Prabuddha: JOurnal of Social Equality Vol.1

Prabuddha: Journal of Social Equality (2018) 1: 1-2
It’s a god-eat-god world
Naren Bedide (Kuffir)
~ The correct view is that religion like language is social for the reason that either is essential for
social life and the individual has to have it because without it he cannot participate in the life of
the society. ~ Babasaheb B. R. Ambedkar, Away from the Hindus
Northern Ireland was divided by religion into two groups. If it was a caste society, it would have
been divided into two hundred groups. So, one could say that it was religion, paradoxically,
which ensured that Northern Ireland was divided into only two major groups. But to an
outsider, say from India, it would still seem like Christians were fighting Christians.
How alike are Christians? There are over 40,000 (and growing) kinds, denominations or
organizations of Christians around the world. It’s difficult to understand why they are all seen as
a homogeneous group.
President Trump proposed a ‘Muslim ban’ during his campaign. Now his defenders argue that
it’s not a Muslim ban, while the courts want to be sure it isn’t, and the protesters are certain it is.
Trump was quite clear in his mind during his campaign: he regarded all Muslims as a
homogeneous group. Now his administration has to pretend the President doesn’t see them as
homogeneous. But not all Trump’s electors might agree with them. Or do they? Following
Trump’s logic, should we see all of them as a homogeneous group? Diving further into the heart
of Trump’s argument, is religion the essential reality of men, their definitive identity, above
everything else? We’re all Christians, Buddhists, Hindus and Muslims and nothing else?
The truth is: Muslims live across the globe, across all continents. There are around 50 Muslim
majority countries in the world and a dozen countries where they form significant minorities.
Think of as many histories, political economies, languages, cultures, geographies. And also,
castes or classes. How can they be thought of as homogeneous, unless you dismiss all those other
factors?
If Trump is telling Muslims not to come to America, the Modi regime is telling Muslims and
those who stand by them to go to Pakistan.
Across the world, discourses around religion have shifted from the social to the anti-social.
Power has reinterpreted religion as nation, ethnicity or ancestry, and race.
Beyond these 4-5 major organised religions which seem to attract most of the attention, probably
due to their increased association with power politics one way or the other, there are 4,000 other,
mostly old, religions in the world. They’re mostly practiced by various indigenous peoples, tribes
etc., from America to Australia.
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Prabuddha: Journal of Social Equality (2018) 1
There’s a huge gap in numbers: while the 4-5 large, organized religions boast of hundreds of
millions of members each, the smaller faiths seem to attract anything from a few hundred to a
few thousand or so, on an average. How do the latter manage to survive, despite the
overwhelming pull of the former religions?
It is difficult to say, because it has not been researched much, one has to admit. But, as
Babasaheb said, perhaps their faith systems still allow them to ‘participate in the life of the
society’?
The larger religions too have splintered into several thousand faiths, despite being nominally
labeled as Christian, Muslim, and Buddhist etc. Why?
Going back to Babasaheb, for answers: A religion which does not recognize the individual is not
acceptable to me personally. Although society is necessary for the individual, social welfare
cannot be the ultimate goal of religion. To me, individual welfare and progress is the real aim of
religion. Although the individual is a part of the society, his relation with the society is not like
that of the body and its organs, or that of the cart and its wheels. (What Path to Salvation)
Meaning, religion has to be social, but the social can’t ignore the individual or the particular.
Particular histories, political economies, languages, cultures, geographies etc., which shape the
experience and nature of each individual’s religion.
What the Trumps and Modis of the world have done is to strip the individual of the right to
religion. But they’re only symptomatic of a disease that has been festering deep inside world
society for a long while now. Religion should be social, but can it be national and global?
Naren Bedide (Kuffir): bjati52@gmail.com
Round Table India (www. http://roundtableindia.co.in/)
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‘Malcolm X Grassroots Movement Aligns with Just and Right

Struggles Everywhere in the World’
Akil Bakari
Abstract: Interview with Akil Bakari from Malcom X Grassroots Movement and New African
People’s Organization, Mississippi, conducted by Noel Didla. This interview focuses on the
organizing principles of MXGM, its philosophical guidelines, and its past and present
engagements at the local, national and international levels.
Noel Didla: Akil, give us an overview of Malcolm X Grassroots movement (MXGM), its
history in Mississippi and in the United States.
Akil Bakari: OK, MXGM was founded in 1990 in Jackson, Mississippi, it is the mass association
of New African People's Organization better known as NAPO. The founders of NAPO, which is
a cadre-based revolutionary organization understood that NAPO's philosophy and ideology as a
cadre group may not be as attractive to the masses of people in America, particularly oppressed
Black people. As such, they felt and knew that Black people have always struggled against
oppression and lack of self-determination within the US empire. So, the idea was to create an
organization that would allow people the space to struggle on with whatever level they were in
relation to the oppression they were experiencing.
One of the founders was the late Mayor Chokwe Lumumba, who was dispatched to Jackson, MS
in 1988 with his family along with Safiya Omari and her family. Their mission was to organize
within Jackson and MS as other families were dispatched to the Black belts of South. There were
people who were dispatched to Atlanta, Georgia, there were those dispatched to South Carolina,
others dispatched to Alabama, and even to Louisiana. Again, the idea was to come back to the
South where the largest population of Black folk existed in America historically and in
contemporary times. The land masses of Georgia, MS, Louisiana, S Carolina, and Alabama are all
contiguous, they border each other. Again, traditionally speaking and in contemporary times, that
constitutes the large mass population of Black folks within American empire.
Akil Bakari: Akil@netzero.com
Noel Didla: noelestherdidla@gmail.com
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That land historically has been where Black people have struggled, have fought, have died, have
raised their children, have created in the theory of the late Imari Obidele, a new gene pool.
Enslaved Africans were brought from many different areas of Africa and many different nations
of Africa.
The destructive nature of the Middle Passage and the brutal dehumanization of enslavement and
the resistance of all those groups forged a new gene pool which was characterized and named by
Imari Obidele and other theoreticians within Republic of New Africa, as new African, in essence,
we are still obviously of African descent, but we have emerged through all the oppression, all of
the resistance and the many years of struggle within the American empire.
Just a little backdrop of what MXGM comes out of. It is founded on 6 principles, self-
determination, human rights, anti-genocide in all its forms, reparations, the freedom of political
prisoners and prisoners of war and the total liberation of women. The idea is that, maybe people
don't agree with all of those in totality but there is something within at least one of those principles
people can agree, that is where our point of union will start and that is where we begin to work in
the spirit of moving our people into a more revolutionary mindset and actually continue the legacy
of struggle that is within our genetic makeup here in America.
My entry into MXGM actually predates MXGM, as I stated earlier, Chokwe Lumumba and his
family, Safiya Omari and her family came to Jackson in 1988. I was privileged to meet them and
MXGM did not exist, it was there in theory but not in practice. So, my first entry point was to
become a member of NAPO and I was privileged to be at the founding meeting of MXGM here in
Jackson, MS. That is the jump-off point. The idea as it was stated was to organize our people.
NAPO theorizes that the first and basic unit of struggle is your family, and from that, you organize
your block, then from there, you organize your community, and then the larger spaces of the city
and the larger spaces of the so-called state. The whole idea is around self-determination, we feel
as an oppressed group of people in this country, that we have the right to self-determination, and
have every right to decide how we should be governed and who should govern us. We don't reserve
that right simply for ourselves, we feel that there are other groups within American empire,
including North American whites, who are an oppressed group in a different sort of a way.
Of course, we have solidarity with NA whites, some of those who are forward and revolutionary
thinking, the Latino revolutionary movement, the indigenous revolutionary movement, as such we
are Pan-African as well and we are also internationalists. And the idea is that we are in solidarity
with all struggles for self-determination and human rights amongst all people all over the planet.
That is the basis in which we try to work, and that work manifests itself again through MXGM.
We have been here doing this work for roughly 28 years to this day. We have had peaks, we have
had valleys, we have had high points and we had low points. But what I am most proud of is that
we have been consistent and that whatever our condition is, if we were at our peak and at our
height of our organizing or if we are at a low point, we still exist and we still have some impact on
how the struggle is shaped within Jackson, MS and around the country because we have chapters
in other parts of the American empire, be it Atlanta, Washington DC, Philadelphia, New York,
Bay Area, Los Angeles, we have affiliates in South Carolina, and as well as Louisiana and we are
looking to expand beyond those spaces. We are also working with people in Tennessee and Florida.
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The idea again is trying to best prepare our people or expose them to what we feel is the only way
forward for any oppressed group of people within American empire is exercising self-
determination, how we control the economics, the political, the defense of our communities, how
we educate our children, how we try to build a resistance to the destructive path in which America
and other so-called Western nations of the world are on right now, with climate change, with neo
liberal policies, over commoditizing everything on the planet, literally destroying the very air,
water, and food that we eat and literally destroying the planet which sustains all of our lives.
Now, when we are dealing with people who are at the brunt of this oppression, most of the time,
and rightly so, they can only see what is in front of them, because they are not sure what’s going
to happen from one day to the next, whether it is housing, whether it is education, whether it is
food or whether it is employment, all of those things that sustain life. And so, we have to
understand that and be extremely patient with our people and actually figure out a way as we are
trying to engage them in more critical thinking but also understanding their material conditions
have got to be such that they change. Until they can see that one thing leads to another, the rhetoric
is just that, rhetoric, and if people can't see any tangible benefit in any of it, they are not interested
and quite frankly, I don't blame them.
So that is the nature of work of MXGM. Historically, we engage in wherever we feel the struggle
is most needed. And so over time, different tactics changed, the strategy is always the same,
obviously, self-determination where we control our own destiny in every avenue of people activity.
However, the tactics change. In this period currently, we are in the electoral arena, fully
understanding the constraints and the contradictions of electoral politics.
The structures and systems were not built or designed to empower anybody other than the ones
who control them. We are fully aware of that. That is the difficult part. As we are in Jackson, MS
as we endeavored into the electoral arena. Actually, running candidates from MXGM began in
2009. We have been behind the scenes in some political initiatives as far back as 1992, with
grassroots conventions here. As we were approached about the idea of Black people actually
creating a process where they vet a candidate, they select who they want for a particular office and
arm that person with an agenda that serves the larger community. Which was a great idea, we felt
it was too. And we entered into that process to make sure that it served, and it was people-centric.
Moving forward, another model we used around in reaction to Katrina and the devastation that
occurred on MS coast and in Louisiana and how it impacted our people tremendously. Our people
were literally ethnically cleansed from the New Orleans area and shipped to all parts of the
American empire, with the idea that they would never return. We did work in those areas, the
models we used then are currently called Peoples Assemblies, they were called something else
during that time, but they were the same models. And these are nothing new or unique to us, these
processes and spaces exist in all parts of the planet, and people have used them to great success,
even more success than we have, all over the planet.
The latest iteration of that is what we called the Jackson People’s Assemblies. The peoples'
assemblies in conjunction with electoral initiatives is a two-fold strategy, in our view. As I stated
earlier, the structures are not designed to empower people and we fully understand that. Our job
as we see it is to try to transform those structures to the extent that we can, to make them as people
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centric as possible, but more important is to build alternative structures outside of the current
electoral order. And the vehicles we are using are the People’s Assemblies. If we are successful in
institutionalizing the assemblies and really making them viable and attractive to our people to use,
we feel that we can really build alternative governing structures that our people can then exercise
that emerge as an alternative forte to the current electoral order. It is a tall job, but the times are
such that we have to think of ideas in creating structures, again, the structures that are in place are
not designed for people centered upliftment and empowerment. And they are failing all over the
American empire, they are failing all over the planet. And people are resisting, and people are
actually attempting to build alternative structures.
So, we think that the assemblies at this point are the vehicles to further that change. MXGM is at
the heart and the center of that. Our idea is that they don't belong to us, however, it is up to us to
make sure they serve the purpose in which they would have served in the beginning, and that is to
empower our people to understand that they have the collective power to make the collective
change that they are seeking. Nothing else, nobody is going to send us anything. Nothing is going
to fall out of the sky, whatever we are going to do is going to build our power with our own labor,
our own ingenuity. As such as I said in this period, through the electoral arena, we are trying to
figure out how to make it as responsive and conducive to what we are attempting to do, but we
have no illusion that these structures will not be all that we need them to be. That is the part of the
contradiction of the work that we do. When you are inside these structures, you have to also
absolutely be outside to build. And to point out those contradictions to our people is a very difficult
job. So many of our people are suffering within the late stage capitalism, and the ravages and the
extractive nature of it. And how do we maneuver and try to change these systems at the same time
trying to maintain and build within these capitalist structures is extremely difficult. But again, I
have faith and confidence in the genius and ingenuity of our people and I am very proud of the
young people here in Jackson of all stripes who seem to be up to the challenge.
Noel Didla: In closing question one, could you give us some information for the international
audience on who the founders of NAPO and the founders of MXGM are?
Akil Bakari: The founding members of NAPO are the late Mayor Chokwe Lumumba, Watani
Tyehimba, Ahati Tyehimba, Chinganji Akinyele, Aminata Umoja, Akinyele Umoja, Makungu.
The founding members of MXGM are all of the above members and Akmed Obafemi and Safiya
Omari.
Noel Didla: Akil, how does MXGM interact with radical movements locally, statewide,
regionally, nationally and internationally?
Akil Bakari: Part of our philosophy is that we are internationalists, in the sense that they are
organic nature of struggle against imperialist oppression, rabid capitalism, militarism and
destruction of the planet, we align with any and all groups philosophically that oppose it. Now,
specifically, here locally, whether it is the NAACP, whether it is Nation of Islam, whether it is the
LGBT groups, whether it is religious groups, there is what we call Operational Unity. Every group
and each individual are not going to agree with you on everything, particularly philosophy and
ideology. But the idea is to find the area of unity whereby you can work, and then work towards
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greater unity. Operational Unity is very important in that as I said people have different ideas,
different philosophies, different ideologies and you don't want to get into ideological conflicts as
to who has the best way. That is not productive, matter of fact, it is counterproductive. And so, our
model is to try to use that framework. It has manifested not only locally with the groups I
mentioned, but nationally with other groups in what we call the New African Independence
Movement (NAIM) which has a common theme, the groups and individuals in NAIM understand
and agree that Black people have a right to self-determination and as such we should strive and
struggle for that, that no one knows our problems better than we, and no one can solve our problems
better than we, and in order for us to flourish, we should be the agents of our own liberation.
We also understand allies, and as such we have aligned with NAIM, we have aligned with
revolutionary Latinos, we have aligned with revolutionary North American whites, we have
aligned with radical LGBTQIA groups, we have aligned and worked with those groups. On an
international level, going back to Libya, particularly before the assassination and murder of
Gaddafi, the Basque groups, Cuba, groups in Venezuela, Afro Venezuelans, Afro Cubans, even
with revolutionary groups in Ireland, understanding that the nature of struggle and revolutionary
change comes in all forms. Understanding that groups in South Asia, whether it is the Dalits and
their struggles, whether it is the Africans on the continent, whether it is Palestinians and their
struggles against Israeli oppression, wherever there is oppression there is resistance and our
philosophical guidelines are that we align with just and right struggles wherever it is on the planet.
Noel Didla: Akil, what are the expectations and goals of the electoral strategy and the
organizing principles?
Akil Bakari: I want to give a little context to that.
Noel Didla: Absolutely.
Akil Bakari: The whole idea around the endeavor into electoral politics actually comes out of the
framework which was originated in contemporary times by the Republic of New Africa (RNA).
And their idea was again organizing in the Black belt South, their particular focus area was the
western portion of Mississippi, coming down out of the delta from Tennessee, Arkansas, all the
way down to the western portion which is the MS delta going all the way to Claiborne County.
Again, all of those counties are contiguous through Tennessee, Arkansas, MS, and the majority of
those counties’ populations are Black folks. The RNA and their theoreticians understood and
studied that this is where Black people were and that if organized correctly, it can make a huge
impact towards moving towards self-determination. The idea in their organization was to take to
elected offices in those areas. The circuit clerk, county clerk rather, and the Sheriff's dept. Then
and now, if you control the county clerk and the Sheriff dept. of any county in MS, you control the
county.
Noel Didla: How?
Akil Bakari: The county clerk's office is where all of the land is recorded, and of course, the
Sheriff's office is the law enforcement. Again, historically and even to this day, if you control those
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two offices, you control the county. They understood that as far back as 1972. The original Kush
Plan came out of the theory of RNA, their job as they saw it was to organize Black people in the
western portion of MS, control those two offices and then hold a plebiscite. The plebiscite would
ask a simple question. Black folk want to create an independent nation of self-governing Black
people within the American empire, or Black people want to integrate into the existing structure
and try to reform America within the existing structure, or Black people want to repatriate back to
Africa or other areas of the globe where black people were in the majority. Those were the 3
questions. Now as we enter into contemporary times, 5 years prior to 2009, when it was decided
by the organization that the late mayor Chokwe Lumumba would be placed into the council race
for his ward, which is ward 2. By organization I mean, NAPO and MXGM, as we decided what
tactics we would use for this period in history. And how feasible it would be to enter into the
electoral arena and what we were trying to accomplish, there was a study around it and a
modification of the Kush plan, to the extent that we would use that model for an urban Jackson.
Noel Didla: How many years did these conversations take place in to move towards using
electoral platform as a strategy?
Akil Bakari: Roughly 5 years. There are ideological conferences that we hold every year, where
we sharpen our strategies and tactics, where we study the changes in the world literally. How
groups who were allies 10 years ago, may not necessarily be your allies today. How power shifts,
and understanding how our people were in Jackson, MS in that period of time, and what would be
the most impactful way to organize in addition to the other work we had done previously. The
Jackson Kush plan comes out of NAPO and MXGM that is clear and unequivocal. There were
some modifications around the model, the electoral portions, economic justice around cooperatives
and a more inclusive type of economy whereby people would have more ownership over their
labor and what their labor produces. And the assemblies would be vehicles of mass real democracy,
cooperative, collaborative democracy. And actually, leading to building structures that would
replace the existing imperialist structures. All of that came out the NAPO and MXGM
unequivocally.
Coming out of those ideological conferences, studying Jackson, roughly with a population of 200,
000 people, 85% of which were Black people; studying budgets of city budgets anywhere from
450-500 million dollars in any given year, a school district that is 97% Black with a budget of
roughly 255 million dollars, sitting in a county that is 76% Black whose budget is roughly 120
million dollars. If you add that money up, it is right up to billion dollars. All of that is funded by
majority Black people who get less than 5% of its benefit. So, we studied that, and we figured that
if we could impact and redirect resources in a manner that could empower more of our people in
addition to trying to organize and understanding self-determination, and how the constraints of the
existing electoral order could not contain or empower us in the manner in which we need it to. So,
you are trying to build on the one hand and also teaching and helping our people to understand that
these structures will not serve us in the way we need them to serve.
This model called the Jackson Kush plan is how we are trying to implement. Again, this is not
romantic, it is not glamorous, it will not happen overnight, you cannot build any co-operative of
the backs of philanthropic or foundational grants. You may be able to start there, but you have to
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build an independent economic model that is based on sound business principles in order for it to
function. That is not easy to do. As Amilcar Cabral so succinctly exhorted us 'Tell no lies and
claim no easy victories'. And whatever revolutionary ideas you have in your head if it does not
impact the people’s material reality, then it is something that is in your head. We strive, we are
nowhere near where need to be, but keeping those idioms in mind, can guide us to trying to build
those things. It is extremely difficult given the oppression in the American empire, the structures
which don't want to see any of that happening, but that is the idea with which we have to move
forward. The Jackson Kush plan is a model we are trying to execute to the best as we can. We are
trying to organize our people to the extent that we can, we are trying to create as much space as
we possibly can for young people. Actually, one of the huge reasons for us to even entering
electoral politics was creating space for young people to take this way beyond what our
imagination could, because they have got the ingenuity, they have got the imagination, the energy
and the audacity to do it. And that is one of the real reasons why we entered electoral politics.
Noel Didla: Alright Akil, what are some of the most provocative memories you have of being
a member of NAPO and MXGM?
Akil Bakari: The first memory that really stands out and comes to mind is the work around the
anti-clan march and rally, and, it was much more than a march and rally. It was actually a defense.
The sentiment was that white supremacist groups are not going to be allowed to parade down the
streets of Jackson, a majority black city. And as such, leaders of the New African People’s
Organization – at that time, the late Mayor Chokwe Lumumba, Safiya Omari, others, Jackson
Human Rights Coalition, Nation of Islam, all strategized to organize resistance. I was truly
privileged and blessed to be a part of that endeavor and it was magnificent in that over 3000 people
participated in that resistance and as we formed up on the corner of Farish and Griffin street, and
how the organization of that, because we had older people, we had children from all walks and
backgrounds of life, but also, the organization of making sure that they were safe. And our security
was put in place. Security that you can see and the security that you didn’t see. And how disciplined
everyone was in that over-3000 grouping of people. And as we made our way to the spot that we
were going to confront the Klan, which was a gateway into downtown through West Street that
flows into downtown. To the left of us was the Confederate cemetery where the white supremacist
group was going to pay homage to their white supremacist Confederate dead, and that’s where we
met them. And America being true to itself, manifest itself right here in Jackson, Mississippi, every
law enforcement agency within the state of Mississippi was present.
There was Mississippi Highway Patrol members in riot gear in M16s that formed a skirmish line
in front of us with M16s pointed at us. We had the Hinds County Sheriff’s department to the right
of us. The Jackson Police Department to the left of us. There were snipers on the roof behind us.
And there were helicopters buzzing above us. And all the guns were pointed at us. But the reserve
and determination of the group as women and children and those who, particularly women who
did not want to be in there because again, women stood side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder with
us in this defense but those who did not want to engage – women, children, and older people –
moved to the back of the column that we had formed. And it was our determination that day that
we were not moving, and the Klan was not going to march a step further than beyond where we
were. Whatever was going to occur that day was going to occur. After about – it seemed forever –
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but it was about forty-five minutes of a standoff, the Klan turned around and dispersed. And we
marched then from there to downtown Jackson city hall and talked about the organization and self-
determined nation of a group of Black people who said we were not going to allow this to occur
in the city of Jackson. And it did not occur. That’s one of my most poignant moments.
There were others where we did work around, um, there was a series of a lynching of black people
in jails all across Mississippi, including here in Hinds County. And as we raised our voices as the
Malcolm X Grassroots Movement and New African People’s Organization against that form of
genocide, we also understood that beyond just rhetoric, we had to actually do something. So, we
organized an investigative team to do parallel and post investigation behind the police around a lot
of these issues. We expanded that to a situation that had occurred in Meridian where a strapping
young Black man, 6’4”, 250 lb. somehow hung himself on a twig of a very small, very small tree
in Meridian, in Kemper County, in the Kemper County area, near Meridian. And we investigated
that unfortunate situation. That’s MXGM. We also formed an investigative team around that
particular death and murder of that young man, and other incidents that occurred fast forward the
work that we did around Katrina. We put together an assembly type gathering that we call the
Survivor’s Council where over 1,100 people from all across the country and outside the country
as well as those who had sought refuge from Mississippi Gulf Coast in Louisiana here in Jackson,
Mississippi, to strategize and plan on how we can resist the ethnic cleansing that was occurring
and the roadblocks that were being raised to prevent people from returning to New Orleans – those
were couple of things that stand out in my mind, of some of the work that we have done here.
And one other piece would also be, as we entered into the electoral arena and we as MXGM and
NAPO, and how the established political order – both black and white – literally laughed at us.
Because, in their minds, who were we to seek political office here. We’re just these radical people
who had these crazy ideas that Black people had a right to govern themselves. And how we have
been able to organize ourselves and put plans together to take electoral power from the council
seat with the late Mayor Lumumba to the Mayoral seat with the late Mayor Lumumba to the current
Mayor Chokwe Antar Lumumba. Those are some of the things that stick out in my mind.
Noel Didla: What about the youth work through the center?
Akil Bakari: The work that we have done and continue to around youth initiatives, whether it was
tutorial programs, self-defense, and physical education, whether they’re with athletic teams of all
manner – both male and female, whether it was just discussion groups, whether it was mentoring
sessions, the work that we were able to do along with those that we align ourselves within the
community and how so many young people that we were able to touch was extremely rewarding.
So much so that a lot of those young people have grown up and are productive citizens and now,
they are engaging in this self-determination work. Some of those young people may have gone
astray and committed acts that were not conducive to the community have now come back and re-
entered into the community and now are prepared to right some of the wrongs that they may have
inflicted on the community and to give back. So that’s extremely rewarding as well.
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Noel Didla: How did you organize young people? I mean, you had a center back then, and
how did the organizing happen? How long were you open?
Akil Bakari: The center was a place that we would have open every day. Now, all of us were
involved – Mikea Kambui, his wife Chineso Kambui, and my wife Gwen Webster, the Lumumbas,
the Omaris and others. We all worked. And as such, a lot of the work that we did was self-funded.
And so, we would get off those jobs and go to the center. And then, go and literally knock door to
door and alerting the community about what we were doing in the center and that it belonged to
them, and they could come to the center for anything, whatever their issues were. But we primarily
told we wanted them, but we wanted their young people too. And of course, the work involved
being consistent because when you initially knock, people don’t know who you are. They don’t
know what your intentions are or know what your motives are. So, the idea is that you have to
knock every day. Every single day. And we would have forums every week. We start, we’d have
five people one week, we have two the next week, we have ten one week, we may have five the
next week, we may have twenty next week. But, the work was consistent. And we went all over
the neighborhood. And as people begin to trust and see that we were consistent about what we
were doing, not only did they come, but they brought their children. And, as we began to give them
and expose them to information that they may not have been exposed to and following the
teachings of Malcolm – it’s not giving them my perspective of the information, it’s actually
exposing them to the information. And then they come out with their own conclusions. And
mostly, 99% of the time, they came to the same conclusions that we did. They were just exposed
to more information that they had not been previously. And so, the work of organizing anybody,
in any group of people is not glamorous. It’s not romantic. It’s hard. And, the cameras are not
there, the microphones are not there. It’s just you and your people. And, the hard part is to
convince them and convey to them your genuine intentions. Once you do that, then there’s no other
reward that’s better than that. And that’s what we attempted to do in our modest fashion.
Noel Didla: So, you had basketball camps too?
Akil: Oh, gosh! We had basketball camps! I’m a basketball fanatic. I played in high school and
college. So, did the late Mayor Chokwe Lumumba. So, we were obsessed with basketball. We
played, and we organized teams. And these teams were entered into the AAU apparatus. And I
would, would say conservatively, that basketball and the teams we put together was able to allow
at least 200 – 250 young men to enter and get a college education.
Noel Didla: Talk about the children’s component of MXGM.
Akil: There is the New African People’s Organization. One of the institutions it built is called the
New African Scouts and New African Panthers. There are some similarities around some of the
training with the boy scouts in that you train in urban and rural survival skills, camping,
sustainability in the rural, but we take it a step further. There are physical fitness and self-defense,
and there is cultural and revolutionary education component. That’s essential to giving our young
people the idea of what they are supposed to be doing as they matriculate and grow into adulthood.
I’m proud to say that that institution is into its 20th year. And many of those young people who
11
came through this scouts and Panthers are now working within the structure of the Malcolm X
Grassroots Movement.
Mayor Chokwe Antar Lumumba came through the scouts, a young Rukia Lumumba came through
the scouts, there are others in Atlanta, in the Bay Area and in D.C. In addition to that, one of the
leading members of the New African People’s Organization was a highly skilled educator. This is
Aminata Umoja. She was a master teacher in Atlanta and in essence, her job was to teach other
teachers how to teach. She understood that education and proper education is so key to the
development of our children. So, she decided to start a school with those values. So, she has
stepped out of the public-school education model in Atlanta and formed Kilombo which I am
proud to say, Kilombo is roughly going into its 8th or 9th year of operation. And has molded young
people in all areas of academics as well as at the revolutionary and cultural training. So, that model
is something we have to figure out how to replicate. But again, I am proud to say that Kilombo is
flourishing.
12
Namantar Struggle: A Non-religious Political Movement of

Ambedkarites in Maharashtra
Pradnya Jadhav
Abstract: The Namantar Andolan was a non-religious political agitation by Dalits aimed at the
renaming of Marathwada University. Namantar is the Marathi term for Renaming or Name-
Change. This study introduces the Namantar Andolan as a gradually evolved mass movement and
its subversion by the state and the ruling classes into Naamvistar or Name-Extension. This paper
is divided into three sections; the first section deals with the background of Namantar Andolan
and the history of Marathwada region; the second section deals with the methodology of the study
and the third section deals with the discussion on the outcome of the movement and its implications
on the aspects of emancipatory movements that focus on claiming the public sphere by the
marginalized. This study is distinct in its reconstruction of Namantar Andolan from primary
sources gathered through activist networks and the extensive examination of material produced in
Marathi language during and since the period of Namantar movement.
Introduction
The state of Maharashtra is known to be a fertile ground for the rise and growth of modern Dalit
movement in India.1 It builds from many anti-caste movements in the region addressing the
questions of inequality and injustice. The ‘political mobilization’ of Dalits in Maharashtra is
instrumental in delineating the meaning of emancipation of the most oppressed in the caste society,
shaping and influencing the emancipation struggles for ‘dignified identity’ in all other parts of
India. 2
Pradnya Jadhav: pradnya.sindhu@gmail.com
I acknowledge the support of Prof Yagati Chinna Rao, Chairperson, Centre for the Study of Discrimination and
Exclusion, JNU in this research work.
1
Dalit-The interpretation of the word varies; in this context, it is referred as an assertive term for the people
of lower caste who are struggling for self-respect and dignity.
2
The concept of ‘Political Mobilization’ has been used here to refer to the process of awakening among the
marginalized, Dalits, about their plight, and their quest to bring an end to their conditions by collective efforts.
13
During the British period, with the introduction of modern values and a little access to education,
the struggles for emancipation by the oppressed communities gained an impetus and the structures
of oppression were challenged with renewed energy and force as compared to earlier periods. 3
The history of Dalit movement in Maharashtra is extensively documented. Dalits in the past have
undertaken radical steps to question inequality; their agitations against injustices were strong even
in the pre-Ambedkar times. The quest for attaining equality transformed into a larger movement
for social justice aimed at ‘Annihilation of Caste’ under the unquestionable leadership of Dr. B.R.
Ambedkar, the crusader of the cause of the oppressed. With the direction Dalits had obtained from
Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, their battle was clearly oriented against the tyranny of the caste system and it
continues in the post-Ambedkar era.
In post-independent India, the Dalit movement in Marathwada region occupies a significant place.
After the Mahaparinirvan of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, the first self-organized and mass movement was
born in this region, i.e., the “Namantar Andolan” or the movement demanding Dr. Babasaheb
Ambedkar’s name be given to the former Marathwada University. 4,5 The movement for renaming
lasted twenty years, from 1974 to 1994 with the persistent efforts of Dalits to achieve their demand.
Namantar’s very demand made it difficult to be co-opted by categories like religion; it remained a
non-religious political movement. It was led from the front by the young and old, with women
participating at all levels of mobilization and agitations. During this period, the important aspects
such as consciousness-building among the Dalits, a process of social awakening, articulating the
meaning of a dignified living, and expressing the vision of their agitation defined the movement.
The history of Namantar also comprises of the events of mass level atrocities against the Dalits by
the savarnas.6 The movement for renaming ended on 14 January 1994; a change in the name of
Marathwada University was announced by the then Chief Minister of Maharashtra Sharad Pawar.
The change in the name was called as Naamvistar as the original demand of the movement was of
completely changing university’s former name from “Marathwada University” to “Dr. Babasaheb
Ambedkar University” and omitting the word “Marathwada.”7 However, the name change was
done without omission of “Marathwada” as “Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar Marathwada University.”8
The proponents of the Namantar did not consider this renaming as the actual realisation of the
original demand. The movement for renaming agitated the core of the savarnas’ power and they
openly expressed their age-old anger against Dalits by various means. Their hatred for the
proposed name of Dr. Ambedkar found expression in continued attacks even after the official
3
For details see, S.K. Gupta, The Scheduled Caste in Modern Indian Politics, Munshiram Manoharlal
Publications and Pvt.Ltd.,1985
4
Mahaparinirvana is a Pali word, here referred to the death of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar.
5
Namantar is a Marathi word which means the renaming. A massive agitation was called by Dalits aiming at
renaming the Marathwada University.
6
Savarnas are referred here as people of dominant/upper castes/Caste Hindus.
7
Naamvistar is a Marathi word-which means expansion of the previous name.
8
Snehalata Mankar, Namantarache Visthapit Aurangabad: Chinmay Prakashan., 2008p.92
14
announcement of the Naamvistar. The day when the Naamvistar was announced is celebrated each
year on 14 January as Namantar or Naamvistar din.
The history of education in Marathwada region
Historically, Marathwada was in the state of Hyderabad and under the rule of Nizam, the colleges
in this region were affiliated to Osmania University. There was an insufficiency of colleges and
the source of higher education was Osmania University. Even before the establishment of the
Osmania University, the only degree college in Hyderabad was linked with Madras University.
The University of Osmania was established in 1918 along with four other degree colleges. In these
colleges the medium of instruction was essentially Urdu. Thus, a large section of potential students
remained outside the flow of college education, due to the language barrier.
In the consequent years of 1918, 1919 and 1920, the Hyderabad Social Service league had
organised three social conferences. In these conferences, various demands essential for the
development of educational status were put forth such as the demand for compulsory education,
education in the Mother tongue, women’s education, higher technical and vocational training.
However, the Nizam rejected all these demands.9
The status of education in Marathwada was precarious, especially in the period of Nizam. In the
entire Marathwada region, until 1950, there was no degree level college. Dr. B.R. Ambedkar in
1950 established Milind College of Science and Arts in Aurangabad district through People’s
Education Society. Swami Ramanand Tirth, a freedom fighter in ‘Hyderabad Mukti Sangram,’ had
established a college in Nanded during the time of agitation against Nizam.10 After 1950, few steps
about raising the educational status of Marathwada were taken up through which colleges were
started in the Marathwada region. In Aurangabad, College for Education Science was started in
1954. In 1956, through the initiative of Jogeshwari Education Society, a college was started at
Ambejogai block in Beed district. The School of Agriculture at Parbhani district was converted
into an Agricultural University. A law college known as Manikchand Pahade Law College was
started in 1956 at Aurangabad after which a medical college was also established in Aurangabad.11
On the grounds of historic marginalisation of the educational sector in Marathwada, a demand for
establishing a separate university for the Marathwada region started gaining momentum after the
1950s.12
Establishment of Marathwada University and the Namantar Andolan
Considering this history of Marathwada, the establishment of an independent university became
inevitable. Since the colleges in Marathwada were operating under the affiliation of Osmania
9
Snehalata Mankar, Namantarche Visthapit, Op.Cit., pp. 13-89
10
Hyderabad Mukti Sangram was aimed at bringing down the rule of Nizam in the states of Hyderabad and
Marathwada.
11
12
Ibid, pp.56 -57
15
University, it was a crisis. The closest university was in Hyderabad, located hundreds of kilometres
away. The medium of instruction was Urdu, hence, for students with minimal resources, reaching
the university was the biggest challenge. The backward socio-economic condition of Marathwada
was the foremost challenge in accessing higher education, especially for the marginalised
communities. Unless Marathwada had its own university, the large section of Marathwada’s
population would have remained deprived of access to higher education. Thus, the need for a
university for the Marathwada region was expressed with intensity by its people.13
The growing assertion for a separate university was responded to by the then Chief Minister of
Maharashtra, Yashwantrao Chavan. The Justice Palnitkar committee was constituted on 27 April
1956 to pursue the demand for a separate university for Marathwada region. The committee
presented its report to the government of Bombay in December 1957. This report included
signatures of 186 people from Marathwada and outside who supported the demand. According to
the report of Justice Palnitkar Committee, Marathwada University was set up on 23 August 1958.
The committee had suggested few names for the university which can be grouped into two
categories. The first category reflected the names of places and the second category, the names of
personalities or individuals. The first category of the names included Aurangabad, Paithan
Pratishthan, Deogiri, Ajintha, and Shaliwahan and the second category included names such as
Shivaji and Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar. However, the committee decided upon naming the
university as Marathwada University. The committee cited the reason that since the inception of
demand for a separate university, people had always referred to it as “Marathwada” University.
Further, the committee also stated that the name should be close to everyone and represent the
people of this region.14
Marathwada was comprised of five districts then, and out of the total five districts Aurangabad
had only one intermediate college. Based on this huge disparity, Dr. Ambedkar decided to set up
degree colleges and this measure proved to be the foremost steps to bring thousands into the flow
of education. In fact, this very step was the foundation of setting up Marathwada University. Dr.
Ambedkar’s contribution in establishing the educational institutions sets the foundation of raising
the status of education in this region. Dr. Ambedkar had been demanding a separate university
ever since he intervened in the Marathwada region to make access to education easier for
everyone.15
After the establishment of the university in 1958, in the initial phase, merely 9 colleges were
affiliated to the university; the number of students studying in those colleges was 3069. There was
no provision for postgraduate education. Towards the end of 1978, a total of 83 colleges were
affiliated to Marathwada University.16
13
14
Ibid. pp. 55-57
15
Snehalata Mankar, Namantarche Visthapit, Op.Cit., p. 57
16
Ibid, p. 56
16
The renaming of the Marathwada University after Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar was first publicly
demanded by the Dalit leaders in Mahad, on March 27, 1977. The resolution for the same was
passed in Mahad. The memorandum demanding the renaming was submitted to the then Chief
Minister Vasantdada Patil. Dalit leaders started protests for the demand of renaming.
Simultaneously, there were other groups protesting the fee hike in education and addressing other
educational problems for which a committee of students was formed. This committee later started
making the demand for Namantar along with their other demands. The Dalit Panthers organised a
huge march and the struggle for renaming started to become a burning issue. This was a first of its
kind in the region and this movement was the biggest threat to the savarnas and they started to
attack the Dalits using various means. The battle for Namantar transformed into a larger movement
for self-respect and dignity. When the resolution for Namantar was passed in the state assembly,
riots against Dalits started taking place from the very night of July 27, 1978.17
The premise of Namantar Andolan lay in commemorating the ideology of Dr. Ambedkar. It is an
ideology that believes in equality and uplifting the lives of ex-untouchables, the marginalised. The
educational institution started by Dr. Ambedkar had allowed a significant number of students in
Marathwada the access to education. Moreover, an entry into educational institution was not
restricted to the Dalits as such. Students across caste and class benefited from the college started
by Dr. Ambedkar. This step taken by Dr. Ambedkar laid a foundation for establishing a separate
university for the Marathwada region. This was the foremost reason for Dalits demanding the
university to be named after Dr. Ambedkar. It was not just to claim a separate space but as a gesture
of gratitude towards Dr. Ambedkar.
It is vital to understand why the movement for renaming lasted two decades. What was the nature
of the demand that it took twenty years to achieve it and that too only partially, since the Namantar
(renaming) ended in Naamvistar (name extension)? In doing so, what political positioning proved
to be influential? The year 1979 witnessed the highest number of atrocities against Dalits. Thus, it
is necessary to understand what sparked the atrocities against Dalits in Marathwada during the
Namantar struggle. Were there no atrocities against Dalits before these incidents? What were the
sites of opposition in which savarnas expressed their opposition to the Namantar? What was the
role of the State machinery in responding to the demands of supporters as well the opponents of
Namantar? And what are the implications of the name expansion on Dalits as well as the savarnas?
How did the demand for Namantar emerge?
In 1958, the Justice Palnitkar committee which was constituted to pursue the demand for setting
up a separate university for the Marathwada region had proposed Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s name out
of several other names to consider while naming the university. However, no efforts were taken to
ensure that the university was named after Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar.18 The justification given for
choosing the name “Marathwada” was that it is close to everyone. Principal M.B. Chitnis and other
Dalit organisations demanded that the university should be renamed after Dr. Babasaheb
Ambedkar. There were two universities in Marathwada of which one was the Agricultural
17
Ibid, pp. 58-60
18
Snehalata Mankar, Namantarche Visthapit, Op.Cit., p.56 -57
17
University located in Parbhani district. Both these universities were named as Marathwada. On
June 24, 1974 Marathwada Republican Vidyarthi Sangh, in a letter to the Chief Minister demanded
that out of the two universities in Marathwada, one university should be given Dr. Babasaheb
Ambedkar’s name. 19,20
The emergence and development of the Namantar Andolan can be seen in two different stages: the
first phase from 1974 to 1978 and second phase from 1978 to 1994. In the first phase of the
agitation, the demand was made using various means. Due to the constant follow-up by the
Namantar supporters, the renaming of the university was approved in principle in the state
assembly of Maharashtra and was announced on the radio. This announcement invoked violence
against Dalits in various villages of Marathwada mainly in three districts: Aurangabad, Parbhani,
and Nanded. In the history of Namantar agitation, the year 1978 was a turning point, with organised
mass violence against Dalits by savarnas.
Savarnas took this as an opportunity to hurt the dignity of Dalits. The violence against Dalits after
the first announcement of approval of Namantar demand was called as ‘riots,’ but these were
organised mass level crimes aimed at killing Dalits. In this violence, the savarnas were the only
attackers and no counter attacks were reported, raising the question: how could they be called
riots?21 After this spate of violence, the Namantar agitation achieved a distinct status. It became a
matter of existence for the Dalits. With several ups and downs, the agitation continued till the
demand for Namantar was approved officially in 1994. It is thus a matter of debate whether
Namantar achieved the actual goal since what was achieved was Naamvistar and not Namantar.22
The grounds for opposition
The opponents of the Namantar always claimed that they did not oppose the name of Dr. Ambedkar
and that they were only conserving the regional identity. Moreover, they also said that the name is
less important, and that name of an institution does not make any difference. If that were true, the
opponents should have answered these fundamental questions: if the name was not important, then
19
Avinash Dolas, Manohar Jhilthe (ed.), Marathawada Hinsachar Visheshank, Astitva, Op.Cit.,78 for details
see, E.B. Kamble, Samajik Ekatmatechi Watchal, Op.Cit, P. 64 For details see, Snehalata Mankar,
Namantarache Visthapit, Op.Cit.
20
Snehalata Mankar, Namantarche Visthapit, Op.Cit., p.56 -57
21
For details see, Omvedt, G. (1979). Marathwada: Reply to Dipankar Gupta. Social Scientist, Vol. 8, No.2,
pp. 51-58.
22
Interview with Prof. Arun Kamble, dated 12th October 1980, published in “Namantarache Diwas”Dainik
Navshakti, (Marathi Daily) Naamvistar- in this context, means expansion of the previous name, or a partial
change in the original name. Whereas the demand for Namantar was of complete renaming of the university,
through Naamvistar- it was merely an addition of Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar’s name to the original name of
the university.
18
why did they resist its change for 20 years? Whose regional identity were they protecting? Whose
interests were being secured by opposing the name of Dr. Ambedkar?23, 24
The arguments used by the opponents of Namantar to evade the renaming of Marathwada
University, and the responses to it from various quarters are as follows: 25
Propagation of pride in Marathwada’s regional identity
The demand for Namantar was not exclusively placed by the Dalits, it was a demand supported by
many progressive thinkers, activists, and luminaries. The savarna opponents claimed that the
omission of the word “Marathwada” would cause extreme damage to the regional identity of
Marathwada.26 If that was the case, then to whom did the Marathwada region belong? Did it not
belong to Dalits who formed a significant section of the society?27
Establishing a separate memorial of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar
Among the number of alternate propositions made by the opponents of Namantar was the proposal
for establishing a separate memorial of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar instead of renaming the university after
his name. This proposition was a straightforward dismissal of Namantar demand and was aimed
at diverting the issue. However, the Dalits and other proponents of Namantar had consistently
rejected the proposal of establishing the memorial as it was never a part of their agitation. Their
demand was focussed only upon changing the name of the Marathwada University as a
commemoration of the extremely important role played by Dr. Ambedkar towards raising the
educational status of Marathwada region.28
This appeasement proposition of savarnas was evidence that their opposition was not only aimed
at disallowing change in the university’s name but also prohibiting Dalits from social intercourse.
Asking Dalits to establish separate memorial was their deliberate aim to segregate Dalits from the
mainstream. Why this separation?29
This exclusion of Dalits has a long history in the caste system and Marathwada was no exception
as noted here: ‘Even in 1991, as the observations of some voluntary organisations show, the social
conditions of Dalits in Marathwada have not improved. On the contrary, it had worsened. Dalits
from this region do not have common drinking water facilities, they are not allowed entry into
23
Bhadant K. Ashwaji, Namantar Shahid Granth, Op.Cit., p. 97
24
Sudhir Gavhane, Namantar Ladha: EkShodhyatra” Op. Cit., P. 99
25
The arguments of the opponents of Namantar Andolan are presented here by deriving it from several news
reports and books. For details see, Sudhir Gavhane, Namantar Ladha: Ek Shodhyatra, Mumbai: 1996,
Pariwartan Prakashan
26
Prakash Sirsath, Dalit Chalwal: Aklanachyadishene, Pune: 2016, Hariti Prakashan, p. 37-48
27
Bhadant K. Ashwaji, Namanta rShahid Granth,Op.Cit., p. 263
28
Bhadant K. Ashwaji, Namantar Shahid Granth ,Op.Cit., p. 267
29
Ibid
19
upper caste houses and Hindu temples (The Times of India, September 7, 1991) Dalits are
prohibited from taking part in village cultural festivals and in some villages, they must celebrate
Ambedkar’s birth anniversary under tight police security. Even today in some villages of
Marathwada they are forced to do certain defiling tasks.’30
The discrimination against Dalits is the stark reality of the region. Hence, the suggestion to build
a separate memorial was no different than forbidding Dalits from public spaces, prohibiting them
from using public amenities such as common wells in the village, etc.31 While refusing the
hegemony of savarnas, Dalits asserted that their battle was for claiming equal rights. The Namantar
Andolan had aimed at a broader vision of liberation from the bondage originated from the
Ambedkarite framework of self-determination.32
Demand for Namantar is invalid without the support of the majority
The opponents of Namantar argued that the demand to rename should have majority support. They
claimed that it was the demand put forward only by Dalits. This argument also showed that only
the savarnas could decide the validity of any concerns raised by anybody other than them. Whose
interests were protected by the proponents of Marathwada’s regional pride? This explanation given
by the savarna opponents was evidence exhibiting their intense discomfort for the renaming, and
denial of the rights of Dalits.33
Marathwada would become Dalitsthan34
The opponents of Namantar said that if the renaming of Marathwada University took place, then
the whole of Marathwada would become a Dalitsthan. At a time when the civil life was denied to
Dalits, be it the matter of using public water bodies or temple entry, they had to claim it with all
their energy. In this scenario, the fears and justifications given by savarnas to suppress the demand
of Namantar were defective. For instance, how would Marathwada have become the land of Dalits
based merely on the renaming of one university? Marathwada was once ruled by the Nizam, a
Muslim ruler, under whose rule forced conversion to Islam used to occur. Yet, it would be highly
inappropriate to state that Marathwada had become a land of Muslims. Then, how would it have
happened in the case of Dalits? This fear expressed by the savarna opponents was completely
unjustified.35
Why the name ‘Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar?’
30
Gopal Guru, (1991), “Dalit Killings in Marathwada”, Op.Cit., p.2927
31
32
Ibid
33
34
Dalitsthan- an exclusive place for Dalits. For details see Prakash Sirsath, Dalit Chalwal: Aklanachyadishene,
Op.Cit., p. 37-40
35
Ibid
20
Since this paper outlines the significance of Namantar Andolan and the struggle to rename the
university after Dr. Ambedkar, it is inevitable that some attention is paid to his contributions and
the role he played in the Marathwada region.
Dr. Ambedkar had proposed the following central ideas regarding the development of Marathwada
region. First, Aurangabad district must be treated as the capital of Marathwada and it should
become a divisional administrative part of the region. Second, a separate university for the
Marathwada region should be set up, and third, to construct broad-gauge railway lines in the
region. The efforts of Dr. Ambedkar in the realm of education benefitted a large section of people
irrespective of their castes. The institution established by Dr. Ambedkar had opened doors of
higher education to the students of all castes, and not just the Dalits.36
Vidarbha, Marathwada and Western Maharashtra were divided into three different states; it was
the demand of the “Sanyukta Maharashtra” movement to integrate these three along with Mumbai
as a linguistic state.37 In this movement, Dr. Ambedkar proposed to start working from the most
excluded Marathwada region; he did the pioneering work of bringing Marathwada into the flow of
education.38 From the point of educational advancement, it was an astonishing act that an
organisation based in the State of Mumbai establishes a college in a district like Aurangabad,
facing the discouragement from local savarna forces.
Under the Nizam’s rule, there were restrictions on holding public meetings. However, in 1939, a
public gathering was conducted for Dr. Ambedkar by the efforts of B.S. More, who was a
prominent Dalit leader who was also working as a Propaganda Officer in the Nizam’s state. This
meeting was the first ever public address by Dr. Ambedkar in Marathwada. Due to the restrictions,
this meeting was organised in Makranpur village in Jalgaon district which was adjacent to Kannad,
a block in Aurangabad. In this meeting, Dr. Ambedkar had called out Nizam for his exploitative
rule and warned him about meeting with harsh consequences. The police action in 1948 brought
down the Nizam’s rule and ended his control over Marathwada.39
Aurangabad had an army cantonment, which was supposed to be removed after the police action.
Dr. Ambedkar opposed it and insisted that the Cantonment should remain as it was. This
cantonment in contemporary times became a key center for the military training.40 At the time of
state formation in Maharashtra, Dr. Ambedkar proposed before the Fazal Ali Commission for
Aurangabad to be declared as the capital of Marathwada and divisional quarter for administrative
processes. Due to the efforts of Dr. Ambedkar, a concrete road from Aurangabad to Phulambri (a
block in Aurangabad district) was constructed. Dr. Ambedkar also recommended to the
36
Avinash Dolas, Manohar Jhilthe (ed.), Marathawada Hinsachar Visheshank, Astitva (Marathi Journal),
March-June 1978 for details see, E.B. Kamble, Samajik Ekatmatechi Watchal, Op.Cit., P. 64.
37
Sanyukta Maharashtra movement was about integrating the bilingual states.
38
E.B. Kamble, Samajik Ekatmatechi Watchal, Op.Cit., P. 64
39
R K Kshirsagar, Dalit movement in India and its leaders, New Delhi: 1994 MD Publications PVT LTD
40
Ibid P. 64-66
21
government that a bridge on Godavari River at Kaygaontoka (Gangapur block) should be

constructed. A grand bridge could be constructed only because of his recommendation.41
Dr. Ambedkar’s contribution towards the development of Marathwada region was not limited to
education alone. His contribution was multifaceted and way beyond the efforts of the proponents
of regional development of Marathwada. Thus, renaming the Marathwada University after Dr.
Ambedkar would have been a revolutionary move, but achieving this demand was not an easy task
in this context.42
Modes of Namantar Andolan
It is important to note the modes of Namantar Andolan through which it endured for twenty years.
The demand gradually took the form of a mass movement. This section describes the different
modes of protest and assertions.
Memorandum, letters, and signature campaign
The Namantar Andolan began with sending letters to the state government to demand the renaming
of the Marathwada University. This was initiated by sending letters addressed to the Chief
Minister.43 On 24 June 1974, the first letter was sent by Marathwada Republican Vidyarthi Sangh
to the Chief Minister demanding the renaming of the university. Followed by several other
letters.44 The official letters sent to the Chief Minister of Maharashtra included the signatures of
several people who were supporting the demand for Namantar. This was the most peaceful way
adopted by the Dalits to demand the renaming. Indeed, this method proved to be the foundation
for commencing the agitation. However, it was a communication between two parties, that is, the
State and the activists of Namantar, and remained as official communication without drawing any
response.
Public meetings, processions, and strikes
Public meetings and processions were used as effective methods of making a public demand for
Namantar. Several processions were taken out in support of Namantar by various groups, Dalit
Panthers, various Dalit students’ groups, Yuvak Kranti Dal, a socialist group from Bihar called
Chhatra Yuva Sangharsha Wahini, Lal Nishan, and the Communist Party of India (Marxist)
organized processions in different places gathering support for Namantar.45 Public meetings were
another method through which the upcoming plans were discussed.
41
Ibid
42
Ibid
43
Snehalata Mankar, Namantarache Visthapit, Aurangabad: 2008, Chinmay Prakashan. P. 45
44
Ibid
45
Prakash Sirsath, (2016). Dalit Chalwal: Aklanachyadishene, Op.Cit., p. 42-45
22
The first long-march in the history of Namantar was taken out in Nagpur on 11 November 1979
under the leadership of Jogendra Kawade. The second long-march was held in Aurangabad, on
December 6, 1979. A large number of pro-Namantar activists and communities took part in this
procession, irrespective of the obstacles thrown in their way. Prior to this long-march, Dalit Youth
front had organised a three-day workshop on collective farming at Mangvadgaon, in Beed district.
At the end of this workshop, a symposium on Namantar was organized to discuss the strategy to
exhibit the public position of pro-Namantar forces. Many protesters were supposed to reach
Aurangabad, and the state government tried to disrupt the long-march by blockading the roads
entering the city. Thousands of arrests were made before the long-march; in fact, lakhs of protesters
courted jails. Jails and schools where the pro-Namantar protesters were put in were overflowing,
the open spaces where people had gathered were declared as jails and people assembled there were
considered to be under arrest. Supporters of Namantar went on hunger strike to protest the arrests.46
The struggle for Namantar continued despite the opposition by the state. Rallies, protest marches
and ‘Jail Bharo Andolan’ (Fill the Jail Movement) were organised to sustain the demand of
Namantar.47
Conferences, literary festivals, and postcard campaign
As the struggle for Namantar intensified due to the efforts of Namantar Action Committee, many
students joined the struggle. At the time, barring a few, most students were from outside the city.
They regularly received letters and money orders from their relatives and family. One campaign
was to ask the relatives and family to postmark these letters to Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar University
instead of addressing it to Marathwada University. Every day, hundreds of letters arrived for Dr.
Babasaheb Ambedkar University. This greatly encouraged the students.
Every year the university used to hold its convocation. This event was also creatively used. On the
day of the convocation, a parallel degree awarding ceremony of Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar
University was also held. On this occasion, people gathered at the Milind College one year and on
the university campus on some other. People discussed Namantar along with dialogues and talks
on education. The Vice-Chancellor of the university would invite senior Namantar activists and
celebrate them during the convocation. Slowly, it became customary for most Namantar activists
to attend the alternative convocation and use it to popularize Namantar. This program was also
besieged by police surveillance and arrests preceded the day of the program. The activists ensured
that alternate arrangements were made so that the arrests would not put a stop to the program.
46
Prakash Sirsath (2016). Dalit Chalwal: Aklanachyadishene, Op.Cit., p. 42-45
47
Ibid
23
Activists learned how to deal with the police and skillfully ensure that the programs went on as
planned48,49
The anti-Namantar violence was a moral set back to the movement; the Satyagraha brought a new
spark to the struggle. After the Satyagraha, nomadic tribes, adivasis, and other backward
communities supported the Dalits.
Suicide and Self-Destruction
It is incongruous to state self-destruction as a method. However, few pro-Namantar activists chose

this way to demand Namantar. ‘By the time of the appointment of Ramdas Athavale as the Minister
for Social Welfare, the struggle had also lost momentum. The prospects for Namantar were dim.
Disheartened, many activists committed suicide. None of the Namantar groups had approached
suicide as an organized strategy for the struggle. The suicides also cut across regional, caste,
ideological and organizational lines. It included the Panther Gautam Waghmare from Nanded and
Vilas Dhone of Western Maharashtra. Waghmare announced his intentions and immolated
himself. Dhone carried a suicide note in his pocket and walked in front of a running train. There
can be no doubts that as individual acts these suicides were tragic. However, within the broad time
and space of the Namantar struggle, they were episodic events. They are not the defining feature
of the struggle. Pratibha Tayde from Akola, Suhasini Bansode from Bhandara and Police-constable
Narayan Gaikwad from Solapur immolated themselves for the demand of Namantar50, 51
On 14 January 1994, with the announcement of name expansion one part of the Namantar Andolan
was over. It is necessary in this context to understand the features of Namantar Andolan with which
it continued. The main feature that defines the premise of Namantar is as follows:
The role of Ambedkarite ideology
The overall Dalit movement in Maharashtra and the Namantar Andolan manifests Dr. Ambedkar
as an ideologue, a scholar whose vision led to the emergence of Dalits as a conscientised mass.
Ambedkarite ideology has prepared the masses to articulate the meaning of their existence, their
political mobilisation, and consciousness building. The ideology of Dr. Ambedkar has proved its
utility in all the spheres of the Dalit liberation movement.
The Namantar Andolan emerged as the ground for the emergence of Dalit movement in the region;
it highlighted the presence of Dalit groups operating in Marathwada. Dalit Youth Front (Dalit
Yuva Aghadi) was distinct: they were active in the rural Marathwada taking up the issues of
distribution of Gayran to the Dalits, addressing the issues related to the practice of untouchability.
48
http://sanhati.com/excerpted/12585/ accessed 22 March 2016
49
Ibid p. 44
50
Prakash Sirsath (2016) Dalit Chalwal: Aklanachyadishene, Op.Cit., p. 45
51
Ibid
24
The first ever Satyagraha for access to water was initiated by the activists of Dalit Youth Front in
Khalwat-Nimgaon, in Majalgaon Block of Beed district. After the Satyagraha, they were boycotted
in the village by the savarnas, however, the Dalits stood firm. Namantar was not the main demand
of Dalit Youth Front, it was one of their concerns. The activists of this front did remarkable work
in the post-violence situation in 1978, by visiting the violence affected villages, conducting fact-
finding reports and helping the victims to shift to safe places.52
In the post-violence following the riots in the second phase of Namantar, the state government
announced certain decisions to appease the violence affected Dalits. This included establishing
Mahatma Phule Backward Class Finances and Development Corporation. The idea behind setting
up this corporation was to provide financial support to Dalits for self-employment initiatives.
However, this initiative gave a fatal blow to the assertive nature of the movement. It was a tactical
move of the Government to silence the anger of the Dalits by giving monetary benefits and not
implementing the name change.
Concluding remarks
This study provides multiple vantage points to understand the Namantar Andolan through the
author’s familiarity with the Marathwada region, Marathi language, access to Namantar activist
networks, materials and institutions engaged in memorializing the movement. The extensive
examination of material produced in the Marathi language during and since the period of Namantar
movement opens several interesting frameworks to study similar emancipatory movements.
The process of naming entities is one of the oldest human activities. Names of people, places, and
things orient us to our realities, provide contexts and direction. In the book ‘The means of names:
a social history,’ Stephen Wilson (1998) posits: “Names of all kinds have associations, flavours;
they are evocative, and carry messages and they are powerful.”
A clear hegemonic way of life is to ensure that naming rights are withheld from the marginalized,
particularly the naming of entities in the public sphere. Namantar Andolan is a struggle that played
out for 20 long years to claim the Dalits’ right to name a university in Marathwada region after Dr.
Ambedkar.
Namantar as an agitation has been discussed at length by the Dalits writing on Namantar and the
savarnas documenting Namantar. It is important to understand the political and ideological
affiliations of those who wrote on Namantar, as their writings and approach appeared in
accordance with their ideological base. Dalit Panther alone had a separate rally for Namantar, so
did a few other Dalit groups such as Dalit Yuvak Aghadi (Dalit Youth Front). There were other
groups of Humanists, Socialists, Left progressives, and liberals such as Yuvak Kranti Dal, CPI,
CPM and CPI (ML). Each group expressed their version of the story and claimed their
participation. In the process of unravelling the realities of Namantar, it is important to understand
the extent to which these groups contributed and their position in the Post Namantar era for the
Dalits. Available literature gives us a picture of the state impunity in the cases of atrocities against
Dalits as no laws were strictly implemented and no justice was ensured.
52
Prakash Sirsath, ‘Dalit Chalwal: Aklanachyadishene’ Pune: 2016, Hariti Prakashan, p. 37-48
25
In the aftermath of the violence, there was a proposition of setting up a technical university in the
Konkan region. The supporters of Namantar wanted to represent the interests of the whole
population of Marathwada, but that never happened. Instead, another sub-centre of the
Marathwada University was set up in Osmanabad district. In Nanded, a separate university was
formed for four districts: Nanded, Parbhani, Hingoli, and Latur. This university was named after
the opponent leader of Namantar, Swami Ramanand Tirth. It is hence necessary to answer the
question if the struggle for Namantar was a victory or a failure? And there is a need to understand
its impact on the Dalits in Marathwada region.
The omission of some historical events by those who documented Namantar requires closer
inspection, for it appears that the sacrifice by Gautam Waghmare and Vilas Dhone and others have
been hardly documented by the few savarna writers. Raising the fundamental question – who does
this exclusion, and why? As a researcher and a part of the community, I realised that we need to
ask these questions while we celebrate their sacrifices. We also need to think for a while about
their family members. And think about to whom should this complaint about the erasure of their
sacrifice be addressed?
The riots and sacrifices of Dalit activists are black spots in the history of Namantar struggle. The
first concern was to address the rehabilitation issues of those dispossessed during the violence. The
number far exceeded the official figures. Secondly, a failure of the justice delivery system which
let the attackers go free needed to be addressed. The registration of crimes against Dalits was
almost negligible, as if they were only a natural part of the lives of Dalits.
In the global context, several movements have engaged with the decolonizing of history and
creating a better present, often by renaming and replacing the symbols of racism. It is evident in
the case of Argentina where the statue of Christopher Columbus was replaced with the monument
of the Bolivian War of Independence heroine Juana Azurdy. Namantar Andolan in the global
narrative is one of the many renaming movements for the rightful claiming of the public sphere,
by correcting distorted historical narratives and memorializing progressive actors from
marginalized communities. It was a movement to claim the educational institution as the public
space, and thereby renaming the Marathwada University with arguments that were not sentimental
but factual. This was the historic assertion against the fundamental feature of the caste society:
excluding the marginalised communities from the public sphere. Although it is difficult to
conclude about the struggle for Namantar in terms of victory or failure, it did provoke a critical
engagement on an ideological basis for anti-caste movements. Several unasked questions linger,
such as can there be ethics to the way movements are remembered? If yes, then why is there hardly
any mention of the family members of those who committed suicide for the demand of Namantar.
The Namantar demand was supported by lakhs, but what happened to the families of the dead?
Where have they disappeared?
26
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32
Conceptualizing Bhojpuri for a National Hindi Elite:

Reading the Folklorist Krishna Deva Upadhyaya
Asha Singh
Abstract: The present moment in the life of Bhojpuri language is significantly marked by political
contestations on its ‘status’ within India. Its attempts to be enlisted in the eighth schedule of the
constitution are being passionately debated. Such debates operate within the limits of the nation-
state. The relationship of the language with the nation is continuously evaluated to understand,
dismiss or justify the aspirations of its speech-community. In such a scenario, this paper tries to
take a deeper look at the underlying assumptions which inform the conceptualization of Bhojpuri
language and people. It would make certain inviting and brief comments on the sociology of
Bhojpuri scholarship which is being produced majorly in Hindi language. In doing so, the
presentation would be critically aware of the power- relations which operate between Hindi and
Bhojpuri. Oral cultural productions remain the single largest repertoire on Bhojpuri people,
language and region. Therefore, this presentation would take a detailed look at the works of
‘eminent’ folklorist Krishna Deva Upadhyaya who conceptualized the language, its caste-gender
relations and region primarily through oral cultural productions for over five decades, in the
second half of the 20th century. Such an exercise would unravel the methodological fault-lines and
power relations in constructing ‘Bhojpuri’. I argue that ‘methodological nationalism’ decisively
marks the conceptualization of Bhojpuri language and people. This study investigates the
reasons for methodological nationalism in some detail, especially in relation to Upadhyaya’s
work. The historical trajectory of Bhojpuri as the demographic muscle of the ‘Hindi’ speaking
majority hinders its claims to autonomy. This history partially explains the methodological
nationalism in Bhojpuri scholarship.
Key words: Bhojpuri language, Hindi, Folk songs, Methodological Nationalism, Women
Introduction
This paper has grown out of my PhD thesis which tried to sociologically analyze Bhojpuri
women’s oral cultural productions (Folksongs) in the context of male out migration
Asha Singh:communication.asha@gmail.com
Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Calcutta
33
from Bhojpuri region (Singh, 2015, 2017a, 2018).1 Such an exercise demanded that I refer and
study the works of folklorists, socio-linguists and others who collected Bhojpuri folksongs. As I
analyzed their work I developed a sociological interest in the process of documenting folksongs
and the use of folksongs as an epistemic resource in conceptualizing Bhojpuri language, people
and region.
Bhojpuri is spoken in Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Jharkhand, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh and Nepal.
This language has also travelled to various other parts of India with migration, especially Kolkata,
Mumbai, Delhi and Punjab. 19th century indentured labour migration from Colonial India to
Caribbean countries and other plantation colonies such as Fiji, Trinidad and Tobago, Guyana,
Suriname, Mauritius etc has permanently established Bhojpuri in these destinations, often with
official status. However, the Indian State considers Bhojpuri (like 47 other languages) a dialect of
Hindi which is primarily oral and rural. It is estimated that Bhojpuri speakers across the globe
number more than twenty crores, though the exact numbers are not known. In India, as per 2001
Census Report, more than three crore people marked Bhojpuri as their ‘mother-tongue,’ a number
comparable to that of Malayalee speakers in India. The first decade of the 21st century also
witnessed a resurgence of Bhojpuri film and cassette industry operating primarily from Mumbai.
The significance of folksongs and orality in building an identity and consciousness for Bhojpuri
region has been underlined by several scholars especially in the absence of a widely –used, written
script. Manager Pandey a socio-linguist from Bhojpuri region argues that folksongs are central to
the reconstruction of the history and culture of Bhojpuri people (Pandey & Upadhyay, 2000).
Folksongs are used as the ‘raw material’ to give details about the society, its social composition,
festivals, stereotypes, underlying gender and caste relations, agrarian practices etc.
Thus, quite naturally, anthologies of folksongs, play an important role in constructing the
conceptual history of Bhojpuri language. This makes them extremely relevant in the present
political moment when a Bhojpuri Civil society located in non-metropolitan urban centers
(especially Banaras, Patna and Allahabad) and metropolitan (Delhi) is trying to mobilize a
movement to get Bhojpuri enlisted in 8th Schedule of Indian constitution.2 The ‘pedagogy’ of
inclusion of Bhojpuri in the 8th schedule cannot be fully grasped without understanding the ways
in which Bhojpuri language and society were conceptualized in time and place.
Anthologists provide descriptions and interpretation of Bhojpuri language, people and region as
they document folksongs. Such interpretations and descriptions have played the role of
‘conceptualization,’ which has a life beyond the anthology (in political claims as well). Hertzler
in his pioneering essay on sociology of language describes conceptualization as a process through
which fragmented and scattered experiences of language within the ‘language community’ are
1
Bhojpuri region is a socio-linguistic entity which spreads across Bihar, Jharkhand, Uttar Pradesh and
Nepal. It is also spoken in Mauritius, Fiji, Trinidad and other Caribbean countries where Bhojpuri speaking
indentured laborers were taken in large numbers during 19 th and 20th centuries.
2
For example: See https://www.facebook.com/santosh.ibparishad/videos/1752654731421547/
https://www.facebook.com/bhojpurijanjagaranabhiyan/?hc_ref=ARQ3A9sm15Plbq8A30e5juOXKRqOfPsxPgRvW
MRi_yIb_w_m0-B_qdkUtRZLn3zV8dA
34
integrated through a set of rules or plan (Hertzler, 1953). Such a process tries to generalize and
standardize language and its diverse experiences. This process is not devoid of the speakers (in
this case the anthologist’s) language ideology. In other words, the anthologist through folksongs
conceptualizes Bhojpuri language, people and region within the ambit of his ideological
convictions. Woolard and Schieffeln (1994) explain,
Ideologies of language are significant for social as well as linguistic analysis, as they are
not only about language… rather such ideologies envision and enact links of language to
group and personal identity, to aesthetics, to morality and to epistemology. (p. 55-56)
This ideology shapes one’s approach to the socio-historical contexts which produce the language
and its culture.
Drawing lessons from the political economy of language, one can argue that ideologies of language
are derived from social contexts shaped by power-relations. Every linguistic interaction, even the
most intimate variety, reflects, constitutes and reproduces social structures of power (gender, caste,
class etc.). For example, Bourdieu (1991) argues,
Everyday linguistic exchanges are situated encounters between agents endowed with
socially structured resources and competencies, in such a way that every linguistic
interaction, however personal and insignificant it may seem, bears the traces of the social
structure that it both expresses and helps to reproduce. (p. 2)
Linguistic interactions are situated in histories. In the words of bell hooks (1992), ‘language is a
place of struggle’ marked by the politics of uneven distribution of communicative resources.
The project of codifying and standardizing experiences of language is a modern project. And the
‘power’ to produce, codify the official identity of a language, its people and region, quite likely
lies with those who have maximum access to cultural and material resources. The position of the
analyst in relation to the object of analysis (in this case Bhojpuri) is one of the least investigated
questions. Drawing from Bourdieu, such a probe would expose the intellectual division of labour
in conceptualizing Bhojpuri language and society. It would also prove symptomatic in explaining
the social-historical conditions which produced Bhojpuri public sphere. The project of
conceptualizing Bhojpuri within a nationalist paradigm was disproportionately shouldered by
upper-caste men from the region with well-defined stake in the emerging ‘national discourse’ of
late 19th and early 20th century. Codifying Bhojpuri consciousness, its history and struggle
were historically executed through conversations between upper-caste (Brahmin-Savarna) men.
have their social and political locations affected Bhojpuri’s conceptualizations? What has been its
How
impact on understanding caste and gender relations in the region?
One can surely take many routes to answer this question. A thorough reading of ‘authoritative’
writings on Bhojpuri sensitive to their contexts is necessary. I am in the initial stages of such an
exhaustive exercise (Singh, 2017b and 2017c). For this presentation I would focus on the work of
Krishna Deva Upadhyaya, an eminent Bhojpuri folklorist, and the first scholar to attempt thematic
35
classification of Bhojpuri folksongs3, to try and discern answers to these questions. It is noteworthy
that Upadhyaya had an academic life which spanned over five decades (1940s-1990s).
Bhojpuri through Hindi
Such a focus, should begin with placing Krishna Deva Upadhyaya within the literary tradition on
Bhojpuri, written primarily in Hindi. The use of Hindi and its Devangari script to theorize Bhojpuri
is not simply a technical or pragmatic choice. It is a result of how Hindi was (and continues to be)
perceived as the most suitable language of knowledge production with the emergence of
nationalism in this region, under the leadership of an educated Savarna class. Bhojpuri along with
Maithali, Magahi, Braj, Avadhi etc. were imagined as sister concerns of Hindi during the Hindi
renaissance which corresponded with the rise of nationalism in India.
Thus, Hindi was not simply a detached medium to understand an unscripted ‘Bhojpuri’ but its
literary instruments provided the standard to evaluate/analyse Bhojpuri language, people and
region. For example, Bhojpuri folksongs are often compared to Hindi poetry to conclude that the
former are broken, incomplete expressions of a non-literate, simple, rural society, which needs to
be conserved in its ‘purest form.’ The taken-for-granted primacy of Hindi as a ‘national’ standard
is a common feature in Hindi elite scholarship. It is symptomatic of what Andreas Wimmer and
Nina Schiller (2002) would call methodological nationalism. Hindi is seen as the most natural
language to theorize Bhojpuri, without problematizing its relation with Bhojpuri. In fact, Hindi
was seen as a language best suited to make a case for Bhojpuri without any suspicion of national
disloyalty.
As we go through the biographical details of ‘mainstream’ Bhojpuri socio-linguists, folklorists and
historians one realizes that most of them were Hindi scholars placed within universities and
colleges teaching Hindi and Sanskrit. Banaras Hindu University, along with Allahabad and
Calcutta University emerge as centers of their deliberations and brain-storming. Krishna Deva
Upadhyaya was a doctorate in Hindi literature with deep knowledge of Sanskrit.4 His brother,
Padmabhushan Acharya Baladev Upadhyaya was a renowned Sanskrit and Hindi scholar (See
Tripathi 1983). His father, Pandit Ram Suchit Upadhyaya was a Bhagwat Puran scholar. They
were all beneficiaries of modern higher education, which initially insisted the knowledge of
Sanskrit as essential for ‘Hindu’ students to enter and prosper in newly founded universities.
Krishna Deva Upadhyaya was born in Ballia District of Eastern Uttar Pradesh, a product of
Banaras Hindu University. He established Bharatiya Lok Sanskriti Shodh Sansthan, Varanasi and
organized Bharatiya Lok Sanskriti Conventions in the early decades of post-colonial India. He has
been part of several folk culture societies and conferences across the globe.
3
Pt. Ram Naresh Tripathi collected over 1000 songs under the title Gram Geet. However, it was not an
exclusive Bhojpuri enterprise.
4
See https://www.rajkamalprakashan.com/lok/jmproducts/filter/index/?author=1530 (retrieved on 10 Feb.
18)
36
Thus, Bhojpuri was studied always in allegiance to or in reference to the ‘national’ (and their
national was authored in Hindi!). Take a look at how Krishna Deva Upadhyaya (1991) describes
Bhojpuri people in his introductory chapters:
भोजपुरी जनता शत-प्रततशत राष्ट्रीय है . वह समस्त भारत को अपना दे श समझती है . इसीलिए

यहााँ के तनवासी प्राांतीयता, क्षेत्रीयता या स्थानीयता के क्षुद्र बांधनों से बांधना नहीां चाहते. इसी राष्ट्रीय
भावना के कारण िगभग छह-सात करोड़ सांख्या में ववद्यमान होने पर भी भोजपुररयों ने कभी
प्राांतीयता के प्रश्न को नहीां उठाया. भोजपुरी िोगों का मूि मांत्र है , यह भारत दे श हमारा है , मेरा दे श
महान, हम भारत की हैं सांतान. इस प्रकार जब समस्त दे श ही अपना है तब प्राांतीयता अथवा
जातीयता की भावना ही कहााँ पैदा हो सकती है . (p. 25)
Bhojpuri people are cent percent national. They consider all of Bharat as their country.
Thus, they are not ready to be tied down by the ‘Kshudra’ bonds of regionalism or nativism.
This national emotion has stopped Bhojpurias, six to seven crores in population, from ever
raising any question of regionalism. The central mantra of bhojpurias is - Bharat is our
country, my country is great, and we are the children of this country. In this way, if the
whole of Bharat is ours than there can be no question of regionalism or casteism. (my
translation)
The national scale is a methodological suicide for the region. Krishna Deva Upadhyaya through
his description is providing a template for nationalism. This template can be used on any
population, not just the Bhojpurias. For the argument does not answer the question - What is the
Bhojpurias relationship with the nation? Rather it answers - What ought to be the Bhojpurias’
relationship with the nation?
Thus, Upadhyaya makes it clear that ‘studying’ Bhojpuri through its folksongs is not done with
any intention of ‘denationalization.’ On the other hand, he calls his academic work a contribution
to ‘national integration’ like many other scholars of the region. To meet his goal, he characterizes
Bhojpuri region an important site of national cultural production. This imagination is furthered by
placing Bhojpuri region within Hindu cosmology and events in the epics of Mahabharata and
Ramayana (Upadhaya, 1991, p.24). The aim here is to establish the significance of Bhojpuri
language, literature and region within the taken-for-granted national scale in historical and
mythical time.
Upadhayaya places Bhojpuri within an ideal ‘national’ space (within its politics and history).
Efforts to conceptualize Bhojpuri are pursued as a ‘national’ project. It would be interesting to
juxtapose a sociological reading of Upadhayaya’s ‘local’ or ’regional’ stories of song collections
which he calls ‘geet anveshan yatra’ with the larger ‘national’ goal of ‘integration’ and
‘conservation of folk culture in Bhojpuri region’(See Upadhyaya 1999, p.4). These local concerns
are symptomatic of the discontents one would have with the ‘national Hindi space.’ Also, it
captures the local, scattered, unpleasant journeys through the lives and expressions of women and
lower-castes in the region to arrive at the ‘national’ conceptualization of Bhojpuri.
37
For example, Krishna Deva Upadhyaya tells his reader that he was initiated into the process of
documenting folksongs and thereby the language/people and region with the help of his sister and
mother. He admits the difficulties he faced in capturing Bhojpuri pronunciations in Hindi script.
To correct his diction, he would often insist his mother to sing them again and again to confirm
and finalize the exact pronunciation of words (1999: page 3-4).
Upadhyaya, in his book, describes and conceptualizes himself, his ‘respondents’ (women and
lower-castes) and their songs in the context of caste and gender. As an example, I would like to
quote a few sentences from Upadhyaya’s (1999) field accounts:
जेठ कीदप
ु हरी में ककसी चमार या दस
ु ाध (एक अस्पश्ृ य जातत) के घर में जाना जब घर के एक भाग
में शूकरावतार ववराजमान हों, ककतना कष्ट्टकर है - इसे भुक्त भोगी ही समझ सकते हैं. घर में ना तो
बैठने का स्थान और न ही खड़े होने की जगह. गन्दगी का तो कहना ही क्या. दग
ु न्
ग ध की मात्रा भी
कुछ कम नहीां थी. ऐसी भीषण पररस्स्थतत में एक अस्पश्ृ य जातत के घर जाकर उससे प्राथगना कर
गीत लिखना, सचमुच गीतों के पीछे पागि व्यस्क्त का ही काम हो सकता है . (p. 5)
[To go to a chamar’s or dusadh’s (an untouchable caste) house on a hot summer day, where
you will find a pig in a corner, is so painful that only someone who has experienced this
will understand. There was no space to sit or even stand. What can one say about the filthy
environment; it was stinking too. Only a mad person (like me) can go to an untouchable’s
house and request for songs.] (my translation)
The material condition of the above-mentioned households should also be understood as the
material conditions of the Bhojpuri speech community. Recently, Siddharth Malhotra, a bollywood
actor, compared speaking Bhojpuri to open defecation and ‘latrine feelings.’ Popular material
associations with Bhojpuri tell us a lot about the status of the language and its people within the
national space. In the above passage, Upadhyaya is describing a lower-caste settlement which he
visited to collect songs. The description mirrors the apathy of an ‘outsider’ in such a settlement
where pigs breed and homes stink. This outsider belongs to a different caste and a different
location. He is also a researcher who is mad (passionate) about collecting songs. The narrative of
passion proceeds quite unapologetically throughout the anthology.
This passion (which has a national goal) is used to justify occasions when he had to threaten a
lower-caste woman, with the help of his friend to collect sohani songs (sung during the process of
weeding). Similarly, during his field-visit in Gorakhpur he coerced an Ahir singer to sing for him
with the help of a ‘learned’/distinguished’ Pandit in the village (Upadhaya, 1999) The learned
Pandit explained the significance of documentation of folksongs to the Ahir singer by stating that
Upadhyaya was a Vidvan-Brahmin who had visited the ‘low’ caste villager’s humble abode (ibid.,
p. 7). Very clearly, pre-existing social capacities, communicative resources and material privileges
were utilized often unethically to collect and conceptualize Bhojpuri for a Hindi-reading national
elite.
38
It is important to note at this juncture, as a part of my doctoral work I collected songs from the
same area. In fact, Sarathua village mentioned in Upadhyaya work is just a few kilometers away
from my village – Dihari in Bhojpur Bihar. Unlike, Upadhyaya it was almost impossible for me to
convince the men in my Ahir village to sing for me. My people were extremely skeptical of my
intellectual abilities. In fact, they pointed out that ‘you are neither a man nor a Pundit,’ two broad
classes worthy of knowledge production. Being an Ahir woman, I could neither explain my people
the importance of research like a man nor could I communicate the fear of religion as a pundit.
Further in his work, Upadhyaya being a conservationist laments over the fact the educated Ahirs
and Dhobis have forgotten their songs or are ashamed of their songs. He feels the same way about
western-educated urban or rural women who are unwilling to sing for him. He writes,
अहीरों और धोबबयों के िड़के जो लशक्षक्षत हो गए हैं वे अपने बपौती के गानों को याद करना और गाना
अपने सम्मान के ववरूद्ध समझते हैं. वे इन्हें असभ्य गीत मानते हैं, और यदद जानते भी हो तो
िज्जा के मारे नहीां गाते. (Upadhyaya, 1999, p.8)
[Literate Ahir and Dhobi boys feel embarrassed and humiliated to sing the songs they have
inherited. They think of these songs as ‘asabhya’ (uncouth) and even if they know the songs
they do not sing them out of embarrassment.] (my translation)
The conservationist thrust of Upadhyaya’s work emerges from an oft-repeated desire for an
‘unchanging’ folk-society which supplies the raw-material for constructing a timeless nation. The
need for women and lower-castes to continue their cultural productions unaffected by modernity
is part of this desire. Thus, we do not find any mention in his work about lower-caste mobilizations,
across religion, which were questioning social and economic relations in late 19th and throughout
the 20th century.5 In the list of Upadhyaya’s many omissions, the absence of Bhojpuriya Muslims
is both intriguing and notorious. Having accepted Bhojpuri as a fodder dialect of Hindu-Hindi
would logically lead to this omission.
Reproducing Sati-Kulta Binary
Regional Scholars including Upadhyaya have used oral cultural productions to codify Bhojpuri
women’s language and expression as ‘broken voices’ with deep emotive qualities of pain and
suffering.
The suffering of the society during historical processes like mass intercontinental migration was
primarily captured through women’s words and expressions, irrespective of the singer’s gender.
This continuing phenomenon is largely a product of gendered linguistic expressions where pain,
suffering and grief are identified with women’s language. It is an example of gendered division of
emotional labour. The sorrow of women’s expressions can be juxtaposed with the fearless,
adventurous’ images of men in Bhojpuri society.
5
See Prasanna Kumar Chaudhary and Srikant’s books Bihar mein Samajik Parivartan ke Kuchh Aayam
(2001) and Swarg Par Dhawa: Bihar mein Dalit Andolan 1912-2000 (2015), Vani Prakashan
39
Drawing from folksongs, Krishna Deva Upadhyaya codifies Bhojpuri women’s linguistic
expressions, sense of morality and body in his work Bhojpuri Lok-Sanskriti (1991):
पततव्रता स्स्त्रयों--ववशेषकर भोजपुरी स्स्त्रयों का प्रधान गुण उनका पाततव्रत धमग है . वे मन, वचन और
कमग से पतत-परायणा होती हैं. पतत ककतना भी कुकमी, कदाचारी, दष्ट्ु ट तथा पततत क्यों ना हो परन्तु वे
अपने मुांह से उसके कुकृत्यों का ककसी से उल्िेख तक नहीां करतीां। पतत जीववका के लिए परदे स चिा
जाता है , वहााँ ककसी स्त्री के माया-जाि में फाँस जाता है . वह अपने बच्चों तथा स्त्री के लिए पािन-पोषण
के लिए रूपया भेजने की बात तो दरू रही, प्रत्युत उनकी खोज-खबर िेने के लिए चचट्ठी भी नहीां भेजता।
कफर भी जब वह दस पांद्रह वषों के बाद घर िौटता है तब उसकी उपेक्षक्षता स्त्री उसका ह्रदय से स्वागत
करती है . वह अपने कष्ट्टों की अनुभूतत को भुिाकर, अपनी उपेक्षा करने के लिए पतत को उिाहना तक
नहीां दे ती। घर में गरीबी के कष्ट्टों को वह सहषग सहती रहती है . कफर भी वह पतत सेवा को ही अपना परम
धमग समझती है . इस प्रकार भोजपुरी नारी सदहष्ट्णुता, सतीत्व तथा सदाचार का पूणग प्रतीक है . (Chapter
2: ‘Bhojpuri samaj mein striyon ki dasha’, p. 21,)
[Chaste wives- Bhojpuri women’s main quality is their virtue. They are virtuous from heart,
speech and deeds. Even if, the husband is sinful and wicked, they do not expose them in front
of others. Husband migrates for livelihood and gets lured by some other women. He doesn’t
send money for the upkeep of his wife and children nor does he send them a letter. After all
this when he returns home, the betrayed wife welcomes him whole-heartedly. She ignores her
pangs and does not taunt him. She happily bears the poverty and despite this she thinks that
her main duty is to serve her husband. Thus, Bhojpuri women are a symbol of tolerance, virtue
and morality.] (my translation)
Bhojpuri folksongs soul-scripted in the context of migration have produced two oft-repeated
creative subjects – the left-behind wife and the migrant husband. These subjects are idealized with
the help of indexical expressions, metaphors to characterize the gender binary in Bhojpuri society.
Krishna Deva Upadhyaya (in his 1991 book) conceptualizes the ‘left-behind’ wife as the ideal type
for all women (married or unmarried) in Bhojpuri region. He quite unconvincingly asserts that in
spite of absent husbands Bhojpuri women remain faithful, chaste with no signs of discontent. The
codified images of Upadhyaya is evidenced in the mass production of unchanging ‘sati’ Bhojpuri
women through famous Maithili-Bhojpuri folk singer Sharda Sinha’s renditions. Sharda Sinha is
revered by the Bhojpuri and Hindi creamy layer as she represents traditional Savarna femininity.
This representation aided by her own ‘high-birth’ is perceived as a stark contrast to largely Bahujan
women performing ‘vulgar’ Bhojpuri songs. Recently Kalpana Patowary, an Assamese-born OBC
Bhojpuri singer has come under severe attack by upper-caste Bhojpuri men for her rendition of
Bhikhari Thakur. The latter have been accusing Kalpana for ‘using’ Bhikhari Thakur to whitewash
her early days of singing ‘vulgar’ Bhojpuri songs.6 In her response to these attacks she questions
the meanings of vulgarity and convincingly argues that an entertainment worker like her has no
6
https://www.thelallantop.com/bherant/delhi-universitys-assistant-professor-munna-pandey-writes-about-
bhojpuri-singer-kalpana-patowarys-role-in-degrading-bhojpuri-music/
40
real stake in producing Bhojpuri lyrics.7 What might have really disturbed upper-caste Bhojpuri
men about Kalpana is a question one needs to ask. Her unconventional visualization of Bhojpuri
songs, her socio-economic location and her ability to view Bhojpuri through Assamese and not
Hindi, a crucial difference, might have shaken these men.
Another kind of woman Krishna Deva Upadhyaya has spoken extensively about is widows. He
has presented a picture that widows are even more virtuous and to maintain their chastity they
never remarry. To quote:
भोजपुरी प्रदे श में नारी के सतीत्व का आदशग बहुत ऊाँचा है . पर पुरुष से वववाह की कल्पना तो दरू की
बात है , ककसी अन्य परु
ु ष से ककसी प्रकार के सांपकग की भावना भी ये स्वप्न में भी नहीां कर सकतीां।
अांग्रेजी में एक कहावत है ‘सीजर की स्त्री सांदेह से परे है .’ इसी प्रकार हम बबना ककसी सांकोच के कह
सकते हैं की भोजपरु ी नारी के चररत्र के ववषय में ककसी भी प्रकार की भी आशांका करना तनताांत तनमि
ूग
है . […] आज िाखों की सांख्या में , इस प्रदे श में अक्षत योतन8 बाि ववधवाएां ववद्यमान हैं स्जन्होंने जीवन
भर अपने पतत का कभी मख
ु भी नहीां दे खा। गवना होने के पदहिे ही ववधवापण के शाप से अलभलशप्त
हो गयीां, परन्तु कफर भी अपने मत
ृ पतत की स्मतृ त में , अपने अिौककक सौंदयग तथा काांचन काया को
जिा-जिा कर भस्म कर रहीां हैं. ये अपने बाि वैधव्य के दुःु खद ददनों को तति तति कर काट रहीां हैं
परन्तु ये पन
ु ुः 'सप्तपदी' की कल्पना भी नहीां करतीां। यह बाि ववधवाओां का दभ
ु ागग्य ही समझना चादहए
की ववधाता ने उनके भाग्य में चचर वैधव्य के साथ ही दीघग आयुष्ट्य9 भी लिख ददया है .
[The ideal of virtue is quite high in Bhojpuri. Thinking of marrying another man is beyond
comprehension, they can’t even imagine having any extra marital relationship. There is a
saying in English, ‘Caesar’s wife is above suspicion.’ Just like that we can say without any
hesitation that doubting Bhojpuri women’s character has no basis. […] Even today, there are
thousands of ‘virgin’ child widows in Bhojpuri state, who have not even seen their husband’s
faces. The curse of widowhood fell upon them before they went to their husband’s house
through gawana ceremony. Despite this, these women are burning their sacred beauty and
gold like body in memories of their dead husband. They are somehow spending the
widowhood but cannot even imagine a second marriage. This is such an unfortunate situation
that along with the widowhood these women have got a long life.] (Upadhyaya 1991: 25 from
chapter 2: Bhojpuri samaj mein striyon ki dasha)
7
https://www.dailyo.in/arts/bhojpuri-music-kalpana-patowary-bhikhari-thakur-legacy/story/1/21560.html
8
अक्षत योनि literally translates as a women whose vagina has not been penetrated; The nearest English
equivalent is ‘virgin’.
9
He has exemplified this with Bhojpuri folklore: रााँड के ददन कभी ना ओरािा which translates as: days of a
widow are never over.
41
The ‘Sati-Savitri’ image codified by Upadhyaya was in no way an isolated conceptualization.

Several scholars have pointed out that the ideal-types of ‘upper-caste’ women were central to the
production of a national ‘hindu’ culture (Sinha: 2000a, 2000b; Chaterjee:1998, Chaudhuri:1999).
Quoting from Yuval Davis and Anthias, Chaudhuri points out that women were imagined as
reproducers of communities, boundaries, ideologies, cultures and its symbols. Upadhyaya follows
the same path to codify Bhojpuri women. This path dependency is visible in every other speech
community, where gendered savarna ideal-types become the primary objects of emulation.
Apart from these ideal types of Bhojpuri women Krishna Deva Upadhyaya mentions ‘deviant’
cases like कुिटा (kulta), the characterless woman. He writes, ‘परन्तु समाज में कुछ स्स्त्रयाां ऐसी होती
हैं स्जनका आचरण उचचत नहीां कहा जा सकता [there are some women in society whose conduct cannot
be termed as proper]’ (1991: 29). Another ‘deviant’ case is िब
ु क
ु ी [lubuki], the brainless talkative
women. He writes, ‘भोजपरु ी प्रदे श में कुछ स्स्त्रयाां ऐसी पायी जाती हैं स्जन्हें आसानी से 'िब
ु क
ु ी' की सांज्ञा
दी जा सकती है [In Bhojpuri region, there are ‘some’ women who can be easily termed as ‘lubuki’]
(1991: 38). In the appendix to the book he adds few other categories such as फूहरर [phuhari], a
woman who is dirty, who does not take bath often, who smells, who does not comb her hair
properly, who does not know how to cook, etc. (1991: 373). He emphasizes that though such
women are not many in ‘Bhojpuri society,’ they do exist. Upadhyaya’s classification of women is
informed by social beliefs of the caste system. The ideal of sati is epitomized in Savarna
femininity; on the other hand, the ideals of kulta, lubki and phuhari are constructed based on upper-
caste assumptions about lower-caste women.
My own research on Bhojpuri folksongs, expressions and metaphors tell me that Bhojpuri women
do not easily feature within the dominant binary of sati – kulta. Nor can they be characterized as
‘broken voices’ which epitomize pain. Women have produced linguistic resources which
communicate anger, jealousy, revenge, progress, non-normative sexuality etc., through their
orality. However, pointing out this multiplicity works against the ‘national’ image of women and
more specifically Hindu Savarna women.
Concluding Thoughts
Bhojpuri is not only described but also defined in relationship to Hindi. It is described as a dialect,
real sister, and ingredient of Hindi. The attempts by Bhojpuri to claim autonomy is looked at with
suspicion by Hindi literary circles.10 This suspicion continues to characterise any struggle for
linguistic autonomy even today. Having said that, it should be noted that through Bhojpuri
language and its oral cultural productions, its society and culture are understood within
methodological nationalism. This is not the case of Bhojpuri alone. Most of the languages in India
were in a way or other forced to claim allegiance to the idea of India and actively produce valuable
10
http://thewirehindi.com/13725/arguments-against-the-inclusion-of-dialects-in-the-eighth-schedule-of-the-
constitution/ &
http://thewirehindi.com/14280/debate-on-inclusion-of-dialects-in-the-eighth-schedule-of-the-indian-constitution/
42
national creations. However, one needs to distinguish languages with an established script with
those which do not have (or were not allowed to have) any script of their own. Further, the
proximity to Hindi complicates Bhojpuri’s independent existence as geographically and
demographically Hindi claims the same language community.
The political and cultural significance of a language depends on its territorial claims. Bhojpuri’s
autonomy is seen as a threat to Hindi’s territorial claims and alternatively the ‘idea of a largely
Hindi-speaking India.’ Methodological nationalism through Hindi has meant dishing out ideal
versions of caste and gender without any evidence of conflict or diversity. The ‘national’ is
consumed as nostalgia by the pre-dominantly male, upper-caste analyst by freezing ‘lower-castes’
and women in the relic of national imagination. Thus, K.D. Upadhyaya turns a blind eye to lower-
caste and dalit mobilizations which articulated modernity from the margins. Such
conceptualizations of Bhojpuri continue to inform the contemporary political claims.
The subsumed identity of Bhojpuri under the shadow of a nation which pre-supposes subordinated,
unchanging relic-like, rural roles to lower-castes and women (majority) has consequences to the
social and demographic variables of the region. The constructed inability of Bhojpuri to be a
language of knowledge production and business in modern institution has had deep-seated impact
on the capabilities of its people. This subordination is resurfacing with a lot of vigor in the debates
surrounding Bhojpuri’s official status. A rigorous enquiry into the linkages between society,
development and language is very important.
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Prakashan.
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[Bhojpuri folk songs and women: beyond the museum of folk songs]. Hindi Roundtable
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मदहिाएां-िोकगीतों-के-अजायबघर-के-बाहर
Singh, Asha (2018). Bhojpuri folk songs as scripts of conjugal performance. Dev Nath Pathak,
Sasanka Perera ed. Culture and Politics in South Asia: Performative Communication,
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Jha, Kendriya Sanskrit Vidyapeeth, Allahabad.
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Allahabad.
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Allahabad (third edition)
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55-82. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/2156006
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48(1/2), 113-133. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23619932
44
The Caste of Migrants: Affirmative Action and the Case of

Kashmiri Pandits
Pushpendra Johar
Abstract: In the winter of 1990 the first set of Kashmiri Pandits migrated from the valley of
Kashmir to different parts of India and abroad under tensed political circumstances; eventually,
a dozen such migrations took place which led to around 1,40,000 Kashmiri Pandits leaving the
valley. In the decades to come Kashmiri Pandits would make claims on the Indian state to
‘rehabilitate’ them in their host regions. These included, among others, reservations in various
educational and executive institutions. Following directives from Ministry of Human Resource
Development, Government of India. many educational institutions across India provide for
reservation for Kashmiri migrants in various undergraduate courses in diverse disciplines. Also,
a substantial number of jobs were announced by the government of Jammu & Kashmir especially
for Kashmiri Pandits This paper seeks to analyse the case of affirmative action in favour of a
historically privileged community in a region which has been marred by deep socio-economic
divisions. Further, it juxtaposes state measures planned for other migrant groups such as
Namasudras of Bengal with those for Kashmiri Pandits to draw comparisons between communities
that lie at different rungs of the social structure, although nominally equal as per the constitution
of India. The paper draws largely from secondary sources along with the ethnographic data
collected during the author’s fieldwork in the valley of Kashmir and in Jammu region between
2012 and 2017.
Keywords: Kashmiri Pandits, Affirmative Action, Brahmin Reservation, Caste and Migration,
Namasudras, Militancy and Migration
Introduction
The history of social justice in India has been marred with fights for the implementation of just
policies, constitutional amendments, formation of committees alongside regular subversion of
policies of social justice (Yadav, 2009). One of the limited measures to arrest the grave issue of
social inequality has been explored in the policy of affirmative action (henceforth, AA). AA refers
to arrangements, whereby the law sanctions special measures or differences in treatment that, when
certain conditions exist, depart from the principle of formal equality (Louis, 2006).
PushpendraJohar: joharpushp@gmail.com
Department of Anthropology, University of Delhi
45
In the Indian context, such provisions were designed by the constitution makers, keeping in mind
India’s deeply hierarchical and unequal societies which translate into disparate economic and
political standings of diverse castes and communities. AA as a usage was brought to the public
discourse by the American president J.F. Kennedy in 1961 when he used it to refer to equality of
opportunities for all American citizens. Over the past six decades, the usage has become a part of
the popular vocabulary in the domain of social justice. AA functions as an umbrella term for a
gamut of practices that are designed to promote positive discrimination. ‘Quota’ and ‘reservation’
are used along with AA as per the context through the course of the paper.
In order to administer, enumerate and make the provisions available to the disadvantaged classes
the administrative categories of Scheduled caste (SC), Scheduled tribe (ST) and Other
Backward Class (OBC) were formulated after much deliberation and research. Originally, the
purpose of such a measure was to provide representation to communities that have been
historically marginalized in social, economic, political and educational domains. In that sense,
the idea of affirmative action is preceded by the idea of social justice and it is from that premise
this paper has been approached.
Brahmins of the Kashmir valley: A historical understanding
The census-taking exercise in the princely state of Jammu and Kashmir (henceforth, J&K)
began in 1873. It was managed by the Dogra administration on the insistence of the British
from whom the first Dogra King of J&K Gulab Singh and his heirs had received the
territories eastward of the River Indus and westward of River Ravi on the payment of 75 Lakh
rupees. This exchange was formalised through the signing of the treaty of Amritsar in 1846.
Over about six decades the census developed into a highly detailed administrative activity
collecting economic and demographic data (Evans, 2002) on the feudal subjects so as to
calculate revenue and taxes.
The last census to record the population of the Brahmins of Kashmir, popularly known as
Kashmiri Pandits (henceforth, KPs), was the census of 1941 which enlisted them as a caste and
not under the vague and homogenising category ‘Hindu’. They formed a relatively small
proportion of the population, like Brahmins elsewhere in the Indian subcontinent. Other
Punjabi ‘Hindu’ castes, primarily Khatris, had settled in the valley for trading purposes and
constituted a minuscule population even compared to KPs. The total number of KPs as of
1941 was 76,868 and was recorded to be around 4.4% of the total population (India, 1941).
According to the 1981 census, there were 3.96% Hindus (Evans, 2002) in Kashmir, thus
the population of KPs in the valley was close to 4% in 1990. The year 1989 saw an armed
militant uprising against the Indian state which involved Kashmiris, primarily Muslims,
demanding Azadi from Indian rule.1 This led to violent suppression measures by the Indian
armed forces. In the wake of ensuing violence, a majority of the KPs left the valley under
volatile political circumstances in
1
Azadi is an Urdu/Persian term which can have multiple connotations; the most prominent and often used
being freedom, self-rule, sovereignty, autonomy etc. in the context of Kashmir.
46
the 1990s (Johar, 2017). The population count could not be conducted in 1991 in the state of J&K
due to ongoing political and social instability.
KPs constitute the Kashmiri speaking ‘Hindu’ Brahmin caste beside multiple Muslim and some
numerically small Sikh and Punjabi Khatri castes in the Kashmir valley. The case of KPs living
outside the Kashmir valley after their migration post-1990 events needs to be approached from
two dominant and interlacing identities that they espouse - of being Kashmiri Brahmins and
migrants.2 While their Brahmin identity defines their position as hegemonic caste members in the
social structure of Kashmir, the migrant status is a product of their peculiar position as a group
with clashing national interests with other socio-political groups in Kashmir. I would focus on both
these identities and further problematise the component of class amongst KPs which has been a
matter of inquiry in the recent ethnographic works on them.
Land Ownership in Kashmir
The disparities were quite stark in the way land was controlled by certain groups in the Kashmir
valley starting from the Afghan rule (1752 CE) onwards. Muslim upper castes such as Syeds and
Pirzadas alongside Kashmiri Pandits held control over outrageously disproportionate amount of
land compared to other caste groups. Andrew Wingate’s report submitted to the J&K darbar in
1888 (as cited in Jamwal, 2013) on settlement operations in J&K throws some light on access to
land and revenue contexts in Kashmir. These castes constituted the landlord class in Kashmir. The
state granted land through a process of assignment of land revenue made in favour of a selected
and privileged class of gentry known as Jagirdars, Ilaqadars, Muafidars and Chakdars (Jamwal,
2013). In instances where Pandits and Pirzadas were obliged to pay revenue, the amount of cash
or commodity was significantly lower than other castes (A. Wingate as cited in Jamwal, 2013).
As per the promises made by the National Conference government in 1944, land reforms at a large
scale were carried out in the state of J&K starting from the 1950s onwards up to late 1970s. Prior
to the reforms approximately 4% KPs owned 30% land in the valley (Rai, 2012). Most of it was
agricultural land and as per the reform directives, more than 22.75 acres of land per family was to
be redistributed to the tillers, since big landlords never tilled the land themselves. However, many
landowners managed to keep large tracts of land by converting their agricultural land into
horticultural land or orchards which were outside the purview of the reforms. Such
discrepancies in the reforms point towards the power landlords held over the government of the
day. The landlords had the freedom to choose the part of the land they were to keep, which gave
them additional power to ‘extort money from his tenant on the threat that he would choose to keep
his tenant’s land with him’ (Qasim, 1992).
Further estimates about the socio-economic status of KPs in Kashmir post-1947 can be made with
the help of data provided in Madan’s ethnographic study conducted in the 1950s. The
study provides an understanding of an average Kashmiri Pandit homestead which is never less
2
The term migrant has been used in government documents. Whereas, another term which is proposed to be
a better and more accurate signifier as per recent social science literature is IDPs or internally displaced persons (Datta,
2017; Malhotra, 2007). It needs to be mentioned here that even though a significant population of KPs settled within
the same state (in and around Jammu), they were recognised as migrants by the state.
47
than three storeys and can go up to having one more storey. In 1957, it documented 55
three storey, 2 four storey and two double storey Pandit houses in the binucleated villages in
Anantnag. Of the 59 Pandit homesteads, 42 were with gardens, yards and one or more outbuildings,
and 17 of the houses with gardens and yards only. No household is without the use of a granary
(Madan, 1989).
Representation in State Services
Going back to 1931 census a total of 78% gazetted posts were held by Hindus and Sikhs (Copland,
1981). Kashmiri Pandits accounted for close to 4% population of the valley whereas Sikhs
constituted less than 1.5% population of the Kashmir valley. Less than 6% people controlled 78%
jobs in that region. Rest 22% posts were held by mostly ‘Muslims’, and since there is no separate
mention of the caste of the Muslims working for the state departments it involves reasonable
speculation to say which castes were represented in such jobs. According to the 1911 census of
J&K ‘Babazadas, to which class most of the Pirs and Mullahs of Kashmir belong, have returned
a proportion of literate that looms largest in the literacy list of Mohamedan races and tribes
found in the state’ (India, 1911). These remarks of the census commissioner give an estimation
of what castes from among Muslims were represented in the state services.
The Glancy commission, constituted in 1931 to look into the grievances of disadvantaged classes,
had similar observations to make about Kashmiri Brahmins (Glancy, 1932). The Brahmin control
over government jobs spread to the districts outside the valley. In Mirpur district alone around
94% patwaris (village record-keepers) were Kashmiri Brahmins (Copland, 1981).
The first instance of legalised reservation for Kashmiri Pandits was witnessed in the National
Conference government’s policies at the very beginning of their term, which comprised apart from
other concessions, 10% reserved positions in state services for nearly 4% KP population.
Additionally, it reserved 50% state jobs for the ‘Muslims’ (Rai, 2012). However, the overall
population of the Muslims was far more in proportion (almost 94%). More importantly, the varying
social strata within the overarching Muslim category were never considered while policies were
being designed. Interestingly, the caste composition of Jammu and Kashmir government reflected
in its policies, which it seems, was mindful of the ‘secular’ aspect of its policies but was quite
blind to other prominent socio-economic factors that were decisive in resource distribution in the
state. KPs constituted the most prominent and powerful religious minority in the Kashmir valley.
It is interesting that the idea of ‘religious minority’ was used in order to rectify a caste-based
disadvantage that was rampant in Kashmir at that time. At any point, there were both Brahmin and
Muslim upper castes who controlled most of the resources. This also raises questions about
understanding populations in the binaries of minority and majority, which can be problematic in
the context of South Asian societies which are arranged primarily by the principles
of gradation and rank (Ambedkar, 1987).
The relevance of Kashmiri Pandits in the political economy of J&K cannot possibly be assigned
to their numbers given their relatively small population in the valley even before their migration.
However, their dominant presence in interrelated branches of government such as revenue
department, education department, and other executive bodies had made them indispensable to the
48
state government before the educational and land reforms. Even after the reforms, they continued
being in positions of power.
Rehabilitation post-1990s migration
The rehabilitation process during and after the mass migration of Kashmiri Pandits in the 1990s
has involved significant policy decisions by state and central governments. These include the
provision of monthly allowances, residential quarters and reservations in educational institutions
and government jobs.
In the mid-1990s, Government of Maharashtra put in place 2% ‘over and above’quota for
Kashmiri migrants in multiple educational institutions including Mumbai University.3 States like
Karnataka were soon to follow Maharashtra. Similarly, private institutions in many other states
reserved seats for Kashmiri migrants following the examples of the government institutions.
In March 2015, educational institutions and universities across the country received a notice
(it was a repeat of a similar notice circulated earlier by the ministry) from University
Grants Commission (UGC) requesting on behalf of Ministry of Human Resource Development
(MHRD) to provide following concessions to the Kashmiri migrants: 1. relaxation in cut-off
by 10% 2. increase in intake capacity up to 5% course-wise 3. reservation of at least one seat in
merit quota in technical/professional institutions 4. waiving of domicile requirements. The notice
states:
“…as Kashmiri migrants continue to face hardships it would be necessary to provide concessions
to their wards for their admission…”4
That same year the quota for Kashmiri migrants at the University of Delhi was raised from 3%
to 5%. In 2010 J&K State government reserved 3000 state government jobs for Kashmiri
Pandit youth. In 2016, the total number of jobs was increased from 3000 to 6000 in total.
Do Kashmiri Brahmins qualify for Reservations?
Going by the formal definition of AA, it can be contested that the reservation designed for
Kashmiri migrants favour a particular caste or religion; however, a close examination of the
composition of the migrant groups and the history and mechanism of the mobilization in favour
of such policies inform much about the underlying caste component of the compensatory
measures formulated and implemented for Kashmiri migrants. After the sudden migration in the
1990s, KPs had to settle in the temporarily arranged migrant camps in Jammu division. Even
though the camps were put up for Kashmiri migrants, they are popularly referred to as Kashmiri
Pandit camps (Datta, 2017).
3
It has been emphasised that the quota for Kashmiri migrants is meant to be ‘additional’, ‘supernumerary’ or
‘increased’ number of seats in the educational institutions, and has not been culled out of existing quotas for SC, ST,
and OBC aspirants,
4
Refer to UGC notice dated 19th March 2015. Also refer to MHRD notice dated 12th March 2015.
49
Over the decades the camps were converted into One Room Tenements (ORTs) and then to Two
Room Tenements (TRTs) known as colonies. Almost all the colony (earlier camps)
dwellers in Nagrota in Jammu division are KPs representing the ‘poor strata’ (Datta, 2017) of the
Pandit population, yet constituting only 18% of the total registered migrant population in Jammu
(Johar, 2017). Given the literacy rate amongst them and their large representation in the state
bureaucracy, a big majority of KP population that migrated from Kashmir 1990s onwards could
register themselves as Kashmiri migrants. More than 88% registered migrants in Jammu are KPs
(Malhotra 2007). In Delhi, the figure crosses 90%. Since the reservation and rehabilitation policy
has been formulated not for a caste/class of people but for a ‘migrant’ group it ends up concealing
the constitutive element of the migrant group. In turn, it eliminates any formal recognition of the
caste and religious component that is inherent to the very idea behind compensatory policies for
Kashmiri migrants. Hence, technically it will be incorrect to say that quotas have been set aside
for KPs, however, if the numbers (of the registered migrants) and the names of the people who
have been provided with compensations and reservations are observed, the caste and religious
component of the beneficiary group become starkly apparent and inform about the unsaid aspect
of these policies.5 Unofficially, it is a well-known and often acknowledged fact that such
reservations are meant for KPs and are also availed by them.
Another significant question regarding quotas for Kashmiri migrants in general and KPs, in
particular, is whether or not such quotas are constitutionally valid if one is to consider article 46
and clause 4 of article 15 of the Indian Constitution. The latter states: “Nothing in article 15 or in
clause 2 of article 29 shall prevent the state from making any special provision for the advancement
of any socially and educationally backward classes of citizens or for the Scheduled Castes and the
Scheduled Tribes.”
In continuance, article 46 states: “The state shall promote with special care the educational and
economic interests of the weaker sections of the people, and, in particular, of the Scheduled Castes
and the Scheduled Tribes, and shall protect them from social injustice and all forms of
exploitation.”
The key phrases in the above two articles are ‘socially and educationally backward’ and ‘weaker
sections.’ Even though there is a degree of condescension to the latter usage one can still ask
whether Kashmiri migrants/KPs as a community or as a group of people have been judged on the
parameters of backwardness.
The prerequisite for affirmative action in India has been social, economic and educational
backwardness calculated on the basis of certain indicators. It needs to be then inquired in the case
of migrant KPs whether the quotas made available went through a proper scrutiny as has been in
the case of OBC, SC and ST reservations?
Did the state set up a commission on the lines of Sachar Committee and Mandal Commission to
understand whether there was a need on the part of KPs to avail reservations in jobs and in places
5
Refer to the list of Kashmiri Migrants provided as annexure.
50
of learning? 6,7 Did they come up with a report? If yes, what does it say? In the absence of any
such measures, one can only fall back upon the indicators put together and used by the Mandal
commission.
Further analysis of the secondary data presented above with respect to the framework provided by
Mandal Commission Report indicates the unlikelihood of social and educational backwardness of
KPs. However, the 7 indicators used by the Mandal commission for social and educational
backwardness can only be used when there is sufficient data also on the ‘well-to-do’ (Datta, 2017)
population of the community.8 One of the recent administrative exercises titled Socio-Economic
Caste Census-2011 (SECC) conducted by the Government of India can provide important insights
into such queries about communities. However, the SECC data has not been released completely
and in the absence of the data, such questions are left unresolved.
The economic status of KPs as a community then has to be understood with the help of recent
studies that have been carried out by anthropologists and with the help of data provided by the
relief organisation set up by the state government, which receives funds from both central as well
as state governments. Since many KPs were working for the state government during the time of
migration, they continued in jobs with central and state government agencies as their employer
amid the hardships posed by the sudden migration which they may not have anticipated. All the
state employees continued to get their salaries after they had to move to Jammu. At the same time,
there have been reports of many being rendered homeless and jobless in the aftermath of the
migration and thus needing state support.
6
In 2005, the Congress government under the prime ministership of Manmohan Singh, commissioned a
research headed by the former Chief Justice of Delhi High Court Dr Rajinder Sachar, so as to prepare a report on the
social, economic, and educational condition of the Muslim community in India. The report produced by Sachar
committee met criticism from different sections on methodological and purposive grounds. The implementation of the
recommendations provided in the report is still unclear in many respects.
7
In 1979, the prime minister of India Morarji Desai formed the second backward classes commission, in order
to enumerate the ‘socially and educationally backward classes’ in India. The commission was headed by Bindeshwari
Prasad Mandal, an Indian parliamentarian, after whom the commission was known as Mandal commission. The
commission submitted its report in 1983. The recommendations in the report were finally implemented in 1992 by the
National Front government. The successful implementation of the Mandal Commission recommendations was
preceded by large scale protests and a delay of almost a decade by successive governments between 1983 and 1990.
8
Social -(i) Castes/classes considered as socially backward by others. (ii) Castes/classes which mainly depend
on manual labour for their livelihood. (iii) Castes/classes where at least 25 per cent females and 10 per cent males
above the state average get married at an age below 17 years in rural areas and at least 10 per cent females and 5 per
cent males do so in urban areas. (iv) Castes/classes where participation of females in work is at least 25 percent above
the state average. Educational - (v) Castes/classes where the number of children in the age group of 5–15 years who
never attended school is at least 25 percent above the state average. (vi) Castes/classes where the rate of student drop-
out in the age group of 5–15 years is at least 25 percent above the state average. (vii) Castes/classes amongst whom
the proportion of matriculates is at least 25 percent below the state average.
The recently published ethnographic study by Ankur Datta (2017) provides some workable data
on the migrant KPs who were initially living in camps but have been moved to a township with
Two Room Tenements meant for each registered migrant family.
The township is located in a place called Jakti in the Jammu division. According to the data
collected from Relief Commissioner's office, the total number of KP migrants living in the
township does not exceed 18% of the total registered Kashmiri migrants in Jammu. Datta divides
the migrant population into ‘poor’ and ‘well-to-do’ categories and classifies the ones living in the
township as ‘poor’ KP migrants. Even though these categories are simplistic and problematic, they
provide a glimpse into the socio-economic profiles of the migrants living in the township as
opposed to the ones living in rented and privately-owned accommodations in the Jammu city,
Delhi and other parts of India and abroad. A large population of the township dwellers works for
the government and private organisations.
Schools have been set up for all the students of the township as far as primary and secondary
education is concerned. Since the total migrant population living in the township is less than 18%,
it suggests that 82% of the registered Kashmiri migrants in Jammu could afford to live outside
camps before they were converted into the township.
This brings us back to the question of backwardness. There has not been any attempt on the part
of the state agencies to justify the quota based on socio-economic backwardness. The quotas or
reservations in educational institutions and jobs were put in practice without any discussions in the
public domain or without a proper and published study.
However, the logic that has been given around reservation by the KP groups is along the lines that
they have been the traditional class of ‘knowledge producers’ and their migration in the 1990s has
thrown them back by 40 years (Datta, 2017). It is a matter often repeated in academic and non-
academic works on caste in India that occupational division has often been related to caste status
of a group and its members. Given ample literature and data on the occupational division along
caste lines (Driver, 1962; Fuller & Narasimhan 2008; Kuffir, 2012; Leonard, 1993) and its
replication into the modern democratic institutions what it may mean to be the ‘traditional
knowledge producers’(Datta, 2017). The association of traditional occupation with caste
is an essential prerequisite for maintaining and perpetuating caste statuses. Ironically, a
mechanism such as AA, meant for overcoming inequality born out of institutions of
caste and race, has been employed to reproduce caste in this case.
What needs to be considered is the fact that the ‘over and above’ or supernumerary quota for
Kashmiri migrants were mostly announced in the wake of implementation of Mandal
commission reforms and may well be described what Yogendra Yadav refers to as ‘subversion of
policies of social justice’ (Yadav, 2009), where it is deflected away from people it is meant for.
52
Hierarchy amongst ‘Migrants’
In order to explore the way, informal structural arrangements are acknowledged and replicated by
the formal institutions a case study of Namasudra migrants of Bengal is juxtaposed with the KP
situation. After India’s independence, many violent incidents have uprooted entire
communities from their native places. From Naroda Patiya (2002) in Gujarat to Mirchpur (2010)
and Bhagana (2012) in Haryana to Muzaffarnagar (2013) in western Uttar Pradesh are some of
the few recent and disturbing examples (Johar, 2017) which involved lower caste socio-
religious communities migrating out of their homes in the wake of communal violence.
After the partition of British India in 1947, the non-Muslim migrants from East Bengal kept on
pouring in until the early 1970s (Bangladesh War). Most of the upper caste migrants were made
to settle in Calcutta, Siliguri and other such places where illegal colonies sprang up overnight and
were slowly legalised through a smooth process. On the other hand, lower caste refugees were sent
to remote districts like 24 Paraganas, Nadia, Burdwan, Midnapore or forced to settle in
Dandakaranya and as far as Andaman Islands (Sen, 2015).
A large population of non-Muslim lower caste Bengalis did not leave their homes in East Bengal
in the early years after partition for they had no resources, formal education or social networks
(Sen, 2015) to facilitate their rehabilitation in West Bengal. A set of people belonging to non-
Muslim Namasudra caste who came in large numbers between the 1950s and 1960s were sent to
the region falling in Odisha and present-day Chattisgarh, called Dandakaranya Project Area
(DPA). In 1964, the chairperson of DPA, Saibal Gupta declared that less than 10 percent land was
arable and the rest uncultivable (Sen, 2015). The communist leaders who were vying for power in
the state promised before the elections that if they came to power they would rehabilitate the DPA
dwellers in West Bengal in some arable areas. In 1977 communists formed the government in
West Bengal and the leaders of the Namasudras reminded Jyoti Basu (the elected Chief Minister
of West Bengal) of his promise. At that time, he said that they could come and settle down in and
around an island in the Sundarbans called Marichjhapi. People sold all they had and spent their
savings to travel from Dandakaranya to settle down in Marichjhapi (Kumar, Hela & Kumar, 2012).
The groups of Namasudras would carry out agricultural and other subsistence-related activities
and made it clear that they did not need government’s aid seeing rising hostility from the state
agencies.
However, the West Bengal government changed its mind on two pretexts: That the Namasudras
were running a parallel government in Marichjhapi and that Marichjhapi was a part of Sundarbans
reserved forest which was a protected area. Both premises have been falsified by the researchers
(Sen, 2015).
To drive them out, the left government cut off the supplies of essential items to the islands. People
started dying of starvation. In 1979, the police officials carried out a massacre in which children
and women were raped, killed and their bodies drowned in the river. After that most of the families
dispersed to different parts of West Bengal or returned to DPA (Kumar, Hela & Kumar, 2012).
53
The purpose of citing this rather elongated case of Marichjhapi massacre is relevant since
interregional migration is an important common factor and caste identities play significant roles in
both the cases. Both KPs and Namasudras of East Bengal migrated from border areas and their life
course can be compared on multiple indicators. What works for KPs in the 1990s that did not work
for Namasudras of Bengal? How does one explain such disparate treatment of two migrant
communities in post-colonial India? The answers lie in the structuring of the society and how that,
directly and indirectly, influences the state policies towards its citizens.
Conclusion
A careful analysis of the factors that led to the successful implementation of reservations for KPs
can be done by revisiting the modus operandi of KP organisations. Even before the KPs migrated
to Jammu and other parts of India there were already a sizeable number of Kashmiri Brahmins
settled in Delhi, Lucknow, Lahore and Allahabad (Sender, 1988). The consolidation and
management of caste networks were done by floating cultural organisations which
often emphasised on their native-regional uniqueness. However, there has been a greater emphasis
on the Brahmin-ness (Sender, 1988), most probably a mechanism to assert their dominance in the
caste society. With their migration in January 1990 and later, the already
existing organisations like Kashmiri Samiti Delhi (KSD) immediately and fervently started
working for their caste brothers from the valley.9 Over the last 28 years, multiple
such organisations have come into being and have been advocating for different measures
including reservations for KPs in government jobs and educational sector. It is important to note
that these cultural organisations had a number of prominent KP judges, diplomats, doctors,
journalists or professors as their members. These organisations have worked as advocacy groups
with both state institutions and international bodies to mobilise opinion on rehabilitation
measures.
Namasudras, who were politically well-organised and had a strong political movement (Kumar,
Hela & Kumar, 2012) going on with respect to their rights, did not have access to resources
that would have worked for them in the newly independent modern nation-state they became a
part of. Their case was quite in contrast with KPs who have sought access to resources
by foregrounding and utilising their economic, cultural as well as social capital. To invoke
social and cultural capital to multiply resources in the times of distress and otherwise is one of
the primary modes of caste consolidation. At the same time, the legitimacy of the social and
cultural capital is decided by the hegemonic groups and that further guides the course of
communities.
The juxtaposition of the secondary data in census records, government reports, and rehabilitation
policy documents inform much about the mechanism and social basis of affirmative action
policies for KPs. In the case of migrant KPs, affirmative action has not led to social justice,
rather its formulation and implementation have exhibited how the measures of social justice can
be used to reproduce and perpetuate social inequality in an already unequal context.
9
For more discussion on this see Johar, 2017.
54
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in Jammu and Kashmir’, Wande Magazine.
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Bhadralok’, www.roundtableindia.co.in.
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Rai, Mridu (2012) Hindu Rulers Muslim Subjects: Islam, Rights and the History of Kashmir.
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Sen, Jhuma (2015) ‘Reconstructing Marichjhapi: From Margins and Memories of Migrant
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Sender, Henny (1988) The Kashmiri Pandits: A Study of Cultural Choice in North India.
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Yadav, Yogendra (2009) ‘Rethinking Social Justice’, www.india-seminar.com
56
The Nation in the Village: Anti-Bahujan Development
Sruthi Herbert
Abstract: Local governance enables decentralisation, and is thus, more empowering to citizens, it
is widely believed. In this paper I examine how the most local level activities of the state are
unmistakeably influenced by the national level discourse. This, I do by inspecting the working of
the ward council meetings in one ward of a village in Kerala, the lowest level of working of the
local self-government bodies. I show that discourses legitimised in these local governance bodies
are counterproductive to the bahujans, from the local to the national level. Hence, development
pursued by these bodies, meant for empowerment through local participation, is disempowering
and against the interests of the majority of the nation: the bahujans. This paper set as it is, in
Kerala, one of the few states to fully implement decentralisation, and serves as an example for
states trying to strengthen it, has lessons for those interested in democratic and inclusive
development.
Introduction
Caste is very often at the centre of public deliberations in India. One of the most sensitive debates
has been around the constitutional provision of affirmative action, also called ‘reservations’.
‘Reservations’ are constitutional safeguards to ensure that the most marginalized are represented
in the educational and government establishments and legislative bodies in India.1 Some felt, as
Srinivas did, that it has given a ‘new lease of life’ to caste (Srinivas, 1957, p. 529). Several
agitations, most notably, the Anti-Mandal agitations, against the recommendations of the Mandal
commission in India that were sought to be implemented in 1989 has come to redefine the
articulations about caste in the public sphere.
Sruthi Herbert: sruthi.herbert@gmail.com
SOAS, University of London
1
Article 15(4) and 15 (5) of the Constitution of India allows for special provisions for socially and
economically backward classes including SCs and STs in educational institutions. Articles 16 (4), 16 (4A) and 16 (4B)
addresses reservations for backward classes including SC and ST in government jobs. Article 334 provides for
reservation of seats for SC and STs in the parliament and the legislative bodies of the state.
57
The Mandal commission report had recommended that Other Backward Castes (OBCs) in India
should be entitled to 27% of the government jobs. Many arguments, particularly by upper-caste
individuals, have centred on the erosion of ‘merit’ that reservation promotes (See for instance, D.
Kumar 1992). It has been written that affirmative action is essentially reinforcing, not ending caste
discrimination (Mehta, 2004), particularly through vote bank politics (Bhambhri, 2005).
Supporters argue that it is necessary to bring about social justice (Ilaiah, 2006; Mitra, 1987; Vivek
Kumar, 2005). Using data from the National Statistical Survey, Thorat notes that in both ownership
of businesses and educational attainment, Scheduled Castes (SCs), Scheduled Tribes (STs) and
Other Backward Classes (OBCs) are not represented proportionate to their share in the population
(Thorat, 2006). He writes, defending reservation policies that “if the lower castes possess few land
and business assets and education it is because they do not have access to property rights and
education. And if the higher castes are seen to have more of both, it is because assess to assets and
education was artificially ‘reserved’ for them at the cost of the lower castes” (ibid: 2006, 2433).
This paper investigates how these national-level discourses about reservation is reflected in the
working of the government at the most local level, shaping local discourses, and with daily
implications to the lives of several people who do not avail it, but nevertheless belong to
communities that are entitled for reservation. This will be done by looking at development
programs pursued by the local state bodies in Kerala, a south Indian state.
The context provided by Kerala is important – this is a region whose politics and development has
captured the interest of researchers and policy makers, particularly after the communist party
flourished in the state in the latter half of the 20th century. Famed for its high human development,
its land reforms in the 1970s, implementation of decentralisation in the 1990s, and more recently,
the spread of a network of women’s self-help groups called Kudumbashree in early 2000s, the
state is one that has been touted as an example for other states in India, and sometimes, even for
other regions of the world to emulate (Heller, 1999, 2001; Mohan and Stokke, 2000). This
celebrated narrative about Kerala is not without its criticisms, particularly for its continued
exclusion along the lines of gender, caste, and community. (Deshpande, 2000; Kurien, 1995;
Shyjan and Sunita, 2008; Sivanandan, 1979) Examining whether and how exclusionary national
discourses are reflected in the daily life in a state that claims exceptionalism through its progressive
credentials will enable a rethink of both the idea and means of development.
This paper will be structured in three sections. In the first, I will introduce the field site and show
how caste reflects in its geography. In the second, I will detail the working of a gramasabha, or a
ward-council meeting in the field site. In the third, I will explain how public meetings organized
in the panchayat for addressing caste discrimination was held. And in the fourth section, I will
conclude.
Caste geography
Fieldwork, done between 2014 and 2015 was in a village, that administratively is one ward of a
local council, the smallest unit of local governance, in central Kerala. I will call the field site
‘Perur’.2 Perur ward belongs to the gramapanchayat called Oridam. The population in Perur,
2
Names of places and people have been changed to protect privacy.
58
gleaned from various data sources obtained through the gramapanchayat is approximately 1650,
with 479 households, of which 98 households, that is, 20.5% were classified as SC. (This
representation is high in comparison to the state and district average for rural areas - of 10.32%
and 12.20% households respectively).3
Kerala often claims exceptionalism as a post-caste society. Caste engraved into a village space
such as my field site is easy to miss on a cursory visit. However, houses, by their location and
construction indicate the caste-class status of their inhabitants. The field site has a ‘colony’ – which
are spaces where lower caste households, mainly scheduled castes – like Paraya (basket weavers),
Pulaya (agricultural workers), and Kanakkan (both fish vendors and agricultural workers), and
fewer number of other lower castes like the Karuvan (Ironsmith), Kollan (Blacksmith), and
Thandaan (farm hands) etc – are concentrated. There is a Kumbaran colony, a colony of potters
near the ward boundary. There is an area of Christians along the main road, near the church, and
these are well-to-do upper caste Syrian Christians. There is an area where poorer, backward
Christians live, away from the main road, near the potters’ colony, intermingled with other lower
caste Hindu households: like Ezhava and Thattan (goldsmiths), most of whom are daily wage
labourers – in occupations like painting, house construction etc. The only Muslim family in the
ward lives right next to the mosque. Vilakkathala Nair (caste of barbers that were exclusive for
serving upper castes), another ‘lower-caste group’, stay close together, as a cluster of houses
further away from the main road. The locality of Namboodiris (Kerala Brahmins) with good houses
and land are located centrally. Close to these are other upper castes houses: like Pisharody,
Nambiar and Nair. Caste identities of people living here are known publicly. There are nearly 20
caste groups among 479 households.
This geography of caste, as in other places, have not been accidental. In Perur, this has global
connections, coming as it does, out of displacement for a canal irrigation project.4 The project itself
was part of the Grow More Food campaign in 1946, started after rice shortages induced by the
second world war. (Santhakumar et al., 1995) This caste geography was further reinforced when,
through the land reforms, colonies were formally established. (Sreerekha, 2012)
Having laid out the importance of caste even in the structuring of physical spaces, I want to
talk about some of the meetings organized by the local governance bodies in my field site.
Gramasabha meetings
During fieldwork, I attended some local council meetings called the ‘gramasabha’ meetings – these
are more appropriately the ‘ward council’ or ‘ward-gramasabha’ meetings. In one of the meetings,
new applications for various government schemes were being accepted. The beneficiaries for
schemes were to be selected from the applications submitted that day. Mostly women had turned
out to represent their families. They were applying for schemes that distributed livestock such as
goats and calves, poultry like chicken, and enclosures like hen coops and goat hutches, as well as
3
SECC Census 2011, Caste-tribe Status of households – rural.
4
Drawn out in more detail in Herbert (2017)
59
the more significant grants for building houses, house repairs, toilets etc. There were also
applications for pensions - widow pension, old-age pension, disability pension etc.
Addressing them, the ward councillor told assembled people that allocations would be made
according to ‘munganana’, or priority. The order of priority was as follows: first the Scheduled
Caste community members, then widows, then the disabled, and then the old. Now we have to
note that the ‘non-scheduled caste members’ who were excluded from priority included both
upper castes as well as lower caste OBCs like blacksmiths, goldsmiths, iron smiths, and
farmhands. This order of priority was reiterated at every meeting that I attended, and everyone
had become familiar with it, so much so that it had become part of people’s explanation as to
why they did not get any help from the government: they do not have priority.
Special Schemes to Priority, Priority to Reservation
The priority list came to mean that there was an exclusive treatment towards Scheduled Caste
members. From here, it was easy for this discourse to transform into its popular form of widespread
resentment that “All benefits go to the SC community members because of reservation.” Very
often, the resentment came from the poor people, who were not from the scheduled castes, but
from the OBC castes who had been told that SCs were taking their benefits away.
Legitimised from government platforms (especially gramasabha meetings), and repeated by the
local upper caste elites, the idea that welfare measures were ‘reservation’ benefits achieved a status
of truth. So, did only SC members receive benefits? Examining the list of approved beneficiaries
tells a different tale. It shows that only 32.4% of the total beneficiaries were from the SC
communities. That is, ‘other’ communities benefitted equally, or more, from government schemes.
When only five SC households received assistance for house repair, double the number of
beneficiaries were chosen from ‘Other’ communities.
What is ignored while foregrounding this (anti-) ‘reservation’ rhetoric is the actual process and
several official criteria that influences how beneficiaries of panchayat schemes are selected. This
includes compiling the names of applicants for various schemes by various panchayat
functionaries and officials, vetting through working groups, selection by elected representatives
themselves etc. It serves to also cover the uncomfortable but well-known fact that political
affiliations and personal friendships play a role in deciding who the beneficiaries are. Also,
examination of the local council documents revealed that SC communities availed assistance for
house construction or repair from the Scheduled Caste Sub-plan set aside exclusively for them.
Therefore, strictly speaking, there was no ‘munganana pattika’ (priority list) from which
beneficiaries were chosen – the benefits were allocated only from special schemes, and very often
not from the regular government schemes unless there were stipulations to adhere to. It appeared that
local bodies were spreading misinformation, intended to cause resentment against each other among
the poor ‘lower castes’.
60
Table 1: Beneficiaries of government schemes, 2014-15
No Scheme Beneficiaries – Beneficiaries - Beneficiaries-

SC General Total
1 House construction 5 10 15
2 House repair 10 24 34
3 House construction for the 2 0 2
landless
4 Driving training for Women 3 12 15
5 Toilet Construction 1 0 1
6 Tool kit distribution 1 0 1
7 Manure for crops 0 1 1
8 Goat Distribution Scheme 1 0 1
9 Electrical/Plumbing training 0 1 1
TOTAL 23 48 71
(source: Accessed online on Oridam gramapanchayat website, own translation)
The dangerous consequence of such a discourse was that it translated very quickly into one of the
most polarizing debates in India today: that of ‘caste-based affirmation action, or ‘reservations’.
Often, asking respondents the question “Have you availed any government scheme?” resulted in
an answer in the negative along with the comment “all panchayat schemes are reserved for the
SCs, how will we get it?” Thus, government bodies were legitimising discourses that led up to
anti-reservation sentiments, while pitting against each other, SC and OBC members who very often
lived in similar spaces like the colonies.
Seminar for SC communities’ development
This was a half-day program where two separate functions were held together: one was a ‘seminar’
to form a comprehensive development plan for youth from SC communities, and the other was the
inauguration of the newly-completed Panchayat Hall named after a Late headmaster of the local
school.5 Two state ministers inaugurated these programs. The seminar for SC communities was
inaugurated by the then-State Minister for Welfare of Scheduled Castes and Backward Castes.
A printed six-page document which outlined the comprehensive program for the development of
SC youth was also distributed along with this. This document gave some statistics about the
number of colonies in Oridam, and the number of students in schools from the colonies. It also put
forward plans for construction of paved roads, electrification of 28 non-electrified houses, and
making drinking water schemes functional (which has to be seen as a tacit acknowledgment of the
non-functionality of existing schemes). Other programs were to provide grants for house
construction and repairs, as well as providing houses for those without either land or house; none
5
Although it was called a seminar, in its conduct, it was more like a meeting in organization and participation.
61
of these were special schemes, but activities that were expected to be carried out by the local
bodies.
On the day of the program, there was a significant turn-out, with over 250 people in participating
in this program. Many youngsters, particularly young women, from the SC communities were
present because it was publicized that youngsters could apply for financial assistance for skill
development programs. Women (not as many men) had gathered well ahead of time, before the
ministers arrived, and waited inside the panchayat hall. Men stood outside, to meet the ministers
personally, and possibly get photos clicked with them. Not one woman was seen in this gathering
of men outside the hall to welcome the minsters. Even though the vast majority of participants
were women from SC communities, only two of the thirteen speakers were women. Except for the
minister himself, no speaker on stage was from the SC community. The women speakers were
Shobha, the District panchayat standing committee chairman for public works, and Parvathi
teacher, the Panchayat Vice-President. Among the audience was present, two elected SC women
ward councillors of Oridam – they had no role except as audience, even though they might have
been best equipped to speak about the topic at hand. (I know this also from having talked with both
separately about issues in the ward). Also present was Sneha, another woman from the SC
community who was articulate, and an active member of the Kudumbashree.
The official ceremonies were followed by speeches. I will briefly cite some of the key points in
the talks by key people at this function that relate to the SC Development Seminar. In his welcome
speech, the Panchayat President who was also the councillor for Perur ward, Balan, mentioned that
₹65,00,000 (then approximately £65,000) was set aside for ‘SC development’ by the
Gramapanchayat. Benefits for Scheduled Castes had doubled, he said, and this was due to the bold
moves made by the SC Welfare Minister (who was on-stage).
The SC Welfare Minister talked about the key housing scheme available for the community
members, including financial assistance for buying land and building houses. He expressed his
opinion that the biggest hurdle for the community is the lack of employment: there are educated
youth who are unable to obtain good jobs. This, he said was because public sector jobs are being
cut whereas SC members are not able to get into the private sector.
Another Panchayat-functionary, the Chairman of the Working Committee on Development, who

was held in high regard by many spoke about the backwardness in many areas of the Panchayat.
Education was critical in upliftment. But the problem, he said, was that people who enjoy the
benefits continue to enjoy further benefits. This must stop, and there must be a balance. In saying
this, he was once again calling into question, ‘reservations’ and using the popular trope that ‘all
benefits go to the SCs’.
Parvathi, the panchayat Vice-President, after offering her initial remarks, in her brief address said
that there is a lack of participation by the SC communities in the Gramasabha, and they should
participate more actively and voice their demands. It seemed certainly strange because evidently,
the largest single group participating in not just Gramasabha, but also all public programs were
women from SC and OBC communities.
62
After the ministers left, most of the audience too did. The remaining participants belonged to the
SC communities and stayed back for the rest of the Seminar. In this forum, one of the things the
Panchayat President did (just as the Vice-President Parvathi also did earlier) was to highlight the
low participation of SC communities, particularly boys and men. In the meeting, most of the
participants were women. Although the hall was overflowing, only two rows in the front were
occupied by men. Few men stood at the back, constituting on a rough count, approximately 1/8th
(12.5%) of the participants. It appeared that the intended audience for public events were the colony
inhabitants (mostly SC but also other backward castes). While other voters of the ward hardly faced
any pressure to participate, even young boys from the colonies were asked to participate, whether
they liked it or not, a reminder of what has been called the ‘Tyranny of Participation’ by Cooke and
Kothari (2001). These researchers write that ‘tyranny is the illegitimate and/or unjust exercise of
power’ and participatory development can facilitate this not because of certain individuals or
processes but because the tyrannical potential of participatory development is ‘systemic’ (Cooke and
Kothari, 2001). The insistence on increased participation of the men from the colonies was despite
the fact that a good proportion of participants of not just the gramasabhas but of any public meeting
was constituted by SC and OBC community members. Most were women who often attended these
meetings at the expense of their daily wages. The expectation seemed to be that men should also
sacrifice their work days, and children should take an interest in these activities by default, or because
of some obligation.
Clearly, women from deprived communities often, constituted the ‘public’ for activities of the
local governance bodies. They were also the active members, functionaries of the local programs
and schemes – the Kudumbashree, the MGNREGS, the gramasabhas. The demands of democracy
on these women also extended to the men and children in the families too, a demand not likewise
expected of upper caste households or women.
Also mentioned in this forum were the findings from a study carried out amongst the SC
community. This was printed in the pamphlet distributed at the meeting. This document said that
there was a need for social and economic intervention among young SC men. What the issues were
that necessitated this social and economic intervention was outlined in the last section of that
document and was repeated by President Balan in the public meeting. Following were the problems
the identified, translated from the document circulated (See Box 1 below).
This list of problems seemed less like findings of a study, and more like mainstream impressions
of the colony written out in scientific-seeming language, using percentages and numbers. If it did
not pathologise several communities by implying that the youth, particularly men of the
community faced problems en masse, it certainly reinforced negative stereotypes of the colony as
a place of violence, crime, drug abuse, backwardness and hopelessness, and blamed it on the
psychology of the inhabitants. Many statements squarely blame youngsters in the community
rather than serve as a useful statement of a problem. For example, the first problem identified, that,
‘Most youngsters study only until the SSLC, or Plus two at most. They do not try to go for higher
education, or to find skilled areas of employment or training.’ Here, the blame is on the youngsters
for not trying to develop themselves academically or in other skills. Later, they are also blamed
for not sticking to any jobs, for living beyond their means, and not having a saving mentality.
Another statement squarely said that a good number of youngsters in the SC communities were
substance abusers. Many were vague, and immeasurable, and non-verifiable statements, but when
63
presented as findings from a survey, carried some authority. A statement like ‘The proportion of
youngsters who think differently from their traditional ways have now risen to about 50% (sic)’
did not convey what the traditional thinking would be of the young men under question. However,
it did present these men as ‘traditional, unwilling to think differently’, as if they were set in their
‘backward’ ways, in what seems like an attempt to match up with the stereotype of men from lower
caste communities. Circulated as it was publicly, this can only mean that the panchayat anticipated
little or no challenge to such a document. This implied a degree of powerlessness, specifically of
men, in these communities, to question such sweeping statements made publicly.
Box1: Problems identified among SC youth
Basic Problems Identified by the Gramapanchayat among the SC youth.
1. Most youngsters study only until the SSLC*, or Plus Two** at most. They don’t try to go for
higher education, or to find skilled areas of employment or training.
2. Only 25% of SC boys pursue education beyond Plus Two
3. Girls fare better than boys in studies
4. Less than 1% of SC people in the panchayat are employed in government jobs.
5. Only 0.5% SC men are employed abroad.
6. Majority of youngsters educated below SSLC are those who don’t stick to any jobs.
7. Less than 1% of youngsters set up their own business.
8. Among the youth, a considerable percentage of young men regularly use addictive
substances.
9. This substance addiction leads them to socially exploit in many ways (sic).
10. Although they earn high wages daily, the lack of thrift and reckless spending leads many to
indebtedness, and borrowing at high interest rates, making life very difficult.
11. Many young women are forced to take up jobs to sustain their families.
12. The proportion of youngsters who think differently from their traditional ways have now
risen to about 50% (sic).
*SSLC – Secondary School Leaving Certificate Exam, roughly equivalent to GCSE in the UK
**Plus Two – Roughly equivalent to A-levels in the UK
Source: Printed document distributed at the Comprehensive SC Youth Development Seminar (own
translation from Malayalam)
After the meeting, I asked President Balan about the survey on which the findings were based. He
said this was the finding from a survey carried out by the SC promoter, and asked me to get in
touch with Mini, the SC promoter for the area. When I shared with him that I feel uncomfortable
about these statements, he said that they were yet to properly compile the figures, and this may not
be accurate. Later, I asked Mini for the survey results, or the questionnaire if they had any, and she
said she had no idea about this as the SC promoter preceding her had carried out this survey.
Suddenly it appeared there might have been no survey at all, and even if there had been, this had
64
never been analysed, and these findings were indeed common-sense impressions, not findings
arrived at systematically and scientifically.
This common-sense discourse legitimised in public spaces, when examined against discourses
about the situation of Dalit women and men in India is revealing. In a paper that explores
masculinities, the Anandhi et al. (2002) make claims that are not too far from the discourse in the
gramasabhas. They write that the men are not interested in traditional occupations, and the hyper-
masculinity of dalit youth is violent, and oppress women, both from their own communities, and
others (S. Anandhi et al., 2002). In another paper, Anandhi (2013) looks at ritual practices in a
Dalit community and portrays the men as ‘partaking’ in patriarchy that bears resemblance to
Brahmin patriarchy. This has to be viewed as stemming from the same kind of anxiety expressed
by Kannabiran and Kannabiran (1991) when they write, “The problem of articulation (and indeed
understanding) arises when Dalit men, having gained access to power, decide to adopt the methods
of the upper castes in exercising this power. It is not uncommon to see Dalit boys molesting or
passing derogatory remarks about upper caste girls.” This logic of hyper-masculine oppressive
Dalit young men seems to have caught on, and we find Still (2008) writing that “Where possible,
then, Dalit men seek to control and restrict their women in the name of honour and prestige.”
Indeed, she goes on to argue that Dalit women are suffering because of the advances made by Dalit
men in India.
The discourse in the gramapanchayat, while apparently not based on any research finding, but
stereotypical and discriminatory attitudes find reflection in academic literature too.
Conclusion
To summarise, there are a few points that come out of discussions in the previous sections
1. The first is about the geography created by caste which has not been affected by various
development programs that were implemented. Indeed, caste structure was reflected in the
ward geography despite development projects.
2. The second is about the spaces for participation that the much-touted decentralization
experience of Kerala has opened. Resembling ‘participation’ advanced through the ‘good
governance’ agenda, these ‘invited spaces’ seem to hold little transformative potential to
address structural inequalities. What is more worrying is that they explicitly seem to
advance an anti-reservation sentiment, of disproportionate benefits reaching the SC
members (even though it had no factual basis), a debate that has polarized Indian society
since its implementation.
3. Even though the official ward council meetings and the inauguration events had the poor
SC and OBC community members as its participants, the only way caste as structure of
social inequality came up for discussion was in discussing the ‘SC’ communities and in
constructing an anti-reservation sentiment. This served to make the OBCs a part of the
‘general’ category along with upper caste communities. Even though the distribution of
benefits did not follow the discourse set in the public meetings, such a view was aired,
meanwhile ignoring that OBC communities too avail reservations. Through very
complicated manoeuvring, a simple discourse conflating caste with SC, and SC with
reservation was built in the locality.
65
4. When read along with other problem identified, that is, of a violent hyper-masculine lower
caste man, and the non-recognition of the Dalit-Bahujan women who have not had the
luxury of being confined to a safe domestic space, this problem assumes a much more
serious import. The true function then, of all these inter-related, co-existing discourses is
to construct an incomprehensible, and artificial problem statement with internal
contradictions while keeping under wraps, the structure, function and outcomes of a caste-
society. In these discourses, it would appear that Dalit women need to be saved from Dalit
men. Concepts in theoretical literature like Dalit Patriarchy do not conform to observations
in the field, or to historical trajectories of Dalit communities, but closely resemble the
disempowering discourses in public spaces.
5. Through this, what I have tried to show is how public spaces are used to perpetrate violence
and in general are part of the apparatus of domination, exclusion, invisibilization, and
forgetting, particularly for those it seeks to ‘develop’.
Thus, to conclude, the similarities in the discourse between the national level discourse about
the reservations and the local level discourse in Kerala are uncanny. The Kerala model of
development that claims a sort of exceptionalism, especially vis-à-vis caste dynamics in
comparison to the rest of the country, is problematic. Caste and gender operate in the everyday
working of government spaces and are alive and active in the villages in Kerala. The nation is
reproduced in the village.
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Tamil Nadu.Economic and Political Weekly 48, 64–71.
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Cooke, B., Kothari, U., 2001. The case for participation as tyranny, in: Cooke, B., Kothari, U.
(Eds.), Participation: The New Tyranny? Zed Books, pp. 1–15.
Deshpande, A., 2000. Does Caste Still Define Disparity? A Look at Inequality in Kerala, India.
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India. Cornell University Press, Ithaca, N.Y.
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Kurien, J., 1995. The Kerala Model: its Central Tendency and the Outlier. Social Scientist 70–90.
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the Excluded with Special Reference to STs. Presented at the Equality, Inclusion and
Human Development, Unpublished.
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67
Religion as ‘unsettled’: Notes from Census and Anti-Caste

Mobilizations
Nidhin Donald
Abstract: This paper is an attempt to understand how religion as a category was creatively put to
use within certain anti-caste mobilizations in recent and distant past. Such an exercise would begin
by briefly historicizing the modern category called ‘religion’ which gained popular ground in
India only with British Colonialism and its meticulous Decennial Census operations. Census
Reports are scripts of how communities, jaatis, tribes identified themselves over decades, starting
from the closing quarter of the 19th century to the early 20th century.1 Religion emerged as an
important category which enabled measured reconfiguration of tired jaati names for many castes
in India. This paper would argue that such renamings or new namings were different from that of
changing one’s jaati nomenclature. The religion-centric epistemological basis of the Census
became a space of getting counted in radically different lists, giving an opportunity to build new
identity bonds with people and communities beyond one’s immediate geography. This new but
limited possibility always came at a heavy cost. Listing oneself in a religious scheme left the
individual or the group with very few choices, as the lists only recognized a few organized
religions. The clear majority of lower-castes formed the blanket category called ‘Hindu’ which
could only be defined as ‘Non-Muslim or Non-Christian’. Indigenous faith practices were
swamped in this national project of listing religions with a capital R. However, despite all attempts
by the state - colonial or postcolonial - religion continues to be an unsettled category
Nidhin Donald: shobhana.nidhin@gmail.com
1
Listings in the colonial period were undertaken on an extensive scale, after 1806. The process gathered
momentum in course of the censuses from 1881 to 1941. (NCBC, Annual Report 2012-13 p.1)
68
Introduction
It is important to mention at the very outset that ‘lower-castes’, known by a variety of politically
relevant terms (Dalits, Bahujans, Pasmanda etc.) form the majority of the Indian subcontinent.2
In fact, they can easily form the second most populous country of the world.
I think this numerical detail should inform and complicate our conversation on religion in India.
Divided in numerous jaatis, religions, regions, languages and genders, ‘lower-castes’ make up at
least 75% of the Indian population. In other words, they may be not less than one billion in
population, i.e. nearly 32 times more than the present population of the U.S.A. A long legacy of
anti-caste intellectuals has underlined the combined strength of the productive classes in India.
Jotiba Phule’s coinage of Shudra-Ati Shudra- Stree against Bhatji-Shetji or Kanshi Ram’s political
theorization of Bahujan which includes all backward communities and religious minorities are part
of this legacy. In fact, Moon in his essay gives us a historical overview of how the term ‘Bahujan’
travelled through 20th century Maharashtra always attempting to build operational alliances
between productive sections of the population (Moon, 2017).
It is indeed unfortunate and humiliating that we do not know the exact numbers. Nor do most of
us know the literacy rates or land ownership details or religious status or sex ratios or health
indicators of our respective communities and castes. This condition of enforced ignorance is a
result of how the Indian State has collated and manipulated the Census Data. The last Census
which marked caste-based details was in the year 1931. The independent Indian state only
collected limited caste-based data for ‘Hindu-listed’ Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes.3
Thus, denying the clear majority (of Non-Hindu SCs and other lower castes) any relevant data
which they have collectively produced by responding to the Census Enumerator. This data has
been hidden from public scrutiny in the name of national integration.4 We are still awaiting the
caste-based data of the 2011 Census. The usefulness of this data is also under question as the
Census authorities did not act on the recommendation of the National Backward Classes
Commission to include the category OBC along with SC and ST during enumeration. As a result,
calculating OBC population would mean a herculean task of categorizing jaatis based on individual
household entries.
2
The Mandal Commission Report or the Second National Backward Classes Commission Report in Annexure
-1 (p.235) estimate that Other Backward Classes (Hindu and Non-Hindu) are 52% of the total population. The numbers
of Scheduled Tribes and Scheduled Castes was calculated at 22.5%. Thus, bringing the total number of the historically
subordinated and excluded groups to nearly 75% of the total population. It should be noted that these estimates were
based on the Caste Census of 1931. Mandal Commission had to work within the limits of data non-availability. Recent
newspaper reports suggest that one possible reason for not declaring the socio-economic caste census data of 2011, is
the increased numbers of OBCs beyond the estimate of 52%. (See https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/govt-veil-
on-caste-census-208494)
3
The Primary Caste Census Abstract Data on Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes provide very little
information on individuals castes and tribes. (http://www.censusindia.gov.in/2011census/PCA/SC.html)
4
See Http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Caste-data-held-back-due-to-social-upheaval-
fears/articleshow/47931784.cms
69
In other words, I am trying to make two important points (a) Subordinate classes form a diverse,
divided population who account for the majority in India and the Indian sub-continent (b) They
have very little or no data about themselves or the powerful minorities which govern them. This
lack of information has seriously affected mobilization and knowledge production. When we know
very little about our communities our fights are faced with numerous difficulties. Often individual
castes find themselves in numerous religions, but they may live and die without ever knowing the
existence of the other religions in their ‘jaatis.’ For caste is conditioned by endogamy. 5 If
somebody converts to Islam or Christianity or Sikhism from a particular caste, they eventually
form new castes, new endogamies.
Having said that, let me move on to the difficult exercise of understanding religion through
mobilizations of the subordinated castes against established norms of the Brahmin Order. As
mentioned earlier, the population denigrated by the caste system is huge in numbers, in such a
situation how do we comprehend their movements? It is beyond the scope of this paper to attempt
any exhaustive exercise. All I can do is cherry pick from the vast body of literature closer to my
own context and languages.
Religion as a modern category
Before doing that, it is important to point out that religion as an achievable governmental category
gains prominence in India only during the 19th century. Religion as a category emerges from
protestant Christian epistemology within modern theology. One cannot take it as a natural social
category which can be projected to our past. It has historically been a modern project which
identifies a community with a set of common practices, shared spaces of worship, shared scriptures
and shared notions of a universal God (Sweetman, 2003). The term ‘Hindu’ was essentially used
as a marker to identify the ‘non-religious’ in that sense. ‘Hindu’ as a construction hardly fits within
the definitions of religion. Dr. B.R. Ambedkar in several writings has underlined the impossibility
of calling ‘Hindu’ a religion.6
However, 19th and 20th century witnessed several processes - geared by an emerging national
community of Brahmins and their allies - to shape this imaginary ‘community’ within the
yardsticks of Western Christianity. These attempts, sacralized the ‘Brahminical’ and elevated the
Brahmin’s heritage as the heritage of the clear majority. Thus, it is not surprising when Lakshmi
Narasu points out that Hindus are primarily ‘Brahminists’ (Narasu, 1922). For it is only by
embracing this heritage that one becomes a ‘Hindu’. This point was at least partially expanded in
the Census Report of 1911 by evolving a criterion to define ‘depressed classes’. Prior to 1911,
animists, tribals and depresses classes were all bunched under the category called Hindu. However,
5
Dr. B.R.Ambedkar in his exceptional essay ‘Caste in India: Genesis and Mechanism’ underlines how
endogamy superimposed on gotra exogamy defines the mechanism of castes. Such a mechanism can operate
effectively only when you have caste-s and not a single caste. Thus, conversion to new faith systems or lists of globally
dominant religions has also meant an eventual separation from one’s endogamy - a process of becoming a new jaati.
6
For example, in Annihilation of Caste Babasaheb enters into an ethical, moral and pragmatic discussion on
what are the elemental features of a religion. He distinguishes organized abrahamic religions from Hinduism to prove
his point.
70
after the intervention of Muslims in Madras Presidency in 1909, the demography of ‘Hindu’ was
challenged, leading to new categories. As per the 1911 Census Report, certain yardsticks were put
in place to identify ‘Hindus’ from less Hindus and Non-Hindus. They were as follows: (a) Deny
the supremacy of the Brahmins (b) Do not receive the mantra from a Brahmin, or other recognised
guru (c) Deny the authority of the Vedas (d) Do not worship the Hindu Gods; (e) Are not served
by good Brahmins as family priests (f) Have no Brahmin priests at all (g) Are denied access to the
interior of the Hindu temple (h) Cause pollution: by touch, or within a short distance (i) Bury their
dead (j) Eat beef and do not show reverence to the cow.
As you can see from the yardsticks that ‘Brahmins’ as a class overly determined what it means to
be a Hindu. It is one’s proximity to their literature, spaces, symbols, priest-craft and oralities that
determine the degree of one’s Hinduism. An undeniable adulation for this class is an explicit
feature of what it means to be a Hindu. While, many scholars may try to argue for plural, diverse,
conflicting versions of Hinduism. However, they fail to ask a central question - why do we need
to call conflicting, plural and diverse faith practices of multiple nationalities within the boundary
of Indian Nation-State with the same homogenizing name - Hindu? Is there an unfounded
assumption the people do not have names for their faith systems? While the racializing impulse of
the colonists stopped them from appreciating that faith systems of the non-brahmin populations,
the brahmin class sensed a historical possibility in swelling the demography of their faith system.
Thus, listing populations as Hindus was more of a name-calling activity. Populations were first
enlisted as Hindus, the process of socializing them in the essentials of Hinduism predominantly
begins with - what Aloysius points out as the National Varna Movement from the beginning of the
20th century.7 This movement continues even today at different levels - ranging from one’s
jatakam or horoscope to defending Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Padmavati.
In short, what we find in the sub-continent’s history are persistent efforts by the colonizers with
the active support of the local elite -Brahmins and other allied castes to define and redefine the
population based on fixed notions of religion and racial definitions of caste.8 The attempt was
always to provide regional data which could be comparable at the national level, or even attempts
to formulate a national caste system (based on the Varna Scheme) and religious classification.
None of these attempts succeeded at the empirical level. Often it was noticed that only the top
castes could be classified with near accuracy in different regions. On the other hand, the rest of the
7
Starting from late 19th century, many non-brahmin jaatis attempted enrollment in the National Varna Scheme
by making several competing claims to the Chaturvarna system. These claims were often fought within the modern
judicial system. For example, the Kayasthas who were denigrated as Shudras in Bengal Presidency approached the
High Court of Patna to make claims to Kshatriya status. Similarly, the Bhumihars started making claims to
Brahminhood. Their claim was principally accepted in 1911. One finds many such examples across the nation-state,
across the non-brahmin jaati spectrum.
8
Herbert Risley as the Census Commissioner of 1901 makes possessive investments in tracing castes within
a racial hierarchy. Informed by the racial sciences of 19th century Europe, Risley tries to explain rather justify caste
inequalities in terms of racial supremacy. Hutton, the Census Commissioner of 1931 calls Risley’s theorization and
nose-index experiments as a ‘nightmare.’ However, his work of superimposing race on caste had many upper-caste
takers. One finds, upper-caste reformists including Gandhi relying on racial explanation of Aryan brotherhood for
better treatment from the colonists. The counter-myth of Mahatma Jotiba Phule on Aryan Invasion was a creative
response to these tendencies in mid-19th century.
71
population tried several permutation-combinations with their identities. Every ten years, in the
early 20th century, one finds successive attempts by various social groups to identify themselves
positively within the established hegemonic ideology of Chaturvarna.
Census of India, 1931 (Part I) p.378
Changing Varna Claims - Census of India, 1931 p. 431
72
Assertions of self-identity were evident with the category of religion as well. In parts of
Chhattisgarh many Christians identified themselves as Satnami Christians, instead of Chamar
Christians - by identifying themselves as ‘Satnami Christian’ they were laying equal claims to two
religious expressions, movements which have a positive connotation in their lives.9 Now such self-
identifications have very limited impact on how they were socially identified. Nor would it have
any impact on their political or material conditions.
However, what one needs to recognize is that the methodology and research ethics of Census
collection made it compulsory to record what individuals, families and people say about
themselves. Such an exercise was unprecedented in the history of the sub-continent. For the first
time, groups could self-identify themselves in the records of the Colonizer or in other words their
self-description was not fully dependent on the Brahmanical classes. This is not to say that the data
was untouched by the Brahminical class (the bias of the high-caste enumerator always influenced
data entry) or the racial overtones of the White Classifier. In spite of all the manipulations, it
became necessary to record the ways through which people ‘changed’ and ‘transformed’ their self-
identity. Though its impact would have been marginal or just symbolic. Other than empirically
establishing the basic premise and integrity of caste-based hierarchies, it was difficult to ‘fix’
people especially the subjugated groups within the ‘Chaturvarna Scheme’ of ‘Hindu’ religion.
In such a situation how do we approach, the issue of religion within anti-caste discourse? One can
say that the subordinate and excluded majority of the sub-continent resisted the schemes of the
Brahmin’s book in their own ways. This was done either through claims which aimed at higher
status within the Varna Scheme or by totally rejecting this scheme. The modus operandi of
resistance was informed by several regional factors and specific histories.
Census Reports provide a lot of information on how disturbed and discontent people were with
‘fixed’ identities/boundaries and provided first-hand records of creative resistance. What I am
trying to arrive at is the fact that religion was/is understood as an achievable identity.
While this was /is not the case with ‘jati’. Jati identity irrespective of its changed nomenclature
remains ascriptive. As, Babasaheb points out, it is not possible for castes or jatis to remain singular,
they operate as a system of graded inequality only in the plural sense. Thus, your ‘ascriptive’ jati
identity is ensured by the commitment of other groups to the same ideology of birth (Some close
the doors, some find doors closed). On the other hand, modern religion can theoretically exist
beyond the ideology of birth and can exist singularly as well. In other words, jati could only be
repackaged, while organized religion (defined and introduced significantly in the 19th century)
was a new and modern possibility with real implications. Islam and Christianity provided an
opportunity to at least symbolically identify with a global community beyond the confines of a
local caste-valorised society. It also provided an opportunity to be legally identified as a Christian
or Muslim subject. However, it goes without saying that most of our population never received an
opportunity to recognize their faith systems within modern definitions and were swamped under
the category called ‘Hindu’.
9
Census Report, 1931 Part -1 p. 431
73
Possibilities of Religion?
This possibility of religion was and continues to be creatively put to test within anti-caste
movements of several varieties. In the year 2015, after long periods of violence and struggles in
Bhagana, Haryana; the protesting Dalit community embraced Islam. The caste violence erupted
with the growing assertions of Dalits. They wanted to rename their chowk, junction after Dr.
Babasaheb Ambedkar. After long struggles, they were convinced that embracing Islam would be
a significant act of resistance against the Hindu Jats. But, the choice of Islam was criticised by
many people. Some even argued that Buddhism should have been the right choice. While, healthy
debates on the choice of faith can go on, what is important is the confirmation that religion is an
achievable identity, an anti-caste strategy (Meghwanshi, 2015a) After conversion, people in the
struggle chose names such as ‘Abdul Kalam Ambedkar.’10 What we find in such names is an
important attempt to combine struggles and genealogies of dignity.
Similar struggles are found in other parts of the sub-continent as well, both in recent and distant
past. The story of Pioneer Lucy needs special attention.
In 1827, (Kali who later took up the name Lucy) knocked at the doors of the CMS Mission
Compound in Travancore, Kerala. This, young slave girl ran away from her French Master. She
weighed the consequences of her act and decided that she should approach the Mission. We know
very little about how she made this decision. I would not like to speculate either. The white
missionary couple opened their door and were shocked to find a slave girl. She asked them to let
her in. But the couple knew that her entry would create havoc among the Savarna Christians, the
primary audience of CMS in early 19th century. However, a determined Kali convinced them.
They allowed her to enter the compound. In a few days Kali convinced them to teach her how to
read and write. They were hesitant in the beginning but had to agree at last. She learnt how to read
and write. She started reading the bible. Next, she demanded entry into the Christian faith. The
puzzled missionary couple were transfixed by the consequences of a slave's entry into the faith.
But Kali succeeded, she embraced Christianity and changed her name to Lucy (Yesudasan, 2011).
T.M. Yesudasan recounts this incident from the CMS archives in his book 'Baliyadukalude
Vamshavali'. He argues that probably Lucy is the first literate Dalit woman of Colonial India.
Yesudasan calls ‘Kali’ entry – Matharohanam (or entry into a religion) and not conversion, for
conversion pre-supposes our membership in a modern religion.
How do we understand Lucy's pioneering efforts? She had to first convert the white missionary
couple to enter Christianity. She taught them fundamental lessons in democracy. Through her entry
she opened new possibilities of their own faith, hitherto unknown to them. She helped them or
guided them to realize the true meaning of their faith. Thus, lowered -caste entry into Christianity
is an entry of emancipatory praxis for all Christians.
The upper-cloth movement in Travancore (mid- nineteenth century) led by Nadar men and women,
yet again revealed the possibilities of a new religion. Nadar women fought for their bodily
10
See: http://anvarat.blogspot.in/2015/08/blog-post.html
74
autonomy by invoking principles of Christianity. The Travancore government was forced to accept
that ‘Christianity’ directs its member to cover their body (Mani et al, 2013). In other words, the
Hindu Travancore State could not interfere with the religious mandate of Nadar Christians, as it
was beyond its purview. In this example, we find the anti-caste movement creatively allying
Christianity in its struggle. And effectively, inspiring resistance among Non-Christian lower castes
as well.
However, it should be noted that the ability of anti-caste movements to utilize religion as a strategy
has been under severe attack majorly by the State and the Savarna hegemonies operating in every
religion. The independent Indian State has always tried to permanently settle the boundaries of
religion. This is done through several legal and policy instruments. Settling the boundaries of
religion and maintaining the permanent minority status of non-Hindu religions clearly protects the
interests of upper-castes across religion (Shobhana, 2016). Through an array of anti-conversion
laws, anti-conversion commissions the state has played its part in protecting the legal fiction of the
majority Hindu religion. The central target of the state, in all these efforts, has largely been Dalit-
Bahujan –Adivasi individuals and groups who unsettle the permanence of organized religions.
The process of ‘becoming a Hindu’ is in many ways state-sponsored. One can call it an ongoing
process of forced conversion for most groups listed as ‘Hindus.’ Again, such state-sponsorship is
not limited to RSS or right-wing politics alone. Even those who identify themselves as ‘Anti-
Hindutva’ contribute to it in their own ways. For example, Apoorv Anand tries hard to distinguish
Hindu from Hindutva. He qualifies Hinduism as a plural faith system which accommodates all
forms of dissent. In a recent essay, he characterizes Kancha Illiah’s political and social critique of
Brahmanism as an example of dissent ‘within’ Hinduism. Thus, what he ultimately arrives at is
an equal or more deceptive definition of ‘Hindu.’11 Like RSS, he assumes ‘Hindu’ to be a territory,
a nation with ‘internal’ distinctions and differences of opinion, celebrating it with the help of terms
such as ‘diversity’. This is a hegemonic and suffocating conception. Thus, the logic of the territory
is used by the State and its philosophers across the political spectrum to legitimise ‘Hindu’. This
it is not surprising that RSS ideologue Rakesh Sinha argues that RSS has pushed the discourse on
religion forcing ‘liberal’ scholars to uphold Hinduism.12
Diversity of practices is the basic character of Bahujan faith systems. They are forcefully listed as
‘Hindu’ by the State and its professional philosophers. These practices have not received any
recognition is official documents. Gods and Goddesses, prayers and rituals of a large section of
Dalit-Bahujan-Adivasis continue to be streamlined by the Hindu Missions.
Again, those who have been ‘listed’ as Hindus are not a defeated people. You would find
continuing legacies of resistance from multiple sites. Recently, the Jat Maha Sabha in Rajasthan
passed a resolution against visiting ‘Brahminical’ pilgrim sites. They have also resolved to ‘not
touch the feet’ of Brahmins. These social resolutions were combined with political resolutions of
not ‘voting’ for National parties (irrespective of whether they field a Jat or not) and supporting
11
See: indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/crisis-of-hinduism-4612205/ &
http://www.tribuneindia.com/news/comment/hinduism-at-risk-from-rss/389461.html
12
See: http://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/rss-and-the-realm-of-ideas-5100522/
75
political movements which aim at the solidarity of Muslims-Dalits and Farmers.13 While, the actual
import of these resolutions need to be studied separately. Similarly, the recent controversies which
erupted after Bharat Patankar and Gail Omvedt were stopped from entering the inner sanctorium
of Ambabai Temple in Kolhapur has led to many debates around the settled boundaries of
Hinduism and indigenous practices.14 What is important is the unsettling nature of differences with
Brahmanism, though they continue to stay within the legal fiction of Hinduism.
Permanent reproduction of castes ensured through the mechanism of endogamy seems to inform
and drive permanent notions of ‘religion’ as well. Through the mechanism of endogamy, every
religion in this sub-continent tries to ensure its membership and continuous reproduction. Parsis
and Knanaya Christians for example collapse the definitions of religion and caste into one central
feature - endogamy. This unity in definition ensures that nobody can achieve membership in their
spiritual lineage through conscious conversion. Only birth can ensure membership. While
mechanisms of conversion have always existed in Christianity and Islam, it has not demolished
pre-existing racial/caste/family ancestries to establish a common unity of faith. Far from
demolishing apostolic and brahminical ancestry claims several Churches in Kerala actively
promote its persistence and celebration. In the official histories of the Syrian Christian Churches
we find a collusion of caste and faith genealogies. In other words, the journey of these Churches
is characterised as journeys of a few ‘original’ Brahmin families. Thus, despite the evangelical
missions of these communities in the 20th century, they continue to protect the rights of the
Savarna Christians.
There is a need to conceive religion as provisional, changeable or even temporary. In other words,
religion is one of the many achievable strategies to destabilize the tiring and permanent categories
of caste and normative gender. This is not to say that the individual or family or group who
embraces a new religion or rejects religion are solely motivated by anti-caste perspectives. On the
contrary, I am arguing that any agential act against the settled boundaries of legal religion can
disturb the neat boundaries of caste and gender. This strategic conception should be used time and
again. We should enter, exit, disturb, and reject religion like Kausalya who witnessed her Dalit
partner’s death.15 The burden of maintaining the demographic integrity and formal membership of
any legal religion should not be the concern of lower-castes or women. Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar
in his Dadar speech in 1936 (one year after his declaration) writes - Religion is for human beings
and not the other way around. One can reject all religions or embrace a religion or religions based
on our own conditions. The demand of total submission and selflessness to a religion fails and
betrays the spiritual-material struggles of the Bahujans. Such a formulation of religion would not
only legitimize bahujan embrace of new religions but also bahujan rejection of organized religions
of any form.
13
See: http://www.shunyakal.com/historical-decision-of-jat-society/
14
See: www.sarkarnama.in/kolhapur-bharat-patankar-ambabai-mandir-issue-19016
15
http://indianexpress.com/article/india/yes-i-am-alone-but-ill-fight-it-out-a-year-after-her-husbands-caste-
killing-kausalya-is-a-new-woman-4575336/
76
References
Aloysius G. (2010). The Brahmanical Inscribed in Body-Politic, Critical Quest: New Delhi
Kunnikuyi S. Mani & Anirudhan P.S. (2013). 'Mahatma Ayyankali: Ayyankaliyude
Ariyapetathu Charitram' DC Book
Meghwanshi Bhawar (2015a). Bhagana Dalits: From struggle for justice to conversion to Islam.
Round Table India
Moon Saket (2017). Reception Histories of Bahujan Narrative Identity: The Many Forms of
Non-Brahmanism, Round Table India (roundtableindia.co.in)
Shobhana Nidhin (2016). Savarna Christian contributions to 'Hindu' Nationalism: The example
of Srambickal Kuruvilla George, Round Table India (roundtableindia.co.in)
Sweetman, W. (2003). "Hinduism" and the History of "Religion": Protestant Presuppositions
in the Critique of the Concept of Hinduism. Method & Theory in the Study of Religion,
15(4), 329-353.
Yesudasan, T.M. (2011). Baliyadukalude Vamshavalli: Separate Administration Movementinte
Vamshavum Aavirbhaavavum, Trivandrum: Prabhat Book house.
77
Contesting Communalism(s): Preliminary Reflections on

Pasmanda Muslim Narratives from North India
Khalid Anis Ansari
Abstract: The purpose of this study is not to contribute directly to questions of why, how or what
of communalism but rather to employ the extant body of knowledge to represent and interpret the
articulations advanced by activists associated with the Pasmanda1 movement—a movement of
subordinated caste Muslims in India. The movement aspires to organize various subordinated
Muslim castes,2 which form about eighty percent of India’s largest Muslim minority, in order to
challenge the hegemony of the high caste ashrāf or sharīf Muslims. The Pasmanda movement has
complicated the politics around Islam and Muslim (minority) identity, which has been seen as
monolithic in public discourse. The movement, claiming to represent the concerns of Bahujan
Muslims drawn mostly from artisan or working-class background, has challenged the fascination
of old Muslim elite with cultural and symbolic issues. In marked contrast, the Pasmanda activists
have foregrounded organic social issues related to everyday struggles for survival thereby
creating a new counterhegemonic discursive space.
Khalid Anis Ansari: khalidanisansari@gmail.com
I would like to thank my friends and colleagues Shafiullah Anis and Ayaz Ahmad for their comments on an earlier
draft of this paper.
1
Pasmanda, a Persian term meaning ‘those who have been left behind’ refers to Backward-Shudra, Dalit-
Atishudra and Adivasi (tribal or forest-dwelling) Muslim communities. In Arabic terminology, these sections among
Muslims are pejoratively referred to as ajlāf (base or mean) and arzāl (degraded) in contrast to higher caste ashrāf or
sharīf (honourable) Muslims.
2
Indian Muslims comprise of about 705 biradaris (castes) according to the ASIs ‘People of India’ project
(Jairath, 2011, p. 20).
78
Introduction
When Bashir cheats Ahmad, Ahmad thinks Bashir is a cheat. When Moti Lal
cheats Ahmad, Ahmad thinks Hindus are cheats. Similarly, when the
(Muslim) Bengal Government prohibits cow-killing in many places, as a
preventive measure against riots, protests are feeble and anti-government;
when a Congress government takes similar steps, protests are strident and
anti-Hindu, and the cry is raised (and believed) that Islam is being
emasculated and down-trodden (Smith, 1943, p. 208).
The epigraph from Wilfred Cantwell Smith’s classic Modern Islam in India, written in the crucible
of the anti-colonial struggle in the 1940s, sets the tone for this discussion. Smith clearly indicates
how similar events of conflict are interpreted variously when the religious location of the
performers is considered. So, an episode of deception in the interpersonal domain where the
protagonists belong to the same religious community is treated differently when compared to one
where they belong to a different one. The same logic applies to a bureaucratic move where the
government is perceived to be managed by a political party supposedly representing the interests
of the adversarial community. The epigraph clearly indicates the deep-seated suspicion between
‘Hindus’ and ‘Muslims’ and provides a glimpse into what could be said to constitute the field of
‘communalism’ in India. An early attempt by Smith to define communalism holds it as “that
ideology which emphasizes as the social, political, and economic unit the group of adherents of
each religion, and emphasizes the distinction, even the antagonism, between such groups; the
words ‘adherent’ and ‘religion’ being taken in the most nominal sense” (p. 185). A relatively recent
review (Upadhyay & Robinson, 2012) posits that ‘communalism has been commonly understood
in the literature as conflicts over secular issues between religious communities, particularly
between Hindus and Muslims’ and that most ‘deliberations around communalism’ link it with ‘the
colonial period’ such that ‘the concept has acquired a definite and definitive association’ (p. 35;
emphasis in original). While acknowledging the empirical evidence of inter-religious conflicts in
the precolonial period, they propose that those instances ‘cannot be said to have taken the form of
full-blown communalism’ (p. 35). However, as the definitions above suggest, communalism is
variously presented as a concept (‘ideology’), phenomenon (violence/riots/pogroms) or even as an
attribute (‘full-blown communalism’), each with porous borders that witness frequent sliding of
meaning from one element to another.3
3
Pathan quips at the “peculiarities of scholarship on ‘communalism’”: ‘Communalism’ seems to suffer from
contradictory characteristics: It is a modern phenomenon which is the result of colonialism or one which can be dated
back to age-old conflicts between the Hindus and Muslims since the medieval era. It is a product of modernity versus
a remnant of ‘primitivism’ in modern India. It has been considered the nemesis of secularism or the means to achieve
secularism; a lack of secularism as well as an excess of it. ‘Communalism’ is the result of the failure of education or
the regrettable success of Western education. It is majoritarianism, but politics of a similar characteristic have been
expressed by minorities as well (2014, p. 1).
79
Another work (Berenschot, 2011, pp. 19-38) catalogues six approaches employed to explain
communalism in India: namely, the primordialist, ideological, instrumentalist, social-
constructivist, social-psychological and relational. The ‘primordialist approach’ concentrates on
the force of ethnicity to form one’s world-view and enable social action. This is by and large an
essentialist view as it construes primordial attachments to be an intrinsic part of human nature
unamenable to alteration. It foregrounds a thick conception of cultural difference and argues that
solidarities necessarily forge around these cultural markers and the process of Othering is a
natural state of affairs. Hence, present day riots are explained by relating them to past conflicts
between religious groups. One may note that this is also the classic colonial position and is
often invoked by religious nationalists, both Hindu and Muslim alike (Gaborieau, 1985;
Robinson, 2000, 2008). The ‘ideological approach’ explains the recurrent incidence of
communal violence to the pervasiveness of communal ideology in the public sphere. In the
contemporary period the proponents of Hindutva and Islamism represent this approach. Those
building their politics on communal ideology concentrate on ‘organisation’ and ‘propaganda’
to serve their ends (Ahmad, 2010; Chandra, 1984). The ‘instrumentalist approach’ articulates
communal violence as a political strategy that serves the interest of powerful elites. Paul
Brass, who has noted the presence of ‘institutionalised riot systems’ in major towns where
communal violence has been endemic stresses ‘the functional utility of the persistence of
Hindu-Muslim riots in India for a wide variety of interests, groups, institutions, and
organizations, including ultimately the Indian state’ (2003, p. 24). The close relation
between elections and the occurrence of communal violence has also been emphasized
(Wilkinson, 2004). The proponents of ‘social-constructivist approach’ argue that communal
identities are social constructs. In their reading communal antagonism is not a ‘given’ reality but
has formed over time through a complex interaction between state policies (colonial and post-
colonial), political manoeuvrings and wider socio-economic developments. The constructivists
have especially foregrounded the role of discursive frameworks (cultural interpretative systems)
in making sense of communal violence (Hansen, 1999; Pandey, 1990). The ‘social-psychological
approach’ privileges the actor’s point of view and focuses on the motivations and drives of those
who participate in violence. In short, riots occur because they serve various psychological needs
(Kakar, 2000). The last one, the ‘relational approach’ underscores the shifting patterns of social
interaction between and within conflicting communities and locates violence in the network of
relations that produce solidarity and fragmentation in society. This approach encompasses
economic, civil society and institutional arguments (Basu, 2015; Engineer, 1995; Varshney,
2002).
Clearly, explaining communalism has been a prolific academic enterprise4 and one could tend to
concur with the suggestion that ‘no single causal explanation of Hindu-Muslim riots and anti-
Muslim pogroms will suffice to explain all or even most instances of such collective violence in
India’ (Brass, 2003, p. 22). While most of the literature on communalism has been ‘centrally
4
See Heehs, 1997 and Upadhyay & Robinson, 2012 for useful reviews.
80
concerned with causes’ (why?) (Pandey, 1990, p. 12), Brass and Pathan focus on the production of
riots (how?) (2003, p. 16) and the conceptualization of communalism (what?) (2009, p. 2)
respectively. Here, the attempt is to explore through the Pasmanda narratives how the issue of
communalism is discussed in the margins of the Muslim social space and the conceptual
problems—role of orientalism in knowledge production on South Asian Islam/Muslims, the
questions of subaltern solidarity and agency, the process of community reform and
democratisation—that are posed for the Pasmanda movement in particular and social-scientific
knowledge generally.
Despite the definitional ambiguities associated with ‘communalism,’ one may note that historically
the term underwent a change in the emphasis on meaning—from the earlier colonial references to
sectional demands by religious communities to the later references to episodes of Hindu-Muslim
violence5 (Pandey, 1990, pp. 6-9). In this space, the usage of the term ‘communalism’ broadly
implies the latter meaning. In terms of philosophical and methodological assumptions, the study
may be construed as a constructivist and situated work.6 In this sense, it would be useful to revisit
Foucault’s relationality between power and knowledge ‘[such] that there is no power relation
without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not
presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations’ (cited in Howarth, 2002). In
‘Nietzsche, Genealogy, History’ Foucault marks a distinction between ‘traditional’ and ‘effective’
history with the latter ‘being without constants’ (1984, p. 87). If the practitioner of effective history
or the genealogist “refuses to extend his faith in metaphysics, if he listens to history, he finds
that there is ‘something altogether different’ behind things: not a timeless and essential secret,
but the secret that they have no essence or that their essence was fabricated in a piecemeal
fashion from alien forms” (p. 78). Once the supra-historical and objectivist pretensions of
traditional history are done away with, the genealogist is left with the task of exploring the
historical emergence and formation of discourses, categories, social formations and so on. But
since all discourses are constituted within the play of domination and power a genealogist also has
to show ‘possibilities excluded by the dominant logics of historical development. In this way, the
genealogist discloses new possibilities foreclosed by existing interpretations’ (Howarth, 2002, pp.
72-73). In this sense, the ‘final trait of effective history is its affirmation of knowledge as
perspective’ (Foucault, 1984, p. 90). It is to the Pasmanda perspectives on communalism that I
will now turn.
5
‘We know from etymological reconstruction that the term ‘communalism’ comes into being in the 1920’s.
Before this, the term ‘communal’ is used to refer to a type of reservations and a type of representation’ (Pathan, 2014,
p. 4).
6
I come from the Muslim julāha (weaver) caste and see my role as a situated interlocutor for the movement.
81
I Pasmanda Discourse and the Question of Communalism.7
Most contemporary social pathologies, including communalism, can be traced back to the
encounter of the Indian subcontinent with British colonialism and particularly the developments
in the nineteenth century. That does not mean that the pre-colonial period was devoid of social
divisions or conflicts (Bayly, 1985) but that the colonial-orientalist knowledge/pedagogical
project—particularly aided by the technologies of decennial census/enumeration/classification and
ethnography—reconfigured social knowledge and consequently social relations with radical
novelty (Cohn, 2004; Dirks, 2001). In comparison with earlier regimes, three particular features
marked out the efforts of colonial governmentality. First, the emergence of the importance of
numbers (Appadurai, 1993), sharpening of cultural boundaries and the construction of an all India
‘Hindu’ or ‘Muslim’ community by the end of nineteenth century. As Peter van der Veer remarks
‘The odd effect of the census was that it simultaneously cut the society up into infinitesimal units
and yet created a huge Hindu majority, together with several minorities, of which the most
significant was the Muslim. Political elites, who had to respond to the new facts of life, tried both
to enlarge the communities they represented and to define their boundaries more clearly’ (1994, p.
26). Two, the installation of a remarkably centralized and interventionist state which was “more
self-consciously ‘neutral’—standing above society, and not really part of it—than any previous
state” (Pandey, 1990, p. 16). In this sense, the colonial self-image was that of an impartial evaluator
of claims advanced by various communities based on religion, caste, gender, language, region, and
so on. And, three, the treatment of communalism as ‘a subcontinental version of nationalism’ by
colonial historiography was undergirded with the assumption that ‘nationalism, nation-ness, was
a Western attribute, unlikely to be found or easily replicated in the East’ (Pandey, 1990, p. 1).
Obviously, the caricaturing of subcontinental populations as traditional, passionate or
communitarian in contrast to modern, rationalist or individualist imagination of colonial power
was an important element in the legitimacy building exercise of the regime. However, even when
the nationalist historiography protested against the colonial assumption of communalism being a
natural state of affairs by pointing at the British divide-and-rule policy or colonialism as a
smokescreen for materialist interests it shared a common assumption with colonial historiography:
the givenness of communalism as a tangible phenomenon with readily identifiable causes and its
Others—rationalism, liberalism, secularism or nationalism (pp. 12-13). It is within the colonial
discursive-political matrix—the emphasis on numbers and privileging of religion as the
overarching identity, the contest of claims and counterclaims for recognition between various
communities, and the portrayal of natives as incapable of modernity—that the socio-political
struggles of the marginalized communities may be located.
In terms of the Muslim social space in northern India, the julāhās (or weavers) were probably the
first among the disenfranchised Muslim castes to organize themselves from at least the early
7
For brief overviews of the Pasmanda movement see Ansari, 2013, 2018.
82
twentieth century onward. Considered socially inferior by the higher caste ashrāf Muslims8 and
economically marginalized due to colonial policies, they sought incessantly a course of action
where they could fight for their social dignity and political empowerment. In a situation
overdetermined by ‘the emerging nationalist political environment, the late colonial state and the
rising tide of communal politics’ (Rai, 2012, p. 61) the Muslim weavers named themselves
‘Momin’ or ‘Ansaris’ and formed the All India Momin Conference (AIMC) in 1926. The AIMC
functioned as a pressure group to negotiate reform and politics. One may suggest that Momin
politics (1920-1947) (or the ‘first wave’ of Pasmanda movement) suffers from a few paradoxical
trajectories. At the level of the social, the quotidian humiliation confronted by the Muslim weavers
was sought to be transcended through Islamization (or ashrafization),9 that is the imitation of sharīf
culture as a sign of social respect and status advancement. The process of Islamization, it is
suggested, launched the Momins into the field of exclusivist religious identity and posed a concern
in terms of their claims to contest communalism which fed on such religious symbolisms (Rai,
2012, p. 61). In contrast, at the level of politics the AIMC strived to forge a ‘razil collective’
manifested in their efforts to forge the solidarity of all subordinated Muslim castes,10 in order to
contest the separatist ashrāf politics. In this respect, particularly from the provincial elections in
1937 onwards, the AIMC increasingly challenged the ‘two-nation’ theory—which construed
Hindus and Muslims as two nations having irreconcilable interests—and the politics of Pakistan
advanced by the Muslim League (ML). The AIMC framed the ML as an outfit representing the
interests of the higher Muslim castes/classes and interrogated the legitimacy of their claim to
represent the subordinated Muslim castes, particularly Momins, which formed the majority within
the Muslim population—the aksariyat (majority) within the aqalliyat (minority) (Ghosh, 2010, p.
8
‘Muslims of weaver descent were regarded as among the lowest of the biradaris and in many areas forced
labour was taken from them freely. The zamindars of Gaya and Shahabad, for example, employed them as customary
porters. An illegal tax, kathiari, was exacted on their handlooms by zamindars, and a royalty was levied on the net
profit of a loom per month, called masarfa. In many villages zamindars claimed an illegal house tax known as ghar-
dwari. The stories and proverbs that circulated both in Urdu and colloquial dialects at the expense of Julahas were
common to U. P., Bengal and Bihar, and were widely perceived as confirmation of their oppression by the sharif’
(Ghosh, 2010, p. 90).
9
“…‘Ashrāfization’ however, is more than just gaining social status and prestige. It is a means of moral and
religious improvement that involves living a more devout Muslim life…On the economic level, a family aspiring for
status in the modern context must keep women in seclusion, demonstrating that they earn enough money that the
women do not have to work…On the village level, ashrāfization often involves Muslims abandoning what are
interpreted to be so-called ‘Hindu customs’ In contemporary post-partition Indo-Pakistan, there are more and more
Muslims who are differentiating themselves from their non-Muslim neighbors. The ashrāfization process…involving
low-status Muslims (julāhās) changing their names to Anṣārīs is a way to consolidate the minority Muslim community
and distance it from the Hindu majority.” (Buehler, 2012, p. 241).
10
‘The attempt of the Momin Conference was to enlist the support of other backward Muslim communities.
The idea was to build a solidarity to dislodge the ‘capitalist’ leadership of the Muslim League…The Momin
movement, then aimed at the uplift of not only Muslims but also of Raeen (vegetable sellers and growers), Mansoor
(cotton carders), Idrisi (tailors) and Quraish (butcher) communities’ (Ghosh, 2010, p. 103).
83
109). Interestingly, while the Momin ideologues critiqued the caste/class composition of the
Muslim League leadership, they were arguably willing to overlook the higher caste/class
composition of the Congress Party11 (Ansari, 2011, p. 26). The Momin Conference was put in a
tight spot when from the late 1930s onwards the role of Congress functionaries, particularly at the
lower level, in fomenting communal riots against Muslims—the overwhelming number of victims
being Momin themselves—was becoming clear (Rai, 2012, p. 64). In this sense, there were
demands within the AIMC to maintain a distance from both the ML and Congress politics and the
movement witnessed splits and internal rifts during this turbulent period (Ghosh, 2010, p. 61-64).
In fact, two important Momin leaders Abdul Jalil and Asim Bihari joined the Muslim League in
1944 (Ghosh, 2010, p. 64).
However, Abdul Qaiyum Ansari (1905-1973), one of the most prominent leaders of the Momin
movement, held on to an anti-ML position till the very end. Ansari, in his articulation on
communalism, makes a distinction between ‘communalism’ and ‘communal riots.’ In his view
while communalism is ‘a way of thought and continuous operation’, the communal riot ‘is the
logical result of this operation’ (Azizi, 2004, p. 75). Communalism is that ‘preparatory period that
is wrongly regarded as the peaceful times’ and when ‘power-hungry communalist leaders
cunningly remain engaged in amassing the heap of gunpowder at another place...through writings,
speeches, reports and rumours and await proper time to set fire’ (p. 75). Marking a broad
distinction between communalism as ideology and communalism as event, Ansari asserts that ‘the
ignominious and accursed riots cannot be prevented without demolition of the castle of
communalism’ (p. 75). In Ansari’s view the ‘origin of the communal bias, massacre and plunder
starts from the Britishers’ two-nation theory and consequently the birth of Pakistan’ (p. 76). While
emphasizing the centrality of communalism in his own political struggle Ansari says:
I have always fought against communalism in the field. I have greatly sacrificed for
this...On one side, I had to face the oppression of the British government just after entry
into the political life. On the other, I set my face against Mr. Jinnah’s two-nation theory as
well as League’s communalism. Mr. Jinnah had claimed that with the establishment of
Pakistan, all the Muslim problems would be solved. Communalism won, and Pakistan was
11
There could be two probable reasons for this. One, the ashrāf class which led the ML was perceived as the
immediate oppressor by the AIMC and therefore the sharpest critique was reserved for it. In a similar vein, one may
point out that while Dr B. R. Ambedkar was critical of both the Congress and ML his critique of the former was
particularly strong as it was manned by the Hindu higher castes/classes whom the Dalits construed as the immediate
oppressors. Secondly, as Brass puts it ‘the Muslim League dominated by elite Muslim leaders, had no appeal to the
momins whereas the Congress, with its Gandhian symbol of the spinning wheels with its pledges of support to the
indigenous handicrafts appealed to the economic interest of the Muslim handloom weavers’ (quoted in Ansari, 1989,
p. 89). However, Rai disagrees: ‘But more than the Gandhian programmes, the Congress promise, at least at face
value, of engaging all classes by eliminating elite dominance proved more attractive for the Momins as well. In fact,
the internalisation of discrimination generation after generation and attribution of inferior status would have been
more decisive than proximity to the Gandhian programme in deciding the community’s political affiliation’ (2012, p.
64).
84
founded in course of time. But the question is: were the total problems of Muslims cured
and solved? Not to speak of the solutions to all the problems, even a single problem has
not been solved as yet (p. 79).
In another place Ansari opines:
If we have to put an end to communalism, the idea of two-nation theory should be buried.
RSS and Jana Sangh are the largest banner bearers of Jinnah’s two-nation theory in this
country. So, I have been emphasizing on the matter that all parties functioning on
communal ground, should be legally banned whether these are RSS, Jana Sangh, Jamaat-
e-Islami or Muslim League. But I do not think that mere legal ban on communal parties
will solve the problem…Today we see that there is no department of life fully free from
communalism. Therefore, on the national level, a countrywide movement is needed along
with ban on communal parties (p. 83-84).
Ansari, a champion of composite nationalism (muttahida qawmiyat), positioned himself against

the forces of religious nationalisms and saw the Momins as simultaneously inhabiting ‘Indian
Brotherhood’ and ‘Islamic Brotherhood’: ‘Our position here is threefold: firstly we are Indians,
then we are Muslims and again we are Momin Ansars’ (Ansari, 1989, pp. 20-21). While seeing
the ‘communal issue’ as ‘basically the problem of law and order’ to be handled by the
administration, he brings to relief the role of ‘known professional communalists’ in the majority
community for fomenting riots and inciting violence against Muslims. However, he stresses that
‘it cannot be denied that there are also professional communalists among Muslims whose motto
of life is to endanger and damage the nation’ (Azizi, 2004, p. 87). For Ansari ‘Communalism had
to be fought on all fronts, be it of the minority community or of the majority community’ (Ansari,
1989, p. 31).
In 1942 the Hindustan Standard carried a report of third Champaran Momin Conference where
Ansari ‘laid much stress on the Hindu-Muslim unity and asked the poor, whether Muslims or
Hindus, to unite against their exploiters, the rich, be they Hindus or Muslims, who were united in
protecting their own interests by oppressing the poor to whichever community they belonged’
(Azizi, 2004, p. 40). Ansari also offered a vibrant critique of the ‘educational system, another
legacy of the Britishers’ for ‘a number of text-books tended to create a feeling of hatred among
one community against another.’ In his view ‘the educational system itself should be thoroughly
reoriented to foster the spirit of nationalism among every Indian’ (Ansari, 1989, p. 22). In another
space he says ‘some people simply raise the question: what is communalism? My clear-cut answer
is that everything that comes in the way of being a nation is communalism. Our basic trouble is
that trifle loyalties dominate over us’ (Azizi, 2004, p. 74). Overall, he advocated strong
administrative measures, mass movements and pedagogical interventions to offset communalism.
85
The second wave of the Pasmanda movement12 (1990s onwards) continued with most of the
themes already introduced by the AIMC but with a few shifts. One, the term ‘Pasmanda’ has
replaced ‘Momin’ to refer to disenfranchised Muslim castes.13 Two, there is a marked influence of
Bahujan discourse (Rodrigues, 2008) in the vocabulary of the movement. For instance, as opposed
to the ashrafized tendencies to fictitiously connect to Arabic historical figures and surnames, there
is more emphasis on the indigenous roots (moolniwāsi) in the present phase of Pasmanda identity
formation. In the context of communalism Ali Anwar says:
We see that the politics of communalism, fuelled by both Hindu and Muslim elites, is aimed
at dividing us, making us fight among ourselves, so that the elites continue to rule over us
as they have been doing for centuries. This is why we in the Mahaz have been seeking to
steer our people from emotional politics to politics centred on issues of survival and daily
existence and social justice, and for this we have been working with non-Muslim Dalit and
Backward Caste movements and groups to struggle jointly for our rights and to oppose the
politics of communalism fuelled by Hindu and Muslim 'upper' caste elites (Anwar &
Sikand, 2005).
Ali Anwar’s articulation clearly construes communalism as an epiphenomenon that masks the
machinations of ruling caste elite across religions to maintain their hegemony. In order to challenge
that he emphasizes on a ‘politics centred on issues of survival and daily existence and social
justice’ and forging a counter-hegemonic solidarity of subordinated castes across religions. The
Pasmanda slogan ‘Dalit-Pichda ek Saman, Hindu Ho ya Musalman’ (All Dalit-Backwards are
alike, whether they be Hindu or Muslim) captures this radical notion of horizontal solidarity
succinctly (Ansari, 2013). In conversations with other Pasmanda activists I discovered that such
readings of communalism were shared quite widely by most activists in the Mahaz.14
Hashim Pasmanda,15 a power-loom worker from Mau (Uttar Pradesh) and associated with the
Mahaz since 2004, says that ‘when we were very young, about ten years back, we used to feel that
12
The caste movement among Indian Muslims is now consolidating with various organizations springing up in
various jurisdictions (For instance: All India Pasmanda Muslim Mahaz (AIPMM) and All India United Muslim
Morcha (AIUMM) in Bihar; Pasmanda Front in Uttar Pradesh; Uttar Bango Anagrasar Muslim Sangram Samiti in
West Bengal; and All India Muslim OBC Organization (AIMOBCO) in Maharashtra). Moreover, some of these
organizations have branches in Jharkhand, Karnataka, and Madhya Pradesh and so on (Vora, 2008, pp. 45-46). While
many Backward and Adivasi Muslims have been recognized as OBCs and STs, the Dalit Muslims owing to Clause 3
of Presidential Order 1950 have been kept out of the SC list.
13
The term ‘Pasmanda’ was coined by Ali Anwar, the founder of the All India Pasmanda Muslim Mahaz in
1998.
14
All interviews were conducted in Hindustani and the translations into English are mine.
15
Personal interview in Mau (Uttar Pradesh), May 29, 2013.
86
these are Hindu-Muslim riots.’ But the Mau riots (2005), which Hashim experienced first-hand,
altered his views dramatically. He discovered that the victims of the riots were all Pasmanda
Muslims and ‘none of the Syeds were killed, not even one Pathan was killed.’ Holding the local
Muslim mafia-don and politician Mukhtar Ansari16 as equally responsible for riots he says, ‘the
riot happened because of him (Mukhtar Ansari) and also because of savarna (high castes) from
the other (Hindu) community...jo dono taraf ka ashrāfiya tabka hai unhi ki milibhagat se ye sab
dange ho rahe hain’ (The riots are happening because of the collusion of higher castes from both
the communities). Hashim sees a more sinister plan at work and feels that the riots are being
deliberately manufactured to damage the solidarity of lower castes across religions since the
Mandal moment. He feels it is not in the interest of the higher caste Muslims if the Pasmanda
sections become aware that they are now entitled to reservations in the government jobs along
with Hindu OBCs. Hence, the emotional riot discourse comes handy for the elites in obliterating
the issues of empowerment. ‘Brother, whether it is Shankaracharya (Brahmin) or Imam Bukhari
(Syed)...they decide sitting in the same room what each has to say...and then they come and give
speeches, and the riots start. Afterwards, they have tea together.’
I met Mukhtar Ahmad,17 an activist with the Mahaz and from the Julaha caste, just a week after
Khalid Mujahid18 was buried. Mukhtar looked extremely saddened with what he thought was a
cold-blooded custodial murder of Mujahid. Khalid Mujahid, Mukhtar informed me, was from a
neighbourhood of lower caste Muslim Dafalis (tambourine players) in Madiaon town and
belonged to the Muslim Halalkhor (sweeper) caste. Citing another murder of DCP Zia-ul-
Haque,19 who belonged to the Saeen/Faqeer (mendicant) caste, Mukhtar complained of the
lackadaisical response from the Muslim politicians, mostly higher castes, to these tragedies.
‘Agar aaj humari biradari Dalit quota men shamil hoti to poore Hindustan mein bhoochal mach
gaya hota (Had our community been included in the SC quota today, the entire country would
have felt the tremors).’ Mukhtar here indicates at the possibility of an increase in representation
of Dalit Muslims had legislative seats been reserved for them just like Hindu, Sikh and Buddhist
Dalits. Mukhtar suggests that with the increase in cases where Muslim youth have been picked
up by intelligence/security agencies on alleged charges of terrorism, Muslim organisations
headed by ashrāf sections, like the Ulema Council, have got a fresh lease of life. 'Yeh hamare
mein RSS hain'
16
Hashim quickly adds that despite using the surname ‘Ansari’ mostly used by subordinated weaver caste
Mukhtar Ansari was actually a higher caste Muslim Sheikh.
17
Personal interview in Mau (Uttar Pradesh), May 30, 2013.
18
Khalid Mujahid was an under-trial who was arrested in 2007 in connection with bomb blasts in UP earlier
that year. Mujahid died on 19 May 2013 when he was being escorted by a team of the Uttar Pradesh state police from
a court in Faizabad to Lucknow jail. His death while under police escort was seen as a clear case of custodial killing
(Chishti, 2013; PUDR, 2013; TNN, 2013).
19
DSP Zia-ul-Haque was shot dead on March 2, 2013 in the constituency of mafia-don turned politician Raja
Bhaiya. Senior police officer Haque had prepared a list of cases against the MLA. Raja Bhaiya, whose real name is
Raghuraj Pratap Singh, was accused of conspiring in the murder of Zia-ul-Haque (Chaturvedi, 2013; Khan, 2013).
87
(These organizations like Ulema Council are just like RSS amongst us). They are the ones that
benefit. See whenever they unite the Muslims, the Hindus get united too. And these organizations
profiteer from that while it is we (the Pasmanda) who face the brunt.’ Mukhtar recalls:
When Yogi Adityanath visited Azamgarh a person from the (Muslim) butcher community
(chikwa) was killed. On that issue none of the (Muslim) higher castes launched a
movement, neither did they agitate...His (Yogi Adityanath’s) bodyguard had fired at him.
This occured about three years back. Nothing happened. Now take the example of the
Ulema Council...this happened day before yesterday. They went on a rampage (tod-phod)
in Rani ki Sarai (a neighbourhood). But the cases were filed against us (the Pasmanda).
Another instance is that of the ‘truck episode.’ Here in Mau. I am an eyewitness to that
tragedy. A truck which came from Hajipur had entered the city. It ran over four youths and
they died. After that the local people got furious and went berserk. The police fired and an
additional four youths got killed. Cases were subsequently filed. In one of the cases even
the DM and SP were accused. The local (Muslim) elite however worked closely with the
government to save the skin of the big officers. But our young people (Pasmanda) are still
accused. Whenever an incident happens these people (the higher caste Muslims) make a
hue and cry over releif for a few days but after that our people are left to fend for
themselves. This is what I have been experiencing from the beginning...Our ulema (ashrāf
religious leaders) just keep us involved in emotional issues and we pay the price...
In my field visits Saroj, the resident of Lohra Taqiya (near Azamgarh) and belonging to the Muslim
Jogi (mendicant) caste, narrated a revealing story.20 The locality where he lives has about hundred
huts belonging to the jogi families and it is contrasted by the locality of high caste Pathans that
live in pucca (bricked) houses at some distance. The Pathans, according to Saroj, do not intermix
with the jogis and view them as inferiors (‘hum ko sahi nazar se nahin dekhte hain’) and only fit
to work as labourers for them. He recounts the horror of the night when the village was looted by
the neighbouring Hindus (‘Chamar, Yadav, Khatik’) in the early 1990s. The tension started with
the sacrifice of a buffalo by the pathan community on the occasion of Eid-ul-Zuha. The religious
sensibilities of the local Hindu community were hurt (they probably thought that the holy cow was
slaughtered) and they attacked the jogi locality. On asked why the jogi locality and not the
pathan locality was attacked, Saroj said ‘They (pathans) are powerful (dabang). We are weak.
Everything was looted. The door, utensils, cows, buffaloes...’ On top of that the pathans,
Saroj believes, actually approached the government and other donors in Saudi Arabia seeking
compensation on behalf of Muslims. According to Saroj none of the funds received were ever
shared with the jogis, the actual victims, and all the compensation was cornered by the pathans.
‘They (the pathans) said to the government that our village was looted and made houses for
themselves (from the money received)...jogiyon ka gaon lut gaya hai kah ke saara rupya daba ke
baith gaye.’
20
Personal interview in Azamgarh (Uttar Pradesh), June 1 2013.
88
Ali Anwar, in one of his recent lectures, urged the Pasmanda sections to be cautious from Muslim
communalists. ‘Someone plans from the old Hyderabad city...someone utters an irresponsible
statement from Dilli 6...someone uses the sermons from the religious pulpit (mimbar)
irresponsibly. All this is counterproductive. There is a reaction.’21 Noor Hasan Azad, a senior
activist from the Muslim Pamadia (folk singers) caste says that while ‘Babri Masjid may have
been an issue of all Muslims’ but ‘the politics that happened over it is actually Muslim upper caste
politics. They use mosques, especially Friday sermons, for their politics. This is a real threat to
Islam’ (Azad & Ansari, 2011). Waqar Hawari, an activist from the Dhobi (launderers) caste also
says: ‘While Muslim politicians like Imam Bukhari and Syed Shahabuddin add the jodan (starter
yoghurt), it is left to the Hindu fundamentalists to prepare the yoghurt of communalism. Both of
them are responsible. We oppose the politics of both Hindu and Muslim fanaticism.’22 In another
recent interview Ali Anwar opined:
Muslims are being specially targeted for a purpose...and those who are being killed are
Pasmanda Muslims. You can see for yourself...those who were lynched in Jharkhand they
were Pasmanda Muslims, those who were killed in Mewat were Pasmanda Muslims,
Najeeb who was abducted from JNU is a Pasmanda...Look at the history of violence. Those
who live in protected localities, those in possession of licensed weapons, or those who live
in posh colonies...they are very rarely victims. Those who sleep in the footpaths, those who
walk back from the railway station or the bus stand...they are the ones who are attacked
(Maududi & Ansari, 2017).
Tanvir Alam,23 a Patna based activist from julāhā caste, feels that most of the riots are engineered
in those locations where the Pasmanda sections are doing well economically. He goes on at length
to describe the Bhagalpur riots (1989) and says that ‘All the Marwaris (Hindu merchants) have
taken over the business. Those who were entrepreneurs earlier (the Pasmanda) have been reduced
to the labouring class now.’ He opines that previously one used to witness ‘communal riots’ where
‘there used to be riots between two communities (samaj)’ but increasingly we are witnessing what
could be dubbed as ‘people versus administration (prashasan-public danga) riot.’ In this new form
of violence, he feels that the police (khaki vardi) are now killing Muslims with impunity. Irshad
Ahmad,24 a journalist from the Mansoori (cotton carder) caste and on the editorial board of the
journal Pasmanda Awaaz, argues that the fear of communalism will not cease until the Muslims
are treated as a consolidated vote-bank by secular parties. According to him when various Muslim
21
Ali Anwar’s lecture ‘Political Perspective of Country and Role of Opposition,’ Organized by Jamaat-e-Islami
Hind, Conference Hall Markaz Jamaat-e-Islami Hind, New Delhi, August 5, 2017.
22
Personal interview in Azamgarh (Uttar Pradesh), June 1, 2013.
23
Personal interview in Patna (Bihar), May 25, 2013.
24
Personal interview in Patna (Bihar), May 27, 2013.
89
castes start voting for different political parties ‘that will be a perfect and secure day for Muslims.’
Ahmad feels that a community is democratically underdeveloped if it votes any particular party as
‘a chunk’. So, ‘when Pasmanda movement will become strong, secularism will also get
strengthened. The fear of communalism will also be minimized.’
If one were to delineate the key issues flagged in the Pasmanda discursive space with respect to
communalism then the following could be suggested: communalism as an antidote to the values
of nationalism/secularism/rationalism, communalism as an ideology and event, the role of elite
hand and riot specialists, communalism as a law and order concern, the symbiotic relation between
Hindu and Muslim communalisms, the economic dimension behind riots and so on. Also, the
spheres of national, faith and caste communities are sought to be reconciled at one level, and at
another a counterhegemonic solidarity of subordinated castes across religions is advanced as a
strategy. Such disparate elements clearly indicate the complex reality and negotiations that the
subaltern sections like the Pasmanda confront and engage with. Drawing from the Pasmanda
narratives and the social-scientific knowledge on communalism, there are three issues that
probably require further reflection: a) The relationship between orientalism, caste and ‘Muslim
communalism’; b) The question of the equivalence between competing Hindu and Muslim
communalisms; c) The question of elite restorative violence, low caste foot soldiers and their
agency.
II Three key issues
A. Deorientalizing the Caste-Communal Debate
Menon connects the ‘pursuit of that obscure object of desire—modernity’ with the simultaneous
‘repression of the persistence of the primordial’ in modern India’s story (2007, p. 60). In his view
it is the exigent need to construct the ‘secular self’ in the context of the postcolonial ‘national
project’ that may be responsible for ‘a reluctance to engage with what is arguably an intimate
relation between the discourses of caste, secularism and communalism’ (p. 61). The following
hypothesis is offered to explain communalism:
That Hinduism is a hierarchical, inegalitarian structure is largely accepted, but what has
gone unacknowledged in academic discourse is the casual brutality and organized violence
that it practices towards its subordinate sections. What we need to explore is Hindu-Hindu
violence as much as Hindu-Muslim violence; and acknowledge that the former is
historically prior. The question needs to be: how has the employment of violence against
an internal Other, that is, the lower caste, been transformed into one of aggression against
an external Other, that is, the Muslim (the question being both relational as well as
historical). Is communalism a deflection of the central, unaddressed issue of violence and
inegalitarianism within the Hindu religion? Is communalism the highest stage of casteism?
(p. 61; emphasis in original)
90
Bringing in historical evidence Menon suggests that ‘in the period from 1850–1947, communal
violence has always followed periods of lower caste mobility and assertion’ (p. 65). The crux of
his argument is that the internal challenge of upwardly mobile subordinated Hindu caste groups to
higher caste Hindus from the mid-nineteenth century onwards was resolved by the closing of ranks
on symbolic issues like cow protection and deflecting this resistance towards the Muslims (p. 65).
Patel too concurs with this view and while reflecting on the postcolonial Indian context posits:
‘The emergence of communalism as a substantial political force is a direct consequence of ruling
groups (i.e. upper castes controlling social, cultural, and economic power), and especially the
bureaucracy, desirous, in an attempt to perpetuate their dominance, to ride two horses—i.e. to
mobilize the lower castes and at the same time control their political aspirations’ (1996, pp. 171-
172 ). In a sense, both Menon and Patel indicate how the internal democratic challenge to high
caste hegemony is contingently resolved by suborning the lower castes into a homogeneous
communal discourse and associated violence. As Ambedkar noted ‘A caste has no feeling that it
is affiliated to other castes except when there is a Hindu-Muslim riot. On all other occasions each
caste endeavours to segregate itself and to distinguish itself from other castes’ (2002, p. 267).
However, while the role of caste in the construction of Hindu communalism has received scholarly
attention, the play of caste and Muslim-Muslim violence in the construction of ‘Muslim
communalism’ is left unaddressed in most discussions. How is the challenge that the assertive
subordinated Muslim castes posed to high caste ashrāf hegemony in British India, for instance
through the Momin Movement, related to the construction of Muslim communalism? Is Muslim
communalism also connected to Muslim-Muslim violence, in the sense that internal
inegalitarianism or violence within Indian Islam—for instance, against subordinated castes,
women, and dissenters—was sought to be managed by the ashrāf elite through the othering of
Hindus?25 In fact, the role of caste, and Muslim caste in particular, in the construction of competing
25
There is some evidence that Muslim higher castes have resorted to spectacular violence against subordinated
Muslim castes in both the British period and the post-1947 phase. One work indicates how the members of Momin
Conference clashed with the Muslim League after 1937 election results: ‘In places like Kanpur, relations between the
Muslim League and the Momin Conference were becoming worse. In a 4 September meeting of Jamait-ul-Mominin,
the Muslim League was severely criticised. The very next day, a clash occurred between some Momins and “Muslims”
resulting in the death of one Momin, three days later. It was alleged that the Mohammedan gundas of the Muslim
League were responsible for that’ (Rai, 2012, p. 65). My fieldwork in Naugawan Sadat town in district Jotiba Phule
Nagar (Amroha), Uttar Pradesh too revealed clashes between the subordinated caste Muslims with landed Shia Syeds
during the provincial elections held in 1946. Interestingly, the Syeds employed the ‘Hindu’ Dalits from valmiki
(sanitation workers) caste as foot soldiers in the attacks on Muslim julahas (weavers), qassabs (butchers) and lohars
(carpenters and ironsmiths). I must add that the status of valmikis and the Muslim subordinated castes mentioned
above were just like ryots and they offered their services or labour to the Syed landlords in exploitative terms. For a
relatively recent case of intra-Muslim caste violence in Allahpur (Bihar) see (Ansari, 2009) and for another interesting
story on a high caste Muslim Pathān led feudal private army, the Sunlight Sena, active in Bihar in the 1980s see Ghose,
2015 (I am thankful to Shahnawaz Ansari for pointing this out to me.). For other revealing episodes of Muslim-Muslim
caste and gender clashes in Bihar see Anwar, 2001. The southern state of Tamil Nadu also witnessed the murder of
Muslim turned atheist H. Farooq by the Islamists in 2017 (See Janardhanan, 2017). Based on my own engagement
with the Muslim social space for over a decade now I am tempted to point out that while the media professionals or
academics are trained to record Hindu-Hindu caste clashes or Hindu-Muslim violence as ‘caste atrocity’ or ‘religious
91
communalisms and eventual restructuring of the region into India, Pakistan and Bangladesh merits
more academic attention than it has so far.26
Interestingly, most Dalit-Bahujan engagements with communalism also seem to share the
reluctance to employ caste inter alia in understanding ‘Muslim communalism’ (Ilaiah, 2004;
Rajshekar, 2007; Teltumbde, 2005). One could speculate that this overlooking of the caste question
in understanding Muslim communalism emerges from the grip of orientalist assumptions in the
production of knowledge about subcontinental Islam and Muslims. Gottschalk makes an
interesting distinction between ‘routes religious groups...travel’ and ‘the roots they establish’
when discussing South Asian Muslims (2004, p. 4; emphasis in original). As a result,
“academicians steadfastly connect religions primarily with their places of origin no matter how
transnational the traditions may be. For instance, scholarship too often fastens upon the Middle
East as the ‘natural’ context of Islam. This seems particularly odd in the face of the fact that more
than half of the world’s Muslims live East of Afghanistan. Although Indonesia, India, Pakistan,
and Bangladesh are home to the world’s largest Muslim populations, the academic study of
religion has commonly labelled these as ‘Muslims on the periphery’ or ‘Islam from the edge’” (p.
9). If routes are privileged then Islam and Muslims must consequently be framed as outsiders and
‘Hindu, then becomes the only indigenous religious category, encompassing almost all religions
that originate in South Asia, such as Jainism and Sikhism, while people of other religions are tacitly
excluded from the national category by associating them with a foreign religious category’(p. 12).
If the hegemonic grip of the notion of ‘India = Hinduism’ and ‘Islam = Middle East’ in the
sociological production of South Asia is conceded, then it will not be difficult to appreciate why
caste becomes a suspect category in studying South Asian Islam. If caste is Indian, and therefore
by default Hindu, it can only be posed as a regrettable variation. It is only when knowledge
production about subcontinental Islam/Muslims is deorientalized that caste could emerge as a
structural mode of exclusion and disciplining—central to the distribution of wealth, desire and
power—which applies not only to Hindus but to all sections of the subcontinent, including
Muslims (even when there are differences in legitimating vocabularies used for caste in different
faith traditions). Also, for the most part studies on Islam have overemphasized its normative-
egalitarian dimensions and the play of hierarchy in Muslim intellectual-social space, other than
probably gender inequality one would suggest, has received little attention (see El-Zein, 1977;
Kazuo, 2004; Marlow, 1997; Kazuo, 2012; Falahi, 2007 for useful discussions). One may hope
that the sharpening of the Pasmanda contestations in the public sphere will push the discussions in
new directions and parochialize the domination of the normative-theological with more grounded
historical-sociological investigations of subcontinental Muslims, particularly caste (for a
riots,’ the cases of Muslim-Muslim caste violence are usually treated as a quotidian law and order problem and brushed
aside.
26
For rare historical enquiries that record Muslim caste in the discussions on Partition see Ghosh, 2007,
2008, 2010; Sajjad, 2014.
92
pioneering attempt see Ahmad & Reifeld, 2004; Ahmad, 1973). Once this is accomplished the
connection of caste to Muslim communalism could be posed with more confidence.
B. Competing Communalisms: The Equivalence Argument
How should one talk of ‘Muslim communalism’ in a setting where Hindu right wing, particularly
since the 1990s, is clearly ascendant? In the face of the escalating incidents of communal violence
against Muslims organized by the right-wing Hindu sections should the liberal-left and Dalit-
Bahujan groups consider communal Muslim (or Islamist) organizations as potential allies? To
address this question, it will be useful to contrast the career of Muslim communalism in the British
period with that of the post-1947 phase because historical memory often animates the
contemporary in convoluted ways. In the early 1940s Smith had remarked that ‘Muslim
communalists’ were ‘highly conscious of the Muslims within India as a supposedly single,
cohesive community, to which they devote their loyalty’ and it matters little ‘whether the
individuals included are religiously ardent, tepid or cold; orthodox, liberal or atheist; righteous or
vicious; or to whether they are landlord or peasant, prince or proletarian’ (1943, p. 185).
Dr B. R. Ambedkar, one of the most astute observers of political developments in the British
period,27 compiles a number of cases of murders of Hindus by Muslim fanatics for having offended
the latter’s religious sensibilities.28 Of these the controversy over the pamphlet Rangila Rasul (The
Colourful Prophet) is particularly instructive. Rangila Rasul was written by Prashaad Prataab
(under the pen name of Pandit Chamupati Lal) in response, as Ambedkar informs us, to the
inflammatory pamphlet Sitaka Chinala ‘written by a Muslim alleging that Sita, wife of Rama, the
hero of Ramayana, was a prostitute’ (2014, p. 169). The pamphlet which takes pot-shots at the
intimate life of Prophet Muhammad, was published by Rajpal in 1923 under the condition that he
would not reveal the identity of the author. It understandably incensed Muslim public opinion and
27
‘However, these nationalist ulama as well as the most ardent supporters of Pakistan were greatly indebted
to someone, who more than anybody during the 1940s shaped the debate on Pakistan imparting it with coherence,
discipline and stability. This was the other constitutional lawyer from Bombay, B. R. Ambedkar. His enormously
influential Thoughts on Pakistan was quoted by both Gandhi and Jinnah as the authoritative treatise on Pakistan when
they met for their famous series of meetings in Bombay in 1944’ (Dhulipala, 2015, p. 18).
28
‘It is a notorious fact that many prominent Hindus who had offended the religious susceptibilities
of the Muslims either by their writings or by their part in the Shudhi movement have been murdered by some fanatic
Musalmans. First to suffer was Swami Shradhanand, who was shot by Abdul Rashid on 23rd December 1926 when
he was lying in his sick bed. This was followed by the murder of Lala Nanakchand, a prominent Arya Samajist of
Delhi. Rajpal, the author of the Rangila Rasool, was stabbed by Ilamdin on 6th April 1929 while he was sitting in his
shop. Nathuramal Sharma was murdered by Abdul Qayum in September 1934. It was an act of great daring. For
Sharma was stabbed to death in the Court of the Judicial Commissioner of Sind where he was seated awaiting the
hearing of his appeal against his conviction under Section 195, I. P. C, for the publication of a pamphlet on the history
of Islam. Khanna, the Secretary of the Hindu Sabha, was severely assaulted in 1938 by the Mahomedans after the
Session of the Hindu Maha Sabha held in Ahmedabad and very narrowly escaped death’ (Ambedkar, 2014, p. 156).
93
the matter was taken to the courts. After a long drawn legal battle Rajpal was able to escape a
sentence by the Lahore High Court. There were huge protests by the Muslim community and in a
retaliatory move Rajpal was eventually stabbed by Ilm Din, an unlettered carpenter, on April 6,
1929. Ilm Din's case was fought by Mohammad Ali Jinnah, apparently the only case which Jinnah
lost, and he was eventually executed. While placing Ilm Din's body in the grave with teary eyes,
Allama Iqbal, the highly esteemed Muslim poet is supposed to have proclaimed: “Asi wekhde reh
gaye, aye, Tarkhaana da munda baazi le gaya” (We kept sitting idle while this carpenter’s son
took the lead) (Ali, 2015). Interestingly, ‘Ilamdin grew into a folk hero of sorts’ in Pakistan,
‘inspiring popular accounts of his exploits in many formats: film, poetry, prose and what can only
be described as fan fiction. In the 1970s, an unabashedly hagiographic biopic titled Ghazi Ilamdin
Shaheed hit cinemas, directed by Rasheed Dogar whose later credits would include the salaciously
titled Pyasa Badan, Husn Parast and Madam X’ (Kohari, 2017). Raza Rumi recently noted that
‘Ghazi Ilmudin Shaheed, who killed a Hindu writer for blasphemy in the early twentieth century,
is a national hero of Pakistan's collective memory’ (2014). Ambedkar notes that ‘the leading
Moslems, however, never condemned these criminals. On the contrary, they were hailed as
religious martyrs and agitation was carried on for clemency being shown to them’ (2014, p. 157).
The Muslim response to such controversies as Rangila Rasool is instructive because it blurs the
conceptual distinction between ‘communal’ and ‘nationalist’ Muslims and apparently
demonstrates the operation of a social class with common interests.29 While reflecting on the
incidence of communal rioting from 1920s onward Ambedkar complains of
[t]he adoption by the Muslims of the gangster’s method in politics. The riots are a sufficient
indication that gangsterism has become a settled part of their strategy in politics…So long
as the Muslims were the aggressors, the Hindus were passive, and in the conflict, they
suffered more than the Muslims did.30 But this is no longer true. The Hindus have learned
29
An interesting take from a slightly simplistic liberal-modernist viewpoint is offered by Hamid Dalwai in the
section ‘Muslims: The so-called Nationalists and the Communalists’ in Muslim Politics in India (1968, pp. 63-78).
Dalwai makes the following remark: ‘For in an undivided India a specially privileged Muslim community would have
vigorously continued a movement for the Islamicization of India. In such a situation, it is most likely that the Muslim
League and the so-called ‘Nationalist Muslims’ would have joined forces…What was the difference between Jinnah
[the communalist Muslim] and the nationalist Muslims? While Jinnah wanted a separate state, the nationalist Muslims
wanted the whole of India’ (pp. 70-71).
30
Also: ‘These acts of barbarism against women, committed without remorse, without shame and without
condemnation by their fellow brethren show the depth of the antagonism which divided the two communities. The
tempers on each side were the tempers of two warring nations. There was carnage, pillage, sacrilege and outrage of
every species, perpetrated by Hindus against Musalmans and by Musalmans against Hindus—more perhaps by
Musalmans against Hindus than by Hindus against Musalmans…What is astonishing is that these cold and deliberate
acts of rank, cruelty were not regarded as atrocities to be condemned but were treated as legitimate acts of warfare for
which no apology was necessary’ (Ambedkar, 2014, p. 186; emphasis added)
‘Even a superficial observer cannot fail to notice that a spirit of aggression underlies the Hindu attitude towards the
Muslim and the Muslim attitude towards the Hindu. The Hindu’s spirit of aggression is a new phase which he has just
94
to retaliate and no longer feel any compunction in knifing a Musalman. This spirit of
retaliation bids fair to produce the ugly spectacle of gangsterism against gangsterism (p.
269).
Ambedkar indicates at the competitive nature of communalisms when he opines that: ‘The
Muslims are howling against the Hindu Maha Sabha and its slogan of Hindudom and Hindu Raj.
But who is responsible for this? Hindu Maha Sabha and Hindu Raj are the inescapable nemesis
which the Musalmans have brought upon themselves by having a Muslim League. It is action and
counter-action. One gives rise to the other’ (p. 359). The preceding assessment of ‘Muslim
communalism’ in the colonial phase presents the historical context to evaluate the operation of the
category at present. While the Muslim communalists appear to be a vigorous force before 1947, it
has been pointed that ‘partition sent a disproportionate segment of the North Indian Ašrāf elite
including Syeds to East and West Pakistan’ with the consequence that the ‘Indian Muslim
community was effectively decapitated for a generation although this is less true of South India
where…Thangals remained in Kerala and Syeds among the Urdu-speaking population of Madras,
Bangalore and even Bombay’ (Wright Jr., 1999, p. 655). It is within such a shift that one can infer
‘that just as before 1947 the main damage to national unity was inflicted by Muslim communalism,
so after 1947 it is Hindu communalism which poses the main threat to India’s unity and
democracy’31 (Chandra, 2004, p. 38).
Obviously, Hindu and Muslim communalisms cannot be considered equivalent (Mannathukkaren,

2016), as right-wing Hindu groups are prone to insist, for two reasons. One, the impact of Muslim
communalism is largely on its internal others—subordinated castes, women and dissenters.32 Two,
Muslim communalism is not in a position to take over the State. However, what the Pasmanda
narratives point towards is that Muslim communal speech and action often provide a legitimating
vocabulary to the Right-wing Hindu groups. In this context, the alliance of a few
left/liberal/secularist or Dalit-Bahujan groups with Muslim communal groups often feeds into the
charges of Muslim appeasement and strengthens Hindutva further. Ambedkar had remarked in the
context of murders of Hindus by Muslim fanatics: ‘What is not understandable is the attitude of
Mr. Gandhi. Mr. Gandhi has been very punctilious in the matter of condemning any and every act
of violence and has forced the Congress, much against its will to condemn it. But Mr. Gandhi has
begun to cultivate. The Muslim’s spirit of aggression is his native endowment and is ancient as compared with that of
the Hindu. It is not that the Hindu, if given time, will not pick up and overtake the Muslim. But as matters stand to-
day, the Muslim in this exhibition of the spirit of aggression leaves the Hindu far behind’ (Ambedkar, 2014, p. 249;
emphasis added).
31
See the resignation letter of Jogendra Nath Mandal, a Dalit and Pakistan’s first law minister, to get a
glimpse of how riot technology was employed in Pakistan against the Hindu minorities, mostly Dalits (Mandal,
1950).
32
See note 25 above.
95
never protested such murders. Not only have the Musalmans not condemned these outrages but
even Mr. Gandhi has never called upon the leading Muslims to condemn them’ (2014, p. 157).
Hamid Dalwai, a humanist Muslim reformist voice from Maharashtra, too lambasted the uncritical
engagement of secular groups with Muslims: ‘It appears that all so-called secular political parties
in India are agreed upon keeping Indian Muslims in their mediaeval state’ (1968, p. 76). Speaking
of the left Dalwai says that ‘Muslim communalists in India and Indian communists have always
remained strange, but inseparable, bedfellows’ (p. 79). While the silence of a significant section
of the secularists/liberals/leftists/bahujans when it comes to Muslim communal groups requires an
analysis of class/caste content of the leadership of these groups, it is important to underscore that
the Pasmanda voices have in principle urged maintaining a distance from both contending
communalisms. When the Pasmanda groups challenge both Muslim and Hindu communalism they
are not in principle establishing a relation of equivalence between the two for the power
differentials are too obvious. What the Pasmanda critique points towards is the symbiotic and co-
constitutive nature of competing communalisms and the strategic and self-defeating blunder of
tackling majoritarianism without also simultaneously taking on minorityism.
C. Muslim Communalism: Elite Politics and Subaltern Foot Soldiers
The Pasmanda narratives stress that in instances of communal violence it is the Pasmanda sections
who have been the key victims (Pasmanda, 2013, p. 11). It is only recently that the caste location
of victims of communal violence has received some academic/media attention. At least two papers
on Muzaffarnagar riots (2013) have employed the caste category in their analysis. For instance,
Ahmad says ‘The questions of Muslim caste-diversity and public presence are equally important
aspects to understand the victimhood of Muslims in these riots (though this point has been almost
entirely ignored in most of the discussions)...As per an unofficial estimate, most of those Muslims
who died in the present violence were backwards’ (2013, p. 11). And, Singh: ‘The victims of the
riot by and large belong to the poorer class of Pasmanda Muslims, generally engaged in non-
agricultural occupations’ (2016, p. 94). Also, in some recent communal episodes in Dadri, Bijnor,
Jharkhand and elsewhere some commentators have emphasized on the lower caste location of
Muslim victims (Sajjad, 2016; Naqvi, 2016). Even if one concedes that during episodes of
communal violence the perpetrators may have only religion of the Muslim targets in mind, the
ascriptive aspect of the violence could be complicated by the spatial/class distribution of
vulnerability. Is it not the case that in episodes of communal violence it is mostly the poor
individuals/families, neighbourhoods, slums, or villages that are attacked? 33 If so then in the light
of the close correlation between caste and class (Vaid, 2012) one may ask which Muslim caste
groups inhabit these spaces. Another work urges us to ‘look at the demographic and geographical
features of various groups and their differential participation, involvement and victimisation in
33
According to Pandey ‘…when riots have occurred in any urban concentration anywhere in the world, the
densely-populated, ill-serviced and poorer localities of the lower classes have generally burned most fiercely’ (1990,
pp. 70-71).
96
communal riots’ (Jairath, 2014, p. 395). Interestingly, a scholar-activist from Kashmir has recently
employed the caste category to make sense of violence in the insurgency-infected state:
To this day the Syeds dominate the bureaucracy and the invisible apartheid continues. The
Islamic revivalist movements that spread their network in Kashmir, including Jamaat-e-
Islami, too were dominated by the Syeds as they had the privilege and legacy of
Islamic teachings...At one point, the resistance movement against India too was dominated
by the Syeds though the insurgency was started by the non-Syeds and they continue to offer
sacrifices and become cannon fodder, with the Syeds ruling the roost and enjoying the
leadership privilege. Few Syeds and Khojas lost their lives or took part in the insurgency,
but both United Jihad Council and Hurriyat Conference are dominated by Syeds, who want
the sacrifices from the non-Syeds and luxurious lives for their wards and extended family.
They have used every mechanism to keep the masses occupied with the conflict so that they
don't engage with the larger questions associated with it, including caste and privileges
(Sikander, 2017; emphasis added).
What the above observations in the context of the extreme situation of Kashmir and the Pasmanda
narratives indicate is the probable distance between the actual victims and the beneficiaries of the
politics of Muslim victimhood at one level and the displacement of social justice issues through
violence at another. Quaiser employs the term ‘elite Muslim restorational politics’ (2011, p. 52) to
capture this and speculates if the high caste Muslims are ‘really concerned with communal riots
or general backwardness of Shudra Muslims? Hasn’t the aggressive Hindutva communalism
provided them with an opportunity to make their presence felt more prominently and make
assertions to recover some of the lost location in whatever forms possible?’(p. 53; emphasis in
original).
However, the emphasis on elite machinations still does not adequately explain the suborning of
subordinated castes as foot soldiers in communal violence. What explains the recruitment of
someone like Ilm Din, the carpenter in communal violence when the beneficiaries theoretically are
the ashrāf classes? While I intend to discuss this question in greater detail elsewhere, one could
tentatively indicate three directions to pursue for better explanations. Firstly, one needs to make a
distinction between the ‘structural positions’—the positions of an individual within hierarchical
social, cultural, political and economic systems by forces and institutions that are prior to her will
and which shape the individual’s life chances—and the ‘subject positions’ (or identities) through
which she lives out her structural positions (Smith, 1998, p. 56). While the essentialist argument
holds ‘authentic’ interests to be flowing directly from structural positions and explains the failure
of the subject to see this as an instance of false consciousness, the constructivist argument would
emphasise the mediation of various competing political discourses, interpretative frameworks,
desire and even personal accidents in subject formation (pp. 58-59). Secondly, on the question of
identity formation, so far, the Pasmanda thinkers have focused more on the role of state and
politics. But Peter van der Veer rightly asks us ‘to escape from the hegemony of the discourse on
state hegemony’ and realise that ‘community formation has a variety of sources, but in the case of
religious nationalism we have to focus more than we often do on religious movements and
97
institutions, as well as on the disciplinary practices connected to them’ (1994, p. 201). In this sense,
one needs to explore what bearing the process of Islamization/ashrāfization or piety (Mahmood,
2005) have on the questions of empowerment/agency of subordinated castes and women within
the Muslim social space in India? What impact does it have on communalism? And, thirdly, one
needs to explore the impact on the leadership content of Islamic institutions in the face of the
significant migration of north Indian Muslim elite, particularly the Syeds who dominated the
religious institutions, to Pakistan or their shift to more secular professions (Wright Jr., 1999)? Has
there been a challenge from upwardly mobile Pasmanda sections to ashrāf domination within
Islamic institutions like the madrasas (Alam, 2009)? What potential do these probable shifts hold
for democratization of the Muslim social space and curricula reform in madrasas? How will these
potential ruptures affect the conceptualization of identity and solidarity in the Muslim sphere in
India? I believe these questions require substantive engagement by those reflecting on the
Pasmanda movement as activists or researchers.
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