Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast 1032523549, 9781032523545

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State:

Perspectives from India’s Northeast

Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State:

Perspectives from India’s Northeast

Edited by

Kedilezo Kikhi

Amiya Kumar Das

Piyashi Dutta

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Individual Contributors and Aakar Books The right of contributors to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted 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 ISBN: 9781032523545 (hbk) ISBN: 9781032523569 (pbk) ISBN: 9781003406259 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003406259 Typeset in Garamond by Arpit Photographers, Delhi

Contents

Foreword by Virginius Xaxa

5

Introduction: Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State 13 Kedilezo Kikhi, Amiya Kumar Das and Piyashi Dutta 1. ‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State—A Northeast Perspective 33 K.C. Baral 2. Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 46 H. Srikanth 3. What Can a Liberal State Reasonably Expect of Its Citizens? Some Reflections in a Liberal Democracy 62 Ake Sander 4. ‘Bharat Mata’ and Its Imagination: Multiplicity and Divergence in the Imagination of the Nation in the Multi-Ethnic Situation 90 Partha Pratim Borah 5. Indigeneity, Indigenous Feminism and Legal Pluralism: Emerging Women’s Resistance and a Critique of Gender Theme in Ethnographic Narratives of Northeast India 110 N.K. Das 6. Divided Under the Sun: Hill and Non-Hill Identity in Mizoram 138 N. William Singh 7. Land as Foundation of Identity: The Case of the Brus in Mizoram 155 Melvil Pereira and Furzee Kashyap

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

8. Land Rights, Identity and Customary Laws Amidst

Angami and Konyak Nagas: A Comparative

Cross-Referencing 172

Kedilezo Kikhi and Jagritee Ghosh 9. Assamese and Its ‘Others’: Making of a School Language

in a Multilingual Society 187

Nirmali Goswami 10. Rights and Justice to Tea Tribes of Assam: Colonial and

Post-colonial Narrative 207

Soumen Ray and Lalhriatchiani 11. The Line of Difference: Indigeneity and Ethnicity in

Post-colonial Assam 229

Prafulla Kr. Nath 12. Nationalism and Social Exclusion: The Making of Ethnic

Identity Movements in Assam 254

Ransaigra Daimary

List of Contributors 279

Index 281

Foreword There is no other part of India as diverse as Northeast India. Diversity is evident in several spheres. Geographically, it is marked by hills and plains (valleys). Linguistically, people of the region speak languages belonging to three different families. They are the Tibeto-Burman, Indo-Aryan, and Austro-Asiatic. However, the languages spoken within each family is enormously diverse and often unintelligible to the people speaking other languages. For example, the TibetoBurman family is divided into eight sub-families such as Bodo, Naga, Kuki-Chin, NEFA, Burma, etc. In religious terms too, the region is diverse. Some adhere to Hinduism, others to Islam, and still others to Christianity. Besides these, some people still practise their traditional animistic belief systems. Correspondingly, people of the region are divided into tribes and castes. The people of the hills are either Christians, Buddhists or practitioners of the traditional tribal religion and belong to tribal communities. The people of the plains are predominantly Hindus followed by Islam. Other religions such as Christianity, Sikhism, tribal animistic religion, etc. are also followed in the plains. However, their number is relatively small. Much of the sources of diversity that mark the region are due to the migration of people from other parts of India. Of the migrants, some are traced to the establishment of the Ahom rule in Assam in the 13th century. But much of the migration in the region is dated to the British period and is associated with the expansion of its administration and source of revenue for its maintenance. It is also associated with enterprises introduced for profit. Migrants into the region hailed from different parts of India and represented

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

different languages, religions, castes, and tribes. Often, they were also connected with different kinds of occupations. However, the nature of the migration rather than leading to contact and acculturation moved in the direction of the segregated pattern of work and space with practically no connection and interaction among different segments of the population. Much of the migration in the region was rural, leading to the segregation of migrant populations with a different language, religions, and caste or tribes with different geographical spaces as well as occupations. Such a pattern of migration led to a reinforcement of the segregated life of diversity that the people in the region lived before the advent of the British. Migration was more rural than urban as towns in the form of administrative and trading centres were not only far and few but also limited in the region. It is only in the post-independence era and that too in more recent decades that urbanisation in the region has gained momentum. Post-independence India did not bring a halt to migration to the region. The wave of such migration has not only affected the population structure but also the social and cultural profile especially in the plains of the region. It had also a bearing on ownership, control, and management of natural resources resulting in tension between the natives and the immigrants. This has led to the fear of demographic shift and being reduced to a minority in their own region and territory. The issue of migration has remained a burning issue of the region in post-independence India. This has manifested itself in various social and political processes and forms such as ethnic tension and conflict, regional articulation in the form of preference for the local, or what is referred to as the sons of the soil formulation and demand for restriction of entry of the population in the region. It is in the backdrop discussed above, that the issue of indigeneity and citizenship in Northeast India, the theme of this edited volume needs to be contextualised. In more recent years, the issues of migration and problems emerging out of it are increasingly being framed in terms of indigeneity and citizenship. The use of the term

Foreword

9

indigeneity can be traced to the early 1990s when UNO declared 1993 as the International Year of the World’s Indigenous People, followed by the first and second International Decades (1995-2014) of the World’s Indigenous People. The declaration was preceded by the constitution of the Working Group on the Indigenous Population in 1982 to deliberate on issues of promotion and protection of the human rights of the indigenous people and develop international standards for them. The deliberation in the working group led to the Declaration on the Rights of the Indigenous People in 2007 and the constitution of the UNO Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. These developments have led to much interest in the issues of indigenous people and the idea of indigeneity. The latter is used in a wide variety of contexts ranging from technology and techniques on the one hand to language, literature, knowledge, music, dance, dress, food, etc., on the other. Since the issue of migration has been at the root of the question of the indigeneity, Northeast India has turned into an interesting site of engagement with indigenous assertion and politics. Yet the idea of indigeneity had a late entry in the region compared to peninsular India where tribes experienced colonialism and colonisation in its extreme form. Even the usage of the term ‘indigeneity’ is somewhat different from the sense it is used at the global level or even about peninsular India. This being the case, the articulation of indigeneity in the region remains confined to the delineation of people with the British conquest and colonization. Since there has been a wave of conquest in the region, one can invariably raise questions as to which conquest may be taken at the basis of the designation of the people as indigenous or non-indigenous. The indigenous people at the international level is used for tribal and semi-tribal people who have been the victims of conquest and colonisation and still live in a colonial situation of domination, oppression, and exploitation. Besides they live more in conformity with their own social, economic, and cultural institutions than with the institutions of the nation to which they belong. The question of indigeneity in the sense referred raises a

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

problem in the context of Northeast India. To begin with, what would be the historical phase at which the indigeneity of the people may be identified? Is this phase to be identified with the entry of the British conquest and rule or is it the Ahom rule and administration? Assuming that it is the British rule that constitutes the historical point of identification of indigeneity, then the whole of the population that followed the British rule is to be identified as the outsiders and colonisers. However, the key question that arises is, if they had dominated the economic, political, social, and cultural fields of the region. The reality is, a very large segment of the migrant population that followed the British rule, are located at the margin of society. In contrast, those forming the original inhabitants of the region, do hold the economic and political power; those who do not hold it are still relatively better placed compared to the immigrant population. Is this entire population to be identified as indigenous or only some segment of the population? If only some, then who constitute this segment? The idea of indigeneity as articulated in Northeast India is thus, strikingly different from those in use at the larger level of the society or the world at large. The historical point stands in its favour but the other important dimension of the subjugation status is absent. In Northeast India, the term indigeneity is thus used in a different context than it is used elsewhere in the world. The issue of citizenship anywhere in the world is tied with the sovereign state to which one belongs either by birth or choice. Thus, the issue of belonging to a territorial state seems to align with the question of citizenship. However, the idea of indigeneity has emerged precisely out of the dispossession of the original inhabitants from their title to land, resources, and territory through conquest by an external power and setting up thereby its own economic and political system over the conquered territory. In the imposed new political system, the original inhabitants experienced denial of rights and entitlements and lived in a condition of subjugation. It is the subjugation and discrimination combined with the denial of their traditional rights that led to the articulation of the indigenous people’s identity. The situation in the Northeast is just

Foreword

11

the opposite for the indigenous rule and govern and enjoy the privileges following the end of the colonial rule. The immigrants in contrast with some exceptions have remained the most marginalized section of the society in the region. It is they who suffer from the denial of citizenship rights. While referring to citizenship rights, it is important here to make a distinction between what may be called formal and substantive citizenship. The formal refers to a legal entitlement in the sense of rights of equality before the law, viz. the status of citizenship. However, the legal entitlement does not necessarily get translated into actual rights and entitlement due to various factors ranging from passive to active discrimination by the officials administering the state. More often than not, the state functionaries hail predominantly from communities that control the economic and political power and harbour deep-rooted prejudices and animosities against members of the other communities. It is this that leads to the non-realization of rights and entitlements conferred by laws, rules, and regulations. The people identified as indigenous thus, do enjoy the substantive rights of citizenship, somewhat more effective as compared to the immigrants in the region. All the same, rights so enjoyed are far from equal in measure. Some remain better placed as compared to the others. In the case of non-indigenous in the sense of thought and described in the region, citizenship in the substantive sense, as observed earlier, remains a distant dream though treated as citizens in the legal sense. However, immigrants of recent origin especially those hailing from the neighbouring countries suffer denial of citizenship rights even in the formal sense of having the legal status of citizenship. Hence, they are delineated as illegal immigrants. Thus, the issue of indigeneity and non­ indigeneity has become deeply entangled with the rights or denial of rights of citizenship in the region. Therefore, the issue of indigeneity and citizenship constitutes a very complex problem in the region. The problem varies from state to state. Correspondingly, even assertion and articulation and its nature and type vary. Even the erstwhile immigrants are not homogeneous with respect to their ethnic, religious, occupational,

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

and class identity. Hence, their access to citizenship rights, formal and substantive is contingent on their social background referred to above. Whereas some of them may experience less denial and exclusion, others may go through the intense experience of discrimination and denial and exclusion. The contributions in the volume deal with issues discussed above in a wide range of contexts and attempt to understand, analyse, and explain the social phenomena keeping the macro and micro situations in mind. Virginius Xaxa

Introduction: Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State Kedilezo Kikhi, Amiya Kumar Das and Piyashi Dutta

Indeed, not just in anthropology, but in political theory as well, the historical experiences and abiding conditions of indigenous peoples have become pivotal to theorisations of political subjectivity that avow the superiority of indigenous ways of being. (Chandler and Reid, 2018)

The Indigeneity Question Defining indigeneity at a time when diverse conceptualisation and explanation of the term have emerged, is a challenge. With its manifold elucidations, alignments, and local articulations, the concept of indigeneity is surrounded by debate and contestation. “It has become a significant political strategy in the counter-hegemonic indigenous social movements against exploitative, oppressive and repressive regimes throughout the world” (Gomes, 2013, p. 5). Etymologically the term ‘indigenous’ is used to refer to native or original occupants of a country or region. Universally, indigenous people are the first inhabitants of a given terrain or have occupied it prior to succeeding waves of incomers. Notably, “‘Indigenous’ is a term applied to people—and by the people to themselves—who are engaged in an often desperate struggle for political rights, for land, for a place and space within a modern nation’s economy and society” (Guenther, 2006, p. 17). It is pertinent to mention, that identity and self-representation are significant components of the

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

political diaspora of indigenous peoples. In the ongoing movement globally, indigenous people ask for a recognition of the particularity of their social, cultural, economic, and political facets in relation to the societies in which they live. Remarkably, in the International Labour Organisation (ILO) Convention No. 169, it was recognised that there is no universal definition of indigenous and tribal peoples. Thus, it was declared in the convention, that “given the diversity of the peoples it aims at protecting, the Convention uses the inclusive terminology of ‘indigenous’ and tribal people and ascribes the same set of rights to both groups” (1989, p. 2). In this milieu, it is important to reiterate that the term ‘indigenous’ is also used to refer to tribal people, who are guided by customary laws and are socio-culturally different from communities residing in a country. Arguably, indigeneity is also connected to cultural distinctiveness of societies and communities. The land they dwell on, natural resources, customs, and traditions on which they rely are intricately connected to their identities, cultures, occupations, along with physical and spiritual well-being. In the last few decades, the debate surrounding indigeneity and rights of the indigenous people have taken centre stage. Some factors include the failure of the governments to recognise that most of the land occupied by indigenous people is under indigenous customary ownership. Governments distinguish only a segment of this land as lawfully or rightfully belonging to indigenous peoples. “Insecure land tenure is a driver of conflict, environmental degradation, and weak economic and social development. This threatens cultural survival and vital knowledge systems—both of which contribute to ecological integrity, biodiversity and environmental health upon which we all depend” (World Bank, 2019). Remarkably, there are nearly 476 million indigenous people globally, residing in over 90 countries. Though “they make up over 6 per cent of the global population, they account for about 15 per cent of the extreme poor” (World Bank, 2019). Thus, the adroitness of the global indigenous movement ensuing in globalisation of the concept of indigenous rights came to the fore, “and raised indigenous political activism searching expressions of

Introduction: Indigeneity, Citizenship and Northeast States

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indigeneity in the countries other than settler colonies” (Shrinkhal, 2017, p. 213). This volume addresses the global concern that, whatever be the definition of ‘indigenous’ vis-a-vis ‘indigeneity’, and however consensual it might be, both these terms have been inferred, applied and questioned in multifarious ways. For instance, in the BuddhistMuslim hostility and violence in the northern Rakhine state in Myanmar, “the narratives of both Rakhine Buddhist and Muslim elites rely on the concept of ‘indigeneity’ to assert their claims as citizens and rightful sons of the soil, and also to discredit each other’s position” (Thawnghmung, 2016, p. 527). Remarkably, the modern notion of indigenous people is well recognised in countries subjected to momentous European settler colonisation, like America, Australia, and New Zealand. However, the concept is imprecise in Asia and Africa, wherein, several “national governments recognise the existence of indigenous people in other parts of the world, but not in their own countries, where citizens are either all recognised as indigenous to the country, or none are. This idea has become known as the ‘salt-water theory’” (Baird, 2016, p. 501). In this light, the volume emphasises on the fact that, the concept of indigeneity in Asia has transformed considerably, over a period of time. Note that in the 19th century and the first half of the 20th century, the expression ‘indigenous’ was used to differentiate between European colonisers and non-European populaces. This notion ruled Asia up to the 1960s and 1970s, till the fresh international concept of indigeneity began to be promoted, which accentuated the notion that indigenous people are ‘first peoples’ or ‘original peoples’ connected with certain places. However, a counter view was proposed by the former head of the Danish indigenous support NGO, the International Work Group on Indigenous Affairs —Andrew Gray, which is a well-received concept among several indigenous activists in Asia. He stated that various oppressed ethnic minorities in Asia are not essentially the ‘first peoples’ in the places of their current habitation. They have migrated out of compulsion. Consequently, he proposed that the “indigenous people in Asia

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

be considered as ‘colonised peoples’, or peoples who have been oppressed by other ethnic groups over history, rather than simply ‘first peoples’” (1995, p. 37). In the context of India, the debate surrounding indigeneity rests on the history of movement of the populace and their settlement in the subcontinent. Evidently, thus, “with a recent history of conquest, immigration and colonisation in India, identification of indigenous people is not easy. Rather there have been in India waves of movement of populations with different languages, races, cultures and religions dating back centuries and millennia” (Xaxa, 1999, p. 3591). This opens the debate on indigeneity, territoriality, citizenship vis-à-vis the role of the state. Citizenship, as Marshall (1950, p. 8) defined, is the “basic human equality associated with the concept of full membership of a community”. Conversely, describing what it implies is difficult, given the diverse identities, ambitions, and legal characteristics that people have. Citizenship comprises legal status, rights, membership, identity and belonging. Conventionally anchored in a specific geographic and political community, citizenship conjures concepts of national identity, autonomy, and state control. However, these affiliations are challenged by diversity of the populace, ethnicity, migration, and indigeneity. “These challenges can be studied at two levels of inquiry: one as citizenship within national borders, and the second, placing those borders into question” (Bloemraad, Korteweg and Yurdakul, 2008, p. 155). Herein, it is pertinent to note that, globalisation also, poses a challenge to the notions of citizenship as state-centred and state-controlled. Nonetheless, nation-states have significant power over the official rules and rights of citizenship. Consequently, shaping the institutions that offer discerned access to membership and belonging, with important concerns for immigrants’ amalgamation and equality. In the sphere of social science, the question of citizenship and the state has taken a pivotal position in more recent academic discourses. In sociology, the issue of citizenship is of interests, which also forms an integral part in making the nation-state. A country becomes a state and a nation through the political processes involved

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in it. The political processes could differ from country to country. But in the Indian context, the democratic process takes the central path in many forms of political processes. All over the world with its fallacy, the democratic process is regarded as superior to all other forms of political processes. Arguably, the ideas of national identity, sovereignty, and state control have been historically connected to citizenship. With the rise in the indigeneity movement and largescale migration, citizenship within national borders is challenged, and the borders in question are also contested. A few pertinent questions, that this volume examines includes, i) as a possible force of justice, equality, and national unity, where is citizenship positioned when a colossal number of people from different linguistic, ethnic, racial, religious, and cultural milieu cross national and international boundaries? ii) How does this movement of people impact citizenship in the country to which they move specially, if their connections and actions span borders? iii) What is the significance of citizenship in the context of the larger indigeneity movement? India’s Northeast: Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State India has a vast history to its formation of the nation-state. It claims to be the world’s largest functional democracy. This can be amplified whereby people speak as many as six thousand languages in India. The diverse ethnic groups, religious communities and linguistic communities differ from each other in many opinions while most of the time they share the same space and territory. Northeast India too is a medley of geographical, ecological, and human diversities. The human diversities are seen in racial differences, traditions of origin, languages and dialects, religions and beliefs, social organization and political structures, arts and crafts, music and dances; and while each of these ethnic groups claims indigeneity it demands the greater necessity for in-depth studies. Against this backdrop, if one looks at Northeast India, it becomes a poster for many, including both the political sphere and academic sphere, and likewise the question arises how to address the various

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

questions emerging out of everyday interaction among different groups and communities inhabiting the land. The situation is very complex to fully understand and comprehend it. For instance, the recent ethnic violence in Assam state left many to think what the reasons for the conflict could be? But it raises more questions than the answers while addressing the present problem or the other problems. An intensive focus on the specificities of challenges needs to be recognised from a retrospective as well as from a prospective point of view. Before going onto resolving challenges, an adequate understanding of the ground reality is a necessity. The collection of contributions in this volume, thus, seeks to provide substantial knowledge of history and culture of the people who have been in stages of conflict, and open discussions on probable solutions. In the case of the Northeast, the issues pertaining to indigeneity, citizenship, and state, are also a reminder of the residues of colonial doings, that have had a colossal impact till this day. For instance, progenies of tea workers who were brought to work in the Britishowned tea gardens of Assam in the 19th century, have demanded Schedule Tribe (ST) status. The activists argue “that since their ethnic kin in their places of origin are recognised as STs, they should have the same status in Assam” (Baruah, 2008, p. 18). Despite strong opposition, in 2019, the Bill has been moved in parliament to grant ST status to tea tribes, along with the Tai Ahom, Koch Rajbongshi, Chutia, Moran and Mataks in Assam. Opposition is based on the criteria imperative to be listed as Scheduled Tribe which includes a) primitive traits within the community b) a distinctive culture c) geographical isolation and d) backwardness amid other things. “The six communities do not fulfil the criteria which is why the Registrar General of India (RGI) dropped their demand eight times, argues Aditya Khaklari, Secretary General of the All Assam Tribal Sangha and chief coordinator of the Coordination Committee of the Tribal Organizations of Assam” (Chakraborty, 2019). Likewise, the Inner Line, that was introduced in 1873 by the colonial rulers, still makes it imperative for citizens from other states to obtain a permit to enter Nagaland, Arunachal Pradesh

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and Mizoram. Arguably, the vestiges of the colonial institution, enables us to make a distinction between those who legally belong to these terrains and those who do not. Thus, “given the fears of minoritisation, it is not surprising that there are growing demands by ethnic activists for extending the Inner Line to other parts of north-east India” (Baruah, 2008, p. 18). Holding on to these colonial laws, has brought in a new dimension in the context of Northeast indigeneity, citizenship, and state. Where on the one hand the state is prepared to push the cause of groups demanding ST status. On the other hand, as in the case of the inner line permit, does it have the political capacity to change the colonial spatial order, in a bid to promote massive development of the region? Since the inner line permit, as Bodhisattva Kar states was “not only a territorial exterior of the theatre of capital—it was also a temporal outside the historical pace of development and progress” (cited in Baruah, 2008, p. 18). Remarkably, land ownership and its control is yet another bone of contention between the tribes of the region and the state; several communities are at odds with the government. It must be noted that the strategy of national development has been at odds with the policy of tribal interest and welfare, wherein, there seems to be a nearabsolute disjointedness between the state and its citizens’ benefit. Parenthetically, for example, the proposed dams in Northeast India are in tribal regions where land and other natural assets are retained and managed on the grounds of community-based customary laws. It is pertinent to mention that the tribespeople have lived with it generationally and their sense of existence identity relates to it. “However, these traditional institutions are often not recognised by the governments, thereby leaving indigenous or tribal people without formal rights to such land and resources. Therefore, the claims over natural resources always involve issues of power and control of those resources. The hitherto existing laws treat the Common Property Rights (CPR) as the property of the state” (Kipgen, 2016, pp. 1-2). Consequently, conflicts transpire with the interface of ‘development projects’ endorsed by the state and ‘life projects’ of the

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

indigenous people entrenched in local histories. The case in point, is the Mapithel Dam Project in Manipur, which has emerged as a site of conflict between the state and indigenous people. Arguably, thus “the increased pursuance of neoliberal development processes in Manipur has led to increased environmental degradation and human rights violations and insecurity” (Ibid., p. 6). Whereby, the indigenous tribals are expatriated from their traditional habitation and are dispossessed of their livelihoods. Historically, the region has been the miscellany of discernable strains on the questions of indigeneity, citizenship, and bordermaking. Who is indigenous or a rightful Assamese in Assam, is a challenging question doing the rounds for over a century? This question has been stirred up leading to unprecedented violence and conflict against the backdrop of much-debated National Registry of Citizenship (NRC) and the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) 2019. Significantly, in a debate in 2015, Pranab Kumar Gogoi, former speaker of the Assam Legislative Assembly, brought a report over this subject proposing that the 1951 Census must be considered as the basis for outlining who is an Assamese. The report stated, “...an indigenous person of Assam means a person belonging to the state of Assam and speaking the Assamese language or any tribal dialect of Assam or, in the case of Cachar, the language of the region” (cited in Ahmed, 2019). However, it is to be questioned that given the historicity of Assam, does such a definition answer the question of indigeneity, citizenship, and contested border issues? A counter view by the activists hinges on the lines of the UN Convention, argues that, communities that lived in a place before colonisation are termed as indigenous. Holiram Terang, president of the Autonomous State Demand Committee of Karbi Anglong (ASDC), stated that, “apart from the hill tribes, I believe that those people who have been in Assam since the Ahom days, can be categorised as indigenous people of Assam” (cited in Ahmed, 2019). Thus, it is discernable that the struggle for Assamese autonomy pursuing to defend rights over land, culture, and language, has lingered on the colonial strategy of divide and rule, and the process

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of othering. Evidently, the convolution of the NRC, including the complications of the processes connected to laying claims to descent, has methodically rendered citizens, predominantly the poor, stateless. It must be noted that the geography of Assam, itself a colonial relic, consists of numerous intersecting linguistic-cultural communities, and examining indigeneity is a challenge and cannot be read only as a politics of cultural autonomy. It is important to decrypt the role of the state in the interplay of ‘capitalism and colonialism’, implying that “the work of articulating cultural identity is situated in the terrains of political economy” (Dutta, 2019). Thus, it is argued that, over a period of time the “paradigm of hierarchised citizenship” (Rajkhowa, 2020), coupled with the substantial militarisation of politics by the state from the 1990s, have produced a situation where communities have often sought to demand exclusive ethnic homelands through ferocity directed at particular communities. The fortification of indigenous rights progressively came to relate to exclusion from citizenship of those alleged to be outsiders. The arrangement of ethnic violence ought to be examined in the milieu of incongruities of the ethnic-territorial logic of citizenship, coupled with concerns of indigeneity and the role of the state. Thus, an explicit goal of the collection of contributions in this volume is to demonstrate the diversity of approaches that can be used to interrogate the debate on indigeneity, citizenship, and the state, with special reference to India’s Northeast. Another crucial objective is to open the conversation on Northeast India, wherein many states are facing a challenge to resolve the issue of indigeneity and to grant (or not to grant) total citizenship to the so-called illegal immigrants. Each chapter thematically, seeks to uncover the question of indigeneity, identity, citizenship, and the role of the state in it. Thereby, examining the issue of resistance within and among the communities in the region. In the larger framework, the chapters weave a narrative on how communities mobilise themselves against other communities and against the state, in the context of sociology of governance in Northeast India. A comprehensive collection of thirteen chapters, is a potpourri

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

of empirical analysis of ground reality on the burning questions of indigeneity, citizenship and the state in Northeast. The second chapter, titled ‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State—A Northeast Perspective, by K.C. Baral, attempts to examine the issue of indigeneity which is underpinned at the intersection of homogeneity versus heterogeneity, indigenous rights versus citizens’ rights. Baral argues, that, indigeneity can be understood as a complex concept which in itself includes citizenship of a country, but claims in terms of ethnicity, race, cultural practices, language and territory, while challenging citizenship in negating its indigenous character at a broader level. If indigeneity has evolved in following the nature closely in terms of social organisation and cultural practices, citizenship is viewed being created as a normative principle of a modern state. Furthermore, Baral states that, the local production of the indigeneity discourse may not be conflictual so far as plurality of the Indian society is concerned that underlines different and differentiated ethnic, cultural identities in a particular geographical context. Although difference is the basis of identity formation that may not be necessarily pinned down to indigeneity in terms of inhabiting a particular territory. Notwithstanding the argument and the underlying logic, the fact remains that claims of indigene is a move to legitimatise uniqueness and exclusiveness thereby taking a position contra citizenship that is produced by the state. A pertinent question the chapter raises, is citizenship a threat to one’s identity as indigenous with ethnic difference or is it an instrument that helps to strengthen the rights of indigenous people and diverse nationalities as well as part of a sovereign state? In coherence with the thematic milieu of this volume, in the chapter Who in Northeast India are Indigenous?, H. Srikanth argues that, as the struggle for gaining recognition as ‘indigenous peoples’ gains momentum, more and more tribal communities in Northeast India have begun identifying or projecting themselves as such. Although no community is officially declared indigenous, the central and state governments grant constitutional and political concessions to certain tribal communities in the Northeast, recognising their

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claims to indigeneity. But in the region, the question of who is indigenous remains contentious. While reflecting on the implications of recognising some communities in the region as indigenous, this chapter focuses on the limitations of the politics of indigeneity. Srikanth, furthers the argument, if not guided properly, there is a possibility that the ideology and politics of indigeneity could well become a tool in the hands of the indigenous elite and be an obstacle to understanding the interests of oppressed native communities and poor migrant populations. Keeping in mind the diverse trajectories of the politics of indigeneity, this chapter examines the increasing demands for recognition as indigenous people by hill communities and discusses the relevance of the politics of indigeneity in the hill areas of Northeast India. The fourth chapter, brings to the fore the argument, that a perennial problem of human civilisation has been to define the relation between the state and religion on the one hand, and that between different religions, or traditions within religions, on the other. Such questions have been considered since at least the advent of Christianity, as the following New Testament passage makes plain, ‘...And Jesus answering said unto them, ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s ...’ (Mark 12: 17). In this chapter, What Can a Liberal State Reasonably Expect of its Citizens? Some Reflections in a Liberal Democracy, Ake Sander, states, although the problem of the relation between the state and religion is intimately intertwined with the problem of inter and intra-religious relations, the focus is restricted to certain aspects of the former question. Notably, in the liberal state, a central feature of which is the provision of ‘religious freedom’, these sorts of determinations and decisions are generally left to the practitioners themselves. Sander, further elaborates that no liberal state can remain entirely neutral or agnostic when it comes to the matter of religion, as this would open the door to every insane (or potentially dangerous) form of religious practice and enable every oddball to claim that his or her behaviour is religious in nature and therefore protected.

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In continuation with the concepts of state, liberal democracy and religion, Partha Pratim Borah, in his essay, ‘Bharat Mata’ and Its Imaginations: Multiplicity and Divergence in the Imagination of the Nation in the Multi-Ethnic Situation, reasons that the diverse and contradictory conceptualisations of nation necessitate the understanding of the social and historical contexts of such conceptualisations. The trajectory of nation and state formation in Europe cannot be equated with the post-colonial situations of Asia and Africa. The histories of colonisation and decolonisation have led to the unique character of nation in post-colonial societies characterised by ethnic-diversity and hence may not be directly explained with empirical examples from the West. The processes of ethnic assertions in such societies have raised an important question regarding validity of nation-building in the multi-ethnic situation. In this essay, Borah, examines the issues and problems of nation building in the multi-ethnic situation with special reference to India, firstly, with a conceptual analysis of nation and politics involved in the process making a nation. Secondly, an endeavour has been made to understand the ideological conflicts inherent in the process of imagination of the nation. This essay is a theoretical laden with an aim to present a nuanced understanding of ethnic conflicts in India. In the sixth chapter, Indigeneity, Indigenous Feminism and Legal Pluralism: Emerging Women’s Resistance and a Critique of Gender Theme in Ethnographic Narratives of Northeast India, N.K. Das, weaves together instances of indigenous feminism drawn from the ethnographic realm of the Northeast, and also appraises indigeneity in the wider arena of male-centred societal-kinship norms, legal pluralism, and emerging indigenous feminism in the region. In doing so, Das, attempts to elucidate the theoretical foundations of kinship, gender issue and feminist discourse, by relating them with ethnographic narratives, in order to understand the jural­ legal status and women’s rights issues, which are part of global and national initiatives. To highlight the complex status syndrome of women in the Northeast in the broad social-economic sphere and state-customary-legal domains, selected case studies are cited

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to show enduring segregation and marginalisation of women. Like many countries that lived through the colonial experience, India in general and Northeast experienced alien laws superimposed upon or parallel with indigenous systems of customary and religious laws. The chapter also cites examples of protests by women’s organisations and women campaigners seeking justice and gender equality, which points to the emerging trend towards seeking greater women’s empowerment in the region. From indigenous feminism and legal pluralism, the chapter Divided Under the Sun: Hill and Non-Hill Identity in Mizoram by N. William Singh, draws attention to how the Church, Young Mizo Association (YMA), the largest organisation in Mizoram and MSU (Mizo Students’ Union) play an active role in consolidating hill identity and non-hill identity in Mizoram. The essay reiterates that identity cannot be conceptualised in singular and it must be defined through plural settings by mapping Mizo’s relationship with the non-Mizo within Mizoram. The relationship between an individual and identity can be enriched through a certain positioning with reference to a group whereby an individual belongs. The non-state agencies repeatedly, reminded Mizos to preserve Mizo nationalism. They often coerce its members dictating the beautiful sides of identity politics. Singh further argues that, Church, YMA and MSU gamble on divinity, community activities and lingua-franca to draw a line between the natives (hill identity) and non-natives ‘others’ (non-hill identity) in Mizoram. This chapter informs the readers about the degree of entrenchment of the Church, YMA and MSU in the public sphere of today’s Mizoram through their activities, voices, and the level of performance of identity politics. From the role of non-state actors in identity politics in Mizoram, focus is drawn to the Bru community in the same state, through the essay, Land as Foundation of Identity: The Case of the Brus in Mizoram. Melvil Pereira and Furzee Kashyap argue, identity and dignity are decisive issues for communities at the margins of a society. These issues are sensitive particularly for those people who are threatened by the perceived or real hegemonic tendencies of a majority or

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dominant community. In defending their identity, the minority community clings to land as the unshakeable pillar. The Bru, who are a community at the margins in Mizoram, are no different in holding on to land as the very basis of their identity. Behind their resolute stand against repatriation to Mizoram is the conviction that they should be taken back to their ancestral land and not settled according to the whims and fancies of the majority community. Pereira and Kashyap, examine the assertions of the exiled Bru of Mizoram who are sheltered in refugee camps in Kanchanpur sub­ division in North Tripura district. This essay while unravelling the causes of conflict between the Bru and the Mizo, argues that the basic reason for the clash between groups is land which is not only an economic and livelihood resource but also the centre of their social, cultural and religious life. Most importantly, it is the definer of their identity. Pereira and Kashyap, build the historical trajectory of the Mizo-Bru conflict, and examine the conflict from a majorityminority perspective, thereby, unravelling the causes for the tension between two communities. From Mizoram, the focus is shifted to Nagaland, via the essay, Land Rights, Identity and Customary Laws Amidst Angami and Konyak Nagas: A Comparative Cross-Referencing. Kedilezo Kikhi and Jagritee Ghosh problematise and examine the linked concepts of land, identity and customary laws in the context of the Konyak and Angami of Nagaland state. The two communities are integral members of the generic category ‘Nagas’ but are significantly different from each other. The Angami are comparatively more democratic than the chief dominated Konyak. However, what is similar in the context of all Nagas, as in the case of all tribes, is the prominence of land. Land undoubtedly is the most important identity-marker of the Nagas. The rights and rituals related to land are upheld by customary law, which is protected by Article 371(A) of the Indian Constitution. Kikhi and Ghosh, argue that the term ‘land’ itself is comprehensive because it includes different types of land used for different purposes, including forests and water resources. A landed person is more influential, enjoys prestige and occupies greater

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status and social weightage than the others leading to a specific identity in the village. On this specific and distinctive backdrop, the essay provides an insightful account of the diverse and specific customs that forms the rule of law. Additionally, the attempt is to make a comparative cross-referencing of significant land patterns and social organisation amongst the Angami and the Konyaks, and subsequently how identity is affirmed through it. Nirmali Goswami, through her chapter entitled Assamese and Its ‘Others’: Making of a School Language in a Multilingual Society, argues that school education, contrary to its common-sense understanding, is a culturally contested arena. Identity movements with national aspirations have always sought to influence and redefine the educational policy. In the process, school curriculum tends to acquire a nationalistic hue. The state of Assam inhabited by a highly diverse population, and with a history of identity politics, the conflict over the question of language of education is shaped by the interests of competing local elites. Goswami argues the state of Assam provides an interesting case to examine how school education has been an important site of conflict, negotiations, and resistance amidst conflicting claims. In the essay, the ideas of Hartmann and Gerteis on ‘fragmented multiculturalism’ and ‘interactive pluralism’ have been employed to comment on the education policies which influence the educational institutions in Assam. In the milieu of Assam, Soumen Ray and Lalhriatchiani situates the saga of torture and denial of basic rights to tea tribes in a historical perspective. In their essay, Rights and Justice to Tea Tribes of Assam: Colonial and Post-colonial Narrative, Ray and Lalhriatchiani elucidates the evolution of the ‘contract-coolie’ category in colonial India and concurrent struggle of these people for emancipation from economic bondage and integral exploitative syndrome which continue to prevail within tea estates in Assam. Today the tea tribes, whether working within or outside the tea estates, are devoid of justice and basic rights, and are also denied the legitimate constitutional status of Scheduled Tribe (ST). The fight of the tea tribes is essentially the struggle for seeking a better deal and this dissent

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has endured beyond a century because the change of regime could not salvage the situation in favour of the disadvantaged tea-tribes. The chapter narrates the long struggle of the tea garden labourers of Assam, who are also known as tea tribes and Adivasis. With the help of empirical studies, the economic repression within tea estates, the discriminatory conditions of the children and women who form the core segment of the unskilled labourers has been depicted and critically evaluated. The authors argue, utter negligence and policy of discrimination have led to status-quo in pathetic existence of the workers, and which does not seem very different from colonial era policies based on discrimination and unfairness. The saga on tea-tribes gives way to post-colonial Assam, wherein Prafulla Kr. Nath examines the role of various colonial institutions, policies of the colonial state to understand the presentday ethnic ferments in Assam. In his chapter, The Line of Difference: Indigeneity and Ethnicity in Post-colonial Assam, Nath states there have been enough efforts to attend to contemporary issues through a sociological lens, thereby, the attempt is to throw fresh light on the prevailing ethnic mobilisations by attempting to historicise them. The chapter underscores the specific role of the Inner Line Permit as a colonial practice, which was evolved and perfected amid other ‘technologies of rule’ such as census and colonial cartography. Nath argues that the use of such institutions as a mapping device had or has strong cultural repercussions, which today reflect in the construction of ethnic identities. These continue to serve as a metaphor of cultural difference, as it was intended to, in the colony. Violent claims over indigeneity, exclusive homeland, territory is expressive of the lasting effect of some such colonial practices. It is seen how the ethnic movements in Assam are following a colonial spatial order in terms of territoriality and to understand the idea of indigeneity. The colonial intervention in Northeast India, created different sets of identities and in the present-day context those are imagined as the pre-colonial. The concluding chapter, Nationalism and Social Exclusion: The Making of Ethnic Identity Movements in Assam by Ransaigra

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Daimary, brings to the fore the historical evidence that Assamese society was formed by inclusion of various ‘other’ smaller groups. Particularly the tribals of the Brahmaputra valley have been historical contributors to the emergence and growth of Assamese nationality and its language, literature, and composite culture. But the post­ colonial nation-state’s vision of unity in diversity played itself out in far more exclusionary ways in the regional units than in the panIndian version. It was the caste make-up of dominant Assamese society that ensured the workings of social exclusion around the lines of access to political power and economic opportunities. Even the regional government’s policies tried to mirror the larger narrative of dominant nationalism, but in doing so, it held up an ethnocratic vision of the Assamese regional polity where assimilation was the only way in which tribals and other minorities could acquire political and cultural recognition. This chapter comprehends the ethnic movements in Assam by attributing it to the problem of social exclusion, by situating the Bodos and the ‘Bodo Movement’. Daimary, argues that the ethnic nationalism in the case of Assam is better understood not merely as an expression of discontent but seen as a language of political mobilisation in response to statesanctioned and culturally hegemonic marginalisation. The chapter looks at the ‘Bodo Movement’, not just a reaction to the formation of a hegemonic Assamese identity, but also due to their exclusion from Assamese society. The editors of this book hope that this volume is successful in mirroring the critical concerns from the Northeastern region in the context of indigeneity, citizenship and state, along with opening the scope for multi-disciplinary deliberations on pressing concerns of contemporary times. We also, acknowledge, that this book is limited to selected but vital issues, that a complex socio-cultural, political, and economic region like the Northeast presents. The present volume would not have been possible without the contributors, an amalgamation of senior academicians, social scientists, and younger scholars. We thank each contributor for presenting some worthwhile arguments in the context of the larger

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debate surrounding indigeneity, citizenship and the state. A work of this kind will be incomplete without the inputs from senior academicians whose works have steered the indigeneity studies in India. We are grateful to Prof. Virginus Xaxa for writing the foreword of the book. Lastly, we appreciate K.K. Saxena of Aakar Books for having agreed to undertake this publication work. REFERENCES Ahmed, Shaheen. S. (November 22, 2019). Amid Assam’s citizenship debate, meanings of ‘Assamese’ and ‘indigenous’ must be addressed. www.firstpost.com. Retrieved from: https://bit.ly/3hNdo6C Baird, Ian G. (2016). Indigeneity in Asia: An Emerging But Contested Concept. Asian Ethnicity, 17(4), 501-505. Baruah, Sanjib. (2008). Territoriality, Indigeneity and Rights in the NorthEast India. Economic and Political Weekly, 43(12-13), 15-19. Bloemraad, Irene, Korteweg, A. and Yurdakul, G. (2008). Citizenship and Immigration: Multiculturalism, Assimilation and Challenges to the Nation-State. Annual Review of Sociology, 34, 153-179. Chakraborty, Avik. (March 13, 2019). Talk of ST Status for Assam’s ‘Tea Tribes’ May Give BJP Fillip in Election Year, But Real Benefits Miles Away at Ground Zero. www.firstpost.com. Retrieved from: https:// bit.ly/3ceyJV9 Chandler, David and Reid, Julian. (2018). ‘Being in Being’: Contesting the Ontopolitics of Indigeneity. The European Legacy, 23(3), 251-268. Dutta, Mohan. J. (December 19, 2019). Indigeneity, Xenophobia, and Citizenship. www.thecitizen.in. Retrieved from: https://bit.ly/3kx02gn Gray, A. (1995). The Indigenous Movement in Asia. In R.H. Barnes, A. Gray and B. Kingsbury (Eds.), Indigenous Peoples in Asia (pp. 35—58). Ann Arbor, MI: Association of Asian Studies. Gomes, Alberto. (2013). Anthropology and the Politics of Indigeneity. Anthropological Forum, 23(1), 5-15. Guenther, Mathias. (February 2006). The Concept of Indigeneity. Social Anthropology, 14(01), 17-32. ILO. (1989). Understanding the Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, (No. 169) Handbook for ILO Tripartite Constituents/International Labour Standards Department. Geneva.

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Marshall, T.H. (1950). Citizenship and Social Class and Other Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kipgen, Ngamjahao. (2016). The Enclosures of Colonization: Indigeneity, Development, and the Case of Mapithel Dam in Northeast India. Asian Ethnicity, 18(04), 505-521. Rajkhowa, Gaurav. (2020). Uneasy Citizens: CAA, NRC and Indigeneity in Assam. Retrieved from https://www.indiaseminar. com/2020/732/732_gaurav_rajkhowa.htm Shrinkhal, Rashwet. (2017). Tribes as ‘Indigenous Peoples’: Revisiting Indigeneity. The Oriental Anthropologist, 17(2), 213-235. Thawnghmung, Ardeth Maung. (2016). The Politics of Indigeneity in Myanmar: Competing Narratives in Rakhine State. Asian Ethnicity, 17(4), 527-547. World Bank. (2019). Indigenous Peoples. Retrieved from https://www. worldbank.org/en/topic/indigenouspeoples Xaxa, Virginius, (1999). Tribes as Indigenous People of India. Economic and Political Weekly, 34(51), 3589-3595.

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‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State—A Northeast Perspective K.C. Baral

‘I understand democracy as something that gives the weak the same chance as the strong’. —M.K. Gandhi

The invocation to ‘We the People’ in the Preamble of the Indian Constitution, in the context of today’s reality, seems to be paradoxical wherein, ‘We the People’ are there only as a muted inscription and not as sovereign performing agents. One may argue that ‘We the People’ comes to active agency at the time of elections, but elections in most part lack the voter’s conscious choice as she or he is influenced by many external factors. As long as the Indian voter does not come to political consciousness not only in electing a leader but also participating in the policy making of the state, the so-called democratic exercise in terms of elections will remain a means to manipulate the majority of the people. Hence the pertinent question that may be asked who are ‘We’? Are we the same people who have constituted a sovereign nation that India is today and bequeathed upon ourselves a Constitution in changing our status from colonial subjects to citizens of a free country? Are we the same people who choose for us constitutional democracy as a form of government and mandated to us all justice (social, economic and political), liberty (of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship)

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and equality (of status and of opportunity) in fostering fraternity (assuring the dignity of the individual) among us? It appears that we are no longer the ‘We’ invoked in the Constitution but have become an imitation of the same; the state is there but ironically its people have become an absence. The so-called rights guaranteed in the Constitution, fundamental or otherwise, are circumscribed by blatant power play. Instead of the will of the people being reflected in the governance of the country in the true democratic spirit, the ruling class manipulates the truth through alibis of the rule of the majority and even throwing up manufactured consensus in the name of the people. In a divided polity, citizenship has been reduced to mimicry that has replaced hope with cynicism. ‘We the People’ broadly connotes a homogeneous identity of the country’s citizenry, whereas the law of homogeneity in our context is constantly challenged from diverse sources or positions rendering citizenship problematic in terms of exercising one’s endowed rights. Citizenship is a state given, legal-juridical instrument that is supposed to guarantee one’s rights but in reality, the bounty of citizenship rights is denied to many for various reasons; for example, the law of suspension of citizenship rights by the state, particularly in disturbed areas through secondary legislations such as the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) and in other contexts through majoritarian hegemony, caste domination and gender discrimination. Further, Indian citizenship has been unacceptable to some others, those who either consider themselves free people (communities associated with autonomy movements in the Northeast) or who do not accept the sovereignty of the Indian nation state based on region or religion (as in the case of some Kashmiris and the ULFA). The citizenship rights guaranteed by the Constitution may not be enough to these people for historical, religious, ethnic and territorial reasons. If citizenship is inalienable from the very existence of a state, its contestation brings to the fore the fact that all is not well with ‘We the People’, an integrated and integrating concept that is interrogated or subverted with diverse claims such

‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State 35

as ethnicity, indigeneity and with many other particularities. As stated in the abstract, the issue of indigeneity is underpinned at the intersection of homogeneity versus heterogeneity, indigenous rights versus citizen rights. Indigeneity could be many things including an understanding that citizenship of a country itself is indigenous but claims in terms of ethnicity, race, cultural practices, language and territory, challenge citizenship in negating its indigenous character at a broader level. Is then citizenship a threat to one’s identity as indigenous with ethnic difference or is it an instrument that helps strengthen the rights of indigenous people and diverse nationalities as well as part of a sovereign state? Indigeneity and Its Discontents How do we then define indigeneity at a time when there are diverse claims to its conceptualisation and explanation? To start with, the free online dictionary says, indigeneity is derived from the word ‘indigeneous’ that connotes being born or a native belonging to a territory, land, religion and so on with unique social, cultural and religious practices. Indigenous is always contrasted with those who are non-natives, outsiders to a place, land or those who are late arrivals. This anthropological view depicts a picture of the primordial association in a society that has been in existence for a long time having been insulated from the outside influence. From the modernist position, the indigenous has its ‘other’ in the outsider. Indigene is defined as pre-industrial living in close contact with nature and is contrasted with the civilisationally more advanced. If indigeneity has evolved in following nature closely in terms of social organisation and cultural practices, citizenship is viewed being created as a normative principle of a modern state. Sita Venkateswar and Emma Hughes maintain that citizenship is procedural that “include people in the process of citizenship, sites and scales of acts of citizenship, and acts for those yet to come” (Venkateswar and Hughes, 2011, p. 1). Of course, the thesis of Sita Venkateswar and Emma Hughes is an attempt at a broader conceptualisation in terms of us being ‘indigenous to the Universe’ vis-à-vis ecology,

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but our discussion is limited to the political context of citizenship and its limitations or otherwise. The political could be extrapolated bringing in here the United Nations’ Charter approved in the General Assembly in 2007 on Rights of Indigenous People. Of course, it started in 1994 when the United Nations launched the decade of the World’s Indigenous Peoples (1995-2005) in committing itself to protect the rights of the indigenous people. In considering the indigenous having inalienable right over a territory, the UNO report underlines: “Indigenous peoples and nations are those which, having a historical continuity with pre-invasion and pre-colonial societies that developed on their territories, consider themselves distinct from other sectors of societies now prevailing in those territories, or parts of them. They form at present non-dominant sectors of society and are determined to preserve, develop and transmit to future generations their ancestral territories, their ethnic identity, as the basis of their continued existence as peoples, in accordance with their own cultural patterns, social institutions and legal systems” (Martinez Cobo Report, Para 379-80, reprinted in Kingsbury cited in Nair, 2006). Contesting this definition of UNO, Manjusha S. Nair argues that it is self-contradictory because the indigenous cannot be simultaneously ahistorical and part of a historical continuity. But the main force of argument of the UNO is territoriality. Territoriality is explained in terms of who were the first people to legitimately own the land. It is in this context, a distinction may be drawn in the context of countries such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand and United States wherein the ownership of land changed from the original inhabitants to the newcomers through external invasion and colonisation. In case of India, the internal movement of people inside the country to a large extent changed ownership of land along with external invasions. However, the Indian scenario is much more complex compared to what has been a historical fact in case of Australia, America, Canada and New Zealand. Therefore, to identify exclusive indigeneity in India may be difficult in terms of territory and cultural practice. However, such a contention does not dispute the fact that there are people on the margins of society

‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State 37

in terms of economic development and political justice; for these groups there has to have some interventions to protect their habitat, culture, language, etc. If indigeneity is constructed primarily around land and territorial rights, the question that becomes significant is about arrivals; who came first, or who were the original inhabitants? In a country like India, where historically internal migration is a fact of life, who came first before the pre-colonial period in the post-colonial context is tricky, where different groups of people with marked differences in language and cultural practices inhabit and share the same territorial space. The reflective observations of Jürgen Habermas and Etienne Balibar (with Immanuel Wallerstein, 1991 on ambiguous identities) in this context hold good. Balibar and Wallerstein argue that ethnicity is fictive from perspectives of ethnicisation of the minorities and of the majorities from a Marxist and Althusserian perspective what they call ambiguous identities (1991, p. 10). Habermas argues that societies that may be called indigenous have risen in a non­ institutionalised realm of politics and are concerned with questions of life world (1981, p. 35). Habermas considers the struggle of the ‘aboriginal peoples’ as historically justified since “they have been assimilated within a state without their consent” (2001, p. 72); the implication being that indigenous people (aborigines) should be let free. With their primordial community solidarity, the indigenous in the words of Friedman “is now part of a larger inversion of Western cosmology in which the traditional ‘other’, a modern category, is no longer the starting point of the long and positive evolution of civilisation, but a voice of ‘wisdom’, a way of life in tune with nature, a culture in harmony, a gemeinschaftt that we have all but lost” (Friedman 1999, p. 2). If the indigenous in the above discussion produces a transnational discourse, according to Nair, in its local production it mirrors the same wherein the historical and social conditions are not substantially different, for example, between the tribes and the peasants on the plains of Odisha, Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand and in case of Assam, where many tribes inhabit with

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non-tribes the same territory (of course one may exclude from this geographical belonging the so-called foreigners). The local production of the indigeneity discourse may not be conflictual so far as plurality of the Indian society is concerned that underlines different and differentiated ethnic, cultural identities in a particular geographical belonging. Although difference is the basis of identity formation that may not be necessarily pinned down to indigeneity in terms of inhabiting a particular territory. Notwithstanding the argument and the underlying logic, the fact remains that claims of indigene is a move to legitimatise uniqueness and exclusiveness thereby taking a position contra citizenship that is produced by the state. In its legitimatisation, a differentiated citizenship (with additional privileges) is created in India. Hence, there is a perpetual tension between citizenship rights and indigenous rights. Where indigenous rights have prevailed, the outer groups are deprived of their citizenship rights. This ambivalence in India has created a discourse wherein citizenship is no longer universal in exercise of rights and these rights have to be negotiated with special rights that some others enjoy. This leads to social tension not only between the inner and outer groups but between groups with similar identities (intra-tribe) inhabiting the same geographical territory. In principle a tribal can own land anywhere in the country, but often denied the right to do so in other tribal areas. A not very recent conflict in Odisha’s Kalahandi district between the communities questions the very thesis of geographical belonging as a precondition to indigeneity. The Tribals and the Panas (a Scheduled Caste) came to a bitter conflict over land ownership while both communities enjoy legal protection regarding land ownership under the Constitution. The narratives that are put forward in claiming ownership of land often revolve around histories of migration and community mythologies ironically outside the constitutional provision. The underlying point here is even special privileges in terms of land ownership has not reduced social tension and conflict, instead it has increased where indigenous rights override citizenship rights.

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The Nation State, Citizenship and Mimicry India as a nation state has been variously interrogated (Bhabha,1990; Chatterjee, 1993); as much as it is real, it is also imagined. Given the disputed nature of the concept of the nation in political and cultural theory, it is hardly surprising that a universally accepted theory on the nation and nationalism remains elusive. From Benedict Anderson’s definition of the nation as an ‘imagined political community, limited and sovereign’, to Edward Said’s definition of it as an ‘imagined geography’, the central debate on Indian national identity continues to veer round two powerful tropes that India is or has been, historically and culturally, a nation and that India is still a nation in the making. The contradiction is centred on how India organises itself as a nation and what constitutes its ‘nationness’. Although the Indian nation is constitutionally guaranteed as a secular and sovereign state, variously produced in symbolic gestures, state administration and reproduced by media and politicians, in reality India is multiple nations represented by a host of diverse factors such as ethnicity, language, culture and so on. Theoretically discursive and underpinned by ideologies of liberalism, Marxism and cultural constructivism, the discourses on nation, nationalism and national identity are encumbered and aporetic. The Indianness in Nehru’s concept of ‘unity in diversity’ has failed to take note of the sub-nationalist aspirations manifest in autonomy movements triggered by ethnic and religious differences, subverting the claim of one nation, one identity. Some of them are of the opinion that the national identity produced by the nationalist struggle of the Congress has been hollow, as it is embedded within the logic of imperialism. Parth Chatterjee (1993) observes that Indian nationalism has always been marked by ambivalence, in that there is a rupture between the external domain of materiality and the inner domain of spirituality. The material domain comprises of the economy and statecraft, science and technology, where the superiority of the West is obviously established. The inner spiritual domain bears the marks of the essential cultural identity of India. This debate has further deepened by radical historiography that

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has forced the entry of peasants, tribals and marginalised classes and castes into Indian history. The debate that Indian national identity is fractured and constructed makes the task difficult for its homogeneous representation, historically and otherwise. Ranajit Guha and Gayatri C. Spivak (1986) argue that there is a historic failure of the nation to come to itself because of the failure of colonial historiography. Thus, it being argued in this chapter, that all historiographies failed us because of the divisive parameters used in interrogating the singularity of national identity and would like to posit, that it is possible to conceive of a singular identity of the Indian nation at a symbolic level in which plurality or diversity can transcend the boundaries in a semiotic figuration without losing the differences that mark them. We in India wear multiple identities simultaneously belonging to a particular caste, religion, language, ethnicity and social group: as a Malayali, a Bengali or an Oriya, as a Brahmin, Dalit, or tribal, as a Hindu, Muslim or Christian and are also Indians. We should acknowledge the fact that we live in a country where a single life span has to cope with generations of changing ideas and situations. In his introduction to a volume of contributions titled, Nation and Narration, Homi Bhabha maintains, “what I want to emphasise in that large and liminal image of the nation ...is a particular ambivalence that haunts the idea of the nation, the language of those who write of it and the lives of those who live it. It is an ambivalence that emerges from a growing awareness that, despite the certainty with which historians speak of the ‘origins’ of nation as a sign of the ‘modernity’ of society, the cultural temporality of the nation inscribes a much more transitional social reality” (2003, p. 1). He further observes, “to study the nation through its narrative address does not merely draw attention to its language and rhetoric; it also attempts to alter the conceptual object itself. If the problematic ‘closure’ of textuality questions the totalisation of national culture, then its positive value lies in displaying the wide dissemination through which we construct the fields of meanings and symbols associated with national life” (2003, p. 3).

‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State 41

We know that modern India emerged as a geographical territory under colonialism and handed down by the colonial rulers, wherein a geographical belonging was created not by consensus but by historical contingency. We the people as Indians under the sovereign state of India, are presumed to have one identity as citizens of the country but in reality, it is not so. Not only that the national identity comes into conflict with other identities, even identities having similarities also come into conflict with each other. Amartya Sen in his work, Identity and Violence has stated that “a sense of identity can be a source not merely of pride and joy, but also of strength and confidence ...And yet identity can kill - and kill with abandon” (2006, p. 1). Sen’s observation comes true when we look at the recent violence between the Rabhas and Garos in AssamMeghalaya and inter-tribal feuds in Manipur. The Constitution of India that came into existence in 1950 declared India a republic and also bestowed on its people the sovereign state’s gift of citizenship with rights and privileges. Besides the rights, the Constitution also lays down specific guidelines how citizenship naturally accrues, how it is acquired or retained and how a non-national can acquire that status. Of course, the framers of the Constitution took note of the fact that India is an unequal society, plural in its linguistic and cultural formation, structured in an age-old hierarchical system of caste and there are others who are outside this structure called tribes. The Sixth Schedule of the Indian Constitution has provisions to protect the indigenous rights of the tribal people of the Northeast. Understandably, there are dissenting voices about the provisions of the Sixth Schedule but it provides the necessary legal protection for inalienable land rights to the people of the Scheduled states. The Ghurye-Elwin debate on the status of the Indian tribes who were in a primordial state of belonging is interesting for they offer two divergent views. Notwithstanding, the merit or demerit of their views what is important is to recognise the significance of political economy in the context of indigenous people. It is largely recognised that most solidarity movements that have thrived not

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

because of the politically articulated difference discourse, but because of the failure of the political economy pursued by the state in these areas. Be that as it may, it is a fact that citizenship and indigeneity have come to a disjuncture at the sphere of the macro-political and the macrocosmic. While citizenship is macro-political, indigeneity is microcosmic. Ideally it would be in the best interest of a state and its people to balance both, in order to ensure that no one is denied of his or her rights. To extrapolate the debate a little further, it may be pertinent to have some understanding how the rights of citizenship are undermined by subordinate legislations in India. A few incidents are cited here as examples, Ashish Nandy’s opinion on corruption and the opinion of two young ladies from Pune on Bala Saheb Thackeray. They were booked under Prevention of Atrocities against SC/ST and Cyber laws respectively. One may agree or disagree with the views expressed by Nandy and the girls, but what is of significance is that freedom of speech guaranteed by the Constitution as a fundamental right instead of being adjudicated under the common law has to be subjected to secondary legislations in creating a disjuncture between what is fundamental and what is not. These examples could be repeated in terms of right to property, right to justice and in case of other fundamental rights that characterise citizenship and how are these rights subverted by the state. This ambivalence continues to hunt citizenship simultaneously being central to a state’s political existence, its very identity as a sovereign state and being circumscribed and subverted by the undefined rights of the state. Hence, citizenship in India has become nothing more than a mimic. Mimic, a concept of biology if extended to its political use may underline that even our sameness is more problematic than our difference. The claims of universality stand dented in a divided society in further fragmenting the very basic tenets of the Constitution. Just like Ralph Singh of V.S Naipaul’s (1969), The Mimic Men, who struggles through colonialism, post-colonial political dispensation in constructing and reconstructing his identity through displacement

‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State 43

and disillusionment, citizenship under the sovereign state of India has its own internal contradictions that need to be put into order. Citizenship, Identity and the Northeast If indigeneity is a disjunctive construct, so also identity. Of course, we have to recognise that identity is not one thing however, indigenous identity in its political sense is essentialised in that it has become exclusive. The attempt is not to deal with identity discourse per se here, the focus is on the Northeast vis-à-vis indigeneity in the context of modernity, globalisation and finally, state violence. Modernity vis-à-vis the predicament of the indigenous people of the Northeast is a complex debate. As modernity is predicated to human progress and economic development, no society should remain insulated from the benefits of this paradigm. Further, we are also challenged by globalisation that puts indigenous identities in a state of flux for having simultaneously a desire to be part of the global community and transnational culture, and at the same time following an exclusivist indigeneity discourse. Besides these reflections what is important to understand is how indigeneity today, outside the claim to land and territory, works with other factors that constitute it. Many things have undergone radical transformation in the Northeast because of urbanisation, rising individualism (a gift of modernity), a state-driven education premised on producing normal citizens (not deviants), emergence of new social categories such as traders, professionals among the indigenous people, migration to other parts of the country and erasure of age-old cultural practices under many other factors including change in faith. If these changes are equally important in reconsidering indigeneity and its exclusiveness, they certainly do not override the fact that some communities need to be protected by the state from exploitation and domination by others in exercising their rights. Citizenship has come under severe stress, particularly in the Northeast, because of state violence. The famous Manorama case of Manipur is taken as an illustration—the event of Manorama’s death

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has raised serious questions about the rights of a citizen that have been denied under another provision of the state that is the Armed Forces Special Powers Act. I have published a full paper on the issue in the International Journal of Baudrillad Studies in 2008. I would like to elaborate on this. Manorama was a victim allegedly of state violence that was carried out in the name of controlling terrorism. Many scholars have pointed out the cause of secessionist movements in the Northeast and the measures that the state has taken to contain it. In isolating Manorama’s death from the secessionist debate what is of significance is her rights as a citizen of India. As a citizen and a subject of the state she was objectified and desubjectified having been denied her rights guaranteed by the Constitution. “Agamben’s theorisation of desubjectification provides us with ...a way of examining the subject’s disappearance. In a state of exception, the subject undergoes desubjectification where impossibility and necessity as negations of possibility and contingency engage in destruction and destitution of the subject. The subject is denied any privileged moment under the operators of desubjectification” (Baral, 2008). Hence what becomes a citizen-subject and the state’s promise of protecting rights of a citizen of the state guaranteed under the constitution? Does the act qualify to be called a product of a state of exception? This question of what is a state of exception needs to be resolved by the state itself, not by its citizens. The Indian state is in perpetual struggle with its own contradic­ tions between the realm of “universalistic reason proper to the state and primordial relations proper to the family” (Das and Poole, 2004, p. 6). The figure of law legitimises state violence while declaring other forms of violence that challenge the state as illegitimate. Most communities in Northeast India are absent from the discourse of nation building. Instead of being integrated psychologically into the mainstream national culture, these communities are in a state of inertia. The state to a large extent allows identity claims in the Northeast to be defined in a counter-modernist manner wherein the state is not perceived as a protector of citizen rights but an entity that intervenes or disrupts ways of life.

‘We the People’: Interrogating Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State 45

REFERENCES

Agamben, Giorgio. (2002). Remnants of Auschwitz: The Witness and Archive. Trans. Daniel Heller-Roazen. New York: Zone Books. Baral, Kailash C. (2008). Terrorism, Jean Baudrillard and a Death in North East India. Retrived from http://www.ubishops.ca/baudrillardstudies/ vol5_1/v5-1-article14-baral.html. Balibar, Étienne and Wallerstein, Immanuel. (1991). Race, Nation, Class: Ambiguous Identities. London: Verso. Bhabha, Homi K. (Ed.). (1990). Nation and Narration. London: Routledge. Chatterjee, Parth. (1993). Nation and Its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Das, Veena and Poole, Deborah (Eds.). (2004). Anthropology in the Margin of the State. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Friedman, Jonathan. (1999). Indigenous Struggles and the Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. The Australian Journal of Anthropology, 10(1), 1-14. Guha, Ranajit and Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. (1988). Selected Subaltern Studies. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Habermas, Jürgen. (1981). New Social Movements. Telos, 49, 33-37. Habermas, Jürgen. (2001). The Post National Constellations. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press. Naipaul, V.S. (1969). The Mimic Men. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Nair, Manjusha. C. (2006). Defining Indigeneity: Situating Transnational Knowledge. Retrieved from http://www.rci.rutgers.edu/~manjusha/ Sen, Amartya. (2006). Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny. New Delhi: Penguin. Venkateswar, Sita and Hughes, Emma. (2011). The Politics of Indigeneity: Dialogues and Reflections on Indigenous Activism. London: Zed Books.

2

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous?1 H. Srikanth

It is not intellectual curiosity alone that prompts one to examine which community first settled in a particular place. An enquiry as to who in a given region or country could be considered indigenous is not just a question for scholars in the disciplines of history or anthropology. Indigeneity is now above all a political question, closely bound with claims to territory, status, identity, and political power. Although the United Nations (UN) has finally adopted the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, the fight of indigenous people for identity and justice is far from over. While acknowledging the continuing relevance of the discourse on indigeneity to several oppressed and marginalised native communities across the globe, it is necessary to be aware of the limitations of the politics of indigeneity. If not guided properly, there is a possibility that the ideology and politics of indigeneity could well become a tool in the hands of the indigenous elite and be an obstacle to understanding the interests of oppressed native communities and poor migrant populations. Keeping in mind the diverse trajectories of the politics of indigeneity, this chapter examines the increasing demands for recognition as indigenous people by hill communities and discusses the relevance of the politics of indigeneity in the hill areas of Northeast India. Idea of Indigenous People The term ‘indigenous peoples’ has gained popularity because of the experiences of the Americas and Oceania, where colonisation and

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 47

immigration from European countries had resulted in large-scale deprivation, displacement and discrimination of native communities. White settlers, who overpowered the natives demographically, economically, culturally and militarily, destroyed native institutions, cultures and languages and made the locals subjects of capitalist nation states (Dyck, 1991; Stannard, 1993; Srikanth, 2010; Minnerup and Solber, 2011). Despite the nation state’s efforts to eliminate the identity of indigenous peoples, the subjugated native communities gradually began re-organising themselves and asserting their identity as indigenous peoples, or first nations. Asserting their right to self-determination, they demanded self-government that ensured aboriginal rights over the lands and resources. They built networks of native communities across countries and brought pressure on the UN and other international organisations to listen to their voices. The struggles of Native American Indians in the Americas and other indigenous people in Oceania and northern Europe have highlighted the negative effects of colonialism on indigenous peoples, and the need to address the existential problems or dilemmas of native communities living in modern nation states. Decades-long campaigns and lobbying by aboriginal activist groups in the West have attracted the attention of different tribal and marginalised communities in the developing world. Although their historical trajectories are different, tribal and marginalised communities in Afro-Asian countries have begun identifying themselves with the first nations and demanding recognition as indigenous people in their own countries. The Indigenous Peoples of Africa Coordinating Committee (IPACC), for instance, insisted on recognising herding and hunting people, and people such as the Pygmies, who are subjected to discrimination because of their physical appearance, as indigenous peoples.2 With more and more communities seeking recognition as indigenous peoples, it becomes necessary to arrive at consensus on who are to be considered so. The International Labour Organisation (ILO) in its Convention No. 169 on the working rights of Indigenous and Tribal Peoples, 1989, used the term ‘indigenous people’ to refer to both tribal people whose social, cultural, and economic conditions

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distinguish them from other sections of the national community and whose status is regulated wholly or partially by their own customs or traditions or by special laws or regulations, and also to peoples who are regarded as indigenous because of their descent from populations that inhabited the country at the time of conquest or colonisation (ILO 1994). Realising that there are several communities in the world claiming indigenous status on one ground or the other, Erica-Irene Daes, who was chairperson of the United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations (UNWGIP), avoided a precise definition of the term. Yet she helped in broadening the concept by recognising different communities of peoples as indigenous. According to her, indigenous people include, 1. Descendants of groups that were in the territory of the country at the time when other groups of different cultures or ethnic origins arrived there. 2. Those who have preserved the customs and traditions of their ancestors almost intact, which are like those characterised as indigenous because of their isolation from other segments of the country’s population. 3. Those who are placed under a state structure that incorporates national, social, and cultural characteristics alien to theirs.3 Later, the World Bank suggested identifying indigenous people based on the following characteristics: a. close attachment to ancestral territories and the natural resources in those areas; b, self-identification and identification by others as members of a distinct cultural group; c. an indigenous language, often different from the national language; d. the presence of customary social and political institutions; and e. primarily subsistence-oriented production.4 From the above descriptions, one can make out certain attributes or requirements necessary to claim indigenous status. The distinguishing characteristics of indigenous people are the following:

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 49

1. They are the descendants of the original inhabitants of the land before colonial conquest. 2. They are usually tribal or communitarian in their status and outlook. 3. They have a subsistence economy, engaging primarily in hunting, food gathering, and shifting cultivation. 4. They are united based on real or imaginary common blood ties. 5. They are guided by customary laws. 6. They live in close association with nature. 7. They have been marginalised and made subordinate to communities that migrated and colonised the land. 8. They continue to follow old customs and traditions despite being a part of nation states with different values and ethos. It may not be possible for any community to meet all these attributes or requirements. However, it would be interesting to examine how far the communities claiming indigenous status in Northeast India meet the criteria. Tribes in India Several communities in India that consider themselves tribes have been officially recognised as Scheduled Tribes (STs). Special provisions have been made in the Constitution to provide reservations to STs in education, employment, and political positions. The central and state governments have come out with several development programmes and welfare schemes for STs. Officially, STs are not accorded the status of indigenous peoples. But certain tribal areas in the hills of the Northeast enjoy special constitutional status, which guarantees considerable administrative and financial autonomy to tribal communities to manage their affairs. The Sixth Schedule of the Constitution includes autonomous district councils and regional councils for select hill areas of the Northeast, to be administered exclusively by tribes inhabiting particular areas. Some of these autonomous districts evolved into the tribal-dominant states of Meghalaya and Mizoram.

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

While conceding statehood to Nagaland to satisfy the national aspirations of the Nagas, Article 371A was incorporated in the Constitution, ensuring that no act of Parliament would bring any change in religious or social practices, customary laws, and traditional ownership patterns in Naga society without the consent of the Nagaland Legislative Assembly. Similarly, despite the Bodos, a plain tribe of Assam, not being a majority in the territory they claim to be their homeland, the government created the Bodo Territorial Council in 2003 under the Sixth Schedule and bestowed considerable autonomy and powers to them. Far from satisfying tribals, such concessions to powerful tribal communities have led to further claims for greater autonomy by smaller tribal groups. In recent years, even communities not officially listed as STs have begun claiming indigenous status for themselves. To accommodate the growing demands for autonomy, the state governments of Tripura, Manipur, and Assam have come out with different types of autonomous administrative units.5 The struggles for autonomy for tribal areas in Northeast India have their roots in the historical and geographical specificities of the region and the communities inhabiting the region. However, the struggles of indigenous people in other parts of the globe have also influenced autonomy movements in the Northeast. Given the political advantages that recognition as indigenous people brings, the idea is instantly welcomed by tribal communities in the Northeast. As the enchantment with it grows day after day, it makes sense to examine whether these native tribal communities deserve indigenous status in accordance with the norms developed by international agencies and organisations such as the ILO, UNWGIP, and the World Bank. First Settlers in Northeast India The first argument usually advanced by claimants of the status of indigenous people is that their community was the first to settle in a given territory, and hence it is entitled to special status and treatment. In countries like the US, Canada, and Australia, it is not difficult to

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 51

distinguish between the first settlers and later migrants (Havermann, 1999; Wilson, 2000; Page, 2004; Bann, 2007). However, identifying the first settlers in a vast country like India with a complex history of invasions and migrations is not easy. Scholars such as Andre Beteille have reflected on the problems associated with identifying tribals in India as indigenous people (Beteille, 1998, pp. 187-91; Xaxa, 1999, pp. 3589-96). What Beteille says is also true of the Northeast inhabited by different ethnic communities. Even before the British, India’s Northeastern region was inhabited by several Mongoloid communities, who had migrated in waves from east and south-east Asia at different points of time and settled both in the plains and hill areas of the Northeast. In the plains, the communities looked for space for settlement either in forests or near the banks of rivers where there was fertile cultivable land. However, hill communities faced harsh physical conditions and were compelled to move from one place to another in search of cultivable land and better living conditions. The process of migration and settlement was not smooth. There were frequent wars between communities that had migrated and settled earlier and communities that sought an entry a little later. It was only during colonial rule that the movements of hill communities in the Northeast were contained through enactment of the inner line regulations and the creation of separate hill districts to accommodate the major hill communities. Since all Mongoloid communities settled in the region had migrated to the region at some point in history and many moved from one place to another in the region, it does not make much sense to argue who among them were the first to settle in the territory that they now occupy. Most communities went through a process of conflict, displacement, and accommodation. During the pre-colonial period, it was not possible to make a clear distinction between the plains people and the hill communities based on development, or tribal and non-tribal characteristics. Even the more advanced communities such as the Kochs, Ahoms, and Meiteis were also tribal at one time. In the course of time, some of these communities, living mostly in the plains, were Hinduised; they even built kingdoms that

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

exhibited feudal characteristics. But even in the plains, there were many communities such as the Bodos that remained tribal. Similarly, although almost all the communities living in the hills remained tribal, those like the Jaintias and Dimasas, officially identified as tribals, had proto-kingdoms and their chieftains were called Rajas by even British officers (Gait, 1963; Mackenzie, 2004). There were occasions when the Ahom and Metei kings attacked the hill communities and tried to bring them under their control. But not all kings and people in the plains were powerful and had the ability to exploit and dominate the hill communities. Many rulers and communities inhabiting the plains were scared of the hill tribes and tried to make peace by offering them Posa, a kind of protection tax, to prevent their attacks (Barpujari, 1998, p. 21). Notwithstanding the conflicts between the hill communities and the peoples living in the plains, there developed an adjustment, an accommodation, and a mutual dependence between them. No community was so big or strong as to occupy and control the entire Northeast and there was space for all communities to inhabit some place in the region. The situation changed once the Northeast was colonised by the British. Colonial and Post-Colonial Experience The experience of colonial rule in the Northeast was quite different from what native Indians or other natives experienced in the Americas and Oceania. Unlike in the US or Australia, the Northeast, or for that matter India as a whole, did not witness large-scale migration and settlement of white people. To the British, India was a colony, not a second home. Although white people did not flood the region, colonial rule did contribute to voluntary or forced migration of different communities from the rest of India to the Northeast. It was not that all migrant communities were economically and culturally superior to the locals. The Adivasis who were forcibly brought to work in tea and other plantations and Bengali Muslim peasants who were forced to migrate because of poverty were no exploiters in any sense (Guha, 1977; Karotemprel and Roy, 1990; Schendel,

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 53

2005; Sharma, 2011). Further, the negative effects of large-scale immigration of people from other parts of British India to the Northeastern region were confined mostly to the plain areas. By and large, the hill communities retained their traditions and continued to exercise control over their land and resources. After British rule came to an end, the Government of India acknowledged the autonomy of the hill communities and came out with appropriate constitutional and political interventions (Kumara and Gassah, 1996; Bhaumik and Bhattacharya, 2005; Roy Choudhury, 2005). On the eve of Independence, the hill communities had apprehensions of being flooded and dominated by Indians from the plains, but their fears have not come true. Barring Tripura, which experienced a large-scale influx of Bengalis from East Pakistan and then Bangladesh, to this day, tribals remain a majority in other hill areas or states (Debbarma, 2005; Ali, 2011; Datta, 2013).6 Although in urban centres like Shillong and Dimapur, one can see a considerable number of non-tribals, political and economic power is very much in the hands of the local tribal elite. That non-tribal migrants in these hill areas are at the mercy of the local tribal elite is clear from several articles by scholars and activists (Dev, 2004, 2006; Chakraborty, 2008). The indigenous, educated middle-class elite continue to view the migrant population as a threat to demography, culture, and the identity of indigenous peoples. However, upcoming native entrepreneurs—owners of the coal mines, civil contractors, traders engaged in inter-state trading, transport, and the hospitality business—understand the need for engaging cheap labour from across the border or other parts of India. Migrant labourers are indispensable to this class of indigenous proto-bourgeoisie and they are not so vociferous about banning migrant labourers (Lamare, 2014). Further, in recent years, several elite indigenous families have been sending their wards to cities such as Delhi, Bangalore, Pune, and Hyderabad for higher studies. These indigenous youth, who often experience racial discrimination in the rest of India, realise the need to be more accommodative to ‘outsiders’ in their own states.7

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Cultural Domination Advocates of indigenous rights speak not only of the economic deprivation but also the cultural domination that indigenous people have had to suffer in colonial and post-colonial states. Here, the experience of Northeast India differs considerably. Colonial rule in the region did not wipe out local languages. The native communities in the Northeast did not experience the sense of alienation that native children experienced in residential schools in Canada and the US (Francis, 1998, pp. 51-87; Littlefield, 2001; Miller, 2003). Christian missionaries opened schools in remote villages. They learnt the local languages of the people and developed scripts for local dialects. Both preaching and teaching were done in local dialects. It is true that the spread of Christianity spelt the doom of most local religious beliefs and customs. But most tribal communities, especially in the hill areas, accepted Christianity and began identifying themselves as Christians (Snaitang, 1983; Subba, Puthenpurakal et al., 2006). Today, we do not see many in the Northeast lamenting over the loss of their traditional faiths and beliefs. Rather Christianity has become an identity for most of the hill communities in the region to distinguish themselves from the rest of India. Fears were expressed on the eve of independence that joining India would lead to Hindus or Muslims dominating those that follow Christianity or their traditional faiths. But constitutional guarantees and political initiatives taken by the Government of India restored confidence that the customs, religions, languages, and traditions of local communities would be respected. It is true that racial prejudice exists and the people of the Northeast experience discrimination and harassment outside their region (Thounaojam, 2012). But, in the region, they are at the helm of affairs and no outsiders dare humiliate or look down on them. As such, the pre­ colonial, colonial, and post-colonial experience of the local people in the Northeast has been very different from the experience of indigenous people in countries like the US, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. It is not that there are no differences between tribals and non-tribals, the people in the plains and the hill people, and

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 55

the people of the Northeast and the rest of India. But to say that the contradictions have taken the form of a conflict between indigenous people and dominating migrants is an exaggeration. Present Stage of Development Let us examine the economic development of the hill communities. The literature on indigenous people makes it clear that they include primitive or disadvantaged communities that are basically dependent on hunting, food gathering, or jhum (shifting) cultivation. Such a criterion precludes indigenous status to several communities in the plains that have long taken to settled cultivation, business, and other modern vocations for earning their livelihood. On the eve of Independence, most hill communities in the Northeast practised jhum cultivation and theirsocio-political life was regulated by customary laws and practices. Many communities inhabiting frontier and excluded areas had little or no contacts with the rest of India. The British policy of exclusion, a near absence of administration, and the lack of proper road connectivity allowed the survival of traditional tribal relations. However, after political and economic integration with the Indian union, the situation in the Northeast changed considerably. Over the decades, the market and administration penetrated hill areas. Several hill communities took to settled cultivation. In almost all the hill states, community ownership over means of production was gradually replaced by individual ownership, leading to economic inequalities (Misra, 1979; Nongbri, 2003; Fernandes and Barbora, 2008; Srikanth, 2011). These changes have little to do with the presence of non-tribal immigrants. Non-tribals are hardly visible in villages due to restrictions on the transfer of land to outsiders in hill areas. Although one can see a considerable number of non-tribal immigrants in urban centres, working as government employees, businessmen, daily wage labourers, and petty vendors, the natives continue to have control over the economy and political power. Laws could protect the locals against outsiders, but they could not stop class differences growing within. Today, among the hill communities, some are crorepatis while most others do not even have

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

an acre of land to cultivate. One only has to look at the economic background of a majority of the politicians in the states who get elected as members of legislative assemblies (MLAs) and Parliament (MPs) to understand how tribal they are.8 Interestingly, the neo-rich tribal elite often talk vociferously about indigeneity, not so much to benefit the poorest within communities, but to protect and promote their own interests.9 Of late, anthropologists have been making a distinction between the indigenous and autochthonous, the first to refer to communities that are truly primitive, marginalised, and discriminated, and the second to denote those who have established superiority in the region, but are apprehensive of future domination by more powerful communities or groups of people (Ceuppens and Geschiere, 2005; Gausset, Kenrick et al., 2011). All the communities in the Northeast have not become autochthonous, but in all the native communities, one can see a section that has the attributes of being autochthonous. This section of people, living mostly in urban areas and drawing incomes from non-agrarian sources, has lifestyles and values different from the rest of the population. They live in big bungalows, own costly vehicles, buy luxury items, spend lavishly on entertainment and travel, seek wealth and political power, and in their own interest establish contacts with politicians, businessmen, and other influential persons outside the Northeastern region. Although they regularly attend church and participate in meetings of traditional political institutions, they do not care for communitarian values and customary laws that are so dear to indigenous peoples. Indigenous ideologies and movements lose their progressive content once such autochthonous elite develop and begin dominating the economy and politics of native communities (Rata, 2002).10 Limits of Indigenous Identities Of course, it can be argued that such an elite is a minority, and that indigeneity has relevance to the majority of native people, who are poor, marginalised, and neglected. That most people or communities in Northeast India are poor, marginalised, and neglected is a fact,

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 57

but whether invoking indigeneity helps them to overcome their disadvantages is doubtful. If all their problems were the result of domination and exploitation by a more advanced migrant population (does not matter whether they are other Indians or the Bangladeshis), the appeal to indigeneity would have had some relevance. But the migrants that most local communities in the Northeast have been fighting are economically and politically vulnerable, often at the mercy of their native employers. The problems of poverty, regional under-development, landlessness, lack of alternative avenues for livelihood, growing unemployment among the educated, and administrative insensitivity are not due to any outsiders, but byproducts of the impersonal forces unleashed by a capitalist market economy. The prescriptions offered by advocates of indigeneity such as the formation of tribal states, the creation of more territorial or district councils, the extension of inner-line boundaries, imposing legal restrictions on transfer of land to non-tribals, and constitutional recognition for traditional political institutions have less relevance in the age of globalisation and neoliberalism. They create the illusion that one can be safe only in one’s ethnic cocoon. At best, they help in re-distributing the existing cake, not enlarging it. Those under the influence of the politics of indigeneity often cannot think beyond native-migrant, tribal-non-tribal binaries. In the hands of the elite, the ideology of indigeneity masks the growing class exploitation within. It effectively stalls native communities from raising more relevant questions, like why land should continue to be the major source of livelihood; what comes in the way of generating other viable alternative sources of livelihood; why could tribal states and autonomous administrative units not preserve tribal traditions and tribal ownership of land and other resources; and in what ways do the practice of indigeneity in a limited territorial space help community members who live outside ethnic cocoons. Further, the ideology of indigeneity forecloses all possibilities of understanding the problems of the poor and disadvantaged among other communities and makes it difficult for progressive forces to build a unity of all oppressed and exploited

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sections against capitalist-imperialist forces and their followers in the country and the region. Are these the reasons why not only the UN, but also the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank, which vociferously prescribe a neoliberal path for the world, take pains to promote the idea of indigenous peoples? NOTES 1. Earlier published in Economic and Political Weekly (May 17, 2014), XLIX(20), 41-46. (Reproduced by the author with permision) 2. ‘Who Are the Indigenous Peoples of Africa?’, IPACC, Retrieved from http://www.ipacc.org.za/eng/who.asp 3. ‘Identification of Indigenous Peoples’, International Working Group for Indigenous Affairs (IWGIA). Retrieved from http://www.iwgia. org/sw641.asp 4. World Bank, ‘World Bank Indigenous Peoples’ Operational Directive DD 4.2’, July 2005. 5. For official information on autonomous district councils in Manipur, Tripura, and Assam. See http://manipur.nic.in/auto_dist_council.htm, ttaadc.nic.in/, bodoland.in/jaores/ 6. According to the 2001 Census, the ST population in the hill states of Arunachal Pradesh, Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Nagaland were 64 per cent, 86 per cent, 95 per cent, and 89 per cent, respectively. However, in Tripura, the tribal population was 31 per cent. 7. For example, during a recent agitation in Meghalaya demanding implementation of the inner line permit in the state, several young Khasi scholars who have studied or settled in Delhi or abroad came out against the violence perpetrated against non-locals during the course of the movement. See Shanbhor Mukhim, ‘The View from Outside’, Shillong Times, October 8, 2013; Janet Moore Hujon, ‘In Search of an Identity’, Shillong Times, December 18, 2013; Barry Roy Lyngdoh Mawlong, ‘For the Love of Shillong’, Shillong Times, October 24, 2013. 8. The total assets of the MPs and some MLAs in Meghalaya, for example, exceed Rs. 10 crores. See http://expressindia.indianexpress.com/latest­ news/300-crorepatis-in-new-lok-sabha/461850/. True, politicians in other hill states of the Northeast may not be as rich as their counterparts in Meghalaya, but they are no more tribals by any economic standard. 9. In recent years, indigenous scholars themselves have been writing self-critical articles against the politics of indigeneity. For example,

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 59 see Patricia Mukhim, ‘This Land is Mine ...Trespassers Not Allowed’, Shillong Times, June 21, 2013; Obadiah Lamshwa Lamare, ‘A Proper Travel Brochure’, Shillong Times, July 4. 2013. 10. Elizabeth Rata (2002) in her study of the Maori tribe in New Zealand calls such elites corporate tribes.

REFERENCES Ali, Salim. (2011). Migration and Ethnic Violence in Tripura. Faultlines, 20 (January). Bann, Stuart. (2007). Possessing the Pacific: Land, Settlers, and Indigenous People from Australia to Alaska. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Barpujari, H.K. (1998). The Problem of the Hill Tribes Northeast Frontier (Vol. I). Shillong: North-Eastern Hill University. Bhaumik, Subir and Bhattacharya, Jayanta. (2005). Autonomy in the Northeast: The Hills of Tripura and Mizoram. In Ranabir Samaddar (Ed.), The Politics of Autonomy: Indian Experiences. New Delhi: Sage. Beteille, Andre. (1998). The Idea of Indigenous Peoples. Current Anthropology, 39(2), 187-192. Ceuppens, B. and Geschiere, P. (2005). Autochthony, Local or Global? Annual Review of Anthropology, 34, 385-407. Chakraborty, Anup Shekhar. (2008). Regulating Citizenship: Politics of ‘Check-In’ and Check-Out’ in Mizoram, India. Refugee Watch Online (February 18). Retrieved from http://refugeewatch-online.blogspot. in/2009/02/regulating-citi- zenship-politics-of.html Datta, Antara. (2013). Refugees and Borders in South Asia: The Great Exodus of 1971. London: Routledge. Debbarma, K. (2005). Inter-Ethnic Conflict in Tripura: Causes and Dimensions. In Girin Phukon (Ed.), Inter-Ethnic Conflict in Northeast India (pp. 141-147). New Delhi: South Asian Publishers. Dev, Rajesh. (2004). Human Rights, Relativism and Minorities in Northeast India. Economic and Political Weekly, 39(43), 4747-4752. Dev, Rajesh. (2006). Indigeneity, Minorities and Rights in Northeast India. In Joseph Benjamin (Ed.), Minorities in India.Delhi: Gyan Publishers. Dyck, Noel. (1991). What Is the Indian ‘Problem’: Tutelage and Resistance in Canadian Administration. Newfoundland: Institute of Social and Economic Research.

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Fernandes, Walter and Barbora, Sanjay. (Eds.). (2008). Land, People and Politics: Contest Over Tribal Land in Northeast India. Guwahati: NESRC and IWGIA. Francis, Mark. (1998). The ‘Civilizing’ of Indigenous People in Nineteenth Century Canada. Journal of World History, 9(1), 51-87. Gait, Edward Albert. (1963). A History of Assam. Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co. Gausset, Quentin, Kenrick, Justin et al. (2011). Indigeneity and Autochthony: A Couple of False Twins? Social Anthropology, 19(2), 135-142. Guha, Amalendu. (1977). Planter Raj to Swaraj: Freedom Struggle and Electoral Politics in Assam, 1826-1947. New Delhi: ICSSR. Havermann, Paul. (1999). Indigenous Peoples’ Rights in Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Auckland: Oxford University Press. ILO. (1994). Indigenous and Tribal Peoples and the ILO. Geneva: International Labour Office. Karotemprel, S. and Roy, B. Dutta. (1990). Tea Garden Labourers of Northeast India: A Multidimensional Study on the Adivasis of the Tea Gardens of Northeast India. Shillong: Vendrame Institute. Kumara, Braja Bihari and Gassah, L.S. (Eds.). (1996). The Autonomous District Councils New Delhi: Omsons Publications. Lamare, Obadiah Lashwa. (2014). Democratic Decline: On Labor and Denizens. In H. Srikanth, Joshua C. Thomas et al. (Eds.), Vision for Meghalaya: On and Beyond the Inner Line Permit. Shillong: ICSSR­ NERC. Littlefield, Holly. (2001). Children of the Indian Boarding Schools-1879 to Present. Minneapolis: Carolrhoda Books. Mackenzie, Alexander. (2004). The Northeast Frontier of India. New Delhi: Mittal. Miller, J.R. (2003). Shingwauk’s Vision: A History of Native Residential Schools. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Minnerup, Gunter and Solber, Pia. (2011). First World, First Nations: Internal Colonialism and Indigenous Self-determination in Northern Europe and Australia. Ontario: Sussex Academic Press. Misra, Bani Prasanna. (1979). Agrarian Relations in a Khasi State. Economic and Political Weekly, 14(20), 888-892.

Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? 61 Nongbri, Tiplut. (2003). Development, Ethnicity and Gender. New Delhi: Rawat. Page, Jake. (2004). In the Hands of the Great Spirit: The 20,000- Year History of American Indians. New York: Free Press. Rata, Elizabeth. (2002). The Transformation of Indigeneity. Review (Fernand Braudel Centre), 25(2), 173-195. Roy Choudhury, Dipanjan. (2005). Autonomous District Councils and Panchayat Raj Institutions in Northeast India. Dialogue, 7(1). Schendel, Willem Van. (2005). The Bengal Borderland: Beyond State and Nation in South Asia. London: Anthem Press. Sharma, Jayeeta. (2011). Empire’s Garden: Assam and the Making of India. Durham: Duke University Press. Snaitang, O.L. (1983). Christianity and Social Change in Northeast India. Shillong: Vendrame Institute. Srikanth, H. (2010). Indigenous Peoples in Liberal Democratic States: A Comparative Study of Conflict and Accommodation in Canada and India. Boulder: Baau Institute. Srikanth, H. (Winter 2011). New Social Forces and Changing Land Relations Among the Khasis in Meghalaya. Man and Society: A Journal of Northeast Studies, III, 27-39. Stannard, David E. (1993). American Holocaust: The Conquest of the New World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Subba, T.B. and Puthenpurakal, Joseph et al. (2006). Christianity and Change in Northeast India. New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company. Thounaojam, Swar. (2012). A Preface to Racial Discourse in India: Northeast and Mainland. Economic and Political Weekly, 47(32), 10-13. Wilson, James. (2000). The Earth Shall Weep: A History of Native America. New York: Grove Press. Xaxa, Virginius. (1999). Tribes as Indigenous People of India. Economic and Political Weekly, 34(51), 3589-3595.

3

What Can a Liberal State Reasonably Expect of Its Citizens? Some Reflections in a Liberal Democracy1 Ake Sander

For an appreciable portion of the 19th century, a wide circle of Western academics assumed that almost all problems surrounding religion would be automatically resolved through the progressive process of modernisation, and the secularisation that would concomitantly follow at its side (Wallace, 1966, p. 256; Berger, 1968, p. 3).2 The prediction was that as modern societies became more and more secularised, the power, attraction and hold of both organised religion and individual religiosity would gradually diminish and eventually dissolve. It was believed, in other words, that the processes of modernisation would inevitably lead to the fulfilment of Friedrich Nietzsche’s prophesised ‘death of God’. From the end of the Second World War to the mid-1990s, the impact of this ‘secularisation thesis’ on sociological and political science theory, research and analysis was profound: in almost all discussions regarding social and political problems, including those of migration and group conflict, the role of religion and religiosity was hardly considered at all (Yoo, 1996; Warner and Wittner, 1998; Hinnells, 2000; Eck, 2001; Carnes, 2001; Ebaugh, 2003; Knott and McLoughlin, 2010). As with many grand predictions about the future, however, this one has proved to be entirely wrong; indeed, what we are witnessing

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today is its diametric opposite. In other words, since about the time that Harvey Cox published his Fire from Heaven in 1994 and Peter Berger published his Desecularization of the World in 1999, a major topic of discussion among sociologists, political scientists and others has been not the demise, but rather the resurgence (or return) of religion. In both these publications, the authors concede that their earlier assessments had been incorrect and declare that the largescale emergence of religiousness worldwide is on track to make the 21st century the most religiously oriented epoch in history.3 The world today ...is as furiously religious as it ever was, and in some places more so than ever. This means that a whole body of literature by historians and social scientists, loosely labelled ‘secularisation theory’, is essentially mistaken (Berger, 1999). I am inclined to risk going a step further and say that if the proverbial man or woman from Mars asked about the most important single thing happening on the planet earth at the beginning of the 21st century, a very good answer might be the desecularisation of world history (Neuhaus, 2001, p. xii). Generally speaking, this global revival can be said to have taken four forms: 1) a marked revival of charismatic religiosity within Protestant, Catholic and Orthodox Christianity, and within other traditions as well; 2) an equally striking revival of orthodox fundamentalist religion, some of it imposed by institutional authority and much of it possessing political aspirations; 3) the continuation of various forms of popular, folk and/or traditional religion, predominantly among poorly educated persons seeking to be healed, comforted and/or made wealthy by such practices; and, 4) the spread of new heterodox, hybridised, urban and commercialised forms of spirituality that stand outside the conventional religious traditions, not least within the fields of personal health, well­ being and self-realisation (e.g. meditation, yoga, mindfulness, etc.) (Hanegraaff, 1998; Lyon, 2000; Kuhling, 2004; Carrette and King, 2005; Heelas, 2008). What has changed? The obvious answer is that over the last several decades the world has undergone an unprecedented degree of

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social, economic, political and technological transformation due to processes often summarised under the umbrella-terms ‘globalisation’ and ‘post-modernisation’ (Michie, 2003; Scholte, 2005; Eriksen, 2007; Ritzer, 2007). Although this particular discourse does not allow for a detailed discussion and evaluation of these processes, we can at least point out the more important sociological markers (or sub-processes) that are often singled out as being identified with globalization: a) individualisation; b) privatisation; c) relativisation; d) de-differentiation; e) diversification of lifestyles and identities; f ) ideological, ethnic, religious, social and geographic mobility (mass migration and diasporisation);4 and, g) loss of the power of traditional authorities. Another of globalisation’s important and regularly mentioned features is: h) technological innovations such as the internet and other forms of electronic communication, socialising and interactivity.5 One way of summarising these processes is by referring to S.N. Eisenstadt’s premise that they epitomise a cultural programme which emphasises ‘the autonomy of man’ as well as “the active construction and mastery of nature, including human nature” (1999, p. 5; 2000, p. 3-9); Peter Berger puts it even more succinctly when he suggests that they represent a movement ‘from fate to choice’ (Berger, 1968). The surprising result of this modern development, particularly in light of the secularisation thesis, is that religion has increasingly superseded class, economic status and even ethnicity and nationality as both a category of identity and a catalyst for social and political group cohesion, organisation and (let us not forget) conflict (Micklethwait and Wooldridge, 2009; McLaughlin, 2010). In other words, ideology (socio-economic class distinction) has been largely replaced by identity (ethnicity, religion, gender, etc.) as the basis for social and political mobilisation and action. Moreover, societal solidarity is today being defined and expressed far less in political terms (i.e. as collective action in order to achieve a specific political goal) than it is in terms of identity categories such as culture, ethnicity and, above all, religion.6 One possible explanation for this pronounced change concerns the fact that modern societies have

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become increasingly multicultural, multiethnic and multireligious.7 Beyond this, many of these identities are typically transnational, meaning that they are not confined within the national boundaries of the state. In Europe, this trend can be observed in the fact that whereas 30 years ago migrants from Turkey, North Africa and the Middle East tended to be organised, mobilised and think of themselves as ‘Turks’, ‘Moroccans’ and so forth, today they tend to organise, mobilise and think of themselves simply and more generally as Muslims.8 Similar local developments are occurring in various places around the world, and on the global level, there is the prime example of Samuel Huntington’s notorious Clash of Civilisations theory. One result of this is that religion has become a major focus not only of global conflicts, but of local identity politics as well (e.g. in Southern Thailand). Likewise, the more that religion defines identity, the more difficult it is to sustain a simple separation between the public and the private—a separation that is central to the ‘modern, liberal democratic state’. On the basis of this tendency towards dedifferentiation, scholars such as Jose Casanova (1994, 2006, 2007) have argued that in so far as religions have come to play a greater role in the public space, that space has been re-sacralised. This, in turn, has led to a rise in controversies over the place (or non-place) of religion in the symbology of public life.9 Post-secular societies, in other words, are more and more characterised by what Na’im (2008, p. 214) refers to as a “negotiation between the religious neutrality of the state and the public role of religion”. While prime examples of this phenomenon can be found among the states of the Islamic world, it is by no means limited to these. Today in the United States, Europe, Russia, India and Japan, for example, there are successful political movements that oppose multi-culturalism and multi-religiosity and call for a return to an ethno-religiously based society via some form of Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Shintoism, etc. (Sweetman, 2006). Tariq Modood (2010) has noted in this regard that of late there is a strong global

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“movement from a multi-culturalism of hope to a multi-culturalism of fear”. According to many, the same can be said of multi-religiosity, with the focus in both cases being on the tensions, anxieties and conflicts arising from the two relations mentioned above: that between the state (or secularism) and religion and that between various religious forms. In this way, religion and religiosity have become major focal points of ethnic, cultural and political contestation (often between groups within the same territory or nation), and states have become increasingly involved in ‘the management of religion’—e.g. as arbitrators of disputes between religious interest groups that compete for influence and power within their borders. Particularly in the West, this has meant that the liberal democratic state is sometimes forced to depart from that which has been its traditional responsibility since the enlightenment: the maintenance of a clear separation between ‘church and state’. Paradoxically, one might add, the very attempt of the state to regulate religion in the public domain tends to exacerbate the problem by bringing the matter to greater public attention and prominence. The typical pattern in this regard is for the dominant religions to induce the state to regulate minority religious groups, whose own political objectives are to induce the state to grant them complete religious liberty. Such a pattern is clearly discernable in Europe, where the state in most countries has made various efforts to regulate Islam, primarily by discouraging ‘radical’ varieties and incorporating more ‘moderate’ forms into mainstream society. Here it should be once again emphasised that this phenomenon is not restricted to Europe and/or the Islamic traditions. Throughout today’s world the interactions between religion and the state as well as between religion and national identity have become highly complex, the result being that religion has increasingly become part of the fabric of public culture. Indeed this is one of the reasons that the notion of ‘post-secular society’10 and the matter of the place and role of religion in public life have become such hot topics in discussions in sociology, political science and philosophy, involving

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scholars such as Jacques Derrida, Jürgen Habermas, Richard Rorty, Charles Taylor and Giani Vattimo. The scholarly discourse that has emerged in this connection is of relevance to the two relational problems mentioned above. And while it is beyond the scope of this discussion to provide even a brief summary of these extensive debates, in the following sections we will at least attempt to outline some of the ‘political ramifications’ that have been discussed in relation to religion versus the state. As for the discussions on inter- and intra-religious relations, this much can be mentioned here: they tend to revolve around what has been called our current ‘post-metaphysical’ or ‘post-fundationalist’ epoch. Also named the ‘Age of Interpretation’, it is understood as a time in which we Westerners have apparently jettisoned our belief in ‘grand narratives’ (Lyotard, 1984) and come to ‘recognise’ the futility of pondering the mysteries of God, man and the world in search of some absolute or objective answer. The Role of the State and the Place of Religion in a Liberal Democratic State From 1947 onwards India has considered itself to be a liberal democratic state,11 meaning that it has considered itself to be ‘secular’, or religiously neutral. Expressed differently, the Indian state (including its institutions, courts and so forth) is supposed to be ‘agnostic’ (without opinion or competence) on the matter of what form of religion is ‘right’ or ‘best’; it is also supposed to remain uninvolved in determining what is or is not the ‘correct way’ to follow a given religion—i.e. what it really means to be a ‘good’ and ‘proper’ practitioner of Hinduism, Christianity, Islam, etc. In the liberal state, a central feature of which is the provision of ‘religious freedom’, these sorts of determinations and decisions are generally left to the practitioners themselves.12 The European Court of Human Rights, for example, holds that freedom of religion is a protected right (Article 9 of ECHR) and one that excludes the state from assessing either the legitimacy of religious beliefs or the manner in which those beliefs are expressed.13

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In India as well, ‘freedom of religion’ is considered a fundamental ‘human right’ that must be guaranteed to all citizens (Articles 15 and 26, Constitution of India).14 While such proclamations sound relatively straightforward, as is true of almost all concepts, the devil is in the definition-meaning, in this case, that the notions ‘liberal state’ and ‘freedom of religion’ are far from clear.15 Two Kinds of Liberalism Liberalism comes in a variety of forms, two of which appear at opposite ends of a continuum: (a) Procedural liberalism, in which the primary aim of the state is to accommodate and/or reconcile various and diverse approaches to life; and, (b) Substantive liberalism, in which liberalism itself is conceived and promoted by the state as the ‘best’ and ‘most appropriate’ way of life. Today one of the primary pressure points of ethno-religious tension in most European countries has come to be known as the ‘Muslim headscarf controversy’.16 In the discussion that follows, this controversy will be heuristically employed in an attempt to analyse these two types of liberalism and what they have to say about the relation between ‘church and state’, the place and role of religion in society, the policy of integration and the rights of minority religions. Since British society is representative of procedural liberalism and French society is representative of substantive liberalism, our comparative analysis will primarily focus on these two nations. From the perspective of French republicanism, liberalism is interpreted such that it is given substantial value as a way of life. As such, prohibiting the wearing of Islamic headscarves in the public sphere would not necessarily be perceived as a violation of the standards of French liberalism. From the perspective of British (and to a large extent American) multi-cultural liberalism, on the other hand, this sort of state interference with individual freedom

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of choice would, in most cases, not be tolerated. In this we see how both tolerance and intolerance towards the wearing of the Muslim headscarf can be viewed as representing liberal state policy (remembering that, here, the headscarf is merely symbolic of all types of public religious expression). These two forms of liberalism, however, are not without their problems. In the French substantive variant, for example, liberalism runs the risk of turning into its repressive opposite: a modern democratic version of a regime such as Iran, which uses the same heavy-handed measures, but to effect antithetical ends: in France’s case, to ban the use of the hijab and in Iran’s case, to ban its nonuse. In the British procedural variant, on the other hand, liberalism runs the risk of allowing or even encouraging illiberal extremism: in principle, if you at all costs tolerate the intolerant, you may one day find the intolerant in charge and no longer tolerating you. At this juncture, I can also briefly mention a third variant, and one that is said to have inspired certain members of India’s Hindutva movement: traditional German national liberalism.17 Within the framework of this model, Muslim symbols (e.g. the hijab) are prohibited precisely because they are considered Islamic, whereas Christian symbols (e.g. Christian headscarves) are permitted precisely because they are considered to be part of Germany’s culture and heritage. In this, according to some, we find a non-universalistic form of liberalism that represents a fundamental contradiction in terms.18 One of the paradoxes entailed in the different Western reactions to the hijab concerns the fact that in one place it is prohibited because it is ‘an affront’ to certain liberal values and in another place it is allowed on the basis of those very same values—e.g. freedom of expression, human equality and the individual right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. This leads to a central question: even accepting that the hard critics of the hijab are right, is this enough to justify legislative action designed to curb or eliminate its use in the liberal state’s public sphere?

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Some Reflections First, it must be said that all major religious traditions are, almost by definition, illiberal and undemocratic since each proposes the existence of an objectively existing ethical and moral code that is beyond human discretion and must be obeyed by all human beings. Such systems of thought tend to subordinate the will of the individual to the will of God, meaning that we must always act in accordance with God’s commands rather than our own desires, parliamentary edicts and so forth. In other words, infallible religious understandings, duties, and laws always take precedence over fallible human thinking, inclinations, and affections. Secondly, in a modern liberal state, the wearing of a headscarf in public places (especially for purely religious purposes) should be a protected right of religious freedom, as should the expression of any other ostensibly religious symbol or form of conduct; as noted above, freedom of religion is, by definition, fundamental to the notion of a liberal state. Thirdly, as also noted above, the entirety of the liberal state is supposed to be ‘agnostic’ (without opinion or competence) on the matter of what form of religion is ‘right’ or ‘best’; it is also supposed to remain uninvolved in determining what is or is not the ‘correct way’ to follow a given religious tradition. Within most liberal philosophies there is also a common notion that consent in the liberal state should never be substantive (according to ‘common values’), but always procedural (according to ‘common rules of the game’) (Roy, 2007, p. 68). This implies, among other things, that we cannot have one set of game rules for Hindus, another set for Muslims, yet another set for Christians and so on and so forth (as they apparently do in Germany).19 Having said this, it must also be stated that no liberal state can remain entirely neutral or agnostic when it comes to the matter of religion, as this would open the door to every insane (or potentially dangerous) form of religious practice and enable every oddball to claim that his or her behaviour is religious in nature and therefore protected. This is the reason that the state must develop some sort

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of substantive definition of what a religion is and what it prescribes20 —a threshold on both an individual and an institutional level that identifies the types of organisations, beliefs, behaviours and practices that can be reasonably considered religious as well as those that cannot. One complication is that in discussions regarding, for example, the wearing of the hijab in public places, the discourse is often framed in terms of integration.21 Here, apart from assuming different definitions of the term, the arguments of various writers often proceed along either an individual or an organisational track. The latter of these follows the logic of corporatism, the task being to treat minority traditions as corporate actors (i.e. as ‘churches’) and attempt to integrate or fit them into an established pre-existing majority religious regime—e.g. some sort of State Church scheme. The former track, on the other hand, follows the logic of individual rights, the task being to integrate the individual adherents of minority traditions into the same general society, regardless of their independent ethnicity, religious affiliations, etc. When applied to the issue of religious freedom, we run into the thorny problem of whether such rights pertain only to individuals or whether groups should be included as well. The question of whether an ethnic or a religious or any other type of group should be afforded rights qua group (as has been argued by the communitarians)22 has been a major source of concern in many liberal states. Societies whose liberal ethos comes closer to the substantive type tend to be more opposed to group rights than those whose ethos comes closer to the procedural type. This, however, is another topic that is beyond the scope of this chapter. Another point about religious rights in general is that they are never absolute. On the one hand, they are relative to a given state’s definition of ‘religion’ and what it considers to be within religion’s area of competence and functioning. For example, should religion be defined narrowly or broadly, and should the area of religion’s competence and functioning be defined from an ‘insider’ or an ‘outsider’ perspective? In many European countries, including

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Sweden, freedom of religion has received a narrow legislative definition and thus its area of competence and functioning has been narrowly understood as well-based on the idea that religion is a private matter, primarily concerning beliefs and practices expressed within private and/or specifically religious contexts. Given this view, matters of dress, diet and so forth are generally seen as falling outside the guarantees of religious freedom (Sander and Larsson, 2006). On the other hand, religious rights are relative to, and hence constrained by, other rights or laws that sometimes supersede them— e.g. public order constraints, health and safety concerns, the rights of individuals and/or third parties, etc. (Sander, 1991). Finally, as has been hinted at above, an individual’s religious rights are also limited by where a given state has decided to draw the line between the public and the private domain. Public and Private Domains: The French vs. the British Approach In standard political thinking, a society is seen as being divided into two basic domains:23 the public and the private. In theory, the public domain is intended to be an area in which there is full equality between all types and varieties of citizens in terms of such matters as expression, rights, obligations and so forth. In other words, the public sphere is intended to be completely difference blind. The private domain, on the other hand, is theoretically intended to be that place or sphere of life in which there is ‘freedom of choice’, where individuals can fully express their uniqueness and behave as they wish.24 This public-private division also has a strong bearing on discussions regarding integration. In ‘strong welfare states’ such as Sweden, the public domain (which is ruled by concepts like equality, assimilation and homogeneity) is very large and the private domain (which is ruled by concepts like freedom of choice, specificity, heterogeneity and diversity) is very small. In ‘weak welfare states’ such as America, on the other hand, the public domain is far smaller (Esping-Andersen, 1990; Sander, 1992). Although the right to fully express one’s religion is never at issue

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in a liberal state’s private sphere (don your burka if you like, even if you are an Anglo-Saxon man!), this in and of itself tells us little about that state’s position apropos freedom of religion. It is only when we come to know where the state has drawn the line between this and the public sphere, and what area of societal life each is intended to cover, that we begin to understand how freedom of religion is viewed. Wearing a headscarf, for example, only becomes an issue in the public domain, that place where all forms of religious expression must balance with governmental rules, regulations and laws, public safety issues, the rights of other individuals and/or third parties, etc. In places where the state has become involved in debates on the curtailing of public religious expression, those debates have been dominated by three considerations: a) is the expression a threat to public order; b) does the expression violate the neutrality of public space; and, c) is the expression an affront to the national self­ definition?25 A close examination of these concerns brings us back to the two variants of liberalism mentioned above: the substantive vs. the procedural. In France, the main argument has been that a Muslim woman wearing a headscarf in a public space is an enormous provocation to the French liberal republican self-definition. According to this reasoning, when Islam demands that Muslims be allowed to wear their traditional dress in the public domain, they are pushing the private into the public sphere in blatant disregard of republicanism’s extremely expansive definition, which extends the public domain almost all the way to one’s doorstep: to the private confines of one’s home. French liberalism, moreover, considers the distinction between the private and the public to be extremely fundamental, conceiving the public sphere as the place in which ‘citizens’ should function only as ‘citizens’ and be engaged in ‘public, rational reasoning’.26 In this view, it is strictly the sphere of enlightened secularized life— a difference-blind sphere in which every individual, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, religion, ethnicity, class, etc. should be

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treated equally (i.e. the same).27 Given this fundamental view, it is not difficult to see why Islam clashes head-on with France, as would any religious tradition that considers it necessary to express its religiosity in the public sphere. Another way of understanding the French approach is to compare it to that of the British. If one conceives of classic British liberalism as being built upon a ‘bottom-up’ agreement between free, reasonable individuals that are adherents of many creeds and ways of life, French liberalism can be understood as having turned this approach on its head, or as having been a ‘top-down’ project instead. The French state, in other words, has long maintained a massive pedagogical programme designed to systematically educate, socialised, and inculcate it citizens with a certain prescribed understanding of the ‘right’ way of living the liberal life. In this, the state, its politician and its various bureaucratic agents have arguably taken on the role of social engineers or ‘moral technocrats’.28 The French liberal project, in other words, is based on a substantive idea of what the good liberal society should consist of and what it means to be a citizen in such a society. It is a version of ‘freedom through the state’ rather than the British (and American) version of ‘freedom from the state’. In the former version, the state, in the tradition of the French Enlightenment,29 sees itself as an emancipatory power that is tasked with liberating its citizens from their (religious and other) irrationalities and superstitions.30 As previously noted, therefore some critics characterize France (and other substantively oriented liberal states) as being, ‘in reality’, nothing more than a reverse model of Iran. Both France and Iran have strongly substantial, yet strongly different, ideas about the constituents of a ‘good society’, ‘the good life’ and what it means to be a ‘good citizen’ in society. They both also use the state (the legislature, the courts, the educational system, etc.) to enforce their respective ideals: one based on (a version of ) Christian, humanistic, Enlightenment philosophy and the other on (a version of ) Islam. French substantive liberalism, in other words, is distinguished from the Anglo-Saxon procedural version by being an ethical and moral project of the state (which seems to be the agenda of various

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American Christian fundamentalist and Indian Hindu movements as well). It is a paradigmatic example of seeing liberalism as a substantial way of life rather than as a procedure for reconciling many ways of life. As French liberalism is a distinctly ethical (if not ethnical) society-building project, it will obviously influence the French outlook on the matter of religious freedom. Further Thoughts on French vs. British Liberalism For Durkheim, religion constitutes an indirect form of state or national self-worship. As he sees it, religion (transcendence, holiness) is necessary for the maintenance of social cohesion and to bind the members of a differentiated pluralistic society together (Durkheim, 1965). Expressing the same idea in more modern terms, religion is needed for purposes of integration. In modern secularised societies such as France, the role of religion has been largely appropriated by the state and its societal institutions, and transcendence and holiness have been transferred from religion (God) directly to the nation-state itself. In French selfunderstanding, for example, the idea of France as an enlightened, progressive, rational society is considered sacrosanct and holy.31 As Durkheim basically characterises it, the enlightenment holy trinity of reason-science-progress has replaced the Christian Holy Trinity of Father-Son-Holy Ghost, and the state school has replaced the Church as the sacred place to preach the new creed. According to Eisenstadt, such states resemble utopian sectarianism movements in their strong tendency “to construct sharp boundaries between the ‘pure’ inside and the ‘polluted’ outside”, in their sense that they are the elect (representing a nonrelative politico-cultural truth) and in their willingness to employ political means to appropriate and re-construct society according their vision.32 This is said to explain why such states (or movements) exhibit such a “low threshold of tolerance for ambiguity on both personal and collective levels” (1999, p. 90). This way of thinking understandably finds ‘fundamentalist’ versions of Islam, Christianity and Hinduism to be an affront to

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republican liberalism since such forms pose a direct challenge by claiming the same status for their own religiously and (at least in some versions) politically based systems. Normative fundamentalist Islam, for example, like most other normative fundamentalist traditions, sees itself as the only right way for human beings to live their lives.33 Seen from this perspective, traditional religion and the liberal state are contradictory projects that cannot coexist in the same social sphere. But what is to be said of a liberal state that pursues this type of substantive agenda? Does it not run the risk of violating, or even sacrificing, one if its primary values in the process: that of liberty? Put differently, when the state, with all its power, serves as the prime actor in the struggle between religious liberty and national cohesion, the advocates of unity, cohesion and assimilation will score a decisive victory every time. Obvious examples of such victories would be the March 2004 French National Assembly law prohibiting public school pupils from either wearing or displaying ‘ostensible’ religious symbols as well as the July 2010 National Assembly law34 and the September 2010 Senate law,35 which ban the wearing of Islamic full veils (veils that cover the face) in public.36 All these actions have been justified on the basis of the notion that the French state is charged with the ethical and moral responsibility of producing ‘virtuous’ citizens in a ‘good society’. On the other side of the equation, we have the British (and American) brand of liberalism, which gives religious liberty more importance than national cohesion and places individual choice and state non-interference above the task of ‘character-building’ and socialization (Berger et al., 2008; Sander and Andersson, 2009). Both approaches carry their own problems as well: if the French variant of ethical, substantive liberalism risks becoming illiberal by banishing all forms of unique religious expression from an over­ homogenised public space, the British variant of non-interferential liberalism risks its own potential undoing by accepting and making space for even intolerant forms of expression. With its strong focus on individual choice and freedom, British

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political discourse rarely refers to the nation as ‘a totality’ and thus lacks a broad integrative dimension. As a result, British integration policy is almost entirely focused not on the broad national level, but on the narrower local level instead—i.e. on the school, the workplace, the neighbourhood and so forth. British liberalism rejects the idea of having either a strong common national identity or a common norm and value core, that is anything more than structural or procedural. In a July 2004 British Council speech, Gordon Brown defined these ‘structural’ values as ‘liberty, duty, and fair play’, as putting civil society above the state, and as being open to new ideas and influences. In short, he defined Britishness as “a passion for liberty anchored in a sense of duty and an intrinsic commitment to tolerance and fair play”. Liberty, in other words, is placed at the forefront of all other values. Brown even went so far as to claim that ‘liberty is the hallmark of Englishness’ and that the British Empire is defined by the ‘idea of freedom’ (The Guardian, July 8, 2004).37 But according to its critics, the placement of private above public values makes British liberalism unsuitable as a formula for cohesion, unity and integration. In summary, France can be said to have adopted one extreme and Britain (and the United States) the other. In France much of the private (the domain of freedom) has been made public (the domain of equality and neutrality), while in Britain much of the public domain has been privatised. According to Amartya Sen (2006), this has largely transformed Britain into ‘a society of societies’, or a ‘plurality of monoculturalisms’ that only come together in ‘the marketplace’. Bhikhu Parekh (2001) puts it more positively by describing Britain as a ‘community of communities’. It must also be said, however, that the communities that comprise this community have a very small ‘meta-identity’ in common. Another way of expressing the matter is to say that in France, the goal is to integrate individuals whereas in Britain, the goal is to integrate groups.38 It is significant here that both the variant and the strength of a country’s liberalism determines the size of its public domain, for it is this size, perhaps above all, that measures the degree of religious

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freedom experienced by the adherents of minority religions as well as their ability to publicly express religious symbols, practices and forms of conduct. What Can a Liberal State Reasonably Expect of its Citizens (Immigrated or Not)? There is perhaps both a strong and a weak answer to the question posed in this sub-heading. The weak answer is that so long as the residents of a liberal state live in at least external conformity with ‘the laws of the land’, we are required to accept and permit a variety of practices—even if we happen to strongly disapprove of them on moral, religious, psychological or other grounds. The strong answer is that all the residents of a liberal state should, with inner conviction, share the common norms, values, manners and customs of the nation.39 As far as I can see, all that a liberal state can reasonably expect from its citizenry is the first. After all, the general argument that a given state is only intended for a specific type of person or substantially defined category (be it ‘liberal’, ‘Hindu’, ‘Muslim’, ‘white’ or whatever) appears, in and of itself, to be profoundly illiberal.40 This notwithstanding, it appears that the French (and lately the Danish and the Dutch) gravitate more towards the strong and the British more towards the weak end of the spectrum. But as far as the strong answer is concerned, it would seem that when a socalled liberal country establishes systematic programmes, tests and requirements to ensure that all its inhabitants are ‘properly socialised and assimilated’ citizens who think and act ‘like everyone else’, it has crossed the line and become a contradiction in terms: a repressive liberal country. In other words, regardless of how much a state might wish all its residents to subjectively identify with and embrace (its version) of liberal norms and values, if it attempts to impose those norms and values, it must be said to have lost its way. This view, of course, leaves open one of liberalism’s most vexing conundrums: to what degree can the liberal state tolerate the intolerant? And with this we have returned once again to the

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difference between liberalism’s two variants. On the one hand, there is the more Hobbesian version, in which liberalism becomes a procedural policy that enables all types and classes of persons to express all manner of lifestyles and peacefully coexist without the presumption of a substantial commonly shared system of norms and values. On the other hand, there is the more Lockean (or, in its stronger form, Jacobean) version, in which liberalism becomes a farreaching substantive project that involves defining a certain set of norms and values, delineating a certain ‘ideal’ way of life and then upholding these as ‘common’ and ‘shared’ through programmes of ‘social engineering’ that condition the citizenry to embrace, adhere to and live according to the given regime. In the Hobbesian version, tolerance (or acceptance) of the intolerant is intended to go very far, stopping only at the point of actions or practices that place society’s security and institutions of liberty at risk (Rawls, 1971, p. 222). Within the framework of this liberalism, the state has no cause to prohibit headscarves or any other form of religious expression in the public sphere (so long as such expressions do not infringe upon third party freedoms and interests). If, on the other hand, we consider it important or beneficial to place greater emphasis on all-encompassing unity and homogeneity, how should we argue then? Of course, in the final analysis, this is a political question. The citizens of any given nation-state certainly have the right to democratically formulate and enact their own policies towards immigrants, minorities and other ‘others’. The question is whether enacting policies that place this or that minority group in a category unto itself (thus violating the principle of Kantian universalism) is in keeping with the fundamentals of any liberal democratic system of thought. NOTES 1. This chapter is a revised version of a paper presented at the second IFSSR conference on the theme ‘Religious Coexistence and Tolerance: Challenging Borders in a Global Context’ held at Kolkata during December 11-13, 2010.

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2. Secularisation is much discussed, both as a term and as a phenomenon. Today, however, fewer and fewer social scientists seem to believe in the so-called classical modernist theories of secularisation, formulated by José Casanova (1994) in terms of three independent processes of change: 1) the historical differentiation between social spheres, whereby religion separated from politics, economy and science; 2) the decline of individual religiosity and 3) the privatisation of religion (cf. Dobbelaere, 2004; Sander and Andersson, 2009). 3. Of late, the global revival of religion has been chronicled in a few important books (e.g. Casanova, 1994, 2006; Berger 1999; Stark and Finke, 2000; Juergensmeyer, 2000; Scott, 2007; Micklethwait and Wooldridge, 2009; Kaufmann, 2010; Shah et al., 2011). With specific regard to Hinduism, see, for example, Vertovec, 2000; Jacobsen and Kumar, 2004, 2008; Narayanan, 2006; Oonk, 2007; Bauman, 2008. 4. The formal study of mass migration and diasporisation has mushroomed in the last decades (Esman, 2009; Knott and McLoughlin, 2010; Safran et al., 2009). A google search (February 1, 2012) listed over 50 million hits for the term ‘diaspora’. 5. Although it is beyond the scope of this particular discourse, I would like to alert the reader to an important series of discussions concerning whether the processes of modernity and globalisation should be conceptualised in terms of singular or multiple forms (Berger and Huntington, 2002; Eisenstadt, 1999, 2000, 2003). Eisenstadt basically argues that all ‘modern’ societies share certain common features that help to distinguish them from ‘non-modern’ societies, but that these features attain multiple forms in different regions of the world, hence the term multiple modernities. In other words, Eisenstadt considers the processes of modernisation to be multilinear rather than ‘traditionally’ unilinear (cf Davie, 2007, p. 89). 6. Some examples would be Protestant fundamentalism in the USA, Hindutva in India, Islamism in many Islamic countries, the SSPX among Catholics—as well as the general tendency of immigrant and diaspora populations to ‘ghettoise’ and particularise in their new Western host countries. 7. Cf. the PEW Forum Report, Faith on the Move. The Religious Affiliation of International Migrants. 8. As will be discussed, the other side of this coin is the Islamophobia that is on the rise in Europe and elsewhere (Sander and Larsson, 2006; Allen, 2010).

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9. The intense debate in many European countries about the so-called ‘head-scarf problem’ as well as about the building of mosques constitutes a case in point (for example: Bowen, 2007; McGoldrick, 2006; Roy, 2007; Scott, 2007; Allievi, 2009; Rosenberger & Sauer, 2012). 10. As far as I know, the term was introduced by John Milbank (1990) in Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason and further popularised by Jürgen Habermas (2008). In Habermas’ view, the term describes a society in which religion is recognised as being an integral rather than a vanishing feature of society, and one that must be granted a public voice. 11. Since being ‘democratic’ is normally considered to be an obvious aspect of being ‘liberal’, i.e. a liberal state that is not democratic is viewed as a contradiction in terms—I will hereinafter only speak in terms of the ‘liberal state’. 12. In this connection, Robert Bellah points to an interesting contradiction by noting that while hardly any Westerner “would fail to list religious freedom and ...pluralism among those obvious goods that any enlightened society would want to defend, through most of [Western] history ...both religious freedom and pluralism ...were, in fact, quite consciously rejected” (Bellah, 1982). 13. Here freedom of religion obviously means not only freedom to religion, but freedom from religion as well. 14. Retrieved from http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Constitution_of_India/ Part_III 15. Freedom of religion is a huge topic that obviously cannot be dwelt upon here. It is meaningful to note, however, that the notion of ‘expression’ can be and is differently interpreted by different states. It can, for example, mean any or all of the following: the freedom to adhere to one or another religious tradition without becoming the target of discrimination; the freedom to hold particular religious beliefs, attitudes and values; the freedom to live in accordance with one’s religious beliefs both publicly and privately; the freedom to organise religious institutions of one’s choosing; and, conversely, the freedom not to be religious or participate in religious activities at all. To this, one can add the freedom to define religion, in all its aspects, according to the selfunderstanding of one’s own tradition. Furthermore, religious liberty may be understood as either an individual or collective phenomenon— two understandings that, as we will see, often tend to conflict. 16. As suggested by Joppke (2009), one of the reasons that the hijab (or

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17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

25.

Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast headscarf ) has become such a challenging and controversial issue for the state is that at some deeper level it functions as a ‘mirror of identity’ - a mirror that forces Europeans to confront who they are and to rethink the place and role of religion in society and the types of public institutions they want. The veil problematises and questions the public place and role of religion (which is considered a private matter in most Western European countries); before the emergence of Islam in the West, most Western populations believed that the ‘problem of religion’ had been long ago solved by ‘secularisation’. To this one can add that many Westerners interpret the hijab as an explicit Islamist critique of Western norms, values, and lifestyles - i.e. an explicit rejection of Western materialism, commercialism, sexual liberation, gay rights, and other ‘liberal’ values. In my view, this German form of liberalism can be considered a type unto itself even though it has strong substantial components. This would be a contradiction, for example, for anyone that subscribed to a Kantian-type ethical theory in which universalisation is regarded as a necessary condition for a rational or acceptable ethical principle. Consider once again Kant’s ideas about the universalisation of norms and values. See, for example, the debates about sects such as the Scientology Church in France and Germany (Kent, 2001). Integration itself is a complicated, controversial, and much discussed term (Sander and Larsson, 2006; Westberg, 2006; Bichteler, 2010). See, for example, Will Kymlicka, Charles Taylor and Daniel Bell. See the ‘doctrine of the two-domain society’ (Rex, 1986, 1991). As might be expected, the public-private line is not easily drawn, and there are several grey zones. It can be argued, for example, that schools exist in both spheres. The purely educational aspect of schooling falls within the public domain, whereas the socialisation aspect can be viewed as falling more within the private sphere instead. This is one reason that, throughout Europe, schools have been such a hot point in debates on integration. The argument that wearing a Muslim headscarf in public is an affront to the national self-definition of an enlightened liberal state has been forcefully made by Hirsi Ali as follows: the veil is “[a] constant reminder to the outside world of a stifling morality that makes Muslim men the

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26.

27.

28.

29. 30. 31.

32.

33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

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owners of women and obliges them to prevent their mothers, sisters, aunts, sisters-in-law, cousins, nieces, and wives from having sexual contact” (Hirsi Ali, 2006, quoted in Joppke, 2009, p. 25). And since at least the enlightenment, most intellectuals in the Western world have considered religion to be one of the prime areas of irrationality (Stark and Finke, 2000, p. 1), characterised by ‘credulity’, ‘ignorance’, and ‘lies’, to borrow the words of Thomas Hobbes. Since the 1980s, a strong counter argument has been made by proponents of rational choice theory (Stark and Iannaccone, 1992; Young 1997; Stark and Finke, 2000, p. 1). These are some of the reasons why religious groups have argued that ‘equality’ of ‘enlightenment fundamentalism’ has won a decisive victory over ‘freedom of choice’ in many of the strongly substantive courtiers (normally coinciding with strong welfare states) in Europe. This way of thinking is common to many strong states and includes as a central feature the notion of a special class of politicians and civil servants that are highly expert in knowing what is ‘good’ or ‘best’ for the citizens-authorities on ‘the good life’ and ‘the good society’. For a discussion on French vs. British, German, and American forms of Enlightenment, see Berger et al., 2008 (esp. Ch. 4). One end point of this view is Richard Dawkins and his ideological atheism (Dawkins, 2006). In Sweden, the idea of the Folkhem (the Swedish Welfare State model) is somewhat similarly seen as something that has its own intrinsic and sacred Swedish value (Sander, 1991, 1992). In France, the state vision can be viewed as a crystallisation of ideas from the Renaissance, the Reformation, the Enlightenment, and, above all, the Great Revolutions (Eisenstadt, 1999, p. 40). This idea is clearly expressed in Islam’s conception of itself as din al Fithra, the natural religion (or way of life) for all of humanity, but finds voice in almost all other religious traditions as well (Sander and Andersson, 2009, p. 51). This law passed by a vote of 335 to 1 in the 557-seat National Assembly. This law passed by a vote of 246 to 1 with approximately 100 abstentions (essentially coming from left-leaning politicians). Movements that attempt to follow the French example have been inaugurated in several European countries. Cf. USA, where ‘freedom’ appears to have become an almost sacred—

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but also almost empty—concept (especially under the administration of George W. Bush). 38. In both places, however, the factual result has been discrimination of ethnic and other minorities in most areas of society—and on a group level (especially for Muslims). Islamophobia, not least ‘institutional’ Islamophobia, is a dominant fact of life in both societies (Sander and Larsson, 2006; Allen, 2010). 39. For a more detailed discussion on these two alternatives, see Sander, 1991, 1992. 40. In this regard, opinions about integration expressed by those who seem to favour the above strong answer seem to be variations of the notorious statement by the 18th century German physician and pedagogue Moritz Schreber: “My children should not only do my will. They should-will my will” (quoted in Schatzman, 1973). The methods he employed in raising his children (all of whom later suffered from mental illness) are today generally known as ‘poisonous’ or ‘black’ pedagogy

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Migrations: The Indian Diaspora. New Delhi: Routledge. Schatzman, M. (1973). Soul Murder: Persecution in the Family. London: Allen Lane. Scholte, J.A. (2005). Globalization: A Critical Introduction. (2nd Edition). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Scott, J.W. (2007). The Politics of the Veil. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Sen, A. (2006). Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny. New York: W.W. Norton & Co. Shah, T., Toft, M. and Philpott, D. (2011). God’s Century. Resurgent Religion and Global Politics. New York: W.W. Norton & Company. Stark, R. and Finke, R. (2000). Acts of Faith: Explaining the Human Side of Religion. Berkeley: University of California Press. Stark, R. and Iannaccone, L. (1992). Sociology of Religion. In E.F. Borgatta and M.L. Borgatta (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Sociology (pp. 2029-2037). New York: Macmillan. Sweetman, B. (2006). Why Politics Needs Religion: The Place of Religious Arguments in the Public Square. Downers Grove: IVP Academic. Taylor, C. (2007). The Secular Age. Cambridge: Belknap Press. Taylor, C. (1994). Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Taylor, C. (1989). Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wallace, A. (1966). Religion: An Anthropological View. New York: Random House. Warner, S. and Wittner, G. (Eds.). (1998). Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Vertovec, S. (2000). The Hindu Diaspora: Comparative Patterns. London: Routledge. Westberg, J. (2006). Integration som problemlösning: En introduction till teorier om europeisk integration. (1. uppl.) Stockholm: SNS förlag. Young, L. A. (Ed.). (1997). Rational Choice Theory and Religion: Summary and Assessment. New York: Routledge. Yoo, D. (1996). For Those Who Have Eyes to See: Religious Sightings in Asian America. Amerasia Journal, 22(1), xiii-xxii.

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‘Bharat Mata’ and Its Imagination: Multiplicity and Divergence in the Imagination of the Nation in the Multi-Ethnic Situation1 Partha Pratim Borah

The idea of the nation has traversed a long path of contradictory conceptualisations based on the perspective adopted and the context where it is done. Debate on the precedence of the nation or state continues along the basic question of the idea of the nation itself. Historical specificity led to the precedence of the nation before the state in Europe. But state formation followed by an attempt to create a corresponding nation is more visible in case of post-colonial countries of Asia and Africa, although exceptions are also seen. This resulted in the formation of nation-states in Europe and statenations in Asia and Africa (Rejai and Enloe, 1969, p. 140). The post-colonial states were a creation of the colonial masters, which were often not suitable for the ground realities, thereby opening the scope for ethnic assertions among multiple groups. Some scholars argue that the rise of ethnic-nationalism, which can be seen as a threat to the nation-building process in various developing countries, are by-products of processes of colonisation and de-colonisation (Phadnis and Ganguly, 2001, p. 16). It is because the processes of colonisation and de-colonisation have created many sovereign states encompassing large cultural diversity without taking into account the ethnic aspirations of the various groups which

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exist within the state. Of course, such ethnic assertions are given momentum because of the attempt by the various ethnic majorities within such state to promote or restore their social-cultural, economic or political privileges without internalising the aspirations of the ethnic minorities. Such sad historical trajectory in the various post­ colonial states is depicted by Phadnis and Ganguly (2001) when they wrote, “the rise of ethnic nationalism and the formation of ethnic political movements in many developing states can in large part be attributed to the legacy of Western colonisation and de-colonisation which created sovereign states incorporating many ethnic groups by ignoring existing ethnic and cultural divisions, and popular political aspirations ...In their post-colonial political history, many of these states have had to deal with increased nationalistic assertiveness on the part of ethnic or subordinate minorities because such groups felt badly treated and, hence, came to regard the dominant cultural groups as new colonisers” (Phadnis and Ganguly, 2001, p. 17). This led to two pertinent questions such as, what leads to the formation of a nation and the validity of state formation in the multi-ethnic situation? Although, both the questions need special attention, but addressing the first question can also lead to some clue to the second question. Nation and the Problem of ‘Imagination’ There are several controversies regarding the concept of the nation, but the socio-psychological perspective is more widely accepted. For them, the nation is formed among a relatively large group of people as they share one or more common traits like common language, religion or a race, common history or tradition, common sets of customs or common destiny (Rejai and Enloe, 1969, p. 141). Although, it points to some common traits, but it also shows the importance of ‘feeling’, which is essential to the nation formation. Thus, people may believe that they exist as a nation but may be contrary to it in reality (Rejai and Enloe, 1969). There is also a focus on the idea of mobilisation for nationalism. The pooling of the citizen’s loyalties and allegiance is important for

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nationalism (Rejai and Enloe, 1969, p. 155). The process of pooling loyalties of the citizen in the name of ‘nation-building’ involves a top-down approach of the state, where there is a possibility of some authoritative manipulation of people by the state especially in the context of state-nations of Asia and Africa which have large cultural diversity. The understanding of people’s loyalties for the nation lead to a new body of thought which talk about the significance of ‘imagination’ for nationalism and to be more specific, for the formation of nations. The idea of ‘imagination’ in the context of nation formation is a complex one having many contextual meanings. The diversities of social, political and historical contexts lead to various forms of ‘imagination’ of the nation. The literatures on nation-building that put emphasis on ‘imagination’ attribute great significance to the socio-psychological aspect of nation formation. The path-breaking work of Benedict Anderson (1983) initiated large research on the area of the ‘imagination’ of the nation. He argues that the nation is an imagined political community which is imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign. Anderson further contends that the nation is imagined because although, the members of even the smallest nation may not know the fellow members or may not meet them or may not even hear of them but, all the members have in their mind the image that they constitute a communion (Anderson, 1983, p. 6). Anderson opposed Gellner’s (1964) idea which says, ‘nationalism is not the awakening of nations to self-consciousness: it invents nations where they do not exist’ (cited in Anderson, 1983, p. 6). The difference that lies in the work of Anderson and Gellner is that for Anderson, all the communities are imagined but Gellner assimilates ‘invention’ to ‘fabrication’’ and ‘falsity’ and thereby implying ‘true’ communities exist that can be equated with nations rather than focusing on ‘imagination’ or ‘creation’. Further, Anderson argues that the nation is limited in nature because even the largest nations may have billions of members which have a boundary and beyond their boundary lies some other nations

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(Anderson, 1983). It means that we cannot give an empirical example of a nation whose boundary is co-terminus with entire humanity. For Anderson, nation is imagined as sovereign, because the “concept was born in an age in which enlightenment and the revolutions were destroying the legitimacy of the divinely ordained, hierarchical dynastic realm” (Anderson, 1983, p. 7). Finally, Anderson argues that the nation is imagined as a community because although large inequality and exploitation are present in many nations, there is a presence of horizontal comradeship (Ibid.) and he argues that this fraternity prepares millions of people to die for a nation that have limited imaginings. He emphasised the significance of cultural roots in such an ‘imagination’ of nation. The idea of ‘imagination’ of nation has a different connotation in the Indian situation. In the context of India, philosophical foundation has given a different meaning of the ‘imagination’ of nation which is more to do with the idea of Darshan2 rather than the Western idea of ‘imagination’. Dipesh Chakrabarty in his article, ‘Nation and Imagination’ has questioned the use of the word ‘imagination’ for the phenomena of ‘seeing the nation’ in the Indian contexts. He suggests that it would be “impossible to gather the heterogeneous mode of seeing the nation in the subject centred meaning of the word ‘imagination’ and as such he could see the analytical loophole of the term ‘imagination’” (Chakrabarty, 1999, p. 174). Chakrabarty argues that while using the term ‘imagination’, Anderson focuses on the roles that the novel, the newspaper, the map, the museum, and the census play to create a homogeneous time where the imagination of the nation takes place simultaneously in different parts of the nation (Chakrabarty, 1999). For Chakrabarty, the nation is not only ‘imagined’, it may have been Darshaned as well (Chakrabarty, 1999). Giving Tagore’s distinction between prose and poetry, where prose is more objective, rational and real but poetry lies outside the historical times, Chakrabarty says that Darshan refers to seeing beyond eternal. Tagore demonstrated his infinite capability of depicting the reality through gadyakabita. Similarly, Chakrabarty sees the imagination

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as the problem of the history of nationalism as Anderson’s idea of ‘imagination’ is not directly applicable in the Tagore mode of viewing the reality. For Tagore, Darshan means ‘piercing the veil of the real’. Thus, Darshan helps us to go through the reality to have a better understanding which cannot be done with mere ‘imagination’. He wanted to point out that this affected a ‘cessation of a historical world’ which includes plural and heterogeneous ‘ways of seeing’ that raises some questions of the analytical reach of the European category ‘imagination’. Homogeneous time created by print media capitalism in the ‘imagination’ of Anderson needs to be questioned in the Indian context. The idea of Darshan in India is almost an unconscious habit, which belongs to the history of practice and habitus (Chakrabarty, 1999, p. 175). Here, Chakrabarty pointed out that if the moment of ‘seeing beyond’ includes the phenomenon such as Darshan or Divyadrishti, that do not necessarily require the assumption of the subject, then it may have some interesting implication for the ‘imagination’ with reference to the post-colonial histories. In this context, Chakrabarty gave the example of Jawaharlal Nehru’s reference to Bharat Mata in contrast to the peasant’s conception of the Dharti. For him, it is a conceptual problem as Dharti cannot be reduced to specific geographical boundaries of British India. He reasons that it needs to have Darshan in order to have a proper understanding of the meaning of the term. The alternate vision of the Bharat Mata by the peasants is well depicted by Chakrabarty when he writes: “‘peasants’ use of the expression ‘Bharat Mata’ as referring to practices sedimented into language itself and not necessarily to concepts that the mind elaborates or that contain experiential truth, we see the legitimacy of peasant or subaltern nationalism. Their practice of being in the presence of ‘Bharat Mata’ was not based on the training of the mind that print capitalism could administer to the formally educated nationalist subject. Nor were they making a claim about having experienced the land as a mother figure” (Chakrabarty, 1999, p. 177). This discourse helps us to interrogate the idea of the ‘imagination’ of the nation

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in the context of India with special reference to specific philosophy and historical trajectory. Another important aspect of understanding the nation in the context of India can be traced to historical specificity. Moral conscience as nation (Renan’s idea) in the case of India is more complex as it first appears which is depicted by the long trajectory in the attempt to build the Indian nation. The multi-ethnic character of the Indian nation presents a unique and complex history of nation formation. The multiplicity of ‘imagination’ of the nation cannot be understood without taking into account the social and historical specificity of India. The nation formation process in India is not benign. The contextual and historical specificity of India is associated with the politics of exclusion leading to the exclusion of a large group of people in the name of nation formation. The understanding of diversity of ‘imagination’ of the nation is essential to know the processes of nation-building and nature of exclusion taking place in India. Problem of Nation Building in a Multi-Ethnic Situation The process of nation-building in a multi-ethnic situation is very complex and it involves the question regarding the ethical validity of the aim of nation-building. The attempt to build a single nation incorporating multiple ethnic groups needs interrogation to see whether such a process is successful to give respectful space to each and every community. The empirical examples, especially from the post-colonial societies of Asia and Africa, present a sad story.3 The sad part of the story is that, such cases may involve many examples of repression and suppression to create a single nation, which often goes against the aspirations of various minority4 groups. The most complex issue is that such suppressions are routinised in our dayto-day live and they became normal and thereby we do not notice them despite their exclusionary character. The main problem of the nation building process in the multiethnic situation of India is that the nation building process fails to take into account the existing diversity (Pandian, 2009). Pandian

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sees it as the heart of the nationalist dilemma when he says “the contradiction between the desire for homogeneity and the actually existing and ever emerging diversity is at the heart of the nationalist dilemma” (Pandian, 2009, p. 67). It is a utopian idea which may lead to violence and a state of anxiety (Ibid.). The problem of such an assertion is that homogeneity is reiterated repeatedly which leads to the formation of ‘other’ identities that are not national (Ibid.). In this context, we can take the example of the attempt to create a homogeneous Hindu nation in India, which actually created Muslim as the ‘other’ and it has many implications for the survival of the Muslim community in India. Arjun Appadurai’s idea of the ‘fear of a small number’ is very important in the context of the problem of homogenisation. He says, “Numerical majorities can become predatory and ethnocidal with regard to the fear of small numbers precisely when some minorities (and their small numbers) remind these majorities of the small gap which lies between their condition as majorities and the horizon of the unsullied national whole, a pure untainted national ethos. This sense of incompleteness can drive majorities into paroxysms of violence against minorities...” (Appadurai, 2006). Thus, the presence of the minorities in the nation’s space is seen as problematic and opens up the possibilities of violence against the minorities in the process of creating a homogenised group. The problem of the nation is dependent on the nature of the nation itself. David Brown (1996) categorises two types of nation, i.e. political nation and cultural nation. Here, in the former, ‘the state claims that its people constitute a nation because they have willingly come together to form a community of equal citizens irrespective of their racial, religious or linguistic backgrounds’ (Brown, 1996, p. 260). On the other hand, the cultural nationalism is seen as “the community which constitutes a distinct people with its own language, way of life, history and homeland” (Ibid.). The problem of the cultural nationalism is that the culture of the nation is identified with the culture of the state which is actually the culture

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of the dominant ethnic group and hence it excludes the culture of the minority ethnic group. It is seen that the nation is always associated with how ‘us’ is created against ‘them’. “Nations are obsessed with ‘self ’ and discriminate the ‘other’. The construction of the ‘self ’ has always been only vis-à-vis the ‘other’. The basis of such a construction is differentiation. The ‘self ’ consisted of people who share common cultural characteristics and such commonalties could be measured only by contrasting against those who do not possess such cultural commonalities. Thus, construction of nationhood is a narcissist practice while nation-building was all about building walls around the ‘self ’ and distancing from ‘the other’ ’’ (Nag, 2001, p. 4753). The construction of the ‘self ’ and the ‘other’ can be seen in India in the context of the two-nation theory where Hindus and Muslims began their journey by constructing their ‘self ’ which led to the division of the country (Nag, 2001, p. 4755). The problem of such construction of ‘self ’ and ‘other’ is that the construction of the ‘self ’ and ‘other’ is associated with assumption of homogeneity, which may not always be true and hence may further lead to the formation of groups within the group. The failure of assumed homogeneity is manifested in the formation of Pakistan from India as Pakistan was again divided to form Bangladesh thereby showing how a nation can exist within the nation (Nag, 2001, p. 4756). The problem with the creation of the ‘self ’ is that it is associated with exclusion and ethnic cleansing in the name of maintaining homogeneity. It gives the scope for emergence of continuous hatred as is evident from the Hindu-Muslim conflict in the Indian subcontinent (Nag, 2001, pp. 4756-4757). Another problem of the nation is that the idea of the nation is reproduced in everyday life unnamed and unnoticed. Michael Billig (1995) called it ‘banal’ nationalism which includes the ideological habits which enables the established nations of the West to be reproduced. It is argued that these habits are not removed from everyday life and the nation is indicated and flagged daily in the life of the citizenry. Billig talks about the ideological

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aspect of nationhood while identifying the theme of ‘us’, ‘our homeland’, ‘nation’ along with the morality of national duty and honour (Billig, 1995, p. 4). He says that such themes are so widely diffused that it became part of our common sense (Billig, 1995, p. 4). Billig’s central argument is that, in established nations5, there is continuous flagging, or reminding, of nationhood (Billig, 1995, p. 8). He asserts that nationhood in such cases provides a continuous background for various political discourses, for cultural products, and even for the structuring of the newspapers (Ibid.). The citizens are reminded of their nation in each and every small way, irrespective of their individual differences. The world of the nation is reproduced in a mundane way in our everyday life by the means of beliefs, assumptions, representations and practices (Billig, 1995, p. 6). As a result, nationalism appears to be forgettable but natural. Thus, he exemplifies the socio-psychological and everyday nature of nationalism. Although, practices which lead to assertion of nationhood exist in our daily practices but, we do not notice them as they become part of our normal life. On the basis of the ideas of Ernest Gellner, Benedict Anderson and Anthony Giddens; Billig argues that nations have to be ‘imagined’ as communities and as such nation-states are not based on the ‘objective’ criteria such as language (Billig, 1995, p. 10). Such a socio-psychological aspect of ‘imagination’ of nation makes it a part of wider ideological consciousness. He argues that nationalism is a way of thinking or ideological consciousness that makes nation, national identity or national homeland to appear ‘natural’ and as such we become used to them (Ibid.). It is interesting to note that banal nationalism is not benign and as Hannah Arendt has pointed out banality cannot be equated with harmlessness. It is found that the reproducing institutions of Western nation-states possess a large number of armaments. Even the national populations in those contexts are prepared to support the use of those armaments (Billig, 1995, p. 7). The fifth chapter of his important book examines the extent to which flagging occurs. This chapter examines the British daily newspapers, focusing on

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one particular day, selected at random. Billig said that all the newspapers, whether left or right wing, address their readers as a member of a nation and so the news are prepared. Even the sports pages are seen as banal rehearsals for an extraordinary time of crises that requires sacrifice in the cause of the nationhood. He concludes that nationalism has entered every corner of our consciousness. Thus, nation as ideology is so strong that it is hardly noticeable (Billig, 1995). Although, banal nationalism is common nowadays, where flagging of nationalism is seen in day-to-day life, but there is an attempt to have specific objective criteria by which people can be mobilised in the name of the nation. In such an attempt, people often used language as the means for forming nationhood. The language as a means of communication can form an important component of bringing the ‘we’ feeling in opposition to ‘them’. Although, it sounds simple but becomes complex when it comes to multi-lingual states like India where a large part of identity politics revolves around language. In this context, Sumathy Ramaswamy’s article, ‘Sanskrit for the Nation’ (1999), is important which shows the trajectory of Sanskrit in post-independence India on the issue of national language. She shows how the formation of the Sanskrit Commission in 1956 and subsequent politics paved the way for the nationalisation of Sanskrit. It assumes an important place in the debate of the national language because Sanskrit is not the mother tongue of anyone and as such will not be beneficial to anyone and but is the mother of all Indian languages. Besides, Sanskrit is the most ancient language of the nation (Ramaswamy, 1999, p. 340). It is considered that as the root of all Indian languages (Ramaswamy, 1999, p. 346), it has a great unifying role. The Sanskrit Commission argues that if Sanskrit, which is working as a binding force for the people of India, is taken away then they will no longer feel members of a single culture or a single nation (Ramaswamy, 1999, p. 345). The process of nationalisation of Sanskrit started with the increase of the use of Sanskrit at the institutional levels.

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Another important aspect of the advocacy of the Sanskrit Commission is that it is an old nationalist agenda with a post­ colonial twist as it reflects the same voices that were heard from the Indian (Hindu) nationalists during the later part of the colonial history (Ramaswamy, 1999, p. 374). In this context, she refers to the advocacy of the Sanskrit Commission in the light of the argument given by Partha Chatterjee (1986) where he sees the nationalist project of Hinduism as a ‘moment of departure’ for distinct culture of the colonial country of India that shows not only the distinctiveness of the culture different from the West but also their superiority from the West. Ramaswamy argues that the case of advocacy of Sanskrit is more or less the same as Hinduism except radical transformation in the means of implementation. She contends that the secular nature of the constitution gave a new role to Sanskrit for the formation of the nation which was earlier done by Hinduism to provide a spiritual, cultural and moral base (Ramaswamy, 1999, p. 374). The advocacy of Sanskrit as the ‘national’ language that would serve the purpose of one and all actually brings the Indian linguistic trajectory in line with European modernity (Ramaswamy, 1999, p. 379). But, for her, the Sanskrit Commission’s advocacy for Sanskrit as the national language is both subversive and tragic. “Subversive because in seeking to revamp an ancient Mandarin language that was nobody’s ‘mother tongue’ and institute it as the official language of a modern nation, the commission at least dared to pursue an alternate imagination which did not replicate the historical experience of the West. Tragic because in the end, its advocates made their case by deploying the logic of (Western) nationalism and modernity, and by recasting Sanskrit in the image of other national tongues. In the nationalisation of Sanskrit, as with so much else in the colonial and the post-colonial world, different struggles with and ultimately lose out to sameness” (Ramaswamy, 1999, pp. 379-380). The cruelty of nationalism in India can be theoretically seen in Michael Mann’s article, ‘The Dark Side of Democracy: The Modern Tradition of Ethnic and Political Cleansing’ (1999). Mann argues that the dark side of democracy is that the people try to give

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legitimacy to genocide saying that it takes place for the ‘people’. It is tragedy in modern democracy where the genocide is taking place in the name of ‘people’ is actually killing ‘people’. Thus, we cannot give legitimacy to genocide saying that it takes place for the ‘people’ because we need to question who the ‘people’ we are talking about are. For Mann, the vesting of sovereignty and moral legitimacy in the mass of the population of the given territory leads to two problems: “firstly, the citizen body is conceived of as sharing distinctive virtuous characteristics, ethnic and/or political, which may distinguish from not citizen inhabitants or the neighbours which are not entitled to citizenship. Secondly, sovereignty is also conceived of as territorial— which is a normal feature of modern states—then the ‘other’ may be physically excluded from the territory of the people” (Mann, 1999, p. 21). Mann distinguishes two different ‘peoples’ implicit in the democratic practice: a ‘stratified’ and the ‘organic’ peoples. In both cases, foreigners are conceptualised as ‘others’. But, in case of ‘organic’ people, some people who are otherwise considered as fellow citizens may be considered as the ‘other’ and for him this is the most problematic part (Mann, 1999, p. 21). He showed that when the people or the nation is conceived as internally stratified, then the main role of the state is to mediate competing interest groups and to preserve diversity among its citizen body which will not encourage ethnic cleansing. But, in the other case, conceiving people or nation as ‘organic’, as ‘a perfect union, one and inseparable’ may tempt the leaders to increase the ‘purity’ of the ‘organic’ people or the nation by suppressing the real-world diversity. This may lead to ethnic and political cleansing which is visible in many successful ‘democracies’. Thus, it is essential to respect the ground reality and existing diversity without opting for maintaining ‘purity’ that may go beyond the essence of democracy (Ibid.). Thus, the attempt to have a single nation in a multi-ethnic context will fail as it will lead to the attempt of the majority group to create an ‘organic’ and ‘pure’ nation which will have exclusionary tendencies that may have violent

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manifestations. The aspirations of the democratic states should be to respect the diversity rather than suppressing the diversity by creating a false homogenised group. It is observed that the nation-building process in the multiethnic context is both complex and tragic as both the ideological and material basis of such a nation are associated with construction of ‘self ’ and the ‘other’ and hence exclusions. The attempt to have a homogenised group in the name of nation-building goes against the aspirations of the minorities. The use of culture or language in the name of nation-building in a multi-ethnic situation actually associated with the imposition of the culture of dominant ethnic group. The everydayness of the nation-building process is another part of this tragic story as the problem of nation-building remains unnoticed although it is practised and part of our everyday life. Trajectory of Bharat Mata and Religious Exclusions The trajectory of the Indian nation has a close association with religion. The attempt to identify the Indian nation with Hinduism provided a tragic history for the minority religious groups. People like Golwalker argues that the basis of division in India is provided by religions that originated in India and those religions that originated outside India (Oommen, 2006, p. 441). He argues that those people who profess the religion of Indian origin are insiders having a superior position to those who are professing religion originating outside India and hence alien (Ibid.). Such a assumption goes to the extent of excluding all the non-Hindus from every kind of privilege as citizens and hence problematic. In such a context, Golwalker (1939) argues, “The non-Hindu people in Hindustan must learn to either adopt the Hindu culture and language, must learn to respect and hold in reverence Hindu religion, must entertain no ideas but those of glorification of the Hindu race and culture ...may stay in the country, wholly subordinate to the Hindu nation, claiming nothing, deserving no privileges not even a citizen’s rights. In this country, Hindus alone are national, and Muslims and others, if not actually anti-national, are at least outside the body of the nation”

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(Golwalker, 1939, pp. 55-56; cited in Oommen, 2006, p. 441). The non-benign nature of the nation formation in India can be felt when we analyse the whole politics of depicting Bharat Mata as the Indian nation. Sadan Jha (2004) shows the image of Bharat Mata, whose symbolic values depends heavily on the religious vocabulary and practices of the country, have a negative implication for the country. He shows how the depiction of Bharat Mata as perishable, seeks popular involvement to save it and as such there is an attempt to link the idea of nation with religion. The sad part of this story is that it reduces the relation between religion and nation to the vocabulary of communalism. For him, the post-Swadeshi period witnessed another shift in the ‘imagination’ of India, from the goddess figure to housewife and mother, as seen in the short story entitled Bharat Mata by Anand Coomaraswamy. This shift that has taken place from the nation as goddess to the earthlier figure is important and it signifies much more than mere personification (Jha, 2004, pp. 34-38). The personification of Bharat Mata needs to be questioned as it is associated with an attempt to save Bharat Mata which may often bring violence towards minorities. He depicts the kind of institutionalisation taking place in India with the building of the Bharat Mata temple, which is associated with the shift in the vocabulary of nationalism as we are transformed to devotees that have far more negative implications for the nonHindus. Through all these imageries, Jha is successful in depicting the different ways of how it is produced and circulated and ultimately bringing the communal metaphor into our day-to-day life. The trajectory of the idea of Bharat Mata paves the way for exclusion of non-Hindus from the Indian nation (Ibid.). This plurality of ‘imagination’ of the nation as mother is visible in different linguistic regions of the country. Sugata Bose, in his article, ‘Nation as Mother: Representation and Contestation of India in Bengali Literature and Culture’, shows clearly how the representation of the nation as mother by Bipin Chandra Pal strenuously sought to ‘unsettle’ the ‘settled fact’ of partitions of Bengal by Curzon (Bose, 1997, p. 50). Referring to the Parahuram’s

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myth, he tries to show how the personification of the nation as mother also has the intention of saving it from the separation. For him, the nationalist thinkers like Bipin Chandra Pal’s call of the mother or motherland (as called by Western educated Indians) was in origin ‘not a mere idea or fancy, but a distinct personality’, which has no metaphor behind it (Bose, 1997). He argues that the equation of the nation with mother does not leave any space for accommodation and expression of religious diversity in Bengal and the Indian nation thereby creating a problem. In fact, Bankim’s ‘Bande Mataram’ itself left many Muslims outside (Bose, 1997, pp. 62-63). The worst part of the story is that the equation of nation with religion not only makes people ready to die for the nation, they also became ready to kill others in the name of religion (Bose, 1997, p. 67). In the section dealing with the nation and state, Bose shows that literary and cultural representation of the nation is often disfigured by the various historical and political realities (Bose, 1997, p. 70). He says that the official ideology of the Indian state based on the concept of sovereignty borrowed from modern Europe is monolithic in nature and hence it denies the existence of the multiple identities that could have a legacy from the pre-colonial past (Ibid.). It is interesting to note that the nature of Indian unity and the kind of state structure and ideology that the various nationalist leaders considered to be appropriate for the Indian subcontinent could not manifest in the monolithic concept of India. The various structural and ideological aspects of the Indian Constitution diverge from the diverse theories of the state which were articulated by the nationalist thinkers (Bose, 1997, p. 71). Bose argues that in the post-colonial transition in India, it is an irony to see that nationalist thought that stressed federal unity and cross-communal understanding could not survive in the intellectual and political history of 20th century Bengal (Bose, 1997, p. 74). The Congress high command could acquire centralised state power because of the insistence of a large section of Bengali Hindu educated classes to have the partition of Bengal. Those who stood

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for the unity of Bengal till the very end could only lament. Thus, at the end of the day the mother’s own son wielded the partitioner’s axe (Bose, 1997, pp. 74-75). The sorry state of affair in nationalism does not stop here. There are some attempts to maintain the ‘pure nation’ and such attempts are also visible in the Indian context, especially in the name of religious nationalism. Shubh Mathur in her book, The Everyday Life of Hindu Nationalism (2008) aptly depicts how anti-minority violence and ethnic cleansing produces a narrative that became part of our everyday life. She shows how the cultural logic and institutional power of ‘religious majority’ have deeply entered our everyday life thereby making it routinised. As it became routinised, people do not become aware of the nature of ethnic cleansing that is going on in the name of religion. The worst part of the story is the continuous persecution of the Muslim men using new ‘national security laws’ (Mathur, 2008). She also presented how culture is used to create the myth about the Indian nation based on Hindu nationalism. What is the role of culture in creating the ‘truth’ of Hindu nationalism? Mathur argues that the accounts given by the media and academics are also misleading for two reasons, “firstly, because they draw attention away from the world of the everyday and the ordinary, from workplaces, schools and communities where the realities of Hindu nationalism are created and maintained...Secondly, the image of disorder mislead also because, they serve to conceal the continuity between the Hindu rights and other kinds of politics and discourses in India” (Mathur, 2008, p. 6). She further argues that there is an increasing social base of popularity of Hindu nationalism which is evident from electoral results and political mobilisation along with increasing anti-Muslim violence (Mathur, 2008, p. 7). She mentioned that the ground for the arrival of Hindu nationalism in India is prepared by the shifts in the economic policy and electoral politics—with liberalisation followed by fragmentation or regionalism in the post-Nehruvian era (Mathur, 2008, p. 10). Again, it is through this culture that boundaries are

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created, belonging and exclusion are defined and the nation and its enemies are constructed. For her, there is a need to understand Hindu nationalism through the lives of its actors and its victims, so as to understand how it is first created in the domain of culture before it is brought to the political domain (Ibid.). The everydayness of the title, as the author mentioned in the introduction, refers to the ordinariness of the activists and the supporters of the Hindu right and how it maintains continuities between their discourses and politics with the ‘other’ in the Indian academic and political life. It is associated with how the ideas of national identity, belonging and exclusion are created in day-to-day life (Ibid.). Mathur shows the significance of religion, language and ethnicity to create separate groups and to assign them a new place in the social hierarchy and thereby to acquire a new social, political and administrative importance. The interesting fact about the Hindu nation is that it includes the members of various marginal groups such as SCs, OBCs, women and tribals. On the other hand, the followers of religions like Islam and Christianity are excluded from the national group on the basis of belongingness to culture. Thus, the economic and political contradiction of caste and class are diluted in the formation of the Hindu nation thereby giving new opportunities for the Dalits and middle-class to claim a high position in the Hindu society thereby giving a new dimension to the nature of Hindu social hierarchy. It is mainly a by-product of anti-minority violence (Mathur, 2008). The new alignments created in the name of religious nationalism helps in reshaping the political dynamics of the Indian nation. It is essential to question the exclusion made in the name of hegemony of the religious majority in India as the Indian Constitution describes India as a ‘secular’ state and hence it is the duty of the state to respect the existence of religious diversity. The disjuncture that exists between the religious ideology at the level of political elite or religious leaders supported by false representation by media on the one hand and the coexistence of the common people of different religions at the ground level on the other hand,

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need to be critically observed. There is a need to recreate a culture of religious tolerance and respect for religious diversity rather than creating the Indian nation based on religion. Conclusion The imagination of the nation in a multi-ethnic context is a highly contested phenomena that needs to be seen within the framework of respect for diversity. The nuanced understanding of ‘imagination’ of the nation will help us to know the nature of exclusion and violence associated with the process of nation-building. The process of hegemonic6 dominance and attempt to have a homogenised nation in a multi-ethnic context needs critical scrutiny considering the negative implications of such a process. We see that the ‘imagination’ of the Indian nation is totally different from the Western idea of ‘imagination’ of a nation. Rather than simple ‘imagination’, Indian understanding has more to do with Darshan which implies ‘seeing beyond the eternal reality’ and hence associated with understanding of complexities associated with ‘imagination’ of the nation. Such complexities are manifested in the ‘imagination’ of the Indian nation because it fails to fulfil the aspirations of the ethnic minorities. The inherent character of exclusion in the ‘imagination’ of the Bharat Mata is so dominant and hegemonic that it is also manifested in the form of violence. The worst part is how such ‘imagination’ is made to be seen as routine activity in India by attempting to make it part of culture and thereby to make it appear normal. It is highly problematic because we fail to recognise the exclusion which is taking place daily in our life in the ‘imagination’ of the Indian nation. Besides, the exclusionary nature of the imagination of the Bharat Mata, we are more afraid of the possibility of ethnic cleansing in the name of nation-building. The social fabric of India is characterised by large scale diversity that negates a possibility of ‘imagination’ of a nation based on a single culture because it opens up the possibility of homogenisation based on dominant culture. It requires an alternative discourse of nation that can accommodate all the existing

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ethnic-diversities without any threat to their identities. NOTES 1. I thank the anonymous referee for the comments given in the earlier versions of this paper. 2. It needs to be mentioned here that, the Indian idea of Darshan goes beyond the Western idea of ‘imagination’ as Darshan encompasses heterogeneous ways of understanding, i.e. diverse ways of ‘imagination’ rooted in Indian history and philosophy. 3. In the name of the nation-building process in a multi-ethnic situation in India, it not only leads to ethnic exclusion, but it also opens up the possibility of violence for religious or caste minorities. 4. Minority: Although, the idea of minority has a close connection with ‘numbers’ but it can also signify groups having disadvantageous positions in the social, economic or political context. 5. The established nations are those states of the ‘West’ that have confidence in their own country. 6. Hegemonic dominance: Ruling or dominant in the social or political context.

REFERENCES Anderson, Benedict. (1983). Imagined Communities. London: Verso. Appadurai, Arjun. (2006). Fear of Small Numbers: An Essay on the Geography of Anger. Durham: Duke University Press. Billig, Michael. (1995). Banal Nationalism. London: Sage Publications. Bose, Sugata. (1997). Nation as Mother: Representations and Contestations of ‘India’ in Bengali Literature and Culture. In Sugata Bose and Ayesha Jalal (Eds.), Nationalism, Democracy and Development (pp. 50-75). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Brown, David. (1996). The State and Ethnic Politics in South East Asia. London: Routledge. Chakrabarty, Dipesh. (1999). Nation and Imagination. Studies in History, 15(2), 177-207. Chatterjee, Partha. (1986). Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse. London: Zed Books. Gellner, Ernest. (1964). Thought and Change. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

‘Bharat Mata’ and Its Imagination: Multiplicity and Divergence... 109 Golwalker, M.S. (1939). We or Our Nationhood Defined. Nagpur: Bharat Publications. Jha, Sadan. (2004). The Life and Times of Bharat Mata: Nationalism as Invented Religion. Manushi: A Journal About Women and Society, 142, 34-38. Mann, Michael. (1999). The Dark Side of Democracy: The Modern Tradition of Ethnic and Political Cleansing. New Left Review, I/235, 18-45. Mathur, Shubh. (2008). The Everyday Life of Hindu Nationalism. Gurgaon: Three Essays Collective. Nag, Sajal. (2001). Nationhood and Displacement in the Indian Subcontinent. Economic and Political Weekly, 36(51), 4753-4760. Oommen, T.K. (2006). Nation and Nationalism in South Asia. In Gerard Delanty and Krishan Kumar (Eds.), The Sage Handbook of Nation and Nationalism (pp. 438-49). London: Sage Publications. Pandian, M.S.S. (2009). Nation Impossible. Economic and Political Weekly, 44(10), 65-69. Phadnis, Urmila and Ganguly, Rajat. (2001). Ethnicity and Nation-Building in South Asia. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Ramaswamy, Sumathi. (1999). Sanskrit for the Nation. Modern Asian Studies, 33(2), 339-381. Rejai, Mostafa and Enloe, Cynthia H. (1969). Nation-States and StateNations. International Studies Quarterly, 13(2), 140-158.

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Indigeneity, Indigenous Feminism and Legal Pluralism: Emerging Women’s Resistance and a Critique of Gender Theme in Ethnographic Narratives of Northeast India N.K. Das

Indigeneity, which is central to discussions of political and legal rights of indigenous people all over the globe, has emerged today as a leading political tactic in the counter-hegemonic resistance against exploitative regimes. Notions of scarcity and growing concerns about environmental degradation during the 20th century together with the emergence of human rights discourses had provided a critical background for the successful rise of indigenous movements in national and international arenas. Since the 1980s, the historically marginalised and ostensibly disparate indigenous people across the globe found common cause in the evolving premise of indigeneity and the indigenous category. These developments had led to indigenous advocacy among anthropologists (Das, 2015). Even though many nation-states, especially in Asia, do not identify their native, aboriginal and tribespeople at par with ‘indigenous people’ as characterised in the UN circle, the tribespeople themselves, now employ the ‘indigeneity’ concept variously to stress their cultural, political, and economic exploitation and historical injustices. The rights of indigenous people are considered ‘collective’ rights, which belong to them as peoples and collective subjects, as well as ‘original’ rights, since they hold ‘historical’ rights predating

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the nation-states (San José: Inter-American Institute of Human Rights, 1996, p. 403). This recognition is based on what some authors have called a ‘legal order of diversity’ (UNESCO-INI, 1991, p. 59) in which nation-states recognise their multi-ethnic and multicultural character. Despite India’s defiance in global forums, India’s apex Supreme Court unequivocally asserts that Scheduled Tribes are ‘indigenous people of India’. India’s apex Supreme Court has issued a pertinent verdict on January 5, 2011 in a case of an Adivasi woman belonging to the Bhil ‘Scheduled Tribe’, resolving to some extent the very controversy pertaining to indigeneity and especially the suitability of the category of ‘indigenous people’. The Supreme Court in this judgment unequivocally asserted that ‘Scheduled Tribes’ are ‘indigenous people of India’ (Das, 2015). Global and local indigenous movements are variously aligned with the post-colonial feminism, wherein issues of gender, ethnicity, nationalism and representation of indigenous women are all important factors in better understanding women’s unique concerns. It is also closely affiliated with black feminism because both black feminists and post-colonial feminists argue that mainstream Western feminism has failed to adequately account for racial differences. Post-colonial feminism, black feminism, and other racially conscious strands of feminism have struggled to add racial and ethnic differences among women to the feminist dialogue. In this context one needs to situate the indigenous feminism as an important strand of the larger indigenous movement. To the post­ colonial indigenous feminist, understanding an individual’s unique intersection of race, class, ethnicity, gender, sex, sexuality, socio­ economic status, health, age, ability, and access are important to understanding how colonialism works in creating identities (Swann, 1992). For indigenous women, gender is one aspect of a larger struggle whose ultimate goal lies in the achievement of healing, balance and the reclamation of what was stolen, altered or co-opted through colonialism. Indeed, despite lack of gender equality within indigenous movements, indigenous women have tried to articulate

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priorities informed by their own culture in which gender is situated alongside issues of socio-economic inequality, racism, assimilation, cultural renewal and self-determination. The issue of gender with regard to the indigenous people has been implicitly addressed in the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. The poor implementation of the Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) and the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) in much of Asia demonstrates the need for a broad social acceptance of the need for reforms (Roy, 2005). Gender discourse is interrelated with feminism. The concept of ‘gender’ has been used in feminist theory to refer to the social construction of the differences between men and women since the early 1980s. Feminism implies a diverse collection of socio-political theories, political movements and moral philosophies, largely motivated by a concern for co-equal social role and position and rights of women vis-à-vis male members in a society. Feminism is thus, the ideological foundation of the women’s liberation movement. Regarding to tribal women, we find that their legal status is determined, to varying degrees, by several levels of law: international law, national law, customary law and norms of culture and social structure. In addition to international treaties, international Declarations and Plans of Action contain provisions on women’s agriculture-related rights. Although not legally binding, these instruments may reflect principles of customary international laws, such as the 1992 Rio Declaration on Environment and Development; the 1993 Vienna Declaration on Human Rights, the 1994 Cairo Plan of Action, the 1995 Beijing Platform and the 1996 World Food Summit Declaration. Indigenous feminism developed out of a need to define the complexities that arise for indigenous women (and men) as a result of the intersections of race, ethnicity, and gender. For example, indigenous feminism acknowledges the devastating consequences of colonisation on indigenous peoples. Indigenous feminism is a political, social, and cultural movement that seeks equality. In fact, the indigenous women argue “that feminism is actually an indigenous

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concept that has been co-opted by white women”. Indigenous feminism diverges from post-colonial feminism, however, because some have argued that the post-colonial theory in general has largely ignored the histories of colonialism as it exists for indigenous populations (Byrd, 2011, p. xxxii). Both national and international laws are criticised by feminists for male-biases. Feminists have raised concerns that a state’s reluctance to govern in areas traditionally seen as indigenous or tribal and leaving those areas of law to customary legal systems, leaves women within those communities vulnerable to discrimination. Bryson (1999, p. 5) says the socialist theory of feminism like liberalism, promotes equal rights and opportunities to all individuals. However, unlike liberalism, feminism emphasises economic and social rights and freedom from exploitation. Socialism allows women to recognise the ways in which men are also oppressed and to work with them to achieve a more equitable society in the interest of all. The gender issue in tribal societies is a complex phenomenon that needs to be addressed in the context of various domains such as family and kinship systems, marriage patterns, fertility, child mortality, literacy, sex-ratio, labour force participation, economic status recognised in household, religion, culture, and exposure to urbanisation. Tribal women display considerable heterogeneity in terms of their role and status within the tribal community. The same tribe in different regions may show significant differences in their fertility patterns, educational attainment, labour force participation, and other important variables. This may occur due to migration patterns, different environmental and ecological circumstances that force tribal women to change their modes of behaviour and social customs (Mitra, 2007). It is noted elsewhere that the economic considerations as also religious factors too had a bearing on fertility patterns in parts of the Northeast (Das, 1997; 2015). A few empirical studies have focused on the multi-dimensional nature of gender inequality in India (Malhotra et al., 1995). While the effect of patriarchy on female autonomy and gender equality is seen as a powerful variable, social indicators such as female literacy

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and child mortality also affect fertility, and thereby indirectly affect women’s marriage age, female educational share, and social development. Using demographic and economic data comparatively for the all-India scenario, Aparna Mitra has observed that in some of the northeastern regions where the tribes constitute a majority in terms of total population, tribal women seem to fare better in terms of literacy rate, sex-ratio, work patterns and fertility rates (Mitra, 2007). Like many countries that lived through the colonial experience, India in general and Northeast, in particular, experienced alien laws superimposed upon or parallel with indigenous systems of customary and religious laws. This phenomenon, which is known as ‘legal pluralism’, led to multiple sets of norms, both formal and informal, interacting with each other and affecting their subjects. The constitutional guarantees given to ‘customary laws’ often came to be seen as undermining the valid rights of the women. The discrimination against women in the region is widespread and systemic, and they are subject to exclusion in various spheres. Women continue to face barriers to their political participation, and are vastly non-represented or under-represented in local and national bodies. In denying women’s political participation, the male members cite the constitutional provision of ‘protection’ of tribal customs. The persistence and reproduction of women’s exclusion is also supported by social or kinship norms and religious values. If seen critically, it may be noticed that under customary law, a woman is generally regarded as a legal minor under the guardianship of her father, husband or brother, and thus incapable of owning or acquiring property. Succession too under customary law has been traditionally based on the principle of male-primogeniture. Women’s Studies: Indian and Northeastern Perspectives Feminist studies in India have examined the ways in which the female subject has been constructed in literature. In order to uncover the ideologies that reinforce male dominance in the familial arena, both anthropologists and sociologists have made

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significant contributions. Leela Dube has explained this ideology behind a very common tribal saying, “man provides the seed while woman provides only the field” (Dube, 2001, p. 71). According to this sexual conception, both the field and its produce (women and children) become the sole property of the person who sows the seeds, that is, the male. Such discourses serve to place the ownership of the woman in the hands of the man, and in a larger sense, the society itself, reinforcing the ideology behind the creation of a patriarchal society and the subordination of women to the dictates of male power (Ibid., pp. 119-120). After Iravati Karve, Leela Dube is regarded as the main contributor dealing with gender sensitivity in India. Leela Dube’s celebrated book, Anthropological Explorations in Gender: Intersecting Fields (2001) is a landmark contribution to feminist anthropology. It examines gender, kinship and culture by sourcing a variety of distinct and unconventional materials such as folk tales, folk songs, proverbs, legends and myths to construct ethnographic profile of feminist thoughts. Her book, Women and Kinship: Comparative Perspectives on Gender in South and SouthEast Asia (1997) argued that kinship systems provide an important context in which gender relations are located in the personal and public arena. The power relations between the North and the South in construction of knowledge and the hegemonic presence in academics were questioned by Leela Dube who propagated the ‘dialogical approach’ in anthropological and ethnographic research. Outside the anthropological-sociological arenas, there are a number of studies focusing on women in the Northeast context, though most of them deal with the issue from broad perspectives, rather than from a specific viewpoint. Several articles appeared in Economic and Political Weekly under the theme ‘Review of Women’s Studies’ from time to time have dealt with the women’s issue of Northeast India. For example, we have the article, ‘Mothers and Activists in the Hills of Assam’ by Shild Kolas (Vol. XLIX, No. 43-44, November 1, 2014). This article shows that women’s organisations in Northeast India are not fragmented. It investigates the evolution of women’s activism in the conflict-ridden district of Assam, where

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‘mothers’ have appeared on the political stage. It asks what the new appeal to ‘motherhood’ actually means, and whether ‘motherhood’ is a vehicle for women’s empowerment. How do the ‘mothers’, as political activists, relate to conventional gender roles; how do they interact with previous generations of women’s organisations; and how do they relate to other political actors? H. Sinha and J. Zorema (2012) have brought out a book dealing broadly with the empowerment of women in Northeast India. Empowerment is a multi-acted, multi-dimensional and multi-layered strategy which enables women to realise their full individuality and power in all spheres of life. It also involves creating an atmosphere where women can use their capability to address the fundamental problems of society at par with their male counterparts. Owing to various causes, women are in an unfavourable position in most countries. To overcome the present crisis, the empowerment of women from all sides, economic, social, political, legal and educational, is the urgent need. The edited volume containing twenty-two papers, deals with various issues and problems of empowerment of women in India with special focus on the Northeast and Mizoram perspectives. Another book broadly titled Women’s Status in Northeast India was brought out by Sindhu Phadke (2009). The vast socio-economic and cultural diversity of the Northeast region of India remains a largely unexplored area of academic research. Within it, the status of women continues to be a neglected aspect. This book contributes to the slowly expanding body of literature on the subject of the status of women in the seven Northeastern states of India, viz. Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland and Tripura. The author makes a painstaking effort to put together the economic, social, educational and cultural dimensions of the plight of women in these states, in the uniquely individual, ecological, historical, social and political backdrop of the region. In the process she uncovers many aspects hitherto unknown to us, and also demolishes certain standard and pre-conceived notions about Northeastern women. We learn about the distinctive features of each state, individually, in relation to each other, and the country

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as a whole. Janet. C. Lalhmingpuii and Vijanti Namchoom (2014) examine the changing status of Mizo women in the family sphere and the outside world. Meeta Deka (2013) has analysed the notion of ‘agency’ in the socio-economic, legal and political structure of Assam by placing women in the centre. Deka argues how despite various odds and challenges posed by the patriarchal structure, women are able to act as catalysts. Education, efforts of social activists and political participation during the freedom struggle and powerful works of women writers have greatly contributed to this process. Deka observes that the customs of bride price or gadhon as prevalent in Assam were social practices which ‘were and are still in favour of women’ (2013, p. 8). Historical review suggests that women in Assam emerged as agents of change, through their active participation in the national struggle. The author discusses the women’s marginalised position in the economic arena and the inherent patriarchal relation of power in the post-colonial scenario. Women have historically through wage labour, agricultural activities and procreation contributed to the sustenance of the household economy (2013, p. 97). In a review of this work, it is understood that the important contribution of a Dimasa woman, Joya Thaosen, in organising the revolutionary Dimasa Army and the impact of the Rani Jhansi regiment in the region has not been recognised (Arunima Deka, 2014). In their study, Bidisha Mahanta and Purusottam Nayak (2013) have explored the extent of gender inequality in Northeastern states of India in four spheres of education, employment, health and political participation. The gender-related development indices of the eight states were compared with the corresponding national figure. It was found that four states had GDI above the national level and the remaining four states had GDI values marginally below than that of India implying that women of the region enjoyed ‘less disparity’ in terms of longevity, educational attainment and also control over resources. The gender gap was estimated in the areas like literacy rate, enrolment rate, work participation rate, sex ratio, infant mortality rate, and life expectancy at birth and women’s political

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participation, etc. They found that the gap was narrow for states like Meghalaya, Mizoram and Nagaland in respect of literacy rate. The gender gap in literacy was the largest for Arunachal Pradesh among Northeastern states. However, it was far better than the national figure. Similarly, Meghalaya, Nagaland and Sikkim had done well in case of the enrolment rate. Even at the high school level the enrolment rate of girls was more than that of boys in those states. In Arunachal Pradesh and Assam however, the gender gap was wide in the enrolment rate at different levels of education. The gender gap in the work participation rate was less in Manipur, Nagaland and Mizoram. The prevalence of the women’s market in Manipur might be the cause of the low gender gap in the state. However, the situation was worse in Tripura, Assam and Sikkim where the tribal population was relatively lower compared to other Northeastern states. Regarding the sex ratio, Meghalaya, Manipur, Mizoram, Tripura and Assam had a better sex ratio and states like Sikkim, Arunachal Pradesh and Nagaland had sex ratio much lower than that of the national average. The infant mortality rate was lower for Northeastern states. The female infant mortality rate was higher than the male infant mortality rate in the region except in the states of Sikkim and Tripura. Similarly, life expectancy at birth was more for women than for men in Northeast and India. So, it is apparent that the women of the region enjoy a better health status as compared to the national level. Political participation of women at state and national level was lower for those states except Assam. However, the participation at local level was almost one-third for all the states of the region. There might be the influence of male members of the family on the women as a result of which they acted as proxies of their male counterparts in the political domain. Although the status of women was relatively better in Northeastern states, viz. Mizoram, Nagaland, Manipur and Meghalaya as compared to the national level yet there were gaps in educational attainment, access to employment, health, political participation, etc. (Mahanta and Nayak, 2013).

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Using mainly the female literacy indicator, Ira Das (2013) argued that the status of women in the states of Northeast India is better than the status of women in the rest of India. However, divergences occur within each state. For example, the sex ratio is high in the states of the region implying more females in the state. However, the infant mortality rate for females is high in Assam. In Assam and Nagaland, the female literacy levels are above average and the gap in literacy levels strikingly low; however, enrolment rates for girls are lower than the national average (Das, 2013). Women’s study has been part of larger ethnographies presented by social anthropologists and sociologists. Earlier works on the hill tribes of Northeast India are specially known for marriage systems, often called ‘asymmetric alliance’ (Needham, 1959b). Not all hill peoples have this type of marriage system, though. There are also ‘prescriptive alliance’ type marriage (Needham, 1959a). Some interpretations made by Needham, particularly his Manipur Purum case, came to be questioned, for lack of substantial data. In his appraisal of the Tibeto-Burman-Zounuo-Keyhonuo case, Lehman (1997) found that while on the one hand a woman is said to be transferred to membership of her husband’s lineage, on the other she seems to retain a distinct claim on some of the land and other property of her natal family as well as on possible residence there, so that we find a fine instance of a principle common to asymmetrical marriage systems namely, that the more a woman seems to be transferred at her marriage, the more it is because, what is really transferred is her status as a member of an affinal lineage, a principle Edmund Leach was unclear about regarding the Lushai, Lakher, and Kachin instances (Lehman, 1997). Among other kinship studies of the region which focus on women’s issues mention may be made of Khasi-Garo matriliny by Chie Nakane (1967) and Garo family and kinship by Burling (1963). Garo kinship is also studied by M.C. Goswami (1998) and D.N. Majumdar. Kinship among the Khasi and Lalung are studied by Nongbri (1993; 2004) and Shyam Chaudhury and M.M. Das (1973). Kinship studies of ‘patrilineal societies’ are conducted among

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others by B.B. Goswami, D. Danda (1978), N.K. Das (1993), R.K. Das, J.K. Sarkar, and B. Mukherjee. Among a few studies which deal with customary law and especially legal anthropology, mention may be made of numerous studies by the Anthropological Survey of India (Das, 1993; Singh, 1993), Law Research Centre of Gauhati High Court (Goswami, 1981; Das, 1987), and Northeast Social Research Centre. Among a few PhD studies on customary law, mention may be made of Das (1985) and Melvil (2004). Marak and others have also studied customary law (Marak, 1997; Marak, 1992). Adino Vitso’s (2003) book, Customary Law and Women: The Chakhesang Nagas, has dealt with customary law and women and continuity and change in customary law. In 1985, S.K. Chattopadhyay brought out an important volume Tribal Institutions of Meghalaya, which deals with land rights, chieftaincy and matriliny. Sociologists and political scientists brought out the book, Power to People in Meghalaya (Sixth Schedule and the 73rd Amendment) edited by M.N. Karna, L.S. Gassah and C.J. Thomas (1998). Tribal Customs, Law and Justice: A Teleological Study of Adis by Manjushree Pathak (2005), is another book on customary laws. We have yet another book on the Tribal Law in India by G.S. Narwani (2004). It deals with the tribal problem and customary law of tribes, tribal administration in Northeastern states, constitutional safeguards for tribes, Tribes Advisory Council, National Commission for SCs and STs, Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996, Status of Gram Sabha and Social Audit and the Tribal Law, basic issues and trends. The ICSSR review of anthropology-sociology (Atal, 2009, p. 63) regards Kinship, Politics and Law in Naga Society (Das, 1993) as a major legal anthropological contribution. In this monograph, which includes a whole chapter dealing with status and land rights of women in Viswema village, using genealogical tables and case studies; the women’s issue is discussed in larger gender, kinship and legal perspectives. The high status of the Naga woman is discussed through her lifelong agnatic affiliation and property rights in agnatic core and ‘cognatic’ status of her children, depending on choice (Das, 1993, p. 67).

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Matriliny and Patriliny and Vulnerability of Women in Matrilineal Tribes Northeast India presents kinship systems of three principal types: patrilineal, matrilineal and bilateral. Broadly speaking, under patrilineal succession systems, property devolves through the male line (from father to son), and wives and daughters usually have no inheritance rights. Under matrilineal systems, property is traced through the mother’s line though land management and utilisation are often controlled by men, as we shall discuss. Indeed, women tend to have greater rights in matrilineal systems than under patrilineal systems. There are also examples wherein women enjoy considerable economic or land rights even within ‘patrilineal’ systems, as will be discussed. The three tribes of Meghalaya, Khasi, Jaintia and Garo are matrilineal tribes. Among them the property inheritance flows in the female line. In case of both Khasis and Garos, the youngest daughter (Khatduh in case of Khasis and Nohkhrum among the Garos) inherits ancestral property. The hill Lalungs of Meghalaya and Assam still largely pursue the matriliny. However, the bulk of plains Lalungs in Assam have increasingly abandoned the matrilineal social norms and adopted patriliny, mainly influenced by Hinduism. However, the matrilineal clans survive among them (Das, 1989, p. 128). We will discuss comparatively the status of women in these four matrilineal tribes and their rights which differ considerably. In the Khasi tribe, if a man builds an independent house in which to live with his wife and children, that house and his acquired property during his matrimonial life automatically belongs to him. In Garo society, because of the presence of cross-cousin marriage, a Garo prefers his son marrying the daughter of his sister, who has inherited the property of the family of his birth. Clan and lineage are main structural features of matrilineal tribes. Regarding the descent group formation, while among the Garo the localised lineage is expressed in terms of the village; among the Khasis, on the other hand, the lineage is crucial for the identity of household or family, the iing. Among the Garo, the village theoretically consists of the members

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of the two localised lineages, as represented in the headman and his wife respectively. Nakane observed that in societies of the householdlineage type (Khasi), a functional unit is demarcated in the first place by common property and residence, which cuts off clearly other members who may be included by the descent principle. In matrilineal tribes, the property is owned by the woman, but the controlling power and authority over it are in the hands of the man. Matrilineal Garo and Khasi Tribes: Rising Confrontations and Modification of Customary Laws The Garo are noted for the high status and power held by women. Garo clans and phratries are matrilineal, and inheritance of property is through women. Each married couple chooses one daughter to become the heiress—Nokma. Her husband is called Nokrom. The Garo society however is different where land is divided into Akhing land where members of a particular clan or Mahari have usufruct rights. Each Akhing land is commonly owned, but increasing adoption of a settled form of agriculture is threatening the system. Individual growers are producing ginger and cashew nuts and claiming permanent possession of common lands. Thus, it is only a matter of time when that land is to be converted into private ownership (Mukhim, 2005). Property rights and status of being Garo is acquired through birth in Garo families. However, this customary practice has come to be modified through a state legislation creating conflict in society. This legislation now provides legal recognition to any person born of a non-Garo mother and a Garo father as a Garo. This legislation called the Garo Hills Autonomous District (Codification of Customary Laws) Bill, 2009 has received the Governor’s consent so it stands authenticated. Through this new law, a person born of a Garo mother and a non-Garo father would also be recognised as a Garo. The move evoked criticism from the common Garos of Garo Hills as they had alleged that it was aimed at helping the Chief Minister and his brother, who are facing a case related to their Scheduled Tribe (ST) status. One leader argued that this Bill tabled on July 23, 2014 is an attempt to pave the

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way to legalise thousands of non-tribes living in Meghalaya in the guise of Garos. It was also alleged that the much controversial Garo Customary Laws Bill is a deep-rooted conspiracy of the Congress Party led Executive Committee in the Garo Hills Administrative Council to provide the much-required opportunity to the nontribes to be brought under the Garo Customary Laws (The Shillong Times, August 5, 2014).1 Khasi Matriliny: Challenges of Chieftaincy and Legal Pluralism Among the Khasi and Jaintia tribes, the women have exclusive property rights at the level of family and lineage. In the political sphere however, it is male members (affiliated to matrilineage or matri-clan) who have the authority. The ruler of a Khasi State belongs to Syiem clan and the Electoral College selects the Syiem. It is reported that in due course, the Syiem and his immediate family members and the Bakhraw started staking claim to more land than they could use (Mukhim, 2005). Soon after the creation of the Meghalaya state, the government constituted a Land Reforms Commission for Khasi Hills to enquire into the land holding system in each Syiemship, Lyngdohship, Sirdarship, etc. for all classes of land including the changes that had crept in since the coming of the British. The Commission recorded three types of land in KhasiJaintia Hills: Government land; Ri Raid land (community land) and Ri-Kynti or private land. The Commission also identified Ri-Kynti land as private land which is set apart from the time a particular village was founded. In Khasi Hills, the community land or Ri-Raid is allocated by the community leaders to any person who wishes to settle and cultivate in that Raid. Theoretically indeed women own land and possess clear land titles, but male leaders on their behalf play a crucial role in the sphere of land management of different categories of land. Male superiority in the political sphere of Khasi polity and Autonomous District Councils (Khasi and Jaintia Hills) is always an inherent challenge to the matrilineal system. Legal pluralism is visible in this set-up since chieftaincy and statutory Autonomous District Councils exist simultaneously alongside state

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institutions, which clash with each other. How the mechanism of legal pluralism injures the customary law may be seen in the context of the state imposed ‘Khasi Social Custom of Lineage Bill’ which became the bone of contention. The Khasi Hills Autonomous District Council, which theoretically claims to protect the Khasi ‘customary law’, introduced the Khasi Social Custom of Lineage Bill, 1997. A number of organisations, including the influential Khasi Students’ Union and the Syngkhong Rympei Thymmai (SRT) (literally, ‘association of new hearths’) opposed the measure arguing that instead of codifying an ‘outdated system’ of matrilineal succession, Khasis should ‘modernise’ their kinship system. They proposed a change that would allow only children of two Khasi parents to be regarded as Khasi. The opponents of the bill argued that the bill will allow too many people to pass off as Khasis and take advantage of opportunities reserved for Khasis. Keith Pariat, the president of the Syngkhong, even said that the matrilineal system no longer serves modern needs and that, if it was allowed to continue, the ‘pure Khasi tribe’ will become extinct in another 10 to 15 years. Narrating the Khasi men’s subordination and their demand for equality one activist observed that only mothers or mothers-in-law look after the children. Men are not even entitled to take part in family gatherings. The husband is up against a whole clan of people: his wife, his mother-in-law and his children. The Khasi Hills Autonomous District Council protects (customary) laws, taxation is lower than elsewhere in India, land is set aside for their use in tribal zones, and a quota system operates for higher education and civil service jobs. In India, where more than a third of women suffer domestic violence, the position of their Khasi sisters seems enviable. The matrilineal system should not be confused with matriarchy. Khasi women have never held power. The former rulers of the tribe left their throne to the son of their youngest sister. All the chief government ministers are men and few women even sit on village councils. Men are the weak sex in Meghalaya, but Khasi activists hope that the Syngkhong Rympei Thymai campaign (roughly ‘a wedge to shore up a shaky table’) will

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promote reform of the Khasi family structure. Men are endowed with natural leadership. They should protect women, who in return should support them (Julien Bouissou, 2011). The male protest in Khasi Hills is spearheaded by Syngkhong Rympei Thymmai (Home-Hearth-Restructured)—a Khasi Men’s Rights Movement. Its objective is to convert the matrilineal system of Khasi succession into a patrilineal one. The SRT has around 3,000 members, though many of them are only the silent supporters, too afraid to support this ideology openly. SRT was founded in Shillong on April 14, 1990. SRT has also questioned the provision of the Khasi Custom of Lineage Act of 1997 that bars sons, in the absence of daughters, from inheriting family property. According to the tradition of iing (which roughly translates to ‘help the house’), which this law binds them to; sons cannot inherit ancestral property even if the family has no daughters. A girl from another family has to be adopted, who then acts as a custodian of the property (The Telegraph, December 15, 2013). Tiplut Nongbri, argued that although women are custodians of property and the family line is traced through them, they wield little actual power (Nongbri, 2011). Men in Khasi society increasingly use the state machinery to come up with measures that distort the matrilineal system. The arguments they use are also steeped in patriarchal ideology. It is observed that patrilineal principles are gradually introduced by modernisation in Khasi society (Nongbri, 1993). Nongbri (2004) argued that while women have comparative security under matriliny, they are not entirely free from subordination. The egalitarian principle embedded in matrilineal descent is subverted by men’s lust for power and hence women as a rule are excluded from the hierarchical political structures. The link between ethnicity, patriarchy, and the state, which was lying dormant in the traditional political set-up, has come to the fore. Khasi scholars feel that although Christianity never directly interfered in the practice of matriliny (Nongbri, 2011), Christianity does exert a strong patriarchal orientation and thus helps to consolidate the authority of the father.

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Patrilineal Naga Tribe: Dual Inheritance, Matrifiliation and Gender Parity Among the Zounuo-Keyhonuo Patrilineal ideology, kinship norms and inheritance rules are neatly embedded in the Zounuo-Keyhonuo Naga social structure, described elsewhere by this author (Das, 1985, 1993). In this tribe, the individuals derive their jural statuses and roles through membership in descent groups such as Thenu, Sarra and Putsanu (translatable as clan, lineage, sub-lineage), which are products of an inter-generation genealogical-segmentary process, elsewhere elaborated in authors’ PhD thesis (Das, 1985, also see Das, 1993, pp. 118-119). Four clans (Zherima, Rachuma, Kirhazuma and Pavoma) in Viswema occupy distinct territories (‘thenu-districts’), whose ‘sovereignty’ over forest and arable field areas, water resources, fishing areas, Dzulye (water-channels) and the clan gates are recognised. The Pithimi or ‘elder’ representing lineage or clan ensure due compliance of customary rights and obligations in relation to private and common properties and exploitation of natural resources, for jhuming and hunting. Among the Pithimis of Viswema, one senior elder is declared as Razou-pithi (village-headman) and another is nominated as Sechomi in the village judicial assembly (Chapi), to coordinate the proceedings informally. A revisit to Zounuo-Keyhonuo village Viswema in 2009 and 2011, demonstrated that despite the statutory village council’s existence, the customary institutions, and status and roles of Pithimis have not been weakened, especially since the constitutional recognition of customary laws authorise elders and Gaon-buras (official headmen) to settle disputes as per customs. Sadly, the women are theoretically to be active members in statutory village bodies including the village development board, but they are denied this dispensation. Northeast India exemplifies all major types of social structures, such as patrilineal, matrilineal and bilateral, where women are accorded economic and jural rights variously. Among the ZounuoKeyhonuo Nagas, we notice the principles of bilateral kinship in operation. Among several Naga tribes including some sections of Angami, Chakhesang, and Pochury, the married daughters enjoy

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certain privileges over agnatic paternal property which includes land. Unlike women among many Naga tribes, the Zounuo-Keyhonuo women enjoy considerable economic rights, which may be briefly discussed here. In Viswema, the woman (as daughter or sister) benefits from three main types of transfer of land. Indeed, a woman retains considerable rights within her agnatic core throughout her life. One of the important obligations of the married woman is to participate in the village festivals of Sekrenyi and Terhunyi representing her agnatic core as a member of her father’s patrilineage (Das, 1993, pp. 64-67). There exists the ‘dual inheritance’ (of two categories of property, such as the ‘Pozeph’ and Tepumi-Kitsa) pattern. Of these two, the ‘Pozeph’ category of land is essentially a matrilineally inherited property which is transmitted only in the female line (from mother to daughter successively over generations). The author has discussed actual cases of ‘Pozeph’ transactions in his 1993 monograph. At marriage, a woman not only brings her ‘Pozeph’ land but also a part of her father’s own landed property, called Tepumi-kitsa. She also brings Tenumi-shiephro, which includes movable articles such as cattle (cows and pigs), ornaments, clothes and paddy. If a daughter is the only child, she inherits the bulk of the parental property including the parental house, though some part of property, especially the land and water-channel, should be transferred to the ‘patrilineage kayie’ estate, which is maintained at the lineage level. If a couple dies without a child and no child is adopted by them, then the land inherited form the paternal (agnatic) line goes back to the patrilineal kayie estate, and the ‘Pozeph’ land goes back to the affinal kins, Omuni (Das, 1993, pp. 70-71). Thus, in this patrilineal tribe, we find that the dual pattern of filiations gives rise to the bilateral extension of kinship ties. This dual inheritance system provides a comparatively higher position to womenfolk. However, it is reported that in recent years, married women are ‘persuaded’ to ignore their rights over parental landed property and indeed there are some litigations reported. The fact remains that customary laws are variously being constrained and compromised and male members in parts of Nagaland and

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elsewhere are increasingly challenging the traditional norms within and outside the customary law courts. Women’s Marginalisation, Commoditisation of CPR and Women in Agricultural Economy and Trade: Modern Challenges and Insecurity Women are the sole breadwinners in one-third of all households in the world. Women produce 80 per cent of the food in Africa, 60 per cent in Asia and 40 per cent in Latin America (Howard, 2003). Common property resources (CPR) and customary land tenure remains widespread though lands are often allocated by the lineage authority to the (male) household head; women have ‘secondary’ rights. With population pressures, cultural change, agricultural intensification and commercialisation, many customary practices are moving towards greater individualisation, eroding women’s secondary rights (Mackenzie, 1998; Kevane and Gray, 1999). There is now greater concern to acknowledge the controlling and management authority of womenfolk in the agrarian sphere. Some scholars argue that ‘common general formulae like ...ultimate or sovereign rights, rights of allocation or of control, or rigid oppositions between ownership, possession, use and usufruct ...have often obscured understanding of the nature of rights and claims relating to the land’ (Biebuyck, 1963, p. 52). Widening the scope of the economic role and control of women in the agrarian sphere of Asia, scholars have questioned the inappropriateness of Western notions of ‘ownership’ in contexts where property rights are community-based (Lynch and Harwell, 2002, p. 12). As long as the land, forest and water resources are community owned, women, being in charge of the family economy, have an important role to play in their management. In most tribal areas of the Northeast, the tribespeople are aspiring to maximise their economic status by various means. This includes an attempt at encroaching common property resources (CPR) and claiming portions of CPR as individual owners by influencing local leaders and deviating from customary management systems. This phenomenon is rampant in all

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tribal areas of the northeast. Since most tribes pursue jhum, in most cases, the status and important roles of women in common resources are secured, since the CPRs are based on the community ownership. However, commercial interests of individuals clash with customary standing of CPRs and harming the common ownership of such resources. Commercial intents of rich and dominant villagers with political backing facilitate them to convert portions of community land as individual land and then it becomes easier to procure individual patta against such lands. This is a clear case of interference of state law into the sphere of customary law. Among the matrilineal Garos of Meghalaya, the state encourages rubber plantation but the policy of giving loans and subsidies only to individual landowners encourages, even forces them to switch over to individual land ownership. With it, women continue to inherit land but men wield more political and social power than in the past. The Nokma is the traditional chief heiress but today the administration treats her husband as the head and consults him alone on matters of land transfer (Marak, 1997, pp. 60-69). The Dimasas of Assam have been exposed to the dominant culture since their Hinduisation, but they retain their internal autonomy and rights over CPR now placed under the Sixth Schedule. The Dimasa clans have dual descent and some families that have accepted individual ownership have conferred inheritance rights also on women. Thus, the trend towards individual ownership goes hand in hand with change of their land use without changing the land ownership pattern drastically (Fernandes and Pereira, 2005, p. 37). Nevertheless, in the name of individual ownership, some men have taken over community land in their own name and rendered many others landless. It also makes the women suffer the most. Despite constitutional recognition, the financial institutions and administration even in the Sixth Schedule areas, often recognise the village chief (Gaon-burah), not the community, as the owner and give loans and subsidies for commercial crops only to individuals, thus encouraging individual entrepreneurship. Such economic maximisation has resulted in class formation (Pereira, 2004).

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Women Resistance Against ‘Patriarchal’ Customary Laws In recent years, there have been persistent protests seeking gender equality in various states of Northeast India. It is observed that the interface of customary tribal law with modern administrative and legal systems in Northeast India has led to lopsided development in the form of sidelining the women’s issue and ushering in an era of class struggle (Pereira, 2009). The analysis provided the above points to patriarchal bias in dealing with issues central to emancipation and empowerment of women in the region. It is observed that the Naga women have been particularly vulnerable in view of ‘patriarchal’ favouritism of customary laws. There has been a constant demand in Nagaland to amend customary laws so as to empower and provide justice to the deprived womenfolk. Among several proposals put forward, there is a special urge for legislative intervention. However, any statutory efforts to protect the rights of women are frustrated because the women are often reminded of the constitutional provision which provides a ‘blanket shield’ to Naga customs and laws. Stating that lack of economic power and dependency are among the biggest triggers of violence against women, the Nagaland State Women’s Commission some time ago asked the Nagaland government to amend discriminatory customary laws regarding to inheritance, maintenance, property and land rights in order to maintain gender equality. The commission recommended by holding a seminar on ‘Atrocities Against Women’ in July 2011 in Kohima and asked the Nagaland government to ensure women’s representation in decision-making in villages with 33 per cent reservation in village councils in order to establish gender parity. It also asked the government to appoint women as Dobashis and Gaon-buras, as both the offices are under the state government. In this regard, it is pointed out that while Arunachal Pradesh got statehood much after Nagaland, yet it has already appointed women as Dobashis and Gaon-buras (The Assam Tribune, August 7, 2011).2 Sadly, some of Nagaland’s prominent non-statutory public organisations (Naga Non-State Forums), some of which are very

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powerful in the state, have cited the constitutional ‘shield’ of Naga customary laws, and thus vehemently opposed the implementation of ‘women’s quota’ that is 33 per cent women’s reservation in various fields including civic polls.3 The Naga women leaders have challenged the customary laws that have denied them the right to be part of political bodies whether traditional or modern. A case in the Supreme Court is awaiting a verdict on the implementation of the reservation of one-third of the seats for women in town and municipal councils in Nagaland. According to Monalisha Changkija (2004), the system as it exists today is biased, discriminatory, obsolete, and inimical to the welfare, uplift, development and progress of our society and state, especially of Naga women. Naga tradition and culture prohibit women’s participation in the decision-making process right from the village council to the state legislature. This custom has spilled over to the modern system of the parliamentary form of government. Men view any demand of women as a threat to what they believe to be their sole prerogative to acquire and retain political power but women feel that they have achieved a level of progress superior than men’s in all fields of human endeavour and that they also deserve to share political power with men. Among the key issues of customary laws that affect women are inheritance rights and denial of participation of women in the political arena. A common difficulty cited in relation to land rights to Naga women is that sharing of clan property with daughters leads to fragmentation of clan land which is the very foundation of tribal culture and identity. The entire kinship relations and the culture of tribal communities get adversely affected. Some participants at a workshop noted the recent trend of the clan property being given to the daughters but most felt that the clan land should be returned once the claimant dies (Pereira, Athparia and Borah, 2014).4 Discussion and Conclusion Among unique contributions of women in the Northeast are their economic roles, which are not recognised fittingly. Women have rich

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knowledge about the types of local resources and their various uses. Rice cultivation has traditionally been in the women’s domain of knowledge in the Northeast. The wide array of varieties in Northeast India reflects the women’s knowledge of seeds and of plant breeding. Naga women preserve knowledge about twenty indigenous seeds. Garo women have knowledge of over 300 indigenous varieties of rice. Northeast India represents high genetic diversity as part of the ‘gene-diversity-index’ (Ngachan, Mohanty and Pattanayak).5 Women in Northeast India have a high level of involvement in agricultural production. The Apatani women with rich indigenous knowledge of native rice seeds have discarded the government seeds. Right from soil digging, to levelling of terraces is done manually with the help of indigenous wooden tools. An important aspect of Apatani agrarian operation is labour-exchange through cooperative efforts among women and formation of Patang, seen as a reciprocitysharing mechanism (Das, 2014). Apatani women have adopted the rice-based fish farming (Das, 2014), which has the potentiality to be recognised as a low-cost sustainable farming practice. Women in the Khasi matrilineal tribe have monopolised many occupations, including agriculture and trade. The Khasis practise both terrace and jhum agriculture. They also grow potato, orange, pineapple, betel nut and betel leaf. In these activities, it is Khasi women cultivators and women agricultural labourers who are numerically preponderate with 78.30 per cent and 10.75 per cent respectively (Sen, Saha and Mukherjee, 1982). The Khasi women also monopolise certain trades such as fish selling and stitched cloth selling in Shillong, mainly Bara Bazaar. In the region, the women have the monopoly also in vegetable and fruit selling as also in tea trading. In government institutions, it is Khasi women who hold the majority of positions, with their better educational attainments. During his several visits to Shillong during the last decades the author observed no major change in economic roles of Khasi women. There is no doubt that the matrilineal backdrop and economic zeal of Khasi women pushes them to the economic arena, where they occupy an advantageous position. Women in the Northeast actually have autonomy to indulge in economic activities

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through employment and trade. However, the land tenure system is male dominated and it poses serious problems. Women are the backbone of the agricultural economy and there are increasing numbers of female-headed households resulting either from divorce or desertion which are very high in parts of the Northeast. Over the decades, the UN has become the pivotal forum where indigenous peoples’ rights are given shape and expressed in declarations, covenants, and other instruments that form an important component of international law and international human rights law. Through increasing global intervention, indigenous people have sought recognition for their collective rights to land and livelihood strategies within nation-state structures that have discriminated them. However, the gender issue still remains sidelined as residual patriarchal perceptions predominate (Das, 2015a). Customary legal systems in many parts of the globe as also in Northeast India pose a serious threat to women’s equality rights. Customary law, as we discussed, often includes gender discriminatory rules with respect to marriage, divorce, property, and a host of other issues. The very constitutional provisions meant for retaining indigenous norms and rules of justice have become a major obstacle, as we discussed above. It is felt that, the structural inequality of women and their social exclusion need to be addressed through legal channels, as many women activists are trying. The women activists of the Northeast protesting such discriminations have raised the rights-based questions to install an equitable structural distribution of power. There is need to continue such protests more vigorously. NOTES 1. Garo Customary Law Bill Approved. (2014). The Shillong Times, (August 5, 2014). Retrieved from http://www.theshillongtimes. com/2014/08/05/garo-customary-law-bill-had guv-nod/ 2. The Assam Tribune. (August 7, 2011). Retrieved from www. assamtribune.com/scripts/detailsnew 3. Retrieved from https://www.facebook.com/wethenagas/posts/3451847 42200567 4. Pereira, Melvil, Athparia, R.P. and Borah, Kankana. (April 12,

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2014). Retrieved from http://www.nagalandpost.com/PostMortem/ PostMortemDetails.aspx?p=UE0xMDA0MjI0 5. Ngachan, S.V., Mohanty, A.K. and Pattanayak, A. Status Paper on Rice in Northeast India, Rice Knowledge Management Portal. Retrieved from http://www.rkmp.co.in

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Review, 42(2), 15-39. Lehman, F.K. (1997). Review of Kinship, Politics and Law in Naga Society. By Das, N.K. Anthropos, 92 (1-3), 233-235. Maine, Henry (1861). Ancient Law, Its Connection with the Early History of Society, and Its Relation to Modern Ideas. London: John Murray. Malhotra, A., Vanneman, R. and Kishor, S. (1995). Fertility, Dimensions of Patriarchy, and Development in India. Population and Development Review, 21(2), 281-305. Mahanta, Bidisha and Nayak, Purusottam. (2013). Gender Inequality in North East India. Retrieved from http://www.researchgate.net/profile/ Purusottam_Nayak/publication/254259020_Gnder_Inequality_in_ North_East_India/links/0c96051fc81016eae6000000.pdf Marak, Caroline. (1992). Status of Women in Garo Culture. In Soumen Sen (Ed.), Women in Meghalaya. New Delhi: Daya Publishing House. Marak, K.R. (1997). Traditions and Modernity in Matrilineal Tribal Society. New Delhi: Inter-India Publications. Mackenzie, F. (1998). Land, Ecology and Resistance in Kenya. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Mitra, A. (2007). The Status of Women Among the Scheduled Tribes in India. The Journal of Socio-Economics. Retrieved from http://lib. scnu.edu.cn/ngw/ngw/xwbk/The%20status%20of%20women%20 among20the%20scheduled.pdf Mukhim, Patricia. (2005). Gender Concerns and Food Security in Rice Farming Systems of North East India. Dialogue, 7(1), (July- September 2005). Nakane, Chie. (1967). Garo and Khasi: A Comparative Study in Matrilineal Systems. Paris: Mouton. Needham, Rodney. (1959a). An Analytical Note on the Kom of Manipur. Ethnos, 24(34), 121-135. Needham, Rodney. (1959b). Vaiphei Social Structure. Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 15, 396-406. Nongbri, Tiplut. (1993). Gender and the Khasi Family Structure. In Patricia Uberoi (Ed.), Family, Kinship and Marriage in India (pp. 176-186). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Nongbri, Tiplut. (2004). Khasi Women and Matriliny: Transformations in Gender Relations. Indian Journal of Gender Studies, 11, (October 1, 2004), 345-367.

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Nongbri, Tiplut. (2011). Deconstructing Masculinity: Fatherhood, Matriliny and Social Change. Retrieved from www.openthemagazine­ com/article Pereira, Melvil. (2004). Modernisation of Customary Laws as Constraint to Development in the Northeast. National Conference on Institutional Barriers to Development in the Northeast. Kohima: Nagaland University and Omeo Kumar Das Institute of Social Change and Development, Gauhati. (March 29-30, 2004). Pereira, Melvil. (2009). Customary Law and State Formation in Northeast India: A Comparative Study of the Angami of Nagaland and the Garo of Meghalaya. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Centre for Political Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, Delhi. Roberts, S.A. 1979, Order and Dispute. An Introduction to Legal Anthropology, New York, Penguin. Roy, Raja Devasish. (2005). Traditional Customary Laws and Indigenous Peoples in Asia. Minority Rights Group International. United Kingdom. Retrieved from http://www.minorityrights.org/download.php@ id=131). Sen, Jyoti, Saha, N. and Mukherjee, S.K. (1982). Role of Women in Tribal economy. In K.S. Singh (Ed.), Economies of the Tribes and Their Transformation. New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company. Singh. K.S. (Ed.). (1993). Tribal Ethnography Customary Law and Change. New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company.

6

Divided Under the Sun: Hill and Non-Hill

Identity in Mizoram

N. William Singh

On July 8, 1990, The New York Times reported, ‘Laldenga, Tribal Leader in India Dies at 53’.1 The age was reported wrongly by The New York Times. Laldenga, the founder of the Mizo National Front (MNF) died at the age of 63 on July 7, 1990. Laldenga was the leader of India’s Mizo tribe who fought a secessionist war before joining mainstream politics. He died in London. Laldenga was suffering from lung cancer; he was on his way to New Delhi after treatment at New York. His condition deteriorated on the flight, he got off the plane at Heathrow and died on the way to hospital. Laldenga’s poster donning a turban on his head at a Sikh gurudwara hangs on the wall of Mizoram Congress headquarters in Aizawl. Likewise, the poster of Lalthanhawla, the four times Mizoram chief minister lighting a lamp in front of a huge Durga idol (Hindu goddess) adorns the main entrance of MNF headquarter at Aizawl. This is the politics of rebuttals layered upon politics of identity. Political mudslinging with religious blend is a disturbing affair in today’s Mizoram. Political parties in Mizoram are exploiting sentiments of dominant Christian Mizos questioning the sanctity of Mizo Christianity and the sense of rootedness. Lalthanhawla putting a ‘Bindi mark’ (red mark) on his forehead during a Hindu festival outside Mizoram was hotly debated in Mizo society. Applying a bindi on a tribal leader’s forehead or wearing a turban in a Sikh gurudwara questions the sense of belonging and a native’s identity in contemporary Mizoram.

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MNF Supporters Openly Commented Congress has pictures of Sonia Gandhi, Rahul Gandhi, Rajiv Gandhi and Indira Gandhi. Congress is a non-Mizo political unit. We do not use Laldenga’s picture in election banners or take his name in meetings, because it is not Mizo Christian ways to idolise human beings. Laldenga will never fade away from the memories of Mizos, because he was the only leader who brought Mizos recognition to the world and sowed seeds of Mizo nationalism. Now, twentythree years after his death, his spirit of Mizo nationalism which he planted and nurtured are still the secrets of preserving Mizo identity (Personal interview with MNF party worker, 2013). The fact of the matter is that Congress has ruled over Mizoram for a total of twenty years and MNF ruled Mizoram for a total of ten years since 1984. The politics of today’s Mizoram reveals the squabbling differences between Congress (which is non-Mizo origin) and MNF (which is Mizo origin). One needs to mark the differences between nationalism, politics of identity and real party politics based on this question of political party’s origin. The church in Mizoram is not only a place for worship and divine engagement with faith. The church in Mizoram monitors state and parliamentary elections (Singh, 2012a) which the author termed as the politics of divine edicts by passing the constitutional red mark of Indian secularism. Mizoram is the most peaceful state among the conflict-ridden states of Northeast India. Mizoram checks in 91.33 per cent literacy rate to earn the second highest literate state in India.2 Church and YMA activities reveals inclusive and exclusive ethos of non-Mizo identities in this peaceful state and literate state of India’s northeast. The terms hill identity in this essay is being used interchangeably with Mizo-identity and non-hill identity for the various non-Mizo identities like Bru (Reang), Chakma, Gorkha, people from plains (Manipuri, Bengali, Assamese, North Indians and South Indians) in contemporary Mizoram. Statistical Handbook of Mizoram 2011-12 revealed that 93 per cent of population in Mizoram are Christians.

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There is a sharp demarcation between hill identity and nonhill identity in today’s Mizoram through the dictums of the nonstate actors (mentioned above) in Mizoram. Non-state agencies in Mizoram act as the greatest examples of pressure groups (Bhowmick, 2010). These non-state agencies pressures Mizoram state to enact legislations for mandatory Mizo language up to high school. Nonstate actors of Mizoram coerced their members to participate in socio-cultural matters like—birth, marriage and death. In such socio-cultural matters, non-Mizos hardly participate; since nonMizos are excluded from its membership. The participation by only the Mizos demarcates the hill and non-hill identity in Mizoram of India’s Northeast. Identity, Nationalism and the Others An identity is established in relation to differences which are socially recognised. These differences are essential. If they did not coexist as differences; there will be no identity distinctions. Maintenance of one identity involves maintaining differences with others. Identity requires differences and converts difference into otherness in order to secure its own self-certainty (Connolly, 2002). The phrase ‘identity politics’ (Gellner, 1983; Taylor, 1989; Young, 2000; Tourain, 2000) offers useful insights and critics. Identity politics entails a description that invokes a range of politics and its pitfalls. Identity politics flourish due to shared experience or common group characteristics. Identity also corresponds to troubling implications like political inclusiveness and resistance. Modern liberalism guarantees flourishing of identity politics based on rights. Cultural differences ignite to embrace its own cultural specificity and recognition of culturally different identities (Kymlicka, 1995). Defenders of the cultural rights support identity politics. Identity politics connects to the idea that some social groups (‘the others’) are oppressed. One group is exposed to cultural imperialism, stereotyping, non-recognition of one’s group identity, marginalisation and powerlessness (Young, 1990). Identity politics starts from reclaiming of previously stigmatised accounts of group

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membership (Young, 1997). Rather than accepting the negative scripts offered by a dominant culture about one’s own inferiority or superiority; identity assertion transforms one’s own sense of self and community often through authenticity and belonging, and a desire to focus on generative, forward-looking political solutions (Bhambra and Margee, 2010; Connolly, 2011). The other facet of Identity politics is the rising spirit of nationalism. Nationalism ensures that nations (groups) were destined for each other; that one without the other is incomplete, and constitutes a tragedy (Gellner, 1983). Nationalism is a modern phenomenon and nations have pre-modern origins (Smith, 1991). Smith further argues that nationalism attempts to fashion history into a sense of common identity and shared history. Nationalism is based on historically flawed interpretations and nationalistic interpretations of the past are frequently fabricated to justify modern political and ethnic positions (Smith, 1991). The inception of Mizo identity consciousness and incipient Mizo nationalism also contrast with James C. Scott’s ‘Zomia’ (2009); at the least in today’s Mizoram. Mizo society demands a state for the Mizo (hill identities) dominating the minorities (non-hill) under Mizo terms. The minorities in Mizoram demand an inclusive state of Mizoram which recognises their existence. The minorities or the hill identities in Mizoram do not remain stateless; rather the nonhill identities in Mizoram remain as ‘exclusive others’ in today’s Mizoram. In Scott’s words, “people of Zomia remained stateless due to physical dispersion in rugged terrain; agricultural practices, sharp ethnic identities and oral culture that allows them to reinvent their histories and genealogies as they move between and around states” (Scott, 2009). Blood and Belonging Michael Igantieff (1995) wrote in his book, Blood and Belonging, that blood and belonging of an identity expresses a mutual relation, sameness with one self and different external characteristics with the others. Mizos consider Mizoram as land for Mizos; not for others. In

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1958, Pu Laldenga, secretary of the erstwhile Mizo Cultural Society, in several of his public speeches repeatedly stated, ‘Mizoram is for Mizos only’ (Nibedon, 1980). Identity cannot be conceptualised in singular and it has to be defined through plural settings by mapping Mizo’s relationship with the non-Mizos within Mizoram. The relationship between an indivi­ dual and identity can be enriched through a certain positioning with reference to a group whereby an individual belongs. During field­ work, most of the Mizos have a one-liner narrative of Mizoram, which is, ‘God has guaranteed Mizoram for Mizo brothers and sisters’. Further, Mizo identity in Mizoram consolidates not only from the larger social context in today’s Mizoram. Mizo identity consolidates from religious institutions like Church, non-state organisations like YMA and MSU in Mizoram. These non-state agencies—Church, YMA and MSU, press and language repeatedly reminds us of the essence of blood and belonging of Mizos towards the Mizo society through its activities and rituals. These non-state agencies do not encourage Mizo individuals to marry outside the Mizo tribe. They want to preserve Mizo tribal solidarity through Mizo tribal endogamy. Non-state agencies in Mizoram keep repeating this phrase, ‘blood is thicker than water’ (Personal interviews with YMA members, 2013). These non-state agencies play a crucial role in formation of hill identity consciousness in today’s Mizoram. These non-state actors are the agencies drawing a distinct marker from non-hill identity. Church, YMA, MSU and press pressures government of Mizoram for a compulsory Mizo language in school curriculum and recruitment of jobs. Pressures from these non-state agencies are the ongoing trends witnessing in today’s Mizoram. These non-state agencies constantly reminded and questioned Mizos at various functions and cultural events, ‘What should be an ideal Mizo way of life’? (Personal interview with MSU and YMA members—names withheld, 2012).

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Living in the Shadows of the Church The Mizos recognised goodness when they saw it. The missionaries or the British were the first friends Mizo had. The missionaries showed love, care and educated the Mizos in schools. The missionary doctors healed the illness and sanitised the Mizos. The Mizos showed admiration and love for the missionaries. The missionaries lived and ate with the Mizos and a mutual respect for each other grew. On the other hand, since India got independence many non-tribals have lived with Mizo tribes in different capacities, e.g. government servants, teachers, social workers, businessmen, etc. Although such people live physically very close to the people and sometimes even adopt some of their customs, there is little or no identification on the level of a social or religious or cultural plane. These people never have guests in their homes and are almost never invited to the home of the Mizos. They are completely unaware of the social structure of villages in which some of them have lived for several years. They do not understand the network of communication that reflects this structure. They never take time to study the Mizo value system. They may live like the Mizos, but they cannot think like them, and until they do, there will never be harmony between Indians and the Mizos. (Vumson, 1986, p. 274)

January 11, 1894 commemorated the first arrival of Christian missionaries on Mizo soil (Chatterjee, 1994; Nunthara, 1996; Hluna and Tochhwang, 2012). The introduction of Mizo alphabets by the Christian missionaries in Mizoram was the turning point for Mizo society. This aspect of the introduction of Mizo alphabets remains undocumented in Mizoram. The primary aspect for the introduction of the Mizo script by the missionaries was that missionaries wanted the Mizos to read and follow the teachings of the Bible for enriching hill identity along with proselytisation. A church leader once revealed to me, Missionaries were affectionately called ‘Zosap’ which means ‘Mizo white man’ by the Mizos during 1910-1960s. Later by the 1970s, Mizos stopped using the terminology Zosap. (Personal interview with Church leaders, names withheld, 2013)

Missionaries were the pioneers on creating hill identities and non­

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hill identities in the erstwhile Lushai Hills of Assam during the colonial administration times. A Reverend in Aizawl observes: Missionaries introduced formal education and introduced sanitation and hygiene in Mizoram. (Personal interview, names withheld, 2013).

Further, the Reverend says: Mizos owe to the Church on numerous counts. It was the Church who pulled them out to embrace Christianity. The Church exposed Mizo society to values of modern education and the modern way of life. Church started the Durtlang Presbyterian Hospital in Aizawl, 1926. (Personal interview with the Reverend, 2013)

The Church is a pivotal agency that enlightens and civilises Mizo society from their previous Levenswelt (lifeworld) of nativism. Owing to the enormous contribution on Mizo society by the Church, the authority of the Church in Mizoram has never been questioned in the history of Mizo tribes (Singh, 2012a; 2012b). The Church mingles with the democratic spirit, reverses constitutional secularism and showcases politics of divinity meddling in electoral politics of contemporary Mizoram (Singh, 2012b). Hill identity consciousness in Mizoram can be observed in Church sermons and Church services. One can find the essence of hill identity in Church services where god-fearing Mizos pray together in Church every Sunday, and on certain weekdays. In Church services and sermons, one cannot find non-hill identities praying or seeking blessings. Formation of Church choir groups also entails exclusive character of hill identities. Non-hill identities like the Gorkhas, Manipuris, Brus, Chakmas, Bengalis, and Assamese do not belong to the Church and their presence is null. Non-hill identities are followers of non-Christian religions like Hinduism and Buddhism. As a result, non-hill identities presence is absolutely zero in Church choir groups. Besides, one hardly finds a Church within Mizoram using nonMizo language as the official language in Church sermons. Most of the Churches in Mizoram use Mizo as the only official language in

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Church sermons, prayer service and in worships. A Christian from Kerala observed, “A Malayali Christian like me feels awkward and isolated when I walk into a Mizo Church. I cannot follow the Mizo language”. During my filedwork, many Mizos agrees that the Church is one of the socializing agencies that shapes and sharpens Mizo identity. Many Mizos are engrossed in topics like the Church, YMA and MSU. They love talking about these agencies. They believe these non-state agencies are the caretaker of Mizo society and they sharpen their sense of belonging. Student Body Should be Student Oriented, Not Politically Motivated The Mizo Students’ Union (MSU) is an influential Mizo students’ association in Mizoram. The MSU general headquarters is at Aizawl. MSU has sub-headquarters in most other districts and townships of Mizoram. MSU was established on October 27, 1935. Its motto is anrual hi chakna (Unity is strength) (MSU Constitution Booklet, 2009)3. The main aim of MSU is “to prepare Mizo people to be valuable citizens for the Mizo nation and Zoram (Mizoram)” and “to help the government in the development of Zoram and the Mizo nation” (MSU Constitution Booklet, 2009), not towards the Indian nation. The other objectives of MSU are to unite the Mizo people and create an independent Mizo state out of all the territories historically occupied by Mizo people to prevent and attack corruption in Mizoram and, most importantly, to conserve traditional Mizo values (MSU Constitution Booklet, 2009). MSU has been in the news and headlines of Mizoram. MSU does not entertain non-Mizo students to be part of its membership. MSU has a sharp stand to demarcate non-hill identities with the hill identity of Mizoram. Bru tribes in Mizoram were displaced in 1997 following attacks by the ethnic-majority Mizos in Mizoram (Singh, 2014). Brus also

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known as Reang tribes are a designated Scheduled Tribe inhabiting small pockets of Tripura, Mizoram and Bangladesh. In September 1997, Bru leaders demanded Autonomous District Council (ADC) status to confer significant administrative, judicial and legislative powers to the community. The state’s major parties— Mizo National Front (MNF), Zoram Nationalist Party (ZNP) and Mizoram Congress (all Mizo-dominated) publicly opposed the Brus’ demands. YMA and MSU also aggressively demanded that Brus should withdraw their request for ADC status. The Bru’s refused to withdraw their demand for ADC. MSU retaliated with veiled threats towards the Brus to leave Mizoram or face the consequences. Xenophobic elements often describe the ongoing Politics of Identity (Taylor) in contemporary Mizoram. As many as 37,000 Brus left Mizoram and now live in IDP settlement camps in Tripura (Manchanda and Bose 1997, Sammadar 2006; Singh, 2014; Khangchin, 2014). The Brus have managed to vote in every parliamentary and legislative assembly elections from their settlement camps. The last time, some ugly protests emerged came out from MSU. The student organisation threatened to disrupt Bru tribe candidature and voting through specially arranged postal ballots of the last legislative elections in Mizoram. The student body threatened to go to any length to prevent the Bru IDP camps in Tripura from exercising their franchise in the last state election. What about the other non-hill identities like the Gorkhas and Manipuris within Mizoram? MSU does not bother much, because demographically they are minuscule and only a few of these people can vote. Their minority presence is not going to alter any ballot outcomes. YMA is the Greatest Gift from God A retired IPS officer once told me, YMA is the greatest gift God has ever given to this hill state of north­ east India. (Personal interview with the IPS Officer, name withheld, 2013)

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YMA is an organisation with membership granted only to Mizos. Memberships were or are not granted to any non-Mizos. This lucidly explains the inclusive or exclusive nature of this organisation. In other words, non-hill identity does not have any reference points with this organisation. YMA is an association in which every adult or grown-up Mizo (on attainment of 16 years) is entitled to be a member of the organisation. So, the common saying goes like this, ‘Every Mizo is a YMA and every YMA is a Mizo.’ Ironically, Mizos did not establish this most influential and the largest non-state agency of Mizoram. YMA was incepted on June 15, 1935 by the Christian missionaries at Aizawl. The Mizos believed that the blessings of God dwell with this great association and is an effective agent for unifying Mizos. This organisation binds together different Christian sects and political parties. YMA is the only platform in which all Mizos take part voluntarily and actively. YMA is a powerful, influential and the largest civil society group in today’s Mizoram. It has membership of over 4.2 lakhs (0.42 million). One can describe it as the largest civil society organisation navigating voices between the state and the needs of Mizo society. Likewise, the Church, research scholars and documents on Mizoram have not come across any Mizo individuals abusing YMA. Mizo society gives due importance to participation in cultural events such as births, marriages and deaths. Cultural events and rituals (births, deaths, marriages), etc. of Mizo society remain incomplete without YMA members’ participation. Notions of shared history, shared culture, realisation of belonging to a group are manifested in participation of aforementioned activities. An observer or a researcher hardly finds any non-hill identities participating in such matters of births, deaths and marriages in Mizo society. Participation of such events by YMA members further entrenches the exclusive facets of hill identity in Mizoram. An ideological foundation of YMA is mesmerising. It is based on Tlawmngaihna. Tlawmngaihna is a traditional cultural practice

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among the Mizo tribes. Tlawmngaihna is a Mizo ideal for readiness to serve, a love for the highest degree, a spirit of altruism or unselfishness, being courteous, persevering and helpful which has existed in the Mizo society since time immemorial. Tlawmngaihna is very much a part of hill identity and Mizo socio-cultural life. Tlawmngaihna is on the wave in contemporary Mizoram. A Mizo elder from Aizawl revealed to me, There are less Tlawmnghai4 people in modern times, this is a matter of shame and it is a dangerous trend coming up in Mizo society today. There is a difference in the presence of Tlawmnghai people in rural and urban areas. In rural areas, where traditional social forms can be vividly observed, a higher degree of Tlawmngaihna is still in practice. In urban areas of Mizoram, one witnesses a lower degree of Tlawmnghai people. (Personal interview with an elder, name withheld, 2013).

All the non-state agencies—Church, YMA and MSU take a vow to revive Tlawmngaihna which is the cultural treasure of Mizo society. Adherence to Tlawmngaihna is also a project for the structuring of hill identity in Mizoram. Reviving Tlawmngaihna also further deepens the marker between hill-identity and non-hill identity within Mizoram. In today’s Mizoram, YMA translates cultural value of Tlawmngaihna by serving the poor and destitute only on the Mizo tribes. They help each other to achieve a secure Mizo society. A YMA leader once told me,

Mizo Tlawmngaihna has been weeded out due to influence from

people outside Mizoram”. (Personal interview, name withheld, 2013)

Many Mizos believed that individualism is an inherent property of modernity. Mizos believed that individualism is a bad gift imported from non-hill identity communities. This is an aspect where the Mizos believed that Tlawmngaihna dwindled over the years due to the influx of non-hill identity members within the hill-identity of Mizoram. Printing Only Hill Identity Values Dr. Peter Fraser of the Welsh Mission came to Mizoram in 1908.

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He brought a small hand press and started printing for the first time in Mizoram in 1911. The press was called Lushai Christian Press. The first Church monthly in Mizo language called Kristian Tlangau (Christian Herald); started in October 1911 and is still in print. Later, another missionary, D.E. Jones started a treadle operated printing machine in 1914. The new machine was kept in a small room near the present Synod Press building. The printing press was named Loch Printing Press in honour of its donor. It was renamed as Synod Press in 1973 and is the biggest printing press in today’s Mizoram. In the history of Synod Press, only a few books, leaflets and pamphlets are or were printed in English. They have not printed any Indian languages so far. Synod Press prints favourably in Mizo only. YMA has the state-of-the-art printing press in YMA headquarters, Aizawl. The YMA press is staffed and manned by eight full-time workers. Every week, they release newsletters and monthly reviews on YMA activities. YMA press prints only in Mizo. Hill identity consciousness in Mizoram is also diffused through print and media circulations conducted by the YMA press. During the last two decades, YMA newsletters and YMA reviews hardly carried write-ups praising the non-hill identity scenario within Mizoram. The project of nationalism can be completed only through print nationalism (Gellner, 1983). Non-hill identity social problems remain outside the margins and the pages of the YMA press. In Himal: South Asia (Singh, 2012), I have written a paper on these non-hill communities labelled as the micro community due to their minuscule presence as compared to Mizo demography about confronting issues due to their identity differences in Mizoram. Hill identity maintains distances from such non-hill micro communities in today’s Mizoram. Hill-Identity Lingua-Franca The Mizoram Board of Secondary Education (MBSE) web cache outlined this statement, Mizo is the regional language of Mizoram which is compulsorily taught

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast in each class at all levels of school education. Students are made wellversed with their regional cultures and tradition through teaching this subject. (MBSE web cache5)

Minority communities critiqued the Mizoram state policy of 1998 on compulsory knowledge of the Mizo language up to high school level. It was not the government of Mizoram who coerced with such compulsory Mizo language up to high school level. The Government of Mizoram so far has not passed any legislation on the Compulsory Mizo Language Education Act. It was the Mizoram Board of Secondary Education (MBSE) who came out with this compulsory language policy in school education. MBSE made it mandatory to learn the Mizo language by every community that resides within Mizoram up to high school. At the beginning of school education in Mizoram, the medium of teaching during 1905 was Bengali (Sharma, 2006). The 1941 Census of India also revealed Mizoram as the most literate state of India with 36 per cent literacy rate. The Government of Mizoram so far has not passed any compulsory Mizo Language Act till now. Ironically during 2006-2008, the government of Mizoram passed fifteen job recruitment rules in all state departments, where it says “compulsory Mizo language speaking and writing is a must for all applicants” (Mizoram Gazette, 2008). The Mizoram Education Reform Commission (MERC) 2009, adopted three language policies which are English, Hindi and Mizo for educational purposes in Mizoram. MERC recommended the following statement in its report, Striving for emotional integration with the rest of the country while safeguarding the Mizo identity, Hindi should be one of the electives as part of the major Indian languages in the curriculum. (MERC, 2009)6

A government employee (Mizo individual) told me, If those people (non-Mizos) have to work in Mizoram, they should know the Mizo language; otherwise, how are they going to serve us? (Personal interview with an employee, name withheld, 2013)

Any advertisement or employment notification from the government

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of Mizoram and its concern Mizoram Public Service Commission (MPSC) have the phrase for any job applicants—working knowledge of Mizo language is compulsory. One can read as the manifestation of preferences only for hill identity in job recruitments for the government of Mizoram. Language has become a marker that distinguishes hill-identity and non-hill identity in Mizoram. Nonhill identity rebuts such an imposition of compulsory Mizo language up to high school level. A Chakma tribe from Mizoram once revealed to me, Mizos don’t want to know our Chakma language; on the contrary, they are forcing us to learn Mizo. Is this proper? (Personal Interview with a Chakma, name withheld, 2013)

This is an example of language imposition and marking a difference between hill-identity and non-hill identity with the logic of inclusive and exclusive principles. Churches in Mizoram, YMA and MSU support compulsory Mizo language up to high school level. The author of this chapter has not come across any Mizo individual with a critical comment on forced pedagogy of Mizo language at high-school level to non-hill identities within Mizoram. There is no optional like alternative English or major Indian language (MIL) offered to non-hill identity communities at high school level within Mizoram. Expressing it succinctly, the right to choose language and learn language is not an option in Mizoram. Conclusion To conclude, the non-state actors like Church, YMA and MSU remains a liability in Mizoram. The Mizo community hardly questions the legitimacy of these non-state actors in today’s Mizoram. They are the agencies that draws the line between ‘they’ and ‘us’ in Mizoram. These agencies re-enforce blood and belonging of hill identity in Mizoram. Contributions of non-state agency in Mizoram hardly reach to other non-hill identities. It is due to this exclusive nature, the non-state agencies’ activities within Mizoram are sceptically seen by outsiders. Mizos are a culturally sensitive and culture loving community. Mizos consider other cultures as a

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threat to Mizo culture as they have seen in the case of gradually diminishing Tlawmngaihna. The Church, YMA and MSU remain sceptical to other non-hill identities, because of the belief that other cultures may assimilate and lead to cultural distortions. The nonstate agencies act as the third eye of Mizoram in the present context. NOTES 1. The New York Times. (1990). Laldenga, Tribal Leader in India,53. NY: July 8 Edition. 2. Literacy rate in Mizoram has seen an upward trend and is 91.33 per cent as per the 2011 population census. Of that, male literacy stands at 93.35 per cent while female literacy is at 86.72 per cent. In 2001, the literacy rate in Mizoram stood at 88.80 per cent of which male and female were 92.53 per cent and 86.75 per cent literate respectively. 3. Mizoram Students' Union (MSU) Constitution Booklet (2009), Aizawl. 4. The act of practising Tlawmngaihna is also known as Tlawmnghai. 5. MBSE web cache. Retrieved from www.gyancentral//mbse. Accessed on July 8, 2014. 6. MERC 2009. Retrieved from www.schooleducation.mizoram.gov.in. Accessed on July 8, 2014.

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Hluna, John V. and Tochhawng, Rini. (2012). The Mizo Uprising: Assam Assembly Debates on the Mizo Movement 1966-71. New Castle: Cambridge Scholars Press. Igantieff, Michael. (1995). Blood and Belonging: Journeys into the New Nationalism. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Khangchin, Veronica. (2014). India: Continuing Irritants in Mizoram— Analysis. Eurasia Review (South Asia Terrorism). Retrieved from http://www.eurasiareview.com/19032014-india-continuing-irritants­ mizoram... Kymlicka, Will. (Ed.). (1995). The Rights of Minority Cultures. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Manchanda, Rita and Bose, Tapan. (1997). States, Citizens and Outsiders: The Uprooted Peoples of South Asia. Kathmandu: South Asia Forum for Human Rights. Nibedon, Nirmal. (1980). The Daggers Brigade. New Delhi: Lancers Publishers. Nunthara, C. (1996). Mizoram: Society and Polity. New Delhi: Indus Publishers. Sammadar, Ranabir. (2006). Refugees and the State: Practice of Asylum and Care in India. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Scott, James C. (2009). The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia. New Haven & London: Yale University Press. Sharma, S.K. (2006). Documents of Northeast India: Mizoram. New Delhi: Mittal Publication. Singh, N. William. (2012a). Politics of Divine Edicts and Reverse Secularism. Economic and Political Weekly, 67(52), 23-24. Singh, N. William. (2012b). The Gorkhalis of Mizoram: A Small Community of Gorkhalis Fight for Rights and Recognition in Ethnocentric Mizoram. The Himal South Asian. Retrieved from http://www.himalmag.com/component/content/article/5088-html Singh, N. William. (2014). Quit Mizoram Notices: Fear of the Other. Economic and Political Weekly, XLIX(25), (21 June 2014). Smith, Anthony. (1991). National Identity. NV: University of Nevada Press. Taylor, Charles. (1989). Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Touraine, Alain. (2000). Can We Live Together? Equality and Difference. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Vumson. (1986). Zo History. New Delhi: Published by the Author. Young, Iris Marion. (1990). Justice and the Politics of Difference. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Young, Iris Marion. (1997). Intersecting Voices: Dilemmas of Gender, Political Philosophy and Policy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Young, Iris Marion. (2000). Inclusion and Democracy. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

7

Land as Foundation of Identity:

The Case of the Brus in Mizoram

Melvil Pereira and Furzee Kashyap

Northeast India is noted for its diversity, by naturalists for the wide variety of flora and fauna native to the region, by geographers for the range of features, by anthropologists for the multiplicity of unique small societies. While estimates of actual numbers vary, over 300 distinct tribal communities inhabit this region. This diversity, which is an indication of its rich human and biological resources, is also a source of ongoing strife as the different communities strive to develop and adapt, indeed, in some cases, even survive as they embrace the challenges of modernisation. One particularly durable conflict is that involving the Brus, or Riang people and the Mizos in the state of Mizoram. This essay while unravelling the causes of conflict between the Brus and Mizos, argues that the basic reason for the clash between groups is land which is not only an economic and livelihood resource but also the centre of people’s social, cultural and religious life. For tribal communities in general, and for the Brus in particular, land is not merely a commodity to be exchanged but a much deeper reality that determines the values of their life (Vashum, 2012, p. 13). Most importantly it is the definer of their identity. According to Vashum, even these days, tribal people identify themselves with their village rather than their names (Vashum, 1998, p. 75). Thus, land is not simply a marketable object but the very foundation of their identity. Identity and dignity are decisive issues for communities on

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the margins of a society. These issues are sensitive particularly for those people who are threatened by the perceived or real hegemonic tendencies of a majority or dominant community. In defending their identity, the minority community clings to land as the unshakeable pillar. The Brus, who are a community on the margins, are no different in holding on to land as the very basis of their identity. Behind their resolute stand against repatriation to Mizoram is the conviction that they should be taken back to their ancestral land and not settled according to the whims and fancies of the majority community. This chapter tries to understand the assertions of the exiled Brus of Mizoram who are sheltered in refugee camps in Kanchanpur sub­ division in North Tripura district. The author had a chance to visit the refugee camps in August 2012 and meet some leaders of the Bru refugees. The arguments put forward in this chapter are fleshed out from the conversations and interactions with these leaders.1 The first part of the chapter briefly looks at the historical trajectory of the Mizo-Bru conflict. The second part of the chapter tries to look at the conflict from a majority-minority perspective. The third and final part tries to unravel the causes for the tension between two communities. It is desired that the right diagnosis could lead to appropriate solutions. The Bru-Mizo Conflict: A Historical Perspective The Bru people are commonly known to outsiders as Riang, and are called Tuikuk by the Mizos (Singh, 1995, p. 154). “The original home of the Riangs is said to be Maian Tlang (a hill) near Rangamati of Bangladesh” (The Institute, 1986, p. 1). Ethnologue offers an estimate of 144,000 Bru people concentrated in North and Central Tripura, the Aizawl, Lunglei, and Chhimtuipui Districts of Mizoram, the Karimganj District of Assam, and about 500 more in Bangladesh (Lewis, Simmons and Fennig, 2013). They seem to have lived at some time in the Chittagong Hills of present-day Bangladesh. Like most small communities of the Northeast, they belong to the Mongoloid racial group and their dialect has been

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classified as to the Austro-Asiatic group and their language is part of the large Tibeto-Burman family, and is most closely related to Boro and Garo. They are comprised of two major clans and twelve sub-clans. The Bru people have embraced different religious faiths, including Vaishnavite Hinduism and Christianity (Singh, 1995, p. 154). The history of the migration of the Brus into the present Mizoram is not clear. It is held that originally, they came from Shan state in Burma some centuries ago and moved to the Arakan Hills. From there, they moved to Maian Tlang, a hilly place in the defunct East Pakistan and thence, migrated to Tripura during the 14th century AD (Lalthakima, 2008, p. 157). While some Bru people have probably been present in Mizoram since their migration from the Chittagong Hills in the 1500s, the number grew substantially in the mid-20th century, following a rebellion against the Tripura Raja in 1942 (ibid). By the time of the 1971 Census of India, 9,828 ‘Riangs’ were officially counted within the state. By 1986, they numbered in unofficial counts as over 23,000, concentrated heavily in the western part of the state, abutting Tripura. The current population in Mizoram is around 85,000 concentrated in 75 villages in the western part of Aizawl district and some villages of Lunglei and Chimtuipui districts of Mizoram (Mazumdar and Bhattacharjee, 2008, p. 195). According to Lalthakima (2008), the Brus were a nomadic hill tribe and their habitat spread over Tripura, Mizoram, and Assam. Traditionally they had jhum cultivation as their main source of livelihood. That was intrinsic to their nomadic life that caused formation of small and new villages at various places. Sometimes a new village was formed in the jhum cultivation area. Initially, it consisted of a few families and later grew or declined depending on the advantages or disadvantages of the site. During the period of their stay in their jhum house, they vacated their house in the village and lived in the jhum fields with their cattle, fowls, pigs, etc. This nomadic life became a condition in which no developmental scheme could be undertaken. They continue to be backward, isolated, and

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uneducated (Lalthakima, 2008, pp. 155-156). Their literacy rate was not even one per cent till 1998 (Mazumdar and Bhattacharjee, 2008, p. 195). After India gained independence, planned development transformed the Indian economy through many epoch-making changes. But the situation of the Brus remained unchanged. As rural minorities in both Tripura and Mizoram, the Brus have always been a marginalised people. Sadhan Sengupta of the Anthropological Survey of India visited the Bru areas between 1982 and 1984. At that time, he found a complete lack of tube wells or passable roads, and a complete lack of effective funding for rural development in Bru areas (Chakraborty, 2004). The Brus were among the tribes of the Northeast that have suffered the most because of the ill-assorted government policies. They claim that being a minority population in Mizoram, they were neglected in government jobs, education, community development and other areas (Bhattacharjee, 2001; Chakma, 2009, pp. 20­ 21). So, they lived in fear in villages where they hardly had any opportunity to earn and maintain their livelihood. The Bru problem thus, spawned from a general perception of ongoing deprivation and neglect of their cultural and traditional values. In the political arena, the Brus remained on the periphery. Despite their large, if disputed, numbers in Mizoram, the Bru have never won a single representative in the state government of Mizoram (Lalthakima, 2008, p. 166). This virtual powerlessness and voicelessness has slowly changed as at least some Bru people have enjoyed the benefits of education since the 1980s (Chakraborty, 2004, p. 426). A significant step was taken in 1989 with the formation of the Reang People’s Union (RPU) by three young Brus—Sawibunga, the first Bru graduate of North Eastern Hill University in Shillong; Lalringthanga, a BSc student; and Ramawia, a primary school teacher (ibid). The RPU submitted a memorandum to the Mizoram government demanding the inclusion of Kau Bru programming on the state radio network, reservation of jobs for the Brus in state

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government positions, and nomination of a Bru to the legislative assembly. Later that same year, the RPU was renamed the Bru Socio-Cultural Association (BSCA) and raised further demands such as inclusion as a tribal minority and free education upto Class X. Beginning in 1990, the BSCA formed a political arm, the Reang Democratic Convention Party (RDCP), which called for preservation of Bru culture and language and began discussions with Tripura Bru organisations towards a common ethnic name as ‘Bru’ (Chakraborty, 2004, 427). Thus, the political mobilisation of the Brus in Mizoram could be traced back to June 15, 1990 when they formed RDCP. The policy of RDCP was to safeguard the Bru culture, language and customs and to develop the welfare of the Bru people. Politically, the new Reang Democratic Party (RDP) contested elections and again failed on both district and state levels, despite alignment with the Congress. Because the Congress ignored Bru agitation for an Autonomous District Council, the RDP realigned with the BJP, only to again fail to gain a single representative. Mizo youth organisations began to brand the Brus as ‘outsiders’ from Tripura and Assam. Further, resistance was manifested in burning some Bru villages and orders from various groups for the Brus to leave. A strong sense of ‘Mizoram for the Mizos’ dominated the state. With the formation of the Bru National Union (BNU) in 1994, there were protests against the exclusion of Bru citizens from electoral rolls. The BNU demanded that an autonomous district council be set up to protect and preserve the cultural identity of the Brus (Bhattacharjee, 2001, p. 64). They also demanded that three seats in the Mizoram Legislative Assembly should be reserved for the Brus. This infuriated some sections of Mizo society (Mazumdar and Bhattacharjee, 2008, p. 196). It was around this time that the government of Mizoram declared the area of the Dampa Forest, a traditional Bru area, as the location of the state’s tiger sanctuary (Chakraborty, 2004, p. 427). The BNU protested the uncompensated displacement that resulted from the decision. Further, apparently because of this state

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decision on the Dampa Forest, Bru youth began to take up arms, forming the Bru National Liberation Front (BNLF). The group seems to have received training from the National Liberation Front of Tripura (NLFT). The shooting of a Mizo Forest Ranger by BNLF provoked serious retaliation from the Mizo community (Ibid., 428). The Brus allege that the Mizo youth indulged in ethnic cleansing which took the shape of burning houses, looting, destroying crops and raping Bru women. These accusations are contested by the Mizo groups. In response to ethnic cleansing, more than 40,000 Brus fled into neighbouring Tripura and to Hailakandi district of Assam (Chakraborty, 2004, p. 428; Bhaumik, 2008, p. 310; Chakma, 2009, p. 20). Many Bru died in refugee camps due to malnutrition, lack of medicines, and safe shelter. Malaria and diarrhoea claimed the lives of hundreds of Brus (Mazumdar and Bhattacharjee, 2008, p. 196). Peace talks between the BNLU and the government of Mizoram began on September 7, 2001, and dragged on until a peace agreement was reached on April 26, 2005, whereby the BNLU agreed to lay down its arms in return for amnesty, bounties, and repatriation (Patnaik, 2007, p. 82). In addition, the state of Mizoram pledged, among other things, to request the change of Reang to Bru in the listing of Scheduled Tribes, immediate placement of returning refugees on the electoral rolls, and fast development of the Bru areas of western Mizoram. Repatriation of the Brus has not been successful. The Mizo NGOs like the Mizo Zirlai Pawl (MZP) and Young Mizo Association (YMA) have raised objections to the repatriation of all refugee camp inmates. These NGOs hold that only those Brus who are enrolled in the 1995 voters list should be repatriated (Patnaik, 2007). But the Brus point out that the Mizoram government has used its administrative machinery to systematically disenfranchise thousands of Brus (Bhaumik, 2008, p. 311). Even Mizo political leaders have taken half-hearted measures to repatriate the refugee Brus. In fact, Mizo leaders like the Chief Minister, Lalthanhawla of the Congress had said that the Brus are not native to Mizoram and that they have come from Tripura and

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have settled in Mizoram a few decades ago (Bhaumik, 2008, p. 310). They have no right to make political demands. Despite several attempts to repatriate the Brus from Tripura to Mizoram, the Mizoram government has failed to settle the Brus in Mizoram. Most efforts at repatriation have succeeded in convincing the Brus to move out of refugee camps (Zeenews, 2010; Nelive, February 16, 2017). Though laudable progress is made during talks between the conflicting parties, the basic disputes remain. For instance, while Bru leadership claimed 35,000 people in need of repatriation to Mizoram, state officials asserted the number eligible to return at only 16,000. Further, having disputed the claims of the Brus, the state administration requests the Mizo NGOs like MZP and YMA to verify the bona fide residents of Mizoram. The irony is that, the very organisations that were instrumental in chasing the Brus out of Mizoram are given the responsibility of verifying the bona fide status of the Brus. Insurgency seems to continue a sporadic basis as time goes on. There have been many rounds of tripartite talks between the Government of India, Government of Mizoram and the Bru refugees, but there has been no conclusive understanding arrived at between the conflicting parties. The Bru exiles represented by the Mizoram Bru Displaced People’s Forum (MBDPF) have demanded that there should be cluster-based rehabilitation of Brus with at least 500 families, allotment of five hectares of land to each family, cash support of Rs 15 lakhs and ensure the security of Brus in Mizoram (Nelive, February 13, 2017). Most of these demands have been turned down by the Government of India. One does not see any ray of hope since there is stubborn disagreement on basic issues like the number of refugees, the resettlement pattern, the quantum of land to be awarded to resettled families and the nature of political autonomy to be granted to the Brus. Majority and Minority Dynamics One can view the above historical perspective through the lens

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of majority-minority dynamics. The most important issue for the minority tribal group is whether its identity and dignity will be affirmed and respected in mainstream society, and not belittled and diminished. This means that its voice is heard in the corridors of power and members of its community are represented in the decision-making bodies of the polity. Such is the claim of the Brus, especially since the 1990s. Their plea for representation is met with fierce opposition from the majority community (Bhattacharjee, 2001). On the other hand, if the mainstream society makes space for the minority group, it stands to gain. When the members of the minority community are treated equally and their rights are respected, they contribute to the overall development of the state. The minority groups are to be treated as equal citizens and active partners in building the nation. If the minorities are targeted and sacrificed for some vague notions, ‘national unity’ and chauvinistic claims of ethnic solidarity, it leads to violence and retaliation from them. For instance, the often-repeated slogan ‘Mizoram is for Mizos’ smacks of majority chauvinism. Such a claim denies equal rights to the minorities. It creates insecurity among the minorities, and they take to arms. Thus, any homogenising tendency on the part of the majority community cuts at the very roots of nation building in a society where there are diverse communities with varied faiths, languages, and culture. Writing in the mainstream Indian context, Prabhakara enjoins on the majority community to be patient and magnanimous towards the minority community. The people are distinct, separate and in some respects, even unique in that they have a history and memories, a language and literature, a culture and an ethos that is their own, though not necessarily in contradiction with and opposition to the larger panIndian identity. To acknowledge this, indeed to nurse and nurture these perceptions and be sensitive about them and patiently allow them to be incorporated at their own pace into the larger concept of the Indian nation requires patience, a larger vision of the pluralistic,

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diverse and highly differentiated Indian—even Hindu society. (Prabhakara, 2011, p. 275) The minority communities feel that their ‘pristine’ cultural heritage is being threatened by the majoritarian hegemonic policies. Their demand for autonomy and greater share in decision-making is dictated by a sense of insecurity and anxiety about the so-called identity. As Prabhakara points out, the majority community has the onerous duty of creating an atmosphere in which everyone feels accepted and included. The UN Declaration on the ‘Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious and Linguistic Minorities’ of 1992 provides that the minority groups have the right to maintain their distinctness in the practice and profession of their religion, in the use of their language and in the propagation of their culture and value system. It is the duty of the state to provide a favourable atmosphere to the minorities to preserve their identity. Often the interest of the dominant community gets merged with that of the state. There are times when the state articulates the concerns of the majority group thus, alienating the minority. In some instances, the state, as the articulator of the dominant group, tends to use violence and suppress the legitimate demands of the minority communities. The political assertions of minority groups are ruthlessly dealt with, at times leading even to ethnic cleansing. India’s Northeast is not a stranger to such situations. The above section analysed the majority-minority dynamics as it is played out in Mizoram. The purpose of the analysis was not to accuse any community but to understand the different ways of accommodating the interests of the minority community. Ultimately the prosperity of the minority community is a win-win scenario. Reasons for Resisting Repatriation It was noted above that peace talks between the Brus and the government of Mizoram began in 2001. It is nearly 19 years since the reconciliation efforts started but the objective of repatriation is not achieved. What are the roadblocks that have come in the

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way of repatriation? The section below tries to answer this question. From the various conversations with the inmates of the refugee camp, three important reasons came to the fore. These reasons are strategies used by the majority community to allegedly deny the Bru their legitimate rights. Denial of Historical Roots It is interesting to note how the majority community contests the minority group’s assertion that they are indigenous or native of the land which they inhabit. In the case of Mizoram, the Brus hold that they had settled in the western parts of Mizoram in 300 BC. Since then they have settled in the western part of Mizoram for centuries together. Some Mizo leaders contest this claim of the Brus. They hold that the Brus migrated from Bangladesh and settled in Tripura. The king of Tripura was not kind to them and there was persecution of the Brus. It is during their persecution that the Brus fled from Tripura and settled in different parts of Northeast India, Mizoram being one of the places. According to this theory, the Brus settled in Mizoram very recently and they cannot assert the status of being indigenous to Mizoram (Bhaumik, 2008, p. 310). Thus, some Mizo leaders dispute the indignity of the Brus in Mizoram. To them, the Brus came very recently and they have no right to make political demands. What is implied in such a denial of rights to the Brus is that the Mizos are the first occupants of the land and the rest came later. The denial of rights to the Brus is based on time, who came first and who came later. History has been written and re-written, twisted and turned, by various communities to prove that they are first occupants and others came later. Northeast India has been witnessed to such writing and re-writing of history to claim the first settler rights. Such an approach has led to unending conflicts between communities (Bhaumik, 2008, p. 311). No conflict can be solved if chronology is the sole criterion to arrive at a solution. No community has written documents to prove that they have been the settlers in a place some 2000 years. The history of

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humanity has been the history of continuous movements. No doubt that there are oral traditions going back to centuries but there is a limit to its reach to the past. Further, oral histories can be contested. As the subaltern studies done in India reveal, the winner takes it all and has the privilege to write history according to his whims and fancies. The victorious group weaves and un-weaves history as it suits its claims. Studies show how the post-colonial governments in Africa used the medium of folklore, songs, and dance to create demons out of anyone who dissented with the government (read as dictators). The dictators of some African states ruled for life using false propaganda against anyone who challenged them (Chirambo, 2009). Once communal memories and social prejudices are ingrained in folklores, songs, and dances, they become carriers of communal memory and they die hard. Gerhard Stliz (2009) contests the geographical and chronological claims of indigeneity to assert rights over land, livelihood, and governance. It is true that there are traditions and oral history that substantiate the relatively stable history and social organisations that have resulted in the nurture of groups’ identities. The folklore and oral histories bolster the claim of first settlers. But to depend on first settler criterion as the single most important criterion is misleading and leads to conflicts. He suggests the approach taken by the UN to determine the indigenous status of a group. In 1982, the United Nations (UN) decided on four relevant criteria to discern which group can be considered indigenous (Stliz, 2009, pp. 15-16). The first, criterion is that the people should be pre-existent people; that they inhabited the land before the colonial powers defeated them. Secondly, the indigenous people are those who were marginalised during the conquest. The third criterion is cultural difference; that the group holds on to their social, economic, social, and cultural distinctness than following the majoritarian traditions. The fourth criterion was ‘self-identification’ by which is meant one identified oneself and others recognise it as indigenous. The UN did not think of a single criterion like the chronology (first settler) but a group of criterions. It did not insist that a group

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possesses all the criteria, but they should have some of these criteria. Such an approach to discerning indignity is refreshing. Denial of Right to Language and Culture Death of a language leads to death of a culture. In the past, especially in the Americas such a strategy was used to annihilate a culture. The children of native Americans were made to study English with the intention of wiping out their mother tongue. An inmate of Naisingpara refugee camp made such an allegation against the government of Mizoram: Although the Mizoram government is making big claims of settling Bru families and boasts of providing their safety in Mizoram, what is happening is quite the contrary. There has been a systematic assimilation of the Brus into the language and religion of the Mizo community. The Bru families are spread across the state. There are no Bru language schools and our children have to study in Mizo medium schools. This is a clear strategy to destroy our language and culture.

Denial of Right to Vote The majority communities use various strategies to deny the claims of the minority community. One such strategy is disenfranchisement or deleting the names of members of the minority community from the voters’ list. An interviewee alleged that there was systematic disenfranchisement done back in 1994: The government of Mizoram is not interested in our return to the state. It is simply a lie that they are giving security for the returnees. In fact, they have deleted the names of eligible Bru voters from the voters’ list. This is a systematic effort to decrease our numbers.

According, to some authors the government of Mizoram has deleted names not only of Bru people but also of other minorities like the Chakmas and the Hmars (Bhaumik, 2008, p. 311). Some sections of Mizos claim that the numbers in the refugee camps have increased. Many Reangs from Assam and Tripura have joined the camp. Such an allegation is rubbished by the Brus in the camp. They hold that the Reangs from Assam are the Brus who

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fled to Hailakandi. They could not tolerate the living conditions in Hailakandi and they joined the refugee camps in the Kanchanpur sub-division. Secondly, why would the Reangs of Tripura stoop so low as to enter a refugee camp while they have their own land in Tripura? Denial of Land as the Foundation of Identity The Union Home Ministry and the Government of Mizoram have initiated repatriation efforts but very few families have returned to Mizoram. Notwithstanding the assurances made by the Government of Mizoram of securing the development of the exiled Brus, the Bru refugees allege that the contrary is true. Those few families who have resettled have been assimilated into majority culture. According to a Bru leader in exile: We are not taken back to our ancestral land. The entire effort of the Government of Mizoram is to disperse us through the length and breadth of the state so that we get assimilated into Mizo culture. They are doing this deliberately so that our language and culture get wiped out.

A similar sentiment was expressed by other residents of the refugee camp at Naisingpar. The Bru leader quoted above holds that a culture and language originate in a communal atmosphere and it is tied to a particular space or land. He emphasises the collective effort at building the culture and creating a language in a specific land. It is an accepted fact that land and natural resources are integral to the holistic worldview of indigenous people. They serve as the foundation of indigenous people’s concept of life, relationship, and identity (Vashum, 2012, p. 13). The symbiotic relationship between tribal people and the land has been extensively documented (Surralles and Hierro, 2005). The culture, worldview, and customary laws of tribal people are a product of their interaction with their land and forests (Krishnan, 2004, p. 48). When the Bru leader insists that he wants to get back to his ancestral land collectively or together with other people in the refugee camp, he is expressing the community’s attachment to the

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land. For him, land is more than just a plot to cultivate and harvest crops from. In the tribal worldview, land is the extension of one’s self (Pereira, 2013, p. 79). It is a relationship that the tribal community has with land that builds up the collective ethos within the tribal community. An elderly resident in the refugee camp stated that he wants to reclaim the land grabbed by the majority community: Most of us want to go back to Mizoram. We are eagerly waiting to return and live a new life. We want to know where we will be settled, whether in our old places or new places because most of our places are now occupied by the Mizos. In our jhum cultivation land, there are now tree gardens planted by the new occupants. At any rate, we want our old land. We cannot think of staying in other land.

The Bru elder’s words aptly summarises the significance of getting back to their ancestral land. Their ancestors have cultivated and nurtured a special relationship with land. Land had sustained them. It was their livelihood and they had cultivated a special relationship with it. The present generation has the duty to maintain this relationship. According to Tinker, “indigenous people experience their very personhood in terms of their relationship to the land” (Tinker, 2004, p. 102). The indigenous worldview is land centred. It is characterised by understanding the interdependence and the inter-relatedness of all creation, including human beings. It is such an understanding that has guided their desire and conviction to get back to the land of their ancestors. Further, land plays a significant role in the life and organisation of a tribal community. Most of their norms and mores have their origin in their interaction with land. According to Sheleff, Land is where the collective consciousness is forged, where the rituals of religion and the rhythms of life are acted out, where sustenance is sought in the produce, fruits and livestock of the land and in the fish, fowl and fauna of the surrounding environment; where a relationship is developed with nature in all its aesthetic beauty, its awesome power, its fertile capacities, and its sacred connotations; where the rules of daily living are worked out and laid down. (Sheleff, 2000, p. 217)

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Sheleff succinctly points out the relationship between land and the worldview of tribal people. The collective conscience, norms, mores, laws, and culture are land specific. The culture and value system arose in their interaction with land and natural resources. Denial of Right to Respect the Spirit of Ancestors While insisting on returning and occupying the land left behind, one of the residents of the camp underscored the importance of preserving the land on which their ancestors lived and died. According to him: How can we desert the land that belonged to our ancestors? How can we move away from the land in which our elders were cremated? Their spirits still hover over the land and cry out for us to return. We just cannot surrender that land to anybody and everybody.

The residents of the camp argued that the Brus have responsibility to bequeath the land inherited from the elders to the next generation. The land is sacred to them, because that is where their ancestors breathed, toiled, laboured, and died. Their spirits still hover over the land and forests. He contended that the Brus have the obligation of respecting the ancestors whose spirits need to be propitiated. Conclusion This chapter has not proposed solutions since solutions are to be found in keeping the dialogue channels open between the conflicting parties. This chapter will stop at saying that land is basic to the conflicts not merely as an economic asset but also as the centre of people’s social and cultural life and very identity. Land is the very basis of identity and culture. The majority communities should respect the right of minority communities to their ancestral land. NOTES 1. The first author of this chapter visited the Naisingpara camp of Bru refugees in Kanchanpur Sub-Division, North Tripura, on August 12, 2012. He met some leaders and visited some families. All interviewees chose to remain anonymous.

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REFERENCES

Bhaumik, S. (2008). Challenges Ahead. In S.K. Das (Ed.), Blisters in Their Feet (pp. 298-313). New Delhi: Sage Publications. Bhattacharjee, B. (2001). Reang Refugees from Mizoram: A Study of Displacement and Rehabilitation. Unpublished MPhil Dissertation submitted to the Department of Political Science, Assam University, Silchar, Assam. Chakma, P. (2009). Mizoram: Minority Report. Economic and Political Weekly, 44(23), 20-21. Chakraborty, S.K. (2004). Reangs: Displaced by an Ethnic Version. In O. Mishra (Ed.), Forced Migration in South Asian Region: Displacements, Human Rights and Conflict Resolution (pp. 419-430). New Delhi: Manak Publications. Chirambo, R.M. (2009). Popular Culture and Political Violence: The Post­ colonial State in Malawi: 1964-1994. In G.N. Devy, G.V. David and K.K. Chakravarty (Eds.), Indigeneity: Culture and Representation (pp. 29-46). New Delhi: Orient Blackswan. Krishnan, B.J. (2004). Customary Law. Seminar, 492, 46-50. Lalthakima. (2008). Insurgency in Mizoram: A Study of its Origin, Growth and Dimension. Unpublished Doctoral Thesis submitted to the Mizoram University, Aizawl, Mizoram. Lewis, M.P., Simons, G.F. and Fennig, C.D. (Eds.) (2013). Ethnologue Languages of the World (17th ed.). Dallas: TX SIL International. Mazumdar, A.M. and Bhattacharjee, B. (2008). The Displaced Reangs of Hailakandi District. In S.K. Das (Ed.), Blisters in Their Feet (pp. 194­ 200). New Delhi: Sage Publications. Nelive. (February 13, 2017). Mizoram: Future of Brus Uncertain Even After 21 Years; All Meetings Remain Futile! Retrieved from https://www. nelive.in/mizoram/news/mizoram-future-brus-uncertain-even-after­ 21-years-all-meetings-remain-futile Nelive. (February 16, 2017). Meeting of JMG on Bru repatriation inconclusive. Retrieved from https://www.nelive.in/mizoram/news/meeting-jmg­ bru-repatriation-inconclusive Pereira, M. (2013). Globalization and Changing Land Relations Among the Angami. Journal on Frontier Studies, 1, 78-94. Patnaik, J.K. (2007). The State and Civil Society in Mizoram. In J.K.

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Patnaik (Ed.), Mizoram Dimension & Perspectives: Society, Economy and Polity (pp. 74-90). New Delhi: Concept Publishing House. Prabhakara, M.S. (2011). Looking Back into the Future: Identity and Insurgency in Northeast India. New Delhi: Routledge India. Sheleff, L. (2000). The Future of Tradition, Customary Law, Common Law and Legal Pluralism. London: Frank Cass Publishers. Singh, K.S. (1995). The People of India: Mizoram. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey of India. Stilz, G. (2009). Friends, Indigenes and Others: A German Interjection. In G.N. Devy, G.V. David and K.K. Chakravarty (Eds.), Indigeneity: Culture and Representation (pp. 12-28). New Delhi: Orient Blackswan. Surralles, A. and Hierro, P.G. (2005). The Land Within: Indigenous Territory and the Perception of Environment. IWGIA: Copenhagen. The Institute. (1986). A Brief Account of Riangs in Mizoram. Aizawl: Tribal Research Institute. Tinker, G.E. (2004). Spirit and Resistance: Political Theology and American Liberation. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Vashum, Y. (1998). Theology of Land: A Naga Perspective. In W. Longchar and Y. Vashum (Eds.), The Tribal Worldview and Ecology (pp. 69-74). Jorhat: Tribal Study Centre. Vashum, Y. (2012). Revisiting Tribal Theology Methodology. In Y. Vashum, P. Haokip and M. Pereira (Eds.), Search for a New Society: Tribal Theology for Northeast India (pp. 1-20). Guwahati: North Eastern Social Research Centre. Zeenews. (May 16, 2010). No Bru Refugee Returns on Last Day of Repatriation. Retrieved from http://zeenews.india.com/news/north­ east/no-bru-refugee-returns-on-last-day-of-repatriation_775624.html

8

Land Rights, Identity and Customary Laws

Amidst Angami and Konyak Nagas:

A Comparative Cross-Referencing

Kedilezo Kikhi and Jagritee Ghosh

Land is the most important resource for a tribal community; they depend on land for their livelihood as well as other forest and land products. Similarly, the basic need for the ‘Naga’ villagers also comes from the land. It is interesting to note that ‘Naga’ villages are compact settlements situated commonly on top of a hill; the tactical location of the village was for head-hunting, security and protection of village land. Morung, which is a dormitory for boys; is also a divisional space for the different clans in a Naga village. Therefore, land and other resources of the village like the rivers, forests or streams are divided amongst the Morungs and the clans. These divisions are longstanding and are respected as they are made by the ancestors. The foundations of such divisions or demarcations are through traditional beliefs and customs. These beliefs and customs, which involve natural resources and specific rituals, are of fair importance to the Nagas, which thus, form the basic cord of a village identity. The principles and rules of Naga customary law were never enunciated in any authoritative texts or edicts. They are deeply embedded in the customs and usages of the people. Any violation of a local norm or custom could easily bring about the imposition of either a moral, ritual or legal sanction or any combination thereof.

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The ability to exercise judicial power is dependent on the pattern of authority in a given society. Any repository of traditional authority can exact and obtain obedience from his subordinates by the direct or indirect threat of sanctions; be they moral, ritual or legal. However, the complex web of power relationship resulting from the pattern of authority especially in the centralised societies has blurred the distinction amongst the holders of ritual, moral and legal authority. Various politico-administrative functionaries in traditional society also wield enormous moral authority (Fisiy, 1988, p. 262). Krishnan argues that the entire process of the origin of customary laws was in the ‘usage’ of natural resources (2000, p. 6). Krishnan adds that, law is the product of the complex process of socio-political organisation and was unknown when society was not a collection of individuals but an aggregate of families. Therefore, when there were no rulers to frame rules for families, independent families followed its own head. Thus, only with the evolution of the family into a ‘community’ and ‘community’ into ‘society’ came the rules and principles or the customary practices for the guidance of its members (ibid.). These customary practices become customary laws when it gets the state acceptance. Francis Snyder argues in the African context that customary laws were the product of the European capital and colonial state (1984, p. 35). Customary laws are a product of a particular historical situation. The development of customary law does not entail the creation of new norms and concepts but are rather the changing legal ideas based on ideally consensual community (ibid.). In a similar line, when the courts in India recognised customary rights based on long usage, they become customary laws. These customary laws are created by Indian courts (Krishnan, 2000, p. 6). According to Krishnan, during the colonial era, Indian courts attempted to formulate a more rational legal framework into which the customary rights could be integrated. But due to the absence of any substantial legislative law, the courts developed customary laws as a new branch of civil law. Even today the Constitution of India treats customary law along with other branches of civil law under Article 13 (Ibid.).

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However, even during the colonial times, most of the decisions rendered by the courts in the context of customary laws were related to either hereditary offices or religious ceremonies. Though areas like common property resources, community conservation and the corresponding traditional resource rights clearly, came under the purview of customary rights, these issues were seldom brought before the courts for adjudication. For example, the Todas of Nilgiri have a unique relationship with their natural environment and it was reflected in their use of natural resources, manifested through their customary practices. For the Todas, it was more a ‘customary duty’ than a ‘customary right’. As a result, these rights were incorporated in the Tamil Nadu Forest Act (1882) as Toda Patta Lands by the colonial legislators (ibid.). Similarly, the land relations, ownership patterns and inheritance are governed by traditional beliefs and customs in a ‘Naga village’. Inheritance and ownership patterns are related to natural resources and thus, have survived. Article 371(A) which has constitutional guarantee, protects and allows these customary laws to control land in Nagaland. This implies that the land tenure system in Nagaland is governed by customary laws. For that matter, Nagas are governed and regulated by Acts like the Nagaland Jhum Land Act (1970) and the Nagaland Village and Area Council Act (1978), which are instituted on the basis of customary practices. The Nagaland Jhum Land Act is important regarding transfer of land, wherein no transfer of immovable property shall be affected without the consent of the village council. The written records of such transfer of lands are to be maintained by the village council. Except for a small area of about 259 square kilometres in Dimapur Mouza, land in Nagaland has not been surveyed, and no land records exist (Ghosh, 1985, p.184). Otherwise, every other land in Nagaland is regulated by the customary laws. The village council is the custodian of customary laws, as any land dispute in a ‘Naga village’ is solved based on customary laws with the opinion of the village council. To put it briefly, the village is the unit of administration of all customs relating to land (Shimray, 2006, pp. 15-16). Therefore, the village becomes the primary space of

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examination where land is recognised on the basis of traditional beliefs and customs which is also the basis of identity for every Naga. Land and Village Identity For a Naga tribal, land is always linked to one’s identity. Every tribe has its own clear boundary demarcation on the basis of land and geography. For instance, amongst the Angami tribal group, a person whose geographical identity is ‘known but unseen’ is referred to as coming from ‘mikho shekemomi ena’ which when translated would mean ‘a person coming from a place whose smoke is not known’. Such a person commands relatively less respect, neither is marriage to such a person considered honourable. Land thus, is very important to the Naga tribal communities. In Naga society, those who have more than sufficient land are considered to be rich irrespective of whether the person has money or not. A landed person is more influential, enjoys prestige and occupies greater status and social weightage than others. Therefore, a person who has money is expected and supposed to acquire land to stabilise his position. Article 371A of the Indian Constitution grants an asymmetrical status to the state of Nagaland whereby no Act of the Union Parliament can apply to this state with respect to customary laws and practices governing religious, social and family relations including land ownership as well as administration of civil and criminal justice in these matters unless the Legislative Assembly of Nagaland decides so through a resolution (Kikhi, 2017, p. 609). Under the same Article, the governor of Nagaland has special responsibilities relating to law and order and development. For this reasons, the customary Naga laws are a matter of constant political concern to an extent which is not true of most states outside, but limited to contiguous states in the Northeast (NE) and the state of Jammu & Kashmir. The term ‘land’ itself is comprehensive because it includes different types of land used for different purposes, as also for forests and water resources. In an agrarian society, land can be of two basic types, viz. i) agricultural land and ii) non-agricultural land.

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Ownership of land influences identity in two ways, first the intra­ village identity and inter-village identity. On the one hand, the village identity forms the prime identity of an individual outside his or her village. The history of the ‘Nagas’ is the history of village feuds. As stated earlier, Naga villages are compact settlements and traditionally located at the top of the hills. The strategic location of the village was for head-hunting, security reasons and protection of village land. For a Naga, his village identity is paramount than his identity drawn from the community, geographical or administrative boundary. This identification with the village is the identification with the land. These lands are village land, community land and clan land. For example, even today a specific morung from Wakching, a Konyak village, boasts of the enemy head which their ancestor brought from one of the Phom (another Naga tribe) village. At the same time, it has been observed that the early settlers or the bigger villages constantly exert their superiority over the late settlers or newer villages. This chapter therefore is an attempt to analyse the connexions of land, identity and customary practices of two selected but distinct Naga communities, the Angami and the Konyak. A comparative account of the Angami and Konyak Nagas in terms of their land relations, ownership rights and inheritance is attempted through this chapter. The Angami and Konyak are ends apart in terms of the social structure. Therefore, to comprehend the social structure of any tribe, one has to understand the structure and function of its elementary groups, that is, clans (Godelier, 1977, pp. 73-74). Clans or lineages also give identity to the person. Further, respective clan or lineage lands remained an important marker of their identity. It also has to be noted that different clans have different structural or religious functions. For instance, Kemevo is the religious specialist in an Angami village. Tsakrol is another religious specialist. There are also ritual experts related to provoking rain-gods (Das and Imchen, 1994, p. 71). And these specialised roles in the village structure are assigned to different clans which are hereditary. To understand the Konyaks and the Angamis, an in-depth and

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critical understanding of the clan structure and the inheritance practices have to be envisaged. This demands the necessity to highlight the clan divisions and role-division of clans to understand their relation with land and other common property resources (CPRs). Amongst the Angamis, there are no royal clans (but there are classes) and hence the clans are more or less the same status. On the other hand, the Konyaks have distinctive clan divisions into a) the royal or the Ang clan and b) the commoners or Pin clans. Therefore, as stated earlier, structurally the Angamis are comparatively more democratic than the Konyaks. On the other hand, the Konyaks had autocratic Angs or chiefs (Furer-Haimendorf, 1939). Even today the Konyaks are to a large extent controlled by the Angs. The Angs are the traditional hereditary chiefs. The Angs have the largest share of land both in terms of agricultural and residential land. The customary practices grant the differences in the ownership of land to both the Angs and the Pins (commoners) and consequently gives identity to both the Angs and the commoners. On the contrary the Angamis do not have hereditary chiefs. The thenu or the clan as described by N.K. Das is a social category which is further divided into exogamous lineages (1993, p. 119). The Angami community is therefore, democratic in the sense that there is no distinction of clans as can be seen among the Konyaks. Even though there are clans specialised for certain rituals, the division is horizontal compared to the vertical division of the Konyaks. But whatever, the Angamis and the Konyaks, in its traditional sense of the term are governed by the ancestral laws related to land. And as land forms the basis of survival and livelihood in any tribal society, the custody of these laws is in the hands of the village elders. Hence, to further understand how the impacts of specific customary practices related to land leads to differential identities amongst the Konyaks and Angamis, a detailed analysis of the ownership and inheritance pattern of both the communities is discussed. However, the communities may be distinguished on other parameters but this chapter is limited to ownership patterns, inheritance and the function of the morungs.

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Ownership Patterns and Land Inheritance: Markers of Identity Angamis are a dominant Naga tribe of Nagaland state (Das and Imchen, 1994, p. 63). The Angamis largely reside in the present-day Kohima district of Nagaland. Geographically in Kohima district, they are divided into three territories: Tengima (Western Angamis) in the western part, Northern Angamis in the North and the ZounuoKeyhonuo group in the south (Das and Imchen, 1994). The fourth group of Angamis reside in the present Dimapur district known as Chakhro Angami. The residential land and agricultural land are both individual lands. Residential lands are arranged in such a way that each clan resides in a common location while agricultural lands are dispersed across locations. If any of these lands are to be sold, common consensus of the lineage members is obligatory. For all clan lands are sub-divided amid the lineage line. Apart from the lineages inherited land, there are also common clan areas such as forest reserves or uncultivable land. Uncultivable lands are those rocky slopes or mountains. Residential lands are those clan lands which have been inherited from the ancestors; each clan has its own separate residential land where clan members reside but within a limited common village area. For instance, the thevoma clan reside normally in the north-west while other clans reside towards the north, south and east respectively. The Konyak lands on the other hand, can be divided as forest land, jhum land and home gardens. In terms of ownership, the different types of land can be individual or family ancestral land, community land and morung land. Thus, for instance, cultivable jhum lands can be clan-owned, individualowned or family or ancestral-owned jhum lands. Forest land belongs to the clans, while the village and its residential area belongs to the community. Morung lands are owned and controlled by the respective morung members based on clans. Thus, the Angamis have a more communal kind of ownership compared to the Konyaks. The inheritance pattern and the ownership of land decide the structure and identity of any tribal group. This identity is both the identity of the group in its entirety and also intra-identity within it. For example, the Angamis distribute the

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lands equally among all the sons (Das and Imchen, 1994, p. 63). The daughters are also given a share of the land called Pozephü as witnessed amongst the Zounuo-Keyhonuo group. But if the girl dies without an heir (female in this sense), the Pozephü land goes back again to the agnatic core (Das, 1993; Kikhi, 2009). Therefore, the Zounuo-Keyhonuo group of the Angami practise dual inheritance. Land and property are equally distributed among the male members in the family and for the ancestral residential property; it is the youngest male who inherits it. However, the eldest son takes over the position of the head in his family as well as the family of his male siblings (Das, 1993). Contrariwise amongst the Konyaks, ancestral lands are inherited down from forefathers through the male line and thus, remain as family land or property. The eldest son inherits the ancestral land. Therefore, the comparisons of the land ownership pattern of the Angamis and Konyaks show the basic difference in the manifestation of the identity of both the communities. The fact that the ZounuoKeyhonuo group has the system of dual inheritance actually makes it more gender neutral compared to the Konyaks. Amongst the Konyaks, women do not inherit any kind of land. Even in divorce, if any plot of land is received, it goes to the girl’s father. Moreover, the youngest son amongst the Angamis and eldest son among the Konyaks own the ancestral house which gives them a better status within the family. The younger brothers amongst the Konyaks can only cultivate the ancestral family land but cannot own it. At the time of marriage, the newly married couples are allotted residential land by his father and clan elders as per traditions. Hence, instances are seen where the families of the younger brothers actually start and live in an extended village of the older village (new village). But, this newer site of habitation has lesser status compared to the older mother villages. And subsequently, this gives a new identity (but lesser) to the families of the younger brothers amongst the Konyaks. Tracing Community Specificities Through Morung Amongst the other existing parameters that can be compared

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between the two communities, the chapter attempts to examine the morung. Amongst the Angamis, each clan has its own institution like the morung for boys and thehouba, where the clan members gather for discussing matters and issues or for various other reasons. During the traditional times, each clan also has its own fort which gives the clan members protection and identity. Today, the morung no longer exist or even if it exists, it is only symbolical; but thehouba is still a common sitting place for the clan members, located in the middle or a good common location of the clan residential area. Morung for Angamis means boys’ dormitory. On the contrary, the institution of morung was relatively more important, especially in the earlier times for the Konyaks. The morung formed the nucleus of the social life of the Konyaks. Even today the belongingness to the morung is very strong. The bachelor’s home describes the ranks of prestige to the individual members. The concept applies not only to the house itself, an imposing structure in which men and initiated boys spend much of their time, but also to the ward of the village of which a specific morung structure was always social and a political focal point. The functions of the morung in its broad sense, and the obligations of identification with it, are most important to an understanding of Konyak socio-political organisation. Not only men, but women express a sense of belonging to a particular morung, and there was no other term for the divisions of a village which in anthropological usage are described as wards. Broadly similar groupings, with similar functions, are found in many non-literate societies over a widespread geographic area (FurerHaimendorf, 1969, pp. vi-vii). To elaborate, there are three morungs in Chui village, which are Angh Paan, Chunhua and Longgohkoa. Amongst these three, Angh Paan is the Ang morung and the other two are commoner’s morung. It is significant to note that the morung are clan exogamous but morung endogamous. Marriages take place between exogamous clans and the two commoners’ morung, while the Ang morung can marry into any of the commoners’ morung. But for a girl to become a queen, she has to belong to the royal house of great Ang villages of Mon and Tang (conglomerated villages). Only

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the eldest son (offspring) wedded out of pure blood queen befits the heir to the throne of the Ang. However, under certain conditions marital bonds are flexible. Nevertheless, marriage has very imperative social and economic consequences. The economic obligations between affines are widely ramified. Marriages are contracted between families, although under certain conditions, the contracts can be nullified. Sexual behaviour before marriage and outside wedlock is governed by group membership and by standards of propriety that are applied to very different aspects of behaviour than those customary in Western cultures (Furer-Haimendorf, 1969, p. vii). Amongst the Konyaks, morung was not only the bachelor’s home but the congregation place for boys and men-folk. It was like a headquarter for morung members for discussing all important matters like disputes, theft-cases, and war and war-tactics vis-à-vis other villages apart from learning other traditions and cultures. Once a man becomes a morung member, he must abide by the rules and regulations made by the elder members of the morung. The age of initiation into the morung was 13-15 years of age. The new member, that is, the juniors start as messengers. The social life for boys begins after becoming a morung member. At the morung, the boys are taught in making basketry, blacksmithy, and taught folksong, folklore, folkdance, etc. The new members have to undergo several tests once they become a member. Morung members owe allegiance to their own morung. Morung members also perform the works dispersed by the Ang. The existence of the morung institution was very important because in a village, different morung members compete with one another in community works, in serving the Ang and also by getting more enemies’ head to the village, though the social weightage to the morung has abridged today. In the Konyak village Wakching, the sense of morung was so strong that there was a girls’ dormitory or Yo. As per tradition, the girls could accept male visitors in Yo or the girls’ dormitory, though the girls are not allowed entry to the boy’s dormitory. Nevertheless, it has to be noted that in the present context,

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many of these traditional institutions and unique heritages have transformed and altered too. Considerably many such variations have also become apparent when they embrace Christianity. Christianity undoubtedly has initiated a process of far-reaching social and cultural changes among them, but Konyak Christianity is typically still Konyak in character. The study in Chui village shows that after conversion to Christianity, the traditional practices relating to the birth, marriage and death rituals have vanished only to be recalled and narrated by the elders at the time of the field work. The unique practice of tattooing, which differentiated Konyak from the other groups, has also perished. And most importantly the functional morung which, as described by Furer-Haimendorf (1939), forms an important part of their social, political and cultural existence exist now, as more or less mere symbolical buildings, but not that morung identity through which the individual and clan members still assert themselves. In today’s time, morung are used only during Christmas and Aoleang festivals. Earlier, Aoleang is the post-harvest festival that has been observed at different times of the year for different villages or different Ang territory. But today the state government has fixed the Aoleang festival, which dates from April 1-6 of the calendar to be celebrated as government official dates every year. Further replication from the field study, it is learned that polygamy existed earlier amongst the Konyaks but has stopped. Yet still, the sanctity of the Angs continues in some form, as the first harvest, the head and leg of any animal hunted are still offered to the Ang. It is however, important to note that despite many institutional and structural changes, the customary laws related to land still exist and are paramount. In this regard, the Ang of Chui village opines ‘land gives food and so the laws related to land have to exist’ and it holds merit. Land Relations in the Present-Day Context Even though there are differences in the land ownership patterns between the two groups, the one thing that is common to both the groups is changing land ownerships and land use patterns. One

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main reason for such changes has ensued due to concentration of wealth in the hands of a certain section of society. Walter Fernandes argues that “the phenomenon of internal land alienation results from their interaction with modernity and lacks community sanction” (Fernandes, 2009, p. 182). The changing markets and the demand to cater to the change, produce a gap both in the case of Angamis and the Konyaks. As a result, changes occur in the indigenous patterns and way of life. One such need is access to modern amenities and for which money is necessary. And one phenomenon that can be seen in both the communities is the rise of local moneylenders and increase in cultivation of cash crops or horticulture. Local moneylenders lend money with a high rate of interest both in the case of Konyaks and Angamis. This consequently breaks down the indigenous structure and also creates a section of emerged elites affecting the existing social equation. Similarly, plantation is leading to alteration in the agricultural scenario and land relations. As a result of plantation, there has emerged a possibility of community agricultural lands turning into individual lands over a period of time. Once usufractory communal lands now turns to individual property, in the process. Also, as plantation is getting more consideration, agriculture is suffering and it creates malnutrition in the long run. Therefore, amidst all the structural differences between the two communities, both the groups seem to face the same kind of challenges that has transpired. And the alterations have led to change in land relations and the altered land relations and ownership patterns have led to transformed identities. But, land basically continues to form the identity marker. Conclusion To conclude, Nagaland state has to be understood as a fused amalgamation of ‘Naga’ tribal groups. The variance in the elementary groups and clans of the different Naga tribal groups is pragmatic. The Naga tribal groups not only differ in dress, language and rituals but also in land ownership and land usage patterns. It is actually the differences in the customary practices which lead to differences

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in the general structure of a community. As established earlier, the customary practice, when given state sanctions becomes customary law. In Nagaland the customary practices are guaranteed by Article 371A. However, an important fact has to be noted that the customary practices other than what is related to land have changed for both the Konyaks and the Angamis. This therefore, points to the datum that customary practices related to land continue to be very important irrespective of the various forces of change that exist both within and outside the community. The customary practices stemmed land relations and thus form the core of identity both within the village and the community as a whole. With this logic, this chapter attempts to analyse the intersections of customary practices and land ownership and how it leads to the establishment of a specific identity. To put it succinctly, the village continues to be the unit of administration of all customs relating to land. The term ‘land’ itself is comprehensive because it includes different types of land used for different purposes, as also for forests and water resources as argued above. To sum-up the case study on the comparative analysis and crossreferencing of land relations among the Konyaks and Angamis, one clearly observes continuity as well as change in matters of land relations. From the research findings and also through available literatures, the study witnesses a wide range of totally different land relations and ownership patterns unique to the various ethnic Naga groups. At the same time, there are significant differences in their languages and political organisations too. As for instance, the community land ownership of the Angamis is very different from the individual land ownership of the Konyaks. Moreover, the differences in the inheritance pattern of both the communities highlight the variances in customs and beliefs in terms of land. For that matter, in terms of inheritance arrangement, the status of the youngest son in an Angami village is very different from the youngest son of a Konyak family. In terms of cultivation practices, Angamis do both terrace and jhum cultivation, whereas the Konyaks practise only jhum

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cultivation. However, the traditions and customs related to land are more or less comparable. More than the customs, the land serves as their livelihood and forms the marker of identity for both the communities in particular and the ‘Nagas’ in general. In other words, the traditions and customs relating to the land has affirmed and re-instituted the identity of the individual, clan and village. The customary laws related to land are important because land has to be protected as it is the food source and thus, we see adherence to customary laws related to the land. It has to be mentioned that those changes in Naga society which are due to Christianity and the modernisation project of democracy, has been so hurried and intense leaving the Naga society between the extremes of constitutionally guaranteed customary-based land laws and the new world views corroborated by Christianity and the newly instituted ‘community identity’. REFERENCES Das, N.K. (1993). Kinship Politics and Law in Naga Society. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey of India. Das, N.K. and Imchen, C.L. (1994). People of Nagaland (Volume XXXIV). Calcutta: Seagull Books, Anthropological Survey of India. Fernandes, Walter. (2009). Understanding Angami Today in the Context of Modernisation and Gobalisation. In Kedilezo Kikhi et al. (Eds.), Angami Society at the Beginning of the 21st Century (pp. 169-190). New Delhi: Akansha Publishing House. Fisiy, Cyprian Fonyuy. (1988). Colonial and Religious Influences on Customary Law: The Cameroonian Experiences. Africa, 43(2), 262­ 275. Furer-Haimendorf, Christoph Von. (1939). Return to the Naked Nagas. London: Methuen & Co. Furer-Haimendorf, Christoph Von. (1969). The Konyak Nagas: An Indian Frontier Tribe. New York and London: University of London. Godelier, Maurice. (1978). Perspectives in Marxist Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ghosh, B.B. (1985). Patterns of Use and Ownership of Land in Nagaland. In Atul Goswami (Ed.), Land Reforms and Peasant Movement—A Study

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of North-East India (pp. 183-190). New Delhi: Omsons Publications. Kikhi, Kedilezo. (2009). Changes and Continuity in Naga Marriage: Case Study of Zounuo-Keyhonuo Group of Angami-Naga. In T.B. Subha, J. Puthenpurakal and Shaji Joseph Puykunnel (Eds.) Christianity and Change in Northeast India. pp. 257-68. New Delhi: Concept Publishing House. Kikhi, Kedilezo. (2017). Politics in Nagaland: From Military to Electoral Democracy. In Himanshu Roy et al. (Eds.), State Politics in India (pp. 598-625). New Delhi: Primus Books. Krishnan, B.J. (2000). Customary Laws. Seminar. Retrieved fromhttp:// www.india-seminar.com/2000/492/492%20b.%20j.%20krishnan.htm Retrieved on October 25, 2016. Shimray, U.A. (2006). Tribal Land Alienation in Northeast India: Laws and Land Relations. Guwahati: Indigenous Women’s Forum of North East India, North Eastern Social Research Centre. Snyder, Francis. (1984). Customary Law and Economy. Journal of African Law, 28(1& 2), 34-43.

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Assamese and Its ‘Others’: Making of a School Language in a Multilingual Society Nirmali Goswami

A school going child in a post-colonial society like India is burdened with the conflicting narratives of histories of nationalism. So much so, that the discussions of the appropriate language of education, instead of being centred on the child, are shaped by the ideologies of nationalisms.1 After all education has been one of the most significant instruments of maintaining colonial hegemony and nationalist mobilisations have used it to further their vision of society including the use of appropriate cultural symbols. One such prescription is regarding the use of appropriate language of education. Nationalist interpretations of languages, thereby, shape the language curriculum of schools. Such linguistic prescriptions loom large in the public discourse of a multilingual society. A democratic expansion of the educational institutions and its curricula call for inclusion of hitherto excluded identities in the formation of the cultural ideals celebrated by a society. Such expansions can also be initiated by the identity-based mobilisations challenging the same ideals which tend to become hegemonic and exclusionary. Education has not been unaffected in the entire process and school curriculum turns into a symbolic battleground. Any discourse on the language of education, therefore, engages in the construction of a cultural core value which has to be learnt and taught well. In a culturally diverse society, language of education

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becomes a particularly contentious issue. In a modern world, driven by the ideologies of the nation-state, the matter was sought to be resolved by de-recognising linguistic varieties other than the standard official language/s of the state. Pierre Bourdieu (1976) has termed these processes of selection and reinforcement of a particular language variety over others, ‘normalisation’ and ‘legitimisation’ of official language. This chapter examines the struggles for recognition of language of education by different communities in the state of Assam. Reference has been drawn from a reading, of the concept of civil sphere and cultural core, as it has been developed by Alexander (2001), Hartmann and Gerteis (2005). These ideas are then applied to understand the development of standard vernacular languages for education in colonial societies. The next section focuses on the conflicts implicit in the standardisation of Assamese as a school language. The contested history of school education in the multilingual society of Assam is a reminder of the limits of nationalist ideologies in countering the colonial legacy of cultural hegemony. Pluralising the Civil Sphere One of the major challenges before modern society is the question of how to incorporate cultural differences in its political and cultural institutions. There has been a significant shift in the articulation of recognition of collective identities in a modern state. The liberal framework which focussed on individual rights of citizens in a polity is increasingly being viewed as insufficient to address the ‘group­ rights’ of asserting ‘difference’ by minority cultures.2 However, an emphasis on collective or group-identities within a state can also be viewed as contributing to a fractured civil-sphere undermining the cultural or moral integration of a society. This has given rise to a new moral and political dilemma. All these developments have led to a renewed concern among sociologists to theorise and empirically examine the varying modes of incorporating ‘difference’ in a fragmented civil society and formulate a more democratic mode of civil integration (Alexander, 2001). Alexander (2001) argues for an

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alternative imagination of civil sphere because our older conception of civil sphere was highly exclusive in terms of acknowledging cultural variance. He employs the notions of core and out-group to refer to what is viewed as the ‘legitimate’ and ‘peripheral’ cultures in modern state. Quite often, out-group-cultures’ lifestyles, ways of speaking and acting are either invisibilised by being relegated to the private sphere of life or viewed as deviations from the norms. The mechanisms of accommodating differences in such societies are quite often based on assimilatory models. Assimilatory models believe in reforming the members of cultural others by persuading them to adopt the cultural traits of the majority group or the cultural core. In this way, their deviant lifestyles and practice are tolerated as long as they are relegated to the private realm of life. The European construct of linguistic nationalism may also be seen as an example, of the bias of the state towards a particular cultural community in which one linguistic identity, out of diverse ones, may be used to symbolise the national linguistic community and all others are expected to bear this identity and relegating all others to the private sphere of life. Assimilation is possible to the degree that socialisation channels exist that can provide ‘civilizing’ or ‘purifying’ processes - through interaction, education, or mass mediated representation - that allow persons to be separated from their primordial qualities. It is not the qualities themselves that are purified or accepted but the persons who formerly, and often still privately, bear them. Multiculturalism, on the other hand, is based on different premises altogether. It seeks to de-negativise the cultural attributes rather than trying to reform the bearers of other cultures (Alexander, 2001). The suggested shift has enormous potential in reshaping the public policy dealing with matters of cultural differences in a society. Hartmann and Gerties (2005) while building up on Alexander’s formulation, suggest that it would be erroneous to talk about multiculturalism and assimilationism only in dichotomous terms. A one-dimensional model of mapping modes of integration overlooks some of the key aspects of social cohesion and association which are important for sociological analysis of the political question of

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integration. They suggest including the mode of association, and, the degree of cohesion as two independent bases through which one can assess how cultural differences have been incorporated. With such an alternative scheme, they are able to distinguish between two modes of incorporations, interactive pluralism, where diverse groups negotiate with each other to come to a consensual definition of cultural ideals and, fragmented pluralism, where each group lives within its own insular space (Hartmann and Gerties, 2005). This framework helps one to distinguish and assess between different modes of incorporation. It might be a useful framework to reimagine and think through the public institutions towards a more accommodative future. These ideas can be fruitfully employed in many societies which have come to realise that plurality constitutes the new common. One important arena where the idea of cultural plurality is strongly resisted is in the realm of ‘standard’ ‘national’ languages which are viewed as the common basis of a national community. Nationalism of a certain type relied on identification of ‘a common language’ as a national language. In this formulation of a nation, intelligibility of the same language to all nationals was simply presumed. In later formulations of the state and nation, this presumption has been a major point of disagreement among scholars. The case of Indian nationalism is one where the consciousness of separate constituting communities preceded the consciousness of a pan-Indian nationstate. Brass (1974) points out the inadequacy of the West-European model of nationalism in explaining the rise of nationalistic movements in colonised societies. Nationalism was simply assumed to have spread through their Western-educated leaders. Brass (1974, 2004) views India as a multi-ethnic society striving for an integrated but multi-ethnic state. He discusses the role of elite interests and conflicts in India in giving shape to the nationalistic consciousness in the subcontinent. Similar works have strengthened the view that ethnic identities are not given, and they emerged out of identity movements.

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Nationalism and Standard Language in Colonial India The emergence of a standard language in a plural society like India has to be understood in its historic context of colonial governance. Colonial governance, by bringing together the realm of education and employment through its bureaucratic apparatus, significantly raised people’s stakes in official languages. What language is taught and learnt at school became a contested issue in this period. Macaulay’s ‘Minute of 1835’ remains a document of seminal importance in the history of education in India because it proved to be a turning point in the British policy regarding colonial education in India when foundations of a British education system was laid in place of oriental learning. Within the new paradigm, there was a further shift in the 1830s, when Persian was replaced by the vernacular languages at the provincial level as the language of administration. This move was believed to be rooted in a liberal political philosophy which accorded great importance to the administration in the vernacular languages. However, the said shift towards vernaculars did not necessarily reflect greater democratisation. The vernacular language, recognised by the colonial administration was not necessarily a popular language used by the majority of the masses, rather it continued to reflect the language of the cultural elites from the province or the neighbouring regions. Urdu rather than Punjabi was introduced in Punjab (Mir, 2006) and Bengali rather than Assamese was initially introduced in Assam as the official language of education. Historically, the issue of the official state language and language of education has been a matter of intense and passionate debate in Assam. In the early 19th century, soon after the British annexation in 1826 when Bengali was introduced in the administration and in school education, the move evoked criticism and aroused sentiments. This was also the time of the emergence of Assamese nationalist consciousness among the Assamese middle classes exposed to the Western education and cultural renaissance in metropolitan centres of colonial society (Baruah, 1999). Ironically, the controversy around imposition of Bengali language in the administration and

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schools of Assam was a result of a move towards ‘vernacularisation’ of administration and education. One can see that in its actual implementation, the Act relied on a definition of ‘vernacular’ provided by the regional elites. After the introduction of Act, No. 29 of 1837, the provinces of Bombay, Madras and Calcutta abandoned Persian as the language of the courts. ...it to be just and reasonable that those Judicial and Fiscal Proceedings on which the dearest interests of the Indian people depend should be conducted in a language which they understand ...He is therefore disposed ...to substitute the vernacular languages of the country for the Persian in legal proceedings and in proceedings relating to the revenue. (Cited in Mir, 2006, p. 404)

It is pertinent to note the role of an educated middle-class person whose life chances was inevitably bound with such decisions. The mobilisation which followed for the cause of Assamese succeeded in getting Assamese introduced along with Bengali in the schools of Assam in 1873. This nationalist consciousness and the new imagination among Assamese people relied on the construction of Assamese as a standardised vernacular. Standard languages are important for national imagination often in the form of—a print language—canonised in its form. Standard vernaculars establish themselves as distinct from all others. When a language is standardised as a result of nationalist mobilisations, a canonical belief in a correct form of language also develops (Milroy, 2001). In a multilingual region like Assam, development of a standardised Assamese had important social and pedagogical consequences. The historical sources from borderland areas like Goalpara and Kamrup in this region have added to our understanding that marginalisation of the fluidity of identities is essential to the project of a standardisation (Misra, 2011; 2006). Such fluidity of identities has been a characteristic feature of precolonial society in South Asia. Even though the pre-colonial forms of identities were fluid, these started acquiring more rigid forms with colonisation (Kaviraj, 2009). Likewise, rigidity about forms and structure of language appears when the demand for its standard form is made to such

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an extent, that it loses its capacity to absorb and incorporate local variations. Assam is a highly diverse ethnic society in terms of the sheer number of linguistic and ethnic communities. The coexistence of hill tribes, plains’ tribes, caste-Hindus, and other religious communities has contributed to a multicultural multilingual social world. The language data of the census of 2011 listed as many as 122 languages in the category of the mother tongue. Table 1: Population by Mother Tongue in Assam Sl. No.

Languages

Population

1

Assamese

15095797

2

Bengali

9024324

3

Hindi

2101435

4

Bodo

1416125

5

Mishing

619197

6

Nepali

596210

7

Karbi

511732

8

Oriya

218552

9

Santali

213139

10

Garo

172520

11

Manipuri

168133

12

Dimasa

131474

13

Rabha

101752

Source: Census 2011 (Excluding the languages with less than one lakh speakers)

But these languages go beyond the communities which are officially recognised as linguistic groups. For example, while Karbi is recognised as a language of administration in Karbi Anglong Autonomous District Council, Mishing is accepted as a language of elementary education in many schools. One important point to note in the context of Assam and other states in the Northeast is that, here, multilinguality does not merely refer to the number of communities speaking their own distinct

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languages but also, and perhaps more significantly, to a situation of fluid linguistic boundaries where people inhabit a multilingual world. Multilinguality exists and thrives at individual as well as at collective level. Mrinal Miri, while commenting on the linguistic scenario in the Northeast mentions that languages live so close to each other that, in many cases, one gets inducted into the life of the community not just through one language but several languages, so people grow up as naturally multilingual beings ...Multilingualism within a community is, therefore, a perfectly natural phenomenon; in switching from one language to another, and ‘mixing’ up different languages in one’s natural conversation ...(Miri, 2005). Milroy (2001) has distinguished standard language cultures from more open-ended and indeterminate cultures. For Milroy, standard language ideology is a widely prevalent phenomenon while one needs to visualise an alternate culture (p. 531). Some linguists believe that in India, nature of language boundaries is indeterminate and fluid and constitute a multilingual social world (Annamalai, 2001; Agnihotri, 2007). Sometimes, a distinction is made between neighbourhood and literate forms of multilingualism to distinguish between the form of multilingualism which flourishes outside the formal and restrained institutional contexts and the one which relies on formal institutions. The fluidity of language boundaries free from the rigidities of standardisation thrive at the grassroots in plural settings like marketplaces, school playgrounds, etc. However, the process of standardisation of vernaculars is essential to the project of nationalism (Anderson, 1983). In Assam, such standardised vernaculars developed within a colonial framework under the influence of American Baptist missionary ventures and was actively undertaken by the Assamese middle classes. If we examine the history of Assamese literary production prior to the colonial rule, it initially developed in western Assam under the patronage of the Koch and Kamatapur kingdoms in the 13th century (Kakati, 1941). A few centuries later, production of Assamese literature in the form of historical chronicles or Buranji started in Sibsagar, the capital of Ahom administration. Once again in the 19th century, the

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same city Sibsagar became the centre of modern Assamese literary production, this time, of a standardised type and made available in printed form. This shifting of base for production of an Assamese standard language from western to eastern Assam must have had important social consequences which need to be further investigated. The process of standardisation in its modern sense began when the controversy over language of education and administration in Assam erupted.3 It was during the struggle to establish Assamese as a language in its own right, and not as a dialectal variation of Bengali, that the institutionalised efforts towards its standardisation started taking place.4 Standard Assamese and its ‘Others’: Changing Strategies of Exclusion Standardisation is a process which assures uniformity of products. It is also steeped in power relations. Another important fact about standardisation is that it thrives in places by developing standard language cultures (Milroy, 2001). Standard language cultures build consensus about certain forms and styles of language. These cultures are created in a certain political climate through institutionalisation. Establishing a form of language in schools is one such attempt at standardisation and creation of standard language cultures. The debates surrounding the autonomy of Assamese language as well about the correct form of language were closely interconnected. Because the narrative of a standardised language, is not just a case of polarisation between the vernacular elites from the Assamese middle class, and their counterparts from Bengal. The process of standardisation, always, in their attempt to give fixity of form to a language, tends to create the marginalised ‘others’. The definition of these ‘others’, however, keep changing over time. The establishment of the printing press by Baptist Missionary in Sibsagar functioned as a catalyst in publication of the first modern Assamese literature. It was not only used for production of the Assamese translation of the Bible but was also used for preparing elementary school textbooks and primers. Printing of Arunodoi, the

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first Assamese magazine also initiated the process which led to the beginning of a strong vernacular print media used by local elites. Nathan Brown and Miles Bronson were particularly vocal in their support to the adoption of Assamese as a medium of instruction in school (Prabhakara, 1983; 2011). The early battles were fought between the missionaries and the British officials over the status of Assamese. On hindsight, both appear to be propagating claims of a vernacular, that is standard, but their disagreement lay in the form that they identified as sufficient to bind one community. For some British officials, the real vernacular was Bengali, amidst several dialectal varieties. Nathan Brown and Miles Bronson invoked the legitimacy of Assamese orthography as distinct from that of Bengali. Brown uses the notion of ‘redundant letters’ and a transparency of relation between sounds and letters to make his claim. Both Brown and Bronson’s claim to legitimacy lay in familiarity of experience on the field. On the other hand, for British officials charged with educational responsibilities in Assam, the standardisation of Bengali was so perfect that it was equally close or distant to both popular Bengali and Assamese (Kar, 2008, p. 38). In the modern state the standardisation of language always involves the process of purification as well as borrowing from other cultures (Brass, 2002). In India, given the special status of Sanskrit in the nationalist project, borrowing from it and purification from other impure languages, lend a curious quality to the standard language by making it distant from everyday speech of ordinary citizens and elevating its status. The legacy goes back to the colonial period, when it mattered to the British educational officials, the claims of a vernacular (Sanskritised Bengali) on its people rest on this remoteness of a language from all the dialectal forms.5 Secondly, they also argued against the perceived uniformity of Assamese as a vernacular representing all the linguistic varieties used in Assam. The early stage of recognition of Assamese, was therefore, not just built up on the separation of Bengali from the native Assamese, it was also built up on a more contested claim of uniformity of the language over the region. The later phase of standardisation was led

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by the next generation of Assamese educated middle class intellectual like Hemchandra Barua. It is in this period, that the missionary version of Assamese writing styles were seriously questioned by Assamese natives and gradual linking of Assamese literature with Sanskrit begins to take place (Prabhakara, 2011). Processes of Exclusion and Inclusion Once the battle for recognition of Assamese as a language of school education was won in 1873, the next battle was to recognise the element of uniformity in Assamese, for it to be used consistently in school primers. In the late 19th century, an institutionalised attempt began to define the standard form of Assamese language, giving it a fixed and frozen form, in reference to which all other forms of speech would appear as impurities of language. To the colonial educational administrator, the language still appeared unfit for school education because it lacked uniformity in spelling conventions. The recent historical works dealing with the contestations about the status of speech varieties used in Kamrup (Kar, 2008) and Goalpara (Misra, 2006; 2011) bring to light the tensions within the project of standardisation of Assamese. The reference to the Kamrupia version of Assamese, as an incorrect form in this period proved to be a major difference between the new and the old proponents of Assamese. Kamrupia was seen as too close to the rival Bengali and was to be brought closer to the standard Assamese variety of Sibsagar (Kar, 2008). Similar concerns were raised about the territorial status of Goalpara, the western frontier of the new community. Recent historical research on the western borderland areas like Goalpara indicates that there have been instances of local resistance to both the standardised Bengali and Assamese in this region, which having a borderland status, had a distinct language variety of its own, which was not seen as fitting into either of these categories (Misra, 2011). When conflict emerged over which of the two languages is to be taught in the schools, the principle of local option was adopted wherein the voices of parents of the pupils was to be collected to decide upon the matter

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of medium of instruction and language of education, later it was changed to a majority of the villagers (Kar, 1982; Misra, 2006). One wonders that perhaps like all other nationalistic mobilisations on the question of language, Assamese was also standardised in a way that made it distant from many variations prevalent in the region. By the first half of the 20th century, Assamese nationalist activists made institutionalised attempts to introduce standardisation in forms of Assamese to sculpt a common linguistic identity for the community. This was accomplished through production of a body of standard Assamese literature. The historical roots were traced to the tradition of Neo-Vaishnavaite literature produced in western Assam (Kakati, 1941). The invocation of Mahapurushiya Parampara must have been crucial to the incorporation of the Kamrupia and Goalparia variety in the newly sculpted common identity of Assamese-speaking people. The blending of the religious and the linguistic symbols helped to consolidate the idea of a homogeneous identity. In the process of standardisation, a large variety of linguistic resources were marginalised (Sharma, 2006). The process of national identity formation is, however, never complete or remains uncontested. It keeps reinventing itself and keeps defining its new others. While Assamese could successfully create a space of its own and could shift from peripheral definition to being the core, the core itself kept inventing new peripheries for its own reference. After having identified itself with its western borderland, the school language of Assam had to be kept free from what was perceived as uncivilised influence of tribal tongues within Assam. As Alexander has argued, that the notion of what is at periphery keeps shifting in the idea of a civil sphere. Similarly, we see a shift in how the peripheral identities are defined vis a vis the standard construct of the Assamese language. The range has varied from a Bengali-ish Assamese of Kamrup and Goalpara districts to the ‘uncivilised’ language of the various tribes. The standard Assamese language became a common language of Assam by incorporating some elements from its western frontiers while insisting on a standard that borrowed heavily from Sanskrit.

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This form was to be taught in the official institutions of education, which largely catered to the working classes, which meant a large section of the Assamese-tribes, Assamese-Christians, Muslims and other groups immigrant to the state were to be educated in the carefully sculpted standard tongue of Assamese. Official policies of education, therefore, play a pivotal role in this process of assimilation by directly or indirectly pushing for incorporation of the cultural others into the cultural core. These processes of standardisation of languages and incorpo­ ration of peripheral ‘others’, illuminate how a cultural core is constituted in a plural society. The social implications of the process of standardisation of a language of education is found to be adverse for students coming from minority groups (Goswami, 2017). Administrative-Linguistic Settlement in Assam Along with the existence of diversity, there has been a history of consciousness raised along lines of ethnicity and political mobilisations on ethnic grounds. Various scholars have attributed the emergence and growth of identity politics in the Northeastern region, on one hand, to the legacy of colonial policies of segregation and protectionism, and to the developmental policies of the postindependence Indian state, on the other (Gohain, 1997). As a confluence of protective policies and post-independence experiences of the uneven development and ‘token-welfarism’, a high sense of community consciousness among several ethnic groups of the region has evolved. In the backdrop of this socio-political climate, how educational policy of the state has responded to the political or cultural demands of various community-based mobilisations by looking at the case of Assam is examined. The specificity of the Assam situation prevented an easy resolution of the language issue in the initial years of colonial rule and the unease followed in the post-independence period as well. The population profile of the region was highly diverse in linguistic and ethnic terms and included both tribal and non-tribal population. It being situated in the border areas, the reorganisation commission

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proposed to continue to keep the heterogeneous character of the state of Assam for strategic, administrative and financial reasons, despite there being huge differences among the region (Borpujari, 1998). The State Reorganisation Commission (SRC) in its own report admits that, The problem of reorganisation varies from region to region. It has to be kept in mind that the interplay for centuries of historical, linguistic, geographical, economic, and other factors has produced peculiar patterns in different regions. Each case, therefore, has its own background. (SRC cited from Schwatzberg, 1985, p. 175)

According to the census data on languages and linguistic minorities in a province, Assam had high concentration of population of linguistic minorities till 1972 (39.1 per cent as cited in Schwartzberg, 1985). Therefore, the principle of state reorganisation in the case of Assam was a result of several complex factors and cannot be reduced to language and ethnicity alone. In such a scenario, assumptions of a linguistic principle would have been too simplistic given the diversity of its population profile and the political consciousness among various ethnic groups. It called for a creative and sensitive approach in the functioning of a state administration and the selection of the cultural symbols associated with it. One such approach would have been to keep diversity rather than homogeneity as the guiding principle in its administrative policies including in the field of education. However, the principle of diversity has an uneasy relation with the politics which seeks to build a homogeneous cultural identity. In post-independence Assam, a resurgence of community identity assertions is seen, ignoring the social reality and political complexities of the region culminating in building up of a homogeneous cultural identity of the state of Assam. It does not require a special mention that this trend was marked with a rise of a sizeable middle class in Assam. It is one of the pre-conditions of identity politics that you need an emerging middle-class from within a community to articulate and raise the demands for protection of its cultural

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identity. This consciousness as a community which became stronger with the perceived threat of cultural assimilation by the Bengalis led to the culmination of Bhaxa Andolan in the 1960s. The Assam Sahitya Sabha had set the year 1960 as the deadline for declaration of Assamese as the sole official language of the state. And very soon the Official Language Bill was passed in the Assam Assembly on October 10, 1960. This Act provided that Assamese should be used for all or any of the official purposes, of the state of Assam. The move was one of the first major official attempts to give a singular linguistic identity to an otherwise culturally heterogeneous state. This move was strongly resisted by the Bengali-speaking population of Barak valley and by tribal groups. The social and educational consequences of Bhaxa Andolan in Assam call for a more systematic examination. As several commentators have noted, one of the fallouts of the attempts at construction of a homogeneous Assamese identity through state administration and education has been the alienation of tribal and other minority linguistic communities. As we have seen that, gradually the resistance to a hegemonic education policy has emerged from tribal communities of the region, Bodos being one of the most dominant voices. The Bodo movement of the late 1980s was largely based on political demands of a Bodo community which also demanded cultural autonomy from Assamese education. In their negotiations with the state, they have been successful in gaining recognition for their language at official levels in schools, colleges and government offices not just at the state level but also in recognition of Bodo as one of the scheduled language in the Indian Constitution. As a result, the number of schools, at different levels offering Bodo as a medium of instruction has increased and the language is offered as an MIL in the major institutions of higher education in Assam. What is noteworthy is the fact that the contemporary educational scenario in Assam in terms of language of education has become officially diverse on segmented lines as far as government schools are concerned. There are pockets of linguistic homogeneity in areas dominated by Assamese, Bengali, and Bodo speakers. However, it is

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not very common to find schools which can provide opportunities to the multilingual speakers to learn from each other’s cultures that has contributed to the cultural ethos of the state. Drawing on the framework of Hartman and Gerteis (2005) discussed earlier, one can argue that rather than developing an interactive pluralist civil sphere, we can find a fragmented multicultural sphere within the state machinery of education. Conclusion: Segmentation Over Pluralism in the Educational Sphere In this chapter, we have examined the various contestations which underlie the monolingual imagination of a cultural space like Assam. It is also evident that an alternative imagination of our past is imperative for a more sensitive understanding of our present concerns. As Orsini has pointed out in her work in the context of North India, there is an urgent need to incorporate elements from the multilingual reality of literary cultures, which have existed in both oral and written traditions (2012, p. 227). In the case of Assam, it would require reimagining the literary traditions from a different vantage point altogether for their implementation at the level of public policy. In the larger political discourse, monolingual or mono-cultural character of public institutions is increasingly being challenged while multilingual education is being promoted (NCF, 2005; UNESCO, 2003). Multilingual education makes it possible to imagine an alternative that raises the quality of education as compared to the instruction in one language. Some scholars have successfully argued that linguistic diversity is an asset rather than a liability for the education system (Agnihotri, 2005). Political mobilisations through cultural organisations play a key role in challenging the monocultural and monolingual assumptions of schools and, could help in making the educational sphere free from cultural hegemony of one community. As discussed earlier, Alexander would term the process as making the civil sphere more inclusive. The recognition of Assamese language in the 19th century

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and Bodo and Karbi in specified areas of Assam in the 20th century are examples of such inclusivity. The case of Assam is a significant case where cultural mobilisations based on linguistic identity have succeeded in challenging the hegemonic character of state education to a great extent. While the available evidence indicates that the system can be reformed through identity-based movements, its aims and ideals cannot be solely determined through the exclusivist prism of community identity. One has to be critical of a complete reliance on a politics of identity for educational bargains without negotiating and questioning the frozen and standardised ideals of school language. Because it may eventually dilute the principle of diversity in education by creating isolated systems of education on community lines. Woolard and Schieffelin (1994) have argued that it is ironic that the movements which challenge the hegemonic linguistic ideologies end up creating the new ones. It is also feared that the segmented zones of community-based learning systems fail to make use of multilinguality for qualitative improvement of children’s education. If we fail to inculcate the attitude of tolerance towards multilinguality in the classroom setting, then creating yet another monolingual space through schools leaves a lot to be desired. In Gerteis and Hartmann’s terms, this amounts to creation of insular spaces rather than creating interactive zones of pluralist learning. NOTES 1. The Indian state is viewed as multi-national in nature which is sought to be kept together by a grand narrative of nationalism contested by various counter narratives. Some authors have used the term subnationalism and micro-nationalism to refer to Assamese nationalism (See Baruah, 1999). 2. However, this formulation is also complicated by a liberal concern of protecting the individual rights of dissenters especially of subaltern genders within a group. 3. Here standardisation of language is being referred to in the particular context of nationalism and in the wake of emergence of print

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languages. Development of Assamese language was taking place even in medieval Assam and some scholars attribute it to the Neo-Vaishnavaite movement as highlighted in B.K. Kakati (1941). 4. Dewan Dutt Borwah’s Burañj Vivekratna is a concrete example of a prior work where the language is difficult to classify using monolingual assumptions as highlighted in Kar, 2008. 5. As per educational historians like Poromesh Acharya, Bengali Bhadralok, a class fraction, were instrumental in not just blocking the cause of mass education, they ironically became the strongest defender of Macauley’s trickle-down theory in primary education and the role of native elites (Acharya, 1998). Bengali becomes a Bhadralok’s language and Hindi becomes Sanskritised and purified, both marginalising the language of the masses.

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of India, Ministry of Home Affairs, GOI. Retrieved from https:// censusindia.gov.in/2011census/C-16_Town.html Gohain, H. (February 1997): Ethnic Unrest in the Northeast. Economic and Political Weekly, 32(8), 389-391 (February 22-28). Goswami, N. (2017). Legitimising Standard Languages. New Delhi: Sage. Goswami, N. (2019) Classification Process of Languages in Schools. In George Noblit (Ed.), Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Education. New York: Oxford University Press. Hartmann, D. and Gerteis, J. (2005). Dealing with Diversity: Mapping Multiculturalism in Sociological Terms. Sociological Theory, 23(2), 218-240. Kakati, B.K. (1941). Assamese: Its Formation and Development. Guwahati: L.B.S. Publication. Kar, B. (2008). Tongue Has No Bones: Fixing the Assamese Language. Studies in History, 24(1), 27-76. Kar, M. (1982). Evolution of Assamese as a Medium of Instruction. In M. Miri (Ed.), Linguistic Situation in Northeast India (pp. 49-68). New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company. Kaviraj, S. (2009). Writing, Speaking, Being: Language and the Historical Formation of Identities in India. In A. Sarangi (ed.), Language and Politics in India (pp. 312-350). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Milroy, J. (2001). Language Ideologies and the Consequences of Standardisation. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 5(4), 530-555. Mir, F. (2006). Imperial Policy, Provincial Practices. The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 43(4), 395-427. Miri, M. (June 2005). Community, Culture, Nation. Seminar. Retrieved from http://www.india-seminar.com/2005/550/550%20mrinal%20 miri.htm Misra, S. (2006). Redrawing Frontiers. Indian Economic and Social History Review, 43 (2), 199-225. Misra, S. (2011). Becoming a Borderland. New Delhi: Routledge. Orsini, F. (2012). How to Do a Multilingual Literary History? Indian Journal of Social Economic History, 49(2), 225-246. Prabhakara, M.S. (2011). Looking Back into the Future: Identity and Insurgency in Northeast India. New Delhi: Routledge. Schwartzberg, J.E. (1985). Factors in the Linguistic Reorganisation of

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Indian States. In P. Wallace (Ed.), Region and Nation in India (pp. 155-182). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sharma, D. (2006). Asamiya Jati Gathan Prakriya Aru Jatiya Janagusthigata Anusthan Samooh. Jorhat: Eklavya Prakashan. Woolard, K.A. and Schieffelin, B.B. (1994). Language Ideology. Annual Review of Anthropology, 23, 55-82.

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Rights and Justice to Tea Tribes of Assam:

Colonial and Post-colonial Narrative1

Soumen Ray and Lalhriatchiani

Tea Plantations and Indentured Coolie: The ‘Tea Tribe’ Recruitment In 1823, C.A. Bruce, a British military official discovered ‘tea’ as a drink used by the Shingpho tribe of upper Assam, which was to become a vast colonial economic venture. A plan for the tea plant cultivation was mooted in early 1834 with an experimental plantation in Lakhimpur district in 1835. The groundwork for the tea industry of Assam was laid right through from 1834 to 1850. In 1837, twelve boxes of tea were exported to London, followed by another twenty-five boxes in the subsequent year, and it was found to be equally good as that of China (Sonowal, 2015). The success led to the formation of the world’s first tea company known as the Assam Tea Company in 1839. The period also witnessed implementing a series of lenient land rules that started with 1838 by the colonial government. The tea industry swiftly extended, taking over vast areas of land for tea plantations (Duara and Mallick, 2012). By 1852, the potential of tea cultivation began to advance further, and in 1859 it was stated that there were closely 4,000 acres under cultivation with approximate out-turn of over 760,000 lbs of tea. In 1872, there were about 300 tea gardens in the Assam Valley-80 in Cachar and 13 in Sylhet. The tea culture report of 1927 had mentioned that there were 957 gardens in Assam against

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941 in the preceding year (Sonowal, 2015). Das (2012) noted that a benevolent land revenue policy and rampant labour exploitation contributed to handsome profit and consolidation of Assam tea plantations later. The colonial rulers were not sanguine about the knowledge gained from Assam’s ‘savage’ inhabitants. Thus, they set up a parallel experimental venture to cultivate tea in nurseries, using smuggled China seeds and plants (Sharma, 2006). In fact, the East India Company’s administration was convinced that the region required Chinese tea-growers (Ibid.). At first, the tea planters expected that the indigenous people of Assam would become labourers once they lost their land, according to the Wasteland Grant Rules 1838 (Goswami, 1999). However, the Bodo, Kachari, Ahom and other indigenous people of Assam were reluctant to clear the dense forests infested with malaria and kala-ezar (Singh et al., 2006) and thus this soon led to the unpleasant relationship between the British and local labourers. The Kachari peasants from Lower Assam also took part in an ‘uprising’ directed against opium prohibition and a new agricultural tax on garden produce in 1861, by joining with other local people (Sharma, 2006). The tea industry’s growth and the severe labour shortage in Assam forced the planters to recruit workers from amongst several tribes hailing from present Jharkhand and adjoining areas, as also from Nepal. Impoverished by land laws in the home state, large sections of tribes chose the option of the Assam plantations. With time, the tea industry grew so fast that it has led to an urgent demand for more labourers. The government also supported planters with the black laws of the Workmen’s Breach of Contract Act, 1859. Agents were sent to collect labourers from different parts of the country. The agents lured and forced innocent tribes to sign agreements (Karotemprel and Roy, 1990). The Catholic Mission Co-operative Society, established by Fr. Hoffman, also encouraged the Adivasis to go to Assam. The government approached this same agency for recruiting labourers (Ekka, 2003). In the 1860s, the British state worked alongside the tea planters in Assam to set up a

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regime of the coolie agreement contracts reinforcing them by harsh punitive legislation. Starting with the ‘Transport of Native Labourers Act, 1863’ the British state has imposed several laws to progress the recruitment and management of the Assam tea plantation labourers force which includes men, women and children. Amongst the Assam coolies, labourers sourced from the Chotanagpur were in the highest rank towards the end of the 19th century (Sharma, 2008). A significant factor that prompted and impelled the Adivasis to depart from Chotanagpur was an extreme misery for them as it alienated them from their lands and especially the replacement of collective ownership of land by private ownership (Das, 2013). The onset of famine and epidemic during the years 1896-1900 and the ‘tribal revolts’ in the region (Birsa Mundaulgulan Revolt, Sidu and Kanhu ‘Hul’ Revolt) has also prompted them to look for better options. All the Adivasis in Assam trace their immediate history through this torturous route of indentured immigrant labour brought in to work in the tea gardens.2 The Arkatis and the Sardars, the two supply agents were engaged initially as commissioned agents in Kolkata to supply labour. Contractors were usually deployed to hire labourers for tea estates in different parts of the state. In the Sardari system, the labourers who already conceded went to other areas and brought more labourers. In the year 1842, the Assam Tea Company opened a steamboat service between Guwahati to Kolkata. The labourers were brought by steamer. Steadily, following the labour contractors’ dictates, they too became the indentured labour on the land that the Assam indigenous communities had lost to the tea gardens (Gupta, 1990). Regularising the ‘Indentured Labour’: Virtual Slavery and Immoral Laws Regularising the ‘indentured labour’ happened when the ‘coolie’ typology constructed outside India was subsequently assimilated into the labouring requirements of South Asian plantations and other colonial enterprises (Sharma, 2006). It is believed that the

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term ‘coolie’ denotes as ‘kuli’ is originated from the Tamil word of wages (Tinker, 1974). When slavery was abolished in the British colonies in 1834, a veiled ‘indentured labour’ system was launched, and coolies were recruited on payment per head. There are instances when the agents, induced by lucrative remunerations, often kidnapped the villagers or persuaded them to leave their villages under false pretences and brought them to the recruiting depots. In the indenture system, the worker had to agree to serve on the plantation for a specified period (usually four-five years) and was free to return home after that period. Although this system was an improvement over slavery, which implied a lifetime commitment without any rights, the long-distance from their places of origin made it difficult for workers to return home after the period of their contract ended. Hence, in most cases, these people preferred to remain in the plantations even after the indenture period expired, as they had nowhere else to go (Bhowmik, 2002). At this stage, numerous pre-existing regulations and particularly the Workmen’s Breach of Contract Act, XIII of 1859, became shrewdly advantageous to colonised tea planters. To ensure the coercion and allow the growers a free hand in matters related to the workers’ welfare, the Workmen’s Breach of Contract Act of 1859 was introduced in Assam in 1861 and amended in the year 1865 (Singh et al., 2006). During the initial decades from the 1850s, until around the 1920s, the working conditions were akin to slavery, flogging, rape, torture, and even throwing lifeless workers’ bodies into rivers (Toppo, 1999). In 1858-59, many labourers were brought to Assam. Subsequently, this number increased as the areas of tea plantation increased. Between 1871 and 1901, around 180,000 individuals moved to Assam. There are reports of multiple deaths of early immigrant coolies in Assam (Assam Labour Enquiry Committee, 1906). The labourers were brought under specially designed legal provisions (such as Workmen’s Breach of Contract Act XII of 1859 and its amended Act of 1865). Indeed, the workers could be punished for striking work and their minimum wage was

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also stipulated. The implementation of the 1882 Labour District Emigration Act3 formulated the strategies and practices through which tea and coolies became parts of the Assam plantations. The Coolie Lines: Ghettoised Compounds Soon after the arrival of labourers in the tea estates, their mobility became restricted within the estate’s vicinity, which was completely isolated from the outside world. Within each tea estate, the SahibManager and Coolie Line Chaukidar formed the two outermost layers of supervisory control and timekeeping. The organisation of coolie dwellings in barracks and lines and its policing (chaukidar­ monitoring) were guided by immobilisation and spatial surveillance strategies. These coolie lines were numbered, and there was a line­ chaukidar for each double row of houses (or lines). The arrangement of having a chaukidar and sirdar responsible for each line was maintained for the coolies, and their conduct and to keep them in better order. It was expected that the chaukidars and sirdars would experience less trouble in turning the coolies out to work in the morning (Crole, 2008). Crole further noted that large plantations in Assam (with more than one thousand souls) had approximately half a dozen coolie lines. These houses were thatched bamboo huts, each partitioned to hold four or sometimes more families (Deas, 1886). The fact remains that the precedence established by the British tea estate managers, in fixing and controlling the coolies within ‘coolie-lines’ remains the guiding principle for managers today. The labour-management mechanism in operation in the colonial era is simply imitated in the present time. Hence, the coolie lines of today, as we shall discuss below, can be described as idyllic ghettoised compounds. Committees on Tea Gardens During the post-independence period, the governance system of the Indian states has changed rapidly. The government’s attitude towards the working class became more favourable, and during this period, a few laws were passed by the parliament of India,

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including the Factories Act 1948, and the Minimum Wages Act 1948, and the Employees’ State Insurance Act 1948, all of which had a positive impact on the tea garden labourers. In 1951, came the Plantation Labour Act (1951), where India’s government imposed the accountability of tea garden labourers’ welfare on the employers. This Act provided several welfare measures for the workers, including health facility, adequate drinking water facility, latrines, and separate urinals for men and women, maintenance of the drinking water and sanitation system, and imposed restrictions on the working hours. In 1953, the Tea Board of India was established under the Tea Act as a regulatory body to pursue the International Agreement on Tea towards cultivation and tea export. Concerning labour welfare, the Board has a specific provision for improving amenities and providing incentives for workers. To start with, it would be pertinent to discuss the significant committees and government of Assam’s report on the situations of tea garden workers in Assam, keeping in mind these rules and regulations. While several committees have studied the status of tea garden workers’ in the post-independence periods, we will focus only on the few committees which have been formed during recent years. In 2003, the Government of India appointed three Expert Committees to conduct an in-depth study of the closed tea gardens. The Committees studied 36 gardens closed in 2002 (19 in West Bengal, 11 in Kerala, and 3 each in Assam and Tripura). The Committees identified the leading causes for closure: the gardens’ inherent weakness due to poor yields arising out of the garden and factory’s poor condition, poor garden management, and excessive reliance on debt with little equity infusion. According to these Committees, all these estates are required to invest in plantations and factories to achieve better results in terms of quantity, quality, and price realisation of their teas. The central government and Tea Board facilitated discussions between the closed tea gardens’ management and their bankers based on the findings. Subsequently, 11 tea gardens in West Bengal and 1 in Assam were re-opened. The Human Development Report of Assam (2003) highlighted

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that, even though yield rates of the principal crops in Assam have been increasing since independence, the only crop for which productivity is higher than the all India average is tea, and this should (the recent successes of small tea growers notwithstanding) be treated essentially as a plantation crop. Although the tea industry in Assam is the most productive tea industry across the country, however, the sector has faced several issues and challenges in the last few years. Declining international prices, contracting markets, and increased competition from other countries, on the one hand, and lack of investment, deferred replanting, and inadequate maintenance on the other have contributed to its problems. The rise of small tea gardens, a phenomenon less than a decade old, and the consequent entry into the sector of educated unemployed youth and the fact of its potential for incremental employment and income provides an optimistic note for the future. The report states that districts predominantly inhabited by immigrant Muslims, tea-tribes, and tribals typically record low literacy rates. The report highlighted a significant finding that although tea garden labour belongs to the organised sector and is unionised, in practice, women have little say in the union activities as the unions are male-dominated. The study on ‘Land Legislations Concerning Tea Industry in West Bengal, Assam and Tripura’ undertaken by the West Bengal National University of Juridical Sciences submitted its report in 2005. Notably, the study recommended amendments of crucial legislations such as the Assam Fixation of Ceiling on Land Holding Act 1956, Tripura Land Revenue and Land Reforms Act 1962, West Bengal Estate Acquisition Act 1954, permitting alternate cropping and other economic activities in the tea plantations. In the context of Assam, they noted that concerns were expressed on the current practice of short-term extensions of lease agreements and recommended that it should be extended to 30 years as in West Bengal. And a special provision is made in the lease agreement to permit alternate usage of land. In 2007, the O.P. Arya Committee, appointed by the Union government to streamline, rationalise and harmonise different

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provisions in different Acts and the financial burden of social cost on the growers, submitted its report. The committee studied various mandatory requirements under the Plantation Labour Act (PLA) regarding medical, housing, and drinking water facilities to the tea garden workers. In its report, the committee suggested the imposition of additional excise duty of Rs. one per kg on packed tea to mobilise funds for subsidising health and other facilities for plantation workers. The committee suggested that this fund be made available to the Tea Board to subsidise the various facilities to the plantation workers. It also proposed that all the benefits provided in the Plantation Labour Act, 1951, need to be retained and suggested a need to have an improved social security system for the workers in place. It said the design of wage settlement by bipartite or tripartite agreement should continue, but the minimum wage should not be less than the medical facilities. The employer must pay the cost of treatment for its employees for such medical facilities. The S.N. Menon Committee set up by the commerce ministry to study the tea industry’s competitiveness looked into the Indian tea industry’s cost structures at various levels like farm level, factory level, and value chain vis-à-vis the competitor countries, and submitted its report in 2009. In its report, the committee suggested a few recommendations, one of which proposed that state land laws must be amended to allow greater flexibility in land use, which will enable the tea industry to create avenues for alternative income sources, thus stabilising income flows even during a dip in the tea cycle. The committee suggested that the Plantation Labour Act needs to be reviewed while addressing the social cost issue. The central government may consider the transfer of funds for programmes, to be implemented in mitigating the burden of social overhead costs, by extension of government schemes to the plantation sectors through a separate trust or an agency set for the purpose under the Tea Board. The committee has also felt the need for creating a different cell for small growers in the Tea Board to address the needs of small growers, including technical assistance. Under the Chairmanship of Shanta Kumar, the Parliamentary

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Standing Committee on Commerce submitted its report in 2012 on the ‘Performance of Plantation Sector—Tea and Coffee Industry’. In its report, the Committee suggested that the government departments should make concerted efforts to adopt the formula recommended by the Inter-Ministerial Committee, on sharing of social cost since the productivity of a tea garden worker is interlinked with his working conditions and his welfare, including sanitation, hygiene, education and sports facilities for their wards, etc. It also recommended that the department should impress upon the concerned state governments to participate in the sharing of social cost and urge them to effectively implement the provisions relating to labour welfare activities under the Plantation Labour Act. During the field visit, the Committee noticed that the government’s welfare schemes like the Indira Awas Yojana (IAY) are primarily targeted below the poverty line category population and are not extended to plantation workers in a tea estate. Further, these workers are denied the benefits under the Indira Awas Yojana scheme as they do not have the ownership right on the land under tea cultivation. The Committee thus, recommended that the matter be taken up with the concerned department and if necessary, a suitable amendment should be incorporated in the Plantation Act so that plantation workers could avail of the scheme’s benefits and basic amenities like housing could be ensured to them. On the issue of medical facilities being extended to the plantation labour, the Committee viewed that referral hospitals’ extension of services needs to be institutionalised. The Committee recommended that the government should take appropriate action so that the recommendations of the O.P. Arya Committee in this regard may be implemented. The Committee also recommended that the government should take up the matter to ensure that the facilities under Swajaldhara should be extended to all the plantations. Besides, the Committee has noticed that the condition of the school buildings is not up to the mark. Hence, the maintenance work should be carried out at the earliest. The Indian Institute of Plantation Management (IIPM) was asked by the Ministry of Commerce to independently conduct a

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study on the plantation sector’s structural infirmities that cause a hindrance to the growth and productivity of the plantation sector, on which the Institute submitted its report in 2011. Though the report focused on rubber and spices, a few of the suggestions made are pertinent to the whole plantation sector. The report emphasised that the plantation sector is not just a foreign exchange earner but a key sector in India’s strategy to achieve inclusive growth. However, it struggles with various structural infirmities that adversely affect the price, output, and competitiveness. This calls for substantial efforts towards evolving an internationally competitive production system, with a dynamic innovation system through different stakeholders’ coordinated actions. The challenge before the Commodity Boards is to facilitate a structural transformation in the changing environment by addressing various infirmities while being at the centre stage. Specifically, the study recommended that the plantation sector should be made attractive to the new generation through measures like using the new term ‘plantation curator’ (or any other word that highlights their role in environmental protection) instead of labour; devising a proper uniform; use more machines, provision of housing colonies. The report also suggested that the social provisioning for labour shall be the state’s responsibility for the private sector’s contribution. The findings and subsequent recommendations of these committees and studies highlight the grave situations in Assam’s tea gardens. It reflects how in a labour-driven industry, the labourers, both men, women, and even children who form the backbone of this business as plantation workers, in most cases are treated wretchedly and devoid of their fundamental rights. Wage Discrepancy and Exploitation The planters needed to pay a minimum fixed rate of wage to labourers. However, in the pre-1900 period, the salaries paid to the labourers were usually below the statutory minimum rates of Rs. 5.00 and Rs. 4.00 for men and women, respectively per month (Behal, 1983). The wage payments were made under two distinct

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systems, the hariza and ticca4 system and the unit system. The variation between men’s wages, women, and children was arbitrary and discriminatory, though the hours of work for women and children were the same as for men; yet, women and children were paid less. Plucking, the most labour-intensive task, is a delicate and skilled job, which remains exclusively performed by the women. However, this work is never recognised as skilled work (Saikia, 2009) and paid accordingly. The plantations had very neatly spelled out gender-specific domains where plucking tea leaves were essentially feminine, requiring agile fingers. However, recent discussions with the Labour Commissioner’s Office in Dibrugarh further enlightened with the findings that, gender imbalance in terms of pay is almost nil as women in Assam’s tea tribe earn as much as their male co­ workers. But that does not upraise their status in society. They are often the victims of child marriage or having been deserted by their husbands and are most likely to be anaemic and suffer from several health problems. They also suffer from illiteracy, poverty, poor health, and lack of awareness. A study conducted by the Assam Medical College in Dibrugarh’s tea gardens observed that, the prevalence of anaemia was almost 82.8 per cent among adolescent girls, which is one of the primary causes of morbidities and mortalities (Goswami et al., 2015). In Assam, upper Assam districts with the maximum tea gardens have the highest maternal mortality (430 lakhs), and according to the findingss of the maternal death review, most of the deaths occurred amongst the tea garden population. Anaemia and pregnancy-induced hypertension was found as the leading cause of death amongst this group (NRHM Assam and District Health Action Plan, Dibrugarh). Child labour in the tea industry is allegedly used in carrying out the plucking, weeding, hoeing, and nursery work. Along lines of gender and age, the tea estate divides the tasks involved in tea production (Deas, 1886). Some claim that children are good pluckers because of their ‘nimble fingers’, while others argued that plucking is too arduous for children to perform. The children are also given the

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job of removing shrubs that are harmful to the gardens’ tea plants. As there is extensive use of pesticides in the tea gardens, the removal of shrubs with bare hands generally affects the children’s health. A 1992 report on child labour in tea plantations in Northeast India (Joseph, 2009) observed that most child workers are employed as casuals. Children are found to do such strenuous work as plucking under very severe climatic conditions; they are assigned to nursery work, fertilisation, heavy loads, and other household work. They are also made to work in the factories, as against established law. The Human Development Report of Assam (2003) highlights that children in the tea garden and forest areas continue to have low enrolment and education levels. The report further highlighted that the GER among the tea tribes is merely 67.04 against 84.97 for the state, the percentage of children never enrolled is 21.35 against 19.26, and the percentage of currently not enrolled is 51.99 against 33.37. This reflects the low status of primary education in the tea garden areas. Most of the schools are not provincialised but run directly under the tea garden management. There is virtually no government supervision or quality control on the schools being run by the tea garden management. The teachers are also usually not covered under the pre-service and in-service training programmes. Often both parents work in the plantation, and the elder children, especially girls, often must stay back at home to look after their younger siblings. Behal (1983) observed that with the repeal of Act XIII of 1859 (The Workmen’s Breach of Contract Act) in 1925 and Act VI of 1901 (Assam Immigration Act) in 1932, the situation had changed, yet the children continue to work in the plantations with adults. However, the Plantation Labour Act of 1951 prohibited children’s employment under the age of 12 years on any plantation. It permitted and regulated the work of children of ages 12-14 years and adolescents, defined as those between the ages of 15 and 17 years. The Act required both children and adolescents to work in the tea gardens to obtain a ‘certificate of fitness’ from a certified surgeon. Besides, they may not work more than 27 hours a week,

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or at night. The Child Labour Prohibition and Regulation Act of 1986 amended certain portions of the Plantation Labour Act of 1951 by raising the minimum age for employment from 12 to 14 years of age. In 1990, the Assam government estimated that there were approximately 96,535 children employed in the tea gardens in Assam, constituting over 14 per cent of the total workforce (Saikia, 2009). In the most recent times, the Plantation Labour Amendment Bill, which was passed in 2010 by India’s government, prohibits women and adolescent workers’ employment in handling hazardous chemicals and in effecting specific improvements in the existing medical facilities in the estates. This includes safety precautions that must be taken by planters for the storage, utilisation, and handling of agro-chemicals. The Wages and Poverty Vertex The workers in tea plantations are considered unskilled, except for a few who work in the tea processing factories. Currently, each worker, permanent or temporary, inexperienced, or experienced, man or woman receives the same wage. In the post-independence era, wage and provisions of the tea plantations workers are being assured and revised by the bilateral agreements between the Assam Chah Mazdur Sangha (ACMS)—the workers’ representatives and the employers’ associations. According to the rules, the minimum daily wage has been revised every three years by a minimum wage advisory board. Before November 2005, the minimum wage of each tea garden labourer was Rs. 48.50. During November 2005, an agreement was signed between the Indian Tea Association (ITA), Tea Association of India (TAI), Bharatiya Cha Parisad (BCP), Assam Tea Planters Association (ATPA) and North Eastern Tea Association (NETA) Tea Management Groups with Assam Chah Mazdur Sangha (ACMS), which decided that a total of Rs. 10 would be increased for each day for the next 50 months in three phases. Accordingly, wages were increased to Rs. 2.60 daily from December 1, 2005 to April 30, 2007; Rs. 3.70 from May 1, 2007 to August 31, 2007 and again Rs. 3.70 from September

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1, 2008 to December 31, 2009. The daily wage was Rs 71.50 in April 2011, Rs. 84 in March 2012 and Rs. 95 in 2014. However, as per the Assam Branch of Indian Tea Association, the current daily real wages is Rs. 146.36, which also includes basic wage, nonstatutory provisions, statutory provisions and the common statutory provisions including provident funds bonus and gratuity. This rate is fixed for the permanent labourers living within tea estate colonies. However, in the real scenario, a worker gets between Rs. 85 to Rs. 95 per day after deduction of provident fund and cost towards rations. Moreover, there is a deduction towards the electricity bill and other applicable dues. Evidence (Das, 2012) reveals that the management now resorts to the use of ‘casual’ labourers to avoid the workers’ compulsory pecuniary and non-pecuniary benefits. The total income for most workers’ households is estimated at below Rs. 3,000 per month, putting them below the poverty line figure of Rs. 3,364. This is even though both husband and wife work in the plantations. There are, however, some households that are better off earning in the ranges of Rs. 5,000-10,000 per month. Further, it would be pertinent to highlight here that during January 2015, the state announced that the tea gardens should provide a minimum wage of Rs. 169 to the workers and strictly enforced the various provisions of the Act in the tea gardens through a time-bound action plan (Times of India, March 30, 2014). Yet, after the government’s assurance, following protracted discussions between employers and the unions, a three-year settlement was arrived at enhancing the daily rated wage from the pre-existing Rs. 94 by Rs. 43 over three years. This means during 2015; the daily rate was fixed at Rs. 115, for 2016, it was fixed at Rs. 126, and for 2017, it was fixed for Rs. 137. The Indian Tea Association claimed that enhancement by Rs. 43 over three years represents an increase of almost 46 per cent, which works out to an annual average of 15 per cent, which is well above the current inflation rate and inflationary expectations over the next 2-3 years. Even after the increase of wage rate, it is indeed deficient and if we compare the wages of tea plantation workers with workers

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engaged in government-sponsored rural development programmes including MGNREGA, where the daily workers are paid Rs. 136, thus finding a considerable gap in wage structures for labourers doing identical works in two different settings. There have been several instances where tea garden managers have claimed that schemes like MGNREGA have adversely affected the tea industry, as the tea garden labourers often skip their work in the tea garden and engage themselves under the scheme, which provides them more wages than their regular salary in the tea garden. The workers believe that the initiation of disciplinary action against them will take time and will involve a long process. Interestingly when we conducted a similar study in another tea garden, Tiphuk Chah Bagisha, in Jorhat district of Assam, we observed that most of the labourers do not have the job card, the minimum requirement to get a job under MGNREGA. It is also difficult for the tea garden workers to skip the regular work and participate in MGNREGA or any other work because of the strict rule. However, such firmness is diluted if the temporary worker is welcomed during the peak season starting from June to October, and then fittingly discontinued. This period is regarded as a time of high production and greater attendance of labourers. During the discussion, some workers also claimed that increased use of temporary workers during the picking season is an advantage for the tea garden owners. Quick and casual labourers are also advantageous because the existing Plantations Labour Act does not contemplate a distinction between permanent and temporary workers, and tea garden owners provide no benefits other than the daily wages to temporary workers. Permanent workers within the tea estate stated that there are always increasing work pressures and unwarranted deductions from wages. The World Bank poverty line is currently set at $2 PPP (purchasing power parity). This is the World Bank measure of minimum consumption of a person in poverty (food and basic needs, where food=>50 per cent of expenditure). To this benchmark, workers in the tea gardens would fall into the bracket of extreme poverty. Over and above, there are also examples of deduction from

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the salary of the employees to compensate for the electric outlay. Deductions for electricity varied across plantations, and they were done usually without looking upon the actual usage per family. Some workers are paying almost Rs. 200 to Rs. 300 per month for electricity even though the supply of electricity is available only for a few hours daily. Such a regular deduction of salary disturbs the monthly budget of the households, who are often forced even to take money out of their statutory retirement accounts. On the contrary, during personal interactions, the management representatives argue that the wages paid are indeed at par with existing rules and no discrepancy is shown to workers. The stress is on the basic amenities provided to the workers which necessitate substantial expenditure and is not remitted by the workers; and accounting all the amenities, the wages are much more than the current market rate. The main purpose of citing this case was to highlight the level of economic paucity and causes leading to penury. We have tried to relate the level of poverty to meagre remunerations earned by the labourers, which is the result of a fraudulent wage fixation policy and unfair wage calculations. This is a vicious cyclic circle. There are many repercussions of meagre remunerations earned on the part of the poor labourers. It is mainly because the workers are not able to earn a decent livelihood, that one may observe poor food intake and reduced material possessions in households of the labourers, almost universally. With the course of time, in order to manage these huge illiterate workforces, different regimes have followed different means and ways, starting from the harsh penal code to fear and torture. With minimum savings for acquiring already scarce agriculture land and without limited alternative employment opportunities, the lives of these tea tribes have almost become identical to the tea garden. Therefore, utter negligence and discrimination policy have led to a status-quo in the workers’ pathetic existence, which does not seem very different from colonial-era systems based on prejudice and unfairness. The succeeding unions have not been able to impress the owners’ associations and have been blamed for their

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highhandedness with the influential. Their demand for acquiring the ST status to further avail of increased government facilities has also been vehemently opposed by the native tribal groups. More recently, the findings show that in a race to produce more tea, there is a decline in Assam tea quality. The ideal ‘two leaves and a bud’ plucking has taken a backseat in Assam, resulting in a dip. Quoting the vice-chairman of the Tea Research Association (Times of India, August 11, 2015) claimed that over the last 20 or 30 years, the quality of tea had gone down to some extent. The ‘three leaves and a bud’ plucking is replacing the standard ‘two leaves and a bud’. Since the latter part of the 20th century, many tea industries have opted for Cambod clones, instead of Assam clones, for higher yield. This has reduced the quality of the average Assam tea. In that case, there is a possibility of a decrease in the market value of Assam tea, which will again adversely affect the tea industry and subsequently, the welfare of tea garden workers. Thus, allow us to summarise by highlighting that the bulk of the tea garden workers are deprived of the minimum national wage rate, which is approved by the government. The wages for all workers in all parts of India need to be based on parity as per periodically revised rates declared by the government, keeping in mind the inflationary trends. Such revised rates are binding on the part of the Tea Estate Management, but they deny such wages to their labourers by quoting flimsy explanations and via loopholes in trade agreements locally. Muddled Shelter The hardships of tea tribes in tea plantations are narrated in various studies (Bhowmik, 2002; Das, 2002; Duara and Mallick, 2012). Tea estates are somewhat forbidden territories and hence it is often difficult to narrate the empirical scenario obtaining permission to enter the estates. The sporadic outburst of unrest and violence observed in tea plantation estates indicate the prevalence of poor labour standard. During our visit to tea gardens, and discussions with the tea garden workers, we have observed that a small number

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of households have debt. A higher figure of indebtedness is however expected in the community which is used to incur expenditures on alcoholism, festivals, rituals and birth and marriage ceremonies. Free from debt however does not indicate that the worker households have any substantial assets or savings. The workers are dependent on daily wages and lead a life with minimum provisioning and conditions of housing is also not decent. Historically the provision of shelter for the workers has been the basic rationale in the tea industry. The idea was to ensure uninterrupted labour services. The poor housing and space often indicated as problems in tea gardens, the lack of maintenance and repairing further aggravate the well-being issue. Leaky roofs and cracked walls with poor basic provisioning are visible throughout the labour lines. A visit to the labour line would show that there were very few indications of new housing constructions, though under section 58 of the Assam Plantations Labour Rule (APLR), 1956, tea gardens are required to construct houses for 8 per cent of the workers annually. It would be important to highlight here that during 2003, on the recommendation of the State Advisory Board on Housing, the government of Assam has approved under rule 59 of the Assam Plantation Rules, 1956, new standard and specifications of labour houses for the plantation workers in Assam. As per the order, the new houses will be made of cement and have three bedrooms, two balconies, a kitchen, toilet, and water supply facilities. However, despite vacant spaces lying in the vicinity, the labourers are accommodated within constrained spaces. Acute congestions are quite visible in the tea garden colonies. The oneroomed house implies that the tea garden HHs are forced to live in constrained space, even when children need to be nurtured therein. Living in over-crowded accommodation or housing with shared facilities additionally puts children at greater risk of infectious disease (ODPM, 2004). Among the recurring outcomes of over­ crowding includes respiratory problems (exposed to tobacco smoke, childhood tuberculosis). Medhi indicates that, unfavourable housing may be attributable to a higher rate of tuberculosis and respiratory

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conditions among the tea plantations workers and their families. Over-crowding and bad housing also result in poor educational achievement, which has long-term implications on capability enhancement and upward mobility in life (Medhi et al, 2006). Conclusion The contribution of the ‘tea tribes’ towards the wealth of the planters and the state, right from the colonial era has been enormous. Nevertheless, the labour standard in the sector remained poor and never got due importance, largely because of the reason that the labour supply has been abundant or has been made abundant in the sector. Besides, the identity of the tea plantation workers remained a story of complex racialisation and intricate displacement with a tag of enduring ‘labour class’ even in the post-independent India (Sharma, 2006). The poor wages and earnings never helped to consolidate worker’s position and with the poor level of educational attainment and skills of the offspring made the tea estates as a final resort to ensure a living. All have made the tea estates a modern-day hub of ‘indentured’ labourers. At another level, it also appears that most workers, being tribal in nature and characteristics, continue to be surviving with existing limited resources. The inequity and exclusion depict their manipulative situation and the low self-esteem which differentiate them from the tribal of north Chotanagpur division, from where they originally belong. Their struggle for justice and freedom from constant exploitation is not only a challenge to the government and the tea garden owners, but also to themselves, who have accepted it as a statuesque. Particularly the limited disaggregated data on development indicators concerning the tea garden workers has made it difficult to measure the direct impact of any intervention in the tea gardens in the current situation. In the recent past, however, the gardens are witnessing a strategic shift in mindsets where the owners making efforts towards all-round development in the lives of excluded and marginalised tea garden workers. Several local organisations, including CSOs have been allowed to work with the tea garden

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communities to raise awareness on their well-being. The entry of the government’s (both national and state) development programmes into the tea gardens has further contributed to accelerating the coverage of benefits to this disadvantaged population. The state is alternatively working with the tea garden associations to promote and to look beyond the workers as merely a workforce and invest in them as a long-term, cost-effective strategy to enhance productivity and profit. Several of those gardens also focus on improving and strengthening health services at tea garden-managed hospitals, including promoting institutional deliveries and facilitating quality outreach; improving tea-garden managed crèches and government run day-care centres on the estates. There have been instances where gardens in collaboration with local district administration have promoted technology transfer for low-cost home toilets, water quality surveillance, and water security. Besides, they are also promoting desired behaviours relating to maternal health, new-born care, child nutrition, hand-washing, and personal hygiene. Therefore, we see a silver lining in recent years, in terms of social change. However, all social change must be further supported by economic development, which needs larger political debates and informed policy decisions in favour of the ever-marginalised communities. NOTES 1. The information in this essay however expresses the authors personal observations and does not necessarily represent an organisational position. 2. Retrieved from www.apps.cla.umn.edu/directory 3. The 1882 Labour District Emigration Act was implemented for the regulation of recruitment and the labour system in Assam. 4. The hazira is the daily wage paid to each worker on completion of a task which has been allocated for the day. Ticca refers to overtime work as well as to extra plantation work given in contract.

REFERENCES Behal, R.P. (1983). Some Aspects of the Growth of Tea Plantation Labour Force and Labour Movements in Assam Valley Districts (Lakhimpur,

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Sibsagar and Darrang) 1900-1947. Unpublished Ph.D Thesis, Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Bhowmik, S.K. (2002). Productivity and Labour Standards in Tea Plantation Sector in India. In A. Sivananthiran and C.S. Venkata Ratnam (Eds.), Labour and Social Issues in Plantations in South Asia: Role of Social Dialogue (pp. 136-166). New Delhi: ILO-AAT and IIRA. Crole, D. (2008) Tea: A Textbook of Tea Planting and Manufacture. London: BiblioLife. Das, K. (2002). Labour Contracts and Work Agreements in Tea Plantations of Assam. Research Study Series, 33, V.V. Giri National Labour Institute, NOIDA. Das, K. (2012). How Much Compensation Would be Enough? Case of Pesticide Application Workers in Assam’s Tea Plantations. Indian Journal of Labour Economics, 55(4). Das, N.K. (2013). Postcolonialism, Indigeneity and Environmentalism: Eco-Cultural Diversity, Ethnic Dissent and Politics of Development in North East India. In Kedilezo Kikhi (Ed.), The Dynamics of Development in North-East India (pp. 1-72). Delhi: Bookwell. Deas, F.T.R. (1886). The Young Tea-Planters’ Companion: A Practical Treatise on the Management of a Teagarden in Assam. London: Swan Sonneschein. Duara, Mridusmita and Mallick, S. (2012). Tea Industry in Assam (India): Issues of Migration and Gender Discrimination. International Proceedings of Economics Development & Research, 54(35), 174-177. Ekka, P.S.J. (2003). Tribal Movements. Jaspur: Tribal Research and Documentation Centre. Goswami, M., Gogoi, P., Dixit, P., Joshi, V., and Ghosh, S. (2015). Prevalence and determinants of anaemia and effect of different interventions amongst tea tribe adolescent girls living in Dibrugarh district of Assam. Science Direct, 3, 85-93. Elsevier. Retrieved from www.sciencedirect.com Goswami, Priyam. (1999). Assam in the Nineteenth Century: Industrialization and Colonial Penetration. Guwahati: Spectrum Publications. Gupta, R.D. (1990). From Peasants and Tribesmen to Plantation Workers. In S. Karotemperal and B. Dutta Roy (Eds.), Tea Garden Labourers of Northeast India: A Multidimensional Study on the Adivasis of the Tea Gardens of Northeast India. Shillong: Vendrame Institute. Joseph, S.R. (2009). Women Worker in Tea Plantation: A Brief Appraisal

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in the Tea Labour in North East India. In Sengupta Sarthak (Ed.), The Tea Labourers of North East India: An Anthropological Perspective. New Delhi: Mittal Publications. Karotemprel, S. and Roy, B. Dutta. (1990). Tea Garden Labour of Northeast: A Multidimensional Study on the Adivasis of the Tea Gardens of Northeast India. Shillong: Vendrame Institute. Medhi, G. K., Hazarika, N.C., Shah, B. and Mahanta, J. (2006). Study of Health Problems and Nutritional Status of Tea Garden Population of Assam. Indian Journal of Medical Science, 60(12), 496-505. ODPM. (2004). The impact of Overcrowding on Health and Education: A Review of the Evidence and Literature. Office of the Deputy Prime Minister, London. Report of the Assam Labour Enquiry Committee. (1906). Calcutta: Office of the Superintendent of Government Printing, India. Retrieved from http://dspace.gipe.ac.in/xmlui/ bitstream/handle/10973/21490/GIPE 016313Contents.pdf? sequence=2&isAllowed=y Saikia, B. (2009). Development of Tea Garden Community and Adivasi Identity Politics in Assam. Dialogue,10(3). Sharma, Jayeeta. (2006). Growing Tea: Lazy Natives and Colonialism’s Coolies, Agrarian Studies Colloquium. Retrieved from http://www. yale.edu/agrarianstudies/colloqpapers/24sharma.pdf Sharma, Jayeeta. (2008). ‘Lazy’ Natives, Coolie Labour, and the Assam Tea Industry. Retrieved from https://sai.columbia.edu/files/sai/content/ Sharma%2C%20Assam%20Tea%20Industry.pdf Singh, S.N., Narain, K.A. and Kumar, P. (2006). Socio-Economic and Political Problems of Tea Garden Workers. New Delhi: Mittal Publications. Sonowal, Dharmeswar. (2015). Assam Tea and its Contributions to the Economy—At a Glance. Retrieved from http://www.sentinelassam. com/editorial Accessed on April 12, 2015. Special Causes of Mortality of Immigrant Coolies, 1891-1901. (1906). In Proceedings of Assam Labour Enquiry Committee in the Recruiting and Labour Districts, Calcutta. Tinker, H. (1974). A New System of Slavery: The Export of Indian Labour Overseas, 1830-1920. London: Oxford University Press. Toppo, H, (1999). Violation of Human Rights in the Tea Plantations of Assam and West Bengal. In Thomas Pullopillil (Ed.), Identity of Adivasis of Assam (pp. 129-156). Delhi: Indian Publishers and Distributors.

11

The Line of Difference: Indigeneity and

Ethnicity in Post-colonial Assam

Prafulla Kr. Nath

India’s Northeast has been a site of ethnic activism of various sorts from the time of independence. To provide a few instances, we have witnessed conflicts in Bodoland in the last two decades (Bodo-Adivasi Conflict, 1996, Bodo-Muslim Conflict, 2008 and 2012), Nellie massacre (1983), Karbi-Kuki conflict (2003), Karbi-Dimasa conflict (2015), Karbi-Khasi conflict (2003 in Meghalaya) or the interesting debate in Dima Hasao District (earlier North Cachar) of Assam centring on the issue of ethnicity and indigeneity. In different states of Northeast India such as Manipur and in Meghalaya, the demand for introduction of Inner Line Permits (ILP) and protests led by various organisations drew media attention in the recent past. Now and then, a similar demand is also raised in Assam by organisations like Asom Jatiyatabadi Yuva Chatra Parishad (AJYCP). In Manipur, a group of civic organisations formed the Joint Committee for Inner Line Permit (JCILP) in 2012 and spearheaded the movement since then for implementation of the ILP. In Meghalaya, almost ten students’ and youth organisations since 2012 have also fought for introduction of ILP. In Arunachal Pradesh, there was a debate and anxiety among various sections when extension of the railway line was going on in the state. It was a popular campaign by various organisations that rail connectivity would invite people from outside and would dilute the existing mechanism of ILP. In 2014, All Nishi Students Union (ANSU), All Papumpare

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District Students Union (APPDSU) and other civil society organisations started intense protests for developing a suitable mechanism for ILP (Gao, 2015) so that outsiders cannot settle in the state. In several of the above incidents, a curious mention of the role of Inner Line Permits is observed. Though the chapter will later refer to such instances, it is important to mention that the above incidents have received a fair amount of coverage by journalists, and even academics. Needless to state, many such efforts are either anecdotal or profoundly ahistorical. Of the few scholarly efforts worthy of mention, it is important to recognise the usefulness of Sharma’s (2012) contributions on the subject. Sharma avers that almost every ethnic group in the region today asks for a specific territory to be exclusively attributed to it in the name of its right to ‘self-determination.’ Furthermore, Sharma notes that more and more communities are adopting this trope, or what he calls the ‘bandwagon’ of claims over territory. Sharma (2012) briefly deliberates on the role of colonial spatial orderings. But such deliberations are intently brief. It appears that a systematic understanding of the ethnicisation of space, within a historical-sociological perspective, requires one to pay greater attention to the developments of the colonial period. Bodhisattava Kar’s (2009) contribution provides the piece to a complex puzzle deliberating much on the line system. Some important contributors on the subject might have also undermined the role of the line system, such as Sanjib Baruah where he states that “the line system was rather weak, and over time more and more areas were freed for settlement” (2001, p. 190). Yet, from the point of view of current-day developments, it is interesting and important to pay greater attention to the evolution of such colonial legacies as a specific ‘technology of rule’. With respect to the thesis on ‘technologies of rule’, Dirks (1997) argues that colonialism was made possible, “as much by cultural technologies of rule as it was by the more obvious and brutal modes of conquest”. In drawing our attention to the role of colonial cartography, census, the invention of museums, and the like, Dirks elaborates as to how

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cultural forms in native societies were newly classified as ‘traditional’, so as to generate a new series of oppositions between the modern and traditional, colonisers and the colonised, Europe and Asia (Dirks, 1997, p. iv). Cartographic practices such as the line system demand a more serious evaluation from this point of view, with an eye to current-day developments. Needless to state, the above is ascertained with respect to Northeast India, which comprises seven states, viz. Assam, Nagaland, Manipur, Mizoram, Arunachal Pradesh, Tripura and Meghalaya and connected to the mainland India with a 15 kilometre narrow corridor popularly known as the chicken neck. Prior to the advent of the British during the late 18th century to the Northeast, the region was divided into various dynasties and independent villages. With the acquisition of the Diwani of Bengal in 1765, the East India Company came into direct contact with the Northeast, especially the medieval kingdoms of Manipur and Assam. These territories did not have enough economic worth or surplus revenue to attract the British. But, with the Burmese invasion during 1817-24 in Manipur and Assam, the East India Company had to amend the policy as the security of Bengal became one of the major problems of the Company. The then ruling Ahom dynasty in Assam became weaker due to civil wars starting with the Muwamaria uprising1 in 1770. The invasion of the Burmese forces and subsequently their taking of control over Assam and Manipur created a quandary for Cachar and Sylhet as these places were already parts of the Bengal province of British India. The ruling Ahom dynasty sought help from the East India Company. In such a juncture, the British declared war against the Burmese. The wars took place during 1824-1826, between the British and Burmese and finally the British won it and signed the Treaty of Yandabo in 1826 with the Burmese. With this treaty, the British took over the region by annexing Assam within their colonial empire (Guha, 2006, p. 1). The other hill areas of Northeast India such as Garo Hills, Jaintia Hills, Khasi Hills, Naga Hills, Lushai Hills were also annexed in the later period.

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After independence in 1947, various movements for selfdetermination emerged in Northeast India starting with the demand for sovereignty by the Nagas. In course of time, demands and movement emerged for separate states in other areas as well. Due to the rising demands and movements, the states of Nagaland, Mizoram, Meghalaya, Tripura, Arunachal Pradesh, and Manipur, were created curbing out areas from undivided Assam. However, creation of separate states could not solve the aspirations of the people, as there have been demands from various corners of the region and people and popular ethnicity movements are witnessed both in the form of democratic and armed insurgencies in all these seven states since independence for self-determination. Assam, a constituent state of Northeast India has also gone through such types of ethnic activism since the time of independence. The region comprises of both hills and plains areas where people from various races and linguistic groups have settled in various phases of history. In the post-colonial times, the question of indigeneity is one of the central focuses in most of the ethnicity discourses in Assam as well as in other states of Northeast India. As the very idea of ‘being indigenous’ or indigeneity is related to a place, hence the homeland politics in ethnicity discourse is a central rhetoric for mobilising people. Centring to the issue of indigeneity in various ethnicity movements, ethnic conflicts also took place between groups claiming a particular territory as their exclusive homeland. More seemingly, many groups claim the same territory as their own relying on their temporal historical accounts—sometimes written or most of the times depending on the oral narratives. Indeed, indigeneity remains a vehemently contested term, which requires further elaboration for its own sake over here. Defining Indigeneity There are debates and contestations on defining the idea of indigeneity. The United Nations Organisation (UNO), however despite developing a definition for indigenous people has “developed a modern understanding of this term based” on some criteria:

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1. Self-identification as indigenous people at the individual level and accepted by the community as their member 2. Historical continuity with pre-colonial and (or) pre-settler societies 3. Strong link to territories and surrounding natural resources 4. Distinct social, economic, or political systems 5. Distinct language, culture, and beliefs 6. Form non-dominant groups of society 7. Resolve to maintain and reproduce their ancestral environments and systems as distinctive peoples and communities.2 The definition and criteria given by the various organisations vary. The Indigenous Peoples of Africa Coordinating Committee (IPACC), defines indigenous people as herding and hunting people, and people such as the Pygmies, who are subjected to discrimination because of their physical appearance. On the other hand, the International Labour Organisation (ILO) uses the term ‘indigenous people’ to refer to both tribal people whose social, cultural, and economic conditions distinguish them from other sections of the national community and whose status is regulated wholly or partially by their own customs or traditions or by special laws or regulations, and also to people who are regarded as indigenous because of their descent from populations that inhabited the country at the time of conquest or colonisation. Erica-Irene Daes, chairperson of the United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations (UNWGIP) looks at indigenous people through the criteria of: 1. Descendants of groups that were in the territory of the country at the time when other groups of different cultures or ethnic origins arrived there. 2. Those who have preserved the customs and traditions of their ancestors almost intact, which are similar to those characterised as indigenous because of their isolation from other segments of the country’s population and 3. Those who are placed under a state structure that incorporates

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national, social, and cultural characteristics alien to theirs (Srikanth, 2014). Bringing references and criteria laid down by several organisations such as ILO, IPACC and UNWGIP, Srikanth observes the following criteria for the indigenous people: 1. They are the descendants of the original inhabitants of the land before the colonial conquest. 2. They are usually tribal or communitarian in their status and outlook. 3. They have a subsistence economy, engaging primarily in hunting, food gathering, and shifting cultivation. 4. They are united based on real or imaginary common blood ties. 5. They are guided by customary laws. 6. They live in close association with nature. 7. They have been marginalised and made subordinate to communities that migrated and colonised the land. 8. They continue to follow old customs and traditions despite being a part of nation states with different values and ethos (2014, pp. 41-42). Colonialism and Assam: Legacies of Indigeneity So far, definitions or criteria of indigenous people put forth by the UNO or by other international agencies have become dissonant in understanding the present-day perception of indigeneity in the context of Assam. The people in Assam belonged to various races such as Indo-Mongoloid, Aryan, or Dravidian, who came and settled in Assam at different times and the same territory was ruled by various groups in assorted times. Likewise, the pace of ‘development’ also varied from community to community depending on its interaction with other groups or especially with colonialism. As an upshot, the very idea of indigenous is a dissonant allege of various groups, which has an unswerving relation with colonialism. The notion of indigenous or indigeneity and the multi-cultural nature of Assam’s

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society thus, creates the binary of ‘local’ and ‘outsider’ in a persuasive way in a particular place and ethnic conflicts becomes part of the various ethnic activisms. Many ethnic conflicts that have taken place in this region in the recent past have a direct linkage with the issue of indigeneity, ideas pertaining to which were given great shape in the crucible of colonialism. The colonialism which barely lasted for more than a hundred years in Assam or in Northeast India, which is a very short time in relation to the long human history and civilisation of the region. But within this small span of time it could reshape the past, present and future of the region. The various policies of the colonial rule as well as different notions towards the province and to its people during 19th century created multiple identities in this region in the later period. However, construction of different identities for different groups during that period, were part of the larger colonial anthropological episteme, mostly seen in terms of ‘modern’ and ‘non-modern’. Such categorisations are further exploited by various communities in the form of identity markers suited for the on­ going ethno-political purposes. Those categories are mostly spatial and racial identities created through diverse colonial institutions. Such ideas were not unique in the case of Assam or in the Northeast Indian context. In other parts of the colonies of Asia, Africa and in Latin America, the colonial masters applied different classifications amongst its subjects. Mahmood Mamdani (2001) in context to South Africa argues that race and ethnicity are the political identities created by the colonial institutions. Mamdani in historicising the root of ethnicity in South Africa has examined the colonial institution of law and discussed how it created split identities for different sets of people. The colonial rulers divided the population in South Africa under the banner of ethnicity and race. The races were governed through civil laws, which connoted that they were members of ‘actually’ and ‘potentially’ of civil society. Ethnicities were governed through customary laws. Civil laws speak the language of rights, but customary laws speak the language of tradition of authenticity. To confine the language of rights and

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thereby to set the limits of power the colonial government made a horizontal division between the natives and non-natives, where the customary laws varies from ethnicity to ethnicity. To maintain the superiority of the whites over others, the distinction between races and ethnicities was made through such legal instruments. The epiphany of such kinds of distinction and diverse kinds of law is that one is governed by biology where the other is by culture. It in turn set the limits of power. Mamdani argues, “for civic power was to be exercised within the rule of law and had to observe the sanctity of the domain of rights. The language of custom, in contrast, did not circumscribe power, for custom was enforced. The language of custom enabled power instead of checking it by drawing boundaries around it. In such an arrangement, no rule of law was possible” (2001, pp. 653-54). Like the above situation, the colonial rule received various kinds of experience in the form of protest and resistance from different communities in the multi-cultural Northeast India. Hence, colonialism formulated separate policies towards this population and spaces. The areas which were difficult to control were denoted as ‘disturbed areas’ and people as ‘criminal tribes’. It was legalised with the 1871 Criminal Tribes Act. Like South Africa, following the ‘uncivilised’ nature of the hilly people they could be governed by their own customs, whereas plains people were governed by the civil laws. In the Northeast Indian context, some of the important official divisions were spatial and racial categories. The spatial divisions were created through modern cartographic practices of the colonial rulers. One such important marker was the introduction of the Inner Line Permit (ILP) to the hills of the region. The system enjoys a greater antiquity than one that is commonly supposed to belong to the contemporary state. The lines segregated the hills from the plains with watertight compartments, and fixed people in their habitat. Through ILP it was legislated that a visitor needs prior permission from the concerned authority(ies) to visit such areas as well as not allowed the ‘outsiders’ to settle down on the other side of the line.

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But such categorisation had multiple economic, political, and social benefits got by the colonial government. Mackenzie, a colonial British official deputed in Assam during the late 19th century wrote regarding the introduction of ILP to the hills, More stringent control over the commercial relations of our own subjects with the frontier tribes living on the borders of our jurisdiction, stopping the operation of speculators in cautchouc, and restricting the spread of tea gardens outside our fiscal limits. (Mackenzie, 1884 quoted in Kar, 2009, p. 52)

The ILP was formally legislated through the Bengal Eastern Frontier Regulation Act, 1873. As per such provisions of the Inner Lines, lines were made in 1882 in Sibsagar; in 1904 and 1906 in the Naga Hills; and in 1884, 1886, 1897 and 1904 in Lakhimpur. In 1919, under the Government of India Act, the hilly areas were converted to backward tracts. This act empowered the Governor General-inCouncil to declare any territory of British India as a backward tract. Later, under the Government of India Act, 1935 these tribal areas were classified into Excluded, Partially Excluded and Frontier Areas. The Garo Hills, Mikir Hills and the British portion of the KhasiJaintia Hills other than the Shillong Municipality and cantonment area were considered as Partially Excluded Areas. The principle adopted in the selection of these areas was that, where there was an enclave or a definite tract of country inhabited by a compact tribal population, it was classified as ‘excluded area’. Where, however, the tribal population was mixed with the rest of the communities and the tribals were substantial enough in numbers, the area was classified as ‘partially excluded’ (Gassah, 1997, pp. 41-42). Apart from the provisions of law, the ‘lines’ demonstrated other facts too. The colonial anthropological notion on civilisation which can be best understood through the binary of ‘modern’ and ‘primitive’ was also a catalytic cause of looking at people through such categorisations. One side of the line was considered as civilised or modern, whereas the other side was understood as ‘primitive’, ‘non-modern’, or ‘uncivilised’. Philip discusses how the colonial science was instrumental in shaping such ideas. She argues that

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the 19th century Western science configured the knowledge and power, and these were the central pillars of colonialism. It saw the colonised as inferior subjects, uncivilised and pre-scientific where the coloniser was civilised, and scientific. She holds, “the geographic mapping of new territories, the cultivation of economic plants for the productive use of colonial land, agricultural theories of rural progression, anthropological understandings of the worker, the noble savage, and the cultured mind, social-scientific theories ranging from economics to linguistics, became important to the British Crown and Parliament, to adventurers and entrepreneurs, and to colonial administrations” (Philip, 2004, p. 5). Kar, on the other hand, regarding the Inner Line says the line “was not only a line in territory; it was also a line in time. The advance of the line on the map was read as progress from pre-capital to capital, from the time of ‘no law’ to the time of ‘law’” (2009, p. 60). He further asserts that the inner line was “not only a territorial exterior of the theatre of capital—it was also a temporal outside the historical pace of development and progress” (ibid). Edney has discussed the colonial geographical practices such as map-making and others, as a process of production of knowledge. He observes, “the British persisted in the flawed belief that they might reduce India to a rigidly coherent, geometrically accurate, and uniformly precise imperial space, a rational space within which a systematic archive of knowledge about the Indian landscapes and people might be constructed” (1997, p. 319). The geography offers to know the place in multiple ways. At the same time, it also created a kind of panopticon. In his words, “the multi-layered conflict between the desire and the ability to implement the perfect panopticist survey, between what the British persistently thought they had accomplished and the hybrid cartographic image of India which they actually accomplished, and between the ideals and practices of knowledge creation in the later enlightenment” (Edney, 1997, p. xiii). The inner lines in the post-colonial times became one of the spatial identities for those regions. The post-colonial government

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continued the policies of the colonial government. In the meantime, demands arose from different nationalistic organisations such as in Assam, Manipur and in Meghalaya demanding the implementation of the inner lines in their respective areas. In the state of Meghalaya and Manipur regular bandhs and protests are seen demanding execution of the ILP for a long time. In Arunachal Pradesh, the project of the extension of railway lines to the state was jeopardised due to massive protests from the local organisations as they argue that extension of the railways to the hill state is going to weaken the existing process of ILP, and will give an opportunity to the outsiders to settle down there. The inner lines of the colonial government cannot simply be read as lines of segregating people. Initially it provided the space-centric identity for the people. Such identity, fixing people in their habitat through the creation of Inner Lines in the colonial period stopped the natural and traditional interactions between hills and plains. There were numbers of pre-colonial institutions e.g. pocha, duars, fair3 which show the affinity of plains and hills, but subsequently delimited. The creation of the ‘excluded’ and ‘partially excluded areas’ by the colonial government was the policy of exclusion and inclusion—creation of binary between hills and plains. Traditionally the foothills were the meeting points for the ‘brothers’.4 It further constructed the colonial episteme of civilisation for both: colonial masters and to the local modern middle class. In different literetures of both colonial and local writers, those consumed colonial modernity, extensively used the ideas of primitive, nonmodern and uncivilised to some groups. Robert Reid, the Governor of Assam (1937-1942), in the lecture ‘Excluded Areas of Assam’ presented to the Royal Geographical Society of London on February 7, 1944 subsequently published the lecture in The Geographical Journal placed the people in civilisational scale. He observed that in the Balipara Frontier Tract direction, the principal tribes were Dufflas, Akas and Miris, who were “all very primitive people, who respond hardly at all to the influences of civilisation”. In the Sadiya Frontier Tract inhabited in the west by Abors and Miris and in the

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east by the Mishmis, Khamtis and Singhphos. The people “Mishmis are a shy, inoffensive, and rather suspicious race, very dirty, preferring to live in their hamlets on the high hills and not fond of coming down to the plains”. On the other hand, the “Khamtis are of the same stock as the Thais of Thailand or Siam, and they and the Singhphos are small communities which have given no trouble”. The Abors are “short and sturdy with broad Mongolian features: not very demonstrative but tremendous talkers among themselves. Unending discussions precede any combined action. They have no written language and have hardly been touched by civilisation”. In describing people of various tracts he maintained that in the Tirap Frontier, the main habitation is of Nagas who are “rather a degraded, backward type”. In the abode proper, the Nagas are “frank and independent by nature, of a cheerful and hospitable disposition, and the men who work there become devotedly attached to them.” In the partially excluded areas, Khasis are ‘extremes of development’. The Garos are a “backward, slow-witted lot, with broad, rather flat features and strong if rather ungainly bodies”. For him, the Mikirs are more backward than the Garos and they are a quiet, inoffensive tribe who have never given any trouble” (Reid, 1944, pp. 18-26).5 The fixing of people in different places in their natural habitat and creation of various laws and regulations, creations of lines and other colonial legacies, institutions created the idea of indigenous and outsider in the post-colonial period. The present perceptions and claiming of indigeneity and territoriality have been largely shaped by spatial orders followed during the colonial times. The boundaries drawn based on the colonial ethnography and administrative interests are now seen to become the walls and fences in the contemporary ethnic demarcations of the state. There are other colonial institutions like the ILP, which are nowadays considered as sacrosanct and pristine by various groups. Offering the example of the operation of census in both the colonial and post-colonial state, Baruah (2008) asserts that the operation of census by the post-colonial state observes the similar posture followed by the colonial regime. It still counts tribes in their supposed natural habitat. In metropolitan Guwahati, the

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number of hill population is zero. Similarly, the Bodos, who are plains tribe in Assam, have considerable presence in the hill district of Karbi Anglong of Assam, where they are enumerated as plains tribe. Baruah holds, “the colonial spatial order involved the radical subversion of existing social, political and economic networks and property regimes” (2008, p. 16). There are instances that the Bodos living in the hill district of Assam (in Karbi Anglong district) demanded hill tribe status and were subsequently opposed by the Karbis. Investigating the legacy and influence of the colonial census operation in India, Samarendra says that the colonial census had unresolved contradictions that though it found heterogeneity among the jatis (community) but its processes, demanded homogeneity from the communities to be counted. In case of caste, the very image of it that was created by the institution of census of colonialism; he asserts that ‘caste’ moved from the pages of colonial census reports into the domain of state and the wider academia. Different colonial officials who were Census Supervisors wrote, ethnographic texts about various castes and tribes. Denzil Ibbetson, J.A. Baines, H.H. Risley, E. Thurston, E.A. Gait, J.H. Hutton were some of the names in this regard (Samarendra, 2011, pp. 51-58). Though Samarendra has extensively talked about the birth of caste in colonial India, but the same can be applied in terms of tribes and can be correlated to our present debate. There were jatis or communities, however, “these never had a singular and uniform identity” in the Indian context (ibid., p. 57). But official process such as census which had an impact on the state policies and continuation of the similar methods in the post-colonial period gives the legitimacy of imagination of the pre-colonial existence of a group in its pristine form. It thus, imagines and legitimates its imagination with the ideas of indigeneity, homeland, etc. Chatterjee’s (1993) early and provocative thesis on nationalism points to how the anti-colonial uprisings were strangely modelled and resurrected from within categories of colonial thought. In his celebrated work, Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World: A

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Derivative Discourse, Chatterjee asserts, “in the very assertion of its project (i.e. nationalism), it remains a prisoner of the prevalent European intellectual fashions” (1993, p. 10). This is articulated slightly differently in Gyan Prakash’s (1994) introductory chapter to After Colonialism: Imperial Histories and Postcolonial Displacements. What we are currently witnessing in Assam may not be nationalist uprisings, but what Baruah more properly explains as ‘sub­ nationalism’. Struggles for sovereignty within the nation-state through the aegis of sub-nationalism continue to derive legitimacy from the colonial project as instances of ‘derivative discourses’. The impact of the Raj speaks not only through early nationalist uprisings, but also the contemporary sub-nationalism in different parts of independent India. This seems to be disturbingly, and glaringly, true of the Northeast. Every ethnic assertion movement in Assam or elsewhere in Northeast India is seen demanding an exclusive territory claiming themselves as indigenous to that area. Hence, in the ongoing identity politics, it is seen as the passionate demonstration of possessing a territory for the exclusive existence of a community where the ‘others’ are sought to be minimised in terms of quantitative as well as qualitative presence. Such claims lead to re-imagining history and romanticising different narratives to glorify past as well as legitimisation of claims. Such romanticisation leads to ethnicisation of history and imagination of exclusive homeland, which is indeed a more forceful mobilisation grounded on the colonial schemes of space-centric categorisation of peoples. It is interesting to note that while the ethnic claims pertaining to the issues of territoriality are largely shaped by the colonial spatial hierarchies, the appropriation of the cultural contents to become indigenous often involves imagining cultural inheritance since pre-colonial times. The different communities of Assam and the rest of the Northeast used to live with their own kingdom before the British took over. Sanjib Baruah (2008) on the ongoing issue of identity question argues that, ‘colonial propensity of fixing tribes to their supposedly natural habitats’ creates the space-centric identity politics. He also

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claims that colonial notions of fixing and identifying some people on the basis of race and their natural habitat and thereby creation of spaces like ‘excluded’, ‘partially excluded’ areas, ‘abode proper’, ‘backward and degraded type’, etc. are responsible for the rising of space-centric homeland politics in the post-colonial situation. He holds, “this notion of ethnicity and the fixing of ethnic groups to particular physical spaces made it necessary to distinguish between so-called pure and impure types to account for those that strayed away from the assigned physical spaces, i.e. living in the hills instead of the plains or vice versa, or living in the ‘wrong’ hills; or those that did not conform to the ethnic stereotypes that colonial officials had about them” (Baruah, 2008, p. 15). The colonial administrative recognition to different communities in Northeast India, as per their habitat as well as cultural and other associated habits, kept them outside the mainstream colonial modernity. Migration in the Colonial Period and Issue of Indigeneity Colonial rule did not only segregate the hills and plains, rather in the plains also similar policies were adopted to segregate different people. Once the British occupied Assam, a new set of migration took place in the form of traders, government officials from Bengal and labourers. With the introduction of the tea industry in Assam, the British planters needed a disciplined labour force to work in the newly established tea gardens of Assam. However, the essential requirement of trained and motivated labour force could not be made from the local population of Assam as the population in Assam was reduced significantly due to the civil wars of the Muwamoria revolt, Kala Azar6 and Burmese incursion. Subsequently, Assam had enough wasteland but insufficient labour force for large-scale cultivation of tea. Different literatures7 also show that a major chunk of Assamese people was addicted to opium consumption and therefore, reluctant to work in the tea gardens. Hence, the British had to import labour force from north and central India. Moreover, by the early 20th century, the region witnessed large-scale migration of Muslim peasants which occurred from the Sylhet district of

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East Pakistan (presently Bangladesh). The xenophobia of Assamese nationalism started with the coming of the East Pakistan origin Muslim population. They came in different phases and in large numbers. After partition in 1947 and in 1971, when Bangladesh got sovereignty, a substantial number of people came and settled in Assam. However, during the colonial period, the British themselves encouraged Muslim migration to the Assam province. Many British officials in their notes, such as Butler in Travel and Adventures in the Province of Assam noted that Assam was a less populated province full of forests and ‘immense tracks of forests still remain untilled’ and there was no hope of ‘a dense population for ages to come’ (Butler, 1855, p. 250 and Baruah, 2001, p. 45). Baruah asserts that “in the early parts of the 20th century, a new commercial agriculture through colonisation of land by immigrant agriculturalists became the principal way of supplying foodgrains and other agricultural products to the growing ‘modern sectors’. The colonisation of land by settlers from East Bengal began in a big way in the second decade of the 20th century, and on a reduced scale continued well beyond the partition of the subcontinent in 1947” (2001, p. 47). The Assamese middle class, the newly educated tribal leaders as well as some colonial officials showed their apprehension towards the huge influx during the colonial period itself. The demographic landscape already started changing in Assam as “non-indigenous elements came to constitute (around) one-quarter of the population of Assam proper in 1901” (Guha, 2006, p. 39; Sharma, 2016, p. 91). Manik Ch. Baruah, member of the Assam Legislative Council in 1915 raised concern about the large-scale migration from East Sylhet and asked the government to take measures so that no conflict could take place between them and the villagers. Similarly, various British officials also showed their concerns. This is evident in the following comment of Mr. Llyod in the census report of 1921, In 1911, a few cultivators from Eastern Bengal had gone to Goalpara ...in the last decade (1911-1921), the movement had extended far up the valley, and the colonists now form an appreciable element in the population of all the four lower and central districts ...In Goalpara,

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nearly 20 percent of the population is made of these settlers. The next favourite district is Nowgong, where they form about 14 per cent of the whole population. In Kamrup, waste lands are being taken up rapidly, especially in the Barpeta sub-division. In Darrang exploration and settlement of the colonists are at an earlier stage. They have not yet penetrated far from the banks of the Brahmaputra ...Almost all the trains and streamers brings parties of these settlers, and it seems likely that their march will extend further up the Brahmaputra valley and away from the river before long. (Census Report of 1921, quoted in Das, 1986, pp. 28-29)

C.S. Mullan, the Superintendent of 1931 census, wrote, It is sad but by no means improbable that in another thirty years Sibsagar district will be the only part of Assam which an Assamese will find himself at home. (Mullan, 1932, p. 30)

Further Mullan made some derogatory comments about the Mymensinghias (Mymensingh, a district of present-day Bangladesh, and Mymensinghia is a local term to refer to immigrants from Bangladesh). He said, “wherever the carcass, there will vultures be gathered together. Where there is waste-land, thither flock the Mymensinghiahs” (Mullan, 1932, p. 30). The serious apprehension on the part of the Assamese middle class and some of the colonial officials saw the rise of national consciousness. The anxiety over the encroachment of the alien cultural groups was well depicted in the writings of Ambikagiri Rai Choudhury and others. Guha considers such apprehension of the Assamese middle class as the rise of the little nationalism. He says, This apprehension sustained a powerful lobby of little nationalism both inside and outside the Assam Congress during the three preIndependence decades. Assamese little nationalism no longer remained during these decades just a middle class or a nascent bourgeois phenomenon. It was fast reaching out to the peasantry, constituted of both autochthons and immigrants, and divided it. (Guha, 1984, pp. 42-65)

The emerging tribal political organisation also demonstrated their serious concern and opposition to the increasing migrations.

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Consequently, the colonial government introduced the Line System in 1920 to protect the land from the outsiders. It was initially applied in Nowgong and Barpeta sub-division of Kamrup district and gradually spread to other districts of lower Assam. As per the Line System, the villages were divided into three types: a) Open Villages b) Closed Villages and c) Mixed Villages. In open villages, immigrants could settle freely. In closed villages, immigrants were not allowed to settle and in mixed villages a line was drawn where immigrants could settle on one side of the line (Das, 1986, p. 31). The same was later converted to Tribal Belts and bocks after continuous pressure from the Tribal League, a conglomerate body of various tribal groups formed in 1933. The creation of belts and blocks are continuing nowadays also where in those belts and blocks non-tribals cannot settle, buy, or sell lands. The apprehension of the Assamese middle class and of the tribal leadership since the colonial period to the post-colonial times created the binary of indigenous and outsiders in most of the ethnicity discourses of Assam. In various ethnicity movements, the East Bengal origin Muslim peasants became the soft target who were considered as illegal migrants and had occupied ‘our land’. The Nellie massacre (1983) and the conflicts in Bodoland (2008, 2012) can be cited here. Conflict and Debates Apart from the debate on indigeneity and conflict with these new settlers; there are instances of conflict among the different old settlers’ groups also where one group claims themselves as indigenous and the other as intruders to their land and vice versa. Most of the ethnic groups of Assam do not have their own script and did not have the tradition of documenting the past. At the height of the ethnicity movement, and to fortify their claims, the communities are constructing history of its own by bringing in new oral evidences and their fresh interpretations. Many oral as well as written accounts are negated which are not useful in valorising the past. Creating an appropriate past and its glorification is invariably an effective mechanism for mobilising a community. The medieval

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Ahom dynasty on the other hand, had the rich tradition of the same scriptures popularly known as Buranjis where glimpses of accounts are found about different communities of the region. But in many cases, those narratives are either negated or more emphatically is seen as a vibrant site of ethnicised narratives which involve re-creation and re-interpretation of oral as well as written texts. Such processes involve attempts for merging of exclusive ethnic spaces. The different oral or written narratives temporal in nature are part of the ‘glorious past’. Such temporalities are presently, described as a historical fact and a contextual necessity in the ethno­ national discourses; as well, it has become customary to claim such spaces as their own territory by multiple claimants. Such dissonant claims by different ethnic communities about their ownership of the same space are articulated through their respective ethno-historical narratives. A few such examples are illustrated in the following paragraphs. Dimapur, one of the important cities of the state of Nagaland (today) was merged into Nagaland after its creation as a separate state of India in 1963. Dimapur once happened to be the capital of the Dimasa kingdom in the medieval period. The names of different places justify such claims. Diphu, the adjoining area of the earlier Dimasa kingdom, Dimapur and district headquarters of Karbi Anglong nowadays mostly dominated by Karbis, is a Dimasa name. The other towns of the tract Lanka, Hojai, etc. too are Dimasa names. The invaders pushed the Dimasas from their old kingdom Dimapur to the present habitat of north Cachar and Karbi Anglong. The Dimasa nationalist organisations as well as the militant groups are now demanding the Dimapur area under its map of Dimaraji. Many Dimasa populations living in these areas claim a continuous threat from the Naga population, especially from the Naga insurgent groups. Similarly, Naga militant groups are also demanding a larger nagalim claiming their ownership over different border areas of present-day Assam, Manipur, and Arunachal, which is creating tensions in the borders of the concerned states. The Indian state has already set up a number of commissions to resolve the border

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disputes, but the recommendations of such commissions are still to be accepted by the concerned states. But the rising demand for a separate and ethnic territory gave momentum to other groups residing in those areas. In case of the north Cachar district (presently Dima Hasao), different tribal communities are standing against the demand of the Dimasas for an exclusive Dimaraji. The non-Dimasas formed the Indigenous Peoples Forum (IPF), claiming to be the more indigenous people of the area than the Dimasas. The debate here is who is more indigenous in Dima Hasao District: the Dimasas or the other communities. The IPF is also demanding the creation of Haflong (the Headquarters of the district) as a separate district which would be out of Dimaraji or the Autonomous District Council of the Dimasas. A similar demand is also coming up in the Karbi Anglong, where a committee named Bokajan District Demand Committee is formed for demanding an exclusive district for the non-Karbis. The Bodoland Movement started in 1986, came up with the demand of ‘divide Assam 50-50’. Although, in the proposed map of Bodoland, a substantial number of non-Bodo people are living in those areas from a considerable time. The colonial history, labour history, show the coming and settlement of these populations in there, who nowadays subsequently opposing the Bodoland—the exclusive Bodo territory. More emphatically, another ethnic community of the region Koch Rajbongshis who are also demanding Kamatapur, a Koch Rajbongshi land for its people, whose map overlaps the greater Bodoland demanded by the Bodos. Above all, it has demanded six other districts in the proposed Kamatapur from the state of West Bengal. The demand for an exclusive territory for the Bodos creates concern to the non-Bodo people living in Bodoland, who fear the basic political rights, land rights and so forth. The Bodoland has witnessed numbers of ethnic violence in recent years. The BodoAdivasi conflict in 1996, Muslim-Bodo conflict in 2008 and 2012 claimed death of more than 100 people in each violence. Many people argue that this violence is a part of Bodo chauvinism and a systematic process of ethnic cleansing for an exclusive Bodoland.

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Although, Bodos are said to be the autochthons of Assam, claimed by the Bodos8 as well as others, but many scholars argue that most of Bodos migrated from Bhutan, Nepal and present-day Bangladesh. Moymansing, name of a place in Bangladesh is a Bodo word which means a place where paddy grows well (Sharma, 2006). Such examples can be multiplied.9 In recent years, many non-Bodo organisations have come up to counter the Bodo nationalistic trend. In Bodoland, nowadays the O-Bodo Suraksha Mancha (non-Bodo Protection Forum) is a strong organisation who is demanding to review the BTAD accord as well as against the demand of ‘divide Assam 50-50’. It is also demanding to curve-out the non-Bodo villages from the present BTAD. In such a situation, it is experienced in Assam that due to its multi-culturality, whenever any ethnicity is strengthened to check such nationalism, the counter politics also emerged strongly. Similarly, in Rabha Hasong (territory of Rabha Autonomous Council), the non-Rabha organisations are demanding the curving-out of non-Rabha areas from the said territory. Here too a series of ethnic violence are seen in the recent past. The Rabha­ non-Rabha conflict is quite common in the Rabha Hasong area. In 2011, during the Garo-Rabha conflict, a considerable section of people of both communities lost their lives and property. Conclusion From the discussion, it is seen how the ethnic movements in Assam are following a colonial spatial order in terms of territoriality and also to understand the idea of indigeneity. The colonial intervention in Northeast India, created different sets of identities and in the present-day context, those are imagined as the pre-colonial. The Line System is a case in point, being articulated frequently amid colonial discourses of civilisation and cultural differences. It also stands out as a system that was frequently corroborated by other technologies of rule such as the census and colonial cartography. One of the fallouts of such developments is that different ethnic groups largely claim their own exclusive territory following the spatial hierarchies of colonialism. Of course, there are bound to

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be other reasons as well, such as language, cultural affinity, and opportunities for resource appropriation in the day and age of neo­ liberalism. Though it is not possible to address the entire gamut in the brief space of this chapter, the Line System does indeed reduce and ignore the considerable presence of the others and their history. Such processes create an ethnicised history or narrative rather than an ethno-history of a group. It is triggered by the passionate demonstration of possessing a territory for the exclusive existence of a community where the ‘others’ are sought to be minimised in terms of quantitative as well as qualitative presence. Such politics of an exclusive homeland leads to ethnicisation of spaces, which often leads to conflicts amongst the stakeholder groups. NOTES 1. Muwamaria uprising: Revolt of a particular sect of Vaishnavite monks, called Muwamoria, against the ruling Ahom king during 1769-1806. 2. UNO Factsheet. Retrieved from http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/ documents/5session_factsheet1.pdf 3. Pocha: Annual tributary of the Ahom subjects to the Nagas to avoid raids during the pre-colonial period.Duar: Foothills areas of lower Assam, through which annual tributaries were exchanged between the Bhutia kings of Bhutan and Zamindars (big land holders). Jonbil Mela: A fair held every year in Marigaon where the hill communities like the Tiwas, Karbis, and Khasi come down and exchange goods with the plains Tiwas. 4. James Scott (2009) looks at the continuum of interactions between plains and hills. He regards the plainsmen as brothers of the hill people in his book, Art of Not Being Governed. 5. I do not deny that such prerogatives might have had some antecedents as well. For instance, Gunabhiram Baruah, a 19th century social reformer who advocated widow marriage, wrote about different hill communities in his Assam Buranji (2006). The spatial demarcations are important to note. For instance, the Nagas are counted as ‘people living in between the districts of Kachari, Mikir, Manipur and Sivsagar’. The semiotic origins of the word ‘Naga’ are traced to the Sanksrit word ‘Nagna’ or naked. Likewise, the Misimis are ascertained as people ‘living between the Abor and Khamti hills’, and the Dafala Jati, are

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found between ‘the hills of Bhoot and Aka’ jatis (cited in Baruah, 2006, pp. 13-15). Either one can read this as evidence of the 19th century orderings of space, or one can take this to be how even texts of social reform became ‘texts of power’ (Chatterjee, 1995) during the colonial period. An alternative perspective is provided by the revisionist historian C.A. Bayly (1983, 1996), where he argues for ‘continuities’ between the pre-colonial and colonial pasts. But from the evidence the chapter at hand presents, it is hard to dismiss how colonialism gave an ideological stature to certain governmental practices that might have otherwise been sporadic and disparate. 6. Kala-azar or visceral leishmaniasis (black water fever) was an epidemic which broke out in Assam during the last decade of the19th century. The name of Assam was crafted in the medical memory as this disease was named as the Assam Fever (Kar, 2003, pp. 2-4). 7. All the newspapers published in 19th century opposed the common addiction of opium of the Assamese people. Hemchandra Barua, wrote a book namely, Kaniar Kirton (1861) (Opium Eaters’ Gossip) through which he criticised the prevalent practice of opium consumption of the people of Assam, irrespective of caste and class. 8. In ABSU’s clarification on Bodoland Statehood Demand (divide Assam fifty-fifty) published in 1987, prepared in Question-Answer format, some points were mentioned as follows: Question No. 23: The Chief Minister of Assam, Prafulla Kr. Mahanata has said that he would ‘never allow’ further division of Assam. So, how can we hope that Assam can be divided further? Answer: In fact, the Assamese people have no moral right to rule over the tribals, the sons of the soil. Tribals are the original masters of Assam. On the other hand, the Chief Minister of Assam has no proper authority whether or not to divide Assam, because it is not a state subject, but a central subject instead. Moreover, Mr. Prafulla Kumar Mahanta has no moral right or claim not to divide Assam further as he is not the original master of Assam but originally an outsider from Kanouj. Question No. 44: Who are the original masters of Assam—the Assamese or the tribals? Answer: The Assamese are not the original masters of Assam. They were introduced into Assam only in the 13th and 14th century. The tribals, the Kacharis, and the Mongolians are the original masters of Assam.

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9. In a discussion, a researcher on the Bodo Movement said that hardly any oral account is found in the Bodo oral tradition regarding the conflict, war, and fight with the Mughals. The Mughals attacked Assam several times from the West where the Bodos resided. This shows that they themselves migrated in the recent past.

REFERENCES Baruah, Sanjib. (2001). India Against Itself: Assam and the Politics of Nationality. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Baruah, Sanjib. (2008). Territoriality, Indignity and Rights in the NorthEast India. Economic and Political Weekly, 43(12-13), 15-19. Butler, Major John. (1855). Travel and Adventures in the Province of Assam: During a Residence of Fourteen Years. London: Smith, Edler and Co. Chatterjee, Partha. (1993). Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse. Zed Books: London. Chatterjee, Partha. (Ed.). (1995). Texts of Power: Emerging Disciplines in Colonial Bengal. London: University of Minnesota Press. Das, J. N. (1986). Genesis of Tribal Belts and Blocks of Assam. In B.N. Bordoloi (Ed.), Alienation of Tribal Land and Indebtedness (pp. 28-38). Guwahati: Tribal Research Institute. Dirks, Nicholas. (1997). Foreword. In Bernard S. Cohn, Colonialism and its Forms of Knowledge: The British in India (pp. ix-xviii). New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Edney, Matthew H. (1997). Mapping an Empire: The Geographical Construction of British India, 1765-1843. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gao, David. (2015). Railways and the Issue of Inner Line Permit in Arunachal Pradesh. Economic and Political Weekly, 50(8), (21 February). Gassah, L.S. (1997). Autonomous District Councils. New Delhi: Omsons Publications. Guha, Amalendu. (2006). Planter Raj to Swaraj: Freedom Struggle and Electoral Politics in Assam 1826-1947. New Delhi: Tulika. Guha, Amalendu. (1984). Nationalism: Pan-Indian and Regional in a Historical Perspective. Social Scientist, 12(2), 42-65. Kar, Bodhisattva. (2009). When was the Postcolonial: A History of Policing Impossible Lines. In Sanjib Barua (Ed.), Beyond Counter Insurgency:

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Breaking the Impasses of North East India (pp. 49-77). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Kar, Bodhisattva. (2003). The Assam Fever. Welcome History, 23, 1-24. Sheffield & York: White Rose, University Consortium. Retrieved from http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/64264/1/Wellcome_History_23_ June_2003.pdf Mamdani, Mahmood. (2001). Beyond Settler and Native as Political Identities: Overcoming the Political Legacy of Colonialism. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 43(4), 651-664. Mullan, C.S. (1932). Census of India, 1931 (Vol. III)—Assam. Shillong: Assam Government Press, GOI. Philip, Kavita. (2004). Civilizing Natures. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press. Prakash, Gyan. (Ed.). (1994). After Colonialism: Imperial Histories and Postcolonial Displacements. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Reid, Robert. (1944). The Excluded Areas of Assam. The Geographical Journal. 103(1-2), 18-29. Samarendra, Padmanabh. (2011). Census in Colonial India and the Birth of Caste. Economic and Political Weekly, XLVI(33), 51-58. Scott, James. (2009). The Art of Not Being Governed. Hyderabad: Orient BlackSwan. Sharma, Chandan Kr. (2006). Genealogy Contested: Oral Discourse and Bodo Identity Construction. In M.D. Muthukumaraswamy (Ed.), Folklore as Discourse (pp. 73-94). Chennai: National Folklore Support Centre. Sharma, Chandan Kr. (2012). The Immigration Issue in Assam and Conflicts Around It. Asian Ethnicity, 13(3), 287-309. Sharma, Chandan Kr. (2016). Immigration, Indigeneity, and Identity: The Bangladeshi Immigration Question in Assam. In Dilip Gogoi (Ed.), Unheeded Hinterland Identity and Sovereignty in Northeast India (pp. 89-113). Oxon: Routledge. Srikanth, H. (2014). Who in Northeast India are Indigenous? Economic and Political Weekly, XLIX(20), 41-46.

12

Nationalism and Social Exclusion: The

Making of Ethnic Identity Movements in

Assam

Ransaigra Daimary

The modern Indian polity has witnessed a series of popular ‘ethnic’ movements from amongst its various ‘ethnic’ constituents, particularly over the question of ‘self-rule’ even though what this term actually means for both the state and the representatives of the movements remains ambiguous (Sharma, 2005, p. 31). The meaning of the term ‘self-rule’ has historically varied from the desire for differing degrees of autonomy within the Indian union to the demand for a sovereign state outside India. Post-colonial India has faced separate state movements based on separate ethnic and linguistic lines since the 1950s, for example, the Samyukta Maharashtra Movement, the Dravida Movement, the Naga Movement, etc. However, according to Sharma (2005, p. 31), irrespective of the actual content of the demand for self-rule, there has been an upsurge in the number of these movements since the 1960s. It seems the ethnic identity movements problematises the seemingly homogeneous, although, imagined community of the Indian nation. In this line, Dipankar Gupta (1997, p. 228) argues that ethnic movements are the outcome of a nation-building exercise undertaken by the multi-ethnic Indian state. While contested by thinkers such as Eugen Weber who in his work, Peasants into Frenchman: The Modernization of Rural France 1870-1914 (1976),

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argues that the Indian nation state was unable to adopt the Western model of the nation state, where ideally, language, religion and political sovereignty had coterminous boundaries, though this can be contested. While Indian nationalists aim at creating a pan-Indian character, it proved to be illusory, as diverse cultural, linguistic, and regional groups begin resisting the dominant identity. Some questions come to the fore: what has prompted the sudden increase in these demands from different ethnic groups? Against whom is this struggle directed? What is the future of these movements? Any attempt to answer these questions will lead us to the issue of social exclusion. The concept of ‘social exclusion’ invokes the idea of a boundary which separates ‘inside’ from ‘outside’. Hence, ‘social exclusion’ does not operate simply as a sociological fact, which might occur due to societal needs, but is premised on the creation of this boundary. To understand how this boundary comes into operation, the category ‘Indian nation’ is perceived as a historically constructed category; or an imagined community as discussed by Anderson (1991). The sociological and historical literature on ethnicity and nation has shown the category to be a highly contested one. Moreover, the constructivist turn in the study of ethnicity and nation has freed the category from nature-based arguments (which border on biological racism) towards a sociological investigation of the production and operation of this category in social science discourse. Anderson, Brass and Smith have usefully traced the linkages between nation-state formation and the central role ethnicity plays within the rhetoric, imagination, and concretisation of the modern nation-state. Their work has put ethnicity back in the heart of the debate about the trajectory of modern nationalism by stressing the ethnic roots of modern nation-states. As the modern nation or nationalism goes in tendem with the conception of the modern nation-state, it becomes a tool for the pursuit of political power. On the backdrop, this chapter attempts to understand the phenomenon by attributing it to the problem of social exclusion, by discussing the situation of the Bodos, Missings, Rabhas, Karbis,

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Dimasas-Kacharis, Tiwas, Thengal-Kacharis, Morans and Chutias, etc. in Assam. It is being argued that, ethnic nationalism in the case of Assam is better understood not merely as an expression of discontent but seen as a language of political mobilisation in response to state-sanctioned and culturally hegemonic marginalisations. The dominant Assamese elite were able to acquire state power, yet leading to the cultural, social, and economic marginalisation of smaller ethnic groups like the Bodos, Misings, Karbis, Dimasa-Kacharis, Tiwas, Thengal-Kacharis, Morans and Chutias, etc. Ethnicity, Nationalism and Ethnic Nationalism Herein conceptualisations of ethnicity, nationalism as well as ethnic nationalism as a theoretically orientation to the argument is offered. While the former two concepts seem to share some similarities in terms of the claims they are based on, ethnic nationalism is better understood as an emerging movement that draws on ideas of both. In general terms, an ethnic group refers to a group of people which is a culturally demarcated collectivity, belonging to a community, which may be bound by kinship ties, blood relation, language, religion, dress, etc. Ethnic identity and ethnic origin refer to the individual’s identification with a culturally defined collectivity, the sense on the part of the individual that he or she belongs to a distinct cultural community. Ethnic origin likewise refers to a sense of ancestry and nativity on the part of the individual through his or her parents and grandparents. Ethnicity then is a subjective claim, of a sense of belonging to a particular group made on the basis of affiliation with the objective markers of a particular group like culture, language, dress or religion or as these may be reflected in the conception of others who are not part of the ethnic group (Hutchison and Smith, 1996, pp. 1-14). Yet an ethnic group cannot exist in isolation but exists only in relation to other groups. Fredrik Barth (1969) argues that the distinctions between ethnic groups are maintained through boundaries which come up within the social interaction between different ethnic groups. He notes that ethnic distinctions cannot be drawn in the absence

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of mobility, contact and information, but instead entail social processes of exclusion and incorporation whereby discrete categories are maintained despite changing participation and membership of groups in the course of an individual’s life history. Ethnic distinctions are dependent on social interaction and acceptance on which social systems are built. In such a system, interaction does not lead to any liquidation of group identity through change and acculturation, but cultural difference persists despite inter-ethnic contact and interdependence. Thus, ethnicity is a claim to distinguish oneself and one’s identity from others based on claims one makes about oneself and others through social interaction. In the social science discourse, the formation of ethnicity has been understood from two opposing perspectives, the primordialist and the instrumentalist. However, later as a critique to these two perspectives, a third perspective called the constructivist became an increasingly dominant trend in the social sciences discourse, to explain the formation of ethnicity in the present-day context. Primordialists like Edward Shills understand that ethnicity is given in nature (Hutchison and Smith, 1996). When primordialists speak of an ethnic group, they mean a culturally demarcated and bounded community tied by kinship, blood relations or religion. In this approach, ethnic consciousness is seen as ascriptive, communal allegiance which inheres in the linguistic, racial, or religious attributes defining the parameters of that group (Brown, 1994, pp. xi-xxi). Most primordialists understand ethnic origin as biological that is genetic kinship where if a child is born in a certain group, it will naturally imply that the child belongs to the ethnic group to which his parents belong. On the other hand, instrumentalists like Paul R. Brass holds that ethnicity is constructed by elites for economic and political gains for themselves and for their groups. Ethnicity is understood as being determined by cultural and political needs of the groups which may occur due to the power structure in that society. While both seem to agree on some basic features of ‘ethnicity’ as a category of social group formation, both views seem to be based on a static conception of ‘ethnicity’ (1991, p. 8).

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Carsten Wieland critiquing the two approaches on ethnicity maintains that, ‘both the approaches in their pure form give two simplified views with respect to the so-called ethnicity’ (2006, pp. 37-38). The primordialist lays too much stress on primordial factors and is unable to explain why some ethnic groups disappear, new ones emerge, and others assimilate or prevail. On the other hand, the instrumentalists neglect the principle of descent or naturalness of the origins of ethnicity. This approach then gets into explanatory trouble when the question arises as to why the masses become so easily mobilised by the appeal of descent and culture. It also fails to explain why some ethnic groups stubbornly hold on to their descent or naturalness like kinship ties or blood relations and why people are ready to sacrifice their lives for their goals. Wieland, putting together the two approaches came up with a new approach which he called the situative-primordial approach. This new approach assumes that “ethnicity has not existed at all times but that it is created and invented, but in this process of creation and invention it takes some of the old material of the group from the past, which is used in the mobilisation of any ethnic groups in the modern era” (Wieland, 2006, p. 39). Thus, this approach allows us to use and analyse ethnicity as both an independent and dependent variable. By independent and dependent variable of ethnicity, reference is made about its construction by the elites, for socio-political or economic gains which are seemingly modern but based on essentialising ‘objective’ parameters of a group like culture, religion, language, blood ties, etc. In this position, ethnicity is formulated along precise cultural axes of myth, history-writing, linguistic nationalism, religious affiliation, and other cultural markers like dress, food, etc. They argue that even as ethnicity is based on the idea of a separate cultural community or group, it is constructed by taking the cultural parameters like language, histories and myths, etc. to construct and assert one’s identity in order to resolve insecurities arising from the power structure of societies within which these groups are located. Anthony D. Smith defines an ethnic group or ethnic community as ‘named human populations with shared ancestry, myths, histories

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and cultures, having an association with a specific territory and a sense of solidarity’ (1986, p. 32). He observes that an ethnic identity formation may be the outcome of modern situations like the development of capitalism or the development of industrial society, but these explanations are not sufficient to explain the formation of an ethnic group. If ethnicity is neither fully primordial nor instrumental, then it must be argued by drawing from both these perspectives. The concept of ethnicity may be a modern concept which has emerged due to the contemporary economic or political situation but it cannot also deny the primordial character of the groups past, which also form the core part of the ethnic identity formation. Popular definitions of the nation view it as ‘a grouping of people who share common history, culture, language and ethnic origin, often possessing or seeking its own government’ (Smith, 1986, p. 32). Nationalism, on the other hand, is understood as ‘an ideology or the sentiment of feelings of anger aroused due to the violation of the principle of the nation, or the feelings of satisfaction aroused by its fulfilment’ (Gellner, 1983, p. 1). Thus, even though the idea of nationalism seems like an extension of the idea of the nation, both these terms are used to explain multiple yet inter-related phenomena, leading to their ambivalence (Sharma, 2005, p. 32). It is pointed out that the definitions of nation and nationalism reveal more about the definers then the defined (Aloysius, 1997, p. 7). Like the idea of ethnicity, the conceptions of nation and nationalism seem to have come about with the development of modern industrial states and nationalist movements in Europe in the 18th and 19th centuries. Immanuel Wallerstein holds that the concept of ‘nation’ came into being as one of the basic structural features of the capitalist worldeconomy. He argues that the concept of ‘nation’ is related to the political super-structure of the historical system, where the sovereign state is formed and derived from the interstate system (1991, pp. 81-82). However, there are others who understand these concepts as being beyond the mere state formation of 18th and 19th century Europe.

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Benedict Anderson thus, contends that nationality, nation-ness as well as nationalism are cultural artefacts of a particular kind. They are “notoriously difficult to define, let alone analyse” (1991, pp. 5-7). He affirms that a nation is an act of imagination; and that nations were not the determinate products of some sociological conditions like language, race, or religion. Rather, they have been ‘imagined into existence’. It has been imagined as a political community as both inherently limited and sovereign. It is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their community. On the other hand, it is held as a limited, sovereign community because even the largest nation encompassing perhaps a billion living human beings has finite, if elastic, boundaries, beyond which there lie other nations. So, no nation imagines itself coterminous with mankind. Again, it is held as sovereign because the concept of nation was born at the age of enlightenment and revolution, where the legitimacy of the old divinely ordained, hierarchical dynastic realm was destroyed. At this stage even the most devout adherents of any universal religion were inescapably confronted with the living pluralism of such religions. Finally, Anderson claims the nation as an imagined community because regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each, the nation is always conceived of as a deep, horizontal comradeship. This imagined community or the nation came into existence with the development of new modes of communications opened by the flood of printed words under the novel technology of ‘print-capitalism’. With the decline of old religious beliefs and the rise of the printed words, it has become both possible and necessary to ‘imagine’ communities, at once sovereign and limited, through which a sense of immortality can be evoked and with which anonymous individuals can identify. He holds that through the development of these printed words, individuals who do not know each other also can appear to inhabit the same homogeneous, empty time and an identifiable space by belonging to an imagined community. Later such ‘imagined communities’ or nation then

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come to serve vital psychological as well as economic needs under the peculiar modern conditions of secular capitalism (Anderson, 1991, pp. 37-46). Ernest Gellner (1983) on the other hand, argues that nation and nationalism are purely modern phenomena which came up as requirements of a growth-oriented industrial society. For Gellner, pre-modern agro-based societies had no place for nation or nationalism as their elites and food-producing masses were always separated along cultural lines and these types of societies were unable to generate an ideology which could overcome such a divide. A modern society, on the other hand, requires cultural homogeneity to function and can generate the necessary ideology. Modern societies require a mobile, literate, and technologically equipped population and for that the modern state is the only agency capable of providing such a workforce through its support for a mass, public and compulsory and standardised education system. As industrialisation and modernisation proceed unevenly outwards from their western heartlands, they necessarily uproot villages and entire regions eroding traditional structures and cultures and bring many people under one homogeneous urban society. The bringing of numerous people as a homogeneous group, results in class conflicts over scarce resources and leads to the formation of many new groups. However, if the urban melting pot fails to assimilate the newcomers into the dominant literate culture through the educational system, then there will arise two new nations and this happens when the newcomers have a different colour or religion (Smith, 1986, p. 10). Brass expands on the relationship between ethnicity and nationalism, one that seems relevant here, especially to understand the idea of ethnic nationalism which the essay discusses later. He argues that “ethnicity and nationalism are not given but are social and political constructions. They are the creation of elite who draw upon, distort and sometimes fabricate material from the culture of the group they wish to represent in order to protect their well-being or existence or to gain political and economic advantages for their

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groups as well as themselves” (Brass, 1991, p. 8). Thus, he stresses the inextricable operations of ethnicity and nationalism in the centralisation of the modern nation-state. He contends that “ethnic identity and modern nationalism arise out of specific types of interaction between the leadership of the centralising state and elites from non-dominant ethnic groups especially, but not exclusively on the peripheries of those states” (Brass, 1991, pp. 8-9). For Anthony D. Smith (1986, p. 211), nation and ethnicity are neither modern nor primordial, but they are the product of the conglomeration of both modern and primordial concepts. He argues that ethnicity and nations are not fixed and immutable entities ‘out there’, nor neither are they completely malleable and fluid process and attitudes, at the mercy of every outside force. For Smith, the development of a nation should be looked at from two points of view i.e. ‘territorial’ and ‘ethnic’ nation. The territorial nation has its origin from the sense of territory which is formed out of the effect of the interaction within clear-cut geographical boundaries. Here the concept of nation turns towards the statist form as the state is a territorial entity with a jurisdiction which is sovereign but is strictly bounded by bondedness of inclusion and exclusion of its members. The nation here is seen as the legal aspect which can be argued as a community of laws and legal institutions, where its members are bound by a common code and have uniform rights and obligations, without any differentiation on the grounds of ‘race, colour or creed’, age, sex or religion. However, this territorial conception of nation cannot conceive of the nation outside the realm of sovereign statehood, which then cannot explain the formation of nation through the ethnic. According to Smith the territorial nation should also be seen from ethnic origins. The territorial nation may work through legal citizenship by law, but it cannot explain or control the feeling of brotherhood which is formed by the ethnic community. Thus, the conception of territorial nation also should be seen from its cultural roots, because in the territorial nation the solidarity of the citizens can be attained only through a common religion or a common culture formed out of shared myth, memories

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and symbols, and communicated in a standard language through educational institutions (Smith, 1986, pp. 134-138). Going by the above reviews on the nation formation, it has been found that the nation is a constructed entity. Likewise Anderson and Gellner’s definitions of ‘nation’ agrees that nations are constructed through the development of modern technologies like schools, education and print capitalism along with the deployment of some cultural parameters like language, culture, religion, myth, histories, etc. as suggested by Brass and Smith. In a similar fashion, ideas of ethnicity and nationalism come together as ‘ethnic nationalism’ when an identity becomes the basis for mobilising a community towards a political cause using the same parameters of the ethnic self as opposed to the dominant other, be it the state or a hegemonic identity. The challenges of ethnic nationalism or ethnic political mobilisation are equally felt by both developed and developing states in the present-day world. In the developed states, the challenges of ethnic nationalism have been manifested in different forms. This is demonstrated by the growth of ethnic rivalry and growing political assertiveness of the minority ethnic groups. The Scots and the Irish in the United Kingdom can be cited as an example in the 18th century after the French Revolution. However, later in the post-Second World War phase, the rapid political transformation and the policies of economic liberation in Europe and the former USSR have given a new shape to the ethnic mobilisation in those parts of the world.1 In Third-World contexts, the rise of ethnic nationalism is attributed to the legacy of Western colonisation and decolonisation. Mahmood Mamdani (2001) argues that race and ethnicity are political identities undergirded and reproduced by colonial institutions. For example, the colonial state to maintain white superiority in South Africa made a distinction in law between race and ethnicity. In the indirect rule of South Africa, race was governed by biology and ethnicity by culture. There were also differences in law that instituted this distinction; races were governed through civil laws while ethnicities through customary laws. As the races were governed by civil laws,

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they were considered as members, actually or potentially, of civil society. On the other hand, as ethnicity was governed through customary law, it was relegated to the domain of the traditional. This was done to confine the language of rights to racial laws which in turn set limits to power. For civic power was to be exercised within the rule of law and had to observe the sanctity of the domain of rights. The language of custom, in contrast, did not circumscribe power, for customs was enforced. The language of custom enabled power instead of checking it by drawing boundaries around it. In such an agreement, no rule of law was possible. This was how the colonial state constructed race and ethnicity in their colonies, which has become the legacy in several post-colonial developing states. In most post-colonial states in the initial stages of independence, the process of de-colonisation and the formation of new sovereign states initially concealed the popular political aspirations and cultural divisions of different ethnic groups under the banner of nation building. In the colonial period, the plurality of ethnic groups was manageable due to the nationalist movements. Different organisations that existed in those states could and did generate a common political agenda of achieving independence from colonial rule. However, such feelings of ethnic unity were more because of the colonial domination and exploitation rather than the common political will of the constituent ethnic groups. After independence was achieved, these groups found little in common with each other and tried to constitute their own ethnic nationalism. This type of ethnic formation can be found in most of the former South African and South Asian colonial states like Ethiopia, Libya, India, and Pakistan, etc. (Smith, 1986; Wieland, 2006). Hence drawing on the arguments put forth by Wieland and Smith, one may ask that if an ethnic group is formed out of a modern situation; then what are the parameters that it would pick up for its composition and mobilisation? That is, what are the politics that guide the articulation of the identity? These are some of the concerns that this chapter seeks to explore.

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The Theory of Social Exclusion and Ethnic Consciousness Before dealing with the concrete issues of marginalisation and exclusion in Assam, the concept of social exclusion and the rise of ethnic consciousness are examined. In this regard, the genealogy of ethnic formation and social exclusion is traced. With the invention of the term ‘social exclusion’ by Rene Lenoir (1974), the term has become a concept which has been discussed by various social scientists to understand the variations in social injustices prevalent in different societies. In France, social exclusion is defined as a rupture of social bonds, which reflects a French emphasis on the organic and mono-cultural conception of that society. More broadly, social exclusion has been defined as the process through which individuals or groups are wholly or partly excluded from full participation in the society in which they live (Haan, 2001, p. 23). The concept of social exclusion does not describe any new reality but, rather, it tries to typify the deprivation which has been taking place in different societies for centuries. In the words of Arjan De Haan, social exclusion is defined as the opposite of social integration, mirroring the perceived importance of being part of society, of being included. He further argues that social exclusion (or deprivation) is a multi-dimensional phenomena and deprivation is part and parcel of all social relationships (2001, pp. 25-26). Social exclusion as a multi-dimensional concept has two defining characteristics. First, it is multi-dimensional. People may be excluded, for example, from livelihood, earnings, property, housing, minimum consumption, education, the welfare state, citizenship, personal contact, or respect. But the concept focuses on the multi-dimensionality of deprivation; on the fact that people are often deprived of different things at the same time. It may refer to exclusion (deprivation) in the economic, social, or political spheres. Second, social exclusion implies and focuses on the relations and processes that cause it. People can be excluded by many sorts of groups, often at the same time; landlords exclude people’s access to land or housing; elite political groups exclude others from legal

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rights; priests in India may exclude scheduled castes from accessing temples; minorities may be excluded from expressing their identity; labour markets, and also some trade unions exclude people (non­ members) from getting jobs; and so on. Exclusion then may happen at every level of society, as group formation is the fundamental characteristic of human society. Given these definitions of social exclusion, the ideas of exclusion are linked with ethnicity. David Brown explains ethnicity as an “ideology which individuals employ to resolve the insecurities arising from the power structure within which they are located” (1994, pp. 1-2). Accordingly, the explanation of ethnic politics must begin with the examination of the state’s influence upon the power structure. He further says, “it is clear that the state plays a major role in influencing the distribution of power, status and wealth in society enhancing the type of situational insecurities and threats with which individual and groups are faced” (Ibid.) This role involves not only the state’s influence on socio-economic disparities, but also its influence upon the advantages that accrue to those possessing a particular language, religio-cultural or racial identity. The state also provides legitimacy to the power structure in the form of a more or less explicit nationalist ideology and this state-promulgated national ideology defines the ideological parameters within which ethnic consciousness develops and operates (Ibid.). This type of building of ethnic consciousness can be found in South Asian countries like Myanmar, India, and Sri Lanka. In Assam, social exclusion has some serious repercussions for ‘ethnic’ groups. Nava Kishore Das (2009) argues that the social exclusion of groups results in various forms of rifts (envisaged in binary terms like, majority-minority; ‘sons of the soil’, immigrants vs local outsiders; tribal vs non-tribal; hills against the plains; inter­ tribal and intra-tribal) as the root cause. He further argues that due to the strategic importance of border areas, the low level of development, immense cultural diversities, and particularities of participatory democratic process, social exclusion has been perceived by ethnic groups in terms of marginalisation, deprivation, and

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the loss of identity. This has contributed to the strengthening of separatist movements in the name of regionalism, sub-nationalism, and ethnic politics. For Hiren Gohain (1997) too, social exclusion is a product of various historical and political institutions and the cause of ethnic mobilisation in Assam. He argues that the current ethnic ferment in Assam can only be understood against a background of historical changes like the withdrawal of old-style colonialism from the region, the rise of popular democratic forces that are yet to find appropriate political forms and the neo-colonial intrigues of contemporary imperialism. He argues that, with the de-colonisation of India and the rise of India as a democratic state, the people of the country imagined they were free and equal with each other. However, that sort of vision did not come true. In the decades following independence, the democratic constitution and the welfare state whetted the appetite of the masses for a better life, while the actual functioning of the constitution in the grip of the ruling classes in India did not provide sufficient means for fulfilling such aspirations. To this effect, the Dalits and the tribals were the most affected people in India. However, with the rise of the democratic constitution, both tribals and the Dalits started awakening to a new level of consciousness and began to organise and clamour for better opportunities for development, which came up in the form of ethnic movements in India. In Assam too, the tribals both from the hills and the plains were not different from the mainland Indian tribals. The Assamese elites and the politicians were the dominant runner of the state machineries and left the tribals at the margin, which led to social exclusion and marginalisation of the tribals, in terms of their language, culture, economic and land alienation. However, with the emergence of new elites among various tribal communities, this model of contemporary imperialism of the dominant Assamese was challenged by various tribal groups in the form of ethnic movements. This ever-increasing manifestation of ethnic identity-based mobilisation has seriously compromised the mono-cultural version of Assamese society which has traditionally been viewed as formed

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by diverse cultural groups and tribes. At present almost all the smaller ethnic groups of Assam who were once regarded as part and parcel of Assamese society are asking for separate identity through demands for a separate state. If we apply the concept of social inclusion and exclusion which the multi-ethnic Assam state has followed, the problem can be understood much more easily. It can then be argued that the ethnic identity movements which are presently taking place in Assam are primarily the result of the Assamese elite’s monopoly over political power. Yet the elite alone cannot consolidate their political constituency. Specific support is needed for the elite to transform their ideas and aspirations into ideology to mobilise the masses in the form of a movement. And the making of this ideology is premised on the operation of social exclusion and inclusion. Political power under this ideology is seen as fundamentally exclusionary and not patterned on the egalitarian ideas of participatory democracy. Ethnic identity politics is thus, a specific response to the ideological re-writing of political power in a situation like Assam. Unlike the mono-cultural French model of social exclusion, in a multi-ethnic society like Assam, social integration is re-imagined as discrete ethnic demands for an already divided political and economic field. We can thus, view ethnicity as a political category that is invoked to build a platform to articulate the historical and cultural exclusion of minority groups within the dominant Assamese framework of statehood and nationalism. As mentioned above, ethnic movements especially one formed by the Bodos seems to be a product of exclusion from two key areas, that is, of culture and the economy. At the cultural level, for the Bodos, exclusion is experienced from the dominant language, Assamese, which then has economic repercussions. It seems that the adoption of an official language often seems to be an issue of contest where the hegemonic language, may be aimed at producing a more homogeneous, inclusive society, and this leads to resistance from other groups, who then assert their marginal status as in the case of the Bodos. Besides the theoretical implications that the issue of

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language is caught in, there is also a material reality to the situation where the lack of adequate infrastructure has alienated ethnic groups from being socially mobile and gaining political power. The demands for linguistic identity and autonomy are caught within the logic of social exclusion, where institutions (like teachers’ training, curricula development) necessary for sustaining social mobility and ensuring access to political and social institutions are not provided by the state or provided in ways that do not radically change the statusquo. This then also leads to their exclusion from the sphere of public employment. Given this situation, the demand for the recognition of the Bodo language as a medium of instruction in schools in Bodo-speaking areas seems to be a result of the politics of language. Whether these demands can make mainstream Bodo aspirations in an Assamese and English-dominated sphere of political discussion and governance seems questionable. In addition, there is the question of land alienation. While popular writings in this area understand land alienation as being voluntary rather than a product of circumstances, an attempt has been made to highlight the socio-economic situation of the Bodos that explains why and how the Bodos are required to sell their land due to structural constraints. This further creates and reinforces their marginal status as a group. Social Exclusion in Practice and the Rise of Ethnic Identity Movements in Assam The demands for separate identity by various ethnic groups, explains to an extent, the nature of social exclusion. As argued by Hiren Gohain (1997), the current ethnic fragmentation in Assam can only be understood against a background of historical changes ranging from the new brand of post-colonial democratic practice and the workings of neoliberal capitalism. Taking Gohain’s argument forward, we can argue that the ethnic movements are the political response to the various levels of social exclusion taking place in Assam. Historical evidence shows us that Assamese society was formed by inclusion of various other smaller groups. Particularly the tribals

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of the Brahmaputra valley have been historical contributors to the emergence and growth of Assamese nationality and its language, literature, and composite culture. Many tribals have identified themselves fully with Assamese and have given up their own languages. But the post-colonial nation-state’s vision of unity in diversity played itself out in far more exclusionary ways in the regional units than in the pan-Indian version of that vision. It was the caste make-up of dominant Assamese society that ensured the workings of social exclusion around lines of access to political power and economic opportunities. The Politics of Language A discussion of these policies helps illuminate the question of marginalisation and exclusion in Assam. Language has been the key factor in ethnic contestations in Assam, much like the early decades of Indian nation-state. While Assam is a multi-lingual and multi­ cultural state, Assamese remains the most dominant language of the state. Deliberate policy decisions were put into place to ensure the hegemony of Assamese. In 1960, the Assam Official Language Act was passed in the Legislative Assembly and Assamese was imposed as an official language on the people of the state. In 1972, with the demand and movement led by the All Assam Students’ Union (AASU) and at the instance of the Assam government, the universities of Gauhati and Dibrugarh made Assamese the medium of instruction in place of English in all their colleges. This effectively delegitimised other languages. Soon after coming to power, the Assam Gana Parishad (AGP) government imposed Assamese as the compulsory third language on non-Assamese medium students in the secondary schools through a circular prepared by the Secondary Education Board of Assam on February 28, 1986. While the logic of improving market exchanges and cross-cultural dialogue by introducing one official language has generally been used to justify monolingualism, the principle of the multi-ethnic post-colonial polity was seriously compromised by such legislations. In 1974, when the Bodos organised a mass movement to demand

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recognition for the Bodo language and for the adoption of the Roman script for their language, the movement was brutally suppressed by the government and these brutalities of the government were supported by the AASU and Assamese bourgeois intellectuals. After two years of a massive movement, the Bodo language attained the status of medium of instruction in primary and secondary schools. Although the Bodos succeeded in securing the rightful place for their language, their success was severely qualified by the actual pathetic conditions in Bodo-medium schools. Schools which accepted Bodo as the medium of instruction have faced severe discrimination from Assamese educational planners and administrators. Most of the schools are understaffed and ill-equipped to meet the challenges of the needs of Bodo-speaking students. Also, the schools which have adopted other mediums of instruction other than Assamese have faced a similar situation.2 This hegemonic design of imposing cultural identities from the top was felt most acutely by smaller groups who are recognised by the state as well as by themselves in distinct cultural terms. When seen in relation to ideas of nationality, language begins to acquire ideological undertones in the politics of culture and power. The threat of homogenisation triggers anxieties amongst those who feel marginalised and discriminated by the state. Language however is not just an instrument that is exploited in the politics of culture and the nation, but it has material repercussions for those marginalised. It has direct links with people’s livelihood and more importantly, the texture of their everyday lives. While language may be seen as merely a cultural issue (somewhat like the culturalist assumptions about ethnicity), the hegemonic manipulation of language as a marker of political power creates a discourse of linguistic identity, that is, understood by both the dominant and the marginalised groups. In this situation, language becomes the key point of access for not just articulating political demands but also securing everyday rights and access to employment, public representation and almost all public spaces.

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The Employment Policy Industrial under-development and a very slow pace of urbanisation have blocked the possibilities of improving employment avenues in non-agricultural sectors in Assam. It is mainly the state government with its various agencies which have remained the sole source for employment outside the agricultural sector. Even here educated tribals find it difficult to get employment. As the state machinery is overseen by the Assamese elite and bureaucrats, the appointments are often made on party, communal and ethnic lines. The nature of the language policy of the state government is such that most stategovernment jobs are open only to those non-Assamese candidates who can read and write Assamese. This discrimination on ethnic lines was starkly brought to light when the following data were published in a regional English daily newspaper (Assam Tribune, March 27, 1988), nearly 10,000 backlog posts reserved for the Scheduled Tribes and Scheduled Castes were not filled by the government of Assam. The operation of ethnic biases at such entrenched levels in the working of the government reveals the strong political presence of the language of ethnicity combined with the idiom of social exclusion to produce the dominant idea of both Assamese subnationalism and regional political identity. It can be argued that government-sponsored divisive ethnic politics is reminiscent of the apartheid regime in South Africa which was also characterised by social exclusionism as part of official policy of the government. Ethnic consciousness, therefore, is not simply the preserve of the marginal social groups and tribes of Assam. It is indeed the product of a half-century of social exclusionist governance. Ethnic identity discourse has emerged as the only viable way to express one’s rightful political and cultural rights and be recognised by the state. By painting the ‘other’ as an ethnic minority, the dominant groups in Assam articulate their own position as ethnically neutral. But the example of the various ethnic identity movement show that the marginalised groups draw on the very same issues of social exclusion that have generated the divide between the tribals and the non-tribals, between the truly Assamese and the rest.

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Alienation from Land Since Assam is one of the economically and industrially under­ developed states in India, most of the population relies on agriculture, which, in turn, requires a large quantity of land. As land became a scarce resource due to demographic shifts and the geopolitics of the Indo-Bangladesh border, people stared grabbing land by both fair and unfair means. At times even the state itself was seen to be indulging in land alienation through vested interest groups. As is the case in several other Indian contexts, tribal rights to land were the most seriously compromised rights in the land alienation situation. The Government of Assam created 47 tribal belts and blocks, ostensibly to protect the plains’ tribal people and their land from intrusion by non-tribal communities at the time of independence. However, in 1973-74, 2,000 hectares of periodic patta land changed ownership from tribal to ineligible non-tribal owners in the protected tribal belts. The tribal belts and blocks failed, and these protected areas remained merely as a record in the state papers. In fact, some of the government officers played an active role in alienating most of the tribal groups by evicting them from their land in the name of protecting forests and developmental projects. Even Assam’s capital township Dispur, was built on a cluster of tribal villages near Guwahati city (Hussain, 2008). The increasing urbanisation in and around Guwahati has forced a substantial number of tribes particularly the Karbis and Bodos to either sell their land cheaply or face the government-initiated eviction. This process of land alienation has made many tribal people homeless in their own homeland and pushed them deeper into poverty, unemployment, and the debt trap. This aspect of the land alienation policies of the government compares sharply with the post-colonial Indian nationalist ideals of securing the land for the landless and bringing down the monopoly of a narrow class of landholders. The language of land reform operates at the regional level in Assam, including the protection of ancestral rights of tribal people, but, as we have seen, the very same language is manipulated to re-create a class of ethnically marked,

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caste-exclusive landholders. It is a blot on the spirit of dominant Indian nationalism that the regional reality of land relations shows no signs of independence from traditional feudal structures of land alienation and exploitation. The Constitutional Farce A classic example of the general ignorance of and indifference to the interests of the plains tribals of Assam was the provisions of Part X of the Indian Constitution coming in force on January 25, 1950, wherein Article 244 deals with the subject. This lone article providing some safeguards for the tribals of India has only two schedules for the purpose, i.e. the Fifth Schedule and the Sixth Schedule. The Fifth Schedule does not concern the Assam tribals at all. The Sixth Schedule provides various safeguards to the tribals of Assam and other Northeastern states regarding their lands and other resources. But strangely the plain tribals have been totally excluded from any of the benefits provided in this schedule. The key to this strange omission may perhaps be found in what Gopinath Bordoloi, the then leader of the Assam Congress Party and a member of the Constituent Assembly, stated during the debates about the safeguards of tribals in Assam. In the course of his speech, Bordoloi stated that the plains tribal people, ...is being gradually assimilated to the population of the plains ...and should for all practical purpose be treated as a minority. (Bordoloi, 1987)

At that time, Gopinath Bordoloi was the most prominent leader of the Congress from the undivided Assam and hence the most respected spokesman of the entire Northeast region. Therefore, it is not surprising that the founding fathers of the constitution did not think it necessary to provide any safeguard for the plains tribal people. And it was more so because at that time, as it is even now, ignorance about Assam anywhere outside the Northeastern part of India was stupendous. But it should appear strange now that Bordoloi, who had already been seized with the problem of land alienation of the plains tribals at least since 1939, if not earlier, did

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not think it necessary to ask for any constitutional provisions to arrest the trend of massive land alienation of the plains tribals in Assam though such specific provisions existed for plains tribals in other states. Conclusion Nationality or nation-ness is a cultural artifact of a kind since it is based on imagination. But as we saw in the case of Assam, this imagination operates through social exclusion. Social exclusion works through addressing particularities of ethnicity and community and thus, emerges as one of the ways in which nation-formation happens. If nation-formation is a process of hegemonic consolidation of the claims of one community or ethnic group against the rest, then ethnicity emerges as the central discourse for contesting the entrenched power of a nation-state’s dominant group. It is in this way that tribal groups like the Bodos have articulated their experience of social exclusion by drawing close to the language of ethnicity. This is a language which the hegemonic groups understand only too well because it forms the basis of their claim to political power. The Bodo movement emerges out of this historical experience of social exclusion and builds its platform around the very markers of ethnicity which have been used to silence the social presence and revoke the political rights of a range of tribal groups and peoples. The movement has made language policy, employment policy and land alienation policy as the plank for demanding autonomy and statehood against the hegemonic Assamese interests. The movement seems to be saying, if you want assimilation into a larger Assamese culture, then ‘Assamese culture’ will itself have to be re-negotiated and re-defined. While the syncretic history of Assamese culture shows the possibility of a multi-ethnic and multi-lingual Assamese society, the modern phenomenon of social exclusion has shaped post-colonial Assamese society in exceedingly violent ways. This means that social contestation is increasingly a question of competing subnationalisms. It is useless to justify this phenomenon as merely a

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response to decades of misrule and corruption. The nation-state recognises particularities for the purposes of governance and in its actual practice allows the recognition of certain particularities for allotting resources and political power. The ethnic identity movements thus, are not the face of an unmodern or pre-national political formation. The ethnic identity question lies at the heart of modern nationalism but is never acknowledged as such. The problem of ethnic tensions must also be understood within the logic of nation-state formation. If the nation works through an unsaid logic of preserving one group’s ethnic identity, then it is only logical that marginalised groups will make their claims to autonomy using a similar notion of ethnicity. Thus while, nationalism delegitimises minority cultures and identities; it also gives them a language for expressing their distinct identity and political claims. Yet this creates the problem of competing ethnic nationalisms which in contemporary Assam is exemplified by the increasingly violent conflict between different ethnic identity movements and the splintering within a movement like the Bodos. One can argue that the language of nationalism is not simply productive of different political and ethnic communities. As we have seen, social exclusion is the main means of realising the vision of nationalism and this means that any group working with a nationalist logic stands in danger of reproducing the logic of social exclusion that lie at the heart of any nationalism. NOTES 1. For a detailed discussion of ethnic formation in the developed and developing states, see the debates on ethnicity and nation formation by Anthony D. Smith and Carsten Wieland in their books, Ethnic Origins of Nation (1986) and Nation State by Accident (2006). 2. The introduction of various laws, even clause 7 of the Assam Official Language Act 1960, which guarantees rights for smaller ethnic and minority linguistics groups, has done nothing to reverse the exclusionist spirit of the government policies. In the face of Assamese chauvinism, clause 7 of the 1960 Assam Official Language Act provides: a. The rights of the various linguistic groups regarding the medium of

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instruction in educational institutions laid down in the Constitution of India shall not be affected. b. The state shall not in granting aid to educational and cultural institutions, discriminate against any such institutions on the ground of language. c. The rights to appointments in the Assam Public Services and to contracts and other avocations shall be maintained without discrimination on the ground of language. d. Rgarding to noting in the offices in the region or district, if any member of staff is unable to note in any of the district languages the use of English shall be permitted by the heads of the departments so long as the use thereof is permissible.

REFERENCES All Bodo Students Union (ABSU). (1987). Why Separate State. A Memorandum Submitted to the President and Prime Minister of India. Aloysius, G. (1997). Nationalism without a Nation in India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Anderson, Benedict. (1991). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Barth, Fredrik. (1969). Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organisation of Cultural Difference. London: George Allen & Unwin. Bordoloi, B.N. (1987). Tribes of Assam, Part III, Guwahati: Tribal Research Institute. Brass, Paul R. (1991). Ethnicity and Nationalism: Theory and Comparison. New Delhi: Sage Publication. Brown, David. (1994). The State and the Ethnic Politics in Southeast Asia. London: Routledge. Das, Nava Kishor. (2009). Identity Politics and Social Exclusion in Northeast: A Critique of Nation Building and Redistributive Justice. Anthropos, 104(2), 549-558. Gellner, Ernest. (1983). Nations and Nationalism. London: Basil Blackwell. Gohain, Hiren. (1997). Ethnic Unrest in North East. Economic and Political Weekly, 32(8), (February 22-28), 389-391. Gupta, Dipankar. (1997). Ethnicity and Politics. In Sudipta Kaviraj (Ed.), Politics in India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

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Haan, Arjan De. (2001). Social Exclusion: Enriching the Understanding of Deprivation. World Development Report: Forum on Inclusion, Justice and Poverty Reduction. UK: University of Sussex. Hussain, Monirul. (2008). Interrogating Development: State, Displacement and Popular Resistance in North East India. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Hutchison, John and Smith, Anthony D. (Ed.). (1996). Ethnicity. New York: Oxford University Press. Lenoir, Rene. (1974). Les Exclus: Un Irancais Sur dix. Paris: Editions du Seuil. Google Scholar. Mamdani, Mahmood. (2001). Beyond Settler and Native as Political Identities: Overcoming the Political Legacy of Colonialism. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 43(4), 651-664. Sharma, Chandan Kr. (2005). The Indian State and Ethnic Activism in North East India. North East India Studies, 1(1), 41-46. Smith, Anthony D. (1986). The Ethnic Origins of Nations. New York: Basil Blackwell. United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA). (July 1992). Sanjukta Mukti Bahani. Asombasi Purbabangia Janagonoloi, Prasar Patra. Wallerstein, Immanuel. (1998). The Construction of Peoplehood: Racism, Nationalism, Ethnicity. In Etienne Balibar and Immanuel Wallerstein (Eds.), Race, Nation, Class Ambiguous Identities (pp. 71-85). London: Verso. Weber, Eugen. (1976). Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France 1870-1914. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wieland, Carsten. (2006). Nation State by Accident, the Politicization of Ethnic Groups and the Ethnicization of Politics: Bosnia, India, Pakistan. New Delhi: Manohar Publications.

List of Contributors

Virginius Xaxa is a Visiting Professor, Institute of Human Development, Delhi. Professor Xaxa is also former Deputy Director, TISS Guwahati and former Professor of Eminence, Tezpur University, Assam. K.C. Baral is Professor of English and former Director EFL University, Shillong Campus. H. Srikanth is Professor, Department of Political Science, North-Eastern Hill University, Shillong. Ake Sander is Professor, Department of Literature, History of Ideas, and Religion, Gothenburg University, Sweden. Partha Pratim Borah is an Assistant Professor, Department of Sociology, Dibrugarh University, Assam. N.K. Das is former Deputy Director, Anthropological Survey of India, Kolkata. N. William Singh is DAAD Scholar, Freie Universitat, Berlin and Assistant Professor, Department of Sociology, Pachhunga University College, Aizawl. Melvil Pereira is Director, North Eastern Social Research Centre (NESRC), Guwahati. Furzee Kashyap is a Research Associate, North Eastern Social Research Centre (NESRC), Guwahati. Kedilezo Kikhi is Professor of Sociology and Chair Professor, Dr. Ambedkar Chair, Tezpur University, Assam. Jagritee Ghosh is an Assistant Professor, Department of Sociology, Royal Global University, Guwahati.

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Nirmali Goswami is an Assistant Professor, Department of Sociology, Tezpur University, Assam. Soumen Ray is a Social Policy Expert, UNICEF, Odisha Office. Lalhriatchiani works with Centre for Excellency for Fiscal Policy and Taxation, Xavier University, Odisha. Prafulla Kr. Nath is an Assistant Professor, Tribal Studies Centre, Assam University Diphu Campus, Assam. Ransaigra Daimary is a Research Scholar, Department of Sociology, Tezpur University, Assam.

Index

Aboriginal Activist Group 47 Aboriginal peoples 37 Aboriginal Rights 47 Abors 239-40 Adivasis 28, 52, 208-09 Administrative-Linguistic Settle­ ment in Assam Africa 15, 24, 47, 58, 65, 90, 92, 95, 128, 165, 173, 233, 235­ 66, 263-64, 272 Ahom 18, 20, 51, 52, 194, 208, 231, 247, 250 Administration 197 Dynasty 231, 247 All Assam Students’ Union (AASU) 270 All Assam Tribal Sangha 18 All Nishi Students Union (ANSU) 229 All Papumpare District Students Union (APPDSU) 229-30 America 15, 36, 46-47, 52, 68, 72, 74-76, 83, 111, 128, 166, 194, 235 Anderson, Benedict 39, 92, 98, 260 Angami 26-27, 126, 175-80, 183­ 84 Anthropological Survey of India 120, 158 Anti-Muslim Violence 105

Aoleang Festival 182 Arakan Hills 157 Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) 34, 44 Arunachal Pradesh 18, 58, 116, 118, 130, 229, 231-32, 239 Asia 15, 24, 47, 51, 90, 92, 95, 110, 112, 115, 128, 149, 157, 192, 209, 231, 235, 264, 266 Asom Jatiyatabadi Yuva Chatra Parishad (AJYCP) 229 Assam 18, 20-21, 27-29, 37, 41, 50, 58, 115-19, 121, 129-30, 133, 139, 144, 156-57, 159­ 60, 166, 187-89, 191-204, 207-13, 216-21, 223-24, 226, 229, 231-35, 237, 239, 241­ 52, 256, 265-77 Assam Chah Mazdur Sangha (ACMS) 219 Assam Congress Party 274 Assam Gana Parishad (AGP) 270 Assam Official Language Act 270, 276 Assam Plantations Labour Rule (APLR) 224 Assam Sahitya Sabha 201 Assam Tea Company 207, 209 Assam Tea Planters Association (ATPA) 219

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

Assamese 20, 27, 29, 139, 144, 188, British

Annexation 191

191-99, 201-04, 243-46, 251,

Colonies 210

256, 267-72, 275-76

Empire 77

Bourgeois Intellectuals 271

Liberalism 74-75, 77

Literature 194-95, 197

Policy of Exclusion 55

Middle Class 191, 194-95,

rule 53

244-46

Bru 25, 26, 80, 139, 144-46, 155­ Nationalist Activists 198

69

Australia 15, 36, 50, 52, 54

Refugees 156, 161, 167, 169

Autonomous District Councils 123

Bru National Liberation Front

Autonomous State Development

(BNLF) 160

Committee of Karbi Anglong

Bru National Union (BNU) 159

(ASDC) 20

Bru Socio-Cultural Association

Autonomy Movements 34, 39, 50

(BSCA) 159

Burmese Incursion 243

Baines, J.A. 241

Banal Nationalism 97-99

Bangladesh 53, 57, 97, 146, 156,

164, 244-45, 249, 273

Bankim’s ‘Bande Matram’ 104

Baptist Missionary 194-95

Barak Valley 201

Barua, Hemchandra 197

Baruah, Sanjib 18-19, 191, 203,

230, 240-44, 230, 242, 250-51

Bengal Eastern Frontier Regulation

Act, 1873 237

Bharat Mata 24, 94, 102-03, 107

Bharatiya Cha Parisad (BCP) 219

BJP 159

Bodo 29, 50, 52, 201, 241, 248-49,

252, 255-56, 268-73, 275-76

Movement 29, 201, 252, 275

Territorial Council 50

Adivasi Conflict 229, 248

Muslim Conflict 229

Bordoloi, Gopinath 274

Bourdieu, Pierre 188

Brahmaputra Valley 29, 245, 270

Cachar 20, 207, 229, 231, 247-48

Canada 36, 50, 54

Caste and Class 106, 251

Caste Domination 34

Catholic Mission Co-operative

Society 208

Chakma 139, 144, 151, 158, 160,

166

China 207-08

Chittagong Hills 156-57

Chirstian 40, 54, 69-70, 74-75,

138-39, 143-45, 147, 149, 199

Missionaries 54, 143, 147

Mizos 138

Symbols 69

Christianity 7, 23, 54, 63, 65, 67,

75, 106, 125, 138, 144, 157,

182, 185

Chutia 18, 256

Citizen’s Rights 22

Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA)

20

Colonial Education 191, 197

Index 283 Colonial India 27, 191, 241, 254, 273 Colonisation 15-16, 20, 24, 36, 46, 48, 90-91, 112, 192, 233, 244, 263-64, 267 Common Property Resources (CPR) 128-29, 177 Compulsory Mizo Language Education Act 150 Congress 39, 104, 123, 138-39, 146, 159-60, 245, 274 Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) 112 Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) 112 Coordination Committee of the Tribal Organizations of Assam 18 Criminal Tribes Act 236 Cultural Diversity 90, 92, 116 Hegemony 188, 202 Identity 21-22, 38-39, 159, 200, 271 Nationalism 96 Renaissance 191 Customary Laws 14, 19, 25-26, 49­ 50, 55-56, 114, 120, 122-23, 126-27, 130-31, 167, 173-75, 182-83, 185, 234-36, 263 Bill 122-23 Customs 14, 27, 48-49, 54, 78, 91, 113-14, 117, 120, 126, 130, 143, 159, 172, 174-75, 184­ 85, 233-34, 236, 264

nous Peoples 46, 112 De Haan, Arjan 265 Dimapur 53, 174, 178, 247 Dimasas 52, 129, 247-48, 256 Dimasas-Kacharis 256 Discrimination 10-12, 28, 34, 47, 53-54, 81, 84, 112-14, 133, 222, 233, 271-72, 277 Divide and Rule 20 Divide Assam 50-50, 248-49, 251 Diwani of Bengal 231 Dravidian 234

Dalits 40, 106, 267 Das, Nava Kishore 266 Declaration on the Rights of Indige­

Gait, E.A. 241 Garo 41, 119, 121-23, 129, 132-33, 157, 193, 231, 237, 240, 249

East India Company 208, 231 East Pakistan 53, 157, 244 Ethnic Activists 19 Ethnic Conflicts 24, 232, 235 Ethnic Consciousness 257, 265-66, 272 Ethnic groups 16-17, 91, 95, 199­ 200, 243, 246, 249, 255-56, 258, 262-64, 266, 268-69 Ethnic Minorities 15, 91, 107 Ethnic-nationalism 90 Ethnic-Territorial Logic of Citizen­ ship 20 Ethnic Violence 18, 21, 248-49 Ethno-Religious Tension 68 Europe 15, 24, 47, 60, 65-68, 71, 80-83, 90, 94, 100, 104, 173, 189-90, 231, 242, 259, 263 Female Literacy 113, 119, 152 Food gathering 49, 55 French Revolution 263 Fundamental Rights 42, 216

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Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

Customary Laws 123

Hills 122, 231, 237

Rabha Conflict 249

Garo Hills Administrative Council 123 Gender Discrimination 34 Gender Inequality 113, 117 ‘Gene Diversity Index’ 132 Globalisation 14, 16, 43, 57, 64, 80 Gohain, Hiren 267, 269 Gorkha 139, 144, 146 Haimendrof, Furer 184 Hill Communities 23, 46, 51-55, 149, 250 Hindu 40, 54, 70, 75, 78, 96-97, 100, 102-06, 138, 163, 193 Muslim Conflict 97 Nationalism 105-06 Rights 105 Hinduism 65, 67, 75, 80, 100, 102, 121, 144, 157 Hindutva 69, 80 Hmars 166 Human Rights Violations 20 Hunting 47, 49, 55, 65, 80, 126, 172, 176, 233-34 Hutton, J.H. 241 Identity 13, 16-17, 19, 21-22, 25­ 29, 34-36, 38-44, 46-47, 53­ 54, 58, 64-66, 77, 82, 98-99, 106, 121, 131, 138-40, 142­ 51, 155-56, 159, 162-63, 167, 169, 172, 175-85, 187, 189­ 90, 198-201, 203, 225, 235, 239, 241-42, 254-59, 262-64, 266-69, 271-72, 276 Politics 25, 27, 65, 99, 140-41, 199-200, 242, 268

Illegal Immigrants 21 Imagined Communities 260 Immigrant Coolies 210 Imperialism 39, 140, 267 Indentured Labour 209-10, 225 Indian Hindu Movements 75 Indian Tea Association (ITA) 219­ 20 Indigenous 13-16, 19-25, 35-38, 41, 43, 46-51, 53-56, 58, 110­ 04, 132-33, 164-65, 167-68, 183, 208-09, 232-34, 240, 242, 244, 246, 248 Activists 15 Elite 23, 46 Feminism 24-25, 111-13 Movement 14, 110-01 People 13-16, 20, 22-23, 35­ 37, 41, 43, 46-51, 53-56, 58, 110-12, 133, 165, 167-68, 208, 232-34, 248 Political Activism 14 Rights 14, 21-22, 35, 38, 41, 54 Social Movements 13 Wooden Tools 132 Indigenous Peoples of Africa Coor­ dinating Committee (IPACC) 47, 58, 233-34 Indira Gandhi 139 Indo-Bangladesh Border 273 Indo-Mongoloid 234 Infant Mortality 117-19 Inner Line Permit (ILP) 19, 28, 58, 229-30, 236 International Labour Organisation (ILO) 14, 47-48, 50, 233-34 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 58 International Work Group on

Index 285 Indigenous Affairs 15 Inter-tribal Feuds 41 Islam 65-69, 73-76, 80, 82-83, 106 Jaintia 52, 121, 123, 237 Jharkhand 37, 208 Jhum (Shifting) Cultivation 55, 126, 129, 132, 157, 168, 174, 178, 184 Joint Committee for Inner Line Permit (JCILP) 229 Kachari 208, 250-51, 256 Kala Azar 243, 251 Karbi-Dimasa Conflict 229 Karbi-Kuki Conflict 229 Khamtis 240 Khasi 58, 119, 121-25, 132, 229, 231, 237, 240, 250 Garo Matriliny 119 Jaintia Hills 123, 237 Khasi Social Custom of Lineage Bill 49, 58, 123 Khasi Students’ Union 124 Koch Rajbongshi 18, 248 Kochs 51 Kohima 130, 178 Konyak 26-27, 172, 176-84 and Angami 26 Christianity 182 Labour District Emigration Act 211, 226 Laldenga 138-39, 142, 152 Lalthanhawla 138, 160 Lalung 119, 121 Land Reforms Act 1962 213 Land Reforms Commission for Khasi Hills 123 Land tenure 14, 128, 133, 174

Latin America 128, 235 Liberal State 23, 65-71, 73-74, 78­ 79, 81-82, Liberalism 39, 57, 68-69, 73-79, 82, 113, 140 Linguistic Communities 17, 201 Cultural Communities 20 Identity 189, 198, 201, 203, 269, 271 Nationalism 189, 258 Lushai Hills 144, 231 Mamdani, Mahmood 235, 263 Manipur 20, 41, 43, 50, 58, 116, 118-19, 229, 231-32, 239, 247, 250 Manipuri 139, 144, 146, 193 Mapithel Dam Project 20 Marginalisation 25, 29, 128, 140, 192, 256, 265-67, 270 of Women 24 Marginalised Classes 40 Marginalised communities 47, 226 Marxism 39 Mataks 18 Matriliny 119-21, 123, 125 Meghalaya 41, 49, 58, 116, 118, 120-21, 123-24, 129, 229, 231-32, 239 Meiteis 51 Middle-class Elite 53 Migrant Labourers 53 Migration 16-17, 37-38, 43, 47, 51­ 53, 62, 64, 80, 113, 157, 211, 218, 226, 243-45 Mikir Hills 237 Miri, Mrinal 194 Mishmis 240 Mizo 25, 142

286

Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

Bru Conflict 26, 156

Nagaland 18, 26, 50, 58, 116, 118­ Cultural Society 142

19, 127, 130-31, 134, 174-75,

Identity 139

178, 183-84, 231-32, 247

Nationalism 25, 139, 141

Nagaland Jhum Land Act (1970)

Mizo National Front (MNF) 138­ 174

39, 146

Nagaland State Women’s Commi­ Mizo Zirlai Pawl (MZP) 160-61

ssion 130

Mizoram 19, 25-26, 49, 58, 116, Nagaland Village and Area Council

118, 138-52, 155-69, 231-32

Act (1978) 174

Mizoram Board of Secondary Nation State 16-17, 29-30, 34, 39,

Education (MBSE) 149-50

47, 49, 75, 79, 90, 98, 110-11,

Mizoram Bru Displaced People’s

133, 188, 190, 234, 242, 255,

Forum (MBDPF) 161

262, 270, 275-76

Mizoram Congress 138, 146

National Commission for SCs and

Mizoram Education Reform

STs 120

Commission (MERC) 150

National Identity 16-17, 39-41, 66,

Mizoram Public Service Commission

77, 98, 106, 198

(MPSC) 151

National Liberation Front of

Moneylenders 183

Tripura (NLFT) 160

Mongoloid Communities 51

National Registry of Citizenship

Moran 18, 256

(NRC) 20

Morung 172, 176-82

National Unity 17, 162

MSU (Mizo Student’s Union) 25

Native American Indians 47

Multiculturalism 27, 189

Nehru, Jawaharlal 94

Multi-ethnic Situation 24, 91, 95, Nellie Massacre (1983) 229, 246

102, 108

Neoliberal Capitalism 269

Multilingual Society 27, 187-88

Neoliberal Development Processes

Muslim 15, 40, 52, 54, 65, 68-70,

20

73, 78, 82, 84, 96-97, 102, Neo-Vaishnavaite Literature 198

104-05, 199, 213, 229, 243­ Nepal 193, 208, 249

44, 246, 248.

New Zealand 15, 36, 54, 59

Bodo Conflict 248

Non-Mizo identities 139

Myanmar 15, 266

North Eastern Hill University

(NEHU) 158

Naga

North Eastern Tea Association Customary Law 130-31, 172

(NETA) Hills 231, 237

North Tripura 26, 156, 169

Society 50, 120, 175, 185

Tradition and Culture 131

OBCs 106

Women 130-32

Odisha 37-38

Index 287 Official Language Bill 201

Oppressive Native Communities 23, 46

Original Inhabitants 36-37, 49, 234

Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled

Areas) Act, 1996 120

Partition of Bengal 104

Patrilineal Systems 121

Plantation Labour Act, 1951 212,

214-15, 218-19

Pochury 126

Political Consciousness 33, 200

Political Processes 16-17

Political Rights 13, 248, 275

Politics of Indigeneity 23, 46, 57-58

Post-Colonial Feminism 111, 113

Post-Colonial Societies 24, 95

Post-Independence India 99, 199

Post-Second World War 263

Prevention of Atrocities against SC/

ST 42

Print-Capitalism 260

Proto-bourgeoisie 53



Rights of Indigenous People 35-36,

46, 110, 112

Risley, H.H. 241

Ruling Class 34, 267

Salt-Water Theory 15

Sanskrit 99-100, 196-98, 204

Sanskrit Commission 99-100

Schedule Tribe 18

Scheduled Castes 106, 120, 266,

272

Scheduled Tribes 49, 111, 160, 272

Secessionist Movements 44

Second World War 62, 263

Shillong 53, 58-59, 123, 125, 132­ 33, 158, 237

Shintoism 65

Sikkim 118

Singhphos 240

Social Exclusion 6, 28-29, 133, 255,

265-70, 272, 275-76

Social Tension 38

Socialism 113

Societal-Kinship Norms 24

Sons of the Soil 15, 251, 266

Rabhas 41, 255

Sovereign Nation 33

Radical Historiography 39

State Formation 24, 90-91, 255,

Rakhine Buddhist 15

259

Reang Democratic Convention State Reorganisation Commission

Party (RDCP) 159

(SRC) 200

Reang Democratic Party (RDP) 159 State Violence 43-44

Reang People’s Union (RPU) 158

Subaltern Nationalism 94

Religious Communities 17, 193

Subaltern Studies 165

Religious Exclusions 102

Supreme Court 111, 131

Religious Freedom 23, 67, 70-72, Syngkhong Rympei Thymmai

75, 81

(SRT) 124-25

Religious Laws 25, 114

Religious Values 114

Tai Ahom 18

Right to Justice 42

Tea Association of India (TAI) 219

Right to Property 42

Tea Board of India 212

288

Indigeneity, Citizenship and the State: Perspectives from India’s Northeast

Tea Garden Labourers 28, 212, 221, 227 Tea Industry 207-08, 213-14, 217, 221, 223-24, 243 Tea Research Association 223 Tea Tribes 18, 27-28, 213, 218, 222-23, 225 Territoriality 16, 28, 36, 240, 242, 249 Terrorism 44 Thengal-Kacharis 256 Thurston, E. 241 Tirap Frontier 240 Tiwas 250, 256 Todas of Nilgiri 174 Traditions 14, 17, 23, 4-9, 53-54, 57, 63, 66, 70-71, 76, 83, 86, 136, 165, 179, 181, 185, 202, 233-34 Transport of Native Labourers Act, 1863 209 Tribal 14, 18-20, 22, 29, 38, 40­ 41, 47, 49-58, 106, 112-15, 118, 120, 124, 128-31, 138, 142-43, 152, 155, 159, 162, 167-69, 171-72, 175, 177-78, 183, 198-99, 201, 209, 213, 222, 225, 233-34, 237, 244­ 46, 248, 251, 266-67, 269-70, 272-75 Customs 114, 120 Elite 53, 56 League 246 People 14, 19, 41, 47, 155, 167, 169, 233, 273-74 Tribes Advisory Council 120 Tripura 26, 50, 53, 58, 116, 118, 146, 156-61, 164, 166-67, 169, 212-13, 231-32

Land Revenue 213 Turkey 65 ULFA 34 United Nations 36, 46, 48, 165, 232 United Nations Organisation (UNO) 232 United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations (UNWGIP) 48, 50, 233-34 United Nations’ Charter 36 United States 36, 65, 77, 80, 83 UNO 36, 232, 234, 250 Vaishnavite Hinduism 157 Violence Against Minorities 96 Viswema 120, 126-27 Wallerstein, Immanuel 37, 259 Wasteland Grant Rules 1838 West Bengal Estate Acquisition Act 1954 213 Western Culture 181 Western Education 191 Women Activists 133 Women Agricultural Labourers 132 Women’s Empowerment 25, 116 Women’s Liberation Movement 112 Women’s Rights Issues 24 Workmen’s Breach of Contract Act, 1859 208, 210, 218 World Bank 14, 48, 50, 58, 221 World’s Indigenous Peoples (1995­ 2005) 36 Young Mizo Association (YMA) 25, 160 Zoram Nationalist Party (ZNP) 146 Zounuo-Keyhonuo Nagas 126