village meetings; 3 A variety of Kondh dance performed during post-harvest seasons mostly by unmarried boys and girls at night with an intention of finding suitable partners for themselves.

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peaceful marches; shouting slogans during the celebration of martyr days, rallies and protests; pilfering and destroying company goods during night-raids; refusing the developmental programmes offered by the company; road blockades; prohibiting entry of government and company authorities into the movement villages; forceful closing of company gates; gherao of company and government offices; destroying company and government property; ruining property of anti-movement people and even using violence against the company and government authorities as well as against their own people who oppose the movements. Exploring different resistance movements among the tribals, I trace the workings of power through rich, complex and sometimes contradictory details of resistance. Through the study of these complex and contradictory forms of resistance, I trace how the relations of power have historically been transformed, particularly with the introduction of different forms and techniques of power characterized by the modern state and capitalist economy. This study helps us to understand the ways in which the complex and conflicting structures of power work together in tribal communities that are becoming gradually ‘non-local’. I argue that the working of such power of resistance has been central to the pursuit of modernity in tribal Odisha in awakening tribal people’s insurgent and critical consciousness, questioning and resisting the authoritative and undemocratic projects of development, lobbying and pressuring state government in soliciting their own mission, providing services to the people as a supplement to the deficient state delivery mechanism, creating alternatives to development, and making the survival of the marginalized possible. But as a project, the endeavour of the marginals to materialize these dimensions of the resistance has very often been raven with uncertainty and disappointment. The study therefore also confronts another question, one that very often shadows the first with a melancholic tinge: why does the marginality as a space of resistance fail to challenge tyranny and mitigate misery? The remainder of this chapter lays out three theoretical foci of this study. I begin with a general discussion on the adivasis as marginal people – the marginality that has been created as a problem both in the colonial discourse of anthropology and the modern practices of development endeavours. I turn then to make a critical discourse

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analysis of development which in fact has not only dominated the lifeworlds of the marginalized but also produced ‘underdevelopment’ and marginality. Therefore, tribals resist authoritative and mainstream development endeavours. This sets the stage for a close consideration of resistance as a twofold enterprise: a weapon for challenging domination and a strategy for soliciting material benefits.

Marginality as a Problem Indigenous communities, through the ages, have not only been considered as the problem but also depicted as almost non-human or, at best, sub-human. Ancient scriptures like the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, the Puranas, the Samhitas and other so-called ‘sacred books’ refer to indigenous communities as rakshasa (demons), vanara (monkeys), jambuvan (boar men), naga (serpents), bhusundi kaka (crow) and garuda (king of eagles). In medieval India, they were derogatorily called kirata (people with lion nature), nishada (hunter), dasa (slave) and dasyu (a hostile robber). Romila Thapar provocatively argues that the image of ‘tribe’ draws its genesis from the curious situation of the arrival of the Indo-Aryan speaking nomadic pastoralists in northern India who came into contact with the indigenous population (possibly the remnants of the urban civilization of the Indus) and regarded them as mleccha (barbarians) as against the Aryans who were distinct because of their linguistic (speaking Sanskrit) and racial supremacy (Thapar 1971). It appears anyone who did not belong to the Hindu Varna or caste system, or did not practice an identifiable mainstream religion, was classified as tribe. Nirmal Sengupta notes, ‘In socio-cultural achievements Indians who did not accept the caste system were placed not only at the bottom of the evolutionary ladder within India but also were considered at par with others marked as “tribes” all over the world’ (1988a: 944). Thus, it is more by the process of elimination, what Gramsci calls negation, that this category seems to have been arrived. Colonial anthropology, ignoring the historically built differences between tribal communities, resulted in stigmatizing the tribals of India as aboriginal, primitive, savage, indigenous, uncivilized, illiterate, banbasi, jangli (those who are like wild animals) and,

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certainly, ‘exotic’.4 In the not too distant past, anthropologist C. von Furer-Haimendorf, for example, has described the tribes of India as ‘autochthonous societies which persisted until recently in an archaic and in many respects primitive lifestyle’ (1982: 1). Adam Kuper argues that the term indigenous has simply replaced the older, colonial term primitive, and thus arguments for indigenous rights appeal ‘to uncomfortably racist criteria for favouring or excluding individuals or communities’ (2003: 395). This exotic Other was not encountered accidentally; it was constructed and sought out as opposite of Self (cf. Appadurai 1988: 39; Bhaba 1990; Trouillot 1991; Das 1995: 3; Sarukkai 1997: 1406). Without understanding the colonial legacy of administrative categorization of Indian population into castes and tribes, not only the term but the identities of the people were constitutionalized after independence when a scheduled tribes list was issued in 1950 without any substantial change in the 1936 list (Sengupta 1988a: 944). In other words, in the process the tribals of India were not only constructed as a distinct society, and therefore opposite to civilized society, but also the very connotation of ‘adivasi’ was produced as recently as in 1920s (Hardiman 1987: 11–16) and constitutionalized. It has two implications. On the one hand, the discourse of anthropology as well as development practices ‘labelled’ (imposed) indigenous people as ‘tribals’5 which determined their political entitlements in society (Wood 1985; Islam 2003). The colonial discourse, however, constructed the ‘natives’ as backward or childlike, and in opposition to colonizers who were rational agents of progress (Said 1979: 40; cf. Chatterjee 1993). As a result of which, on the other hand, the 4 For a fascinating account of the ironies in the historical evolution of terms like native, inlander, indigenes, etc., in the context of Dutch colonialism in Southeast Asia, see Anderson (1991: 113–28). For a historical review of notion of primitive society, see Kuper (1988) and for the idea of indigenous people, see Béteille (1998), Kuper (2003) and Sengupta (1988a, 1988b). 5 Theoretically engaging with the terms like ‘indigenous’ and ‘tribe’ in India, Sumit Guha (1999) argues that an uncritical adoption of these terms and categories is not supported by historical documents and reports, though he is aware of the political implication of the terms vis-à-vis entitlements of the tribals (cf. Kenrick and Lewis 2004). For the most convincing broadside against the term tribe, see Morton H. Fried (1975).

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indigenous people learnt to realize and recognize their identity in society not by the characteristics and attributes of their own social being but by one imposed by their superiors. Building on Gramsci’s (1976) ideology of negation in constructing and interpreting subaltern consciousness, Ranajit Guha draws our attention to the problem in the following paragraph (1983a: 18, cited in Singh 2001: 241–42). In colonial India, a sense of identity was imposed on him (peasantry)6 by those who had power over him by virtue of their class, caste and social standing. It was they who made him aware of his place in society as a measure of his distance from themselves – a distance expressed in differentials of wealth, status, and culture. His identity amounted to the sum of his subalternity. In other words, he learnt to recognize himself not by the properties and attributes of his own social being but by diminution, if not negation, of those of his superiors.

On the contrary, James Scott argues that ‘hill peoples are best understood as runaway, fugitive, maroon communities who have, over the course of two millennia, been fleeing the oppressions of state-making projects in the valleys’ (2009: ix). While this positioning and adaptation makes our heads swim, it is consoling that ‘the actors themselves are neither confused nor mystified about who they are and what they are doing’ (2009: 332). The concept of ‘adivasi’ understood in both the ways, of its construction and appropriation, laid the foundation of a ‘civilizing mission’ for tribals. Based on an archaic colonial legacy, modern agents of development designed to civilize and develop such people view them as generic primitives and occupants of a tribal slot. Their ethnic or tribal identities, cultural distinctiveness, livelihood practices, and ancient ties to the places they inhabit are presented in programme documents as problems, evidence of closed minds and a developmental deficit that a well-meaningful government must help overcome. For example, the Five Year Plan documents of the Government of India emphasizes that, ‘Tribal communities 6

This observation is applicable to all subaltern groups including the ‘tribals’, though Guha made his observation particularly with regard to the peasantry.

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continue to be vulnerable even today, not because they are poor, asset-less and illiterate compared to the general population; but often their distinct vulnerability arises from their inability to negotiate and cope with mainstream economy, society, culture and political system, from which they were historically protected by their relative isolation’ (GoI 2002: 457, 2000: 234). It is further stated, ‘Age old social and cultural handicaps coupled with environmental factors, to a significant extent, contributed towards their low levels of living’ (GoI 1974: 274; also see GoI 1980: 417, 1985a: 329 & 334). This is to be accomplished by means of implementing an array of development programmes. The Planning Commission document reads, ‘In accordance with the constitutional directives, attempts have been made, through suitable legislative and executive measures, to remove their disabilities. A variety of programmes were also adopted for their socio-economic and political development’ (GoI 1974: 274; see GoI 2007: 115–18). In a paternalistic way the State continues with its bureaucratic model of development. For instance, in the context of Australian aboriginal communities, Lawrence and Gibson (2007) argue that given the aboriginal people’s request for more overt and tailored development interventions from central government, Australia’s Federal Government’s endeavour to reorient the aboriginal affairs debate away from right and inheritance to ‘responsibilities’ introduced the new ‘Shared Responsibility Agreements’ (SRAs). In that, the aboriginal communities should be obliged to follow a series of specified disciplinary practices (like improving personal hygiene, maintaining clean households, preventing school truancy, etc.) in order to receive access to healthcare and other basic social services and entitlements. Though this appeared to be a novel policy reorientation, Lawrence and Gibson write, ‘The governing practices are constantly reconstituted through knowledge of the governed, and through techniques that hybridize early illiberal practices with new neoliberal discourse’ (2007: 655). It is believed, in other words, that adivasis as marginal and underdeveloped people need to be civilized and transformed through scientific and technical planning of development (cf. Pandian 2009). Therefore tribal ‘development’ interventions of various kinds have been continuing for ages.

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Development as Domination Anthropological critiques of development started as early as the late 1960s and early 1970s. In the 1960s and 1970s, a few anthropologists, working on development issues were committed to the questioning of the very processes, assumptions and practices of development. The most insightful cultural critique of development in this era was Ivan Illich’s Celebration of Awareness (1969). In the 1970s, due to the rise and influence of dependency theory, world system theory and neo-Marxism within anthropology, development critics argued that colonial development discourse produced and perpetuated underdevelopment and dependency within the Third World. They further argued that the project of development was a neo-colonial process of expansion of global capitalism to reinforce structures of inequality and reproduce and maintain the domination of the South by the North (Asad 1973; Chilcote and Edelstein 1974; Lappe and Collins 1977; Lappe, Collins and Kinley 1980; Galli 1981). As Asad explains, ‘The reason for this …, is the dialectic of world power. Anthropologists can claim to have contributed to the cultural heritage of the societies they study by a sympathetic recording of indigenous forms of life that would otherwise be lost to posterity. But they have also contributed, sometimes indirectly, towards maintaining the structure of power represented by the colonial system’ (1973: 17). Though anthropologists, then, opposed development speaking on behalf of the ‘native’ people (see for example, Maybury-Lewis 1985; Price 1989; also cf. Escobar 1991), they failed to discuss ‘development as a regime of representation’ (Escobar 1995: 15) – that argues that the discourse of representation of Third World through development is not less pervasive and effective than colonialism. In recent anthropological literature, as Said put it, ‘there is an almost total absence of any reference to American imperial intervention as a factor affecting the theoretical discussion’ (Said 1989: 214; see also Ulin 1991). As champions of speaking authentically from the ‘native’s point of view’, anthropologists overlooked the process in which development operated as an arena of cultural contestation and identity formation. A few anthropologists, however, studied forms and processes of resistance to development interventions

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(Taussig 1980; Scott 1985; Ong 1987; Fals Borda 1988) though these resistance studies lacked an ethnographic perspective (Ortner 1995). Deconstruction of the dominant development discourse began in late 1980s and early 1990s. With a Marxist orientation, and being influenced by the poststructuralist/postmodern movement, the critics focused on textual and discourse-based critiques of representation and called for self-critical epistemological reflection. Much of this critique was inspired by the works of Michel Foucault who studied governmentality and power-knowledge discourse as his central theme. Thus, the concept of ‘discourse’, no doubt, has had a great effect in the anthropology of development in the 1990s. This critique is often referred to as the ‘poststructuralist development critique’. However, later ‘post-development’ critics argue that the development discourse acts as a regime of representation or hegemonic worldview that constructs the Third World as underdeveloped and does not allow its people to think and produce alternatives for redefining development discourse and attaining well-being. James Ferguson’s work on Lesotho (1990), for instance, is an example of the deconstructionist approach. Making an in-depth analysis of rural development programmes implemented by the World Bank in Lesotho, Ferguson argues that the development apparatus (both discourse and practice), though failing in their own terms, produces unintended consequences (for a detailed discussion see Chapter 2). Wolfgang Sachs’ The Development Dictionary (1992) is another example of the deconstructionist approach that critically analyses key words of development discourse such as development, equality, environment, market, needs, planning, poverty, state and so on. Tracing the origin, use and transformation of these key concepts in development discourse, he sounds the death knell for ‘self-defeating development discourse’ (1992: 6) highlighting the dangers of their use, in the present form, in the context of Third World development. The book nurtures a hope that researchers and activists might find alternative deconstructions to the present development discourse. In recent ‘post-development’ literature, the work of Arturo Escobar (1991, 1995) calls for special attention. Being greatly influenced by, and building on, Michel Foucault’s theoretical analysis

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of discourse, power and knowledge, Escobar studied the process of international development (1984). Escobar argues that through the production of development discourse, the Western countries manage, dominate and exploit the so-called Third World. He further calls for a total dismantling of the development discourse as the only way to transcend development’s domination and exploitation. This post-structuralist critique of development gained ground rapidly in the 1990s and was reflected in many other works by anthropologists especially (for example see Ferguson 1990; Sachs 1992; Escobar 1995; Crush 1995; Cowen and Shenton 1996; Grillo and Stirrat 1997; Mohan 1997; Rahnema and Bawtree 1997; Cooke and Kothari 2001; Mosse 2005; Mosse and Lewis 2005). Anthropological critiques of development also need to be critiqued. A group of Marxist scholars pushed for a more material focus on capitalism as the principal problematic (for example see, Nederveen Pieterse 1998, 2001; Babbington 2000). The postdevelopment school was too systematic in presenting development as a homogeneous enterprise. Another group of scholars of post-structural persuasion attempted to stress other ways in which development is contested, resisted, and reshaped throughout the development process. (For example, see Everett 1997; Crew and Harrison 1998; Li 1999, 2007; Arce and Long 2000; Gardner and Lewis 2000; Moore 2000; Quarles van Ufford and Giri 2003; Friedman 2006). Des Gasper, building on Mahbub ul Haq’s work, presents an all inclusive ‘human security model’ that ensures, along with the conventional concerns of income security and security from physical violence, food security, health security, environmental security, community/identity security, and security of political freedoms (Gasper 2005: 223). Beyond the limits of ‘boundary object’ (p.235) and ‘securities’, he further emphasizes that ‘‘human security is not a concern with weapons – it is a concern with human life and dignity’ (UNDP 1994: 22, quoted in Gasper 2005: 226). Donor and recipient relationship remain, however, unproblematized. With a hope to transcend this limitation, Giri and Quarles van Ufford propose development as a ‘shared responsibility’ consisting of four important actors – ‘state, market, social movements/ voluntary organizations, and the creative and transformative self ’

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(2003: 273). With an emphasis on the dynamics of ethics in the vision and practice of development, the model proposes to bring the self and other, the donor and recipient, the agent and audience, the developed and the developing world together. Giri and Quarles van Ufford further quote Robert Chambers saying that ‘uppers have to give up something and make themselves vulnerable’ (Chambers 1997: 234, quoted in Giri and Quarles van Ufford 2003: 256). But neither Giri and Quarles van Ufford nor Chambers make it clear how to bring the donor and recipient and the rich and poor on a platform for caring for the self and, simultaneously, the other. The failure of local governance units such as panchayats, gram sabhas, palli sabhas, etc., designed for active participation in the vision and practice of development, and, in fact, the prevalence of the practice of ‘Collector Raj’, for instance, shows the continuation of the divide between the agent and audience, the donor and recipient, and the developed and the developing world. It points to the fact that the ethical rumination on this score is at best naïve. As the above short review shows, there are a relatively small but comprehensive number of critiques of development that continue to contribute important perspectives on the discourse and practice of development. The application of Foucault’s discourse analysis to understand development, no doubt, has captured anthropological imagination to open up new vistas and questions about the ways in which knowledge, power and action are linked in development. More than two decades ago, Arturo Escobar was credited for applying Foucault’s insights on the dynamics of discourse and power to study international development (1984). Since then, as we saw in our review above, the ‘development as discourse’ approach has gained ground in many anthropological works on development. This approach, however, is not free from problems. First, the approach generalizes that ‘development’ is wholly top-down and hegemonic and produced by the North. But the development discourse, in fact, is not totally produced by the North, nor can the world be divided into ‘developers’ and ‘the victims of development’ (Grillo and Stirrat 1997: 21; quoted in Gardner and Lewis 2000: 17). Implicit in the works of Ferguson, Escobar, Sachs and many others, Grillo and Stirrat argue, is an ethnocentric idea that development is

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completely imposed (1997: 20). Though there are many instances of development being imposed on the ‘adivasi’ or ‘local’ communities, and of their resistance to it, it cannot be taken for granted that this is always the case. In fact, the much aid-dependent indigenous people have their own understanding of ‘development’, viewed by both rich and poor as something like ‘more is needed’ and desirable, to be sought out rather than contested. Thus, albeit the ‘aid industry’ is dominated by the North and the concept of modernization that underpins it can be traced to a certain period of intellectual, political and economic history in Europe and America, it cannot be assumed that the contemporary discourse of development is wholly generated there. Sivaramkrishnan and Agrawal rightly observe, The radical critique of development also troubles because it conjures up a particular and singular image of the relationship between the global and the local. It is a picture in which the global is the homogenizing juggernaut of domination, and the local the crucible in which variable forms of resistance are given birth (2003: 30).

With a critique of the polarized extremes of global and local, Sivaramakrishnan and Agrawal suggest ‘regional modernities’, through which the contested histories and different ideas of development in different locales can be explored (2003: 13–25). Second, just as development discourse is not simply a hegemonic production of the West, the ‘Third World’ and the ‘victims of development’ or ‘development beneficiaries’ are not homogeneous (Gates 1996: 576). Nor is what Escobar calls ‘the development gaze’, homogeneous (Gardner 1996: 171; Gardner and Lewis 2000: 18). The postmodern approach to analyse development as discourse needs to deal with multiple and ever-changing realities and narratives produced by different actors in different locations and, hence, to construct it as homogeneous is theoretically contradictory. As Gardner and Lewis argue, “An important task for the anthropology of development is therefore to show the ways in which these definitions and meanings are contested and negotiated, as well as how they change over time” (2000: 18; see Sivaramakrishnan and Agrawal 2003).

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Finally, Gardner and Lewis argue that ‘a postmodern approach need not preclude making the leap from theory to action’ (2000:18). As the task of deconstructing a particular aspect of the development discourse bears direct practical and political outcome, it helps in problematizing the dominant paradigm and opens up alternative discourses, albeit the deconstructionists’ efforts to provide alternative solutions to development have been contradictory in themselves (Agrawal 1996). Critics have pointed out, however, that ‘development as discourse” has reached its polemical saturation point and, hence, there is a need for an alternative which will be both theoretically sophisticated and empirically accurate. In this ‘post-discourse era’, as Gardner and Lewis (2000: 16) call it, the political disengagement and theoretical reductionism of development deconstruction has been progressively problematized and new alternatives put forward. For instance, in his review of the works of Ferguson, Escobar and Sachs, Arun Agrawal (1996) argues that ‘development as discourse’ has two inevitable problems: contradiction and over-determination. First, the authors are constantly contradicting their deconstructionist stance by offering alternative ‘solutions’ to the problems of inequality, poverty and exploitation implicitly admitting that there exist indeed ‘problems’ that need to be ‘solved’. And thus, they ‘are forced to repeat as conclusions the assumptions of their critique’ (Agrawal 1996: 165; quoted in Gardner and Lewis 2000: 16). Second, by overdetermination, Agrawal draws attention to the fact that the arguments are becoming increasingly tautological. He argues, when everything is reduced to discourse, then it becomes difficult ‘in moving beyond critique and pointing out productive avenues of change’ (ibid). Similarly, Lehmann (1997) calls attention to what he calls Escobar’s ‘rhetoric of sarcasm’. He argues that manipulating and misrepresenting Foucault, Escobar reproduces the dependency theory. Lehmann also points out a number of weaknesses in the content of Escobar’s arguments, namely that while Escobar denounces the ‘classifying’ and ‘categorizing’ activities of development professionals, he never problematizes the similar activities undertaken by social movements. He also severely criticizes Escobar for his rhetorical style for ‘a series of claims and critiques

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framed in the language of unbridled certainty’ (cited in Gardner and Lewis 2000: 16) pointing out the motives, rather than the arguments, of many of the authors upon which his criticisms are concentrated. Though Lehmann’s criticism focuses on Escobar, it can also be applicable to others of the genre. Gardner and Lewis argue that development discourse can be contested and changed and deconstructionism can only become politically engaged when it allows to ‘demonstrate the fluidity and heterogeneity of the discourses in development as well as the power relations they invariably involve’ (2000: 16). They write, ‘Rather than presenting “development” as invariably top-down, hegemonic and static, the challenge for anthropology is to show how political activism both from within and outside the institutions and networks which produce development discourses can help problematize and overturn dominant paradigms’ (ibid.). Figure 1.1: Development as a dialectical encounter, a dialectic of the dialectics of a number of local social and political development forces on the one hand and the global dominant and subordinate development forces on the other

Source: Author

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Building on these critiques and related arguments, I take my theoretical lead from John T. Friedman who proposes to study ‘development’ as a dialectical, rather than hegemonic, encounter (2006)7. I take this challenge to explore ‘development’ ‘as the product of the interplay between an indeterminate number of localized social and political forces on the one hand, and the dominant and subordinate in the global development encounter on the other’ (Freidman 2006: 206–7, see Fig. 1.1). This alternative construction of ‘development’ is important for the fact that it assures the space denied by post-structuralist discourse. In the process, though the dominant development discourse retains its hold, importantly, it makes way for the role and influence of local agency in ‘development’. By limiting the over-determination of poststructuralist critique, this alternative theoretical construction finds a balance by recognizing the fact that the ‘local’ beneficiaries or the so-called ‘victims of development’ also play a vital role in the production of discourse and practice of development. This alternative construction of development, therefore, transcends the post-structuralist impasse by privileging not only agency over structure but also dialectics over hegemony.

Resistance as a Possibility Like development discourse, the study of resistance has been one of the central problematics in social sciences, in recent years, in the study of social movements. For the purpose of my study, a movement is defined as an organized and sustained collective action to bring about (or resist) changes over time. Earlier, resistance was constructed as a binary and in opposition to domination. James Scott’s (1985) focus on ‘less organized, more pervasive, and more everyday forms of 7

Friedman, in fact, proposes this theoretical reorientation based on the work of Jean Comaroff (1985) and Jean Comaroff and John Comaroff (1991, 1997), particularly with respect to their analysis of the relationship between social practice, historical process and culture in the South African colonial encounter. More particularly, Friedman builds on what Jean Comaroff calls ‘dialectical process in double sense’ – study of ‘present as being the product of two distinct dialectical relationships in dialectical relation with one another’ (Friedman 2006: 206).

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resistance’ in opposition to Foucault’s (1978) ‘less institutionalized, more pervasive, and more everyday forms of power’ gave a new and more nuanced meaning to resistance and power as well (see Ortner 1995: 174–75). Today, in fact, ‘everything from revolutions to hairstyles has been described as resistance’ (Hollander and Einwohner 2004: 534), and hence, there is little consensus regarding what resistance actually means. The relationship of resistance to power, however, remains at the hub of all the resistance studies. This has been reflected in different forms such as voice, subversion, dissidence, counter-hegemony, counter-discourse as well as resistance. Studies on resistance focus on poor peasants in South Asia (Scott 1985; Scott and Kerkvliet 1986; Stoler 1985; Turton 1986), subaltern groups in colonial India (Guha 1983a, 1983b), poor black peasant workers in rural South Africa (Comaroff 1985), tin miners in Bolivia (Nash 1979, 2001), plantation workers in Colombia (Taussig 1980) and women factory workers in Malaysia (Ong 1987). There is also a growing literature on social and tribal movements in India today. As making an exhaustive review of social movements8 is beyond the limits of this study, a very short outline of the tribal movements in India and the intellectual landscape within which the ideas of collective action and resistance have travelled is mapped. The infiltration of the intruders – the British colonial administrators, their Indian troops, the police and civilian subordinates, the traders, moneylenders and landlords – into the tribal hinterlands and their exploitation of the tribal people resulted in the first phase9 of tribal outbreaks (1765–1857), what K.S. Singh calls ‘primary resistance movements’ (1985: 19). Chuar Rebellion (peak from 1795 to 1800), the Munda uprising during 1831–32 (Jha 1964), the Kol revolt in 1832, the Bhumij outbreaks in 1832–33 (Jha 1967), the Santal rebellion during 1855–57 (Datta 1940) and a number of tribal 8

For an exhaustive survey on social movements in India, please refer to Shah (1990), Singh (2001) and Baviskar (2010). Also see Nielsen and Nilsen (2016) for questions on the extent to which social movements are capable of deepening democracy in India. 9 The classification builds on K.S. Singh’s (1985, 1998) division of tribal movements into three phases; the first phase (1765–1857), the second phase (1857–1920), and the third phase (1920–47).

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movements among the Garo, Khasi, Singhpho, Mishmi, Lushai, Khampti, Dafla and Bhil reported in this period. The objective of the movements of this phase was to overthrow all the outside oppressors and restore the golden past. This phase of movements culminated in the Indian Mutiny of 1857, the first war of independence. The second phase of the movement (1857–1920), the phase of social reform and political awakening, were launched by the ‘rebellious prophets’ who promised their followers that they would drive away outsiders and bring back their golden past (Orans 1965; Singh 1966; Fuchs 1967, 1980). The Santal rebellion known as hul (1855–56), the Kharwar Movement during 1871–80, (Bodding 1921), the Munda rebellion of Chotanagpur during 1899–1900 (Singh 1985), Bhil rebellion in 1881, the Kondhs rebellion against the Kultas in Kalahandi, Odisha in 1882, the Kondh meli of 1893 in Nayagarh against the oppression of the diwans, the protest of Juangs and Bhuiyas of Keonjhar against the oppression and exploitation of the raja in 1891 and the Gudem Rampa rising during 1839–1924 against the exploitation of alien rulers, toddy tax and restriction on shifting cultivation (Arnold 1982) were some of the movements of this period aimed at restoration of tribal raj and revival of their lost culture. Sanskritization movements, also known as Bhagat movements, among the Oraons (1914–18), Bhil, Santals, the Haribaba movement among the Hos (1930), the Rajmohini Movement among the Gonds and the Devi Movement among the tribes of south Gujarat (Hardiman 1987) are some examples of such movements that preached monotheism, vegetarianism, teetotalitarianism, temperance and cleanliness as elements of social reform. Bearing a profound impact on the state of consciousness of adivasis, as Hardiman argues (1987), religiosity and religious idioms, however, provided a practical code of ‘political ethics’ for the tribals to fight against exploitation and dominance (see Bording 1921; Kalia 1962; Orans 1965; Fuch 1967; Ekka 1972; Ekka 1983; Bhatt 1983; Lal 1983; Mann 1983; Hardiman 1984, 1987). The third phase of movements (1920–1947), the phase of agrarian and nationalist movements, was more secular and political in nature. For the tribals ‘Swaraj meant not only freedom from British rule, but freedom from the oppression of the dikus, moneylenders, zamindars and feudal-overlords. Ram rajya was interpreted as a restoration

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of the tribal world of primitive freedom, of the golden age of the race, the memory of which had survived. Freedom to them meant restoration of agrarian and forest rights’ (Singh 1985: 161). The Koyas and Jatapus of the Agency area (Rampa) of Madras Presidency took part in fituri (rebellion) and guerrilla warfare (1898–1923) to overthrow the British. The post-colonial tribal movements took a different turn. Though, movement against land alienation (Pinto 2002), for land reform and distribution of land to the tillers (Desai and Desai 1997; Desai 2002), against forced labour (Pavier 1981; Dhanagare 1983), for higher wages for labour (Perulekar1975; Perulekar 1979), against exploitation of landlords and moneylenders (Breman 1974; Sharma 1976; Augustine 1984; Balagopal 1988; Pinto 2002), for restoration of tribal rights over forest (Dogra 1980; Das and Nagi 1983; Engineer 2002; Joshi 2002), etc., continued to be the main issues, however, movement for tribal identity and autonomy, social reform and cultural safeguard became the focus of the post-independence tribal mobilization in India. On the eve of independence, some of the tribes became apprehensive of losing their tribal identity. The Nagas of Nagaland (Yonuo 1974), the Khasis of Meghalaya (Mathur 1982) and Mizo of Mizoram (Misra 1974, 2000; Anand 1980; Das, N.K. 1982; Goswami and Mukharjee 1982; Shah 1984; Vashum 2000), the Bhils of Rajasthan (Mann 1983) and importantly tribals of the Chotanagpur region demanding the formation of Jharkhand state (Sharma 1976, 1993; Dhar 1980; Panchbhai 1983; Singh 1983b; Das 1990; Devalle 1992; Mullick 1993; Basu 1994; Prakash 2001; Singh, C. 2001; Tirkey 2002) had fought for autonomy and a separate state for them. In recent years, there are movements among a few tribes – for example, Meitei or Manipur language movement (Das, A.R. 1982a), the Nepali language movement in Darjeeling (Das, A.R. 1982b), the Ol-Chiki or Santali language movement (Mahapatra 1983; Fuchs 1992: 67–70) – to invent and flourish their own script and language for revival of culture and assertion of their identity. N. K. Bose characterizes these movements as growth of ‘sub-nationalism’ (1967), whereas Roy-Burman calls this ‘infranationalism’ (1969). They both argue that the tribals through their

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involvement in progressive movements advance from a stage of ‘tribalism’ towards ‘nationalism’. Tribal movements today have assumed a new character. The focus of movements has shifted checking exploitation and land alienation, identity formation and nationalism (Singh 1998) to selfdetermination for self-management of resources, questioning of the mainstream development and sharing of power. While the Chipko Movement illustrated the commitment of people (including the tribals) to the environment10 (Das and Negi 1983; Guha 1989), the well-known Naramada Bachao Andolan, opposing displacement, questioned the very process of mainstream development (Baviskar 1995; Dwivedi 1998; Sangvai 2000; Whitehead 2010). Tribals have taken part not only in civil social movements but also, by their own volition or external force, in Maoists/Naxalite movements. For instance, since the launch of the Salwa Judum, an anti-Naxalite movement, in Dantewada district of Chhattisgarh in 2005, adivasis have been caught in a crossfire between the Maoists/Naxalites11 and the state government of Chhattisgarh (PUCL 2005b; ACHR 2006; Cherian 2006; Choudhary 2012; Pandita 2012; Sundar 2016). In her book The Burning Forest, Nandini Sundar, has presented the disturbing accounts of armed conflicts between the government and the Maoists devastating the lives of poor tribals in Baster, Chhattisgarh (2016). In Odisha at present, there are a number of on-going people’s movements fighting against the establishment of ‘mega-development’ and mining projects12; for instance, the Anti-Tata Movement in Kalinganagar, Jajpur; the Anti-UAIL Movement in Kashipur, Rayagada; the Anti-Vedanta Movement in Lanjigarh, Kalahandi; the Anti-Sterlite Iron and Steel Company Movement in Keonjhar and the Anti-POSCO Movement in Paradeep, Jagatsinghpur, to name just a few. 10 For a detailed history particularly South East Asian history of environmental movements, please refer to Gadgil and Guha (1992); Agrawala (2006) and Grove et al. (2000). 11 For Naxalite movements in other parts of India, please see Banarjee (1980, 1984). 12 For a good review on anthropology of mining, see Ballard and Banks (2003).

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Unlike grand studies of peasant revolution in the 1960s and early1970s (for instance, Wolf 1969; Paige 1975; Scott 1976), however, resistance studies today are concerned with ‘unlikely forms of resistance, subversions rather than large-scale collective insurrections, small or local resistances not tied to the overthrow of systems or even to ideologies of emancipation’ (Abu-Lughod 1990: 41). My endeavour in studying social movements, particularly tribal movements, however, makes the most general case in this regard to record and restore such previously devalued and neglected forms of resistance and power. In spite of the considerable theoretical sophistication of resistance studies, they are severely limited by the lack of ethnographic perspective, what Sherry Ortner calls ‘ethnographic refusal’. She argues, ‘Resistance studies are thin because they are ethnographically thin: thin on the internal politics of dominated groups, thin on the cultural richness of those groups, thin on the subjectivity – the intentions, desires, fears, projects – of the actors engaged in these dreams’ (Ortner 1995: 190). This is because perhaps there is a tendency ‘to romanticize resistance, to read all forms of resistance as signs of the ineffectiveness of systems of power and of the resilience and creativity of the human spirit in its refusal to be dominated’ and as ‘they are ultimately more concerned with finding resistors and explaining resistance than with examining power, they do not explore as fully as they might the implications of the forms of resistance they locate’ (Abu-Lughod 1990: 42, 41). Analysis of resistance in this way does not appreciate the different forms of resistance and forecloses certain questions about how power operates. Here, Lila Abu-Lughod’s proposition of studying resistance as a ‘diagnostic of power’ (Abu-Lughod 1990: 42) offers us helpful insights. In this, I take a cue from Foucault’s analytics of power and resistance. Particularly, I build on one of his central assertions advanced in his most explicit discussion on power, in the first volume of The History of Sexuality, that ‘where there is power, there is resistance’ (1978: 95). By this, Foucault challenges us to question our understanding of power as always and essentially repressive. Deromanticizing the 20th-century sexual revolution,

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he argues that power is something which not just works negatively – by forbidding, restricting, prohibiting, or repressing – but also positively and productively – by producing forms of pleasure, systems of knowledge, goods, and discourses. He highlights the productive perspective of power in the following words: ‘What makes power hold good, what makes it accepted, is simply the fact that it doesn’t only weigh on us as a force that says no, but that it traverses and produces things, it induces pleasure, forms knowledge, produces discourse’ (1980: 119). Writing on the relationship between power and resistance, he says, There are no relations of power without resistances; the latter are all the more real and effective because they are formed right at the point where relations of power are exercised; resistance to power does not have to come from elsewhere to be real, nor is it inexorably frustrated through being the compatriot of power. It exists all the more by being in the same place as power; hence, like power, resistance is multiple and can be integrated in global strategies (1980: 142).

Despite his constant attempt to show that resistance is always tied to power, as the above quote shows, he occasionally implies the persistence of some residual freedom, as evident from the following (1982: 225), For, if it is true that at the heart of power relations and as a permanent condition of their existence there is an insubordination and a certain essential obstinacy on the part of the principles of freedom, then there is no relationship of power without the means of escape or possible flight. Every power relationship implies, at least in potentia, a strategy of struggle, in which the two forces are not superimposed, do not lose their specific nature, or do not finally become confused. Each constitutes for the other a kind of permanent limit, a point of possible reversal. A relationship of confrontation reaches its term, its final moment (and the victory of one of the two adversaries) when stable mechanisms replace the free play of antagonistic reactions.

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Foucault further says, ‘Where there is power, there is resistance, and yet, or rather consequently, this resistance is never in a position of exteriority in relation to power’ (1978: 95). This is more insightful and provocative. Building on (neo)Gramscian conceptual framework (Cox 1981, 1983) concerning the politics of hegemony and resistance in forming alliance and making of subjects, I propose by inverting Foucault’s assertion, where there is resistance, there is power, a post-Foucauldian governmentality connotation, as the central theoretical perspective of the study. This shift is potentially more useful in ethnographic analysis because it enables us to shift from abstract theories of power to methodological strategies for the study of different forms of power in various locations. The study makes a welcome contribution in overcoming the limitations of traditional ‘discursive governmentality’ by adopting a ‘realist governmentality’ perspective (Stenson 2005, 2008, McKee 2009) in exploring resistance as ‘diagnostic of power’ (Abu-Lughod 1990) and making of subaltern citizens in their local contexts. In doing so, it seeks to understand the intricacies of the overlap of ‘the politics of the sovereignty with the politics of the governmentality’ (Chatterjee 2012: 47) rendering visible the actual effects of governing practices, and the behaviour and situated knowledge of subjugated populations. This sensitivity to both time and space, coupled with a strong empirical focus on the resistant subjects, represents a return to, as opposed to a departure from, Foucault’s own thinking. I study resistance strategically to know more about the forms of power and how people generate power through resistance. In short, looking beyond the binary of resistance and domination, this study reinstates resistance as more than opposition. It seeks to understand resistance as creative and transformative by appreciating the multiplicity of forms that resistance takes, ‘the multiplicity of projects in which social beings are always engaged, and the multiplicity of ways in which those projects feed on as well as collide with one another’ (Ortner 1995: 191). The emergent power, as we will see in the following chapters, is central to the politics of marginality and also for making development a dialectical process.

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Deep Ethnography: Participant Observation and Beyond13 In social science research today, there is an urgent need for rethinking grand theories and methods; for example, rethinking theories of self/subjectivity, society, theories and methods (Moore 1999; Giri 2006; Thakur 2017). Despite theoretical sophistication and internal reflection, ethnography in general means ‘the attempt to understand another life world using the self – as much of it as possible – as the instrument of knowing’ (Ortner 1995: 173). As part of my ethnographic undertaking, I attempt to understand the tribal ‘Other’ and his life-world. The best methodological tool available for my research was participant observation including interviews, observations, case studies and life histories. Participant observation on its own did not produce much insight. Perhaps, therefore, Bourdieu once asked, ‘How can one be both subject and object, the one who acts and the one who, as it were, watching himself acting’ (2003: 282; cited in Giri 2006: 258). The alternative offered by Bourdieu is participant objectivation. He writes, ‘By participant objectivation I mean the objectivation of the subject of objectivation, of the analysing subject – in short the researcher herself ’ (ibid). Giri, however, questions this by saying, ‘How can one watch oneself acting and be both subject and object’ (2006: 258). There is also an argument, therefore, for a shift from participant observation to partisan observation (Sanadjian 1990), partisan participation/ research – ‘action-through-research’ that confines the anthropologists not only to passing judgment but also saying something concrete, in the sense of a sort of political practice (Bourdieu 1978; Huizer 1979; Sanadjian 1990). For anthropological research in the country to produce useful knowledge, anthropologists must not position themselves politically within a left-right dichotomy but react to the problems of the subjects of their study (see Saradjian 1990). For instance, anthropologist Veena Das, in her work (1995, 1998), has given a privileged position to the voices of the deprived, those 13 This builds on a section of my article published elsewhere, see Mahana (2009).

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who are victims of large social, political, global and technological processes. In her book Critical Events, she analyses some critical moments in the history of contemporary India. Partition, sati, minority rights, the Bhopal industrial gas tragedy, communalism, military discourse, abduction of women and suffering of children are some of the major issues which form the core of the book. She not only records and gives a privileged position to the voices of the deprived, but also reflects throughout the book on the nature of anthropological discourse and the concern for ‘Other’. Moreover, she reflects on how suffering creates a history of memory (e.g., India-Pakistan partition), how individual pain transcends beyond the individual (e.g., Shah Bano and Roop Kanwar cases), and on the political dramatization of suffering (e.g., Bhopal gas tragedy). Importantly, she wonders and finds the possibility of justice within the framework of existing deconstructive practices. Finally, building on Wittgenstein’s idea of locating ‘my pain in your body’ (1958), Leder’s moral significance of ‘forming one body’ (1990) and Emmanuel Levinas and Mahatma Gandhi’s moral orientation to ‘see the face of Other’, Veena Das’s work shows that anthropological knowledge transmits the pain of Other – the marginalized, the deprived, the neglected, the ill, the disabled or the voiceless – to the body (of writing) of ‘Self’ (in a broader sense here the ‘Self’ not only refers to anthropologists but also to the critical self, or better, the moral self, of the wider public). Her concluding words are pointed: ‘The healing force of social anthropology can come if the experiences of suffering we have encountered in these chapters don’t become cause for consolidating the authority of the discipline, but rather an occasion for forming one body, providing voice, and touching victims, so that their pain may be experienced in other bodies as well’ (Das 1995: 196). Thus, beyond the ‘recognition of the face of other’, anthropology today is wide open to Wittgenstein’s advocacy of ‘realizing the pain in another person’s body’ (see Das 1998). Wittgenstein puts it like this, In order to see that it is conceivable that one person should have pain in another’s body, one must examine what sorts of facts we call critical for a pain being in a certain place… Suppose I feel that

A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi  31 a pain which on the evidence of the pain alone, e.g., with closed eyes, I should call a pain in my left hand. Someone asks me to touch the painful spot with my right hand. I do so and looking around perceive that I am touching my neighbour’s hand.…This would be pain felt in another’s body (Wittgenstein 1958: 49; cited in Das 1998: 192).

Veena Das has interpreted this passage keenly in many of her writings (e.g. Das 1995, 1997). She argues that ‘Wittgenstein’s fantasy of my pain being located in your body suggests either the intuition that the representation of shared pain exists in the imagination but is not experienced….or that the experience of pain cries out for this response to the possibility that my pain would reside in your body and that the philosophical grammar of pain is about allowing this to happen’ (Das 1998: 192). She is right to believe that no one can feel the other’s pain in the same way that one experiences pain in one’s own body. At best, she argues, one can feel the pain of the other and narrate it. Veena Das makes a point here that anthropology is precisely this transfer of knowledge or pain from ‘other’ to ‘self ’. She argues that anthropology as a body of writing translates the ‘pain’ of Other and locates it in Self ’s (anthropologist’s) body (of writings). Nonetheless, other scholars have challenged us to rethink how we can represent the other on behalf of whom we talk and theorize (e.g., see Spivak 1988; Baviskar 1995; Sarukkai 1997, 2007). Das’s hope of transmitting (or sharing) the pain of the Other to the body (of writing) of the Self helps crossing the boundary of the ethnocentric self. Nonetheless, fantasy, with all its possible positive projections, leaves many questions unanswered. How far can we realistically/practically realize the pain of the Other? How truly/ faithfully can we translate the pain of the Other? What is the method available to undertake such projects? Though there are no easy answers to these questions, we need to bear in mind the following points so far as fieldwork and translation is concerned. Firstly, as Carrithers argues, the scholarly ethic of faithfulness in interpretation should match the personal ethic that arises in the field situation (2005: 445). This ethic enhances practicing the

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inductive method – the basic principle of anthropology – rather than the deductive method. This suggests the need to proceed from the grassroots experience upwards instead of from abstract principles downwards. In this type of interpretation Other’s value and worth is represented properly. As mentioned earlier, there is a growing consensus that anthropological knowledge is influenced by the sense of the other’s worth, such that what is told about people should not be far different from what is said to people. This signifies that an ethical code of conduct has already been enshrined in the anthropological profession. Secondly, anthropological knowledge requires forbearance in the sense of a forbearance that will allow one to get into and understand the ‘Other’ – other’s point of view, values, worth, reasoning, experiences and intentions – while not losing Self. In practice, this depends on the earlier proposition of interpretative faithfulness. Thirdly, anthropological theorizing, as was the case earlier, is confined to the construction of We as the opposite of the Other. Now we must recognize that anthropological knowledge should pay much more attention to those less privileged than the anthropologists themselves. It is said that ‘anthropologists study in the interest of those less powerful and make a case for an anthropological critique of power in the name of the powerless’ (ibid). Today, the equivalent of Hortense Podermaker’s difficulty of ‘upward anthropology’ – the study of those more powerful (1966) and Laura Nader’s entailment of this observation as ‘studying up’ – discharging of obligation to those below (1972), would be to study ‘anthropology as a critique of world order’ (Carrithers 2005: 445). For instance, it will be worth studying the ideological foundations of Indian democracy especially decentralization and its systematic impact on the marginalized communities in India. Fourthly, Marcus and Fischer (1986) argue that ‘ethnographic writing must open itself to a plurality of voices’ (Ulin 1991: 70). What they urge here is a new type of ethnography that decentres the authority of anthropologists by allowing a multiplicity of voices to be heard in the ethnography itself. They emphasize that the decentering of authority involves much more than just reporting what the subjects of study have informed/disclosed.

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Finally, how do we do ethnography in the field? In fact, it is the anthropologists who undergo rigorous training and construct mental habits to work with strangers – ‘the natives’. But, on the other hand, the natives have no such preparation to accept the unwanted guest – the anthropologists. Apparently, then it becomes a more radical moment on the part of the native to accept the anthropologists’ presence. For example, T.N. Madan regrets, ‘what upset me was our own behaviour. Everybody was asking the people questions about their most intimate relationships and fondest beliefs, without any regard for their feelings and convenience’ (Madan 1975: 134). Nonetheless, the best available methodological tool of anthropological enquiry, participant observation, does not help much to understand the other in whole/reality because of the following limitations. Firstly, in participant observation, the observer observes the observed, which may prevent the subjects of study from acting naturally. Secondly, the researcher is considered superior to the subjects of his study, especially in the case of ‘studying down’. Here, the power hegemony prevents the subjects from sharing all their subjective feelings with the researcher. Participant observation, therefore, continues as distant participation. Drawing upon Carrithers’ ‘engaged learning’ (2005) and Fox’s ‘engagement in learning’ (Fox 2005: 448), I propose deep ethnography as an anthropological method of enquiry that overcomes the above limitations of participant observation. What I mean by deep ethnography is that the anthropologists, throwing away egocentrism and ethnocentrism, need to be a friend (to have an intimate participation) of the subjects of study. Along with familiar anthropological techniques – observation, interview, case study etc. – subjects’ own diary, songs, proverbs, gossips, etiquettes, etc., need to be taken into serious consideration as anthropological facts. Adding ethics to the practice of anthropological fieldwork will not only enhance the possibility on the part of the community to open itself to the anthropologists but also provide enough space for the emergence of ‘auto-anthropology’ and ‘native anthropologists’. Hereby, bringing ethical rumination into the discourse of anthropological production of knowledge. However, I do not mean that the anthropologists should implicitly surrender their autonomous critical reflections.

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Notes on the Terrain The research for this book was mostly conducted in tribal villages of five different districts of Odisha. The focus of the project was to study different people’s movements against domination. The people’s movements under consideration for this book, as mentioned earlier, are the Anti-Tata Steel Movement in Kalinganagar of Jajpur district, Anti-Utkal Alumina International Ltd Movement in Kashipur of Rayagada district, Save Gandhamardan Movement in Paikamal of Bargarh district, anti-land alienation movement in Raighar, Umarkote and Jharigaon of Nabarangpur district and Ol-Chiki Movement in Rairangpur of Mayurbhanj. Let me introduce each of them in brief.

Anti-Tata Steel Movement in Jajpur Near the Duburi chowk of Jajpur district, there is a triangular valley situated in between the National Highway 200 on the west, the State Highway 20 on north-east and the road connecting the above two on the south-east. There are 83 revenue villages located within 10 Gram Panchayats of Sukinda and Danagadi blocks that constitute what Biju Patnaik named as Kalinganagar in early 1990s. The vision was to transform these rural villages into an industrial nagar (town). Ho tribals dominate the valley but there are Munda and Santal tribals as well. Adivasis have lived in this valley for generations carving out arable lands and practicing cultivation. The British government, acknowledging their legal ownership over land, titled them as khuntkattidars, ones who carved arable lands out of the jungle. In 1980s, this area was identified as ‘destination industry’ to start a steel city in public sector. The demarcation of land for this purpose began in 1984. People were consulted at no stage. Boring and soil testing were taken up. On enquiry, the people were told that it was part of a routine government survey. A corporate unit named as the Industrial Development Corporation of Odisha (IDCO) was created. An estimated area of 30,000 acre was acquired between 1991 and 1995. The state government paid compensation to the villagers for only 13,000 acre of patta land at the rate of Rs 37,000 per acre. For

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Map not to scale

Map 1.2: Map of Jajpur district showing the area of study (Duburi, Kalinganagar). Source: Author

the rest of the land, partly belonging to adivasi families and partly to the community, the villagers did not get any compensation as they had no land documents. The Supreme Court’s directive to issue land titles to adivasis was not implemented here. However, the government changed its plan in 1997, namely to set up an industrial city for the private sector on this land. In the meantime, a dozen companies emerged in Kalinganagar. They are currently in different phases of construction and production. At this point, Tata Steel signed an MoU with the Government of Odisha on 17 November 2004 to set up a 6 mtpa (million tonne per annum) integrated steel plant at Kalinganagar. The project was to involve an investment of Rs 15,400 crores (Rs 1.54 billion). The state government also agreed to provide 250 million tons of iron ore required for the plant for its two modules for a period of

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25 years. According to official sources, the proposed plant would be located on the arable lands of Kalinganagar directly displacing 1,234 families from 10 villages of Danagadi and Sukinda Blocks. The government provided 3471.808 acre of land to Tata Steel at the rate of Rs 3,35,000 per acre whereas the market rate varied from Rs 5 lakh (Rs 0.5 million) to Rs 7 lakh (Rs 0.7 million) per acre. Thus, the government earned a profit of Rs 71.6 crore (Rs 7.16 billion) and Tata saved a total of Rs 8.76 crore (Rs 87.6 million). The tribals claimed additional compensation for their patta lands. Additionally, they also demanded that compensation be given to all regardless of whether people had patta or not. The government offered additional compensation of Rs 15,000 per acre which people refused. Tribals in the area have been demanding ‘correct’ compensation for land and one job for each displaced family since the mid-1990s. Tribals had serious grievances with the inadequate compensation for land acquired, gross failure in rehabilitation and resettlement and non-provision of jobs to the displaced families (EPW 2006; Pati 2006). In 1996, tribals prevented the establishment of Bhusan Steel on the same site where Tata was later given land. On 9 May 2005, when tribals protested at the stone laying ceremony of Maharashtra Seamless Ltd., the government retaliated with rubber bullets and a lathi charge. Twenty-five women were arrested without any reason. Again, police used force against the villagers protesting against the stone laying ceremony of Tata Steel on 7 October 2005. Negotiation continued till 2 January 2006, when the state government shot dead 12 tribals and injured many. Since then, the movement has taken a different mode. The tribals of Kalinganagar then not only resisted the establishment of Tata in Kalinganagar but also protested against the establishment of any company on agricultural land anywhere in Odisha. A close look at these movements indicates that they have also decided to stand up against the forces of capitalism at large.

Anti-Utkal Alumina International Ltd. Movement in Rayagada Travelling about 60 kms from Rayagada district headquarters west direction through the picturesque landscapes of mountains, hills,

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forests and rivers, one reaches Tikiri, a local town at the southern end of Kashipur block. Kashipur Block, in the Rayagada district consists of 412 revenue villages and 109 hamlets divided into 20 Gram Panchayats (GPs) with a total area of 1,505.90 sq. km. and a population of 1, 21,044, out of which 61 per cent belong to Scheduled Tribes and 20 per cent to Scheduled Castes. In 1992, the Government of Odisha granted a prospecting licence for 205 square kilometres in Kashipur to the Odisha Mining Corporation (OMC) for subsequent lease to corporate houses (IPT 2006: 12). In 1993, the Utkal Alumina Industries Ltd (UAIL) consisting of Tata Industries (India), Norsk Hydro (Norway), Hindalco (earlier it was Indal) of Birla Group (India) and Alcan (Canada) was established as a joint venture for the sole purpose of exploiting bauxite reserves in Kashipur. The UAIL was given a mining lease for the lands of Kashipur by the OMC in 1994. Within a year on 25 September 1995, the UAIL got an environmental clearance certificate for mining from the Ministry of Environment and Forest despite the fact that the required Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) and Environmental Management Plan (EMP) were not provided by the UAIL. The company was also given a ‘No Objection Certificate’ from the Odisha State Pollution Control Board (OSPCB) on 27 September 1995 for establishing mining in Kashipur. The cost of the project was initially estimated to be Rs 4,500 crore (Rs 45 billion), while a revised estimate says that Rs 10,000 crore (Rs 100 billion) will be invested for the project (Nair 2004). The project aims to mine 198.4 million tonnes of bauxite through opencast mining from Baphlimali (located in Maikanch panchayat), a hill regarded as sacred by the tribal people. The extracted bauxite would be transported along a 22 km. conveyor belt to a refinery at Doraguda near Kucheipadar village, where it would be processed for aluminium in an alumina plant. The processed aluminum is to be transported to Tikiri by trucks, then to Visakhapatnam seaport by train for export to different parts of the world. This alumina is perceived to be the cheapest in the world at $85 per tonne. The 45 cusecs of water necessary for the plant per year will be extracted from the nearby Golagad River.

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Map not to scale

Map 1.3: Map of Rayagada district showing the area of study (Kashipur). Source: Author

The UAIL project is a 100 per cent export-oriented venture. In 1995, the UAIL was provided with 2,800 acre of land including 2,153 acre of privately owned land and 712 acre of government owned land. Of the 712 government owned land, 92 acre is non-forest communal land and 206 acre is village forestland (IPT 2006:12). According to the official sources of UAIL, only 147 families will be displaced from three villages, though different study reports on the project affected people (PAP)14 have their own numbers ranging from 3,500 14 For instance, Norsk Hydro study estimates that 750 people would be displaced,

whereas UAIL claims 3,500 will be displaced. The Prakrutika Suraksha Sampada Parisada, the organization fighting against the establishment of the company, claims that more than 20,000 people will be displaced due to the establishment of the company. Further, a survey commissioned by Norwatch (Nowwegian Agency for Development Cooperation) reports that 60,000 people would be affected by the company (Goodland 2007: 5; Srikant 2009: 14)

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to 60,000. Conservative estimate suggests that while more than 100 villages will be affected by the UAIL, about 25 villages will bear the brunt of the company directly. The proposed area for the establishment of the company is dominated by tribals (like Kondh, Jhodia Paraja, Penga Paraja) and dalits (mostly Dom caste people). For the tribals, agriculture – both settled and shifting – is the most important means of survival. Agriculture is supplemented by food gathering/forest collection and occasional wage earning. The dalits mostly earn their livelihood by carrying out petty businesses and wage earning. These native inhabitants were neither informed nor consulted at any stage of the survey and settlement work of the company. Bewildered, a tribal delegation from Kucheipadar met the Chief Minister of Odisha in November 1993 demanding to know the details of the proposed company in Kashipur. They also sent letters, petitions and memorandums to countless higher government officials including the Prime Minister and the President of India. Failing to get any support, the tribals restricted the entry of company vehicles into the area from 1994 and started opposing the survey work of the company. On 21 January 1996, the UAIL called an informal meeting near Kucheipadar village where about 6,000 people from the area joined and gave a memorandum to the district collector, the MLA of the constituency and the management of UAIL. None of them responded. The local tribal people organized themselves and formed an umbrella organization named Prakrutik Sampada Suraksha Parisad (PSSP)15 – The Council for Protection of Natural Resources – on 14 February 1996. There was a series of active protests from the tribals against the company from 1996 to 2000. For instance, on 9 September 1996, the PSSP organized a demonstration with 10,000 people in front of the UAIL office in Tikiri protesting against the land acquisition in the area. During October and November 1998, 15 The PSSP formed different samitis (unions) in different regions of the block. They are Baphlimali Surakshya Samiti, Maikanch; Gaon Mati Surakshya Samiti, Siriguda; Sasubahumali Surakshya Samiti, Khurigaon; Anchalika Surakshya Samiti, Sunger; Basundhara Surakshya Samiti, Barigaon; Bankam Surakshya Samiti, Puhundi; and Sunadei Surakshya Samiti, Bagrijhola. As an umbrella organization of the above seven, the PSSP led the movement against the UAIL.

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the PSSP conducted a referendum on UAIL across 40 villages where a significant majority (96 per cent) rejected the UAIL project. In November the same year, the PSSP activists abducted three Norsk Hydro employees and one Indian official at Kucheipadar village and forced them to write a protest letter against their own company stating that the Norsk Hydro should withdraw from the project in Kashipur. As a result, the UAIL postponed its project-related work till 2000. In 1998, the UAIL formed Utkal Rural Development Society (URDS) to undertake developmental work in the area but people did not support this. In 1999, an All Party Committee (APC) was formed consisting of the leaders of all political parties with the aim of convincing the people to support the company. In 2000, the PSSP organized many rallies and demonstrations against the workings of the APC and URDS. On 15 December 2000, while the PSSP was in a meeting with 5,000 participants at Maikanch village to organize a road blockade at Rafkana chowk on 20 December 2000, the APC tried to pass through them to Nuagaon village to organize a meeting. The PSSP blocked the APC from entering into the village and beat the BJD district president Bhaskar Rao and other supporters of the committee. As a result, there was a police firing the next day at Maikanch village killing three protestors, permanently disabling six and seriously injuring 30.  The movement continued. Although the protest was successful in delaying the project for close to 15 years, the work on the project was finally taken up in 2008. By December 2012, when 90 per cent of the construction was completed, and the UAIL was optimistic that its trial production could start from 1 April 2013, the tribals still had not given up. They gathered on the anniversary of the Maikanch killing to protest. However, the refinery finally started trial production in June 2013.  (For the further details of the movement, see Chapter 5).

Save Niyamgiri Movement in Rayagada and Kalahandi The Niyamgiri hill range is spread over 250 square kilometres in Rayagada and Kalahandi districts of Odisha. The hills have one of India’s most pristine forests in the interiors. These hills are

A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi  41

home to more than 8,000 Dongria Kondhs, one of the Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups (PVTGs) of Odisha, who has been part of the landscape for centuries sustaining themselves with the resources of the forests of the Niyamgiri. One of the mountains in the Niyamgiri hill range, Niyam Dongar, is regarded by the tribe to be the abode of their divine god, Niyam Raja (The King of Law). Recently, Niyamgiri has been also identified as a huge bauxite reserve containing more than 70 million tons of bauxite. The Dongria Kondh clearly understand that the bauxite reserves at the top of the Niyamgiri act as a sponge that soak up the monsoon rains and then hold deposits of water throughout the hot summer months. These reserves ensure the continuous flow of two rivers and 36 perennial streams across the Niyamgiri hills, which are vital to the existence of the Dongria Kondh as they provide water for drinking and irrigation purposes. In 1997, the State of Odisha signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) with Sterlite Industries (now Sesa Sterlite, the Indian arm of the global mining behemoth Vedanta Corporation) for setting up an one-million-tonne aluminum refinery in Lanjigarh block of Kalahandi district and opening up of the Niyamgiri hills for mining to supply bauxite to the refinery. By June 2002, the first phase of land acquisition for the refinery had already started. Till now, 3,000 acre of land has already been acquired by Vedanta Aluminium Limited (VAL) and five villages have been forcefully evicted. The peaceful existence of the tribe came under threat when on 8 June 2003, the chief minister of Odisha laid the foundation for the project. By mid-2006, the refinery had started functioning. The opposition to the factory also began almost immediately. Despite this, the refinery was built illegally, circumventing various environmental laws as well as laws for the protection of these communities. At the same time, many activists continued the struggle by filing writ petitions in the high court and Supreme Court against the project, which played a role in deferring the forest clearance required for the mine (Amnesty International, 2010). The struggle against the refinery and the mine resulted in the Supreme Court judgment (Supreme Court of India, 2013) delivered in April 2013, directing the state government of Odisha to hold gram sabhas in the Niyamgiri hills to decide if religious rights were held

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Map not to scale

Map 1.4: Map of Rayagada and Kalahandi districts showing the Niyamgiri Hills and Lanjigarh refinery. Source: https://www.downtoearth.org.in/coverage/niyamgiri-answers-41914

over forest areas being diverted for the mining project. The state government identified 12 villages from Rayagada and Kalahandi and all the 12 gram sabhas rejected the proposal for mining in the region in meetings held in July and August 2013. On 9 January 2014, the Ministry of Environment Forest and Climate Change (MoEFCC) rejected the final forest clearance to the mining project. Even after this pronouncement, there have been repeated attempts by the state government to reintroduce the proposal and to start mining in the region. Recently, the state mining corporation filed a petition in the Supreme Court to reopen the mining. The Supreme Court has refused to admit the petition and has asked the government to make the 12 gram sabhas that had earlier rejected the mining, parties in the petition.

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Save Gandhamardan Movement in Bargarh The above three movements are on-going struggles of tribals against mega-development projects of private sector corporate houses. To know the historic roots of such movements and more specifically to study a successful people’s movement against industrial intervention, I went to Bargarh, a newly formed district (in 1993) in western Odisha. From there, I travelled about 110 kms on NH-6 and SH-3 in a south-west direction and reached Paikamal, a village in Paikamal block of Padmapur subdivision located at the foothills of the Gandhamardan Hills. Gandhamardan Hill ranges are geographically located in western Odisha bordering Chhattisgarh. The hills cover an area of 240 square kilometres in a locational cross-section of Padmapur subdivision of Bargarh district and Patnagarh subdivision

Map not to scale

Map 1.5: Map of Bargarh district showing the area of study (Paikamal). Source: Author

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of Balangir district. Famous for its floral richness and medicinal plants, the hills are believed to be ancient and sacred because texts such as the Ramayana say that when Hanuman carried the mountain from the Himalayas to Sri Lanka in search of sanjivani, some part of it fell down in Odisha. Gandhamardan, considered one of the famous pilgrimage centres of western Odisha, houses two important temples, Nrusimhanath and Harishankar, built in the 11 century AD, though some of the relics of the Nrusimhanath temple date back to the ninth century AD. The Buddhist University of Parimalgiri, visited and detailed by the Chinese traveller Hieun Tsang as PoLo-Mo-Lo-Ki-Li, is believed to be situated on the 16 km plateau located on this hill top. The Gandhamardan hill is not only famous for its scenic beauty, medicinal plants and pilgrim centres but also, importantly, it provides livelihood to around 1.3 million people (Down to Earth 2001). This area is inhabited largely by tribals such as Munda, Kondh, Gond, Binjhal, Mirdha, Bhumia and Saura who together constitute the majority of the population in the region. Agriculture is the mainstay of the population. Around 30 per cent of the people in and around the hills are landless and a majority of the rest of the population is small and marginal farmers. Therefore, about 50,000 people depend on the Gandhamardan for collecting different food items for consumption. Most of them also collect medicinal flora and fauna and earn a little money by selling this in the local market or supplying them to the Ayurvedic medicine companies. The Gandhamardan hill ranges are also rich in bauxite. The Government of India announced the availability of bauxite in these hills in 1971. In 1976, Bharat Aluminum Company (BALCO), an integrated aluminum-producing corporation of the Government of India, applied for lease for bauxite mining. It was granted in 1981. According to a survey carried out by a joint venture of the Odisha Directorate of Mines (ODM) of the Government of Odisha and Mineral Exploration Corporation Ltd (MECL) of the Government of India, the bauxite deposit of Gandhamardan was estimated to be 213 million tonne (Mohanty 1981), though another report claims that the study of ODM and MECL ‘is a historical resource estimate

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that should not be relied upon’ (Gallo 2003: 1). The company was given 983 hectare of land for 90 years in lease for mining 40 million tonne of bauxite as a source to feed their aluminium plant at Korba, located 350 km away in Madhya Pradesh (now Chhattisgarh). After getting provisional clearance from the Department of Environment, the company laid its foundation stone and the establishment of infrastructure progressed fast. Though initially afraid and bewildered, the people in the area protested against the proposed bauxite mining from day one when BALCO laid its foundation stone on 13 May 1983. One year later, Prof. Artabandhu Mishra of the Department of Life Sciences, Sambalpur University along with his colleague Mr Prasanna Kumar Sahu guided a NCC (National Cadet Corps) team consisting of 200 university students and came to the area to assess people’s view about BALCO. They were surprised to find that though people in the area were completely unhappy, they did not dare to open their mouths against the proposed mining project due to fear of Mr. Krupasindhu Bhoi, the then ruling MLA of Sambalpur. With the initiative of the university team, however, the Gandhamardan Surakshya Yuba Parisad – Gandhamardan Protection Youth Council – was formed on 19 August 1985. The movement gained momentum as a result of getting support from academicians, outside activists, political leaders of opposition parties and importantly the middle class public in the area. The movement became the life-blood of the people, including women and children. Women carrying their small children slept on the road prohibiting the entry of company vehicles. The year 1987 was very challenging for movement supporters as the government and company used their best strategies including violence and repression to push forward the project. In 1988, BALCO became a political issue. In 1989, the Congress ruling party was worried about winning the election. A Home Committee was set up. They finally recommended the closure of the BALCO project. The BALCO was driven out of the area. The force of the movement was so powerful that the ruling Congress party was defeated in the Assembly election of 1989 and the Parliament election of 1990 (for further details of the movement see Chapter 6).

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Anti-Land Alienation Movement in Nabarangpur The above three movements illustrate how livelihoods became the source for which tribals fight against the state and corporate houses. Like state and corporate houses, other so-called civilized communities also impinge upon the lands and livelihoods of tribals. To understand the dynamics of interpersonal and inter-group conflicts over land and livelihood, I went to Dandakaranya reserve forest area, a part of which stretches across Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon blocks located about 90 km north of Nabarangpur district headquarters of south Odisha. The area is predominately inhabited by Gond and Bhotra tribals. The other communities living in this area are like Paraja, Bairagi, Banjara and Halva tribals and a few other less populated non-tribal communities like Gauda, Marwadi, Muslim, Teli, Mali, Keuta, Paika, Kolar, Barika, Dhoba, Kamar, Dom, Penka and Ghasi. The main occupation of the tribals in this area is agriculture, which is supplemented by food gathering (minor forest collection) and wage earning. The partition of India in 1947 left 11.4 million (42 per cent) of Bengal’s Hindu population in East Pakistan (which became the independent nation of Bangladesh after the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971). As a result, a movement of about 2.5 million people from East Pakistan into India took place (Visaria 1969:324; Elahi 1981:219). Of these, about 1.5 million people came as refugees, predominantly Hindus and some Santal tribals and moved into the Indian state of West Bengal, Assam and Meghalaya, where they settled mostly on their own. There still remained slightly more than one million refugees, mostly belonging to backward caste groups like the Namasudras who were primarily engaged in paddy cultivation but also in boating, fishing and carpentry, who needed to be rehabilitated. Viewing the rehabilitation of this group as a national problem and economic liability, the Government of India decided to rehabilitate them in Dandakaranya, a reserve forest located in a low plateau area in the undivided Koraput and Kalahandi districts of Odisha and Bastar district of Madhya Pradesh. A special government agency called Dandakaranya Development Authority (DDA) was set up in 1958. There were severe protests, both from the refugees

A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi  47

Map not to scale

Map 1.6: Map of Nabarangpur showing the areas of study (Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon). Source: Author

and the Bengali activists, regarding the proposed settlement of the Bengali refugees outside their homeland, West Bengal. In spite of that, 21,990 refugee families were rehabilitated in Dandakaranya area in Odisha. I undertook my fieldwork in many tribal and Bengali refugee villages in the Umarkote, Jharigaon and Raighar blocks of Nabarangpur district. The Bengali refugees were brought to the area without any consultation with the local tribal communities and rehabilitated in Dandakaranya forest, each being provided with 0.4 acre of homestead and 7 acres of arable land. There was an apparent discriminatory mode of land distribution and allocation of other developmental benefits between the local tribals and refugees. This laid the foundation for socio-economic and psychological conflicts between the two groups. Moreover, within three decades of their settlement

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in this region, the Bengali refugees encroached upon the lands of the tribals. Over the years, tribal lands changed hands through mortgage, sale, force and other fraudulent means. Any protest from tribals resulted in Bengalis manhandling the tribals through use of violent means including beatings, raping of women and looting of property. In all these conflicts, the Bengalis sought favour of the local administration by paying ‘gifts’ and giving ‘treats’. Tribal resentment slowly gathered momentum. Jagabandhu Majhi, a graduate from Umarkote College, with the help of a few tribal leaders formed the Dalit Samaj, an association of exploited people, in 1994. It took six years of hard work for the members of Dalit Samaj to mobilize tribals against the exploitative and powerful Bengalis. In 2001, there were a series of individual and group fights between the tribals and the Bengalis leading to the deaths of 11 tribals. Finally, according to government sources, tribals succeeded in retrieving 9,091 hectares of tribal land (EPW 2001: 4771). However, some land remained with Bengali and non-tribal encroachers. Over time, tribals not only retrieved their land and livelihoods but also became politically powerful in the area (for further details see Chapter 4).

Outline of the Text I spent more than two years, in different phases, in many tribal villages meeting and talking to ordinary villagers, activists, movement leaders, social development workers, politicians, bureaucrats, management officials of the companies and other so-called civilized people of the area for an account of narratives of the movements. Beyond these formal interviews and data collection from official records, I participated in many of the movements’ meetings, rallies, roadblocks, dharnas and protests. I also learned a lot while I enjoyed spending my time playing, and sometimes teaching tribal children, listening to stories and music from the village elders, driving cattle in bushy hills, trying my hand at ploughing stony hill slopes and cutting paddy from muddy low lands, drinking a bit of mahua liquor in ladi (a small hut made in the farm land) and following the rhythms of the footsteps of the tribal dancers. I made lifelong relationships with people in many places and homes, while in a few others I not only failed to

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win their faith and warmth but also was disrespected, abused and threatened. Let me now say a few words about how the stories have been woven together into chapters. The thread that runs through the chapters seeks an answer to the question: How does marginality as a site of resistance create a space and possibility for the adivasis not only to resist domination but also to mitigate misery? I have tried to show the workings of power through complex and sometimes contradictory details of resistance that aspire to a transformation of the historic relationship of power and domination. The narratives presented in the chapters, however, do not follow a linear pattern of description of the movements; rather they jump back and forth in both time and space. All the chapters consist of bits and pieces from all the movements. ‘Have they succeeded?’ – I was very often asked by my academic friends interested in my work. My tribal friends asked me about my opinion of their movements. These are the questions that I have tried to avoid because I have no definite answers. The chapters, therefore, do not present a gradual and progressive development of tribal lives over time. Each of the chapters, in fact recounts the everyday lives of the tribals in celebrating the fulfilment of their desires, wishes and anticipations as well as in coping with the ruins of frustration and suffering. The first chapter lays out the three theoretical issues taken up in the study – marginality as a problem, development as domination, and resistance as a twofold enterprise: a weapon for challenging domination, and a strategy for mitigating misery (as discussed above). The second chapter attempts an analysis of the Indian experience of development, with a special reference to the tribals of Odisha. Why do ‘development’ interventions fail to produce intended consequences? In addressing this question, I argue that the conventional literature on development shows that society, government or ‘vested interests’ complicate the implementation of development programmes (cf. Escobar 1988, 1992a, 1995). This conventional analysis of why development interventions fail to produce intended outcomes overlooks a potentially more useful analysis of whether the development interventions themselves are based on false assumptions. Ferguson (1990) argues that unintended consequences are produced

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by development interventions as a result of what he calls the ‘antipolitics machine’. Based on this insight I trace the roots of these false assumptions as an adherence to the Weberian tradition of the ideal type (Weber 1948: 59–61, 1976: 200, 1978: 20–22) of state. I then discuss Migdal’s challenge to the Weberian tradition of the ideal type state and his state-in-society approach, which helps us understand existing fragments of power brokers in a society that guides social control and political power (1988, 2001). Based on these competing and complementing theories, especially expanding on Ferguson’s insight, the chapter intends to provide a more pragmatic approach to explain how power is exercised in political communities. Taking the hunger deaths in Kashipur, Odisha, as an example of the workings of development in tribal areas, I argue that development interventions justify their continuance by constantly reproducing ‘underdevelopment’ of various kinds as ‘problems’, and by promising to treat them later. In spite of implementation of an array of development interventions by the state, for over four decades, the company and civil society organizations aimed particularly at eradicating hunger deaths and chronic poverty, hunger death invariably labelled as deaths due to ‘food poison’, ‘diarrhoea’, ‘cholera’, ‘malnutrition’ and ‘hunger’ are a regular and yearly phenomenon in Kashipur. By attributing the hunger deaths to ‘drought’, ‘food poison’, or ‘cholera’ attention has been diverted from the fact that severe food shortage is a chronic problem in Kashipur. The development interventions mostly in the form of ‘relief measures’, therefore, have not paid attention to the root causes of hunger death. While more than 90 per cent of the people in Kashipur depend on agriculture for subsistence, only nine per cent of the total cultivable land is irrigated. Bhagaban Majhi, a tribal leader from Kashipur, complains that nobody has paid any attention to the most desired development intervention in the area namely irrigating arable lands, land up-gradation, giving land titles to landless families, plantation of fruit bearing trees in dongar (hills) and creating employment during lean periods. The government, instead, has constructed water reservoirs for providing water to the company, handed over arable land to the company, planted coffee, mulberry (for sericulture) and eucalyptus (for supplying timber to

A Postmodern Encounter with Adivasi  51

paper mills). While the tribals of Kashipur demand better education and healthcare facilities, the government has been moving forward establishing police outposts and barracks. Secondly, the politics of relief in Odisha ensure that by the time relief is undertaken, the communities must have been disempowered and made vulnerable to hunger (i.e., visible destitution or starvation deaths). Now the state government claims that the root cause of hunger deaths in Kashipur is its infertile land that does not produce enough for the tribals to sustain. This argument allows the government to hand over Kashipur’s arable lands to corporate houses like Utkal Alumina International Ltd that promise a better future for the community.16 The government has introduced the market (here MNCs) to tribal heartlands where the political economy of profit clashes with the moral economy of provision resulting not only in displacement and loss of livelihoods but also massacre of tribals. In this contested space of development, Chapter 3 shows that land remains at the centre of the conflict. On the one hand, the government using the powerful doctrine of ‘eminent domain’17 acquires and passes land to the corporation houses for maximization of profit pushing tribals off their land and jeopardizing their livelihood. On the other hand, tribals who solely depend on land for livelihood prefer to die at gunpoint rather than part with their lands. Tribals see the movements not only as everyday forms of resistance, but also as cultural struggle for production of meaning, for an alternative way of life, and for an alternative development. Looking through these 16 The issue of acquiring prime agricultural land for industrial and real estate development has been recently criticized in a Supreme Court judgement. In June 2011, the Supreme Court of India quashed the notification of the government of Uttar Pradesh to acquire 156 hectares of agricultural land for construction of residential apartments by private builders in Greater Noida. It also ordered the return of the land to the farmers (The Hindu 2011; Venkatesan 2011). The central government is in the process of bringing a new Land Acquisition and Rehabilitation Bill (Balchand 2011). 17 The doctrine of eminent domain confers the right of the state over land and related resources within its territory. It has the right to take private property for a ‘public purpose’. It has been described as ‘the highest and most exact idea of property remaining in the government, or in the aggregate body of the people in their sovereign capacity’. For a more detailed explanation see Black’s Law Dictionary (6th edition) 1990: 523.

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vantage points and appreciating Escobar’s idea of cultural production of knowledge, I argue, unfolding the complexities of the historical and contemporary dynamics of conflict, that the struggle over land and environment ‘moves toward a politics of the people, not just of the state; an economics of livelihood organizations, not just of global capitalists’ (Alejo 2000: 21). The next chapter extends this argument and analyses the internal dynamics of conflict over tribal land. Taking a case study from Raighar, Umarkote and Jharigaon blocks of Nabarangpur district, where the Bengali refugees are settled in the Dandakaranya reserve forest, this chapter shows the multiplicity of ways in which the Bengalis and non-tribals usurped tribal lands, and the resistance of tribals to it. In the early 1960s, the Bengali refugees were brought to the area without any consultation with the local tribal communities as mentioned above. The discriminatory mode of land distribution and allocation of other developmental benefits between the local tribals and refugees laid the foundation for socio-economic and psychological conflicts between the two groups. Moreover, within three decades of their settlement in this region, the Bengali refugees had encroached upon the lands of tribals. In the 1990s, it was alleged by local people that on an average each Bengali refugee held 40 to 50 acres of land, some of them encroaching upon as much as 200 acres of land. The tribals and the dalits of the area eventually mobilized themselves under the banner of the Dalit Samaj, which was established in 1994, to fight against the Bengali exploitation. By 2001, they had retrieved 9,091 hectares of land. (EPW 2001: 4773). Tribals and dalits not only resisted the dominant systems of power by challenging the refugee-state bureaucracy nexus but also secured their transformation, though partially, to their poverty and deprivation by retrieving land from the illegal encroachers, saving the forest from further ruin and channelizing government resources for the development of tribals and dalits. While local tribals and dalits have altered the historical relationships of power by winning elections and mobilizing movement, the Kondhs, another group of tribals who settled themselves ‘illegally’ in Dandakaranya, have striven to create a ‘political society’, as Partha Chatterjee (2004, 2008) calls it, forcing the government to provide them with basic

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amenities as well as other developmental benefits. The chapter presented in the form of narratives, very often in the words of the subjects of the study themselves, points to the use of language as a site of resistance and power. In these spaces, the life of the tribals cursed by the wrath of poverty and deprivation, dominated by the modern agents of development and controlled by the state’s use of military violence is challenging. In spite of that, the people’s struggle to save their land and livelihoods against the powerful forces of state, market and elites is riven with uncertainty and disappointments. Focusing on what makes life worth living for these tribals and how they cope, Chapter 5 attempts to understand individual and social sufferings. The chapter presents the internalized feelings of the tribals of Kashipur and Kalinganagar. In the process, the chapter critiques the politics of development of the state and market while assessing the resistance of the tribals. I argue that violence as a discursive process produces new meanings and practices. Creating fear and psychosis in the minds of the people through the use of brutal military violence and imprisonment, what I call politics of violence, the combined force of the state and company has succeeded in creating an illusion of public consent for the establishment of company and mining in the areas, forcing the tribals to accept compensation for their land and rehabilitation and providing space for the companies to flourish. The people’s resistance to it is not just to challenge the state power and hegemony, but rather to provide creative alternatives, what I call poetics of resistance. This is done by reviving and energizing the social memory of oppression and deprivation which contributes to the tribals’ critical self-awareness to reassess their potentialities and weaknesses, and therefore, to strengthen their resolve for further acts of resistance. Chapter 6 draws attention to a less analysed aspect, i.e., how tribals mobilize themselves into different movements. In opposition to the ‘kingdom of abundance’ promised by the state, tribals mobilize themselves into different movements. I argue that the tribal movements are not spontaneous but build on the growing frustration of the tribals over state domination and exploitation. The chapter details the process of tribal mobilization and origin, structure and

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working of sangathans. This helps in the transformation of the critical consciousness of the tribals to fight against state domination as well as highlights how they (tribals) would like to be governed. Studying Save Gandhamardan Movement in Bargarh district and Save Niyamgiri Movement in Rayagada and Kalahandi, as examples, I explore why these two movements were successful in comparison to the on-going tribal movements in Kashipur and Kalinganagar. The concluding chapter attempts to tackle the question of transformation of resistance studies and articulation of development alternatives. Moving beyond the analysis of the binary perspective of resistance and domination, the chapter appreciates the creative and transformative aspects of multiple forms of resistance that generate an alternative power and create a space for an alternative life. It also opens up a space to treat ‘development’ as a dialectic encounter allowing the subaltern to speak (cf. Spivak 1988) and honouring the voice of the voiceless. This theoretical reorientation helps me to explore the tribals of Odisha ‘as determined, yet determining, in their own history; as human beings who, in their everyday production of goods and meanings, acquiesce yet protest, reproduce yet seek to transform their predicament’ (Comaroff 1985: 1). The analysis presented in the form of narratives or tales need not mean that the tales are fictional (Clifford 1986: 7) or opposed to ‘facts’, they are, in fact, historical texts interwoven with fictions and facts (Haraway 1989, 1991). Indeed, ‘that is why my subject is not the truth of being but the social being of truth, not whether facts are real but what the politics of their interpretation and representation are’ (Taussig 1987: xiii). Through this transformative narrative, how far we can unmake the discourses and practices of development and how far the emergent transformative power will transform the lifeworld of the tribals, however, is another matter.

2

Producing Underdevelopment The Politics of Hunger Deaths in Odisha

The development discourse defined a perceptual field structured by grids of observation, modes of inquiry and registration of problems, and forms of intervention; in short, it brought into existence a space defined not so much by the ensemble of objects with which it dealt but by a set of relations and a discursive practice that systematically produced interrelated objects, concepts, theories, strategies, and the like. – Escobar, Encountering Development (1995: 42). The whole life of policy is a chaos of purposes and accidents. It is not at all a matter of the rational implementation of the so-called decisions through selected strategies. – Clay and Schaffer (eds), Room for Manoeuvre (1984: 192).

‘I

n Kashipur alone, more than 15 adivasis died this year also due to diarrhoea’, Bhagaban Majhi, the President of the PSSP, from Kucheipadar village told me over phone in September 2010, although the Government of Odisha acknowledged the deaths of only nine tribals in Kashipur during August and September 2010. In fact, Kashipur has been in the national news for a long time for the recurrent unnatural deaths of adivasis, invariably labelled as deaths due to ‘hunger’, ‘malnutrition’, ‘diarrhoea’, ‘cholera’ and so on. The

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starvation deaths of 400 people in 1985–86 in Kashipur captured the attention of the national media for the first time. In 2001, the local media highlighted incidences of chronic food shortage and hunger deaths in Kashipur drawing attention nationwide – of anger, concern and sympathy. Kashipur, a predominantly tribal block in the Rayagada district of Odisha, was flooded with delegations starting from the Prime Minister of India to the local media – all trying to show their concern, determining the severity of the incident and assessing ‘what needs to be done’. In 2004, I followed the trail of the incident to the local community of Kashipur that was still struggling with poverty and hunger long after the crisis of hunger deaths began and ended. Although there was no dearth of agencysponsored development interventions – national and international – the same situation has prevailed. For example, during rainy season in 2007, when I was doing my fieldwork in Kashipur, there were several unnatural deaths, again labelled as deaths due to ‘cholera’, ‘diarrhoea’, ‘malnutrition’ and ‘hunger’. The old termite-eaten district gazetteer might have been accurate in declaring: ‘The entire Kashipur tahsil….is a wild country, a tangle of hills and valleys with a few patches of cultivable land’ (Senapati and Sahu 1966: 8), an administrative unit since 15731, nearly 400 years later, Kashipur still had no town2 but only clusters of small villages overwhelmingly inhabited by ‘scheduled tribes’ – the most marginalized group of India’s social totem pole. In partial contrast, today in Kashipur, there are two or three small towns and 414 villages with an increasing proportion of ‘general caste’ and ‘scheduled caste’ inhabitants, local governance units, a few local NGOs, and a considerably improved communication infrastructure providing better connectivity to the outer world. However, Kashipur remains infamous, as the opening tale indicates, as one of the most backward blocks of Odisha for its regular chronic starvation deaths and various epidemics. While pondering over the root causes of hunger deaths in Kashipur, the conventional literature on development in general 1 2

Senapati and Sahu 1966: 442. Senapati and Sahu 1966: 446.

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shows that society, government or ‘vested interest’ complicate the implementation of development programmes. Focusing the analysis only on development failures, however, leads to two important conceptual problems. First, substantive empirical evidence shows that development interventions, though ‘failing’ in their own terms, succeed in producing something – for example, altered social relations, redistributed power or realigned state-society relations (Ferguson 1990: 18–21, 254–6). Second, focusing on ‘what went wrong’ limits analysis to implementation-related tags like ‘social capital’, ‘public action’, ‘political will’ or ‘vested interest’ (cf. Currie 998, 2000).3 This conventional analysis of why development interventions fail to produce the intended outcomes overlooks a potentially more useful analysis of whether the development interventions themselves are based on false assumptions about their bases of operation. Accepting this challenge, Ferguson argues that unintended consequences are produced by development interventions as a result of what he calls the ‘anti-politics machine’ – that development interventions are rooted in false assumptions that simplify political process and depoliticize how power and politics are exercised in a local context. Based on this insight, I would like to trace the roots of these false assumptions as an adherence to the Weberian tradition of ideal type (Weber 1948: 59–61, 1976: 200, 1978: 20–22) of state that holds conventional wisdom of state-society relations and affects development interventions, especially through a linear public policy model. By ideal type, Weber means, ‘the highest possible degree of logical integration by virtue of their complete adequacy on the level of meaning’ (1978: 20). I then discuss Migdal’s challenge to the Weberian tradition of the ideal type of state and his state-in-society approach, which helps us to understand the existing fragments of power brokers in a society that guide social control and political power. Based on these competing and complementing theories, especially expanding on Ferguson’s insight, the chapter intends to provide a more pragmatic approach to explain how power is exercised 3 Bub Currie’s studies (1998, 2000) have questioned the extent to which public action through India’s liberal democratic framework has translated into government commitment to improve the quality of its relief measures and welfare administration for eradicating hunger deaths in Odisha.

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in political communities. In the process, discourse analysis, political economy and institutional ethnography4 are interwoven to provide an adequate understanding of how development works in Kashipur, Odisha (India).

Revisiting Anti-Politics Machine: James Ferguson and Beyond Arturo Escobar’s post-modern critique of development discourse (1988, 1992a, 1995) concludes that ‘underdevelopment’ is produced in the discourse and practice of ‘development’ where government, communities and individuals of the ‘Third World’ are seen as ‘underdeveloped’ or placed under such conditions where they tend to see themselves as such. This ‘underdevelopment’ is manifested in different life-spaces within the Third World as well. For preferential purposes, in India, the tribals are seen as ‘the primitive’, ‘the savage’, ‘the backward’ and ‘the most underdeveloped’ even though they do not feel or see themselves as such. This gives a highlighted assumption that the tribals are helpless and powerless. The colonial legacy created a space for the imposition of development interventions and continued ‘by creating abnormalities’ in more concrete terms like ‘the poor’, ‘the malnourished’, ‘the illiterate’, ‘the landless’ and so on, which it would then address (Escobar 1992a: 25, 1995: 41). Although the intention was to eradicate all problems, it actually ended up multiplying them. Over the years, although conventional development wisdom has given birth to different theoretical constructions, the base of the conventional development thinking has not departed far from its roots in the ‘positivist orthodoxy’ of the 1950s that the underdeveloped communities could develop through the implementation of technical plans with the assistance 4

Escobar defines, “Turning the apparatus itself into an anthropological object involves an institutional ethnography that moves from the textual and work practices of institutions to the effect of those practices in the world, that is, to how they contribute to structuring the conditions under which people think and live their lives. The work of institutions is one of the most powerful forces in the creation of the world in which we live. Institutional ethnography is intended to bring to light this sociocultural production” (1995: 107).

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of a benevolent state. Such simplistic assumptions are problematic and can have serious implications for the intended beneficiaries. Ferguson’s study on Lesotho (1990) explicitly reveals that false assumptions (especially apolitical ones) underlying development interventions produce unintended consequences for the recipient communities. Though there was widespread consensus that almost all major development interventions in Lesotho failed to produce the intended outcomes, he argues that the development agencies continue to justify more interventions with the same erroneous assumptions that led previous plans to adversity. Ferguson explains that this kind of behaviour results from an institutional logic that supports the intervention of development programmes which in turn justify an institution’s own assistance. In other words, as ‘development’ agencies are not in the business of ‘promoting political realignments or supporting revolutionary struggles’ (Ferguson 1990: 69), development planning by these agencies necessarily avoids such issues. However, the development agencies use only the socio-political knowledge, which they consider useful and necessary. In other words, ‘they seek only the kind of advice they can take’ (ibid: 284). A serious limitation of this conceptual apparatus is that it predetermines how to overcome the shortcomings in development interventions. Ferguson, in fact, criticized development ‘without providing any sort of prescription or general guide for action’ (1990: 279). He explains, ‘Why development discourse tends to be erroneous (the anti-politics machine of institutional logic depoliticizes interventions) without probing at the more interesting question of what assumptions underlie such depoliticized interventions’ (Tordella, 2003: 5)5. The latter approach can help us to identify where development planning tends to ‘go wrong’ and what assumptions are to be discarded for development interventions to produce intended consequences. Ferguson deals with the two most common assumptions that depoliticize development planning: the principle of ‘governmentality’ 5 My acknowledgements to development exponents like Tordella, Ferguson, Weber and Migdal, whose exploratory volumes have been used to construct the quest of the present chapter.

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and its corollary – the linear (i.e., technical) planning method. While the former assumes ‘the main features of economy and society must be within the control of a neutral, unitary, and effective national government, and thus responsive to planners’ blueprints’ (Ferguson 1990: 72), the latter provides a ‘blueprint approach’ that believes public policy is a series of linear inputs for the production of certain quantifiable outputs. Ferguson suggests, however, that these apolitical assumptions are the cause of poor development planning, not the result of development planning itself. Admittedly, Ferguson’s semantic engagement with Foucault’s ‘power of discourse’ – at the level of definition and as a phenomenon – limits his study to looking into the attendant issues that merit equal, if not more, attention, viz., what are the elements within the development discourse that cause development interventions to produce unintended consequences?; how does the beneficiary community think and act in response to the ‘anti-politics machine’? With attention to the above questions, one can construct a more progressive critique of development discourse that aspires for an improved development discourse and practice (intervention). The crux of Ferguson’s insight into the ‘anti-politics machine’6 is fundamentally identical with what Weber proposed in his ideal type of state. ‘As an autonomous organisation with extraordinary means to dominate’ (Migdal 2001: 8), Weber defines state as ‘a human community that (successfully) claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory’ (1948: 78). This construction of a dominant, omnipotent state and its legitimate exercise of autonomous power is what Weber considered as the ideal, not the norm (Migdal 2001:14). In reality, the operation of the state deviates from the ideal that the state could be failed, corrupt, anarchic, predatory and so forth (ibid: 15). Although Weberian insights of the ideal type of state led to the evolution of different approaches to rationalize state power, the state has occupied a central and dominant place in the discourse of 6

The essence of the ‘anti-politics machine’ is that the incorporation of false assumptions in the development discourse simplifies the political process and depoliticises how power is exercised in the local communities that lead development interventions to produce unintended consequences.

Producing Underdevelopment  61 Figure 2.1: The Linear Policy Formation Model. Recognizing and defining the problem to be addressed ↓ Identifying possible policy solutions ↓ Assessing the potential advantages and disadvantages of the alternative policy choices ↓ Choosing the policy option that best fits the desired solution ↓ Implementing the policy ↓ Possibly evaluating the outcome Source: Tordella 2003: 9

development theory and practice determining the development of a society through linear public policy models, that consider policy planning as a series of linear inputs resulting in an intended output (see Fig. 2.1). This linear public policy prescription is evident throughout the literature, starting from the World Bank reports to scholarly academic writings. It is evident from the literature that there is a resistance to engage in a deeper political analysis to understand the reasons why the linear and the scientific policies have failed to produce the intended results. The limitation of the model is that it reduces policy planning to a technical exercise in problem solving. Moreover, the model is also susceptible to what James Scott calls ‘high-modernist ideology’, that is, an overconfident emphasis on scientific and technical progress to satisfy the growing human needs, expand production, tame nature (including human nature) and resolve all problems of society (Scott 1998: 4, 89–90). The application of this model depoliticizes the social and political issues, implicitly, demanding a technical solution. On the other hand, the state has been recast as a technical instrument for mechanically implementing development plans as it visualizes. A

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divorce of policy for the realm of politics is the most problematic with this ideal-linear model that depoliticizes the nature of political power and the environment in which development plans operate leaving the beneficiary communities vulnerable to manipulation by the real power holders, who are often not the idealized state bureaucrats and institutions. Such decontexualized interventions inevitably operate according to an unintended script, thereby producing inadvertent consequences. The state, indeed, does not operate as an idealized monopoly of power within societies. This anti-Weberian tradition of the ideal type state has been accorded slow recognition in academic literature. Scott, for instance, makes a strong case in point that the subalterns actively challenge state control7 through ‘hidden’ noncompliance with the state authorities, which he powerfully termed ‘weapons of the weak’ (1985). In recognition of this, Migdal challenged the Weberian tradition of the ideal type in his ‘state-in-society’ model of political power that avoids the limitations of depoliticized development planning and focuses on the study of exercise of political power in real, not idealized, societies (1988, 2001). Depicting society as ‘a mélange of social organizations’ rather than dichotomous structures (e.g., centre-periphery, modern-traditional, etc.), Migdal presents his state-in-society model that has two important components relevant to development theory (1988: 28): 1. Social control and political power derive from the ability to augment social welfare, and, 2. As this augmentation of social welfare is not monopolized by any single source, social control and political power exist fragmented amongst ‘a mélange’ of competing and cooperating power holders. The first component is similar to Scott’s argument that the primary concern of the peasants is to sustain their livelihoods, and therefore, the power lies in the hands of those patrons who are able to augment the welfare of the community (1976: 180–5). Thus, the state reduces to be the dominant authority of power once other organizations like ethnic groups, institutions of particular 7

For similar observations on communities challenging state’s autonomous dominance, see Huntington (1968: 177–91), Tripp (1997), Coplan (2001).

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social class, village, etc., offer individuals the resources for survival strategies. Albeit the state’s resistance to other organizations achieving predominance, the different organizations put themselves into conflict as they offer different sets of rules to guide people’s social conduct. Here the individual makes a choice, though difficult, from among the competing components of survival strategies. Noncompliance with the state authority here is not just personal deviance or criminality or corruption; rather it is an important struggle for authority to make rules that determine the individual’s social behaviour. Migdal writes, ‘These struggles are over whether the state will be able to displace or harness other organizations – families, clans, multinational corporations, domestic enterprises, tribes, patron-client dyads – which make rules against the wishes and goals of state leaders’ (1988: 31). The second component indicates that the state exists within ‘a mélange’ of power brokers that compete for social control and, in turn, complicates the process of how social control is exercised. Here accommodation of power among different power brokers like the local politicians, state bureaucrats and implementers and non-state local ‘strongmen’ ensures restricting monopolization of dominant power by any single formal or non-formal power broker (Migdal 2001: 84–94). Engaging in it does not mean that the leaders do not have the slightest interest in making the state the vehicle for progressive social change. The leaders, in fact, come to power with a full-fledged social agenda. Ultimately, it is the implementers who must make policy work at the ground level. But these implementers, as Migdal argues, are sandwiched between the policymakers and society. Here they confront different kinds of pressure from one’s formal supervisors, the intended beneficiaries of the implemented programme, regional state actors (e.g., peer politicians and bureaucrats), and the non-state strongmen (e.g., moneylenders, landlords and local businessmen) (Migdal 2001: 85). Along with these pressures, personal character and professional obligation of the implementers influence the intended outcome of the interventions. The policies and plans that ignore such dynamics are naturally susceptible to unintended consequences.

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The preceding section argued that development interventions tend to produce unintended consequences for local communities due to the incorporation of false assumptions regarding how politics is exercised in the local contexts. Building on the insights of Ferguson, I have argued that the root of these false assumptions is the lingering Weberian tradition of the ideal type of state that depoliticizes the real context of social control and development planning in the local communities. Finally, Migdal’s state-insociety approach that recognizes the state as ‘a mélange’ of power brokers helps us understand how informal and non-state channels of power lead development interventions to produce unintended consequences. Based on these competing and complementing theories, I would make a critical examination of how development works in a relatively small community in the Kashipur block in Odisha.

Kashipur Caught in the Web of Development Development interventions of various local, national and international agencies were brought together for the development of Kashipur and its people. But ‘vulnerability to crisis remains a long-term dilemma for this community despite the fact that “development” has been the Government of Odisha’s official raison d’être and that the state enjoys the full-time assistance of five UN development agencies8, several national and international NGOs, the World Bank, DFID, and PricewaterhouseCoopers. Kashipur Block also has been embroiled in development work including over 40 years of government watershed projects9, 21 years of service from a local NGO, plus multi-million dollar development projects administered by IFAD and UNICEF’ (Tordella 2003: 1). Here my goal is to understand the intricacy of production of underdevelopment, unravelling how this development ‘assistance’ has not contributed measurably towards welfare and progress of the tribals. I will present here, as an example, an analysis of one of the multimillion-dollar development projects implemented 8 9

The UNDP, UNICEF, FAO, WHO, and WFP. Senapati and Sahu, 1966: 448–9.

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in Kashipur administered by the International Fund for Agriculture Development (IFAD). During 1985–86, Kashipur faced a severe drought. Starvation deaths were reported in both the local and national media. The death toll reached 400. So, Kashipur block was deemed as an underdeveloped area requiring immediate development intervention. The then Prime Minister of India, Mr Rajiv Gandhi, with Mrs Sonia Gandhi, visited Kashipur Block on 25 September 1987 and declared that the region has not been affected by drought. However, in May 1988, with an objective ‘to achieve a sustainable economic uplift of the tribal population, a multimillion-dollar development project administered by the IFAD was launched10 in Kashipur with a spread of benefits that would reach the weaker and most disadvantaged section of the community’ (IFAD 1998: 2). The programme was implemented by the Odisha Tribal Development Programme (OTDP). Bhagaban Majhi told me that the people were not considered worthy enough to be consulted at any stage and the project was implemented according to the convenience of the project authorities, not the priorities of the beneficiaries. Ultimately, Agragamee, a local NGO initially involved in the OTDP for execution of the Human Resource Development activities, withdrew from the project because it believed that the people’s voices were not given due emphasis in the prioritization of the project’s activities and implementation (IFAD 1999: 5). The IFAD evaluation report also acknowledges that, ‘The target group did not feel “included” and sufficiently integrated in the project… The degree of participation at all stages in the project was limited – for instance, tribal people were minimally involved in project design and were seldom involved in developing the annual work programme and the budget. The project lacked consultation with the targeted population, thus creating an atmosphere of mistrust and discontent’ (IFAD 1999: 2, 6). With a targeted beneficiary pool of 12,500 tribal families and 4,000 local non-tribal households, OTDP made ‘good achievements’ in 10

The OTDP was approved by IFAD’s Executive Board in December 1987 and the loan became effective in May 1998.

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infrastructure development. With an objective of bringing the tribals into the national mainstream, the development of infrastructure was given a lot of importance. ‘Good achievements were made in the infrastructure development component, and appraisal targets were even exceeded in some cases, e.g., 130 km of rural roads were upgraded/ constructed (as against the 120 km envisaged), which now provide a vital lifeline for transport and communications in an area where access to remote villages/tribal areas previously was very treacherous’ (IFAD 1998: 2). A road from Tikiri to Kashipur and a railway line from Rayagada to Koraput were constructed. The project was ‘relatively successful’ in land surveying and settlement activities. Playing an instrumental role in land surveying, the project issued the record of rights for dongar (hills) land to 6,837 families belonging to 236 villages covering a total area of 17,175 acre of land (ibid). The scheme was not implemented in half of the villages in the block and ‘those villages whose land was likely to be acquired for mining and refinery purposes were specifically kept out of the ambit of the programme’ (Das 2001: 2613). Through the agriculture and natural resources development component, a few water harvesting structures were constructed and varieties of high-yielding hybrid seeds and new crops were introduced. For example, the tribals were taught to grow coffee and mulberry (for sericulture) in their dongars where they used to grow traditional crops like mandia (finger millet), suan (little millet), alsi (niger) and kandul (redgram). The OTDP succeeded in irrigating only half of the land targeted and performed below expectation on human resources development11. However, IFAD spent Rs 66 crore (Rs 660 million) and a further Rs 40 crore (Rs 400 million) was spent by Integrated Tribal Development Approach (ITDA) (Sarangi 2002: 3241). 11 The human resources development component was initially entrusted to a local NGO, Agragamee, which had a good reputation and expertise at the grassroots level. But later, Agragamee withdrew from the project when it realized that the tribals’ views and priorities in implementing project activities were not taken into serious account. ‘Whereas the Project Management Unit (PMU) saw the NGO as a spokesperson for the tribals not interested in their welfare, but was more concerned in promoting its own political agenda. The PMU further felt that Agragamee was training the tribals in a spirit not conducive to meeting project objectives’ (IFAD 1998: 3). This made Agragamee withdraw from the project, which in turn affected the project’s performance and sustainability.

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The project ended with many shortcomings. Money was spent hastily without meeting even the official targets and there were largescale misappropriation and irregularities. ‘IFAD paisa khaila kiye, neta chhada au kiye (Who swallowed the money of IFAD, it is none other than the politicians)’, so runs a popular saying, which later became a slogan of the PSSP in Kashipur. To lend to the gravity of the disorder, OTDP had 12 project managers in an implementation period of nine years, which obviously prevented even a minimum degree of continuity. Highlighting all these, one local daily reports, for example, on the closing day of OTDP, 31 December 1997, ‘On this day, bills worth Rs 5 crore had been passed for payment to contractors and other suppliers. The report expresses surprise, that in one day, how so much money could have been transacted and accounted for’ (Dharitri 2001, cited in Das 2003: 81). The issue of the sustainability of the development intervention became questionable. Not to mention that the water harvesting structures, irrigation systems and roads constructed under infrastructure development – the most successful component of the project – were found to be deteriorating at the time of the evaluation (IFAD 1999: 6). Another inadvertent problem is that the OTDP created a community of wage labourers out of an almost self-sufficient community (cf. Nanda 1994). According to the IFAD evaluation report (1998: 2), The tribals were provided both with food-for-work and a token salary in return for their labour in developing project-related infrastructure. However, once infrastructure activities were completed, employment opportunities were absent, thus leaving the tribals without the cashin-hand they had received through OTDP. Having got used to cashin-hand, the tribals have been forced to revert again to moneylenders, which has only aggravated their indebtedness problem.

The people of Kashipur realized the motive behind the IFAD project in the 1990s when the area was selected for corporate development intervention. In as early as 1992, Kashipur was identified as a bauxite resource for establishing a mining project by Utkal Alumina International Ltd. (UAIL). Under the banner of the Utkal Rural Development Society (URDS) and Business Partner

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for Development (BPD), the UAIL continued its development intervention to organize health camps, plant trees, distribute seeds and construct roads, although people protested at each step. Moreover, the area has received 25 years of committed service from Agragamee, a local NGO. A few other NGOs have also worked in the area. Out of a range of development initiatives, Agragamee’s commitment to natural resources management (e.g., watershed development), livelihood (e.g., organic farming, cashew plantation, and grain bank), capacity building, policy advocacy, women empowerment, health and education, to name a few, deserves appreciation (Agrgamee 2005, 2006, 2007a). Given the so-called ‘effective’ public intervention, it is difficult to assess the cause of chronic food shortage. According to the government estimates, the number of BPL families in the block has increased from 15,471 in 1992 to 24,582 in 1997 (Sarangi 2002: 3241). In spite of a huge outcry on right to food, the government has not yet been able to finalize the BPL lists (number of BPL families) in the state. In mid-1986, there was report of mass deaths in several villages in the Kashipur block and the same story repeated every year. What is surprising is that hunger deaths continue to be a regular yearly phenomenon in the area even today. For example, in Kashipur, 60 people died in 1999, 40 in 2000, 44 in 2001 (Sarangi 2002: 3240, 3239), about 200 in 2007 (author’s fieldwork), though the official causes and reasons provided are diverse and ambiguous. The ‘starvation deaths’ got media attention again in 2001 (Bhagat 2001; Das, S. 2001; Khan 2001; Sanjay Kumar 2001; Satapathy 2001a). During 1986–87, J. B. Pattnaik of Congress Party was the chief minister of the state. The then opposition leader late Biju Patnaik of the Janata Dal censured J. B. Patnaik and his government for not taking steps to control starvation deaths and trading of children. Naveen Patnaik, the son and successor of Biju Patnaik, has been carrying forward the legacy of his father in blaming the Congress government for the same. Now, the opposition Congress Party, which was in power for the past 40 years in the state, blamed the then ruling political party for the increasing hunger deaths. The state defines starvation death as ‘death completely without food’. The ruling government, however, refuted the incident of hunger

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deaths saying that the medical reports show that the victims had consumed ‘poisonous food’ like ‘mango kernels, tamarind seed powder, mushrooms and pumpkin leaves’ (Sarangi 2002: 3239). The tug-of-war between the ruling and the opposition party continues in regards to hunger deaths. The real causes of the deaths are completely ignored, though unnatural deaths have become a regular phenomenon over the years. As usual, the ruling government continues distributing BPL rice, compensation for the victim’s family and declaring an emergency package like Food for Work, National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (NREGA), etc. The best thing they do is to appoint a committee to investigate ‘hunger deaths’ and suggest some remedial measures. The bone of contention here is not whether these were ‘starvation deaths’ or deaths due to ‘food poisoning’, as it has been rightly pointed out that ‘these are coffee table debates’ (Agragamee 2007b: 8). My investigation are on the state of destitution in Kashipur and the lifethreatening conditions that compel the tribals to consume mango kernel, tamarind seeds, ghurdi sag (a kind of greens) and/or poisonous mushroom. In general, the staple food of the people in this area is mandia pej – gruel prepared out of ragi (finger millets), locally known as mandia. Flavoured with a pinch of salt and a handful of rice or maize corn thrown in, this rather bland gruel is taken for breakfast, lunch and, in the absence of rice, for dinner too, without variation. It is a staple food for babies too. Rice and suan (small millet) come next in the list of the food items. Rice is a luxury for them. Besides, they also produce varieties of pulses, dal, oil seeds and vegetables mostly for their consumption. They also cultivate a few types of cash crops like alsi (an oil seed). To a large extent, the food habit depends upon the seasonal agricultural yields and forest produce. The identifiable sources of livelihood for the tribals of Kashipur are agriculture, occasional wage labour and collection of minor forest produce (Now, the hills of Kashipur are barren and the forest is almost desolate due to dongar (shifting) cultivation, corporate interest and jungle mafia. The J.K. Paper Mill at Rayagada is responsible for depletion of forest in Kashipur to a large extent). The hilly terrain of Kashipur does not leave much space for plain cultivation and nearly 90 per cent of the plains are not irrigated (Tordella 2003:

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30). So, the tribals cultivate dongar. Of the total geographical area in Rayagada, the total sown land is 21.4 per cent. The presence of laterite soil brings low yields. Per capita land holding is 1.5 hectare and per capita grain output is 124 kg per annum (Jena 2008: 20). In Kashipur12, out of the total cultivable area of 37,124 hectare, paddy is grown only in 7,585 hectare and other crops including varieties of small millets, pulses, oil seeds, vegetables and cash crops are cultivated in the rest 29, 539 hectares of land. Of the total cultivable area, only 4,980 hectare (13 per ecnt) is irrigated and the rest depends on the mercy of nature. In the block, there are 3,705 sukhbasi (landless) families and 3,293 families without homestead land. All the agricultural produce, taken together, at best, lasts for six months. The chronic food shortage starts as soon as the rainy season arrives and it continues till the beginning of the next harvest. Rainy season is the time for the tribals of Kashipur to do hard manual labour in the field, especially in dongar. Due to the arduous physical labour coupled with food shortage, the tribals become susceptible to malaria and gastroenteritis, both of which take a virulent form during rainy season sparing no family. Even though the area is known for food shortage during the rainy season and non-availability of wage earning avenues, the tribals of Kashipur (namely, the Kondh, Paraja, Penga and Jhodia) do not prefer to migrate to other places for their livelihood. So, during this period, they mostly depend on wage employment, which is not available easily. During this lean period, the other available means of survival is the PDS rice given by the government. Many families are not in a position to buy the PDS rice due to lack of money. The poor families mortgage their ration cards to the local moneylenders for a sum of mere Rs 50 or even less. Despite possessing PDS cards, many of these families hardly ever purchase the sanctioned amount of 25 kg rice as they find it difficult to mobilize the required money. The moneylenders who buy the rice generally allow a pittance (mostly 5 kg) to the card holder and make a profit by selling the remaining 20 kg rice in the open market at a higher price (EPW 2002: 3477). 12 The data presented here on Kashipur is collected from the Tahasildar Office, Kashipur.

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District Collector Bishnupada Sethi admitted, ‘Circumstantial evidence proved that they were not starvation deaths. But the reality is that the people are succumbing to destitution as they have no source of income. The people are so poor, they often don’t have money even to buy rice at BPL rates (Rs 5 per kg)’ (Satapathy 2001a). Half of the poor families who have BPL cards admit that they are unable to buy PDS rice when they need it most. Besides all these problems, the public supply is irregular, unpredictable, insufficient and corrupt. As soon as the PDS rice reaches the local ration shops or panchayat offices, people rush there, even walking the whole day in the hilly terrains. Very often, I have seen a crowd of men and women sitting in front of the panchayat offices in Kucheipadar, Maikanch and a few other villages. As in most cases, the PDS rice is distributed on first-come-first-served basis, sometimes laggards end of getting nothing. Sometimes sitting and starving for the whole day and getting no ration, they return home in the evening with a ray of hope that they would come the next day for rice. Early in July, the rainy season begins. The food bins become empty. Earning wages becomes scarce. Food shortage becomes severe. Anticipating the non-availability of food and employment from July to September every year, the tribals of Kashipur collect and store dried mango kernels and tamarind seeds for consumption during food crisis. Eating mango kernel once or twice a year on specific ceremonial occasions is fine. On the contrary, consuming mango kernel or tamarind pulp as staple food is disappointing. But when there is no food grain left and hunger haunts the belly, they would eat anything they lay their hands on from mango kernel, tamarind seeds, ghurdi sag, poisonous mushroom, dried beef, to bamboo shoots. Tankupej, the mango kernel gruel, is a heavy food, hard to digest. Thus, when taken continuously without any variation, it leads to indigestion and dysentery. Deaths caused due to this are considered (by the government) ‘food poison deaths’ rather than ‘hunger deaths’, as the tribals did not die empty bellied, but after consuming mango kernel gruel! Another problem associated with food scarcity is the exploitation of tribals by the unscrupulous moneylenders, traders, contractors

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and bureaucrats. Mostly during monsoon, finding no opportunity for wage earning and not being able to mobilize money for buying PDS rice, the tribals approach moneylenders who are ever ready to provide loans both in cash and kind. As soon as the tribals harvest their crops, the moneylender ensures the payment at exorbitant rates of interest (sometimes ranging between 200 and 400 per cent, depending on the calculations of the moneylender). As an old man of Bilamala village says, ‘Adivasi kamani, Sahukar bharani (the tribals harvest to pay the moneylenders)’. Thus, a major portion of the harvest goes to the moneylenders pushing the tribals into a vicious circle of usury. Realizing the gravity and seriousness of the situation, Agragamee, a local NGO, after a series of discussions and consultations with the local people, developed an alternative saving strategy with the sole aim of liberating the tribals from the clutches of moneylenders and providing them with a self-sustaining food security system throughout the year, especially during the monsoon. With suggestions from Agragamee, community grain banks called kutumb panthi were started in a few selected villages, with each family contributing to the collective grains saving scheme just after the harvest. Agragamee’s endeavour to help the tribals develop alternative saving strategies for sustainable food security got wide recognition. As a result of which, in 1993, the UNICEF supported Agragamee’s pioneering effort in carrying forward a programme of food security in Kashipur block of Rayagada and Dashmantapur block of Koraput district. Thus, to encourage and develop fast¸ Agragamee provided a matching contribution of grains to each of the newly built kutumb panthis. In Kashipur alone, Agragamee helped to set up 535 kutumb panthis in 412 villages (Das and Das 2001: 131). At times of need, the villagers borrowed from it initially by paying a high rate of interest equaling the amounts charged by the moneylenders. This helped the kutumb panthis to grow fast. As surplus grains built up, the rate of interest was lowered. All the decisions regarding the grain bank – time of grain collections and distribution, interest rate, monitoring the defaulters and use of surplus grain – were taken collectively ensuring transparency and continuity of the system. Half of the members of the kutumb panthis were women. It is observed that kutumb panthis with

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strong women leadership succeeded better and sustained longer than the ones managed by men. These kutumb panthis were very helpful in providing food security during the worst periods of food shortage and also in providing an alternative strategy to the poor tribals to free themselves from the clutches of moneylenders. After six years, the UNICEF’s support in Agragamee’s endeavour in food security came to an end. With no support, Agragamee had to cut its monitoring of kutumb panthis. Nevertheless, in a few villages, the kutumb panthis are still managed and sustained by the communities themselves. But in many villages, the kutumb panthis came to an end due to a strong counter campaign by the moneylenders who saw a major source of their income slipping away from their hands. Also, poor storage facility resulting in loss of food grains, apathy of the people towards the kutumb panthis, default in repayment and lack of monitoring were some of the other reasons for the failure of the kutumb panthis. It is found, however, that the kutumb panthis had stopped functioning three or four years earlier in the villages where hunger deaths were reported in 2001 (Agragamee 2007b: 3). Today, in fact, the kutumb panthi no longer exists in any tribal village in Kashipur. In August 2006, I reached Bilamal, a village in Tikiri GP of Kashipur block. Although an adopted model village of the UAIL, four people had died of hunger in this village in 2001. Singari Majhi, a 60-year-old woman, had lost her husband, two married sons and one daughter-in-law on 8 August 2001. She said that in 2001, they had run out of food grains. They could not get any employment. There was nothing left at home. They started eating tankupej and some wild green leaves. That day (8 August 2001), early in the morning, her husband Sada Majhi, with his two sons – Surta and Paila – had gone to plough the field. Sulme, her younger daughter-in-law, brought them tankupej for breakfast. In the field, Sada and his two sons finished the breakfast and the remainder was consumed by Sulme. Sulme returned home and started feeling nauseous. At around 10 am, Sada and his two sons returned home as they had severe vomiting and dysentery. Hearing the news, Sulme’s father reached and took her home in Sanamatikana, a nearby village. By spending Rs 400, Sada and his two sons were immediately transported to Tikiri PHC

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where the Cumpander agyan (compounder sir), after initial check up, declared that the cases were very serious. Then, all three were transported to Kashipur PHC spending another Rs 500 and later more money was spent to take them to Rayagada hospital. Finally, all three died and a huge amount of money was charged to take the dead bodies to the village for cremation. Sulme was also taken to the hospital by her parents and she too died. Singari was told that she would get Rs 10,000 for every dead person but finally she got a total amount of Rs 20,000. A major portion of the money was spent on repaying debts and in holding feasts for the villagers and relatives. Though a number of people including Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik visited, Sulme’s economic condition has not improved. Today, she is still struggling to feed five bellies (one daughter-in-law and three grand children). The story is the same in case of other villages of Kashipur too – be it in Panasguda, Dom Karol (in short, people call it D. Karol), Tikiri or Bilamal. After five tough years of hunger deaths in Kashipur in 2001 and despite the government spending huge sums of money under different schemes to eradicate hunger deaths, the situation has not changed much. It was in August 2007, I was in Kashipur doing my fieldwork. All the villages were affected by ‘diarrhoea’ and ‘cholera’. According to the government health authorities of Rayagada District, 6,000 patients suffering from ‘cholera’, from Kashipur Block alone, were treated in August 2007 (Jena 2008). The death toll increased rapidly. Medical teams, media persons, activists, researchers and politicians, including Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik, visited the area to assess whether the deaths were due to ‘dysentery’, ‘cholera’, ‘food poisoning’ or ‘starvation’. The controversy continues. As usual, the government declared compensation for the deceased and provided relief and job opportunities (NREGS) from its emergency fund. The irony is that the people are not provided wages even after two months of the completion of the NREGS works. The stark reality, however, is that backbreaking poverty and chronic food shortage continue in Kashipur. During my stay in Kucheipadar village in September 2007, one day I was invited by Suni (name changed) for dinner. From the PSSP office (where I stayed in Kucheipadar), I followed her in that dark night to her house

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that is located at the other end of the village. Reaching home, she was happy to inform her family members that I was going to dine with them. Suni, with the help of her brother and sisters, hurriedly cleaned and lighted the old broken lantern (The tribals generally do not burn lamp in night as they manage with burning fire of the oven). The small room was illuminated and I could see everything – nearly emptied grain bins, a few bunches of dried maize hanging from the ceiling beam, a few clothes on the dola (rafter) and a few earthen and aluminium pots on the raised earthen platform (kitchen). Suni was quick to serve me food in aluminium plates. I requested her to give food to her father and brother too, and she did so. She also got herself food. We sat together to eat. Initially I took the curry as dal. But I could feel the difference while eating. To my query what kind of dal it was, she told me sheepishly that it was ambdijhola13 – a curry prepared out of rice gruel with tamarind. Her father interrupted her and told me that during rainy days not only vegetables but also the main food commodities became scarce. He was worried that their food bin was becoming emptier and they had to wait for another three months for the crops to ripen (maize ripens by the end of October). In reply to my concern as to how they managed during the days when there was no food, he explained that they had to depend on the PDS rice which they bought with the money they earned through wages. Even the purchased PDS rice (25kg/ month) was not sufficient for their six to eight-member family. If they earn more wages, they buy rice from the market. Otherwise, they survive by consuming jahnapej (maize gruel, if dried maize was available), tankupej (mango kernel gruel), tamarind seeds, ghurdisag (a variety of wild greens) and mushroom. ‘Do you like eating tankupej?’ I asked. Almost everybody in the family screwed up their nose and said, ‘Nobody likes to eat the bitter tankupej, but when there is nothing at home and rats run in your belly, then you have to eat whatever you find’. The story is the same for almost every family in the village except a few elite families. The narration establishes an important point 13 Generally in case of lack of vegetables, they prepare ambdijhola. In day to day life, reference to ambdijhola indicates lack of food and poverty.

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that food shortage is a persistent problem in Kashipur. In the name of eradicating poverty and hunger deaths, the colonial legacy of development interventions, both by the government and NGOs, continues without paying any attention to immanent development. In other words, development interventions of different kinds continue ‘by creating abnormalities’ (Escobar 1992a: 25) in more concrete terms like ‘the poor’, ‘the malnourished’, ‘the illiterate’ and ‘the landless’. Seeking to eradicate all problems, the number of development interventions in Kashipur multiplied year after after. Bhagaban Majhi complains that nobody has paid any attention to the most desired development interventions in the area, namely irrigating arable lands, land up-gradation, giving land titles to landless families, planting fruit bearing trees in dongar and creating employment opportunity during lean period. The government, instead, has constructed water reservoirs to provide water to the company, handed over arable land to the company, planted coffee, mulberry (for sericulture) and eucalypts (for supplying timber to paper mills). While the tribals of Kashipur demand better education and healthcare facilities, the government has been establishing police outposts and barracks. The point, however, is that while lack of capacity building and state imperialism have succeeded in keeping the area and its people ‘underdeveloped’, it is the premeditated political will of the government to prove that the land in the area is unproductive, and hence, corporate intervention is necessary. Thus, after 2001 hunger deaths, the local MLA of the then ruling BJD government claimed, ‘Had people allowed mining/industry, this [death] would not have happened’ (Sarangi 2002: 3241). It is imperative to mention at this juncture that, in 2001, four people died of hunger in Bilamal, the company’s (UAIL) adopted model village. Nonetheless, today all political parties along with some of the local elites have been crying out, ‘Industry is the solution’. They do not discuss, however, how to put an end to hunger deaths, unemployment and other perennial problems that the tribals face. Sankar Muduli, an educated tribal boy of Bagrijhola, a village adjacent to the boundary wall of UAIL, argues,

Producing Underdevelopment  77 There is no starvation death in our area14. We have seen people dying of starvation at bus stands and railway stations in cities. We do not have such a situation here. But there are poor people in our area. The officers and the leaders were exploiting us earlier. Now those people are spreading the rumour of ‘starvation deaths’. By means of this, it will be easy for the company to enter. But we have already understood the diplomacy. In cities, many people are dying of food shortage amidst a number of rich men. They are doing nothing there. Why are they rushing to our areas? The leaders, officers and ministers are playing the drama only in greed of company’s money (KJLM 2003: 40).15

Producing Underdevelopment The previous section illustrated how false assumptions regarding the exercise of power and linear policy models have produced unintended consequences for the tribals of Kashipur. The development interventions and relief measures in Kashipur have resulted in two long term unintended consequences. Firstly, the discourse of ‘emergency’ and ‘relief’ in this context seems to have diverted attention away from the essential problem of hunger (which is wrongly assumed to have been ‘relieved’) and its fundamental causes in Kashipur (which is assumed simply to have been a drought year). By attributing the hunger deaths to ‘drought’, ‘food poison’, or ‘cholera’, for example, attention has been diverted from the fact that severe food shortage is a serious problem in Kashipur. Another important fact is that nearly 90 per cent of lands in Kashipur remain unirrigated although almost all the tribals depend on agriculture for their subsistence. Secondly, the politics of relief in Odisha ensures that by the time relief is undertaken, the community must have 14 Sankar is well aware of the incidents of hunger deaths in Kashipur. In my last meeting in August 2007, when asked whether there was hunger death in Kashipur, he told me, ‘I know we are poor people. We face food crisis and many die of hunger. But you see, in the name of eradicating food crisis, government is bringing Company here. This will not solve the problem, I am sure’. 15 My translation.

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become disempowered and attained the final stage of vulnerability to hunger (i.e., visible destitution or starvation deaths). As the tribals are not bystanders to hunger waiting for the government relief to reach them, they try to employ their own coping strategies and, at the end, they become more vulnerable due to loss of assets. Finally, the relief measures in the form of provision of PDS rice, food for work programme, creation of emergency employment opportunities through programmes like EGS, NREGS, etc., feed the tribals temporarily and they become even more vulnerable once these relief measures are over (as happened in case of the OTDP project). The inadvertent outcomes are the results of incorporation of false assumptions in development planning. Firstly, everybody – the media, public, bureaucrats and politicians – assume that the state is the sole authority to relieve the hunger crisis. The ‘victims’, in fact, are not the bystanders of hunger deaths and they employ their own survival strategies much before the food crisis reaches a visible point where the media and the government realize the need for relief. Thus, augmentation of the tribals’ own coping strategies much before the food crisis reaches terminal stages is a more useful form of relief than feeding them temporarily whilst they are dying. Secondly, another false assumption that lies in hunger crisis and relief model in Kashipur is the belief in linear policy planning as illustrated as follows: Figure 2.2: Linear Hunger Crisis and Relief Model Drought → Crop Loss → Hunger Crisis → Relief → No Hunger Crisis Source: Tordella, 2003: 32

This model accepts hunger crisis as a situation that needs particular state relief. Food insecurity, in fact, is the result of the accumulation of multiple vagaries the tribals face. Thus, state relief measures in the form of temporary feeding never covers all the vulnerabilities (the tribals face) that extend beyond the loss of entitlements to or availability of food.

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Furthermore, the policies do not operate in a vacuum but are influenced by multiple power brokers (individuals) in the long run. Thus, understanding the role of individuals and the ‘vested interest’ is central to understanding why the relief measures have failed to achieve the intended outcome. Tordella writes, ‘The seeds for Kashipur’s hunger-related deaths were planted by a decade of local and district administrators who did not irrigate uncultivable tribal farmland, by the moneylender and local contractors who sought to deconstruct community grain banks, and by local NGO leaders who had adopted policies leading to the organization’s 18-month suspension from conducting development work in Kashipur’ (2003: 34). The government, especially the bureaucrats and politicians, along with the local strongmen, have come to the consensus that the problems of poverty and hunger dominate the lands of Kashipur. The root of the hunger crisis, they claim, is the non-fertile land of Kashipur that does not produce enough for the tribals to sustain themselves, though, in fact, no attention has been paid to enhancement of productivity of the land (e.g., irrigation, introduction of new technology and plantation of fruit bearing trees in dongar). Hence, the government and elites argue that the land should be exploited to its fullest possible extent to augment the welfare of the community.16 This argument leads the way to handing over Kashipur’s arable lands to corporate houses like UAIL that promise a better future for the tribals of Kashipur. Thus, ‘development’ becomes significant for ‘everyday forms of state formation’ (Joseph and Nugent 1994) continuously offering ‘the state’ to underpin and restate its raison d’etre and become instantiated in the life-world of the marginalized. 16 In a similar case, referring to an example of Vedanta/Sterlite’s endeavour of taking away the lands of Kondhs in Odisha, Felix Padel (2009) argued that victimizing people in the name of development and civilization by the modern structures of power and control is more inhuman than the Kondh’s ritual practice of ‘human sacrifice’. He writes, ‘Human sacrifice seems the most inhuman of customs. […] Yet it is a practice that at least affirms that a human life is something sacred and of great value. […] So in many ways the forms of power and authority that have evolved in Western society and have been imposed on people of other cultures, ostensibly to ‘civilize’ them, involve a cruelty and inhumanity that go beyond human sacrifice, sacrificing the essence of what it means to be human’ (2009: xxxiii).

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It seems, then, that the goal of all development interventions is not alleviating the tribals’ suffering, hunger and poverty, as all programmes avowedly claim to do, but to eliminate them as a cultural, social and agricultural community. Escobar therefore writes, ‘What is at stake is not really the eradication of hunger (even if the planners wholeheartedly desired so) but its multiplication and dispersion into an ever-finer web, a play of mobile visibility which is hard to hold in one’s insight’ (1995: 117). The tribals, nonetheless, continue to struggle to sustain their identity and survival strategies even with the development of capitalism.

3

Contested Development The Political Economy of Survival

If now you claim the land is yours, tell me how and when it became yours? - Bulka Miniaka, a tribal leader of Barigaon village, Koraput.

I

n the last chapter we saw how underdevelopment is produced by the very discourse and practice of development interventions. This discourse of underdevelopment welcomes another development intervention. Rapid industrialization in Odisha is an example of this. The state takes pride in transforming the rural villages to an ‘industrial hub’ of the country by inviting a number of Multi-National Companies (MNCs) to start a new era of ‘development’ in Odisha. The government of Odisha has signed as many as 79 Memorandum of Understandings (MoUs) with different private MNCs for setting up of many ‘greenfield steel plants’ (George 2014, Nayak 2008: 19). So, along with state and civil society, market, particularly in the form of mining and industrialization, was brought into the hinterlands of the tribals as another agency of development.

Arrival of the ‘Asura’ (Demon): The New Agency of Development Since the introduction of planned development in the country in early 1950s, mining was regulated by the Mines and Minerals

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(Regulation and Development) Act of 1957 and mining of all major minerals like iron ore, bauxite, coal, manganese, chrome, gypsum, gold, and diamond were reserved for public sector enterprises. Earlier, mining of bauxite-alumina was the only public sector enterprise. The companies were mining bauxite and selling to Indian companies like Indal – the only private sector company that had its alumina and smelter plant in Uttar Pradesh and Sambalpur (Odisha) respectively. In mid 1980s, as we saw in our introduction, BALCO, a public sector enterprise, was proposed to mine bauxite from Gandhamardan. However, BALCO was driven out of the place being branded as BALCO asura (demon). In early 1990s, the National Mineral Policy changed. The Act of 1957 was amended in 1994 and again in 1997 making mining of all major minerals (except atomic minerals) more ‘investor friendly’ allowing private and foreign direct investment. A well-known argument is that there is an urgent need for industrialization, particularly to harness the mineral and natural resources for the overall prosperity of the nation, as agriculture alone cannot ensure economic growth and development. The new industrial policy of the Government of Odisha states, ‘The Government is committed to radical reforms in the laws and rules guiding…establishment of globally-competitive industry, restructuring of industry in line with changing market conditions and deter investment’ (GoO 2001: 18–19, cited in Pandey 2008: 610). To achieve this objective, the Government of Odisha has been inviting private and foreign investors compromising the interest of the people. For example, as indicated in the introduction, the Government of Odisha invited the UAIL to Kashipur in 1993 and Vedanta in 1997 for mining bauxite from Baphlimali hills and Niyamgiri hills respectively. Again in 2004, the TATA was invited for establishing its six metric tonnes per annum (mtpa) steel plant in Kalinganagar despite the fact that a dozen MNCs have already set up their industries in Kalinganagar. The tribals, the most poor and vulnerable sections of Indian social system, happen to sit on the lands where most of the mineral and natural recourses are. As a result, tribals are the worst affected victims in this process of authoritarian ‘development’. They strongly resist the proposed conversion of their lands into an industrial township for various reasons. Neither the

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economy nor the culture of the tribal villages remained the same as it was some two-three decades ago, and nor are the tribals nonprogressive or anti-development. The tribals also do not romanticize that agriculture ensures the best possible means of livelihood for them. Even then, Dipankar Gupta’s claim that ‘Villagers are more than willing to desert the fields for a future outside the mud walls of their homes’ (2005: 752) is just half-truth in case of the tribals of Kashipur, Kalinganagar and Niyamgiri.1 The tribals of these areas are not ignorant about the odds and evens of urban life as well. So the tribals’ resolve to fight against the government’s decision to transform the tribal villages into an industrial township cannot be due to their ignorance and rusticity. The idea of displacement haunts the tribals. They have seen in many places that displacement swiftly transforms the almost self-sufficient tribals into paupers or slum-dwellers2. The tribals of Kalinganagar, Kashipur and Niyamgiri often cite examples of Nalco, Indravati, Hirakud and Kalinganagar where most of the displaced tribals not only faced the worst forms of misery, but also that nobody has kept a record of many of the families who vanished into nowhere. The UNO publication states succinctly, ‘Often uprooted from their traditional lands and ways of life and forced to fit into prevailing national societies, indigenous peoples face discrimination, marginalization, and alienation. Despite growing political mobilization in pursuit of their rights, they continue to lose their cultural identity along with their natural resources. Some are in imminent danger of extinction’ (UNO 1992: 353). Therefore, the tribals of Kalinganagar, Kashipur and Niyamgiri have been protesting against the establishment of industries with a submission, 1

For a similar argument in case of Singur, West Bengal, see Roy (2007). For displacement and the plight of the displaced people by dams and other reservoirs see Thukral (1992), Viega (1992), Dalua (1993), Fernandes & Asif (1997), Dwivedi (1998), Yugandhar (1998), Rew et al. (2000), Sahu (2000), Tripathy (2003); for displacement from mines and plants see Behera (1996), Sengupta & Ahuja (1997), Pandey (1998), Jayaraman (2001), MMP (2003a, 2003b, 2003c), Mundu (2003), George (2004), Lenka (2004) and Goodland (2007); for Indiawide displacement see Sengupta & Ahuja (1997), Yugandhar (1998), Parasuraman (1999) Rew et. al. (2000) and Tripathy (2003). 2

84  Negotiating Marginality Where shall I go Leaving this land For which I am only a trustee As a tribal, I am duty bound To pass it on to the generation next!3

Conflicts Over Land: A Political Ecology Agenda In the name of industrializing the countryside, the government not only takes away the resources including the land, water, forest and minerals but also destroys the livelihood means of the people for, what Gadgil and Guha (1992) say, a political economy of profit. On the other hand, the tribals die to defend their land, livelihoods and natural resources for, what Gadgil and Guha (ibid) say, a moral economy of provision. On the eve of ‘modernization of peasant4 economies and societies, how they are affected by economic and political changes remains inadequately understood, notwithstanding the outpouring of scholarly studies on peasant cultures for the benefit of those who plan ‘development’ and make policy. Peasants, however, have frequently and often violently resisted attempts to change their lives. It is therefore worthy to explore, what peasants themselves believe and value or deplore, and what reasons lie behind their reactions to economic and political change? (Lieberson 1981: 34). The classic Scott-Popkin debate helps us to appreciate the rationale of peasants’ behaviour towards market economy and changing society. Building on British historian E. P. Thompson’s work (1971), James C. Scott in his book, The Moral Economy of the Peasant: Rebellion and Subsistence in Southeast Asia (1976), argues the peasant’s doctrine is ‘safety first’, meaning that his fundamental objective is to feed himself, his family, and his community. Profit is less important than subsistence. However, my understanding of subsistence extends beyond food to include any material and nonmaterial resource necessary not only for physical survival, but also for inclusion within the moral economy. Making his case, Scott 3 Bhattacharya, Debashis 2006. ‘All for a plot of land’, The Telegraph, January 15. 4

By peasants, I refer to the tribals who are self-supporting land labourers and cultivators living in small village communities.

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explains, ‘Typically, the peasant cultivator seeks to avoid the failure that will ruin him rather than attempting a big, but risky, killing. In decision-making parlance his behaviour is risk-averse; he minimizes the subjective probability of the maximum loss.’ (1971: 5). It is not that peasants do not understand the logic behind neo-classical economics; it is that such logic is not well suited to their lived conditions. The question a peasant is more likely to ask is ‘What is left?’ not ‘How much is taken?’ As a direct rebuttal of Scott’s moral economy, Samuel L. Popkin presents his political economy approach in his book, The Rational Peasant: The Political Economy of Rural Society in Vietnam (1979). Popkin’s political economy approach holds that peasants are rational, self-interested agents that act to maximize their own benefit. While the moral economy approach argues that emotions are the main drivers of peasant action, hence placing a great deal of importance on the norms and values of peasant communities, Popkin shows that peasants follow a rational investment logic when deciding to join a new political, religious or resistant movement or using state institutions. ‘What is rational for an individual’, Popkin writes, ‘may be very different from what is rational for an entire village or collective’ (1979: 31). Despite growing scholarships over the long standing debate whether political economy has been rebuttal or complementary to moral economy (e.g., see Genovese 1973; Feeny 1983; Brocheux 1983; Little 1989, 2003; Sayer 2000; Edelman 2005; Mauritz 2014), I take the middle path in this debate being convinced about the fact that “neither side has a monopoly on the truth”. The peasants’ response to the capitalist economy is highly contingent and constrained. In the real world, we should not expect communities with different cultures, membership, location, and throughout time to adhere to an unchanging system of norms, stagnant conception of justice, or behave uniformly. For example, one community that faces increased pressure from state domination and violence and threats to subsistence may rise up in direct protest, while another community may quietly resist through forms of evasion and express frustration through noncompliance. Scott even offers a pre-emptive response to Popkin and critics with the similar charge, indicating

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that peasants do indeed take risks and make investments beyond the needs of subsistence. He clarifies, The safety-first principle thus does not imply that peasants are creatures of custom who never take risks they can avoid. When innovations such as dry season crops, new seeds, planting techniques, or production for market offer clear and substantial gains at little or no risk to subsistence security, one is likely to find peasants plunging ahead. … The argument I am making about the economics of subsistence is meant to apply in its full force, then, only to those cultivators who share a common existential dilemma. For those peasants with very low incomes, little land, large families, highly variable yields, and few opportunities, the pattern of safety-first, should hold quite consistently. For peasants with high incomes, abundant land, small families, reliable crop yields, and outside employment opportunities, the argument probably is not applicable (1971: 24–25).

He is clearest in an interview, avowing, ‘Moral Economy’ was an argument about rational choice, that the problem of peasants was the danger of going under and its consequences were catastrophic; as agriculturalists they choose different crops, planning schedules, soil conditions, etc., and spread their bets in a series of prudent economic strategies; they don’t maximize their yield in the way that modern capitalists would, but minimize the danger of going under; my argument was that they also had a whole series of social arrangements that do the same thing – about the sharing of harvests, the forced charity within the village so that big men have to distribute surpluses – so had a set of arrangements that were organized again, not to maximize production but minimize social danger to individuals in the community; […] the title of my book was The Subsistence Ethic and Peasant Politics or something like that; then I was convinced by having read Moral Economy of the English Crowd in the Eighteenth Century by Edward Thompson to use ‘moral economy’ in the title; I think it was a mistake in the long run because it suggested to people who didn’t

Contested Development  87 read the book carefully that I had a series of altruistic peasants who were not operating rationally; underlined by Popkin calling his book The Rational Peasant (http://www.alanmacfarlane.com/DO/ filmshow/scott2_fast.htm, retrieved on 5 March 2018).

Indicatively, it is safe then to conclude that the moral economy is not in opposition to political economy. As my concern here moves beyond understanding peasant rationality to analyse the complexity of the struggle over land and environment, let us put the matter within the framework of political ecology agenda, a research agenda that combines the concerns for environment and political economy (Bryant 1992). Blaikie and Brookfield (1987: 17) define, The phrase ‘political ecology’ combines the concerns of ecology and a broadly defined political economy. Together this encompasses the constantly shifting dialectic between society and land-based resources, and also within classes and groups within society itself.

The political ecology that emerged as a research agenda only in 1980s attempts to understand the political sources, conditions and ramifications of environment change. In his work, Raymond L. Bryant (1992) offers a broad literature review and exploration of central analytical issues regarding socio-economic impact and political ramification of environment change in the Third-World. Besides his schematic research agenda what draws one to Bryant’s article is its ‘positioned analysis of facing the power relations involved in the alternation of the environment’ (Alejo 2000: 17). However, my preferential engagement with socially disadvantaged and marginalized sections does not overlook ‘the complexities of political and environmental interaction’ (Bryant 1992: 14). Following a framework that ‘aims to unify but through an appreciation of plurality of purpose and flexibility in explanation’ (Blaikie and Brookfield 1987: 25), Bryant explores the complexities of the contextual sources, conflict over access and political ramification in alteration of environment change. Bryant’s first critical area of enquiry, contextual sources, investigates state and market addressing state policies, inter-state relations and global capitalism. State

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politics is not developed in political or economic vacuum. Rather it is the product of many conflicting processes of competing actors including the national and foreign government agencies, national and transnational corporations, funding agencies and even influential NGOs. The policy content is also influenced by the powerful economic and political elites. Societal division and struggle and narrow interest of the state itself influence the policy content. The inter-state synergies exert influence on the environmental issues. Similarly, market also contributes to environmental changes. Some of the transnational corporations – big or small – confining to the goals of profit maximization, corporate growth and market control end with ruining of environment (e.g., disposal of toxic waste), while others are more conscious of environment hazards. The framework’s second area of enquiry, conflict over access – both historical and contemporary dynamics – further enriches our understanding of politics of environment. Of its great usefulness for ethnography, this element in the framework is concerned with the constraints and opportunities faced by the subalterns in their struggle to protect their environment. An appreciation of the historical dynamics of the conflict over access, that helps in understanding contemporary struggle, is that many of the practices and discourses of independent states are mere continuance of old colonial era. Marginalized communities, especially tribals, bear testimony to the fact. Phillip Hirsch (1990: 56, cited in Alejo 2000: 18–19) writes, Historically marginal people have become defined as such largely as a product of the colonial and postcolonial organization of national space. A group is marginal only in relation to the centre, thus, the imposition of a few centres on peripheries, such as Jakarta on Irian Jaya or Kuala Lumpur on Sarawak, at once marginalizes people and the territory they occupy as a consequence of incorporation. Tribal groups not only live in marginal territory; they occupy marginal land.

The task of the ethnographer, then, is to find out the historical dimensions of the conflict that may predate colonial time under the guise of contemporary issue.

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The third area of inquiry of Bryant’s framework, the political ramification of environment change, explores the impact of environmental change – both episodic and everyday – on the socioeconomic life and political process of the people, especially the marginalied. Episodic change includes flood, drought and similar disasters, while everyday change refers to soil erosion, salinization, deforestation and various types of pollution. Very often, both the cases result in social and ecological marginalization of the poor. Along with Bryant’s well known analysis of discourse of contextual actors like the state and local elites, Peet and Watts (1993) attention to the new directions in political ecology for the 1990s recognizes, unlike Bryant, the cultural aspects and production of meaning (cf. Escobar 1988, 1992a, 1992b). They see the movements not only as everyday forms of resistance but also as cultural struggle for production of meaning, for an alternative way of life and for an alternative development. Building on these theories, I begin by outlining native’s perception where land remains as the lifeline of their moral economy of survival. In the course of that discussion, I then provide alternative ways to view land (by state and MNCs) as an economic asset that needs to be harnessed for maximization of profit. As perception over land and motives of its use varies, conflicts transpire. Unfolding the complexities of the historical and contemporary dynamics of conflict, I would like to argue in the following pages of ethnography that the struggle over land and environment ‘moves toward a politics of the people, not just of the state; an economics of livelihood organizations, not just of global capitalists’ (Alejo 2000: 21).

Native’s Perception of Land: The Moral Economy of Provision Out of the total population in Kashipur, 62 per cent belong to different tribal groups and sub-groups like Kondh, Paraja, Jhodia and Penga. They live in relative isolation from the larger society, which has allowed them to preserve their languages, cultures, identities and livelihoods. The villages are sparsely distributed over the vastly stretched hilly terrains and are relatively isolated, self-sufficient and have limited interaction with the outside communities. Out of the total

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geographical area in Kashipur, 75,720 hectares are unsurveyed dongar lands, 32,475 hectares forestlands, 8,985 hectares are uncultivable tenanted lands and the rest 33,410 hectares are cultivable tenanted lands. Approximately 20,000 hectare of dongar land goes under shifting cultivation annually. Of the total geographical area, the net sown area is only 21.64 per cent. Out of the cultivable lands, about 85 per cent are uplands, 10 per cent medium lands and 5 per cent low lands. Out of the total population, 56 per cent are landless and 40 per cent are small and marginal farmers (Pathy 2003: 2833). Average size of operational land holdings is 1.5 hectare as per 1995 Census. According to 2001 Census, the average per capita output of food grain is 124 kg per annum. According to the 2001 Census, 85 per cent of tribal population depends on agriculture as either landowners or agricultural labourers. Their agrarian livelihood practices involve traditional cultivation techniques and simple intuitional arrangements based on cooperative labour, equity and ecological integrity. They never intend to produce, in general, surplus crops and normally produce enough to meet their own needs. Single crop rain-fed cultivation produces an annual harvest that meets food requirements for up to six months, notwithstanding unusual climatic conditions such as drought. This annual harvest is supplemented by dongar cultivation on different hill slopes including Baphlimali Hills, the hills to be mined by the UAIL. Almost all the tribals of Kashipur depend on Baphlimali Hills directly or indirectly besides the people of Maikanch, Kodipari and Chandragiri GPs who live on dongar cultivation around the Baphlimali hills. Traditionally, each village has a demarcated dongar area for the use of the people of that particular village. The village has the right to distribute the land among its dwellers. If the landowner of a particular piece of dongar land never uses it for consecutive years, either the owner gives it to whomever s/he likes or the village council decides about its distribution. Paddy is grown in all irrigated low lands. Paddy is also cultivated in some dry upland. People cultivate as many as 50 varieties of paddy most of which are drought resistant and low water consuming. The bulk of dry land, including dongar, is devoted to the cultivation of staples like suan and mandia. Yet the crop mix is highly diversified

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and rotated annually. People grow different varieties of paddy, pulses, cereals, minor millets, oilseeds and vegetables. Most of the produces are for domestic consumption except a few cash crops like alsi (a variety of oilseed). Each family has a baada (kitchen garden) where different varieties of seasonal vegetables and maize are grown. Use of modern technology and fertilizers and chemical pesticides are almost absent. However, cow dung is used as manure for kitchen garden and occasionally for lowland paddy fields. The collection of minor forest produce (MFP), occasional wage labour and livestock cultivation augment the agrarian livelihoods. Forest plays an integral part in the tribal food security system. A variety of fruits, greens, roots, tubers and mushrooms serve the supplementary dietary needs. Some of the important MFPs like kendu leaves (diospyros melanoxylon), mahua flower (madhuca longifolia) and mahua fruits are used to supplement dietary intake. Some of them are also sold to meet the financial needs. The alcoholic beverage brewed out of the fermented mahua flowers is the dearest alcoholic beverage in the area. One can find mahua liquor in all tribal villages round the year. In recent years, the complete destruction of the forests in Kashipur has put the tribal economy in jeopardy. Though a major section of the tribals depend on occasional wage labour, most of them work as agricultural and semi-skilled wage labourers in the area as they prefer not to migrate to other places in search of livelihood opportunities. Rice provided through PDS supplements food security system. Thus, land is very dear to the tribals. Barigaon chowk comes in between Rafkana and Tikiri bazaar. In a late afternoon in September 2007, I got down alone at Barigaon Chowk from a bus coming from Rayagada. The village Barigaon (in Koraput district) stands at a distance of 3 km from Barigaon Chowk. The snake-like curving pucca road that runs towards south leads to the village Barigaon. While walking alone, on the way I met a group of boys moving ahead in the same direction. When asked, the guys replied that I was on the right way to Barigaon. They told me that they too belonged to the same village. Knowing my intention of meeting Bulka Miniaka (an activist of the Kashipur Movement), one of the boys introduced himself as Lada, Bulka’s youngest son. We reached the village before we had finished our discussions.

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I was happy to see Barigaon, a big village. The houses stand in rows facing each other and wide streets run in between the two rows of houses. The village is located in a beautiful valley surrounded by a big and dense mountain on three sides and a river in the west (they refer to the mountains and the rivers by the name of the village). Lada took me to his house. As both of Lada’s parents were absent, Lada entered the house pushing the unlocked door aside (most of the tribals never lock their houses even during their absence). Lada gave me water for washing. We took mandia pej. It was almost 6.30 in the evening. Bulka Miniaka – an energetic man in his late 60s, around five feet high with all grey hair on his head, slender look and black in complexion – returned home. We greeted each other. Bulka came back to me immediately after keeping his agricultural implements inside the house. In the meanwhile, Lada informed him, in brief, about me in his Kui language. Introducing myself, I expressed my intention of meeting him and knowing about the movement from his experience. It seems he was feeling happy and proud. His eyes twinkled. With a big nod he started, ‘You see babu, kumpany (company) has come here to throw us from our land and take away our resources. Company will own everything we have – our land, forest, river, water, air and even us. Where will we go? Therefore, we will not allow the company to be established here. I was imprisoned for four months. Who is afraid of the prison? Once a policeman asked me what we were fighting for and what we needed? I replied, ‘I need forest to graze my cattle, I need land to cultivate and I need water to harvest my crop. If you can, give me’. The policeman was silent… We will give our life to save our resources…If company comes, all men and women have to adopt family planning from the day one of marriage”. He further elaborated, “Somehow the people of the present generation will survive by either wage earning or “robbing”5. But nothing will be there for the people of the next 5 He was referring to the fact that in destitution the tribals steal small goods like iron rods, coals and other small things which either they sale in market or consume for household purposes. Similarly, I have been told in Kalinganagar that both the tribals and non-tribals including a few elites steal mainly iron ore and rods from different companies. I have seen particularly women and children taking away bags of coal mostly for household consumption either collecting the pieces

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generation. Company will destroy everything – water, air, forest and land. After a few years company will vanish with all resources. It will be hard then to get a day-wage! There will be no question of agriculture. How will the children survive? So, to save the children from future misery, it would be better not to give birth to a child”. The news of the arrival of a sagrami-friend6 spread around the village. Alai Majhi, a women leader of Bulka’s contemporary age, joined us in discussion. In an emphatic tone she said, “I will give my life but I will not allow any government or kumpany to touch our land, water and forest”. She told about many of her lived experiences how they have encountered police repressions, persuaded the government authorities especially the District Collectors, and challenged the company officials who tried to bribe and convince them. When I asked whether they were tired of working whole day in field, both of them said that they could talk the whole night. As the evening was getting darker, Lada signaled that we should go out to the spring to get ourselves washed. Getting a hint from a boy who was taking part in your discussion, to show my respect7 to Bulka and Alai, I was happy to arrange one pot of mahua liquor for their refreshment. With permission, we went to the spring as Bulka and Alai were slowly enjoying the pot of mahua liquor. We came back home just within half an hour. I was surprised to see that Bulka had called a village meeting. When I expressed my wish to talk to him, he replied it would be better to discuss the matter with the whole village and listen to them. In no time, Lada cleaned an old lantern, put some kerosene and patched the broken glass with a piece of paper. Lada lit the lantern and brought it to the berenamunda.8 The whole village gathered at the berenamunda where women, in equal of coals laying scattered in company premises or stealing from the heaps of coals stored by the companies. 6 They mostly take it for granted that those who talk about the movement are the friends or sympathizers of the movement. 7 Customarily, the tribals bring liquor or other beverages while they visit their relatives’ house in order to show their respect, obligation, affection and love. 8 In Kondh language, it refers to a place where a number of big flat stones are arranged in a fashion of a raised platform for the village council to sit for deciding any matter.

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strength, joined too. Children hanged around. Bulka proudly told the villagers that the glory of them and their village (Barigaon) has appeared in books. ‘This babu came here to meet us and learn from our experience how we fought against the company and the government.’ Bulka asked the villagers whether they would leave their lands to the company. The whole village shouted back ‘NO’. One after the other, the villagers expressed their views on industrialization. They recounted the lived experiences of their struggle to save their land. I realized from two long hours of discussion that the villagers would prefer to die rather than part with their lands. Bulka said, ‘For us the land is our life. We are the insects of the soil, the earthworms. We will die to defend it, even to the last drop of our blood’9. On that silent night, the melody of the concluding song that they sang for me was reverberating around the close by hills reminding of their promises: We will not leave our land, We will not leave our dongar10 Oh brother, we will not vacate our village. Let them shoot us on our chest, Let them take our lives, Oh brother, we will not leave our land11.

This shows the tribals’ passion for their land and their decision not to be alienated from it at any cost. For Bulka Miniaka, land is the ayya (the mother) that nourishes mankind through generations and he (representing the whole of tribals) is the earthworm (matira poka). Hence, it is beyond his imagination to think of selling the land. The local tribals, therefore, refuse to recognize the loss of their land to the outsiders and company as legitimate. Elsewhere, with regard to Tana Bhagat’s movement on land, William Archer wrote that to his question ‘Where are your title deeds?’; the Bhagats replied, ‘The 9 For exactly a similar thought see Board and Cavanagh (1993: 34; Padel and Das 2008: 577). 10 Literally means mountain. But here they refer to lands for shifting cultivation. 11 It is a big song that they generally sing during their village meetings, campaigns and rallies against the company. A stanza of the song is reproduced here. My translation.

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answer is – my spade, my axe, my ploughshare are my title deeds… Ploughing is the writing of the golden pen on golden land.’ To the argument, ‘Your lands have been auctioned for arrears of rent and purchased by another’, they replied, ‘When a man buys a mat, he rolls it up and takes it away. Similarly, unless the purchaser has rolled my land and taken it away how can he be said to have purchased it?’ (cited in Damodaran 2007: 139). This is what Bulka meant when he says that he is the ‘matira poka’. Elaborating on it further, he says, ‘We have crafted the land from the virgin soil and we have been cultivating it since our forefathers’ time. If now you claim the land is yours, tell me how and when it became yours?’ The gravity of the case is more palpable in the instances where tribals have shown peculiar religious and emotional attachment to land. For the tribals, Niyamgiri and Gandhamardan, for instance, are not just hills and forests that support their livelihood but also are the abodes of their supreme deities who keep the tribal people thriving. The Niyamgiri hills, for the Dongria Kondhs, are the living space of their God and ancestor Niyamraja. The ‘sacred law’, as prescribed by Niyamraja, disallows unsustainable exploitation of forest and land at the behest of greed and instead favours an ‘economy of restraint’. Thus, the Dongria Kondhs reject fixed farming as they believe that shifting cultivation suits the forests better as it allows the forest to grow into its own form with little or no human interference. Land for a tribal, thus, has multidimensional meanings and values. It is more than a spatial boundary, an abstract space. It is a geographical and political territory, an economic resource, a cultural and spiritual base. Marginalization, thus, means more than spatial/ geographical transfer. The displaced people not only realize a locational transfer but also feel insecure, dismantled, humiliated and negated in their whole way of life. They are forced into hardly unbearable labours of mourning ‘not only for lives and places lost, but also for the loss of the conditions for life’ (Reid and Taylor 2010:11).

State, Market and Land: The Political Economy of Profit But the state seizes the land whenever and wherever it is necessary using the powerful doctrine of ‘eminent domain’ and predatory

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land acquisition acts12. More often than not, the government passes these lands to corporate houses that in turn use it for ‘profit making’. Nobody bothers about the fate of tribals (the landowners) who solely depend upon their lands for livelihoods. Everything reads well with a mystic justification for the cause of the ‘greater common good’ (cf. Roy 2001). Lamenting on the issue, Indira Gandhi said, ‘I am most unhappy that development projects displaced tribal people from their habitat, especially as project authorities do not always take care to properly rehabilitate the affected population. But sometimes there is no alternative and we have to go ahead in the larger interest….’13 The state sees people who happen to live in and around the sitting of a development project as hindrances to progress and growth, as those who ‘must make sacrifices for the development of the nation’ (GoI 1985b, cited in Kothari 1996: 1478). Tribals not only have to sacrifice but also suffer – often without basic amenities to survive. To recount Jawaharlal Nehru’s remark on the plight of tribals to be displaced by the construction of Hirakud Dam, Odisha: ‘If you have to suffer, you have to suffer in the interest of the country’ 14. Here grabbing of land from the poor, especially tribals, is inevitable for development projects for the ‘greater common interest’. But, Bhagaban Majhi argues, ‘What does it really mean when you say ‘greater common good’ or ‘national interest’, if I am ruined! You are throwing us away from our land and livelihood means for 12 In an article, B. K. Roy-Burman (2010) has outlined the predatory actions of the government vis-à-vis land acquisition policy in tribal areas. He argues that the present land acquisition policy continues treating adivasi lands as res nullius (literally, it means nobody’s property). He further points out the inappropriate technique used for land survey. He says that while in pre-independence period land was measured by chain, land survey during post-independence period used ‘sophisticated but very cheap plain-table method’ (2010: 42). ‘By plain-table method land beyond 10 per cent slope cannot be accurately measured’, he adds (ibid). He also highlights further limitations of the land acquisition policy like confiscation of the occupancy right of the tribal people on land and land based resources beyond 10 per cent slope, non-recognition of traditional and community rights over land and a few others (for details, see Roy-Burman 2010: 42–43). 13 Letter from Indira Gandhi to Baba Amte. 30 August 1984. Cited in Kothari (1996: 1476). 14 The Bombay Chronicle, 12 April 1948; cited in C.V.J. Sharma (1989: 48–49) and Kothari (1996: 1478).

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the interest of the ‘foreigner’– the company. Then, is your nation constituted without us? Should not my interest be a part of your national interest?’ In fact, what is clear, as it happens in most cases, is that displacement is itself presented as development. It is this vision that justifies the critics labeling of the tribal movements against anti-poor development projects not only as anti-project and anti-development but also anti-national (Kothari 1996: 1478). To summarize, there is, as Gadgil and Guha (1992) describe, a clash of conflict between political economy of profit and moral economy of provision. Staking from the side of displaced victims, one would argue for egalitarian political outlook and inclusive economic policies on the issue of land grabbing for a ‘larger development cause’. It is easy to understand that an ethical rumination on the score sheds light on the elitist calculation on usurious money making, viewing it as a problem of ecological degradation and natural resource depletion. Nevertheless, it must be cued that former is given importance to set right the development malaise accruing from the destruction of natural resources including forests and land – the gainful community assets of the marginalized (Bryant, Rigg and Scott 1993: 102). The issue of environmental change is complex. The destines of land, the flows of river, and the lives of the people are, at least today, much controlled and destined by the policies and practices of the influential national and multinational institutions, consequently challenging the existing social systems. The complexity of the issue, however, lies not only in the diversity of causes and consequences, but also in the heterogeneity of each actor involved and the discourses developed in the process of their interaction. Bryant warns that though this seems abstract, reductionism or simplism has to be avoided (1992: 13–14). It needs to be mentioned here that we can neither put all blame on institutions like the state or/ and market for the environmental damage, nor canonize all tribals as ecological saints (cf. Lewis 1992). Our objective here is not to criticize the institutional mechanism for the abysmal plight of the ecology. Concomitantly, we are also not supporting tribals as Samaritans of forests. The telling argument which I place here is the imperative need for revisiting the basic tenets of sustainable environment and the related issues including who were its guardians

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and who (can) own and preserve them in a most effective way? A radical thinking of this sort helps in locating community-friendly strategies, besides pinning down concretely the grassroots failure (Fardon 1990; Hobart 1993). Going beyond the linear definition of the political ecology agenda, in the following pages, I submit an analysis of the political economy of land focussing on the complexities of the discourse of various actors, namely the state, the company and the tribals.

The State To think of the state/government as a monolithic and static entity is erroneous. The politics of the 1980s and before is far different from the politics of the 1990s and after. For preferential purposes, let us consider the politics of industrialization in Odisha in a diachronic frame. Before the 1980s, there was hardly preference for industrialization in Odisha. In the late 1980s, when the idea of industrialization cropped up, it was mostly the ruling party that appreciated and facilitated its nurture. It had to stand the criticisms and protests from the opposition parties. Moreover, the opposition party was directly in support of the people, though it was again a political game for political gain. Outwardly, this moral support was a vital catalyst for the people to fight and win against the ruling party’s anti-poor development projects. The success of the Gandhamardan Bachao Andolan (Save Gandhamardan Movement) in the present Bargarh district of Odisha is an example (for details see Chapter 6). More crucial is the politicians’ vendetta. Take ‘Patnaik politics’ in Odisha for instance. The Congress party leader, J. B. Patnaik, as the then Chief Minister of Odisha, cleared large tracts of farmland at Gopalpur in the late 1990s to make away for a mega steel plant that never came up. Later, he was spearheading Kalinganagar agitation as an opposition leader. On the other hand, Naveen Patnaik, when in the opposition party, was against large-scale displacement in the bauxite-rich tribal heartlands of Koraput and Rayagada for setting up of aluminium plants. Once in power, the same man was backing the aluminium companies and even the TATA and Vedanta directly. ‘It is hard to believe that he is the same Chief Minister who in his

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first five-year term did so much for the impoverished tribals,’15 wonders Achyut Das, the director of Agragamee. Moreover, Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik, while expressing his grief at the death of a policeman, failed even to mention the fact that 12 tribals lost their lives in the police firing in Kalinganagar. He also defended the actions of police by accusing tribals as responsible for the incident (JOHAR & JMACC 2006: 21). District Collector Saswata Mishra, who was present at the accident spot, also accused the people, condemning the local tribals for bringing in troublemakers from outside. Complexity arose when he, after being suspended, made another statement that it was the government that was responsible for the incident, as the people should have been evicted and rehabilitated properly before beginning the construction work for the company (ibid). In this context, it is difficult to make much of the political game between the opposition and the ruling parties specifically as far as industrialization in India is concerned. They go hand-in-hand. The present ruling BJP government led by the Prime Minister Narendra Modi has been accelerating rapid industrialization under the ‘Make in India’ campaign since 2014. The preceding UPA government invited many MNCs to exploit natural resources particularly minerals. They were, however, hardly concerned about their impact on the lives of the people. For instance, after Kalinganagar police firing, neither the then Prime Minister, Dr Manmohan Singh nor Chief Minister of Odisha, Mr Naveen Patnaik felt it necessary to visit Kalinganagar. But interestingly, Mrs Sonia Gandhi, the UPA Chairman and the Congress President, visited the massacre ground of Kalinganagar just after a week of the incident on 11 January 2006 to gain political mileage. ‘I am here to share the grief of the families of those who were brutally killed. I feel their anguish. They are heartbroken. We will see to it that justice is done,’ Gandhi told mediapersons after interacting with the family members of the victims (Das 2006c: 14). Mercifully, she granted relief and ex-gratia of Rs 5 lakh (Rs 0.5 million) to each of the families of the tribals killed in the firing and Rs 20,000 to each injured. However, she neither questioned the actions of the company and the state government in killing the people nor 15

Quoted in Debashis Bhattacharya (2006), The Telegraph, 15 January 2006.

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paid any attention to the basic demand of the people who do not want to be displaced. TATA was going ahead with its construction work displacing people. Even amidst all this, the Chief Minister of Odisha was distributing ‘Best IT Excellence Award’ for ‘corporate excellence’. The road blockade continued for more than a year, which was lifted after 14 months on 9 March 2007. Similarly, Mr Rahul Gandhi visited Niyamgiri area in March 2008 to vehemently oppose the state government’s move regarding the mining project at Niyamgiri and in August 2010 to celebrate the victory of Dongria Kondhs over the Niyamgiri mining conflict. The political complexity over land in Kashipur is a legend by itself. Instead of dealing with the nitty-gritty, let me cite two instances. One, the politics of hunger deaths in Kashipur succeeded in proving that land in the region is not fertile enough to produce sufficient food for the tribals to sustain themselves, and hence, it is argued by the state that corporate intervention is necessary (as we saw in Chapter 2, see Mahana 2016). Another crucial issue of politics over land in Kashipur is de-scheduling of the Jhodia Paraja tribals of Kashipur as Other Backward Class (OBC). In early 2001, Sumani Jhodia16 informed that due to the strategic persuasion of some powerful, rich and influential illegal land encroachers, the state government declared the Jhodia tribals as OBC (see Jhodia et al. 2002: 11–12). As a consequence, it became easy for the illegal encroachers to ascertain their ownership by transferring the lands of Jhodias in their names by legal means, as against the existing rule – no land of a tribal shall be transferred to other higher castes/communities by means of sale and purchase. Dudheswar Jhodia, a former leader of PSSP, cites the example of Krushna Mohapatra – a powerful man and a landlord in Kashipur. The forefathers of Krushna Mohapatra had immigrated to Kashipur pretty long time back. Dudheswar knows that Krushna’s father was very poor. He was earning his livelihood working as a cycle fitter. Later, as a political leader, Krushna Mohapatra benefited a lot from the IFAD’s work in Kashipur. Since then, he was on a land16

Sumani Jhodia is a woman leader of Kashipur movement from Siriguda village. Biju Patnaik, the former Chief Minister of Odisha, appointed her as his Tribal Advisor. The present Chief Minister of Odisha, Naveen Patnaik, awarded her with ‘Stree Sakti Puraskar’ for her outstanding abilities as a tribal woman.

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grabbing spree from tribals in the area. As a powerful elite in the area, he had a vital role in instigating the state government to de-schedule the Jhodias as OBC. Then, he succeeded in legally transferring some of the Jhodia lands in his name. During 2000–01, the people’s movement in Kashipur succeeded in recovering about 50–60 acre of land he had encroached, albeit he continues possessing some of it still today. By means of this new rule, Dudheswar says, it is easy for the company to acquire lands of Jhodia Parajas for its project.

The Company The calculative moves of TATA created conflict situations in Kalinganagar. Clearly, the threat of forced displacement and loss of livelihood had gathered momentum for a strong resistance. In 1996, the tribals of Kalinganagar had successfully stopped the establishment of a steel plant by Bhusan Steel on the same site (Das and Das 2006: 65). Knowing it well, TATA signed a MoU with Government of Odisha on 17 November 2004 to establish its mega steel plant project on the same site. It was as recently as 9 May 2005 that there was a great rush to stop the bhumipuja of Maharastra Seamless Steel Ltd. On that day, there was a lathi-charge injuring many tribals and they, in retaliation, burnt a police jeep. The situation remained tense for a month due to continuous and often midnight police raids on villages. The police did not spare even women and children. They were treated roughly and at least 25 women were arrested. The tribals, including women, children and elderly, took shelter in forests. Consequently, two small children17 died unattended on 11 May 2005 and two men18 were beaten severely by the police who died later (see Pradhan 2006). The TATA company had experienced such tussles many times since January 2005. The real tragedy came on 7 October 2005, when the company started constructing its boundary wall at Dholpathar 17 Two children of Gadhapur namely Rahul, aged 2 years, S/o Debendra Kalundia and Jema, aged 1 year, D/o Paragana Kalundia died of hunger and thirst as their mothers were unable to take them to forest because of a sudden police raid. Both of the children belonged to a joint family. They were left on the verandah as they were sleeping. On return, both of them were found dead. 18 Soren Mamsoy aged 32 years of Chandia and Goradi Gaipai aged 60 years of Gobarghati died in the process.

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village. People opposed with initial requests, ‘Allow us to harvest our paddy crop’ and ‘Give us full compensation’. That afternoon, the police fired six rounds of teargas shells and started a lathi-charge to drive away people who were protesting there. On 25 October 2005, tribal leader Rabindra Jarika, the secretary of BBJM, was arrested while returning after attending a left-supported convention in Bhubaneswar, the capital of Odisha. Many such protest melees had been encountered one after another till the date of the ‘great tragedy’. Even on 1 January 2006, people had gathered to decide what would be done and how would they negotiate with the company and the government. Thus, the TATA company had sensed that the tense situation in Kalinganagar was running high. Nonetheless, TATA started its construction work at Champakoila, consequently leading to the police firing and killing of tribals. Even after the martyrdom of 14 tribals, the company did not learn anything from the situation. It appointed ‘motivators’ and ‘communicators’ to ‘convince’ people to cooperate with the establishment of the company. Communicators also exaggerate the fake promises of the company confusing the innocent tribals further. My tribal friends from Kashipur and Kalinganagar informed me that companies were distributing money to a select few tribals who in turn would ‘convince’ their native friends in favour of the company concerned. ‘They are coming to us as friends. They invite some of us for feast. There we are served with good food and drinks. They take some snapshots. And later they boast saying that they have equal strength of supporters,’ Rabindra Jarika told me in a personal interview. The company even creates rift among the tribals by supporting and bribing a few elite with mere dole-provision (e.g., giving mobile phones to youths, money to the leaders). This results in dividing the community and creating a space for internal conflicts. Some of the elite and educated tribals of Kalinganagar support TATA which makes them dream that it will give everything they need – job, money, prestige and prosperity. Rajkishore Kalundia of Gadhapur, for example, holds a Master’s degree in sociology. While staying in the village, he was working as a contractor with Jindal, another company in Kalinganagar. Later, the TATA company convinced him that it would give him a better job provided he would be a DP

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(displaced person). Thus, Rajkishore left village to be a DP and he was given a plot of 10 decimal of land in Trijanga R&R Colony. But he is yet to get a good job in TATA, though now he is earning Rs 2,500 from Tata company working as a non-formal ‘motivator’ without any formal appointment. Fearing lay off, government employees refrain from giving public support to the movements. Though I came across many educated tribals of Kalinganagar employed in government services, I hardly found any of them in direct association with the movement. A government employee (who works as a jailor in Choudwar Jail) of Gobarghati village did not want to disclose his name and identity as he was reporting to me about the hidden facts of the ‘magnificent TATA’. Similarly, Hinduram Soren (teacher) of Dholapathar and Ratnakar Soy (teacher) of Gobarghati requested me not to publish the matter they were discussing with me. The fear of retrenchment and the attendant problems is high, as I see, in their articulations about the company. What they feared was a fact for some others. For example, in Kashipur, Laxman Majhi (teacher), Maharaja Majhi (teacher) and Krushna Saunta (class-IV employee) of Kucheipadar village were suspended from their jobs because initially they supported the Anti-UAIL Movement in Kashipur. Nevertheless, the threat of forced eviction and loss of livelihoods forces the ordinary tribal people to protest and fight. An intricate issue to be recounted at this critical juncture is the cultural rights of the tribals over the ancestral ownership of land. Kalinganagar tribals claim themselves as Khuntkattidar, those who have cleared the forest and have been cultivating the land since the time of British Raj. It was in the 1928 settlement, the first and last in the area, that government provided land titles (patta) to some of the owners, and while others did not even bother to demand for a patta with a strong assumption that it was their ancestral land and nobody had the right to take it away. ‘During later settlements, people of the neighbouring villages standing as close as five to six kilometres to Kalinganagar recorded their land and were given patta, where as Kalinganagar was left behind intentionally because it was mostly dominated by tribals. But we, the tribals, have developed these lands by clearing thick forest and have been cultivating the land since the

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time of our forefathers. At that time, we never bothered approaching the government for patta,’ sighs 77-year-old Narayan Hembram, a resident of Rayanal village. ‘Now the government strongly refuses to recognize our rights over the ancestral ownership of the land. Ownership without patta is an illegal encroachment – the government threatens us.’

The People Tribals themselves, however, are not free from conflicts. It starts with the location of the actors, where they stand – whether in support of company or the movement. Especially the elite, mostly guided by personal interest, support the company. For example, Haricharan Hibru, the opposition leader of the BBJM, wished that his sons get jobs in TATA. ‘TATA provides huge sums of money to all the displaced families for their all-round development’, he argues, adding, ‘I wonder why people fail to appreciate and accept it.’ There are people in Kalinganagar who support Haricharan Hibru’s logic. While Hari Hibru’s group demands re-evaluation of land and a hike in compensation, Rabindra Jarika’s group strictly said ‘No’ to displacement. Jarika did not wish to have a dialogue for rehabilitation and compensation. ‘We are proud to be farmers. We are happy here in villages. We do not want to be displaced at all. Then where is the question of a dialogue for rehabilitation and compensation?’ Jarika had questioned emphatically. Later in 2015, however, Jarika accepted compensation and moved out of the village making way for the TATA to establish its plant at Kalinganagar. The conflict over leadership continues. Each of the two leaders – Rabi Jarika and Hari Hibru – feel that everything good happened under their respective leadership. Ideological difference and the clash of power-ego leading to separation of the leaders make the conflict more critical. Then, one tries to pull down the other. For example, on 17 August 2006, without the knowledge of the road blockade in Kalinganagar, a truck loaded with cement entered into the no-entry zone of Kalinganagar. The people of the BBJM seized the truck. On that night, as Rabindra says, the supporters of Hari Hibru burnt the truck to put the BBJM in trouble. Similarly, Krushna Saunta, the

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former President of the PSSP, admits that in early 2001 when he was driven out of his village (Kucheipadar) and questioned about his loyalty and honesty to the assigned post of presidentship, he openly supported the company (UAIL). The company incentivized Krushna with financial support as well as provided petty contractor jobs. The company also withdrew all the pending police cases against Krushna. It is due to his support, as he told proudly, that the company succeeded in starting its construction work that had been postponed by the movement for last 10 years. Now both Hari and Krushna, being part and parcel of the company, are trying to convince people in favour of the companies while the BBJM and PSSP have been mobilizing tribals to keep on fighting to save their habitat and natural resources. There are many conflicts amongst the leaders, elite and ordinary people. Ordinary tribal people also fight among themselves, each of them trying to get the benefits first, for example, to get a ‘nice’ plot of land and house in rehabilitation colony, good compensation, physical protection from rival groups, to name a few. Since 2007, tension regarding the issue of crop harvest has also been at peak in Kalinganagar. The point of contestation is who should harvest the crop – those who are living in the villages or the owner (a displaced person) who is staying in the rehabilitation colony? In many such cases the supporters of the BBJM have seized the paddy crops of the DPs. Violent conflicts and fights have been common between the BBJM and the people who are accepting compensation and leaving for the R&R colonies. In such cases the BBJM does not allow the latter group of people to even dismantle their houses before shifting from native villages to R&R colonies. For instance, Manika Soren and Laxman Deogaon, both from Sanachandia and Dhaneswar Jamuda of Gadhapur, alleged that the BBJM ostracized them and forcefully seized their land along with the standing crops when they wanted to accept the company’s compensation. Later, they had no option other than leaving the village for rehabilitation colony. Moreover, Dhaneswar Jamuda was not allowed to dismantle his house to take possession of the household construction material. When asked, ‘Why was there conflict amongst the leaders in the sangathan and what made people to come to the company?’, Birsingh Hesa, a

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former leader of the BBJM from Baligotha village who is now living in Trijanga Rehab Colony as a DP, narrated his experience that brings to light many complexities about tribals’ anxiety and aspirations as well as the functioning of the sangathan (BBJM). Let me tell you the background of the story. The first big plant in Odisha was in Rourkela. After its establishment, almost 50 years ago, people of my great grandfather’s generation wrote to the then ruling Biju Pattnaik’s government expressing their wishes to establish the second big steel plant in Duburi. During Janaki Ballabh Pattnaik’s rule in Odisha, there came the first company to Kalinganagar, the Bhusan Steel. Then companies like MESCO and NINL were set up in the area. Many companies followed later. Now there are more than a dozen companies in Kalinganagar. In 1992, the government wanted to acquire land for Bhusan steel. All the villagers were ready to give their land for establishment of the company because agriculture was not producing enough for them to survive throughout the year. Tribals were migrating to other places in search of livelihood. People thought had there been a company, the livelihood sources would have been easily available to them and thus they could improve their standard of living and economy. Thus, the government distributed the compensation money to the patta land holders at the rate of Rs 37,000 per acre. Only the patta land owners benefited. There was nothing for the landless people. Soon after the distribution of compensation, all the acquired lands in the area were flattened by bulldozer. Three years passed. No work of the company started. The landowners survived with the compensation money. But they could not earn more, as there was neither agriculture nor wage earning opportunity. The landless people suffered much as they could get nothing – no company job, no land for share-cultivation and no wage earning as agricultural labour in the village. They were not given any help by the landowners who had sold their land and received compensation. Life became very miserable for the landless tribals. After three years, as people had no avenues for earning livelihoods, they rebuilt their lands and started cultivating them. They harvested for four years. During the fifth harvesting season, Bhusan Steel reappeared to take possession of the land. People

Contested Development  107 requested the company to allow them to harvest the standing crops. But the company did not listen to them and destroyed the crops by levelling the lands with bulldozer. On the day of laying the foundation stone, the people in large numbers protested the move of the company. The owner of Bhusan Steel was assaulted by the people and Bhusan Steel left the place forever. Again after two years, there came Maharashtra Seamless in the same place. Maharastra Seamless started land levelling. People protested. In the fight, people assaulted Mr S K Mohapatra, the then OIC of Kalinganagar police station. Then, the police raided the villages and people took refuge in the nearby forests. Twenty-five females were arrested. Two children and an old man died of hunger and thirst in the village of Gadhapur. Maharashtra Seamless left and TATA replaced it. The people’s protest continued with an objective to hike the price of their land. But they had no objective of totally rejecting the company. People were also aware that they had taken compensation for the land. Thus, they looked forward for a fair deal. They wanted a fair price for their land, a good resettlement and at least one job for each displaced family. Therefore, they founded Sukinda Upatyaka Parisad, Sukinda. Within a month, the government arrested 12 of its activists. The organization broke up. Then, they started another organization named Sukinda Mahameli which also last a month. Much later, the BBJM was set up that became more active just before the police firing in January 2006. We were all active leaders of the sangathan. In the course of time, many limitations of the sangathan came to our notice. Firstly, the poor tribals, especially the sukhbasis [landless], have been working for the sangathan since its inception in 1992. As sukhbasis, they got no compensation when the government acquired land in the area. The landholders neither shared their compensation money with the landless nor supported the landless families in any form. As the poor families expected, the sangathan should have distributed some land to the sukhbasis taking away the excess land from the rich. The sangathan did not do that. However, the landless and poor tribals, irrespective of their problems, were compelled to work for the sangathan. Though many poor tribals died in police firing and many got injured, no special assistance was provided to them and their families by the sangathan.

108  Negotiating Marginality Secondly, sangathan meetings became a daily affair in the villages. Each family was supposed to attend all the meetings irrespective of the family chores and problems. As many of the tribal families were very poor and they earned their livelihood as daily wagers, it was difficult, probably impossible, for most of them to attend the meetings on regular basis. But the sangathan never tried to understand the fact. The sangathan punished or fined those who were unable to attend the meetings. Further, many families that were either unable to pay the fine for their absence or supported the company were ostracized (dahariya bage, literally it means forbidden water and fire). They were not even allowed to graze their cows in the community fields. They were forbidden to avail the facilities of the village. Thirdly, the leaders of the sangathan constantly mobilized money from the villagers. It was mandatory for each family of the village to contribute to the movement fund. During the time of need, each family had to contribute the amount fixed by the sangathan, though most of these decisions were taken collectively. After 2006 police firing, the sympathizers of the movement made financial contributions to the sangathan. Even the local bank authorities, postal officials and other government officials sympathetically contributed money to the sangathan. Money was mobilized from village community funds like selling fishes from village ponds, selling trees from public places and community forests. Money was also mobilized by collecting chanda (contributions) from different companies and organizations and fine from vehicles passing through Kalinganagar, mostly during road blockades. Although the sangathan maintained an account, the record was a confidential document meant for the leaders only and not for the common tribals. The leaders even organized secret meetings to discuss matters regarding resources and they never reported to the public, though each individual of the village was a member of the sangathan. This created distrust among people towards the leaders and the sangathan. Finally, the ideology of the movement went on changing from time to time. Gradually, the leaders of the sangathan came in contact with the Maoist groups19 and were guided by their 19

The local newspapers have reported that 27 Maoists of Jajpur district have surrendered to police. Out of which 17 Maoists have surrendered in 2011 and five

Contested Development  109 ideology and guidance. Also, we came to know that the sangathan leaders received financial support from the politicians and strategic support from the Maoist groups. For all these reasons, though tribals, especially the landless and poor families, were unhappy, they were unable to raise their voices against the sangathan. Thus, when TATA offered a good R&R package – homestead land, financial assistance for construction of houses, free provision of ration till they are engaged in work, training and job for all DPs and many other facilities – the landless and poor families viewed this as an opportunity to enhance their economic status and life. Thus, some of the families including many landless and poor families shifted to the company. I was, then, working in Rohit Plant as a petty contractor. I had engaged 12–14 people in the company. Finding opportunity, sometimes TATA officials met me and asked me, ‘What do the people want?’ I told them that they had better talk to the people. In the meantime, along with others, some of the families of my village, Baligoth, shifted to the company. However, the sangathan looked down at me with suspicion. On 15 November 2006, the sangathan was celebrating Birsa Jayanti at Madhuban village. They called a meeting and invited me. I joined them. They asked me, ‘Why were the people displaced from your village?’ I put forth a counter question, ‘Why did people from your villages including Chandia, where all top leaders of the sangathan were, leave it for the company? I also told them that, as leaders, they must know why people left the villages. I pointed out all the limitations of the movement. They had no answer to my question and got angry. I told them, ‘Tume astra phopadi yuddhaku jauchha (throwing away the weapons, you are going to the war).’ It was 5 pm. I was returning from the meeting. A group of people including Dabar Kalundia, Madan Kalundia, Kukur Jamuda, Muna Jamuda and Dama Samad stopped me at Chandia and asked again, ‘Who is shifting people from Baligotha?’. I asked them that if I was shifting people from Baligotha, who were shifting people from Chandia? of them belong to Baligotha village (Dharitri 2011). For association of tribals of Kalinganagar with Maoist groups, also see ToI (2008); Odisha Times (2008).

110  Negotiating Marginality They became wild with anger and assaulted me. They kept my bike there. They stopped beating me when I almost fainted. However, I managed to reach my home at 6.30 pm, walking and crawling. My brothers have already shifted to the company. Nobody was there who could have taken me to the hospital. Only my wife was there to take care of me. She gave me some homely treatment. It was around 8 pm. Again, a group of 30–40 people came to my house and dragged me out. They took me to Chandia again and beat me severely. I thought I was going to die. I fainted. Still they tied me with a rope and kept me at Chandia club. I spent the whole night lying there. The next morning, they came to me at 8.30 am. They made false allegations against me that I misbehaved with the wife of Budhansingh Soy and met an accident with Upani Mahakuda. As trained, both these women were made to announce this in public. Admitting all these allegations, I was forced to sign the paper they had prepared. I was unable to breathe. They asked me how I would like to go. They asked me whether they could drop me back home. I walked slowly with the support of two persons holding my arms. They followed me on my bike. Reaching home, they also took the signature of my wife and brother making them admit that I had made the mistakes for which I was punished. Then immediately, I called Sudhir Das, an officer in Rohit plant. He came immediately with his car and took me to Danagadi hospital. Later, I was taken to Cuttack Government Hospital and was treated there for about three weeks. I filed a case in Kalinganagar police station. After that I could not dared to go back home and I came to the TATA company transit camp directly from the hospital. Later, I went to village with 20–25 people to dismantle my house, but the sangathan did not allow us to do that. Since then, I have not visited my house and village again. The whole purpose of the sangathan to bring development and peace to their own people got defeated because they held good principles but worked in the wrong ways. There were regular quarrels and bloodshed between the DPs and non-DPs. Mostly, the DPs were frightened of the BBJM people. Once the DPs sought the help of some neutral people (mostly government servants from outside)

Contested Development  111 to mediate the issue. Nanda Tiu of Ankurapal village, who works in the Bhubaneswar Secretariat, along with Harish Hibru, a DP from Gadhapur, Bapu Tiu, of Rayanal village and others were sent to Gadhapur to discuss the matter with Panduram Gagarai. In fact, the team went there to request the leaders of the sangathan not to fight their own people. But the team was manhandled by Panduram Gagarai and his friends. Litu Banara from Baligotha was also in Pandu’s group and thrashed Nanda’s group. No sooner did the DPs receive the news that Nanda Tiu and his friends were beaten up by the sangathan, particularly by the villagers of Gadhapur, that they became infuriated. In retaliation, they whipped Litu Banara’s father, Sikandar Banara, a man in his mid 60s, who was in his shop at Rayanal, Gadhapur (Sikandar has purchased land in Rayanal and opened a shop). The next day, I was returning from Gobarghati colony. A group of five people from Baligotha village (Dabar Kalundia, Madan Kalundia, Mathura Kalundia, Raghu Jamuda and Joker Mahakuda) met me near Rohit gate. They attacked me. I ran into the campus of Rohit plant. They chased me and there was a big fight. They pounced on me. I also picked up a wooden pole and beat them. But they were five people and I was alone. I just wanted to escape from the scene. Taking a chance, I got away by jumping over the boundary wall and reached home running. I asked many top leaders of BBJM (and others): How far are these kinds of violent actions against fellow-tribals legitimate and ethical? One of the top leaders of BBJM replied bluntly: We are not fighting for any personal causes. The broader aim of the sangathan is to ensure a better common good. Therefore, any person who stands as an impediment to achieve the objectives of the sangathan or who prioritizes personal benefit is treated as an enemy of the sangathan and the community. Then, such persons are not only looked down upon and sometimes ostracized but also sometimes treated with stringent corrective and punitive measures including financial penalty and physical abuse.

Similarly, the Tata officials also accused the BBJM of killing Sridhar Soy of Gobarghati and injuring many DPs who supported

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the company. I have encountered many such kinds of conflicts and complexities in all the movements and places I have visited.

Struggle for Survival: No to Displacement Chema Hembram, a victim of Kalinganagar police firing who sustained injuries in both his legs, brings out many such intricacies while explaining various causes of the movement and predicament of people in Kalinganagar. The resistance movement, as he recounted, was not for a single cause, but for many. The first among all was the issue of compensation. Though the land had been acquired in early 1990s, the ‘beneficiaries’20 have not received the government-declared compensation till 2010. The ground realities of the issue were far more complex. The process by which the compensation was given, the way the compensation money was pocketed by the ‘officers’ and the purpose for which the money was spent by the tribals were selfindulgent. In no time, the land slipped away from the tribals’ hand, so also the slippery bank notes. Secondly, all oustees are not beneficiaries for the simple reason that all do not posses patta, albeit they are the owners of the land. Further, there was no land settlement after 1928, the first and last settlement done in the area during British rule. Thus, most of the tribals do not possess patta. In other cases, the lands stand in the names of their forefathers, which in the meantime, have been partitioned amongst the successors. Some of the lands have also changed hands by way of sale, though informal. The ground situation is rather confusing. Again, as population increased, both by migration and natural growth, the number of holdings increased and new lands were also brought under cultivation. All these changes were unrecorded and deemed to be ‘unauthorized’. Furthermore, extensive areas were declared as ‘deemed reserve forests’ shortly after merger of princely states and formation of Odisha in 1954 without going through the determination of rights of the tribals and preparation of record of actual possession of land by them. Extensive lands under the occupation of the tribals in the deemed reserve forests 20 According to the government only those oustees are considered as beneficiaries

who have lost their recorded lands.

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were unrecorded. While genuine holdings, mainly of the tribal, were unrecorded, collusive records had been prepared in the past two decades especially after the area was identified as ‘Destination Industry’. Influential people got extensive tracts of land recorded in their names on the basis of fake ‘parchas of the Ranee’ (paper slips of the queen) and blatant tampering of official land records themselves. The owner of the land without patta was thus declared as ‘illegal encroacher’ and hence ineligible for compensation. Thirdly, as Chakradhar Hibru, the secretary of the BBJM said, ‘The government acted like a developer. It forced us to sell our land cheap and then made a whopping profit.’ In an angry tone, he informed that the government purchased 2,500 acre of land from the tribals in 1994 at the rate of Rs 37,000 per acre and sold the same to the TATA in 2004 at the rate of Rs 3,35,000 per acre making a huge profit21. This issue was on the negotiation table. The tribals were demanding a proper share of this money, whereas the government persisted with an offer of an additional amount of a mere Rs 15,000 per acre, which they refused. The second reason for the resistance movement, as Chema said, was the issue of livelihood. To repeat, though the government had acquired the land in the early nineties, the transfer was mostly on paper. While acquiring land, the government had promised the tribals of Kalinganagar that the compensation for the land would be given with the commencement of the construction work. In the transitional phase they would be ensured of jobs (as labourers) in construction work and permanent positions later. Further, they were promised that everything would be taken care of. But the promises of the company never saw practical realization. Only a few gained monetary compensation. Most of the pattadars (those having land titles) were in the list of ‘will get’. There was no question of compensation for ‘illegal encroachments’, leave alone Khuntkatidars!22 One decade 21

A study by JOHAR & JMACC (2006: 13) shows that the government earned a net profit of Rs 71.6 crore (Rs 7.16 billion) at the same time giving the TATA company a saving of Rs 8.76 crore, (Rs 87.6 million) as estimated, over the market price of the land in between Rs 5,00,000 to Rs 7,00,000 per acre. 22 Literally means those who developed land from wild forest by cutting stumps. It is a title given under the British Raj to Munda and Ho tribes of this area as the first settlers who had community ownership right over forest and its natural resources.

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passed. No company work started. At the beginning of this transition period, people had neither land, compensation nor job. Seeing the land lying fallow, people again started cultivating their respective plots and continued doing so. ‘People continued to live there as the face-off between the police and locals demonstrated,” said an industry source (Bhattacharya 2006). Thus, after 12 years, when the government reclaimed the land without making any provision for livelihood and compensation, the tribals resisted. The third important issue was the problem of resettlement and rehabilitation. ‘Can you uproot a big tree and plant it in another place and will it grow again as usual? If yes, then we can accept that you can rehabilitate us by displacing us!’23, Chakradhar Hibru argued. ‘How can you rehabilitate us properly?’ He further elaborated that what the company does is, at best, resettlement – physical relocation of the tribals from their native villages to company colonies. Rehabilitation, in fact, is the total re-establishment of the lost livelihoods and creation of physical, economic, social and cultural environment required for rebuilding a new life with dignity (Asif 2000: 2005). Thus defined, while resettlement is an economic activity, rehabilitation involves replacing the whole system lost and providing a conducive atmosphere for rebuilding a new life without the feeling of loss. In Odisha, he knew, there was no Resettlement and Rehabilitation (R&R) Policy till 2006. In case of TATA in Kalinganagar, the tribals are to be evicted forcefully not from their farmlands alone but from their homes as well. Further, there is no plan of immediate resettlement of any sort. In fact, TATA Steel is not the first industry to initiate such a painful eviction with no support for rehabilitation. The tribals have learnt about the consequences of rehabilitation from the past histories of R&R in Kalinganagar itself. For instance, as per Chakradhar’s record, the NINL is the biggest existing industry that displaced 639 families of six villages in 1997. Before rehabilitating these families, the state administration forcefully evicted these people by bulldozing their houses. The people were not allowed to take away their possessions (furniture, utensils and valuables and even 23

B.D. Sharma, speech in Lohia Academy in Bhubaneswar on 13 September 2006. This was the question a tribal asked B.D. Sharma by in Chhatishgarh.

Contested Development  115

food stuffs (rice and paddy). About 300 people who were on protest were charged with false cases and were arrested and imprisoned. The polythene-roofed habitat of the displaced people in a swampy land worsened their plight specifically during the inclement weather. Out of the total families, only about 100 people were provided contractual employment and the remaining 500 families simply vanished from the area without getting any rehabilitation. In sum, the resettlement was far from satisfactory. Alternatively, one could say that resettlement was never an issue of concern for them. Nobody has kept a record of the other half of the oustees. Where are they? Nobody knows. He asks the plight of the displaced tribals of development projects like Rourkela Steel Plant, Hirakud and Indravati Hydro-electricity projects. Do you know how they live? How many natives are there in Rourkela town now? Do you have statistics of the natives who left Rourkela and Kalinganagar (Nilanchal case)? Can you tell where they are?’ He further argues that the ultimate consequence of this development-induced displacement is ‘a spiral of impoverishment leading to landlessness, joblessness, homelessness, marginalization, morbidity, food insecurity, loss of access to common property asset, and social disarticulation (cf. Cernea 1990, 1991, 1995). And hence, displacement of any kind – voluntary or compulsory – is a stressful experience (Scudder and Colson 1982; Asthna 1996: 1469). Another problem was the fear of the people in going against the sangathan. Any person who supports company efforts in bringing industrialization is seen as an enemy of the community. Any person from the community who is proved to be a loyalist to the company would invite trouble from the sangathan, including confiscation of property, physical abuse and ostracization. Finally, studies have shown that the DPs, especially tribals, resist to settle in R&R colonies as a result of their desire to stay away from the ‘official gaze’ and control of the state (Asif 2000) along with the conventional problems of the R&R colonies – harsh and uninhabitable conditions, lack of civic amenities, absence of employment opportunities, fear of the host community, cash economy, loss of community life, etc. Due to a combination of these factors, the tribals of Kalinganagar say ‘NO’ to displacement. Neither do they take displacement for

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granted nor do they want to lose their land (cf. Patkar 1998). ‘We will not allow our habitat – land, water and forest – that supports our life to be overrun by industrialists or the state’, runs their defiant declaration. ‘Law or no law. Paper is yours: Land is ours! Change your law if necessary’ (Sharma 2006: 91).

People’s Protest and its Consequences The clash between the moral economy of survival and the political economy of profit has resulted in bloodshed and killings. The tribals who resolved to save their land and livelihood have been manhandled. As we saw in the opening story in the book, on 2 January 2006, 14 tribals were killed in police firing in Kalinganagar where the tribals were protesting against the establishment of TATA company in Kalinganagar. Similarly, on 16 December 2000, three tribals were killed in police firing in Maikanch village of Kashipur block in Rayagada where the tribals were protesting the establishment of a mining project by Utkal Alumina International Ltd. In 2001, five tribals were killed in police firing (three in Rengabhati on 30 October and two in Raighar on 11 November) and another six people lost their lives in inter-group fights (two died in Jamadora on 24 June 2001, one in Kurumahandi on 20 July 2001, three in Kurumahandi on 21 July 2001) in Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon blocks in Nabarangpur district where the tribals were trying to retrieve their lands from the illegal encroachment of Bengali refugees and other non-tribal outsiders. The preceding pages of this section tell us that the politics of the powerful – the state, market and local landlords – that dominates the life-world of the powerless – the tribals. The central issue in all these conflicts is the land. Our foregoing discussion shows that while the government and company want to acquire land at any cost, many tribals prefer to die than to part with their land. While this chapter evidenced the presence of conflict between the state and the tribals for land, the next chapter presents an analysis of the interpersonal and inter-group dynamics of conflicts over land.

4

Smell of Land Internal Dynamics of Conflict over Land

Matira manisa, matira poka, mati chhadiba nahin Dongar-jharana-jangala-paban chhadile banchiba nahin A jami chhadiba nahin, gaonru uthiba nahin A dongar chhadiba nahinre bhai, mariba pachhe dariba nahin. We are the human beings of the soil, the earthworm, we won’t leave our soil We won’t survive if we leave our hills, springs, forest and wind We won’t leave our land, we won’t vacate our village Oh brothers, we won’t give our hills, we won’t be afraid to die. – A folk song of the tribal movement in Kashipur.

T

he previous chapters suggested that land – both as a concept and an economic asset – remains at the centre of conflict in a contested space of ‘development’. For a tribal, whether landlords and landless peasants – land is the sole economic asset on which they depend for for their survival. Tribals, therefore, rightly consider land as their mother – mother earth that yields to feed them. Further, he hills and mountains on which they live are very often considered as sacred abodes of their supreme deities. Parting with the land for a tribal is, therefore, suicidal. On the other hand, land is also indispensable for the state and company, as we discussed in our preceding chapter, to set up mega-development projects for the

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‘common good’. Conflicts are inevitable in such spaces of contested development. The conflicts over land, however, move beyond the triangulation of the state, company and tribals. As an extension to the theoretical underpinning of moral economy of survival (that we discussed in the previous chapter), this chapter articulates the conflicts over land between the tribals and non-tribals, particularly the conflicts of the local tribals with the brought-in Bengali refugees in Dandakaranya reserve forest area in Nabarangpur district. This chapter analyses the multiplicity of ways in which the Bengalis and non-tribals usurped tribal lands, and the resistance of tribals to it. In this chapter, I present the facts in the form of narratives and dialogues very often in the words of the subjects of the study themselves. Here my intentional use of the subjects’ own language is to point out how the tribals, being part of the people’s movement, have learnt to realize that violation of code of conduct, defying state orders and appropriation of oppressors’ language are alternative sites of power for resisting the system and challenging the authorities of those who represent and benefit from it.

Dandakaranya Project and the Seeds of Conflict A part of Dandakaranya (DNK) reserve forest, as stated in the introduction, stretches over Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon blocks of Nabarangpur district. The native inhabitants of this area are the dominant Gond and Bhotra tribal communities (Russell and Hiralal 1916: 41 and 120). Other tribal communities like Paraja, Bairagi, Banjara and Halva are also found living in this area. Besides tribals, non-tribals like Brahmin, Gouda (milkman), Teli (oilman), Mali (gardener), Keuta (fisherman), Paika, Kalar, Barik (barber), Dhoba (washerman), Kamar (blacksmith), Kumbhar (potter), Muslim, Dom (SC), Penka (SC) and Ghasi (SC) are also found sparsely. Of the total population in these blocks, more than 80 per cent are tribals and dalits. Since the early 1960s, attempts had been made to settle some of the refugees of East Bengal (East Pakistan, now Bangladesh) in this area of Dandakaranya Reserve Forest. For the purpose of rehabilitation and resettlement, a special government body named

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the Dandakaranya Development Authority (DDA) was formed in 1958. From monsoon rain experiencing delta plain of the Padma and Jamuna River, the Bengali refugees were brought to plateau lands with poor moisture retention and subject to shortages of water because of delayed and short monsoons. From an environment of paddy-culture in which they developed the attitude known as paddy fixation (see Johnson 1958), they were moved to one in which paddy is difficult to grow and there is little chance of growing rabi crops because of lack of adequate irrigation facility. The whole situation was aggravated by the new tenancy act restricting automatic succession to which they failed to adjust.1 After a series of political confrontations (see Elahi 1981), the refugees, mostly belonging to low caste groups like the Namasudras, Kshatriyas and the Poundra-Kshatriyas, however, were settled in Dandakaranya provided with 40 decimals of homestead land and seven acres of arable land – mostly dry land (by clearing reserve forest). The Bengali refugees were not happy to be settled here as evident from their time and again unauthorized move from Dandakaranya to a number of places in the Sunderban peripheries in 24-Paragana in West Bengal. For example, by April 1978, about 10,000 refugees had moved from Dandakaranya into Marichjhapi (near Kumirmari) in 24-Pargana. In early 1979, the refugees in Marichjhapi were not only denied emergency medicine and food supplies but also killed in thousands by police force to compel them to return to Dandakaranya (Mallick 1999). Subsequently, most were taken back to Dandakaranya, except 239 persons who died in the process (Elahi 1981: 224–5). The final number of legally settled refugees in Dandakaranya was 21,990, according to the figure cited by the chief minister of Odisha, Naveen Patnaik (EPW 2001: 4773). Taking pride in the rehabilitation project, the Rehabilitation Ministry states, ‘Dandakaranya is the pride of the Rehabilitation Ministry, the most 1 Elahi (1981: 222) writes: ‘The lands are under the reformed “Bhumiswami” tenure of Madhya Pradesh, which states that the colonists, as Bhumiswami, hold their land on permanent, heritable and transferable basis, but succession is in a prescribed order “to prevent fragmentation of holdings”, and leasing is normally prohibited’ (Government Central Press, The Madhya Pradesh Revenue Manual, Vol. 1, Bhopal, 1962, Chapter 12).

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enduring monument to its dedicated labours – and the biggest. As an experiment in resettlement it is perhaps the most ambitious of its kind in the world today. It is hardly 12 years since the project began to take shape in the minds of high government officials. Today, this region, sprawling over extensive tracts in Madhya Pradesh and Odisha, is a little paradise carved out of thick forestland. Thriving settlements nestle in sylvan surroundings’ (Rao 1967, cited in Patnaik 2001). While the government was proud of the success of its ambitious project of rehabilitating the Bengali refugees in Dandakaranya, the local tribals and dalits were unhappy for many reasons. The policy of resettlement had contained in itself the seeds of conflicts. The discriminatory mode of land distribution and allocation of developmental facilities between the privileged refugees and the local poor tribals resulted in socio-economic and psychological conflicts within the two groups creating many uneasy situations (see GoI 1970: 32–34; Mishra et.al. 1978: 270–71). The Bengali settlers were provided seven acre of land for cultivation and 0.4 acre for homestead and garden. After 1965, the land given to the incoming Bengali refugees reduced to 5 acres in non-irrigated areas and 3 acres in irrigated areas. By 1962, while 91,652 acres of land had been given officially to the refugees in Umarkote and Malkangiri subdivisions of undivided Koraput district, the Umarkote and Raighar region had given 55,690 acres of land. While rehabilitation of 7,500 families in this area would have required a total of 52,500 acres of land, the government officially cleared much more than required – 2,70,000 acres of forest (Patnaik 2001). The native inhabitants of the area protested the move at that time but the manipulative leaders of the then Congress ruling party suppressed the voice and discontentment of the tribals. The tribals watched this tragedy of destruction of natural resources as helpless observers. This has been captured well in the following quote, Modernism came with a bang and a clatter into this vast stillness. Monstrous engines roared into the jungle, ripping up the earth, splintering giant trees that had defied a thousand storms as if they were matchwood. The beasts of the forest fled helter-skelter, and the sleepy inhabitants of the villages snuggling among the clearings

Smell of Land  121 rubbed their eyes in wonder. What new breeds of demons were these creatures belching smoke, filling the skies with their clamour? (Rao 1967, cited in Patnaik 2001).

More apparent was the discriminatory mode of developmental benefits that were provided to the Bengalis settlers. Almost all developmental benefits were brought to the Bengalis mostly free of cost or at a highly subsidized price. Ponds were constructed in each village and support was given to each household to initiate pisciculture. All provisions and support were provided to raise maize, as land given to them was slightly up, and hence, was favourable for maize cultivation. The Odisha University of Agriculture and Technology (OUAT) and state government opened their maize research centres to provide them with technical and research guidance. While the Multinational Cargil Company managed to open a depot to provide seeds to the settlers, the local banks provided finance to buy fertilizers, pesticide and tractors. Free services for education and healthcare were provided to all. A lot of money was spent on developing irrigation facilities. The Bhaskal Dam was constructed as part of the DDA project, which irrigated 11,000 acre of land benefiting only the Bengali settlers. Moreover, the Bengali refugees were given the status of Scheduled Caste irrespective of their original caste status which ensured them all the benefits meant for the SC people in India including contesting in election, fighting for reservation and so on. In fact, this status has not been given to the refugees settled anywhere else in India. The refugees settled in other areas like Bastar (then MP and now Chhattisgarh), for example, have migrated to this place to avail this benefit. Finally, between 1985 and 1989, they were declared as permanent citizens of India. After 1990, it is alleged by the local people that on an average each Bengali refugee possessed 40 to 50 acre of land, though they were settled with only seven acre of land. Some of the Bengali families now hold as much as 200 acre of land in the area. Almost all posts meant for the SC people in the area including teachers, bank employees, Anganwadi workers, traders, contractors, to name a few, have been taken over by the Bengalis. No local SC person has ever succeeded in competing with Bengali settlers for the jobs

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reserved for the SCs. The Assembly seat reserved for the SCs also went to a Bengali settler, Aurobindo Dhali of BJP party. Due to their economic stability as well as easy access to loans in the banks, these Bengalis now operate as moneylenders for the tribals. The rate of interest ranges from minimum 60 per cent per annum to grabbing the landed property of the tribals. Later, an agreement was made between the DNK project of the Centre and state government to provide at least five acre of land to the landless tribals, which was not executed. All these discontentment resulted in a series of clashes between the local tribals/dalits and the Bengali refugees including police firings leading to bloodshed and killing of a number of tribals (EPW 2001; Satapathy 2001b; ToI 2001).

~ To know this inter-personal and inter-group conflict over land in detail, I reached Umarkote one evening in early August 2006, travelling more than 700 km from the state capital, Bhubaneswar. I met Jagabandhu Majhi, the president of Dalit Samaj, a young man in his early 30s who was spearheading the movement for recovery of the lands illegally encroached by the refugees and non-tribal immigrants. In response to my query as to why there was police firing; Jagabandhu recounted, in brief, his experience of exploitation of the tribals by non-tribals and Bengali refugees. Jagabandhu proudly told me that he was fortunate to be born in a well-to-do family. His father was a government employee. As a graduate student in Umarkote College, he found that only a few tribal students were coming for studies up to graduation level. However, the seats reserved for the tribals were lying vacant (the percentage of reservation (12 per cent only) was not in proportion to the tribal population in the area). Thus, he tried to do something good for the tribals. One of his college classmates, Pradeep Kumar Dhali, a Bengali refugee of 23-No. Anchala of Jharigaon block, told me about how Jagabandhu became the leader. Jagabandhu Majhi… I should not say whether he is good or bad. He was my classmate in Umarkote College. He was older than me.

Smell of Land  123 He dominated everybody with his seniority. Generally, we all have caste feelings. Here, the Odias were always dominating in the College elections. Once, we [the Bengalis] decided not to allow the Odias to win the elections and rule the college. Knowing our poor strength, we sought the help of the tribal students in the college. Conditionally, Jagabandhu contested as the presidential candidate while a Bengali boy was nominated as the secretary. With support from the Bengalis and the tribals, both of them won the college election. Jagabandhu came in contact with some political leaders like Gopal Pujari, a tribal with dynamic outlook. Thereafter, Jagabandhu’s ascendancy began. He got support from the exercise in the area. He thought now that he had some power. He tried to utilize his power. After his college years, he started organizing the tribals to fight against the injustices they had been facing. Initially, he had no political interest, but he was envious of the Bengali refugees and that was the basis for his movement.

Jagabandhu continued narrating that by the time he left college he had established himself as a renowned person in the area. Finishing college, he established the Dalit Samaj2 in 1994–95. He visited each and every village to awaken the tribals from their deep slumber and creating a sense of consciousness about their ongoing exploitation by the government and the non-tribals. He tried to win faith of the people. To begin with, he mobilized the unemployed youths of the villages he visited. These youths were not only playing ducks and drakes but also wasting their time indulging in anti-social activities. Interacting with them, he learnt that some of the youths were unable to engage in any productive activity due to sheer lack of resources and vision. He advised them to start petty businesses and some of them agreed. But there was the problem of resources. Thus, Jagabandhu 2 When asked about the significance of the name, Jagabandhu clarified that though he was a tribal himself he found that not only the tribals but also Harijans (SCs) were also exploited by the outsiders. In order to mobilise and win the faith of both the tribals and SCs to fight against the exploitation, he consciously named the organization as ‘Dalit Samaj’. He further said that they unitedly wanted to fight against all the Bengalis who were declared SCs and were enjoying all the benefits meant for the local SCs. By the term Dalit, he also means a category of people who are exploited and deprived on many fronts of life.

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approached some of the rich Marwadi and Sundhi businessmen in Raighar town to supply the material to these youths on credit. He assured these businessmen that he would personally repay the loan, if the youths failed to do so. On the other hand, he also warned the youths to repay the loan to the creditor first and arrange their own principal amount saving little by little from the profits. The boys followed his words strictly and succeeded. Other boys of the village were attracted to see their friends earning and maintaining a ‘good life’. They too joined the businesses later. Witnessing the efforts of Jagabandhu, the youths as well as their parents were very happy and they started adoring Jagabandhu as the Bhagaban – the lord. Time rolled on. Receiving more and more support from the people, Jagabandhu reassessed his strengths with his increased numbers of supporters. By dint of hard work and mature leadership, he could mobilize the support of more than 100 villages in favour of the demands of the movement. In the meantime, the depredations of the Bengalis reached its peak. The Bengali refugees exploited the tribals in all possible ways. The refugees with all their cunning captured the land of the local tribals. They openly raped tribal women at the slightest pretext of any wrong doing by the tribals. Sometimes, if a tribal was fighting against a Bengali wrongdoer, at the end of the day, the whole Bengali community would attack not only the tribal who was involved in the conflict, but also the entire village, thereby teaching them a lesson. The tribals would approach the police or the court for help. Instead of offering justice, they were sent off with consolation or coercion by the police or other government officials, who stood by the Bengalis, as had already purchased the local bureaucrats and petty government officials with their financial power. In such a critical time, Jagabandhu’s campaign to fight back against the wrong and wrongdoers touched the hearts of the tribals. They supported Jagabandhu in the movement for recovery of their land from illegal encroachments. ‘There were a series of fights between tribals and non-tribal immigrants, as the former protested the illegal activities of the latter. On 24 June 2001, two people were killed in Jamodara by the Bengalis in the presence of the police where the tribals were trying to recover their land from a Bengali encroacher. In July, four persons died in an inter-group fight between the tribals

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and the refugees in Kurumahandi. Again in the same year, three people were shot dead by the police in Rengabhati on 30 October, when the tribals were harvesting the crop on land that belonged to a tribal but had been illegally encroached by an influential Bengali refugee, Kamin Khan Roy. In protest against the firing, about 10,000 tribals gheraoed the Raighar block office on 11 November and the police resorted to firing resulting in the death of another two people,’ Jagabandhu concluded briefly, as Subash was calling us for lunch. After that he found no time for me as he was always surrounded by a group of people to discuss something or the other. In late evening that day, Jagabandhu told me about Dabulu Gond3, another leader of the Dalit Samaj. Next morning I met Dabulu Gond and stayed with his family for more than two weeks. I met Dandho Pujari, the oldest man in the village, who was in his late 80s. Taking pride in his knowledge of English and his royal position as the first sarpanch in Raighar GP (1961–65), Dandho Pujari recalled that Indira Gandhi settled the Bengalis in 1960–61 in Dandakaranya without any consultations with the local tribals. Not even the sarpanch was asked for his view. Clearing reserve forests, Bengalis were provided with arable pattaland bordering the land of the tribals that they had been cultivating for generations, but the tribals were not given patta. Bengalis were cunning while the tribals were naive and innocent. From day one, the refugees tried to build relationships with the local tribals, who soon became baba, maa, dada, khudi, mamu, main, bhai and nani4 to the Bengalis. Some became sangats and baulas (ritual friends among men and women respectively). Thus, gradually the tribals treated some of these Bengalis as their kin. In times of financial constrains, the tribals were helped by the Bengalis. During the celebration of festivals like nuakhia (a festival in celebration of consuming new yields) or death rituals, for example, the tribals need a lot of money. They run to the local moneylenders, now-a-days to the Bengalis, or the so-called Bengali ‘relatives’ reach the needy tribals to take the 3

His good name is Sukadeba Gond but he is popularly known as Dabulu.

4 Gond kinship terms for father, mother, father’s brother, father’s brother’s wife,

mother’s brother, mother’s brother’s wife, brother, sister respectively.

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advantage of the situation. The Bengali cunningly tells the tribal, ‘You see, we are bandhus [relatives]. If I cannot stand by you during your crisis, what worth do I have? I have struggled hard to save some money to purchase a plot of land, as my children suffer you know, without proper food throughout the year. I do not have wetland to grow paddy, our staple food. Thus, I was thinking of buying a small patch of land. You need money now. Thus, as a friend I am obliged to help you.’ At times the Bengali says, ‘I need some patches of land to grow paddy and you need some money. Please give me some patches of land on lease for some years and take the required money. No share of the yield, no interest for the money. After the period is over, you give me the money and I will return your land.’ The innocent tribal gets swept away by the help he receives from the Bengali. In the process, the Bengali gets the signature of the tribal on a written paper which the illiterate tribal is hardly able read. Sometimes the Bengalis manipulate the written documents exaggerating the amount of money given on debt. Sometimes the tribals really fail to repay the loan. Then, the land passes, though informally, from the tribal to the Bengali who gets the official document done in his name by bribing the government officials. ‘They confiscate not only our land but also our women,’ Dandho Pujari concludes. ‘Biha kari banjha, kamai kari chora’. What Dandho Pujari meant by his riddle was that even being married they were childless because the Bengalis took away both their wives (here raped) and lands so that they were forced not to produce child as they cannot provide them food. Secondly, they were treated as thieves in their own land because the ownership of land has been changed officially in the name of the Bengalis by fraudulent means, albeit the tribal is the real owner.

Deforestation, Kondhs and Bengalis Kondhs, popularly known as Santas by the local people, are not the original inhabitants of the area. After the Bengalis were settled here, Santas came to the region from far off places like Kalahandi, Koraput, Nabarangpur and Chhattisgarh as there were scarce cultivable lands leading to food insecurity in their native places. ‘We are Koraputia

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adivasi, the Paraja Kondhs’, tells Gangaram Santa, a Kondh of Jharbandhaguda village of Jharigaon Block. ‘My forefathers lived in Dasmantapur area where there were only mountains and hills. We had our home on the hilltops, so also our shifting patches. We had no irrigated arable land. We grew only mandia, koshala, kangu5 and other small millets. Cultivating paddy was difficult. The produce obtained from shifting agriculture was not sufficient for our survival for the whole year. As population grew, severe food shortage was a life-threatening menace. Food from the forest became scarce as a result of deforestation. What to eat? How to survive? My father and grandfathers visited desh after desh6. Finally, we settled here in this reserve forest more than 40 years ago as we found a lot of plain land in this area. We built our land by clearing forest. I along with another family established this village, Jharbandhaguda. Later many families joined us.’ A significant number of them have been displaced from different mega development projects like Indravati dam, Upper Kolab dam, Balimela dam, MIG project in Sunabeda and NALCO in Damanjodi. A few of them came to the area on the invitation of the local Bhotra tribals and settled by clearing forest. While the settled Kondhs invited some of their kith and kins, the relative prosperity of the Kondhs in general attracted a few more. Though there is no official data, unofficially it is estimated that there are 85,000 Kondh families living in 4000 dotted settlements inside the Dandakaranya reserve forest area in Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon blocks. Not only the Kondhs but also the local communities like Gond, Bhotra, Gouda, Brahmins and Odias from coastal Odisha came to settle inside the reserve forest. Almost all people – tribal, non-tribals including Bengalis – rely on agriculture. The tribals practice agriculture as their means of subsistence while others do it for commercial purpose. Usually, it is believed that the Kondhs destroyed the forest for preparing land. Only after discussion with a number of people including Kondhs, Gonds and Bengalis, I came to 5

Varieties of small millets. The term comes from the Hindi word desh/des meaning country or homeland. Here, the term refers to ‘a region’. 6

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the conclusion that it is not only the Kondhs but also the Bengalis, Odia immigrants, government officials, especially the forest guards, foresters, police, revenue inspectors (RI) and tahasildars who were responsible for the deforestation of Dandakaranya Reserve Forest. Receiving permission from the local jani (village headman) and pujari (priest) and giving a feast to the host villages, the Kondh settles in a village by clearing a patch of forest. As soon as the Kondh enters the forest, the garadu charges him with a heavy fine for clearing forest and encroaching land. The Kondh appeases the garadu by fulfilling his demands. Nonetheless, the matter reaches to the forester. He calls the Kondh to his office and shouts, ‘You Kondhs have cleared reserve forest. You will be put behind bars. Court will decide the matter and you will be hanged.’ The Kondh gets frightened and begs for pardon to the Forester. ‘My Lord, you are our parents. I have done wrong by cutting forest. I seek your mercy, save me, pardon me, sir,’ the Kondh pleads. ‘Well, I do understand your problem. How much have you cleared?’ the forester asks. ‘Around two acre, my Lord.’ ‘Two acre! You have cut a lot of precious trees. Therefore, you have to pay a heavy fine. How much can you pay?’ ‘You tell, my Lord.’ ‘You have destroyed trees worth Rs 2 lakh (Rs 0.2 million). I know you cannot compensate the destruction with your payment. You have to pay at least Rs 20,000 as penalty. Otherwise the government won’t spare me.’ ‘My Lord, have mercy on me. Even if I die, I cannot get that much money. How can I pay you? I will pay Rs 5000, my Lord.’ ‘Five thousand only! Am I asking you for a bribe? You better not give money. Let me send you to jail, so that I need not have to worry about anything.’ ‘My Lord, I will be ruined. How will my children survive? They will die my Lord. Have mercy on me, my Lord.’ ‘Well, you just give Rs 10,000. I will apprise the government that you are very poor and you cannot pay more. Let me see. Whatever they may say, I will bear it for you. Deposit the fine soon, otherwise you will face the consequence.’

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The Kondh returns home. He sells all his belongings – gold and silver ornaments of his wife, cattle and other valuables of the house and deposits the fine with the forester at the earliest. The forester then keeps quiet and the Kondh goes on clearing patch after patch. After a few days, the forester comes on a surprise visit and asks the Kondh, ‘Where is your land?’ The Kondh timidly shows his finger at the patch of forest he has cleared. The forester says, ‘Oh! You have cleared this much only? Clear little more, make your land. Otherwise, how will you and your family survive?’ The Kondh is happy as he gets some more land. Of course, he pays the ‘fine’7 time and again for growing crops in the same land. Still, the produce is not sufficient to sustain the family for the whole year. During festive occasions, lifecycle rituals and for managing day-to-day affairs, the Kondh faces scarcity of money. In the meantime, the Bengali refugees have strengthened the relationship with the Kondhs as they have done with other tribals in the area. The Kondh gets his loan from a Bengali sahukar and gradually his land passes on to Bengalis. To show his friendly obligation, the Bengali teaches the Kondh, ‘My friend, you see, you do not have enough land now. You can cut forest. Clear one patch more. I will take care of the garadu, hedu and ribini.’ The Kondh is convinced that his friend will stand by him at the time of need. He clears forest again. He has to pay the fine. The Kondh gets the money from the Bengali and pays the fine. Subsequently, the debt amount increases and finally the land changes hands. Thus, the more and more land the Kondh clears, the more and more the Bengalis and other non-tribals benefit. Similarly, other tribals and local general caste people also cleared forest for cultivation. Over a period of time, therefore, the discontentment of tribals (of revenue villages) against the Bengalis and other ‘outsiders’ 7 Time and again the Kondhs pay the fine to the forest guard, police, forester, RI, tahasildar, etc. Annually, they pay the sistu (revenue) along with many ‘gifts’ in the form of rice, vegetable, dal, maize, chicken, goat, etc., to the RI. The villagers pay annually Rs 500 for goruchari (grazing the cattle in the forest), Rs 500 for ranjamarani (cutting small branches from the stumps standing on the shifting patches), and one goat during Durgapuja. Annually, each family has to pay at least two kg of dal after harvest. Besides all these, the garadu can fine anybody at anytime. For example, if he sees somebody terracing or levelling land, he fines Rs 100–200, etc.

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intensified. The rapid depletion of reserve forests became a matter of concern for the government too. The forest department officials visited revenue villages bordering the reserve forest areas and asked people to save the forest from further depletion. ‘Where would you graze your cattle if there were no forests? How would you get your kanda and karadi (literally means roots and shoots, but in generic sense they refer to all forest products)? Therefore, we should protect the forest before they get destroyed completely’. The tribals and other local people of revenue villages realized the importance of protecting the forest. Thus, with the help of the forest department officials, Vana Suraksha Samitis (VSS) – Forest Protection Councils – were formed in 1993 in many revenue villages, each entrusted with the responsibility of protecting a particular forest. VSS was headed by the forest ranger as the secretary, naib sarpanch as the president, while both husband and wife of each family were its members. The VSS committees also functioned at block and district levels. The district VSS committee was headed by the district forest officer (DFO) as the secretary and Gopal Pujari, an elected representative of Dhepuguda village in Jharigaon Block, as the president. The VSS led by senior tribal leaders became very active both in Umarkote and Jharigaon blocks. Jagabandhu Majhi, a fresh graduate from Umarkote College, came in contact with Gopal Pujari and worked for the VSS committee as an active member. He was keen to be a leader. He was worried about the exploitation of the tribals by the Bengalis and other non-tribal outsiders. His main objective was to retrieve the tribal land illegally encroached by the Bengali refugees and other outsiders. Very soon he realized that his objectives of the movement differed from that of the VSS that in collaboration with the government wished to protect the forests. They did not have the intention of freeing the tribals from exploitation and retrieving their land occupied illegally by outsiders. Jagabandhu, therefore, founded the Dalit Samaj – Society of Exploited People – in Raighar in 1994–95, with the objective of protecting the tribals from exploitation and retrieving their land usurped by outsiders. Dabulu Gond, a tribal leader from Sorguli village, who worked closely with Jagabandhu, said that he worked hard with

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Jagabandhu Majhi to mobilize people for a movement. As people joined the movement, they mustered courage to raise voice and fight against the injustices done by the Bengalis, other immigrants and government officials. A series of confrontations took place between the tribals and the Bengalis of which I present here the following four most important ones.

Jamadora Case, 24 June 2001 Once Parsuram Gond of Jamadora village mortgaged four acre of arable land for four years to Subash Haldar, a Bengali refugee of Kumuli DNK, and received a loan of Rs 2,000. Both of them came to a formal agreement – ‘no share of the yield, no interest for the money’ – i.e., Subash will not share the yield from the land for these four years and Parsuram need not pay the interest for the money. At the end of the fourth year, Parsuram would get back his land by paying the exact amount he had borrowed (Rs 2,000). Subash got the signature (thumb impression) of Parsuram on a written document stating that was just a formality. Four years passed. Parsuram arranged Rs 2,000 to repay the debt of Subash. In the late evening of a day in early May 2001, Parsuram met Subash to settle the account so that he could prepare and plough his land for sowing paddy in early June. Lighting his bidi (handmade cigarette) on a rainy evening in August 2006, Parsuram continued that while handing over the money he was shocked to hear Subash’s awful words, ‘Sale [means wife’s younger brother, used as a slang] adivasis, you cheats, thieves. You see, you have taken Rs 20,000 from me and I have the papers with your signature. Now you are paying me Rs 2,000 and asking me to leave the land. Then, who will pay me the rest of the money? Your father?’ Parsuram returned home in desperation. He brought this to the notice of Dabulu Gond and Jagabandhu Majhi and solicited their advice and support. On 4 June 2001, Parsuram along with some villagers and his brothers – Govinda and Sundar – went to the disputed land to plough. As they continued their ploughing, the message reached Subash. Subash backed by about 200 Bengalis of Kumuli DNK armed with lathis reached the spot and prevented ploughing. As

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Parsuram did not listen, the Bengalis beat the tribals. There was a violent clash. Many people were injured. Parsuram with the help of Dabulu lodged a case against the Bengalis in Raighar police station. Nothing happened as the police got a good amount of money from the Bengalis. The police, however, arrested some of the Bengalis and the tribals. In protest, the Dalit Samaj led by Jagabandhu and Dabulu called a gherao of Raighar police station on 7 June 2001. Tribals joined in large numbers and kept the police officer-in-charge (OIC) under lock for three days. With an assurance that police would take action against the wrongdoers, the police station gherao was called off. Once again on 24 June, the villagers of Jamadora were all set to plough the same land. As they triggered off the activity, the message spread like wildfire. About 2,000 to 3,000 Bengalis rushed to the spot armed with lathis and weapons. Police reached the spot too. There was a violent clash between the two groups in the presence of the police leading to the death of two persons of Jamadora – Bansingh Gond died on the spot and Hatuari Rout (belonging to Gouda community, OBC) died on the way to the hospital. Another 15–16 people were injured. Later, police arrested some of the Bengalis. Like Parsuram, many tribals lost their land. In one way or another, the Bengalis captured the tribals’ land patch after patch. Some tribals sold their land to Bengalis due to their inability to repay the loan, some others were forcibly occupied by the Bengalis. At times, Bengalis became real owners by cultivating the land on the pretext of lease and share-cropping. As a result, vast tracts of tribal land passed to the Bengalis. It is quite hard to identify the Bengalis as the owners of land, though in reality they are. Gopal Pujari, the district president of the VSS, Nabarangpur, says: Go into the reserve forest. Most of the land bearing good crops like maize, vegetables, pulses and even ganja (marijuana) belong to the Bengalis. But you will hardly find any Bengali in the field. The Kondhs are found working there. Ask those Kondhs, they will tell you that the land and crops belong to them. They will never tell you the real fact that they have sold the land or given the land on lease

Smell of Land  133 or sharecropping to the Bengalis, who have cautioned the tribals not to disclose the truth. Till harvest, the Kondh will tell that the land belongs to him and he has grown the crop. But at the end, the produce will go to the Bengali’s house.

Gopal Pujari further explains that though the tribal carves land out of forest, the land quickly passes to the Bengali who in turn becomes the real owner of the land by getting a patta (title deed) in his/her name. Even after getting a patta, the Bengali rarely discloses the ownership in public as he/she fears retaliation from the Dalit Samaj Movement. On the other hand, the Kondh, the pseudo owner, continues to work for the Bengali on that patch of land, who ensures the Kondh’s daily wage. On harvest, the Kondh carries the produce to the Bengalis’s house instead of his own. The Dalit Samaj gained momentum after the death of Bansigh and Hatuari in the inter-group fight of 24 June 2001. The Dalit Samaj called for a bandh which was supported by 10,000 to 15,000 tribals and dalits. On 10 July, the district collector of Nabarangpur called a meeting with all political parties. The leaders of the Dalit Samaj and Bengali Samaj (the society which was spearheading the movement of the Bengalis) were invited. The meeting resolved the following. a. Nobody would take the law in his hands in any situation b. All must cooperate to book the culprits who killed Jamodora villagers on 24 June c. The encroachers of government land will be taken to task as per law and the regained and eligible land will be distributed among the landless on priority basis d. Illegal arms will be seized and the names of persons providing the information will be kept secret e. A committee was formed under the leadership of senior Congressman Habbibulha Khan consisting of 10 settlers and 10 dalits to initiate confidence building measures among the communities, which was to be assisted, by the tahasildar of Umarkote and the BDO of Raighar. Unfortunately, the resolution did not move beyond the sheet of paper on which it was written.

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Kurumahandi Fight, 20 July 2001 On 20 July 2001, a delegation led by Gopal Pujari, the district president of the VSS, reached Kurumahandi, a Kondh village in the reserve forest in Jharigaon block. Gopal Pujari, while driving his Tata Safari from his village to Nabarangpur on an August morning in 2006, recounted that a group of people visited Kurumahandi to tell the Kondhs not to clear forest and to leave the dry lands and continue cultivating stream irrigated lands. In Kurumahandi, the committee came across a group of Kondhs who were drinking mahua liquor. As the committee requested the Kondhs for a meeting to discuss about the forest and land, the Kondhs replied that they would not come for a discussion with the VSS as they (the Kondhs) have their own meetings. The VSS further clarified that they were not there to fight with the Kondhs but to find a way out for the benefit of all. In response, the Kondhs replied that they were even ready for a fight but they would not leave land and forest. The Kondhs had the support from the Bengalis who had cautioned the former in advance: ‘If the VSS or others take away your land, how will you survive?’ The Bengalis have shown their solidarity with the Kondhs asserting that they would stand by the Kondhs during turbulent times. The conflict between the VSS and the Dalit Samaj has added further strength to the Kondhs’ resolve not to leave the land. The Dalit Samaj supported the Kondhs citing that it is not the Kondhs but the Bengalis, the non-tribal outsiders and forest authorities who are responsible for deforestation of the reserve forest. Thus, while celebrating Ambedkar Jayanti on 14 March 2001 in Umarkote, Jagabandhu had told the Kondhs, ‘Do not listen to the VSS members and forest department authorities. Beat the VSS and forest department authorities, if they enter your villages.’ The Kondhs were bold enough to fight with the VSS and were not ready to listen to anyone. As the heated argument progressed, the Kondhs shot arrows. Asadhu Kallar of Goramba village was seriously injured and he died on the way back home. A few other men and women were wounded. The VSS returned. At that time, Harabati Gond of Ekamba village was in power as a samiti sabhya while her younger sister, Jagamani Gond, was the

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sarpanch of Ekamba GP. Harabati, a young and smart woman in her mid 30s, the present district resident of the Adivasi Ekata Manch, Nabarangpur, narrated to me her experience on late night of 30 September 2007 about the follow up incidents of the Kurumahandi fight. In the following pages, I present the case study deliberately in the language of Harabati Gond in order to analyse how she learnt the oppressors’ language and used it against the oppressive authorities in power as a symbolic act of resistance and power (cf. Menchu 1984).8 That day, my sister, Jagamani and I were in the field doing transplantation of paddy. We saw people running hither and thither. ‘What is the matter?’ we asked the running people. ‘Many people died in the fight between the VSS and the Kondhs’, some of them answered in fright. In the meantime, my mother came running to us and reported that many government officers including the BDO and tahasildar were looking for the sarpanch and the samiti sabhya. I came home. ‘Madam, such a big incident happened, you do not know anything’, the BDO asked me. ‘I was in field, how can I know’, I replied. Hanu (as she addresses Hanumant), my brother, returned from Dharamu bhaina’s (she addresses Dharamu Gond, an ex-MLA, as bhaina, meaning brother) house and told me that there was a big fight. After a long discussion, the BDO, the tahasildar and other government officials left assigning me the responsibility of taking care of the situation. Being in power, I never could move out of home as anybody might call anytime. I was worried. I was wondering as to what to do. I came to know that agitation had spread to Kurumahandi and Sunabeda GPs of Umarkote block. I was apprehending that the movement might take a violent turn as both the groups involved in the fight were 8 Rigoberta Menchu, an illiterate Quiche Indian woman in Guatemala, learnt Spanish, the language of her oppressors, which was imposed on her. Her appropriation of the Spanish language became a weapon in her struggle to tell the world about the oppressions her people had been suffering for almost 500 years and their fight for justice and dignity. Building on Rigoberta Menchu, I did not mean to say that Harabati tried to learn English, the official language of the state and authorities. But, she learnt and used the kind of oppressive language and ‘tone’ against those authorities in power who used such language against the tribals and other marginalised people.

136  Negotiating Marginality tribals. In the late evening, I called the Umarkote police station to alert them and requested that a few platoons of police may be sent immediately to the spot as any mishap could occur. ‘No madam, you need not worry too much. Nothing will happen. We will reach tomorrow early in the morning’, the police OIC of Umarkote replied. ‘If something wrong happens, please do not blame me later, nor ask me for help’, I said to him. Knowing that my request for sending a convoy of police was turned down, I sent my brother Hanu to all the Kondh villages situated in the reserve forests with a message that all Kondhs should leave the villages that night as the VSS along with the local tribals might invade anytime. Thus, almost all Kondhs left their houses and took refuge in the forest. By 7 am next morning, i.e., on 21 July 2001, a huge crowd of over 20,000 people gathered. All cattle – bullocks, cows and buffaloes – of the region were brought together. The violent mob chased the cattle up the fields of the Kondhs and Bengalis ruining all crops. The agitators wiped out the whole place. They sabotaged Kondh villages in succession. They set fire to many Kondh villages, namely Daldali, Kurumahandi, Kenduguda, Patiasil, Panhari (of Umarkote block), Sialidangari, Rangamati, Dhepaguda and Jharabandhguda (of Jharigaon block). The violent mob ransacked all villages. They also beat up severely some of the elderly Kondh folks who remained in the villages with a ray of hope that they would be spared considering their age and inability to rebel against them. But Sandia Santa (60) of Rangamati, Pui Santa (65) and Bhoja Santa (60) both of Dhepuguda were miserably beaten to death. The news reached the police station. It was too late by the time the collector (Ms. Usha Padhi), the BDO and the tahasildar accompanied by a few platoons of police reached my house the next day (July 22). I scolded all of them and they regretted that nothing untoward would have happened had they listened to her. We all moved towards Kondh villages. There was no road to some of the villages. We left our vehicles and walked more than 25 km. We visited all the Kondh villages that had been burnt. We found that though people had left

Smell of Land  137 for the forests, many cattle and pets had been burnt alive as they were not released at the time the villages were torched. We met people. We found that some of them were wounded severely and hence, we sent them to the hospital for treatment. My accompanying the government officials led to a different opinion being formed about me. The local tribals thought that I was helping the administration. Sometimes we were abused by the local tribals though they knew us well. However, on my request, polythene for roofing was arranged as it was rainy season. That night, I stayed with the people after sending off the collector and other government officials. I distributed the emergency relief – flattened rice, jaggery, rice and other things supplied by the government. As none of the Kondhs had a change of clothing with them, the next day we visited neighbouring villages begging the rich people for their cast-offs. After two days of tedious work, I returned home completely fatigued. I went to bed without taking proper food. I did not know time then. The sub-collector, superintendent of police (SP), circle inspector (CI) of police, the police officer-incharge (OIC) and a few sub-inspectors reached our home and woke up my brother, Hanumant. He turned down their request to wake me up for some discussion, stating that I was in deep sleep after two days of labourious work and would not awaken. As they persisted, Hanumant tried hard to wake me up and finally sprinkled water on my face to make me get up. I scolded everybody loudly, ‘Sale, you are government employees and therefore it is your duty to work day and night. For that you are getting remuneration. Why are you disturbing me? Hey Hanu, drive them away. Do we have to die with them because they are doing their duty? Drive away the SP. All of you go, I will talk to you tomorrow.’ ‘Madam, the SP is calling you. The DIG (deputy inspector general) is waiting for you in Umarkote police station and you have to come with us,’ one policeman told me. ‘I am not working under you to heed whatever you say. All of you go. I will come to the police station tomorrow morning.’ I fell down there on the ground as I was feeling sleepy. ‘Sorry madam, we beg your pardon for disturbing you at night. Madam, please get up. We have some urgent matter to discuss,’ the OIC, Deobabu, whom I knew well, requested me.

138  Negotiating Marginality ‘Sorry sir, whatever you may say, I cannot talk to you today. You may file a case against me but I can do nothing for you today. I cannot go to the police station now even if God calls, leave alone the DIG and IG. Where were you when the VSS committees were formed? Where had you been when there was fighting? You are doing your duty, but why are you disturbing me? You killed all people and now you want to kill me too?’ I shouted again. ‘Sorry madam, we deeply regret disturbing you in the late night,’ the SP begged me very softly. ‘It’s okay. Tell me quickly what you want. I am sitting here. I cannot go to the police station now,’ I responded. ‘What is the solution to all these problems, madam,’ the SP asked me finally. I said to the police officers (I switched off my tape recorder as she requests me not to record these things), ‘You did not listen to what I told you and we faced the consequences. Now you do what I say. But promise me that you will not tell anybody about the solution that I discuss with you now.’ They promised not to disclose the matter. Finally, I told them that some of the top leaders of the VSS including my uncle and father’s relatives should be arrested. I told them that if all these leaders were arrested, all the agitation would come to an end and we would have no problem. I gave the name and address of the persons to be arrested with an instruction that those must be arrested by that night. All the police officers were surprised and confused that the leader who was fighting for the people was now pleading to arrest them. Therefore, I reiterated to the police officers that I meant what I had said. The police obeyed me. That night, the police raided different villages and arrested 37 people from both the sides – 20 Kondhs and 17 VSS supporters. They also arrested, by mistake, Trinath Bhotra of our village about whom I had not said anything. Even Hanu and Dharamu bhaina had no knowledge about the police arrests. When asked, I pretended that I was ignorant. Next day, we visited the arrested people in jail. The agitation came to an end and all the problems were solved. The arrested people were kept in prison for a period ranging between six to 18 months. Six months passed. It was time to harvest maize. One Sunday in December 2001, I employed some wage labourers for harvesting

Smell of Land  139 maize. It was around 10 am. I put some maize on charcoal in my backyard oven. All of a sudden, a group of policemen came and asked my mother who was sitting at the front gate, ‘Is Harabati madam here?’ My mother called me. I was surprised to see the police again. ‘Namaskar. What happened, what made you come here? There was no sound.’ I asked the police. ‘No madam, we left our vehicles at the entrance of the village and came walking,’ one policeman replied. ‘Why did you come hiding like thieves?’ ‘Madam, the collector has called you.’ ‘What happened? She needs me as if somebody killed her? Why has she called for me?’ ‘Madam, please get ready. We have to go to Nabarangpur. The district collector is waiting for you. Trinath Bhotra is seriously ill. He needs to be taken to Waltier (a town in Andhra Pradesh). Please let’s go along with the parents of Trinath.’ ‘Sorry, I can’t go. I am sending Trinath’s parents and you take them with you. I am very busy with some important work.’ ‘No madam, the collector has requested you to come at any cost.’ ‘But you see, I have not taken bath yet.’ ‘No problem madam, we will wait for you. Finish your bath and we will go then.’ While taking bath, I was speculating that something was wrong. Otherwise, why would the police wait for a woman to finish her bath and get ready, as one might take an hour at least. It took two hours for us to be ready. In the meantime, Trinath’s father, his cousin and his brother-in-law reached my home. As the police had denied arresting Dharamu bhaina, I asked Dharamu bhaina’s younger brother to come with us. Reaching Nabarangpur, we saw a line of police from the Circuit House to the government hospital. I was surprised to hear everybody asking, ‘Where is Harabati? Did Harabati come?’ I was worried and wanted to know what had really happened. Reaching the hospital, I found all the people were quite silent and Trinath was laid on the ground. His hands and legs had been dried. Saliva was coming out of his mouth. Without asking anybody anything, I questioned the DSP as to why they were not giving treatment to Trinath and why were they delaying starting for

140  Negotiating Marginality Waltier. All were silent. Trinath’s father started calling him name sitting beside his head, ‘Hey! Trinath, eh Trinath.’ But why would he listen? I sensed that Trinath was no more, but I did not dare declare that he was dead. ‘Sir, make him get up. Lay him on a stretcher and let’s rush to the hospital,’ still I said. ‘Sorry madam, Trinath left us as you were approaching the Circuit House,’ – an officer replied. I was shell-shocked. I could not think what I should do. Many thoughts haunted me – that Trinath had died in jail and whether I should receive the dead body? I had come to Nabarangpur where I knew nobody who could help me immediately. I was worried. I prayed to God and shouted at the top of my voice, ‘Where is that bastard jail superintendent?’ ‘Hara, I am here,’ the Superintendent replied sheepishly. ‘Sala, why did you not inform us when Trinath was serious? If the government has no facility to provide medical treatment to the prisoners, then you could have informed us. We would have taken him for treatment. Police would have watched him in hospital and you could have arrested him as soon as he had recovered. But why did you not do that? Are all the benefits provided by the government meant only for your wife and children? I am saying that you definitely killed Trinath by giving him poison.’ I kept repeated my words that those people had killed Trinath. Many people tried to console me. The then MLA, Sadan Majhi and the MP, Parsuram Majhi, tried to pacify me. I was very wild and abused both of them. Finally, I was requested to receive the dead body and write in the jail register that Trinath Bhotra died of fever and diarrhoea. I denied abruptly but recorded in the register, ‘Trinath Bhotra died in jail but I could not ascertain the cause of his death. Harabati Gond.’ ‘We will be suspended from our jobs, madam,’ one Officer told me after reading the note. ‘No problem. If you lose your job, you will lose your rice only, but we lost our rice-pot too,’ I yelled. ‘Madam, as you have received it, now it is your responsibility to take care of the dead body,’ another officer told me.

Smell of Land  141 ‘Sala, which of your fathers has taught you the lesson? You will kill and I will take the responsibility? You bastards, bring that note and I will tear the page. Had I been your boss, I would have suspended many officers like you for this kind of act. If you have good time, send the body for autopsy soon and then hand it over to his wife in Ekamba from where you arrested him,’ I howled. At last, it was decided that the body would be handed over to the family members of Trinath at his home in Ekamba. I returned in the same police jeep in which I had come to the police station. One vehicle was arranged to bring the body. Some of the top officials including the sub-collector, the SP, and the CIs of police of Umarkote, Jharigaon, Papadahandi and Raighar, along with police forces got ready. In the meantime, I called the Umarkote police station from the SP’s office as I wanted to speak to my brother Hanu. One policeman rushed to my home and brought him to the police station. I called again and talked to Hanu. ‘What happened?’ Hanu asked me over phone. ‘Trinath died here in jail. You get everything ready there in the village. I am coming with his body,’ I told Hanu. I had no clue as to what Hanu understood. It was almost evening, when we, packed in 12 vehicles, reached our village. I had the vehicle parked in front of Trinath’s house and others parked one behind another. No sooner had we set our foot on the earth than the people pounced on us furiously. Everywhere there was only beating and beating. The SP, the sub-collector, the ADM and the police were beaten. Bhagaban Majhi (the then MP) and Gurubari Majhi (an ex-MLA) were not spared. Dharamu Bhaina and I were beaten too. I never could believe that this was what Hanu understood from when I had told “to be ready” over the phone. When the police and government officials tried to escape, they found all their vehicles had been punctured by the ferocious mob. ‘Madam, what should we do? We cannot bear any more. We will lathi-charge,’ the police screamed. ‘Please do not do anything like that. People are very angry. Whatever may be, you may have to bear the blow but do not do any harm to the people,’ I instructed at the top of my voice. ‘Madam, save us, save us,’ the sub-collector and the SP cried.

142  Negotiating Marginality We saved the sub-collector from the mob, brought him to my house and kept him in a locked room. Once again the police asked me what they should do. I told them to run away taking off their police uniforms so that people could not recognize them. The police did the same. In his vehicle, Bhagaban Majhi took the sub-collector to Umarkote. Late in that night, the fight came to an end. I was worried about the government vehicles that were there in our village. Dharamu bhaina and I were worried that we might be in trouble if people set fire to those vehicles. So we planned to save the vehicles at any cost. We requested some of the youths of the VSS to keep a vigil on the vehicles. Next morning a huge crowd had already gathered in front of my house before I got up. I saw some police personnel in civil dress. They left their vehicle at the entrance of the village and one policeman came on a cycle to take me to the police station. When asked about the dress, the OIC asked me not to talk about the dress because once people saw through the plain dress they might resort to beating. I went with the OIC to Umarkote police station where the Collector, Usha Padhi, was waiting for me. I saw the sub-collector and some of the policemen with swollen faces. The collector was overwrought about the release of the vehicles. I told her that the people were not ready to take the dead body out of the vehicle unless the collector reached there. ‘There is no other way, you have to go,’ I told her. Nobody including the police was interested to come to Ekamba. Even the Collector expressed fear. In the meantime, the inspector general (IG) called from Bhubaneswar, the capital of the state. The collector requested me to talk to the IG and handed over the receiver to me. ‘Madam Namaskar,’ the IG greeted me over phone before I could begin to utter. ‘Namaskar, please tell me, sir,’ I replied. ‘I have heard all the news. Yesterday, you helped the administration so much. I am thankful to you for that. We have 12 vehicles in your village. It would be a great help, if you could release them.’ ‘Sir, you are asking about the release of the vehicles. But, till now, people have not unloaded the corpse from the vehicle. They want the collector to come there. I suggest that the collector go

Smell of Land  143 there and console the people. As soon as the cremation is over, the collector will be back with the vehicles.’ ‘Madam, you see, the whole police force and the sub-collector were thrashed heavily yesterday. Moreover, our collector is a lady. How can I send her when we are not assured that she would be spared today?’ ‘Unless the collector is present there, people will not cremate the dead body. Hence, there is no question of release of vehicles.’ ‘No madam, I have faith in you. So, I hope you can release the vehicles if you try. Please try and help us.’ ‘Sir, Dharamu bhaina and I tried our best. Nobody listened to us. Therefore, you give your order as nobody is interested to go there. Once you order, they have to go. Officials’ physical participation in the cremation would ensure release of the vehicles.’ The IG gave the order. The SP got ready. The collector requested that I take care of the situation as she was afraid. The police were not ready to come to Ekamba without lathi-charge order. Thus, they were given the order of lathi-charge. Then something interesting happened. Everybody including the SP, the sub-collector, the BDO and the tahasildar requested that I sit with them in their vehicles. We reached the school that stands at the entrance of our village. From there, nobody could dared to move forward. Somehow, I mobilized them together. They left the vehicle engines on, so that they could escape at the slightest hint of violence. We all came to the school playground where a huge crowd of people were gathered. As some people were going to get chairs for the officers, I stopped them with the blink of my eye. I picked up the microphone and told the government officials in a tone of request, ‘All of you know that people are angry here. Moreover, the corpse is still lying. We are sorry that we cannot arrange anything for you. You know in this situation, it is difficult to search for chairs and tables. Therefore, I would like to request you all to sit down on the ground.’ All the government officials and police officers immediately sat down as I had told them earlier that if they sat down on the ground, the anger of the people would come down. Hanu and Dharamu bhaina were smiling that I was punishing the officers. I addressed the people and requested them to finish the cremation, as I thought that everything would be

144  Negotiating Marginality solved once the body is cremated. To win the faith of the people, I told them that we had vehicles with us and nobody could take them away until we finished the cremation. People agreed. Then, we proceeded. As people went for cremation, the sub-collector and the SP hurriedly took leave of me stating that the OIC, the BDO, the tahasildar and police were there and they would take care of the rest. After people set fire to the corpse, policemen requested me to leave. The people would not release the vehicles till the collector came. Once the cremation was over, all the police personnel left. I had neither taken proper food nor slept for past three days. People were not giving me time to drink even a glass of water. I was hungry and thirsty. I felt like a madman. My belly was boiling hot. That evening I took salap9drink and was drowsy. I was going crazy about the vehicles. It was around 11 pm. Some police officers came in collector’s vehicle. Dharamu bhaina came and told me that the collector had sent the vehicle and she was waiting for us in Umarkote and hence we had to go. I was a little hesitant to meet the collector, as I had taken wine. As Dharamu bhaina insisted, I had to go. I met her and told that I had done my part by convincing the people to cremate the corpse and that it was her responsibility to get the vehicles released. Finally, it was decided that I had to help them in getting the vehicles back. I came back home at midnight. Drivers and police came along with me. All the drivers and the police sat in our home. Hanu and his friends brought the vehicles by pushing each to our house and from there the police took the vehicles. All the vehicles were released. Next morning, the tahasildar came with the compensation (Rs 10,000) given by the Red Cross. But he was scared to come to the village alone. So, he stayed in Goramba (about 2 km from Ekamba) and called me. I went there to bring him to the village. We handed over the money to the widow of Trinath. Later, on my demand, a compensation of Rs 1,00,000 was given to Trinath’s family. It is a matter of grief that Trinath was the only son of his family and by the time he died his wife was in the family way. Later, she gave birth to a female child who unfortunately could never see her father. 9 A kind of juice collected from a variety of fishtail palm tree and added with some intoxicant herbal medicine. The juice is consumed as liquor.

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Rengabhati Police Firing, 30 October 2001 Kamini Khan Roy, a Bengali refugee who lives in Sonpur DNK, is a powerful man in the area. Sometime back, his wife was elected as sarpanch as an SC candidate. Taking advantage of his political association and money power, he had established a very good relationship with the local administration. Kamini Khan Roy occupied land of the tribals by all possible means. Once he purchased a patch of land from Samaru Gand, an SC person of Rengabhati village. The land was surrounded by the plots belonging to the tribals of Sonpur and Rengabhati. On that land, Khan dug three ponds in three corners. As a result, all water in the surrounding lands percolated to the ponds and hence the tribals could not cultivate their land. Year after year, the tribals continued paying ‘fine’ to the ribini for encroaching those lands. Seeing the land fallow, Khan occupied it by force and started cultivation. He threatened whoever attempted to speak up. Though grumbling, none of the landowners could openly fight as they feared the power and influence of Khan. The torment of Khan reached the climax. Over a period of time, the discontentment of the people over Khan aggravated. All the tribals united. Dabulu was leading the movement and Jagabandhu was the guiding force of the movement. The tribals first approached Asharam Naik, the tahasildar of Raighar block, seeking justice. Nothing happened as Khan had bribed the tahasildar. Moreover, he had established very good relations with Naik and appeased him by offering sumptuous feast and precious gifts during his visits to the area. The local police too did not heed the complaints of the people for the same reason. The matter was brought to the notice of the district collector, who did not take any action. The tribals then decided to cut paddy from the land illegally encroached and cultivated by the Bengalis. On 29 October 2001, Samaru in the company of a group of villagers entered the paddy field and started cutting paddy. Upon hearing the news, Khan reached the spot with an armed Bengali gang. The tribals and dalits were attacked brutally and they fled the area to save their lives. Khan lodged a case fearing a counter attack from them.

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Early in the morning on 30 October, the tribals gathered in the same plot and started cutting paddy again. Dabulu was leading the movement. None from Khan’s side came to the spot, but the police rushed to the place receiving the news from Khan. The tribals continued cutting paddy even after the police reached. The police prevented the tribals from cutting paddy. As they did not listen, the police resorted to lathi-charge followed by firing. As a result, three tribals died, namely, Gunu Kallar, Laxman Gond (both from Sonpur village) and Somanath Gond (of Muningadihi village) and many were injured. That day, Jagabandhu Majhi was not present at the firing site. A day before (29 October), he had been to Palia, a village in Jharigaon GP, to look after his land and agriculture. A spotted deer was killed there that day. Thus, Jagabandhu returned to his home on 30 October to deliver the meat. Jagabandhu had no knowledge of the firing. He got the news at home. To his surprise, he found that the telephone line of his house was disconnected. Jagabandhu rushed to the firing spot (in Rengabhati) on his Suzuki motorcycle. From there, he joined the people who were taking the ‘martyrs’ in a rally from Rengabhati to Raighar, the block headquarters. Before they reached Raighar, some policemen who were in good books of Jagabandhu approached him and passed on the information that there was an arrest-warrant against him and Dabulu. From that moment, Jagabandhu and Dabulu went underground. A call to gherao the block office on 31 October 2001was given out, but the venture did not succeed as only a few people turned up for the rally. After Jagabandhu and Dabulu went underground, Harabati Gond guided the movement and he narrated to me the incidents thereafter. It was 2 November 2001. Harabati reached Rengabhati village and wanted to meet Jagabandhu who had taken refuge in the nearest forest close to Kasanpur village. The local tribals were not only providing him food and other basic necessities but were also inclined to protect Jagabandhu from the police. People of Rengabhati knew Harabati and her association with Jagabandhu. Thus, they informed her where Jagabandhu was. Police had launched a search everywhere. Harabati went to Kasanpur jungle with a pot of water in her hand on the pretext of attending nature’s call. Jagabandhu

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came in a saree. Both of them talked under a tree. There, Jagabandhu assigned Harabati the responsibility of leading the movement in his absence. They decided to organize a rally where the women will gherao Raighar block on 11 November 2001 and Harabati took the responsibility of leading the movement.

Raighar Police Firing, 11 November 2001 On 10 November 2001, Harabati reached Bhanumati Majhi’s house in Raighar. On that night, the message about the next day rally was passed on to all villages and people, especially women, were requested to join in large numbers for the Block gherao. Next morning, Harabati and Bhanumati along with about 100 women reached Kalashi Padia in Raighar and sat there waiting for other women to join them for the rally. Women came to join them from all directions. Police came to know about this. Armed with lathi, gas cells, handcuffs and guns, a battalion of police rushed to Kalashi Padia and started abusing them without asking anything. ‘You characterless adivasi women, you are here for a rally? You will understand well once you get the lathi on your ass. We are warning you to quit, otherwise we will rape you. None of your husbands will save you. Here Section 144 rules and therefore, we will not allow you to have any kind of meeting and rally,’ the policemen showered a string of abuses on the women. These warnings fell deaf ears of the tribal women. However, Harabati could sense that some of the women were frightened. Some women started moving to the other end of the field. Bhanumati was trembling in fear. Harabati made her sit holding her hand. Police then came to Harabati and began scolding her: ‘Why are you sitting here? Do you know, 144 has been declared here? But still you want to have your rally! If we beat you to death none of your husbands will come here to your rescue. Get up…move….move…’ ‘Why should we get up? We are not doing any harm to you. Then, why should we move?’ Harabati replied boldly concealing her nervousness. ‘Look, look, how [my] sali10 answers me back?’ one police officer vented his anger. 10

Sali means sister-in-law. It is used as slang.

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‘Mind your words. We are not thieves or goons that you can abuse us using filthy language or whip us. You do not know why we are here. Then, why are you scolding?’ Harabati asked. ‘Rape those salis, then only will they understand,’ another policeman shouted from a distance. ‘You know the tribal culture. During marriage, death and other rituals, the tribal women move together in groups to their relatives’ houses, market and other working places. You do not know why we have gathered here. We are here to proceed together to our workplace. You have slandered and intimidated us with rape threat. Do as you like. As you said, we would start a rally from here now. You admit your fault and beg us for pardon. Let the collector and the SP come and apologize to us. Otherwise, we will start our rally against your ill-treatment to women,’ Harabati shouted firmly, though she was shivering in fear. As they were firm on their demands, the collector and SP came to them. Harabati said to them, ‘We are tribal people. Tribal women move together in groups to fairs, festivals, markets and relative’s house to attend ceremonies and rituals. We are out today to attend to such a work. A few of us are waiting here for our friends to join. These police have insulted us in filthy and obscene language. They have threatened to beat us to death. They have told us that we are characterless and they will rape us. We never came here for a rally here. Since they have accused us that we are gathering here for a movement, now definitely we will begin a rally against our ill-treatment by the police. We will take out our rally from here to the block office. We will have our meeting in Hatapada and we will end the rally with the submission of a memorandum to the BDO.’ Initially, the collector did not agree to Harabati’s demand. He asked Harabati who would be responsible if the mob turned violent and destroyed houses, ransacked government offices, set public vehicles on fire or beat the policemen to death? Finally, Harabati came to a written agreement with the officials that she would surrender herself to the police if any mishap occurred. The rally started from there, Kalasi Padia. The women who were retreating joined the rally. A huge crowd followed. The mob was rigid that they wanted to retaliate to the ill-treatment by the police. Harabati told them not to do anything like that. The crowd

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reached the block office and Harabati went inside to meet the BDO to handover the memorandum. In the meantime, a violent mob ransacked the block office and set it on fire. They also tried to torch the policestation but in vain due to timely deployment of Odisha State Armed Police. The police fired teargas shells quickly followed by bullets resulting in death of Budhuram Singh Bihari and Laxam Deepak of Raighar. In the meantime, one policeman came to Harabati and advised her to leave the spot. The magistrate reached the spot. Harabati escaped by jumping the boundary wall of the block office and quickly hid herself in the paddy fields behind the college. Bhanumati was with her. She was sobbing in fear. Harabati tried to console her but a frustrated Bhanumati blamed Harabati for everything that happened there. As it was almost evening, it became easy for them to hide in the paddy fields safely. The policemen in 10–15 vehicles searched for them. Harabati was afraid that if found, they would be shot dead or arrested. Though Jagabandhu was underground, he was instrumental in guiding the people. That day, he had appointed many people in different places. Within half an hour of the police firing, all roads were cut off so that police van could not attack people easily. On his instructions, the Raighar-Khuntagaon road was spared. Jagabandhu himself was looking for them. The people those who were helping Harabati told her to pass through the Khuntagaon road. No sooner had they come out of the paddy fields that some of their boys on bikes took them to Challanpara. There, Jagabandhu advised Harabati to be underground as there was an arrest warrant for her. Like Jagabandhu and Dabulu, Harabati went underground along with some other leaders of the movement, namely, Ramanath Keuta, Kailash Nag and Damodara Gond. All the leaders of Dalit Samaj said that life underground was really painful, risky and adverse. With an untiring support from the people, they survived playing hide and seek with the police.

Marginal People and Marginal Power In 2002, time came for the panchayat election. As requested by the people, Harabati Gond contested for the sarpanch post and won

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the election by a huge margin. In fact, till that time, the whole area of Umarkote, Raighar and Jharigaon blocks were ruled by the elected representatives of the dominant Congress or the BJP party. In 2002, many independent candidates won in large numbers in the panchayat election in these areas under the banner of Dalit Samaj. In Raighar block, out of 24 nominees of the Dalit Samaj, 17 got elected as sarpanch. Significantly, the nominees of the Dalit Samaj also won three out of the four Zilla Parisad seats in Raighar against the nominees of the main political parties like the Congress, BJD and BJP. It is also important to note that three persons of Dalit Samaj got elected as sarpanch and one as a panchayat samiti member while in judicial custody for organizing and participating in the movement. After that, the government, especially the local administration, was forced to negotiation terms with these candidates. As these candidates were concerned for the welfare and justice of the tribals, they forced the government to help them retrieve their land illegally usurped by the Bengali refugees and outsiders. As it became very difficult to carry out the movement from underground, Jagabandhu surrendered to the police in January 2003 and Harabati in October 2003. While Jagabandhu spent 14 days in jail, Harabati was imprisoned for a month charged with many cases. As the tribals came to power through election, the government was also forced to come to the negotiation table. As a result, many tribals were released from the jail and many pending cases were withdrawn. Finally, both the local tribals as well as Kondhs succeeded in recovering much of their land. According to government sources, tribals succeeded in regaining 9,091 hectares of land (EPW 2001: 4773), though some are still possessed by the Bengalis and other non-tribals. After the movement, now the Bengalis are living in harmony with the local tribals. Though the dominance of the Bengalis came to an end, still they have the penchant for grabbing land. Not only did the tribals get back their land; they are also slowly experiencing justice as far as the development programmes are concerned. Now the tribals and local SC people also secure jobs reserved for their respective categories. They are also engaged in contract works with various government departments.

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The leaders of the movement became very popular and powerful among the people. They also influenced the making and implementation of development programmes. For example, one day Harabati Gond was on her way to Palia Panchayat of Jharigaon block to meet Panchayat Secretary Krushna for some personal reasons. On the way, she met the tribals carrying PDS rice. Through casual conversation, she came to know that all of them were given 16 kg of rice instead of 25 kg. She asked them for their ration cards for verification and found that it had been written there that everybody had received 25 kg of rice. She proceeded further after assuring the people that she would look into the matter. The news of Harabati’s visit to Palia, however, reached the Palia panchayat office before she reached there. On her arrival, she found that the distribution of PDS rice had been closed, but the panchayat secretary, the village level worker (VLW) and some of the tribals were present there. On her inquiry, she found that the sarpanch of Palia is a tribal woman who did not know anything. At the panchayat office, she was offered tea by the secretary and the VLW. ‘How much rice do you provide per card (BPL card)?’ Harabati asked Secretary Krushna. ‘Didi (sister), it should be 25 kg per card,’ Krushna replied. ‘Are you providing that much?’ ‘Didi I have not issued the full quota of rice. I have given only 16 kg of rice to all.’ ‘Well, then why did you write that you have given 25 kg of rice to each cardholder when you have actually given only 16 kg? If you have not got the full quota of rice, then you should write whatever you have given to the people.’ ‘No Didi, people are not able to buy.’ Harabati asked the people those who were present in the panchayat office: ‘Why do you complain when you are unable to buy 25 kg of rice. You do not have money.’ People replied that they were not given rice even if they were ready to pay. Finally, Harabati warned Krushna and left the office. On her way back, she again met the same group of people and told them to lodge a complaint with the BDO against the VLW and the secretary of Palia panchayat. When the people informed that

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the BDO did not pay heed to their complaints, she told them to put across to the BDO that she had visited Palia panchayat and asked them to meet the BDO. The next day, some of the people met the BDO. Informing about Harabati’s visit, they gave a written complaint to the BDO against the VLW and the secretary stating: ‘Sir, we are illiterate people. We know nothing. Harabati visited our panchayat yesterday and told us to give you a complaint about the wrongdoings of our VLW and secretary. They are not giving us the amount of rice we are entitled to get. They are distributing rice today.’ Realizing the seriousness of the issue, and particularly fearful that an agitation may erupt if he does not pay immediate attention to the matter, the BDO along with a few police personnel visited Palia panchayat within half an hour of the receipt of the complaint. With an on-the-spot inquiry, the BDO was able to arrest the secretary while the VLW escaped through the window. These kinds of incidents to some extent ensured fair delivery of development programmes in Raighar, Umarkote and Jharigaon blocks of Nabarangpur district. It is not only the tribals of the revenue villages who were benefited, but also the ‘illegal’ immigrant tribals like the Kondhs. Against the rule that not a single tree can be cut in the reserve forest without permission from the government, the Kondhs ‘illegally’ settled in the reserve forest by offering ‘feasts’ to the local elites, ‘gifts’ to garadu, hedu and ribini and official ‘fine’ to the forest department authorities. They approached the government for the provision of basic facilities like supply of PDS ration, drinking water, electricity, and road connection. Despite their illegal occupation of land, they are provided with tube-wells, kuccha road, PDS ration and other developmental benefits. It is not that they have a right to avail them, but because the authorities make political calculations11 to provide them with those facilities. Now, when government plans to revive the ruined forests by afforestation, they expect the Kondhs to leave the place. As squatters, the Kondhs do not deny the fact that they have violated the law, nor 11

Firstly the forest authorities get benefits in the form of ‘gifts’ and ‘fine’ from the Kondhs. Secondly, the Bengali refugees support them as they get their lands that the Kondh prepares by clearing forest. Thirdly, the local people – both tribal and non-tribal, depend on them for provision of agricultural labour. Fourthly, the politicians depend on them for their votes.

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do they claim their illegal occupation of land is right. Rather, they insist that they have the right to housing and livelihood, and hence, if they are required to move elsewhere they must be rehabilitated properly. To my question what they will do if the government plans to displace them, Ghasiram Santa replied, ‘Definitely, there will be a big fight with the government. We will demand home and land. You see, people from another desh were brought and settled here. Then why should we not be settled? We have nothing – no land, no house and no money. If they want to displace us from here, no problem, we will leave provided they settle us like any other equal citizen of the country.’ This reminds us of Partha Chatterjee’s concept of ‘political society’ (2004, 2008). Forming associations and seeking public support for their cause, the Kondhs have started negotiation with the government authorities. Their political mobilization makes an attempt to turn the empirically formed population group into a ‘moral community’. Gopal Pujari, the former district president of VSS, also supports them by emphasizing the fact that the Kondhs should be resettled as the government did with the Bengalis. He asks, ‘When the people of other land can be brought over here and settled with land and home, why are the Kondhs and other tribals of our land who are really helpless not given any facility, at least a plot of homestead land? Why is the government not distributing the land, taking away excess land from the rich?’ Chatterjee argues that this kind of moral appeal makes the government obliged to sanction the demands of the poor and unprivileged by declaring their case ‘as an exception to the norm laid down by the law’ (2008: 18). The tribal leaders not only became popular and powerful in the area but also captured political power. Being influenced by the popularity of Jagabandhu Majhi, Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik came to Raighar on 26 September 2007, where Jagabandhu joined his party. In 2009 Assembly election, Jagabandhu Majhi contested from Raighar constituency as an MLA candidate from BJD party and won the election. It is reported by the local people that Jagabandhu after acclaiming political power has changed altogether12. He is no longer 12

Jagabandhu Majhi was shot dead by suspected Maoists at a public meeting in Nawarangpur district on 24 September 2011.

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interested in fighting for the people, but to earn money for himself. Harabati Gond13 being defeated by Jagabandhu in the last Assembly election still works in organizing people to fight against different issues and problems. She told me over phone that Jagabandhu has cautioned her not to mobilize people into any movement in his area. This shows that he has no more interest in mobilizing people to fight for their rights and justice. Furthermore, it is reported that Jagabandhu has been misusing his power for personal gain. This chapter in general shows that land is the main source of inter-personal and inter-group contentions and conflicts in Raighar, Umarkote and Jharigaon blocks of Nabarangpur. The success of the struggle of tribals and dalits has not only resisted the dominant systems of power by challenging the Bengali-state bureaucracy nexus but also succeeded in bringing partial transformation to their poverty and deprivation struck selves by retrieving their land from illegal encroachers and saving the forest from further ruin. While the local tribals and dalits have altered the historical relationships of power by winning elections, the Kondhs ‘illegally’ settled in Dandakaranya have endeavoured to create a ‘political society’, as Partha Chatterjee calls it, forcing the government to provide them with basic amenities as well as all the developmental benefits. Finally, the movement in Dandakaranya has opened up the possibilities for the language of the marginalized as a space of resistance. This chapter presented in the form of narratives, very often in the words of the subjects of the study themselves was, therefore, deliberate. The dialogues of Harabati Gond with the government officials, particularly the higher government officials including the police, SP, DIG, IG, and the district collector, indicate the use and abuse of language as a site of resistance. Harabati learnt the language of her ‘oppressors’14 in order to use it against them (cf. Menchu 1984)15. Harabati’s frequent 13

She was supported and nominated by Samruddha Odisha, a new political party in Odisha. 14 Here, I did not mean to say that Harabati tried to learn English, the official language of the state. But, she learnt and used a kind of language and ‘tone’ the authorities in power used against the tribals and other marginalized people. 15 Rigoberta Menchu, an illiterate Quiche Indian woman in Guatemala, learned Spanish, the language of her oppressors, which was imposed on her. Her

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use of a kind of ‘oppressor’s language’ was almost intentional, rather than spontaneous outbursts of anger or frustration. Her act of using abusive language while communicating with the higher government officials, scolding them, refusing to listen to them, making them wait for her, making them sit on the ground and similar other activities, were much more meaningful than words. In fact, these were actions – the acts of resistance and the sites of power.

appropriation of the Spanish language became a weapon in her struggle to tell the world about the oppressions her people have been suffering for almost 500 years and to fight for justice and dignity.

5

Politics of Violence & Poetics of Resistance The Police State and Tribal Anarchists

The history of peoples without history is a history of their struggle against the state. – Pierre Clastres, La société contre l’état, Cited in James C. Scott (2009: V) But where, you may ask, in their dark lives is there space for the Brazilian joie de vivre, the celebrated vitality and animacao that are captured in Brazilian song and dance, in film and literature, and, most of all, in the frevo and its erotic and life-affirming samba? Have hunger, sickness, and scarcity all but extinguished these expressions of Brazilianity in my Alto friends? What makes life worth living for these people? – Scheper-Hughes, Death without Weeping (1992: 446)1

I

n these contested spaces where violence and chaos are the order of daily lives, the function of the state remains limited to a police state. For my purpose here, police state is defined as a political 1 Scheper-Hughes provides the meaning of the words as: animacao-vivacity, liveness; carnival – pre-Lenten festival of licence, laughter and dance; frevo – wild, jumping carnival dance; samba – Brazilian dance of African origin (Scheper-Hughes 1992: 557, 559, 561, 564).

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unit characterized by repressive governmental control of political, economic and social life, usually by an arbitrary exercise of power by police and military forces. The state then exercises all its arbitrary powers including arrest, imprisonment, physical abuse and even mass killing to keep the subjects in control. On the other hand, internalizing the fact that state laws conflict with their individual autonomy and survival, the tribals forgo any moral obligation to obey the state (Klosko 2005: 4), leading to a situation of tribal anarchism. By tribal anarchism I do not mean individualist anarchism that emphasizes negative liberty, i.e., opposition to state or social control over the individual. By tribal anarchism I denote social anarchism that emphasizes positive liberty and sovereignty of the individual and community. In doing so, tribal anarchism argues that tribals have needs that society ought to fulfill recognizing their ‘equality of entitlement’ (Harrison and Boyd 2003: 257). A critical engagement with everyday life ethnography in contested spaces, however, needs analysis not only of localized politics but also of internalized feelings. Here we need to discuss the politicized environment or contested landscape, embodying memories of suffering and struggle and the energizing spirits of resistance. We would need to measure not only the damage or gain in industrializing the countryside, but also feel the impact on the life-world, the change in routine, the resulting freedom and boredom in urbanized settings, the bodily suffering and the moral reorientation of the people affected. No less important is indentifying the conspiring forces that cause social suffering. A connection needs to be made between ruin or development with social suffering or healing and with everyday forms of resistance or celebration of existence. Building on these and other related theories, the chapter raises a number of questions: How/why does a welfare nation state reduce to a police state? Whose interest does it serve? How does the police state affect the life-world of the indigenous people? Do they passively receive suffering as their destiny? Does pain and suffering destroy the capacity of tribals to cope and articulate their voice (Scarry 1985; cf. Farmer 1998)? Or does it strengthen their body and ‘create a moral community out of those who have suffered’ (Das 1995: 176)?

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Does it produce knowledge and power that prepares the people for a better life/better future? Is there a possibility for the voice of the voiceless to be heard and honoured within the existing framework of deconstructive practice (cf. Das 1995)? Addressing some of these questions, in this chapter, I present how a nation state functions in a contested space of development, strategies the police state adopts to keep the people in control, and, of course, the tribal anarchists’ strategies of resistance and coping mechanism.

I. POLITICS OF VIOLENCE People’s Initial Response: A Survival Strategy Utkal Alumina International Ltd came to Kashipur in 1993. The company got its clearance from the Government of Odisha but the people were never consulted. The company started its survey of land, dongar, people, cattle and everything. They cleared land by destroying crops wherever they needed. Though people were aggrieved to see their crops destroyed, nobody dared fight the company. Bhagaban Majhi says, ‘Initially, we had no plan of opposing the company. Rather, we thought that company would come up here and we had to vacate the place for it. Thus, some of our people travelled as far as Nabarangpur Reserve Forest area, where a few of our people have migrated and settled earlier. They found the reserve forest area suitable for us. Our cultural ritual practices regarding the selection of a land for the purpose of settlement of a village proved the land to be suitable.’ In the meanwhile, a team of 18 members from Kashipur met the chief minister on 11 November 1993 to learn about the impact and implication of mining on the local community. They also sent several requisitions to many higher officials including the Prime Minister and the President of India. Not getting response from any concerned official, the PSSP restricted the entry of UAIL vehicles into the area in 1994. At that time, Akhil Saunta of Kucheipadar village was elected as the MLA of the ruling Janata Dal defeating Congress candidate Antaram Majhi of the same village. One day in early 1994, Antaram Majhi called a village meeting in Kucheipadar. He persuaded the

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people to realize the negative impacts of industrialization on their lives and proposed to oppose the establishment of the company at any cost. He said: See my brothers, we are adivasi people. We are farmers. We cannot survive without agriculture. Land is essential for us. How do we survive if our land is taken away? We are living happily, adoring our customs, traditions, festivals and festivities. We live in harmony with nature. Company is coming here. It will occupy our land. It will destroy our land, blast our dongar. All our resources will be snatched away from us. Even our gods and goddesses will be thrown away. Their abode will be destroyed. Everything will be ruined. Our land, water, air and minerals will be taken away. Our culture, tradition, identity and livelihood will perish. And we will be eliminated from the earth. So, we have to take some counter measures. For our survival, we will not allow the company to be set up here.

As the villagers were unhappy with the company representatives for destroying their crops, they came to a consensus with Antaram that they could not survive without their land and, hence, they decided to fight against the company. The meeting got over. Next morning, all the villagers armed with sticks, axes, bows and arrows attacked the company people. The tribals beat some of the company officials and destroyed company property. Cases were filed by the company against the people of Kucheipadar. After a few days, many people were arrested. People of Kucheipadar gheraoed police station and released their people. Later, on 23 April 1995, policemen arrested some of the leaders namely Maharaja Majhi and Gurunath Majhi of Kucheipadar. The movement continued. Antaram Majhi did not return to the village for many days as he stayed in Tikiri, the nearest town. Bhagaban says: ‘Antaram Majhi was not much popular in the area and the company had never taken notice of him. Akhil Saunta, as an MLA of the ruling party, was known to the company and people. After this incident, the company came to know Antaram as a leader. I do not know whether the company offered him money or he accepted, but he remained silent.’ Days

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rolled by. With support from other people’s movements of the state, the tribals of Kashipur continued their protest against the company. MLA election was ahead. Antaram Majhi planned to contest in the election against Akhil Saunta. Antaram came to Kucheipadar. He was given a royal treatment in Kucheipadar as villagers thought that he was with them to fight against the company. He promised the people, ‘My brothers, see, I have no power in my hands. If you vote me to power, I will drive away the company by fighting with the government.’ The tenure of Akhil Saunta got over. Election was declared. Antaram contested against Akhil Saunta for the MLA post and won. Soon after, he supported the company and never paid any attention to people’s grievances against the company. In fact, he never returned to the village. People lost faith in him. On 14 February 1996, Prakrutik Sampad Suraksha Parisad (PSSP) – Council for Protection of Natural Resources – was formed in Kucheipadar at a gathering of more than 10,000 people. A leader of Kucheipadar village, Krushna Saunta – an under-matriculate who was working as a Class-IV government employee in MI (Irrigation) Office, Rayagada – was selected as its head, the president. Along with Krushna, two other leaders from Kucheipadar namely Maharaja Majhi and Laxman Majhi – both school teachers – gave strong support to the movement. They worked for the movement day and night. They went from village to village mostly at night protecting themselves from the police, company goons and government employees. Gradually, many villagers supported the movement. The andolankaris had snatched away many instruments of the company people, raided the company during nights and burnt away temporary tents of the company. Many a time, people threatened and tortured the survey workers of the company and seized their instruments. Many cases were filed against the people and many were arrested. Krushna Saunta, Maharaja Majhi and Laxman Majhi were suspended from their respective jobs. Later, Maharaja and Laxman resumed their jobs, but Krushna never did. He became a full time andolanakari. Land acquisition for the UAIL began in June 1996. The local administration used all possible force, coercion and threat to get people’s signature on the necessary documents and forced people to

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accept compensation. On 9 September 1996, the PSSP organized a public meeting and demonstration by 10,000 people in front of the UAIL office in Tikiri protesting against land acquisition and establishment of the mining project. In July 1997, the company started its construction work for R&R Colony near D. Karol village. The PSSP organized a mass protest and demonstration on 10 August 1997 and, as a result, the construction work by the company stopped for a while. Multiple false cases were filed against the PSSP supporters. Again, a protest march was organized by the PSSP on 23 November 1997 in Tikiri in which more than 5,000 people participated to demand the withdrawal of UAIL from Kashipur. On 5 January 1998, with the help of the police, the company vehicles tried to push through the road blockade put up by the PSSP. As the people gathered to protest, the police lathi-charged and fired tear gases upon the crowd injuring 12 women and 34 men. During October and November 1998, the PSSP conducted a referendum over UAIL across 40 villages where a significant majority (96 per cent) rejected the UAIL project. In November the same year, the PSSP activists abducted three Norsk Hydro employees and an Indian official from Kucheipadar village and forced them to write a protest letter against their own company stating that the Norsk Hydro should withdraw from the project in Kashipur. As a result, the UAIL postponed its project-related work till 2000. Again, time for election came. Bibhisan Majhi, a leader of the movement, contested assembly (MLA) election from BJD. As a leader of the movement, he won the election defeating two former MLAs. Like other two MLAs, the promises of Bibhisan Majhi also turned out to be like dandi sap and nag sap katha (the story of water snake and cobra)2 and he forgot his promise to continue the protest against the 2 The story goes like this. Once there lived a dandisap (water snake) in a crab’s hole in a paddy field. People coming to catch crab and fish threw the dandisap out of the hole everyday as it was unable to bring any harm to the people. There also lived a nagsap (cobra) nearby who was watching the daily plight of the dandisap. One day, the nagsap asked the dandisap: ‘Why don’t you do anything? Had I been in your place, I would have taught the people such lessons that they would not have dared to come here again.’ Describing the situation inside the hole, the dandisap expressed its inability. The nagsap laughed and mocked dandisap saying he was ‘fit for nothing’. Proudly, nagsap offered itself to the help of dandisap. One day,

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establishment of the company. During 11–18 January 1999, a highlevel team of retired bureaucrats of the Government of India visited Kashipur to assess the socio-economic impact of mining on people. The committee recommended the withdrawal of police cases filed against the leaders and the government to start a constructive dialogue with the local tribal communities (Das and Das 2006: 45). Late in that year, an All Party Committee (APC) was formed comprising leaders of all political parties like the BJD, BJP and the Congress Party under the leadership of Bibhisan Majhi to support UAIL’s endeavour in Kashipur. The APC visited Kashipur and organized meetings. The committee also tried to convince people in favour of the company. Its endeavour to promote mining in Kashipur failed to yield much result as the people could sense that the APC was working for the company. People were disappointed with the committee. However, the tribals did not keep quiet. Realizing that the bureaucracy controls everything and local MLAs supported and elected by the PSSP had proved to be turncoats who did not support the movement, they decided to take part in gram panchayat (the local governance unit) election directly. Being in power, they had a strong belief, they would be able to formulate policies, implement them and importantly, drive the company away by bringing anti-company resolutions in the gram sabhas and palli sabhas3. Also, they presumed the nagsap sat in dandisap’s hole. It was ready and waiting for an opportunity. As usual, a man dipped his hand into the hole expecting to grab a crab. No sooner the hand touched its body, the nagsap tried to raise its hood to bite. Unfortunately, the nagsap could not raise its hood as the hole was narrow and hence could not bite the man. In the meantime, the man brought the napsap out of the hole in his clutch. Realizing it was a snake, the man threw nagsap forcefully away. The nagsap lay hurt. Realizing its pain, the dandisap came to the nagsap. Expressing grief, the dandisap asked: ‘Oh my brother, what happened? Did you not succeed in biting?’ The nagsap hanged its head down and remained silent in shame. The dandisap taught nagsap that they were helpless in a hole. Metaphorically referring to the tribal political leaders as nagsap (cobra), Bhagaban Majhi argued that the tribal political leaders who come to power because of their vigour and activism become inactive while in power (mostly in the Assembly and Parliament). 3 Palli Sabha is the meeting of all the electorates of a revenue village. Such revenue village may comprise one ward or more than one ward. The Gram Sabha is a meeting of all adults who live in the area covered by a Panchayat.

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that with power they could control the police repression and atrocities of the company and the state. In July 2000, Bhagaban Majhi, the President of the PSSP, contested for sarpanch post as a swadheen (independent, without the support of any mainstream political party) candidate in Kucheipadar GP and won by a huge margin, defeating the candidates supported by the mainstream political parties and other swadheen candidates. Gram sabhas were organized in all villages of Kucheipadar GP. Later, a panchayat meeting was convened where the tribals of all the villages of Kucheipadar attended and memorandums were presented to the higher government authorities including the President and the Prime Minister of India stating that the villagers did not want company in Kashipur. They also stated their vision of development that land should be given to all landless families and patta should be provided to the tribal landowners. They also emphasized that all the lands of Kashipur should be irrigated, the dongars should be covered with fruit bearing trees, the migrant labours and jobless tribals and dalits be provided with jobs, and education and healthcare should be taken care of by the government. As usual, nobody took notice of their demands and grievances. In December that year, the PSSP planned a big protest and demonstration to put forth their demands to the government. The PSSP decided to organize a road blockade at Rafkana Chowk on 20 December 2000. By then, the movement had picked up momentum getting active support from the people, not only of Kashipur, but also of Laxmipur and Dashamantpur areas. Also, a few outside activists gave their full-time support to the movement. On 15 December 2000, the PSSP called a preparation meeting at Maikanch village to decide on the logistics and the techniques of protest and demonstration. The meeting was in progress with participation of about 5,000 people. The APC became apprehensive about the proposed road blockade. It tried its best to make the road blockade unsuccessful. The APC held a public meeting on the same day at Nuagaon, the neighbouring village of Maikanch. Members of the APC, including District BJD President Bhaskar Rao and a local elite Krushna Mohapatra, along with company supporters and hired goons went to Nuagaon through Maikanch, the place where the PSSP was organizing its meeting. Realizing their intention, the andolankaris

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opposed them at Maikanch and asked the APC, ‘We are fighting to save our land, water, forest and livelihood. Why are you standing on our way?’ The enraged people obstructed their vehicles, threw stones and punched some of them. Members of the APC and the company supporters returned. The meeting got over. In anticipation of retaliation from the offended powerful leaders, all the people those who attended the meeting halted that night in Maikanch. Male folk took refuge in the nearby hills leaving the women, children and elderly in the village. The next day, 16 December 2000, around 1 pm, two police vans and five/six jeeps loaded with three platoons (about 100 police) of Odisha Special Armed Police Force, armed with SLR guns, and Odisha Reserve Police Force, armed with rifles and big lathis reached Maikanch and surrounded Jhodia sahi (hamlet) from all directions. By that time, all male folks of the village had retreated to the nearby hills and jungles. The sound of heavy boots and the Rayagada Circle Inspector Subash Swain’s roaring brought the women to the forefront. ‘Dudheswar Jhodia, Prakash Jhodia, Subash Naik, Prabhudan Naik, motherfuckers come out. Nobody can save you today. I have the firing order,’ Swain thundered. A few women came out in response, ‘No male member is available in the village. If you have something to say, tell us. We will convey it to them when they come home.’ ‘Do you think I am a Kashipuria police [a police from Kashipur]? I am from Cuttack. I give you five minutes. If they do not come out within five minutes, I will charge. Just four minutes left,’ the CI shouted. Danei Jhodia, a 53-year-old woman, gathered courage to ask, ‘Sir, why are you looking for them?’ ‘Call them quickly. Two minutes more. I will fire, if they do not come out.’ While Swain was talking to Danei, the other police circled all the houses. When the police tried to get into the houses, the women opposed them standing in a row holding each other’s hand. One dalal4 said, ‘If you beat the women, men will come out automatically.’ Swain ordered the police, ‘What are you waiting for, charge.’ The police leapt at the women. Jhodia lost her senses due to heavy beating. Many women bolted the 4

The andolanakaris (the supporters of the movement) refer to the supporters of the company as dalals, which means ‘broker’ or ‘tout’.

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house from inside. Some women shouted, ‘The police killed Danei maa (mother). Danei maa died’. The screaming echoed in the hills and the menfolk started running towards the village. The police was looking for such a moment. Immediately, Swain ordered, ‘Fire, fire.’ Indiscriminate firing started. Another dalal shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Shoot them and smash them. I will take care of whatever happens.’ In no time, Abhilash Jhodia, Damodar Jhodia (both from Maikanch) and Raghunath Jhodia (from Bagrijhola) were shot dead while they were running down the hill. Firing and lathicharge continued for three hours resulting in three activists’ death. Seven were severely injured, of whom police took two to hospital in their vehicle. More than 30 others were injured. However, the effort to frighten people for standing in the way of company’s endeavour failed. It was just after two days of the firing, on 18 December 2000, that people assembled for a meeting to decide the future course of action. It was finally decided that the PSSP would continue with its earlier decision to put up a road blockade at Rafkana on 20 December 2000, at least to show the government and company that people were not afraid of the firing. The news of the police firing spread like wildfire. Initially, though the people were afraid, nonetheless, they joined in Rafkana road blockade. Carrying food and clothing, thousands of tribals from as far as Laxmipur, Dashmantpur and Koraput walked more than 50 km to make the Rafkana road blockade a grand success. The long distance and bone-chilling winter could not stop them in their march as they walked singing, A jami chhadiba nahin, gaonru uthiba nahin Jami chhadiba nahinre bhai gaonru uthiba nahin Gauda, Paika, Adivasi, Harijan ame chasi jati Chasa chhadidele banchiba nahin, sarijiba ama bruti A dongar amara sathi, karichhi ama urnati Dharitri mataku hata jodi ame kariba matru bhakti We will not leave our land, we will not desert the village We will not leave the hills, we will not surrender the forest We the poor peasants, dalits and adivasi, we can’t survive without land

166  Negotiating Marginality Land is our mother, forest is our friend We propitiate them all5.

Over 10,000 people joined in the protest and demonstration at Rafkana junction on 20 December making the road blockade a grand success. The police, company and the government were taken aback by the zeal of the tribals to fight for their land and livelihood.

For the Development of Kashipur: Company’s Doles The construction work of the company could not progress much for the next three years. But the company continued in its endeavour to appease people in various ways. In 1998, the UAIL had formed the Utkal Rural Development Society (URDS), a NGO, which organized eye check-up camps, distributed seeds and constructed roads, culverts and a nursery. The PSSP demolished all structures and rejected all services with the argument that the government should do the development work, not the company. The company tried its best to show people that it was really worried about the development of the local people! It started another society called the Business Partner for Development (BPD) headed by the district collector, Rayagada, as its chairman. Through the BPD, the company wanted to push through the people. Once they called a public meeting to discuss on ‘Development of Kashipur’. The venue was the collector’s office, Rayagada. All local MLAs, MPs, ex-MLAs, ex-MPs, government servants, sarpanchs, samiti sabhyas, ward members and local elites were invited to attend the meeting. All of them were brought (by the vehicles arranged by the company) to the venue on time. The meeting started. Officers and leaders went on with their speeches about the development of Kashipur. Some of them expressed their concern that even after government spending so much money on Kashipur development, there was no development in Kashipur. Different leaders expressed different views. The house was overflowing with generous suggestions. The leaders talked about, for instance, politics, 5

Quoted from Toppo and Meghnath (2003).

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establishing a different party, giving computer education to tribals, and of course, the benefits of the establishment of the company. Bhagaban Majhi, the present president of PSSP, was present there as the sarpanch of Kucheipadar GP. He was not a popular figure in the meeting. He heard everything silently. It was 1 pm. None of the officers and leaders present said anything against the ‘decision’ taken for the development of Kashipur. Bhagaban Majhi got up and sad, For last four-five hours, we have been talking about the ‘Development of Kashipur’. If it is implemented, I think, the whole Kashipur will be flooded with ghee and honey and Kashipur will into a goldenKashipur! If we really want the development of Kashipur, then we must first study how the people of Kashipur live and what are their means of livelihood. We, the adivasi people of Kashipur, live on agriculture – both plain land and dongar cultivation. Therefore, let us bring some development measures to agriculture and agricultural lands. Let all the land of Kashipur be irrigated. If all the people will be assured food, clothing and shelter, it will be great. The development of Kashipur is possible if we ensure land to sukhbasis, patta to farmers and plantation of fruit-bearing trees on the hills. Then only the development of Kashipur is possible. Mainly, if all the land of Kashipur be irrigated, then we will produce multiple crops and live happily. That will be the development of Kashipur. Otherwise, whatever you discussed about the development of Kashipur is of no worth.

Everybody was silent. The collector was angry and replied to Bhagaban: ‘What are you talking about? Last year, I gave 30 water pumps to Kashipur, but nobody took. You are saying irrigation is needed. Why did not you take the pumps when I offered?’ Bhagaban Majhi replied calmly: Sir, please listen to me. Please, be patient. Yes, last year you offered some pumps to Kashipur. But there was a condition that we had to buy the water pumps within three days paying some thousands of rupees. You know that we are poor adivasi people. Tell us, how can we manage to arrange that much money within three days? At

168  Negotiating Marginality best you will give a week’s time and then afterwards, it is your rule that we cannot buy. But we cannot arrange thousands of rupees immediately. We are poor people. Then why are you not making our loans free? Why do you even hesitate to give us loans? Last year, I purchased a pump for which I struggled to arrange the money. If you give 30 pumps to our GP, it will not be sufficient, leave alone the whole Kashipur Block. We need thousands of pumps. Give us. You are conducting a meeting here with the government servants. What will they do? Do they have agricultural land? Do they know how to cultivate? Are they farmers? Please, invite farmers to the meeting and take their views. If you conduct meetings with gvernment servants, what result will we get? When the whole area is dominated by agriculturists, who have given you the right to organize meetings with a few government servants, company officers and dalals to talk about the development of farmers? How is it possible? So, I demand on behalf of the farmers that let all the land of Kashipur be irrigated. Give us water pumps for lift irrigation. Give us electricity for running our pumps. It will be a blessing for all. All will live happily. Then only will Kashipur develop, I am sure.

The whole house was taken aback. The discussion on company ended there. The collector opened his diary, wrote some things hurriedly and banged the diary on the table. He wrote about the topics for discussion for the next session. It was time for lunch. Bhagaban Majhi was taking his food. The collector came to him and gave him a smile. ‘Yes, you are a young man. Your blood must be a little hot. By the way, Bhagaban Babu, are you angry?’ caressing his back, the collector said in an ingratiating voice,. ‘What sir! People like you should make us understand! Instead, should we teach you, sir? Will it be nice if we teach you?’ Bhagaban replied. The collector became silent. Lunch got over. Meeting resumed. Nobody talked about the company. They discussed about health, education, land and irrigation. The collector never attended the second session. The meeting concluded. After a few days, Luna Nayak, the then director of the company visited Bhagaban Majhi. Praising Bhagaban, she asked whether they can conduct meetings in the villages. ‘It is the people who will decide

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whatever they like. I cannot say anything alone. They do not want mining here. Anyway, we have to talk to them,’ Bhagaban replied. The development institution, BPD, was closed forever.

People’s Opinion Poll: A Political Tradition It is an indisputable fact that the proposed UAIL plant in Kashipur will take place in a land designated as a Fifth Schedule Area. The schedule provides tribals with constitutional rights and provisions that aim to protect and preserve their unique culture and livelihood. Further, national and state legislations have underpinned these constitutional rights of the tribals over the land and natural resources in the provisions for schedule area. As a schedule area, the acquisition of an estimated 2,800 acre of land in Kashipur by UAIL required local people’s consent for the whole project and individual consent for the rehabilitation and resettlement (R&R) package offered in lieu of the exchange of the privately-owned land. The Odisha Scheduled Tribes Transfer of Immovable Property Act, 1956, made it illegal to transfer tribal land to non-tribal bodies without obtaining the consent of the local people first. More recently, the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996 (PESA), stipulates a strict requirement of consultation with the local people prior to land acquisition for development projects, as well as in the formulation of the R&R packages. This issue was upheld by the Supreme Court in Samatha vs the State of Andhra Pradesh (popularly known as Samatha judgment)6 case that pronounced, ‘The predominant object of Para 5(2) of the Fifth Schedule and the Regulations (the Land Transfer Regulation of AP) is to impose total prohibition of immovable property to any person other than a tribal’ (AIR 1997 SC 3297, cited in IPT 2006: 20). So, it became mandatory for UAIL to consult the local people. Beginning in 1999, UAIL claimed that, ‘Regular meetings are [were] 6 When the Birla Group was granted a mining lease in the Scheduled Area of Vishakhapatnam district in state of Andhra Pradesh, the Supreme Court held, in Samatha vs. State of A.P., that mining leases by the Government in Scheduled Areas can only be granted to a Scheduled Tribe individual, a society composed entirely of Scheduled Tribe persons, or to a Government mining establishment (IPT 2006: 19–20).

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held with the villagers, village elders and youth club. Communicators/ facilitators were appointed to communicate with the villagers about the impacts of the project on the environment and development of the region’ and ‘efforts continue in the region to clear misconceptions about the project’ (UAIL 2002, cited in IPT 2006: 22). On 30 December 2000, then Rayagada Collector Durga Madhab Mishra, convened a pallisabha where the gramsabhas of Kucheipadar, Maikanch, Kodipari, Tikiri and Gorakhpur GP had given written opposition to mining and this decision was submitted to the chief minister of Odisha, the Prime Minister and the President of India. Till 2003, UAIL also claimed to have visited nine villages to hold meetings with the local people, during which they encountered resistance. In 2004, UAIL approached the government for help in motivating and negotiating with the people. UAIL with the help of government held two open house meetings to assess public opinion about the project on 27 January 2004 and 26 May 2004 respectively. Let us take a closer look at the meetings conducted for public opinion poll. On 27 January 2004, the first open house meeting was organized in the presence of the collector and revenue divisional commissioner (RDC) in the district collector’s office in Rayagada, which is situated about 80 to 90 km from the villages of Kashipur. Due to single bus service per day and hill tracks, it requires one full day for a person to travel to Rayagada and back to his village in Kashipur. Additionally, the travel costs one day wage (about Rs 50), which is not affordable to a tribal. However, local MLAs, MPs, ministers, sarpanchs, samiti sabhyas, ward members, villages heads, communicators, motivators and ‘company people’ were invited to the meeting. Many people were brought by buses and trucks from the company-affected villages and outside to attend the meeting assuring them a sumptuous meal and one-day wage (Rs 50 to 100). These people were ‘hired’ only to show that people in the area support the setting up of the company. In fact, these people were not allowed to participate in the meeting. Seeing the hired crowd standing silently, the policemen shouted at them, ‘Sale, you have taken money. You will be given food here. Vehicles are arranged to transport you. Why are you standing quietly? Raise slogans.’ Giving banners to hold, the police ordered the ‘hired’ participants to repeat slogans,

Politics of Violence & Poetics of Resistance  171 Utkal Alumina, welcome, welcome! Utkal Alumina, zindabad, zindabad (Utkal Alumina, long live)!

Obviously, the PSSP was not invited. Nonetheless, the PSSP and a few other outside activists protested in front of the collector’s office. Bhagaban Majhi asked the collector if they could take part in the meeting. ‘Only the invited people will participate in the meeting,’ the collector replied. Bhagaban asked again whether he could participate in the meeting as the ex-Sarpanch of Kucheipadar. The collector reiterated his words. Realizing their request to participate in the meeting had been turned down, the PSSP and its supporters protested in front of the collector’s office raising slogans, Utkal Alumina, down, down! Company dalal, murdabad, murdabad (company supporters, down, down)! Utkal Alumina, tume pherija-a, pherija-a (Utkal Alumina, go back)! Bhandami janamata sangraha, chaliba nahin, chaliba nahin (False public opinion poll, will not do)! Ama ladhei, ama ekata, zindabad, zindabad (Our struggle, our unity, long live)!

The police thrashed the activists and chased them out of the campus and closed all the gates. The SP approached the activists and screamed, ‘Sale, you illiterate, stupid adivasis! You know nothing. Don’t you understand how much you will be benefited, if the company comes.’ Bhagaban replied: Yes Sir, you have studied enough. You are IAS and IPS officers. You are great intellectuals. You have too much knowledge. You are so self-complacent of your wisdom that you are unable to see the world outside. So, you brand adivasis as illiterates and stupid. If company comes, how much we will get, how much company will get, how much government will be benefited, how many people will be displaced, how many adivasis will be employed, how many adivasis will get opportunities for wage earning and for how many days, why should we not know all these? Is it stupid to ask all this?

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The collector pulled the SP by his hand saying, ‘It is worthless to lend your ears to all these nonsense talks. You cannot fight with these adivasis.’ Again, the RDC came and enquired what the matter was about. Bhagaban got angry and told the RDC, What is this farce going on here? Why is the open public opinion meeting organized in the collector’s office? Is it a drama house? Whatever happens, it will happen in the field. We do not want mining here. Why are you conducting meetings? Again, why are you not allowing us to participate in the meeting? Why will the leaders alone take part, why not the general public? We have also the right to listen. We have the right to give our opinion.

‘We do not want your opinion’, the RDC roared angrily. ‘You cannot do mining here without our consent. You decide whatever you want to do, but we cannot leave our land,’ Bhagaban answered back. Finally, the meeting started inside the house with the ‘invited’ participants excluding the ‘hired’ public. The meeting started with the screening of a documentary showing the life of the tribals before and after the establishment of the company in split screen mode. In the first half of the film, it showed adivasi men’s almost naked bodies covered with dirty and torn loincloth and women wearing dirty and torn saree. They did not forget to display the naked tribal children. Tribals eating tanku-pej and ghurdisag7 and living in dark, dirty and broken thatched houses were shown. The other half of the screen showed adivasi life after the company came into existence as idyllic and romantic. The adivasi men were shown attired in trousers, T-shirts and boots and women in clean and bright white sarees. The documentary highlighted the positive aspects of tribals working in the company, living in pucca houses with amenities like electric lamps, streetlights and tap water. At the end of the meeting, the PSSP gave its memorandum of protest. As the meeting failed due to strong protest from the people, they planned a second one. 7 Tanku-pej is a gruel prepared out of mango kernels and ghurdisag is a kind of greens available during rainy season. Mostly the tribals consume these items during chronic food shortage period.

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On 26 May 2004, the second open house meeting for public opinion poll was held in the same collector’s office. As usual political leaders, local government representatives, bureaucrats and company people attended the meeting. Giridhara Gamango, the former chief minister of Odisha, told the gathering that mining should be approved only with the consent of the majority of the local people. The company authorities tried to convince the minister that only a few ‘agitators’ were shouting slogans and mobilizing people in their favour, and actually most of the people had given their consent. The company claimed that both these meetings recorded large number of participants and ‘the response was positive and majority of the leaders expressed their views in favour of the project’ (IPT 2006: 22). UAIL also claimed that another meeting was held at a later date with ward members and village heads of 24 project-affected villages. This time the company took extra care to make the meeting successful. Hence, three months before the scheduled meeting, the company tried to get people’s favour by distributing money. Bhagaban Majhi says, ‘Those who went to Rayagada project office and said that they were from Kashipur, got some money. The local boys regularly visited project office to get some money with which they bought movie tickets, cheap cold drinks and ‘packets’ (cheap pouch wine)’. The company tried all possible ways to win people’s consent. The meeting was convened at the same venue again and, as usual, people were transported there from the project affected villages and outside. The company succeeded in creating an illusion, what Jean Baudrillard calls ‘simulation’ (Baudrillard 1988:167–187; Kellner 1989: 76–89), of local support. ‘Simulation’, according the Baudrillard, is the end result of the process of reproduction of objects or events as ‘the real’ against the ‘natural’. ‘Simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth – it is the truth which conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true’, writes Baudrillard (1988:167). In Kashipur, the district administration, hired public and the media (most of the local newspapers and TV channels are funded by it and support company) talked and hyped the support of the people of Kashipur to the endeavours of UAIL that it created the ‘reality’ of local support to the company. Thus, the meeting became a grand success with ‘overwhelming support for the project’ (UAIL

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2004, cited in IPT 2006: 22). A new R&R package was declared with additional compensation for the DPs along with increased rates for land. The company became hopeful that its project would be completed without further delay. The PSSP and its supporters were shocked at how so many people joined the meetings organized by the company. They knew, however, that people attended the meetings only for food and money. Yet, to test the fact whether people really supported the movement, the PSSP called a meeting in protest. On 19 October 2004, a massive rally of 10,000 people armed with traditional weapons gheraoed Tikiri police station, once more demanding cancellation of the project altogether. The company was confused as to how the same people could take part in the meetings organized both by the company and the PSSP. In response to the company’s request for help in convincing the local people in its favour, on 25 November 2004, Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik gave clear instructions to the state bureaucrats and police to strongly suppress the anti-mining movements. Again, an all-party committee rally was convened in Rayagada on 28 November 2004. Bhagaban says that a sum of Rs 32 lakh (Rs 3.2 million) was spent for this meeting. Ninety-six trucks and 50 marshals were engaged to bring people from as far as Dashmantpur, Kashipur and Vijayanagaram (Andra Pradesh) to the meeting spot and drop them back. Additionally, another 10 trucks were arranged to bring food for the participants. The company claimed that the rally was attended by 20,000 people. By then, the company had succeeded in taking some of the activists over to its side. One among such activists was Krushna Saunta, the founding president of PSSP. Saunta delivered a speech in favour of the company, Earlier, we were fighting against the company because we had misconceptions about it. We were wrong. We understand now that the company should be established. It will be better for us. We will get all the benefits – wages, jobs in the company and compensation. We are going out to earn our wages now, but we will get jobs here in the company. The anti-project people must be severely punished.

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The company claimed that the rally was highly successful. The PSSP did a protest rally and demonstration on the same day at the plant site. Later, on 9 December 2004, the then Rayagada Collector Pramod Meherda, convened a palli sabha in Ramibeda, Kandukhunti and Talakarol – the three villages to be acquired by UAIL. Again that day, the effort to get public consent proved to be a drama. The meeting was held in a place surrounded by about 300 armed police force and the community leaders were intimidated into giving their consent at gunpoint. Consider the following comments of a local political leader on gram sabha, ‘Oh! Gram sabha? It is only on paper. If you think, and the government wants that 5,000 people can really come to a consensus in a meeting, then it is impossible. Well, we have also accepted that challenge. On December 30, the collector has convened a meeting. We will show you doing even that’ (Dash 2001: 47). So, that is how the company got the ‘paperwork’ done using violence and manipulation. The company’s endeavour to obtain individual consent for land acquisition and acceptance of R&R package offered by it was more complex. In fact, no written data was provided to the people regarding the details of compensation for land and R&R package. Very often, company officials made exaggerated promises to persuade people in favour of the company. Even the communicators/motivators worked in conjunction with hired goons and police to convince people either by giving ‘favours’ and ‘gifts’ or through intimidation. However, all these company endeavours to appease people and get their consent for the project did not succeed.

The Police State: Keeping People in Control In Kashipur The government and the company failed to get the consent of local people for the project. On the other hand, the tribals expressed their dissent through regular non-violent protests and demonstrations such as meetings, rallies, sit-ins, police station gherao and road blockades. Instead of reconsidering the mining project acknowledging the local concern, the government and the company were recklessly

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determined to get people’s consent in favour of the company at any cost (Sarangi, Pradhan and Mohanty 2005). In 2004, the government deployed a large number of policemen and paramilitary forces in the area, no doubt in preparation for the commencement of the project in 2005. This seems to be the result of incendiary public statements made by high-level state officials in November and December 2004. Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik declared in the Assembly on 4 December 2004 (as shown on the TV), ‘No one – I repeat no one – will be allowed to stand in the way of Odisha’s industrial development and the people’s progress’ (cited in Padel and Das 2006: 14). ‘Sri B.B. Harichandan, a BJP cabinet minister, was quoted in December 2004 as saying that anyone opposed to mining projects was anti-social and would be sent to jail; and District Collector Pramod Meherda told the media that people who opposed the project were anti-social, anti-national, anti-development, and extremists’ (IPT 2006: 55). Undoubtedly, to facilitate the commencement of the project, the government decided to station a police outpost at D. Karol – a village between the main centre of the movement, Kucheipadar, and the company – for ‘law and order’ reasons. In fact, Tikiri police station (PS) stands at a distance of 10 km and Dangasil police outpost lies at 5 km. On the first day, when collector came to lay the foundation stone for the police outpost at D. Karol, the people, especially the women, protested firmly. Just after a week, on 1 December 2004, the collector along with the SP again planned to the lay the foundation stone. In protest, the PSSP called a meeting on the same spot on the same day. The collector arrived with eight platoons of police armed with lathis and guns. The people protested with slogans that they needed schools and hospitals, not police outposts. The magistrate present warned the tribals to disperse. As the people did not move, the OIC of Tikiri PS shouted, ‘You nonsense adivasis, go away, otherwise you will face the consequence’. He abused and threatened the women with rape, if they did not move. ‘When you are in the habit of sleeping with your father and brother, what is wrong if you are raped by us’, he further stressed (PUCL 2005a: 4). Apprehending some danger, the older womenfolk came to the front pushing the young ladies back. The tribals of Kashipur had knowledge, mostly through word of mouth, about the naked protest of women in Manipur against

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the alleged rape, torture and murder of women (particularly against the murder of Thangjam Manorama) by paramilitary forces (for details see Hussain 2004). Once stripped, the tribal women thought that the police would go back, and hence, they would be safe from violence and importantly they would succeed in their protest against the building of the police outpost at D. Karol. Thus, some of the old women stripped naked challenging the OIC and the police force to commit rape. To their surprise and embarrassment, the police force started pelting stones at them quickly followed by gas firing and lathicharge. About 35 people were severely injured. Eight of them including two women were arrested by the police. In opposition, the PSSP held another meeting on 7 December 2004, in spite of serious threats from the police. After this incident, the police and paramilitary forces carried out regular raids and flag marches in different villages to terrorize people to surrender to the company. Sankar Prasad Muduli describes how police intimidated and repressed people in a series of village raids in 2004 and 2005 (all the following six quotes are cited from IPT 2006: 57–58). On 5 December 2004, at 3 o’clock some 100 CID personnel under the leadership of Tikiri Police Station Officer-in-Charge Kishore Chandra Munda, entered Bagrijhola village with guns and threatened the villagers. They told the villagers ‘if you oppose the company, you will be shot dead. Those who had died in police firing had at least got compensation, you will die for nothing, even if 100 of you are killed you won’t get anything’, villagers were told before being driven out of the village. The villagers were so terrified that they fled and did not return for 3 to 4 days.

Police returned five days later: The second time on 10 December 2004, at 2 o’clock 85 policemen and a CRPF battalion came to Bagrijhola again and told the villagers: ‘Why are you tribals opposing the project, you sale how dare you oppose the project.’ They even threatened the women saying that they would be arrested if they continue to oppose the project.

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Again three days later: For the third time on 13 December 2004, at 3 o’clock they came to the village and warned everybody against celebrating Shahid Diwas (Martyrs’ Day) in memory of those tribals who had died in the earlier police shootout. ‘You will be shot dead or sent to jail if you do so’, the villagers were told.

The police revisited to the villages five months later: On 10 May 2005, Tuesday night at 1 o’clock 100 policemen under the leadership of Tikiri Thana OIC Kishore Chandra Munda entered the village and in trying to arrest Shankar Prasad Muduli broke open the door of his house and stood on his knees. His mother was also given two beatings with a lathi and driven out of the house. After that they went to the house of Natha Jani and tried to take his goats away. The family members woke up when they heard their goats bleating. The police then asked them about the whereabouts of Natha Jani and told them: You guys have been opposing the project. Come out or we will break open the doors of your house.

Police raided the same village three days later: On 13 May 2005, policemen under the leadership of Tikiri Thana OIC Kishore Chandra Munda came back to the village under the pretext of buying chicken and threatened the villagers, ‘If you oppose the company, you will be thrown into jails.’

And 12 days later again: On 25 May 2005, they came back under Munda’s leadership during a yatra (traditional procession) being held in Bagrijhola village and threatened the villagers.

Similar relentless police raids and flag marches were held in village after village. Many people spent days together in forests and hills to avoid police harassment and arrest. The leaders of the movement

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as well as the common public were arrested from the roads, bathing ghats, market, working fields, and even while there were asleep. For example, Naveen Nayak of Khurigaon village was arrested from his home while police raided his village on 2 December 2004. Bulka Miniaka, a venerable old man of Barigaon, who was arrested on 2 December 2004, says: ‘The police came to my house and picked me up. They did not tell me why they were doing so. I was taken to Kashipur and then to Rayagada. While I was coming out of jail on bail, Kishore Chandra Munda threatened me saying that if I ever dared to set foot in Kucheipadar, I would be sent to jail again.’ Pradeep Majhi, a 14-year-old boy from Kucheipadar, was arrested on 21 June 2005 and spent 45 days in jail during which he was physically and mentally abused. Some 15 friends of mine and I had gone to nearby Bilamal village for my brother’s wedding. On that day, 21 June 2005, at night around 11 o’clock we were returning from Bilamal. At a camp near Karol, a battalion of police and Tikiri Thana OIC Kishore Chandra Munda, suddenly stopped us. They asked us to step down from the vehicle in which we were traveling. ‘Why did you all go to Guguput meeting? I have seen you there’, we were told. They gave two kicks to Santosh Majhi and took us all to Tikiri thana. In Tikiri thana, the second officer also abused me in filthy language and kicked me. I moved away. After that our village’s Jeera Majhi was also beaten up. After that, 10 of us were sent to Kashipur and then Rayagada. Because I was too young, I was taken to Berhampur. After staying in Berhampur for one month, I got bail and came back. However, nine of my friends are still stuck in jail. Many charges have been slapped against them. Jeera Majhi has some seven cases against him (IPT 2006: 61).

The police also never spared the sympathizers of the movement. Agragamee, a local NGO, known for its support to the anti-mining movement in Kashipur, bore the brunt when police raided its campuses in Mallijharan and Kashipur and arrested its workers booking them under fabricated cases on 16 June 1998. As a sympathizer of the Kashipur Movement, Bhagabat Prasad Rath, a

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retired professor from Rayagada College, was apprehensive that the company goons might beat him up anytime. Prafulla Samantara, the editor of Swaviman (a magazine published from Berhampur) and an intellectual leader of people’s struggle against corporate industrialization of Odisha, is an activist and a supporter of Kashipur Movement. He describes his ordeal: On 29 March 1998, I was also a victim of company raj in Rayagada District. On that day, in the presence of the police, the goons of the company attacked tribal people who were coming to a rally at Kashipur. Two activists namely Sanatan Pradhan and Rabi Mishra were kidnapped and beaten up by the goons of the company in the office of Utkal Alumina at Tikiri. I and Lingaraj, a prominent activist, were physically attacked by the goons when we were in search of the said two kidnapped friends. It was reported to the police station, but no action was taken because of the company’s influence over the administration [...] After the police firing at Maikanch on 16 December 2000, the police framed false charges of attempt to murder case against me and many others, which the judicial commission described was manipulated to discredit me because I am a supporter of the tribal movement. Now I am facing trial without any crime. From 16 December 2000, it has become a daily affair of Tikiri police station to book any person belonging to people’s struggle on false charges to suppress the movement (IPT 2006: 59, 60–61).

Bhagaban said, ‘Nobody came to their rescue, though they gave petitions and memorandums to the judiciary and other higher authorities’. The PSSP claims that as many as 48 activists were arrested from Kucheipadar between December 2004 and June 2005. Within a year, while 52 tribal activists had been arrested, there were arrest warrants pending against another 250 activists in Kashipur (PSSP 2005). The police thrived by creating fear and psychosis in the minds of the people. While conducting flag marches and village raids, police and paramilitary forces declared that whosoever stood against the company would be severely punished. The tribals were forced to accept payment for land and

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R&R package. The police told the tribals that they would spare those who surrender to them with a promise that they would not take part in protest movement. Some of the villagers including a few active leaders surrendered to the police. For example, Dudheswar Jhodia, the sarpanch of Maikanch and an active leader of the movement, surrendered to the police after his village was inundated by a troop of CRPF for over a month. Unable to withstand stress, he signed a statement promising not to oppose the company (see PUDR 2005). While asked, Dudheswar narrated about how he fought against exploitation of the tribals and what made him surrender to the police. I was born as the first child to Chandrasa and Danei of Maikanch village in 1975. After completing eighth class education from Gorakhpur High School, I worked in Agragamee for six to seven years. In 1992, encouraged by the director of Agragamee, Mr Achyut Das, I contested and won the panchayat election by defeating three other candidates. Influenced by the works of Agragamee, my first attempt was to make the tribals (of my GP particularly) free from the clutches of the sahukars. Somanath Sahoo, a Sundhi caste man from Patiakhila village of Dangasil GP, had come to our village while I was a small child. One of our Jhodia people gave him a piece of land to settle. Sundhis are famous for their liquor business. Here, Somanath also started his traditional occupation of brewing liquor and selling to the local tribals. As he earned a little money, he started giving liquor on credit basis to the local tribals, especially the villagers of Maikanch. When the debt exceeded a certain amount, he took the land of the defaulter on mortgage first, and purchased later. He even encroached about 25 acre of land from Kumar gauntia, our village gauntia (landlord). Using all illegal means, he became the owner of about 200 acre of land. So, many of the families of Maikanch village, then, had nothing to live on. They worked for him as gotis/ halias [bonded labours]. Somanath sahukar always had more than 25 halias, seven herdsmen and about four to five Harijan goons. If he was lending 10 manas (a measuring unit) of paddy, he was collecting 15 manas just after four to five months. For a debt of Rs 200, one had to pay a full bag of alsi opening & closing brackets in ROMs

182  Negotiating Marginality (niger, a variety of oil seed), that would fetch him about Rs 500–700 in the local market at the time. If somebody was unable to pay the debt by February, he looted their paddy, cattle, ornaments or land with the help of his goons. When I was the sarpanch, one day we called a village meeting and discussed the exploitation by Somanath. We decided not to work for him. As his gotis and halias denied working for him, he resorted to beating some of us. No policeman was ready to listen to our complaints as he had bribed them already. Lodging false cases, he put many tribals behind bars. With the help of Agragamee and government’s Bonded Labour Rehabilitation Scheme, we released all the gotis and halias from his house. The villagers, with the support of Agragamee, were able to release the tribals from jail. However, we also lodged a counter case against him for employing bonded labours. As villagers denied working for him, he gave the land to the villagers in sharecropping. Finally, we succeeded not only in securing the release of all gotis and halias from his house, but also retrieved 20–25 acre of land, which we gave back to the original owners or the landless families. Somanath passed away in 1990 and his two sons, Yudhisthir and Hari, succeeded him. Though the Utkal Alumina came to the area during my tenure, as a sarpanch, I was never asked for my opinion regarding the establishment of the company. On my visits to many villages, I tried to make the people understand the kind of problems we would face once the company was established here. As people realized the gravity of the situation, there started a big movement under the banner of the PSSP against mining of Baphlimali Hills and establishment of the plant. As the head of the Baphlimali Suraksha Samiti (Baphlimali Protection Committee), I worked with active leaders of the PSSP like Krushna Saunta, Laxman Majhi, Maharaja Majhi, Kartika Jhodia and Prabhudan Naik. I became a full-time activist of the movement after I completed my tenure of sarpanch in 1997. The more we worked for the movement, the more we were slapped with a number of police cases. The sahukar family and some of the Harijan families continued their support to the company, and hence the villagers were angry with them. When some of the top political leaders and elite of Kashipur like Bhaskar Rao and Krushna Mohapatra were

Politics of Violence & Poetics of Resistance  183 beaten up by the PSSP at Maikanch on 15 December 2000, the families of our village, those who supported the company, became frightened. Fearing retaliation from the PSSP including the villagers of Maikanch, two sahukar families (Yudhisthir and Hari) and some 20 Harijan families fled the village that night and later settled8 in Kashipur town. In 2002, I was again elected as the sarpanch of Maikanch GP. By then, many police cases were pending against me and there was an arrest warrant for me too. Though an elected sarpanch, I could not move out of my home in the day time. In fact, I hid myself in nearby jungle during the day and took rest at home at night. Even at night, if there was the sound of any vehicle, people would inform me and ask me to leave the village. I played hide and seek for about two years. I was unable to even to attend the panchayat samiti meetings. When required, block authorities and others met me in my house for my signature and other things. I was afraid that at any moment I might get arrested. I was scared to even step out of my hiding. Secondly, the villagers requested me not to get arrested as I had to keep the movement going and to secure the release of those people from jail who had already arrested. During the winter of 2003, a group of CRPF police gheraoed my village for a month to arrest me. When things became unbearable, I thought of surrendering to the administration. On one wintry dark night, I slipped out of my village and by walking and traveling by a hired car, I reached Rayagada district collector’s residence. Before I could narrate my story to the collector, the SP reached there to arrest me. However, on the request of the collector, I was spared. That day, I surrendered to them, giving them in writing that I will not work for the movement anymore. Moreover, I agreed that thereafter, my village would not participate in the movement. In return, they assured me that they would not arrest anybody from my village against pending cases. Since then, I have been able to move freely. 8 With protection from the PSSP, the Harijan families were initially sheltered in the block premises. Later, these families illegally occupied some of the residential quarters meant for the block authorities and they are still continuing living there.

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When asked what made people surrender to the police and administration, Bhagaban Majhi explained, ‘There was fear of punishment and arrest on one end, and the greed for money on the other. If one supported the company, then there was no fear of the police and jail, moreover one got money. The sangathan or the andolan had only words. They spoke about how to make a society free and lead a dignified life. They did not give money to anybody. Moreover, one who worked for the sangathan got lathis, bullets and imprisonment. Therefore, those who aspired for benefits, changed over time and compromised with the company and government.’ Creating a fear psychosis and, of course, attracting people with money, the government forced the people to accept the compensation. The company took possession of the land. The police outpost at D. Karol was established. The construction work of the company resumed. Nonetheless, the people of Bagrijhola and Kucheipadar have neither accepted compensation nor given their land to the company. The movement, however, took a different turn from 2007. It was clear from the PSSP’s core committee meeting held on the evening of 22 August 2007 in Kucheipadar that the movement has become weak for multiple reasons (for details see next chapter). The activists of the movement, however, decided to keep the movement going by addressing and drawing people’s attention to social issues like diarrhoea, food security, health, education, irrigation, forest and land rights of the tribals. Unlike the government and the companyled development endeavours, they started planning to give life to their own vision of development. In 2009, for example, they planned to establish a residential school in Siriguda to propagate proper education and a nursery at Bagrijhola for plantation and horticulture to revive forests and ensure food security. The movement, however, failed to realize its vision of development. After 2009, the movement was unable to paralyze the company system except laying it off for a day or two. The movement, however, came to a negotiation mode with the company. In an interview as to whether they are ready for negotiation with the company, Bhagaban Majhi said: Well, it’s there as a strategy of the movement. We neither wish to leave our land for any price nor demand this or that for negotiation.

Politics of Violence & Poetics of Resistance  185 All our democratic rights – rights to freedom, rights to voice and rights to speak for ourselves – have been suppressed. They impose their views on us and force us to accept them. If we disagree, force, violence, imprisonment and even guns have been used to make us accept their views. As we do not have any option, we have started demanding something or the other for negotiation. Even then, they are not ready to pay us whatever we value as basic to survival. They want us to be satisfied with whatever little they offer.

In April 2009, the RDC invited PSSP for a meeting to discuss the negotiation. The content of the discussion of the RDC was to pursuade people to give their land to the company. Bhagaban responded to the RDC: So far the company has disclosed nothing to the people – how much land they wish to take, how many people will be employed in the company, how much profit the government will get and how much the company will earn. It’s not wrong to ask about these. But if they ask, you beat them with lathi, send them to prison or kill them with bullets. What kind of law is this? What kind of development is this? Well, if you want to establish company here, go and talk to the people as friends, not as foes. You know, out of total 2,868 acre of land that the company wishes to take, 713 acre belongs to the government and we do not have patta for that. Thus, company does not pay anything as replacement. Company has so far paid only Rs 5 crore (Rs 50 million) towards compensation for 2,155 acre of our patta land and has promised to provide wage earning opportunity to 3,000 people for four years, employ 400 people as clerks, peons and drivers. What else do you pay? You neither pay for health and education of the poor, nor give land to the landless people. Instead, 50,000 people, either displaced or affected, of 108 villages might as well be fed on dross. And, with an investment of Rs 4,005 crore (Rs 40.05 billion), the company will earn a net profit of Rs 9 lakh crore (Rs 9 trillion) within 30 years. After that what will be left in Kashipur? Nothing! And you (government and company) wish tribals to come to the mainstream of society. If you really wish so, ensure that each tribal family gets

186  Negotiating Marginality a monthly income of Rs 10,000, so that they can feed themselves well, take care of their health and send their children to school. For all that, we demand 50 per cent share in the net profit of the company. With that, each family of Kashipur would get a monthly share of Rs 10,000 for next 700–800 years. If you ensure that, we are ready for negotiation.

Neither the government nor the company had any answers to Bhagaban’s questions. They are not ready to provide what Bhagaban demands. Rather all efforts have been taken to prove that Bhagaban is wrong in his calculation and unjustified in his demands. The movement in Kashipur has nearly come to a halt, though there are occasional sparks of strike, resistance, dharna and bandh. Bhagaban says further, ‘We will keep on fighting. Whether the company exists or not, there will always be a lot of problems. If the company comes, there will be problem of displacement, unemployment, food security, housing, health, education and others. If we do not keep fighting, we won’t get anything.’ In the meanwhile, in 2011, the UAIL has funded (indirectly) a private limited company to carry out livelihood building programmes in the displaced colony and a few neighbouring villages of the company. Though PSSP appreciates the endeavour of the company, Bhagaban says, ‘It’s like more water and less salt.’ He explains that company is ‘half-supporting’ the livelihood programmes. For example, the company wishes to provide plantation to tribal beneficiaries, but they do not have funds to provide full wage for digging holes or making fence. When they ask for full support, the company authorities say that they did not have sufficient funds. The construction of the UAIL, however, has been in rapid progress.

In Kalinganagar Since the police firing in January 2006, Kalinganagar has been relatively free from the state and company atrocities, though there were some attacks on activists of BBJM by the company’s hired assassins and gunmen. On 1 May 2008, for instance, Amin Banara was shot dead by Aurobind Singh, a Tata contractor, and his associates while they were, in fact, targeting Dabar Kalundia, an

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active leader of the BBJM. Aurobind Singh was arrested on the same day but released after three months. On another occasion, Jogendra Jamuda, another leader of the BBJM, was targeted while he was driving on his motorbike. While nobody had been arrested in this case of ‘attempt to murder’, Jogendra Jamuda himself was arrested. Besides this, there were also frequent reports of mysterious deaths of tribals in Kalinganagar (Nachiketa 2010). In spite of implicating the tribals in false cases and arresting them, midnight attacks on the activists and using hired goons and assassins to threaten the common public, the combined force of the state and company did not succeed in repressing the movement in Kalinganagar In early 2010, they had a new plan. The IDCO and the Jajpur district administration returned to the area with a proposal to construct a four-lane common corridor road connecting the tribal villages of Kalinganagar with Jakhapura Chowk. While the villages of Kalinganagar are well connected to Jakhapura and the local bazaar of Duburi by the Daitari-Paradeep state highway, the common corridor, in fact, connects the heart of industrial complex of Kalinganagar (providing easy access to all industries) with the nearest railway station, Jakhapura. ‘This is purely a strategy to bring in military forces into the area and a farce by the State government to facilitate the establishment of Tata in Kalinganagar,’ Amar Banara, a leader of the BBJM, told me over phone. He further explained that the common corridor, which they call daman (repression) corridor, running through the tribal villages connecting the industrial complex of Kalinganagar at one end and the Duburi Chowk at the other, would provide easy access to the police and other military forces to the tribal villages. On 30 March 2010, the day of the inauguration of the common corridor, the tribals’ protest was dealt with severe police atrocities. On the day, the area was guarded with some 29 platoons of armed security forces and two platoons of Operation Green Hunt forces along with the presence of 70 police officers, seven magistrates and a gang of 100-odd Tata goons. The military forces and goons did not abide by the law and order and fired rubber and plastic bullets on tribals who had gathered there to protest (The Hindu 2010a). Besides that, they also entered the Baligoth village, set foodstock

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and houses on fire, killed cattle, robbed livestock and valuables, destroyed household gadgets like TV, DVD player, sewing machine, motorcycles and cycles and vandalized the memorials of the martyrs. About 40 people sustained bullet injuries. Surprisingly, this planned attack happened just two days after the district collector had met 300 activists of BBJM and assured them that their grievances would be taken care of and there would be no construction activity of the common corridor till the issue was resolved through mutual talks. After the attack, the district collector was quoted as saying, ‘The construction of the road will happen at any cost,’ while the SP added, ‘The protestors will not be spared.’ Since that day, all the tribal villages were cordoned off from the rest of the world by the police, military forces, Tata goons and cadres of the BJD, the present ruling political party. The tribals were so afraid that they could not go out even to avail medical care for the injured and the diseased. As a result, three tribals died due to lack of medical care within a week of the police attack on 30 March. The police force also denied entry of high profile politician like Jual Oram of BJP and some other Congress politicians into the villages of Kalinganagar (The Hindu 2010b). Three journalists were also thrashed by the police and their cameras snatched away. All this happened even while the prohibitory order of 144 Cr.P.C. was imposed in the area. In fear, people very often took refuge in the nearby forests (Das 2010). Exactly after a month of the savage attack, on 30 March, the police and military forces accompanied by Tata goons along with some bulldozers and tractors returned to Baligoth village. This is one part of the demolition drive that the administration started around the 18th of that month after pro-Tata groups staged protests (during 3–4 April 2010) in front of Jajpur ADM’s office demanding that the belongings of the displaced people be brought from their villages. The district magistrate (DM) had then ordered a large police deployment for protection of the displaced people to get back to their villages, collect their belongings and demolish their houses. In a newspaper notice, the DM warned that protestors would not be spared. This was used as a tool to demolish houses of the tribals of different villages refusing displacement.

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On 6 May, the police force entered Chandia with the same pretext to give protection to the DPs for dismantling houses and collecting their belongings. As tribals protested, only the DPs and a few others were allowed inside the village to dismantle their houses. Though on that day no untoward incident happened, four days later, a large contingent of armed security force entered Chandia village to dismantle more houses violating the deal they had made with the villagers on 6 May that the demolition work would be finished by the end of the day. As people protested, the police force resorted to lathi-charge injuring many tribals including women and children. After two days, on 12 May, the armed police force again returned to Chandia village with a target of dismantling the houses of the people protesting against Tata. Strategically, they finally declared that the houses without patta, which most of the tribals do not own, would be dismantled. The tribals, mostly women, opposed the move. The police lathicharged. As people did not disperse, police started firing rubber and plastic bullets on the crowd. Laxman Jamuda, a 50–55year-old man of Chandia village, died and two women were severely injured. The police and media tried to manipulate the cause of death of Laxman. The administration cremated the body, which the police had taken on the pretext of postmortem, at Puri swargadwar9, without informing the relatives of the deceased. On 18 May 2010, armed police again attacked Gobarghati village to demolish more houses. On 4 June 2010, when the tribals protested the ground levelling work carried out by Tata contractors, Swarnalata Banara, a strong woman leader and the sarpanch of Gobarghati GP, was beaten by the pro-Tata people and later she was arrested by the police as planned. Police arrested at least another 30 people booked for many false cases since the police firing in January 2006. Similar police and military atrocities continued in Kalinganagar forcing the non-displaced tribals to surrender to the company, though they had been fighting against the violent atrocities wrought by the statecompany combined force. Since the end of 2010, the movement 9 Swarga means ‘heaven’ and dwar means ‘gateway’, so literary Swargadwar is consider as the ‘Gateway to Heaven’. It is the name of a holy place in Puri, Odisha. Usually, the Hindus believe that those who end their lives here get salvation. 

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in Kalinganagar has been controlled to a large extent though there are occasional outbreaks of resistance here and there. The company has completed the construction of its boundary wall and the ground levelling work is in progress, of course, amidst tight security. Now, there is hardly any resistance from the BBJM. All the 1,234 families of Kalinganagar have been forced to accept compensation and move out of their villages. The construction of TATA steel project is progressing fast. However, the movement in Kalinganagar continues with different sets of demands like good compensation, jobs for all, etc.

II. POETICS OF RESISTANCE ‘And how can we Adivasis dance and be happy? Unless we are given back our homes and land, we will not sing and dance. We Adivasis will not dance. The Adivasi will not.’ - Hansda Sowvendra Sekhar, The Adivasi will not Dance.

The resistance of the tribals is neither to save their land and livelihood, nor only to challenge the hegemony and domination of the state, MNCs, elite and other authoritative forces. Rather, it is multidimensional in meaning and more than opposition, in fact, it is creative, in practice. By poetics of resistance, I refer to not only the ‘poetic’ expression of the resistance in the form of songs, slogans and proverbs but also the spirit and rhythms that persist and keep life moving on despite critical events and inhuman conditions. Furthermore, I take note of the destructive realm of resistance in taxing, sometimes even annoying, the powerful authorities and paralyzing the potent state and MNCS, as well as the creative realm of resistance, in supporting the victims, mobilizing the people for resistance, generating power, bringing development through resistance and, above all, celebrating existence.

Living in Pain The government’s stand on industrializing the countryside has been totally legal from a colonial point of view. The land has been

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acquired according to the archaic law taking no note of the changes above and the reality below. Those who had land titles were eligible for compensation. They could be considered for rehabilitation as a grace and not as their right. Those who have no titles have to make way. They could at best expect some token doles. The resistance was dealt with, without concern for the questions raised. Rather the state administration stood by the company to suppress people by force. Taking a lesson from their own early experiences and other displaced people’s in Rourkela Steel Plant, NALCO, and Indravati cases, the people, however, have realized that if displaced, they would have no future. The people who are firm on claiming their natural right to life and livelihood are not prepared to leave their land. Therefore, they resist the progress of company work time and again, but very often they have been suppressed by brutal lathi-charge, imprisonment and firing. The police firing and killing of tribal people in Kalinganagar and Kashipur is the result of the state’s apathy towards people’s plight, and their fears and aspirations. What is worse is that the state has refused to learn from the past incidents in Rourkela, Kashipur and even in Kalinganagar itself. Most of the deceased in the police firings were heads and/or caretakers of their families. As tribal families are nuclear in type, most of them are now leading desperate lives without the breadwinner. It is now the wife or a minor male child who shoulders the responsibility of the family. In Kalinganagar, Rama Gagarai, for example, is survived by his young wife, Sukumari, in her mid 30s with five children – the eldest being 12 and the youngest just one. Without any land or property, it is quite difficult for her, as she said, while lying on bed (she had fever when I visited her the first time in March 2006), to feed six bellies daily with Rs 25 that she earns as a day-wage labourer in the village. ‘It is really difficult,’ she sighs, ‘to get work daily in the village and manage such a big family without any assistance from outside.’ Sukumari narrated the situation that forced her to be a DP and accept the compensation provided by the state and company, Of the nine children, I was born as the third child to Narayan and Jemamani Munda in Mirigichara village. My father was a poor man with a few acres of land. We had a big family. Thus, when I grew up

192  Negotiating Marginality into an adult, I started working as a day wage labour in my village and later, I worked in Chadheidhara [stone] crusher. After four to five years, I fell in love with Rama Gagarai of Gadhapur village. One day, his father’s younger brother came to take me and that day I left my home for Rama. Rama’s father had immigrated to this place from Mayurbhanj long back. Rama, including his three other brothers and two sisters, was born here in Gadhapur village. They were very poor, sukhbasi [landless]. They did not have patta for their land. After our marriage, we built a small thatched house and stayed separate from his brothers and mother. In those days, the day used to begin with a search for day employment. Rama was earning bread for us working as a casual labourer in Jindal company. I joined hands with him. Though we had no land, we cultivated a few acres of land on sharecropping and earned some bags of paddy every year. Our family expanded slowly. In course of time, there came a number of companies to Kalinganagar and in opposition to that BBJM came up with some of the landlords holding key positions. There were regular meetings and chanda [contribution] collection in the villages. We are poor people. We cannot light our hearth unless we work for the day. The leaders were not ready to understand this. The absentees from the meetings and work of the sangathan were very often charged with fine and sometimes they were ostracized too. Taking part in andolan, my husband died in police firing in January 2006. No sooner had my husband died that our struggle for food started. Without him, I was feeling desperate. The villagers of Gadhapur and the sangathan provided us food for two weeks. Just after three days of my husband’s death, I got fever from which I did not recover for a long time. Nobody came to help me, not even the BBJM. I thought that I was going to die without food and medicine. I was then thinking of my children that they would be orphaned without me. How will they survive? My eldest son, Narayan, was going regularly to Rabi Jarika and Chakradhar Hibru [the secretary and the President of the BBJM respectively] to ask for rice. Once Chakradhar told my son, ‘You are consuming rice too fast and we cannot provide you so much.’ I felt ashamed of begging for food. In the meantime, the company people approached me and gave medicine free of cost. Gradually they tried

Politics of Violence & Poetics of Resistance  193 to convince me to accept the compensation. They assured me that I would also get a job. Though initially I was hesitant to leave my village, but I had no other option. In the meantime, many of our village people also left. I decided to accept the money sanctioned for the death of my husband. The BBJM warned and even threatened me not to accept the compensation. But ultimately, the severity of the situation dragged me to the company’s transit camp. Company provided me everything at the earliest. Accompanied by TATA officials, I met the collector and then everything became easy. I was paid the compensation and a job in Danagadi PHC. As I was unable to build my house, they built a house for me. I was also provided with security personnel, as I feared retaliation from BBJM. I am fine now and living happily.

Sukumari had a hard time but then she could lead a better life. I met Sumi Badara, the widow of Bana Badara, who struggled to feed a five-member family by selling rice-beer. Of the 13 deceased, the families of Landu Jarika, Rama Jamuda, Janga Jarika, Bana Badara, Rama Gagarai, Rangalal Mundeiya, Ati Jamuda and Mukuta Bangira were in desperate conditions10. Many of the children of the deceased family were forced to discontinue their studies. More tragic was the life of those victims who survived with disabilities. Chema Hembram (50) of village Gadhapur had sustained two bullets wounds – one on his knee and the other on his hand. He survived after three months of treatment, yet the limbs are dysfunctional now. He can hardly do any work. He told me that Gurubari, his wife, was managing the house by working as a daily wage labourer in Jindal company and Madhusudan, his 13-year-old son, was toiling in the field and his studies was disturbed. With tears in eyes, he said, ‘It is not worth living now. Along with domestic chores, Gurubari is working hard to earn bread to feed five mouths. Madhusudan is striving hard to plough the field, disrupting his studies. I am a burden on them now. I do not even get handicap pension.’ 10

In 2009, all the injured and the immediate relatives of the persons who died in police firing (some of them who are still living in the villages) accepted compensation and jobs provided by the government and the company, which they had been rejecting for long.

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Life is miserable for Birsingh Gope – the first victim of the police firing at Kalinganagar. One afternoon in late July 2007, reaching village Chandia I located the dilapidated hut of Gope where I met his wife, Lalita, and mother-in-law, Bela Gope (who belongs to Bengapatia, a neighbouring village of Kalinganagar). In advanced pregnancy, Lalita pathetically stated, ‘It is really unbearable to manage a four-five-member family by selling rice-beer in the weekly market and earning just Rs 100–150 a week.’ In the meantime, Gope came hopping with the help of aluminium crutches. He narrated their story: As a migrant labourer from Singhbhum area of the present Jharkhand state, I came to village Chandia in 1998 and stayed in one of my relative’s house. I earned my livelihood working in NINL as a daily wage labourer. Staying for a long time in Chandia, I got closely connected with the movement. In the police firing, I lost the only means of livelihood I had, my body and labour. You see, I became totally handicapped. Now, I am not even able to walk on my own. By selling handia (rice-beer), my wife, Lalita, earns Rs 100 per week and that is how we survive. Even then, sometimes we have to starve. We do not have a house of our own, though the leaders of the BBJM have promised to build one for us. We live in this wretched house – one room, broken walls, leaking roof – and half of it is shared by cattle of the house-owner. The owner has also warned us to vacate the house soon. Within next two weeks, Lalita is going to deliver a baby. I am worried where we will live and where she will deliver the baby. I think that I have to drop Lalita and my two children in Jharkhand. I am handicapped and not worth a paisa now. I am a burden on my wife and mother-in-law and I have to depend on their earnings. I cannot provide them anything, even physical protection as a husband. I have to beg others for food and many other things I need. What dignity do I have? You cannot regain dignity once you have lost it. You can earn money once again, but not prestige and dignity11. 11 Birsing Gope was still living in Chandia village. In 2009, he accepted the compensation. During my recent visit to Kalinganagar, I was told that Birsing died in 2011 in Jharkhand. He is survived by his wife and three children.

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Similarly, Subarna Jhodia of Kashipur who lost her husband Abhilas Jhodia in December 2000 police firing, has this to narrate. She, then in her early 20s, was left in dire straits in advanced stages of pregnancy along with two very small children. She toiled hard in the field and forest to feed three mouths. Ananta Kumar Giri observes: The experience of Subarna, Abhilash’s wife, and his children is different. When I went to Abhilash’s house along with some young people of the village, Subarna was not at home. She had gone to a distant forest, even in this advanced stage of pregnancy, to collect firewood which she would sell for livelihood. Abhilash’s father who was holding his young grandson told us: ‘In the night it is difficult. The young boy asks when would his father come home?’ When I met Subarna, she was silent as a statue. Words and tears have run their course in her life and her vacant eyes embody a different experience of struggle compared to the leaders in the village for whom Abhilash has quickly become somebody whose martyrdom has given new energy to the movement (2005: 357).

Subarna collected wood from the forest and sold it and that is how she could manage to survive till today. During my stay in her village, Maikanch, she became a close friend of mine. The more I asked about her life, the more abstract she became. ‘What can I tell you? What do I have now? I lost the only possession I had, my husband. There is nobody now who cares about me or on whose shoulder I can rest my head to cry. Sometimes I cry a lot and console myself. You know, now-a-days I don’t feel hungry at night. So, I don’t eat dinner sometimes,’ she said one evening in course of our conversation. The most disheartening feature of the Kalinganagar episode was the state politics over the dead bodies. As noted earlier, the hands and private parts of the deceased had been chopped off! None of the demands of the people were taken into consideration. The state government has been extremely cautious in dealing with the situation. It is needless to mention that cash compensation has been the easiest gesture of the rulers. It started with Rs 1 lakh (Rs 0.1 million), raised to Rs 5 lakh (Rs 0.5 million) for the dead and Rs 50,000 for injured by the state government with an additional same

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amount provided by the Government of India. The relief offers of the state government were turned down by BBJM. The relief given by the Congress Party (Rs 1 lakh [Rs 0.1 million] for the dead and Rs 25,000 for the injured) and Lok Sewak Mandal, (Rs 25,000 for each dead), however, was accepted. The collector and the SP of Jajpur who were present during the massacre were transferred. A judiciary investigation has been ordered. A ministerial committee was formed headed by Bishwabhusan Harichandan, then industry and revenue minister, to study resettlement and rehabilitation and to submit the report within a month. ‘We will adopt a comprehensive policy for resettlement and rehabilitation of the project affected people and it will be a progressive one,’ said Mr Harichandan (Das 2006d: 13). The force of the movement was so strong that within a couple of months, the R&R Policy, 2006 (GoO 2006, 2007)12 was tabled in the state Assembly of Odisha and declared in absolute hope that it would silence the protestors (Das 2006f). Generally, it is said that the declared R&R policy is the best and unique in nature, not only in Odisha, but also across Indian states! A special R&R Policy has been declared for Kalinganagar that one can find on the Government of Odisha website (GoO 2005a). The promise it makes is alluring. What about the ground reality, especially of its implementation? In the meanwhile, the TATA project was halted for a while, but the company continued convincing the people to accept the compensation and R&R package. Thus, a year after the police firing, the tribal people, mainly the company supporters, agreed to accept the compensation and the R&R package. According to TATA Steel official sources, of the total 1,195 enumerated families to be displaced, 912 families had already accepted the R&R package till May 201113. With an appointment I met Rajesh Chintak, Assistant General Manager of TATA Steel Project in Kalinganagar. ‘We are implementing the best ever R&R policy here. We want to make Kalinganagar the model of R&R policy. All the DPs are part of Tata 12

For details see http://www.dowrorissa.gov.in/ActsnPolicies/RnR/R&R/ RnRPolicy2006.pdf. Retrieved on 9 October 2018. 13 Of the total displaced families, 38 had returned to their villages by mid November 2009. By May 2011, all of them come back again to the R&R colonies by accepting the compensation packages.

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Steel parivar [family]’, he proclaimed with pride. Similarly, promising a better future for all TATA Steel Parivar members, the managing director (MD) of the company said, ‘The history of rehabilitation programme in our country has not been very satisfactory. But we will see to it that people affected by our Greenfield plants get the best compensation in terms of job opportunities and standard of living.’ (Pragati 2006: 1)14. In fact I found everywhere – from Jajpur Road to Kalinganagar – Tata Steel signboards reading Ama TATA Steel Parivar, Sukhi Parivar – Our TATA Steel Family, Happy Family and TATA Steel Parivar, Nua Jeeban, Nua Asha – TATA Steel Family, Rebuilding Lives, Rekindling Hopes. I felt curious about these slogans. With all my enthusiasm, then, I visited all the TATA camps – Danagadi I & II, Gobaraghati (all transit camps), Trijanga and Sansailo (both rehabilitation colonies). In all camps, the big entrance gate bearing the name of the camp, and of course the TATA Steel logo and the slogans – Ama TATA Steel Parivar, Sukhi Parivar and TATA Steel Parivar, Nua Jeeban, Nua Asha gave me an impression of happy lives inside. One day, I was just walking through the entrance gate of Danagadi-I transit camp bypassing two security men standing at the two poles. ‘Hello, hello…,’ I saw one of the security men calling me back. ‘Yes, please tell me,’ I replied. ‘We do not know you. Why are you going inside? Whom do you want to meet?’ the other security man asked me directly. I gave my identity as a student and explained them about my research. Though they realized that I had to talk to some of the DPs, they replied, ‘Sir, we do not have the permission to allow anybody inside other than the DPs of this camp. Many people are coming and writing many different stories.’ I was struck as to how anybody could write something negative about the ‘happy families’. They allowed me, however, inside the camp only when I uttered the name of my friend whom they know as a ‘senior officer” of TATA Steel Project in Kalinganagar. I saw the whole camp surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Very close to the entrance gate, there stood a small plastic-net-fenced children’s park (approximately by 15´×10´) with some swings and 14

Pragati is an in-house journal of TATA Steel.

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other play equipment. ‘Ama TATA Steel Parivar, Sukhi Parivar’ had been written as a brand name here and there – on the walls of the houses, water tanks, bathrooms and tin sheets standing as wall of the non-formal school. Finally, I succeeded in talking to a DP, Paragana Hembram, with his two wives and a small child. Paragana was unhappy to tell me, ‘How can we live in a 10´×10´ room. I am not telling my problem only. Where will the parents sleep those who have many small children? How can I accommodate my guest? From this transit camp Biren and Lalsing Sundhi returned to their village, Baligotha, when they faced a lot of problems here – food shortage, no extra ration for the guests and no shed for their cattle. We have to always inform the security men about where we are going and for what. All our guests will be checked and asked many things which they do not like. The company hardly provides extra ration for the guests.’ But the people like Fakir Champia, a DP in Trijanga Rehab Colony (originally from Champakoila village), seemed to be contemplative on many serious issues. He was much worried about the future of his four sons who were minors and were not eligible to be DPs, and hence no homestead plot, house or job for them. He said, ‘Anyhow they will work somewhere and earn their livelihood. But where will they live? Where will they build their houses? I am worried that some of my sons may have to migrate somewhere else. Then, my family will disintegrate. I do not know what I will do.’ Despite his praises for TATA company, he said: We were living in thatched houses in the village and managing with kerosene lamps at night. They promised to give us concrete house, pucca road, electrification, tap water, and job. Yes, they have given all that. I do not blame them. But now they are telling us to be the consumers and pay the electricity bill. I told them that we were surviving on the ration provided by them and then how could we manage to pay electricity bill now. I agreed to bear the cost of the electricity once we would get the job. I am also worried that the promised period for providing ration is coming to an end. But company has not come up till now and we are not given jobs.

Politics of Violence & Poetics of Resistance  199 Then, if they stop providing ration15, how will we survive? We have left our farmlands and other means of livelihood available in the village behind and we can hardly do business or other activities available here.

The DPs of Kashipur also have many sad tales to narrate. One afternoon, I visited the Nuapada R&R colony located at the foothills of a mountain giving shelter to 98 DP families from Ramibeda (42 tribal families) and Dimundi (56 families). I was happy to see the so-called ‘poor’ tribals living in a beautiful settlement – picchu roads running in between yellow pucca (concrete) houses standing in line facing each other, separate bathroom for each family at the rear part of the main house, iron gates at the entrance, street light poles with tubelights and overhead water tanks standing at the fag end of the colony to supply water to the whole colony and a school at the entrance of the village. Rama Majhi, who was with me, told me that he had never seen the school functioning. My illusion of a ‘good life’ in colony was disproved when I met Umesh Majhi at the entrance hall of his house. Besides the entrance hall where we were sitting, he showed me his single bed room, a small kitchen and a toilet located very close to the back door of his house. He was complaining about poor construction of the house, cracked roofs and walls, almost broken doors and windows, frequent power cuts and irregular water supply. He feared that anybody could snatch away his house at any time as he was not given patta for his allotted 10 decimal homestead land. He was much worried about his livelihood, as he was not yet given the promised job. He was running a petty shop (a shelf containing biscuits, biri, tobacco and a few grocery items) at the entrance hall of the house. He described the life in colony in one-line saying, ‘kuli gale randha, na hele mulakanda’ (you can) cook if (you) get a wage, otherwise (you have to survive with) sweet potato.16 15 Till today the DP families in transit camps as well as rehab colonies are getting free ration and many DPs have been given various trainings and appointed in different jobs, though temporary. 16 Here sweet potato is a metaphoric reference to ‘nothinglessness’ and starvation.

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After a year, in 2007, I met another DP, Gobara Majhi, of the same colony who said, The company took our land by force and demolished our houses with bulldozers during mid-night. They promised us jobs and all-round prosperity. As we had no other option, we came here. They never gave us jobs. Now we depend mostly on the daily wage labour in the company. If the company stops the work any day, we will starve. We have staged strikes at different times. In August 2007, we sat on dharna for about 10 days demanding permanent jobs in the company. We also threatened the company that if not taken care of, we would be joining the PSSP to fight against the company. Finally, they gave each of us a piece of paper and we do not know what is written on it. But I have a job in Sidhartha Constructions Pvt. Ltd and am earning Rs 2,100 per month.’ Gobara showed me his ‘Appointment Letter’ where it was written, ‘Gobara Majhi …is appointed as a day wage labourer @ Rs 70 per day in Sidharth Constructions Pvt. Ltd.17 from 20 August 2007, provided he satisfies the following conditions…and he can be terminated from job under the following conditions….

The displaced and affected families, however, have formed an organization, Utkal Alumina Dwara Bisthapita, Kshyatigrasta o Prabhabita Committee – Utkal Alumina Displaced and Affected Committee – to get what was promised to them and to demand new packages. When their dues and demands were not fulfilled even after many requests, the committee closed the gates of the company from 16 December 2008 with a demand to increase the price of the land and design a new R&R package. On the promise that the demands of the DPs would be fulfilled at a later meeting, the closed gates of the company were opened on 5 January 2009. As promise made by the authorities did not materialize, the committee again closed the gates of the company from 21 February 2009. The strike was called off with a promise from the district collector and the SP that the demands of the DPs would be fulfilled within the next 15 days. As 17 A private construction company that has taken tender for some construction work for the UAIL.

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usual there was no action. Three months passed. This time, the DP committee sought the help of the PSSP and the All Political Party Committee and organized a meeting at Nuapada R&R Colony on 3 June 2009. With support from both PSSP and All Political Party Committee, the company gates were closed again for an indefinite period. The very next day, the project administrator (PA), DRDA, Rayagada, rushed to the spot to convince people to call off the strike, but the people refused. Though strikes, dharnas and demonstrations like this have been a regular phenomenon, the authorities have hardly paid any attention to the demands and dues of the DPs and affected people. I find, in brief, that ‘all the internationally accepted principles regarding involuntary displacement have been wantonly and openly violated and transgressed by the authorities and the corporate bodies’ (Bandyopadhyay 2004: 411).

Transforming Pain In any case of structural violence, as our foregoing discussion shows, the first thing which is affected is the human physical body. It becomes the contested site of violence. The somatic body of man immediately becomes a semiotic object on which the actions of the violence are to be inscribed (cf. Das 1995). In her work, Veena Das (1995) presents an ethnography of critical events, which is sensitive to both, world historical process as well as the inner life of an individual. Whether it is the violence during partition of India in 1947, Bhopal industrial gas tragedy in 1984 or Sati (Roop Kanwar case) in Rajasthan in 1987, as Veena Das explores, the victim’s body becomes a contested site not only among communities (ch.5), for community and state (ch.3), but also for bureaucracy, judiciary and medical discourses (ch.6). She argues, the victims are not only more likely to suffer, they are also more likely to have their suffering and voice silenced (cf. Farmer 1998: 280). Veena Das writes, ‘The more suffering was talked about, the more it was used to extinguish the sufferer’ (1995: 174). The killings and police repressions in Kalinganagar and Kashipur, no doubt, have produced the experience of social and bodily suffering, suffering not merely of marginalization or corporal pain but also of dismemberment, of displacement and homelessness, of joblessness

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and food shortage, of shortened lives and ‘death without weeping’, to borrow a phrase from Scheper-Hughes (1992). Our earlier discussion shows that social suffering is neither able to silence the voice of the victims nor extinguish them. It gives the victims the space to explore the means and strategies to cope with an inhospitable life-world. Here Kleinman and Kleinman also ask: ‘How political oppression, torture, atrocity and the turmoil of societal breakdown, which have intensified manifestly in our times, are remembered? How do political processes of terror (and resistance) cross over from public space to traumatize (or reanimate) inner space and then cross back as collective experience?’ (1994: 711). While there are no definite answers to these questions, as they acknowledge, they do offer a set of ideas. The first set is subjective suffering and social suffering that occurs in everyday life of social experience. With a critique of dichotomization of social life into individual and collective poles, Kleinman and Kleinman (1994: 712) argue: Bodies and selves are axes in the social flow around which social psychological and sociosomatic process aggregate. These processes transport metaphor from symbol system via event to relationships; they bring meaning into the body-self. Subjective complaint and collective complaint thereby merge, and social reaction and personal reaction unite. So defined, social experience interrelates social suffering and subjective suffering not as different entities but as an interactive process.

Analysing the social memory of Chinese indigenous people’s bodily suffering during Chinese cultural revolution, Kleinman and Kleinman tell us how in such conditions ‘bodily memory, biography and social history merged’ (1994: 714). Here the corporal body pain creates an interpersonal space where the bodily pain is expressed, experienced and shared. Thus, each shared complaint of bodily suffering serves as a ‘moral commentary’, first of the local world and ultimately the society as well. Expressing bodily pain, and even experiencing it, can therefore take a form of resistance (cf. Scott 1985). And these experiences of pain are forms of mediation of social process leading to an interpretation and merging of subjectivity

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and social world (Kleinman and Kleinman 1994: 717). It seems particularly strong in the memory of social suffering. The second set of ideas, Kleinman and Kleinman provide, is moral capital and vital energy. Here they refer to the social interconnectedness in everyday life that provides a kind of ‘moral capital’. The moral capital utilized in a proper way energizes the body as well as the network with ‘vital energy’ (1994: 713). Can these energies be potent sources of social change? For Kleinman and Kleinman, ‘Perhaps transformations that begin in reveries, dreams, painful bodies, and alienating trances, that protect the inner world of the person and the family, that keep social memory alive while they engender the forgetting of the most self-defeating of images, that criticize and resist the oppression of persons….do expand through cultural-political process into world transformations’ (1994: 721). Again, going beyond Kleinman and Kleinman’s description of somatization18 (1986), Nancy Scheper-Hughes talks about ‘somatic culture’ (1992: 184). By somatic culture, she means the socio-cultural life of the sugarcane workers of Brazil which privileges the body as a medium of communication – both as metaphor and metonym – of relationships, of politics and even spirituality (1992: 185–86, 231–32). At this point, Veena Das argues that the embodied individual body pain shared in a moral community is treated as a social suffering that helps the victim to awaken his/her consciousness and represent, constructing pain as the medium, the historical wrong done to a person (Das 1995: 176; cf. Kleinman and Kleinman 1994; Kleinman et al. 1997; Bourdieu et al. 1999).

Martyrdom, Memory and Collective Identity The tribals those who are killed in the police firings or died in the process of taking part in agitations are called sahids (martyrs). The first thing probably the movement does for the martyrs is to erect one sahid stambha (martyr pillar) in their memory. And, the day 18

‘Somatization’, for Kleinman and Kleinman, is a ‘generally maladaptive and fairly primitive defense mechanism involving the deployment of the body in the production or exaggeration of symptoms as a way of expressing negative or hostile feelings’ (Scheper-Hughes 1992: 185).

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on which they were killed is annually celebrated as Sahid Diwas (martyr’s day). For example, while the tribals of Kashipur celebrate sahid diwas on 16 December, the tribals of Kalinganagar celebrate it on 2 January and the tribals of Raighar area celebrate it on 30 October every year in remembrance of their sahids. Let me say a few words about the process of celebration of sahid diwas, for example, in Kashipur and Kalinganagar in 2009. As soon as December came, the PSSP in Kashipur and BBJM in Kalinganagar, especially its leaders, became active to celebrate sahid diwas. The leaders organized village meetings to discuss issues regarding the celebration of the day, resource mobilization and distribution of duties. Pamphlets were printed and distributed in the locality. The local newspapers covered the story. Invitations were sent to leaders of similar movements in other parts of the state and country. Sangrami sathis (activist friends) like social activists, sympathizers of the movement, scholars, journalists and civil society personnel were also invited from different parts of the state and country. Later in a village meeting, chanda (contributions) from the individual households were decided. While each household in tribal villages supporting the movement in Kalinganagar paid Rs 50, two kg of rice and a bundle of firewood, the tribal families in Kashipur supporting the movement contributed Rs 30 and five kg of rice towards chanda for the celebration of the sahid diwas. It was not compulsory for the families of the victims (of police firing) to pay the contribution. The village representatives collected the contributions. Donations from outside sympathizers of the movement were collected. People informed that the BBJM also collected chanda every year from other companies in Kalinganagar. On the eve of celebration, most of the arrangements and coordination work like cleaning of the spots, erecting the tent and arranging vessels for cooking were done. Delegates from distant places reached the spot by evening. Some of them stayed in their relatives’ houses, while a few others were taken care of by the leaders of the movements. On the morning of the celebration of the sahid diwas, tribals including women and children from far and near villages gathered at the sahid stambha. In Kalinganagar, on 2 January 2009

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morning, the Ambagadia field close to the main road, now known as Veer Bhumi (Land of the Hero), was overcrowded with people including men, women and children. Besides the tribals, there were also non-tribal Hindus and Muslims. About 9 am in the morning, a crowd of more than 6,000 people gathered at Champakoila Sahid stambha, a pillar erected on the spot where the tribals were killed on 2 January 2006 in police firing. After a brief ritual ceremony, the crowd took a 5 km long rally to Veer Bhumi in Ambagadia where the sahids were cremated en masse, and later memory stones were erected. On the way, the Anti-Tata and anti-government slogans shadowed the long-live-sahids chorus. At Veer Bhumi, they also performed rituals to invoke and appease the ‘God’ by offering prayers, breaking coconuts and garlanding the memory stones of the sahids. Later, some of the leaders of the movements and invited sangrami sathis (activist friends) delivered their speeches about the barbaric acts of the government and company in taking away the lives of their veer (hero) brothers, the sahids. One after the other speakers took resolve that they were ready to die en masse but would not give up an inch of land for industrialization in Kalinganagar and outside. The celebration of Sahid Diwas is much more than just remembering the heroic deeds of their sahid brothers and sisters. Bringing the people suffering from the same fate, or at least supporting the cause, from the area and outside together on a platform like Sahid Diwas provides them the moral support to energize ‘the body as well as the network with vital energy’ (Kleinman and Kleinman 1994: 713). It is that complex practice of reviving and energizing the social memory of oppression and deprivation which contributes to the tribals’ critical self-awareness to re-access their potentialities and weaknesses, and therefore to strengthen their resolve for further acts of resistance. ‘The root of oppression is loss of memory’, they have realized (Gunn Allen 1999: 589; cited in Misztal 2010: 29). Here also individual suffering of the sahids and the victims of police firing and their desperate families, the tribal brothers who are branded as ‘criminals’, ‘naxals’ or ‘wanted’, the leaders and the ordinary tribals who are tortured by the police and company goons and spend years behind the bars, the anguished and helpless innocents who lost

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their dearest ones like mother, father, husband, wife, son and so on, share and sympathize in everyday life of social experience in an interactive process that transcends the subjective suffering into a space of social suffering. The social suffering today is shared not only by the community fellows but also by the fellows from translocal and transnational spaces. For instance, going beyond geographical boundaries and crossing over 700 km or more, the tribals of Kashipur join hands with the tribals of Kalinganagar and vice versa. Even the tribals of different parts of the country, mostly those fights for the same cause, extend their kindred support and they stand by each other at the time of need, viz., for organizing meetings, strikes, dharnas, bandhs and even attacking the company and its supporters. Also, these movements have been supported by political leaders, social activists, leaders of civil society, people’s organizations and other dignitaries. The support of social activists such as Sunderlal Bahuguna, Medha Patkar, Arundhati Roy, to name a few, has inspired and strengthened these people’s movements. There are also ‘solidarity groups’ in India and abroad supporting these movements. For example, a solidarity group of Kashipur in Canada, Alcan’t in India (an international campaign against Alcan) observed its first protest and demonstration in Montreal on 16 December 2003, commemorating the shooting of three tribals in Kashipur. Alcan fails to justify its investment in Kashipur amidst the strong local protest. At Alcan’s annual general assembly on 22 April 2004, Alcan reminded and confirmed to the shareholders that the inhabitants of Kashipur were totally opposed to the UAIL mining project. On 14 June 2004, in a meeting between Alcan’s India activists and executives, the latter refused to publicize their document, one of the demands of Alcan in India. A solidarity conference was organized in Montreal on 1–3 September 2004 where participants from India and Norway joined. On 14 July 2006, there was another huge demonstration against Alcan in Berlin and Heidelberg in support of the Kashipur struggle. Such kinds of people’s protest – local and international – have compelled Norsk Hydro and Tata to withdraw from UAIL in 2001. However, UAIL remains a joint partnership of ALCAN (45%) and Hindalco (55%).

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Thus, this co-sharing creates what is called ‘moral community’ consisting of people suffering from the same pain and fighting for the same cause. Thus, the tribals of Kalinganagar and Kashipur have taken a vow not to vacate land for industries anymore. The recent killing has strengthened their resolve to fight against administrative error, displacement and rehabilitation, loss of livelihood and dignity. ‘They have killed our men to set up a steel plant. We are now ready to die, but will not part with our land and homes,’ said Upin Jamuda, father of deceased Ati Jamuda of Chandia village (Das 2006b: 16). ‘We will not give an inch of land for industrialization anymore. We have lost many lives. Many of our people became handicapped forever. If the government wants to establish companies here, let them kill all of us first,’ said Rabindra Jarika. Even the reaction of Bhagaban Majhi was the same. In fact, this was the common reaction of the people of Kalinganagar and Kashipur. This moral community not only provides moral support to the movement but also energizes the people to fight back. Also, this helps in the production of knowledge, mostly through word of mouth. The association of the tribals of Kalinganagar and Kashipur with other different movements, activists and dignitaries has made them aware and conscious about the state, MNCs and their intentions and above all their own rights and dues. Bhagaban Majhi admits: Earlier, we had accepted the government as our mai-baap (motherfather). We thought that the government would take care of us from birth to death. But today, we know, the government is only for the leaders and traders, not for us. Through these movements, we can now see the true character of the leaders, officers, and ministers. Now we understand that had there been no movement, exploitation, cheating and torture of tribal people would have continued as usual (KJLM 2003: 28, my translation).

In this way, their day-to-day shared social suffering has helped the tribals gain knowledge about the state, market, civil society and their roles and intentions and their own dues and rights as well. This knowledge has broadened their horizon of consciousness that induces them to resist and persist.

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Tribal Anarchism: Resistance as Power ‘Violence generates violence,’ argues Saroj Mohanty, an activist from Kucheipadar, saying that ‘the only alternative available for the tribals is the movement’. ‘Nobody paid attention to our cries and demands when we protested peacefully. Then, neither the government authorities nor the company people came to us, maybe they never thought we were worthy of a dialogue. Now they invite us to their ‘home’19 for a dialogue, only after they have killed many of us. Why did not they do this before? And, how can you have a dialogue with somebody who has killed your dearest ones?’ – says Dabar Kalundia, a leader of BBJM, who has been ‘wanted’ by the Kalinganagar police for many false criminal cases framed on him. Similarly, for Bhagaban Majhi, the only alternative available to the tribals now is the strong resistance movement. He says: Historically, we the tribals have been subjected to exploitation, deprivation, violence and humiliation. We were always treated as the ‘rest’ and kept silent. Nobody heard our cries. Instead of answering our concerns, they are replying with bullets and lathis. Now it is time to react firmly and with determination and to show the oppressive politicians, the government and the company that we have the power and we need to be treated equally, with respect and dignity. It is now the people’s movement that the government needs to heed. Till our concerns are acknowledged with respect and dignity, we will not stop fighting against oppression, as the only alternative available to us is the movement.

Despite the disgruntlement of a few, the movement followed nonviolent and peaceful methods of protest, dharna, strike, bandh, gherao and demonstration with traces of violent resistance from the people. I would confess my involvement in a complex romance of multiple forms of resistance that the tribals are engaged in. The small pieces 19 Dabar explained that neither the company people nor the government authorities come to tribal villages to have a dialogue with the people. They instead invite the tribals to their offices, secretariats, etc., for discussion. ‘They may also kill or arrest us there, who knows,’ he further adds.

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of news published occasionally in local and a few national dailies have attracted my attention to the proud resistance of the Ho/Munda tribals of Kalinganagar and the Jhodia Paraja and Kondh tribals of Kashipur against the powerful state-company combined forces. Nonetheless, I was not prepared to face this kind of resistance when I arrived in Kalinganagar in early 2006 to begin my fieldwork. As I have stated earlier, the tribals have sealed the entry of any outsider to the premise of Kalinganagar following the police firing of 2 January 2006. With the help of a few local friends, I visited the area a few times. Even after many a visit to Kalinganagar, one afternoon in September 2006, I went to Chandia, a village in Kalinganagar, to meet Birsingh Gope, a victim of police firing. At the entrance of the village, a few village leaders became infuriated upon my enquiry about Birsingh’s house. ‘Hello brothers, can you please tell me where Birsingh lives?’ I asked the group of young men standing at the entrance of village Chandia. ‘Who is Birsingh?,’ one of them questioned back. ‘Birsingh Gope, one who was severely injured in police firing,’ I replied. ‘Who are you?,’ another man asked me bluntly without answering my query. ‘I am Rajakishor, a native of Keonjhar and a research scholar from Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai.’ ‘From Chennai!,’ one of them mocked me! ‘Why are you here? How are you related to Birsingh? Why do you want to meet him?’ another man fired a series of queries. I explained my position as a student who wants to do research on Kalinganagar Movement and other such tribal movements in Odisha. Not being convinced about my research, and identity in particular, they said, ‘You see, people are coming here with fake identities and enquiring about us, our cattle, land and many more personal things. In fact, they are either company people or government officials who come in disguise to collect information about us, our possessions, our movement and our strengths and weaknesses. They are either passing the information to the company or writing nonsense about us here and there. Therefore, we have

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banned entry of outsiders to all the villages of Kalinganagar. You, please go out’. Further attempts to convince infuriated them and two-three of the men shouted at me together, ‘Who are you? We told you that we do not allow outsiders into the village. Who has given you permission to enter into the village? How dare you come here? Are you leaving the village on your own or else shall we call the villagers to give you a nice treat?’ I managed the situation by telling them that I knew Rabindra Jarika, the secretary of BBJM. The situation calmed down once they realized that I knew their leaders. Later, they guided me to the house of Birsingh Gope. ‘Had you not told the name of Rabibabu you would have been beaten now,’ was the last comment I heard as I started my bike to get into the village. After meeting Rabindra Jarika, I came to know that there had been a few such bitter incidents where some strangers had been beaten by the villagers and forbidden entry to the village. Even a truck driver who was staying in Chandia for a long time was driven out of the village, as the villagers suspected his actual identity. I was not surprised then to be asked by TATA company officials, while I was taking the interviews, as to how I could visit the tribal villages in Kalinganagar. In early 2004, during my first visit to Kucheipadar, the headquarters of the PSSP, I had a similar experience. Getting down at Kucheipadar bus-stand, I was afraid to step into the village as my eyes fell straight on a big pamphlet hung on the tree with a warning: Bina anumatire gaonku prabesh nisedh. Neta, zilla prashasan, pulis officer Sarakari o company karmachari ruha husiar. No entry in the village without our permission. Leaders, district administration, police officers, Be careful the government and company workers.

At the bus-stand, no sooner than I enquired about Bhagaban Majhi, the president of PSSP, I was asked many questions about my identity and purpose of visit. I managed then, however, to meet Majhi at his house in Kucheipadar. The first thing I asked him was

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about the pamphlet. He informed that they had restricted free entry of all leaders, politicians, police officers, company officials and government employees to the village since 1994. He told me further that a few government officials were allowed to enter the village with prior permission and mostly the company people and the police were prohibited to enter the village. Both in Kashipur and Kalinganagar, for example, the people have not only restricted the entry of company and government officials into a few tribal villages, but also sometimes the company workers were arrested and beaten. In November 1998, PSSP activists abducted three Norsk Hydro employees and one government of India employee and forced them to write a protest letter stating that their company should withdraw from the project in Kashipur. Another day, there was a ministerial programme in Kashipur and Chief Minister Naveen Pattnaik was also present. One after another, the dignitaries were giving speech about the company and development of Kashipur. Krushna Saunta, a former leader of PSSP, told me that he was present in the meeting and became angry listening to the speeches. He went straight to the dais and snatched away a microphone and started his speech: ‘We have heard you enough. We have been listening to you on television, radio and through newspapers. How much will we listen to you? So, you listen to us now.’ During strike, protest and demonstrations, PSSP activists have destroyed the company nursery and houses on many occasions. I was also told by young tribals from Kucheipadar village that they have destroyed company houses and offices, and occasionally stolen company goods and valuables in midnight raids. The movement activists have occasionally used violent means of resistance not only against the company and government officials but also against their own brothers, sisters and community fellows. This was with the intention of teaching them a lesson, if they go against the ideology of the movement and common interest of the villagers. PSSP activists, for instance, once destroyed the standing crops of the Ramibeda and Kendukhunti villagers who wished to vacate their land for the proposed UAIL company. On another occasion in 2007, they have destroyed the newly-built house of Subash Naik, a dalit of Kucheipadar. ‘Though officially he is not a DP, he supports the company in all possible ways. He

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had built the house at Nuapada with the sole purpose of renting it out to the company people. We destroyed the roof of the house just to warn him that he should not stand against the interests of the whole village,’ said an activist from Kucheipadar village who took part in the raid. Similarly, as I have mentioned in earlier chapters, the activists of Dalit Samaj of Raighar have not only destroyed the block office and other government properties but also ruined varieties of standing crops in the illegally occupied land of Kondhs and Bengali settlers on 21 July 2001. The agitators also set fire to many Kondh settlements inside the Dandakaranya reserve forest of Raighar, Umarkote and Jharigaon blocks. Also, three elderly Kondh men were killed. The Kondhs who have settled inside the reserve forest ‘illegally’ now legitimatize their violation of the ‘law’ by claiming that they should be provided with basic amenities of life and settled like other citizens of the country. In Kalinganagar also the activists of BBJM have caused harm to many of the villagers who negotiated with the company for accepting the R&R packages and leaving the villages. The violent acts of destroying public property, government offices, company houses and property have been justified by the sangathans as a response to the violent and undemocratic acts of the authoritarian state and company. When asked about the justification for their violent acts of resistance, Bhagaban Majhi says, ‘Yes, I feel troubled and pained when we destroy somebody’s house or crop. But what can I do? I have not made the rules of the sangathan. Once those people were also part of the movement and made the rule that those who violate the rules of the sangathan or stand against the interests of the whole community would be punished. Now, lured by company money and personal interests, they invite the company that would bring ruin to the whole society. If they violate the rules they have made, we have to teach them a lesson. We cannot afford to bring misery to all for the personal gains of a few.’ The retrospective narratives of resistance are not only reflected in their acts of rebellion but also in their thoughts, stories and songs. For example, consider the following song that Chakradhar Halda, a tribal leader from Sukinda, sang during a protest rally against Tata Steel in Kalinganagar:

Politics of Violence & Poetics of Resistance  213 Mashale le kara chalana Jabtak rat baki hai, sambhal kar kadam rakhna Jabtak rat baki hai, mashale le kara chalana Walk with the flame As long as there is night, keep your steps firm As long as there is night, walk with the flame.

The tribals who sing this kind of song are resisting the repressive structure of the state while having a strong belief that the movement alone will help them be free of the exploitative system and bring positive and revolutionary changes in their life. As evident from our discussion, the tribal subject-making, and in fact keeping them in control, has been the leitmotif of state violence. This chapter also helps us to understand and describe how modern forms of power and regulation achieve their full effect not by forcing the tribals towards state-mandated goals, but by turning them into accomplices (cf. Agrawal 2006). Victims of such violence are neither heard nor cared for thus breaking the myth of a homogeneous moral community of tribal resistors. But while the autonomy, sovereignty, and importantly, the survival of the people are beleaguered, the tribals, sometimes as tribal anarchists, use contentious politics including legitimization of violence to defy state subject-making and secure their rightful entitlements, though partially. Despite the fact that resistance does generate power on the part of the resistors to resist domination, it inflicts unbearable pain on the body, mind and soul of the dissenters and deserters.

6

Politics of Territoriality Keeping State at a Distance

Ladheire mukti achhi, muktire santi achhi – There is freedom in movement and peace in freedom. – Chakradhar Halda, a tribal leader from Sukinda, Jajpur.

A

s evident from the previous chapters, land and territory have become highly contentious issues in Odisha. The state and companies, particularly in the context of large-scale mining, use a dominant and paradigmatic notion of territories as empty spaces devoid of people but rich in mineral resources to be exploited. This notion conveniently excludes other meanings ascribed to territory, thus creating a tension of ‘territorialities’. Contesting this notion, people’s movements and particularly tribal communities offer alternative understandings of ‘territory as a space of resistance’ (Avci and Fernandez-Salvador 2016: 913). Territory does not refer simply to a physical space but it is rather understood as a temporal process produced by social and power relations, a ‘social process in itself’ (Brighenti 2010: 55). Including certain forms of border-making, it is shaped by notions of the environment and people’s relationship to it (Warnaars 2013). Territory should be understood in terms of establishing a symbolic and affective relationship with a biophysical space, and as an appropriation that implies the establishment of limits and control not only of the space itself, but also of the people

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and the relationships that occur in it. Sack defines this process of appropriation as territoriality: ‘The attempt by an individual or a group to affect, influence, or control people, phenomena, and relationships, by delimiting and asserting control over a geographic area’ (1986: 19). For my purpose here, territoriality refers to the process of producing and establishing a territory by a community or group of people, ‘a process in which identities are formed, meanings are ascribed and social and power relations are enacted’ (Avci and Fernandez-Salvador 2016: 915). Placing the concept of territoriality at the centre of analysis for understanding conflicts over land, particularly large-scale mining in tribal areas, is for two main reasons. First, it provides an analytical tool to understand the interactions between material practices, socioeconomic structures, and cultural-political institutions (Boelens et al. 2016). It enables us to interrogate the power relations among the various actors involved in struggles over territory, and the material impact of these relations. Second, social actors often articulate their oppositional positions as defence of territory. They express different visions of territory that embody divergent and conflicting views on development and the local environment. Hence, it is necessary to examine these territorial imaginaries to understand positions of social actors regarding mining, development and environment. In this chapter, by scrutinizing territorial dynamics in the mining conflicts in Kalinganagar, Kashipur, Gandhamardan and Niyamgiri, it seeks to contribute to a better understanding of the diverse ways social struggles around mining are played out in different contexts. It highlights the factors responsible for affecting people’s movements differently in different places and times. This chapter provides an example of how through a protected social struggle people from different backgrounds can forge a notion of territory and build a common political project around its defence. The chapter also challenges us to see how marginalized generate ‘a new way of doing politics and a new way of sociability’ for the ‘construction of a different social power’ (Escobar 1992b: 81, cited in Alejo 2000: 35), as they confront the ravages of neoliberal globalization and seek to defend their place-based cultures and territories (Escobar 2008). In this context, let us return to the tribal movements in Odisha to know

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how they organize themselves and how they give a new meaning and direction to the discourse of territoriality.

Coming Together: Origin of People’s Organization The tribals have never been treated equally as the other half of the civilization. They mostly prefer to live in forests and hilly areas, away from the humdrum of civilized society. For the tribals of my study area, agriculture constitutes the mainstay of livelihood. Dry land farming (and also shifting cultivation in Kashipur) is a crucial supplement to cultivable land. In addition, forest plays an intrinsic role in tribal life. For the tribals, whatever grows in the forest – varieties of seasonal food items, fuel, fodder, timber, medicine and much more – are theirs to use. Through the ages, they have been subjected to all sorts of neglect, torture, exploitation, oppression, persuasion and humiliation. The use of forest by the tribals for fulfilling their basic requirements is deemed to be ‘illegal’ by the forest department. The land that they have been cultivating for ages, which they think as the gift of God to them, is declared ‘illegal encroachment’ as they do not possess the ‘paper’ of the government. The government authorities have been misusing their power to exploit the tribals in all possible ways. ‘In that land of the jungle, where no man possessed more than a rag to cover his loin, anyone dressed even in a sheet from waist to ankle could be taken for a person in high authority. He could lord it over these people, order them about and harass them, and nobody dared question his right to do so. The more outrageous his demands, the higher he rose in their estimation as an official’ (Mohanty 1987: 34). The tribals live in constant dread of government officials especially the garadu, the headu and the ribini who make surprise visits to the villages now and then. Laxman Majhi, a school teacher and a leader of Kashipur Movement recalls: Before the people’s movement here, when the government officials made their visits to our villages, we were afraid. We dare not to talk to them. As they did not eat in our houses, if they halted, we offered them khaadi (food) – rice, vegetable and dal. We gave them

Politics of Territoriality  217 our chicken to eat. They would point out something they like and we had to give it to them. We paid high amount of sistu (tax) for the land we cultivated, the house where we lived, the cattle we possessed, and the forest we used. We paid fine for our ‘encroached’ land and use of forest timber for different purposes. We would pack them off with rice, vegetable, mandia, suan, janha (maize) or chicken, whatever they wanted. And, we had to carry their load free wherever they wish.

Before joining the people’s movement, the tribals had been cowed down by the brutality of the government authorities so much that they got accustomed to reluctant surrender of anything that the authorities wanted. They bore the brunt of displeasing the authorities. They said: ‘We just can’t afford to displease our officials. When they ask us for something, it has to be produced – even if it’s our wives and daughters…’ (Mohanty 1987: 30). Moreover, even if they know bribing is illegal, they think it is unavoidable. For example, the Kondhs who live and cultivate in the reserve forests of Raighar area, pay heavy fine to the garadu, hedu ribini and other forest department authorities. They have acknowledged that the payment is necessary to live in the forest and cultivate. Once they make their payments, the authorities turn a blind eye to the ‘illegal’ activities the tribals indulge in. In that sense, they have accepted fine as not punitive but an enabling condition to continue their cultivation in the reserve forests. Moreover, as discussed earlier, the tribals have been deprived of the government benefits even for fulfilling their basic needs (see Chapter 2) and their concerns have been addressed with lathis and bullets (see Chapter 3, 4 and 5). Eighteen years ago, when the Government of Odisha handed over Baphlimali hills and an estimated 2,800 acre of cultivable land in Kashipur to UAIL for mining project, the tribals had taken for granted that the company would come for their land and they would have to move. They thought that they would encounter the same fate as that of the displaced people of NALCO, Indravati and Hirakud. The company started its survey work in the area as soon as it got its provisional clearance. In the process, they even cleared all standing crops wherever necessary. The tribals were unhappy about it but they hardly dared protest. Moreover, the state is too powerful for

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the tribals to resist. Maharaja Majhi, one of the founding leaders of Kashipur Movement narrates: We had no knowledge about the company. Gradually, people came to know about the proposed company in Kashipur. The then Opposition MLA Antaram Majhi of our village convened a meeting and told us to resist the company. We were unhappy with the company work in the area. So, it touched our hearts. Later, Agragamee, an NGO working in Kashipur, came to us and tried to convince us that we had to oppose the mining project. We have seen NALCO in Damanjodi and the lives of the displaced tribals there. We have seen the wretched lives of our relatives who were thrown out of their homes and land from Indravati dam area. Some have migrated to our areas. We know, we will not be even paid enough for our land. No proper rehabilitation. Only the land owners will be paid for their patta lands. Then, how will the sukhbasis (landless) survive? Currently, they are surviving on sharecropping. Once the company takes the land, where will they go? The landowners will also not be benefited by the project, as we know it from development projects like Indravati and NALCO. What will we do with the compensation money and how long will it last? It won’t take long to finish the money on the verandah of the Sundhi (a Hindu business community who are famous for brewing and selling wine). We are not educated enough to get jobs in the company. We are sure that all will not get the opportunity even for daily wage earning. Then, how will we survive? So, we agreed to protest against the mining project. We finally decided not to leave our land for the project. (for details of the origin of the movement in Kashipur, see Chapter 5).

Gradually, they recognized the severity of injustice and gathered courage to fight back. The foundation of the movement in Kashipur against the mining project started with a group of people from Kucheipadar who protested the survey work of the company in 1993. The initial protest of the tribals of Kucheipadar resulted in a series of arrests of leaders. Very soon, other villages of Kashipur block joined the movement. Protests and demonstrations against the mining project continued. As early as 1994, the tribals restricted the entry

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of UAIL vehicles into the area. Even, the government officials were not allowed into the villages. At the entrance of Kucheipadar village, there hung a pamphlet for many years with a warning: ‘No entry in the village without our permission’. Let’s have a close look at the structure of one of the people’s sangathans, the PSSP for example. The people’s movement against the proposed UAIL project in Kashipur launched its loka sangathan1 named Prakrutik Sampad Suraksha Parisad (PSSP) – Council for Protection of Natural Resources – in early 1996. Gradually, the movement picked up momentum. Beginning in Kucheipadar, the movement spread to other panchayats of Kashipur block and later to the neighbouring blocks of Laxmipur and Dasmantpur. Protesting against the mining of different identified hills of the area, seven regional councils took birth – Anchalika Surakshya Samiti protested against the mining of Sijimali and Kutrumali Hills and establishment of L&T Company in Sunger, Basundhara Surakshya Samiti protected Kodingamali Hills and objected Aditya Birla in Barigaon, Baphlimali Surakshya Samiti for protection of Baphlimali Hills in Maikanch, Gaon Mati Surakshya Samiti for protection of Sashubahumali Hills in Siriguda, Sashubahumali Surakshya Samiti against the proposed BALCO and Sterlite project in Khurigaon, Bankam Surakshya Samiti in Bankam and Prakrutik Sampad Suraksha Samiti against the UAIL plant in Kucheipadar. Each regional samiti has 40 active members including 10 women selected from village level committees. The regional committee should sit at least once in a month to discuss about the progress of the movement. Under each regional council, one gram sangram committee – village movement committee – was formed in each village with 15 members including five women that should meet at least twice in a month. There was also a sadharana parisad (general council) including all the selected members (280 persons) of the seven regional committees, which was supposed to meet at least once in every two months. The kriyanusthan committee (functional committee) with 20 members including five women from each regional committee (140 persons) should sit at least 1

In one of its pamphlets, the PSSP claims itself to be a loka sangathan – people’s organization, for details see PSSP (2001: 1)

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once in two months. There was also a pramukha committee (chief committee) including all presidents, secretaries, coordinators, assistant coordinators, treasurers and two women representatives of each regional committee. The chief president and the chief treasurer of the PSSP are also members of this committee (total 51 persons). This committee should sit at least once in every two months. Above all, there was a mahasabha including all the selected representatives of all the village level committees, which was scheduled to meet at least twice, or more, in a year. PSSP worked as an umbrella organization of all the seven regional councils. As an umbrella organization, PSSP wanted not only to drive away companies from Kashipur and Laxmipur blocks but also supported other such movements across the state and the country. They extended their support to the people’s movement in Kalinganagar, Raighar, Dantewada (Chhattisgarh) and other places.2 Slowly, the people’s movement in Kashipur got support from different movements from all corners of the country. Along with many member-villages and local organization, there are Kashipur Solidarity Groups in Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata, Bangalore, Nagpur and Montreal (Canada). While all the villagers are activists who work voluntarily for the movement, there are a few elected representatives of the organization. None of them are paid anything. In addition, the leadership of people’s movement in Kashipur benefited from the services of three full-time outside activists. Similarly, since Kalinganagar came to be identified as ‘destination industry’ in early 1990s, the Government of Odisha has been acquiring land to transform the tribal dominated Kalinganagar into an industrial hub of Odisha. In fact, at no stage, were the local inhabitants (mostly Ho and Munda tribals) consulted. The agitation in Kalinganagar began with a group of dissatisfied tribals headed by Haricharan Hibru, the then sarpanch of Gobarghati GP, who protested against the inadequate compensation (Rs 8,000 2 Basically, these moments support each other ideologically. They participate in meetings, conferences and rallies organized by each other. During the celebration of special occasions like Sahid Diwas, leaders of one movement visit the other. The solidarity groups also extend their support by organizing strikes and demonstrations and putting forth certain demands on behalf of any movement.

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per acre) given to them in lieu of their land acquired for MESCO. Finally, the government succeeded in acquiring land at a price of Rs 35,000 per acre and sold the same land to the company at the rate of Rs1,10,000 per acre. As the people questioned the difference in rates, an ex-gratia payment of Rs 10,000 per acre was given to all the tribals displaced by MESCO. In the meantime, another steel plant, Nilanchal Ispat Nigam Ltd (NINL), was proposed in Kalinganagar to be provided with 2,500 acre of land. Land was acquired from the tribals by giving an additional ex-gratia payment of Rs 15,000 (Rs 35,000 + Rs 10,000 + Rs 15,000) per acre of land. In 1995, the NINL started construction work in Kalinganagar. It displaced 634 families promising them adequate compensation, good R&R package and one job for each family. Each of these families was settled for namesake, and provided with 10 decimal of homestead land in Gobarghati Rehabilitation colony and those who never accepted homestead land were given Rs 50,000 as compensation. Houses of the tribals who protested and did not want to leave their land for the company, were bulldozed during night time and many of them were arrested. Finally, they were dumped in the rehabilitation colony (for details see Chapter 3). Of the 639 displaced families, the NINL appointed only 182 tribals and another 187 tribals working under different contractors. MESCO rehabilitation had the same problem. In 1995, the tribals who were fighting for adequate compensation formed a union named Sukinda Mahamari headed by Mayadhara Nayak as president and Haricharan Hibru as secretary. In the same year, another tribal union namely Sukinda Upatyaka Adivasi O Harijan Suraksha Parisad – Sukinda Valley Adivasi and Harijan Protection Council – was launched in Kalinganagar with an objective to launch strident protest against displacement. Later, the union was renamed as Bisthapan Birodhi Jana Manch – People’s Forum Against Displacement. The BBJM has been fighting against displacement under the leadership of Chakradhar Hibru (Sr.) as the president and Rabindra Jarika as the secretary. Today, Kalinganagar industrial complex consists of more than a dozen companies. A few of them have started their production, some are in trial production phase and some are under construction. Still

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a few more are in the pipeline. The following tables (table no. 1 & 2) give us an idea about the industrial hub of Kalinganagar: Table 6.1: List of Plants and Land Allotted in Kalinganagar Sl. No. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Name of the Company Mid-East Steel Company (MESCO)  Orion                                       Maithan Ispat                            Uttam Galva  Steels Ltd.                          Nilanchal Ispat Nigam Ltd            Maharastra Seamless    TISCO                                    Rohit Ferrotech  JINDAL                                    VISA Industries    Dinabandhu                               K.J. Ispat         Tata Steel Ltd. Total

Land Allotted 530 Acre 150 Acre 100 Acre 370 Acre 2500 Acre 500 Acre 2400 Acre 50 Acre 678 Acre 390 Acre 100 Acre     50 Acre 3472 Acre 11290 Acre

Source: Complied from various sources, data collected mostly from ADM office, Kalinganagar.

Table 6.2: Status of Displacement in Kalinganagar Sl. No. Name of the Industry Nilanchal Ispat Nigam Ltd 1 Tata Steel Company 2 3 Jindal Steels Mid-East Steel Company 4 5 Maharashtra Seamless 6 Visa Steel 7 D. Steel Ltd 8 Maithan Steels 9 Rohit Ferro Alloys 10 JK Steel Total

Families Displaced Families Resettled 1000 182 1500* 1204 590 Not Known 900 47 600 230 Not Known 210 180 120 40 5370 1433

Sources: Complied from various sources. * Official figure is 1234.

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Against this background, BBJM’s protest against the establishment of Tata in Kalinganagar resulted in police firing killing 13 tribals (later raised to 14) and two policemen. BBJM continues its protest and demonstration though 912 (as on May 2011) tribal families have already shifted to company’s rehabilitation colonies. Like Kashipur and other movements, leadership in Kalinganagar Movement was voluntary and non-salaried. Unlike Kashipur, the people’s movement in Kalinganagar did not allow outside activists but it got support from left parties and Maoist groups. Correspondingly, Save Gandhamardan Movement and Save Niyamgiri Movement began with similar objectives of protecting not only livelihood and natural resources of tribals (see below), but also their identities. While the immediate objective of these movements was to save the land and livelihood resources from the encroachment of the state and MNCs and ‘outside’ elite (in Nabarangpur), the long-term objective was to bring people-centric development to the marginalized tribals for making them self-sufficient. These movements had the vision of building a new and progressive society free of exploitation and violence.

Outside Activists Scholars have observed that the discontentment among the tribes ‘has only been successfully converted into mass action when outsiders filled what has been called the tribal “leadership vacuum”’ (Jones 1976: 62, cited in Sengupta 1988c: 1111). Probably realizing this, a group of outside activists have joined Kashipur Movement. Debaranjan Sarangi, one of them, narrated his dreams and experience of joining the tribal movement in Kashipur: I had a great dream of coming to Kashipur. There was no influence of tribals in my life. I had no knowledge about the life and culture of tribal people. As a Brahmin boy, I was born and brought up in Puri culture (Puri is famous as the abode of the supreme deity of Odias, Lord Jagannath, a Hindu God). I had my education in Bhubaneswar (the state capital of Odisha) and did my masters in Commerce. There was hardly any chance to read and know about

224  Negotiating Marginality tribals. Again, tribal culture, food and living style – everything was quite different from mine and my way of doing things. I had worked with Dalits, but not with tribals. We had a big political objective of coordinating different people’s movements. There were, then, movements active in Gopalpur, Kothpad (Phulbani), Rairangpur and other places. We have visited and spent time with all the movements and discussed with the people at length. We knew and thus tried to make people understand that our state/government is powerful and hence, we have to be organized to fight the powerful state. All the movements have to come together, as it is difficult for small movements to fight individually against the state. Bringing these movements together, we can raise our voice and fight against the state. This has been propounded by many but nobody has put it into action. Thus, we undertook the challenge ourselves. To deliver this message, we reached Kashipur during Durga Puja in 1998. Getting down at Tikiri railway station, we (I was accompanied by my friends namely Nigamananda Sarangi, Saroj Mohanty and Rabi Pradhan) reached Kucheipadar on foot. Krushna Saunta was then leading the Kashipur Movement. We reached Saunta’s house and there was a big crowd behind us. Because, firstly, they were curious to know who we were, and secondly, they have not seen activists coming in a group to their village. Earlier, a few activists used to visit them individually. That evening we had a meeting in the village with a huge gathering. The people supported us and our ideas. We stayed there for a few days talking to different people and assessing the force of the Anti-UAIL Movement. We had another meeting on the previous day of our return. The next morning, a crowd of hundred people came to the bus stand to see us off. We were inspired by the enthusiasm and encouragement of the people. Our relationship with the tribals of Kashipur grew deeper. We discussed with the leaders of Kashipur Movement. They told us: ‘It is good that you have come here. We need your help and support. You are giving us new ways and ideas. We feel now that there is somebody to support us. The public do not have conviction that we can fight against the state, administration, police and the company. So, if you talk to them they may be convinced.’ Thus, we organized

Politics of Territoriality  225 meetings in different villages and told the people about the different movements and their way of functioning. Also, we reported about people’s suffering in different settings of so-called development projects. It seemed that they understood and believed us. We were happy that the tribals did not ask us about our identity and caste, they did not bother to know about our place of origin, but they had just understood that we oppose industry and we have come there to accompany them in their struggle. Thus, we realized that our full-time service is needed for the movement. Gradually, we got mass support, as we were known as activists of Chilika Andolan, Gandhamardan Bachao Andolan, etc. We addressed the people accordingly and tried to build confidence notifying the success of both the above said movements. We were not then staying in Kashipur permanently but visiting periodically. After staying for five to 10 days, we returned to our professional lives. I was working in Sanhanti – an NGO in Bhubaneswar. But I was in constant touch with the tribal movement of Kashipur. I would take care of the tribal brothers who came to Bhubaneswar – arranging food and accommodation and assisting in the activities of the movement. I helped in organizing conferences and seminars in Bhubaneswar. Like this, we were helping them in organizing small works. Coming in contact with them, we, especially I, were deeply influenced by the tribal life. It changed the course of my life. Because the kind of imagined society I was dreaming about, I got in tribal life and society. In tribal society, there is relative social equality even among men and women, it is physical labour-based and almost a self-sufficient economy. They cultivate land based on the available physical labour power. They live on whatever they produce. Selling a portion of the produce, they manage to buy whatever they cannot produce like salt, clothes, utensils, etc. Overall, they lead a simple life devoid of greed for wealth. In tribal societies, everybody works. In our society, the rayats (wage earners and landless labourers) work in the fields of the landlords. I feel pained, when I hire people to work in my field and watch them sitting at the edge of the field. Here they exchange labour. All tribals work on cooperative basis and nobody watches the other. There emerges an intimacy devoid of feelings of superiority and inferiority. The tribal society is free

226  Negotiating Marginality from superstitions and social evils like purdah (veil system) and widow remarriage. When we fight against the state and company, we dream of an alternative society. So, from the tribal’s life, we got a very close picture of the kind of imagined society we were dreaming of. This was, and is too, a great attraction and a dream that brought us to Kashipur to stay as full time activists. For the sake of our dream, we completely restructured our life accepting tribal culture, food habits and their way of doing things. The tribals did their best to understand and serve us according to our likes and dislikes. For example, initially we never liked pej, the gruel, but when they knew that we did not like stale gruel, they always served us fresh and hot one. We, however, became slowly habituated.

This is how the dreams of Debaranjan Sarangi brought him to Kashipur along with his friends Nigamananda Sarangi, Saroj Mohanty and Rabi Pradhan. Bhagaban Majhi says, ‘They have not discussed with us about their ideologies, aims and objectives of coming here. They have never told us about their dreams and wishes for our future as well as theirs. But, they worked for our movement and wanted to help us. We accepted them as they stayed with us.’ After a long time, Nigamananda became busy with some other assignments, while Debaranjan, Saroj and Rabi (they dropped their surnames later) stayed in Kashipur engaging themselves in full time activism. In order to persuade people and organize a movement, the activists ought to demonstrate their own trustworthiness as individuals. Activists are not automatically accorded authority, they have to prove themselves. Much of this proof lies in a charismatic mix of assertiveness, friendship and help. Activists display their commitment: zest for living and eating in tribals’ houses, speaking their dialects, engaging wholeheartedly with their grief and in their happiness. Beyond such commitment and with the hope that tribals will accept them better, Saroj and Rabi (both of them are highly qualified and upper caste Hindus) married two adivasi girls from Kucheipadar village. Though initially, the tribals were apprehensive about the longevity of the conjugal life of the two girls, they did not resist the marriage for a number of reasons. To name a few, first, it is customary

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for a tribal girl to choose life partner of her own choice. Second, the tribals generally do not prefer exogamy marriage. By the time Saroj and Rabi proposed marriage to the girls, the tribals had already accepted them in the community closely, though not as one among them. Fascinated by modernization, the girls accepted their proposals and got married in spite of the discontentment of a few tribals in the village. During my fieldwork in Kashipur in July-September 2007, I met Saroj, Debaranjan and Rabi who were staying in Kucheipadar. Saroj and Rabi ate in the office of the PSSP in preference to their in-law’s house. They also ate in the houses of villagers whom they visited during the dinnertime and the villagers, very often, shared their food with them. During July-August 2007, the area was severely affected by cholera and diarrhoea. The activists provided unconditional help to the villagers in giving the patients immediate primary treatment, taking them to hospitals, visiting affected villages and distributing medicine. They also mobilized medicines from their relatives and friends. In addition to the contingency needs, the villagers also seek the advice and service of these activists in day-to-day life as the latter are considered to be well-informed in all matters. The activists, on the other hand, do not put on airs like other civilized and educated outsiders, but they behave like friends. I have seen these activists also helping the villagers in agricultural work in their fields. Along with feasts and festivals, they participate in all lifecycle rituals including death (where only tribals participate) like a native tribal villager. The activists are not always easygoing; sometimes they show their concern by nagging and cajoling, and, at time, even by being angry. The activists, however, are not entirely comfortable with taking the lead role of leadership. They act, and refer themselves, as ‘friends’ of the movement, not as leaders. The question of dependency dogs some of them who see the development of self-reliant tribal-run movement as their goal. Ideally, they prefer a situation where the tribals learn their (activists’) skills in running a movement. Thus, the activists encourage the tribals to address the gatherings, face the government authorities, and represent the sangathan in different meetings with other movements. To an extent, such efforts have succeeded in building a few strong tribal leaders in the area. Though

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he acknowledges the great contribution of activists in Kashipur movement, Bhagaban Majhi, the president of PSSP, is critical of the role of activists in building tribal leaders. He says that they never succeeded in transforming the tribal activists to be ‘full activists’. For instance, they never taught the tribal activists how to write pamphlets, letters, applications and articles. During the outbreak of cholera last time in Kashipur, Bhagaban was feeling desperate, in the absence of the activists, that they were not able to write anything by themselves and they were still dependent on the activists as far as ‘writing’ was concerned. However, the tribal activists are at a disadvantage when it comes to English-speaking world – whether it is mobilizing funds for the organization, dealing with higher government authorities, leading litigations or writing an application. In fact, in many other cases including organizing strikes and rallies, the tribals count on the advice of the activists relying on their ‘better informed’ judgments about the possible reactions of the state, and to handle it successfully based on their earlier experiences in other movements. The presence of outside activists, however, has changed the consciousness of tribal people to a certain extent. Besides reducing risk and making the tribals courageous enough to fight back, the activists, with their access to knowledge and resources, have expanded the choices available to the tribals. For example, the struggle of the people has been reported in different newspapers and journals; they get help from other individuals and organizations and so on. Above all, the greatest accomplishment the tribals feel proud of is their ability to intimidate the police and government authorities who had been threatening them for generations. They are ready now at least to fight for their own rights. Similarly, in other movements like Gandhamardan Movement and Niyamgiri Movement, there was a strong participation of outside activists along with the participation of local non-tribal activists (for details see below). But in Kalinganagar and Raighar, the movements were led mostly by the native tribal activists, though they received the services of non-tribal activists in ‘writing’ and resource mobilization. Particularly, in Kalinganagar, they never allowed any full-time outside activists to stay in the area, though the movement has been supported

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by the left parties like the Communist Party of India (Maoist), Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) and the Maoist groups. On this, Rabindra Jarika says, ‘We do not rely on leadership. We carry out our struggle based on the issue, not the leaders. If a movement is run by the ideals of the activists, the movement will not last for long. The movement will come to an end, if the leaders leave. So, movements based on issue/principle, not leaders, will succeed. Leaders may come and go, but the issue will not change.’

Transformation of Critical Consciousness In all these movements, land and livelihood have become such a predominant issue that it provides a rallying point for the mobilization of tribals. The characteristic features of the tribal society like relative social equality and freedom, unity of lineage, fear of ostracization and local traditions of reciprocity, are the strengths upon which the movement builds. The active sangramis (as the activists are referred to) have tried to mobilize people into a successful union by making the tribals aware of the divisive politics and historical indifference of government toward the marginalized. To congregate the tribals into successful movements, the virtues of tribal culture and life have been widely discussed. Initially, the active sangramis of the people’s union tried to convince the tribals that bullying by government officials and their demands for ‘gifts’ are illegitimate and could be resisted collectively. The tribals understood that the state’s throwing away people from their land and livelihood means was injustice, and the state authoritarianism could be defied. From protesting against the injustice, the people’s movement went on to challenge the legitimacy of state action with regard to both industrialization and displacement as the people’s movement ‘had to reinforce that part of the adivasi consciousness that resisted state hegemony, by demystifying the workings of the state apparatus, rendering its structure intelligible and therefore vulnerable’ (Baviskar 1995: 180). But time and again, the voices of tribals have been silenced by the combined force of government and company by the use of fine, lathi and bullet. To face the powerful state, the people have joined the movement not individually, but as a whole lineage or village. Of course, some

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members tend to be more active than others, though all the members voluntarily participate in the work of the movement. So far as leadership is concerned, individual proclivities find a greater scope in tribal society. When the tribal community feels that one man is powerful enough to lead a movement and he has the potential or power to form a group, the tribals then come forward to form a strong group accepting the man as a leader to lead the movement depending upon his capacities, tendencies and qualities. Thus, it becomes a fertile ground for the individual to take initiative because of the support he gets from the people. It is a general practice that the upper caste Hindus do not accept cooked food from the tribals as the latter is considered to be ‘untouchable’ and ‘impure’. The tribal movements seem to have blurred the tribe-caste boundary to an extent, albeit there is a very limited participation of the caste Hindus in tribal movements. For example, in Gandhamardan Bachao Andolan, there were a large number of upper caste Hindu participants. In the Kashipur Movement, three full-time outside upper caste Hindu activists have also been working. In both the cases, caste taboos have been overlooked not only in public places, meetings and rallies but also in eating food in tribal houses. This has strengthened the tribal identity and unity; that is well expressed in the slogan: Adivasi ekta zindabad (Long live tribal unity). With a vision of building a new society, they sing: Au rahibani nide shoi, sabu misijiba eka hoi Asu jete duhkha jhada hoi, akhi luhe taku deba dhoi Ekata bishwas sakti, kari andolana sathi Sangramara gita gai, nua samaja gadhiba pain Ame anyaya sahiba nahin, au niraba rahiba nahin. We will not remain in sleep any more, all of us will unite as one How much storm of pain ever may come, we will wash them off with our tears Making the strength of unity and faithfulness as the company of the movement Singing the songs of the struggle, to build a new society We won’t tolerate injustice, we won’t remain silent anymore.

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In order to suppress the fear of dominant authorities and to instil confidence in tribal identity, the sangramis have tried to use victims’ body as a powerful means of expression. For instance, the victims of police firings, those who died fighting the state and the company soon became the martyrs. These folk heroes become icons of tribal resistance and their death anniversaries are celebrated as martyr’s day (see earlier chapter). The folk songs that the tribals create and sing during different occasions of the movement capture the iconic martyrdom of the tribals that energize the existing ones to persist with their struggle. The tribal victims, those who survived the injuries of state brutality, have become the living heroes for all references. The meetings and rallies begin with a series of spirited songs and slogans. The slogans, for example – Abhilash, Damodar, Raghunath dakara dia; Ladhei kari banchi hua! (Abhilash, Damodar and Raghunath call on, [we can] live by fighting); Sahid bhai dakara dia, ladhei kari banchi hua! (Martyr brother urges [us], [we can] live by fighting!) – that are sung during meetings and rallies spark off the fighting spirit among the tribals. Ame bipla nian jalai, samajaku deba badalai Kiye se ethi manisa, kiye puni amanisa Ekatha kahiba jai, nua samaja gadhiba pain Ame anyaya sahiba nahin, au niraba rahiba nahin. Burning the fire of agitation, we will change society Who is human, who is inhuman here We will proclaim this, to build a new society We won’t tolerate injustice, we won’t remain silent anymore.

Their dealings with government officials have changed. Earlier, the government officials were not only treated with high esteem but also given a lot of ‘gifts’ along with provision of food and ‘drinks’. Instead, now, the government officials are banned entry into movement villages in Kashipur as discussed earlier. Similarly, in Kalinganagar, one can find poles at the entrance of the villages carrying arrows dipped in red colour (symbolizing blood) with a message written on it, ‘Beware of the arrow’, indicating the danger

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of trespassing. Now, the government authorities are scared to visit sangathan villages. Earlier, when the rally reached government offices, a delegation would meet the officials to place their demands on record and carry back messages from the authorities and appraise the people waiting outside. Though generally accepted, this method of taking decision does not coincide with the traditional method of decisiontaking in village council where the village council representatives only act as advisors and suggest their opinion based on the mass decision. Based on this traditional principle, now, the delegates of sangathan who meet the government authorities do carry back conclusions, rather they take with them forward authorities’ response which they discuss in public meeting and finally convey the collective decision to the government officials. This style of negotiation is more appealing to the tribals. Despite tribal inertia and fissures that prevail in the community, the sangathans have thrived in forming effective tribal unions that challenge the state power, opening up new vistas for collective action.

The Sangathan in Action: Constructing Confrontation or Providing Services? The state has been under constant pressure to fulfill its set objectives; particularly establishing companies in Kashipur, Kalinganagar and Niyamgiri. To make way for the establishment of the projects, the government has time and again tried all methods to persuade, in fact, intimidate the tribals. The state’s historical neglect of the tribals coupled with company’s refusal to consult the tribals at any stage of the project formulation and implementation have made them reluctant to participate in any discussion with the government for any negotiation. The crucial and complex matter is that on the one hand, land is so necessary and dear to tribals’ heart that they prefer to sacrifice their lives than to part with their land; and on the other hand, land is must for the government to establish its development projects, especially industrial projects. The failure of the state to acquire the total required land in Kashipur, Kalinganagar and Niyamgiri for industrial projects has resulted in intimidation of the people by using state’s all-powerful systems – police, bureaucracy and

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judiciary. In the name of ‘law and order problem’, the government has deployed a large number of police, military and paramilitary forces in movement-prone areas to enfeeble the tribals using brutal lathicharge, gas and bullet firing and imprisonment. Working as an agent, the state bureaucracy continues to persuade the tribals in favour of the company. The district collectors, says Saroj Mohanty, work like CEOs of the company. Obviously, the judiciary also stands in favour of the state and the company. The local police do not register FIRs of the tribals against the crimes of the companies and its supporters. Being influenced by the state bureaucracy and money-power of the company, the district judiciary courts fail to grant bail to tribal activists who are arrested on false charges. The tribals arrested even for minor litigations have to get their bail granted by the High Court of Odisha. For the tribals, forming sangathans has given them a new lease of life. Harassment by government authorities in the form of imposition of fine and demands for ‘gift’ has reduced to a great extent. The best evidence of the presence of sangathan/movement in Kashipur and Kalinganagar is that the government authorities fear to enter the movement villages. During my stay in Kucheipadar village, I did not see a government official come to the village to harass the tribals. Any stranger entering the villages in Kalinganagar are looked at with suspicion and subjected to a string of queries by the tribal activists. The tribal activists have gained the status of Babu (can be translated as sir or boss) and they are referred by their names followed by a suffix of babu – Rabibabu, Bhagabanbabu etc. The government officials and the company now treat these tribal leaders with utmost care and respect. An ordinary tribal from the movement villages has become a sangrami (fighter) in his own right and he is treated with respect and dignity by the officials. The tribals who were once afraid to see a khaki half-pant-wearing class IV government official in his village, are now shouting fearlessly at the top bureaucrats in the latter’s office. The first thing a movement does is form village committees and regional committees with selection of their leaders. Initially, the activists moved from village to village, even door to door, to make the people understand the exploitation caused by the implementation

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of the so-called development projects. Lado Sikaka of Niyamgiri Movement recalls that the initial years were challenging. It took immense efforts by a few people to convince more than a hundred villages to come together for this cause. People felt helpless and found it difficult to imagine how they could take a stand against the government. ‘It took us time to convince everyone that the government was not with us, but hand in glove with the corporate,’ he says. The urgency of saving the land and livelihood fetched instant people’s response to the movement. But as the movement went on with its work of political mobilization, the people expected welfare services from the activists. Thus, the activists were very often called upon to fulfil the missing welfare state in providing advice, help and service. Especially after a fight with state government or police, it is the sangathan that takes immediate care of those people who fall prey to police torture and firing. The sangathans provide care and help to the victim’s family, known as sahid paribar (martyr’s family). Just after a massive crisis like police firing, the sangathan arranges ration for the victim’s family till they become self-reliant. They also help the victims and the victim’s family in constructing and repairing houses, arranging land for cultivation and in agricultural activities. Along with these emergency services, people’s acute deprivation in terms of basic needs like food security, health and education, bothers the sangathan. In August 2007, as indicated earlier, there was a severe outbreak of diarrhoea and cholera in Kashipur for multiple reasons. First, acute food shortage during rainy season forces the tribals of Kashipur to live on mango kernel, tamarind seeds, wild roots, mushroom and greens or maize, if produced in time. Heavy consumption of these hard-to-digest food items leads to indigestion and stomach problems. The tribals here do not drink sufficient water as they are used to take peja – gruel prepared out of small millets. But paucity of food grains to cook peja adds to the problem. Consumption of hard-to-digest food coupled with insufficient intake of water causes diarrhoea. Second, rainy season is a time for hard agricultural work. Doing hard work without sufficient intake of food makes them susceptible to health hazards. Third, civic unconsciousness of the tribals and their insensitiveness to the problem is another cause. Sometimes,

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the patient himself/herself refuses to visit a doctor due to sheer fear of the doctor and medicine, and at other times, the patient remains unattended due to lack of time and manpower. Fourth, lack of proper infrastructure facility (lack of all-weather roads, hospital, doctor and medicine, etc.) along with the indifferent treatment of the hospital staff of the tribals adds to the problem. More than 100 people died in different GPs of Kashipur within a few days. During rainy season, many interior villages were cut off from the local hospitals (in Kashipur block there are only three hospitals and two doctors) due to lack of all-weather roads and bridges on the rivers. ‘There was not enough attention from the government in providing medical care to the dying patients and checking the outbreak, albeit it has been an annual phenomenon since 1967,’ as Saroj Mohanty claims. In protest, on 22 August 2007, the PSSP organized a meeting at Kucheipadar bus-stand blockading MaikanchTikiri-Rayagada road. About 500 people joined the meeting and road blockade. At the end of the meeting the PSSP gave a memorandum to the state government through the tahasildar of Kashipur with the following demands: 1. To appoint one health worker in each ward and one doctor in each GP at least for a month along with sufficient amount of medicine, ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution) and saline. 2. To provide enough gemacine, phenyl and chlorine tablets to keep the villages clean. 3. To give compensation of Rs 20,000 and free ration for next two months to the families of persons who died of diarrhoea. 4. To open temporary medicine distribution centres at anganwadi and panchayat office. 5. To provide immediate job opportunity to all people for at least 60 days under NREGS (National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme) to meet recurrent food crisis. 6. To appoint at least two doctors in each existing hospital and to increase number of beds from 30 to 50. 7. To build one hospital in each GP. 8. To re-appoint Dr Surendra Rath along with appointment of another doctor in Kucheipadar hospital.

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Along with these, through slogans and pamphlets, the PSSP claimed the following: 1. To provide land to the landless families and records of right to the existing farmers. 2. To irrigate all lands. 3. To plant fruit-bearing trees in dongar (hills) and provide records of right to the existing shifting cultivators. 4. To provide vocational education as well as strengthen primary education with provision of sufficient and regular teachers in schools. 5. To supply free ration to BPL families at least for two months during rainy season. 6. To provide enough job opportunities to the people throughout the year under NREGS.

The state government responded to the crisis immediately. Giving in to the demands of the activists, a team of government doctors visited many remote villages, which they would never have visited otherwise, to treat the diarrhoea patients and to prevent the spread of the dreadful disease. Mobile health camps were also organized in different villages. Though the state government responded to the cries of the movement, such cooperation was irregular and idiosyncratic. The state establishment, overall, remained inaccessible to the tribals. Political leaders including many ministers and the chief minister, however, toured Kashipur. The opposition party leaders showed their sympathy to the victims by condemning the ruling party government for failing to check the outbreak. The best thing the ruling party leaders did was declaring compensation package for the family members of the victims. Unfortunately, nobody bothered to think about the root causes of the issue and provide a permanent solution. Interestingly, after this road blockade, the UAIL also came forward to help the people in checking the outbreak. On 24 August 2007, the collector visited Kucheipadar village. Late in the morning

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on the same day, the company’s medical team reached Kucheipadar bus-stand in a van bearing the banner that read: ‘Free medical health camp, Utkal Alumina International Ltd’. People who opposed the company also went in queue to register their names and get medicine. I too was there in the crowd. While there was one man each at the registration counter and medicine supply counter, there were twothree men moving around the crowd and taking photographs, perhaps to show the government that they have helped so many people with free medical services. For inspection, the district collector reached Kucheipadar around noon. The company officers welcomed the collector with namaskar after opening the door of the vehicle in which he came. The collector was silent. The only thing his associate asked the company doctor in English was: ‘How long will you continue this camp?’ The doctor promptly replied: ‘Sir, we will continue this health camp till the outbreak is controlled.’ There was also one hired media person who took interview of the collector’s associate. Unfortunately, the health camp, though promised to continue till the outbreak was controlled, came to an end as soon as the collector left the place. The company’s effort was visible nowhere in controlling the outbreak, but it constantly found prominent mention in local newspapers and TV channels. The road blockade by the PSSP that raised many issues along with the immediate concern for checking diarrhoea outbreak left many questions unanswered. I was cogitating over the question: What made the sangathan (PSSP) address social issues (like diarrhoea, food security, education, healthcare, irrigation and land rights) instead of just resisting the establishment of the company – the main objective with which the sangathan came into being? That evening, I was allowed to take part in a core committee meeting of the PSSP where only selected leaders from different villages were invited to review the activities and decide the future agenda of the sangathan. After reviewing the work of the sangathan, the committee came to the conclusion that the movement has become weak for many reasons. First, about 150 families from two villages have accepted compensation and left their villages. They do not support the movement openly as they are staying under the company’s control.

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Second, the company has succeeded in dividing the villagers into many groups. There has been split among the people in villages like Maikanch, Bagrijhola, Siriguda and Kucheipadar – the villages that strongly supported the movement. The company has taken some people to its side by giving them temporary jobs like that of communicator, motivator and contractor, while others have joined the company, or became neutral, due to fear of imprisonment and other kinds of punishment. Third, the movement fails to create new and active sangramis. The youth are more attracted by the company’s money and job promises and hence they do not take part in the movement. Fourth, the committee also acknowledged that the activists and leaders were not working hard for the movement. While the activists were not able to give much time to reach out to the people to organize them for the movement, the company workers were actively working to motivate people in favor of the company. Fifth, the people are in a dilemma as to whether they should support the movement or the company. Some of the critics of the sangathan argued that though people have been fighting against the company for more than 17 years, they have not succeeded in driving it away. Instead, the company has been progressing with its construction work. Therefore, they did not think that they will be benefited from the fight against the company. Rather, they say they are deprived of the company’s benefits. Another group of people argued that if any positive progress happened it was due to the people’s movement. The movement has broken the tribals’ silent acquiescence – the silence that made them susceptible to historical exploitation and torture. The state and the company today, somehow, positively respond to the sangathan’s demands as far as welfare measures and development interventions are concerned. It is only due to the movement that the compensation for land has increased manifold. It is because of the movement that the displaced families got their houses in R&R colony and jobs, though temporary, in the company. A complete evaluation of the movement leaves any tribal puzzled as to whether to actively take part in the movement or support the company’s endeavour. Keeping all these points in view, it was concluded that the movement has become weak. It was decided that they would still have

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to keep the movement alive. Therefore, it was decided to reorganize the people for the movement by addressing the social issues, as the call to fight against the company alone did not attract the people that much. Despite acute deprivation in terms of basic needs, the state has not paid enough attention to solve the life-threatening issues. So, considering the people’s severe misery, the sangathan could not leave these issues unaddressed. Fixing these social issues as a medium, the sangathan believed it could create awareness among the people and get their support for the movement. In the context of forming an alternative power in form of the movement, it seemed that the activists were aware of the fact that power was something which not only worked negatively by forbidding, restricting, prohibiting, or repressing, but also positively and productively, by producing forms of pleasure, systems of knowledge, goods, services and discourses. The PSSP, however, could not remain quiet though its tiny resource base stood as an impediment in taking quick steps in providing medicine and treatment to diarrhoea and cholera affected people. The activists tried to mobilize help from their friends in the form of medicine. Thankfully, friends of the activists and wellwishers of the movement responded positively by supplying medicine and saline in time. On being asked, the local hospital also supplied medicine in bulk to the activists. Some of the activists and leaders of the PSSP visited remote villages on foot where no vehicle could reach. Not only did they supply medicine but also gave treatment to the patients. They also left bulk of medicine with the villagers to be distributed in time of need. In spite of all the efforts, they could not save about 200 lives out of 6,000 people3 who suffered from the diarrhoea and cholera in 2007. Like other tribal areas, problem of education is very acute in Kashipur too. Literacy rate is abysmally low with only 33.98 per cent of the population registered as literate. Of this, male literacy is just 46.32 per cent, while female literacy is 22.35 per cent. Most of the villages do not have schools. The few villages that are blessed 3 According to the government health authorities of Rayagada District, 6,000 patients suffering from ‘cholera’ were treated from Kashipur block alone in August 2007, see Jena (2008).

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with a school are either staffed by teachers who do not bother to come to school or if the teacher is good and regular, there are few textbooks and other teaching equipment. The quality of education is too poor. While staying in Maikanch, the village which is blessed with a residential school, I used to teach a group of students every evening and it was pathetic to notice that the students studying in upper primary classes had not learnt even the basics of alphabet. In such a dismal situation, the PSSP has taken initiatives to enhance the quality of education without rejecting the government school system. Following the local NGO called Agragamee, the sangathan with its own initiative founded night schools in many villages where the educated tribal activists started teaching the illiterate adults along with the school-going children. Along with the school curriculum, they taught lessons about the forest, natural resources and everyday life in a village. Also lessons on vocational subjects were taught. Tank Majhi, a teacher in one such school in Kucheipadar, teaches the students painting, pamphlet writing, carpentry and agriculture along with the regular school syllabus. The sangathan also had a plan of establishing a residential school in Siriguda village. The villagers heartily supported and appreciated such endeavours. Unfortunately, with the decline of the PSSP, the night schools came to an end by the end of 2007, due to inadequate financial resource and responsible activists. While it has been relatively easy for the sangathan to challenge the state by mobilizing medicine to control the outbreak of diarrhoea and cholera and by establishing an alternative educational system to make people ‘educated’, the other projects that aim for self-reliance or village self-rule have been failed by the tiny resource base of the sangathan and hostility of the government. After a great deal of discussion and debate regarding replacing the (against) the state agenda with working with the state one, the sangathan in Kashipur and Kalinganagar decided to put up their candidates for panchayat elections. Some people opposed this move with the argument that the politics of the sangathan would not be able to uphold its objectives once it became a part of the state structure. But as the majority felt that the sangathan could not miss the opportunity of retaining their control over their elected representatives and

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government resources to realize their dreams, the sangathan fielded its candidates. As I have discussed earlier, candidates of the Kashipur Movement won overwhelmingly in the 2000 panchayat elections. All the projects that the sangathan initiated through the panchayat got caught up in a bureaucratic morass. For example, the main objective of the PPSP in taking part in electoral politics was to drive away the UAIL by bringing resolutions in gram sabhas and palli sabhas. None of their resolutions and memorandums given by the panchayat were heeded by the bureaucrats. Frustrated, the sangathan did not field any candidate further in panchayat elections. Similarly, in Kalinganagar candidates of the BBJM won with overwhelming majority in the 2007 elections from all three GPs – Gobarghati, Chandia and Sarangpur – which are fighting against the establishment of the company. While two leaders of the BBJM got elected as sarpanch in Gobarghati and Chandia GP respectively, a supporter of the sangathan was elected in Sarangapur. In all the movement-supported villages, the BBJM elected its ward members mostly uncontested. Though in power, the local governance unit in Kalinganagar was totally sidelined by the block and district administration. Neither were their voices heard nor were they supported to carry out any development work in their area. For instance, in spite of repeated proposals and grievances put forward by the sarpanch of Chandia for repair and completion of a half-constructed building of Chandia Primary School, the administration turned down all the proposals stating that no development work could be carried out in ‘disputed’ areas. Though it was too early to evaluate its achievements, what seemed to be clear from the experiences of both Kashipur and Kalinganagar was that the politics of resistance which has been successful in working against the state does not seem to provide enough room for working with the government. Therefore, the debate continues as to whether the movement should focus only on resistance activities or should combine confronting the state while providing service (development activities) to people. The transformations and achievements of the sangathan have been displayed again and again during rallies, dharnas, strikes, gheraos, protests and demonstrations. In the following pages, I present

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Gandhamardan Bachao Andolan as an example of such transformation and achievement in challenging the state and the company.

When the People Fight Back Save Gandhamardan Movement The people’s movement against bauxite mining from Gandhamardan Hills of western Odisha by Bharat Aluminum Company (BALCO) is popularly known as Gandhamardan Bachao Andolan – Save Gandhamardan Movement. In mid-August 2006, I reached Paikamal, a village of Padmapur subdivision located at the foothills of Gandhamardan and the centre of the BALCO project. I was excited to climb Gandhamardan and visit Nrusimhanath Temple, just one kilometer away from the Paikamal village. On an early morning, I was accompanied by two activists – Rabisankar and Gupteswar Kuanr – to Nrusimhanath. On the way, Rabisankar narrated the significance of Gandhamardan. The great epic Ramayana bears its name as a natural resort of rare medicines. According to the report of G. Panigrahi, a reputed scientist of Indian Botanical Survey, prepared in 1963, there are more than 225 varieties of rare medicines in Gandhamardan, some of which are not found anywhere in the world (Panigrahi 1963). According to another study, there are 912 vascular species of herbs belonging to 556 genres under 142 families (Reddy and Pattnaik 2009: 31). Of its 156 springs, there are 22 small and big perennial streams flowing from it join to make Anga River in Bargarh and Suktel River in Bolangir. The waterfalls called Kapildhar, Bhimdhar and Chauldhar are considered to be very sacred. Like Nrusimhanath Temple here, the other famous religious centre, Harishankar Temple, in Patnagarh subdivision is located on the other side of the mountain. The most important thing is that almost 50,000 people living around the hills depend on it directly or indirectly for their livelihood and survival. In the meanwhile, on reaching the premises of Nrusimhanath Temple, I saw a number of herbal medicine huts (shops) evidently owned by local tribals. The location of Nrusimhanath temple at the foothills of evergreen

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Gandhamardan was scenic. The passing of Kapildhar spring through Nrusimhanath temple was further mesmerizing. I enjoyed the floral and faunal richness of the hill while climbing the Gandhamardan through the footpaths, and sometimes by the road constructed by BALCO (to the proposed plant site), to Kapildhar waterfall. The beautiful hill ranges are also enriched with bauxite mineral. In 1971, the Government of India declared the presence of bauxite ore in this hill. In 1976, BALCO applied for lease for bauxite mining and it was granted in 1981. The company was given 983 hectare of land for 90 years on lease for mining. In 1983, after getting provisional clearance from the Department of Environment, Government of India, the company laid its foundation stone on 13 May 1983. The building of infrastructure progressed fast. I was trying to assess the progress of the project seeing the abandoned houses, colonies, offices, water tanks, ranges of flats, clubs and rust-eaten motor vehicles while passing from Paikamal bazaar to Nrusimhanath Temple. Hill top, the spot for the mining plant, has been connected with a wide road. Rabisankar also told me that already 540 tons of bauxite ore had been mined and sent away. The construction of proposed 26 km railway line from Manbhang village to Lakhana railway station of Kalahandi was in rapid progress. The company work was going on in full swing with around 1,000 employees. According to the estimation of the company, Rs 32 crore (Rs 320 million) had already been spent. Common people in the area were afraid and bewildered. Everybody believed that the company would certainly destroy Gandhamardan. At such a critical juncture, the entry of outside activists added support to the anticompany activities. Lingaraj4 says that initially they had no hope that the people’s movement would stand against the will of the company and succeed. From day one, there were symbolic protests. On the inaugural day 4

Lingaraj Pradhan now known as Lingaraj is the president of Samajbadi Jana Parisada. He was attracted to the ideology and politics of Kishan Patnaik, an important socialist leader of India, who was involved in Gandhamardan movement. This induced Lingaraj to join the movement in February 1986. He now stays in Bargarh.

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of 13 May 1983, in the official meeting itself, pamphlets bearing the names of important persons of the area were circulated with a message that those people would commit suicide if the BALCO mining project did not stop taking into consideration the adverse effects on environment and people. Secondly, when the then chief minister and the union minister of mines were returning from the meeting, the students of Padmapur college threw stones at their vehicles in protest against the BALCO project. Some of the students were arrested. Looking at these minor incidents, it was not believed to bee possible that the local people would fight against the company in an organized way. On the other hand, the ruling party and the BALCO officers were relieved that the project work would go on smoothly. In the meantime, the construction of road, railway, ropeway, building of office and staff quarters and establishment of crosser-plant went on without any hindrance. The village Paikamal, the centre of the project, gradually turned into a small town. The fear of losing livelihood, the issue of environment protection and above all the religious sentiments attached with Gandhamardan brought people together on one platform. The outcry and protest of local people got momentum. In 1985, the people organized a crusade against the same. Later, some of the members of the Viswa Hindu Parisad (VHP) and other intelligentsia and lawyers of the area lodged a case in the high court against the company questioning the security and safety of Nrusimhanath Temple. Initially, a stay order was given. Finally, the high court allowed the company to carry on mining with some conditions. The high court appointed a committee headed by Mahendra Rout, the then Vice-Chancellor of Utkal University. The committee reported that the mining project of BALCO would have no adverse impact on environment and lives of the people (Lingaraj 1997: 3). Yet, assuming that the protest movement was religious, the company granted a sum of Rs 4 lakh for preservation and beautification of the temple. Two other important incidents happened during this time –the mysterious theft of the Nrusimha idol on 20 April 1984 and falling down of Garudastambha and crack on the temple wall and roof due to constant blasting work of the company. The underlying religious sentiments led to people’s agitation on a massive scale. Madhuban, a natural orchard, was submerged in a

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small dam constructed to provide water to the BALCO colonies, though in the beginning the people were told that the dam was meant for irrigation. This added to the dissatisfaction of the people further. It is at this critical juncture, being inspired by some of the environmentalists that Prasanna Kumar Sahu5, then working as a clerk in Sambalpur University, visited Gandhamardan area to assess whether a strong people’s movement against BALCO was possible. He found to his surprise that even after all these incidents, Sambalpur MLA and former state minister of mines, Krupasindhu Bhoi, was so powerful in the area that people could not dare to talk against BALCO. Keeping all these facts in mind, an NCC team of Sambalpur University consisting of 200 students headed by Professor Artabandhu Mishra, Department of Life Science, and guided by Prasanna Sahu came to the area to assess ‘how much fire is there under the ash’, as Professor Mishra puts it. The students were accommodated as family members in different houses in different villages. They studied the people’s perspective on the BALCO issue. In the entire area only three persons who rejected BALCO were Ghasiram Mallick of Manabhang village; propagator of Sarvodaya Mandal, Madan Mohan Sahu and founder of Gurukula Ashram, Jnananandaji Saraswati. However, at the end of the camp, one thing came out very clearly that ‘people were quite aware of the losses they had incurred in the past due to the BALCO project and had a clear understanding of the repercussions in near future. But they were bewildered, afraid and helpless due to the lack of organizational awareness and support6’ (Lingaraj 1997: 3–4). After the camp, most of the students went back to the university and confined themselves to academic routines, while a few stayed back in the field organizing people for the movement. Finally, on 19 August 1985, Gandhamardan Surakshya Yuba Parisada – Gandhamardan Protection Youth 5

Now he is popularly known as Swami Somabesji Saraswati and heading Prabhu Bhakti Ashram in Ghutuka Tikira, Sambalpur. On my visit, he was kind and generous enough to invite me to stay with him for a night making all provisions available and to discuss his experiences in Gandhamardan Movement in detail. He also made a call to Professor Artabandhu Mishra of Sambalpur University for an appointment for me. For all these, I am very much thankful to him. 6 My translation.

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Council – comprising only 19 members was formed in Baidapali village with Niranjana Bidrohi as its president and Prasanna Sahu as the chief advisor. Other members who played important roles in this organization were Asutosh Patnaik, Bhabanisankar Nial and Lingaraj Azad from Kalahandi, and native leaders like Goutam Biswal, Khageswar Sahu, Diamond Bhoi and Hadu Sahu. Two most significant leaders who played pivotal roles in carrying forward the movement were Prasanna Sahu and Bhabanisankar Hota. While Sahu organized and guided the movement on the ground level, Hota as the chief spokesperson to the media organized ideological support from outside the area. As the movement gained momentum, the ruling Congress party and the company supporters continued torturing the people who supported the movement or raised their voice against the company. One day, even Sri Jnananandaji Saraswati, the founder of Gurukula Ashram in Paikamal, was beaten up so badly and tonsured by force by Samsundar Bhoi, brother of Krupasindhu Bhoi that he fell ill and was admitted in Burla hospital for treatment for more than a month. This aggravated the anger of the local people and since then Krupasindhu Bhoi has become infamous as BALCO asur (demon). It needs to be appreciated here that Sahu had enough knowledge and intelligence to understand the religious sentiments of the people. He wrote many dramas and poems in local dialect and simple language, of which Gandhagiri (Sahu 1988) and Musika Dalan (Somabesh Saraswati 2004) received wide appreciation. A drama committee was formed with the help of local people and these plays were staged in different villages. The main objective of staging the plays was to create awareness among the people to fight against BALCO asur and to save the Gandhamardan. The illiterate and simple folk of the area got the message well. All these incidents had made the people courageous. In the process, Sunderlal Bahuguna, the famous leader of Chipko movement from Uttarakhand, came to Gandhamardan area for a week on request during 6–12 February 1986. His visit generated tremendous enthusiasm among the people. He delivered speeches in almost 40 different villages. The first mass movement started in his presence on 12 February. None of the BALCO vehicles were allowed

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inside the project site. On the first day of the movement, 38 people were arrested and on the second day 48. Of those arrested, 44 were women. The movement continued for 10 days. But after two days, the number of persons arrested was so high that no one was sent to jail as there was a problem of accommodation there. One notable event was that on being arrested, a freedom fighter named Alekha Patra refused to come out on bail and was finally released after 78 days. Before Sunderlal Bahuguna’s visit to the area, none of the newspapers (except The Pragatibadi, published from Bhubaneswar) had published about this movement. Gradually, the movement was supported by the people all over the country. In Delhi, Gandhamardan Jana Paribesh Surakshya Parisada (Gandhamardan People’s Environment Protection Council) was formed and a memorandum bearing the signature of 88 professors of universities and academic organizations was given to the President of India. In this signature campaign, Prof. Manoranjan Mohanty of University of Delhi, Hrusikesha Panda of Institute of Economic Growth and advocate Kishore Chandra Patel held lead roles. Then The Times of India and other local Newspapers published editorial in support of the movement. After the movement got momentum in Delhi, T.N. Shesan, the then secretary of department of forest and environment, submitted a report to the Government of India that the BALCO mining project would turn Gandhamardan into a desert and 50,000 people who depended on the forest would face adverse consequences (Lingaraj 1997: 2). The Government of India again appointed another committee headed by B.D. Nag Choudhury. The committee first visited the area on 28 October 1986. On this day, more than 20,000 people gathered to raise their voice against BALCO. The year 1987 was very challenging for the movement supporters. In 1988, the BALCO issue stood as a political question. This movement created an anti-ruling party feeling. 1989 was the year for legislative assembly election. The ruling Congress party was worried. A home committee was set up that finally recommended the closure of the BALCO project. The pressure of the movement and the expectation to win the next election forced the ruling party to reject BALCO’s policy lease. The impact of the movement was very clearly visible in the next two elections,

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i.e., the assembly election of 1989 and general election of 1990. In both these elections the ruling Congress party was defeated and the Opposition Janata Party came to power. Biju Patnaik was elected as the chief minister. It was believed that BALCO issue would rise no more. Unfortunately, Biju Patnaik changed his position and started negotiating with BALCO. It created a commotion among the common people. In March 1991, a cycle rally was organized from Gandhamardan to Bhubaneswar in which almost 300 people participated. Biju Patnaik addressing the agitators declared that there would be no more BALCO in Gandhamardan. Again during Congress rule in 1997, Continental Resources Ltd of Canada was given lease for bauxite mining. Again people got agitated. Finally the company itself withdrew its lease. However, it is clear that any political party in power is pronouncing ‘Gandhamardan phatao (blast Gandhamardan)’ and the same leaders when in opposition party are defending ‘Gandhamardan bachao (save Gandhamardan)’. Dhirendra Mohanty, the present convener of the Gandhamardan Surakshya Yuba Parisad, concludes, ‘To keep alive our movement, every year we celebrate Barsika Diwas (annual day) on 1 January, Pratistha Diwas (establishment day of the movement) on 19 August and BALCO Asur Day (burning the effigy of BALCO asur) on the eve of Ramanavami. However, people of this area are aware that no company can stand here anymore.’

Save Niyamgiri Movement The people’s movement against bauxite mining from Niyamgiri hill ranges by Vedanta Aluminum Limited (VAL) is popularly known as Niyamgiri Suraksha Andolan – Save Niyamgiri Movement. As stated earlier, Niyamgiri is the home to more than 8,000 Dongria Kondh people who have been living in the forest for generations by practicing sustainable agriculture (including shifting cultivation). One of the mountains in the Niyamgiri hill range, Niyam Dongar, is regarded by the tribe to be the abode of their divine god, Niyam Raja (The King of Law). The peaceful existence of the tribe came to an end when on 7 June 2003 Vedanta signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) with the Government of Odisha for the

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construction of a 1 MTPA (one million ton per annum) alumina refinery, along with a 75 MW coal-based power plant in the Lanjigarh region of Kalahandi district. For the purpose of obtaining bauxite for this alumina refinery, Vedanta-owned Sterlite Industries also entered the picture, with plans to construct an open-pit, 3 MTPA bauxite mining plant at the top of the sacred Niyamgiri Mountain which is estimated to have 70 million tonnes of bauxite reserves. Vedanta was required to obtain environmental clearance from the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF) for both the alumina refinery and the mining plant. On August 16, 2004 Vedanta submitted an application to the forest department of the MoEF for the reallocation of forest land. This was in direct contradiction to the company’s environmental clearance application for the alumina refinery, submitted on 3 June 2003 which stated that its forest land requirement was ‘nil’. It also proclaimed that there were no reserve forests within a 10 km radius of the project site, which was contrary to the facts on record. Earlier, on 24 March 2004, the MoEF had informed Vedanta that the mining proposal was crucial to the refinery and, therefore, it would consider the environmental impact of the two projects together. Six months later, on 22 September 2004 the ministry surprisingly reversed its decision and granted environment clearance for the construction of the refinery, independent of the mining project. The MoEF laid down the condition that Sterlite Industries should obtain clearance for mining on Niyamgiri before putting the alumina refinery into operation. The ministry letter also stated that forestland would not be involved in the project, although another department of the ministry was processing an application for the reallocation of forestland for the same project. Despite these many inconsistencies and violations, the ministry granted the operation environmental clearance and construction of the alumina refinery began in 2004. While Vedanta’s dubious methods for construction of the alumina refinery were being ignored by the MoEF, three petitioners subsequently filed applications with the Central Empowered Committee (CEC), appealing to the authorities to look into Vedanta’s suspicious environmental clearances. The CEC is a quasi-judicial body set up by the Supreme Court in 2002 to look into forest and

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environment issues. After conducting hearings and making visits to the disputed region, the CEC, on 21 September 2005 submitted a scathing report to the Supreme Court, questioning the ineptitude of the local authorities and the savagery of the proposed project. It recommended that the environmental clearance granted to Vedanta for setting up the refinery be revoked, the company be directed to stop further work on the project and mining on Niyamgiri Hills be banned. It also pointed out that Niyamgiri came under Schedule V of the Indian Constitution, which prohibits the transfer of tribal land to a non-tribal group. The CEC found that the environment ministry had wrongfully given clearance to Vedanta and it had ignored the various environmental threats that would arise from the proposed project. It criticized the MoEF for de-linking the mining project from the alumina refinery, as both projects were essential components of each other. The committee also questioned the extreme amount of leniency shown by the MoEF towards the profit-hungry Vedanta. On 8 August 2008, the Supreme Court completely disregarded the CEC’s recommendations and approved the clearance of forestland for mining in the Niyamgiri Hills. This judgment was met with mass protests and objections, with tribals and activists condemning the court for displaying an acute sense of apathy regarding the plight of the people, for showing indifference towards environmental concerns and for ignoring laws and essential guidelines. Despite the vociferous protests, environmental clearance was granted to Sterlite Industries in April 2009 for mining operations; a decision which spelt doom for the Dongria Kondh.  The proposed mining plant is located at the top of the Niyamgiri Hills and the alumina refinery is situated at the foothills, near Lanjigarh. The construction of an approach road to the mining site and conveyor belts for transporting ore from the mine to the refinery requires the felling of numerous trees and massive deforestation. Open pit mining, as proposed on the hills, causes loud noises during excavation, drilling, blasting and crushing operations. The sanctity and serenity of the mountains have been destroyed and will lead to the destruction of the rich ecosystem of the Niyamgiri Hills and the displacement of the natural wildlife habitat. The mountain of Niyamgiri is protected under Section 18 of the Indian Wildlife Act

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and due to its rich wildlife population, it was proposed as a wildlife sanctuary by the Ministry of Environment and Forests in 1998. In 2004, the Odisha government declared the region an elephant reserve. The relentless mining activities will cause the numerous endangered species in the hills to abandon their homes. Mining for bauxite on top of the hills will cause the streams, the underground water resources and the Vamshadhara and Nagabali rivers to dry up. The Dongria Kondh, terribly dependent on these water resources, will also lose their sole source of sustenance. It is interesting to note that Vedanta had initially decided to source its water requirements from the Vamshadhara River; however, the company changed its decision midway and began the construction of a barrage over the Tel River, as it realized that the Vamshadhara would be severely polluted by the mining activities and would not be able to ensure the continuous supply of water. The most severe effect of mining will be on the Dongria Kondh. The Dongria, whose social, cultural and economical life is deeply interlinked with the Niyamgiri Hills, will be uprooted from their sacred home. Cutting and felling of trees on this mountain top is considered taboo by them and a mine blast on the mountain would be an attack on their deity. Moreover, they have learnt from the experiences of other such movements that the fate of displaced tribals will be reduce to mere wage earners. Lado Sikaka, a Dongria Kondh leader of Niyamgiri Suraksha Samiti from Lakhpadar village summarizes their views as to why they reject VAL: After 10 years or more, I see us as what we are today. We don’t want change. Change will mean that everything will be lost – our culture, our language. Some people are stepping out to study, but when they come back they’ve lost everything. What is a man without an identity? See what has happened in Lanjigarh. When the company (VAL) was not there, the ‘Kui’ folk (Kutia and Desia Kondh communities inhabiting the foothills of Niyamgiri) were like us, we lived like brothers. You could identify them as Kandha (Kondhs). But when the company came, everything changed. Land was lost, culture was lost, and identity was lost. Now, they are labourers. Earlier, they were kings, owners over their own land. Now you cannot make out

252  Negotiating Marginality who is Pano, who is Kandho, everything is mixed. What is the use of that kind of development? We will, at the end, become labourers. Now, they are opposing us. Brother is opposing brother (Tatpati, Kothari and Mishra 2016:13).

In the aftermath of the Supreme Court’s decision to allow the environmental clearances of both the alumina refinery and the mining plant, the Dongria Kondh rose in protest. Around 40 tribesmen blocked a road leading into the hills with tree trunks and held banners that read ‘We are Dongria Kondh. Vedanta cannot take our mountain.’ They stood together and prevented workers of Vedanta from entering their sacred hill. Previously, the Dongria Kondh had held numerous protests, appealing to the government and the Supreme Court not to grant forestland clearance to Vedanta. The struggle to save Niyamgiri started in 2007, almost immediately after Vedanta set up the alumina refineries in Lanjigarh without following constitutional procedures. The community affected were not consulted in advance and were forced and bribed to part with their land. Some were relocated to small concrete houses in colonies, far away from their land, rivers and jungles. Having learnt the hard way, the tribals in Lanjhigarh started opposing Vedanta and used this opportunity to reach out to the villages lying in the hills and educate them about the vicious ambitions of the company and the government. It didn’t take long for people like Lado Sikaka, a leader of Niyamgiri Surakha Samiti, to realize that a movement against such powerful forces wouldn’t survive long if they depended on external leadership. During the initial years, people were scared of losing their lands and homes. There was little understanding of the constitutional protection that they had. It took a while to differentiate between the government’s actions and the word of law. While the law protected the people, the government harassed them. On 7 May 2008 hundreds of members of the Dongria Kondh marched through Bhubaneswar, the capital of Odisha, and staged a sit-down protest on Mahatma Gandhi Street, which leads to the state assembly. The tribe’s continuous protests were often met with threats from Vedanta’s employees. On 8 October 2008 after hearing that Vedanta intended to start survey work for the alumina refinery, 150

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people blocked the road leading to their hill and erected barricades. Vedanta’s employees repeatedly visited the blockade and threatened the protestors. Two days later, under pressure from the police and hired thugs, the protestors were forced to dismantle the barricades. However, about a 100 people still remained at the site and erected a wooden gate, blocking the traffic when the company’s vehicles approached. Over 800 Dongria Kondh staged round-the-clock peaceful vigils on the road. 20 October 2008 witnessed hundreds of Dongria Kondh members dancing and singing along the streets of Bhubaneswar, armed with traditional weapons. The huge procession marked their opposition against Vedanta, which had received the Supreme Court’s permission to mine aluminium from Niyam Dongar. Reminiscent of earlier protests, on 6 January 2009 around 50 protestors mounted blockades and prevented the midnight entry of Vedanta workers into their land. The tribesmen stood against the imminent danger of bulldozers and faced the harrowing threat of eviction. However, the tribe’s biggest show of strength was when within 10 days the Dongria Kondh gathered for two of their largest demonstrations. On 17 January 2009 around 7,000 demonstrators; including people from various tribal groups, women, farmers and day labourers, marched to the gates of the alumina refinery. Many protestors, carrying bows and arrows, destroyed the Vedanta branded signboards spread across the Niyamgiri area. Subsequently, on 27 January 2009 more than 10,000 men, women and children, formed a 17 km long human chain around the Niyamgiri Mountains preventing the Vedanta bulldozers from demolishing the mountain. The protestors carried placards bearing the slogans ‘Vedanta, go back’ and ‘Stop mining in Niyamgiri’. 5 October 2009 marked the end of a week long march around the villages of Niyamgiri. The crowd of over 3,000 demonstrators brought the town of Muniguda to a standstill, shutting down the main road for several hours. These increasing protests showed how far the government had failed the people. The movement against Vedanta was not only led by the local tribes, it also gained massive support from international communities. Organizations like Survival International, Amnesty International and Foil Vedanta visited the protest site in India

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regularly and also organized mass rallies outside the company’s London office. For seven years, Survival International organized demonstrations at the Annual General Meeting of the company in London. The organization also launched an international campaign, encouraging major shareholders of Vedanta Resources to disinvest in the company until it removed its operations from Niyamgiri. Witnessing the company’s atrocious treatment of the Dongria Kondh and its involvement in the blatant violation of human rights, many international investors like the Norwegian Government Pension Fund, Martin Currie, the Church of England and Marlborough Ethical Fund sold their stocks in the company. Fuelled by the continuous protests of the Dongria Kondh and the outpouring of support for the tribe, the Government of India sent a team of experts to the Niyamgiri Hills in 2010. The team was asked to submit a report on the effect of the mining project on the Dongria Kondh. The team of experts, in their March 2010 report, concluded that Vedanta’s proposed bauxite mine would be detrimental to the existence of the Dongria Kondh; a consequence which was too serious to ignore. The report also recommended the government refuse the diversion of forestland to the company. The Dongria Kondh emerged victorious on 21 August 2010 when a review of the mining project carried out by the MoEF exposed the violation of a number of environmental regulations by the company. A few days later, the then minister of environment, Jairam Ramesh, called a halt to the project. Two months later, the environment ministry also rejected Vedanta’s plans for a six-fold increase in capacity at the Lanjigarh alumina refinery. The company was also warned to follow pollution guidelines closely and was reprimanded for starting expansion work without prior permission. After denying the company forest clearance in 2010, Ramesh delivered a final blow by revoking Vedanta’s environment clearance in July, 2011. The Dongria Kondh welcomed the ministry’s decision with celebrations and processions throughout Niyamgiri. Following these setbacks, the Odisha government petitioned the Supreme Court to reverse the mining ban on Vedanta and to allow the six-fold expansion of the alumina refinery. With the Supreme Court’s ruling constantly being postponed, Niyamgiri

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became witness to a full-blown showdown between Vedanta and the Dongria Kondh. The Dongria Kondh strengthened their movement against the power hungry company and organized mass-scale protests and movements. Public meetings were often held in the villages of Niyamgiri, where the residents were made aware of the dangers of mining and the threat of eviction. The tribe regularly organized rallies and even garnered the support of the other local tribes in the region. Vedanta retaliated by constantly threatening the demonstrators and tribesmen, abducting and beating up the protest leaders and even spreading wild rumours about the activists and NGOs that were supporting the tribe. In another momentous victory for the tribe, Vedanta Aluminum Limited declared the closing of the Lanjigarh alumina refinery in December 2012 due to insufficient supply of bauxite. In a landmark decision for tribes’ rights in India, the Supreme Court on 18 April 2013 rejected the appeal on the mining ban and decreed that the Dongria Kondh would have a decisive say in giving the go-ahead to Vedanta’s mining project. The court recognized that the Dongria Kondh’s right to worship their sacred mountain must be ‘protected and preserved’ and that those with religious and cultural rights must be heard in the decision-making process. The court provided them with three months to come to a decision about the hazardous mining project. Twelve gram sabhas (village councils) were chosen by the state government to make the crucial decision. In the three months after the Supreme Court ruling, amidst heavy police presence and persistent threats from Vedanta, 11 gram sabhas voted against the mining project and on 19 August 2013 the 12th and final gram sabha delivered a resounding ‘No’. In a decision unfamiliar in the present Indian democratic context, the Dongria Kondh demonstrated the power of the underprivileged, by spurning Vedanta’s advances. On 9 January 2014, the Ministry of Environment and Forests, which had earlier aided Vedanta’s invasion of Niyamgiri, crushed the company’s mining ambitions by completely rejecting the project. In this sensational decision; gaining coverage even in the international media, the Dongria Kondh emerged victorious in the decade-long battle against Vedanta Aluminum Limited.

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The case of Niyamgiri, where the tribals won over the mining giants, revealed the glaring inadequacies of the system in implementing the cultural, traditional and religious rights of tribals in India. It presented the need for an improvement in the present laws and guidelines, with a striking necessity to include tribals’ rights. The Dongria Kondh, who had peacefully existed in the forests of Niyamgiri until the arrival of Vedanta, have now presented a ray of hope to other tribals in the country fighting for days on end just for the right to survive on their own land. The Dongria Kondhs have lit a new fire in the hearts of other destitute tribes, with only one goal in their minds – to reclaim their stolen land. From the aforementioned discussion, we understand that the politics of the sangathan challenges the dominant forces of power and enforces how the tribals would like to be governed. The critical awareness generated through the movements invites us reflect on the dynamics of the social awakening (cf. critical consciousness of Freire 1990) not only in Bargarh, Niyamgiri but also in Kalinganagar, Kashipur and Raighar. Whether it is retrieving land from the illegal encroachment of Bengali refugees in Raighar, not allowing UAIL company to come up for 17 years in Kashipur, forcing the government of Odisha to formulate and implement one R&R Policy in Kalinganagar or the tribal gram sabhas urging the Supreme Court of India to reject the mining lease of Vedanta in Niyamgiri – in all these cases the goal of these people’s movements was not only to secure their livelihood, identity and dignity but also to challenge the domination of the state and market through the politics of territoriality.

7

Negotiating Marginality Subaltern Citizens and the Challenges of Transformation

As such, I was [am] not speaking of a marginality one wishes to lose – to give up or surrender as a part of moving into the centre – but rather of a site one stays in, clings to even, because it nourishes one’s capacity to resist. It offers to one the possibility of radical perspective from which to see and create, to imagine alternatives, new worlds. - bell hooks, Yearning (1990:149–150).

I

n studying tribal movements, however the anthropologists’ endeavour to deconstruct the discourse of the powerful, while giving voice to the struggles of the marginalized, is problematic. Nancy Scheper-Hughes writes, ‘Either one attributes great explanatory power to the fact of oppression (but in so doing one can reduce the subjectivity and agency of subjects to a discourse on victimization) or one can try to locate the everyday forms of resistance in the mundane tactics and practices of the oppressed, the weapons of the weak… Here one runs the risk of romanticizing human suffering or trivializing its effects on the human spirit, consciousness, and will’ (1992: 533). Scheper-Hughes succeeds in avoiding this trap which she comes across in the pessimism of Paulo Freire and the optimism of Frantz Fanon. She comments, ‘If Paulo Freire erred in his unidimensional view of Nordestino peasants as mere objects of the rich and powerful so that their knowledge and experience of

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themselves as self-reflexive humans was all but destroyed, Frantz Fanon erred in his belief that the victims of colonialist oppression could remain strong throughout their torment and emerge altogether unscathed from cultural and economic enslavement, with their subjectivity and culture intact’ (ibid). From her experience with the Brazilian sugarcane workers she puts forward a middle path that does not underestimate the ‘destructive signature of poverty and oppression on the individual and the social bodies’ but ‘acknowledges the creative, if often contradictory, means the people…use to stay alive and even to thrive with wit and their wits intact’ (ibid). Building upon this approach, the previous chapters have described five different tribal movements in Odisha that have been struggling primarily to save their land, livelihood and identity – their resistance against the state, MNCs and other dominant forces; and their vision of an ecologically sustainable development and a socially just world. In this concluding chapter, I shall make a humble attempt to examine and answer the question that we have put forth in the beginning of the book that how do the tribals negotiate marginality in their everyday lives in generating an alternative power, through resistance movements, not only to resist the authoritative forces of state and market but also to secure material resources. In the analysis that follows, I begin with a recapitulation of the arguments presented in the preceding chapters and then examine how adivasis use marginality as a ‘positioning’ in soliciting their goals and demands followed by an analysis of the power generated by the tribals in their everyday actions of resistance for challenging domination.

Critique of Development and Search for Alternatives The service delivery system of the welfare state in India, particularly in Odisha, has failed to provide healthcare, education facility and sustainable development or to ensure even food security for the adivasis. Despite taking initiatives for ensuring economic security and prosperity of the tribals based on their vision of ‘development’, the government of Odisha has been overlooking agriculture as a sustainable means of livelihood for the tribals, though agriculture has been the most important means of survival for them for generations

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together. Without making any attempt to improve the productivity of the land in the area (e.g., irrigation, new technology, plantation, etc.), the state, nonetheless, has been problematizing land as ‘unproductive’, and hence, agriculture as ‘unsustainable’. With this argument, the state has been pushing for an alternative development model – mining of natural resources and industrialization. The state of Odisha, following global development models and free market economy, has been inviting MNCs and other elite to the land of the tribals. In the process, the wealth of the earth, particularly the resource bases of the tribals, has been appropriated by the dominant agents of development impoverishing nature as well as adivasis who depend on it for their survival. Thus, time and again, the tribals have revolted when their very survival is at stake. In Odisha today, the challenge to mainstream development comes in the form of different resistant movements from the socio-economically marginalized tribals who critique ‘development’ based on their vision of an ecologically sustainable and socially just world. Whatever else, the movement has resulted in probably alleviating tribals from exploitation, limiting the appropriation of resources by the state and corporations, securing their lives and livelihoods, changing the course of development, attempting to alter a dominant system; but certainly it has questioned the discourse and practice of the mainstream development. It must be noted here that this critique of development has been formulated and incorporated in the ideology of the movement mostly by the activists and outside supporters, not by the tribals who understand the issues of land, resource, livelihood, displacement and dignity in particular ways. ‘Why industrialization only in the land of the tribals?’, the tribal movements have asked emphatically. Among others, let’s consider the two most important reasons. First, successfully establishing a discourse of tribals as ‘poor’ and ‘marginalized’ and their areas as the signature realms of ‘underdevelopment’ and ‘inertia’, the state bears the moral responsibility of brining ‘development’ to the tribal hinterlands. In these contested spaces of development in Kalinganagar, Kashipur, Niyamgiri and Gandhamardan, the state presented mining and industrialization as the models of ‘development’ not only in the national interest and country’s development, but also

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for the ‘holistic development’ of the tribal people. By constructing the expansion of mining and industrialization as ‘imperatives’, the government denied the need and the possibility of a broader and deeper debate as to why and under what conditions mining could be socially desirable and acceptable, as well as what alternatives other than mining or industrialization might be reasonably pursued. Second, the notion of land and territory is contested. The state and companies use a dominant and paradigmatic notion of land and territory as empty spaces devoid of people but rich in natural resources to be exploited. For instance, Gandhamardan hills, Niyamgiri hills, Baphlimali hills are presented, particularly in the contest of mining, as hills and forests devoid of human habitation. While using these hills for bauxite mining, the state and companies conveniently forgot about those ‘forest dwellers’ and ‘illegal encroachers’ who have been living in or depending on these hills and forests for survival for generations without patta (title rights). Interestingly enough, even in refinery sites, the plain lands are classified either as ‘village forest’, ‘community land’ or denied patta to its owner. For instance, out of 30,000 acre of land acquired by IDCO for industrialization in Kalinganagar, Jajpur, only 13,000 acre were patta lands for which compensation was made. Similarly, while a conservative estimate shows that about 100 villages with about 60,000 population will be affected and 25 villages will directly bear the brunt of bauxite refinery in Kashipur, the government acknowledges only 147 families from three villages will be affected and displaced. Without recognizing the rights of tribal people over their land and territory, the state has reduced their identity into ghost-riders, if not oblivion. While on the other hand, tribal people and social movements have contested this notion, and offered alternative understandings of land and territory as an identity and a space of resistance. Thus upholding the dominant notion of land as an empty space, the state promotes mining and industrialization in tribal areas. The study of these movements has shown that industrialization, as a discourse, is elitist and exclusionary, in the sense that it does not include the tribals as far as the process of industrialization of tribal areas is concerned. The policy makers vis-à-vis industrialization of tribal areas of Odisha neither speak the language of tribals for whom

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they make policies nor belong to them (tribals). Even the documents are not written in the languages of the people (all documents are written in English, but neither in the regional language (Odia) nor in tribal languages). Thus, policies made by the ‘outsiders’ are bound to be elitist and exclusionary which of course provide space for tribal resistance. Bringing in large-scale development projects to the heartlands of the tribal areas, the state has been promoting commodification, resource-intensive industrialization and urbanization, glorifying them in the name of ‘progress’ and ‘modernity’. The arrogance of assuming that the tribals will sacrifice in the interest of ‘the nation’ is something that the state and market replacing discreetly with another arrogant argument that development is universally beneficial and desirable. The state further presents displacement as development, and hence those who oppose these mega-development projects are very often presented as conservatives, nostalgic, anti-project, anti-development, anti-national and even extremists. Presenting development as an evolutionary process the state and the market, therefore, take it for granted that the tribals in the so-called ‘underdeveloped’ areas would willingly welcome displacement as a process of progress and change. As Joshi writes, ‘In the name of progress, development and modernization… Why should anyone oppose when tribal culture changes? A culture based on lower level of technology and quality of life is bound to give way to a culture with superior technology and higher quality of life. This is what we call development. What has happened to us is bound to happen to them because we are both parts of the same society’ (1991: 68; cited in Baviskar 1995: 223). The different understandings of the conditions and life in these contested spaces of development, and different visions for their future development underlie the conflicting positions towards mining among the local population. The opponents of mining frame their lives as being constructed through hard work and communal solidarity, as decent, dignified and calm peasant life, in close connection with nature. The supporters, however, represent these spaces as a territory of poor economic conditions, lacking in employment opportunities and public services, hence in need of ‘development’. The former group define themselves as ‘ecologists’

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defending a model of sustainable territorial development, whereas the other group, often referred to as ‘company supporters’, see the future of the territory as depending on mining development (Buchanan 2013). The company took further advantage of these social divisions to create a clear-cut polarization between the two groups. While the opponents continued to prevent establishment of the company in the area by engaging themselves in diverse contentious politics including numerous protests and demonstrations, legal struggles and national and international campaigning, the company normalized their effect presenting them as ‘a handful of opponents’. Meanwhile, the companies worked to earn support by buying land at inflated rate, hiring people at higher wages, offering small construction works to tribal petty contractors and helping the pro-company communities with different doles and material benefits. Consequently, as the local people became divided, the company managed to win over a small part of the local population. Further, creating a simulation of local support, the company presented the interests and views of the supporters as the general interest of the community. But, the presentation of particular interests of a section of people as the general interest of the society has been challenged by the movements, which bring to light the fact that most of the benefits of industrialization go to the non-tribals and dominant classes while the tribals bear the brunt of the ecological and social costs disproportionately. But by raising the questions of survival, social justice, identity, dignity and directly confronting the mega ‘development’ projects, the movements have challenged the ideology of development that fortifies industrialization and modernization of tribals. The government not only favours the corporate houses but also the elites and privileged ones neglecting the poor and helpless. The rule of telia mundare tela (oil on oily head) or bani mari jhintika posiba (to kill the grasshopper and feed the maina), as Dandho Pujari, an old man of Sorguli, Raighar, says is clear from Raighar issue. The Bengali refugees brought into Dandakaranya area from another desh, as the tribals say, are settled with home and agricultural land while the local tribals are not yet given rights over the land they have been cultivating for ages. As time passed on, the Bengalis usurped tribal

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land. The local bureaucrats and politicians turned deaf ears to the tribals’ cry for restoration of their lands. They stood in favour of the Bengalis. The legitimate people’s protest and demand for restoration of their land had been repressed by using violent means – lathicharge, gas firing, imprisonment and killing of tribals. Through persistent people’s movement, the marginal tribals of Nabarangpur have succeeded in gaining marginal power to challenge the elite Bengalis and the powerful state by winning in panchayat elections and restoring their land from the illegal possession of the Bengalis, albeit a few elite Bengalis still continue with their illegal possession of tribal land. The tribals’ resistance to the authoritative state and particularly to the conflicts over land has been guided primarily by their survival instinct. The tribals of Kalinganagar, for instance, had carried on a peaceful campaign demanding adequate compensation till May 2005, when they faced a major police crackdown for their protests against handing over the land to Maharastra Seamless Company. Later on, taking a step ahead, the tribals of Kalinganagar opposed all efforts of land acquisition in the area and finally became victims of police firing in January 2006. After this incident, the tribals of Kalinganagar decided to stand against any industrialization project in Odisha involving displacement. The movement against industrialization and displacement today is not confined within the geographical boundary of Odisha. It has been connected with different people’s movement against displacement in different part of Odisha as well as in other parts of the country such as Jharkhand, Bihar, Chhattisgarh and Narmada valley. The issues of industrialization and displacement have been articulated in terms of the globally-driven development discourse and practice. The tribals of Kalinganagar, particularly, succeeded in forcing the government and TATA to revaluate and hike the price of their land and rate of compensation. Importantly, a very good R&R policy was developed for their benefit. Even after the shift and rehabilitation of more than half of the total families to be displaced, TATA was unable to start its construction work as the Anti-Tata Movement was in force till March 2010. The fate of UAIL in Kashipur is more critical. UAIL came to the area in 1992. All its efforts to ‘convince’ the tribals were in vain. Guided by survival instinct, though initially the tribals wanted to

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save their land and livelihood, the people’s movement in Kashipur has challenged the elitist and authoritarian development and state hegemony. Kashipur is the only place where leaders of all political parties came together under the banner of Sarvadaliya Committee (All Party Committee) not only to support the company but also to campaign for it. As the Sarvadaliya Committee threatened the tribals’ life and livelihood strategies and made efforts to repress legitimate people’s protest, local tribals insulted and beat the Sarvadaliya Committee members. As a result, there was police firing in December 2000 killing some tribals and injuring a few others. Though the tribals were afraid initially, they soon came together to fight the company and the state. Their resistance was not only against the tyranny of the state-company combined force but also to save their livelihood. Failing to ‘convince’ the people, the company’s efforts to gain people’s favour through development initiatives under the banners of Utkal Rural Development Society (URDS) and Business Partner for Development (BPD) were outrightly rejected by the people with the argument that they did not want the company’s favour and development intervention was the responsibility of the government. Public hearing meetings were organized in the district collector’s office (more than 80 km away from the tribal villages fighting against the UAIL), not in the villages. Formally abiding by the mandates of PESA Act (1996), they got the consent of the tribals by forcing them to sit in gram sabhas and palli sabhas at gunpoint, hence, the tribals rightly call these palli sabhas as ‘police sabhas’. When no strategy worked to ‘convince’ the people in favour of mining and industrialization, the state and company resorted to coercive mechanisms. In 2004, unabated police repression including flag march in villages, late night raids on the PSSP activists and imprisonment and killing of common people were the last strategy of the state-company combined force to ‘teach the tribals a lesson’. Similarly, after 2006 police firing in Kalinganagar, brutal police and military oppression repeated in early 2010. In March 2010, the common corridor was constructed under the supervision of heavy armed military forces. The people protested under the banner of the BBJM. The armed force resorted to brutal violence. This resulted in killing of one tribal in police firing and three others died

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under house arrest in villages due to lack of medical care. Besides that, many villages were raided day and night, the activists of the BBJM had been targeted, many houses of the tribals who refused to move were demolished and set on fire, valuables were looted and destroyed, livestock were killed and robbed and many people were arrested even from hospitals. These events created an environment of fear and fuelled the feeling among the local tribals of Kalinganagar and Kashipur that there is no way to confront the ‘police state’ and stop the project. By use of brutal police and military violence, the construction work of the UAIL company has progressed since 2009. In the same way, TATA has started its construction work in Kalinganagar since March 2010. Despite strong opposition from the local tribals, pushing ahead with mining and industrialization, even using coercive mechanisms, the state government frames the concerns of the opponents as particularistic and ill-informed. Without paying heed to the tribals’ idea of land and sustainable environment and development, the state pits the opponents’ claims to have control over their land and natural resources against its own claim to have the rights and capacity to use the mineral resources that belong to the ‘nation’ for the benefit of all Indians. These acts of repression had its implications. Though many tribals were killed, injured, arrested and imprisoned and many surrendered to the company accepting compensation, but it would be wrong to presume that they had given up their struggle. Getting national and transnational support, they continued to fight against the power of the state-company duo. Internalizing the fact that the interests of the ‘police state’ conflict with their autonomy and survival, the tribals do not hesitate to defy the state laws. Following a simple logic that ‘violence generates violence’, the tribals through their everyday forms of resistance respond to the state like anarchists. After any violent clash between the state and people, for instance police firing in Kashipur and Kalinganagar, the first thing that people do is to restrict, and even prohibit, the entry of ‘outsiders’ including state and company authorities, police, politicians and company supporters into their villages and territories. Besides organizing dharna and bandh, the tribals also pasted pamphlets, put up signboards/signposts, and ‘danger signals’ at the entrance of

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their villages with clear message that ‘trespassers will be punished’. Any ‘outsider’ who tries to enter the village flouting the ‘rule’ of the people is ‘subjected to’ severe punishment including physical abuse. The other violent strategies people use against state and company are gheraoing police stations and government offices, closing company activities for uncertain period, destroying company and government property, abducting and beating the company and government employees and so on. Even the fellow tribals and villagers who support the company and government are not spared: at times, they are beaten to death, their houses are set on fire, their properties ransacked and their families ostracized. While the state exercises its power though implementation of rules and laws, the subaltern citizens exercise an alternative power by putting a range of restrictions and prohibitions on the state and company authorities. Through these techniques of everyday forms of resistance, as James Scott argues, the subordinates not only try to eke out their subsistence but also make their political presence felt (1985: xvii). James Scott, therefore, explains: ‘In as much as I seek to understand the resistance of thinking, social being, I can hardly fail to ignore their consciousness – the meaning they give to their acts’ (1985: 38). The primary motif of these acts of tribal people is to keep the state at a distance, though partially. The forceful tribal mobilizations against state hegemony and authoritative power were evident from Gandhamardan and Niyamgiri movements. As the people could not dare to stand against the mainstream authoritative development of the state in destroying the legendary Gandhamardan and Niyamgiri earlier, the state and the company went on with the construction work. Threatened with livelihood strategies and energized by a spirit of religious bond, there emerged a spontaneous people’s protest against these projects. Along with the tribals, equally, a strong group of middle class joined in the movement to save Gandhamardan, Baphlimali and Niyamgiri hills. In all these movements, the local non-tribals and upper class Hindu activists joined hands to bring justice to the tribals. For instance, a group of upper caste Hindus joined Kashipur movement not only as full time activists but also two of them married tribal women. In all these cases, it seems that the

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upper caste Hindu activists have overlooked caste taboos not only in public sphere, but also in their personal lives. The outside activists add fuel to tribal resistance. By sensitizing the tribals about their rights as well as the ill-effects of mining and industrialization, the activists play important roles in mobilizing people into movements. Besides working as ‘friends’ or leaders of movements, the activists work as intelligentsia to report the struggles of the marginalized people to the outside world through their activities, campaigns and writings. In doing so, they also help in creating ‘imagined communities’ out of those who have been victimized in similar processes elsewhere and their sympathizers. Drawing members from across borders and beyond boundaries, the forceful effect of these movements are felt beyond the local boundaries. For example, environmentalists, academicians, activists and humanitarians extended their support to the people’s movements in Gandhamardan, Baphlimali and Niyamgiri hills by organizing demonstrations and solidarity meetings in the state and national capital, carrying out signature campaigns and submitting memorandums to various authorities in power, providing legal support, and at times, supporting the movements with material and financial resources. Some of the movements also received international attention. For instance, a solidarity group of Kashipur in Canada, Alcan’t in India (an international campaign against Alcan Company) observed a series of protests, demonstrations and solidarity conferences in Montreal in 2003 and 2004 demanding justification for shooting three tribals in Kashipur. Similarly, there was another huge demonstration against Alcan in Berlin and Heidelberg in support of the Kashipur struggle in 2006. Failing to justify its investment in Kashipur amidst the strong local protest, Alcan withdrew from the project selling its 45 per cent share to Hindalco in 2007. The sangathans have realized that members with different social class life experiences tend to approach the problems differently and hence enable the local people to envision new solutions that draw on the strengths of all class cultures to form the basis of stronger crossclass and multiracial movements (Leondar-Wright 2014). With strong people’s movements and support from cross-class alliances, the marginal tribals succeeded in saving Gandhamardan and

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Niyamgiri, and also challenged the state regarding how they would like to be governed as far as development is concerned. The tribals challenged the dominant model of development and highlighted an issue that development should honour people’s opinion and be ecologically sustainable. By pushing ahead with the mega-development projects like in Kalinganagar and Kashipur, in spite of legitimate people’s protest, the state has confirmed that it upholds and promotes the interests of the elite, presenting them as national interest. It seems that the state does not bother even about the life-threatening issues like livelihood and survival of the tribals. When people do not give their consent to these projects, the state suppresses legitimate people’s dissent by the use of terror. The state fulfils the constitutional mandates to a large extent by getting people’s consent at gunpoint. Denying the rights of the people, the violent response of the state to people’s movement shows the true character of the state as elitist, authoritative and undemocratic. The call of the movement for Ama gaonre ama sarkar (our government in our village) and Jami, jala o jangal; ama adhikar (land, water and forest, our right) challenges state legitimacy and declares an alternative of village self-rule. In keeping with the wishes of the majority people, the activists have used non-violent methods, though there runs a continuous debate about the merits of non-violent tactics versus armed struggle. In Kashipur, for example, while a group of NGO workers strongly propagated the use of satyagraha or non-violence, a group of activists insisted on the tribals’ own method of active resistance for selfdefense. In spite of the disgruntlement of the minority, though the tactics of non-violence prevailed in the form of peaceful dharna, strike, bandh, gherao and demonstration, there were occasional sparks of violent resistance. Both in Kalinganagar and Kashipur, for example, the company people and government officials were not permitted to enter the villages and sometimes survey workers of the company were arrested and beaten by local people. During dharna and demonstrations, the people of Kashipur destroyed the company nursery and houses on many occasions. Tribal youths of Kucheipadar told me that they had destroyed the company houses, offices and valuables, and occasionally pilfered company goods in

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midnight raids. The Maoist groups that believe that ‘the days of moral pressure are gone’ have been keen on providing support to these movements. Though the movements have rejected their offer for a militant struggle, they have been provided with ideological and strategic supports. Like the debate of satyagraha versus more militant struggle, there is also a continuous debate as to whether to reject the state totally or take part in mainstream electoral politics. The people’s movement in Kashipur found it hard to fight against the powerful state and company being away from mainstream electoral politics. Setting aside its high ideological position, the movement has had to act pragmatically to avail all political spaces for the realization of their goals. Though village self-rule was deployed as one of the strategies, the movement battled in many other fields – lobbying and pressuring state government directly; and deploying its own political electoral representatives to propagate their mission. As discussed in Chapter 5, in the early 1990s the people’s movement in Kashipur started lobbying and endorsing candidates for MLA posts from major political parties that expressed their sympathy for the movement. Later, these MLAs used the movement as a platform to strengthen their vote bank and once in power, they turned their backs to the movement. In the meantime, with the hope to take part in the local politics and governance directly, the movement in Kashipur and Kalinganagar put up their candidates (mostly independent of support of any mainstream political party) for the post of sarpanch. For example, the activists of the PSSP in Kashipur and BBJM in Kalinganagar contested in panchayat elections in 2000 and 2007 respectively and won with great majority. But very soon they realized that the so-called decentralized or local politics does not honour the views of the local people and local representatives as it upholds only the views of the bureaucrats. Thus, the movement had to set aside its experiment of taking part in electoral politics to solve their problems. Despite the criticism, the movements are not always willing to boycott the government in total. Even though the people occasionally boycott elections by not casting their votes, they have never learnt to completely reject the state. They still continue to

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pay revenue and land taxes and utility bills for electricity and water and in return they depend on the government for provision of PDS ration (especially rice), welfare schemes (e.g., Indira Awas Yojana, bank subsidies, etc.) and development interventions (e.g., minor irrigation projects, provision of electricity, water and healthcare and infrastructure development). By pressurizing and occasionally boycotting the government, the movements have ensured partial fulfillment of their goals and demands. The tribals’ struggle against displacement and industrialization of the countryside is a completely just and worthwhile struggle in itself. This fits, however, into the general critique of mainstream development. The urgency of tribal mobilization in these areas has primarily been among the people who will lose their land and livelihood, while the movements in general have highlighted the fundamental inequities of industrialization as unjust, undemocratic and exploitative. The movement rightly criticizes industrialization as ecologically disastrous and immediate life-threatening manifestation of development. Ironically, the development interventions, including the establishment of the UAIL project in Kashipur and the TATA in Kalinganagar, have turned an almost self-sufficient community of tribals and dalits into a class of wage earners, goons and touts. ‘What is going to happen with their lives in future,’ asks one of the activists of the PSSP during our conversation. In the coming days, as he provided the answer himself, there will be mixed experience in Kashipur, and in all other places too where industrialization is coming up on the lands of the tribals and dalits. The tribals and dalits will be beleaguered with the ‘venom of development’. There will emerge a big group of wage-earners out of an almost self-sufficient community. But, during last 10 to 15 years, the rising subaltern self and critical consciousness have taught the tribals and dalits to protest and fight against the oppression and deprivation. As a result, while there will be a terrible ‘lumpenization’ of resources benefiting a few, the majority will be taken aback and will neither accept nor oppose the situation. The majority group will remain ‘seduced’ by the ‘illusion’ of gain and loss. Kashipur, on the point of view of communication and modernization, will ‘shine’.

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Thus, the people who had never seen the real life in Kashipur would be happy to see ‘shining’ Kashipur after a decade. Those who have seen the real life in Kashipur now would search for the loss of humanity. They would be disheartened to realize the coming up of a group of dalals, goons, touts along with a pitied group of wage earners, on the lost virtue of the simplicity, innocence and natural ‘tribalness’ of the tribals and dalits. Caught in the web of that complexity, tribals and dalits would seem or at least try to show, that they are happy, which is not easy. ‘It is like saying, poison tastes sweet too,’ he concluded. Lado Sikaka, a Dongria Kondh leader of Niyamgiri Suraksha Samiti from Lakhpadar village has the same kind of opinion. This is how the movement criticizes the mainstream development projects. Also, upholding the tribal practices of sustainable use of natural resourses, the movements argue further that the sustainable use of natural resources is something desirable not only for the future generations but also for the whole human kind. The immediate tribal mobilization against industrialization, however, has compromised on their goal of establishing an alternative political culture and generating alternative power but has succeeded in creating a space for creative use of all available opportunities under highly adverse situations. This is because while building of an alternative power structure requires years of patient work, the saving of land, territory, livelihood and identity for the tribals requires an instant movement.

Politicizing Marginality: The Art of Survival The colonial discourse constructed the indigenous people of India as backward and in opposition to colonizers, who were the rational agents of progress. Without understanding this colonial legacy of administrative categorization, though the adivasis are not recognized as indigenous people for their disputed origin (Bose 2013; Shah 2010), the Constitution of India ‘labelled’ (imposed) them as Scheduled Tribes (STs) in 1950. The Constitution also did not make any substantial changes to the 1936 list of ‘tribes’. It had two repercussions. First, the tribals not only learnt to selfidentify themselves as adivasis (STs), they also perceived it as a

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sought-after title (Wood 1985; Islam 2003; Middleton 2013), which determined their political entitlements in society. Second, through this positioning, the tribals learnt to present themselves as a distinct category of being (cf. Skaria 1999) re-recognizing themselves by the properties and attributes of their own social being and not by diminution of those of their superiors. It points to the fact that the criteria for inclusion in a category of persons are contingent, changing, and subject to social and political negotiation (Sylvain 2014: 252). So while confronting the problems of forging a multiplicity of identities and strategies, the tribals argue, as Warren and Jackson rightly do, ‘indigenousness and modernity are mutually exclusive’ (2002: 28). And then, turning ‘indigenous identity itself into a strategy’ (Jackson and Warren 2005:554), the subaltern citizens demand that the politics of recognition should move beyond its empty rhetorician and ensure justice by securing their rightful resources. Even today in India — the local media, documentaries and popular cinema — stereotypically show adivasi men in loincloth and women topless, presenting a pathetic picture of the adivasis as not only poor but also simple. Further, the activists and opposition political party leaders often use the phrase ‘niriha adivasis’ to canonize the tribals as innocent. Today, the tribal leaders consciously use the phrase to draw the attention of their own people and outside world. The ordinary tribals use it in their everyday talk to mean that they are simple, innocent, powerless, poor, exploited and so on. The sangathans use this marginality as a space for mobilizing support for their movements beyond issues and across borders. Whatever else this politics of representation may have resulted in, it is certain that the adivasis have taken this as a possibility of representing themselves as innocent and powerless people and, hence, seeking justice for the exploitation and violence to which they are subjected to. The mobilization of the tribals into sangathans has given a new way to their lives. The movements have generated enough knowledge about the nature, function and vision of the state, market and other dominant agents, awakening the critical consciousness of the tribal ‘person’ (Ingold 1986). Coming into movements, ordinary tribals have turned out to be activists in their own right who can no longer be taken for granted by any dominant agent, whether it is authoritative state,

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powerful market, cunning sahukar, exploitative landlords or influential local elite and politicians. Imposing a series of restrictions and prohibitions on the government authorities, politicians and company officials, the tribals have partially staved off exploitation, violence and punishment and appropriated a system of power over the latter. In the process, they have stopped paying high revenue taxes, ‘fines’, ‘gifts’, khadi and free labour to the government officials and local landlords. Building alliances and coming into movements, the tribals have resisted exploitation and domination and have learnt to bargain and demand their rights and entitlements. The tribals in Kalinganagar for instance have received a compensation of Rs 10,00,000 for each victim who died in the police firing in January 2006 along with a job to the nearest kin of the dead whereas only Rs 1,00,000 was paid to the next kin of the dead in Kashipur police firing in 2000. Furthermore, the tribal DPs of Kalinganagar have received a compensation of Rs 5,00,000 per acre of land along with a good R&R package and an assured job to each family. The activists, too, have learnt how to mobilize funds from the companies to keep their movement running. In Kalinganagar, companies including the TATA funded the BBJM for erecting a huge pillar in the memory of the martyrs and celebrating Martyrs Day at Kalinganagar. Similarly, in Niyamgiri people started becoming more conscious of the nature of conflict that was upon them. There were some villagers who were bribed with Rs 2,500 to allow Vedanta to build roads across their villages. These people accepted the bribe and then donated that money to the movement and did not allow the roads to be constructed. Lado Sikaka laughs as he says, ‘In a way, Vedanta too has funded our struggle against them.’ All the movements have tried their best to channelize the development benefits of the government to the needy people. The sangathans have very often been expected to meet the service delivery failure of the welfare state by providing services to the people, for example, immediate assistance to the families of the victims of the police atrocities, and medicine and awareness to the tribals living in inaccessible villages during the outbreak of epidemics like cholera and diarrhoea. The sangathans have also tried to give shape to their vision of development. In Kashipur, for example, while the state and elite favoured handing over of arable lands to the corporate houses,

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the PSSP have carried out cashew plantation in community forests as well as encouraged individual families to do the same on their own dongar lands. Over the last few years, this has ensured economic security to the adivasi families in Kucheipadar. The sangathan in Kashipur has also tried to provide education to the adivasi children through night schools. It has also spearheaded several community forest and watershed management initiatives in the area. Through these efforts, the sangathan managed to link the livelihood concerns of peasants with its own interest in conservation. Moreover, these processes helped to link different communities that had previously been rather isolated from each other, and created a shared territorial identity and common vision of ecologically sustainable development (Avci and Fernandez-Salvador 2016). The sangathans have presented their demands basic amenities and other developmental benefits and grievances to the government and company authorities time and again through appeals and memorandums. In Kashipur, Kalinganagar and Raighar, for example, the adivasis have demanded the rights over the land they have been cultivating and allocation of land to the landless families. The tribals argue that as the creator and cultivator of the land for generations, the ‘natives’ are the owners of it. Instead of providing records of right to the ‘native’ cultivators and land to the landless poor tribals, the state has been handing over the land to the company and ‘outsiders’. Therefore, all the movements under study have been struggling to claim their ‘right to earth’ – the fight against disentitlement to land caused by the authoritative development process (Mohanty 1994). The tribal’s cultural struggle for indigenous rights and sociopolitical and economic entitlements must be seen as a movement essentially aimed at transforming the balance of power in the region. In Gramscian terms it may be seen as a struggle for contesting power and dominance in the cultural and political arena. By forcefully claiming indigenous status and rejecting the notions of backwardness and inferiority in comparison with the mainstream people, the tribal movements have attempted to secure political advantage. In the process, along with making claims about authentic indigenity and

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purity of adivasi culture, the tribals see that their entitlements are fulfiled. For the subordinate and marginalized tribal communities, the political significance of the use of these categories is to challenge ‘the power of hegemonic formations whether constituted within academic disciplines, institutional fields or at the level of whole society’ (Damodaran 2007: 156). Nicholas Dirks notes, ‘If otherness is a category that must always be suspected, […] it nevertheless may facilitate our attempt to listen to the voices of anthropological informants and colonized subalterns’ (Dirks 1990: 12). In fact, the connotation of autochthonous power associated with the term adivasi which has found most favour with these communities is of great significance. The act of embracing indigenous identity or adivasi by these communities must be seen in political terms (Karlsson 2000, 2001, 2003). The recent debate over the establishment of mega development projects, especially by MNCs, in tribal areas has highlighted the question of indigenous rights. While only a section of tribal people are affected by these projects, their plight has been highlighted in global terms by reference to global environmentalism and human rights. In this, the tribal’s endeavour of claiming indigenous rights has been enforced by the contemporary political prominence and international shift in attitude towards the indigenous people and their rights. It can be seen as a way of generating an alternative power structure for contesting the power of hegemonic formation and being outside of narrative of the Indian nation state (see Guha 1999). Therefore, ‘If the systems of power are multiple, then resisting at one level may catch people up at other levels’ (Abu-Lughod 1990: 53). The presence of these movements, however, shows that the tribals have not consented to the domination of the powerful state, MNC and other authorities (cf. Scott 1990). ‘Their persistent attempts to “nibble away” may backfire, they may marginally alleviate exploitation, they may force a renegotiation of the limits of appropriation, they may change the course of subsequent development, and they may more rarely help bring the system down. These are possible consequences. Their intention, by contrast, is nearly always survival and persistence,’ rightly writes Scott (1985: 301).

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Legitimizing Violence: The Power of the Powerlessness And today, the intentions of the tribal movements move beyond securing their survival. The subaltern citizens’ search for a ‘living in truth’ 1 is very often confronted by the state hegemony and other authoritative forces of power. The oppressed always contain ‘within themselves the power to remedy their own powerlessness’. Vaclav Havel argues that ‘by an individual “living in truth” in their daily life they automatically differentiate themselves from the officially mandated culture prescribed by the state; since power is only effective in as much as citizens are willing to submit to it’ (Keane 1985: 269, 270). Following my argument in the first chapter to study resistance as a ‘diagnostic of power’, I would argue that resistance is more than opposition. It is creative and transformative by appreciating the multiplicity of forms that resistance takes, the multiplicity of roles that the actors are always engaged in, and the multiplicity of ways in which these projects build on, as well as collide with one another. Analysing different resistance movements in Odisha and building on the fact that where there is resistance there is power, I traced the workings of power through rich, complex and sometimes contradictory details of resistance. Analysis of these complex and contradictory forms of resistance would trace how the relations of power have historically transformed, particularly with the introduction of different forms and techniques of power characterized by modern state and capitalist economy. This analysis would help us understand the ways in which the complex and conflicting structures of power work together in tribal communities that are gradually becoming more tied to multiple and often ‘non-local’ systems of power. Coming into movements and building alliances, the tribals exercise one kind of power by putting a range of restrictions and prohibitions 1 The phrase comes from former Czech dissident and president Vaclav Havel, who used it to describe resistance to totalitarianism (see Havel et al. 1985). Here it means to live your most truthful self. Inside you is a person waiting to jump out and live in truth and openness. Most of us spend our days living up to expectations and definitions of culture and state. In this way, all of us are living to be someone different than who we truly are. 

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on the government and company authorities. For example, as we have seen in our previous discussions, the activists of the PSSP had banned the entry of the government and company authorities from 1996 to 2004, abducted the company and government employees and forced them to sign petitions, destroyed the company nursery and property, blocked roads, closed company gate for uncertain periods, gheraoed police station and collector’s office. The tribals of Kashipur have refused to listen to the highest authority of the state, the chief minister of Odisha. The activists of Kashipur movement also abducted government and company authorities, sealed the activities of the company for uncertain periods, and destroyed property of the company and company supporters. Similarly, the tribals of Kalinganagar had kept the main road blocked for more than a year and denied entry to any government and company authority into the movement villages from January 2006, the day of police firing, till March 2010. The tribals and dalits of Dalit Samaj of Nabarangpur destroyed the properties and standing crops of the Kondhs and illegal Bengali refugees. They have set many Kondh villages on fire and brutally beaten and killed many Kondhs including a few old men and children. They have ransacked the block offices and set them on fire. They, in some instances, have also scolded and abused police and military forces, made the highest state police authority of the state and his companion sit on bare grounds for meetings, forced them to run away from violent mobs, take off their uniform and physically beaten them black and blue. The tribal activists have also justified their violent acts against the state, company and fellow tribals in the name of ‘people’s law’. The PSSP activists, for instance, in many occasions have destroyed the standing crops and private properties of fellow tribals who wished to vacate their land for the proposed UAIL Company. Similarly, the activists of Raighar movement set many Kondh villages on fire, physically abused and killed many Kondh people including old men, destroyed huge crops of the Kondhs and Bengali refugees and beaten government authorities including police personnel black and blue. This is not a diffused kind of resilience by the tribals of my study area that I have fantasized about, rather through these particular modes of resilience – prohibiting, restricting and denying – they

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have resisted the ways in which the government and the company exercise their power and control over the tribals. Though these little acts of everyday forms of resistance make no headlines, it is largely in this fashion that the tribals make their political presence felt. Tarrow writes, ‘Power in movement grows when ordinary people join forces in contentious confrontation with elites, authorities and opponents’ (1994: 1). Anthropologists have pointed out, however, that ‘violence must be seen as a discursive process, occurring within cultural and historical contexts and producing new meanings, practices and symbols’ (Penglase 2005: 6; also see Feldman 1991; Aretxaga 1997; Whitehead 2004). Penglase argues, ‘Violence is both performative and poetic: violent acts produce effects beyond the merely instrumental, and often do so by drawing attention to the form within which they are executed and by deploying signs in new contexts, thereby altering their meanings’ (2005: 6). Seen in this light, the people’s movement in Kashipur (true to all other people’s movement also) marks a profound transformation in the life-world of the tribals. It has destroyed tribals’ ‘innocence’ – the silence that made them susceptible to historical exploitation and torture. The reign of gardu (forest guard) and headu (police) in tribal life is being challenged (cf. Mohanty 1987). As against the mai-bap regime, the tribals are becoming critically conscious about police, administration, bureaucracy, government and the company. They are analysing the slogans and works of the political parties. It is no longer a mystery for the tribals and they understand that the agenda of the government and the capitalist is to keep them underdeveloped. People’s movements have questioned the role of the state as a central economic and political actor. The mainstream paradigm of ‘development’ is especially being called into question. Through different kinds of rallies, strikes, dharnas, bandhs, gheroas, protests and demonstrations, the tribals generate a new form of power and wage a new kind of battle against the authoritative forces of the state and market, sometimes even forcing the government to fulfil their demands. Kalinganagar movements, for instance, succeeded in extracting a huge hike in the valuation of land price and forced the Government

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of Odisha to formulate an R&R policy (that had been non-existent) for the benefit of the tribals. Though the joint endeavour of the government and company to begin the mining project in Kashipur resulted in police firing in 2000 and brutal police repression during 2004 and 2005, the UAIL, however, was unable to finish its construction work until 2010. Saving Gandhamardan and Niyamgiri, the tribals have proved repeatedly that if the state exercises its power through ‘legitimate violence’ the people also generate an alternative power by legitimizing violence.

Resisting Domination: An Alternative Power As we saw, the movement has engendered a change in political consciousness of the tribals, breaking their acquiescence, and has provided an experience of mobilization and organization that help them to stand against exploitative forces; whether it is the bloodsucking village sahukar, corrupt government authorities, authoritative state or powerful market. By awakening the insurgent and critical consciousness of the tribals, the movements have shown that power does not lie with the omnipotent and inaccessible state structure, but it is generated by the people’s everyday forms of conformity and confrontation. ‘The more people refuse inducements, withstand intimidations, question assumptions, demands new kinds of information, repudiate values or norms of behaviour, the more powers of control are driven back upon physical coercion; and any authority which can only reproduce the governing relationships of society by a constant exercise of force is precarious’ (Marris 1987: 116; cited in Baviskar 1995: 195). Quite apart from the fact that the movements have brought about a lot of changes in reshaping the future of tribal-state relationship, it is satisfying in itself to realize that the tribals have mobilized and organized themselves as a community with shared struggle – a group of people deprived of their rights and suffering from poverty and other awful miseries of life, subjugated with injustice, violence and indignity imposed by authoritative development interventions and those who support these causes. Tarrow rightly observes, ‘Internally, a good part of the power of movements comes from the fact that they activate

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people over whom they have no control’ (1994: 23). This ‘imagined community’, to borrow a phrase from Anderson (1991), though still is on the margin, has resolved to stand up against the state and other dominant systems of power to set the foundation stone for an age of self-determination. As we discussed above, the politics of resistance is neither outside of nor independent from the systems of power. The politics of the movement, again, is not purely a ‘resistance’. Through resistance, the movements have succeeded in staving off the endeavours of the government to establish a company in Gandhamardan and Niyamgiri, retrieving land from the illegal encroachment of the outsiders in Nabarangpur, and delaying the progress of the company’s work in Kashipur and Kalinganagar. The realization of the agendas of the movements has been severely limited by the repressive and bureaucratic state power as well as by the dearth of resources that support them. Upholding the belief that the state system is illegitimate and repressive, the movement has been trying to renounce the dominant political ideology through moral pressure of passive resistance. But the urgency of saving the land and livelihood demands instant mobilization and active resistance and requires that all strategies be employed, including the tribals contesting in elections, and being endorsed by mainstream political parties2 whose ideology may clash with that of the movement. Strategically, the sangathans have also used violence not only against the state and company authorities but also against their own people in trying to achieve the goals of the movements. Keeping aside its espoused goal of establishing an alternative state structure, the politics of the sangathan’s partial conformity to the state is in order to fulfil the desire and requirement of the state-sponsored commodities and services (e.g., accepting healthcare facilities, education, development programmes and welfare schemes) to deal with the acute deprivation 2 The sangathans in Kashipur have put up candidates in panchayat elections as independent candidates, not being endorsed by any dominant political party. But in Kashipur, candidates contesting for MLA elections were approved and supported by the mainstream political parties. Also in Kalinganagar, the candidates of the sarpanch election in 2007 were supported by the Congress, the opposition political party in the state.

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of the people. The sangathan takes advantage of these contradictions to reinforce itself and to resist. I take this as an example of what Foucault was trying to get at in suggesting that the resistance should not be seen as a reactive force somewhat outside of an independent from the systems of power. He tells us (1978: 95–96), Their existence depends on a multiplicity of points of resistance: these play the role of adversary, target, support, or handle in power relations. These points of resistance are present everywhere in the power network. Hence there is no single locus of great refusal, no soul of revolt, source of all rebellions, or pure law of the revolutionary. Instead there is a plurality of resistances, each of them a special case: resistances that are possible, necessary, improbable; others that are spontaneous, savage, solitary, concerted, rampant, or violent; still others that are quick to compromise, interested, or sacrificial; by definition, they can only exist in the strategic field of power relations.

What emerges from this is the fact that the movements, especially the sangathans, do not suspect the ways in which their everyday forms of resistance against the state are underpinning them into wider and different set of authority structures challenging the dominant structures of power. Their conformity or partial conformity to the state, if there is any, might be to fulfil their desires for commodity or a range of demands for mitigating their miseries. Further, the movement has succeeded in questioning the discourse and practices of mainstream development as destructive (it worsens social destitution by reallocating resources from the poor to the rich) and hegemonic (the state never takes the people into confidence for planning, implementation and monitoring). Challenging the state apparatus, the movements, however, have thrown open spaces for a dialectical process privileging, at least partially, not only agency over structure but also dialectics over hegemony. Similarly, the multiplicity of points of resistance of the movements against displacement in Odisha, particularly in Kalinganagar, has forced the government, while preparing the R&R policy, to consult and abide by the views and demands of the tribals which would have not been possible otherwise. Also in Raighar, being in power, the tribals and dalits ensured the fair

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delivery of developmental benefits along with checking exploitation and violence against them. The tribals and dalits of the area secured their reservation quota in getting admission in schools and colleges. Some of them also got jobs in the government institutions which only the Bengalis occupied earlier. The government has also come to terms with the local tribals and dalits in giving them contract works (for instance, road construction and infrastructure development) which was earlier the business of elite Bengalis. Along with the Bengali refugees, there came tribals like Kondh, Paraja and Gond from other parts of Odisha to settle in Dandakaranya reserve forest area in Nabarangpur. As discussed earlier, the immigrant tribals like Kondh and Paraja as well as the local tribals like Gond and Bhotra encroached forest land by giving ‘fine’ to the police and forest department officials. Over last five decades, these tribals have made this reserve forest their abode and place for cultivation. But by rule law, no habitation is allowed inside reserve forest. So, now the government attempts to revive the forest by afforestation programme, while the tribals who have been staying there are not ready to vacate. They challenge the state that if Bengalis from another desh can be brought and settled in that reserve forest, why not the ‘native’ landless and poor tribals. They want the landless tribal families to be settled with home and land like the Bengalis. In violating the so-called rule of the government and staying in reserve forest; and even now claiming to be settled with land rights; is something perhaps inadvertently enmeshing the tribals in an extra ordinary complex set of new power relations. Since the exercise of the rules and regulations is one of the most important means through which the government continues to hold the unequal structures of power, then violations of the code must be understood as generating an alternative power for resisting the system and challenging the authorities who represent and benefit from it. In doing so, the movements have put a frontal challenge not only to the structures of power but also to the whole system. This is the kind of contribution a careful analysis of resistance can make. In this book, I have argued particularly to learn to read the existence of a range of specific strategies and structures of power in everyday forms of resistance and in various places. A careful

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attention to the multiple forms of resistance in particular cases and places would help us to be critical of the theories of power. The problem has been that those of us who have sensed that there is something admirable about resistance have tended to look to it for hopeful confirmation of the failure, or at least partial failure, of the systems of oppression. Yet it seems that the everyday forms of resistance deserve our admiration not just for the dignity or heroism of the resisters but for the lesson that their action teach us about the complex interworking and transformations of historically changing structures of power. And in the context of these besieged lives, I find the persistence of tribal’s struggle not only challenging the tyranny but also mitigating their own miseries powerful enough ‘to celebrate with them, joyfully and hopefully, if always tentatively’ (ScheperHughes 1992: 533). And therefore, let us sing with them, Na jindabad hoga, na murdabad hoga Jaba jagegi janta… Jabjagegi janta, khud inqualb hoga. There will be slogan neither for “long live…” Nor for “down, down…” When the people awake There will be only revolution.

Acronyms and Abbreviations

ADM am AP APC BA BALCO BBJM BDO BJD BJP BPD BPL CI CM Cr.P.C. DC CRPF DDA DFID DFO DIG DM DNK DP DPEP DRDA

: Additional District Magistrate : Anti-meridian : Andhra Pradesh : All Party Committee : Bachelor of Arts : Bharat Aluminium Company : Bisthapan Birodhi Jana Manch : Block Development Officer : Biju Janata Dal : Bharatiya Janata Party : Business Partner for Development : Below Poverty Line : Circle Inspector (of Police) : Chief Minister : The Code of Criminal Procedure : District Collector : Central Reserve Police Force : Dandakaranya Development Authority : Department for International Development : District Forest Officer : District Inspector General : District Magistrate : Dandakaranya : Displaced Person : District Primary Education Programme : District Rural Development Agency

Acronyms and Abbreviations  285

EIA EMP ESG FAO GBA GoI GoO GP IDCO IFAD IG ITDA kg km MA MECL MESCO MFP MIL MLA MNC MP NALCO NCC NGO NINL NREGA NREGS OBC ODM OIC OMC OPSC OSPCB OTDP OUAT PA

: Environmental Impact Assessment : Environmental Management Plan : Employment Guarantee Scheme : Food and Agriculture Organization : Gandhamardan Bachao Andolan : Government of India : Government of Odisha : Gram Panchayat : Industrial Development Corporation of Odisha : International Fund for Agriculture Development : Inspector General : Integrated Tribal Development Agency : Kilogram : Kilometer : Master of Arts : Mineral Exploration Corporation Ltd. : Mid-East Steel Company : Minor Forest Produce : Modern Indian Language : Member of Legislative Assembly : Multi National Company : Member of Parliament : National Aluminium Company : National Cadet Corps : Non-Governmental Organization : Nilanchal Ispat Nigam Ltd. : National Rural Employment Guarantee Act : National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme : Other Backward Class : Odisha Directorate of Mines : Officer-in-Charge : Odisha Mining Corporation : Odisha Public Service Commission : Odisha State Pollution Control Board : Odisha Tribal Development Programme : Odisha University of Agriculture and Technology : Project Administrator

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PAP : Project Affected People PDS : Public Distribution System PESA : Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act PHC : Primary Health Centre pm : Post-meridian PMU : Project Management Unit POSCO : Pohang Steel Company PSSP : Prakrutik Sampad Suraksha Parisad R&R : Resettlement and Rehabilitation RDC : Revenue Divisional Commissioner RI : Revenue Inspector Rs : Rupees SBM : Santali Bhasa Morcha SC : Scheduled Caste : the untouchable castes variously known as Harijans or Dalits in India SP : Superintendent of Police ST : Scheduled Tribe: Adivasis or tribal prople. TATA : Tata Steel Company Ltd. UAIL : Utkal Alumina International Ltd. UNDP : United Nations Development Programme UNICEF : United Nations Children’s Fund  UNO : United Nations Organization UPSC : Union Public Service Commission URDS : Utkal Rural Development Society VAL : Vedanta Aluminium Limited VHP : Viswa Hindu Parisad VLW : Village Level Worker VSS : Vana Suraksha Samiti WFP : World Food Programme WHO : World Health Organization

Glossary

Adivasi

Aboriginal, tribal or indigenous people. Adivasis in India are officially known as Scheduled Tribes. Alsi Niger (Guizotia abyssinica), an oil seed Ambdijhola A curry prepared out of rice gruel added with tamarind Andolanakari Activists Asur Demon Baada Kitchen garden Babu Can be translated as Sir or boss Bandh Originally a Hindi word which means “closed”, is a form of protest by activists where it is expected the general public to strike work, and everything including the market, public transport services etc. should remain close. Barsika diwas Annual day Bazaar Market Berenamunda In Kondh language, it refers to a place where a number of big flat stones arranged in a fashion of a raised platform where the village council sits for deciding any matter. Bhaina Brother Bhumipuja Worship of land, the inaugural ceremony of land before constructing a house, company etc. Bidi/ biri Hand-made cigarette

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Chanda Fee/contribution in the form of cash, kind or both. Crore Ten million or hundred lakhs (10,000,000) Cumpander agyan Compounder sir Ostracize. Literally, it means forbidden water and Dahariya bage fire. Usually, it means to exclude an individual, a family or a group, by general consent, from friendship, conversation and privileges of a society. Dalal Broker or tout Dalit Dalit, meaning “broken/scattered” in Sanskrit and Hindi, is a term mostly used for the castes in India that have been subjected to untouchability. Constitutionally most of the dalit communities are recognized as Scheduled Castes. However, some sources say that Dalit has encompassed more communities than the official term of Scheduled Castes and is sometimes used to refer to all of India’s oppressed peoples. Darbar Court Dharnas Sit-ins Dikus Aliens Dola Rafter Dongar Hills Garadu Forest guard (in Kui language) Gauntia Landlord Gherao Originally a Bengali word meaning “encirclement,” is a form of protest where usually a group of people would surround a politician or a government building until their demands are met, or answers given. Ghurdi sag A kind of greens Goruchari Grazing the cattle in the forest Goti/halia Bonded labour Gram Panchayat The local-governance unit at the village and small town level

Glossary  289

Gram Sabha An official meeting of all adults who live in the area covered by a Gram Panchayat. Harijan Meaning “child of God”, a term used by Gandhi for dalits. Officially they are known as Scheduled Castes. Hedu Head constable (in Kui language) Kanda and karadi Literally means roots and shoots, but in generic sense they refer to all forest products Kandul Redgram, a variety of pulses Kendu Botanical name Diospyros melanoxylon, Khaadi Food Khaki A dust colour or ash colour dress used by mostly by the police and military personnel. Khuntkatidars Literally means those who developed land from wild forest by cutting stumps. It is a title given under the British Raj to Munda and Ho tribes of this area as the first settlers who had community ownership right over forest and its natural resources. Kumpany Company Kutumb panthi Literally means “family fund”. The community grain bank developed in Kashipur. Ladi A small hut made in the farm land Lakh One hundred thousand (100,000) Lathi Meaning “stick”, is commonly used as a crowd control device by Indian police and other such law enforcement agencies. Maa Mother Mahua Botanical name Madhuca longifolia Mai-bap Mother-father Mana A measuring unit for grain Mandia Finger millet, a variety of small millet Mandia pej Gruel prepared out of ragi (finger millet) Mansabdar The simple meaning of mansab is a post, an office, rank or status, hence mansbdar means a rank-holder or an office. It was the generic

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term for the military-type grading of all imperial officials of the Mughal Empire. Mansabdari The administrative system of the Mughal Empire that classified its functionaries based on their rank and status. Matira poka Insects of the earth Naib Sarpanch An elected representative of the local governance (Gram Panchayat) who acts as a deputy Sarpanch. Namaskar It is a common form of customary greeting or salutation among Indians. When spoken to another person, it is commonly accompanied by a slight bow of head with hands pressed together, palms touching and fingers pointed upwards, in front of the chest. Palli Sabha Palli Sabha is the meeting of all the electorates of a revenue village. Such revenue village may comprise one ward or more than one ward. Parivar Family Patta Record of rights Pikka A country cigar made of tobacco rolled in sal leaves Podu Shifting cultivation Pratistha diwas Day of establishment or beginning of something Pucca Meaning “solid” and “permanent”. Pucca houses are typically made of concrete, stone, brick, clay tiles and/or other solid metals. Purdah Curtain system Rabi crop The crops that are sown in the winter season are called rabi crops Raja King Ranjamarani Cutting small branches from the stumps standing on the shifting cultivation patches Ribini Revenue Inspector, popularly known by the abbreviation RI (in Kui language). Sagrami Activists / rebel Sahi Hamlet

Glossary  291

Sahid Diwas Martyr day Sahid stambha Martyr pillar Sahids Martyrs Sahukar Moneylender Sala (plural Sale) Literally means wife’s younger brother. Salap A variety of fishtail palm juice added with herbal. Sali Literally means wife’s younger sister. Samiti Sabhya An elected representative of the local governance system who represents Gram Panchayat at the Block level. Sangathan Organization Sangrami Sathi Activist friend Sarapanch A democratically elected head of a village level statutory institution of local self-government called the Gram Panchayat in India. Saree/Sari A strip of unstitched cloth, ranging from four to nine meters in length, used mostly by women to cover their body. It is popular in India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Bhutan, Burma and Malaysia. Sistu Revenue or tax Suan Small millet Landless families Sukhbasi Swargadwar Swarga means “heaven” and dwar means “gateway”, so literary Swargadwar is consider as the ‘Gateway to Heaven’. Name of the holy cremation ground of Hindus located in Puri, Odisha, where generally the Hindus believe to end their life to go to heaven for liberating their soul and getting ultimate salvation. Tahasil An administrative unit of local self-government for land records and related administrative matters, otherwise known as taluk (taluq, taluka), and mandal in some places in India. Tahasildar A revenue administrative officer in charge of obtaining tax/revenue from a Tahasil

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Tankupej Mango kernel gruel Thana Police station Thikedar Petty contractor Veer Bhumi Land of the hero Zamindar Landlords of colonial India Zamindari Landlordship Zilla Parisada It is a local government body at the district level in India

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Index

aboriginal 10, 13 Australian aboriginal communities 13 Abu-Lughod, Lila 26 adivasi xxi, xxii, xxiii, 4, 5, 8, 11, 12, 49, 159, 167, 171, 172, 258, 271, 275 adivasi ekata/unity 5, 230 self-identification as 6, 271 as a distinct category of being 6 as marginal people 9, 13 connotation of 11 consciousness 23, 229 will not dance 190 Agragamee (NGO) 65, 66n11, 68, 72, 73, 179, 182, 218, 240 Agrarian movement 23 and forest rights 24 livelihood 90, 91 Agrawal, Arun 19 All Party Committee (APC) 40, 162, 163, 164, 174, 201, 264 alternative development 51, 89, 259 alternative power 54, 239, 258, 266, 271, 275, 279, 282 alternative/imagined society 225, 226

Amnesty International 41, 253, anthropology 4, 14, 16, 30, 31 discourse of 9, 11 colonial 10 of development 15, 18 challenge for 20 of mining 25n12 social 30 as a body of writing 31 principle of 32 upward 32 as a critique of world order 32 auto-anthropology 33 anti-politics machine 50, 57, 58, 59, 60n6 Archer, William 94 Aryan 10 Indo-Aryan speaking 10 Asad, Talal 14 autonomy 24, 157, 213, 265 Bahuguna, Sunderlal 206, 246, 247 Baphlimali hill/s 82, 90, 182, 217, 219, 260 barbarian 10 Baudrillard, Jean 173 Baviskar, Amita xxviii, 22n8, 25, 229 Below Poverty Line (BPL) 68

Index  323 families 68, 236, rice 69, card 71, 151 Bengali refugee/s 3, 47, 48, 52, 116, 118–125, 129–131, 145, 150, 152n11, 256, 262, 277, 282 Bharat Aluminium Company (BALCO) 44, 45, 82, 219, 242–248 Bisthapan Birodhi Jana Manch (BBJM) – People’s Forum Against Displacement 1, 4, 102, 104–107, 110, 111, 113, 186, 187, 188, 190, 192, 193, 194, 196, 204, 208, 210, 212, 221, 223, 241, 264, 269, 273 Bourdieu, Pierre 29 Bryant, Raymond L. 87, 89, 97 bureaucracy 52, 154, 162, 201, 232, 233, 278 Business Partner for Development (BPD) 68, 166, 169, 264 capitalist economy 9, 85, 276 Carrithers, Michael 31, 33 caste xxii, 11 caste system 10 Scheduled Castes 37, 56, 121 Dom caste 39 backward caste 46 general caste 56, 129 higher/upper caste 100, 226, 230, 231, 266 lower caste 119 caste status 121 caste feelings 123 Sundhi caste 181 identity and caste 225 tribe-caste boundary 230 caste taboos 230, 267 Central Empowered Committee (CEC) 249–250

Chambers, Robert 17 Chatterjee, Partha 52, 153, 154 civil society 50, 81, 204, 206, 207 class xxii class and caste xxii class communities xxv elite classes 7 subordinate classes 7 middle class 45, 266 upper class 266 social class 63, 267 dominant classes 262 class cultures 267 cross-class 267 cross-class alliances 267 class of wage earners 270 Other Backward Class 100, 101 collective action 21, 22, 232 Comaroff, Jean, and John Comaroff 21n7 community 33, 35, 51, 64, 77, 84, 85, 86, 111, 157, 212, 215, 227, 232, 252 local community 56, 158 beneficiary community 60 human community 60 welfare of the 62, 79 disadvantaged section of the 65 of wage labourers 67 self-sufficient 67 grain banks 72, 79 agricultural 80 rights over land 96 assets 97 friendly strategies 98 dividing the 102 fields/land 108, 260 village 108 forests 108, 274 ownership right 113n22

324  Negotiating Marginality enemy of the 115 host 115 loss of community life 115 Bengali 124 Gauda 132 moral community 153, 157, 207, 203, 213 leaders 175 fellows 206, 211 business 218 tribal 230 self-sufficient 270 with shared struggle 279 imagined community 280 Constitution of India xxiii, 271 Currie, Bob 57n3 Dalit Samaj 48, 52, 122, 123, 123n2, 125, 130, 132–134, 149, 150, 212, 277 Dalits 39, 52, 120 Dandakaranya Development Authority (DDA) 46, 119, 121, Dandakaranya/Dandakaranya reserve forest xxv, 46, 47, 52, 118–120, 125, 127, 128, 154, 212, 262, 282 Das, Veena 29, 30, 31, 201, 203 Deconstruction/deconstructionist of the dominant development 15 approach 15 alternative deconstructions 15 development deconstruction 19 stance 19 deconstructionism 20 Deep ethnography 29, 33 development xxiii, xxv, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 14 bureaucratic model of development 7, 13

development as domination 14, 49 critique of development 14, 18, 258 development as a regime of representation 14 post-development 15, 16 dominant/authoritarian development 15, 21, 82, 264, 268 anthropology of development 15, 18 development apparatus 15 development discourse/ development as discourse 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 58 development as a dialectical encounter/dialectical development 20, 21,28, 54 mega-development xxv, 25,43, 117, 268 alternative development xxiv, 51, 54, 89, 259 alternative to 6, 9 mainstream development 6,8, 25, 259, 281 displacement as development 97, 261 development induced displacement 115 development interventions/ programmes xxv, 4, 9,13, 15, 49, 50, 56, 57, 59, 64, 65, 67, 76, 77, 80, 96, 150, 151, 152, 238, 270 politics of 5, 53 agents/agency of 5, 12, 53, 81, 259 conflicts over development 6 anti-development 8, 176 development practices 11

Index  325 beneficiaries 18 gaze 18 victims of 21 development failures 57 development planning 60, 62, 64, 78 planned 81 contested development 118 sustainable 258, 274 Dirks, Nicholas 275 discourse xxi public discourse xxi colonial discourse xxiii, 9, 11, 271 counter-hegemonic xxv, 6, 8 critical discourse 9, 15 development discourse 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 58, 59, 60 development as 18, 19 of representation 14 power-knowledge 15 concept of 15 discourse analysis 17, 58 post-discourse era 19 post-structuralist 21 counter-discourse 22 anthropological 30 power of 60 displacement xxi, xxvi, 25, 51, 83, 83n2, 98, 101, 104, 112, 115, 201, 207, 221, 229, 250, 259, 263, 270, 281 as development 97, 261 development-induced 115 problem of 186 domination xxv, 1, 6, 7, 8, 10, 14, 21, 28, 34, 49, 53, 54, 85, 190, 213, 256, 258, 273, 274, 275 power and 49 development as domination 14, 49 resisting domination 279

economy 83 national economy xxiv tribal economy 91 of restraint 95 self-sufficient economy 225, 270 capitalist/market economy 9, 84, 85, 259, 276 political economy 51, 58, 85, 87, 116 political economy of profit 84, 95, 97 political economy of land 98 moral economy 51, 84, 85, 86, 87, 89, 116 moral economy of provision 84, 89, 97 eminent domain 51, 51n17, 95 engaged learning 33 Escobar, Arturo 6, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 52, 55, 58, 58n4, 80, ethics 17, 23, 33, ethnographic refusal 26, Fanon, Frantz 257, 258 Ferguson, James 15, 17, 19, 49, 50, 57–60, 64 Five Year Plan 12 Foucault, Michel 15, 17, 19, 22, 26, 28, 60, 281 Freire, Paulo 257 Friedman, John T. 21, 21n7 Furer-Haimendorf, Christopher von 11 Gandhamardan/Gandhamardan hills 43, 44, 82, 95, 215, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 259, 260, 266, 267, 279, 280, Gandhamardan Surakshya Yuba Parisad 45, 245, 248

326  Negotiating Marginality Gandhi, Indira 96, 96n13, 125 Gandhi, Mahatma 30 Gasper, Des 16 Giri, Ananta Kumar xxvii, 16, 17, 29, 195 Government of India (GoI) 12, 13, 44, 46, 162, 196, 243, 247, 254 Government of Odisha (GoO) 35, 37, 41, 44, 55, 64, 81, 82, 101, 158, 196, 217, 220, 248, 256, 258 governmentality xxi, 15, 28, 59 discursive governmentality 28 realist governmentality 28 gram sabha 17, 41, 42, 162, 162n3, 163, 170, 175, 241, 255, 256, 264 Gramsci, Antonio 7, 10, 12, 28, 274 Guha, Ranajit 12 Guha, Sumit 11n5 Gupta, Dipankar 83 Hardiman, David 11, 23 hegemony xxii, 7, 21, 28, 33, 53, 190, 229, 264, 266, 276, 281 counter-hegemony(ic) 6, 7, 8, 22 state hegemony xxvi, 229, 264, 266, 276 hooks, bell vii, 257 human rights 254, 275 human security model 16 hunger/starvation deaths xxiv, xxv, 50, 51, 56, 57n3, 65, 68, 69, 71, 73, 74, 76, 77, 77n14, 78, 100 ideal type (Weberian) 50, 57, 60, 62, 64 identity xxiv, xxvi, 12, 14, 24, 80, 103, 159, 197, 209, 210, 225, 251, 256, 258, 260, 262, 271

tribal/indigenous 24, 230, 231, 272, 275 identity formation 25 cultural identity 83 collective identity 203 territorial/territory as an 260, 274 Illich, Ivan 14 imagined community 280 imagined society 225, 226 Indian Wildlife Act 250 indigenous/ indigenous people xxiii, 6, 10, 11, 11n4, 11n5, 12, 14, 18, 83, 157, 202, 271, 272, 274, 275 indigenous rights 11, 274, 275 tribal/indigenous identity 24, 230, 231, 272, 275 Indo-Aryan 10 Industrial Development Corporation of Odisha (IDCO) 34, 187, 260 industrialization xxii, xxiv, xxv, 81, 82, 94, 98, 99, 115, 159, 180, 205, 207, 229, 259–265, 267, 270, 271 institutional ethnography 58, 58n4 Integrated Tribal Development Approach (ITDA) 66 International Fund for Agricultural Development (IFAD) 64, 65–67, 100 Jharkhand Mines Area Coordination Committee (JMACC) 113n21 Jharkhandi’s Organization for Human Rights (JOHAR) 113n21 Jhodia, Sumani 100, 100n16 Kleinman, Arthur and Joan Kleinman 202, 203, 203n18

Index  327 Kuper, Adam 11, 11n4 Kurumahandi fight 134–144 kutumb panthi/grain banks 72, 73, 79 labour force land acquisition 39, 41, 96, 96n12, 160, 161, 169, 175, 263 lathi-charge/lathicharge 2, 101, 102, 141, 143, 146, 165, 177, 189, 191, 233, 263 legitimate authority 7 legitimate/legitimizing violence 213, 276, 279 Levinas, Emmanuel 30 Li, Tania Murray 6 linear policy formation model 61 living in truth 276 Madan, T.N. 33 Maikanch police firing 164–165 marginal people 9, 88, 149 marginal power 149, 263 marginality/marginalization xxiii, xxvi, 5, 6, 8, 9, 49, 83, 89, 95, 115, 201, 257, 272 space of marginality 6, 8, 9, 272 marginality as a problem xxvi, 10, 49 negotiate marginality xxv, xxvi, 258 politicizing marginality 271 marginality as a positioning 258 politics of marginality xxvi as a site of resistance 6, 9 Migdal, Joel S. 50, 57, 62,63, 64 Mineral Exploration Corporation Ltd (MECL) 44 Mines and Minerals (Regulation and Development) Act (1957) 82

mining xxiv, xxv, 3, 25, 37, 41, 42, 44, 45, 53, 66, 67, 76, 81, 82, 100, 116, 158, 161, 162, 169, 170, 172, 173, 175, 176, 182, 206, 214, 215, 217– 219, 242– 244, 247–256, 259–262, 264, 265, 267, 279 anthropology of 25n12 Ministry of Environment and Forest (MoEF) 37, 249,250, 251, 254, 255 Ministry of Environment Forest and Climate Change 42 minor forest produce (MFP) 69, 91 modernity 9, 261, 272 regional modernities 18 moral capital 203 moral community 153, 157, 207, 203, 213, moral economy 51, 84, 85, 86, 87, 89, 116 moral economy of provision 84, 89, 97 Nader, Laura 32 naked protest 176 nation state 157, 158, 275 National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (NREGA/ MGNREGA) 69, 74, 235 nationalism 25 sub-nationalism 24 infra-nationalism 24 negation 10, 12 negotiate marginality xxv, xxvi, 258 negotiation xxii, 36, 113, 150, 153, 184–186, 232, 272 Nehru, Jawaharlal 96 night school 240, 274

328  Negotiating Marginality Niyamgiri/Niyamgiri hill 40, 41, 42, 82, 83, 95, 100, 215, 232, 248–256, 259, 260, 266– 268, 273, 279, 280 Odisha Directorate of Mines (ODM) 44 Odisha Mining Corporation (OMC) 37 Odisha Scheduled Tribes Transfer of Immoveable Property Act (1956) 169 Odisha Tribal Development Programme (OTDP) 65–67 oppressor’s language 155 Ortner, Sherry 26 Other Backward Classes (OBC) 100–101 Padel, Felix 79n16 Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act (1996) 169, 264 participant observation 29, 33 Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups (PVTGs) 41 Patkar, Medha 206 people’s law 277 Planning Commission 13 poetics of resistance 53, 190 police state 156, 157, 158, 175, 265 political ecology 84, 87–89 political economy 51, 58, 85, 87, 116 of profit 84, 95, 97 of land 98 political society 52, 153, 154 politics of recognition 272 politics of relief 51, 77 politics of violence 53, 158 Popkin, Samuel L. 85, 86

power 6, 7, 8, 9, 12, 14, 20, 22, 25, 26, 27, 28, 32, 33, 49, 50 dominant structures of power 52, 281 alternative power 54, 239, 258, 266, 271, 275, 279, 282 Prakrutik Sampad Suraksha Parisad (PSSP) 39, 39n15, 40, 55, 67, 74, 100, 105, 158, 160–163, 165–167, 171, 172, 174, 175, 176, 177, 180, 182–186, 200, 201, 204, 210, 211, 219, 220, 227, 235, 236, 237, 239, 240, 264, 269, 270, 274, 277 project affected people (PAP) 38, 196 Public Distribution System/(PDS) 70, 71, 72, 75 public policy 57, 60, 61 public sphere 267 Raighar police firing 147–149 Ram rajya 23 Ramayana 10, 44, 242 Rehabilitation and Resettlement Policy (R&R Policy) 114, 196, 256, 263, 279, 281 Rengabhati police firing 145–146 resistance xxi, xxii, xxiv, 7, 8, 9, 14, 18, 22, 26, 28, 53, 118, 158, 190, 213, 231, 282 everyday forms of resistance 8, 51, 89, 157, 202, 257, 265, 266, 278, 281, 282, 282 resistance as a possibility 21 politics of resistance 241, 280 poetics of resistance 53, 190 resistance as a diagnostic of power 26, 28, 276

Index  329 marginality as a site of/form of xxvi, 6, 8 resistance to power 22, 208 resistance studies 26 relationship between power and 27 as creative and transformative 28 marginality as a site of 49 language as a site of 53, 154 people’s 53 multiple forms of 54 resistance movement 112, 113 violent acts of 212 narratives of 212 territory as a space of 214, 260 right to earth 274 Roy, Arundhati 206 Roy-Burman, B.K. xxviii, 24, 96n12 Sachs, Wolfgang 15 sahid (martyr) 203, 204, 205 sahid stambha (martyr pillar) 203, 204, 205 sahid diwas (martyr’s day) 203, 204, 205, 220n2 Salwa Judum 25 Sarukkai, Sundar xxviii Scheduled Castes/SC(s) 37, 56 Scheduled Tribe/ST xxiii, 11, 37, 56, 271 Scheper-Hughes, Nancy 156, 156n1, 201, 203, 203n18, 257, 283 Scott, James C./James Scott 8, 12, 21, 61, 62, 84–86, 266 Scott-Popkin debate 84–86 self 11, 30, 31 self-determination 280 Sengupta, Nirmal 10

shared responsibility agreement/ shared responsibility 13, 16 shifting/dongar cultivation 23, 69, 90, 94n10, 95, 167, 216, 248 simulation 173, 262 Singh, K.S. 22, 22n9 Sivaramakrishnan, K. 18 social memory 53, 202, 203, 205 social movements xxiv, xxvi, 16, 19, 21, 22, 22n8, 26 civil social movements 25 tribal people and 260 Anti-Land Alienation Movement xxi, xxv, 8, 34, 46–48 Anti-Tata Steel Movement xxv, 8, 34–36 Anti-Utkal Alumina International Ltd Movement xxv, 8, 36–40 Gandhamardan Bachao Andolan/ Save Gandhamardan Movement xxi, xxv, 8, 43– 45,54, 98, 223, 225, 230, 242–248 Niyamgiri Suraksha Andolan/ Save Niyamgiri Movement xxv, 8, 40–42, 54, 223, 248– 256 social suffering 53, 157, 202, 203, 206, 207 somatic culture 203 State-in-society approach/model 50, 57, 62 studying down 33 subaltern citizen xxv, 28, 266, 272, 276 subjective/bodily suffering xxv, 157, 201, 202, 206 Sundar, Nandini xxi, xxx, 25 Supreme Court 249, 250

330  Negotiating Marginality Supreme Court 35, 41, 42, 51n16, 169, 169n6, 249, 250, 252–256 Survival International 253–254 sustainable development 258, 274 swaraj 23 Tata Steel Company Ltd. (Tata) 1, 2, 4, 5, 35, 36, 82, 98, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 107, 109, 110, 111, 113, 114, 116, 187, 190, 196, 197, 198, 222, 223, 263, 265 territory 51n17, 60, 88, 214–216, 260, 261, 262, 271 marginal territory 88 political territory 95 politics of territory 214 territory as a space of resistance 214 territoriality 214–216 politics of territoriality 256 Thapar, Romila 10 Third World 14, 15, 16, 18, 58, 87 Thompson, E. P. 84, 86 tribal anarchist(s) 158, 213 tribal movement xxiv, 22, 22n9, 23, 24, 25, 26, 53, 54, 97, 117, 180, 209, 215, 223, 225, 230, 257, 258, 259, 274, 276 tribal subject-making 213 Tsang, Hieun 44 underdeveloped underdeveloped people 13, 58, 76, 278

Third World as 15, 58 underdeveloped communities 58 underdeveloped area 65, 261 underdevelopment xxv, 5, 10, 14, 58, 81, 259 producing underdevelopment 50, 55, 64, 77 UNICEF 64, 72, 73 upward anthropology 32, studying up 32, Utkal Alumina International Ltd. (UAIL) 3, 37, 38, 39, 40, 67, 68, 73, 79, 82, 90, 160, 161, 166, 169, 170, 173, 175, 186, 206, 211, 217, 219, 241, 279 Utkal Rural Development Society (URDS) 40, 67, 166, 264 Vana Suraksha Samitis (VSS) – Forest Protection Council xxii, 130, 132, 134, 135, 136, 138, 142 Vedanta Aluminium Limited (VAL)/ Vedanta 41, 79n16, 82, 98, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 273 village self-rule 240, 268, 269 vital energy 203, 205 Weber, Max 7, 60, 50, 57, 60 Weberian tradition 62, 64 Wittgenstein, L. 30, 31

Photo 1.1: Cremation of the victims of the Kalinganagar police firing at Ambagadia village

Photo 2.1: Maikanch, a Jhodia Paraja tribal village in Kashipur, surrounded by baada (kitchen garden), kiari (irrigated paddy fields), padaa (dry up lands) and dongar (shifting patches). Courtesy: Deba Ranjan

Photo 2.2: Coming up of labour unions in Kashipur after the arrival of UAIL in the area

Photo 2.3: The story continues – a person from Siriguda, Kashipur, suffering from food shortage and ‘diarrhoea’ in 2007

Photo 3.1: UAIL plant is under construction at Doraguda village near Kucheipadar. Courtesy: Deba Ranjan

Photo 3.2: People from different parts of Odisha and outside joining in a protest rally organized by the BBJM against the TATA and other companies in Kalinganagar

Photo 4.1: Inside the Reserve Forest, a Kondh cultivating a patch of land where he is a pseudo-owner, the real owner is somebody else

Photo 4.2: Harabati Gond in her house in Sorguli village, Jharigaon

Photo 5.1: ‘The crutches are my only help,’ says Birsingh Gope, ‘also take the picture of my house and wife, the only person who feeds and keeps me alive’

Photo 5.2: ‘TATA Steel Family, Rebuilding Lives, Rekindling Hopes’ – reads the poster painted on the wall of a transit camp in Kalinganagar

Photo 5.3: A meeting called by the Utkal Alumina Dwara Prabhabita o Kshatigrasta Committee where leaders from all political parties along with the PSSP took part. One of the DPs sarcastically said the promises of the company and political leaders were just a farce

Photo 5.4: ‘Here remains our God’. Sahid stambhas at Veer Bhumi in Ambagadia, Kalinganagar. Courtesy: Deba Ranjan

Photo 5.5: ‘Trespasser will be punished’, an arrow posted at the entrance of village Baligotha indicates the danger of trespassing into the tribal villages of Kalinganagar without their permission

Photo 6.1: Road blockade at Kucheipadar village demanding immediate solution to the diarrhoea and other problems in the area

Photo 6.2: The Nrusimhanath Temple at the foothills of the Gandhamardan in Paikamal.

Photo 6.3: Dongria Kondh protecting against Vedanta mining at Niyamgiri. Photo: http://sacredland.org/niyamgiri-hills-india/