LETTERS Issn 0012-9976 Ever since the first issue in 1966, EPW has been India’s premier journal for comment on current affairs and research in the social sciences. It succeeded Economic Weekly (1949-1965), which was launched and shepherded by Sachin Chaudhuri, who was also the founder-editor of EPW. As editor for thirty-five years (1969-2004) Krishna Raj gave EPW the reputation it now enjoys.
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Providing Healthcare
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he article “Public-Private Partnerships in Maternal Health Services” by T K Sundari Ravindran (EPW, 26 November 2011) is timely. It will be good to realise that the best way to care for the poor is through the public sector which does not have concerns of “economic viability”. If the idea is to supplement the public sector with the enormous resources that the country has created in the private sector, the paradigms and expectations need to be tailored accordingly. This is what the World Health Partners’ (whp) project in Uttar Pradesh (up), referred to in the article, attempts to do. We also focus on above-the-poverty line segments to build the service delivery infrastructure in order to reduce the onus on the public sector and, as a logical extension, use special subsidies to address the needs of the segments below the poverty line (bpl) through the same infrastructure. One point worth noting, which the article does not mention, is that WHP’s UP project is primarily focused on family planning. This being a preventive service, it does not induce too much interest among the private providers, particularly in rural areas where the need is the most but the caseload for individual providers is very limited. WHP deals with this challenge by creating an economic opportunity by the provision of curative care through a technology-based or business-linked service delivery system but makes provision of family planning mandatory. The investment in the technology was about Rs 1.2 lakh when WHP was established three years ago and has now been brought down to Rs 40,000 (and likely to come down further in view of cheaper hardware now being avail able). The entire investment is made by the rural entrepreneurs. An interesting progression is the option for rural providers which requires no investment – existing cell phones can connect rural patients with city doctors through special applications. While the clients indeed pay Rs 50 for consultations, BPL patients pay only Rs 10. The larger question is whether this is the best way to deliver healthcare. Absolutely not. Healthcare provision is a very people-sensitive affair, even more so in a
tightly knit society like ours. We ideally need patients to meet qualified providers in close confines where medical skills can combine with empathy. While we should work towards this ideal, our project focuses on the here-and-now so that people, particularly those in marginalised communities, can get services that are a little better than what they have access to. Gopi Gopalakrishnan World Health Partners New Delhi
Death of Kishenji and Peace Talks
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he encounter death of Communist Party of India (Maoist) politburo member Kishenji has raised some questions, which demand serious introspection by both the Maoists and the Mamata Banerjee government. The death of Kishenji was concordant with his philosophy of armed struggle, but the West Bengal government on its part should abide by the guidelines laid down by the National Human Rights Commission for investigating encounter deaths. This measure might help the state governmentappointed interlocutors initiate another round of talk with Maoists; with the death of Kishenji the process is now in tatters. On the other hand, it is high time the Maoists give serious thought to ending the murder of adivasis and popular activists of mainstream political parties in Jungalmahal of West Bengal. The gruesome murders of individuals cannot be legitimised as “punishment of agents of class enemy”. The villagers of the Jhargram, Belpahari, Kushbani regions, who once acted as “ears and eyes” for the slain leader and his organisation, might have refused to play that role any longer. This was evident from the tip-off on which joint forces acted successfully. Finally, notwithstanding the hostile attitude of both the government and Maoists, the mediators should strive to open dialogue between the two. Both sides need to realise that there is no winner or loser here, be it in the oppressive measures taken by the State or the prolonged people’s war waged against the State. Arnab Pal
Kharagpur, paschim medinipur, West Bengal
december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
LETTERS
Murder of Sr Valsa
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he People’s Union for Democratic Rights (pudr) joins other rights organisations and civil liberties bodies as well as common grieved citizens of this country in condemning the gruesome murder of Sr Valsa John in Puchwara village of Amrapara block/ PS in Pakur district of Jharkhand. Sr Valsa was hacked to death by a gang of assailants on the night of 15 November 2011, inside her rented accommodation in the village. Sr Valsa, a native of Kerala, had been an ordained nun of the Sisters of Charity of Jesus and Mary. She had been staying in Puchwara, Jharkhand, for over a decade and had started a small programme of forest conservation. That had enraged the local timber mafia and stone-quarry owners in the neighbourhood. Afterwards she spearheaded the Rajmahal Pahar Bachao Andolan (RPBA) an assertion of rights of the adivasis of some 30-odd villages against “displacement” and pollution caused by the mining adventures of the PANEM coal company (a Punjab-based mining corporation). Following an agreement with the PANEM in 2006, on compensation and other related issues, the assertion softened. But before that a few select activists of the RPBA died in a series of “accidents” and Sr Valsa John had also received death threats. In 2007, despite court orders she was arrested by the local police in RPBA-related cases (which made the court censure the police and warn them against such acts of contempt of court). This was indicative of the inclination of the local police. And it is relevant to point out here that right-wing Hindutva forces, with the generous backing of the mining companies have always been active in the area. Sr Valsa was running a free school for the children of the village and also a dispensary. Last but not the least, on 8 November 2011, a rape victim was not allowed to file her FIR. Sr Valsa was meant to accompany her to the local police station the day she was murdered. Prior to the killing of Sr Valsa, three to four of her colleagues had died in mysterious circumstances. We are shocked to learn that the local police refused to help on flimsy grounds Sr Valsa despite her complaint the night before she was killed. Their failure to provide security to Sr Valsa and other adivasis there is not only appalling but of
c oncern for the future of civil society in general and rights/social activists in particular. The visit of a PANEM official to the crime scene is another glaring example of police negligence. PUDR strongly condemns the failure of police and administration in protecting Sr Valsa and demands an immediate judicial inquiry and stringent action against the culprits. We also condemn the tendency to shift the blame to Maoists in any case of loot and killing without proper verification and investigation. In this case, the blame was shifted from the company against whom Sr Valsa had so openly campaigned to Maoists by way of an irresponsible statement made by one IPS officer. Harish Dhawan, Paramjeet Singh PUDR, New Delhi
Kuruganti Krishnamurty
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uruganti Krishnamurty was born on Krishnashtami (22 August 1936) at Nellore in Andhra Pradesh. Over the years people started fondly calling him KK. He passed away on 23 November 2011 at Hyderabad. Kuruganti Krishnamurty did his MA in Economics and MSc in Statistics at Andhra University in the late 1950s. After his postgraduation he joined the Gokhale Institute of Politics and Economics as a member of the faculty (1958-60). It was there that he met D U Sastry who later became his colleague at the Institute of Economic Growth (ieg), Delhi, and their academic collaboration flourished till the end. Thereafter, he proceeded to the University of Pennsylvania at Philadelphia in the United States to do his doctorate under the guidance of Lawrence R Klein. He was a member of the research staff in the Econometric Research Unit of the Department of Economics in that university (1960-62). It was during his stay at Pennsylvania that he shared his apartment with Meghnad Desai. He also came in contact with C Rangarajan, Kanta Marwah, and V N Pandit among others. When he completed the defence of his thesis, he was persuaded by V K R V Rao, to join the IEG as a member of the faculty (August 1963 to October 1976). There he had a circle of economist colleagues like P N Dhar, Ashish Bose, D U Sastry, among others and at the Delhi School of Economics he had close
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
friends like K L Krishna, V N Pandit and others. While at IEG he got an opportunity to work at the World Bank as an economist (December 1966-August 1968) and as a consultant (May-July 1975). Thereafter, he resigned from the IEG and joined the research department of the International Monetary Fund (November 1976-November 1979). Then he returned to India to join the IEG and was there until his retirement (August 1999). Thereafter, he joined the Administrative Staff College of India, Hyderabad, as an Honorary Visiting Professor and continued there until his death. I was a PhD scholar under K Krishnamurty at the IEG, joining the institute in 1981. He was very meticulous in reading data, which he learnt from his supervisor L R Klein and always insisted on researchers tabulating the estimated equation in the A4 ruled data sheets and mulling over them in the night as they lay in bed. After a gap of more than two decades, I had a chance to work with K Krishnamurty again in a different role at the Madras School of Economics when it was preparing the macro-model of the Indian economy with various sub-satellite models for the Reserve Bank of India. In spite of his age, his sharpness for minute details was the same and his eagerness to model the economy never diminished. He always said that for estima ting models you have to roll up your sleeves and get into the business in right earnest. I learnt the basics of modelling when he was working on the paper titled “Inflation and Growth: Model of Indian Economy”. In the early 1990s K Krishnamurty along with V N Pandit of Delhi School of Economics pioneered a large macro-model for India, under the Global Project LINK supported by UN-DESA and led by L R Klein, which was nicknamed the IEG-DSE model. This model was at a highly disaggregated level and had more than 200 behavioural equations. He was far-sighted and included contemporary issues such as thresholds in fiscal expansion and inflation, crowding-in and crowding-out, etc, into the model. Over the years the IEG-DSE model grew in popularity for its serious and rigorous exercise and was widely respected both in academia and policy circles. C Bhujanga Rao National Institute of Public Finance and Policy New Delhi
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december 10, 2011
Towards Healthcare for All Can we grasp an opportunity to provide health services to all Indians?
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ixty-five years after the Joseph Bhore Committee on health recommended that the State take full responsibility for providing preventive and curative services to all Indians, another opportunity to take a step in that direction is with us. The High Level Expert Group (HLEG) on Universal Health Coverage (UHC) for India, constituted by the Planning Commission, has offered a blueprint for introducing a National Health Package that would entitle all citizens to primary, secondary and tertiary care that is paid for by the state. This comes at a time when there is a momentum the world over – other than in the United States and China – to provide universal healthcare. India, which has one of the most indifferent records in the world in this area, must embark on the 10-year path laid out by the HLEG to move to universal care. It does not require mention that the health status of India’s people is poor. There are economic, social and regional differences but the larger picture is one of high mortality (of infants, children and mothers), low life expectancy and high morbidity. Only nine out of 191 countries spend less than the 4.4% of total government expenditure that India now devotes to health. The limited volume and quality of public services has been driving people to private health services. These are booming, but the large out-of-pocket expenses on healthcare and drugs are imposing a heavy burden on patients. Such expenditure is estimated to push 30 million people a year into poverty. It is no wonder that what Indians increasingly fear is not falling ill but what they have to pay to get better. In recent years the centre has hit on insurance schemes like the Rashtriya Swasthya Bima Yojana (RSBY) and state governments on healthcare like the Aarogyasri programme of Andhra Pradesh. But the RSBY is ineffective because it is inadequate and Aarogyasri does not look beyond surgical care. Programmes like the Aarogyasri are also cash cows for insurance companies and corporate hospitals. In a reversal of recent trends, the HLEG dares to ask the state to commit itself to providing “affordable, accountable, appropriate health services of assured quality…with the government being the guarantor and enabler, although not necessarily the only provider…” The committee makes recommendations in six important areas that are critical to realise the vision of UHC: (i) financing, (ii) service norms, (iii) human resources, (iv) community participation, (v) access to medicines, and (vi) management and institutional reforms. This, in effect, calls for a complete overhaul of the health sector and addresses in an integrated fashion all issues, from Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
establishing the infrastructure necessary to create human resources in health, to building healthcare institutions, delineating protocols for treatment, providing medicines, and, of course finding the required financial resources. The state will finance the National Health Package, but the services themselves will be provided by public and private providers who would be contracted for the purpose. There is no place for insurance companies and there will be no user fees. The focus is on healthcare but the HLEG also gives due importance to the social determinants of health (such as nutrition). The road map that the HLEG has laid out stretches to 2021-22. It has to be so since this is an ambitious plan to move from neglect to universal care. The big question, as always where it is a matter of state responsibility, is, “what will it cost and is it affordable?” There are, to be sure, many details to be filled, but in the vision of the committee UHC will require public spending on health to go from 1.2% of GDP today to 2.5% in 2017 and 3% in 2022. Considering the currently abysmally low level of outlays, this is not a huge increase to call for. And the committee rightly asks that this be financed from the general tax revenues and not from cesses. A system of UHC in which the state and not the private sector plays a predominant role will have to cope with major opposition from business interests that have entrenched themselves in everything from diagnostics to drug manufacture to health insurance to healthcare. These interests will also benefit from state-driven UHC, but it will not be on their terms. It is the state which will dictate terms. A phased introduction of UHC with the stakeholders – the people – immediately benefiting from the change in direction offers the best chance of success. Political formations will also be foolish to ignore the gains they can reap from introducing a system of rational and free healthcare that people of all classes are desperate for. A second major challenge is that this is a package that is being recommended to the centre for implementation. Where do the states – the providers of public healthcare in the constitutional scheme of things – stand? A package that the states do not have the autonomy to design and implement is destined to fail. So a federally-designed programme is essential. The challenges are many and the obstacles to implementation will not be minor. However, decent healthcare for every citizen is too important a matter to be delayed any longer by opposition of any kind. Will the United Progressive Alliance government be intelligent enough to pick up the blueprint that it has been offered?
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EDITORIALS
‘Republic Killing Its Own Children’ Has the Indian state decided that elimination of the leadership is the way to respond to the Maoists?
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nion Home Minister P Chidambaram, West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee, and officials of the central and state governments down the line have all been bent on establishing one point – that the claimed encounter in the Burishol forest 10 km from the West Bengal-Jharkhand border in which Mallojula Koteswara Rao, popularly known by his nom de guerre Kishenji, was supposed to have been killed was “real”. Frankly, given that the news reports have only reproduced what the police have put out, the circumstances of his death must be accepted for now as unknown. The renowned radical Telugu poet Varavara Rao who accompanied Kishenji’s niece to bring the body back to his hometown of Peddapalli in Karimnagar district of Andhra Pradesh is reported to have said: “In the last 43 years, I have seen so many bodies killed in so-called encounters but have not seen a body like this one...There is no place on the body where there is no injury” (The Hindu, 27 November). Human rights activists who saw the body before the commencement of the post-mortem also claim that the body carried injuries of numerous kinds – bullet, knife and burns – all over. One must await the results of the autopsy for an assessment of whether the “encounter” was a cold-blooded murder or a killing under police fire. The Indian public knew Kishenji from the media’s cameras that showed his cotton-clothed back with a scarf around his head, a gun draped over his shoulder. The people who worked with him were the ones who were to lose the most from the private expropriation and exploitation of jal-jungal-zameen (water-forestsland), part of the natural resource base of India’s eastern and central states, by multinationals, Indian and foreign. Those who considered him and his party, the Communist Party of India (Maoist) [CPI(Maoist)], enemies of the people had, in the name of peace, declared war on the very people who backed him. The West Bengal government had handed over some 4,500 acres of forestland to the Jindal business group at Salboni in Paschim Medinipur district even as the government’s land reform programme of allotting pattas (formal rights) for cultivable forestland and forestland under cultivation to the adivasis was kept in cold storage. After the detonation of a landmine in November 2008 on the route of West Bengal Chief Minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee, when he was returning after a foundation stone-laying ceremony at the site of a mining project, a reign of terror was let loose on the people of the area. This was actively resisted by the adivasis with Maoist backing. The Pulishi Atyachar-er Birudhhe Janasadharan-er Committee (People’s Committee against Police Atrocities, the PCAPA) was soon formed to lead the mass struggle in Lalgarh and the adjoining areas. From December 2008 to June 2009, what was really heartening was the direct forms of people’s democracy in practice – each village now had a gram (village) committee with five women and five men; a man and a woman from each village were a part of the central coordinating committee; an utterly democratic
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manner of taking and ratifying decisions; and making officials sit on the ground on equal terms to negotiate with the committees. And, with the meagre resources at its command, the PCAPA-led mass movement was able to run health posts with doctors from Kolkata coming in once a week, construct and repair embankments, dig ponds, set up tube wells and teach the local language in some schools, a lot of all this through shramdaan (voluntary labour). For seven months the PCAPA and the CPI (Maoist), led at the local level by Kishenji, together, in tandem, seemed to have struck an astute balance between political mobilisation, and social welfare/“development” activity. But the last straw for the central and state governments was when they destroyed the palatial house of a local senior member of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) [CPI(M)] in June 2009. The joint forces of the central and state governments moved in with the CPI(M) harmads acting as their local collaborators. The Maoist tactics of successfully combining mass political mobilisation and armed struggle suffered a setback. It was the Trinamool Congress (TMC) which took advantage of the situation to defeat the CPI(M) candidates in the area in the assembly elections in April-May this year. As part of parivartan, Mamata Banerjee promised the withdrawal of the joint forces, the unconditional release of all political prisoners, especially the hundreds of their own folk arrested and dumped into jail in the course of the police operations, and a dialogue with the Maoists. But, on assuming power, the chief minister has reneged on all of these pledges. Instead, the recruitment of some 10,000 special police havildars (constables) on the lines of the Salwa Judum in Chhattisgarh is on the anvil. And, the TMC’s own Bhairav Bahini has been assisting the joint forces just like the CPI(M)’s harmads did. A “development package” with “surrender” sops, the redeployment of the joint forces, the setting up of police training facilities in jungle warfare and a strengthening of the state’s counter-insurgency force, all these are seen to have yielded results. A mood of triumphalism now prevails after the “hunting” down of Kishenji. Nevertheless, can contempt for the law go unchallenged? Early this year, a bench of justices Aftab Alam and R M Lodha of the Supreme Court, responding to two public interest litigations related to the encounter in which Cherukuri Rajkumar (“Azad”), CPI(Maoist) politburo member and party spokesperson, and journalist Hemchandra Pandey were shot dead in Adilabad district in July 2010 by the Andhra Pradesh police said: “We cannot allow the republic killing its own children”. Like the Azad case – now in court and where all independent evidence points to murder – the killing of Kishenji also seems to be one of a genre where “impunity breeds contempt for the law”. The central and state governments appear to have decided that the only way to tackle what the prime minister sees as “the most serious internal security challenge” is to eliminate the leaders one by one, even as development sops are offered to the people in the areas where the CPI(Maoist) has influence. december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
EDITORIALS
Islam and the Arab Spring Our inherited ways of seeing may perhaps be obsolete for the emerging revolution of ideas.
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he threat of resurgent Islamic fundamentalism, or political Islam, has been repeatedly spoken about in connection with the series of popular revolts in west Asia and north Africa, collectively termed the Arab Spring. In Egypt, the Muslim Brotherhood was the largest and best organised political (and social) force opposed to former president Hosni Mubarak and has managed to emerge as a dominant party in the past year. In Tunisia, the Islamist Ennahda (Renaissance Party) has won the largest number of seats in the assembly that will draft a new constitution. In other places – Yemen, Syria, Bahrain, and Libya – the cry of “Allah-o-Akbar” has resounded from the streets as people have come out in ever larger numbers to challenge the tyranny of their despots. Earlier, after the decimation (and in some cases, co-option) of the left opposition by the Arab tyrannies, it was the Islamic parties or networks which gave expression to popular discontent. Often these became powerful, as in Algeria in the 1990s, and were brutally crushed by the faux secular-progressive rulers who obtained international support on the basis of their supposed opposition to Islamic fundamentalism. It was a piquant situation in which former anti-imperialists and left-progressives had turned authoritarian and aligned with the United States-led imperialist bloc while maintaining a facade of secularism and progressivism. On the other hand, during the 1940s and 1950s, the imperial powers used Islamic fundamentalism as a tool when they confronted the anti-colonial and left-wing movements in the Arab world. Many of the present-day authoritarian regimes came to power struggling both against colonialism/imperialism and Islamic fundamentalism. As these regimes changed their character from being liberatory movements to authoritarian governments, Islamic parties and networks often provided voice to growing popular opposition, at times under the garb of an equally faux anti-imperialism. This changeover was not sudden, rather it was a somewhat uneven process where both sides embodied some aspects of both progressive and reactionary politics. The takeover of the Iranian Revolution by clerical fascism and its depredations on the Iranian people was the most potent warning about the dangers of Islamic fundamentalism coming to power through popular mobilisations, and was used frequently by Arab despots to paint themselves and their authoritarianism as a necessary evil. Thus, it is not surprising that the political forces which are informed by Islamic political ideologies have been seen as a danger to the democratic revolution of the Arab Spring. However, something very interesting and unprecedented has come to pass. These Islamic movements are not necessarily asking for the imposition of the sharia or a curtailment of rights. Rather, they are actively aligning with non-religious parties on political programmes which can only be termed secular and progressive. In Tunisia, the Ennahda has formed a coalition government with two other secular, left-of-centre parties, and has promised a Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
defence of fundamental rights, including gender equality. It has also taken fairly radical stances on sexuality and freedom of speech. In Egypt, the youth and women’s wings of the conservative Muslim Brotherhood have formally split with their parent party and entered into an alliance with left-of-centre groups on an agenda which is at once politically liberal and economically radical. This new politics of Islamic groups was further highlighted when Turkey’s Islamist prime minister, R T Erdogan, publicly called for a secular constitution for Egypt in which religion is kept out of matters of the State. If such a call from a person who is seen as a threat to Turkey’s secular polity seems an anomaly, it must also be remembered that the massive public revolts in Iran two years ago too were expressed in a strongly Islamic form even as they were challenging the power of the clerics and fundamentalists, and asking for rights and freedoms. Even in Libya, the interim government has taken the unprecedented step of “unbanning” all books and authors in a highly visible and symbolic ceremony at the country’s main library. Today, controversial interpretations of the Quran as well as Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses, among others, are available for the Libyan citizen to read. It must also be remembered that there is now a much greater emphasis on public expressions of faith, and religious organisations and leaders are reclaiming many aspects of civic life from which they had previously been barred. It is therefore a complex process that is underway and while the growing popularity, and thus threat, of Islamic fundamentalism remains strong, it is equally true that a simple contrast between the secular and the fundamentalist (standing for progressive and reactionary, respectively) no longer helps us understand the dynamics of the ongoing upsurge in the Arab world. Outside the useless category of “moderate Islam”, some scholars have tried to explain this new politics as “civic Islam” or even “post-modern Islam”. These terms refer to the changed perception of Islam in the political sphere, where religious ideas and practices provide a template for civic engagement but are not seen as doctrines that need to be implemented against all odds. Islam provides a source of inspiration and this politics is willing to pick and choose its agenda. It is an open question whether this particular interpretation holds for the varied experiences of the Arab Spring or whether it is misreading the wolf (fundamentalism) in sheep’s clothing. However, it is undeniable that the movements in the region have unleashed massive energies for democracy and while imperialism, Islamic fundamentalism and other reactionary political forces try and steer them towards their own ends, it is equally obvious that the people are unwilling to be chaperoned anymore as the renewed rebellion in Egypt against military rule shows. This democratic upsurge, grounded as it is in popular support which refuses to be disciplined, may well change the very way we conceive of rights, freedom, secularism and religion. Are we ready for such a revolution of ideas?
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commentary
Turning the Page in Forest Governance: Science and Bureaucracy Meghna Krishnadas1,2, Umesh Srinivasan2, Nandini Velho3,2, Sachin Sridhara 1,2
Despite the legal provisions for the functioning of expert bodies like the National Board of Wildlife and the Forest Advisory Committee, the forest bureaucracy disdains the experts and often overrides scientific evaluations. The training course of the India Forest Service too lacks a social science component that can help new foresters understand the social ramifications of forest-related issues. It is time to create space for scientists and conservationists to liaise with the forest departments in the country.
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few months ago, three non-official members of the Forest Advisory Committee (FAC) wrote a letter to the minister of state for environment and forests. The letter spoke of the subversive actions of high-level forest department (FD) officials, who in blatant violation of the Forest (Conservation) Act, 1980 (FCA) withheld information and wilfully confused facts pertinent to several projects needing forest clearances (Sethi 2011). Public knowledge of the letter turned the spotlight of discomfort squarely on the state of governance in the forest department. They responded true to form by publicly slandering the academic credentials of the nonofficial members (Bahuguna 2011). Their offered solution is to weed out “non-professionals” (i e, independent scientists and academics), whom they consider an imposition on bureaucratic authority.
Fallacies of Governance
1 Postgraduate Programme in Wildlife Biology and Conservation, Wildlife Conservation Society–India Programme, Centre for Wildlife Studies, Bangalore, 2 National Centre for Biological Sciences, Bangalore, 3 Centre for Tropical Environmental and Sustainability Science and School of Marine and Tropical Biology, James Cook University, Cairns, Queensland, Australia. Meghna Krishnadas (
[email protected])
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The real issue is inaccuracy of information and the lack of accountability of the forest department’s administrative decisions. The department’s public response to the nonofficial members’ letter was that the nonofficials had “narrow” expertise, and the fields of wildlife ecology, environmental history, conservation policy, and sociology were irrelevant in evaluating forest clearances. This in spite of the Supreme Court ruling (2007) that mandates such expertise during forest clearances. Such knee-jerk reactions smack of anachronisms of a bygone era of top-down management while, in spite of rigid state control, vast areas of forests have been cleared in the last few decades even within reserve forests and protected areas. The Centre for Science and Environment’s (CSE) report on forest clearances documents these gargantuan conversions of forestland for industry,
coal, and mineral mining (CSE 2011) and an article in this journal used the CSE data to highlight the ills that plague forest clearance (Correspondent 2011). Notwithstanding FCA (1980), the forest officials continue to act capriciously and accord arbitrary clearances. Often, the basis of clearances has not been made public. Importantly, the scientific grounds for clearance decisions are wanting.
Impediments The three non-official experts in the FAC observe that even when a scientific evaluation is conducted, the predicted negative effects do not prevent forest officials from granting clearances – almost as if the process, and the law, did not matter (ibid). Similar allegations have also been made by members of the National Board for Wildlife (NBWL). The summary records of NBWL or FAC meetings do not detail the ecological basis and methods used to arrive at the effects of forest land diversion. Further, the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF) website only provides titles of projects cleared, with no details of the process. With such poor and obscure documentation, right to information (RTI) queries are perhaps the only way for concerned citizens to obtain details and assess the adequacy of the clearance process. To worsen matters, now we have a group of ministers (GoM) that can take calls on clearance for developmental projects like coal mines (Chakravartty 2011). In spite of legal provisions for bodies like the NBWL and the FAC, the forest bureaucracy relegates the role of scientists to the fringes, often overriding scientific evaluations (Bhargav and Dattatri 2011). The rationale behind having independent members in government bodies such as the FAC and NBWL is to create a much needed democratic space for public participation. They provide an additional level of expertise to evaluate the multiple dimensions of forest and wildlife issues that affect natural resources and our society. Instead, arbitrary decision-making and bureaucratic inertia against the high level of expertise and contemporary scientific training from members of academia is subverting transparency and making a parody of the democratic
december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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process (ibid) – present on paper but ineffective in practice. Unlike a few decades ago, India now has a cadre of well-trained and highly competent wildlife scientists, largely outside the FD’s confines. For instance, in the past five years, nearly 25% of all publications by Indian authors in international peer-reviewed journals have come from the theses of a single master’s programme in wildlife biology and conservation, reflecting the growth of high-quality ex pertise in this field. For the government to not make use of this available expertise in solving complex problems is like sending the doctor on vacation during a plague epidemic.
Ecology Lags Behind in India The current controversy regarding which science is “valid” or “necessary” is representative of the lack of respect for contemporary ecological science in the forest bureaucracy. An article by Madhusudhan et al (2006) in Current Science lucidly outlined the barriers posed by the forest bureaucracy to the practice of independent science from India’s forests – the wildlife laboratories, which can help us understand the wildlife and the ecosystems we are trying to conserve. Five years later, researchers and conservationists are still battling the same issues. Change is at best slow and resistance very strong. Globally, the science of understanding forests has long moved on from oldfashioned evaluation of timber yield and growth. The focus has shifted to ecological processes. The loss of a forest is not merely the number of cubic metres of timber lost, but the vital ecosystem links that are broken. When hydroelectric impoundments were created in Panama, the change in forest composition was part of a highly complex ecological process. The dam created islands where top predators became extinct, in turn, increasing densities of smaller animals like rodents and ants. Because these animals often destroy seeds and seedlings in forests, many plant species were wiped out and the forest changed drastically (Terborgh 2001). There are various such studies that detail the cascading effects of habitat loss on wildlife and ecosystems. Such knowledge, however, is rarely taken into account while
determining forest clearances and shoddy assessments remain the norm (Paliwal 2006). Over the past decades, it has been realised that the key idea behind protecting forests is not only the conservation of wildlife, but also the conservation of interactions between species and resulting processes. Furthermore, the biology of largebodied “umbrella” species like the tiger, elephant, and rhino should form an integral part of assessing the losses due to forestland conversion, and the same goes for biology of habitat specialists like the river dolphin, forest owlet, and lion-tailed macaque. In addition to species biology, studies on ecological processes that are likely to be altered with disturbance have to be factored into the canvas of decisionmaking. Wildlife biology, ecology, and conservation science form the bedrock of knowledge for predicting the effects of forest clearance on vital processes like pollination, seed dispersal, and its cascading effects on issues such as water security and climate change. The latter issues are especially relevant to a developing country with an agrarian economy such as India.
Obsolete Training, Incumbent Resistance Indian foresters, however, are primarily trained in forestry and silviculture, irrelevant to the conservation of our natural forests today.1 Most scientific document ation by the FD is restricted to internal journals, thereby circumventing the international norms of independent peer review. Scientific expertise within the department is a far cry from the current standards of international wildlife research. Moreover, attempts to incorporate more relevant and accurate science into the system are met with strong resistance. A case in point is the famous example of an eminent tiger bio logist being hounded for his disclosure of the FD’s negligence resulting in tigers disappearing from the Panna Tiger Reserve (Chundawat 2009). Or, take the smear campaign against another renowned tiger biologist regarding the radio-collaring of tigers (Sukumar 1990). Often vicious, these campaigns are outrageous, factually flawed and without evidence, and indicate intolerance of criticism and debate. The issue is not merely of forests and wildlife alone. Understanding the sociological
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impact of a forest clearance is as crucial as the ecological imperative. India also has many millions of people who are dependent on forests for their livelihoods. Diversion of forestland for industries, dams, or mines, irrevocably changes the relationship of these people with their environment. Many times, the loss of livelihoods is damaging. Yet, many in the forest bureaucracy steadfastly refuse to acknowledge the importance of sociological evaluations. The training course of the India Forest Service (IFS) lacks a social science component that can help new foresters understand the social ramifications of forestrelated issues, and thus their disdain for public dialogue and participation. Trained in the doctrinaire manner of decisionmaking, they often do not implement fair public consultations with the affected local communities.
Need for Reform The Indian public is clamouring for reform in governance, and accountability and transparency in administration. Meanwhile, the FD is trying hard to maintain its sole authority over decisions of forest clearances, through slander and intrigue. But forest officials are public servants working on taxpayers’ money. No longer can they assume the authoritarian role, without being questioned. The systemic malfunction and levels of corruption are comparable to the better-known political scandals that currently occupy the country’s column inches and airtime. Reform is not only necessary but mandatory. There are several lessons to be drawn from the larger public debate on civil society participation in governance. The British raj style vertical hierarchy of the bureaucracy should be opened up for horizontal entry of qualified personnel based on merit, and at par with officers from the vertical tier. Independent experts will then have a better say in matters of forest governance, improve the quality of debate, and therefore its outcome. Presently, people from civil society are reduced to activists and observers, with no real role for science and academia. Inclusion of independent scientists and academics, during the training and probationary period of IFS officers will promote collaborations and engender a healthy respect for other specialisations.
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The Importance of Collaboration There are officials in the FD who in their individual capacities work closely with scientists, conservationists, and local people. Such an attitude is rare, and successful collaborations few. It is necessary to have a committed and outward looking “wildlife cadre” of young and enthusiastic IFS officers who are explicitly trained for wildlife conservation and willing to collaborate with scientists. The already overburdened FD must realise the impracticality of insularly juggling with governance, admi nistration, and science. Their counterparts in developed (e g, the United States, United Kingdom) and even developing (e g, Nepal) countries, actively seek the help of scientists, thereby making timely and scientific management decisions. This facilitates better focus on vital administrative activities and more importantly, protection. To illustrate the massive gains of external collaborations we need to learn from our neighbour, Nepal. Their department of national parks and wildlife conservation closely collaborates with a national nongovernmental organisation (NGO), the
National Trust for Nature Conservation, an international body the World Wildlife Fund and the Zoological Society of London, and others. One such successful collaborative example is the monitoring programme of the endangered one-horned rhino (DNPWC 2009). Based on the animal movement information collected by scientists, the department plans anti-poaching, and rescue operations when animals move beyond park boundaries. Such synergy has resulted in the recovery of rhino populations even during the recent civil insurgency. Nepal actively facilitates research by numerous independent scientists on a range of issues with a tradition of active dialogue between government officials, NGOs and villagers living on the fringes of the park. For example, NGOs have helped people to shift to cultivation of cash crops which are not eaten by elephants and rhinos. This has not only increased agricultural revenue and decreased human-animal conflict, but has won the trust of local people who actively help in patrolling and creating awareness of wildlife issues. Instead of a top-down bureaucracy, such collaboration
between villagers, scientists, and foresters works on multi-way knowledge transfer.
A Time for Change It is time to discard the black boxes of bureaucracy and create space for scientists and conservationists to liaise with the FD in a consequential manner, not just from the sidelines. This arrangement will not in any way undermine the workings of the department, but can be used to forge a relationship where each party brings their expertise to the table. With more than 1.2 billion people, and huge pressures on wildlife and forests, India stands at a juncture where issues of forest governance can no longer be separated from modern science and sociology. An increasingly aware society is seeking answers to uncomfortable questions on forest governance, and justifiably so. Decision making will certainly be bettered by taking on board the proficiency and know-how of scientists and academics, and creating formal positions for collaboration. An important and essential change will be to ensure that the ecological evaluations and assessments of forest clearance
IWMI-Tata Policy Research Program Water, Energy, Climate, Agriculture, Livelihoods, Environment
Inviting young researchers, development professionals, journalists to contribute previously unpublished field-based research papers, case studies for
Annual Partners’ Meet 2012 March 13-15, 2012 Session 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.
Theme
Theme Manager
Studies of innovative approaches in improving the working of public irrigation schemes in major, medium or minor sectors Costs and benefits of piped distribution (authorized or unauthorized) of canal or tank water Livelihood impacts of water infrastructure created/renovated under MGNREGA Impacts of the System of Rice Intensification (SRI) Issues in expanding groundwater irrigation in eastern India Impact of farm power supply policies on agriculture and rural development Water quality deterioration and its impact on public health Performance of policies and programs for promoting micro-irrigation Gender and equity issues in irrigated agriculture Water harvesting and groundwater recharge in a basin/catchment context
Meghna Brahmchari Tushaar Shah Shilp Verma K Palanisami Aditi Mukherji Aditi Mukherji Sunderrajan K and R Indu K Palanisami Seema Kulkarni Shilp Verma
Researchers are invited to submit field-based research papers, case studies, thought pieces, review articles (not exceeding 4500 words) on any of the 9 themes by January 15, 2012. Submission of a paper is no guarantee of selection for presentation in the Meet. IWMI-Tata Program will provide travel support to the lead author of each selected submission to participate in the Meet at Anand, Gujarat and present her/his paper. In addition, an honorarium of Rs 25,000 will be provided for each selected entry. Please mail your submission, mentioning the theme for which it is submitted to:
[email protected] IWMI-Tata Policy Research Program C/O INREM Foundation Smruti Park, Opp. Mangalpura, Anand 388001, Gujarat +91-2692-263816/7 +91-9825931984
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december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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by such experts are not overridden by bureaucrats or politicians. The result might just be a brighter conservation future for India’s wildlife and forests. Notes 1 The syllabus of Indian Forest Service trainees is spread thin over a variety of topics. The emphasis is on silviculture, forestry, botany and allied disciplines, and training in the philosophy and practice of ecology as a science is limited. Rigorous schooling in the fields of ecology, wildlife, and conservation biology requires a minimum of two years of Master’s level training, often supplemented with a PhD in relevant specialisations. Lack of scientific capacity in the forest service is also prominent in the deficiency of peer-reviewed publications in international journals of repute. Formal training in social sciences for IFS trainees is also inadequate. The proposed revision to the syllabus does not include the Scheduled Tribes and Other Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act, 2006. http://ifs.nic.in/rt/probation/DPannex_II.doc, accessed on 8 November 2011. http://ifs.nic.in/rt/probation/DPannex_V.xls, accessed on 8 November 2011.
References Bahuguna, V K (2011): “Needed, Long Overdue Systemic Reforms”, The Pioneer, 5 October, http://www. dailypioneer.com/pioneer-news/oped/11363-needed-long-overdue-systemic-reforms.html, accessed on 3 November 2011. Bhargav, P and S Dattatri (2011): “Betraying India’s Wildlife”, Governance Now, 1-15 October. Centre for Science and Environment (2011): “System of Green Clearances Not Working for Environment and People and Clearances Not the Impediment to Growth, Says CSE’s New Study”, 22 September, http://www.cseindia.org/content/system-greenclearances-not-working-environment-and-peopleand-clearances-not-impediment-gro, accessed on 3 November 2011. Chakravartty, Anupam (2011): “Mahan at All Costs”, Down to Earth, 31 October, http://www.downtoearth.org.in/content/mahan-all-costs, accessed on 3 November 2011. Chundawat, R S (2009): “Panna’s Last Tiger”, unpublished report. Correspondent (2011): “Projects and Forests: Flawed Clearances and Complicit Foresters”, Economic & Political Weekly, 46(14): 15-17. Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation (2009): “The Status and Distribution of the Greater One-Horned Rhino in Nepal”.
Understanding the Andhra Crop Holiday Movement Vamsi Vakulabharanam, N Purendra Prasad, K Laxminarayana, Sudheer Kilaru
Why would farmers keep their own land fallow as part of a voluntary “crop holiday protest movement” in a part of Andhra Pradesh is a question that has puzzled many. A field visit to the Konaseema region reveals that the dynamics of class contradictions in the area are also responsible for the nature of the movement that goes beyond the issue of remunerative prices.
T
he declaration of a voluntary crop holiday by paddy farmers in coastal Andhra in the 2011 kharif season has become a major political issue in Andhra Pradesh (AP). Farmers and leaders from all the mainstream political parties and left parties (excluding the Communist Party of India (Marxist), which has maintained a critical distance, while acknowledging the serious crisis in farming) have been involved in this voluntary crop holiday declaration agitation. It is pertinent to not only understand the puzzling steps taken by the farmers to voluntarily leave their lands fallow but also the larger dynamics of agrarian change and crisis in the region in the context of neo-liberalism.
Motivation for Crop Holiday Vamsi Vakulabharanam (vamsi.vakul@gmail. com), N Purendra Prasad (purendra.prasad@ gmail.com), K Laxminarayana (kln_eco@yahoo. co.in) teach at the University of Hyderabad. Sudheer Kilaru (
[email protected]) is an independent researcher.
Paddy farmers in Konaseema region (located in the East Godavari district of coastal Andhra) declared a crop holiday in about 90,000 acres voluntarily, particularly in the mandals of Amalapuram, Allavaram, Uppalaguptam, Ainavalli and Ambajipeta. Data from revenue officials also indicated
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
Forest Conservation Division, Website of the Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India. http://moef.nic.in/modules/others/?f=wildlife, accessed on 3 November 2011. Forest Clearances, Website of the Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India, http:// 164.100.194.5:8080/newforest/, accessed on 3 November 2011. Madhusudhan, M D et al (2006): “Science in the Wilderness: The Predicament of Scientific Research in India’s Wildlife Reserves”, Current Science, 91: 1015-19. Paliwal, R (2006): “EIA Practice in India and Its Evaluation Using SWOT Analysis”, Environmental Impact Assessment Review, 26: 492-510. Sethi, N (2011): “Forest Officials Pose Danger to Forests: Experts”, Times of India, 19 September, http:// articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2011-09-19/ india/30175368_1_forest-officials-forest-advisorycommittee-forest-bureaucracy, accessed on 3 November 2011. Sukumar, R (1990): “The Nagarhole Tiger Controversy”, Current Science, 59: 1213-15. Terborgh, J (2001): “Ecological Meltdown in PredatorFree Forest Fragments”, Science, 294:1923-26. Wildlife Division, Website of the Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India, http:// moef.nic.in/modules/others/?f=wildlife, accessed on 3 Novemeber 2011.
that in the 2011 kharif season, transplantation did not take place in about 85,761 acres of farmland. About three lakh tonnes of paddy were not produced due to the crop holiday in the Konaseema region. In 2010, 70% of the kharif crop was damaged due to a cyclone. In the next season (rabi) 2010-11, farmers had a bumper crop (Ramanamurthy 2011). Farmers did not get reasonable prices either from the government or the market. The tenants and small farmers who do not have enough storage space sold it to shavukars (moneylenders) at distress prices. The moneylenders either stocked the paddy for better prices in the future or sold it to millers at a better price. However, farmers’ resentment grew against the state for it could not procure paddy (due to lack of storage space) at reason able prices. Also, farmers got agitated that state government did not release water by 15 April (important in the context of ensuring enough time for all the planned crops in the year) and they locked the gates of Ainavalli, Chintalalanka, Mukkamala canals for about four to five days. When government officials visited the Bendamuru village of Uppalaguptam mandal as part of farmers’ awareness programmes, farmers locked them up in the panchayat office. The news spread and farmers started questioning the government officials in other mandals as well. All these incidents culminated in the crop holiday movement.
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by such experts are not overridden by bureaucrats or politicians. The result might just be a brighter conservation future for India’s wildlife and forests. Notes 1 The syllabus of Indian Forest Service trainees is spread thin over a variety of topics. The emphasis is on silviculture, forestry, botany and allied disciplines, and training in the philosophy and practice of ecology as a science is limited. Rigorous schooling in the fields of ecology, wildlife, and conservation biology requires a minimum of two years of Master’s level training, often supplemented with a PhD in relevant specialisations. Lack of scientific capacity in the forest service is also prominent in the deficiency of peer-reviewed publications in international journals of repute. Formal training in social sciences for IFS trainees is also inadequate. The proposed revision to the syllabus does not include the Scheduled Tribes and Other Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act, 2006. http://ifs.nic.in/rt/probation/DPannex_II.doc, accessed on 8 November 2011. http://ifs.nic.in/rt/probation/DPannex_V.xls, accessed on 8 November 2011.
References Bahuguna, V K (2011): “Needed, Long Overdue Systemic Reforms”, The Pioneer, 5 October, http://www. dailypioneer.com/pioneer-news/oped/11363-needed-long-overdue-systemic-reforms.html, accessed on 3 November 2011. Bhargav, P and S Dattatri (2011): “Betraying India’s Wildlife”, Governance Now, 1-15 October. Centre for Science and Environment (2011): “System of Green Clearances Not Working for Environment and People and Clearances Not the Impediment to Growth, Says CSE’s New Study”, 22 September, http://www.cseindia.org/content/system-greenclearances-not-working-environment-and-peopleand-clearances-not-impediment-gro, accessed on 3 November 2011. Chakravartty, Anupam (2011): “Mahan at All Costs”, Down to Earth, 31 October, http://www.downtoearth.org.in/content/mahan-all-costs, accessed on 3 November 2011. Chundawat, R S (2009): “Panna’s Last Tiger”, unpublished report. Correspondent (2011): “Projects and Forests: Flawed Clearances and Complicit Foresters”, Economic & Political Weekly, 46(14): 15-17. Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation (2009): “The Status and Distribution of the Greater One-Horned Rhino in Nepal”.
Understanding the Andhra Crop Holiday Movement Vamsi Vakulabharanam, N Purendra Prasad, K Laxminarayana, Sudheer Kilaru
Why would farmers keep their own land fallow as part of a voluntary “crop holiday protest movement” in a part of Andhra Pradesh is a question that has puzzled many. A field visit to the Konaseema region reveals that the dynamics of class contradictions in the area are also responsible for the nature of the movement that goes beyond the issue of remunerative prices.
T
he declaration of a voluntary crop holiday by paddy farmers in coastal Andhra in the 2011 kharif season has become a major political issue in Andhra Pradesh (AP). Farmers and leaders from all the mainstream political parties and left parties (excluding the Communist Party of India (Marxist), which has maintained a critical distance, while acknowledging the serious crisis in farming) have been involved in this voluntary crop holiday declaration agitation. It is pertinent to not only understand the puzzling steps taken by the farmers to voluntarily leave their lands fallow but also the larger dynamics of agrarian change and crisis in the region in the context of neo-liberalism.
Motivation for Crop Holiday Vamsi Vakulabharanam (vamsi.vakul@gmail. com), N Purendra Prasad (purendra.prasad@ gmail.com), K Laxminarayana (kln_eco@yahoo. co.in) teach at the University of Hyderabad. Sudheer Kilaru (
[email protected]) is an independent researcher.
Paddy farmers in Konaseema region (located in the East Godavari district of coastal Andhra) declared a crop holiday in about 90,000 acres voluntarily, particularly in the mandals of Amalapuram, Allavaram, Uppalaguptam, Ainavalli and Ambajipeta. Data from revenue officials also indicated
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
Forest Conservation Division, Website of the Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India. http://moef.nic.in/modules/others/?f=wildlife, accessed on 3 November 2011. Forest Clearances, Website of the Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India, http:// 164.100.194.5:8080/newforest/, accessed on 3 November 2011. Madhusudhan, M D et al (2006): “Science in the Wilderness: The Predicament of Scientific Research in India’s Wildlife Reserves”, Current Science, 91: 1015-19. Paliwal, R (2006): “EIA Practice in India and Its Evaluation Using SWOT Analysis”, Environmental Impact Assessment Review, 26: 492-510. Sethi, N (2011): “Forest Officials Pose Danger to Forests: Experts”, Times of India, 19 September, http:// articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2011-09-19/ india/30175368_1_forest-officials-forest-advisorycommittee-forest-bureaucracy, accessed on 3 November 2011. Sukumar, R (1990): “The Nagarhole Tiger Controversy”, Current Science, 59: 1213-15. Terborgh, J (2001): “Ecological Meltdown in PredatorFree Forest Fragments”, Science, 294:1923-26. Wildlife Division, Website of the Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India, http:// moef.nic.in/modules/others/?f=wildlife, accessed on 3 Novemeber 2011.
that in the 2011 kharif season, transplantation did not take place in about 85,761 acres of farmland. About three lakh tonnes of paddy were not produced due to the crop holiday in the Konaseema region. In 2010, 70% of the kharif crop was damaged due to a cyclone. In the next season (rabi) 2010-11, farmers had a bumper crop (Ramanamurthy 2011). Farmers did not get reasonable prices either from the government or the market. The tenants and small farmers who do not have enough storage space sold it to shavukars (moneylenders) at distress prices. The moneylenders either stocked the paddy for better prices in the future or sold it to millers at a better price. However, farmers’ resentment grew against the state for it could not procure paddy (due to lack of storage space) at reason able prices. Also, farmers got agitated that state government did not release water by 15 April (important in the context of ensuring enough time for all the planned crops in the year) and they locked the gates of Ainavalli, Chintalalanka, Mukkamala canals for about four to five days. When government officials visited the Bendamuru village of Uppalaguptam mandal as part of farmers’ awareness programmes, farmers locked them up in the panchayat office. The news spread and farmers started questioning the government officials in other mandals as well. All these incidents culminated in the crop holiday movement.
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A deeper political economy of agrarian relations in the delta regions of coastal Andhra and the Konaseema region would understand the crop holiday movement better.
Agrarian Change in Coastal Andhra In the pre-green revolution period after Independence, due to the indirect effects (as opposed to actual land reforms) of tenancy and land-ceiling reforms, there was a decline in absentee landlordism in the region. There was considerable shift of land from the absentee urban resident to the resident landowner. This was coupled with the transformation of feudal agrarian relations (for example, the old zamindari system) into owner-cultivation practices through various peasant struggles. The owner cultivators accelerated the process of capitalist development in the region even as wage labour became “free” in the sense that it came out of the old watana systems, attached labour practices and kind-wage payments (Parthasarathy 2002). Once the green revolution had commenced, this new capitalist class utilised the new technologies of high-yielding inputs, tube well technologies, tractors and so forth to maximise the rates of return on its investments. The other important development was that tenancy showed a rapid decline during all those decades. By the 1980s, only one in eight cultivators was a recorded tenant as opposed to a ratio of one in five earlier. The earlier tenants had joined the ranks of agricultural workers. Combined with a high demographic pressure on marginal landholdings, there was a major increase in the agricultural labouring population (ibid). In the post-1980s period, a dramatic transformation occurred in the delta regions of coastal Andhra. The class of capitalist farmers generated huge surpluses that were channelled into aquaculture, large coconut farms, rice milling, petty investments (for example in cinema halls, hotels and restaurants) in towns – what were called by K Balagopal as provincial propertied classes. Later, there was a shift of capital into Hyderabad in various “new economy” enterprises – for example, in the information technology and pharmaceuticals sectors. There is also significant investment in education (engineering and medical colleges) and health (corporate hospitals).
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However, with increased speculation in real estate, with an added impetus due to the proposed Special Economic Zone activity in the coastal corridor, there is virtually no attempt by this class to sell off their lands in villages. The price of agricultural land has risen tremendously over the last 15 years, with price going up to more than 10-20 times. This has created a rebirth of absentee landlordism and tenancy. At the same time, decline of public investment in agriculture under the impact of neo-liberal policies, inadequacy of institutional credit, and the reduction in private investment (due to lack of incentives for absentee landlords) have meant that the present tenants are taking on high levels of risk.
Konaseema Region In the Konaseema region, Rajus and Kapus are the upper castes, Settibalijas constitute the middle castes, and dalits (mainly Malas) constitute the lower castes. Rajus and Kapus constitute the landlords and rich farmer classes in the region.1 They also constitute the interlinked moneylender-merchantinput agent class that manages all kinds of agricultural transactions related to commissions, inputs, credit, marketing of agricultural produce and so forth. They are also the owners of cinema halls, local rice mills, hospitals and engineering colleges. Settibalijas and Malas largely belong to the small farmer, tenant and agricultural labouring communities in the region. Some nursing colleges and vocational colleges are owned by a small Mala elite, and quite a few government officials (mandal revenue officers, mandal development officers, teachers, etc) hail from the same community. While Rajus and Kapus get remittances from US and other countries, Malas get remittances from the Gulf countries. The marketing hub for paddy is Mandapeta (35 kms from Amalapuram), where about 250 rice mills are owned by Reddys and Kammas who have migrated into this region, and some local Vysyas. The absentee landlordism phenomenon is quite widespread in this region. Tenants constitute about 75% of the farmers and agreements made between them and landowners are mostly oral. Therefore, it is the absentee landowners who are entitled to institutional credit and any other form of support that the state provides. For instance,
it has been the practice of the landowners in the last few decades to take bank loans at lower interest rates (7%) and give it to tenants at higher interest rates (24-36%). In fact, many of the landowners advance investment and buy the harvest (crop collateral) at a low price and sell it at a higher price. The tenants pay fixed rent in kind to the landowners, thereby taking all the risk inherent in production. Moreover, tenants, who are the actual producers, do not get any share in compensation in case of crop loss. There have been instances when cheques issued in the name of the tenants were cancelled by the landlords and reissued in their own names. This indicates a strong nexus between the landlords and government officials and social control over the tenants. The land rent has also been increasing steadily. In the year 2010-11, land rent varied between Rs 18,000 and Rs 25,000 per acre while an acre of land on an average cost about Rs 8-20 lakh in this region. Paddy is the main crop in both kharif and rabi seasons along with coconuts and banana plantations. The third crop grown was essentially pulses (green gram-pesalu), maize and fodder crops. During the kharif season, the yield of paddy was normally 25-30 bags per acre, while in the rabi season, the yield was around 35-40 bags per acre. The paddy variety grown here is predominantly, MTU-1010 – an inferior quality because of higher moisture in the soil in the region, and a short-term (3-3.5 months) crop. This variety of paddy is not consumed by the rich and middle peasants in the region. It is procured by the government for the purpose of the public distribution system. Millers procure and sell it in Tamil Nadu and Kerala, where it is used in par-boiled rice, and idli rice. In the Konaseema region, moneylenders advance investment for the crop to the tenants. After thorough assessment of the crop needs, they make direct payments to the input and seed dealers and the required material is delivered to the tenants. As part of the informal agreement, tenants will have to invariably sell the crop produced to the same shavukars, suggest an interlinking of the product, credit and the input markets. It is this class that extracts a significant chunk of the value of the produce from the cultivators.
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In AP (unlike Punjab), the procurement of paddy is largely done through the millers. This is quite evident when one looks at the grains procured in 2009-10, wherein 62.28 lakh tonnes of grains were procured by the millers, and government agencies procured only two lakh tonnes. The government market yards do not have enough storage facilities for farmers to stock their produce. When millers procure paddy from the farmers, they tend to depress the prices in the name of quality. Most of the tenant farmers try to sell in the fields immediately after the harvest, in order to cope with pressures from moneylenders/landowners, who advance loans for crop production. Millers procure lakhs of tonnes of paddy and evade the levy to the government by paying bribes to officials.
Why Crop Holiday Now? The crop holiday movement was initiated by Bharatiya Kisan Sangh (BKS), a farmers’ organisation affiliated to the Hindutva organisation, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh. Its social and political base has largely been the rich and middle farmers. The movement got wide publicity through one of the television channels – Sakshi, which is owned by the breakaway Congress faction, the YSR Congress’ leader Y S Jaganmohan Reddy. It is also the case that a large number of dalits and Settibalijas have moved their support to the YSR Congress from the Congress. After Chiranjeevi’s Praja Rajyam Party (dominated by the Kapus) merged with the Congress in 2011, the Telugu Desam Party also took great interest in this movement in order to consolidate its own Kapu farmers’ base in the region. Different political parties are involved in the movement to gain political mileage. Four explanations can be offered for the crop holiday movement. The first one is derived from the movement itself. The latter three are not visible on the surface but can be understood by looking at the class contradictions in the region. The costs of agricultural labour and other inputs are much higher than the support price that is being offered in the region. The leaders of the crop holiday movement argue that they incurred a production cost of Rs 20,400 per acre in the rabi season of 2010-11. Out of this, a large amount was spent on labour (Rs 14,000) while the rest
was spent on procuring seeds (Rs 660), pesticides (Rs 1,500), fertilisers (Rs 2,000), tractors (Rs 1,200), threshing (Rs 800), and water cess (Rs 250). Once we add the rental costs, in the year 2011 the estimated cost of production comes to Rs 1,800 per quintal while the support price has been fixed at Rs 1,080 even though the Andhra Pradesh government had recommended a remunerative price of Rs 2,070 for paddy in 2011. There is disagreement between the farmers and workers about the actual costs incurred, especially on labour (range between Rs 7,000 and Rs 14,000 per acre), but on the whole, the argument that paddy cultivation was not remunerative in 2011 is persuasive. In fact in the last five-six years, the costs of production data indicate that support prices have increasingly lagged behind the costs.2 In this sense, the demand for higher minimum support prices is legitimate. Second, the state government recently proposed to give identity cards for the tenants so that they become entitled to crop loans from banks. This process has already started and a small proportion of tenants have been given these cards. However, landowning classes have been apprehensive that tenants may claim ownership rights eventually because of this. Also, the tenants could possibly get free from their dependence on landowners for credit, labour, and marketing of the crop. The crop holiday movement allows the landowners to reassert control over tenants. Third, normally the daily wage rates for men and women are Rs 150 and Rs 100 in this region respectively. When there is high seasonal demand, daily wages tend to go up to about Rs 250 for men and Rs 150 for women. The introduction of the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employmet Gurantee Scheme (MGNREGS) is said to have increased these wage rates, and one of the explicit demands of the movement was to either scrap the MGNREGS or to include agricultural work as part of the scheme. Since the state has directly or indirectly been associated with the second and third contradictions, the movement is also directed against the state. Fourth, even with the crop holiday, the landowners and moneylender-merchants have stocked paddy reserves that could not be sold in the month of April-May 2011, because of low prices (hovering around Rs 600 per 75 kg bag). These classes will
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benefit now as the paddy prices have doubled by the month of October 2011. In a normal year, for the two seasons – kharif and rabi – put together, tenant farmers paid a fixed rent of 25 bags of paddy per acre to the landowners. Now with the crop holiday in the kharif season, the tenant farmers will have to pay about 20 bags of paddy for rabi crop alone. This essentially means that it is the tenants who lose out due to the crop holiday. If crop holiday is observed in the rabi season, then both tenants and landed classes will get hit. Revenue and bank officials have been insisting that the tenants will have to invariably get guarantees from the landowners in their respective villages to avail bank loans. Our discussion with the tenants in Tandavapalli village in Allur mandal, revealed that none of the landowners would provide guarantees – hence the identity cards issued by the state government served little purpose. In any case, the absentee landlords feel that their social and economic control over the tenants would weaken if tenant status is officially recognised, and therefore the crop holiday is a way to reassert their control over tenants. Another strand of evidence from the field is that in some cases where small farmers went ahead with the transplantation, particularly in Allavaram and Uppalaguntam mandals, the landowning class forcibly destroyed the crop, thus forcing them to participate in the movement. The agricultural wage labourer associations in this region argue that the landowning classes in the crop holiday movement have been deliberately projecting Rs 300 daily wages for all labourers as though it is paid uniformly for men and women, and for all the workdays in a year. The association said that the workdays per acre do not exceed 60 days in a year in this region because of increased reliance on agricultural machinery. Out of 60 workdays, it is women who are largely engaged for about 40 days because of lower wages, while men get only 20 days. In fact, prior to the implementation of the MGNREGS scheme, daily wage rates used to be between Rs 60 and Rs 75. After MGNREGS, wage rates have stabilised between Rs 100 and Rs 150. What this implies is that the bargaining power of the wage labourers has increased after the introduction of MGNREGS. This is what the landowners resent.
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In reality, the agricultural workers face an inadequate demand for their labour power. The wage rates under MGNREGS are in fact lower than those specified under the minimum wage act and labourers are able to get no more than 35 workdays in Konaseema out of the promised 100 workdays. In addition, they face competition in agricultural work from migrants who come from Bengal and Orissa. As a result, workers from Konaseema migrate to other regions in the districts of West Godavari, Krishna, Guntur, and sometimes even to Hyderabad. They work in paddy fields, tobacco farms and brick kilns, etc. In pockets of Konaseema, such as Antarvedi, a large proportion of women belonging to Mala community migrate to Gulf countries to work as domestic labour (maids) and other low-end service occupations.
Way Forward From our field visit, we feel that there are both the issue of remunerative prices as
well as deeper class contradictions at work in the crop holiday movement. We see that the crop holiday movement is essentially an attempt by the landowning classes and market intermediaries to discipline workers, tenants and the welfare state (whatever is left of it). Of course, the state has to improve its procurement mechanisms (support prices, storage capa city) of paddy so that the dependence of actual cultivators on market intermediaries and landlords is reduced. Tenants need to be given access to institutional credit. They need better protection, while they should be able to directly access various other state support packages meant for actual cultivators (including crop insurance). However, there are important structural changes that need emphasis. First, the reappearance of widespread tenancy raises the old question of why the actual tillers (mostly dalit tenants) do not own land. The state should seriously revisit the question of land (and tenancy) reforms in this newly
Caste, Religion and Malnutrition Linkages Nidhi Sadana Sabharwal
The poor are not uniformly disadvantaged. Across most health indicators, the situation of the scheduled castes, scheduled tribes and Muslims is significantly worse than that of others. While nutritional status is closely linked with levels of income, education and public health services, the social belonging of persons also acts as an additional aggravating factor for nutritional inequity. The author would like to thank Sukhadeo Thorat for comments on this article. Nidhi Sadana Sabharwal (nidhi@dalitstudies. org.in) is with the Indian Institute of Dalit Studies, New Delhi.
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T
he problem of malnutrition has of late received a great deal of attention at the policy level. The persistence of a high degree of malnutrition among the poor, particularly among certain social groups has led to a renewed concern at the governmental level. Increasingly, it is being recognised that although the malnutrition level is relatively high at the overall level, among the malnourished, some groups suffer more from malnourishment than the others. There are significant inter-group disparities in the nutritional levels between poor and non-poor, between caste, ethnic and religious groups. Earlier studies shed some light on the factors which result in high malnutrition and point towards low income, high illiteracy and poor access to health services as key determinants of malnutrition. However, these studies show limited insight into the causes of a relatively high level of malnutrition for caste, ethnic and religious
emerged context. The other important issue is that millers benefit significantly from paddy procurement. They get a huge margin for the marginal value addition that they make. In the medium run, why cannot paddy cultivators form their own milling cooperatives? This will help them own the value that they are creating, and in this process improve their livelihoods. Notes 1 In the Coastal Andhra and Rayalaseema regions of AP, the upper castes have been holding on to land but in Telangana region landownership has moved to OBC communities in a more pronounced fashion. 2 The cost of production in 2004-05 for paddy was Rs 578 per quintal while the support price was Rs 560. The loss of Rs 18 has risen to Rs 700 by 2010-11.
References Parthasarathy, G (2002): “Changing Agrarian Structure and Nature of Transition in Post-Green Revolution Period” in Y V Krishna Rao and S Subrahmanyam (ed.), Development of Andhra Pradesh: 1956-2001: A Study of Regional Disparities (Hyderabad: NRR Research Centre, CR Foundation). Ramanamuthy, R V (2011): “Paddy Glut and Farmer Distress in Andhra Pradesh”, Economic & Political Weekly, Vol 46, No 29.
groups such as the scheduled castes (SCs), scheduled tribes (STs) and Muslims. In this context, we develop an understanding of the possible reasons for a relatively high malnutrition level in general and among the SCs, STs and Muslims in particular. We first present the inter-group disparities in malnutrition and then provide reasons for the particularly high malnutrition among certain social and religious groups.
Inter-group Disparities The inter-group disparities in the nutritional level in rural areas are examined using the National Family Health Survey (NFHS) for 2005-06. Indicators of mal nutrition include percentage of the underweight children, a body mass index (BMI) below 18.5 kg/m2 and anaemia. The percentage of underweight children at the aggregate level was about 45.6. However, the nutritional problem is parti cularly serious for children, women and men belonging to the SCs, STs, and OBCs. Table 1 (p 17) shows that underweight rates are approximately 50% and anaemia 10-20% higher in the SC/ST children compared with the rest. A BMI of less than 18.5 kg/m2 which indicates chronic energy deficiency is particularly serious for the Sc/St and
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commentary
In reality, the agricultural workers face an inadequate demand for their labour power. The wage rates under MGNREGS are in fact lower than those specified under the minimum wage act and labourers are able to get no more than 35 workdays in Konaseema out of the promised 100 workdays. In addition, they face competition in agricultural work from migrants who come from Bengal and Orissa. As a result, workers from Konaseema migrate to other regions in the districts of West Godavari, Krishna, Guntur, and sometimes even to Hyderabad. They work in paddy fields, tobacco farms and brick kilns, etc. In pockets of Konaseema, such as Antarvedi, a large proportion of women belonging to Mala community migrate to Gulf countries to work as domestic labour (maids) and other low-end service occupations.
Way Forward From our field visit, we feel that there are both the issue of remunerative prices as
well as deeper class contradictions at work in the crop holiday movement. We see that the crop holiday movement is essentially an attempt by the landowning classes and market intermediaries to discipline workers, tenants and the welfare state (whatever is left of it). Of course, the state has to improve its procurement mechanisms (support prices, storage capa city) of paddy so that the dependence of actual cultivators on market intermediaries and landlords is reduced. Tenants need to be given access to institutional credit. They need better protection, while they should be able to directly access various other state support packages meant for actual cultivators (including crop insurance). However, there are important structural changes that need emphasis. First, the reappearance of widespread tenancy raises the old question of why the actual tillers (mostly dalit tenants) do not own land. The state should seriously revisit the question of land (and tenancy) reforms in this newly
Caste, Religion and Malnutrition Linkages Nidhi Sadana Sabharwal
The poor are not uniformly disadvantaged. Across most health indicators, the situation of the scheduled castes, scheduled tribes and Muslims is significantly worse than that of others. While nutritional status is closely linked with levels of income, education and public health services, the social belonging of persons also acts as an additional aggravating factor for nutritional inequity. The author would like to thank Sukhadeo Thorat for comments on this article. Nidhi Sadana Sabharwal (nidhi@dalitstudies. org.in) is with the Indian Institute of Dalit Studies, New Delhi.
16
T
he problem of malnutrition has of late received a great deal of attention at the policy level. The persistence of a high degree of malnutrition among the poor, particularly among certain social groups has led to a renewed concern at the governmental level. Increasingly, it is being recognised that although the malnutrition level is relatively high at the overall level, among the malnourished, some groups suffer more from malnourishment than the others. There are significant inter-group disparities in the nutritional levels between poor and non-poor, between caste, ethnic and religious groups. Earlier studies shed some light on the factors which result in high malnutrition and point towards low income, high illiteracy and poor access to health services as key determinants of malnutrition. However, these studies show limited insight into the causes of a relatively high level of malnutrition for caste, ethnic and religious
emerged context. The other important issue is that millers benefit significantly from paddy procurement. They get a huge margin for the marginal value addition that they make. In the medium run, why cannot paddy cultivators form their own milling cooperatives? This will help them own the value that they are creating, and in this process improve their livelihoods. Notes 1 In the Coastal Andhra and Rayalaseema regions of AP, the upper castes have been holding on to land but in Telangana region landownership has moved to OBC communities in a more pronounced fashion. 2 The cost of production in 2004-05 for paddy was Rs 578 per quintal while the support price was Rs 560. The loss of Rs 18 has risen to Rs 700 by 2010-11.
References Parthasarathy, G (2002): “Changing Agrarian Structure and Nature of Transition in Post-Green Revolution Period” in Y V Krishna Rao and S Subrahmanyam (ed.), Development of Andhra Pradesh: 1956-2001: A Study of Regional Disparities (Hyderabad: NRR Research Centre, CR Foundation). Ramanamuthy, R V (2011): “Paddy Glut and Farmer Distress in Andhra Pradesh”, Economic & Political Weekly, Vol 46, No 29.
groups such as the scheduled castes (SCs), scheduled tribes (STs) and Muslims. In this context, we develop an understanding of the possible reasons for a relatively high malnutrition level in general and among the SCs, STs and Muslims in particular. We first present the inter-group disparities in malnutrition and then provide reasons for the particularly high malnutrition among certain social and religious groups.
Inter-group Disparities The inter-group disparities in the nutritional level in rural areas are examined using the National Family Health Survey (NFHS) for 2005-06. Indicators of mal nutrition include percentage of the underweight children, a body mass index (BMI) below 18.5 kg/m2 and anaemia. The percentage of underweight children at the aggregate level was about 45.6. However, the nutritional problem is parti cularly serious for children, women and men belonging to the SCs, STs, and OBCs. Table 1 (p 17) shows that underweight rates are approximately 50% and anaemia 10-20% higher in the SC/ST children compared with the rest. A BMI of less than 18.5 kg/m2 which indicates chronic energy deficiency is particularly serious for the Sc/St and
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commentary Table 1: Malnutrition among Children across Social and Religious Groups in Rural India Social Groups CMR
SC ST OBC Others Average
25.6 38.3 18.7 13.3 21.0
Children (Weight for Age) <Med-2SD
50.6 56.1 45.7 36.3 45.6
Women BMI <18.5
Hindu
44.7 48.4 39.7 35.8 40.5
51.3 56.9 45.6 33.7 46.3
Children (proportion of underweight <Med-2SD) Muslim Christian Sikh Others
57.6 36.5 46.7 43.5 44.0
30.6 44.1 27.3 27.7 37.0
33.5 NA 19.6 18.8 24.6
43.4 NA NA NA 44.5
Source: Computed from National Family Health Survey-3 (2005-06) data file, NA- indicates sample size less than 50 so not considered. CMR: Child Mortality Rate.
OBC women. As Table 1 shows, while nationally the chronic energy deficiency rate is about 40.5% for all women, women from the SC and ST groups have an 8% and 13% higher incidence respectively of undernutrition than those from the “others”. A woman’s nutritional deficiencies have important implications for her health as it reflects in the health status of her children. Data indicates disparity in child mortality rates between the SCs, STs, OBCs and others in rural areas in 2005-06. Child mortality rates are over 15% for SC/ST children than for the “other” children. The OBCs are worse off in comparison to the “others”, though better off than the SC/ST. Similar differences are observed for social groups by their religious background (Table 1). Children from the Christian and Sikh groups have relatively better nutritional status than those from Hindu and Muslim groups. Among social groups, the SC Muslims have the highest proportion of underweight children followed by ST and SC Hindus. In fact, the situation of children from the SC Muslims is the worst amongst all social groups. Close to 58% of the SC Muslim children were malnourished as compared to the average for that group. Similarly, women from the ST Hindus and SC Muslims have the highest incidence of malnutrition (51% and 45% respectively, as compared to the average in those groups). Women from these social groups are worseoff than their male counterparts. Like all women, these women too suffer from low nutritional levels as compared to men but the SC, ST and Muslim women suffered most compared with the other women. This heightened deprivation can be attributed to the social and religious belonging.
Factors Common to All Using logistic regression analysis for rural areas in 2005-06 we try to capture the key factors affecting child malnutrition in rural areas. We have taken the proportion of
underweight children as a measure of malnutrition, and income (wealth index – proxy for income), education of the mother, access to antenatal care (indicator for access to health services), social and religious belonging, occupation of the father, gender, place of residence, and supplementary nutrition as determinants of child nutrition (Table 2). Table 2: Logistic Regression Results of Factors Affecting Child Malnutrition Explanatory Variables
Wealth index Education of mother Mother’s ANC Social group Religious groups
Poorest Poorer Middle Richer Richest No education Primary Secondary Higher No antenatal care Taken antenatal care Others SC ST OBC Others Hindu Muslims
Exp(B)
1.000 .856* .681* .538* .342* 1.000 0.828* 0.799* 0.463* 1.000 .669* 1.000 1.350* 1.418* 1.218* 1.000 1.092 1.065
*: Significant at 1% level, Exp (B) is the odds ratio. Source: Computed from NFHS-3, Unit-Level Data.
Taking each of these factors separately it emerged from the logistic regression analysis that children from wealthier households have a lower incidence of malnutrition than the others. When all other factors, including the social group, are held constant, the likelihood of the poorest children being malnourished is about three times that of children from the highest wealth quintile (odds ratio of children from poorest households to those from the richest = 1/0.342 = 2.9). The gap in nutritional status between the poorest and the richest quintiles is very wide for men as well as women. As one moves along the wealth index ladder from the poorest to the richest, the proportion of under-nutrition women and men reduces indicating that income does matter for a better nutrition level.
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The education level of mothers also affects the nutritional status of children. The likelihood of children of illiterate mothers being malnourished is twice that of children of mothers with secondary or higher education (odds ratio of illiterate mothers to those having higher education = 1/0.463 = 2.16). Access to health services is the third crucial factor affecting nutrition. The impact of a poor standard of living and education level could be overcome to a great extent, particularly by the poor individuals through better access to affordable public health services. Data indicates that mothers who have better access to health services, such as antenatal care, have lower odds of having malnourished children, and the likelihood that they will have malnourished children is 0.67 times that of mothers who do not receive such services.
Caste and Religion Certain social, ethnic and religious groups are disproportionately affected by child malnutrition. The logistic regression indirectly captured the influence of caste, ethnic and religious background on the incidence of malnutrition. It estimated the likelihood of children from these groups being malnourished as compared to the rest, when the wealth index, education, access to health services and other factors are held constant. In other words, it captures the malnutrition level for identical persons in terms of their wealth, education, access to health services and other factors. The logistic regression exercise indicates that the likelihood of SC and ST children being malnourished is about 1.4 times that of children from the “other” category. The same results for Muslim children indicate that although their nutrition levels are lower than other religious groups, the difference is not statistically significant. For women and men, we ran a logistic regression controlling for limited variables, namely, educational level, wealth and occupation. For SC women, the likelihood of being malnourished is 1.1 times that of “other” women after controlling for wealth, occupation and level of education. For the ST women, the likelihood of being malnourished is 1.2 times that of women from the “other” category. The logistic regression further indicates that the likelihood of the
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Muslim women’s group being malnourished is 1.7 times and that of Hindu women is 1.5 times that of the rest of the religious categories. The likelihood of SC and ST men being malnourished is 1.1 times and that of Muslim men is 1.5 times that of the others after controlling for wealth, occupation and level of education. It is clear that Muslim women seem to have a higher likelihood of being malnourished, followed by the women from the STs and SCs, in that order. Thus in the case of the SCs, STs and Muslims even after controlling for factors such as income, educational level, access to health services, etc, the malnutrition rates turn out to be high indicating that there are constraints that are associated with their social and religious belongings. Because of lack of data we could not include such constraints in the regression equation. However, some field-based studies indicate groupspecific factors for high malnutrition levels. These group-specific factors generally relate to the discrimination that these communities face in accessing income earning assets, education and government schemes providing services like food and health. There is some evidence for the sc. The sc faced discrimination in accessing food from the public distribution system (PDS). The sc children also faced discrimination in accessing food (mid-day meal) in schools and anganwadi centres, which adversely affects their food intake and thereby their nutritional levels (Thorat and Lee 2010; Jan Sahas 2009). Sangamitra’s study (2010) provides evidence of the discriminatory access of SC women and children to primary health services leading to lower utilisation of the health services. Indeed, the NFHS data for 2005-06 reveals that SC mothers and children have relatively poorer access to public health services than others. For example, the immunisation rates for SC children are about 20% lower than the others (Table 3). Access to health services at the time of delivery is also lower for the SC mothers compared to the others. Thus, discrimination resulting in limited access appears to be an additional pervasive factor contributing to the higher rates of malnutrition among the SC compared with others. The issue of discrimination-induced malnutrition has been neglected in the literature which in fact needs more research.
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In the case of the SC and ST who face discrimination Percentage of children vaccinated 39.7 31.3 40.7 53.8 in accessing the sources of % distribution of children 0-59 months covered by AWC by frequency of weighing 78.1 64.2 83.3 82.7 income, education and public Place of delivery at home (in %) 67.1 82.3 62.5 49.0 health service, besides these common measures, they Assistance during delivery (in %) (a) From Dai (TBA) 37.7 50.2 37.1 30.4 would also require supple (b) By friends/relative 20.7 23.0 15.5 11.3 mentary policy measures to (c) By skilled provider 40.6 25.4 46.7 57.8 overcome the constraints imPostnatal check-up: less than four hrs (in %) 23.7 16.3 26.4 34.5 posed by processes of social Source: Computed from National Family Health Survey-3 (2005-06) data file. exclusion and discriminaIn sum, malnutrition is a direct out- tion in accessing earning, education, public come of not only income levels, education health services and food security. This and public health services, but also the in- will require measures to provide safeguards direct one of the discriminatory access to against discrimination and measures to income opportunities, health and food promote equal and non-discriminatory security-related services from mid-day access. These measures may include: estabmeal, the Integrated Child Development lishing ICDS – anganwadi centres, health Scheme (icds), the PDS and others. This facilities and “fair-price food shops” in underindicates that the income level, education served SC, ST and Muslim habitations, and access to health services are impor- monitoring and using data disaggregated by tant factors to reduce malnutrition for all, social group at all levels to identify underincluding the SCs, STs and Muslims. But in served communities/groups. Recruitment the case of the SCs, STs and Muslims addi- of ICDS anganwadi workers (AWW) and tionally, safeguards against discrimina auxiliary nurse midwives (ANM) from the tory access to education, health services, SC, ST and Muslim communities is equally food security schemes and livelihood op- necessary to improve the coverage of these groups. Thus, increasing their education portunities are necessary. levels will be an important measure. The Policy Implications AWW and ANM training courses must emThese results have policy implications which phasise the adverse effects of caste, ethnic are dual in nature. They call for measures and religious discrimination on access to common to all poor (including poor from public health and food security schemes. the social and religious groups), and sup- Conducting national public awareness plementary measures for the SC, ST and campaigns against discriminatory practhe Muslims to provide safeguards against tices and ensuring that organisations dediscrimination. Among measures which are livering public/social services do undercommon to all (including the social and take such campaigns should constitute a religious groups) are increasing incomes part of these measures. of the poor through improved access to assets and earnings which is essential for References better diet and access to healthcare. Simi- IIPS (1996): “National Family Health Survey-1992/93”, International Institute for Population Sciences, larly, there is a need to improve the educaMumbai. tion level and access to the public health IIPS and ORC Macro (2000 and 2007): “National Family Health Survey-India (NFHS-2 and 3), services and food security. Increasing the India 1998-99”, International Institute for Population Sciences, Mumbai. enrolment levels of girls and retaining Jan Sahas Social Development Society (2009): “Excluthem in school is critical at least until the sion and Inclusion of Dalit Community in Education secondary education stage. Expanding the and Health: A Report”, Dewas, Madhya Pradesh. functional health services to the rural and Sangamitra, Acharya (2010): “Public Health Care Services and Caste Discrimination: A Case of poorly served urban areas is necessary for Dalit Children” in Thorat Sukhadeo and Newman Katherine (ed.), Blocked by Caste-Economic Disimproving access of the poor to health. At crimination and Social Exclusion in Modern India (New Delhi: OUP). the same time, programmes to create Thorat, Sukhadeo and Joel Lee (2010): “Caste Disawareness of nutrition, and healthcare are crimination and Government Food Security necessary to inform critical feeding and Programme” in Thorat Sukhadeo and Newman Katherine (ed.), Blocked by Caste-Economic Discaring behaviours at the family level and crimination and Social Exclusion in Modern India (New Delhi: OUP). to promote use of health services. Table 3: Access to Health Services in Rural India (2005-06) Access to Essential Health Services
SC
ST
OBC
Others
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COMMENTARY
Addressing Concerns of the Disabled in Delhi Campuses Nikhil Jain
University campuses in Delhi continue to be ill-equipped – physically and academically – to deal with issues related to the disabled. Unless there is a concerted effort to enhance facilities and bring the concerns of the disabled to the forefront, the disabled would continue to remain alienated from academia.
Nikhil Jain teaches at the department of political science, Dyal Singh College, New Delhi.
T
he university is a place for creative learning and a place of equality where young minds interact with experienced ones irrespective of social barriers. The primary objective of higher education is to include all sections of society in the mainstream by recognising their specificities and ensuring their equal and meaningful participation in academics. Regrettably, institutions of higher education have constantly fallen short in this objective by not providing equal space to marginalised sections – particularly persons with disabilities. Disability is yet another form of human diversity. It is generally referred to as one form of physical deformity or disorder, but is much more than merely that. It could well be understood as an expression of social oppression which creates disabling conditions and hurdles that makes resources and the academic environment more inaccessible and unattainable for them. The key issue is of accessibility which is generally referred with respect to persons with disabilities, but might have an equal signi ficance for others as well. For example, the provision of facilities such as ramps and lifts in academic institutions not only enables an orthopaedically challenged person, but also supports aged people. Similarly, audio archives support not only the visually impaired but also help in creating good backups of recorded lectures, useful for everyone in an academic set-up. The meaning of accessibility thus goes much deeper and beyond the needs of the physically disabled. It is a measure of the nature of connectivity of an individual to the larger academic environment and of the acquisition and access of resources by all in an institution of higher education. This article attempts to explore the level of inclusion and space being provided to the persons with disabilities by central universities in Delhi, particularly by the University of Delhi (DU) in its structure and environment. Does the mode of teaching
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and learning process touch this important discourse? Does the university system enable them to access resources and get the best of the academic environment? Universities in Delhi – considered the premier ones in the country – play important roles in academic reforms in general. It is therefore important to look at the level of connectivity and involvement of the disabled with the mainstream here. First, in infrastructural support for the physically challenged, the situation in DU is pretty grim. Except for a few colleges, there is virtually no provision of ramps in departments. The few available ramps are either dangerously steep (making it difficult for those using it) or do not connect crucial areas in the premises of many colleges. Very few staff rooms are connected with ramps or lifts making it difficult for teachers with orthopaedic disabilities. Many libraries are completely inaccessible, both in terms of structural connectivity as well as in the nature of and accessibility to reading material. Toilets are inaccessible, classrooms are not constructed in a manner that is usable by the disabled. For example, almost every classroom has a platform that cannot be accessed by those using wheelchairs and poses hurdles for visually impaired teachers who cannot move freely in class during their lectures. The seating arrangement in the class also impedes the mobility of disabled teachers and students. Scientific labs are not constructed in an accessible form for orthopaedically disabled teachers and students either. The situation at the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) and Jamia Millia Islamia in this respect is equally disappointing. They are full of structural barriers which impede the mobility of a disabled individual. In most cases, the old structure of many buildings has never been renovated. If renovated, they have been made more dangerous, violating the norms of the Persons with Disabilities Act (1995). The reasons for these deficiencies lie in the neglect and non-inclusion of the disabled in decision and policymaking processes and circles in the university. Second, the University Grants Commission (UGC) has provided a one-time grant of Rs 5 lakh to colleges affiliated to the DU for making the academic premises disabledfriendly. Not only is this grant insufficient
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to provide the necessary facilities, it is also unspent in various colleges. The lack of spending on facilities for the disabled speaks of a gross violation, exacerbated by the absence of social audits in these colleges. The social audit is an important parameter in judging the level of sensitivity towards the disabled and it is imperative that this process of social audit is carried out in colleges and departments of DU. The role of the UGC as a supervisory body is key in this endeavour. Third, the non-implementation of centra lised schemes such as the provision of “enabling units” in most colleges and departments especially in the DU is glaring. The situation is no better in universities such as JNU and Jamia Millia Islamia. Apart from structural barriers, there are other social and pedagogically related barriers. There is paucity of reading material in accessible form for the visually impaired in DU. The Equal Opportunity Cell (EOC) which was established about five years
ago has made some progress in providing reading material in accessible format but this has been limited. Colleges in DU lack accessible libraries, reading facilities and access to books and journals for the visually impaired teachers and students. There is a provision of a reading centre for the visually impaired in the JNU library, but it requires upgradation, while the facilities for them in Jamia Millia Islamia are certainly not up to the mark. Difficulties for the hearing impaired are even more manifest in these univer sities. Apart from DU, no other university provides the facility of a sign language interpreter. There is hardly any support in terms of infrastructure and trained sign language teachers. The hearing impaired students and teachers have therefore been unable to attend seminars and conferences. The exclusion of the disabled is also visible in the various associations representing teachers, students and non-teaching
staff in universities and colleges. Dis ability has not got any recognition in the agenda for activists associated with various unions. There is therefore a missing link between members of academia with disabilities and the various forms of communities represented in campuses. This situation is very clear even in politically active campuses such as JNU. Significantly, disability as an issue is emerging in the political scene in DU, and hopefully it should go a long way in further democratising the university. There is also the need to establish a disability study centre on the lines of the women study centres in various universities – which should help establish issues and documents works on the subject of disability and social sciences. All this requires a firm and consistent struggle against apathy and indifference towards the disabled. The status quo would only further alienate disabled sections from the larger ethos of the academia and universities.
THIRD INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE Shri Ram College of Commerce University of Delhi Delhi-110007
Theme of the Conference: “Corporate Governance: The Road Ahead” Tentative Date: Third week of March 2012 Venue: Shri Ram College of Commerce, University of Delhi, Delhi, India. The Third International Conference of Shri Ram College of Commerce will be held in the third week of March (between 15 – 24 March) 2012. The main theme of the conference is ‘Corporate Governance: The Road Ahead’. The Conference will provide an important forum for the interaction of different ideas between academicians, practitioners and policymakers to enhance understanding of issues of corporate governance in India. Research paper presentation and special plenary session will be held by eminent scholars and practitioners to discuss various issues involved. Papers- theoretical, empirical or case study-based are invited on broad themes including but not limited to: (1) Corporate Governance in Developing Countries (2) Corporate Governance and Performance (3) Corporate Governance Practices in India, (4) Regulatory Framework and Policies (5) Auditors’ Responsibilities on Corporate Governance (6) Role of Independent Directors (7) Shareholders Activism (8) Insider Trading (9) Ethical Governance and Corporate Frauds (10) Protection of Minority Interest (11) Role of Institutional Investors and Banks in Corporate Governance. Selection of the received papers will be subject to the screening by the selection committee. The authors of the selected papers coming from Indian destination will be provided T.A. and free accommodation as per the UGC norms. Due to limited funds the foreign authors of the selected papers will have to make arrangements on their own for their travel expenses, while the lodging will be made available by the college free of cost. No registration fee for paper presenters. The last date of submission of paper is 25 January, 2012. The date of confirmation to the selected authors is 30 January, 2012. Papers can be sent electronically at
[email protected]. For further details contact College Seminar Committee Member - Mr. H.N. Tiwari (+919899197454); Convener, Mr. Santosh Kumar (+919911426837). Further details about the Conference can also be obtained from the college website – www.srcc.edu.
Dr Anil Kumar Conference Secretary
[email protected] (+91 9810857745) 20
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M Y Ghorpade: A Tribute T R Raghunandan
M Y Ghorpade, a seven-time member of the Karnataka Legislative Assembly, was deeply committed to panchayati raj. A tribute by an official who worked with him.
T R Raghunandan (
[email protected]) served in the IAS from 1983 to 2010, before he took voluntary retirement. He now works with panchayats across the country.
T
“
he call is for you”, said Aditi, my wife, on a June evening in 2001. “Someone very polite”, she added, “cupping the phone’s mouthpiece and handing it over. “I am Ghorpade, minister of rural development and panchayati raj”, said the voice at the other end. “Would you like to work as the secretary of the department?” This was a bolt from the blue. Here was a senior minister, directly speaking to me, without any private secretaries to assist him. I was being pitchforked into an important department and would be the youngest and most junior secretary to the Government of Karnataka, at that time. Even though I only had a nodding acquaintance with M Y Ghorpade, my impression was that he was an imposing and somewhat intimidating person. Instinct told me that one did not refuse when spoken to by him. “Yes, sir”, I heard myself say. Within a couple of hours, M Y Ghorpade was again on the phone. “I’ve met the chief minister seeking your posting. He has agreed. You start tomorrow.” I did my quick homework on my future boss. Murarirao Yashwantrao Ghorpade was the son of the erstwhile princely state of Sandur, a cool wooded haven in the sweltering district of Bellary. Born in 1931, he joined the Congress Party after obtaining a postgraduate degree in economics from Cambridge. He entered the Karnataka assembly at the young age of 28, in 1959; the year I was born! He represented Sandur constituency seven times in the Karnataka assembly and was a Member of Parliament thrice, in 1962, 1967 and 1972. He was Karnataka’s finance minister from 1972-79 during the Devaraj Urs period and rural development and panchayati raj minister in the early 1990s, when under his stewardship, the 73rd amendment’s mandatory provisions for panchayati raj were legislated into law. After the law was enacted, he resigned from the ministry in protest against the delay of panchayat elections. A man of principle, I noted that there was a softer side to him too, he was
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an award-winning wildlife photographer, preferring to shoot in black and white film and a winner of many prestigious national and international awards.
Committed to Panchayats It was clear that M Y Ghorpade, who was now serving his second term as rural development and panchayati raj minister, was universally known and respected for his commitment to strengthening grassroots democracy through panchayats. However, I had a more mundane concern; was he a decent person with whom to work? Oh, he is a darling, said one senior officer whose opinion I sought. Be careful, he is moody, unpredictable and has a terribly bad temper, said another. So, it was with some trepidation that I entered his wildlife photograph-lined study the next day. In that first meeting, M Y Ghorpade described the full scope of my work and laid out his plans. Karnataka’s strength lay in a strong legislation, but it was found wanting in executive action to serve the law. There was no large-scale political support for decentralisation and reform had to be low profile and stealthy. It has to avoid self-congratulatory rhetoric and state out fully and frankly all existing shortcomings and suggest operational solutions to strengthen panchayats. He wanted that to be addressed. He had it all laid out on a sheet of paper – 35 action points on which he wanted policy recommendations, detailing what precisely ought to be done. M Y Ghorpade constituted a working group on decentralisation to find operative solutions to the shortcomings identified by him. I served as the group’s membersecretary. The report, when released in March 2002, was ignored by most and criticised by some. To M Y Ghorpade, this was water off a duck’s back.
Master Class in Politics I then received a master class in the political piloting of reforms. M Y Ghorpade came across to most of his party men and political rivals as a somewhat distant, professorial and harmless do-gooder. Behind this non-threatening façade, he concealed an experienced, political mind, which he put to good use to get his way, often
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stealthily. In implementing the working group recommendations, the first landmark was of introducing clarity into what the zilla, taluk and gram panchayats should do, through activity mapping. He skilfully steered his proposals through a cabinet subcommittee, having his way with almost everything he proposed, through persuasion and diplomacy. Almost simultaneously, significant amend ments were proposed to the Karnataka Panchayat Raj Act with the objectives of facilitating peoples’ participation and making panchayats more accountable. These aimed at establishing a two-tier system of ward sabhas for each constituency in the gram panchayat and gram sabhas at the panchayat level. These sabhas were given wide powers, including mandatory identification and prioritisation of beneficiaries and developmental plans for all government programmes. The bill also proposed that beneficiary lists finalised by the gram sabha cannot be subsequently changed at any level of the government. While I fervently wished otherwise, I had little hope that these amendments would sail. I feared that they would be ruthlessly rejected by the Vidhana Sabha, as they aimed to drastically clip the powers of legislators. M Y Ghorpade’s strategy dawned on me as he made his opening speech in the Vidhana Sabha. He said that these amendments were important and far-reaching steps, and proposed that they should be discussed in an all-party select committee. Having thus pre-empted any possible opposition, he then personally scouted around to constitute a select committee comprising champions of decentralisation from all parties. He chaired every meeting, patiently listening to each member and separating the wheat from the chaff in our evening debriefing sessions. The draft bill emerged even stronger and was passed unanimously in both houses, with all members reserving fulsome praise for M Y Ghorpade. However, these empowering steps had little meaning if they were not supported by adequate finances for the panchayats. Ghorpade overcame this impediment through an interesting ploy. In reply to an assembly question asked by a keen supporter of panchayati raj, MLA D R Patil, on whether the government would commit
22
to match the powers given to the panchayats with adequate finances, M Y Ghorpade announced a total commitment to do so. This reply was referred to the Assurances Committee for compliance and implemented thereafter. M Y Ghorpade was passionate in ensuring peoples’ action for drought-proofing. Under his guidance, a statewide movement for water conservation, named Jalarakshana, was taken up. During 2002-03 and 2003-04 droughts, over 1 lakh farmers registered with their respective gram panchayats, which then contributed 75% of the requirement in the form of foodgrains. The farmer contributed the remainder of the wage and material cost from his pocket. More than 1,00,000 tonnes of grain were released progressively to meet the demand. While it was M Y Ghorpade’s velvet glove that everybody saw, every once in a while, the iron hand would show. Once, when both of us were in Delhi, we received news from the law secretary of the Government of Karnataka that a retrogressive amendment to the Panchayat Raj Act was proposed by some misguided elements in the government, to be sneaked through as an ordinance; could the minister speak to the chief minister and stall it? M Y Ghorpade’s face darkened
when I broke the news. He hesitated to cancel the important appointment with the deputy prime minister, but was firm that the amendment ought not to be passed. He asked me to return to Bangalore immediately carrying a secret message to his ministerial colleagues. Fortified by a legal opinion against the amendment from the advocate-general, I appeared before the senior members of the council of ministers and then, in as deadpan a tone as I could muster, I delivered M Y Ghorpade’s message exactly as I was instructed, “My minister wishes to inform his ministerial colleagues that if the proposed amendment is carried out, he regrets that he will have to part ways with them”. Having conveyed my minister’s ultimatum, I stood there quaking in my boots, every eye in the room fixed on me. It took Chief Minister S M Krishna all his diplomatic skills to see that M Y Ghorpade’s messenger was not harmed that day! The ill-advised amendment was dropped. M Y Ghorpade’s functioning style was demanding and rigorous. He had no patience for new-fangled technology, such as watching PowerPoint presentations. He would usually ask officers to write on a white board, what exactly they wanted or
INSTITUTE FOR SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC CHANGE ADVERTISEMENT NO. NA/5/2011 Applications/Nominations are invited for the post of REGISTRAR of the Institute in the pay scale of Rs.37,400-67,000 AGP 9,000 plus allowances. Candidates should be (a) a Postgraduate with minimum 50% marks, (b) must have minimum 10 years of working experience in General Administration and Institutional Management, Human Resource Development, Personnel Management and in all aspects of campus management including Hospitality, Facilities, Events and Security Management. The age of retirement of Registrar is 62 years. Retired officers of the Army/ Navy/ Airforce who are of age to give more than two/three years of service are eligible to apply. Application form and full details regarding the essential and desirable qualifications, age, job responsibilities, experience, terms and conditions of appointment, mode of selection, remuneration, etc., are available on the Institute’s website www.isec.ac.in. The Selection Committee reserves the right to reject any or all applications without assigning any reason. The applications/nominations complete in all respects addressed to the Director, Institute for Social and Economic Change, Dr V K R V Rao Road, Nagarabhavi P.O., Bangalore 560 072, should reach on or before December 26, 2011. Internal candidates possessing the required qualifications may also apply. REGISTRAR
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proposed. Needless to say, many were intimidated and unsettled by his gimleteyed stare. He also had the knack of stopping and seeking to know more, exactly while one was trying to gloss over a weak point in a presentation. You had to do your homework thoroughly. Yet, he had a sense of great fun; sometimes stopping one in mid-stride to compliment one’s sartorial elegance. One would never know when he would have a sly joke at one’s expense. Once, he stopped a senior officer who was wearing a parti cularly loud maroon shirt with the words, “Mr Principal Secretary, I admire your courage in wearing that shirt”. The room dissolved into laughter. I began to welcome the evening chats with M Y Ghorpade at Sandur House. In his quiet study, with a magnificent tiger captured by his Hasselblad regally contemplating us, we met to celebrate successes, contemplate setbacks and regroup. Our musings would be interrupted by tall glasses of delicious spicy buttermilk. Often, as we were in mid-stride in a serious discussion, with a grand wave of his hand, he would call all official proceedings to an end. Reaching out for Bertrand Russell, he would read passages aloud. Several times, we rambled on into the late evening, our office work done, together reading and savouring passages from philosophy, wildlife and poetry. When M Y Ghorpade read a book, it stayed read. He would underline paragraphs, pencil in notes in the margins and then marvel at them years later. Yet, the famous bad temper of which I was warned occasionally showed. Usually, I got a weather report from his private secretaries beforehand and learnt to avoid any skirmishes. Sometimes, one flew directly into the eye of the storm. On one such occasion, Ghorpade got steadily irritated as a meeting stretched into the evening. In the gathering dusk, he began to snap at all of us and by nightfall, everybody’s nerves were frayed. In the gloom at the Vidhana Soudha gates, finally, the two of us were left, glumly waiting for our cars. I was not in the best of my moods either. Perhaps feeling the need to make amends for the tense meeting, Ghorpade asked me what I would do when I got back home. I told him that I would join a party,
if it was still on; it was my birthday. There was genuine remorse in M Y Ghorpade’s eyes. The tension of the evening melted away as he wished me and chided me for not telling him earlier; he would have called off the meeting. The next day, I heard a familiar voice on the phone. “Mr Raghunandan – it was always ‘Raghunandan’, never ‘Raghu’ – would you please come to my house when you leave office?” As I reached his house, he handed me a small box, containing a minimalist slim elegant wristwatch. I was tongue-tied with emotion. “Many many happy returns of the day! May you live a very long life and mark time with this”, he said as I wore it. I was told that he spent a few hours choosing this gift for me, at a showroom earlier in the day.
Wildlife Photographer At no time was M Y Ghorpade to be separated from his photography. Every year, he would regularly take a couple of weeks off with his trusted lieutenants Kannan and Kumar, to troop off to into the wilderness. His favourite destination was Kanha National Park, where he shot most of his marvellous black and white pictures of tigers. One of his last projects was to capture the bears of Daroji sanc tuary, not far from Sandur, on film. He was immensely proud of these photographs, taken in late 2003 and we often interrupted our discussions by walking around the room, with my minister recounting with childlike fervour how each photograph was taken. In 2004, M Y Ghorpade announced his retirement from politics. An iron-willed man, no pleading would make him change his mind. He returned to his ancestral home in Sandur to concentrate on the many things he loved, teaching children at the Sandur Residential School, wildlife photography, reading and writing. Not too long after that, I left the state to join the central ministry of panchayati raj, I was wedded to the subject for life. Over the years, we spoke occasionally. He chided me often for not finding the time to write to him, of what was happening across the country on panchayati raj. I did try, several times, but it had to be the perfect letter, and handwritten. Nothing
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else would pass muster. The drafts lay around partly finished.
Teaching Children Finally, I met him in December 2010 and we had a long and delightful chat. He was happy and contented with his life and spent the evenings teaching children English and history. I noticed with amusement that his style had not changed. In his makeshift classroom at home, stories from the Puranas were read aloud to children, who then were to recount them in their own words and use the familiar white board if they so wished. I left him that evening, with the promise to visit and write to him frequently. M Y Ghorpade died on 29 October in Bangalore. It is difficult to come to terms with the loss of M Y Ghorpade. As I stood there in the shadows at Sandur, watching thousands of silent tearful mourners filing past his casket, I realised how much he was loved as a public figure. His royal background did not detract from the fact that he was a man of the people. But to me, Ghorpade was much more than a minister. He was a father figure; a mentor and a friend; always there, warm-hearted, witty and affectionate. He inspired me to work hard; to never overlook the details. He also taught me not to take life too seriously, to have a sense of proportion and balance. He had a wonderful photograph of a langur poised in mid-jump in his study. Above the graceful arc of its tail, was the simple message “Animals know that the primary purpose of life is to enjoy it”. I used to look up at it often, and the tension of work would melt away. Now all that is left are a bagful of memories. And one slim, elegant steel watch that I wear daily.
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Egypt Diary Ritu Menon
A week in Egypt reveals the beauty of its history and the complexity of the history in the making – political changes following the revolutionary events of January 2011. Progressives, intellectuals and everyone who participated in the January revolution that saw the back of Hosni Mubarak are, however, bracing for a winter of discontent as the military still calls the shots in the country.
Ritu Menon (
[email protected]) is a feminist publisher and writer based in Delhi who visited Egypt in October.
Friday, 21 October
T
ahrir. Now an iconic space, almost as hallowed as the Cairo Museum that is situated at one end of the square or, rather, circle. That first evening, on the way to Zamalek from the airport, we had to cross it, of course, but would have gone there anyway to see it for ourselves. Evening crowds, families, young men, lots of them, out at day’s end, older men sitting with their hookahs, playing dice, kibitzing. Women with children strolling, hawkers hawking, balloons dotting the sky. In one corner a largish knot of people listening to an impromptu speech, but we cannot make out what it is about, and Hamad, Ahdaf’s driver, does not know either. Not a planned meeting, it seems, unlike the demonstration outside the Arab League offices where people are protesting against Bashar Assad. Zamalek, a little island of leafy green streets, fashionable shops, the posh oasis in a city of 18 million. Omar or Robbie, Ahdaf’s son, dismissively refers to its rich denizens as fulouls – the irrelevant ones. The counterrevolutionaries. Robbie, a filmmaker, was an active participant in the January 2011 revolutionary, youth-led protests in Tahrir, and now works in an alternative media collective that produces material to counter the misinformation put out by the state. And the military. Misinformation like the deliberate lies around the shooting of Copts in Maspero, in old Cairo, on 9 October. Unofficial video footage that Robbie and his friends managed to get hold of esta blished that the military opened fire first on a peaceful demonstration – for which the protestors had permission – and not that they were attacked by an unarmed crowd. Deaths resulted. Anger is growing. The general impression is that the military is creating the circumstances which will allow them to claim a state of chaos and declare a postponement of the elections due to begin on 28 November 2011. No, things are far from positive in this Arab Autumn in Cairo as far as the political situation is concerned. The military appears
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to be in for a long haul, the US is far from unhappy with that, and there is no real organised political opposition, apart from the Muslim Brotherhood. But the Americans have said they can comprise no more than 30% of an elected government. So, is this the outcome of Mubarak’s exit? Did the revolutionaries simply do the military’s job for it – oust Mubarak so that they could step in without a coup? They were never too happy with Mubarak, anyway, especially after his attempts at sidelining the military in favour of the police, and replacing senior military officers as ministers with business cronies, thus doing them out of lucrative sinecures. Some of this will be part of the writer Ahdaf Soueif’s personal/political memoir of the heady 18 days in January-February 2011 that she was writing, called Cairo: My City, Our Revolution, due for publication on 19 January 2012, marking the first anniversary of the revolution. That morning, news of Muammar Gaddafi’s assassination had simultaneously closed and opened a chapter in next-door Libya’s eight-month long bloody revolution. Ahdaf decided we needed to put all this political stuff out of our minds for the moment and spend our first evening in Cairo in the historic Islamic part of the city. Well, it took us a good long while to get there because we were stuck in the mother of all traffic jams which continued for kilometres! We just crept along, inch by inch, as pedestrians hurried past, but for sheer liveliness of street life it was hard to beat. Pavement vendors, food and bric-abrac, hardware, all manner of kitsch, like any market square in old cities, bustling with busyness. When we got to the old Islamic quarter eventually, it was positively quiet by comparison. And lovely old mosques and residences restored with sensitivity, wide streets, very clean – and, compared to Chandni Chowk, very orderly. The same streets divided by wares, gold, silver, textiles, pottery, spices, etc, but walking was a pleasure, not an obstacle race. And the jaalis on buildings, both wooden and stone were simply beautiful.
Saturday, 22 October The following day, after a fascinating visit to the Cairo Museum and Coptic Cairo, we dined with Ahdaf who had invited her
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sister, Laila Soueif, a professor of mathematics at Cairo University, her aunt, Lulie, an oncologist in Alexandria, and her brother, Ala, an IT professional, and as they were all actively involved in the January revolution, naturally dinner table conversation was dominated by what is in store now, politically, with the elections around the corner. Laila, a founder member of the Kefaya Movement, regaled us with stories of the ineptitude of the political parties scrambling to nominate candidates; wary of alliances with other parties but unable to make it on their own; united in wanting the military out but fumbling and floundering on strategy and direction. So much so that none of the three presidential hopefuls – including El Baradei and Abdel Moneim Aboul Fotouh of the Muslim Brotherhood – wanted to run as part of a political group – they were standing as independent candidates. Even as we spoke and listened, Ahdaf’s brother was presenting a restructuring plan for the bureaucracy to the ministry of the interior in order to bring about the changes that the collapse
of the Mubarak regime was supposed to accomplish. The mood that evening vacillated between pessimism and a kind of resigned compromise, which acknowledged the glaring shortcomings and reversals of the past two months, but believed in getting the political process going through the elections, however flawed. And in the meantime, expose, expose, expose the government through all the media means available to them. It is such a complicated political context that it could either revert to business as usual or herald another round of resistance and protest – but this time with the anticipation of violence by the state. It was strangely exhilarating – but also a little disquieting – this juxtaposition of an extraordinary ancient culture with an equally extraordinary contemporary political reality.
Sunday, 23 October Ahdaf arrived at 10:00 am and we set off for Giza and the Pyramids. Five thousand years ago, Pharaonic Egypt, spanned three
centuries and thirty dynasties, divided into three kingdoms – old, middle and new. Ancient Memphis became the capital of a unified Upper and Lower Egypt at the point where the Nile Delta met the valley. The year was 3100 BC, and Memphis remained the capital till the seat of power shifted to Thebes (now Luxor) at the time of the New Kingdom. Pharaohs and Pyramids go together but even so, the number of them scattered over Memphis is pretty staggering. Over a hundred, easily, with more being discovered every few years. Ahdaf’s mother had a fruit garden a little beyond the Pyramids in a village off the road to Mansouraiah; the term “village” is a bit misleading as the entire road is urban, built up right till the turnoff to the villages, a cluster of modest dwellings, all pakka, some even two or three storeys high. Ahdaf’s mother’s house is situated in about two acres of garden, mostly date palm, lemon and mango trees, and a vine trellis over the courtyard. Palm trees in the courtyard, as
CENTRE FOR ECONOMIC AND SOCIAL STUDIES (CESS) Nizamiah Observatory Campus, Begumpet, Hyderabad. Andhra Pradesh – 500 016 Website: www.cess.ac.in
The Centre for Economic and Social Studies invites applications from scholars preferably below 45 years of age as a full time Visiting Fellow to conduct short period research (maximum one year) under the research programmes of the Research Unit for Livelihoods and Natural Resources (RULNR) supported by Jamsetji Tata Trust, Mumbai. Interested candidates may send their application with full proposal (including budget, time frame and expected outputs), curriculum vitae and work plan. The proposal format can be downloaded from our website www.rulnr.ac.in. The fellowship carries a consolidated remuneration of Rs 35000 per month. The duration of fellowship will, in no case, be more than one year. The centre will also provide limited financial support for fieldwork and contingency expenditures. The scholar selected under the programme is required to present a project initiation seminar before commencement of the study and a completion seminar after the draft report is ready. He/she is also expected to publish the research outputs through RULNR publications as working papers or monographs. The essential qualification for the above said position is Masters’ Degree with minimum 55 per cent marks and demonstrated capacity to undertake high quality independent research related to Livelihoods and Natural Resources particularly focusing on River basins / Forests / Dry-lands. Preference will be given to candidates who have MPhil/Ph.D. Degree and work experience in academic organisations or NGOs. Interested candidates may submit their applications on or before December 16, 2011 to the Principal Co-ordinator, RULNR, CESS at the above address by regular post or via email
. Prl. Co. ordinator (RULNR) Director 26
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well, their fronds a slatted umbrella filtering the sunlight. An air of cool quietude filled our being as we sat in the courtyard eating fresh dates, succulent and honeysweet. On the roof, the red and gold fruit was ripening or drying, but if you have not tasted fresh dates you have not really eaten dates. We left the village and made our way to a friend of Ahdaf’s farm, near Dahshour, about 30 kms away. The light was slowly fading as we arrived at Sherif’s farm, his little piece of heaven in the countryside, a refuge from “the hell that Cairo has become”. Sherif is a one-man publisher, publishing books that he wants to, surviving on sales from just a couple of bookshops. Distribution is a “disaster” in Egypt, he said (oh, familiar strains) and it is difficult for the books to get around, but he is obviously a man of some means or he could not have remained in business. Darkness falls quite early these days, and as we talked, the birdsong ceased and the sky slowly filled with stars. The conversation turned – as it so often did when we were with Egyptians – to the elections and what they portend. Sherif is an idealist. Was at Tahrir every day during the January-February revolution, helped with money and other resources, and is passionate in his denunciation of SCAF – the Supreme Council of Armed Forces. It is a manipulative institution which will not relinquish power easily, he believes, will strong-arm the Muslim Brotherhood into a compromise alliance which will legitimise its authority and enable it to retain control of the country. The rest of the opposition – liberals, communists and others – he thinks are ineffective. Once installed, the government would be invulnerable because it would have been democratically elected, and the transformation that the revolution worked for, would be neutralised – or abandoned. So, what is your strategy, asks Ahdaf, what should be the next step in the process? More protests, he says, continue the resistance and keep up the pressure till the SCAF is dismantled and the army returned to the barracks. There will be bloodshed this time, counters Ahdaf. Sherif agrees, but believes there will be blood on the streets anyway, should elections be held, but it will not be spilled in
vain. His pessimism is shared by many, especially as alliances are being made and unmade every day. The Democratic Alliance for Egypt, which initially had more than 34 parties across the political spectrum and was the single largest bloc to contest the elections, had been reduced to 10 – even the newly formed Islamist parties consisting mainly of the Salafists, had pulled out. Amr Hamzawy, professor of political science and a founder of the Freedom Egypt party maintains that one of the weaknesses of the Egyptian political elite is “its inability to work collectively, manifested by the election and political alliances and struggle among parties over candidates’ lists”. Unlike Tunisia, where power was transferred to a civilian authority, in Egypt authority passed to SCAF; moreover, many former members of the dissolved National Democratic Party are being fielded as candidates in the parliamentary elections, so that many seats might well be won by remnants of the Mubarak regime! Meanwhile, the bureaucracy and governance are on hold, the economy is sluggish, and tourism has been hit badly. And the one-word cause of it all is: Revolution.
Monday, 24 October At dinner that evening, Ahdaf had invited her brother and sister-in-law, Sohair, as well as the writer, Radwa Ashour and her
son, Tamim Barghouti, a poet, and a few people from the British Council. The restaurant was the Charmerie in Zamalek, a lively Egyptian eatery with excellent food and atmosphere, even if a bit noisy! It was lovely to meet Radwa and Tamim again, and we drank to Radwa’s latest award – the Nord Sud Foundation in Pescara had recognised her latest novel on the Palestine naqba, the only one of her novels to be published in Italian. Tamim (who cannot vote in the forthcoming elections because he has not yet got Egyptian citizenship, his father being Palestinian) is back in Cairo, having resigned his teaching job at George Washington University. Like many other young Egyptians, he is immersed in the antimilitary-SCAF resistance, his long poem on Tahrir has been recited and broadcast repeatedly on television so that he is a minor celebrity, not only as a resistance poet but as a rising star of classical Arabic poetry. This evening, though, it was his analysis of the equation between the Muslim Brotherhood and the military that was most incisive. Within the Brotherhood there is rebellion in the ranks, with younger members resenting the authoritarianism of the elders and their stranglehold on the organisation. (In Tunisia, apparently, the opposite prevails, with older members of Ennahada much more progressive than their younger conservative colleagues.)
Third Conference on Papers in Public Economics Call for Papers The third annual conference on PIPE is being organized by the National Institute of Public Finance and Policy, on February 7-8, 2012. Papers on issues broadly in the area of Public Economics can be submitted for the conference. Papers received would be subject to review. For all accepted papers, the Institute will reimburse travel expenses and take care of local hospitality. Submission of paper: January 10, 2012 Authors of accepted papers would be intimated by January 25, 2012 The papers should be sent in soft copy to [email protected] Any other communication regarding the conference can also be addressed to [email protected] or [email protected] Address for correspondence: NIPFP, 18/2, Satsang Vihar Marg, Special Institutional Area, Near J.N.U., New Delhi 110067
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
27
COMMENTARY
Centre for the Study of Developing Societies (CSDS) Doctoral Fellowships 2011-12
The Centre for the Study of Developing Societies, Delhi invites applications for Doctoral Fellowships for the year 2011-12. Upto five fellowships (of which one fellowship is earmarked for a teacherfellow) will be awarded for a period of two years with possible extension of one year. Successful candidates will work on a doctoral dissertation in an Indian university under the supervision/ co-supervision of a faculty member of the Centre. Students from Universities which do not allow for co-supervision need not apply. Fellowships are offered to students with interests falling within the areas of Centre’s research: Political and social theory with special reference
to democracy
Social
change, development, alternatives and critiques
Culture,
state, civilization and society
Gender, ethnicity, caste, class, religion, identity,
diversity and violence
Media
Studies and Urban Experience
Eligibility: Postgraduate degree in social sciences with at least 55 per cent marks. The applicant should be registered for PhD in an Indian University or should be able to complete the registration formalities before 31st March 2012. Application requirements: 1. Curriculum Vitae 2. Names and addresses of two academic
referees
3. A statement of about 1500 words on the
proposed research and
4. A sample of candidate’s written work. Selection and Preference: Short-listed candidates would be called for an interview. Preference will be given to women, differently abled persons and those from the Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, Other Backward Classes and minority communities. Applications should be sent on plain paper,
Fellowship and facilities:
specifying: name, age, mailing address, contact
Fellowship offered consists of a monthly stipend
of Developing Societies, 29, Rajpur Road, Delhi
of Rs. 16,000/- per month for the first two years
110 054. Applications sent by e-mail or fax will
of the fellowship and for the third year the fellowship
not be accepted. Those required to route applications
amount will be Rs. 18,000/-. Contingency will be
through their employer may send advance copies in order to meet the deadline.
Rs. 10,000 per year for the first two years and for the third year it is Rs. 20,500/- as per the UGC revision along with library facilities.
number etc. to the Director, Centre for the Study
The last date for the receipt of completed applications is January 10, 2012
Enquiries: S. Jayasree Jayanthan, Administrative Officer, Telephone: 23942199, 23951190, 23971151. Fax: 23943450, Email: [email protected] 28
december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
COMMENTARY
Desperate to keep the unity, the leadership will agree to any compromise with the majority party in the elections – as low as 20% of the seats, according to Tamim – so that they retain their control over their flock. In another conversation around the table, the discussion centred on the People’s TV channel that media activists, intellectuals and the revolutionary youth plan to set up as an alternative news and information medium. To be publicly subscribed by the sale of shares ranging from £E 10 to a maximum of £E 30 per share. Whether and when they will get permission to do so is a moot question as all media, print and broadcast, are state-owned.
Thursday, 27 October Back in Cairo after a visit to Karnak, Luxor and the Valley of the Kings we were pulled up short by the news that Ahdaf’s nephew, Alaa, Laila’s son, had been summoned to the Military Court to be inter rogated for some offence he was supposed to have committed at a demonstration the previous week against the military firing and killing of 28 Coptic Christians in Maspero. Alaa was accused of “inciting violence” through his blogs and “damaging military property”. Of course, he was also part of the campaign spearheaded by his sister, Mona, “No to Military Trials” which resisted the interrogation and trial of civilians by a military court. He was to be prosecuted on 30 October, a Sunday, but that Friday, 28 October, there would be a rally in his support at Tahrir, to coincide with a planned protest against the torture and death in custody of a poor labourer picked up on a drug-related charge. Increasingly, it seemed to be SCAF that was guilty of criminal action against ordinary citizens, but who would try them? We could not participate in that demonstration because we were in Alexandria – but, there, too, people were out on the streets, and at the prestigious Bibliotheca Alexandrina the entire staff was on strike, demanding the resignation of the director, who was Suzanne Mubarak’s “puppet”. They had managed to shut down the library but showed up every day and sloganeered and declaimed on the premises, accom panied by revolutionary songs composed
during the 18 days between 25 January11 February 2011. We were quite shocked by the huge disparity in salaries that the strikers were protesting: £E 66,000 (or $11,000) per month to the director, but only £E 1,500 (or $200) to the librarian, and as little as £E 300 to the security staff. And at Cairo University, Radwa told me, a full professor’s salary is £E 6,000 (or $1,000) per month, but the vice chancellor (VC) earns close to a million. “Institutionalised robbery”, she said, because a new ruling apportioned a small percentage of the fee charged by every faculty in the university to each student – upwards of 3,00,000 – as the VC’s share! Mubarak’s scheme for buying loyalty. We looked in vain for Durrell’s and Cavafy’s Alexandria (though we stayed at the Cecil, war-time base for Churchill and the British Secret Service, as well as favourite haunt of Somerset Maugham and E M Forster and Noel Coward), but realised that theirs had been a largely Orientalist fantasy superimposed on a colonial European project. Egyptian Alexandria has little to do with the effete Europeans of the Alexandria Quartet, or its imagined “natives” – although I suppose Cavafy’s romance with the city was real enough for him. Even the city’s few Greco-Roman ruins are slender pickings. We were disappointed, except for the sweep of the Corniche and the splendid vista it afforded of the Eastern Mediterranean. That was wonderful. On 30 October Alaa was remanded to military custody, handcuffed and led into prison. He had refused to answer the prosecutor’s charges, saying that SCAF, as an accused itself for the killing of innocent civilians, could not turn inter rogator. It had no locus standi. Fifteen days of detention, followed by another 15, up to a maximum of 45 days before his trial could commence. He is in his late twenties, expecting his first child in late November. His father is one of the most highly regarded human rights lawyers in Cairo, but Alaa’s decision to challenge the legitimacy of the charges against him had been a family consensus. The issue was larger than Alaa, they said, it was against military courts and they would mobilise against it with greater fervour. On Monday, 31 October, a rally of more than 3,000 people gathered at Tahrir,
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
and 22 lawyers pledged support to Alaa, said they would appear on his behalf and ask for bail when his appeal was heard on 3 November. The court of the military prosecutor rejected his appeal and Alaa was handcuffed and imprisoned again. Less than one week later, the interim government appointed by SCAF said it would impose a 22-article charter of “principles” that would be binding on the committee appointed to draft a new constitution. It would prohibit parliament from supervising the military budget, and would also declare it the “protector of constitutional legitimacy”. Moreover, under the new plan, the military would nominate 80 of the 100 members of the proposed constituent assembly – only 20 would be from among elected parliamentarians. Other provisions give the army the right to reject any constitutional article it disapproves of, and to dissolve the constituent assembly if it does not produce a document that the army approves of within six months. On 18 November, the Muslim Brotherhood came out in strength in Tahrir, ostensibly to pressurise the military into diluting the provisions of this charter, especially with regard to protecting constitutional legitimacy. They see this as the spectre of secularism disguised as safeguard. Liberals and revolutionaries kept away and the demonstration was largely peaceful. But the very next day, Saturday, 19 November, activists and others in the tens of thousands thronged the square to protest SCAF’s intentions and demand its immediate withdrawal from government. The full force of the police rained bullets and batons on them; to the more than 1,000 dead in the January-February struggle have been added another 35, with several hundred injured. And Alaa is still in jail. Watching from the sidelines, one could not help thinking that the 18-day Egyptian Spring had morphed into what could be a very long winter of discontent.
available at
B.N.Dey & Co. News Agent Panbazar Guwahati 781001, Assam Ph: 2546979, 2547931 29
New Cities for Old Anant Maringanti
T
he passing of the 74th amendment to the Constitution in 1994 and the launching of the Jawaharlal Nehru National Urban Renewal Mission (JNNURM) in 2005 are arguably the two most signi ficant events in spatial restructuring in post-reforms India. Together, they set in motion a slew of transformations in struc tures of government and the processes of managing cities. Two decades after the overall context for these transformations was first created in 1991, critical literature that renders transparent the structural transformations and their consequences for Indian society is still sparse. This is hardly surprising. In post-Inde pendence India studies on cities and their governance remained in the margins of Indian policymaking and policy studies. Yet, cities had undergone tremendous transfor mations during those four decades, particu larly since early 1970s. The gradual disem powerment of urban local bodies, the public sector investments in large industry, the rise of the regional capital, the waxing and wan ing flows of ideas about urban poverty through transnational aid chains, the emer gence of urban development authorities; the changes in social and physical mobility of populations – had all been barely commen ted upon but rarely investigated in depth.
A Reflective Eye Against that backdrop, Re-visioning Indian Cities is a valuable source book for new research. The author was an insider to the creation of the 74th amendment and a close observer of and participant in the unfolding of the JNNURM. He brings the advantage of experience and hindsight to the book to turn a reflexive eye to the emergence of cities as loci of new govern ance regimes in the last decade. The book’s main strength is the highly sharpened commonsense of an insider to government. This is reflected in the ease with which the author can cut to the chase. Yet, this strength is also the weakness of the book because a
30
book review Re-visioning Indian Cities: The Urban Renewal Mission by K C Sivaramakrishnan (New Delhi: Sage Publications), 2011; pp 279, Rs 695.
reader who comes to the book without the advantage of familiarity with the politics of governance in India would miss the significance of many of the insights. The book could have benefited from an introductory essay by a practitioner or academic scholar who could have placed it in context for the community. Such an introduction could easily have pre-empted the risk that the book runs of being judged unfairly by telling the readers precisely what to expect and give them a road map through the chapters. As it stands, the organisation of the chapters follows an internal logic that the reader is not privy to. Insights spring out of the pages and take the reader by surprise. Despite the exten sive use of statistical data and tables, this is a book that must be read at leisure and not with a view to grasp the gist and move on. And in order to do so, one must begin with appreciating the author’s vantage point which he captures succinctly in the preface when he briefly mentions how his “burden of memory” came to aid him in resisting the temptation to let the internet (Google search) define the horizons of knowledge.
Assessment of JNNURM The substance of the book is an excellent compilation of answers to a number of “what?” questions that a student of urban policy in India might ask. It describes the JNNURM in historical perspective, and assesses the success and enlists bottlenecks. The author gives the reader the benefit of his ability to take a bird’s-eye view of the state of Indian cities. Yet, it remains silent on the troubling “why?” questions that any serious student of policy is bound to ask. For example, it is common knowledge among the small community of national
urban policymakers that as a cumulative effect of a number of political and economic transformations since 1970s transforma tions; the “state government” had emerged as the principal scale at which both delib erative and executive power over cities and their management is organised in India. This is precisely why both in the imple mentation of the 74th amendment and later the JNNURM, it is the state government which proved both the enabler and the stumbling block. Reform-oriented trans national policy communities have been alert to the emergence of this scalar configura tion, particularly in the context of coalitional party politics at least since 1995 when the World Bank and aid consortia first began to leverage their influence at the state govern ment level (Kirk 2005). That the small but influential urban policymaking community in India understands this well would be evident to students of policy who track the formal and informal statements made by policymakers to the media. To readers fa miliar with all this, many of the author’s observations will seem intuitively correct. The author captures this whole back drop, when he observes that the functional domain of urban local bodies in India has come to be regarded both in practice and through case law, to be the functional domain of state governments. He notes in particular that even though as per the 74th Constitutional Amendment, they are set up as constitution al bodies, what they are supposed to do and how they are supposed to do it, has been left to the imagination of the state governments.
Crucial Questions The crucial question, however, is why did the central government leave such an important area of policy implementation to the imagination of the state governments? How did the central government think that it is going to deal with the consequences of this lapse? Later on, the author notes, The National Urban Renewal Mission bears the heavy stamp of design by one group of officials in Delhi, partial consultations with another group in the state capitals and a nod ding discourse with a few cities.
Indeed, as all serious students of urban processes know, the JNNURM is the work
december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
BOOK REVIEW
of a technically savvy, internationally exposed, reform-oriented policy network that has come into existence in the last 20 years. These attributes and structures are both the strength and the weakness of the network because in practice, the implementation of the policies has to be refracted through the political legacies of institutions rather than through net works. After all, as the author observes, JNNURM funding, despite its intention of incentivising performance, has to con form to the Planning Commission ceilings for each state. How can we make sense of the processes of spatial restructuring of India in such a context? Recalcitrant states which retain executive power over cities and dynamic flexible network of policymakers? What op tions are available for urban local bodies when state governments pursue a strategy of selective compliance when they access funds from the central government and ex tract revenues from cities but do not de volve them to urban local bodies? Why did
the JNNURM not make it mandatory that se lection of cities in a particular state would be conditional upon state governments mak ing the necessary financial transfers to cit ies? Over the past year, it has become clear that without this critical tool in place, most cities have transitioned into debt financing without the necessary powers to demand their share from the state governments and have passed on the fiscal pressures to urban dwellers? Should this be interpreted as short sight on the part of policymakers or should it be seen as a case of “liberalisation imperative” taking precedence over “effec tive governance imperative?”. Such questions are hinted at by the author when he notes that “there is no clear indication why some of the reforms are mandatory and others are optional”. The book remains within the strict confines of the policy discourse and its conventions and norms of disclosure so much so that it does not articulate such follow-up questions particularly when they point to politics. But it sets the backdrop for articulating
Charting a Course through Embattled Terrain Karen Coelho
A
t the peak of the “water wars” of the late 1990s and early 2000s, as anti-privatisation activists battled multinational corporations and financial institutions on streets and in conference halls around the world, many water acti vists and scholars struggled, often unsuc cessfully, to obtain a solid grasp of the issues involved. More confusing were the late 2000s, when corporations began to back off from large-scale investments in urban water systems, suggesting a “postprivatisation” era that was nevertheless littered with talk of public-private part nerships (PPPs) and private sector partici pations (PSPs) that claimed to be distinct from outright privatisation. Debates on water governance have gen erated more heat than light; the polemics have often overshadowed the problema tics. What does the fight to establish water
Privatising Water: Governance Failure and the World’s Urban Water Crisis by Karen Bakker (New Delhi: Orient Blackswan), 2011; (reprint from 2010 edition by Cornell University Press.)
as a human right mean in practical terms, how does it cohere with recognition of the economic value(s) of water? If water in urban supply systems is technically neither a public good nor a common pool resource, how can we resist its classification as an “economic good”? What does the struggle for public water really entail? What are the implications of tradable property rights in water? What viable instruments are availa ble for ensuring equity and sustainability in water production and distribution?
Valuable Road Map Karen Bakker’s book offers a valuable road map through this thicket of questions,
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
them. Hopefully the author will raise and answer some of the questions himself in further writing. At any rate, the book opens the doors for new researchers. Re-visioning Indian Cities is divided into 12 chapters: the policy background, coverage and components, housing and services for the poor; the JNNURM and urban mobility; disconnects and deficiencies, the reforms agenda; dealing with planning, the metro politan dimension; reinforcements for the reforms agenda; the advisory group: look ing over the shoulder; the mission amidst many realities; the mission’s journey: thus far and the way ahead. Each of the chapters is a useful window into our urban reality. Anant Maringanti ([email protected]) is an independent urban researcher based in Hyderabad.
Reference Kirk, A Jason (2005): “Banking on India’s States: The Politics of World Bank Reform Programmes in Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka”, India Review, Volume 4, Issue 3-4, pp 287-325.
ebates and conundra. Drawing on her d close studies of water management sys tems across the world over 15 years (start ing with England and Wales in the 1990s and moving on to Indonesia, South Africa and other countries), it provides a clear and informed analysis of the stakes in volved in water governance. It approaches this task by parsing the key debates that have shaped this field not only since the 1990s when anti-privatisation struggles gained worldwide prominence, but since the mid-19th century, when large-scale capital-intensive water infrastructure began to be installed in cities, both in the indus trialised world and in (usually colonised) cities of the South. Experiments with, and debates over public and private ownership of urban water systems date from this period: many of the early systems, for example in Boston, New York, London, Paris, were built and operated by private companies, who charged high tariffs and restricted supplies to wealthier neighbor hoods, leaving poorer sections to rely on public taps, wells, rivers and/or informal vendors. Subsequently, calls for universal isation of protected water supplies, ac companying concerns about water-borne
31
BOOK REVIEW
of a technically savvy, internationally exposed, reform-oriented policy network that has come into existence in the last 20 years. These attributes and structures are both the strength and the weakness of the network because in practice, the implementation of the policies has to be refracted through the political legacies of institutions rather than through networks. After all, as the author observes, JNNURM funding, despite its intention of incentivising performance, has to conform to the Planning Commission ceilings for each state. How can we make sense of the processes of spatial restructuring of India in such a context? Recalcitrant states which retain executive power over cities and dynamic flexible network of policymakers? What options are available for urban local bodies when state governments pursue a strategy of selective compliance when they access funds from the central government and extract revenues from cities but do not devolve them to urban local bodies? Why did
the JNNURM not make it mandatory that selection of cities in a particular state would be conditional upon state governments making the necessary financial transfers to cities? Over the past year, it has become clear that without this critical tool in place, most cities have transitioned into debt financing without the necessary powers to demand their share from the state governments and have passed on the fiscal pressures to urban dwellers? Should this be interpreted as short sight on the part of policymakers or should it be seen as a case of “liberalisation imperative” taking precedence over “effective governance imperative?”. Such questions are hinted at by the author when he notes that “there is no clear indication why some of the reforms are mandatory and others are optional”. The book remains within the strict confines of the policy discourse and its conventions and norms of disclosure so much so that it does not articulate such follow-up questions particularly when they point to politics. But it sets the backdrop for articulating
Charting a Course through Embattled Terrain Karen Coelho
A
t the peak of the “water wars” of the late 1990s and early 2000s, as anti-privatisation activists battled multinational corporations and financial institutions on streets and in conference halls around the world, many water acti vists and scholars struggled, often unsuccessfully, to obtain a solid grasp of the issues involved. More confusing were the late 2000s, when corporations began to back off from large-scale investments in urban water systems, suggesting a “postprivatisation” era that was nevertheless littered with talk of public-private partnerships (PPPs) and private sector participations (PSPs) that claimed to be distinct from outright privatisation. Debates on water governance have generated more heat than light; the polemics have often overshadowed the problema tics. What does the fight to establish water
Privatising Water: Governance Failure and the World’s Urban Water Crisis by Karen Bakker (New Delhi: Orient Blackswan), 2011; (reprint from 2010 edition by Cornell University Press.)
as a human right mean in practical terms, how does it cohere with recognition of the economic value(s) of water? If water in urban supply systems is technically neither a public good nor a common pool resource, how can we resist its classification as an “economic good”? What does the struggle for public water really entail? What are the implications of tradable property rights in water? What viable instruments are available for ensuring equity and sustainability in water production and distribution?
Valuable Road Map Karen Bakker’s book offers a valuable road map through this thicket of questions,
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
them. Hopefully the author will raise and answer some of the questions himself in further writing. At any rate, the book opens the doors for new researchers. Re-visioning Indian Cities is divided into 12 chapters: the policy background, coverage and components, housing and services for the poor; the JNNURM and urban mobility; disconnects and deficiencies, the reforms agenda; dealing with planning, the metropolitan dimension; reinforcements for the reforms agenda; the advisory group: looking over the shoulder; the mission amidst many realities; the mission’s journey: thus far and the way ahead. Each of the chapters is a useful window into our urban reality. Anant Maringanti ([email protected]) is an independent urban researcher based in Hyderabad.
Reference Kirk, A Jason (2005): “Banking on India’s States: The Politics of World Bank Reform Programmes in Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka”, India Review, Volume 4, Issue 3-4, pp 287-325.
ebates and conundra. Drawing on her d close studies of water management systems across the world over 15 years (starting with England and Wales in the 1990s and moving on to Indonesia, South Africa and other countries), it provides a clear and informed analysis of the stakes involved in water governance. It approaches this task by parsing the key debates that have shaped this field not only since the 1990s when anti-privatisation struggles gained worldwide prominence, but since the mid-19th century, when large-scale capital-intensive water infrastructure began to be installed in cities, both in the industrialised world and in (usually colonised) cities of the South. Experiments with, and debates over public and private ownership of urban water systems date from this period: many of the early systems, for example in Boston, New York, London, Paris, were built and operated by private companies, who charged high tariffs and restricted supplies to wealthier neighborhoods, leaving poorer sections to rely on public taps, wells, rivers and/or informal vendors. Subsequently, calls for universalisation of protected water supplies, accompanying concerns about water-borne
31
BOOK REVIEW
diseases and hygiene, led to a municipalisation of these systems. Governments established utilities which used public funds to extend coverage, and cross-subsidised tariffs for the poor. Bakker thus historicises the process through which municipal ownership and management of water supplies came to be the dominant pattern in both developed and developing countries for most of the 20th century. The book sets itself the task of clarifying concepts and terminologies that have been deployed in debates over water privatisation, many of them adopted as battle slogans. Dismissing categories of “public” and “private” as incapable of adequately characterising the complex arrangements that typically constitute urban water systems, it offers alternate analytic concepts that encompass the political, technological and institutional dimensions of water governance. The “municipal hydraulic paradigm”, dominant from the mid-19th to the late 20th century, was a supply-led approach oriented towards harnessing large volumes of water to service urban growth and modernisation and to fulfil municipal commitments for social equity and universal provision. It was materialised through integrated engineered networks built on economies of scale, usually owned and run by governments.
‘Market Environmentalism’ These networks, however, tended to remain partial and incomplete, particularly in postcolonial cities, where they embodied the exclusions and classifications of colonial rule as well as the classic constraints (financial, technical, and political) of piped water networks. By the late 20th century, this paradigm had come under severe attack owing to its internal failure to sustain its financial and social commitments, as well as to external concerns about water scarcity and to the ascendance of neo-liberalism and the Washington Consensus. The municipal hydraulic paradigm was replaced by the 1990s with what Bakker terms “market environmentalism”, a paradigm that prioritises economic efficiency and financial sustainability over distributional equity. The paradigm applies market mechanisms to address environmental problems such as water scarcity and deploys strategies such as full-cost pricing, commercialisation
32
and privatisation of water management, property rights and tradable markets in water, to transform water into an “economic good”. Market environmentalism was actively driven by institutions like the World Bank. Bakker provides a historical explanation for the emergence of the water privatisation agenda in the 1990s in the World Bank. Although the Bank had moved into lending for water supply only in the 1970s, it powerfully influenced policies in the sector, initially promoting the spread of the municipal hydraulic model around the world as a key strategy of its “poverty agenda” as well as a rich source of bankable projects. By the 1980s, however, a web of problems besetting the Bank’s water projects around the world – poor performance, low cost-recovery, lack of community participation, negative environmental im pacts, and inability to extend services to the poor – were identified in internal reviews, leading to a major policy shift away from the municipal hydraulic paradigm towards market-led models. The book, thus, offers an account of the rise of neoliberal policies that goes beyond purely ideological explanations. Bakker goes on to examine a range of concepts that have emerged as alternatives to the privatisation agenda, such as the “human right to water”, community-managed water systems, and the “water commons”. Drawing on contemporary developments in South Africa, Jakarta, and post water-war Cochabamba, she explores the political-discursive effects as well as the practical implications attendant on the deployment of these concepts. The book makes a useful attempt to disentangle the knotty strands of argumentation and debate that constitute contemporary water politics, and to render them intellectually and politically comprehensible through systematically examining their lineages, affiliations and implications. For example, while Bakker explores diverse meanings attached to the terms “private” and “privatisation”, she also insists that privatisation should not be reduced to technical or managerial definitions but must be seen in its larger political/ideological aspect, as a process of market expansion creating new property relations and new society-nature relations.
But this book is not just a conceptual treatise, it puts forward a strong argument. Sidestepping polarised positions of state versus private provision, Bakker argues that dominant models of “industrialised” water supply, in other words, centralised capital-intensive infrastructure networks, are subject to the simultaneous effects of “state failure”, “market failure” and “governance failure”. If state failure refers to the inefficiencies and unresponsiveness of large hierarchical bureaucracies, market models suffer from exchange failures due to the “naturally” monopolistic character of integrated networks. The book points to similarities in the failure records of government-run and private utilities, particularly in their inability to incorporate externalities and to extend coverage to the poor. State failure and market failure have thus fed on each other and mutually contributed to the poor state of water services in most cities. The problem, Bakker argues, is not one of states or markets, but of dominant paradigms of governance that have failed to take community and ecological dimensions of water into serious account. The book forges towards an alternative conceptualisation of water governance that encompasses questions of ecological sustainability and collective (community) trusteeship. Here, however, the book turns fussy, sacrificing the strong empirical and analytic treatment found in earlier sections for vague and tentative propositions that leave the reader unconvinced. The book makes for tedious reading in parts, owing to a rather repetitious structure and a style that sometimes tends towards the verbose. All in all, however, this book makes a very important contribution to the ongoing battles over water governance across the world. Karen Coelho ([email protected]) teaches at the Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai.
available at
Ganapathy Agencies 3/4, 2 Link Street Jaffarkhanpet, Ragavan Colony Chennai 600 083, Tamil Nadu Ph: 24747538
december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
BOOK REVIEW
The Sanitation Question in Urban India Renu Desai
B
ased on almost a decade of research and writing, The Politics of Sanitation in India widens and deepens research and analysis first presented by Susan E Chaplin in her pivotal 1999 journal article in Environment and Urbanisation. The book poses a simple but significant question, namely, why has the state failed to provide adequate and equitable access to sanitation in Indian cities. The crux of its argument is that the inadequate provision of basic urban services such as sanitation, particularly to the urban poor, is shaped by the legacy of the colonial city as well as by the nature of the postcolonial state. This is a compelling argument and also locates the sanitation question in urban India firmly in the political domain. This book comes at a significant moment for sanitation improvement in urban India. In November 2008, the Government of India framed the National Urban Sanitation Policy (NUSP), perhaps spurred by the recognition that while boasting of a high rate of economic growth, India was continuing to neglect this very basic human need in its cities. While many states and cities have since been formulating State Sanitation Strategies and City Sanitation Plans as per the NUSP’s guidelines, three years later, not much is known about their status. While Chaplin does not attempt to explore questions around the NUSP, her analysis does provoke important insights into many of the key challenges that we face in achieving adequate and equitable sanitation in Indian cities today. To elucidate its argument, the book follows the historical method of descriptive narrative, seeking to draw out the linkages between the colonial and postcolonial state. In doing this, it takes us through more than a century of urban planning, policy and government as well as over five Indian cities: Mumbai, Kolkata, Chennai, Delhi and Ahmedabad. Chapter 1 focuses on the period of direct colonial rule and its
The Politics of Sanitation in India: Cities, Services and the State by Susan E Chaplin (New Delhi: Orient BlackSwan), 2011; pp 344, Rs 775.
implications for adequate sanitation provision, tracing the development of the colonial legacy of segregated cities, marginalised local governments and failure to manage urban growth and provide sufficient housing. Chapter 2 examines priorities and allocations vis-à-vis housing and basic services in the five-year plans, the preparation of city master plans and the development of new towns. It shows the continuation of colonial approaches to urban planning and the failure of national governments to effectively manage urban growth and build water and sanitation infrastructures. Chapter 3 examines the performance of the municipal corporations of Bombay/Mumbai, Calcutta/Kolkata, Madras/Chennai and Delhi in their delivery of basic urban services, highlighting the influence of the political regime governing the city as well as the continuity of colonial legacies of under-resourced and non-autonomous local government. Chapter 4 continues the discussion by focusing on programmes to improve conditions in slums and squatter settlements in these four cities. It also looks at slum-dwellers’ experiences vis-à-vis inadequate sanitation. Chapter 5 analyses how the failure to end the practice of manual scavenging is linked to the failure to provide adequate sanitation in Indian cities. Chapter 6 considers Ahmedabad as a detailed case study. Chapter 7 examines new partnership approaches to provide sanitation to the urban poor and discusses in detail three initiatives in Ahmedabad, Mumbai and Bangalore. The wide scope of the book provides rich insights into sanitation in urban India and helps to makes a persuasive case visà-vis Chaplin’s main arguments. However, its ambitious scope also becomes a cause for some weaknesses. I sometimes felt that
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Chaplin was spreading her analysis too thin in taking on so much. Often, she leaves it up to the reader to make the connections between her argument about the nature of the postcolonial state and the material she discusses. At times I wished for more material that would support the particular way in which she frames this argument. Nonetheless, the book brings a much-needed analysis of and emphasis on the political processes that profoundly influence sanitation provision in urban India.
Colonial Legacies and Local Government Beginning with concerns about political unrest and epidemic disease in the aftermath of the 1857 revolt, Chaplin takes us through sanitary reform measures, the development of local government and the introduction of modern ideas of British town planning during colonial rule, showing how these processes led to segregated cities with uneven geographies of service provision. Local governments remained profoundly underfinanced by the colonial state, incapable of undertaking sanitary measures over their entire city area. The transplantation of British town planning ideas led to widespread slum clearances but without the parallel development of adequate alternative housing, as in British cities, thus aggravating problems for the urban poor and leading to the growth of slums and squatter settlements. The esta blishment of city improvement trusts under the direct control of colonial authorities created multiple state agencies intervening in the urban arena with little coordination between them and marginalising local governments. In subsequent chapters, Chaplin often refers back to these legacies of the colonial city, arguing that they continued to influence urban planning, local government and sanitation provision in the postcolonial city. For instance, in Chapter 2, Chaplin shows how colonial practices of urban planning that ignored the spatial and housing needs of the informal sector workforce persisted in city master plans and in the development of new towns like Chandigarh and Navi Mumbai. This led to an increase in slums and squatter settlements and deepened the difficulties of the urban poor vis-á-vis access to basic urban
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services. In Chapters 3 and 4, the influence of particular inter- and intra-governmental relationships on the performance of the four municipal corporations is examined. Chaplin shows how their ability to deliver basic urban services has often been hampered by their dependency on higher levels of governments, their low capacity due to inadequate funding and lack of autonomy. Local bodies have been marginalised from the urban planning and development process as other state agencies (such as urban development authorities) have been given powers to plan the city’s development. All of these are issues that plagued local governments under colonial rule as well. While Chaplin persuasively draws out continuities between the colonial and postcolonial city and their implications for sanitation provision, she repeatedly emphasises the weak or low financial, technical and human capacities of local governments for delivering adequate sanitation. However, from the historical material and smaller discussions within chapters, it is clear that it has often also been the elite nature of local governments themselves (both during the colonial era and there after) that has led to their failure to provide adequate sanitation to all. Chaplin shows, for instance, that the elite nature of local government under colonial rule was responsible for uneven service provision. Even after the transfer of local government to Indian control after the Montagu-Chelmsford reforms of 1919, western-educated Indian leaders largely emulated colonial authorities. Chaplin argues that the reason why local governments remained underresourced – during the colonial era and later – was often also because they were reluctant to increase taxes and charge the actual price for water and sewerage services as these would have largely affected the middle and upper classes. In Ahmedabad, a proposal for higher taxation in the late 1880s to raise finances was opposed by Indian elites. In most metropolitan cities, sewerage access is largely confined to the middle and upper classes, but since users are only levied a nominal charge, these services have been effectively subsidised for these classes. Residents in Kolkata pay only connection fees for water and sewerage. It
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would have been useful if Chaplin had examined such subsidies in more detail in order to clarify the ways in which the elite nature of local government and the influence of the middle class on local policymaking – rather than “lack of financial, human and technical resources” (p 123) – that led to the failure to provide adequate and equitable sanitation. This would also have drawn out Chaplin’s argument on the nature of the postcolonial state.
The Postcolonial State and Indian Cities in Comparison One of Chaplin’s main arguments in the book is that the failure in adequately providing sanitation has occurred because of the nature of the postcolonial state. “[I] nstead of being an instrument of socioeconomic change”, the postcolonial state has been “dominated by coalitions of interests which have been accommodated by the use of public funds to provide private goods” (p 2). This, she goes on to argue (p 2), has resulted in many of the decisions relating to how the state has allocated financial resources and implemented new projects and schemes being heavily influenced by political considerations rather than being based on developmental needs and technical aspects.
Chaplin further argues that one group that has benefited from this state of affairs has been the middle class, which has monopolised what sanitation services the state has provided because they live in formal neighbourhoods. (It must be said here that often middle-class housing flouts laws as well; however, rarely, if ever, are they considered “illegal” and denied ser vices.) When combined with the benefits of modern medicine, accessible healthcare and the use of insecticides to stop disease vectors spreading from slums, the middle classes have become largely insulated from the ill-health caused by insanitary conditions. The result has been that the middle class is disinterested in placing pressure on governments to effectively implement sanitation schemes. Meanwhile, the urban poor, due to the precarious nature of work and conditions within the informal sector and the “illegal” nature of their housing, are forced to depend on vote bank politics to access
r esources. But vote bank politics, Chaplin argues, leads to the distribution of public resources to specific individuals, communities and localities rather than to citywide transformations. Broadly speaking, Chaplin’s argument is convincing enough. However I wish that she had connected her discussion in the book – which often draws on processes occurring in specific cities – more clearly to this argument. Chaplin examines the differing nature of political regimes in Mumbai, Kolkata, Chennai, Delhi and Ahmedabad, seeking to draw out their influence on attitudes towards the urban poor. Her discussion explains some of the variations we find between these cities in the nature and level of sanitation provision to the urban poor. For each city, Chaplin also identifies an inter- or intra-governmental relationship that is most significant and analyses how it has had a detrimental impact on the local government’s performance in delivering basic urban services. By doing so, she also shows how in different ways, local governments remained under-resourced and non-autonomous, just as they had been under colonial rule. For example, in Kolkata, Chaplin focuses on the fractious relationship between the municipal corporation and state agencies, while in Delhi, she focuses on political conflicts, overlapping jurisdictions and lack of coordination between the municipal corporation and other urban agencies. In Mumbai, Chaplin identifies confrontations between the municipal commissioner and the standing committee (which comprises a number of elected councillors and acts as a steering committee, exercising certain executive, supervisory, financial and personnel powers). However, few confrontations are actually described and
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the links to sanitation remain unclear. While the continuity of certain colonial legacies comes through persuasively, the nature of the postcolonial state as it plays out in these cities is not really explored – whether in how public funds have been used for private goods, how financial resources have been allocated and new projects implemented due to “political considerations rather than being based on developmental needs and technical aspects” (p 2), how the urban poor have been provided/denied services because of vote bank politics, and the implications of all this on adequate and equitable sanitation provision. This is true also of the detailed case study of Ahmedabad. Chaplin convincingly argues that despite nationalist leaders like Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel being at the forefront of Ahmedabad’s development in the early decades of the 20th century, effectively managing communal violence and industrial disputes, they “failed to imagine an alternative urban development strategy” (p 267). As a result, the needs of the poor and the informal sector were ignored, the development of suburbs for the middle classes was privileged, and a deeply segmented and inequitable city emerged. Chaplin’s discussion of the period from the 1960s left me less satisfied. Part of the problem is that Chaplin often fails to correlate the discussion across the different sections of the chapter. Thus, in an earlier section on post-independence politics, we learn that when the Popular Front, a group of left-wing parties, won the 1965 municipal elections, a radical change took place and the priorities of the city’s expenditures shifted to the impoverished east side. However, in the later section on efforts to improve conditions for the poor, there is no discussion of this. In an earlier section, similarly, we learn that the Congress Party returned to power in the Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation (AMC) in 1969. Brutal communal riots took place in that year and the Congress was plagued by bitter divisions due to the national-level split in the party. These turbulent processes are, however, difficult to link to a later reference to a 1971 municipal scheme to extend sewerage to 600 working-class chawls. (Unfortunately Chaplin tells us nothing more about what was obviously a radical move towards equitable sewerage.)
Ultimately, while Chaplin’s discussion of the turbulent social and political pro cesses in the city is extensive, it is difficult to get a proper idea of how these actually affected the provision of services for the urban poor. These impacts are explained only in very broad terms; for instance, that political corruption led to tax evasion and decreasing revenues for the AMC, or that frequent episodes of communal violence disadvantaged the poor and ghettoised Muslims in peri-urban areas. Given that Ahmedabad is meant to be a detailed case study (and I admit, a city of special interest to me), I had hoped for an indepth examination of sanitation questions and also the nature of the postcolonial state in the city. Chaplin also does not analyse the inter- and intra-governmental relationships that affected the AMC’s performance in providing basic urban services during this period, making it difficult to compare it with the other cities.
New Partnership Approaches in Sanitation Chaplin discusses new partnership approaches in urban basic services and examines in detail three examples of publicprivate-community partnerships. First is the development of community toilets by the Alliance – which comprises the nongovernmental organisation (NGO) SPARC, the National Slum Dwellers’ Federation and Mahila Milan, a network of poor women’s collectives that manage credit and savings activities in their communities – in Mumbai. The second is slum networking, that is, the upgrading and linking of slums into the city’s water supply, sewerage and other networks, through a partnership between the AMC, the private sector, an NGO and the community. The third example discussed by Chaplin is the provision of piped water to slums through a partnership between the Bangalore Water Supply and Sewerage Board, an NGO and the community. Several challenges in trying to scale up these successful programmes to citywide schemes such as the Slum Networking Project in Ahmedabad and the Slum Sanitation Project in Mumbai are discussed. These include the continued perception amongst governments that the urban poor are targets to whom “development” must
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be delivered rather than “active agents with knowledge, resources and rights to influence what is done” (p 248). There are also contradictory approaches taken by governments as they engage in evictions and demolitions; lack of coordination bet ween partners; resistance from political actors who may have previously benefited from providing sanitation to the poor; lack of accountability of NGOs, etc. One of the more obvious omissions here is that Chaplin remains uncritical of the role that community-based organisations (CBOs) play in such partnerships. CBOs are often not representative of the community. There is a need to pay attention to the power relations within communities (McFarlane 2008; Zerah 2009). This can also have serious implications for creating equitable sanitation that is truly affordable for the poorest, particularly in an ideological policy climate that pushes for cost recovery (McFarlane 2008). It would also have been useful if the discussion on new approaches was more clearly linked to the book’s main argument about colonial legacies and the nature of the postcolonial state. Renu Desai ([email protected]) is at the Centre for Urban Equity, CEPT University, Ahmedabad.
References Chaplin, E Susan (1999): “Cities, Sewers and Poverty: India’s Politics of Sanitation”, Environment and Urbanisation, 11(1): 145-58. McFarlane, Colin (2008): “Sanitation in Mumbai’s Informal Settlements: State, ‘Slum’ and Infrastructure”, Environment and Planning A, 40(1): 88-107. Zérah, Marie-Hélène (2009): “Participatory Governance in Urban Management and the Shifting Geometry of Power in Mumbai”, Development and Change, 40(5): 853-77.
EPW Index An author-title index for EPW has been prepared for the years from 1968 to 2010. The PDFs of the Index have been uploaded, year-wise, on the EPW web site. Visitors can download the Index for all the years from the site. (The Index for a few years is yet to be prepared and will be uploaded when ready.) EPW would like to acknowledge the help of the staff of the library of the Indira Gandhi Institute for Development Research, Mumbai, in preparing the index under a project supported by the RD Tata Trust.
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The Republic in Dire Straits: How to Put It Back on the Rails P S Appu
The Indian polity is in dire straits. Time-serving post-poll alliances lacking ideological compatibility and devoid of commitment to firm policies and programmes are the root causes of the malady. The sovereign remedy for the perils confronting the Republic is a new political configuration based on a compatible ideology. That ideology should be an unflinching faith in secularism and social justice which together constitute the basic structure of the Constitution. The bedrock of the new broad-based United Front could be a firm and principled alliance of a thoroughly reformed Congress and the CPM and the CPI. Advocating the formation of such a United Front, this article lists a few essential steps that should be taken to stem the rot.
T
he Indian Republic is critically ill, afflicted by a malignant syndrome of political parties without ideo logy, politicians lacking principles, postpoll alliances aimed at grabbing power and retaining it at all costs, the pervasive breakdown of law and order, widespread criminalisation of public life and exponentially growing corruption. According to Election Watch, the last Parliament had over 100 members facing criminal charges and the present one has over 160 such members. The Radia tapes and WikiLeaks exposures have revealed the extent to which lobbyists, fixers and middlemen, and even foreign powers, influence policymaking at the highest level, including the formation of the union cabinet and the conduct of business in Parliament. To cap it all there is an utter lack of governance. The decision-makers, including some able men and women, apparently overtaken by a fit of amnesia, seem to have forgotten the basic tenets of statecraft. Our tryst with destiny has gone sour. Yet, all is not lost. The Constitution has the resilience and amplitude to facilitate drastic measures needed to put the Republic back on the rails.
The Road to Ruin
P S Appu ([email protected]) was a member of the IAS. He held a number of senior positions in Bihar and at the centre and was also director of the Lal Bahadur Shastri Academy of Public Administration, Mussoorie. He is a social democrat who subscribes to the ideals enshrined in the Preamble to the Constitution.
A necessary condition for the smooth and successful working of the Westminster style of parliamentary democracy embodied in our Constitution is the existence of two rival political parties with well-defined ideologies, policies and programmes. Though this condition was never fulfilled in India, the Indian National Congress, by the nature of its composition and the manner of its functioning, remedied this shortcoming to a large extent during Jawaharlal Nehru’s lifetime. There were two broad formations in the Congress – a conservative group led by Sardar Vallabhbhai
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atel, C Rajagopalachari, Rajendra Prasad, P Govind Ballabh Pant and others and a progressive wing headed by Nehru. The Congress practised a measure of inner-party democracy and policies and programmes were adopted after thorough debate. Normally the two groups accommodated each other. After Independence, accepting the advice of Gandhi, Nehru and Patel decided to work together. Those special circumstances facilitated the smooth functioning of our polity in its infancy. It was our singular good fortune that some of the tallest leaders of the 20th century were at the helm of affairs to guide the infant state. We tided over the perils and trauma of Partition, the threat of administrative collapse was averted, the 500-odd native states were integrated with the Indian Union and we gave unto ourselves a modestly progressive Constitution capable of holding together a vast country of unique diversity. Then we embarked upon planned economic development with the twin goals of rapid growth and social justice. Thanks to the overarching influence of Gandhi, even the conservatives supported the progressive features in the Constitution and the five-year plans. The Indian polity remained in reasonably good shape for some 15 years. The decline was triggered by the sharp fall in Nehru’s prestige after the debacle of the war with China. Another factor was the emergence of a coterie of power brokers in the Congress, collec tively dubbed the “Syndicate”. Though Indira Gandhi started as a weak prime minister, in a short period of three years she trumped the Syndicate and emerged as the supreme leader. Then she proceeded to snuff out inner-party democracy in the Congress, do away with periodic elections to party forums, identify and destroy regional leaders with popular support, undermine the great institutions of our federal-democratic polity and concentrate all power in her hands. The grand old party of Gandhi, Nehru and Patel soon became a plaything in the hands of Nehru’s daughter. As a result of these deadly developments the Indian National Congress could no longer
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perform its erstwhile role as the bulwark of Indian democracy.
Opportunistic Coalitions Until 1967 the Congress remained in power at the centre and in most states. The general elections held in 1967 brought about a sea change in the situation. The Congress was defeated in a majority of states. A medley of opposition parties with conflicting ideologies and programmes came to power. The only cementing factor was the love of office. No chief minister could survive in office without agreeing to the unreasonable demands of even small splinter groups. On one occasion in Bihar in the 1970s one shaky ministry could survive only by lodging a group of seven members of the legislative assembly in a run-down hotel in a perpetual state of inebriation. Conditions were no better in states where the Congress by itself had a majority. In Nehru’s time all chief ministers were individuals of stature enjoying a permanent place in the public life of the state. They functioned without any interference from the centre. All that changed under Indira Gandhi’s rule. Chief ministers like V P Naik and H N Bahuguna, who had solid political bases in their states, were eased out at some time or the other and lightweights loyal to the prime minister were inducted as chief ministers. They were obliged to keep in good humour all the supporting cliques and sycophants who had access to the supreme leader. All those developments adversely affected the quality of the administration and opened the floodgates of corruption. The Congress remained in power at the centre without a break until 1977. Indira Gandhi attained the zenith of her power soon after the brilliant success of the Bangladesh war. Unfortunately for her and the country, corruption became widespread, particularly in Bihar and Gujarat after 1973. Inept handling of the gathering storm finally led to the declaration of the Emergency in 1975 which lasted for almost two years. During that period a small coterie headed by Sanjay Gandhi usurped all the powers of the government. Mercifully that ended in 1977. In the general elections held immediately after the lifting of the Emergency the ruling Congress was trounced signifying the resilience of our Constitution. The Janata
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Party that came to power was a fragile, makeshift alliance of discordant groups. Soon the new government fell under its own weight and in the elections held in 1980 Indira Gandhi was returned to power. No effort was made to restore inner-party democracy in the Congress even during Rajiv Gandhi’s tenure as prime minister. After the assassination of Rajiv Gandhi the country entered the era of coalition governments. Those coalitions were headed by the Congress or the BJP or fragments of the erstwhile Janata Party. Lacking cohesion and compatible ideologies, the coalitions were marriages of convenience aimed at capturing power and retaining it. Often the coalition could survive only by succumbing to the unreasonable demands of partners, however puny the ally. On some occasions the government resorted to bribery for survival. The disclosures in the recent 2G scam have laid bare the utter helplessness of Prime Minister Manmohan Singh in taking much needed effective action against coalition partners. It is now abundantly clear that opportunistic coalitions are the root cause of our present plight. The fatal flaw in our polity is that ideology has yielded place to expediency and opportunism. That diagnosis clearly indicates that the need of the hour is a radical realignment of political forces and the formation of pre-poll alliances on the basis of compatible ideology, and well thought-out policies and programmes. That ideology should be unflinching alle giance to the ideals of secularism and social justice embedded in our Constitution.
Religious Fundamentalism and Neo-liberalism Secularism and social justice are the two most important ideals enshrined in the Preamble to the Constitution and together they form the bedrock of its basic structure. That basic structure is under severe attack. Evidently, religious fundamentalism and certain shibboleths of neo-liberalism are major antagonistic contradictions of our Constitution. The need of the hour is the formation of a broad-based “United Front” to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution, in particular secularism and social justice that constitute the basic structure. Secularism: In the Indian context secularism has rightly been defined as sarva
dharma sama bhavana – equal respect for all religions. On ethical considerations and also from the pragmatic angle, secularism is the only sound policy befitting this land of unique diversity. And that is the only ideal compatible with the history and civilisation of India. Thanks to the dominant influence of Jawaharlal Nehru, the Congress adhered to the ideal of secularism during his tenure. As one who had served as subdivisional officer and district officer in Bihar in the 1950s, I can vouch for the strictly even-handed manner in which the magistracy and the police handled communal tension and riots. The instructions issued by the government enjoined us to enforce the rule of law strictly and impartially under all circumstances. There were some significant departures from secularism in the post-Nehru period. To cite a few, the major communal riots of Meerut and Bhagalpur in the 1980s revealed the bias and negligence of the magistracy and the police. When anti-Sikh riots broke out in Delhi in 1984 in the wake of the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, the administration failed to take effective action. Had drastic action been taken against the instigators, who included some Congress leaders, many innocent lives could have been saved. The decision to nullify the decision of the Supreme Court in the Shah Bano case was a blatant exercise of cynical opportunism aimed at placating the orthodox Muslim clergy, overlooking the genuine interests of hapless divorcees. Worse was the handling of the entire Babri Masjid fiasco, starting with the Tala Kholo Andolan and ending with the destruction of the mosque. Though the Hindu fanatics had given advance notice of their intention, no effective step was taken to protect the mosque. Prime Minister Narasimha Rao temporised and allowed things to drift. The chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, Kalyan Singh, allegedly connived at the destruction of the shrine. The top IAS and IPS officers present on the spot failed to do their duty. The destruction of the Babri Masjid was a climacteric that badly tarnished the image of the polity. The riots that followed in Bombay and other places were not handled efficiently. The administration failed to take effective action against criminals and protect innocent citizens. In spite of these sad failures,
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the Congress, by and large, still subscribes to the ideal of secularism. As a matter of fact, other than the hard core Sangh parivar, the jihadis and other religious fundamentalists of various hues, the great majority of the people of India subscribe to the concept of sarva dharma sama bhavana. And the CPM and CPI have invariably remained steadfast in their adherence to secularism. All these people should join hands to defeat the evil designs of the purveyors of communalism. In the context of the mass hysteria generated in the wake of the agitation unleashed by Anna Hazare and the leaders of civil society, the BJP and the Sangh parivar have launched a campaign to appropriate the public upsurge to retrieve the falling fortunes of the Hindutva forces. The United Front should challenge them politically and defeat their nefarious design.
Social Justice Our Constitution aims at securing social, economic and political justice to all citizens. So when we embarked on planned economic development soon after Independence, the cherished goals were, quite rightly, rapid all-round economic growth and equitable sharing of the fruits of development. The emphasis on steel and heavy industry in the Second Plan, the policy of reserving the commanding heights of the economy for the public sector and the establishment of world-class scientific and technical institutions laid the foundations for future industrial growth and modernisation of the economy. Those far-sighted steps paved the way for the information technology revolution of recent years. But the government made three fatal mistakes. The first was the failure to establish a cadre of hand-picked professional managers and give them full autonomy in running public sector undertakings. The second was the mindless foray into a variety of consumer goods industries. The third was to persist with the counterproductive “permit, quota, licence raj” beyond the Third Plan. In spite of these serious errors, by the end of the 20th century India emerged as a major industrial power with an impressive stock of scientific and technical manpower. It was sagacious on the part of Prime Minister Narasimha Rao to liberalise the economy and proceed to dismantle the irksome controls that had outlived their
tility. That timely step led to a most welu come spurt in our annual rate of growth from a low 3.5% to around 8-9%. As effective steps were not taken to bring about distributive justice, the lion’s share of the enormous wealth created accrued to the affluent section of the society. This is obvious from the Arjun Sengupta Committee’s finding that in 2004-05 some three quarters of the population lived on less than Rs 20 a day. The objective of attaining social and economic justice could not be achieved because of our failure to make the much needed institutional changes, in particular the poor implementation of measures of land reform and the neglect of the well-designed Community Development Programme. Other fatal weaknesses include the failure to provide adequate employment opportunities at living wages to a rising population, the tragic neglect of school education and the adoption of a clutch of ill-conceived measures of affirmative action aimed at hoodwinking the disadvantaged without conferring on them enduring benefits. This is the dismal background against which some tenets of neo-liberalism have emerged as a deadly threat to our quest for social and economic justice. Neo-liberalism favours a crucial role for private enterprise even in school education, basic healthcare and other areas of social welfare. Our government, particularly the Planning Commission, seems to have veered to this point of view. I shall explain the havoc that is being caused by this shift in policy. And that shift is a direct attack on the basic structure of our Constitution.
Education Even in the United States, the classic land of capitalism and free enterprise, it is the business of the State to provide affordable, quality school education to the poor. Of course, there are expensive private schools for the children of the affluent. But the poor can go to well-run public schools. But in India it has become impossible for the poor to access quality school education. Seven decades ago in the erstwhile native state of Cochin I studied in a wellequipped, well-staffed, government high school paying an annual fee of Rs 45. In that small state, with a population then of 13 lakhs, there were more than 20 well-run government high schools and about double
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that number of private schools. The government schools were invariably superior to the private schools. All private schools had been started with altruistic motive and no private school charged a higher fee than a government school. After six decades of planned economic development, independent India is still lagging behind the erstwhile native state of Cochin of the 1940s in the matter of providing quality school education to its citizens. And tragically, all over the country most of the good government schools of the pre-Independence days are in ruins. If we had paid our teachers a better salary, provided them with better training and enforced discipline this could have been prevented. A society that compensates a bank clerk more handsomely will not have good teachers. In recent years there has been a mushrooming of expensive private schools all over the country. School education has become a profitable commercial activity. It is now a commodity whose price is decided by market forces. Those without inadequate purchasing power cannot access quality school education. Against this background it is, indeed, tragic that the government is trying to evade its responsibility in school education. A few years ago the prime minister’s announcement that 6,000 Navodaya type schools would be opened, one in each block, gladdened my heart. However, without losing time, the Planning Commission put a spoke in the wheel clarifying that the state would open 3,500 schools and that 2,500 would be under public-private partnerships (PPP). Under a PPP a private party would get land at a concessional rate and an ample grant. Instead of curbing commercialisation, the government directly encourages the evil. The concept of PPP is obviously inspired by a breed of neo-liberalism more rabid than what prevails in the US. I have no objection to PPP in the fields of infrastructure, imparting of skills relevant for employment in industry, etc. But PPPs should have no role at all in providing quality school education to the poor. That should be squarely the responsibility of the state.
Healthcare Medical and healthcare is another crucial area where the primary responsibility should be that of the State. Here also I shall start
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with my experience in Cochin state of the pre-Independence era. From my remote village I could access one dispensary and two hospitals. The dispensary, located five kilometres away, was managed by a single doctor and ancillary staff. It had 10 beds. Twelve kilometres away there was a hospital with three doctors and 50 beds. There was a slightly larger hospital at the taluq headquarters located at a distance of 20 kilometres. In that age, prior to the appearance of sulpha drugs and antibiotics, there was little that the doctors could do. Yet, they gave free service with sympathy and understanding and dispensed some palliatives. Conditions were totally different in Bihar when I started service. The district of Darbhanga, with an area of about 3,500 square miles and a population of over 4 million, had a medical college hospital at the district headquarters, and small government hospitals at the headquarters of the two outlying subdivisions. In the interior there were about 20 district board dispensaries manned by LMP doctors. The medical and healthcare facilities were absolutely primitive. All that changed for the better after the First Five-Year Plan. During the Second Five-Year Plan we made a good beginning with the Community Development Programme. The thoughtfully drawn-up programme aimed at the allround development of rural India covering agriculture, minor irrigation, animal husbandry, cooperatives, education, public health and medical care, village panchayats, cooperatives, etc. For health and medical care, each block was provided with a primary health centre and three sub-centres. The complement of staff included two medical officers and necessary paramedical staff. In the late 1950s, when I was collector of Darbhanga, 40 out of the 44 blocks sanctioned for the district had become operational. A few years later I had occasion to oversee the functioning of the healthcare system of the whole state as secretary to the government. It was very difficult to persuade doctors to go to backward areas. Yet, during the severe drought of 1965-67 we could ensure that each block had at least one doctor. At that time the plan was to upgrade select sub-centres to the level of primary health centres and open more sub-centres. It was also a part of the plan to upgrade subdivisional and district hospitals to
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become referral hospitals. Had we persisted with that well-designed pattern of healthcare as an integral part of the Community Deve lopment Programme and concentrated on better implementation, we would have established by now an effective system of healthcare throughout the country. Alas, instead of doing that, the Community Development Blocks were allowed to decline and disintegrate. No state government bothered to appoint suitable personnel to man the various posts and several posts remained vacant. In one extreme case, a cynical chief minister, in a perverse mood, passed an order allowing every MLA to ask for the transfer of two block development officers. As a result of these unhealthy developments, the community development set-up ceased to be an agency for rural development. And the primary health centres and sub-centres languished. So the original expectation of providing comprehensive healthcare remained elusive. It is in this context that the Eleventh Plan shifted focus to corporate healthcare and health insurance. This is what the Eleventh Plan said: “The public care system is not able to meet the growing demand for healthcare facilities. The gap between demand and supply has to be bridged by private players, and this has facilitated the growth of corporate healthcare industry in India” (para 13.45). Though the Plan document admits that corporate players are not a substitute, there is a clear attempt to evade the State’s responsibility and a covert move to encourage the corporate sector. This is another instance of neo-liberalism undermining efforts to provide adequate healthcare to the rural population. Only a set of experts totally unacquainted with the realities of rural India would look upon corporate healthcare and health insurance as a panacea for the ills of three quarters of the population mired in poverty. Inspired by neo-liberalism and encouraged by the Washington Consensus, global capitalism, spearheaded by giant multi national corporations, is on the warpath with an aggressive agenda. The deadly programme includes huge investments in industry, mining, land development, infrastructure, establishment of townships, etc, ignoring environmental hazards and imperilling the livelihood of large populations. This has caused great havoc in Latin
America, Africa and parts of Asia. In India the programme is being implemented in collaboration with domestic capital and crony capitalism with the blessings of the state. A diabolic innovation is the acquisition of thousands of hectares of prime agri cultural land for national highways and turning over a large portion of the land to favoured developers for building townships and villas for the affluent. And this is being done by openly flouting the laws on agricultural ceilings. If this trend continues unchecked, the Maoist insurrection, which is now confined to a swathe of hilly districts extending from Bihar to Karnataka, will spread to the fertile plains also.
Putting the Republic Back on the Rails The sovereign remedy for the mortal perils confronting the Republic is a new political configuration based on compatible ideo logy and a package of relevant policies and programmes. The ideology should be unflinching allegiance to the ideals of secularism and social justice. The package of policies should comprise steadfast opposition to communalism and a total rejection of the harmful prescriptions of neo-liberalism and a reiteration of the proactive role of the State in promoting social welfare. The action programme should include easy access to inexpensive quality school education for the poor, assured health and medical care, a universal public distribution system with assured supply of foodgrains at subsidised rates for the poor, guaranteed employment opportunities at living wages, a proper housing facility for all, access to safe drinking water and sanitation and comprehensive social security. There is little point in the creation of enormous wealth if three quarters of the population see no part of it. The bedrock of the new broad-based United Front could be a firm, and principled alliance of a thoroughly reformed Congress and the Left parties, particularly the CPM and the CPI. To forge such an alliance both the Congress and the Left should bury the hatchet and do a great deal of soul searching, ignore minor irritants and concentrate on vital issues. The Congress will have to introduce effective inner-party democracy, discard the disgusting culture of sycophancy and get back to the Nehruvian vision of secularism and social justice. It will also
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be necessary to rebuild the party from the grass roots by infusing new blood. The CPM and CPI should ignore their minor disagreements, jettison obsolete dogma and abandon the unhealthy deviations of recent years that led to their discomfiture in West Bengal. Once such a firm alliance is forged, others who subscribe to the ideals of secularism and social justice should be invited to join the alliance. At the same time the corrupt and criminal elements should be shunned.
Conclusions The Republic is, without doubt, in dire straits. There is an all round and palpable lack of governance. The government has lost all credibility. The social contract has collapsed in large parts of the country. History tells us that the denouement of such a desperate plight is through a successful revolution. But the objective conditions in the country rule out that possibility. As luck would have it, we have an excellent Constitution with the necessary scope and resilience to accommodate effective measures to put the Republic back on the rails. It is neither feasible nor necessary to suggest a detailed road map. Once a broad-based coalition of political forces is in place it should be possible to dissolve the Lok Sabha, bring about the essential reforms through ordinances, hold general elections and have the new house in position within six months of the dissolution of the old one. I shall, however, very briefly outline a few issues that call for immediate attention. These are matters that have to be attended to simultaneously with efforts to form the United Front. Revamping the Administration: The first and the foremost concern is that the Indian administration has been rendered dysfunctional. The Constitution provides for an excellent administrative structure and our administration functioned reasonably well for some years. But it is now in decline. I had earlier chronicled in this journal the decline and devastation of the all India services (“The All India Services: Decline, Debasement and Destruction”, Economic & Political Weekly, Vol 40, No 9, 26 February 2005). There has been a further decline since then. By taking the few steps suggested therein it should be possible to
revamp the administration. Unless immediate action is taken to set things right our future will be in jeopardy. Five Ordinances: Then there are five other issues that call for careful consideration. In respect of these, draft ordinances should be prepared for promulgation immediately after dissolving the present Lok Sabha. These are listed below. Panchayati Raj: The 73rd amendment to the Constitution was a giant step towards democratic decentralisation. But in several states the set-up is in a mess. The root cause of the problem seems to be that elected representatives get involved with the awarding of contracts and the execution of projects. That has opened the door to corruption. Their legitimate function should be formulation of policy, selection of projects and overall supervision. Execution should be left entirely to the chief executive officer and the staff under his control. My suggestion is that the district officer variously designated as collector, collector and district magistrate or deputy commissioner, should be the chief executive of the district panchayat. Awarding of contracts and implementation will be the responsibility of the chief executive officer and his staff. The relationship between the chairperson and the chief executive officer should conform to the pattern that existed in a well-administered state in the 1950s between the chief minister and the chief secretary. A subclause should be added in Article 243-C of the Constitution spelling out the powers of the chairperson and the chief executive. Political Reforms: An ordinance should be promulgated requiring every political party to maintain an accurate record of membership, hold periodic election of office-bearers, observe inner-party democracy, maintain accurate accounts and get the accounts audited annually. Every contribution exceeding Rs 1,000 should be by cheque or draft. Electoral Reforms: The recommendations made by three election commissions and the advice of the Supreme Court have been gathering dust for a long time. An ordinance should be promulgated to implement the recommendations. The ordinance should certainly contain a provision to bar criminals. Those who are being prosecuted for serious crimes or have been convicted and their
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appeals are pending should be barred until the final disposal of the case. Those finally convicted should be disqualified for life. Independent Authority for Public Prosecutions: I hasten to add that our system of investigation and prosecution is unacceptably biased. Even the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) has occasionally shown bias. There is legitimate apprehension of false criminal cases being instituted to harass honest politicians. That danger can be warded off by taking public prosecutions out of the control of the executive as in the United Kingdom. In that country the office of director of public prosecutions was created in 1879. In 1924, the mere suspicion that the cabinet tried to influence the director in the Campbell case led to the fall of the government. We should introduce the UK system with necessary modifications to suit our federal set-up. An ordinance should be issued to create a post of director general of public prosecutions of the status of a judge of the Supreme Court at the centre. For the states there should be directors of public prosecutions of the status of a judge of the high court. I had made this suggestion to Prime Minister Inder Kumar Gujral in July 1997 and repeated it to Prime Minister Manmohan Singh in August 2004. Cleansing Public Life: The fifth ordinance should be for the creation of statutory highpowered tribunals at the centre and in the states/groups of states vested with adequate powers to throw out of public life corrupt and criminal elements. The tribunals should be clothed with adequate authority and should have their own investigating agencies. Where a prima facie case is proved, the tribunal should have the power to debar the accused for life from contesting elections and holding public office. There should be a provision for confiscating illgotten wealth, held in their own name or benami. There should be no appeal from the decision of the central tribunal. There may be provision for appeal from a state tribunal to the central tribunal. The central tribunal should be headed by a retired chief justice of India of impeccable reputation. These are steps that can be taken by a resolute government after dissolving the present Lok Sabha but before the constitution of the next. My main purpose in writing this essay is to initiate a purposeful debate.
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REVIEW OF URBAN AFFAIRS
Urban Commons Vinay Gidwani, Amita Baviskar
From an understanding of the commons as a rural artefact, the concept has expanded to include urban spaces and practices. The destruction of common resources and the communities that depend upon them is a long-standing outcome of capitalist expansion. It is also a cause for concern, given the ultimate centrality of the commons to the reproduction of urban populations and ecosystems.
Vinay Gidwani ([email protected]) is with the department of geography at the University of Minnesota. Amita Baviskar ([email protected]) is at the Institute of Economic Growth, New Delhi.
We gratefully acknowledge the help of Anant Maringanti, Vinay Gidwani, Karen Coelho, Amita Baviskar and our colleague Ashima Sood – all members of the editorial advisory committee – in putting together this issue of the Review of Urban Affairs. We would also like to thank the scholars who gave their time to review and comment on the contributions. The Book Review section in this issue contains reviews of three books on urban issues. – EPW
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R
ecent economic upheavals and the ensuing global slowdown have once again underscored the crisis tendencies of capitalism – particularly of its most reified form, finance capital. The destruction of livelihoods and social safety nets, and the opposition these processes have encountered from affected populations and their supporters, highlight that the commodification and privatisation of labour and land continue to be contentious and crisis-prone. As Karl Polanyi (1944: 72) argued, labour and land are “fictitious commodities”, for “labour is only another name for a human activity which goes with life itself… nor can that activity be detached from the rest of life…; land is only another name for nature, which is not produced by man”. Many current campaigns to resist incorporation into the widening circuits of capitalism are grounded in a shared commitment to keeping alive “the commons” and the collective practices around them that create and sustain community and its ecological bases. From perceiving the commons as a rural artefact – forests, pastures and waterbodies crucial for the sustenance of the poor – attention has shifted to include urban spaces and practices, where the commons seem to be no less significant than in rural settings. It ought to be clear that while the terms “public” and “commons” sometimes truck interchangeably, there are crucial differences between the two. “Public” is a juridical category, firmly in the ambit of state and law, which limns a contrast to that which is “private”. The commons, historically and etymologically, are that which lie at the frontiers, or within the interstices, of the territorial grid of law. They exist as a dynamic and collective resource – a variegated form of social wealth – governed by emergent custom and constantly negotiating, rebuffing, and evading the fixity of law (cf Thompson 1993). In a sense, commons thrive and survive by dancing in and out of the State’s gaze, by escaping its notice, because notice invariably brings with it the desire to transform commons into state property or capitalist commodity. Commons, then, as the historian Peter Linebaugh (2009) reminds us, involve “being-in-common”, or using resources in more or less shared, more or less non-subtractable ways through practices he calls “commoning”. Such collective practices are distinct in at least two ways: (1) they underwrite production and reproduction through the commons they depend upon and oversee, and (2) they typically do so through variable local arrangements that are more or less equalitarian, incorporative, and fair. In short, commons need communities: without sufficiently robust communities of people willing to create, maintain, and protect them, commons are at risk of falling into disarray or becoming privatised (Siefkes 2009). December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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The destruction of common resources and the communities that depend upon them is a long-standing outcome (some would argue, prerequisite) of capitalist expansion. Such destruction, now accelerating in both rural and urban areas as corporate capital in tow with neo-liberal policies extends its colonisation of space, is inevitably accompanied by displacement and deprivation for populations that were sustained by these commons. In urban areas with high population densities and thin survival margins of error, the expropriation of commons can be particularly devastating for the poor. Commons, it ought to be clear, are made. They entail work of various kinds, at various scales, of varying frequency and rhythm. Urban commons include so-called “public goods”: the air we breathe, public parks and spaces, public transportation, public sanitation systems, public schools, public waterways, and so forth. But they also include the less obvious: municipal garbage that provides livelihoods to waste-pickers; wetlands, waterbodies, and riverbeds that sustain fishing communities, washerwomen, and urban cultivators; streets as arteries of movement but also as places where people work, live, love, dream, and voice dissent; and local bazaars that are sites of commerce and cultural invention. Indeed, the distinctive public culture of a city is perhaps the most generative yet unnoticed of urban commons. These are all at risk as cities in India and elsewhere are striving to reinvent themselves as utopias for investors, entrepreneurs and consumers, often as sites of spectacle (Beijing and the 2008 Olympic Games; Johannesburg and the 2010 World Cup Football championship; Delhi and the 2010 Commonwealth Games are recent examples of the spectacular makeover of cities). Involved in this reinvention is, at best, an official amnesia and, at worst, a wilful erasure of the economic and cultural contributions of “commoners”, whose everyday labours make possible the city as we know it. Two types of urban commons are worth foregrounding in this regard: (1) ecological commons (such as air, waterbodies,
References Bakker, Karen (2007): “The ‘Commons’ versus the ‘Commodity’: Alter-Globalisation, Anti-Privatisation, and the Human Right to Water in the Global South”, Antipode, 39(3): 430-55. De Angelis, M (2007): The Beginning of History: Value Struggles and Global Capital (London: Pluto Press). Linebaugh, P (2009): The Magna Carta Manifesto: Liberties and Commons for All (Berkeley: University of California Press). Neeson, J M (1993): Commoners: Common Right, Enclosure, and Social Change in England, 1700-1820 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Polanyi, Karl (1944): The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time (Boston: Beacon Press). Reid, Herbert and Betsy Taylor (2010): Recovering the Commons: Democracy, Place, and Global Justice (Urbana: University of Illinois Press). Siefkes, Christian (2009): “The Commons of the Future: Building Blocks for a Commons-Based Society”, The Commoner, accessed 22 November 2011: http://www.commoner.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/siefkes_future-commons.pdf
etlands, landfills, and so on); and (2) civic commons (such as w streets and sidewalks, public spaces, public schools, public transit, etc). Each of these is rapidly diminishing due to erasure, enclosure, disrepair, rezoning, and court proscriptions, replaced in many instances by new – privatised, monitored – public spaces, such as malls, plazas, and gated venues. To summarise, “commons” stand opposed to “commodity”, as several scholars have noted (Neeson 1993; Linebaugh 2009; De Angelis 2007; Bakker 2007; Reid and Taylor 2010; Walljasper 2010). Less remarked is the fact that each denotes a logic of social relations that entails particular deployment of labour’s use-value. In one instance, labour’s use-value is directed to the production of a community resource and part of its capacity for surplus labour is returned to the commons; in the other, labour’s usevalue is captured primarily as use-value for capital. We can imagine these two logics as stand-ins for two disparate systems of value, both normative in their thrust. But we must be careful not to exaggerate the distinctness of these two systems. They may be mutually exclusive, or not. We must be careful also to distinguish between forms of capital that travel in circuits of expanded reproduction and those that strive primarily for simple reproduction or acutely modest accumulation (petty or simple commodity production). And we must acknowledge frequent scenarios where commons (and the communities that sustain them) are relay points in the social life of commodities, and as such may subsidise and supplement capital accumulation. That said, the ongoing diminution of urban commons is cause for concern because they are critical to economic production in cities, to cultural vibrancy and the cement of community, to “learning” how to do democracy through practices of creating, governing and defending collective resources, to regenerating the sense of place that forms communities and, ultimately, to the reproduction of urban populations and ecosystems.
Thompson, E P (1993 [1967]): “Custom, Law, and Common Right” in Customs in Common: Studies in Traditional Popular Culture (New York: The New Press), pp 97-184.
Walljasper, Jay (2010): All That We Share: How to Save the Economy, the Environment, the Internet, Democracy, Our Communities and Everything Else That Belongs to All of Us (New York: The New Press).
REVIEW OF LABOUR May 28, 2011 Global Crises, Welfare Provision and Coping Strategies of Labour in Tiruppur Extending the Coverage of Minimum Wages in India: Simulations from Household Data Labour and Employment under Globalisation: The Case of Gujarat Impact of the Economic Crisis on Workers in the Unorganised Sector in Rajasthan
– M Vijayabaskar – Patrick Belser, Uma Rani – Indira Hirway, Neha Shah
– S Mohanakumar, Surjit Singh
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What the Eye Does Not See: The Yamuna in the Imagination of Delhi Amita Baviskar
This article traces the shifting visibility of the river Yamuna in the social and ecological imagination of Delhi. It delineates how the riverbed has changed from being a neglected “non-place” to prized real estate for private and public corporations. It argues that the transformation of an urban commons into a commodity is not only embedded in processes of political economy, but is also driven by aesthetic sensibilities that shape how ecological landscapes are valued. However, the commodification of the riverbed must confront the fact that the Yamuna is an ecological entity with dynamics that can defy attempts at domestication.
This article was originally presented at a conference on “Urban Ecologies in Asia” organised by the Hong Kong Institute for the Humanities and Social Sciences and Yale University. I am grateful to K Sivaramakrishnan and Anne Rademacher, the organisers, for their encouragement and support. Special thanks to Vinay Gidwani for his critical and insightful comments. Amita Baviskar ([email protected]) is in the Sociology Unit at the Institute of Economic Growth, Delhi. Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
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n early September 2010, the citizens of Delhi were witness to an unprecedented sight in the centre of the city. Erased from view was the unremarkable green-brown plain dotted with fields, trees and huts where the river Yamuna usually flows in a small and sluggish stream. Instead, a shimmering sheet of water stretched out wide, obliterating the land, and lapping at the bottom of the old iron railway bridge. The 100-year-old reticulated bridge, a sturdy yet graceful monument to colonial engineering, suddenly appeared vulnerable as strong currents swept water dangerously close, causing trains and road traffic across the bridge to be cancelled. Close to the bridge were the submerged homes of poor squatters; a few thousand residents had been evacuated and housed in tents where they stayed for the next two weeks until the river ebbed. For many of them, temporary displacement was an annual event to which they were inured, an inescapable accompaniment to the experience of living by the river, eking out a slender livelihood from growing vegetables and melons on the riverbed. The sudden rise in the Yamuna had been caused by unremitting heavy monsoon rains in the catchment of the river in the lower foothills of the Himalaya. Although the annual rainy season always brings about a swell in the river, the ceaseless downpour of September 2010 had raised water levels to such a height that the protection offered by embankments and dams seemed suddenly shaky. With the river threatening to spill over the levees and reclaim its floodplain, the upstream state of Haryana had been forced to release large quantities to safeguard its barrages and embankments. In Haryana, a section of the Tajewala barrage had been washed away and more than 125 villages in Yamunanagar and Panipat districts had flooded as a result. This inundation across a huge expanse of farmland had dissipated some of the v iolent energy of the river in spate, an inadvertent boon that saved the downstream city of Delhi. Delhi had experienced floods before. In 1995, 15,000 poor families in low-lying areas next to the river were rendered homeless when the river approached the danger mark, but the rest of the city was untouched. In 1978, the worst floods in living memory, a million people were affected as the river reached its highest recorded level, submerging 70,000 hectares of land in the city. The raging floodwaters breached river embankments so that well-to-do north Delhi neighbourhoods such as Model Town and Mukherjee Nagar were under 15-20 feet of water for almost a week, with extensive damage to homes and property. People recall how they stayed up all night sandbagging their homes in the vain effort to stem the floodwaters; how unexpectedly and
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swiftly the water rose; how boats plied in city streets instead of cars and buses; how the army ferried supplies to stranded families on rooftops, rushing a pregnant woman to hospital in a motorboat just in time to deliver a baby; how the water left the walls sodden and stinking for many months after. With the passage of time, the memory of panic, disruption and anxiety had faded; the events of 1978 were now tinged only with the recollection of excitement and adventure. In comparison, the effects of the 2010 flood were minor and short-lived. Streets in low-lying areas stayed waterlogged for a week; people and vehicles had to wade through a foot or more of muddy water. For 10 days, the sewage and storm water drains flowing from the city into the river were shut to pre-empt a further rise in the river’s level, and residents in areas close to the river had to cope with smelly sewage backflow and toilets that would not flush. But soon the river returned to its former shrunken state, sewage once more flowed into it unabated, and the crisis of the floods had passed. Once more, the city had weathered another monsoon, another imminent flood.
Visibility and Place: Popular Perceptions What was then unprecedented about the 2010 floods was not the fact of their occurrence, but their visibility to the city at large. Previous floods had come and gone, but the only people who were aware of them were those directly affected – a tiny minority in a city of 14 million people – and the government agencies responsible for dealing with them: the Flood Control and Irrigation Department, the Delhi Jal Board (the city’s water supply, sewage and sanitation authority) and the Municipal Corporation’s Slum Wing (for managing squatter settlements). In the case of the 2010 floods, however, dozens of television news channels stationed their outdoor broadcasting vans to film the river, reporting minute-by-minute on the rising water, its proximity to the danger mark, the state of the railway bridge and the consequent dislocation of traffic, the plight of displaced squatters, and interviewing government officials and residents in flood-threatened neighbourhoods. In September 2010, when the Yamuna in Delhi was flowing 2 metres above its danger mark of 204.83 metres, the river had finally become newsworthy. The dramatised relaying of this event to the public eye was not only a result of the inherently spectacular character of the river in spate. It was also partly an offshoot of the growth of news media in search of new material to televise during its round-theclock broadcasts. Since the onset of economic liberalisation in the 1990s that opened up television channels to private companies, the demand for reportage and features has risen. Imminent disasters and crises help fill the constant demand for news, and television, along with older forms of print capitalism, has helped produce not only the floods-as-news but also an urban public concerned by threats to parts of their city. Aiding the task of the news media in making the floods visible was a new, and notable, development on the right bank of the river: the Yamuna expressway. Completed in the summer of 2010, the concrete pillars of this gigantic four-lane highway march parallel to the riverbed, offering a high vantage point from which to observe a river that had hitherto been hidden from view. The
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broadcasting vans with their overhead satellite dishes and smartlydressed correspondents reporting live from location joined curious onlookers crowding the edge of the expressway, gazing out at the spreadsheet of water below them. Without the expressway, the eloquence of the liquid expanse, the imperilled iron bridge, the treetops sticking out like miniature bushes from the water, would be invisible. Without the expressway, there would be nowhere to stand and nothing to see. Without the expressway, for most residents of Delhi, the river would cease to be.1 In the story of the Yamuna’s shifting visibility in the social and ecological imagination of Delhi, the expressway is an irony. Built to ease road traffic congestion along the city’s north-south artery, its construction was speeded up for the Commonwealth Games held in October 2010 (one of the main venues for sports events – the Indraprastha Stadium – lies at the southern foot of the expressway). The highway rides over the river’s western embankment, cutting through an unfamiliar landscape: the riverbed to one side, on the other the back view of a power station and the public gardens where rest the remains of India’s political greats – Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Lal Bahadur Shastri, Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi. There are no recognisable landmarks, no street-side vendors and shops, no passing pedestrians; only a broad stretch of concrete, speeding cars and big blue signboards announcing exits and destinations. The expressway, especially in the darkness of night, is a disorienting place. In fact, at first glance, it would seem to not be a place at all. Marc Augé uses the term “non-place” to describe “a space which cannot be defined as relational, historical, or concerned with identity” (2008: 63). Highway routes, along with airports and hotel chains, are part of a fleeting, transient and ephemeral world that people increasingly inhabit, spaces of “circulation, consumption and communication” (ibid: viii), where the link between individuals and their surroundings is established primarily “through the mediation of words”, even prescriptive “instructions for use” (ibid: 76-77). Augé contrasts non-places with “anthropological places” that create “organically social” relations (ibid), locating them at opposite ends of the spectrum of sociality and socialisation in terms of identity and history. Augé also points out that it is precisely their anonymity and streamlined ease of negotiation that makes non-places the site where desires and aspirations are increasingly located in a world “surrendered to solitary individuality” (2008: 63). This would certainly be true of projects like the expressway, which concretely embody the desires shared by the Delhi government and many of its citizens to make the city “world-class”, visually aligned with a modernist western aesthetic and physically engineered to move people as swiftly as possible by minimising the friction of having to engage with their surroundings (Mumford 1963). Richard Sennett calls this “the neutralised city” (1990: xii) where spaces are carefully orchestrated to remove the threat of social contact, especially between different kinds of people. So the fact that the expressway brought into view the river, however fleetingly, for the citizens of Delhi was an irony. In the “world-class” city, the Yamuna is an anomaly, an embarrassment even. Next to the expressway to supermodernity, it is an especially awkward presence. Urban eyes struggle to make sense of it: december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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is it nature or culture? Both these socially-produced categories come with recognisable markers. If urban nature has come to be identified with manicured parks, the Yamuna is a wilderness of shifting sandbanks, grasses and crops. Nor is it explicable in terms of rural nature: it is neither forest nor intensively-cultivated farmland. For Delhi residents, the riverbed does not fit within popular notions of nature; only when it is in spate does the river seem to assert its biophysical power. And even then, the network of barrages and embankments usually succeeds in domesticating the river, rendering it into a human-made artefact, controlled and managed. The Yamuna in Delhi makes little cultural sense either. In a country where rivers are an intrinsic part of sacred geography, especially for the dominant Hindu majority, the Yamuna is curiously profane. To be sure, she has a place in the pantheon of river deities as the sister of Yama, the god of death and righteousness. The figures of Yamuna and Ganga flank temple entrances all over the country (Stietencron 2010). She is invoked along with Ganga in Vedic verses chanted during ritual baths. Her stepped ghats besides the temples of Delhi’s Jamna Bazaar are the site of Hindu funerary rites and other purificatory ceremonies.2 But the religious-cultural cosmos of the Yamuna is circumscribed to the Jamna Bazaar spot. Along the rest of her 22 kilometre-long flow through the city, the river is neither revered nor regarded as important to the cultural life of citizens. It may then be said that, for the citizens of Delhi, the Yamuna is a non-place. If history, identity and social relations are the hallmarks of an “anthropological place”, the Yamuna is perceived as being devoid of all these. In fact, the Yamuna is a non-place twice over since it also lacks the aspirational qualities that Augé attributes to places of supermodernity. The non-place that is the expressway snakes past the non-place that is the river, their twinned flows signifying the contradiction that lies at the heart of Delhi: the expressway is a concrete manifestation of the city’s futuristic vision, its world-class ambition brought into being; the river is a watery nothingness.
Microcosms of Nature-Culture Yet, the non-place that is the river in the city has accommodated small cultural worlds built around nature,3 microcosms that quietly continue around the year even as the rest of Delhi is unaware or indifferent to their presence. The ghats at Jamna Bazaar descend to the river on broad flagstones and the Yamuna licks at their feet, coaxing a red boat into the water. When the boat is midstream, a man flings a sweeping shower of grainy pellets around him. From nowhere come thousands of birds, circling and swooping in ever-tightening circles, plucking the pellets from the water and soaring away. The air is dense with the flutter of white wings beating at the autumn light, a dizzy wheeling that goes on and on until the food disappears. The birds go to roost and the moment ebbs away. The birds are black-headed gulls. As he moors the boat, the man informs me that they come from Siberia. In the four months of winter, every morning and evening, he feeds them on behalf of his uncle, a well-to-do businessman in Shahdara, a suburb in east Delhi.4 “40 kilos in the morning, 60 kilos in the evening. Rs 3,000 Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
a day, it costs Mamaji.” Why does he do it? “Bahut door se aate hain ye panchhi. Hamare mehmaan hain” (They come from very far away, these birds. They are our guests). For the businessman from Shahdara, the birds from Siberia are visitors to whom hospitality is due, and the river provides a place for fulfilling the religious obligation to feed itinerants as well as the charitable duty of caring for lesser creatures.5 For people from the Walled City near Jamna Bazaar, the Yamuna offers a respite from urban congestion, from a life constantly crowded with people, sounds and things. I asked Satya Narayan, a middle-aged man who told me that he worked in a hotel, why he came down to the ghats. “Yahaan bahut khulakhula hai. Tasalli milti hai” (It’s wide open and spacious here. One gets reassured).6 We pay Rs 10 to a boatman to ferry us to the island that lies midstream. As we walk up, we unsettle the pariah kites that are warming themselves in the sunny sand. The large brown birds rise and hover, then snuggle back into the bed. In an odd way, it is reassuring to know that there are gulls and kites going about their business even as the city seethes all around them. For those searching for momentary peace, the river provides restful calm – a chance to catch one’s breath and gather one’s thoughts – in an urban place where open space is scarce. In October, the islands and western margins of the riverbank are covered with sprawling fields of vegetables that supply inexpensive and fresh food to the city. The silt of the Yamuna is fertile; cauliflowers and cabbages grow vigorously, with beds of marigold and roses behind them. In the summer, there are cucumbers and melons. Lines of migrant workers from eastern Uttar Pradesh bend and straighten, planting baingan and mirchi (brinjal and chillies). Water gushes from a borewell. “Bilkul meetha pani hai” (The water is absolutely sweet), declares a farmer.7 The groundwater recharged by the Yamuna may be sweet, but studies indicate that the vegetables it irrigates are likely to be contaminated with faecal bacteria and heavy metals such as lead and cadmium.8 Untreated industrial effluents and domestic sewage that discharge into the river in Delhi and upstream mean that, once the monsoon rain flow subsides, the river reverts to its undiluted state: still and stinking, foam-flecked and laden with the flotsam of the plastics packaging revolution. The water is black with filth. On the auspicious full-moon day of Kartik Purnima in October, I watch with awe as worshippers bathe in what looks like raw sewage. The guruji at the Bhishma Vyayamshala (gymnasium and wrestling school) on the ghats tells me phlegmatically that he takes a dip in the river twice a day.9 “There’s a difference between the eye and the mind”, he says. “The eye sees only the surface, the mind perceives true meaning.” There are enough people bathing on the ghats to support the guruji’s assertion that faith allows the mind to conquer matter. But not all the devout are willing to do so any longer. A little upstream of Jamna Bazaar lies Nigambodh Ghat, the main riverside cremation site in Delhi, a site steeped in Hindu mythology and, now, sewage. Apparently, many mourners, whose mind’s eye could not resolve the paradox of divinity and disgust, protested that Jamna-ji was too filthy to bathe in. The Delhi government, which in the late 1990s was led by the Bharatiya Janata
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Party (BJP), came to their aid, installing an exclusive pipeline from the distant river Ganga to supply gangajal (holy water) for purificatory rites. As Anupam Mishra, a cultural historian of water, observed, “Ulti ganga beh rahi hai”.10 It is indeed an upside-down world when, instead of cleaning the river, the government prefers the short-cut stratagem of bringing in water from another river.
Pollution, Illegality and Ethnic Cleansing The annual rhythms of the Yamuna harmonised with the ebb and flow of farmers and labourers, the Hindu ritual calendar and charitable and funerary practices, and the desire of some citydwellers for an open space. The banks also provided a space where dhobis from the Walled City could spread laundered clothes to dry in the sun. The riverbank functioned as an urban commons, with unwritten but nonetheless tangible norms about access and use, with areas being informally demarcated by function. Among these public functions, defecation ranks high. For large sections of the urban poor who live on or close to the riverbed, and who do not have access to sanitation, the wilderness of the riverbed is a vast open-air toilet where the occasional shrubs and rocky outcrops provide privacy. Early morning and late evening, under cover of dark, groups of women with veiled faces pick their way through little piles of waste to the more remote spots. Later in the day, men repair to the wasteland, armed with plastic bottles of water to wash themselves after they are done. To those who live there, these widely-practised, agreed-upon uses are by no means an infringement of the commons, though that is how they are perceived by well-to-do citizens who have access to toilets in their homes. Like rural commons – pastures, forests and streams – the riverbed too is a resource on which the poor depend more than those who own private lands. Unlike the rural commons, the poor do not gather fuel, fodder or berries here; instead, their chief usufruct is space for the conduct of a basic biological function, a space that is notably scarce in the city. However, defecation contributes to the sense of the riverbed as a literal wasteland, derelict and defiled. It evokes disgust, intersecting with the wider popular perception of the place as an abused, uncared-for non-place. The association in the popular imagination of the riverbed with poor people and their polluting practices was to play an important role in destroying perhaps the biggest and most v ibrant cultural world on the riverfront. Ironically, this once-flourishing community was, in some ways, also a product of the wider popular perception of the floodplain as a non-place. That is, the settlement of the poor on the riverfront in the 1980s and 1990s, and their subsequent eviction in the 2000s, were both processes that derived from the marginality of this space. Their opposing tendencies indicate a historic shift in popular perceptions of how a non-place should be treated. As I shall go on to discuss, the subsequent phase of “reclamation” of the riverbed in the 2000s inaugurates the current moment of creating value via commodification, incorporating a non-place into the spaces of capitalist consumption. The year 1977 marked the end of a two-year period of political Emergency when the government of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi
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had suspended civil liberties and undertaken “welfare” progra mmes including forced slum clearance in Delhi, during which an estimated 7,00,000 poor people were evicted from their homes, their protests brutally suppressed, in a campaign led by the prime minister’s son Sanjay Gandhi (an unofficial power beside the throne) and Jagmohan, then lieutenant-governor of Delhi (Tarlo 2002).11 The strong public opposition to these excesses in the aftermath of the Emergency meant that disciplinary desires lay dormant for the next two decades. In the late 1970s, there was a spurt of construction in the capital with the immediate goal of building facilities for the Asian Games to be held in Delhi in 1982. This project, represented as one where national prestige was at stake, provided the grounds for the Delhi Development Authority or DDA12 to violate its own master plan and suspend procedural rules in order to enter into dubious contracts with construction firms.13 The building of flyovers, sports facilities and luxury apartments (to house participating athletes, which later became homes for senior bureaucrats), brought to the city an estimated one million labourers from other states. Once the construction was over, these labourers stayed on, often in shanty settlements in the shadow of the concrete structures they had built, seeking other employment. In the early 1980s, their presence was tolerated and even encouraged by local politicians who secured for them water taps and ration cards. The populist governments at the centre were willing to allow the migrants some recognition, albeit of a limited nature. While their concern did not extend to the provision of low-cost housing or most civic amenities, it did give workers a temporary reprieve in the battle to create homes around their places of work. For the Asiad ’82, a segment of the Yamuna’s floodplain was diverted to construct the Players’ building, a hostel for athletes which could not be completed in time, and the Indraprastha Stadium, which soon fell into disuse. Thousands of workers who were involved in the construction of these buildings came to settle in the surrounding area which remained an open plain along the western embankment (pushta). During the 1980s and 1990s, the encouragement of Congress politicians and the studied indifference of the bureaucracy led to expanding swathes of settlement on the strips of no-man’s land on both sides of the river. By 2004, almost 3,50,000 poor squatters lived along the Yamuna in Delhi. There were a few farmers among them, but the majority were workers – small vendors, porters, rickshaw-pullers, masons, mechanics, artisans, factory workers, domestic help, security guards – who had built homes in the only centrally- located place that afforded them a space close to their means of livelihood. Over the course of more than two decades, they populated the land along the embankments, strengthening their shanty houses with brick, cement and even concrete, securing public water taps and electricity, starting schools and health clinics with the help of non-governmental organisations (NGOs) and the state government. Concealed from public view, the low-lying land of the Yamuna Pushta had been transformed into a dense settlement of Delhi’s under-class – a squalid, illegal, but nonetheless vibrant cultural world. In 2004, defecation along the Yamuna by these settlers became the grounds for the demolition of their homes. The Delhi High december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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Court ordered that the Yamuna Pushta bastis (working-class settlements) be removed because they were responsible for polluting the river and because they were encroaching on the riverbed. Both these charges were based on the selective use of facts. In 2000, court orders had already resulted in the closure of thousands of small industrial firms across the city on the grounds of water pollution (Baviskar et al 2006). However, even with the flow of industrial effluents reduced to 218 million litres a day, the river continued to be polluted by the unchecked discharge of domestic sewage, receiving an estimated 1,789 million litres a day of untreated waste water as it passed through the city (CPCB 2004; CSE 2007). In a city that produces 3,267 million litres a day of sewage – more sewage than all the class II cities in India put together – more than half of all sewage goes untreated. Notably, this wastewater is generated by only half of Delhi’s 14 million population – those who live in “planned colonies, regularised colonies, resettlement colonies and urban villages” (CPCB 2004: 1); the other seven million who live in illegal and unauthorised settlements like the Yamuna Pushta do not have access to drains and sewerage.14 So, by ordering the eviction of Pushta-dwellers on the grounds of polluting the Yamuna, the judiciary placed the burden of excrement produced by Delhi’s well-to-do sections on the working-class people of the bastis along the river.15 A similar shifting of blame was evident in the charge of encroachment. While it was indeed true that the Yamuna Pushta settlers were squatting on land that was legally owned by the DDA (on the west bank) and the Uttar Pradesh Flood and Irrigation Department (on the east bank), far larger tracts of these two agencies’ lands along the river had been taken over by the government and handed over to private bodies in blatant violation of the master plan for Delhi which designated these lands as an ecological zone. Besides two power plants and disused sports facilities built in the 1980s, the Yamuna waterfront by the early 2000s was arrayed with an Information Technology Park, a sprawling metro train depot,16 and the gigantic Akshardham Temple complex which was retrospectively legalised by the Supreme Court over the protests of the landowning agency (Srivastava 2009). Also on the drawing board was the 2010 Commonwealth Games Village with high-rise luxury apartments. A shopping mall, housing for Delhi metro workers, and a bus depot were also waiting to be built. However, none of these projects were criticised for being located on the riverbed in direct contravention of the area’s land-use designation. In fact, the courts permitted all of them to go ahead. Only the settlements of poor workers were targeted for demolition.
Displacement and the Poor The consequences of the 2004 court order were devastating. Sanjay Amar Colony was one of a series of working class settlements that ranged along the Yamuna Pushta, the embankment along the western side of the river. The basti was no fly-by-night agglomeration of ramshackle huts. Over the course of more than 20 years, hundreds of brick and cement dwellings came to line the streets. Of the Pushta’s population of 3,50,000, an estimated 1,50,000 were displaced over the course of one week in June, with the rest to follow. When the bulldozers left, the Pushta Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
r esembled a bombed-out site. Homeless families camped out under the ferocious summer sun, wondering where to go, warily avoiding the police posted in the area to pre-empt any protest. Hundreds of people sifted through the rubble, trying to salvage their belongings. Mohammad Faim broke down and cried.17 “Nineteen years in this city”, said the white-haired native of Siwan, Bihar, “and I have to return empty-handed. How will I show my face in my v illage?” Until a few weeks ago, Faim was known to everyone in his neighbourhood as “Prem Hotelwala”, the owner of a successful dhaba in Sanjay Amar Colony. The dhaba was patronised by rickshaw-pullers, small vendors and artisans, who lived in the basti and plied their trades and wares nearby in the bustling heart of the Walled City. It also supported Faim’s family of five until June 2004 when Prem Hotel and its customers’ homes were razed to the ground. In the ensuing fire, Faim lost everything but a few stainless steel plates and plastic jars. “At my age, what am I to do? Where will I go?” he asked. The Yamuna Pushta demolitions were part of a city-wide campaign of clearing squatter settlements that, between the years 2000 and 2004, displaced an estimated 8,00,000 people from the capital. Although sterilisation was not an “incentive” this time around, in some ways the 2004 demolition outstripped the dark days of the Emergency. For one, far fewer people were resettled. In theory, the Delhi government had a policy of offering land compensation to those who could offer proof of residence. Those who could demonstrate that they settled in the city before 1990 were eligible to receive, upon payment of Rs 7,000, a plot of 18 square metres in a resettlement colony on the outskirts of the city. Those who settled between 1990 and 1998 were eligible to receive a plot of 12.5 square metres. However, resettlement colonies such as Bhalaswa and Holambi Kalan to which the displaced were sent were little more than wastelands, with no amenities, 20-30 kilometres from people’s place of work (Menon-Sen and Bhan 2008). Yet, despite the difficulties of relocating to such inhospitable places – losing employment, withdrawing children from school – people still grabbed at the chance to secure a legitimate home in the city. Unfortunately, many who qualified to receive resettlement plots did not get them. Only 16% of those displaced from Yamuna Pushta were given plots. The rest found their names missing from municipal lists. Thrusting forward his documents – ration card, voter identity card, government token issued in 1990 – Ram Kumar Sah expressed the anger and despair of most Pushta residents: The whole week I’ve been queuing outside this office and that, hoping some official will listen to me. But it’s hopeless. I’ve lived here for 25 years. I pushed my thela (cart) for miles, bringing bricks and mud to make this place liveable. I built my house with my own hands. All that hard work, and I get nothing at all? The government should just strangle us. At least that’s quick.18
Those who could not muster even these documents – a majo rity of residents – stood no chance of receiving any housing land. They were simply rendered homeless. Some scattered to the city’s periphery, living on rent in squatter settlements on the margins of Delhi, forced to again live precariously in the interstices of the law and the urban economy.
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The shift in popular perceptions and political equations from tolerating and even encouraging settlement in the 1980s and early 1990s, to the brute removal of squatters in the 2000s, was reflective of a new hardening of attitudes towards the city’s working class, an antipathy towards “informal” livelihoods and spaces on the part of an urban elite that had become disproportionately empowered by the liberalisation policies adopted in the 1990s, and that had the backing of the higher judiciary. This “bourgeois environmentalism” (Baviskar 2003, 2011) ignored the structural imperatives behind squatting on public lands to adopt a more hard line position against slum-dwellers. A high court judge remarked that resettling an encroacher on public land was akin to rewarding a pickpocket (Ramanathan 2006: 3195). But while the encroachers on Yamuna Pushta were deemed criminals in the eyes of the law, they saw themselves as being forced into that role. As Ramadevi pointed out, I sell vegetables, barely making enough to feed my four children. But I save every paisa so that they can go to school and make something of their lives. I can’t afford to pay a high rent for a place to stay. Nor can I spend Rs 20-30 on travel every day. That’s why I live here – gareeb aadmi aur kahan jayega? (Where else would a poor person go?)
The economics of everyday life in the city, of surviving when wages are low, dictate that people live close to their workplace. But this need goes unmet in Delhi’s real estate market that offers scant legal housing for poor workers. During 1994-2004, the DDA planned to build 1.62 million dwelling units but built only 5,60,000, none of them within the economic reach of the poor.19 It was no surprise then that more than 23% of Delhi’s population lived in bastis like Yamuna Pushta. Standing by the rubble of his demolished home, Abdul Barik gestured to the squalor around him, “You think we want to live like this? We are also human. We also want to live decently, without fear of being harassed and uprooted. But there is no other option.” Under the circumstances, encroachment was not a choice but a compulsion for poor workers, their hope of securing a foothold in the urban economy. However, in the Court’s determination to clean the river by clearing its banks of poor squatters, the underlying political economy of housing in the city was ignored as was the complicity of the state in enabling settlement on the riverfront in the first place. The Court’s selective targeting of poor squatters while letting more powerful polluters and encroachers off the hook reflects the partial, and even distorted, environmental vision of Delhi’s well-to-do citizens. A characteristic feature of bourgeois environmentalism is its hostility to the poor in the pursuit of a “clean and green” environment, where the very presence of the poor is equated with pollution. “Cleaning” the Yamuna thus did not take the form of installing sewage treatment facilities but entailed the removal of working-class squatters from the riverbank. As Asher Ghertner points out, an aesthetic vision has been central to the liberalisation-era quest of making Delhi a “world-class” city: “According to this aesthetic mode of governing, …widespread in Delhi today, if a development project looks ‘world-class’, then it is most often declared planned; if a settlement looks polluting, it is sanctioned as unplanned and illegal” (Ghertner 2011: 280). This helps explain the differential treatment accorded to slums on the one hand and to luxury high-rises and stadiums on the other.
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Though the eviction of squatters cleared the riverbed, it did nothing to address the actual acute problem of water pollution. Meanwhile, projects that reflected the world-class aspirations of the city’s elite were retrospectively legalised. In 2004, the Court-ordered demolitions were aggressively implemented by Jagmohan, former lieutenant-general of Delhi during the Emergency in the 1970s, in his capacity as minister for tourism and culture. Once cleared of the bastis, the Yamuna bank was to have been “beautified” with gardens, promenades and parking lots stretching down from the historic Red Fort to the river. The 2004 demolitions on the west bank of the river were followed by equally harsh evictions from the east bank in the summer of 2006. In June of that year, the homes of more than 50,000 squatters were razed to the ground. In what had, by then, become a familiar tragedy, most of those who lost their homes received no compensation. A small fraction were temporarily housed in shelters in Savda Ghevra, 40 kilometres away, and effectively lost their means of livelihood (see Baviskar in press). By the end of 2006, the riverbank had been cleared of all those citizens whom the Court deemed to be “non-people” – those who failed to legally own private property and whose consequent dependence on the commons rendered them invisible as rightsbearing citizens. Denied access to housing and basic services by the government, and then condemned for this very lack, the eviction of working-class settlers and the destruction of their community reflected the consolidation of anti-poor hostility on the part of the judiciary, bourgeois environmentalists and state officials. In retrospect, it became evident that the hostile mano euvres of demolition and displacement were a necessary precondition for the transformation of the riverfront as a place of value. The removal of non-people was essential for the reinvention of a non-place.
Commodification and the Creation of Value By 2007, selectively cleared of its encroachments, the Yamuna riverfront appeared to be terra nullius, an uninhabited place outside the realm of value, inviting investment.20 If the high court order evicting poor squatters seemed to indicate some concern for the polluted state of the river, no such environmental concern was evident when it came to permitting the construction of capital-intensive projects on the riverbed. In July 2009, a bench of the Supreme Court of India, headed by the chief justice, approved the construction of luxury high-rise apartments close to the Yamuna in east Delhi as part of a complex to house athletes and officials during the Commonwealth Games 2010. The 100-acre Games Village had been the centre of controversy since its inception, with an environmentalist NGO, Yamuna Jiye Abhiyan (YJA, Keep Yamuna Alive Campaign), petitioning the high court in 2007 to stop construction since permanent structures on the floodplain would adversely affect its ecological functioning as an area crucial for groundwater recharge and accommodating excess flows during the monsoons.21 The construction was also challenged by farmers from Patpar, Mandavali and Shakarpur villages in east Delhi who participated in a year-long sit-in satyagraha at the proposed site of the Games Village to protest against the takeover of their land, first for the Akshardham temple and december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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then the Games Village. Baljit Singh, general secretary of the Delhi Peasants’ Multipurpose Cooperative Society, showed documents dating back to 1949, granting co-op members the right to cultivate on the riverbed. “The sarkar talks about creating biodiversity parks, but we have been maintaining biodiversity for almost 60 years”, he said. “Just let us be”. However, the judges did not find any merit in the environmental arguments of the YJA and the farmers. After reviewing the conflicting reports submitted by the Ministry of Environment and Forests and the National Environmental Engineering Research Institute, and examining the city master plan prepared by the DDA, the Delhi High Court had set up a committee to monitor the environmental impact of the Commonwealth Games Village. However, it refused to halt construction, even though the YJA argued that if construction continued, the project would be a fait accompli and any subsequent order against it would be meaningless. In response, the DDA, as the agency in charge of the project, appealed against the high court order in the Supreme Court, claiming that an environmental oversight committee would hamper work on a project of national importance which had to be completed on a tight schedule. The Supreme Court concurred with their view and, dismissing the environmental committee appointed by the high court, allowed construction to steam ahead without hindrance. However, and most significantly, the Supreme Court did not justify its decision on grounds that the urgency or importance of the project superseded environmental concerns. The judgment stated categorically that all the arguments about the ecological value of the location were baseless: the place was not a riverbed or a floodplain. This authoritative pronouncement by the Supreme Court, an imprimatur for converting the riverfront to real estate, has sealed the fate of the Yamuna. No longer a non-place, it has become a frontier for get-rich-quick schemes (cf Tsing 2005), for speculation in a land market that has seen spiralling prices in the booming post-liberalised urban economy. Along with speculation have come sweetheart deals, with state officials colluding with private developers to profit from the transfer of public lands. The subsidy to builders included bailing out Emaar MGF, the Dubai-based real estate developer contracted to build the Games Village. Under a public-private partnership (PPP) arrangement, the DDA allotted 27 acres of prime land for free to the company to build 1,168 luxury flats to house athletes and officials. Under the terms of the contract, the firm would sell two-thirds of the flats while DDA would sell the remainder. After the financial downturn of 2009, the cash-strapped company appealed to the government for help and the DDA responded by giving it an interest-free loan of $100 million, to be repaid in the form of additional flats.22 Among similar subsidies given to private developers, the case of the Akshardham temple complex stands out. Built on 90 acres of the floodplain, the sprawling site also includes a lake, extensive gardens with a musical fountain, an IMAX theatre, a food court, and a centre for Applied Research in Social Harmony. Commentators have characterised the complex as a religious theme park, a form of “Disney-divinity” (Srivastava 2009). Construction of the temple began illegally in April 2000, despite protests from farmers who were evicted from the land, and the Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
Uttar Pradesh flood and irrigation department which petitioned the Court arguing that 30 acres of land belonged to them but had been illicitly claimed and disposed of by the DDA. However, the Supreme Court ruled in favour of the temple, pointing out that most of it had already been built – an argument that was likely to have been influenced by the power of the organisation building it. The Swaminarayan sect is not only well endowed but well connected; the BJP-led National Democratic Alliance was ruling at the centre at that time and Home Minister Lal Krishna Advani was a personal friend of the sect’s leader. Projects such as the Akshardham temple and the Commonwealth Games Village – the term “village” suggesting a pastoral community, a low-rise settlement harmonising with its setting, when what has been built consists of multi-storeyed luxury apartments with a captive power plant – illustrate how the new development has been actively fostered by the government with massive subsidies being given to corporate organisations, not only through land being transferred at nominal rates but through interest-free loans and buy-back guarantees. Other capital- intensive projects have rapidly flowed in their wake. With the A kshardham temple acting as an anchoring point on the eastern bank and a network of flyovers and widened roads being built to accommodate the enhanced traffic parallel to the eastern riverfront, other concrete developments have followed suit. The Delhi Metro Rail Corporation (DMRC) has located its Yamuna bank station and extensive train depot within 300 metres of the river; Parsvnath Builders has constructed a shopping mall adjacent to the Games Village, and the remaining land along the river is earmarked for similar projects. The reinvention of the riverfront is proceeding apace. As one travels along the overhead metro line from central to east Delhi, crossing the Yamuna on the new metro bridge, one can look down on the patchwork of farms rapidly being replaced by grand buildings. In most citizens’ eyes, the transformation is a welcome one: finally, the neglected suburb of east Delhi, home to slums and middle class neighbourhoods, has a skyline to be proud of. And if this skyline swallows up the nonplace that was the river, that is just as it should be, for in its place there is now a landscape of value, where the worth of a place can be measured in money and in the recognisable form of architectural excess.
Ecology, Commodity Aesthetics and the Flow of Value What, then, remains of the Yamuna as an ecological entity that lies outside the circuit of commodity value?23 Has the imagination of urban Delhi been completely colonised by the vision of the riverfront as a “world-class” space? Has the river been comprehensively transformed into real estate? As this essay shows, the line between water and land not only changes with the seasons – becoming especially blurred during the three monsoon months when the river swells to accommodate 70% of its annual flow – but has also altered over the years as successive embankments have gradually hemmed in the river and “reclaimed” land from its bed. Until the 1970s, the floodplain was regarded as wasteland, given over to seasonal cultivation by farmers’ cooperatives who leased land from the flood and irrigation department. The very fact of landownership by that agency indicated that the
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rimary purpose of this strip was related to the management of p water in the city. Small-scale farming on the rich silt deposited by the river was not seen as inimical to the task of regulating water flows. The incremental construction of embankments in a piecemeal fashion to protect settlements along the river from occasional flooding eventually created a network of parallel lines that effectively restricted the river’s channel and allowed accelerated build-up on the banks. The major spate of construction along the river’s west bank before the Asian Games of 1982 was accompanied by the spread of squatter settlements housing the city’s working class that, with the encouragement of the government, kept expanding over the next two decades. Their subsequent eviction on the charge of pollution cleared the way for the construction of capital-intensive projects of urban infrastructure and elite consumption. These projects give material shape to Chief Minister Sheila Dikshit’s vision of riverfront development that mimics other “world-class” cities. Dikshit has frequently mooted the idea of channelising the river in a manner resembling the Thames in London and the Seine in Paris, with the river fitting into the cityscape as a site of recreation and leisure, with cultural performances and other modes of public consumption. This seemingly benign project of creating the riverfront as a public space, one that may forge a relationship between the river and the residents of Delhi, elides key issues, social and ecological. One, this space will not really be open to the “public” for the direction of its redistribution already shows that it favours corporate capital and private and elite public modes of consumption. Not only will these new spaces exclude most residents of the city but, in fact, have already done so – the land made available for the new developments has been taken from farmers and by evicting hundreds of thousands of poor slum-dwellers who had previously occupied that land. It must also be borne in mind that the Yamuna is not the Thames or the Seine. Its distinctive rhythms are harmonised to the Indian subcontinent’s seasons. With the bulk of its flow concentrated in the monsoons, the Yamuna is liable to breach its embankments if deprived of its present fertile expanse. While the floods in Mumbai and New Orleans (Kelman 2003) are recent examples of the hazards of building in a river’s floodplain, the residents of north Delhi and the Pushta have also experienced Notes 1 George Berkeley (1710): “A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge” (proposition 45) argued that “The Objects of Sense Exist Only When They Are Perceived”, viewed on 20 June 2011 (http://philosophy.eserver.org/berkeley.html). This comment on perception and the production of nature is not to deny the substantive materiality of the river or, what the essay argues for, the fact that nature exceeds social categories and framings. I am grateful to Vinay Gidwani for helping clarify this point. 2 The Sanskrit term for a place of pilgrimage, tirtha, originally meant “Ford” or “Crossing Place” and sacred riverbank sites like the Ganga at Banaras represent spiritual fording, the soul’s journey from the obstacles of this world to the next (Eck 1982). This metaphysical aspect of a river underlies the Hindu practice of using ghats or the built-up steps leading down to the water, as sites to cremate the dead.
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the risks of a swiftly-rising river. The vast stretches of riverbed revealed in the summer months may lure developers, but the line between land and water is swiftly dissolved once the rains come. As Mike Davis (1999) reminds us, nature is not a stable backdrop against which humans can orchestrate their affairs. Natural processes have their own dynamism and integrity must be borne in mind lest world-class ambitions founder on the fluvial bed of the Yamuna. The spatial and temporal flow of the Yamuna through Delhi shows the fluctuating fortunes of urban ecology as a concern in the cultural politics of the city. In 2009, the ecological value of the floodplain was comprehensively dismissed by the Supreme Court’s declaration that the area along the river was neither a riverbed nor a floodplain and could be incorporated into a regime of commodity value as real estate. However, the floods of 2010 challenged that assertion, reminding the city of the presence of a river in their midst, an ecological entity that could not be fully controlled and that demanded its natural due. In this essay, I have tried to show that the contestations over the Yamuna are not merely another inevitable instance of the enclosure of the commons, a historical accompaniment to the onward march of capitalism (Thompson 1977), or of “accumulation by dispossession” in an age of “new imperialism” (Harvey 2003). Though they do fit within the wider pattern of accumulation going on in contemporary India, the processes that have rendered the riverfront a place of commodified value are also anchored in a longer-standing set of aesthetic values associated with modernity (Glover 2008). These values made the riverfront a non-place inhabited by nonpeople, illegible as either nature or culture. Among the many intersecting ways of making nature recognisable as a place of value – spectacular scenery, charismatic mega-fauna, religious significance, national prestige – commodification is only one (Cederlöf and Sivaramakrishnan 2005; Davis 1995). It is the conjuncture with the period of liberalisation that has enabled the emergence of commodity aesthetics as the dominant form of imparting value to the river, allowing the Yamuna to be seen and imagined as a desirable place. However, the floods assert a contrary doctrine, reiterating the force of ecological limits, and emphasising that the floodplain of the Yamuna continues to be a place that defies commodification and thus defines the limits of capital.
3 On the mutual constitution of place and nature, see Raffles (1999). 4 Interviewed on 21 November 2007. 5 The two cow shelters close to the river, with their herds of infirm and injured cattle, offer a similar opportunity to the devout. 6 Interviewed on 23 November 2007. 7 Interviewed on 25 November 2007. 8 See the 2003 study “Heavy Metal Contamination of Vegetables in Delhi”, viewed on 25 June 2011 (http://old.cseindia.org/programme/health/pdf/ conf2006/toxins2_aggarwal2.pdf). Other studies on Yamuna water pollution in Delhi and critical appraisals of the efforts to clean the river can be found online at the Centre for Science and Environment website, viewed on 25 June 2011 (http://www.cseindia.org/taxonomy/term/ 5050). For an ongoing commentary on the Yamuna’s condition, with biographical musings and photographs, see Ravi Agarwal’s engaging blog, viewed
on 25 June 2011 (http://haveyouseen theriver. blogspot.com). 9 Interviewed on 21 November 2007. 10 This Hindi aphorism is particularly apt on this occasion. Literally, it means that “The Ganga is Flowing Backwards”, or a state that violates the natural order of things. 11 In her book Unsettling Memories (2002), anthropologist Emma Tarlo persuasively argues that, during the Emergency, the state’s desire to discipline poor people’s lives in urban spaces extended to an invasion of their bodies as well. Tarlo shows that the project of urban beautification via slum evictions was linked to the project of population control via forced sterilisation. Displaced slum-dwellers were more likely to get resettlement plots on the edge of the city if they got themselves sterilised or if they could prove that they had “motivated” someone to get a vasectomy or tubectomy. In the archives of the Delhi Development Authority (DDA),
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several files pertaining to the allotment of individual housing plots included certificates of sterilisation to strengthen the claimant’s case. The body responsible for planning and regulating land use in the capital. This crisis narrative involving national prestige, tight deadlines and the imperative of creating major infrastructural and aesthetic changes in the city, which legitimises massive public expenditure without adequate oversight, was replayed in the lead-up to the Commonwealth Games 2010 (Baviskar 2010). In 2004, Hazards Centre, an organisation researching urban issues from the viewpoint of working-class citizens, attempted to calculate the total quantum of liquid waste generated by areas equipped with sewage lines as well as those without. According to their report, 3,296 million litres of wastewater are released into the Yamuna in Delhi every day. Their analysis estimated that the Yamuna Pushta bastis contributed only 2.96 million litres a day (or less than 0.1%) to the total waste flowing into the river. Yet, the Pushta settlements were targeted for eviction while no action was taken against the pucca neighbourhoods that generated the bulk of domestic sewage. The regularity with which judicial attempts to address pollution in the Yamuna have targeted the wrong offenders while ignoring systemic problems and letting state officials off the hook, condoning failure despite more than Rs 13.56 billion being spent on the Yamuna Action Plan, indicates the anti-poor prejudice driving the recent judicial activism (Ramanathan 2006). The metro depot uses groundwater pumped from the riverbed and discharges waste, including chemicals used in train maintenance, directly into the river (Bharucha 2006). The most recent reports indicate that the Delhi Metro Rail Corporation (DMRC) has plans of building a theme park on 15,000 square metres of another riverfront station, Shastri Park. See report “DMRC Theme Park”, viewed on 30 July 2011 (http://www. yamunajiyeabhiyaan.blogspot.com/). Interviewed on 13 April 2004. Interviewed on 12 April 2004. In 2008, the Delhi government announced that it had built 60,000 flats for the urban poor, a claim that was later found to be completely false. An enquiry found that, by 2009, only 7,635 of these flats had been built and another 5,227 were under construction. See “Lokayukta Ticks off Sheila for False Claim over Flats for Poor”, The Hindu, 19 July 2011, viewed on 19 July 2011 (http://www. thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-national/tp-newdelhi/article2249115.ece). The move of ignoring or exterminating original settlers and then claiming their land as one’s territory is, of course, a familiar story in the history of colonialism (Carter 1987; Wilmsen 1989). However, it continues in attenuated forms into the present, through time-tested tactics such as criminalising the poor for survival practices that are a product of state-imposed restrictions. Writ petition, viewed on 23 July 2011 (www.elaw. org/system/files/Petition+-+final+version.doc). For other documents related to Yamuna pollution and construction on the riverbed, see Yamuna Jiye Abhiyan, viewed on 23 July 2011 (http:// www.yamunajiyeabhiyaan.blogspot.com). “DDA gives Rs 500 crore loan to Emaar MGF”, Economic Times, 13 September 2009, viewed on 7 October 2009 (http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/Features/The-Sunday-ET/Companies /Emaar-MGFs-32-flats-in-games-village-to-be-readyby-October/articleshow/5004556.cms). This arran gement directly contradicted the urban development ministry’s previously held position that there was no provision for extending a loan to the contractor under the PPP model. See statement by urban development secretary, M Ramachandran, in “DDA might bail out Emaar”, Indian Express, 8 January 2009, viewed on 7 October 2009 (http://www.expressindia.com/latest-news/gamesvillage-dda-might-bail-out-emaar/408094/).
23 For an instructive discussion of the contrast between the “commons” and “commodities”, see Bakker (2007) and Linebaugh (2009).
References Augé, Marc (2008 [1995]): Non-Places: An Introduction to Supermodernity, 2nd edition (London: Verso). Bakker, Karen (2007): “The ‘Commons’ Versus the ‘Commodity’: Alter-Globalisation, Anti-Privatisation, and the Human Right to Water in the Global South”, Antipode, 39(3): 430-55. Baviskar, Amita (2003): “Between Violence and Desire: Space, Power and Identity in the Making of Metropolitan Delhi”, International Social Science Journal, 175: 89-98. – (2010): “Spectacular Events, City Spaces and Citizenship: The Commonwealth Games in Delhi” in Jonathan Shapiro Anjaria and Colin McFarlane (ed.), Urban Navigations: Politics, Space and the City in South Asia (New Delhi: Routledge), 138-61. – (2011): “Cows, Cars and Cycle-rickshaws: Bourgeois Environmentalism and the Battle for Delhi’s Streets” in Amita Baviskar and Raka Ray (ed.), Elite and Everyman: The Cultural Politics of the Indian Middle Classes (New Delhi: Routledge), 391-418. – (In press): “Extraordinary Violence and Everyday Welfare: The State and Development in Rural and Urban India” in Soumhya Venkatesan and Thomas Yarrow (ed.), Differentiating Development: Beyond an Anthropology of Critique (New York: Berghahn Books). Baviskar, Amita, Subir Sinha and Kavita Philip (2006): “Rethinking Indian Environmentalism: Industrial Pollution in Delhi and Fisheries in Kerala” in Joanne Bauer (ed.), Forging Environmentalism: Justice, Livelihood and Contested Environments (New York: ME Sharpe), 189-256. Bharucha, Ruzbeh N (2006): Yamuna Gently Weeps: A Journey into the Yamuna Pushta Slum Demolitions (New Delhi: Sainathann Communication). Carter, Paul (1987): The Road to Botany Bay: An Essay in Spatial History (London: Faber and Faber). Cederlöf, Gunnel and K Sivaramakrishnan (2005): Ecological Nationalisms: Nature, Livelihoods, and Identities in South Asia (New Delhi: Permanent Black). CPCB (Central Pollution Control Board) (2004): Status of Sewerage and Sewage Treatment Plants in Delhi, New Delhi: CPCB. CSE (Centre for Science and Environment) (2007): Sewage Canal: How to Clean the Yamuna (New Delhi: CSE).
Davis, Mike (1999): Ecology of Fear: Los Angeles and the Imagination of Disaster (New York: Vintage). Davis, Susan G (1995): “Touch the Magic” in William Cronon (ed.), Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the Human Place in Nature (New York: W W Norton), 204-17. Eck, Diana (1982): Banaras: City of Light (New York: Alfred E Knopf). Ghertner, D Asher (2011): “Rule by Aesthetics: WorldClass City Making in Delhi” in Ananya Roy and Aihwa Ong (ed.), Worlding Cities: Asian Experiments and the Art of Being Global (Oxford: Blackwell), 279-306. Glover, William J (2008): Making Lahore Modern: Constructing and Imagining a Colonial City (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press). Harvey, David (2003): The New Imperialism (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Kelman, Ari (2003): A River and Its City: The Nature of Landscape in New Orleans (Berkeley: University of California Press). Linebaugh, Peter (2009): The Magna Carta Manifesto: Liberties and Commons for All (Berkeley: University of California Press). Menon-Sen, Kalyani and Gautam Bhan (2008): Swept off the Map: Surviving Eviction and Resettlement in Delhi (New Delhi: Yoda Press and Jagori). Mumford, Lewis (1963): The Highway and the City (New York: Harcourt). Raffles, Hugh (1999): “‘Local Theory’: Nature and the Making of an Amazonian Place”, Cultural Anthropology, 14(3): 323-60. Ramanathan, Usha (2006): “Illegality and the Urban Poor”, Economic & Political Weekly, 41(29): 3193-97. Sennett, Richard (1990): The Conscience of the Eye: The Design and Social Life of Cities (New York: A lfred A Knopf). Srivastava, Sanjay (2009): “Urban Spaces, Disney- Divinity and Moral Middle Classes in Delhi”, Economic & Political Weekly, 44(26-27): 338-45. Stietencron, Heinrich von (2010): Ganga and Yamuna: River Goddesses and Their Symbolism in Indian Temples (New Delhi: Orient Blackswan). Tarlo, Emma (2002): Unsettling Memories: Narratives of the Emergency in India (Berkeley: University of California Press). Thompson, E P (1977): Whigs and Hunters: The Origins of the Black Act (London: Allen Lane). Tsing, Anna Lowenhaupt (2005): Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Wilmsen, Edwin N (1989): Land Filled with Flies: A Political Economy of the Kalahari (Chicago: University of Chicago Press).
PERSPECTIVES ON CASH TRANSFERS May 21, 2011 A Case for Reframing the Cash Transfer Debate in India – Sudha Narayanan Mexico’s Targeted and Conditional Transfers: Between Oportunidades and Rights – Pablo Yanes Brazil’s Bolsa Família: A Review – Fabio Veras Soares Conditional Cash Transfers as a Tool of Social Policy – Francesca Bastagli Cash Transfers as the Silver Bullet for Poverty Reduction: A Sceptical Note – Jayati Ghosh PDS Forever? – Ashok Kotwal, Milind Murugkar, Bharat Ramaswami Impact of Biometric Identification-Based Transfers – Arka Roy Chaudhuri, E Somanathan The Shift to Cash Transfers: Running Better But on the Wrong Road? – Devesh Kapur
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Hunters, Gatherers and Foragers in a Metropolis: Commonising the Private and Public in Mumbai D Parthasarathy
Mumbai is in reality a city of places that are not a part of the current set of fantasies that rule the minds of urban planners but are yet integrally linked to capitalist processes, to urban practices of place-making and to urbanism itself. From this perspective, this enquiry seeks not only to better understand and explain the processes that are forcing out the city’s less privileged from its commons, but also imagine how a more inclusive future could be achieved.
This is a revised and expanded version of a paper presented at the 13th Biennial Conference of the International Association for the Study of the Commons in January 2011 at Hyderabad. The research was carried out as part of a Visiting Research Fellowship at the Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore, in 2008-09. Part of the field research was also done during a survey for the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority for the rehabilitation of flood victims in 2006-07. The comments of an anonymous reviewer are gratefully acknowledged. D Parthasarathy ([email protected]) is at the Indian Institute of Technology Bombay.
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he popular imagination of Mumbai/Bombay/Bambai1 is as much about its built environment as about its people, what they do, their collective and individual habits, and their aspirations. Mumbai’s high-rises and malls, its slums and shanties, its pavement dwellers and SoBo2 elites and its “mysterious middle classes”3 have been celebrated and derided in movies, in literature and the media, and in everyday conversations. The morphology of the city, its spatial practices, and its urbanism are regarded as unique, so much so that a sociologist once said that it is perhaps “India’s only city”. Paralleling this picture in the popular imagination is an academic or scholarly one that seems to be fascinated by Mumbai’s industrial culture (fast vanishing) and landscape, its business and social elite and its underclass, an imagination that is almost enchanted by Bollywood and the city’s criminal classes, and by its consumer culture and its resilience to disasters. The city’s experiments with governance, increasingly influenced by new avatars of “civil society” organisations,4 its cosmopolitanism, its famed cheek-by-jowl poverty and riches, its legendary charitable disposition to those who are willing to struggle and make it big have been grist for the academic mill, whether the workers in this mill are of a Marxist or liberal orientation, postmodernist or simply of an empiricist disposition. It is rare that these imaginations gaze outward to the sea that is a constant presence, and that more often than not in recent times has been perceived as a threat in more senses than one, and recognise the tens of thousands whose precarious livelihoods are dependent on fishing. The thousands of tabelas (cattle sheds) that dot the city’s suburbs and have intricate links with the formal and informal sectors of the economy make news only when real estate sharks eye their sites for their commercial value, or when “conscientious” citizens suddenly wake up to the hygiene problems they supposedly cause. Likewise with the salt pan lands and salt workers, with the state as well as builders coveting these “properties” for their new projects and bringing more land into the domain of monopoly rent in a land-scarce and land-hungry city. In Mumbai’s many private and government forests, its mangroves and the wild growths on vast tracts of land owned by many public sector and government establishments, thousands of the city’s pre-precariat struggle to eke out meagre incomes through foraging, hunting and gathering for food, fodder and fuelwood. The seeming incongruity of the presence of a large number of hunters, gatherers and foragers in a metropolitan city with aspirations of becoming a “global city” through large-scale urban december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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restructuring, infrastructure upgradation, and financialisation of the economy provided the initial thrust for this study. It is entirely comprehensible that “visions” of the city projected by its corporate firms find no place for these groups in their plans.5 But does the “distribution of the sensible” (Ranciere 2004) into visible and invisible that is so characteristic of the dominant classes and the state also affect the lens through which researchers see the city? One can only speculate (the basis for across-class survival strategies and “futures” planning in Mumbai) on the reasons for the invisibility of these groups in all but the most sensitive of action research and public sociology studies. In addition, they are conspicuously absent in the diverse environmental plans that seek to address the insecurities that arise out of human-induced natural disasters, as observed during the 2005 floods in the city.6 Again, with the exception of the rare socially engaged activist-scholar’s attention, fish workers, foragers for fuelwood and fodder, salt pan workers, and workers in smallscale dairying play no part in suggested disaster mitigation strategies and disaster management plans despite very clear evidence of the role forests, mangroves and salt pan lands have in flood prevention.
Urban Studies: Filling the Silences There are important methodological and theoretical or conceptual issues related to the practice of urban studies that emerge in these silences and invisibilities. In his studies on south-east Asia, Mcgee draws attention to the proto-proletariat and the “ingenious paradox” of “peasants in the city” whose survival strategies are characterised by “flexibility and fluidity between putative formal and informal sectors” (Kelly 2007: 258). Ananya Roy’s (2005: 148) work on informality similarly points to a “series of transactions that connect different economies and spaces to one another”, something that ought to have alerted us to activities, spaces, places and practices beyond what is commonly categorised as urban, and has hence been ignored and made invisible. Perhaps deeply entrenched conceptual frameworks of urban- rural differences – even in rural-urban continuum approaches – explain the narrow focus of urban studies in non-western contexts. Myopic interpretations of Marxist perspectives on the city that fail to see beyond rigidly outlined capital flows and capital accumulation processes, and ideas of class and class struggle that are restricted to the formal or organised sector offer another plausible explanation for this. Increasingly popular post-modern approaches whose evidence essentially consists of representations and visualisations, and hence reproduce the “distribution of the sensible”, could be yet another reason for the invisible remaining out of the purview of serious scholarship. The difficulties of carrying out ethnographic work of an entire city,7 with or without de Certeau’s “walking in the city” methodology, offers still yet another conceivable explanation. Research on the urban commons in India is scarce, though there are signs of increasing interest. The focus, however, is on issues that reflect the core concerns of urban sociology and critical urban studies; streets, maidans, lakes, parks, and garbage disposal sites are usually identified as the commons. The identification of the commons by researchers does recognise issues of Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
class, gender, inequality and the concerns of the urban poor, but on the whole seems to be more of a reaction to exclusionary tendencies and the takeover of common facilities and sites by the middle classes and the elite. Questions are rarely raised beyond the routine ones of struggles over access and exclusion with reference to common civic natural resources such as lakes and parks, common facilities (playgrounds), or the use of streets and footpaths for vending, hawking, housing, and so on. How and from where do the urban poor meet their fuelwood needs? What are the sources of food and fodder for urban livestock holders? How do the urban poor and lower middle classes meet their food requirements? What kind of resource dependencies are exhibited in the livelihood strategies of street vendors and hawkers, and of sundry artisanal groups working in the city? Are urban and peri- urban natural resource pools and commons (for instance, fish from lakes, rivulets, creeks, ponds and other water bodies) integrated into the supply chains of small retailers, wholesalers and supermarkets, as well as of eateries and restaurants? It is these kinds of commons – ecological commons – used for livelihood dependencies, but also feeding into domestic and transnational commodity chains, that are of interest to this study. Research on common pool resources (CPRs), or more simply the commons, has mostly tended to deal with two intersecting themes – property rights and regimes, and governance issues. That CPRs enable the poor and those with no property exercise their right to labour is usually assumed rather than problematised; a labour perspective on the commons is usually not directly a subject matter of research. Quite apart from the difficulties of valuing “community” labour, the relative neglect of a labour perspective derives largely from a neoclassical economics approach to “valuing” labour. It is not surprising that even radical scholars fail to observe hunting, gathering and foraging kinds of labour in the metropolitan city of Mumbai. These are after all outmoded and primitive forms of labour that have no place either in a global city or a megacity. They do not fit within a “phantasmagoria of city-ness” (Robinson 2004: 570) derived from western urban theory. Seemingly slow, inefficient, seasonal, non-commodified, low technology and labour intensive, and unconnected to capitalist markets, these are external to the world of “fantasies about cities” that urban theorists and policymakers have built for themselves. They have nothing to do with “wonder, speed, diversity, density, verticality, innovation” (ibid). One of the objectives of this study is to describe Mumbai as a city by describing places that are not a part of this set of fantasies, but are yet integrally linked to capitalist processes, to urban practices of place-making, and to urbanism itself. By doing so, it seeks to contribute in a small way to the goals Robinson sets for urban studies – to expand “the resources available for understanding and explaining urban processes and urban societies” and to generate “resources for imagining city futures and better ways of living in cities” (2004: 570). In taking on this burden, it is hoped that this study will even if in a tiny way contribute to the Lefebvrian project of developing “a comprehensive theory of the production of space” (Kipfer et al 2008: 8). It is expected that attention to the commons will lead to a greater focus on everyday life in a more central way, as “a semi-autonomous and contradictory level of totality” (ibid).
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Such an approach will help develop a more robust critique of bourgeois environmentalism that fetishises nature and assists processes of accumulation by dispossession. It is perhaps as a reaction to this fetishisation of nature that radical urbanists fail to perceive the huge amount of labour expended by the landless proletariat in the urban resource commons, preferring to invest their scholarship on the political economy of capital accumulation defined in narrow terms. Lefebvre mentions that even Karl Marx failed to “discover rhythms” despite his explicit focus “on the transformation of brute nature through human work, through technology and inventions, through labour and consciousness” (2004: 7). Private and government forestlands, mangroves, coastal zones, small and large water bodies, including the Arabian Sea, salt pans, and unused institutional lands with vegetative cover – all these constitute objects of interest. In theory much of these are not the commons. The sea and coastal zones, lakes and other water bodies, and forests and mangroves may have had the character of commons at a time but with the advent of the Portuguese and later the British, and postcolonial legal enactments, they have officially become either government (revenue) land or are privately owned. There is also a class of resource endowments that owe their presence and health to their enclosure and care by private firms (for example, Godrej mangroves) or by the government and public sector establishments (airports, universities, ports and dockyards, oil refineries and depots, defence and railway establishments). All of these are now commonised, converted into CPRs by the urban poor and also by a range of contractors who thrive on sand mining, grass cutting, water supply, and such activities. Except for the Koli fishing community, the conversion of public and private property into the commons does not happen at a community level, as is generally the case with rural commons. As we shall see, there are issues of gender, migration, ethnicity and class embedded in the actions and the labour invested in commonising resource-rich sites. At the level of action, private and state-owned properties are converted into resource commons. With the exception of coastal fishing, however, it is not clear whether those involved in commonising actually think of these sites as commons. Users of these resources tend to differentiate between rights over property and rights over embedded resources in a property available for access to external actors who own no property (the second being regarded as the commons). “Commonising” or “commoning” is perhaps a better description of the processes and actions des cribed here rather than the term “commons”. There is no public notion of the commons, but the idea is seen in more immanent terms. The idea of accessing resources that are not commodities and are not strictly classified as property is different from the concept of poaching. In many ways, especially in a sociological and also political sense, Mumbai8 itself constitutes a commons for the people of the south Asian subcontinent. Ironically, it is so in a way that refutes Hardin’s tragedy of the commons argument. Millions of individuals acting alone or as part of groups use Mumbai as an open access resource to enhance their self-interest, but the city does not itself get depleted or degraded despite the absence or failure of institutional arrangements for regulation. It
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is perhaps a feature of every capitalist city that it exists as a city because there are people who use it, exploit it, and in the process make it what it is. The difference with Mumbai is that it is closer, temporally and spatially, to the process of primitive accumulation, which is as yet an ongoing process in India.
Resource Dependencies and Commonising In classical Marxist theory, colonial plunder is an important moment facilitating primitive accumulation. Mumbai was a key colonial outpost aiding this process. From the early 20th century onwards the city became implicated in primitive accumulation for domestic capital. A notable difference in this process, however, was that more than three centuries of colonial rule and half a century of managerial and entrepreneurial forms of urban governance could not entirely displace subsistence peasant economies from operating in the city and its region.9 Artisanal fishing continued on a large scale and adivasi groups persisted with forest dependencies in small pockets, especially in areas around the Sanjay Gandhi National Park and Aarey Milk Colony (a government dairy). Significantly, for Indian cities, expropriated agricultural households did not go on to constitute the urban proletariat for historical reasons to do with the nature of Indian capitalism itself. Peasants coming into Mumbai only partially contributed to the industrial labour force with the majority finding their way into the informal sectors of the economy, or choosing to hunt, forage and gather by commonising resource enclaves enclosed by public (state) and private agencies. However, it would not be accurate to describe the latter workforce (with close ethnic and trade relations to the former) as constituting a peasantry in the city subsisting on natural resource-based livelihoods. They constitute the lowest link in a long commodity chain that goes up to large-scale national and multinational supermarkets and the burgeoning service economy, as well as a large number of retail outlets that service the lower middle class and the urban poor. Their numbers are sufficiently large to ensure that no description of economic and urban transformation in Mumbai would be complete without assessing their role in it. The Fisheries Census of 2005 (CMFRI 2006)10 put the number of fish workers in Greater Mumbai at around 50,000, but activists working with fish workers estimated it to be close to or more than 1,00,000 in the Mumbai Metropolitan Region as a whole. The number further goes up if one includes others dependent on fishingrelated activities, especially in the allied and post-harvest sectors. A key problem in enumeration, which is also a source of conflict among fish workers, is the movement of fish workers around the region, leading to encroachment on catchment areas.11 A number of Koli fishing villages or Koliwadas (27 in Greater Mumbai) continue to survive in the city and its western suburbs.12 Fishing for a livelihood is not confined to the sea; it extends to the many lakes (Powai, Tulsi, Vihar), ponds, rivers (Mithi, Dahisar), rivulets, streams and creeks13 in the city. The last is also used by migrants from within and outside the state who fish for food during times of scarcity, or to earn a temporary or seasonal income.14 Migrants, however, face several barriers to fishing in the lakes – having to bribe municipal officials and guards at access points; lack of familiarity with currents and depths; and having to stay away december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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from wild fauna (crocodiles, leopards). Traditional fisher people have a better awareness of how to negotiate these problems. In recent years, fish workers have had to compete with better-off Konkan migrants seeking fresh water fish and crustaceans during the monsoon in streams flowing into the lakes or the sea, and with recreational anglers who detest artisanal fishers and accuse them of causing environmental degradation through over-fishing. The incomes earned are meagre, but for fish workers, fishing is not just a source of food or a source of supply for the urban poor. They have supply contracts with supermarket chains, restaurants and wholesalers whose super profits are based on fish workers’ self-exploitation. The fisher people of Mumbai also supply to global markets, especially prawns, for which there is a huge global demand.15 If studying the global calls “for a focus on locally scaled practices and conditions articulated with global dynamics”, as Sassen (2007: 7) states, commodity chains must be assessed not just in global cities, but also in “ordinary cities”16 such as Mumbai even if the city has largely been studied under the rubric of a megacity. The commons for fish workers constitute not just the sea and water bodies but also several areas along the coast used as landing grounds, for weaving, repairing and drying nets, cleaning fish and as markets. Pressures from the real estate lobby and developmental impulses – public housing, recreation spaces and infrastructure projects (ports, bridges, roads, highways) – have encroached on these commons and/or erected barriers to accessing jetties where boats are moored and from where they take off on fishing expeditions. The Koliwadas, as Warhaft notes, “happen to occupy some of the most expensive real estate in the world pursuing an occupation many consider defiling” (2001: 215). Fishers in Bandra and Worli have reported that new housing estates protest against the presence of Koliwadas in their neighbourhood, complaining about the smell they generate. Such complaints are reported to have been especially made by Gujarati Hindus and Jains, significant business communities and important players in the real estate sector in Mumbai. There is a long history of protest and struggle by the fishing community against large projects, mostly along the west coast and the southern tip of the city where fishing villages are located. From Esselworld and Water Kingdom of the 1980s to the Bandra-Worli Sealink,17 urban development has affected them more than any other group or class in Mumbai. There are frequent struggles over open land traditionally used for fishing activities, but now informally or formally “converted” to be used for parking, recreation or community activities. An ongoing struggle is centred on an open parcel of land in Mumbai’s southern tip, with the Cuffe Parade Residents’ Association protesting against encroachment by fisherfolk and the “stink” caused by them using the area for drying fish. The increasing privatisation of beaches along the west coast (in areas such as Juhu, Manor, Madh and Gorai) by the development of resorts has further cut into the number of access points for fishing and allied activities. Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) rules have also been used to deny access to these common lands. The 2011 amendments to the CRZ rules,18 ostensibly to create space for slum rehabilitation, have ignored several issues raised Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
by fish workers in the city. Bourgeois environmentalism19 and middle-class ideas of aesthetics and pollution have further ensured the shift of fishing activities to inconvenient locations. Fish markets, small-scale ice factories, and boat and net repair enterprises have been forced to move out of the city, out of common lands that have subsequently either been privatised or made into limited access public areas. Public purpose arguments (for instance, water supply) have been deployed to bar fishing activ ities in lakes and ponds around the city. Ironically, recreational fishing is permitted but artisanal fishing for livelihoods is banned in lakes such as Powai. Recreational fishing enthusiasts refer to artisanal fishers as poachers and their activities as “illegal fishing.” The continued presence of tens of thousands of Koli20 and other non-traditional fish workers reveals the exclusionary nature of economic growth and the narrowness of the opportunity structure, which is, however, showing signs of gradually opening up. There are complex historical and cultural issues that prevent Kolis from accessing these opportunities and entering non-traditional sectors. These maybe also serve to explain why the Kolis are the only resource-dependent group that does not share Mumbai’s speculative real estate aspirations. Perhaps it is the nature of fishing itself as an economic and social activity, but also as a kind of labour practice that validates the commons as an essential and natural principle of economic activity and rejects property principles.
Other Resource Commons A second set of resource commons in Mumbai is salt pan land, mostly on the east coast but also along some of the creeks that crisscross or work their way inwards in the northern suburbs. Estimated at 5,500 acres,21 a little over half is “encroached” revenue land used for salt panning by household units, mainly from the Agari community of traditional salt workers in Maharashtra and Gujarat. The rest is leased out to various salt works owned by some of Mumbai’s old business families, mainly Gujarati and Parsi. Some of these families are now into real estate development and construction, and along with other builders, they have been trying to get the Union Ministry of Commerce, which owns the land, to transfer it to the state government for “development”. There has been continuous pressure to “release” salt pan land for construction and commercial development over the last decade. Slums have sprouted in sections of the salt pan land along the east coast. Citing slum rehabilitation and public housing,22 the need to increase market supply to reduce housing costs, and infrastructure development as reasons, both the central and state governments have agreed to initiate land transfers and end salt panning in Mumbai. The city’s municipal corporation, the state’s housing development agency and various ministerial committees have over the last decade drawn up plans to free up salt pan land for development, even suggesting an increase in the floor space index (FSI) in violation of CRZ restrictions. While environmental organisations and activists have opposed these plans, small-scale salt pan workers and owners are divided, with many supporting the plans in the hope of making a killing in the real estate market. A section of salt pan workers accuse Agari political leaders of delaying the transfer citing environmental
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concerns so that they get the time to acquire land and benefit from increased prices when these commons become state government land and are then handed over to private builders.23 Significantly, environmental arguments about the flood mitigation capability of salt pans are ignored in the proposed plans. Current environmental regulations would prevent real estate growth on much of the salt pan lands. During the 2005 floods, mangroves and salt pans in the eastern suburbs mitigated the scale of the disaster, while the destruction of mangroves and violation of FSI norms were among the key causes of flooding in the western suburbs.24 Following a court directive, the state government notified close to 200 hectares of salt pan land as “protected forests” in 2009 since they overlapped with mangroves. Commonising through encroachment in this case has real environmental benefits, and there are also important lessons to be learnt for land use planning from a disaster mitigation perspective. If revenue land has been encroached on for salt panning, one of Mumbai’s worst kept secrets is that part of the land leased out to salt pans in the eastern suburbs has already been converted for real estate development. Even as the move to use salt pans for housing and infrastructure gains ground, large areas of mangroves, which also have significant ecological and environmental benefits, have been destroyed to make way for “development”.25 Directly related to the construction boom in the city, dredging for sand in river beds has become a huge ecological concern, with the judiciary intervening in many cases to halt it. Sand mining or dredging from river bed commons is a “traditional” activity for some of the denotified tribes in Maharashtra (Kaikadis, Katkaris, Pardhis),26 but this has now been taken over by what the media generally refer to as the sand mafia or contractors with advanced dredging machinery and tools. Both environmental concerns and the demand for construction material have displaced these groups from the riverbed commons, forcing them to fall back on other forest commons. Basket weaving and making bamboo and leaf products are the activities they are engaged in in the city because as “ex-criminal” tribes they find it difficult to obtain other kinds of employment. These activities are linked to the commonising strategies of foraging and scavenging for resources in forests, as we shall later see. Mangroves are biodiversity-rich wetland habitats that cover an estimated 56.4 square kilometres in Mumbai,27 with an equal if not greater area lost to development and degradation over the last two decades.28 In the Mumbai Metropolitan Region with ecological, resource and livelihood contiguities, the mangrove area is estimated to be around 100 sq km.29 A significant proportion (1,750 acres)30 is owned and managed by Godrej and Boyce and its associated trusts or foundations. The rest is either privately owned (private reserved forests), part of government reserved forests, or on unprotected revenue land. The last is the most likely to be encroached on and destroyed for “development”. Mangrove stands are breeding grounds for fish during the monsoon. Apart from being rich in several species of flora and fauna, they provide significant flood protection and land erosion control in low coastal areas, especially during high tides. Along with the few remaining mud flats and salt marshes, they constitute Mumbai’s first line of defence against sea water ingress, as in other coastal
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areas around the world. Mangroves and salt pans are spaces of dissipation and prevent coastal erosion.
Hunting, Gathering and Foraging Mumbai is one the few cities that has a national park within it, the Sanjay Gandhi National Park. In the Mumbai Metropolitan Region, there are four other national parks with buffer zones, Tungareshwar, Phansad, Karnala and Tansa, and together they cover close to 600 sq km of land. Coastal wetlands, rocky outcrops, reserved or protected forests, private forests (9,000 acres),31 unprotected forests, and scrubland constitute 1,800 sq km or 43% of the area of the Mumbai Metropolitan Region.32 Unused land owned by public sector and government establishments also harbours fauna and flora in a limited way. For instance, Mumbai Port Trust, the largest landowner in the city, has a considerable area of land, which is mostly derelict but parts of it have creeks passing through them and corridors of vegetation connecting to mangroves and mudflats or marshes. Other establishments such as the airport, educational institutions (Mumbai University, Indian Institute of Technology), and Aarey Milk Colony have patches of forest, grassland or scrubland that harbour many species of plants and animals. Mumbai has a large number of groups eking out livelihoods through hunting, gathering and foraging in these semi-wilderness areas owned largely by private or public entities. These liveli hoods are permanent or seasonal sources of income for a range of native and migrant households interlinked by relations of ethnicity, class and exchange. For these groups, resource dependencies implicate themes of migration, equity, exclusion, access and marginalisation of diverse kinds. The forests, wetlands, mangroves and marshes are an important source of food, work and income for thousands of Mumbai’s original inhabitants and poor migrants. Dependents on these habitats hunt, forage and gather food, fodder, fuelwood, leaves, flowers, fruits, medicinal plants and a wide range of minor forest produce. As stated earlier, most of these sites belong to private or government entities and these activities are essentially “illegal”, which entails paying bribes to diverse gatekeepers. The process of turning private and public lands into commons, or commonising, comprises a complex web of interactions and outcomes involving livelihoods, ethnicity, class, migration, seasonality and exclusion. It yields an understanding of a very different subterranean aspect of Mumbai’s economy and social structure, in many ways leading us to reimagine the notion of the urban itself. Adivasi hamlets in or around the Sanjay Gandhi National Park and Aarey Milk Colony have shrunk with the encroachment of luxury residential complexes, hotels, golf courses and recreation spaces. But their residents continue to subsist on cattle grazing, gathering firewood and forest products, and cultivating paddy on tiny parcels of land where possible – all considered illegal as these hamlets are in reserved forests. This means that they face constant harassment and demands for bribes. Yet others, lowercaste migrants from within and outside the state, gather fuelwood for themselves and for the migrant urban poor who are either too poor or lack the ethnic and political connections to gain access to other forms of cooking fuel. These are mostly pavement dwellers and the homeless but it is also not uncommon to find more settled households in the city dependent on firewood december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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for cooking. Small tea shops and eateries in poorer neighbourhoods and slums also use firewood as their main fuel.33 A large market for fuelwood thus exists, serviced by gatherers of firewood, mostly young women and girls. This is not just due to the gendered division of labour but also because women are seen as better placed to negotiate with gatekeepers who may show leniency because of their gender. For that very reason, they also occasionally face sexual harassment. Women also have to juggle time-use concerns, both due to distance issues and having to match the timings of “friendly” stewards. Gathering fallen wood is mostly done by women and children, while cutting down trees, a more risky operation that may involve going deep into forests or having to negotiate with guards, is done by men.
Fodder Foraging is also for grass, fodder for more than 2,00034 tabelas that provide milk and milk products to the poor and to the middle classes, to dugdhalayas (milk centres), sweet shops, small eateries and also large hotels and restaurants. They even support small-scale chilling plants and dairies hidden away and invisible except to the most intrepid of “walkers in the city”, and to municipal and mafia extortionists. There are also larger “licensed” tabelas in and around Aarey Milk Colony, one of the oldest government established dairies in India. There are an estimated 30,000 head of cattle, mostly buffaloes, but estimates vary.35 Assessments of their contribution to Mumbai’s milk supply range from 15% to 20%.36 The substantial demand for costlier unsterilised and unpasteurised milk over state-subsidised sterilised and pasteurised milk packages is a cultural phenomenon that cannot be explained by the rational logic of the marketplace. Informal dairying is a substantial contributor to the city’s diary needs that transforms the urban landscape and supports the informal and organised foraging sector. Historically several large tabelas operated in the mill area in central and south Mumbai but these were forced to move to the suburbs in the 1950s in response to the increasing demand for land by government agencies and for housing. The Bombay High Court passed an order relocating all tabelas to Dapchiri village in Dahanu, about 150 km away from the city, but stiff resistance to the move has so far stalled its implementation. Tabela owners allege that the move is propelled by builders eyeing 150 acres of prime land on which the tabelas are located. A cattle market located in Goregaon in the western suburbs was ordered closed in 2010 citing provisions of the Cattle Control Act, which makes the city a prohibited zone for cattle. On a smaller scale, fodder is also supplied to bullocks. As in many other Indian cities, bullock-drawn carts are used for transporting water, cooking fuel (kerosene), and miscellaneous goods. The tabelas were among the worst affected during the 2005 floods with thousands of cattle perishing and no compensation since most of these were supposedly illegal. The presence of informal dairying on such a large-scale despite the supply of packaged pasteurised and sterilised milk by government and cooperative dairies raises interesting questions regarding the skills37 and enterprise of rural migrants and the character of the retail economy in Mumbai. The sources of fodder are forests and mangroves, and large corporate or public establishments with abundant land – again Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
involving the payment of bribes for access. To escape unwarranted attention, foraging is carried out by individuals or small groups. Sale and distribution of fodder is to individual cattle owners or through agents who have their own transport and distribution networks. The huge demand for fodder, however, has led to a situation where some of the more enterprising foragers, who may be linked by political affiliation or ethnicity to officials in public establishments (where fodder is in abundance), have become contractors for grass cutting. Often some staff members of these establishments (for example, the university or port) obtain contracts in the names of their relatives, competing with individual foragers. Realising the profitability of grass as a source of income, entities such as Mumbai International Airports, Airports Authority of India, Mumbai University, Mumbai Port Trust and Mazgaon Dockyards, and other public as well as private sector undertakings with large areas of land under their control have begun floating tenders for grass cutting and removal. The university even uses its land for growing grass as a source of revenue. From a real estate point of view, the tabelas are now being eyed by builders because they are located in areas where “development” has saturated all available space and land prices are high. Hygiene and sanitation issues are being raised both by bourgeois environmentalists and fronts for the construction lobby to force the government and municipal authorities to shift tabelas out of the city. In areas around Aarey Milk Colony, villages such as Sai Bangoda, an adivasi hamlet,38 are gradually being encircled by new luxury and leisure developments, and shrinking in space. Most of these have come up in violation of forest and environmental regulations. Like a section of salt pan operators, a significant section of tabela owners would like to sell off their sites if a good price can be obtained. One of these owners who narrowly lost out on getting compensation from a World Bank-sponsored road widening project, said, “Agar dus foot aage hoti, toh meri bhi lottery lag gayi ho thi” (if my plot was 10 feet ahead, I would have hit the jackpot). Tabelas in gaothans – villages with “original inhabitants” that existed before the development control rules came into play – display dual propensities. The gaothans do function as commons in the ways in which they manage land use, but being located in the midst of new developments in the suburbs, they are also targets for illegal displacement, buying out and redevelopment. Six villages in the Powai area – Powai, Tirandaz, Paspoli, Tunga, Saki and Kopri – have been fighting a battle for more than four decades against what they term the illegal transfer of their agricultural and grazing lands to developers. For many gaothans, the compensatory amounts are often too high to resist, if they have not already been displaced by actual violence or threats of it.39 Political mobilisation on the basis of ethnicity and regional origin creates the possibility of each aspect of everyday social practice being available and used for political action. Thus the threat of violence to the “other” – howsoever it is defined – is multiplied. The commons, both civic and ecological, then become sites of contestation and struggle. Some of the gaothans are inhabited by migrants from the north Indian states of Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and Rajasthan, who moved in between 50 and 100 years ago. Despite their considerable cultural integration, they are not spared from threats of eviction and displacement by contemporary ethnic
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mobilisation. Quite the largest proportion of tabelas in the gaothans and other sites are owned or managed by north Indian migrants. The gaothans are also scenes of increasing conflict between native older inhabitants and newer migrants, especially over use of common areas for fishing, livestock and housing. Current mobilisation of gaothan residents, demanding the relaxation of development regulations for the benefit of “original” inhabitants, is also taking place along religious lines, with Christian residents40 being much more organised and vocal than others. Other than firewood and fodder, foraging for leaves (teak, jackfruit, and palash, used for wrapping flowers and garlands, especially in Dadar’s phool galli, and for making patravalis, or leaf plates), special leaves (apta, mango, neem), and fruits used on festive occasions (Ganeshotsav, Janmashtami, Durga Puja and Chhat Puja) are also major activities. Competitive political mobilisation around religious and regional identities has increased the number of public celebrations of these festivals, with an enhanced demand for floral paraphernalia. Lower middle-class citizens join in foraging during festivals to supplement their incomes, and they are often in a better position to negotiate access to such flora found in the “commons” of public establishments. An interesting aspect of all kinds of foraging is that the foragers, in the process of gathering and collecting, transporting, distributing and selling, create and “follow the cursives of an urban text”, becoming “practitioners (who) employ spaces that are not self-aware” and through “their proliferating illegitimacy” give rise to “procedures – many sided, resilient, cunning, and stubborn – that evade discipline” (de Certeau 1984: 105). They thereby evade and subvert, if only in a limited way, the power of urban planners and the process of capital accumulation to make and remake the city. The subversive actions of hunters, gatherers and foragers in Mumbai should not, however, be confused with a radical or alternative urbanism, or a different approach to urban practices that is more equitable or sustainable. The seeds of an alternative are only visible in the discipline-evading procedures, in the commonising of public and private spaces, and the place-making that is contingent in such practices. The actions of hunters, foragers and gatherers in Mumbai may create an alternative image of a “transhuman city”, one that is juxtaposed against “the clear text of a planned, readable city” (de Certeau 1984: 103). But it would not be judicious to label the place-making involved in the creation of such a transhuman city in entirely positive or negative terms. The place-making in the long commodity chain of resource-based primary activities also engages reactionary chauvinist and ethnic competitive politics. Simultaneously, being located at the most exploitative and alienating end of the commodity chain inserts them into the larger process of surplus extraction and capital accumulation. The higher ends of the chain in many ways show the ones at the lower end “the mirror of their own future” in Marx’s words, and instil in them the speculative aspirations that define and characterise the city itself.
Commonising Mumbai: Re-visioning the City The commonising of the public and private opens up the concepts of ownership, access, usage, and private, public and open access to reinterpretation. Multiple kinds of resource controls (enclosed,
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reserved, protected, unprotected) and resource dependencies that feed into the urban economies of consumption and accumulation implicate larger political problems that include a gendered division of labour, ethnic conflicts and identity, place-making, autonomy and resistance, and informality. Eschewing a “developmentalist” livelihoods perspective without denying the crucial livelihoods role that commonising plays for the urban poor, we suggest that “commonisation” and primitive modes of survival are not merely aspects of economic marginalisation. Rather they reflect ways in which middle-class and elite consumption, forms of urban governance, modes of capital accumulation, infrastructure growth, regional capital and population flows, and political conflicts and mobilisation facilitate or promote specific resource dependencies and their spatial outcomes for the city. Instead of perceiving romanticised visions of an alternative in the commonising of public and private resource enclaves in the city, this process should be compared with the processes of general colonisation of resources for metropolitan growth, consumption and accumulation – a historical set of practices that encompass colonialism or imperialism and unequal exchange. With the exception of sections of fisherfolk and adivasi inhabitants, few of the resource-dependent groups see their economic activities as constituting an alternative to capitalism. As a matter of fact there are signs that the second generation of fishers and tribal communities are already shifting their focus towards an urbanism that even as it expropriates is seen to be more emancipatory compared to feudal structures. Resource dependencies may be born of diverse kinds of structurally determined choices, but the outcome is the insertion of hunters, gatherers and foragers into chains of surplus extraction and commodity exchange. In other words, commonising brings in natural resources hitherto used in noncommodity forms of production into the ambit of commodification. Hence, while destruction of the commons is a recurring theme in the literature on urban commons, the continued use, preservation, maintenance and regeneration of natural resource enclaves in the city is linked to an Indian bourgeois logic whose significance is not adequately grasped, and cannot be explained purely in terms of short-term capital accumulation and class struggle. Even while there is large-scale destruction of and encroachment on salt pans, mangroves and forests, corporate and state owners of such properties, as well as legal and illegal claimants of such sites from among the urban poor prefer or opt to use, maintain and regenerate such resources not just for short-term livelihood or corporate social responsibility reasons, but also to preserve the possibility of cashing in on their land values at a future date. In short, for speculation. This is especially the case with foundations and trusts that own large parcels of derelict and forested land in Mumbai. It is also one of the reasons the state (for example, Port Trust, Ministry of Commerce, Railways) holds on to property because speculation and the sale or lease of land on a commercial basis has become the most significant source of revenue for state governments in India, and for companies in a financial crunch. So, along with tendencies towards accumulation by dispossession, there are simultaneous and contradictory propensities to hold on to parcels of land that are liable to be used as the commons by the poor. Combined with pressures december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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from bourgeois environmentalism, political imperatives and citizen demands, resource commons (in practice if not in terms of property regimes) continue to be maintained, created or regenerated across the city. These include “exclusivist” commons – recreational places of the rich – as well as the politicised commons, ponds, lakes, parks and gardens that are linked to the city’s ethnic and identity politics, and as such are not secular, but in practice turn out to be much more open and accessible to diverse sections of the public. The short-term possibility of using the resources held for speculative purposes thus becomes established. But if commonising can still be practised within this speculative economic and political regime, it is a consequence of the limited democratic victories and the competitive political mobilisation that Indian democracy gives scope to. Yet, from a legal perspective on property regimes, the usability of and access to resources on public and private property becomes conceivable, even plausible, given the nature of the property that they seek to access. This is rarely land itself, but what grows on the land and what adjoins the land – water, wetlands, marshes. They are forms of resources that can take on the form of property that can be commoditised, but these are resources that constitute “certain forms of property (that) were indeterminate in character, for they were not definitely private property, but neither were they definitely common property, being a mixture of private and public right” (Marx 1996). This indeterminate character stems from that “there exist objects of property which, by their very nature, can never acquire the character of predetermined private property, objects which, by their elemental nature and their accidental mode of existence, belong to the sphere of occupation rights, and therefore of the occupation right of that class which precisely because of these occupation rights, is excluded from all other property and which has the same position in civil society as these objects have in nature” (ibid). This elemental nature of resources particularly applies to forest produce, minerals, and flora and fauna that “accidentally” come to exist, and thereby result in a “twofold private right: … a private right of the owner and a private right of the non-owner,” the basis then for the emergence of “all customary rights of the poor” (ibid). In the contemporary urban context of Mumbai, laws made by agents of the dominant classes fail to understand and regulate “according to the legal nature of things” (ibid). Instead they prefer to regulate natural resources strictly by established law, according to which ownership of all resources that are elemental or indeterminate in character are vested in those who have a private right to property, which is determinate in character and on which other kinds of resources come to exist or are generated.41 Hence hunters, gatherers and foragers believe in the legitimacy of their practices since their conception of law is based on the legal nature of things, not on how the law defines natural objects. Commonising arises precisely out of this belief. Land speculation (both by the state and by private owners), the indeterminate nature of some elemental objects of nature, the problem of assigning a legal character to such objects, the politico-cultural role of resources, the fuzziness of embedded resources, and their shifting economic roles and exchange values give rise to an “illegal pluralism”42 that defines the nature of the urban commons in Mumbai. It is an illegal pluralism that is located in large-scale Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
illegalities, which is at the core of urban development in Mumbai, as it is in many other cities in India. In sifting through diverse kinds of encroachments, varieties of illegalities and the historical evolution of the spatio-temporal iterations of these, one gets to imagine a different vision of Mumbai as a city, the city as a “space of uttering” in the words of de Certeau. As such, one can observe processes such as (i) “appropriation of the topographic system” by fish workers, grass-cutters, and fuelwood gatherers; (ii) “the spatial realisation” of resource sites through the activities of hunting and foraging; and (iii) the formation of “pragmatic contracts” (de Certeau 1984: 106) through the movement of resourcedependent individuals and groups for gathering, fishing, hunting, collecting, and for transportation to sites of sale and use where natural objects become commodified.43 In imagining the city thus, one can also visualise the possibility of a more sustainable and equitable city, one in which the commons exist not just for purposes of recreation, leisure and aesthetics, but have a use value even as they provide ecosystem services. A city that consists not just of a built environment, but also of semi- and not built environments that are not merely civic commons. Such a visualisation, however, would require that we understand resources and resource sites not using a physical geo graphy lens, but from a sociological or anthropological viewpoint, from the perspective of the labour that transforms objects of nature into objects of use value. The environmental protection services provided by unique ecological niches and habitats, whether they are privately or state owned, also need to be imagined as the commons for policy and urban development strategies.
Struggles for the Commons The political economy of land acquisition and land accumulation that acts as a basis for the struggles around the commons must then centrally confront issues of labour, especially the right to labour. In doing so, one must in theorising monopoly rent not only take into account locally contingent factors, but also go beyond land and capital-centred theorisation. Thus, in addition to assuming accumulation by dispossession44 and the “developmental drive that seeks to colonise more and more urban space for the affluent to take their urbane and cosmopolitan pleasures” (Harvey 2003) as the main factors behind the eviction of slum dwellers and the privatisation of public and common lands, one must ask in what ways these are an indication of the aggressive drive to expand the basis for extraction of monopoly rent. Due to historical reasons, the state, through direct exercise of ownership control and through default ownership and neglect, has come to own vast tracts of land in Indian cities, thus considerably cutting into the capacity for accumulation and limiting the possibilities for monopoly rent. The struggle over the commons (including commonising the private and public) are to be perceived as acts of resistance against attempts to expand the basis for extraction of monopoly rent. In some ways the struggles can also be seen as attempts to make accumulation possible; land plays a significant role in camouflaging corporate inefficiencies, both for indigenous and foreign capital.45 Land is an important part of a company’s asset portfolio that helps it tide over a crisis. The implosion of software services company Satyam Computer Services attested to this, but anyone who
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follows corporate purchases and sales of land in Mumbai will be aware that all companies routinely use land as a safety net to tide over cash crunches. But land is also crucial for the vast petty commodity capital that employs the majority of the urban labour force in India. These have critical connections with those working in or on the commons, with the agricultural sector, and for them the struggle is not about accumulation but about survival in the context of stiff competition and feudal or traditional forms of management. The struggle is to attain a level where accumulation becomes possible, and it is here that a link emerges between primitive accumulation in the agrarian sector, mineral extraction and the commons and the struggles over monopoly rent. While primitive accumulation releases millions into the urban labour market, capital in India seems to have no place for them. It has not worked out how to extract a surplus from this section of the working class, and so it comes about that to exercise their right to labour, they resort to the commons and to commonisation. 46 Since the entitlements from their labour can only be monetised through commodification, this labour force enters commodity chains at the lowest level, subjecting itself to various form of exploitation through links with petty capital, retail capital, and also big business. The diversity of economic activities and the complexity of commodity chains that a resource commons perspective draws attention to is useful in helping us reframe urban theory. It is imperative, as Robinson shows, if we are to “support a more inclusive and hopefully redistributive form of urban development” (2008: 74). The issues raised here hopefully also support her advocacy of “generalised agglomerations economies of a city as opposed to specialised globalising clusters” (ibid: 74) if we can creatively and innovatively conceptualise how resource commons and their dependencies can form the nucleus of an alter native developmental agenda. Such an alternative can more forcefully critique exclusivist city visioning agendas such as that of the Vision Mumbai proposal. Any alternative, however, has to take the idea of a critique of the political economy seriously by incorporating, for instance, issues of migration and the politics of Notes 1 The appropriation of a city by using different names or pronunciations reflects not just cultural or regional differences, but also diverse claims to the city. In recent years, the predominantly Christian residents of the gaothans, the city’s “original” villages, have used the word “Mobai” for the city. 2 SoBo is a tabloid term used to refer to south Bombay. 3 See Nijman (2006). 4 Discussed in Singh and Parthasarathy (2010); see also Parthasarathy (2003a). 5 For instance, the Vision Mumbai plan of Bombay First 2003. 6 For a detailed discussion, see Parthasarathy (2009). 7 Patel (1999) mentions this in reviewing Partha sarathy (1997). 8 Mumbai is here used variously to refer to the city limits of the Greater Mumbai Municipal Corporation, the Mumbai Urban Agglomeration as used by the Census of India, and the Mumbai Metropolitan Region as it has been administratively defined by the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority. So it includes a number of cities, towns
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ethnic and religious conflicts and competition. Mumbai is home to a range of ethnic conflicts and the emancipatory politics of the lower castes is as constitutive of the city’s political ethos as the chauvinist and revanchist ideologies of nativist political groups. The implications of religious competition and political mobilisation along ethnic lines for the city’s public spaces and civic commons have been brought out in several studies (Parthasarathy 2009). Their links to the resource commons has been pointed out here and in other studies. Workers in the resource commons provide (through petty capitalists) consumers access to culturally significant and locally valued goods and services (non-packaged, non-commodified dairy products, religious paraphernalia, seasonal fish and crustaceans, and so on). Because of the demand for freshness,47 the short period of demand, the temporal and seasonal nature of demand, and the skills required to access and market these goods, many of these cannot be commodified. So it is difficult for capital to “co-opt, subsume, commodify and monetise such cultural differences just enough to be able to appropriate monopoly rents therefrom” (Harvey 2001: 410). The struggles over the commons outlined here perhaps parallel the expression or reflection of “alienation and resentment among the cultural producers” to commodification (ibid). Successive streams of migration and political mobilisation around ethnicity48 in Mumbai have increased the demand for unique culturally defined natural resource-derived goods. Since migration and ethnic mobilisation are outcomes of strategies of capital accumulation and expropriation of the peasantry and the working class, ethnic conflicts involving migrants are also to be seen as fundamentally to do with the right to labour. A focus on the resource commons in Mumbai compels us to turn our gaze away temporarily and for strategic reasons from the global city paradigm – an imaginary that seems to be shared by radical scholars and neoliberal re-visionaries of the city – and look instead at “new kinds of urban imaginaries” (Robinson 2002: 550) that emerge and enable scholars and activists to develop more integrated approaches to social, political and environmental struggles.
and villages outside the island city and outside the limits of the Greater Mumbai Municipal Corporation. It has been made clear where the name of the city refers to larger areas outside the municipal limits. 9 The larger issue of expropriation of rural livelihoods to meet the needs of city-based capital and urban consumption needs is not discussed in this paper. The shift from managerialism to entrepreneurialism in urban governance in discussed in Harvey (1989). 10 I thank Hemantkumar Chouhan for assistance in procuring the quantitative data on fisheries in Mumbai. 11 Activists, cooperative societies and researchers allege that the fisheries census grossly under estimate the number of households dependant on fishing as a source of livelihood. 12 Central Marine Fisheries Research Institute 2006. The number doubles if one considers the Mumbai Metropolitan Region. 13 The latter have become seasonal, but have the potential to flood many parts of the city. 14 For a brief discussion of the impact of the entry of north Indian migrants into fishing activities, see Ranade (2008). 15 Warhaft (2001: 215) shows that the “Kolis … are implicated in a globalised seafood export economy
which aims primarily to augment foreign exchange earnings by satisfying the western world’s love affair with prawns.” 16 The term “ordinary cities” to establish a new framework for understanding issues of urban development was introduced and popularised by Jennifer Robinson (2006). 17 An overview of the major issues in the struggle against the Bandra-Worli Sealink is provided in the judgment on a case filed by the Secretary of the National Fishworkers Forum, Rambhau Patil; see Rambhau Patil vs Maharashta State Road Development Corporation, WP 348.2000, 9 October 2000. 18 Ministry of Environment and Forests, Coastal Regulation Zone Notification, 2011. 19 The term was introduced, conceptualised and popularised by Amita Baviskar (2002). 20 Koli is an umbrella term to refer to a number of castes and tribal groups in coastal Maharashtra, Gujarat and Goa, and who profess different religious faiths. A majority of the Koli fisher people in Mumbai are either Son-Kolis or Mahadev Kolis. 21 Accommodation Times, 11 August 2009, and Maneckshaw (2010); the figures were also cited in a statement made by the then minister for commerce and industry in Parliament on 14 March 2006.
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REVIEW OF URBAN AFFAIRS 22 Slum rehabilitation and public housing are constantly used as justification by government officials, political leaders and builders to reframe urban development regulations. This partly pits the poor against one another, and also reflects the commercialisation of slum rehabilitation schemes, which provide an entry to hitherto unavailable sites for “development”. This has the cumulative effect of opening up real estate for “development” and makes more land available for the extraction of monopoly rent. 23 Similar accusations have been made in the case of the planned Navi Mumbai International Airport project. 24 For an overview of the 2005 Mumbai floods and an assessment of the vulnerability of the city’s population, see Parthasarathy (2009). 25 The term “development” is widely used by urban planners and builders as an abbreviation for real estate development. In other words, for developing a built environment. 26 A section of the Kolis, the Mangelas, are also involved in this. 27 Vijay et al (2005) provide an overview of the mangrove habitat in Mumbai using remotely sensed data. 28 Reported in the State of Environment Report: Maharashtra, 2006, Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research. 29 Reported in the State of Environment Report: Maharashtra, 2006, Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research. 30 The Soonabai Pirojsha Godrej Marine Ecology Centre manages these mangroves on land owned by Godrej and Boyce. 31 In a judgment delivered in March 2008, the Bombay High Court held that 9,193 acres constituted private forests in Mumbai. This was in response to a public interest litigation on housing development in private forests. 32 Calculated from data in the Regional Plan for Mumbai Metropolitan Region, 1996-2011, Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority. 33 These are also patronised by middle-class office goers, students and residents. 34 No official data is available on tabelas and the cattle population. The figures cited here are approximate, and they have been cited by the Mumbai Milk Producers Association in their battles against the state’s move to shift all cattle and milk-related activities out of the city. 35 The Mumbai Milk Producers Association gives the figure of 28,000, while the Janhit Manch, which is fighting a case against the move to shift the tabelas out of the city, had the rather exaggerated figure of 1,51,000 in its writ petition. Newspaper reports on the high court judgment of 2008 put it at 50,000 head of cattle. 36 Informal calculations by representatives of the Mumbai Milk Producers Association. 37 One of the tabela owners who was offered compensation to shift outside the city said that he did not have the skills to take up any other job in the city; “this is the only thing that I know”. 38 The village commons, nearby forests, and Aarey Milk Colony itself have been considerably affec ted by the controversial luxury Royal Palms project consisting of high-end commercial and residential properties, and hospitality and recreation facilities. 39 This is despite restrictions on the floor space index in the gaothans. 40 Most of them are from Koli fishing castes, who are much more cosmopolitan and syncretic in their religious practices and beliefs; see Ranade (2008) for a discussion. 41 For an application of Marx’s views on legal rights to common pool resources in the Indian context, see Parthasarathy (2003b). 42 I thank K P Soma for suggesting this term to me.
43 Classical ideas of central place and ecological processes, human ecology models and older theories of gentrification, all of which are still the staple of urban planners in India, are all overturned in this understanding of the city. Mobility, place-making, spatial practices and relations need to be rethought and re-imagined. 44 Harvey (2003) and Banerjee-Guha (2010) provide a general theoretical discussion on accumulation by dispossession. Banerjee-Guha has several Indian case studies using the accumulation by dispossession framework. 45 For an elaboration on this theme using the state capitalism lens, see Parthasarathy (2011). 46 Sustained research by Sharit Bhowmik, among others, has generated significant insights on the use of urban public space and the civic commons by the urban poor (street hawkers and vendors) in Mumbai; see, for instance, Bhowmik (2010). 47 The idea of freshness is partly embedded in caste notions of purity and pollution. 48 For an excellent overview of ethnicity and identity politics, see Patel (2003).
References Banerjee-Guha, Swapna, ed. (2010): Accumulation by Dispossession: Transformative Cities in the New Global Order (New Delhi: Sage India). Baviskar, Amita (2002): “The Politics of the City”, Seminar, 516, pp 40-42. Bhowmik, Sharit (2010): “Urban Public Space and Urban Poor” in Swapna Banerjee-Guha (ed.), Accumulation by Dispossession: Transformative Cities in the New Global Order (New Delhi: Sage India), pp 182-97. Bombay First-Mckinsey (2003): “Vision Mumbai: Transforming Mumbai into a World-Class City” (Mumbai: Mckinsey and Company). Central Marine Fisheries Research Institute (CMFRI) (2006): National Marine Fisheries Census, 2005 (New Delhi: Ministry of Agriculture, Government of India). de Certeau, Michel (1984): The Practice of Everyday Life, translated by Steven Rendall (California: University of California Press). Harvey, David (1989): “From Managerialism to Entrepreneurialism: The Transformation in Urban Governance in Late Capitalism”, Geographiska Annaler, Series B 71 B (1), pp 3-18. – (2001): “The Art of Rent: Globalisation, Monopoly and the Commodification of Culture” in Spaces of Capital: Towards a Critical Geography (New York: Routledge), pp 394-411. – (2003): The New Imperialism (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research (2006): State of Environment: Maharashtra, Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research, Mumbai. Kelly, Philip F (2007): “Geographer, Asianist, Urbanist: Celebrating the Scholarship of Terry McGee”, Asia Pacific Viewpoint, 48 (2), pp 250-69. Kipfer, Stefan Andreas, Kanishka Goonewardena, Richard Milgrom and Christian Schmid (2008): “On the Production of Henri Lefebvre” in Stefan Andreas Kipfer, Kanishka Goonewardena, Richard Milgrom and Christian Schmid (ed.), Space, Difference and Everyday Life: Henri Lefebvre and Radical Politics (New York: Routledge), pp 1-23. Lefebvre, Henri (2004): Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life (London: Continuum). Marx, Karl (1996): Proceedings of the Sixth Rhine Province Assembly; Third Article; Debates on the Law on Thefts of Wood, Written in Oct 1842, translated by Clemens Dutt, accessed on 5 July 2011 (http://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/ 1842/ 10/25.htm). Manecksha, Freni (2010): “Saltpan City”, Infochange India: News and Analysis on Social Justice and
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Development Issues in India, April, accessed on 5 August 2011 (http://infochangeindia.org/agenda/coastal-communities/saltpan-city.html). Menon, Meena (2011): “Mumbai Set To Go the Manhattan Way?”, The Hindu, 18 January. Nijman, Jan (2006): “Mumbai’s Mysterious Middle Class”, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 30 (4), pp 758-75. Parthasarathy, D (1997): Collective Violence in a Provincial City (Delhi: Oxford University Press). – (2003a): “Urban Transformation, Civic Exclusion and Elite Discourse”, City: A Quarterly on Urban Issues, 4, pp 9-28. – (2003b): “Law, Property Rights, and Social Exclusion: A Capabilities and Entitlements Approach to Legal Pluralism” in Rajendra Pradhan (ed.), Proceedings of the XIII International Congress of the Commission on Folk Law and Legal Pluralism, 7-10 April 2002, Chiang Mai, Thailand, Vol 1, pp 295-322. – (2009): “Social and Environmental Insecurities in Mumbai: Towards a Sociological Perspective on Vulnerability”, South African Review of Sociology, 40 (1), pp 71-88. – (2009): “Rethinking Urban Informality: Global Flows and the Time-Spaces of Religion and Politics”, paper presented at the International Conference on “Urban Aspirations in Global Cities”, Max Planck Institute for the Study of Religious and Ethnic Diversity, Gottingen, Germany, 9-12 August. – (2011): “Planning and the Fate of Democracy: State, Capital, and Governance in Post-Independence India” in Vincent Kelly Pollard (ed.), Wrestling with the Leviathan: State Capitalism, Contentious Politics and Large-Scale Social Change (Leiden: Brill), pp 81-118. Patel, Sujata (1999): “D Parthasarathy, Collective Violence in a Provincial City, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997”, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 33 (1-2), p 443. – (2003): “Bombay and Mumbai: Identities, Politics and Populism” in Sujata Patel and Jim Masselos (ed.), Bombay and Mumbai: The City in Transition (New Delhi: Oxford University Press), pp 3-30. Ranade, Sanjay (2008): “The Kolis of Mumbai at Crossroads: Religion, Business and Urbanisation in Cosmopolitan Bombay Today”, paper presented at the 17th Biennial Conference of the Asian Studies Association of Australia, Melbourne, 1-3 July. Rancière, Jacques (2004): The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible (New York: Continuum). Robinson, Jennifer (2002): “Global and World Cities: A View from off the Map”, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 26 (3), pp 531-54. – (2004): “A World of Cities: Review Article”, British Journal of Sociology, 55 (4), pp 569-78. – (2006): Ordinary Cities: Between Modernity and Development (London: Routledge). – (2008): “Developing Ordinary Cities: City Visioning Processes in Durban and Johannesburg”, Environment and Planning A, 40 (1), pp 74-87. Roy, Ananya (2005): “Urban Informality: Toward an Epistemology of Planning”, Journal of the American Planning Association, 71 (2), pp 147-58. Sassen, Saskia (2007): “Introduction: Deciphering the Global” in Saskia Sassen (ed.), Deciphering the Global: Its Scales, Spaces and Subjects (New York: Routledge), pp 1-18. Singh, Binti and D Parthasarathy (2010): “Civil Society Organisation Partnerships in Urban Governance: An Appraisal of the Mumbai Experience”, Sociological Bulletin, 59 (1), pp 92-110. Vijay, V, R S Biradar, A B Inamdar, G Deshmukhe, S Baji and M Pikle (2005): “Mangrove Mapping and Change Detection around Mumbai (Bombay) Using Remotely Sensed Data”, Indian Journal of Marine Sciences, 34, pp 310-15. Warhaft, Sally (2001): “No Parking at the Bunder: Fisher People and Survival in Capitalist Mumbai”, South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, 24 (2), pp 213-23.
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No Estoppel: Claiming Right to the City via the Commons Anant Maringanti
The right to the city, an idea mooted by French radical philosophers in 1968, has become a popular slogan among right to housing activists and inclusive growth policymakers. In Indian cities unprecedented and unregulated growth, incremental land use change, privatisation and chaotic civic infrastructure provisioning are fracturing resources created over centuries and reducing the right to the city to mere right to housing and property, thus short-changing the concept’s transformative potential. Urban actors need to draw inspiration from the way social movements world over including in India have deployed the notion of the commons as a defence against corporate exploitation of biodiversity. Envisioning the right to the city as the fundamental human right, a demand for a just and sustainable social order where collective resources are respected and regenerated to support life, entails a democratic approach to the creation of knowledge about our cities. Such knowledge creation is necessarily a collaborative effort involving citizens who are differentially located in relation to the commons – policymakers, neighbourhood residents, workers and academic researchers.
The author is grateful to the participants of the Urban Commons Workshop 2010 organised by the National Institute of Advanced Studies, Bengaluru for helping in clarifying some of the ideas in this paper; and to Nithya Raman for valuable feedback. Anant Maringanti ([email protected]) is an independent scholar based in Hyderabad.
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estoppel, n. Law. An impediment or bar to a right of action arising from a man’s own act, or where he is forbidden by law to speak against his own deed. Oxford English Dictionary. bar or impediment preventing a party from asserting a fact or a claim inconsistent with a position that party previously took, either by conduct or words, especially where a representation has been relied or acted upon by others.
1 Introduction
T
he right to the city, a transformative idea with a socialist agenda, first mooted by French philosopher Henri Lefebvre in the centenary year of the publication of Capital, has become part of diverse activist mobilisations and transnational policy networks across the world in the last two decades. The uptake of the idea by inclusive growth-oriented policymaking has been remarkably rapid and widespread. Framed by inclusive growth policies, the idea of the right to the city is often circumscribed to the right to inhabit/reside; and concretised through housing and mortgage regulation (Brenner et al 2009). This article aims to contribute to efforts to recover the conceptual ambit and political purchase of the right to the city as a socialist ideal and concretise it in the specific context of degradation and privatisation of commons in Indian cities. The article draws on the experience of activism around protecting waterbodies in Hyderabad to build an expanded conception of “urban commons”. It suggests that the realisation of the right to the city as a political ideal will require a reorientation of research and activism. In order to appreciate the intended scope of the right to the city, it must be seen in the political context in which it was originally proposed. Writing at a time of widespread unrest in Europe, Lefebvre intended the right to the city not merely as a reform, but as “a cry and a demand”; “the right to occupy and protest”; “a working slogan and ideal”. For Lefebvre, the city was a metaphor for all of society. It was the spatial expression of culture in which the inhabitants were progressively disenfranchised by capital. The right to the city then is a universal statement of collective aspirations. In its broadest sense, it is a right that cannot be bartered away or given up voluntarily. Its proper place is not in the laws enabling housing finance as it is often made out by advocates and critics, but alongside the most fundamental human rights. In David Harvey’s words: The right to the city is…far more than a right of individual access to the resources that the city embodies: it is a right to change ourselves by changing the city more after our heart’s desire. It is, moreover, a collective rather than an individual right since changing the city inevitably depends upon the exercise of a collective power over the processes of urbanisation. december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
REVIEW OF URBAN AFFAIRS The freedom to make and remake ourselves and our cities is…one of the most precious yet most neglected of our human rights (Harvey 2003: 940).
To grasp the import of such a conception of the right to the city in the Indian context, we need only to consider the 1985 ruling of the Supreme Court in the Olga Tellis case.1 The case, as two generations of housing rights activists in India know, involved the rights of the pavement-dwellers against eviction by the Bombay Municipal Corporation. The petitioner argued that pavementdwellers lived on pavements in order to be close to the places where they could make a living. By evicting them, the Bombay Municipal Corporation was violating their right to livelihood and by extension, it was a violation of Article 21 of the Constitution – the right to life and liberty. In its order, the Supreme Court of India upheld the pavement-dwellers’ invocation of the fundamental right and ruled against the application of estoppel. The operational part of the judgment has been justifiably criticised by many for its ambiguity in defending the rights of residence of the pavement-dwellers. But, on the matter of the pavement-dwellers seeking refuge in the fundamental right to life and liberty, the judgment was unequivocal.2 The Court observed as follows: “No individual can barter away the freedoms conferred upon him by the Constitution. A concession made by him in a proceeding, whether under a mistake of law or otherwise, that he does not possess or will not enforce any particular fundamental right, cannot create an estoppel against him in that or any subsequent proceeding.” In short, the fact is that pavement-dwellers may be violating the municipal law by occupying the pavement. But they are entitled to invoke the fundamental rights to challenge the unjustness of the municipal laws. The distinction between the right to the city as a fundamental human right and as an entitlement arising from a contractual agreement from the laws of the land is of utmost importance particularly in times of widespread crisis and dispossession such as now. Towards developing an expansive vision of the right to the city as a fundamental human right in the context of Indian urbanisation, this article will proceed in four sections hereon. The second section briefly describes two framings of the right to the city that have come to gain purchase in Indian cities and identifies how neither of them is able to articulate a key issue in India’s urban crisis – the commons. The third section first describes the processes by which a large number of water bodies in Hyderabad have virtually disappeared in a short span of time and outlines the questions of justice that arise from this crisis. Then, it makes the case for articulating the right to the city as the right to the commons rather than merely the right to access individual services and rights.3 The fourth section teases out the challenges encountered in materialising such an expanded conception of the right to the city. The fifth concluding section suggests that the first step towards overcoming the challenges would be the production of new critical knowledges based on principles of collaboration – in short a commoning of knowledge itself.
2 Concretising the Right to the City To properly contextualise the right to the city is to contextualise it in the numerous competing and converging visions of the city (Mayer 2009). For the purposes of this paper, I will consider two such visions which have found resonance in India. The first is the Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
vision of inclusive urban development promoted by UN various agencies with the explicit agenda of promoting the Millennium Development Goals.4 The inclusive growth vision of the city is, in essence, a top-down process which aims at governance reforms that tame resistance to the deepening of markets. It is operationalised through a complex system of transnational policy networks that Peck and Tickell (2002) evocatively liken to a system of interconnected command centres. As has now become the norm even internally in India, the inclusive growth policy is promoted through best practice regimes, creates and circulates model legislations, and sometimes adopts “promise-of-funding-contingentupon-compliance” to overcome resistance at lower scales of state institutions to yield way.5 The second vision of the right to the city coheres around a body of research and advocacy that has come to be known as “insurgent citizenship”. Briefly, insurgent citizenship is the idea that people in urban fringes of large metropolises in countries like India, even as they are disenfranchised by the formal law and structurally excluded, rebel against the unjust system which puts land and housing beyond their reach, through tactical actions that rely on incremental change (Holston 1998). Denied the rights of substantive citizenship, people assemble their entitlements through informal modes, tactically drawing on resources available in the local and lower level bureaucracies. Sometimes they do this by stealth and at other times by taking recourse to transparent exchanges and eventually through networking and exchanging the counter knowledges they produce of urban life (Appadurai 2002; Benjamin 2008; McFarlane 2004). Such populations establish their claims to the city, in particular, the right to residence and to urban services through cycles of encroachment gradually establishing their claims and gaining a certain degree of legality.6 In this sense, insurgent urbanism is a bottom-up vision of the right to the city focusing on subaltern agency.6 Ironically, in recent years, the top-down and bottom-up visions of the right to the city – insurgent citizenship and inclusive growth have begun to converge around the production of new low-end housing markets (e g, Rajiv Awas Yojana). Such programmes recognise the rights of squatters and help them gradually become property owners. A prime example of this would be the development of new slum reconstruction programmes through tripartite agreements between builders, finance agencies and slum-dwellers associations often facilitated by NGOs.7 Such programmes have met with limited success and engendered criticism particularly on the grounds that housing as commodity and as property rights is by definition exclusivist as it rules out models of self-help and incremental development and multiple claims to property which are better suited for the India’s urban poor. Indeed, based as they are on selecting beneficiaries through the criteria of “credit worthiness”, and “length of residence”, many of the new housing programmes cannot but exclude a large part of the ever-increasing numbers of people moving into the cities in India.8 How can we make sense of the role of the Indian state in Indian cities where inclusive growth meets with insurgent urbanism one drawing on formal mechanisms and the other relying on informal networks? Roy (2009) suggests that one of the main conceptual problems here lies in the binary construction of the category of
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informality. She suggests that rather than seeing the informal as the domain of the poor and formal as the domain of the elite, we need to understand how informality operates through the entire spectrum of urban life including governance. She suggests that India’s planning regime is itself “an informalised entity, one that is a state of deregulation, unmapping, and exceptionalism” (Roy 2009: 86). This informal idiom of urbanisation, she notes, makes possible new frontiers of development. For example, consider the growth in the number of special development zones in Indian cities. Such zones are created by exempting areas for rapid growth and infrastructural investments from the masterplan in force. (Hyderabad city led the way by creating the Buddha Purnima Project Authority, Cyberabad Development Authority and Hyderabad Airport Development Authority. Each of these was once a parcel of urban territory subject to the planning vision of the Hyderabad Urban Development Authority.) Once exempted from the masterplan in force, the special development zones are brought under the discretionary powers of the executive with no framework to regulate them. Each of these special development zones may become thriving hubs of commercial growth because decision-making at the highest level is quick and favourable to new investments. However, simultaneously, Roy argues, such systematic informality also renders impossible governance, justice and development in any territorial sense, precisely because such exceptions are systemic and extensive. In short, Roy argues that Indian cities cannot be planned for in the “conventional sense of planning as forecasting and managing growth”. Rather, urban planning in India operates as “a special mode of managing resources, particularly land where the ownership, use, and purpose cannot be fixed and mapped according to any prescribed set of regulations or the law”. As already noted, this impossibility of governance can be seen from one perspective as a sign of vitality and dynamism. Indeed scholars and popular writers alike have celebrated this characteristic of Indian cities. Bollywood productions reflect it time and again. But the cumulative effect of such dynamism is the lack of any coherent social action that can adhere to a collective ethic regarding resources that are shared by everyone or even resolve itself into any clear lines of conflict between social classes. While all of this is well-documented, the consequences of this for cities as collective resource pools – commons – have received scant attention in urban studies. In the following section, I outline the case of water bodies in Hyderabad towards a first attempt to think through how such collective resources can be conceptualised.
3 Commons without Community: Waterbodies in Hyderabad In order to demonstrate the complexity of the problem of shared resources in Indian cities before attempting to conceptualise the commons, let us first consider the trajectory of urbanisation through two neighbourhoods in Hyderabad city.
Case 1: Ambir Lake Ambir cheruvu lake is adjacent to Pragati Nagar, an affluent neighbourhood in the north-western urban fringe of Hyderabad, about 2 kilometre (km) from National Highway 9. Until 1990, the area
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was part of a village in the catchment of Ambir lake. In the year 1990, some workers of Allwyn, a public sector factory, many of whom were union members, pooled their retrenchment/golden handshake money and purchased agricultural land from the v illage. As a sign of their affiliation to the leftist trade union they named their new housing colony Pragati Nagar (City of Progress). Since then, the area has grown into a bustling township, well connected to the nearby Kukatpally municipality through a road dividing the lake into two halves. When Kukatpally municipality merged into the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation in 2008, the residents of Pragati Nagar chose to retain their status as a village. (Ostensibly to maintain their collective autonomy but also possibly to avoid having to pay higher property taxes.) The area is not connected to the city’s sewage and drainage networks. Nor is it served by the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation’s garbage removal services. In the early years of the colony, Pragati Nagar residents invested in a sewerage treatment plant. But over time it has become dysfunctional and there is no collective will to get it working. Further, as there are no garbage removal services, the municipal solid waste from the colony is burnt on the edges of the lake. Pragati Nagar is not the only neighbourhood in the catchment of Ambir cheruvu. There are a number of neighbourhoods in the area which are directly in the catchment of the lake and obstructing inflows and suffering floods.
Case 2: Errakunta Errakunta lake is a smaller waterbody, in the north-east of the city 3 km from the Osmania University. The nalas connecting it to lakes upstream and downstream were broken about 20 years ago as construction activity began to grow in the area. By 1999, local land sharks broke the surplus weir draining the lake bed except for a small body of water which was used by washermen. As the lake began to gradually shrink, the land became available for purchase by low income housing cooperative societies (comprising mainly scheduled caste employees of Osmania University) who started their construction work. As the lake area began to visibly change, one of the older residents of the area, began mobilising the washermen to physically resist the encroachment in the lake bed and moved the court. Using his engineering knowledge, he accessed satellite imagery of the lake and moved the court through a public interest petition. The litigation took nearly 10 years to wind its way all the way up to the Supreme Court. Two of the main respondents in the public interest litigation were housing societies formed by scheduled caste government employees who had invested their life’s savings to own a home. As matters stand, even though the Supreme Court ordered that the housing constructed on the encroached lake bed be removed after due process by the revenue officials, the orders remain unimplemented at the local level even three years after the judgment. The washermen’s association meanwhile has come to an understanding with the housing societies. As per their informal understanding, once the government begins the process, the washermen will limit their claim to a small plot of land where they hope to install two borewells so that they can carry on their work. The housing societies can continue to exist. Even as these understandings december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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are being reached, the remaining lake bed is currently primarily being used by the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation as a local dumping ground where the garbage collected by private sanitation workers is heaped up before being transferred to the municipal garbage transportation facilities.
Urban Waterbodies as Commons Ambir and Errakunta lakes described above are only two of the hundreds of waterbodies in Hyderabad which can be called urban commons in a profoundly geohistorical richness. The geomorphic backbone of these waterbodies was formed out of a basaltic flood 65 milion years ago. The chaotic drainage patterns of the Deccan plateau created by this event set the context for the gradual emergence of a network of man-made waterbodies in the 12th century. Between the 16th and 19th century, a very large number of water bodies got added to this network to serve the needs of settled agriculture as well as human habitations. Within the jurisdiction of the Hyderabad Metropolitan Development Authority of 7,100 square kilometres, it is estimated that there are over 3,000 large and small waterbodies most of which are interconnected to each other. Even though the Nizam state undertook modern engineering interventions in the form of irrigation dams, flood balancing reservoirs on a priority basis in the early 20th century, it left institutional arrangements intact for governing the smaller traditional structures – earthen dams, stone masonry, etc, and simple stone weirs. Multiple and complementary use patterns, customary entitlements, oversight by village level stewardship institutions and funds from the government continued, as agricultural production which sustained the state’s economy was critically dependent on these waterbodies. The gradual decline of these systems began with the rise of the modern and modernising techno-bureaucracies of the post-independence Indian state. The new regime’s imagination, beholden to the large irrigation dams (e g, Nagarjuna Sagar) on the anvil, had little room for the networks of small waterbodies and gradually, the village level social relationships and structures of authority began to break down. To complicate matters further, as the Nizam state’s official languages were Urdu and Persian, languages that the new bureaucracy was not trained in, the accumulated knowledge of governance gradually fell into disuse and became inaccessible. According to estimates by former officials of the irrigation department, between 1950 and 1990, nearly 7 lakh acres of land lost irrigation due to the drying up of the networks of waterbodies in the Telangana region. In the 1970s, as Hyderabad city began to grow a number of new physical and social processes set in gradually leading to fragmentation and erosion of this system of waterbodies. In particular, reckless disposal of industrial effluents, sewerage and municipal waste into waterbodies, encroachment by real estate interests and marginalisation of established customary land use and stewardship practices in the last three decades have led to the virtual disappearance of many of the waterbodies with the result that out of the nearly 500 waterbodies that lay within the core city area, the Hyderabad Urban Development Authority could identify only 169 which could potentially be restored in 2001. Since then, questions of who should be managing these Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
lakes and how the efforts should be funded have been appearing regularly in newspapers even as agencies (revenue department, municipal corporation, water and sewerage board and the planning and development authority) keep passing the buck and engaging in the blame game.9 And since then many of these 169 have fallen into further disrepair (Ramachandraiah and Prasad 2004). Environmental activists in Hyderabad identify a number of processes which have led to the disappearance of waterbodies in Hyderabad. Prime among them is changed use patterns and incremental establishment of claims to residence – primarily through modes that can be called insurgent citizenship tactics. The process is multifarious and usually involves two stages: occupation and legitimation. For example, occupation could start in the command area where cultivation is abandoned and farmers are willing to sell it. Or it can start in the shoulders of the waterbody where land is categorised as poramboke, leaving room for inflows and general maintenance. It could start in the nalas which feed the waterbody with flood overflows from upstream lakes or carry water downstream to other lakes. Once the inflow and outflow are damaged, the lake bed is isolated from the network of waterbodies and dries up. Sometimes, local land sharks can deliberately lower the surplus weir so that the water level in the waterbody goes down and dry land emerges at the farther edge of the lake. Sometimes there are rocky outgrowths or islands in the waterbody where birds nest and perch undisturbed. There are small shrines or trees which become accessible in some seasons. These elevated pieces of earth in the waterbody are isolated through a small pathway or bund connecting the edge of the lake to the rock on both sides and thus first creating a sort of lagoon separate from the main waterbody which can then be dried out and filled up. Once occupancy is established, legitimising ownership involves working through the bureaucracies of land management. Given the complex history of land parcels and the continuance of older claims into the present, it is always possible to construct multiple claims to the land using various kinds of documents (some of which may even be entirely forged). For example, during the second world war the Hyderabad state gave special annual leases to farmers to augment agricultural production through cultivation in lake beds and in the catchment areas. In many cases, washermen, cattle rearers had rights to a section of the riverfront for washing clothes and growing fodder respectively. Documents relating to such provisional entitlements which are no longer practised have an ambiguous status in land management and are open to interpretation at the lower levels of bureaucracy. Over the last three decades, literally millions of such documents have circulated through land administration bureaucracies and litigation and have played a crucial role in contestation and compromise to stablise ownership claims.10 As these processes of gradual/incremental occupation and legitimation course their way through the complex terrain described above, residential areas get established, real estate values go up even as infrastructure and services sewage, water supply, drainage and garbage clearance take time to be extended. It is under such circumstances that many residential areas
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improvise and find cheapest ways to procure services and create infrastructure – often by disposing of waste water into the waterbody and burning solid waste on the edges of the waterbody as happens in the case of Pragati Nagar and Errakunta. Instances of the municipal corporation itself using the dried up water body as a transit dumping ground from where larger municipal vehicles pick up the waste are numerous. At the current juncture, from an insurgent citizenship perspective, such processes are claims to the right to the city. From the inclusive growth perspective, these are claims which need to be brought into the ambit of formal market mechanisms and finance arrangements. But what of the long-term consequences of this urbanisation? The process described above can often take many years and may be ongoing even after the entire lake disappears. The new occupants of the lakes, who now comprise the entire spectrum of real estate – gated communities, affluent middle class neighbourhoods, corporate houses and squatters – continue to suffer the consequences of contamination due to municipal solid waste dumping and untreated sewerage discharge; flash floods inundating houses; mosquito breeding; groundwater depletion and contamination. Both the rich and the poor suffer many of these consequences, as lake beds are increasingly occupied by not just squatters but by affluent housing societies. Algal blooms, organic and inorganic wastes kill fish. As water is unclean and fish catch becomes rare, birds stop visiting. And finally, as each of these waterbodies is a node in a network, changes in the structure of one waterbody can have consequences for the rest of the system both upstream and downstream far beyond the city itself affecting particularly marginal farmers.
Limits of Present Activist Strategies Against this backdrop, middle class activist networks (Forum for Better Hyderabad, Forum for Sustainable Hyderabad, Hyderabad Greens, Save Our Urban Lakes, to name a few) in the city in the past two decades have largely relied on litigation and lobbying with government agencies to protect water bodies against what they perceive as the main problems: “encroachments and pollution”. Such groups are often moved by a nostalgia for remembered social geographies of Hyderabad, or by an aesthetic that is often tinged by spirituality and resentment against the rapid changes or by a desire for a more orderly life. Angry and resentful writings against encroachments on Husain Sagar, the largest waterbody in the centre of the city, often cite the following passage attributed to Husain, the protagonist thug in the novel confessions of a thug written by Col Philip Meadows Taylor in 1839 (Taylor 1988). …and as we passed it a strong breeze had arisen, and the surface was curled into a thousand waves, whose white crests as they broke sparkled like diamonds, and threw their spray into our faces as they dashed against the stone work of the embankment. We stood a long time gazing upon the beautiful prospect, so new to us all, and wondering whether the sea, of which we had heard so much, could be anything like what was before us.
Images of the shrinking of such a magnificent waterbody, once the site of religious coexistence as on its banks, the Shia Muslims mourned the death of Husain in the Karbala Maidan, and the
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Hindus celebrated the Vijayadashami festival with small groups of committed activists. As the activists discover time and again, however, the disappearance of waterbodies is not exclusively due to insurgent urbanism, or due to private corporate greed. The Government of Andhra Pradesh is centrally implicated in some of the most extensive encroachments into lakes, most conspicuously in the case of Husain Sagar, the pride of Hyderabad city, by omissions such as not marking full tank levels (FTL), and by commissions such as reclaiming land for constructing memorial parks for departed political leaders.11 Yet, the strategy adopted by activist groups for a very long time has been to look for an effective policing agency which can ensure boundaries, an agency that simply has not come into being. Urban waterbodies like those in Hyderabad transcend property boundaries, extend in time and are implicated in the quality of air and health and adequate access to safe water for every one. In short the commons actually do not figure in current debates on the right to the city simply because the current conceptions of the right to the city in both top-down and bottom-up versions have no room for a sense of community.
4 Right to the City via Urban Commons The case for re-envisioning the right to the city via the commons is compelling. Lefebvre’s vision of the right to the city is in a sense about a collective ideal, about shared resources and practices. Yet, the urban space that Lefebvre and much of the critical urban theory that follows Lefebvre’s lead theorise on is the capitalist urban space of north America and western Europe. In much of the world outside of these heartlands of capitalism, however, struggles against neo-liberal capitalism have been waged not in the cities but in the forests where corporate aggression takes the form of mining and intellectual property rights in biotechnology (Harvey 2004: 548). In these places it is not the right to the city but the right to the commons that has been invoked most effectively by indigenous communities. In cities like those of India, an engagement between the right to the city and the right of commons – the right to oppose enclosure of shared resources in cities can open up several new possibilities for creating better cities. Materialising the right to the city as the right to the commons is however not an easy task. The informal mode of governance and planning described by Roy (2009) is in its concreteness, a battlefield in which the actors deploy social power through caste, gender and other privileges and occasionally employ brute physical aggression to resolve competing claims for shared use and appropriation of commons. Once appropriated (occupied in the case of land), ownership of these resources can be further legitimised through formal law. And as a matter of fact, the erosion of commons in cities is an indication of the consolidation of that power which is not merely capitalist but is marked by caste formations as well. What is the just and efficacious political praxis that produces commons in defence against unethical and exclusionary exploitation that facilitates an unjust order of accumulation and social oppression? What kind of praxis can facilitate appropriation that is sensitive to a new ethic of the commons and fosters the right to the city, with an Indian sensibility? Such a question assumes urgency at december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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this juncture when rapid exclusionary urban growth threatens to create conditions that are unfavourable for everyone and it is increasingly becoming evident that there is no return to the Nehruvian socialist order with its characteristic binaries of public and private. What follows is a further exploration of the challenge of urban commons. Debates on the commons have been, for the last 40 years, influenced by the Garrett Hardin’s famous essay, “The Tragedy of the Commons”, coincidentally first published in the same year in which Lefebvre proposed the right to the city (Hardin 1993). Hardin’s thesis, under the long Malthusian shadow claims that a resource which is not owned by anyone is likely to be over exploited and destroyed as each of the users acts in a rational and self-serving manner. Such actors cannot see any point in limiting their use because, there is no guarantee that others will simultaneously limit their use contributing to a general sustenance of the pool. Hardin’s tragedy of the commons formulation has been refuted both conceptually and empirically by many scholars. For example, Roberts and Emel (1992) have demonstrated that the degradation of the resources can be explained better through uneven development theory. Bromley (1991) has shown that it is necessary to distinguish between commons, property and common property regimes. Dietz et al (2003) have shown that institutions of collective action matter to the way commons are governed. Nevertheless, Hardin’s proposition has had a durable influence on the liberal governance. The liberal strategy to obviate Hardin’s “tragedy of the commons” is to vest property rights for all resources in some agency. Notwithstanding their adversarial positions, advocates of privatisation and of the public sector both appear to converge on this strategy. Our discussion of waterbodies in Hyderabad shows that the degradation of waterbodies is not dependent on whether formal ownership rests with the state or with private individuals. It has also shown that neither inclusive growth nor insurgent urbanism approaches to the right to the city can address the question of the commons. Any attempt to build a new framework then would have to recognise that commons are not natural objects existing a priori. The waterbodies of Hyderabad are produced over millennia by people who came together through shared meanings and practices of use and appropriation. Such practices which we may call “practices of commoning” draw on diverse sources, from the spiritual (shrines on the lake boundary) through the banal (cattle grazing and casual fishing, to the highly politically/religiously charged (religious processions for immersion of idols during festivals). Waterbodies bear the imprint of the exclusions and inclusions of past social relations – norms and hierarchies of use and appropriation. Exercising the right to the city as a right to the commons, therefore, involves a critical urban praxis that assembles actors who can construct new communities based on principles of collaboration and sharing that are at once aware of the inherited inequities and how the old inequities are incorporated into new dispensations of unequal power. In what follows, I suggest that collaborative knowledge production could be a tentative starting point for such an exercise. Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
5 Commoning Knowledge, Claiming the Right to the City One of the key insights that emerges from the experience of the lake protection groups in Hyderabad has to do with the governance of information and knowledge. Control over and ownership of information and data and the power to authenticate and adjudicate the legitimacy of the information is crucial to the reproduction of the informal idiom which makes construction of any meaningful community impossible. Each lake is the meeting point of a number of interest groups with competing interests, and yet none of these groups is compelled to engage with each other. Each operates through stealth, plays for time and manipulates information. Knowledge is guarded and traded in. Nothing illustrates this as sharply as the case of knowledge of FTL markings for lakes in Hyderabad. Among activists in Hyderabad, the FTL data of the lakes till date continues to be a source of mysti fication as the government agencies responsible for lakes and lands surrounding them have neither released any data nor undertaken any exercise to fix the FTL of each of the lakes or explain to the public what it means. Yet, such data is known to be available in some government agency or the other, only to be revealed when it is tactically necessary to reveal it. This is not surprising because the FTL is key to determining the waterspread in the lake and thus marks the boundaries of the lake. Once revealed, it fixes the boundaries of the lake. However, this is not merely a question of factually ascertainable information from the government. It is also a matter of negotiation as there are multiple ways to arrive at the FTL and each of them is fraught with conflicts over boundaries and entitlements. Given this scenario, waterbodies (and more generally all of urban space) are sites where multiple communities each with its own tacit knowledge and accumulated lived experience are at work. The first step, therefore, is to develop systems of collaboration where such complex repositories of information and knowledge can be brought together into conversation on a collaborative basis rather than on competitive basis. In other words, at least one point of departure towards the exercise of the right to the city as right to the commons is the creation of appropriate knowledges and development of practices and norms for sharing and reworking those knowledges. Research on the commons particularly in the context of their invocation as defence against corporate aggression has shown the importance of understanding and sustaining knowledge systems centred around the commons (Hess and Ostrom 2007; Escobar 1998). Urban commons, however, are places and resources where knowledge is deeply riven with power struggles is privatised in the form of data and expert knowledge or is in the custodianship of unaccountable government agencies. Geographically, the challenge of sharing and collaborating is not easy, because of multiple layers of jurisdictions which do not coincide and stakeholder groups who are not necessarily living in close proximity. Given this complexity, information and insights are not amenable to research practices that are oriented towards a few experts working in isolation from the community. Rather, it is precisely through generation of knowledge that new communities must be constituted and the communities so constituted must generate information that is oriented towards a new ethic of commons. It
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is only through such critical knowledge that the right to the city can be claimed genuinely as a right to the commons, “as a precious human right”, against which there can be no estoppel. Such new vistas of research would have been inconceivable barely a decade ago. Yet with the availability of new communication
t echnologies, online mapping services and social media application, a new window of opportunity may just be opening up. Whether practitioners, researchers, activists, technologists and policymakers are ready to seize it, is a question for practice rather than for theory.
Notes
References
1 Olga Tellis & Others vs Bombay Municipal Council [1985] 2 Supp SCR 51. 2 To illuminate the principle of estoppel, consider the case of a tenant disputing the ownership claims of the landlord. So long as he is paying rent to the landlord, he cannot challenge the landlord’s claim to ownership because such a challenge would be inconsistent with the fact that he is paying rent to the landlord. In such a case, the landlord can claim estoppel against the tenant’s challenge. 3 I use the case of waterbodies as commons because they are intuitively recognised by people as commons. But the arguments I make in this paper can hold for any other type of material or nonmaterial commons. 4 The UNESCO and the UN-Habitat co-sponsored a policy research programme in 2004 entitled “Urban Policies and the Right to the City: Rights, Responsibilities and Citizenship”. The 2010 session of the World Urban Forum has adopted the slogan as its theme: “Right to the City: Bridging the Urban Divide” (see: http://www.unhabitat.org/content. asp?cid=6490andcatid=584andtypeid=24andsu bMenuId=0; accessed 4 September 2009). 5 The implementation of Jawaharlal Nehru National Urban Renewal Mission (JNNURM) including the mandatory Basic Services for Urban Poor component aimed at inclusive growth, is a case in point. Under the JNNURM cities are selected for funding in a mission mode, based on eligibility criteria framed in two categories: mandatory and optional reforms. 6 The scale of this process is indicated by the number of applications that the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation received since 2007 for its Lay Out Regularisation (LRS) and Building Penalisation Scheme (BPS). The municipal corporation has received till date 80,608 applications under LRS, and 2,05,022 applications under the BPS. The LRS alone fetched Rs 330 crore for the municipal corporation as regularisation fee (Times News Network 2011). 7 The Mumbai Housing Rights Alliance formed by SPARC, Mahila Milan and National Slum Dwellers Association with its international networks is the most celebrated experiments of this nature (Appadurai 2002 and McFarlane 2004). 8 For a theoretical discussion of how dispossession from the rural areas and the exclusionary urbanisation patterns together produce a unique urbanisation process marked by coexistence of affluence and squalor, see Bhattacharya and Sanyal (2011). For a discussion of housing models for India’s urban poor see Smets (2000 and 2006). 9 See Times News Network (2003, 2008 and 2010) and The Hindu (2007). 10 Not surprisingly, one of the most common weapons in the hands of poor people fighting against evictions is the claim that the government is the biggest encroacher. 11 Hyderabad’s experience with the waterbodies is not unique. In Bengaluru, the Lake Development Authority’s attempts to lease out lakes to private parties on the grounds that the government is understaffed and does not have the finances for maintaining lakes on an ongoing basis has met with stiff resistance from activists and disapproval from the high court. As in Hyderabad many lakes have been converted into bus stands, stadiums and in one instance into a golf course apart from being converted into residential layouts and industrial layouts.
Appadurai, A (2002): “Deep Democracy: Urban Governmentality and the Horizon of Politics”, Public Culture, 14 (1): 21. Benjamin, S (2008): “Occupancy Urbanism: Radicalising Politics and Economy Beyond Policy and Programs”, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 32 (3): 719-29. Bhattacharya, R and K Sanyal (2011): “Bypassing the Squalor: New Towns, Immaterial Labour and Exclusion in Post-colonial Urbanisation”, Economic & Political Weekly, 46 (31): 41. Brenner, N, P Marcuse and M Mayer (2009): Introduction, “Cities for People, Not for Profit”, City, Special Issue, 13(2/3), pp 176-84. Bromley, D W (1991): “Testing for Common versus Private Property: Comment”, Journal of Environ mental Economics and Management, 21(1): 92-96. – (1992): “The Commons, Property, and CommonProperty Regimes”, Making the Commons Work, 3-16. Dietz, T, E Ostrom and P C Stern (2003): “The Struggle to Govern the Commons”, Science, 302 (5652): 1907. Escobar, A (1998): “Whose Knowledge, Whose Nature? Biodiversity, Conservation, and the Political Eco logy of Social Movements”, Journal of Political Ecology, 5 (1): 53-82. Hardin, G (1993): “The Tragedy of the Commons”, Nature’s Web: Rethinking Our Place on Earth, 173. Harvey, D (2003): “The Right to the City”, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 27(4): 939-41. – (2004): “Retrospect on the Limits to Capital”, Antipode, 36 (3): 544-49. Hess, C and E Ostrom (2007): Understanding Know ledge as a Commons: From Theory to Practice, MIT Press. Holston, J (1998): “Spaces of Insurgent Citizenship” in Sandercock (ed.), Making the Invisible Visible: A Multicultural Planning History, 37-56. McFarlane, C (2004): “Geographical Imaginations and Spaces of Political Engagement: Examples from the Indian Alliance”, Antipode, 36(5): 890-916. Mayer, M (2009): “The ‘Right to the City’ in the Context of Shifting Mottos of Urban Social Movements”, City: Analysis of Urban Trends, Culture, Theory,
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Policy, Action, No 13, Vol 2 (3): 362-74. Peck, J and A Tickell (2002): “Neoliberalising Space”, Antipode, 34 (3): 380-404. Ramachandraiah, C and S Prasad (2004): “Impact of Urban Growth on Water Bodies: The Case of Hyderabad”, Centre for Economic and Social Studies, Hyderabad Working Papers. Roberts, R S and J Emel (1992): “Uneven Development and the Tragedy of the Commons: Competing Images for Nature-Society Analysis”, Economic Geography: 249-71. Roy, A (2009): “Why India Cannot Plan Its Cities: Informality, Insurgence and the Idiom of Urbanisation”, Planning Theory, 8 (1): 76-87. Smets, P (2000): “ROSCAs as a Source of Housing Finance for the Urban Poor: An Analysis of SelfHelp Practices from Hyderabad, India”, Commu nity Development Journal, 35 (1): 16. – (2006): “Small Is Beautiful, But Big Is Often the Practice: Housing Microfinance in Discussion”, Habitat International, 30 (3): 595-613. Taylor, P M (1988): “Confessions of a Thug (1839)”, Asian Educational Services, New Delhi. The Hindu Staff Reporter (2007): “Encroachments on Pedda Cheruvu Lakebed Razed”, The Hindu, 4 February (downloaded from http://www.hindu. com/2007/02/04/stories/200702041 7110300.htm). Times News Network (2003): “Local Bodies to Manage Lakes”, Times of India, 19 June (download from http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/ 2003-06-19/hyderabad/27180145_1_local-bodieswater-bodies-lakes). – (2008): “HUDA to Restore 169 Lakes in City”, Times of India, 23 July (downloaded from http:// articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2008-0723/hyderabad/27893450_1_huda-jica-lakes). – (2010): “HMDA Wakes Up to Threat to City Lakes”, Times of India, 10 May (downloaded from http:// articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2010-05-10/ hyderabad/28287411_1_lake-beds-city-lakes-lakeprotection-committee). – (2011): “GHMC Yet to Clear 27000 LRS and BPS Applications”, Times of India, 1 August (downloaded from http://articles.timesofindia. i n d i a t i m e s . c o m /2 01 1- 0 8 - 01 / h y d e r a b a d / 29838352_1_bps-applications-municipal-circlesbuilding-penalisation-scheme).
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Planning as Commoning: Transformation of a Bangalore Lake Jayaraj Sundaresan
The transformation of human settlements over time can affect the relationship between communities and commons when, for example, social geographies change from rural to urban, or from traditional systems of management to modern bureaucratic systems. Communities that were dependent on particular commons could become less dependent, or abandon those commons. New communities of interest might emerge. Examining the transformation of a lake in Bangalore, this paper argues that in the community struggle towards creating and claiming commons, claiming the sphere of planning is fundamental. Further, the making or unmaking of the commons involves the making or unmaking of communities and vice versa. In the case of the Rajapalaya Lake studied here, this occurred and occurs at the interface where democratic struggles and bureaucratic systems meet.
I gratefully acknowledge Manjunath for help during this research in Bangalore as well as Rohan D’Souza for various discussions as part of a short research project on lakes in 2008-09. Thanks are also due to Harini Nagendra, to the participants at the Urban Commons workshop at the National Institute of Advanced Studies in 2010 and to many unnamed interviewees, officers and activists from whom I learned a lot. I thank Nilotpal Kumar and an anonymous reviewer for their helpful comments. Jayaraj Sundaresan ([email protected]) is a PhD scholar at the department of geography and environment, London School of Economics and Political Science. Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
Therein is the tragedy. Each man is locked into a system that compels him to increase his herd without limit – in a world that is limited. Ruin is the destination toward which all men rush, each pursuing his own best interest in a society that believes in the freedom of the commons. –Hardin 1968:1244 Commons are not won over from the state. Entitlements perhaps, not commons. Commons are produced by the people who define their own relations in sharing resources. –De Angelis 2005: 51
I
n his much-quoted essay, “Tragedy of Commons” and later works,1 Garrett Hardin argued that commons should be controlled by an all-powerful state, or enclosed and privatised to save it from the “tragedy” of depletion (Feeny et al 1990; Hardin 1968; Ostrom et al 2002; Ostrom 1990). A large body of work that emerged in the last two decades challenged this framework and argued that such a cynical view emerges out of a narrow paradigm of self-interested human beings (Dietz et al 2002; Kennedy 2003; Ostrom 1990; Ostrom et al 2002). With examples from many parts of the world, the latter authors showed how individuals self-organise and cooperate beyond narrow self-interest to sustain commons. These authors argue that successful governance of commons can involve state, community, private and various other kinds of actors, varied property rights regimes, access and management rules, based on “historic, ecological and cultural situations” (Ostrom et al 2002: 393). There is no one panacea; neither the state nor the privatisation model is a necessary or sufficient condition for the sustenance of the commons. Yet “tragedy” does not have to be the default outcome. It is important to recognise context-based institutional frameworks and definitions. The debate on commons has been dominated by insights from empirical studies on common property resources like water, marine fishes, forests, etc. However, a conceptual understanding of the commons is emerging, beyond the historic specificity of the term with reference to properties held in collective ownership. Commons are understood as shared resources on which social life – market systems, knowledge, legal frameworks – depends (De Angelis 2005; De Marcellus 2003; Hess 2008; Harvey 2011; Laerhoven and Ostrom 2007). For instance, Ostrom et al (2002: 18), note that: “Commons is used in everyday language to refer to a diversity of resources or facilities as well as to property institutions that involve some aspect of joint ownership or access”. Or as De Angelis (2005: 7) notes, “Commons are forms of direct access to social wealth; access that is not mediated by competitive market relations”. Here, I wish to build upon the relationship between the commons and the community. The sustenance of the commons depends on the presence and actions – production, monitoring,
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regulating access, etc – of a community of interest. A community is formed around and dependent on the availability and accessibility to its commons or even struggle towards it. As De Angelis notes, “commons and communities are two sides of the same coin” (2005: 10). In this paper, I use the idea of community as a social group that associates itself around concern for the common. An associational community in that sense may identify the commons that sustains it (in the case of neighbourhood groups) or may be formed around the struggle towards the commons (in the case of network communities). Commons are also spaces of conflict (Vira 2002; Goldman 1998). The communities of interest may overlap, exist at different scales, may be spatially contiguous or contained, mutually conflicting or cooperating. What may be commons for one community may not be for another. One community may relate differently to the same commons compared to another. Due to ideological, emotional or utilitarian reasons, individuals within the community may cooperate or clash over the rules governing the commons. Individuals may be part of different commons and hence communities at the same time. So commons and communities have a political relationship. The transformation of human settlement over time can affect the relationship between communities and commons. The impact of this could affect both, for example, when social geographies change from rural to urban or from traditional systems of management to modern bureaucratic systems. Communities who were dependent on particular commons could become less dependent on them, or could abandon them. New communities might emerge identifying the commons in a fresh light. This paper examines the struggle over a changing lake in Bangalore, and attempts to show the transformation in the relationship between communities, commons and their governance.
The Urban Commons and Lakes in Bangalore Urban life is characterised by intense sharing of various kinds of resources that support individual and communal capacities – mobility systems, public spaces, networks of infrastructure and services, urban topography, knowledge, history and heritage, rules of behaviour, etc. The differential capabilities, needs and expectations of individuals and communities about these public infrastructures make this sharing intensely political. Supporting urban life may also require production and sustenance of new forms of commons, for example, parks, open spaces, roads, public libraries, drainage networks, etc. Urban public infrastructures are urban commons that need to be produced and reproduced through re-imagination and mutual engagement. Casualties caused by the deficit of such public infrastructures characterise urban life in India today – traffic congestion, flooding, declining health, accidents, heat islands, disappearance of heritage and artefacts of collective memory, water crisis, social exclusions, etc. Lakes in Bangalore exemplify the problem of commons in transformation – from village to urban commons and the complex institutional problems involved in governance. Rajapalaya Lake, in the middle of the wealthy KM Pura neighbourhood, derives its name from the adjacent Rajapalaya village.2 Tracing its transformation from an irrigation tank to land in disuse, and potentially
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to a future lake, reveals the politics of urban land transformation, conflicting claims and institutional politics in governance. More importantly for this paper, it shows the relationship between the commons, community and the role of planning in practice.3 The human settlements ecology in Bangalore, as many studies (Nagendra 2010; Gowda and Sridhara 2007) note, is integrally related to its hydrological profile, i e, its drainage valleys and the topography. Hundreds of lakes dotted the regional geography of Bangalore once, of which only a small number survive now.4 Initially many of these tanks were built to irrigate surrounding farmlands and as source of water for adjacent villages. Many lakes in the Bangalore region were thus integrally linked to the village settlements next to them; some are even named after the villages. These lakes, varying in area from less than an acre to hundreds of acres, are intricately linked through man-made drainage canals with the three natural valleys of Bangalore (D’Souza 2006; D’Souza and Nagendra 2011; Gowda and Sridhara 2007; Nagendra 2010; Sudhira et al 2007). Lakes in Bangalore, hence, can be understood as commons not only at a local level, but also at a regional scale, for example, as a shared resource on which the regional drainage system or the city’s microclimate depend. These lakes have an important role to play in the social and community life of neighbourhoods, as well as the ecological life of the region. Located within the regional drainage system, every lake was integrally connected to its inlet and outlet, catchment area, edges, sociocultural and ritualistic elements and associated village settlements. Many studies note that the lake system in Bangalore has been damaged seriously in recent decades and that this has had an impact on the urban socio-ecology (D’Souza 2006; D’Souza and Nagendra 2011; Gowda and Sridhara 2007; Nagendra 2010; Sudhira et al 2007). Rapid urbanisation and fragmented institutional management are identified as causes by these authors. Due to rapid urbanisation, it is argued, the lakes have either been filled up both by private landowners and the government organisations that are their custodians, or encroached upon by developers. Both government and private entities have built housing layouts,5 bus stands, commercial complexes and offices, public halls, markets and so on, in the process reclaiming the lakes. The discourse on rapid urbanisation also highlights carrying capacity and suggests that the city’s rate of growth exceeded its infrastructure capability. For example, lakes are being used for the disposal of untreated and partially treated sewage due to lack of network capacity. The institutional critique points to the inadequacies marking the transition from village community systems of management, to pan-Bangalore bureaucratic systems of administration. Traditionally, certain groups from the community had the role of managing and maintaining the lakes at any particular locality, with accompanying rights, privileges and duties.6 After the formation of Karnataka state, progressively, a number of government organisations got implicated in the management of lakes, including the Minor Irrigation Department, Karnataka Pollution Control Board, Forest Department, Bhruhat Bangalore Maha nagara Palike (BBMP), Bangalore Development Authority (BDA), Department of Revenue, Lake Development Authority and december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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so on.7 These institutions did not have any coherent policies on lake governance. While these critiques are helpful as broad representations, this paper telescopes in on a particular case study to examine a much more fundamental aspect of the problem of transforming lakes, i e, how various actors engage with this transformation.
One Lake, Many Wants Many residential blocks of KM Pura housing layout were developed by the acquisition of hundreds of acres of agricultural land from Rameshaiah in 1963 by the then City Improvement Trust Board (CITB, now BDA, after the BDA Act of 1976).8 Until then, Rajapalaya Tank was as an irrigation tank for surrounding agricultural lands. The villagers used to work for Rameshaiah’s family as agricultural labourers.9 The lake not only acted as a water source for Rajapalaya village and Rameshaiah’s agricultural lands, but was also integral to the socio-economic, political and cultural life of the people. For example, on the banks of the lake were the village’s sacred groves (known as gunduthoppu), the ashwatkatte, where village panchayats were held under the banyan tree in front of their gods, and the achkat areas (agricultural areas irrigated by the tanks) where villagers used to farm, sustain cattle and fishing. It can be argued that the communities of concern of Rajapalaya Tank were the villagers, and Rameshaiah’s family, who was the Jodidhar (tax collector from pre-Karnataka state days) of the v illage. Given the complex sociopolitical dynamics that characterise Indian villages, the particular modalities that enabled the sustenance of the tank should be the subject of a deeper historic ethnography. Nonetheless, one can reasonably argue that sustenance of the tank was fundamental to these socio- economic interests. The acquisition of the agricultural land by the BDA not only transformed the livelihoods of Rameshaiah and Rajapalaya village, but also the relationship between them. Most people living in the village now work in the informal service sectors as informal traders, household helpers, gardeners, construction labour, drivers and so on. These include long-term village residents and some newcomers. It can be argued that with the tank becoming marginal to the economic life of the community, the community of concern of Rajapalaya Tank has vanished. The same actors, who were the communities of concern for this tank, now have a very different relationship with it. While some villagers claim that the tank is an integral part of Rajapalaya village,10 Rameshaiah claimed that it was his ancestral property. The government, however, maintained that it has always been government property. Currently the tank is a site for waste dumping and is infested with poisonous snakes and sewage. About 15 families live in eight feet by ten feet pucca cementblock single-room structures scattered on the lakebed. The long legal battle between Rameshaiah and the Karnataka state government for the ownership of these 18 acres of land ended in 2010 when the Supreme Court declared the land government property. Two separate yet connected litigations need to be understood in this case. The first litigation concerns the tank, and the second concerns the adjacent land that the villagers Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
claim was part of the village gunduthoppu or sacred groves. According to the judgment on the tank,11 Rameshaiah could not prove beyond doubt that this was his ancestral property. Even though one of the documents presented as evidence by Rameshaiah during the trial mentions the word “private” along with the name of the tank, the judge ruled that it was insufficient to prove ownership of the land. The judgment noted that this could have been a case of a private party building and maintaining a tank for irrigation purposes on government land – a practice prevalent during that time. The government lawyer argued that the land was always government property and so was never acquired. The Supreme Court ruled that building or maintaining a tank does not give the right of ownership to the land, and that any land that is not private belongs to the government. The second litigation concerned the land along the lake edge. Rameshaiah argued that the CITB had promised that this land would be re-conveyed to him as compensation for the land he lost for KM Pura. In his high court petition, Rameshaiah argued that he should be given a possession certificate for this land based on the promise made by CITB. The judgment noted that in the 1974 layout plan for KM Pura approved by the CITB, this particular land was “shown (as) separately reserved for re-conveyance”.12 However, the BDA, which took over planning responsibilities from the CITB in 1976, did not give effect to this promise. Based on a series of high court judgments delivered around that time, BDA argued that, “land acquired for a (the) development scheme could not be returned or re-conveyed to the owner, and that it must be applied for the purpose for which it was acquired” (ibid). The high court and subsequently, the Supreme Court upheld this view.
The Village, the Lake and the Land The single-room houses on the lakebed have no access to any municipal services – toilets, electricity, water, waste disposal facilities, or property numbers. Public authorities consider them illegal encroachments. Kannamma, who is one of the residents, argued that she had been living there for the past 28 years and that all the houses on the lakebed were built around the same time.13 According to her, most of the people living in the lakebed were connected to the Rajapalaya village, and they shifted to the lake bed due to lack of space in the village. Rajapalaya village is trapped within KM Pura layout. When asked if they had built the houses themselves, Kannama said that a Raju, who was the right-hand man of a developer to whom Rameshaiah sold this land many years ago, had built them. She argued that she did not remember seeing any water in the lake, even though many other accounts from my interviews contradicted this view. The variety of discourses about the properties of this tank also point to the politics of differential claims. Velamma, who claimed that her late husband worked as the watchman for the developer, said that most people living in the lake now were from different parts of rural Tamil Nadu. She claimed that she was paid regularly by the developer’s office. “Usually Raju comes here and pays me occasionally, but now for long time, he had not been around here”.14 When Velamma learned that the property now belonged to the government, she went to the developer’s office to enquire about
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her future. The developer asked her to wait for some more time and paid her some money. Her relatives also advised her to stay longer, so that she did not miss out on any benefits that might come forth. An experienced real estate agent working in the neighbourhood (who claimed that he could identify the status of a property just by looking at it) argued that someone who wanted to stop land acquisition could have built the cement blockhouses because the law forbids the acquisition of lands with pucca houses on them. To prove his point, he pointed to the way the houses were scattered across survey numbers and were not clustered together in any one area. Velu acts as a leader, representing the interests of the people living on the lakebed. He claims that the residents themselves had built these houses due to lack of space in the village. He argued that the tank always belonged to the village and that this was an opportunity for the government to develop a housing project for the villagers on the lakebed. The poor villagers, working as construction workers, housemaids, gardeners, drivers, etc, within the posh KM Pura neighbourhood could not afford to live in the area otherwise. He said: 15 In the 1990s, using our political connections, we managed to get some land for housing at the lake edge through an Ashraya Yojana scheme. When we tried to settle in the allotted survey numbers, Rameshaiah threatened us with a court case, and then he started farming in the lake, arguing that it was his farmland. So we withdrew.16
This, it seems, resulted in conflict between Rameshaiah and some villagers. This conflict continues in many ways till today. Later, it appears that Rameshaiah tried to stall most develop mental works for the village, including roads, drains, and tube well, etc, on the road along the lake edge, arguing that it was his land.Due to this, Velu claimed that they stopped Rameshaiah and the developer from building a large commercial complex and an apartment block on the lakebed. Narratives from the group claiming the land for the villagers reflected a complex relationship with the developer and Rameshaiah. Some people presented the developer as benevolent because he provided them with the houses while some others presented him as an obstacle to their cause and as a party to the collusion that damaged village lands. Similarly, respect towards Rameshaiah came through during many discussions. For instance, someone working closely with the villagers told me that they are actually scared of Rameshaiah and some of the villagers frequently corrected my language to address him respectfully as “Rameshappa”. On the other hand, they also held him responsible along with the state and the developer for their alienation from the village properties. For example, villagers claimed that many rituals are still performed underneath one of the banyan trees on the banks of the lake. That is where their gods were relocated when the KM Pura layout developed. Youngsters sitting around a well and playing cards were very upset that their drinking water well near the lake was damaged due to sewage contamination.17 A couple of young men claimed that their gunduthoppu land was acquired by the government and divided amongst the government officials, and added that “since they are dividing land among themselves, why not give us
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(the villagers) some parts of the lake, now that this is a government property”. They were referring to the allocation of the gunduthoppu land for a housing society for ex-members of legislative assembly (MLAs) by the BDA. The young men pointed out that even though laws existed to protect 100 metres of land around villages in Bangalore (for instance, on Gramthana lands in the Karnataka Land Revenue Act 1964), the government did not bother much about these laws. They pointed to the town housing scheme next to the lake as also part of the village land, and stated that Rameshaiah sold it to a developer who built posh housing on top of the raj kalve (main canal) that brought water into the lake. These young men also presented accounts of their connection with the tank and village lands to make a case for their claim on the land. The tank, as an entity, it seems was not any more useful than as land for housing.18 It is worth noting that the villagers’ need for space is entirely legitimate. During the development of urban layouts in Bangalore, the planning and development authorities paid little attention to the needs of the villages, like in Rajapalaya village, trapping them within housing layouts. For example, a Kannada-medium primary school in Rajapalaya v illage is less than 300 square feet – much less than a one bedroom apartment. The village, of course, was not a homogeneous community. Examining the power relations and the representational politics of that heterogeneity, for instance the politics of caste dynamics, is unfortunately not within the scope of this paper. What I want to illustrate here is the relationship between the current status of the tank and the changed sociopolitical relationship between the local actors to whom the tank was important.
Planning, Government and Urban Commons As the main legal institutional practice that mediates almost every transformation in urban space, planning practice through its land use regulatory regime controls the production, consumption, sustenance and transformation of private, commons and public property in Bangalore. Karnataka state legislated the Karnataka Town and Country Planning (KTCP) Act,19 which gave the state government statutory planning powers. Subsequently the planning process that developed in Bangalore consisted of two types of instruments, presented in the form of a master plan. Regulatory instruments like a land-use zoning map controlled land-use change, density, typology and building form; forward planning instruments like infrastructure and housing layouts were built by the BDA through acquisition of farmlands using the Land Acquisition Act. Planning practice in Bangalore has been instrumental in transforming communal geographies fundamentally. In the case of KM Pura, when the planning department acquired the agricultural lands, they paid little attention to the then existing socio- economic-ecological geography and in its place developed housing layouts for people yet to come. Aimed at the production and reproduction of healthy and educated urban labour for the industrialising city, these layouts accommodated housing, shopping complexes, stadiums, hospitals, schools, public halls, markets, bus stands, parks and playgrounds and so on. In other words, to quote a planner’s terminology: “live, work and play”.20 december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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The new group of people that moved into these housing layouts did not consider the Rajapalaya Lake and probably the many other lakes in KM Pura as their commons. For instance, one of the interviewees, a resident in the locality, reported that she had a neighbour whose main job was to collect building waste from the neighbourhoods of KM Pura and dump it into the lake. She also mentioned that one of her friends had bought a property in the part of the lake that is divided up into housing plots with thick granite slabs. The posh town housing project adjacent to the lake sits on one of the raj kalve, the drainage canals that bring water into the lake. According to the surveyor’s report submitted by the Karnataka government to the High Court of Karnataka in the Rameshaiah case, this rich middle class housing colony has encroached into the lake. Property documents for this project show that this project had even received a “conversion of land use” from the revenue department in consultation with the urban development department, allowing for change of land use from farm or revenue to land that could be developed. There are parking lots, front yards, lawns, playschool grounds, and so on over most parts of the main drainage canal. One interviewee said that he was pressured by his neighbours to build over the drainage canal, so that theirs did not look like an encroachment. Many interviewees argued that they encroached and built over the canal because it was in a state of disuse. Others argued that the local ward engineers were taken into confidence most of the time and sometimes were even present during the construction. In the final judgment on the landownership litigation on the tank, the judge noted that:21 Government properties are spread all over the entire state and it is not always possible for the government to protect or safeguard its properties from encroachments. Many a time, its own officers who are expected to protect its properties and maintain proper records, either due to negligence or collusion creates entities in records to help private parties, to lay claim of ownership against the government. Any loss of government property is ultimately the loss to the community.
Public Interest and Privatisation Cultures This then raises questions on who these collusive government servants are, how they operate and which community will benefit if the lake is saved? While this litigation was in court, on 12 July 2005, the principal secretary of urban development, based on the then chief minister’s order, issued a letter to the BDA commissioner asking that the gunduthoppu land “be re-conveyed to Sri Rameshaiah”. The BDA declined to do so. It informed the principal secretary that their rules did not permit them and that the directions issued by the chief minister were contrary to the law; third party rights had set in and therefore these directions were not capable of being implemented.22 The Supreme Court held that the BDA was correct, and that the directions issued by the chief minister were contrary to the law. The government later tried again by issuing a de-notification order on the same land, which was later hastily withdrawn with the realisation that de-notification could not withstand the scrutiny of law. Rajapalaya Tank was robustly built, with inlet and outlet canals, and an earthen embankment or bund (mainly on the outlet) that Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
helped to retain water inside the tank. The Supreme Court order noted that the BDA breached the tank as part of a malaria eradication programme to stop mosquitoes breeding. Many villagers believe that this was also done to help the developer and Rameshaiah. They showed how the outlet valve was broken, and where the inlets were blocked and water diverted to another tank. For the Bangalore Water Supply and Sewerage Board, which has the responsibility of managing the sewage system in Bangalore, it was convenient that waste water and sewage from the neighbouring blocks of KM Pura and the posh town housing cluster flowed into the lake. The mosquitoes returned. Even though the 1985 and 1995 master plans prepared by the BDA classified the tank as a red zone that denotes public and semi-public land use, it was ambiguous about its land-use zoning as wetland. Later, the 2005 master plan categorised it within residential land use. The gunduthoppu land had already been allocated in 1985-86 for an ex-legislator’s housing society. So even though the government and the BDA, through a very extended and complex litigation process, managed to claim ownership of the lake and its environs as a public property, it was eventually for conversion into private property. Being classified as public hence does not seem to automatically ensure the production and sustenance of the urban commons in Bangalore; it appears, rather, to be a means for privatisation. The political, technocratic and administrative ensemble of the planning system seems to be interested in converting public land into private property. Planning’s “public interest”, if understood as the interests of the public authority, seem to lie in converting ecological commons into private property – land for the villagers through Ashraya Yojana, land for legislators through special allocation, and the rest classified in residential land use, such that the government or Rameshaiah, whoever wins the case, could privatise it. Many of my interviewees who worked in connection with the 2005-15 master plan preparation process remembered how impossible it was to reserve the lakes, wetlands and valley zones in Bangalore as no-development zones. They confessed that the colour of the zoning map kept on changing time and again as if in a magic show. Many interviewees said that finally, they gave up and later those in charge of finalising the master plan made all the changes they wanted behind closed doors. In the name of protecting the lakes, many lakes in Bangalore were handed over to private bidders during the last decade for management, a policy that the Karnataka government has now rolled back due to criticism from many quarters, including the high court. A recent judgment by the Supreme Court of India critiques such privatisation cultures:23 In many states Government orders have been issued by the State Government permitting allotment of Gram Sabha land to private persons and commercial enterprises on payment of some money. In our opinion all such Government orders are illegal, and should be ignored.
So should we understand the idea of public interest based on the interests of the public authority? Many studies remind us to look at the state and government as a collection of institutional actors embedded in the politics and culture of the context, and not necessarily acting in any cohesive manner towards any
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c ommon purpose. For example, various studies on the workings of the Indian state have been particularly instructive on why policies are transformed out of recognition during implementation (Kaviraj 1999), how the micro-politics of the local transform the imagined macro characteristics of the state (Corbridge 2005), how the “privatised state” and “shadow state” operate in the place of any ideal democratic state (Harris-White 2004), and how boundaries between state and society are blurred, and how they can be understood as entities embedded in each other (Fuller and Benei 2001; Gupta and Sharma 2006). The role of planning in the transformation of Rajapalaya Tank exemplifies how planning practice operates when embedded in such a governance culture.
Constitution of a Community and Reinvention of Commons After the transition from a village economy to the urban socioeconomic geography, it can be argued that the Rajapalaya Tank ceased to be a commons, because the local communities of concern ceased to exist. The irrigation communities disappeared; the governance and planning systems that were to take care of city-wide ecological commons were characterised by privatising networks. The new residents who populated the neighbourhood had very little in common when it came to the affairs of the tank. In this section, I will show how a community of concern emerged around the lake following struggles to produce an urban commons. Even though the primary purpose of the lake changed from being an irrigation tank, its location within the topography and regional drainage system of Bangalore remained. Many parts of Bangalore, particularly KM Pura faced severe floods in the early parts of the last decade. Today, a couple of hours of rain can arrest normal life in Bangalore. Its killer drains have developed a reputation for sucking in people to their death during flooding.24 KM Pura had local neighbourhood activism for decades in the forms of local neighbourhood collectives, recently as organised Resident Welfare Associations (RWAs), and more recently – as I call them – “planning collaboratives”. A local activist said to me that a small number of residents in KM Pura were active on issues related to parks, trees, and so on for a long time. However, it was not until their neighbourhood flooded that a number of them got together – even met for the first time – and looked at what was happening around them. These residents took notice of the encroachments, the blocked drainage systems, the filled-up lakes, the large number of buildings that were violating land-use and building regulations, as well as un-built roads, drains, sidewalks and so on. Some of them realised that their own housing was built on top of wetland. They found out that the planning system was more interested in making layouts out of existing open spaces, approving planning permissions violating the laws, and busy making plans that suited the communities of interest within the planning system. They found that their neighbourhood had grown too fast, too big while all of them were busy putting together their lives. Even though they knew each other as neighbours and had exchanged smiles, my interviewees said that it was not until they faced such problems, that they really sat together and had a
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s erious conversation. Some of them decided to start an email group to share information; they took photographs and shared how their neighbourhood looked like – street dogs, violations and encroachments, new projects, night activity in parks, tree cutting, etc. Others wrote to the local authority; some of them started writing in newspapers and set up blogs; yet others started pressurising the local authority to get a road done, a drain done, a tree planted or a tree saved. Some used their personal networks to discuss these matters with local, regional and national politicians; others organised awareness programmes like lake cleaning, others got documents from the authorities using the Right to Information (RTI) Act. They networked among themselves and others using blogs, email groups, and regular meetings in the neighbourhoods. They networked with other groups to learn more about other neighbourhoods, and with non-governmental organisations (NGOs) for information, support and contacts. When they started doing all this, they encountered the state, governance and planning systems, of which they have been distant spectators for long time, at close quarters. As one activist puts it:25 we started with issues immediate to us – getting a drain built, a road tarred, trees planted etc…. But soon we realised, even if we get a drain built in our neighbourhood, what is the use? Flooding is also caused due to the problems elsewhere. We realised we have to engage with larger issues as well if we wanted to sort out our local issues. So we started working on land-use violations, master plan and various other aspects of urban governance in Bangalore.
A large number of these resident activists were from middle and upper middle-class backgrounds, some retired, some working from home, and some who could afford to spend time on these issues. With their time, resources and education, they tried to grasp the complex mechanisms of urban governance. They studied the KTCP Act, the Land Revenue Act, the BDA Act, the BBMP Act, the master plan process, the public administration protocols, what kind of documents exist and how to get them, how to approach local and higher officials, how to write official letters to the government, and so on. They organised among themselves special teams responsible for lake, waste, roads, violations, parks, etc. They used their social capital – golf and professional networks, personal and club friends, etc – to obtain information, enable access, and raise resources. Their online forums became a platform for information exchange and critical debates on city planning, urban governance, as much as learning about each other. They worked through the legal system with public interest litigation (PIL) and political networks to get a park in place, v iolations removed, and the master plan re-examined. They networked politically to get inside information, identify and work with conscientious public servants; they explored ways to work together for matters of public concern. This was not a very homogeneous group as other studies on the urban middle class in Bangalore have also pointed out (Kamath and Vijayabaskar 2009). It had its conflicts and fundamental disagreements and split-ups; it grouped and regrouped for matters of common concern. These residents learnt how the governmental technologies of administrative bureaucracy worked, its constituent parts, what influenced its speed, how and who it was run by and for whom, december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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how to move it and so on. They learned the language and processes of public administration and the legal system along with the vernacular and legislative process of urban politics. They learned how local engineers, politicians, MLAs, commissioners, planners, secretaries and ministers were involved in the planning and governance of their neighbourhood and the city. They learned who was important at which level of governance. Whenever they encountered the complex and thick network of democratic governance, they helped each other navigate this network. There were setbacks. For instance, one of the PILs some of them were involved in resulted in parts of their own houses being demolished by the authority. It also attracted the wrath of their neighbours and forced them to withdraw from the litigation. But this made these residents reflect on their own naive understanding of politics and governance in Bangalore. On another occasion regarding a park, residents realised that a high court judgment was not even the beginning of the solution for a problem and that instead they need to be more hands-on. A community of concern was forming among people who were initially planning abstract housing layouts. Along with this community was forming an understanding of governance, notions of public interest, along with a geography of surveillance and a commons.
Middle-Class Community? This collective decided to get closely involved and observe the Rajapalaya Tank ownership litigation in the Supreme Court. As one of the members said, “this was a parentless baby. So when we were asked if we could take it up as a client (by a lawyer who was a main local activist on this case), we readily agreed.” They appealed to become a third party in the case during the litigation; the Court denied their appeal, but their lawyer was allowed to sit as an observer. In the process, they found out that a small number of government officers, frustrated by privatising governance networks, were interested in saving the lake. They connected with these government officers, and worked as an informal team to save the lake. With this network’s contacts in Delhi, they found out that the case was coming up for final hearing at the Supreme Court, and that the government lawyers were not representing the case strongly. They found out that the legal department of BDA was under-resourced, and probably also under “pressure” to relax. They worked with concerned officials from various departments of government to put pressure on the BDA and other “relaxing” agencies within the government. Lawyers in this network took the lead in putting together a case file and organising a private lawyer to fight this case in the Supreme Court on behalf of the government. A variety of such interventions led to the judgment that helped restore public ownership of the lake. From previous experience, this informal network knew that a court order was only a document in the case of Bangalore, and that it did not ensure anything. They had to work more directly, especially since the land was classified as residential in the 2015 master plan. Armed with a previous court order that instructed the government to reserve all available open space in KM Pura,26 they worked towards restoring it. Drawing on various studies, Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
they argued that restoring the lake was important for the socio-ecology of the neighbourhood and for the ecological stability of Bangalore. Using their social and political capital, they managed to get the commissioner of the BDA and politicians to visit and commit to the project and instruct officials accordingly. The activists managed to get the BDA commissioner to commit to reversing the land-use category in the master plan from residential to lake; they publicised this commitment widely with the help of blogs and newspapers. They organised as a technical team, which included ecologists and landscape architects and met frequently to develop a concept plan for lake restoration. This concept plan was handed over to the decision-makers. After accepting their concept plan, the BBMP awarded the preparation of a detailed project report (DPR) through a tendering process to a non-Bangalore based private consulting firm. The group accepted that they had to work with the administrative- bureaucratic processes of governance, but kept a close eye on developments. For example, even after they had meetings with the consultant and government engineers to communicate their concerns, they found that the final DPR submitted by the con sultant had completely ignored them. The DPR document even got the survey details of the lake incorrect. They raised this issue with the authorities, and argued that the DPR adopted a grossly inappropriate approach towards the restoration of the lake. Even though this was primarily a movement led by middleclass residents from the KM Pura layouts, diverse perspectives about the nature of public space and the commons were visible. A variety of motivations could be identified through interviews and closer engagement with this loose collective. For some old residents of KM Pura, it was about nostalgia, while to others it was about rule of law. Those living closer to the lake were concerned more about solutions to functional aspects like flooding and mosquitoes and snakes. A number of them came with an ecological perspective about wetlands, while to others, it was about open space and the quality of life in their neighbourhood. To some, it was also about public activism to make planning and governance in Bangalore work; some used this as an opportunity to gain political popularity. The problem of the lake, it can be seen, is a domain of multiple vectors. I want to suggest that it is important to move beyond understanding these struggles only as middle-class environmentalism (Arabindoo 2005; Baviskar 2003), or increasing exchange value of the properties. Indeed, it is more likely that the commons thus produced in Bangalore will have the shape of the communities involved. But if more communities engage with this process of commoning, there is greater likelihood that the commons will take the shape of the interface. The process of this struggle towards the production of commons also increases the interaction between different social groups within the complex social geography of the neighbourhood. In the words of one of the leading members from the collective:27 Where we are right now is with a new set of challenges – these ones are very different from the ones we have ever faced. The way we looked at it till now is, “us” versus “them”. “Us” means the community and them being the government/land mafia, BDA, etc. So the contours
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REVIEW OF URBAN AFFAIRS of that challenge can be straightforward – it is legal on one side, pressures and lobbying on the other side, and so on. So where the situation right now is an admission by the government – yes, we will do a lake. Now comes the fundamental concept of participatory democracy or community participation – whatever you want to call it – that it is not an individual or a group of individuals who can decide what this will be like. It has to be now inclusive, especially now that you are taking about the water body. A water body by definition is classically for the people by the people kind of thing – it is not any one individual’s domain.
For instance, while some individuals did not want the villagers to use the lake to wash buffaloes, others reminded them that this was a village lake and they could not and should not exclude such activities. The member of the collective continued: The wealthy are blocking out uncomfortable images… and unwanted things and letting only the disinfected view into your world… I don’t believe that is the way to go about it … A water body by definition – first of all government property – not an individual property – it has to understand the definition of community. There have been many cases of water bodies where people have been excluded. And a lot of people on this board are very aware of that… this is an urban lake… there is a limit to biodiversity, however to me definition of biodiversity with cattle has to coexist.
While this research was being conducted, these activists were trying to reach out to the people in the village and bridge the gap, argue among themselves about the nature of the water body and so on. Some members recognised that there was a social divide in KM Pura between the middle class residents and the villagers on the expectations from the tank. One member said:28 It is difficult for us to reach out without some kind of suspicion being involved – and even if we have to reach out, we don’t know whom to reach out to. …There is a divide – it is a societal divide. A lot of KM Pura’s drivers and maids will be staying there. But when you come into the social space – the peon is equivalent to you – he has his rights – by being a citizen-constitutionally. So we are trying now with the help of someone who works closely with the villagers.
Conclusions: Planning as Commoning The lake restoration has not commenced so far nor has the DPR been approved. Even the politics of community formation around the tank may still be in the making, considering the complex sociopolitical geographies of a neighbourhood like KM Pura. Nevertheless, what I wanted to illustrate was that the struggle towards commoning becomes very important in defining the commons and in the formation of communities of interest. I have argued that the making or unmaking of the commons involves the making or unmaking of communities and vice versa. In the case of Rajapalaya Lake, this occurred and occurs at the interface of democratic-bureaucratic interaction. Both the unmaking and the making of Rajapalaya Lake as an urban commons occurred at the interface between the making and unmaking of communities, their political networks, associative capital and the governmental technologies of administrative bureaucracy. I showed that a new community of concern emerged from the abstract housing layouts that planning practice formed. It included faraway residents, and many people inside government. This community consisted of those who identified the value of the lake as local open space, its importance for the
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r egional ecology of Bangalore, and the problems of governance. As De Angelis notes, “commons acquire many forms, and they often emerge out of struggles against their negation” (2005: 7). It was when this community of concern demanded it as an urban commons that the production of a lake began to take shape. The process of struggle towards the production of the commons can also be seen as influencing community formation. This community operated as an informal network and included a wide range of actors from inside and outside government and local geography. While the planning process in Bangalore acted in the interests of the network of actors from inside and outside government to privatise the lake, these communities of concern also worked with their political networks, associative capital and the governmental technologies of administrative bureaucracy – the planning and legal system – to restore it as a lake. Their mode of operation was claiming the sphere of planning – right from involvement in property litigation, master plan zoning, producing urban design concept plans, invoking arguments on quality and quantity of open space, close surveillance and engagement with the political and administrative mechanisms of urban space production. I want to suggest that we should move beyond frameworks that separate government actors from the non-government ones or locals from non-locals to help us understand the processes that have led and may lead to the making or unmaking of the urban commons in Bangalore. I also want to suggest that the very possibility of producing commons in this case has been through claiming the public sphere of urban governance – the identifi cation that planning is “commoning”. Claiming the commons involves claiming planning. As Harvey notes, “the right to the city is not merely a right of access to what already exists, but a right to change it …. [to]… remake ourselves by creating a qualitatively different kind of urban sociality” (2003:939). I want to suggest that “the right to the city” is the right to the sphere of governance. Planning is the sphere of this commoning and also the sphere of the politics of commoning. Planning practice, as a political, administrative and bureaucratic medium of urban space production and reproduction is an important instrument through which urban commons get produced and reproduced. Since urban commons are integrally linked to urban communities of use, planning cannot produce commons without links to communities of concern. Planning in Bangalore should be conceived beyond abstract state practice. Planning practice represents the interests of the networks that inhabit the sphere of governance. It was one of the main domains of populist and patronage politics in Bangalore and the main medium that damaged its urban commons. In discovering planning as the public sphere for political negotiation, different communities could claim planning to produce and reproduce their commons. It is important to recognise that planning practice does not automatically operate as a welfare produ cing, technocratic enterprise of the state capable of achieving any common good and public interest; instead, it is a socially constructed sphere governing urban space production. december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
REVIEW OF URBAN AFFAIRS Notes 1 Hardin’s paper was concerned with the problem of population growth in a world of finite resources. 2 Place names and names of individuals are changed in this paper to protect identities. 3 The term “planning practice” is used here to refer to the way the planning system is performed in reality. 4 Nagendra (2010) notes that there are about 210 lakes located within the administrative boundary of greater Bangalore and Gowda and Sridhara (2007) note 262 lakes within the Bangalore metropolitan region. 5 The term “layout” is used to refer to the development authority-created residential schemes/areas in Bangalore, or more generally, to urban space as produced through the development authority-led mechanism of urban space planning. 6 See D’Souza and Nagendra (2011: 842) for a discussion of this. 7 While the minor irrigation department took care of the lakes used for irrigation, the BDA and BBMP developed and managed the so-called urban lakes. The Lake Development Authority was formed by the government in 2005 as a society without executive powers to take care of lakes in Karnataka. In addition, the forest department developed some lakes and handed them over to the BBMP or BDA. The department of revenue owns the land in which lakes are located. See D’Souza and Nagendra (2011) for a detailed discussion. 8 While the CITB notification dates to 1963, the acquisition occurred in 1965. See Supreme Court (2005), Civil Appeal 971 of 2003, New Delhi. More details at: http://courtnic.nic.in/supremecourt/temp/ac%2097103p.txt. Also see Supreme Court (2010), Civil Appeal 1588-1589 of 2008, New Delhi. Available at: http://courtnic.nic.in/ supremecourt/temp/ac%201588-158908p.txt Note that all judgments cited here can also be accessed with relevant case numbers from http:// judis.nic.in/supremecourt/chejudis.asp 9 These interviews were conducted during numerous visits to Rajapalaya Tank during June, July and August 2010 as part of a 14-month long fieldwork for the author’s PhD on “Urban Planning and Land Use Change in Bangalore”. More than 20 people were interviewed in and around the village and the tank. This number included those residing on the tank bed, in the village and those living along the road between the village and the tank. Sometimes, these interviews were one-toone, but many were group discussions. These interviews also included continued conversations with a smaller number of people who led the vi llagers land movement over these three months. Even though a number of them claimed that their previous generations worked in agriculture, the village now houses a number of migrant labourers as well. Other interviews in this paper with residents of KM Pura, government officials, NGOs and neighbourhood groups have been conducted during various periods between 2008 and 2010. 10 Some village elders described to me the geographic coordinates of the village based on old trees and said that the land including the lake on one side of an Almyra tree was village land and the other side was Rameshaiah’s. Based on discussion with Rajappa (name disguised), 19 July 2010. 11 Supreme Court (2010), Civil Appeal 1588-1589 of 2008, New Delhi. Available at: http://courtnic. nic.in/supremecourt/temp/ac%201588-158908p. txt 12 See Supreme Court (2005), Civil Appeal 971 of 2003, New Delhi. More details at: http://courtnic. nic.in/supremecourt/temp/ac%2097103p.txt 13 Interview, 19 July 2010. 14 Interview, 26 June 2010. 15 From interviews with Velu Swamy and Bangarappa (both names disguised) conducted on 26 June 2010 at Rajapalaya village.
16 Property ownership details contained in right tenancy cultivation (RTC) documents (form numbers 1091068380 – 87) confirm this claim. These documents were obtained through an RTI application from the office of the deputy commissioner revenue, Bangalore, and reproduced on 13 August 2010. 17 Discussions with villagers, 18 June 2010, Rajapalaya Tank. 18 Changes in the relationship between lakes and the adjacent villagers have also been noted in other studies on Bangalore lakes. See, for example, D’Souza and Nagendra (2011: 847). 19 KTCP Act, 1961. Accessed in August 2010: http:// www.lawsofindia.org/statelaw/2343/TheKarnatakaTownandCountryPlanningAct1961.html 20 “Live, work and play” in much of the planning literature attempts to represent the move away from single-use zoning towards mixed-use planning. A senior planner from Bangalore Metropolitan Development Authority used these terms during an interview in June 2009, to describe the way planning practice in Bangalore had always sought to produce vibrant communities through the development authority-led urban layout planning. He was describing how such an agenda has now been expanded in Bangalore to create v ibrant mixed-use neighbourhoods using private participation. 21 See note 11. 22 See note 12. 23 Supreme Court (2011), Jagpal Singh and Others versus State of Punjab and Others, Civil Appeal 1132/2011 (Special Leave Petition (c) 3109/2011), New Delhi. 24 A couple of people lose their lives every year due to the flooding drains. In 2009, even the body of a young child who drowned to death in the drains of Bangalore could not be found (The Hindu Staff Reporter 2011). Also see Deepika (2011) and Bangalore Bureau (2011). 25 Interview with Rai (name disguised), February 2009. 26 High Court of Karnataka (2001), Writ Appeal 5252/1997 and 6171/1997, Bangalore. 27 Various interviews with a Kumar (name disguised), between June and August 2010. 28 Interview with Nair (name disguised), August 2010.
References Arabindoo, Pushpa (2005): “A Class Act: Bourgeois Ordering of Public Space in Chennai”, paper presented at British Association for South Asian Studies Annual Conference, Leeds, 30 March1 April. Bangalore Bureau (2011): “Eight Die in Rain-related Incidents in and Around Bangalore”, The Hindu, 24 April. Accessed 31 October 2011: http://www. hindu.com/2011/04/24/stories/20110424577 20100.htm Baviskar, Amita (2003): “Between Violence and Desire: Space, Power, and Identity in the Making of Metropolitan Delhi”, International Social Science Journal, 55(175): 89-93. BDA (1995): Masterplan of Bangalore 1995-2005, BDA, Bangalore. – (2005): Revised Masterplan of Bangalore 2005-2015, BDA, Bangalore. Corbridge, Stuart (2005): Seeing the State: Governance and Governmentality in India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Deepika, K C (2011): “This Drain Remains a Death Trap”, The Hindu, 7 March. Accessed 31 October 2011, http://www.hindu.com/2011/03/07/stories/ 2011030760050300.htm De Angelis, Massimo (2005): “The New Commons in Practice: Strategy, Process and Alternatives”, Development, 48(2), 48-52. De Marcellus, Olivier (2003): “Commons, Communities and Movements: Inside, Outside and against Capital”, The Commoner, 6, Winter. Accessed
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18 October 2011: http://www.commoner.org.uk/ demarcellus06.pdf Dietz, Thomas, Nives Dolssak, Elinor Ostrom and Paul C Stern (2002): “The Drama of the Commons” in Elinor Ostrom, Thomas Dietz, Nives Dolšak, Paul C Stern, Susan Stonich and Elke U Weber (and Committee on the Human Dimensions of Global Change) (ed.), The Drama of the Commons (Washington DC: National Academy Press). D’Souza, Rohan (2006): “Research Study to Assess the Impact of Privatisation of Water Bodies in Bangalore”, Centre for Education and Documentation, Bangalore. D’Souza, Rohan and H Nagendra (2011): “Changes in Public Commons as a Consequence of Urbanisation: The Agara Lake in Bangalore, India”, Environmental Management, 47 (5), pp 840-50. Feeny, David, F Berkes, J Bonnie McCay and J M Acheson (1990): “The Tragedy of the Commons: TwentyTwo Years Later”, Human Ecology, 18(1): 1-19. Fuller, C J and V Benei (2001): The Everyday State and Society in Modern India (London: C Hurst and Company Publishers). Goldman, Michael, ed. (1998): Privatising Nature: Political Struggles for Global Commons (London: Pluto Press). Government of Karnataka (1976): Bangalore Development Authority Act 1976, BDA, Bangalore. Gowda, Krishna and M V Sridhara (2007): “Conservation of Tanks/Lakes in the Bangalore Metropolitan Area”, Management of Environmental Quality: An International Journal, 18 (2): 137-51. Gupta, Akhil and Aradhana Sharma, ed. (2006): The Anthropology of the State: A Reader (Malden, Massachusetts: Wiley-Blackwell). Hardin, Garrett (1968): “The Tragedy of the Commons”, Science, 162(3859): 1243-48. Harris-White, Barbara (2004): India Working: Essays on Society and Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Harvey, David (2003): “The Right to the City”, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 27 (4): 939-41. – (2011): “The Future of the Commons”, Radical History Review, (109): 101-07. Hess, Charlotte (2008): “Mapping the New Commons”, paper presented at the 12th Biennial Conference of the International Association for the Study of the Commons, University of Gloucestershire, Cheltenham, 14-18 July. Kamath, Lalita and M Vijayabaskar (2009): “Limits and Possibilities of Middle Class Associations as Urban Collective Actors”, Economic & Political Weekly, 44 (26 & 27): 368-76. Kaviraj, Sudipta (1999): Politics in India (Delhi: Oxford University Press). Kennedy, Donald (2003): “Sustainability and the Commons”, Science, 302 (5652): 1861. Laerhoven, F and E Ostrom (2007): “Traditions and Trends in the Study of the Commons”, Inter national Journal of the Commons, 1(1): 3-28. Nagendra, Harini (2010): “Maps, Lakes and Citizens”, Seminar 613, September. Ostrom, Elinor (1990): Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Ostrom, Elinor, Thomas Dietz, Nives Dolšak, Paul C Stern, Susan Stonich and Elke U Weber (and Committee on the Human Dimensions of Global Change) ed. (2002): The Drama of the Commons (Washington DC: National Academy Press). Sudhira, H S, T V Ramachandra and H S Bala Subramanya (2007): “City Profile: Bangalore”, Cities, 24(5): 379-90. The Hindu Staff Reporter (2011): “School Boy Washed Away in Vrishabavathi Canal”, 14 May. Accessed 31 October 2011: http://www.hindu.com/2011/ 05/14/stories/2011051464470300.htm Vira, Bhaskar (2002): “Conceptualising the Commons: Power and Politics in a Globalising Economy”, Department of Geography, University of Cambridge, Cambridge.
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Three-Town Revolution: Implications of Cinema’s Politics for the Study of Urban Spaces S V Srinivas
The point of convergence between cinema and constituents of the urban commons is the crowd and everything that the crowd connotes at any given point of time and in any discourse. Popular Telugu cinema is replete with examples of the crowd and what cinema does with it. This phenomenon of constituting and naming social formations and the misrecognitions it gives rise to are most instructive in a discussion of the urban commons. This paper analyses Eenadu, a 1982 Telugu film that is centrally concerned with crowds, to illustrate how cinema brings the mass gathered before the screen face-to-face with a version of itself on the screen, framing a new mode of political participation pivoted on the popular appeal of larger-than-life superstars.
This essay is partly based on a chapter in a book on the social history of Telugu cinema supported by the New India Foundation, to which I am grateful for its generous backing. I would like to thank Anant Maringanti and the anonymous EPW reviewer for their inputs and Ratheesh Radhakrishnan for introducing me to the Malayalam Eenadu. S V Srinivas ([email protected]) is at the Centre for the Study of Culture and Society, Bangalore.
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iscussions on the commons tend to stress the use value of common pool resources (CPRs) and their management, and balancing access and subtractability (depletion, exhaustion) of the resources in question, whether they be natural or human made.1 For example, Ostrom (1990) offers various models for “governing the commons”. Hess (2008: 3) notes that recent literature on the “new commons”, human-made, technologically driven resources, is marked by the perception that “the commons is a movement” whose concern is “what is shared or should be shared” through cooperation and collective action. In some sense, the commons is increasingly sought to be the new site of good politics. Does cinema have any relevance to these dis cussions, particularly given the growing assault on common resources in cities? Over the past three decades, writings on cinema in India and elsewhere have made a persuasive case of its social and political significance. With the arrival of the multiplex, cinema’s importance as a site for consumption has been brought into sharp focus, raising the question of what the relationship between consumption and social-political action might be. This engagement with questions of consumption (therefore exchange value and private gain) has generated a rich body of work. Yet, to open up cinema to an enquiry as an artefact and a process that has to do with use values – which undergirds discussions of the commons – is a challenging task. In other words, if the commons are defined in terms of use values, it is difficult to imagine that cinema belongs to them. Cinema, as we know it in India, notwithstanding its association with mass audiences of ordinary people, does not easily fit in a scenario of sharing and cooperative action. Cinematic spaces have always been privately-owned and in some parts of the country, notably Andhra Pradesh, film production and distribution mark the point caste-class constellations enter business and industry to later become the ruling elites of regions. Film audiences have often been subjected to physical discomfort and v iolence in cinema halls. And the content of films was and continues to be often ideologically conservative. Yet, with the increasing digitisation of cinema and the availability of new media, debates on its nature and its relationship to urban spaces need to take into account debates on the commons. But before this debate leapfrogs beyond cinema in its classic 20th century manifestations, I wish to make a set of cautionary remarks on regarding it as a part of an urban commons that is conceived as a space where use value overwhelmingly determines interactions. By drawing attention to the reality of private december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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gain and bad politics in shared spaces in south Asia, I hope to table some ideas that can lead to a more theoretically sound notion of the contemporary commons. I do so by reflecting on the concept of the (bourgeois) public, whose other is the commons, at least as far as property relations are concerned. The public has had a long history of deployment in the study of cultural commodities. A critical reflection on this history, I argue, tells us what not to do in the construction of the commons discourse. In the sections to come, I examine cinema both as a candidate to be considered part of the urban commons as well as a discursive medium that represents and offers solutions to conflicts over the urban commons in particular ways. The starting point for the reflections is that there is a convergence between cinema and constituents of the urban commons. That point of convergence is the crowd and everything that the crowd connotes at any given point of time and in any discourse. Through most of the 20th century, cinema in India had to do with crowds – unlettered, ignorant, unmanageable masses of people who assembled before the screen. Indian cinema took upon itself the task of fashioning a purpose for these masses – the assemblages of crowds – by performing what we might call “a naming act”. Against a backdrop of rising nationalist mobilisations, Indian cinema addressed film consumers collectively and variously as members of a nation-in-the-making, as linguistic communities, as enraged citizen revolutionaries, and so on. Popular Telugu cinema, the subject of my earlier research, is replete with examples of the crowd and what cinema does with it. It is this phenomenon of constituting and naming social formations and the misrecognitions it gives rise to that are most instructive for a discussion of the urban commons. I specifically focus on a genre that may be called the “red film” in Telugu. After examining the nature of this naming act and its bearing on off-screen politics, I examine Eenadu (P Sambasiva Rao, 1982), a Telugu film that is centrally concerned with crowds and has them stage a revolution in a location that is otherwise known for a cluster of cinema halls and film distribution offices (the Three-Town area of Vijayawada city). The significance of the way this film stages what I call the “Three-Town revolution” to discussions on the urban commons is best appreciated when we note the increasing presence of cinematic crowds, particularly in urban contexts, in Telugu cinema from the 1960s. To set the stage for our discussion, let us take a brief look at the history of crowd constitution and naming in Telugu cinema. From the early 1960s, top-ranking Telugu stars N T Rama Rao (NTR) and Akkineni Nageswara Rao (ANR) came to be associated with competing film industry factions as also distinct formal and aesthetic tendencies. NTR was identified with industry circles centred on production units based in Madras, while ANR led the industry faction calling for a relocation of film production to Hyderabad. However, by the mid-1960s, both stars made considerable investments in production and/or exhibition facilities in Hyderabad city. Even as competition between them increased, NTR began to be featured in films that were explicitly concerned with the mobilisation of the masses against a variety of oppressors, including politicians. Thus, producers and technicians of the period working with NTR gradually assembled a new kind of Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
male star who was the centre of the narrative and a leader of the masses. Not surprisingly, this kind of cinema led to the rapid growth of a new cultural phenomenon – fan clubs dedicated to the star (from 1964).2 To the extent NTR’s career trajectory closely paralleled that of M G Ramachandran (MGR) in Tamil Nadu, it might be argued that the increasing political prominence of the south Indian superstars coincided with popular cinema’s interest in representing contests over the urban commons, among other struggles of the poor.3 In the rest of this paper, I reflect on what can we learn from this history of cinema in south India that is useful for constructing a notion of the urban commons, coeval as it was with the ascendency of new political elites.4
1 Public, Mass and Counterpublic Much of the celebratory accounting of cinema as a space for (good) politics in south Asia owes an intellectual debt to certain feminist and postcolonial strands of sustained criticism of what was until then a European bourgeois notion of the public. It is from these debates that cinema scholars created and used a set of tools for the study and interpretation of cinematic spaces (and, by extension, analyses of social-political movements across the world). The goal of this section is to introduce a note of scepticism about cinema as a space for good politics by revisiting these debates and asking what the relationship between cinema as a space for consumption and a site for political action is. Habermas (1989) poses a question that is very germane to this discussion: if industrially produced culture results in “mass deception” (Horkheimer and Adorno 1982), what came before it, or what was replaced by the mass? His answer tends to be “the public”, a bourgeois entity consisting of private individuals (property owners and, literally speaking, husbands too) that also concerned itself with issues of common good. The public sphere was a category and institution that was historically and geographically specific (18th century western Europe). Habermas argues that under the aegis of the mass media, the public sphere was replaced by a “pseudo-public sphere” because “the web of public communication unravelled into acts of individual reception” (1989: 161). The result is a non-public whose opinions are “informal, personal, non-public opinions” (1989: 245). The mass media’s non-public corresponds with C W Mills’ description of the “mass”, which Habermas quotes approvingly. In a mass (1) Fewer people express opinions than receive them; for the com munity of publics becomes an abstract collection of individuals who receive impressions from the mass media. (2) The communications that prevail are so organised that it is difficult or impossible for individuals to answer back immediately or with any effect ... (cited in Habermas 1989: 249).
In short, Habermas concluded his inquiry by arriving at the mass, for which there was already a description (Mills) and a theory (by way of the culture industry thesis in Horkheimer and Adorno 1982). The mass is at once uncritical and marked by a lack of distinctions between its members – averageness is its hallmark. Clearly, if a student of contemporary popular culture were to follow Habermas’ logic faithfully, what he or she would be left with as an object of examination is the “mass”. However, a number of scholars have argued that the public sphere is too
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v aluable a concept to be allowed to die. The attempts to recoup the public crucially hinge on the success of post-Habermasian public theorists in attributing expression/agency to it. In contrast to Habermas’ public, the public of these scholars talks (back).
The Postcolonial Turn The debate grew richer when it came to the Indian context. Scholars argued that there was a need to reconceptualise the public sphere to account for local conditions. Historical research on south Asia suggests that in the absence of literacy, it was not the written word but the physical gathering of people in open spaces that facilitated the formation of the public in the colonial period. For example, Freitag suggests, “South Asian collective activities in open spaces [the street and maidan] constituted a fundamental form of expression of the polity – a form we may take as a kind of ‘public opinion’ ” (1991: 67). More recently there have been discussions on the public sphere in India with specific reference to print (Jeffrey 2000; Naregal 2001; Orsini 2002, for example). As Udaya Kumar points out with reference to new work on the literary public sphere, “These studies present a new and complex picture of India’s literary modernity, mapping a variegated field of actors and contestations. In this, they effect a shift in focus from earlier scholarship that had by and large privileged an opposition between the new norms introduced through colonialism and a native beleaguered sense of tradition” (2007: 414). The set of problems that cinema throws up are somewhat different and cannot be addressed by these debates, which need to retain a revised version of the European bourgeois public sphere that Habermas talks about even if the authors differ with him. Orsini, for example, states that Habermas’ conception is a necessary point of reference for her work. Jurgen Habermas’ concept of “public sphere” is attractive for several reasons. First of all, it was the European (in particular English) public sphere that Hindi and other Indian intellectuals had in mind while evolving their own vision of progress and the modern nation. Secondly, the striking differences between the European public sphere as described by Habermas and the Hindi public sphere of the early 20th century may establish the specificity of the European (English) case and that of colonial India, and measure the distance between the Indian vision and reality (2002: 9).
Orsini thus suggests that a comparison between the two is both possible and necessary. When we move beyond print, as Freitag does, we are struck not only by the non-bourgeois socio-economic origins of the “public” but also its modes of articulating “opinions” and the apparently strange forms in which it comes into being (for example, religious festivities, which Freitag’s work draws attention to). Freitag’s reconceptualisation of the public is partly based on examining three developments critical for Habermas’ own argument in the colonial Indian context. (1) The move for “the public” from authority gained through cultural participation as equals, to authority exercised by political participation; (2) the creation of an intermediate sphere between state and people that enabled the “public” to participate by virtue of its critical stance vis-à-vis the state; and (3) the implicit connection between this intermediate sphere and popular participation, which related to the legitimacy claimed by the intermediate sphere to speak on behalf of the “the people” (1991: 70).
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If, as Freitag argues, physical presence in an open place is a first and crucial step in the constitution of a public, which in turn is the entity that addressed the state in the colonial period in forms that had not yet found a clear political articulation, then cinema’s status as a public institution in the early part of the century cannot be doubted. However, an analytical framework now emerges in which none of the constituents of the configuration that Habermas attempted to theorise need to survive for the public sphere as a category to exist. The public sphere can now be conceived of as a space inhabited by non-European, non-bourgeois collectives engaged in festivities (instead of enlightened debate). Further, in the work of some writers (not Freitag), the attachment of value to the public and its activities transforms it into a norm-governed imaginary entity with which actually existing agents may or may not share any resemblance. So what traits, if any, do post-bourgeois variants share with their now-extinct counterpart?
Recouping the Public Among the most influential (and cited) revisionist readings of Habermas is an essay by Fraser in which she argues “something like Habermas” idea of the public sphere is indispensable to critical theory and democratic political practice” (1996: 111). Fraser’s intention is to extract a norm, an ideal, from her reading of Habermas’ work. The task also involves projecting into history (drawing on the work of “revisionist historians”) the non-bourgeois public spheres that apparently existed but were ignored by Habermas. She also sets out to identify strands of his work that “point towards an alternative, post-bourgeois conception of the public sphere” (1996: 112). So whereas Habermas (1989) suggests that he was studying an institution and category that transformed in time, Fraser unambiguously states that she is governed by the need for a concept that will guide critical theory and democratic practice respectively. Fraser calls this concept the “counterpublic”. The notion of a counterpublic allows her to deal with exclusion, which is stated to be a major problem with the bourgeois public sphere. She lists members of diverse subordinate groups, including “women, workers, peoples of colour and gays and lesbians”, as constituting subaltern counterpublics. These in turn “formulate oppositional interpretations of their identities, interests and needs” (1996: 123). Insofar as these counterpublics emerge in response to exclusions within dominant publics, they help expand discursive space. In principle, assumptions that were previously exempt from contestation will now have to be publicly argued out. In general, the proliferation of subaltern counterpublics means a widening of discursive contestation, and that is a good thing in stratified societies (1996: 124). But there is a problem with them as well. “Some of them, alas, are explicitly, anti-democratic and anti-egalitarian, and even those with democratic and egalitarian intentions are not always above practising their own modes of informal exclusion and marginalisation” (ibid). The new avatars of the public sphere now come across as more of a wish than actual collectives. We can at best hope that the activities of these publics are democratic and egalitarian. december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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How do these debates around the public matter inform cinema studies? Of direct relevance to film is Hansen’s (1991) study of early American (pre-Griffith and pre-narrative) silent cinema as an alternative public sphere. Accessibility, argues Hansen, is a key feature of cinema’s publicness. This is, of course, not necessarily a positive virtue but a characteristic of “industrial-commercial public spheres” (Negt and Kluge 1993) that are “indiscriminately inclusive” (1991: 92, emphasis in original). As Hansen demonstrates, early silent cinema was frequented by lower-class immigrants, women and children, and opened new possibilities for them. Bounded by familiar surroundings and culturally accepted, within the working-class community at least, the movie theatre opened up an arena in which a new discourse of femininity could be articulated and the norms and codes of sexual conduct could be redefined (1991: 118).
Further, and this is crucial to her argument, Early film-spectator relations were characterised by a social dimension found later only in a diminished form … The term “social” here refers not merely to the ad hoc viewing collective but also the relation between films and a particular social horizon of experience … Whether by virtue of its pronounced intertextuality or its greater dependence upon the situation of exhibition, early cinema advanced a more open relationship with the arena of public discourse surrounding it, thus in turn allowed that discourse to be contested and interpreted in alternative ways (1991: 93-94, emphasis in original).
Accessibility, a close relationship to local conditions and a social horizon of experience as well as openness to contestation or interpretation made films and the spaces they were exhibited in constituents of an alternative public sphere. Notably, film crowds are not articulate and thus unlike the bourgeois public or Fraser’s counterpublic that publicly argues assumptions that were hitherto exempt from contestation. We can now see the outlines of a potential argument on cinema as the urban commons emerging.
Films as Mass-produced Industrial Products Hansen goes on to show the situation changed with increasing levels of industrialisation in the field of film production as well as exhibition. Films became mass-produced industrial products watched under stable (and predictable) conditions. Hansen’s analysis follows the broad contours of Habermas’ argument in which the public sphere’s evolution is characterised by a paradox. The public sphere, to begin with, emerges as a consequence of industrialisation and the mediation of culture by the market. The consumption of mass-produced print materials in the 18th century engendered the classic public. This institution is soon, and inevitably, threatened by the industrialisation of culture. And the public becomes the mass. There are parallels between what industrialisation does in the field of cultural production and Horkheimer and Adorno’s (1982) conception of the enlightenment itself as something that cannibalises its own promise. In Habermas, the paradox leads to the conclusion that there was a public sphere in the past but no longer one in the present. Although Hansen sees more recent institutions as constituting a public sphere, the retrospective positing of the public sphere is a feature of her work too – the publicness of cinema declines with the coming of the narrative film and coeval transformations in the American film industry. The purpose of this extended review Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
of the discussions centred on the public, the mass and counterpublic is to bring into relief the connection that Habermas (1989) makes between the consumption of industrially produced culture and the political participation of a new social segment (the bourgeoisie). Whether the public engages in rational-critical discourse and whether or not or its politics is liberal is not of immediate interest to us. The point is that those were traits of a bourgeois institution, which is now no more. Of immediate concern here is that Habermas opens up for investigation the channels of communicative and political action created by the very process of commodification of culture. These, past experience seems to suggest, are only incidentally and tenuously linked to “good” politics.5 Habermas’ work suggests that the expanding sphere of consumption of print transformed politics. I will hold on to that insight without retaining the term “public” or limiting myself to good politics. The public sphere has little analytical usefulness if it is weighed down by the hunt for utopian moments when private or economic interests are incidental to cultural production and reception. Notwithstanding the obvious differences between the debates on the public sphere and the emerging discussion on the urban commons, there are some continuities that have the potential to limit the theoretical utility of the latter in the long run. The most debilitating turn in the public sphere debates is, first, the tendency to underplay or even ignore the foundations of the public in commodity consumption (and therefore the undeniable fact of private gain and exchange value). The second is the assumption that post-European and non-bourgeois publics will remain governed by the norms of the former in spite of everything that has changed. In framing the public as an entity that is dedicated to good/democratic/progressive politics, there is either a simplistic reading of interactions in the public domain or an outright refusal to acknowledge that bad politics is also carried out in shared spaces and involve networks of communication. In the coming section, I recount a moment when the commoditypolitics linkages grew so strong in south Indian cinema that it makes clear the need for a drastic revision of our understanding of both cinema spaces and politics. To make my case effectively, I will also recount the active role played by a newspaper (only in passing for reasons of focus) in shaping a political campaign. Print, too, is implicated in a blatantly interest-driven and therefore “non-public” mass mobilisation.
2 Cinema’s Naming Act Recall my proposition that cinema has historically engaged in a naming act – as can be richly illustrated by examples from south Indian cinema. I will now add to this that the crowds gathered before the screens were misrecognised in discussions of film and politics alike in the early 1980s as purposeful, politically respectable collectives. The rise of the Telugu Desam Party (TDP) with NTR as its primary asset is a story replete with instances of such naming (as misrecognition). In March 1982, NTR arrived on the political scene, first in Andhra Pradesh and then on the national scene, with nothing more than his film career to qualify him for the new role. Seasoned political observers at the time felt that NTR’s decision to name his
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party Telugu Desam was an impulsive one (Narayan 1983: 8). The actor had little previous association with “Telugu” causes within or without the industry to suggest that he was capable of representing the interests of the linguistic group. Moreover, the political logic of linguistic division of states had been seriously questioned in the state twice, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, when agitations for separate Telangana and Andhra states broke out. Nevertheless, NTR’s arrival was greeted with much enthusiasm by the masses, who may or may not have agreed with his self-description as the representative of the Telugus. They materialised in the thousands everywhere he went on his 40,000 kilometre roadshow around Andhra Pradesh, three times over (Rao 2003: 56). This enthusiasm was interpreted by the newspaper Eenadu, which solidly backed NTR’s campaign, as a rebellion of the Telugu race (Telugu jati) against Congress rule (see, for example, Editorial 1983). The role played by the newspaper in the campaign has been well documented (Jeffrey 2000). Eenadu was blatantly partisan in its election coverage. And there is no denying that supporting the TDP also meant good business for it.6 With the formation of the TDP, whose most loyal early supporters were NTR’s fans, fandom extended itself into political mobilisation in obvious ways. But it was not the fan clubs alone that were implicated. In political discourse, the population at large was misrecognised as an extension of the film audience. Not the least because NTR himself addressed his campaign meetings using the rhetorical style of speech and hyperbolic gestures and gesticulations that had come to be associated with him as a lead actor, particularly in mythological movies. The TDP’s opponents dismissed the crowds that gathered around NTR as film buffs. K Vijayabhaskar Reddy, the Congress chief minister before the 1983 election, coined the phrase cinema janam, meaning crowds of film enthusiasts. During a press conference, he even cautioned NTR not to be fooled by the size of crowds attending his meetings because they had come to be entertained (Newstoday 1982). Close to the polling date, Indira Gandhi wondered aloud at a rally how someone who had acted in plays (natakalu) till the other day could become a chief minister. She added that politics was not theatre (rajakeeyalante natakalu kadu). She did not describe NTR’s profession quite accurately but the general drift of her statement was clear enough – politics was serious business and no pastime for amateurs (Newstoday 1983). I will retain Vijayabhaskar Reddy’s coinage, cinema janam, for its capacity to evoke the historical problem cinema has had with the purposefulness (or the lack thereof) of its constituency. At issue here is not whether it was more correct to describe the crowds as members of the Telugu jati, as NTR and the newspaper Eenadu did, than film buffs. From the late 1960s, both political discourse and popular cinema had been seized of the surfacing of crowds in very different manifestations in their respective domains. However, with NTR’s crossover, there now appeared to be one single crowd, which was at once politically significant and linked to cinema. On the one hand, it appeared as if the star had brought along his original constituency – films buffs and fans – into the domain of politics. On the other, we notice that crowds appearing on the screen acquired greater political significance. Cinema janam thus had two manifestations and also fused into one
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c omposite entity. The cinema of the 1980s, in a manner of speaking, is about this new entity, which was, simultaneously, the crowd that thronged to the movies as part of an ever-expanding circle of fans’ associations carrying over their cinephilia to newer urban spaces and also a part of the political ferment of the period.
3 The Red Film Coinciding with the rise of NTR, the matinee idol in real life politics, in the early 1980s, a new kind of political cinema emerged in Andhra Pradesh. It made restive crowds, seen as a ubiquitous urban presence, its immediate addressee. Telugu cinema of the period made increasingly strident, albeit conservative, political criticism. We notice the repeated targeting of the political establishment, represented as the source of all wrongs, by a cross- section of films. Particularly interesting is the genre known as the communist or erra cinema (red film). Among other remarkable features of this genre is its dedication to the problems of crowds and with crowds. Its origins can be traced to the pro-Naxalite Bhoomikosam (K Balagangadhar Tilak, 1974), which was centred on the mobilisation of the rural masses against feudal landlords and their class allies.7 In the 1980s, it was a creation of relative newcomers to the industry. Red films introduced new actors, directors, lyricists, and script and dialogue writers, and were made by relatively new production companies. The success of the early 1980s red films ensured wide distribution and exhibition of the genre. Some of the industry figures associated with red films, such as veteran actor and NTR’s contemporary, Nagabhushanam, were communist sympathisers or party cardholders. Many others, including the genre’s leading star and producer, Madala Ranga Rao, were from Communist Party of India-Communist Party of India (Marxist) (CPI-CPI-M) affiliates such as Praja Natya Mandali. Murari (nd: 283) states that Madala Ranga Rao had acted in “hundreds” of Praja Natya Mandali plays before he entered the film industry, first as an actor and then as a producer. He is also credited with introducing two other CPI(M) sympathisers to the industry who went on to become leading lights of red films in the 1980s, T Krishna (director and actor) and Pokuri Babu Rao (producer). The duo established Eetaram Pictures, a major lowbudget film production company. In red films, rebellion is not just justified but presented as necessary. Crowds are featured, especially in the climax, as agents of violent political action. Propagandist songs and set-pieces such as shots of May Day processions of workers are among their highlights. Yuvataram Kadilindi (Dhavala Satyam, 1980), a trendsetting red film, was set in the coastal Andhra town of Ongole – home to prominent red film producers and technicians – and shot on location there. Red films’ aesthetics was in part derived from such shooting on location, which was also part of an effort to keep budgets down. We thus notice a great deal of local geographical detail, rare in Telugu films of the earlier decades. In an obvious reference to Shyam Benegal’s Nishant (1975), Yuvataram Kadil indi’s climax has the villains being chased by a large crowd, led by college students who have been inspired by their teacher Satyam (Ramakrishna) to become revolutionaries. The film ends with a freeze frame on the crowd gathering at a crossroad. A card december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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reading “Yuvataram Kadilindi” (the youth have moved/risen) appears. A voiceover warns that satyam (truth) will not die and any attempt to bury it will be given a fitting response to by the nyaya peetham (seat of justice, referring to the people).
Eenadu: Revolution under the Sign of Cinema Eenadu, arguably the most politically significant film released in 1982, drew on a number of techniques invented by the red films to make the restive masses its focus. It was shot entirely on location in a neighbourhood known for a very large number of cinemas and film industry-related offices – the Three Town area in Vijayawada city. This film is particularly useful for understanding how popular cinema creates equivalences between film viewing and political mobilisation. The purposefulness of crowds and the usefulness of cinema as a site for and initiator of political action are foregrounded by the film. Unlike the typical red film, however, Eenadu features a major star, Krishna, who was second only to NTR in the industry. It was produced by Padmalaya Studio in Hyderabad, then owned by Krishna and his family. Its release in December 1982 coincided with the final phase of NTR’s campaign, when crowds waving yellow TDP flags were a prominent presence on streets all through Andhra Pradesh. While the film does not openly endorse the TDP, it reinforces NTR’s campaign by subjecting the political establishment to strident criticism, occasionally making references to the ongoing election campaign. As mentioned, it was shot on location in Vijayawada, a major centre for Telugu film distribution and exhibition and an important source of capital that flowed into the industry. Coincidentally, the city had rarely been featured in Telugu films. The climax of the film unfolds in the Three-Town area. Among the identifiable locations that can be seen in the film are the busy Eluru Road, renamed Karl Marx Road by the Communist-controlled municipal corporation, and Besant Road. Quite like its Malayalam original, the action of the Telugu Eenadu is framed by rallies and crowds at its beginning and end. The film opens with the character played by Krishna singing to a procession of striking workers, imploring them to rise. In the course of the song, he identifies himself as Rama Raju. The reference here is to Alluri Sitarama Raju, who led an armed insurrection of adivasis against the British in the early 20th century in the Rampa and Gudem blocks of the Agency in Godavari and Visakhapatnam districts. The allusion to the rebel is even more obvious to those who knew Krishna had played the lead in Alluri Sita rama Raju (V Ramachandra Rao, 1974), a film loosely based on the rebel’s life. Soon a statue of Alluri Sitarama Raju is seen in the background while the procession moves along. Gathered around Rama Raju are groups of people holding banners of organisations such as the RSU (Radical Students’ Union, affiliated to the then People’s War Group which in 2005 allied with other groups and became the CPI (Maoist)) as well as trade unions of the CPI and the CPI(M) (All-India Trade Union Congress (AITUC) and Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU), respectively). Visuals of this procession, which attracts impressive crowds of curious onlookers, are intercut with documentary footage of communist rallies (red flags and banners are visible) in Delhi and other cities. The song Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
ends with the workers reaching their factory. Pulla Rao (Jaggaiah), a fellow worker, who is in league with the owners, invites Rama Raju in for a discussion. The owners attempt to bribe Rama Raju but he issues them an ultimatum to meet the workers’ demands and leaves. On the way out, peon Koteswara Rao (Rao Gopala Rao), his brother-in-law, asks Rama Raju to reconsider. On refusing to do so, Rama Raju is attacked by Pulla Rao and his henchmen. When the police arrive, Pulla Rao kills one of his mates and accuses Rama Raju, who is arrested and sentenced to three years in jail. The credits now begin with documentary footage of crowds waving red flags and shaking fists at the camera. We also see Congress (I) and TDP supporters waving their party flags. We even catch a fleeting glimpse of NTR’s campaign vehicle, Chait anya Ratham, surrounded by a massive crowd. These shots of crowds are superimposed with scenes depicting the rapid rise of Govindaiah – a convict who decides to join politics on his release – and Koteswara Rao as politicians. They are garlanded, make speeches and humbly greet people with namaskars. When the credit sequence ends, Koteswara Rao, now a member of the legislative assembly (MLA), is approached by a group of basti dwellers who request him to take action against a polluting factory. He assures them of help but his speech to his constituents is intercut with scenes of a street conjurer’s tricks, leaving little doubt that he is fooling them. Koteswara Rao is shown taking a bribe from the factory’s owners (the same ones who put Rama Raju in jail) and pays a part of it to Govindaiah, now a minister. Between them, they decide that they will not touch the factory. Meanwhile, Rama Raju is released from prison. The film then depicts the corruption and decay of various (state and non-state) institutions and the simultaneous rise to further prominence of the troika, Koteswara Rao, Govindaiah and Pulla Rao (now a liquor baron). As the story progresses, we realise that the superintendent of police (Satyanarayana) is on their side, government offices are plagued with corruption, students have become criminalised and their teachers irresponsibly strike work for higher salaries. Rama Raju sets about undoing the damage. He works with the basti dwellers to clean up the pollution caused by the industry. Villains’ activities, however, constantly impinge on the lives of the common people. Pulla Rao’s brother Pratap (Sudhakar) tries to rape a college-going basti girl. She commits suicide. Pulla Rao hides his brother and when Rama Raju and an honest police officer (Sridhar) capture him, the villain contacts the superintendent of police and has his brother released. Koteswara Rao encourages his henchman and ex-convict Anjaiah (Tyagaraju) to open a liquor shop in the basti. Rama Raju destroys it. Koteswara Rao gets Anjaiah a licence from Pulla Rao to run a government-sanctioned arrack shop. Rama Raju prevents the basti dwellers from drinking. Koteswara Rao then plots with Pulla Rao to set up a liquor shop at the venue of an all-party meeting which, ironically, is being organised to demand prohibition. Anjaiah says he cannot brew the large quantity of liquor that is required for the occasion. Pulla Rao sends him spirit (methyl alcohol) from a government hospital and has his men teach him how to brew a potent concoction without telling him about its lethal nature.
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Back at the basti, Anjaiah grudgingly agrees to the marriage of his son Suri (Chandra Mohan) to Malli (Radhika), the daughter of Ranganna (Gummadi), another basti dweller. He decides to distribute some of the deadly brew to the basti dwellers during the wedding celebration. Rama Raju blesses the newly-wed couple and leaves to attend the all-party meeting. In his absence, with no one to counsel them, the basti dwellers drink spurious liquor. At the venue of the all-party meeting and in the basti, a total of 2,500 people die, including most of the basti men.8 A njaiah makes a dying declaration that Pulla Rao supplied the spirit and is responsible for the tragedy. The hitherto honest police officer takes a bribe from Pulla Rao and destroys Anjaiah’s statement. Even the superintendent of police is shocked by his subordinate’s action but is forced to remain silent when he is reminded that senior officials like him have always stood by powerful people. Koteswara Rao now decides to stake a claim for chief ministership because minister Govindaiah has been discredited by the liquor tragedy. He approaches Pulla Rao for financial backing to set up his own party and buy the support of legislators from other parties. The two also decide that Rama Raju has to be killed. Pulla Rao’s wife Lakshmi (Jamuna) overhears the conversation and informs Rama Raju but he refuses to take any precautions. He is attacked and injured by Pulla Rao’s men. In the film’s climax, crowds led by Rama Raju prevent Koteswara Rao from reaching the venue where he is to be sworn in as chief minister. Pulla Rao is arrested when Lakshmi arrives on the scene to reveal that he masterminded the plot to murder Rama Raju. The protestors, identified as voters from the politician’s constituency, join Rama Raju in forcing Koteswara Rao to resign from the assembly because he was elected as a member of another party. The villain is told that the people did not vote for him but for the party and its leaders. Having no option, he resigns. Interpreting the developments, Rama Raju says that the people’s action is a lesson which history has not yet taught chameleon-like politicians. He adds that the incident will become the foundation stone for democracy as also a vedam for future generations. He raises slogans, Bolo Swatantra Bharat ki jai and Vande Mataram and collapses. A freeze frame of the falling hero and a card with Eenadu (this day) on it in red brings the film to a close.
Cinema Janam and Its Spaces There are throwaway references in the film to the actions of politicians that shame the entire Telugu race (jati), recalling NTR’s speeches on insults and injuries to the Telugus. Extending the film’s political critique, Koteswara Rao is made to bear some resemblance to M Chenna Reddy, a baton-wielding former Congress chief minister. Defections engineered by Koteswara Rao recall Chenna Reddy’s success in winning over opposition MLAs after the 1978 election (Innaiah 1986: 158). There are also sarcastic references to the chief minister, whom we do not see in the film, spending most of his time in New Delhi. Eenadu creates multiple equivalences between cinema and politics. Interestingly, in spite of references to communism and regular sightings of red flags, Rama Raju’s relationship with the communist parties and party politics in general remains fuzzy.
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And yet he a pure political agent – he has no life outside his politics, nothing that can be called personal. There is no hint of intimacy between Rama Raju and Lakshmi (Pulla Rao’s wife). His doting sister’s attempts to integrate him into her family or share its wealth fail repeatedly. The film makes an interesting link between the political churning of the period and the film star. The line-up of the spectrum of communist organisations (from the RSU on the extreme left to the mainstream left trade unions) behind Rama Raju is accompanied by repeated references to Krishna’s films. In the opening sequence, our star-protagonist is seen in a new genre setting – recognisably that of the red film with its flag-waving crowds. What he brings with him is his superstar status, manifest in multiple references to his earlier screen roles, and the capacity to attract crowds of people. The juxtaposition of documentary footage of generic crowds and “real” crowds of diegetic onlookers and fans who wave, run or simply gather in strength around Krishna at outdoor locations, offers a demonstration of the power of the star as a rival, and indeed superior, rallying point to the political party. In this star-protagonist, around whom the masses gather spontaneously, we have found the agent of the revolution. Whereas the red and yellow party flags demonstrate the political intent of the masses, the star-protagonist alone can ensure that their energies are channelled towards transformative ends. Notice that the villains rise to power during Rama Raju’s absence, as if political unrest has somehow thrown up false leaders. Whereas in the Malayalam version communist graffiti provides the backdrop of some of the action, especially in the basti, in this film such pedestrian realism is shunned. Instead we see posters of Krishna’s earlier films marking the city as a space that is under the constant gaze of the star.9 At one point in the film we see a poster of Alluri Sitarama Raju pasted on the foundation of a Gandhi statue and the hero points in the general direction of the statue/poster while reminding the MLA about sacrifices made by freedom fighters for the nation. Cinephilia thus replaces party ideology as the context against which the action is played out. Cinema itself is presented in the film as the resource for resolving the crisis of political representation. Masses condemned to be ruled by manipulative and self-seeking representatives are in a state of rebellion. Naturally, the leader of the rebellion has to come from without the political system, and that outside corrupt politics is cinema. Having set up the problem of political representation, the film performs its naming act, interpellating the crowd as a particular kind of political agent to underscore cinema’s importance for the resolution of the crisis. During the climax, Rama Raju refers to the crowd as an ocean (praja samudram) and also a gathering of Telugu biddalu (children). The gathering is also compared to the collective that brought the mighty British Empire to its knees. The power and purposefulness of the mass is thus stressed, but in effect it is the magnetism of the leader that is foregrounded. There is a memorable scene of Rama Raju blocking the path of Koteswara Rao’s procession by lying down on the road. Instantly, the entire crowd follows his example, leaving the politicians and policemen standing. What do we make of the crowds that materialise at regular intervals in the film? Murari (nd: 182) points out that Krishna had december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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made use of crowds of fans and curious onlookers (who inevitably turn up at outdoor locations) in his earlier films. The climax of the star’s home production, Devudu Chesina Manushulu (V Ramachandra Rao, 1973), was shot against the backdrop of such crowds. The practice that Murari credits Krishna with inventing is one of incorporating cinema janam, who hang around at shooting venues, into the fiction. As a result, the star and his fans appear in the same frame. In Eenadu, this practice reaches its high point as we see the thoroughfares of Vijayawada choked by thousands of people. The camera packs them into the frame tightly, recalling newspaper photographs of NTR’s campaign, which highlighted the capacity of the star-politician to gather the masses around his person. During the film’s remarkable climax, Krishna and the crowds are seen together in the Gandhinagar area of Vijayawada’s ThreeTown, the heart of coastal Andhra’s film business. The scene of the final confrontation between the villain and the masses can easily be identified as Sanyasi Raju Road, whose entrance in the 1980s was flanked by Dr Rai’s Sex Clinic (now Bakshi Hospital) on the left and Alankar theatre on the right. Coincidentally, this is exactly the point at which a visitor to the city, making his or her way from the railway station or bus stand, turned into the streets housing the city’s film-related real estate. In other words, this is a location throbbing with cinema janam. The climax has the crowd making its way out of the Gandhinagar area – in the same direction that filmgoers move after screenings – to confront the villain. The protesters in all likelihood comprised the locality’s morning show crowd. There is a further layering of references to cinema in the climax when, at the very end of the film, Rama Raju bares his chest daring the police to shoot him in precisely the manner that the rebel does in the climax of Alluri Sitarama Raju. When the hero exposes his body we see that it already has bleeding wounds, as if the rebel has travelled across time to make an appearance in the here and now. But, of course, it is Krishna offering an insight into the film star’s ability to transform the film spectator into a mobilised political subject. The invocation of history to critique present-day politics is thoroughly mediated by the star’s own cinematic past. The star as mobiliser stands before cinema janam recalling his screen roles and re-enacting them to mobilise them. The subject thus mobilised is a film buff, indeed a fan, many times over – he or she has gathered to watch the star perform on and off screen and has the reading competencies to catch the multiple intertextual references to the actor’s oeuvre. Eenadu suggests that politics is a field crying out for the intervention of cinema. The political intent of the crowd and the complete mastery Krishna/Rama Raju has over it, and the references, even in his death, to the other (Alluri Sita) Rama Raju are all indications that cinema is implicated in mass mobilisation in complex ways. It is a site for crowd formation and also an interpreter of its agency. The crowd in the film does not have a voice. But the leader will speak on its behalf and also interpret its silence.
Conclusions Popular Telugu films of the 1980s conceive of urban public spaces as sites of political action. What is interesting about the period Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50
and its films is the implications they have on discussing the urban commons. If we were to include cinema in discussions on the urban commons, given the nature of the beast that is the cinema, we are left with no choice but to detach the study of city spaces from the quest for good politics – or rather not misrecognise the former as an always/already site for the latter. NTR in 1982-83 was part of a relatively new problem for the Congress (I) – the entropy of the political subject that was constantly displaying a propensity to form a mass in the course of multiple and (only) occasionally overlapping axes of mobilisation. From 1967 onwards, when the first major Maoist uprising took place in the Srikakulam forest, Andhra Pradesh has continually witnessed a series of agitations and mobilisations involving large numbers of people. In the post-Emergency period, Naxalite groups became increasingly important players in localised mobilisations of tribals, backward castes, unorganised workers, and students. New constituencies, such as dalits, were assembled from older ones. The prominent axes – caste, occupation, region and language – do not fully account for the tendency that was established even before NTR arrived on the scene and continued long after his election. What we can say with certainty is that there was a proliferation of mobilisable consti tuencies and agents who were engaged in their mobilisation. Cinema was bringing the mass gathered before the screen faceto-face with a version of itself on the screen, framing a mode of political participation that was pivoted on leader figures marked by their distinction from those they led. Crowds of the kind seen in Eenadu are certainly no public. They are the mass ornament of the leader. But, of course, a democracy’s politics is not the same thing as democratic politics. The popular offers us an excellent opportunity to study the former. The thrust of the argument of this essay is not that cinema’s significance as a site for acting out social and political conflicts is to be doubted. It is rather that an excessively normative vision of the commons can close off potential exchanges between cinema studies and urban studies. Cinema studies’ contribution to debates on the commons could well be this – while there is little doubt that the commons are political battlefields, there is no guarantee that constituents of the urban commons are dedicated to good politics. If the discussion on the urban commons were to be agnostic to the nature of economic activity in the spaces under consideration (for street vendors are as much a part of contemporary capitalism as malls) and the kind of politics these sites facilitate, then the notion would be invaluable to a variety of disciplines, cinema studies included.
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REVIEW OF URBAN AFFAIRS Notes 1 Clapp and Meyer point out, “It is characteristic of common goods that it is difficult to exclude others from access or advantage; the right to exclude is considered to be a fundamental right of private property. Subtractibility means that when one individual uses a common good, it subtracts from the total amount of this good available for others to use” (2000: 6). 2 There are parallels between the careers of NTR and his Tamil counterpart MGR from this point, which can be traced to Kathanayakudu (K Hemambharadhara Rao, 1969), remade in Tamil with MGR in the lead as Nam Nadu (Jambulingam 1969). The hero, a clerk in a municipal office, takes on a syndicate of villains, including a politician, a contractor and a fair price shop owner. He battles the villains on behalf of the urban poor who have occupied government land to build their houses. 3 The genesis of the screen mobiliser coincided with the rise to prominence of Indira Gandhi in national politics and the turn to left-populism by the Congress (I). In the early 1980s, when NTR crossed over to politics, he had to his credit some 300 films, including dozens made in the previous decade in which he repeatedly played a leader of the masses. In film after film, crowds of people were addressed, educated, consoled, saved and generally represented by the hero who almost inevitably belonged to a higher class-caste background. 4 See Balagopal (1987a and 1987b) for analyses of the political significance of NTR’s rise and the consequences it had for the rural poor. 5 My argument here is similar to Jeffrey (2000), who, working with a revised version of Habermas’ conception of the public sphere, notes the social and political consequences of the increased consumption of newspapers in different parts of India. He remarks that newspaper-induced public activity “need not be liberal or benign … ‘public’ is not a synonym for ‘loving’, ‘harmonious’ or ‘wise’” (217). 6 The Audit Bureau of Circulation (ABC) figures Jeffrey cites show that Eenadu’s circulation reached a new high in the reporting period January-June 1983 when NTR was elected chief minister. 7 The red film genre in Telugu was coeval with a similar genre in Malayalam. Ratheesh Radhakrishnan argues that Sasi and scriptwriter T Damodaran, the latter a known left sympathiser, worked together on the “mass film” or “red film” (2010: 37-40). The distinguishing feature of this genre in Malayalam, Radhakrishnan notes, is that unlike films made by communist sympa thisers in the 1970s, there was no investment in socialist realist aesthetics. Like the films of the Sasi-Damodaran team, Telugu red films featured communist party activists as mobilisers of the masses, fighting corrupt and morally degenerate political elites. Interestingly however, these two parallel developments do not seem to have been influenced by each other. With the exception of Eenadu, which was a remake of Sasi’s Malayalam film with the same name made earlier in 1982, I have not found evidence of a Malayalam counterpart being a point of reference for a Telugu red film. 8 This tragedy has many parallels in real life. James Manor (1993) draws attention to the regularity with which death and disability have resulted from the consumption of hooch in Indian cities. Citing newspaper reports, Manor points out that between 1972 and 1992 there were least 15 major incidents of liquor poisoning, claiming the lives of around 2,000 people in different cities. In 1981, the worst of these incidents took place in Bangalore, killing more than 336 people. In 1982, there was an incident in Vypeen, Kerala (Manor 1993: 18). The film was not off the mark in directly implicating powerful politicians and the police in the tragedy. Manor notes that the man accused of brewing the poisonous liquor in Bangalore was
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released on bail due to the efforts of “a senior figure in the Congress (I) Party” who visited the accused in jail and pressured officials into releasing him (1993: 139). 9 The films include Alluri Sitarama Raju but also, for example, Mayadari Malligadu (Adurthi Subba Rao, 1973) in which he plays a village ruffian sentenced to death by hanging for a crime he does not commit. He accepts his fate, spreading cheer among his fellow prisoners and is saved at the last minute when the truth is discovered.
References Balagopal, K (1987a): “An Ideology for the Provincial Propertied Class”, Economic & Political Weekly, Vol 22, No 50, pp 2177-78. – (1987b): “Karamchedu: Second Anniversary”, Eco nomic & Political Weekly, Vol 22, No 33, pp 1378-81. Clapp, Tara Lynne and Peter B Meyer (2000): “Brownfields and the Urban Common: Common Property Frameworks in Urban Environmental Quality”, Center for Environmental Policy and Management, Kentucky Institute of Environmental and Sustainable Development, University of Louisville, Working Paper, accessed on 20 August 2011, http://cepm.louisville.edu/Pubs_WPapers/PDF_ Docs/commons.pdf. Editorial (1983): Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre, Eenadu, Vijayawada edition, 6 January, p 3. Fraser, Nancy (1996): “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy” in Craig Calhoun (ed.), Habermas and the P ublic Sphere (Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: MIT Press), pp 109-42. Freitag, Sandria B (1991): “Enactments of Ram’s Story and the Changing Nature of ‘The Public’ in British India”, South Asia, Vol 14, No 1, pp 65-90. Habermas, Jurgen (1989): The Structural Transforma tion of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society (Oxford: Polity Press). – (1996): “Further Reflections of the Public Sphere” in Craig Calhoun (ed.), Habermas and the Public Sphere (Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: MIT Press), pp 421-61. Hansen, Miriam (1991): Babel and Babylon: Spectator ship in American Silent Film (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press).
Hess, Charlotte (2008): “Mapping the New Commons”, paper presented at the 12th Biennial Conference of the International Association for the Study of the Commons, University of Gloucestershire, Cheltenham, England, 14-18 July. Horkheimer, Max and Theodor W Adorno (1982): Dia lectic of Enlightenment (New York: Continuum). Innaiah, N (1986): State Government and Politics: A Study of Andhra Pradesh Politics, 1885-1985 (Hyderabad: Scientific Services). Jeffrey, Robin (2000): India’s Newspaper Revolution: Capitalism, Politics and the Indian-language Press (New Delhi: Oxford University Press). Kumar, Udaya (2007): “The Public, the State and New Domains of Writing: On Ramakrishna Pillai’s Conception of Literary and Political Expression”, Tapasam, January, April, pp 413-41. Manor, James (1993): Power, Poverty and Poison: Disaster and Response in an Indian City (New Delhi, Newbury Park, London: Sage). Murari, Katragadda, ed. (nd): Telugu Chalanachitra Nirmatala Charitra 1931-2005 (Hyderabad: Telugu Film Producers’ Council). Narayan, Venkat S (1983): NTR: A Biography (Sahibabad: Vikas). Naregal, Veena (2001): Language Politics, Elites and the Public Sphere: Western India under Colonialism (New Delhi: Permanent Black). Negt, Oskar and Alexander Kluge (1993): Public Sphere and Experience: Towards an Analysis of Bourgeois and Proletarian Public Sphere (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press). Newstoday (1982): “Ee ‘Cinema Jananni’ Nammaku. Bolta Padtav”, Eenadu, Vijayawada edition, 3 October, p 1. – (1983): Rajakeeyalante Natakalu Kadu, Eenadu, Vijayawada edition, 2 January, p 1. Orsini, Francesca (2002): The Hindi Public Sphere 1920-1940 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press). Ostrom, Elinor (1990): Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action (New York: Cambridge University Press). Radhakrishnan, Ratheesh (2010): “What Is Left of Malayalam Cinema?” in Sowmya Dechamma C C and Elavarthi Satya Prakash (ed.), Cinemas of South India: Culture, Resistance, Ideology (New Delhi: Oxford University Press), pp 25-48. Rao, Venkat I (2003): Oke Okkadu (Hyderabad: Monica Books).
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EPW 5-Year CD-ROM 2004-08 on a Single Disk The digital versions of Economic and Political Weekly for 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008 are now available on a single disk. The CD-ROM contains the complete text of 261 issues published from 2004 to 2008 and comes equipped with a powerful search, tools to help organise research and utilities to make your browsing experience productive. The contents of the CD-ROM are organised as in the print edition, with articles laid out in individual sections in each issue. With its easy-to-use features, the CD-ROM will be a convenient resource for social scientists, researchers and executives in government and non-government organisations, social and political activists, students, corporate and public sector executives and journalists. Price for 5 year CD-ROM (in INDIA) Individuals - Rs 1500 Institutions - Rs 2500 To order the CD-ROM send a bank draft payable at Mumbai in favour of Economic and Political Weekly. The CD can also be purchased on-line using a credit card through a secure payment gateway at epw.in Any queries please email: [email protected] Circulation Manager, Economic and Political Weekly 320-321, A to Z Industrial Estate, Ganpatrao Kadam Marg, Lower Parel, Mumbai 400 013, India december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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Conceptualising Social Exclusion: New Rhetoric or Transformative Politics? Vidhu Verma
The debate on equality and non-discrimination is certainly not a new one, but the way it is incorporated in that on social exclusion leads to several shifts within the discourse on social justice. The term social exclusion is multidimensional although its western use in a selective way about markets promoting equality separates it from the Indian emphasis on social justice as linked to ending discrimination of dalit groups. The concept of social exclusion is inherently problematic as it faces three major challenges in India: the first relates to the historical discrimination of certain groups and their exclusion; the second is about the political economy of the excluded; and the third questions the way in which equality responses are restricted within the framework of social exclusion.
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n the last decade several works have emerged that focus on how the Indian state should include its disadvantaged citizens to establish a more equal and just society. A great deal has been written on inclusive growth and the need to raise capabilities of a large number of people who face discrimination and marginalisation and are unable to use the opportunities and advantages that have arisen for many of India’s urban educated elite. High on the agenda for greater inclusiveness are policies to address disparities in education, health, rural-urban and regional differences in incomes. Until recently international financial institutions, aid-agencies and non-governmental agencies paid little attention to the relationship between social inequality and social exclusion. Nor did early rights treaties, general assembly statements or committee reports appeal to this as a central concern. Research on process of social exclusion broadly presents it as one of the problems along with poverty and unemployment (Haan 2008; Lister 1998).1 References to social inequalities and social justice now increasingly appear in diverse forums where they are accepted by people of different ideological persuasions. The United Nations commemorated 20 February 2007 as the world day of social justice, and the general assembly recognised the need to consolidate the efforts of the international community in poverty eradication and in promoting full employment and decent work, gender equality and access to social well-being and justice for all.2
Vidhu Verma ([email protected]) is with the Centre for Political Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Economic & Political Weekly EPW December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
Following definitions drawn from classical western political theory, social justice is mostly interpreted as “poverty alleviation for the working poor”, in both the formal and informal sectors, the unemployed and underemployed (Bardhan 2001: 467). Interestingly, most of these writings assume free market systems as actively equalising instruments while making the case for virtues of particular forms of capitalism. A market-based economy embedded in particular kinds of state regulation is viewed as a credible basis for a political system based on social inclusion. In contrast, in India, ensuring social justice means not only to address poverty, distribution of material goods and social exclusion as it is in western societies, but to remove social discrimination of the ex-untouchables. Social inequality amongst groups is viewed as the result of discrimination perpetuated by institutional structures that over centuries denied a minimal human existence for dalits and other oppressed groups. Therefore principles, categories and arguments on social exclusion developed in the western context have to be cautiously applied to the Indian context. The idea that reservation policies corrode caste prejudices has been central to the social justice imaginary for several decades. Lapses in constitutional provisions and legal texts to abolish
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ntouchability, and social and educational policies to overcome u disadvantages are believed to limit effect of these public policies. The failure in the implementation of constitutional provisions is apparent in the light of documented evidence issued by the Reports of the National Commission for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (NCSCST).3 Various reports claim that “untouchability” – the imposition of social disabilities on persons by birth in certain castes – is still practised in many forms throughout the country.4 These findings corroborate many of the claims made by Marc Galanter (1984: 15) who had assembled such a list in his seminal work more than 25 years ago. Consequently, a remarkable amount of literature has arisen exposing the discrimination that is prevalent in political institutions and civil society in India. Combining international legal analysis with an exploration of the meaning and origin of caste, scholars have explored remedies human rights law can propose towards the prohibition of caste-based discrimination (Keane 2007). The need for state policies to rectify institutions that exclude, discriminate and isolate groups based on their identities that consequently leads to their deprivation has also been the focus of research (Thorat and Kumar 2008). The spate of judgments relating to complaints of over-inclusion and under-inclusion of beneficiaries of reservations show different approaches adopted by the judiciary as they respond to contestations on specific issues related to merit, creamy layer, promotions and numerical limit of reservations.5 During the last decade, the influence of new perspectives drawn from social constructionism has paved the way for challenging the social justice imagery even as other efforts link the goals of social justice more closely with social exclusion (Searle 1995). Two streams of thought now appear in Indian social sciences: some continuously regard discriminatory policies as the principle roots of societal injustice while others have forcefully linked social justice to the eradication of structural and relational sources of poverty. They propose ways to emancipate people from oppressive social arrangements through radical redistributive measures. A further consequence of the shifting boundaries of social justice is a commitment to overcoming discrimination for various kinds of groups. In the Indian context, the concept of social justice has evolved substantially from its original emphasis on removal of caste injustices through reservation policies; it has primarily now become a means to encourage caste, ethnic, gender and cultural diversity, strengthen group identity and recognition and promote the social sector or what would have formerly been regarded as welfare policies. A parallel development is claims for recognition of group inequalities that have become increasingly salient, at times eclipsing claims for social justice and at times overlapping with it. The unequal incidence of poverty deprivation and inequalities across social groups and communities in the post-liberalisation phase has led to struggles for achieving cultural “recognition” or for “social inclusion” of various groups. This has prompted a variety of responses by government to expand the ambit of “social inclusion”: to extend participation in the public realm, public goods and services to religious minorities, women, differently-abled, sexual minorities, etc. These developments raise several questions both at a philosophical and concrete policy level. While the rhetoric of
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s ocial inclusion by the state reflects these changing definitions the practical implication for applying these principles to public policy for increasingly diverse groups has been daunting. So what are we to make, on the one hand, of that putative tension between, the theme of discrimination in social justice and, on the other, the emphasis on combating inequalities under social inclusion? Can social exclusion’s problematic serve to unify and combat the various facets of injustices present in Indian society? What challenges do we see for developing a social justice discourse that focuses primarily on caste discrimination? Against this backdrop, the paper is restricted to making three major claims. The first is that opportunities widespread in the current neo-liberal phase have led to exclusion of groups in an uneven way; the second is that the term social exclusion is multidimensional although its use in a selective way about markets promoting equality separates it from the Indian emphasis on social justice as linked to discrimination of dalit groups. Third, the concept of social exclusion is inherently a problematic concept as it faces three major challenges in the context of India: the first relates to the historical discrimination of certain groups and their exclusion; the second is about the political economy of the excluded; and the third questions the way in which equality responses are restricted within the framework of social exclusion.6 I contend that a shift from a model that focuses on caste discrimination to one that focuses on a general protection for excluded groups should not be confused; social exclusion serves many different functions to which questions of constitutional equality bear a strong resemblance but it should be separated from policies to remove unjust status hierarchies that involve the most outright degrading and inhuman practices.
Social Justice in Western Political Theory Before developing these claims let me clarify some preliminary points. The eruption of the term social exclusion in western social sciences was induced by a millennial mood of introspection in the early 1990s in order to extend the focus beyond poverty to challenge what continued to be obstacles to more progressive social transformations. Its origins were in the theoretical responses by European social and political thinkers, to consequences of industrialisation and dominance of market forces within capitalist societies. Inspired by the liberal model of citizenship, market failures and lack of implementation of rights were seen as causes of social exclusion. This was in marked contrast to the traditional social democratic engagement with poverty and inequality. During later years, it was common to speak of a new social exclusion perspective, which could respond to a more heterogeneous, diverse and complex society. The significance of social exclusion derived both from the way in which it was used in political discourses, policy formation and implementation and from the salience of the term in conceptual debates and empirical investigations being carried out in the social sciences. While discussion of social exclusion typically began in the 1990s it had deep roots in social justice that arose when entitlements of citizens under welfare state were being framed in the western context. John Rawls’ (1973) work on social and distributive December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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justice was a culmination of several trends since the enlightenment in which the political culture of modernity and liberalism provided grounds for legitimising political authority. His work was significant because it combined the need for combating injustices of inherited social inequalities with the injustices of individual inequalities arising out of class stratification of western societies. In order to elaborate this argument I take a historical look at the deployment of concepts of social justice as three significant moments about how to reverse inequalities in the western world. The first moment arose with a socialist stream that emerged to protest against injustices of the industrial revolution; it set out to demolish all kinds of legitimate political authority; and it demanded alternative social arrangements based on human dignity and principles of distribution based on need. Through much of the 20th century, social justice was understood as primarily a class phenomenon, and something associated with “exploitation”, distribution of income, wealth and private property. Through an era “dominated by the big capitalism versus socialism question” equality was conceived as a “substantially economic affair” (Phillips 2004: 20). The fundamental factor in relation to social inequality centred around social classes or strata usually defined in economic terms. There was agreement that the struggle was against inherited social inequalities that led to exploitation of certain classes excluded from the ownership of means of production. Thus the socialist stream was more concerned with fighting injustices arising out of class society rather than the injustice of individual inequalities, a subject of concern for liberal egalitarians like Rawls in the 1970s. The second moment was when social justice became historically associated with the demands for extension of citizenship as its larger aim for replacing social reform and defusing demands of working classes and radical groups became clearer (Marshall 2000). Several factors gave rise to popularity of social justice that became the rallying cry of social democratic parties everywhere in early 20th century in Europe. Regulatory principles and social policies were established in many states leading to economic growth and social transformation that broadly converged on a handful of key ideas: rights of trade unions, ownership of public utilities, appropriate measures of taxation and transfer to meet differences in income and wealth, delinking of education and health services from the market criterion of ability to pay (Barry 2008: 5). As a consequence the concept of justice became associated with problems of appropriate distribution of wealth and income. The emphasis placed on these different criteria varied but most adherents of social justice were united in their belief that the concept promoted a positive role for the state. The third moment was the challenge to existing paradigms of justice. In the late 1970s, inequalities based on race, religion and gender culminated with the movement for equal rights for minorities and with other forms of cultural dissent (Fraser 1997). Although capitalist and welfare economies delivered goods and services that people wanted more efficiently than other systems of production and exchange, it was done at a great cost: universality of citizenship in the sense of inclusion and participation was lacking in content and substance; social rights were inadequate as a Economic & Political Weekly EPW December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
component of democratic citizenship; and liberal/individualist view of rights as assimilation were destructive of minority cultures because it ignored their need for special protection. Due to these rapid changes, it became difficult to produce neat dividing lines between the struggles for social and distributive justice even though social class was a dominant paradigm in research programmes: debates raged between Marxists and Weberian sociologists and US functionalists who emphasised social stratification. A series of developments however led to the decline of the social class paradigm (Wright 1985): the rise of a post-industrial society or an information society which rendered social divisions, inextricably bound up with industrial societies, obsolete; the emergence of social movements, where factors other than class were pre- eminent; the increase in divisions and identities centred on gender, race, age or sexual orientation not reducible to the worker/capitalist confrontation in the workplace (Laclau and Mouffe 1985). It is not surprising that given this context, in the initial stages liberal egalitarians like Rawls gave philosophical justifications for the “post war liberal democratic welfare state” (Kymlicka 2002: 88). To limit the market which “penalises people for their unchosen circumstances”, a conception of equality emerged that circumscribed the range of acceptable norms; the domain of distributive justice got reduced mainly to distribution of things – income, remuneration, goods and services or about rightful possession (Miller 2001: 14). Recent works on social justice in western political theory continue to use indicators of economic inequalities to define it (Barry 2008: 10). These could be related to government pursuit of taxation and grants-of-aid to achieve social goals or to the impact of economic reforms on fairer distribution to individuals and social classes (McCrudden 2007). In summary, most accounts on social justice emphasise that individuals should have equal access to necessary material goods and social means to lead their lives according to their conceptions of the good.
Group Claims and the Invention of Sub-Politics I have argued above that in the western tradition, debates on social justice took a new urgency with publication of Rawls’ work based on the premise that modern liberal democracies are and will remain characterised by disagreement about notions of the good. His work located distributive issues in the foundations of a welfarist approach although he avoided aggregating information about individual’s well-being in order to make an overall assessment of justice. Despite his rhetorical effort to stay within the liberal tradition, it might be more accurate to understand his effort as a synthesis of liberalism and socialist egalitarianism. As has been well researched, ensuing attempts over the past decades to re-centre the domain of social justice so as to make better use of the two principles proposed by Rawls have culminated in an acute crisis; how do we define the nature of group justice? In some scholars, this impasse that stemmed from a reluctance to rework some precepts underpinning Rawls’, work on communities led to methodological individualism (Sandel 1982). Some liberal theorists located group claims within the superficial celebration of cultural diversity that overlooked structural inequalities (Kymlicka 1989). Clearly in some hands, group inequalities have
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been wielded in such a way as to see representation in politics as a solution thereby effacing from the purview of study the very conditions of their absorption (Philips 1998). Young offers the ideal of “differentiated solidarity” as an alternative to the liberal ideals of integration and cultural assimilation as a means of balancing inclusion of groups with the realities of a divided world (Young 1990). Social justice once centred on distribution, now it increasingly gets divided between claims for “redistribution of resources” on the one hand and claims for “cultural recognition” and “democratic inclusion” on the other (Fraser 2009: 8-9). Scholars like Ulrich Beck propose the distinction between politics and sub-politics claiming the latter category signals the arrival of a new notion of political as “structuring and changing of living conditions” in contrast to the conventional view of politics as legitimisation of power (Beck 1997).7 Many explanations can be offered for the subsequent change in normative orientations that emphasised social exclusion in western political theory. One of the factors can be traced to the emergence of a global capital market under conditions of neoliberalism. State firms almost everywhere were privatised as policymakers shifted towards regulation as a means of using the state to influence economic policy. It implied that the state should be rolled back from the social sector; the market should be central in the accumulation process and civil society organisations should claim some kind of autonomy from the state. The increasing prioritisation to efficiency, markets, and private sector development was accompanied by a rapid decline of redistribution issues and the “social mandate of basic needs” (Clert 1999: 182). It led to a radical shift in “governmentality”, the language of the market by that of governance, social justice with that of social exclusion. Even though the dominant concerns of neo-liberalism continued it was now recognised that along with economic growth there was a need for addressing group exclusion in development paradigms. Thus a possible explanation for the increasing attention being paid to social exclusion, at the expense of social justice, was tied to the problem of accounting for the basis of group instead of individual inequalities in western society. Other possible explanations for the growth of interest in the categories related to groups ranged from the difficulty of rendering their unequal power positions due to individual’s location in social stratification. For those practitioners interested in group difference, social justice was truly blunted and lacked consensus, and they were forced to concede that no suitable avenue was immediately available to shape its meanings in the new context of neo-liberalism. This manoeuvre was far from satisfactory and a number of serious difficulties with the emerging concepts need to be addressed. In our view while social exclusion certainly holds promise there is much to clarify in this shift to new categories and concepts in two important ways. First, social justice thinking based on distributive issues remained dominant in western political theory albeit in other guises. In this new paradigm “social disadvantage” faced by groups was seen to arise from the weakness of previous development models and due to state intervention. In terms of epistemological shifts, social exclusion discourse marks the return of a
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broad conceptualisation of social disadvantage under which “vulnerability” and “disadvantage” are believed to be “caused by marginalisation in and exclusion from the socio-economic mainstream and decision-making processes”. The interest in the way discrimination occurs more for certain social identities that were socially constructed connected the processes of exclusion to that of injustice. According to Clert while “discrimination makes access more difficult, exclusion prevents access” (1999: 184). Second, major differences exist within approaches to social exclusion so that an institutional perspective views “social exclusion as a property of society if racial, sexual and other forms of discrimination are present, if the markets through which people earn a livelihood are segmented” (Clert 1999: 188); the peoplecentred approach is said to focus on command over commodities as a source of welfare and utility. Here the main task is to enhance the freedom of choice of people in terms of achieving value functioning such as being well-nourished, health and literate. In short, focusing on human capabilities.
Social Inclusion as Consensus Since the 1990s, there were a series of developments that saw the concept of social exclusion as a significant policy theme within the European Union. In those countries that had enjoyed unlimited prosperity since the second world war it was found that parts of the population who had not participated were largely ignored; in societies where rates of immigration were high, making good the values of inclusion and democracy were more than internal policy for they were central to their very survival. In recognising and including such groups would cultivate a widespread sense of belonging. Initially the term was seen as Eurocentric in the way it ignored related debates around poverty and deprivation of social groups and individuals in other countries. Despite this however it gained popularity very rapidly across the globe which induced new thinking into nature of poverty and disadvantage even in India. Most writings identified three paradigms in different and opposed theories rooted in national political discourses (Silver 1994; Levitas 1998). One of the earliest definitions replaced the concept of poverty by expounding social exclusion and its relation to the “social rights of citizenship...to a basic standard of living and to participation in the major social and occupational opportunities in society” (Room 1993: 14). In Britain, under New Labour, this involved thinking from primarily economic definitions of problems relating to poverty, to definitions drawing upon Marshall’s civil, political and social rights (Strobel 1996).8 Poverty as a lack of material resources, especially disposable income, to participate was distinguished from social exclusion as a more comprehensive formulation, which referred to the dynamic process of being shut out from any of the social, economic, political or cultural systems. The latter formulation was inspired by the concern for strong redistributive measures for the marginal, misfits, associable individuals who needed to be inserted in society (Levitas 1998: 21). The discourse on social exclusion was gradually influenced by the French republican tradition that relied on the notion of social solidarity to overcome social bonds that had ruptured between individuals. The term “underclass” however came from debates in the United States where it was extracted from the intellectual December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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a rmoury of the dominant neoconservative tradition of the new Right who were concerned with the poor and welfare recipients in the cities and neighbourhoods.9 For these reasons, scholars view the concept of social exclusion as an amalgam of liberal Anglo-Saxon concerns with poverty, and a more conservative continental concern with moral integration and social order (Levitas 1998). To summarise, social exclusion offered a useful framework for analysing the various axes of inequality that affected the economically marginalised, socially disadvantaged and politically powerless in western societies. With increased migratory flows and rise of poor neighbourhoods, traditional hierarchical models of inequality were unable to capture the multifaceted nature of group disadvantage. Much of the terminology of social exclusion has been recast, in the light of insights drawn from Marxist notions of domination and exploitation and have been generalised to address broadly social structures that prevent human flourishing (Honneth 1995). A discursive shift of focus from individually-based definition of equal opportunities, to a group-based social exclusion raise questions of structural and material definitions of equality. This shift modifies the premise of equality in socialist politics based on the claim that capitalist societies by their nature create class inequalities and conflicting interests: the objective of social inclusion by contrast shifts away from inequalities and conflicts of interests between classes as it proposes solidarity and inclusion as the main objective.10
Social Exclusion in the Indian Context From the above discussion, social exclusion is highly variable in meaning, notably because of its dependence on different theoretical frameworks. Yet, as a multidimensional concept, it has great appeal in India where policies have been used to combat social inequalities which have given rise to multiple theoretical explorations and policy orientations.11 We need to pick out those perspectives that are relevant for the argument in this paper. It is with this aim in mind that I begin the task of reassessing the critical discourse on social exclusion for we believe that some of these positions have resonance with potential strategies for emancipation; they provide an incisive challenge to current concepts of social justice, while in turn introducing a refutation of traditional structuralism and Marxist orthodoxy in general. It is hoped that through this appraisal the general contours of a trajectory of the conceptual impasse in social justice will be highlighted in western and indigenous social sciences. As argued earlier, the concept of “social exclusion” is a contested, discursive terrain and has arisen in response to problems of group inequalities in western societies in the last two decades. Questions have arisen about the conceptual clarity of “social exclusion”, its theoretical underpinnings or its relevance to the debates on social justice. Many see the social exclusion discourse as part of a broader concern to explore alternatives to mainstream development, anti-poverty approaches and their conceptualisation of social disadvantage. For us the question is to what extent does this concept contribute to our understanding of social justice and inequalities of various groups in India? In the 1990s, with the advent of new economic policies, financial institutions shifted the focus of the agenda away from Economic & Political Weekly EPW December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
r edistribution to economic growth. Scholars focused on how liberalisation had impact on different sectors of the economy leading to uneven and imbalanced growth and social exclusion of groups that were not reducible to class (Sen 2004; Thorat 2007; Jogdand et al 2008). They pointed to the low levels of welfare, education, health or employment status of groups as according to Mishra, the effect of the “neo-liberal thrust of globalisation” was to “strengthen market forces and the economic realm at the cost of the institutions of social protection” (Mishra 1999: 32). The Indian economy, it was increasingly argued, was partly based on traditional occupations and operated on lines of social exclusion and discrimination. “Marginalisation” as a form of social process was strengthened among scheduled castes (SCs), scheduled tribes (Sts) and women (Singharoy 2001: 84). Studies showed that while there had a tangible improvement in the overall conditions of the SCs in regard to access to social services they experienced very little change. Reservation or protective discrimination policy improved their access to political power but the state was not able to implement major policies to remove their disadvantaged position. In the last decade, the bestowal of social rights on, and, above all, economic safeguards groups was in keeping with the paradigm shift to “social inclusion”. It was also about affording every member of a society the measure of social recognition that made them full citizens. Many interpretations are offered as an explanation of this change in normative orientations in India but for the sake of my argument I focus on mainly three approaches. Although they are not themselves homogeneous and contain a plurality of viewpoints they do serve as a useful analytical tool for understanding the claims of social exclusion policies: One of the major responses to these developments can be located in a welfarist framework. In Amartya Sen’s theoretical analysis, social exclusion is premised on the general idea of poverty as capability deprivation. Being excluded from social relations can sometimes be in itself deprivation (like being homeless or undernourished) and this can be of intrinsic importance since it can directly impoverish a person’s life, says Sen, using a broadly Aristotelian perspective (Sen 2004: 5). Second, there are relational deprivations that arise out of exclusion, that limit opportunities for leading a good life, for example of not having access to the credit market that lead to other deprivations. Social exclusion can thus be “constituted a part of capability deprivation as well as instrumentally a cause of diverse capability failures” (Sen 2004: 6). Thus these exclusions can have instrumental importance in as much they can lead to impoverishment of human life through their causal consequences. Following Sen, Thorat locates the issue of social exclusion within a welfarist framework but instead of confining his analysis to individual indicators of human development, he expands his analysis to poverty of social groups. This is in line with the Indian government’s approach that has adopted a group approach in development policy and in affirmative action programmes. In this formulation, the “concept and meaning of caste and ethnicity based exclusion, and its implications for human development of excluded groups” has led to greater polarisation in society (Thorat 2007: 4). Ambedkar’s analysis of graded inequality is now taken forward to locate it in the market economy framework in the 1990s to argue that
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A second line of argument represents social exclusion and inclusion as issues of fundamental importance related to liberal democracy. The liberal democratic state grants certain basic political, economic, social and cultural rights but as Bhalla and Lapeyre (1999: 26) have argued, social exclusion can be interpreted in terms of a denial of the above rights or in terms of incomplete citizenship. Thus the attack against social exclusion is a key element of the struggle for citizenship rights under liberal democracy. Exclusion occurs when “some groups of people for reasons of colour, caste, ethnic identity, religious beliefs” are “systematically denied access to opportunities and resources, which are necessary for their survival and sustenance”. Social inclusion, by contrast, is “participatory and empowering”, requiring various kinds of “affir mative measure designed to remove discrimination, marginalisation and deprivation” (Bhattacharya et al 2010: 1). Using the liberal democratic framework, Zoya Hasan’s study addresses the historical exclusion of Muslims and other disadvantaged groups in public institutions in India and their impact on public policies notably affirmative action (Hasan 2008; Taylor 1998). In terms of politics these studies make the citizenship agenda central. Leading us away from welfare perspectives, Partha Chatterjee (2006) makes a distinction between exclusions of civil society and political society in the history of welfare states in different parts of the world. According to Chatterjee, postcolonial states deploy governmental technologies to promote the well-being of their populations by classifying people into various groups. But these populations, comprising broadly the rural populations and urban poor – the ex-peasantry, artisans, petty producers – in the informal sector, are not enjoying rights of citizens as the state recognises that it does not “have the means to deliver those benefits to the entire population of the country” (Chatterjee 2006: 40). Instead of being treated as rights-bearing individuals, they are excluded from membership of civil society and institutions of the state; they are viewed as part of political society, a space where “demands of electoral mobilisation, on the one hand, and the logic of welfare distribution on the other”, overlapped and came together (ibid: 135). More specifically, liberal electoral democracy becomes the site of political negotiation for transfer of resources from the state to the poor; the excluded people in this analysis negotiate their marginal existence through various illegal arrangements.12 It can be argued that these approaches are significant because they transcend the narrowness of earlier poverty approaches and address much broader concerns of equality, democracy and integration under neo-liberal policies. These policies have been accompanied by growing economic inequalities and concentration of ownership of private industry led by a fairly “narrow ruling alliance of the political and economic elite” (Kohli 2006: 1368).13 There are some broad areas of agreement in the welfare, liberal democratic and postcolonial perspectives about how social exclusion has affected group inequalities and is therefore vital for developing social policy. First they capture an important dimension of the experience of certain groups of being somehow “set apart” or “locked out” of participation in a connected but
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global economic context. The concept of social exclusion focuses on production of disadvantage through active dynamics of social interaction, rather than the anonymous processes of impoverishment and marginalisation (Kabeer 2008: 20). Second, in important respects these interpretations are based on an understanding of social exclusion as a set of processes, rather than a single condition; indeed the concept captures those institutions that embody different patterns of rules, norms and asset distributions, which together help to spell out people’s membership of different kinds of social groups, shape their identities, and define their interests (Kabeer 2008: 24). All three also adopt forwardlooking arguments about social exclusion, that by “exacerbating current inequality between groups, and by contributing to its perpetuation from one generation to the next, it also fosters inter-group conflict” (Thorat and Kumar 2008: 11). For Chatterjee the distinction between corporate and non-corporate capital coincides with the divide between civil society and political society that could have “some ominous consequences” possibly in the form of revolt against the unruliness and corruption of political representation (Chatterjee 2008: 62). However, differences appear as the first two perspectives offer forward-looking arguments regarding social exclusion as necessary to advance greater ends as greater equality, a more diverse society, and to prepare the marginalised to participate as equal citizens in decision-making; Chatterjee sees these policies as entrenching the hold of corporate capital over the domain of civil society (Chatterjee 2008: 62). Some of the claims are overstated as national governments still hold primary responsibility for social policies. These perspectives do not go far enough in extrapolating the implications of polarisation along the lines of caste, culture, class and gender and thus have to be deepened in relation to the postcolonial and highly stratified societies like ours. They also fail to acknowledge the continuing impact and relevance of prior forms of exclusion especially those associated with welfare-based policies in India. In Naila Kabeer’s words, the “intersecting nature of different forms of exclusion and inclusion result in segmentation of society” as the access and exclusion in one institutional domain can be offset or exacerbated by access and exclusion in another (Kabeer 2008: 25). In what follows, I examine three major challenges to interpretations of social exclusion in the Indian context.
De-clustering Disadvantaged Groups Given a plethora of groups and communities which demand legitimate rights of participation, and resource distribution from the state in India, the demands for justice are now aimed at remedying particularist patterns of disadvantage raising need for greater inclusion in the polity (Kimura and Tanabe 2006).14 The essence of India’s democratic polity is the continual negotiation of its boundaries in which increasing number of groups are demanding that they be added to the ranks of disadvantaged citizens. The main challenge is that any group can claim that it is not being treated equally and claim change in its status and hence the “indeterminacy” of identifying disadvantaged groups remain a major challenge. Now this kind of analysis would concern us with all kinds of groups ranging from those who are displaced, discriminated, health-stricken, or vulnerable. Hence December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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these perspectives fail to account for the effects of history and for the deep institutional nature of discrimination. These perspectives implicitly reject a methodological difference in the approach towards inequalities between different groups. We can recall that reservations were justified for the SCs and STs by the Constituent Assembly on the ground that they were historically discriminated and excluded from the mainstream. Adopting backward-looking arguments, the assembly claimed that certain groups historically suffered substantial systemic violation of rights and these victims required some kind of compensation. The policy of reservations were marked by a “difference” approach as the equality of opportunity proposed for different caste groups “depends on the nature of discrimination faced by them and their social, economic and educational conditions” (Thorat and Kumar 2008: 18). After the implementation of Mandal Commission report, reservations were extended to the Other Backward Classes (OBCs). Given their numerical strength the OBCs had captured political power thanks to universal adult franchise. But their entry into higher education, bureaucracy and professions was not proportionate to their population. While it is acknowledged that the OBCs did not suffer from untouchability like the SCs, in the case of non-Hindu communities the lower castes who converted to Christianity and Islam are now viewed as victims of discrimination. Women face exclusion but it varies depen ding on their class, caste and religious backgrounds. Along with these groups the discriminations faced by semi-nomadic and denotified tribes, sexual minorities and differently-abled persons have to be now addressed. Furthermore, it is found that pervasive discrimination and prejudice against subgroups within disadvantaged groups (dalit women, Christian dalits, muslim women) creates barriers for their enjoyment of rights. This has given rise to changes within groups and their relative standing in a scheme of demanding share in political power. Moreover each of the status dismantling reservation policies relies on the assumption of asymmetry of social groups facing stigma and untouchability.
The Political Economy of the Excluded According to Chatterjee in the current conditions of economic growth, the possibility of peasants and petty producers making a shift to urban and non-agricultural occupations is unlikely. This process of dispossession without proletarianisation is described as exclusion from the circuits of capital (Sanyal and Bhattacharyya 2009; Bardhan 2009: 33). The major problem with this analysis is that it overlooks the way large sections of those engaged in subsistence and petty production are already integrated with the market. Even if the excluded people do not get directly absorbed by capitalist and corporate growth, they are under the prevailing conditions, part of the informal sector in urban areas. As part of the informal sector, they are very likely to contribute to larger business enterprises which might involve major suppression of facts, safety provisions and legal norms. As illegal squatters they negotiate their marginal existence and are sometimes organised enough to have access to water supply and electricity connections and even ensure some standard of profitability to meet their livelihood needs in the city. In recent years there has been a rapid rise in wage rates for workers in the services sector Economic & Political Weekly EPW December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
in metropolitan cities like Delhi (domestic workers, drivers, nurses, etc). Moreover as Pranab Bardhan argues “the middle and upper class members of urban civil society” also participate in a great deal of illegal and unauthorised deals and negotiations with the representatives of the Indian state (Bardhan 2009: 34). Thus there is some basis for difference in what fraction of informal sector workers (self-employed) is outside the circuit of capital, as are refugees, (illegal) migrant workers, children, victims of primitive accumulation. In terms of employment, the informal economy continues to dominate as the new phenomenon that has gained prominence in the post-reform period in the form of casual and subcontracted employment by formal firms looking for labour flexibility (NCEUS 2008). Recent research in India needs to locate social exclusion in the transformed structures of power and in the “reinvention of India as a market-oriented economy” (Corbridge and Harriss 2004: 162). Since the 1990s, the rapid integration into the world economy and the growth of technological and information based-industries have introduced economic growth along with unemployment and homelessness. Indian government continues to provide special anti-poverty programmes, subsidies, public works and guaranteed employment schemes. In the current neo-liberal framework, one can only endorse Young’s argument that “inclusion” rather than “end to domination” is seen as more strategic term to use as in existing democracies there is more agreement on the norms of inclusive democracy, than there is agreement on whether social and economic arrangements are just...Accusations of exclusion or marginalisation often send political leaders and movements scrambling to become more inclusive, or at least to appear to be (Young 2000: 36).
Rescuing Equality: Expanding the ‘Political’ I have argued that many normative orientations have been gradually transformed as social or economic inequalities have acquired new dimensions. For some time now the influential idea of social justice, seems to have been replaced by the need to be included, one with political effects that are initially ambiguous about the conception of equality. Here it is no longer the elimination of inequality that appears to represent the normative aim but the overcoming of “deprivation”; equal distributions of goods and “non-discrimination” no longer form its central categories, but are dislodged by “vulnerability” or “disadvantage”. To study exclusion further would need us to move beyond a narrow definition of politics and the notion of the political as encompassing the social and cultural, issues. What is sought by many of these disadvantaged groups is not merely political equality, equal protection of their laws but a wholesale examination of the distribution of power among individuals and social institutions. One of the shifts noted is in the way liberal democratic vocabulary of rights, social responsibility and social justice contend with claims of corporate capitalism, entitlements and merit. Profe ssional management as opposed to bureaucratic control is viewed as rational, qualitatively different and better. The major challenge for the state is to act as an intermediary between the demands of neo-liberal economic logic and the demands of social groups which have been hit hardest by the new economic order. While
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neo-liberalism accepts the view that citizens are entitled to equal rights, the latter are seen mainly as consumers of services and as active participants in the market. Instead of putting responsibility for collective welfare and social justice on the state, neo- liberalism seeks individual-based solutions, seeking mostly market interventions to many of its problems. From rural poverty, discrimination to destruction of livelihoods and way of life of marginalised communities, the objective is to provide a framework of inclusive growth and not redistribution. A second shift through social inclusion is that it attempts to separate the egalitarian ideals associated with socialist thought by the use of “inclusion” that promises a fairer society. Alex Callinicos in a brave effort describes his alternative of equality “outside the bounds of common sense” and requiring a “revival in utopian imagination” (Callinicos 2000: 132-33). Like distributive justice, social inclusion is concerned about outcomes in distributive patterns but instead of assessing this in terms of individual inequalities, it addresses the absolute disadvantage of particular groups in society. The objective is to secure a minimum welfare for every citizen who is a member of the unemployed, minorities, and other groups who suffer discrimination. Third, instead of ensuring an equal distribution of resources or opportunities the aim of social inclusion is a forward-looking argument for welfare of the disadvantaged; a perfectionist element in as much elements of well-being include material goods such as food and shelter, but also opportunities to participate in meaningful ways in social life. Fourth, although social inclusion shares with liberal equality a concern with the fair distributive allocations to groups its fundamental objective is to promote policies so that society can be integrated and harmonious. Its aim is to establish conditions and opportunities that induce all citizens to participate in society and to come to value its institutions and potentials. It is often asked if the opposite of exclusion is integration, an active citizenship that would include a wide array of democratic rights (Byrne 2009). Fifth, whereas the aim of equality of opportunity seeks to put people in a position in which they can access social positions it has also very little redistributive connotation because one can achieve “inclusion” through simple access to basic goods. It also creates confusion as the category of the socially excluded (through discrimination) is different from those suffering from economic poverty: the former are those who are effectively prevented from participating in the benefits of citizenship owing to a combination of factors of which poverty is merely one. Finally, “social integration” as the norm can elide differences and become intolerant towards minorities. Jackson argues that women are not categorically excluded but “integrated in particular ways” that is unjust. She explains “gender identities of women are positive and valued by women, at the same time as they may be devalued in hegemonic ideologies”. Similarly many indigenous tribal groups who may be devalued by dominant groups themselves conceive their ways of life according to their values and priorities. Hence it can be a fairly passive, integrationist and conservative concept (Jackson 1999). Thus, the social exclusion approach embraces many tenets of the earlier social justice concerns with redistribution and inequalities. But the primary objective is social cohesion or social
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integration and not removal of wider structural inequalities; the moral assumptions about work such as self-respect are ignored but inclusion in relation to paid employment is emphasised. This marginalises those who are not in paid work or are not capable of participating in such work.
Conclusions The debate on equality and non-discrimination is certainly not a new one, but in terms of the way it is incorporated in the debate on social exclusion leads to several shifts within the discourse on social justice. The social exclusion discourse makes no claim about the structural deficiencies of the capitalism system, as had variants of the social justice discourse. It simply assumes that groups excluded from society through processes and institutions should be now included in them through several kinds of policies. In principle it fails to distinguish the different levels of inequalities faced by groups due to the specific discrimination they have faced in the past. I have argued that the concept of social exclusion is a radical departure from the underlying principles of the twin streams of social justice in India; it reconfigures “opportunity” by placing the emphasis on high achievement for disadvantaged groups within a market-context of social and educational differentiation. At the same time, it emphasises an anti-poverty strategy focus for the “social inclusion” of the disadvantaged in educational achievement, facilitating participation in paid-work, and, promoting opportunities through entrepreneurship. In this political climate of neo-liberalism characterised by an abandonment of the goals of redistribution of wealth and a refocusing on market-oriented policies that aim at minimal-formal concepts of equality of opportunity, the embracement of the notion of “social inclusion” as a new political goal is limiting. From the above discussion we can conclude that the conception of a more equal society that underpins some of these debates are the ones that retain wide income inequalities and hierarchies based on power and social advantage, but at the same time aspire to social cohesion and social inclusion (identified as integration into the labour market), rather than a more egalitarian society. The principle of non- discrimination eliminates race, caste, religion, and such criteria to mark individuals but programmes and schemes to secure social justice involve recognising such markers of identity. Although government policies encompass all kinds of social activities that determine the shares of goods that people could possibly have, the absence of an explicit conception of social justice in political life has the result that arguments about public policy are made without any attempt to examine their justifications. The existence of widespread inequalities between groups must be reduced. But this emphasis ignores that justice is about fairness, giving each person their due and more specifically the idea of responsibility and obligation that we owe to each other or those who have been harmed in the past. Thus there is a need to recognise the sources of existing differentials among disadvantaged groups in order to identify the different reasons for which justice is owed to these groups. One way is to draw attention to the distinction between removal of “historical discrimination” or removal of “disadvantage” imposed by law and custom and “equalisation of life chances” December 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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in the economic domain (Beteille 2002: 132). If social justice is about the treatment of all kinds of inequalities then how do we assess the fairness of certain policies and acts? On a range of economic criteria – poverty, occupational structure, educational attainments there is a clear hierarchy amongst the discriminated and disadvantaged groups, the SCs, STs and OBCs. To what extent can reservation policies challenge the dominance of existing Notes 1 See for references to social justice and social exclusion, World Summit for Social Development 1995, p 3. The Copenhagen Declaration and Programme of Action, 6-12 March, New York, United Nations Department of Public Information. 2 See statement made by Mr Petr Kaiser, “EU Presidency Statement-United Nations: World Day of Social Justice”, 20 February 2009, New York. For details www.europa-eu-un.org/articles/en/article _8518_en.htm. 3 See National Commission for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes, Seventh Report, 2001-02 (2004). 4 See Exclusion and Inclusion of Dalit Community in Education and Health: A Study. Bhopal: A Jan Sahas Social Development Society and Unicef (2009); Understanding Untouchability. A Comprehensive Study of Practices and Conditions in 1,589 Villages. Robert F Kennedy Centre for Justice and Human Rights. Navsarjan and RFK Centre (2010). 5 See Indira Sawhney vs Union of India, 1992 (Supp) 3 SCC, 217. 6 See Cohen (2008). 7 For more on the existence of both progress and risk as central to late modernity see Beck (1997). 8 Due to the limited scope of this paper, I do not discuss in further detail the three discourses on social exclusion. 9 The latter attacked welfare benefits that promoted a culture of dependency amongst single mothers, a disproportionate number of whom were black. Since 9/11 negative perceptions of Muslims as a group have been acknowledged and the connection between this and their social exclusion have become a major concern. 10 See more on the discriminatory biometric techniques used by UK passport service and their exclusionary practices. 11 The early planning initiatives led to policies for structural transformation (land reforms), remedial/ protective legislation (Minimum Wages Act, Equal Remuneration Act, Child Labour Act) and welfare measures (area/group development, self employment) (Shah 2000: 158). 12 I do not address Partha Chatterjee’s more intricate argument regarding governmentalities of rule in postcolonial states. 13 See for adherence to the notion of passive revolution and the nature of class dominance in contemporary times, Chatterjee (2008: 56). He is of the view that the autonomy of the state which was lead to some extent by dominant classes like the bureaucratic managerial class, has weakened. Indeed this class may now have come under the moral political sway of the bourgeoisie. 14 Amartya Sen makes a distinction between active and passive exclusion in which the former occurs when certain groups of people are not given full political status or citizenship; while passive exclusion exists when exclusion comes about without a deliberate attempt for example because of a sluggish economy.
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capital formation and market system to call into question the distribution of income and wealth amongst people? Do appropriate measures of taxation and wealth transfer provide support for affirmative action policies? Hence although inequalities can emerge due to different reasons (morally arbitrary choice, desert, social structure) it is arguments within justice discourse that question why these certain kinds of inequalities should not exist.
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special article
The Crowding-Out Effect of Foreign Capital Ajit K Ghose
The inflow of foreign private capital to developing countries increased rapidly in the 1990s, but the result was growth of foreign currency reserves and not investment rates. This suggests that capital inflow actually crowded out domestic investment, thereby generating a surplus of domestic saving in recipient countries. This paper seeks to explain why such crowding-out might occur. A simple open-economy model is developed to show that crowding-out can be seen as an unavoidable consequence of substantial capital inflow, and that growth of foreign currency reserves is a corollary of crowding-out. The implication is that by allowing unrestricted inflow of foreign private capital, developing countries do not augment investment. They end up undermining their domestic investors, lending their own savings to developed countries and increasing their dependence on foreign investors for sustaining economic growth. Maintaining controls on capital flows is a good policy stance.
Ajit K Ghose ([email protected]) is honorary professor, Institute for Human Development, New Delhi.
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T
he prime benefit of free cross-border flow of private capital, according to a widely held view, is that it enables developing countries to increase investment beyond what can be sustained by their own savings. The analytical underpinning for the view is provided by mainstream economic theory. The basic argument runs as follows. In developed countries, savings are abundant but returns to investment are low because capital per worker is already high. In developing countries, on the other hand, returns to investment are high since capital per worker is low, but savings are scarce. Hence if capital were allowed unrestricted movement across national frontiers, a part of the savings of the developed world would be invested in the developing world. So investment rates would fall below saving rates in developed countries and rise above saving rates in developing countries. International capital mobility, therefore, can be expected to promote economic convergence among nations by enabling poorer nations to achieve faster growth. The actual experience of the 1990s, when many developing countries reduced capital account restrictions and cross-border capital flows increased dramatically, tells a very different story. In the first place, the observed patterns of capital flow across countries have been rather different from what the mainstream economic theory leads us to expect. While developed countries’ savings did flow to developing countries, they went to highsaving rather than low-saving developing countries. The low-saving countries of Africa, for example, received very small inflows of foreign capital while the high-saving countries of Asia received large inflows. Secondly, in those developing countries that received substantial inflow of foreign capital, the overall investment rate generally failed to rise above the domestic saving rate and often fell below it.1 At the same time, foreign currency reserves of these countries increased rapidly in the 1990s, far beyond the level that might seem justified on prudential grounds. These facts seem to leave little room for doubting that foreign capital generally failed to supplement, and usually substituted for, domestic capital in developing countries. What explains such an outcome, which runs so contrary to the prediction of mainstream economic theory? Two simple explanations readily come to mind. The first is that many developing countries carried out large-scale privatisation programmes and capital inflow was often associated with acquisition of public enterprises by foreign investors. The second possible explanation is that many domestic enterprises failed to survive competition from new enterprises established by foreign investors. These explanations are relevant but far from adequate. For, we still have to explain why the resources available from sale of public enterprises were not used for investment and why, in a situation december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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of capital scarcity, domestic and foreign investors had to compete for space. A deeper explanation is required and one is offered in this paper. The argument developed here is that crowding-out of domestic investment by foreign investment occurred as a result of quite sensible policy responses by the governments of developing countries to the macroeconomic problems generated by the inflow of foreign private capital itself. The accumulation of foreign currency reserves by recipient countries was a consequence of this crowding-out rather than a result of deliberate hedging against the risk of balance-of-payments crisis. Thus the main “benefit” of freer cross-border flows of private capital has been the conversion of a substantial portion of the developing countries’ domestic savings into foreign currency reserves. The paper starts with a brief review, in the next section, of evidence on the trends in capital inflow into developing countries in the period 1990-2005 and on the effects of the inflow on investment in and foreign currency reserves of these countries. The evidence leaves little room for doubting that foreign capital crowded out domestic capital. Section 2 then develops a theoretical argument as to why such crowding-out might have occurred. The final section considers some implications.
1 Capital Inflow, Saving and Investment: The Facts Three important facts about the inflow of foreign capital into a group of medium-income developing countries – the countries that received substantial inflows of foreign private capital – in the period 1990-2005 are brought out by the data in Table 1.2 First, the inflow of total foreign private capital (TFPC) grew steadily to reach a peak in 1997 – the year the east Asian economic crisis set in. The inflow then declined till 2002 but grew steadily again in the subsequent years. Except in a few years, the inflow was substantial. Second, foreign direct investment (FDI) has been the major form of inflow of private capital into developing countries. Also, FDI inflow held up quite well even in the aftermath of the east Asian crisis. The observed fluctuations in the inflow of foreign Table 1: Net Inflow of Foreign Saving into Medium-Income Developing Countries (1990-2005)
Net Inflow as Percentage of GDP
FDI
PFEQ
PBL
TFPC
FAID
TER
1990
0.8
0.1
-0.9
0.0
0.7
0.7
1991
0.9
0.2
-0.9
0.2
0.6
0.8
1992
1.0
0.3
-0.5
0.8
0.2
1.0
1993
1.6
1.1
0.0
2.7
0.2
2.9
1994
1.9
0.8
-0.2
2.5
-0.1
2.4 2.0
1995
2.0
0.4
-0.5
1.9
0.1
1996
2.2
0.5
0.1
2.8
-0.4
2.4
1997
2.6
0.6
-0.4
2.8
-0.1
2.7
1998
2.7
0.0
-0.9
1.8
0.1
1.9
1999
3.1
0.2
-2.0
1.3
0.0
1.3
2000
2.6
0.3
-2.4
0.5
-0.2
0.3
2001
2.7
0.1
-2.4
0.4
0.1
0.5
2002
2.3
0.1
-2.2
0.2
-0.3
-0.1
2003
1.9
0.5
-2.1
0.3
-0.3
0.0
2004
1.9
0.6
-1.6
0.9
-0.2
0.7
2005
2.1
0.9
-1.4
1.6
0.0
1.6
FDI - foreign direct investment; PFEQ - portfolio equity capital; PBL - private bank loans; TFPC - total foreign private capital; FAID - foreign aid; TER - total external resources Source: Author’s estimates based on data from (i) UNCTAD’s World Investment Report database, and (ii) World Bank’s Global Development Finance database. See Appendix 1 for the details. Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
private capital are explained by fluctuations in the inflows of private bank loans (PBL) and, to a lesser extent, of portfolio equity capital (PFEQ). Third, the inflow of foreign aid (FAID) into this set of countries was quite insignificant over this period; foreign private capital displaced foreign public capital. The period since 1990, then, has been a period when the mediumincome developing countries received substantial inflow of foreign private capital, the bulk of it in the form of FDI. The standard theory would lead us to expect the investment in this group of countries to have been significantly higher than the domestic saving during the period. The fact that much of the inflow was in the form of FDI only strengthens the expectation. The actual experience, unfortunately, has been contrary to this expectation. The data relating to saving and investment in the same group of medium-income developing countries are set out in Table 2. These data bring out three remarkable facts. First, gross investment (GI) always fell short of gross aggregate saving (GAS); not all the resources available for investment were in fact invested. Second, GI was only slightly above the gross domestic saving (GDS) in the pre-east Asian crisis period and below it in the postcrisis period. Given that investment financed by foreign saving was significant, it follows that a part of the domestic saving remained unused throughout the period. Table 2: Saving and Investment in Medium-Income Developing Countries (1990-2005)
GI
GDS
GAS
1990
24.9
24.8
25.5
GI
GDS
GAS
1998
24.8
24.7
26.6
1991
24.2
23.9
1992
24.6
23.7
24.7
1999
24.6
25.1
26.4
24.7
2000
24.9
25.1
25.4 25.8
1993
26.1
24.1
27.0
2001
24.8
25.3
1994
26.8
25.4
27.8
2002
25.8
26.0
25.9
1995
27.4
25.9
27.9
2003
27.5
28.8
28.8
1996
26.5
25.2
27.6
2004
29.5
30.5
31.2
1997
26.4
25.5
28.2
2005
29.9
31.5
33.1
GI: gross investment (gross capital formation); GDS: gross domestic saving; GAS = GDS + TER (in Table 1): gross aggregate saving Source: Author's estimates based on data from (i) Table 1, and (ii) World Bank's World Development Indicators database. See Appendix 1 for the details.
This evidence certainly does not suggest that inflow of foreign capital pushed the investment rate above the domestic saving rate in developing countries. Quite the contrary; it actually suggests that inflow of foreign capital pushed domestic investment below what could have been supported by domestic saving alone. In short, what the evidence really tells us is that foreign capital actually displaced or crowded out domestic capital. Table 3: Foreign Currency Reserves of Medium-Income Developing Countries (as % of Their GDP, 1990-2005) 1990 4.9 1996 10.0 2001 12.6 1991
6.5
1997
10.3
2002
1992
6.9
1998
11.0
2003
15.2 17.7
1993
7.9
1999
12.0
2004
20.1
1994
8.5
2000
11.2
2005
21.3
1995
9.2
Source: Author’s estimates based on data from World Bank’s World Development Indicators database. See Appendix 1 for details.
In parallel, there was rapid growth in foreign currency reserves of this group of countries over the same period. As the data in Table 3 show, the combined foreign currency reserve of these countries, as a percentage of their combined GDP, increased steadily from less than 5% in 1990 to more than 21% in 2005.
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During the same period, the combined foreign currency reserve of the developed countries, as percentage of their combined GDP, remained virtually stable at around 3.5%. To explain such rapid growth of foreign currency reserves in terms of the developing countries’ desire to hedge against the risk posed by the increasingly footloose character of foreign capital is to attribute irrationality to policymakers in these countries. On the other hand, there is little difficulty in viewing the pheno menon simply as a consequence of crowding-out of domestic investment by foreign investment. On this view, moreover, there is no particular limit to the level to which foreign currency reserve of a developing country can grow.
2 Exogenous Capital Inflow, Crowding-Out and Reserve Accumulation In what follows, we develop a theoretical argument to explain why foreign capital tends to displace domestic capital in developing countries. The argument, in outline, is as follows. At least since the mid-1980s, most developing countries have been pursuing export-oriented economic growth. This makes it necessary for them to maintain a fixed or depreciating real exchange rate; any appreciation hurts export growth and hence undermines economic growth. Understandably, therefore, preventing nominal exchange rate appreciation and restraining inflation have emerged as the most important goals of macroeconomic policy in these countries. In such a context, substantial inflow of foreign capital presents a developing country with rather awkward problems of macroeconomic management. For, substantial monetary expansion is required to prevent appreciation of the nominal exchange rate, but this risks fuelling inflation. A way out of this dilemma lies in sterilisation, which is effective insofar as money supply is controlled directly rather than through manipulation of the interest rate. Sterilisation, however, has its costs; it diverts the flow of domestic saving away from domestic investors to the central bank. Thus when macroeconomic policy is focused on maintaining a fixed or depreciating real exchange rate, substantial inflow of foreign private capital tends to generate a growing surplus of domestic saving, which is accumulated by the government as foreign currency reserve. Inflow of foreign saving, because it induces outflow of domestic saving, has little impact on the overall investment rate. What happens is an increase in the share of foreign investment in total investment in the recipient country. A formal presentation of the argument requires outlining a macroeconomic model for an open developing economy. The simple model that I propose is characterised by the following equilibrium conditions: Y = C(DY) + Id(r) + If + G – [M(Y,q) – X(q)], If = Sf.e/Pd …(1) + - + - + MS+ α Sf. e = Pd. L(Y, r) + Sf. e, 0 ≤ α ≤ 1 …(2) + where Y is aggregate output; DY (= Y-T) is private disposable income; T is exogenously given tax revenue of the government; C is private consumption; Id is investment (private and public) financed by domestic saving (private and public); r is an index of money market tightness (further explained below); If is investment
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financed by foreign saving; G is exogenously given government consumption; M represents imports of goods and services; X represents exports of goods and services; q is real exchange rate; MS is the part of money supply that would be there if net inflow of foreign saving is zero; α is an index of sterilisation; Sf is net inflow of foreign saving (in units of foreign currency); e is nominal exchange rate (units of domestic currency per unit of foreign currency); Pd is domestic price level; and L is the domestic demand for money. Real exchange rate q is defined as (e. Pf / Pd), where Pf is the exogenously given foreign price level. Y, C, Id, If, G, M and X are all in real terms. The signs below variables indicate the signs of the relevant partial derivatives. Equation (1) defines the equilibrium in the product market. Total investment in the economy is the sum of its two components: investment undertaken by domestic entrepreneurs who depend on domestic saving and investment undertaken by foreign entrepreneurs who depend on foreign saving. The former is affected by money market tightness while the latter is exogenously given. The postulation that investment financed by domestic saving is a decreasing function of money market tightness rather than simply of interest rate reflects recognition of the fact that monetary authorities in developing countries control money supply more through direct means such as manipulation of the reserve ratio and open market operations than through manipulation of the interest rate. It is assumed that capital inflow is exogenous so that a recipient country can neither know a priori nor influence through policy the quantity of foreign private capital it might receive over a certain period. It is further assumed that the entire amount of foreign finance received by a country in any given period is actually invested (i e, external resources do not finance domestic consumption). Private consumption is assumed to depend only on the level of private disposable income. The import and export demand functions are fairly standard and require no explanation.3 Equation (2) defines the asset market equilibrium. The righthand side of the equation shows that any inflow of foreign capital generates additional demand for money, the quantity of which depends on the nominal exchange rate. The extent to which money supply actually expands in response to the additional demand depends on the extent to which monetary authorities resort to sterilisation. This is shown on the left-hand side of the equation, where α (0 ≤ α ≤ 1) represents the degree of sterilisation; the value of α is 1 when there is no sterilisation and 0 when there is full sterilisation. Obviously, sterilisation can only affect the credit supply available to domestic investors; the demand for money from foreign investors must always be met.4 Equations (1) and (2) together define an IS-LM framework that incorporates the specificities of developing country situations.5 The conventional question in open economy macroeconomics concerns the effects of monetary and fiscal policies on output and current account under fixed and floating exchange rate regimes. The question is appropriate in the conventional framework in which changes in monetary and fiscal policies are autonomous and induce capital inflow or outflow. But the question is not appropriate in the context of developing economies, capital inflow to which is exogenous in character. Here changes in the capital december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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account are autonomous and define the problem that monetary, fiscal and exchange rate policies must address. The appropriate question, therefore, is: what sort of monetary, fiscal and exchange rate policies can developing countries sensibly pursue in the face of exogenous changes in capital inflow? The best way of answering the question is to consider the effects of exogenous changes in capital inflow, in the nominal exchange rate and in the price level on output and money market tightness. By using the IS-LM framework outlined above, the three following propositions can be shown to hold when there is no sterilisation: (1) For given nominal exchange rate and domestic price level, a rise in capital inflow increases both output and money market tightness (Case 1, Appendix 2, p 103). Output increases because the increase in investment exceeds the increase in trade deficit. Money market tightness increases because increased output means increased demand for money. A fall in capital inflow has symmetrically opposite effects. (2) For given capital inflow and domestic price level, a depreciation of the nominal exchange rate (i e, a rise in the value of ‘e’) increases both output and money market tightness (Case 2, Appendix 2). Output increases because exchange rate depreciation reduces the trade deficit (or increases the trade surplus). Money market tightness increases because increased output means increased demand for money. An appreciation of the nominal exchange rate has symmetrically opposite effects. (3) For a given capital inflow and nominal exchange rate, a rise in the domestic price level lowers output but has an uncertain effect on money market tightness (Case 3, Appendix 2). Output declines because a higher domestic price level causes appreciation of the real exchange rate, which increases the trade deficit (or reduces the trade surplus). The change in money market tightness is ambiguous because, on the one hand, lower output reduces the demand for money and, on the other hand, higher price level increases it. Symmetrically, a fall in the domestic price level increases output but has an ambiguous effect on money market tightness. It is clear that increased capital inflow brings economic benefits in the form of increased investment and output when the nominal exchange rate and the domestic price level are either fixed or falling. Strikingly, however, money market tightness increases even when there is no sterilisation so that investment financed by domestic saving must fall. Thus increased inflow of foreign saving, through its effect on output, increases domestic saving but, at the same time, renders a part of it surplus. However, this outcome can, in principle, be avoided by increasing the money supply by a quantity sufficiently larger than the domestic currency value of capital inflow at the given exchange rate to induce a decline in money market tightness. But this is worthwhile only if there are no inflationary consequences. In short, if the possibility of inflation can be ruled out so that money supply can be expanded as necessary, any amount of foreign capital can be absorbed as additional investment with beneficial effect on output. It is also clear that if either the nominal exchange rate appreciates or the domestic price level rises, increased capital inflow brings no benefit and inflicts cost in the form of reduced output. The reason, of course, is that these changes increase the trade Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
deficit. Moreover, they reduce exports and hence undermine industrialisation. Thus, there are good reasons why developing countries should want to ensure that increased inflow of foreign capital does not cause either appreciation of the nominal exchange rate or inflation. There is a potential linkage, however, between exchange rate movements and price movements, which has so far been left out of account. A depreciation (appreciation) of the nominal exchange rate tends to increase (reduce) the domestic price level by increasing (reducing) the prices of imported goods, which, in the case of developing countries, consist largely of capital and intermediate goods. This means that depreciation or appreciation of the nominal exchange rate need not necessarily translate into depreciation or appreciation of the real exchange rate. This, in turn, means that increased capital inflow has uncertain effects on output and money market tightness when it is associated with either depreciation or appreciation of the nominal exchange rate. It is arguable, however, that prices in developing countries tend to be upwardly flexible but downwardly rigid. Thus, price rises in consequence of currency depreciation are more likely than are price declines in consequence of currency appreciation. So the positive effects of currency depreciation are less certain than are the negative effects of currency appreciation.6 On the whole, therefore, there is a fairly strong case for maintaining a fixed nominal exchange rate in the face of exogenous rises in capital inflow.7 But a fixed nominal exchange rate does not by itself ensure a fixed real exchange rate. For, maintaining a fixed nominal exchange rate in the face of an exogenous increase in capital inflow necessarily means an expansion of money supply and hence in aggregate demand. Such expansion of aggregate demand almost invariably generates inflationary pressure because there are important supply bottlenecks in non-traded sectors of developing economies.8 Hence efforts to maintain a fixed nominal exchange rate result in appreciation of the real exchange rate. This problem can be dealt with through a policy of sterilisation, which can be used to maintain a fixed domestic price level. But this has a price. Using our framework, the following proposition can be shown to hold: Given fixed nominal exchange rate and domestic price level, the positive effect of an increased inflow of foreign capital on output grows weaker and the positive effect on money market tightness grows stronger as the degree of sterilisation rises, i e, as the value of α declines from 1 toward 0 (Case 1, Appendix 2).
Thus the higher the degree of sterilisation that is required to prevent a rise in the domestic price level, the greater is the squeeze on availability of domestic credit and hence the lower is the investment undertaken by the domestic investors. Essentially, sterilisation restrains the growth of aggregate demand for a given increase in capital inflow through a crowding-out of investment financed by domestic saving. The main point that emerges from the analysis is that an exogenous rise in capital inflow usually results in a crowding-out of investment financed by domestic saving because developing countries need to maintain both a fixed nominal exchange rate and a low rate of inflation. Accumulation of foreign currency reserve is a consequence of this crowding-out. This is intuitively
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obvious, but can also be made explicit. The balance of payments equilibrium for the economy is given by: …(3) ∆FCR.e/Pd = Sf. e/Pd – [M(Y,q) – X(q)] + - + where ∆FCR is change in foreign currency reserve (expressed in foreign currency unit). The condition for product market equili brium can also be written as: …(4) Id(r) + If = Sp(DY) + (T – G) + [M(Y,q) – X(q)] - + + - + where Sp is domestic private saving. Recognising that total domestic saving (S) is the sum of private saving Sp and government’s revenue surplus (T – G) and that If = Sf. e/Pd, and rearranging the terms, we get: …(5) ∆FCR.e/Pd = Sf. e/Pd – [M(Y,q) – X(q)] = S(Y) – Id(r) + - + + Thus a positive change in foreign currency reserve results from an increase in the surplus of domestic saving over domestic investment, and the growth of this surplus is a direct consequence of the crowding-out of domestically financed investment by foreign investment.9 As we have seen, an exogenous increase in capital inflow increases both output and money market tightness even in the absence of sterilisation so that domestic saving rises while investment financed by domestic saving declines. Thus, even in the absence of sterilisation, we should expect increased capital inflow to be associated with increased foreign currency reserve. Sterilisation strengthens the tendency; for a given increase in capital inflow and a fixed nominal exchange rate, the higher the degree of sterilisation required for holding the domestic price level constant, the higher is the increase in foreign currency reserve.
3 Conclusions It is an old argument that inflow of foreign private capital benefits developing countries by raising their investment rates above their saving rates. The actual experience of the 1990s, when private capital inflow to developing countries increased sharply, effectively refutes this argument. Much of the increased inflow went to relatively advanced and high-saving developing countries, and served to increase their foreign currency reserves rather than their investment rates. Empirical evidence also suggests that the traditional argument is based on a wrong premise, namely, that it is the existence of Notes 1 An indirect confirmation of this comes from the fact that empirical studies have failed to find any positive effect of foreign capital on economic growth in recipient developing countries. See, for example, Kose, Prasad, Rogoff and Wei (2009); Prasad, Rajan and Subramanian (2007); and Rodrik and Subramanian (2009). 2 A detailed list of the medium-income developing countries included in the group is provided in Appendix 1. 3 Following the standard practice, it is assumed that the Marshall-Lerner condition is satisfied. 4 Sterilisation involves two operations by the central bank; it first creates money to purchase the foreign currency that foreign investors bring in and then sells government securities to withdraw money from circulation. It is obviously unlikely that the foreign investors who have just
102
excess demand for investment finance in developing countries that induces inflow of foreign private capital. From the recipient countries’ point of view, inflow of foreign private capital is in fact exogenous in character. This means that even limited openness makes the capital account the main driver of macroeconomic balance. It also means that developing countries’ efforts to “attract” foreign private capital through provision of special incentives are seriously misplaced. The reason why exogenous rises in capital inflow increase the foreign currency reserves of the recipient countries rather than their investment rates is relatively simple. Developing countries need stable real exchange rates in order to pursue export-oriented growth. This obliges them to guard against appreciation of their currencies on the one hand and rise in inflation on the other. An exogenous increase in capital inflow, therefore, poses a rather awkward problem of macroeconomic management: pre-emption of nominal exchange rate appreciation requires substantial expansion of money supply, which threatens to accelerate inflation. The standard policy response to this problem is sterilisation. But sterilisation leads to crowding-out of domestic capital by foreign capital so that increased capital inflow adds little to aggregate investment. Increase in foreign currency reserve is the counterpart of this crowding-out and can be viewed as officially mediated capital outflow. Inflow of foreign private capital, therefore, cannot augment investment in recipient developing countries. It can at best help in modernisation and restructuring of the already existing capital stock, and crowding-out of domestic capital can be seen as a part of this process. It is possible that in certain situations, where a developing country already possesses a sizeable but technologically dated capital stock, the benefit of restructuring exceeds the cost of crowding-out. What is certain is that poor countries, with little capital stock and low saving rates, cannot expect to achieve accelerated economic growth with the help of foreign private capital. By allowing unrestricted inflow of foreign private capital, they can only undermine their own domestic investors, lend their own savings to deve loped countries and increase their dependence on foreign investors for sustaining any kind of economic growth. Maintaining controls over capital flows is a sound policy stance for most developing countries.
acquired domestic currency in exchange for foreign currency will then rush to purchase government securities. 5 It is easy to check that the IS curve, derived from equation (1), has a negative slope while the LM curve, derived from equation (2), has a positive slope. 6 Currency depreciation also has what are called unfavourable “balance sheet effects”. Developing countries’ debts are denominated in foreign currency. Depreciation of their own currencies, therefore, exacerbates debt-servicing difficulties and undermines the solvency of domestic firms and banks. See Hausmann et al (2001), Calvo and Reinhart (2002) and Calvo and Mishkin (2003) for detailed discussions. 7 Calvo and Reinhart (2002) show the existence of what they call the “fear of floating” – the reluctance of developing countries to allow substantial fluctuations in their nominal exchange rates.
Calvo and Mishkin (2003) discuss the reasons why the “fear of floating” tends to be pervasive. 8 This is an aspect that receives much emphasis in the so-called Australian model of the open economy. See, for example, Salter (1959), Swan (1963) and Corden (1977). 9 It should be noticed that a saving surplus also arises when a country runs a trade surplus. So the foreign currency reserve of a developing country can increase either because of increased inflow of foreign capital or because of increased trade surplus or because of both.
References Calvo, Guillermo and Carmen Reinhart (2002): “Fear of Floating”, Quarterly Journal of Economics, Vol 117, No 2. Calvo, Guillermo and Frederic S Mishkin (2003): “The Mirage of Exchange Rate Regimes for Emerging
december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
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Market Economies”, Journal of Economic Perspectives, Vol 17, No 4. Corden, W M (1977): Inflation, Exchange Rates and the World Economy (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Hausmann, Ricardo, Ugo Panizza and Earnesto Stein (2001): “Why Do Countries Float the Way They Float?”, Journal of Development Economics, Vol 66, No 2. Kose, M A, E Prasad, K Rogoff and S-J Wei (2009): “Financial Globalisation: A Reappraisal”, IMF Staff Papers, Vol 56, No 1. Prasad, E, R Rajan and A Subramanian (2007): “Foreign Capital and Economic Growth”, Brookings Papers on Economic Activity, 1: 153-209. Rodrik, D and A Subramanian (2009): “Why Did Financial Globalisation Disappoint?”, IMF Staff Papers, Vol 56, No 1. Salter, W E G (1959): “Internal and External Balance: The Role of Price and Expenditure Effects”, Economic Record, Vol 35, pp 226-38. Swan, Trevor W (1963): “Longer-run Problems of the Balance of Payments” in Heinz W Arndt and W Max Corden (ed.), The Australian Economy: A Volume of Readings (Melbourne: Cheshire).
Asia-Pacific: China, Fiji, India, Indonesia, Korea (Republic), Malaysia, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, Philippines, Sri Lanka, Thailand Middle East-Africa: Cameroon, Congo (Republic), Côte d’Ivoire, Egypt, Ghana, Kenya, Mauritius, Morocco, Tunisia, Turkey, Zimbabwe
Data, Definitions and Sources The data on inflow and outflow of FDI are from UNCTAD’s Handbook of Statistics. FDI is defined as investment that is made to acquire a lasting management interest (10% or more of voting stock) in an enterprise in a country other than that of the investor (defined according to residence), the investor’s purpose being an effective voice in the management of the enterprise. The data on net official inflow are from World Bank’s Global Development Finance database and correspond to what are called
Appendix 1 Medium-Income Developing Countries Latin America-Caribbean: Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic,
Total differentiation of equations 1 and 2 gives: Pd(dSf.e+Sf.de) – Sf.e.dPd dY = CYdY – CYdT + Idrdr + + dG – MYdY – Mqdq + Xqdq (Pd)2
and α.e.dSf +
dMS +
α.Sf.de
=
dPd.L(Y,r)
+
Pd.(LYdY
+ Lrdr) +
e.dSf +
Sf.de
From the first equation, it can be seen that when dT = dSf = de = dPd = dG = dq = 0, dY dr
=
Idr 1 – CY + M Y
dr
Lr
=–
LY
] [ ]
[
dY EQ =
(1 – C Y + M Y ) (α – 1) . e . dSf drEQ = – Pd [(1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY ]
LY . dSf Pd
[(1 – CY + MY). Lr + Idr . LY]
>0 if α = 1. Declines as α declines. Ambiguous when α = 0. >0 for all values of α if Lr ≤ Idr .
Using the Cramer rule, we solve for equilibrium values of dY and dr in terms of the exogenous variables:
{
>0 if α = 1. Declines as α declines. Ambiguous when α = 0.
(– Mqdq + Xqdq + Sf . de) . Lr (α – 1). de . Sf .Idr dY EQ = + (1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY (1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY
– C Y dT + + dG – Mqdq + Xqdq (Pd)2 dMS + (α – 1) . e . dSf + (α – 1)Sf . de – dPd . L(Y,r)
dSf . e . Lr (α – 1). e . dSf .Idr dY EQ = + Pd [(1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY ] Pd [(1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY]
Case 2: de > 0, dPd = dG = dT = dSf = dMS = 0
]
Pd(dSf . e + Sf . de) – Sf .e.dPd
Case 1: dSf > 0, dT = dG = dPd = de = dMS = 0
>0 for all values of α. Rises as α declines.
>0
The LM curve is upward sloping. Rearranging the terms and writing in a matrix form, we get: Idr dY 1 – C Y + M Y d = d P . LY P . Lr dr
[
}
>0 for all values of α if Lr ≤ Idr.
<0
The IS curve is downward sloping. Similarly from the second equation, dY
{
Pd(dSf . e + Sf . de) – e . Sf . dPd LY * – C Y dT + dG – Mqdq + Xqdq + (Pd)2 – d (1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + I r . LY
Appendix 2
“official net transfers”. The latter are defined as official flows on long-term debt to official creditors (excluding IMF) plus official grants (excluding technical cooperation) minus “principal repayments” minus “interest payments”. The data on private equity inflow are from the World Bank’s Global Development Finance database and correspond to what are called “portfolio equity flows”. These include country funds, depository receipts and direct purchases of shares by foreign investors. The data on net inflow of private loans are derived as “private net transfers” minus “portfolio equity flows” minus “gross FDI inflows”, all available from World Bank’s Global Development Finance database. “Private net transfers” are defined as “flows of debt to private creditors” plus “gross FDI inflows” plus “portfolio equity flows” minus “principal repayment” minus “interest payments”. The data on gross domestic saving, gross fixed capital formation, GDP and foreign currency reserves (excluding gold) are from World Bank’s World Development Indicators database.
– CY dT + dG – Mqdq + Xqdq +
Pd(dSf
.e+
Sf
. de) – e.
Sf
.
dPd
(Pd)2
}
. Lr
(1 – C Y + M Y ) . Lr + Idr . LY
Idr [dMS + (α – 1)e . dSf +(α – 1)Sf . de – dPd .L(Y,r)] + Pd [(1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY] (1 –C Y + M Y ) [dMS + (α – 1). e . dSf +(α – 1). Sf . de – dPd .L(Y,r)] drEQ = Pd [(1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY] Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
(1 – C Y + M Y ) (α – 1) . de . Sf LY . [– Mqdq + Xqdq + Sf .de /Pd] drEQ = – Pd [(1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY ] (1 – C Y + M Y ). Lr + Idr . LY >0 for all values of α. Rises as α declines. Case 3: dpd > 0, dSf = dG = dT = de = dMS = 0 – dPd . L(Y,r) . Idr [– Mqdq + Xqdq – (e . Sf . dPd)/(Pd)2] . Lr dYEQ = + (1 – CY + MY). Lr + Idr . LY Pd[(1 – CY + MY). Lr + Idr . LY] < 0. (1 – C Y + M Y )[– dPd . L(Y,r)] LY . [– Mqdq + Xqdq – e.Sf .dPd/Pd] drEQ = – Pd[(1 – CY + MY). Lr + Idr . LY ] (1 – CY + MY). Lr + Idr . LY Ambiguous.
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SPECIAL ARTICLE
Weak Bank Resolution Framework in India: Thumbs Up or Down? Prashant Saran, Tulasi Gopinath
Do mergers improve performance of the transferee banks in the post-merger period? This paper endeavours to provide empirical evidence to this question based on five case studies: three compulsory mergers and two voluntary mergers of recent origin. An index of stock success and an index of flow success assess the performance impact on the balance sheets and income of these banks. There is evidence that one of the transferee banks associated with a compulsory merger appears to have registered underperformance after the event, though there are incipient signs of turnaround in the recent period. Merger was a performance booster for the other transferee banks. Based on these findings, the paper concludes that the approach adopted by the Reserve Bank of India delivered value to the banking sector.
T
he global financial crisis underscored, inter alia, the imperative of effective bank resolution mechanism as part of crisis prevention and management framework. Within the realm of resolution mechanism, mergers and acquisitions (M&A) are often resorted to as the preferred option. Two broader issues of relevance with regard to M&A are: what was the net cost of M&A and has the merger process strengthened or weakened the transferee banks during the post-merger period. In an earlier paper we attempted to address (Saran and Gopinath 2010) the first issue based on select M&A case studies of recent origin in India. As a sequel, we endeavour in this paper to answer the second issue based on the same set of select case studies of M&A, involving three compulsory amalgamations/mergers1 of “a” with “A”, “b” with “B” and “c” with “C” and two voluntary mergers of “d” with “D” and “e” with “E”. The paper is organised into four sections. Section 1 briefly documents events preceding the five select mergers. Section 2 outlines the methodology employed for assessing the performance of the transferee banks in the post-merger period. Empirical estimates/results are analysed in Section 3. Concluding observations are enumerated in Section 4.
1 Events Preceding Select Mergers As indicated earlier, for the purpose of this study, three recent compulsory mergers of “a”, “b” and “c” and two recent voluntary mergers of “d” and “e” are considered. The rationale for selecting these five case studies has been explained in Saran and Gopinath (2010), which is reproduced here: first, experience with recent case studies is a better guide for future; second, there has been a significant change in the legal recovery environment in the aftermath of the introduction of Securitisation and Reconstruction of Financial Assets and Enforcement of Securities Interest (SARFAESI) Act in 2002. And, third, easy availability of systematic and reliable data on recent mergers. Against the above backdrop, a brief enumeration of events leading up to the above five mergers is presented below:
Case ‘a’
Prashant Saran ([email protected]) is with the Securities and Exchange Board of India and Tulasi Gopinath ([email protected]) is with the RBI.
104
The Reserve Bank of India (RBI) granted licence to “a” as a part of the policy to set up new private sector banks. The bank was promoted by a group of professionals and with the participation of international agencies as associates. The financial position of “a” started weakening in 2001 due to very high exposure to capital market, which had turned into problem assets and, as a result, it was put under close monitoring of RBI in 2002. december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
SPECIAL ARTICLE
Directions were issued restricting dividend payment, prohibiting fresh advances to non-performing asset (NPA) accounts, entry into new lines of business, premature withdrawal of deposits of major shareholders, etc. Extension of time to publish the balance sheet was granted. Meanwhile, the bank’s position was continuously being monitored. The RBI inspection found that there was large divergence between the reported accounts and the RBI assessment of the NPAs and the required level of provisioning continued to be very large. The bank was not in a position to finalise the recapitalisation plan acceptable to the RBI. As the financial position of the bank was deteriorating progressively and the solvency of the bank was being seriously affected, the RBI had to place the bank under moratorium to protect the interests of the large body of small depositors of the bank and in the interest of the banking system. The select financial ratios of “a” at the time of imposing moratorium is presented in Annex 1 (p 109). After the order of moratorium was served, an assessment was made of the available options. A few banks, including “A” which was interested in expanding its presence in south India, had indicated their interest in taking over “a”. On examination of relevant factors, a draft scheme of amalgamation of “a” with “A” was put in public domain for suggestions. Based on the suggestions received, a revised scheme was sent for government approval. With necessary approval of and notification by the government, the branches of “a” opened as branches of “A”.
Case ‘b’ The bank “b” was established with its headquarters at a small town in western India. The bank held a small amount of capital and was urged to augment this to reach the minimum prescribed standard of Rs 300 crore net worth laid down in the guidelines on ownership and governance in private sector banks. In view of the deterioration in the financial health of the bank, it was placed under monthly monitoring of the RBI. The central bank identified serious financial, operational and managerial weaknesses that warranted a definite plan for corrective action. The RBI sensitised the promoters/directors of the bank about the immediate need for capital augmentation so as to make the net worth positive and comply with the minimum regulatory capital requirement. As the bank failed to comply, the RBI with no other option but to take necessary regulatory measures under the powers of the relevant statutes, on approval from the government imposed a moratorium for the period of three months. The financial health of “b” at the time of imposing moratorium is presented in Annex 1. An expression of interest for acquisition of “b” was received from “B” following the moratorium. As the proposal was acceptable to the RBI, a draft scheme of amalgamation of “b” with “B” was prepared and placed on the RBI website for feedback and suggestions. After considering the suggestions, the scheme was sent to the government for sanction. The Government of India sanctioned the draft scheme and the scheme for amalgamation was to come into force on a specified date. However, the scheme was contested in the court. Nevertheless, on upholding the scheme by the highest court, the Government of India issued Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
a notification bringing into force the scheme of amalgamation of “b” with “B”.
Case ‘c’ Bank “c” was established with its headquarters at a small town in western India. The bank was placed under monthly monitoring on account of its poor financials, especially high level of NPAs. A set of 13 directions relating to maintenance of capital to risk weighted asset ratio (CRAR), reduction of high cost deposits, reduction of NPAs, restriction on opening of branches, etc, was issued to the bank. In addition, the RBI attempted to persuade the bank to take expeditious steps to augment its capital funds in order to comply with the capital adequacy norms and also the requirement of a minimum net worth of Rs 300 crore laid down in the guidelines on ownership and governance. In the meantime, however, the financial position of the bank further deteriorated with a net loss of over Rs 106 crore for the second consecutive year. The bank was unable to come up with any credible plan to raise fresh capital to bring its CRAR to the prescribed level, as a proposal of capital infusion by a group of investors was not acceptable to the RBI on prudential and other considerations such as “fit and proper” issues. Subsequently, the CRAR of “c” turned negative. Given the deteriorating financial position and to preclude the possibility of a run on the bank, government, on an application from the RBI, issued an order of moratorium. The financial health of “c” at the time of imposing moratorium is presented in Annex 1. During the period of moratorium, the RBI considered various options, including amalgamation of “c” with any other bank. The RBI received expression of interest from 17 entities for taking over/restructuring “c”, on examination of which, it was found that proposal from “C”, apart from embodying greater synergy with “c” and regulatory comfort vis-à-vis capital adequacy and NPA management, offered the highest compensation to the shareholders, upfront. Thus, a draft scheme of amalgamation of “c” with “C” was placed on the RBI website for feedback and suggestions. After considering the suggestions/objections, the scheme was sent to the government for sanction. The government sanctioned the scheme and the amalgamation of “c” with “C” became effective subsequently.
Case ‘d’ The bank “d” was established with its headquarters at a town in north India as part of the policy to set up new private sector banks. The bank had a state-of-the-art technological architecture with a major presence in the north, especially in Punjab, Haryana and Delhi focusing on small and medium enterprises (SMEs) segment and agriculture. The financial health of the bank came under stress as manifested in CRAR falling below the regulatory minimum and ROA turning negative. The financial health of “d” at the time of merger is presented in Annex 1. Bank “D” had a strong presence in the west, particularly in Maharashtra and Goa and the south with a thrust on retail banking. The combined entity of “D” and “d” would have a nation-wide presence in retail, agriculture and SMEs segment. On account of the positive externalities in terms of revenue and cost synergies,
105
SPECIAL ARTICLE
boards of the two banks approved the scheme of merger between them and sought RBI approval. On examination of the proposal from various angles including compliance with regulatory and legal requirements, the RBI granted its approval and accordingly the “D”-“d” merger came into being.
Case ‘e’ Bank “e” was established with its headquarters at a small town in western India. The bank had a major presence in Maharashtra and thin presence in Karnataka, Gujarat, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, Delhi and Goa. About 50% of the branches of “e” were in rural and semi-urban areas. The performance of “e” was deteriorating and the CRAR was negative at 64% and the ratio of net NPA to net advances was over 7%. The select financial ratios of “e” at the time of merger are presented in Annex 1. Bank “E” is a big new generation private sector bank, contemplating implementation of a comprehensive strategy for rural banking. The boards of “E” and “e” approved the merger resolution as it was felt that the proposed amalgamation would be beneficial to depositors, creditors and employees of “e” and would be a strategic fit for “E”. An application was then forwarded to RBI for the approval of the scheme of amalgamation, which the central bank examined from the point of view of adherence to the relevant guidelines, legal requirements, effect on balance sheet of “E”, available synergies and prospects of the transferee bank. As the proposal was satisfactory on all these counts, RBI approved the scheme and the merger became effective subsequently. It is evident from the foregoing case studies that in the process of resolving weak banks, RBI was confronted with substantially different set of regulatory, supervisory and legal challenges. It is also clear that the process was carried out in a consultative and transparent manner. In all the above cases, the interests of the depositors were fully protected without any recourse to the Deposit Insurance Credit Guarantee Corporation (DICGC). On imposition of a moratorium, the draft amalgamation scheme was in the public domain within two days in two of the three of the compulsory merger case studies; none of the three com pulsory merger case studies involved regulatory forbearance. Shareholders were not compensated except in one case study wherein the weak bank had a positive net worth at the time of amalgamation.2
2 Methodology, Data Sources and Limitations Mergers of banks, especially voluntary ones, result in overall benefits to the stakeholders only when the consolidated postmerger bank is more valuable than the simple sum of the two separate pre-merger banks. The primary cause of this gain in value is supposed to be the performance improvement following the amalgamation. The research for post-merger performance gains has focused on any one of the following areas, namely, efficiency improvements, increased market power, or heightened diversification (Pilloff and Santomero 1996). This paper focuses on measuring efficiency improvements. Efficiency improvements for a bank involve two aspects of solvency and sustainable profitability and the interplay between
106
them. Solvency affects bank’s balance sheet while profitability affects bank’s income and hence these are referred as stock and flow aspects of a bank, respectively (Bolzico et al 2007). Improved efficiency in general signifies the ability to profit from scale economies, scope economies or marketing efficiency. Scale economies may enable the surviving/transferee bank to augment the customer base, while scope economies may facilitate increasing the market share of the targeted customer activity/base by offering more products and services. The transferee bank may also generate greater revenue by cross-selling various products of each merger partner to customers of the other partner. The post-merger income position of the surviving/transferee bank needs to improve on an ongoing basis by reducing expenses and increasing income so that rising profitability will enable the bank to boost capital and improve its solvency and economic viability. In this paper, evaluation of merger-related gains of the transferee banks is attempted on the basis of the accounting data approach,3 under which both the pre-merger and post-merger performance of transferor banks using accounting data is compared to determine whether amalgamation leads to changes in stock and flow aspects. Data from both premerger and post-merger periods are used in the analysis and evaluated for evidence of a change in the performance around the merger event. Generally speaking, the transferee bank in a merger case tends to acquire large holdings of troubled assets of the weak transferor bank and thereby have high provisioning costs and must provide for losses on a significant portion of these assets. This reduces net earnings and, eventually, capital. Thus, for merger to have positive impact on the balance sheet of the transferee bank, during the post-merger period, while NPAs and loan loss provisions as a ratio to total loans should come down, ratio of capital to assets needs to rise. Therefore, in this paper, the stock aspects of the bank performance are represented by three ratios, viz, gross NPA to gross advances, loan loss provisions to gross advances and capital to assets. On the other hand, the flow aspects of the bank performance are represented by the structural determinants of profit ability, viz, ratio of net interest income to total assets, non-interest income to total assets, operating expenses to total assets and net profits to total assets. The structural determinants of profitability are those items of income and expense that satisfy three conditions: they arise from the operational activities of a bank, can properly be considered sustainable, and are not particularly subject to misrepresentation. They are the core income and expense items of a bank, and are determined by essential banking factors such as the asset/client base size, profit margins, capitalisation and cost efficiency. It is the basic hypothesis that for a bank operating in a competitive market, these factors are relatively stable and the past behaviour of the structural determinants may therefore be considered a fair indication of the future. In the analytical framework, these are the best indicators of the earnings trend, because it reflects the evolution of the main underlying factors of the banking business (Rodrigo 2002). Gross operating income, defined as the difference between structural income and december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
SPECIAL ARTICLE
e xpenses, should be sufficient to cover provision charges that would adequately fund the reserves for loan losses and contingent liabilities and provide an attractive return on assets, after income taxes. These stock and flow indicators are analysed both before and after the merger event to gauge the impact of merger on bank performance. The data required for the estimation of the model presented above are sourced from the off-site returns submitted by banks (OSMOS) to the RBI. The frequency of the data is annual.
amalgamation, as observed in Figures 1.4 and 1.5, meaning thereby that the value of wealth creation by the proposed merger rose post-merger.
Transferee Bank Post-Merger Performance Empirical results relating to assessment of the transferee bank performance based on the accounting ratios for pre- and postmerger periods are presented in Tables 1 and 2 (p 108). The following findings are discernible from the ratios presented in the tables.
3 Empirical Results This section presents the empirical results obtained on the basis of the above-mentioned methodology. However, as a prelude, the stock market reaction to the compulsory merger announcements of the three compulsory merger case studies are analysed below:
‘A’
• There has been an overall deterioration in the stock aspects in
the post-merger period, as the decline in gross NPA ratio and stable provisioning ratio was more than offset by capital erosion. Thus, the index of stock success fell by 5.6%. Stock Market Reaction • There has been an overall deterioration in the flow aspects as all the flow indicators, barring operating expenses, worsened. Amalgamation of ‘a’ with ‘A’: The stock market reacted nega- Particularly, non-interest income (NONII) and net interest income tively as the share prices of “A” and “a” fell sharply, as evident (NII) slid significantly. The core business indicators appear to from the Figures 1.1 and 1.2 below, following the announcement have weakened in the post-merger period. This situation seems of the draft amalgamation scheme of “a” with “A”. In other words, to reflect the fact that impaired assets of “a” were really large, the value of wealth created by the proposed merger declined in and were more than initially assessed. the post-merger period as compared to the pre-merger period. • Notwithstanding the deterioration in both stock and flow success indices during the post-merger period as a Figure 1.1: Share Price of ’A’ on BSE Figure 1.2: Share Price of ’a’ on NSE 275 16 whole, an attempt is made to see whether Scheme of merger Draft merger scheme there are any incipient signs of turnaround 260 12 in the performance of “A” recently. Indices 245 of stock and flow success are computed on 8 a three-yearly rolling basis since the merger 230 4 event and are presented in Annex 2 and Annex 3 (p 109). As can be observed, index 215 0 of stock success was positive during each Amalgamation of ‘b’ with ‘B’: The share price of “B” declined of the three-year rolling average periods. Index of flow success sharply as may be observed from Figure 1.3 in the immediate after- turned positive during the last three-year rolling average period math of the draft Figure 1.3: Share Price of ’B’ on BSE ending March 2010. It, thus, appears that by end-March 2010 “A” scheme of amalga- 195 has completely shed the baggage of acquired net liabilities of “a”. mation of “b” with Draft scheme on website ‘B’ “B” being posted on 185 the RBI website. Bank • Considerable progress has been achieved by “B” in addressing “b” was not listed and both the stock and flow effects arising out of merger. 175 hence could not be • An overall strengthening of stock aspects during the postobserved during the merger period is observed as evidenced by index of stock success corresponding period. 165 rising by 46.5%. • There has been an all-round improvement in the flow aspects Amalgamation of ‘c’ with ‘C’: Unlike in the case of the earlier as measured by the index of flow success (rise of 11.3%), reflectmerger cases, the share prices of both “C” and “c” went up in the ing the strength of declined operating expenses and increased immediate aftermath of the announcement of the draft scheme of profitability. Figure 1.5: Share Price of ’c’ on NSE Figure 1.4: Share Price of ‘C’ on BSE • Decline in the ratio of NONII to assets ob130 26 served during the post-merger period could Draft merger scheme 24 possibly be arrested and reversed in future 120 by virtue of enhanced viability. 22 Merger scheme
110
100
20
Moratorium
‘C’
18
• Considerable progress has been achieved
16
by “C” in addressing both the stock and
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
107
SPECIAL ARTICLE
• The flow effects of merger improved by 7.6% in spite of rising
Table 1: Ratios of Stock and Flow Measures: Pre- and Post-Amalgamation (in %) ‘A’1
‘B’2 Pre Post
‘C’3 Post
Pre
Post
‘E’5 Pre Post
2.2
1.5
10.1
3.0
2.4
5.4
0.7
0.5
6.4
1.6
1.2
3.0
0.8
0.4
2.5
0.8
0.5
0.4
0.7
0.8
4.9
3.7
2.0
2.2
0.4
0.7
3.6
2.8
1.8
2.1
1.1
2.1
2.3
2.1
2.6
0.5
-0.8
0.5
1.0
1.0
Pre
GNPA/GA
6.0
4.0
6.9
2.7
PLL/GA
3.2
3.2
4.2
2.3
PUC/A
0.6
0.3
0.3
0.4
OE/A
1.7
1.4
1.8
1.5
NII/A
3.2
2.3
2.9
3.0
NONII/A
1.3
0.9
1.6
1.2
1.0
PAT/A
1.2
1.1
0.8
1.2
0.5
Post
Pre
‘D’4
1 Pre- and post-merger periods consist of five years and six years, respectively. 2 Pre- and post-merger periods consist of four years each. 3 Pre- and post-merger periods consist of three years each. 4 Pre- and post-merger periods consist four years and two year, respectively. 5 Pre- and post-merger periods consist of three years each. GNPA= Gross NPA; GA = Gross Advances; PLL = Provisioning for Loan Losses; PUC = Paid Up Capital; OE = Operating Expenses; A= Assets; NII = Net Interest Income; PAT = Profit After Tax. The year of merger is included in the pre-merger period, if there were more than six months in that year, after the occurrence of merger, excluding month of merger. Otherwise, it is included in the post-merger period.
Table 2: Post-Amalgamation Improvement of Bank Performance* (in %)
Progress in Addressing Stock Effects
Progress in Addressing Flow Effects
Decline in Decline in Increase Index of GNPA/GA PLL /GA in Capital/ Stock Assets Success#
Decline Increase Increase Increase Index of in OE/ in NII/ in NONII/ Profits/ Flow Assets Assets Assets Assets Success#
‘A’
33.3
0.0
-50
-5.6
17.5
-28.1
-30.8
-8.3
-12.4
‘B’
60.9
45.2
33.3
46.5
16.7
3.4
-25.0
50.0
11.3
‘C’
31.8
28.6 -50.0
3.5
-14.3
75.0
10.0
0.0
17.7
‘D’
70.3
75.0 -68.0
25.8
24.5 -22.2
9.5
106.3
29.5
‘E’
-125.0
23.8
0.0
7.6
-150.0
-20.0
-98.3
-10.0
16.7
* Measured as percentage change in ratio between pre- and post-amalgamation period. # Calculated as simple averages of three indicators in each category. GNPA= Gross NPA; GA = Gross Advances; PLL = Provisioning for Loan Losses; PUC = Paid Up Capital; OE = Operating Expenses; A= Assets; NII = Net Interest Income; PAT = Profit After Tax.
flow effects arising out of merger. Index of stock success rose by 3.5% on the back of robust decline in bad loans and provisioning ratios, notwithstanding decline in capital vis-à-vis assets. • There has also been an overall improvement in addressing the flow effects of merger as evidenced by an increase in the index of flow success by 17.7%. • Further, as the core banking business indicators are healthy and increasing, adverse stock effects of merger on capital could be addressed effectively in future through rising viability.
‘D’ 4
• Considerable progress was achieved by “D” in addressing both the stock and flow effects arising out of merger. • Overall strengthening of stock aspects during the postmerger period is observed as evidenced by index of stock success rising by 25.8%, notwithstanding the decline in capital vis-à-vis assets. • There has been an all-round improvement in the flow aspects as measured by the index of flow success (rise of 29.5%), reflecting reduced operating expenses and robust profitability indicators. • Decline in the ratio of capital to assets could possibly be arrested and reversed in future by virtue of enhanced viability on the back of sustained increase in profits.
‘E’
• The stock effects of merger worsened as the overall index of stock success slid by 98.3% in post-merger period.
108
operating costs. • However, these stock and flow effects of merger on “E” need to be interpreted with caution as the size of “E” was very big relative to the size of “e”.
4 Concluding Observations Resolution of weak/failing banks is critical as it embodies the potential for preventing contagion in and improving viability of the banking industry. This is particularly of significance for emerging market economies characterised by institutional weaknesses. In this context, the relevant question is do M&As lead to augmented viability of transferee banks. This paper attempts to provide empirical evidence to this question in the Indian context based on the select five cases studies, three compulsory mergers and two voluntary mergers of recent origin. The paper estimates the index of stock success and index of flow success for the post-merger period for these transferee banks. While the former measures the health indicators of the balance sheet, the latter gauges the health indicators of the profit and loss account of these banks. Barring bank “A”, all other transferee banks’ viability, assessed on the basis of both the indices, has improved significantly during the post-merger period. These banks were able to post efficiency gains, manifest in the form of its ability to profit from scale and scope economies and/or marketing efficiency through offering more products/services and/or cross selling various products. Evidently and generally, as a result, while NII and NONII rose, operating expenses and provisioning for loan losses fell in the post-merger period. However, “A” does not seem to have harvested such potential benefits from the merger, as reflected in a sliding NII and NONII. Nevertheless, in the case of “A”, there is evidence to suggest that the adverse merger impact on performance has tapered off and there are incipient signs of turnaround. Thus, the approach to weak bank resolution adopted by the RBI has delivered value to the Indian banking sector.
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SPECIAL ARTICLE Notes 1 For the purpose of this study, amalgamation and merger are used interchangeably. 2 In compulsory amalgamation under section 45 of the Bank Regulation Act, 1949, shareholders are not completely precluded from getting compensation. The scheme of amalgamation provides for final valuation of the Not Readily Realisable Assets at the end of 12 years. If there is a surplus after adjusting the liabilities, the shareholders get compensation on a pro rata basis. 3 In the literature, there is an alternative approach known as market data approach under which the value-weighted sum of acquirer and target returns, as measured by the relevant stock market indices, is the measure of overall gains stemming from merger and acquisition activity (Pilloff and Santomero, 1996). However, this approach is not favoured basically for two reasons: some of the banks involved in select BR case studies were not listed and, Indian stock market reactions may not necessarily reflect perceptions of a true market as the floating stock of listed company/bank in India is limited with two banks being in the public sector. 4 “D” has since merged with another leading private sector bank.
Annex 1: Salient Financial Ratios of Transferor Banks (At the time of imposing moratorium on ‘a’, ‘b’ and ‘c’ and at the time of merger of ‘d’ and ‘e’) Ratio
‘a’
‘b’
‘c’
‘d’
‘e’
-27.68
-1.99
-0.74
7.72
-63.90
Core CRAR (%)
-27.68
-1.99
-0.74
4.95
-63.90
Coverage Ratio
-32.88
-1.13
-3.56
1.76
-19.31
Efficiency (Cost Income) Ratio
436.30
130.83
71.50
76.85
182.35
Interest Spread (Qtr)
-0.26
0.70
0.65
0.77
1.02
Interest spread
-0.26
1.72
1.41
1.43
2.95
Net NPAs to Net Advances
32.66
6.86
7.86
4.39
7.25
OP to Total working funds
-0.55
-0.73
0.59
0.55
-2.88
CRAR
Return on Equity Return on Total Assets Staff Expenses to Total Income
5.51
-39.24
-51.25
0.66
134.70
-0.92
-0.73
-0.79
0.03
-24.28
9.57
17.91
17.85
11.73
56.36
OP: Operating Profits. Source: OSMOS.
Annex 2: Ratio of Stock and Flow Measures of ‘A’: Post-Amalgamation (On a three-year rolling average basis)
GNPA/GA
PLL/GA
PUC/TA
OE/TA
NII/TA
NonII/TA
PAT/TA
Mar-07
6.1
5.4
0.4
1.5
2.6
0.9
1.3
References
Mar-08
3.8
3.2
0.3
1.4
2.3
0.8
1.1
Bolzico, Javier, Yira Mascaró and Paola Granata (2007): “Practical Guidelines for Effective Bank Resolution”, Policy Research Working Paper 4389, World Bank, November. Pilloff, Steven J and Anthony M Santomero (1996): “The Value Effects of Bank Mergers and Acquisitions”, The Wharton School, 97-07, University of Pennsylvania, October. Rodrigo, Luís Rosa Couto (2002): “Framework for the Assessment of Bank Earnings, Financial Stability Institute”, Bank for International Settlements, September. Saran, Prashant and Tulasi Gopinath (2010): “Resolution of Weak Banks: The Indian Experience”, Vol XLV, No 2, Economic & Political Weekly, 9 January.
Mar-09
2.3
1.6
0.3
1.3
2.0
0.8
0.9
Mar-10
1.9
1.0
0.2
1.2
1.9
0.8
0.9
Source: Calculated by the author.
Annex 3: Improvement in Performance of A: Post Amalgamation (On a three-year rolling average basis)
Decline in GNPA /GA
Progress in Addressing Stock Effects Decline in Increase in Index of PLL /GA Capital/Assets Stock Success
Decline in OE/Assets
Progress in Addressing Flow Effects Increase in Increase in Increase in Index of NII/Assets NONII/Asset Profits/Assets Flow Success
Mar-08
37.7
40.7
-25.0
17.8
6.7
-11.5
-11.1
-15.4
-7.8
Mar-09
39.5
50.0
0.0
29.8
7.1
-13.0
0.0
-18.2
-6.0
Mar-10
17.4
37.5
-33.3
7.2
7.7
-5.0
0.0
0.0
0.7
Source: Calculated by the author.
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
109
DISCUSSION
Microfinance Industry in India: More Thoughts M S Sriram
Microfinance institutions need not be treated as holy cows. They do not need any soft regulation. They should be treated on par with any non-banking companies. A comment on Y V Reddy’s article on microfinance and a response from the author.
I
n the article “Microfinance Industry in India: Some Thoughts” (EPW, 8 October 2011), Y V Reddy has expressed some thoughts about the microfinance industry (MFI) and the current crisis. Reddy’s thoughts on this matter are critical and cannot be easily ignored not only because of what he is saying, but also because of who he was – the governor of the Reserve Bank of India (RBI).
Through a Regulatory Lens
M S Sriram ([email protected]) is a former professor of Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad and currently an independent researcher.
110
In his article, Reddy talks about the state of the microfinance industry from a regulatory lens and bases his arguments on the incidents that happened in 2006 in Andhra Pradesh. While Reddy argues that the RBI adopted a softregulatory approach, almost amounting to being hands-off and claims that “…significant interest was expressed by RBI in regard to extending microfinance activity, essentially as extended arms of the individual branches of the banks and not as parallel financial inter mediaries…” (p 46). We find this argument untenable. In fact, the approach of the RBI was that of encouragement and promotion of these parallel financial intermediaries. A review of the regulatory history shows the remarkable consistency in the hands-off approach on regulation, with an active tone of encouragement adopted by the RBI, starting with the recommendations of the Task Force on Supportive Policy and Regulatory Framework for Microfinance in 1999. While we do not intend to delve on the significant regulatory commitments of the RBI that encouraged MFIs of all types (for-profit as well as the notfor-profit), attention should be drawn to a communication addressed by the RBI to all scheduled commercial banks in
February 2000 with the title “Microcredit”,1 in fact, defined microcredit as Microcredit is defined as the provision of thrift, credit and other financial services and products of very small amount to the poor in rural, semi-urban and urban areas for enabling them to raise their income levels and improve living standards. Microcredit institutions are those which provide these facilities.
In fact, the notification actually makes the following six significant points vis-à-vis microfinance: (1) no interest rate cap on loans to MFIs and their loans to clients, (2) freedom to banks to formulate their own model/conduit/intermediary for extending microcredit, (3) no criteria prescribed for selecting MFIs, (4) banks to formulate their own lending norms, (5) banks to formulate a simple system, minimum procedures and documentation for augmenting the flow of credit by removing all operational irritants, and (6) the banks were to include microcredit at the branch, block, district and state credit plans with quarterly progress to be reported to RBI. Microfinance also crept into the annual Trend and Progress of Banking in India report, without a formal definition of what microfinance is (except for the definition in the notification above). The approach of the RBI since 1999 has been (and rightly so) to promote plurality of institutions.
For Profit/Non-Profit Debate The essence of Reddy’s argument in his lecture is that the RBI took a soft regulatory approach with the MFIs because they were initially not-for-profit institutions; they were working with the poor; and there was an underlying assumption about the commitment of these institutions to their stated values. Arguing about the for-profit/non-profit debate, he even brings in the principled stand of RBI, divesting its share from the Infrastructure Development Finance Corporation the moment it decided to go in for a public issue. There is a difference between being an active shareholder in a government promoted institution and divesting its stake on a matter of principle and taking a “principled stand” with respect
december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
DISCUSSION
to regulating for-profit MFIs. The RBI was not a shareholder in any MFI. It has not taken a principled stand that for-profit institutions should not be in banking. Indeed, all the institutions in banking are for-profit and most of them are listed. So, how these principles of not participating in equity apply to regulating non-banking financial companies (NBFCs)-MFIs, which are for profit is not clear.
Arguments and Diagnosis While there are some internally contradictory arguments in Reddy’s paper, we should try and look at the role of RBI from a perspective of a regulatory failure afresh, so that the debate on MFIs and the crisis of microfinance can be carried forward. Reddy’s article provides a good platform to open up the debate. We shall place our arguments and diagnosis from a regulatory point of view below: (1) The MFIs, after trying to find their feet in the initial years started growing at an unbelievable pace. Most MFIs grew at a rate higher than 100% for several years. Such a fast pace of growth in the financial sector in itself should have raised redflags in the regulatory set-up like RBI. Any sector growing at such a pace consistently is obviously attracting enough capital and funding, and if such funding is unlimited, there is a return that is beyond normal. If we dissect this we find that such growth was initially fuelled by innovative loan products offered by the ICICI Bank and the Small Industries Development Bank of India (SIDBI) that made the capital adequacy of the MFIs irrelevant. The ICICI Bank offered on-tap securitisation and partnership product, which lent the strength of the ICICI balance sheet to small MFIs that had soft-touch regulation. Clearly, there was a regulatory arbitrage. SIDBI apart from funding MFIs very aggressively also offered liquidity support in the form of an innovative “transformation loan” at subsidised interest rates for the not-forprofit MFIs to “convert” to for-profit entities, which opened up the flood gates for equity investments. Both these institutions were very much under the supervisory oversight of RBI. (2) Following this there were huge inflows of capital into MFIs from private equity
firms, including significant amount foreign funds. The valuations at which these entities bought into MFIs should have waved a red flag to the regulator. The valuations were astronomical not only by standards of banks and NBFCs, but also when compared with the valuations got by similar MFIs in other countries. Clearly, if such capital was flowing in, it would continue to expect consistently high returns. RBI being a regulator of the financial sector, was best place to look at the nature of capital flows and its impact on “usurious interest rates”.
into the MFI sector. Reddy is right when he says that the assumption that for-profit MFIs are committed to a particular activity, viz, microcredit for the poor, has also become suspect going by the plans of some of these institutions to enter the gold loans business. Clearly, the investors were demanding their pound of flesh from the MFIs and the MFIs were desperately looking for some opportunities to survive, when their basic bread and butter business has become untenable.
Behavioural Problems
If we were to accept the above argument, we would then realise that the solution possibly did not lie in increasing capital adequacy, changing prudential norms or even imposing interest rate caps. At the source, the RBI did not pay enough attention to the “quality” of capital that was flowing in – whether such capital was patient enough to do business with the poor. At the customer level, the RBI failed to protect the customers adequately from predatory lending practices. While Reddy says that putting faith in the commitments of the MFIs through a code of conduct
If the RBI had looked at these two signals, then it would have reacted differently. The current crisis in microfinance is attributed to three significant behavioural problems of the MFIs. These problems are: (1) the allegation that the MFIs are charging usurious interest rates, (2) the clients have borrowed from multiple MFIs and gone into a debt-trap like situation, and (3) the MFIs are resorting to coercive recovery practices. All the three elements can be traced back to the nature of capital that has flown
Institutional Plurality
REVIEW OF WOMEN’S STUDIES October 22, 2011 Subverting Policy, Surviving Poverty: Women and the SGSY in Rural Tamil Nadu Small Loans, Big Dreams: Women and Microcredit in a Globalising Economy
– Kumud Sharma
Women and Pro-Poor Policies in Rural Tamil Nadu: An Examination of Practices and Responses
– J Jeyaranjan
Informed by Gender? Public Policy in Kerala
– Seema Bhaskaran
Addressing Paid Domestic Work: A Public Policy Concern Reproductive Rights and Exclusionary Wrongs: Maternity Benefits
– Nimushakavi Vasanthi – Lakshmi Lingam, Vaidehi Yelamanchili
Reinventing Reproduction, Re-conceiving Challenges: An Examination of Assisted Reproductive Technologies in India
Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
– K Kalpana
– Vrinda Marwah, Sarojini N
For copies write to: Circulation Manager, Economic and Political Weekly, 320-321, A to Z Industrial Estate, Ganpatrao Kadam Marg, Lower Parel, Mumbai 400 013. email: [email protected] 111
DISCUSSION
was inappropriate, he also admits that “RBI should have insisted on enforceable regulation and not been content with an advisory role” (p 47). Taking this point further, Ramesh Ramanathan2 in a recent article argued: Unbridled laissez-faire is perilous when it comes to the poor. Relying solely on market equilibrated prices and behaviour is misplaced for three reasons: structurally inappropriate due to massive information asymmetries in the marketplace; morally unacceptable, given the vulnerability of the poor; and politically unfeasible given the entrenched patron-client relationship between politicians and the poor.
Clearly the response of the RBI to the issues arising out of the crisis of 2006 was inadequate. However, to suddenly turnaround and term microfinance as leveraged moneylending might be mis placed. We argue that MFIs are certainly a better option than moneylenders for one significant reason. MFIs are legal entities, are visible, fall within the regulatory radar, can be called to table and reasoned, can be penalised, and can be made to behave. Therefore, while it is important to understand the role of MFIs and their limitations which Reddy has adequately
pointed out in his article, we also need to argue for institutional plurality when it comes to the agenda of inclusion. Yes, the MFIs need not be treated as holy cows. They do not need any soft regulation. They should be treated on par with any NBFC. They should not be allowed to take a back door entry into banking functions. However, as a formal company registered with the RBI, they not only deserve to exist and negotiate their survival, they also deserve the regulatory attention of the body that has permitted them to operate. The proposed microfinance bill is a different matter and as Reddy points out, it has serious flaws in the “soft” clauses that allow them to do bank like activities. There has to be a regulatory level-playing field. The best example of providing such a framework is available in the recent report on NBFC regulations submitted by a committee headed by Usha Thorat.3 Unfortunately that report has kept MFIs out of its recommendatory purview. That indeed is a tragedy because the RBI seems to continue to keep MFIs out of the mainstream regulatory discourse and deals with these institutions somewhat guardedly and carefully, and sometimes with an unnecessary
A Response Y V Reddy
M
S Sriram in his comments on my article has articulated views on the subject mainly from the point of view of the microfinance industry, and this is therefore a very useful supplement to the comments made by me, which were mainly from the regulatory point of view, based on my limited personal experience. I am sure this debate will lead to consideration of a broader set of issues, keeping the totality of the management of the macroeconomy, monetary policy, and financial sector for promotion of growth with equity. The debate should ideally encompass the role of the monetary authority, the difference between banks (which operate the
112
payment system as well as accept retail deposits) and non-banks, the deposit taking institutions, etc. The optimal level and composition of the activities that could be undertaken by an institution like the RBI is also relevant. The regulation of cooperative credit institutions which are also active in rural areas should form part of the broader analysis. Incidental, if not integral to this debate, should be the role of moneylenders and that of the Moneylenders’ Act in the past, present and in future, given the reality and magnitudes of their presence, and the fact that they are not leveraged. By way of clarification, I would like to mention that my account of RBI’s policy
vehemence as indicated by the postMalegam notifications.
Conclusions In conclusion, while the RBI could use the state governments as instrumentality to carry out its inability to deal with the last mile issues – as it does with a series of memoranda of understanding executed in the context of urban cooperative banks, it cannot abdicate its responsibility of regulation. The debate between monetary management and regulation raised by Reddy is a separate debate. However, this debate is about regulatory convergence. Since the RBI is the regulator for banks as well as NBFCs, it cannot treat MFIs that are NBFCs as a problem of the state governments. These are formal institutions, inviting capital flows and trying to list themselves. Therefore, it is important for RBI to play its role rightfully and effectively. Notes 1 RBI (2000), Communication No: RPCD.NO.PL. BC. 62 /04.09.01/99-2000, dated 18 February. Accessed from the RBI website on 6 February 2011. http://www.rbi.org.in/scripts/NotificationUser. aspx?Id=127&Mode=0 2 Ramesh Ramanathan, “A Place under the Sun for Microfinance”, Mint, 4 November 2011. 3 Working Group on the Issues and Concerns in the NBFC Sector: Report and Recommendations submitted to the RBI.
was mainly in terms of my personal involvement, and hence more focused on the post-2003 developments. During this period, financial inclusion became a more formal agenda in the policy of the RBI. The illustration of IDFC was essentially relating to the RBI’s involvement and our approach to the incentive framework of an institution that is funded by equity capital and is seeking to maximise returns, while simultaneously seeking special treatment for a particular type of promotional work that it was claiming to be doing. It will be useful to assess whether the analysis made by Sriram implies a distinction between for-profit and not-for-profit MFIs, from the point of view of the regulators, consumers, and state governments. It will also be useful to verify whether moneylenders are required to be registered (though many may not) under the relevant Acts.
december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
CURRENT STATISTICS
EPW Research Foundation
The budgeted increase in gross tax revenue in 2011-12 was 17.3% against the increase of 27.3% in 2010-11. The actual performance during April to September has turned out to be much lower at 13.9% against 25.3% in the first half of 2010-11. Non-tax revenue also declined by 69.2% against an increase of 180.3% during the same period. With borrowings and other liabilities jumping by 110.7% against a decline by 32.6%, the fiscal deficit touched 68.0% of the budgeted annual level during April to September in 2011-12 against only 36.1% in 2010-11.
Macroeconomic Indicators Variation (in %): Point-to-Point Index Numbers of Wholesale Prices Weights 12 November Over Over 12 Months Fiscal Year So Far Full Financial Year (Base Year: 2004-05 = 100)^ 2011 Month 2011 2010 2011-12 2010-11 2010-11 2009-10 2008-09 2007-08 Primary Articles 20.1 201.9 -1.3 9.1 15.2 7.2 11.1 13.1 22.4 5.3 9.1 Food Articles 14.3 198.5 -1.1 9.0 11.4 10.8 10.8 8.9 21.1 7.5 5.8 Non-Food Articles 4.3 174.7 -2.8 4.1 23.6 -8.9 11.5 27.3 19.6 1.8 13.3 Fuel & Power 14.9 171.5 0.8 15.5 10.6 8.6 6.0 12.7 13.8 -4.9 9.2 Manufactured Products* 65.0 139.1 0.4 7.7 5.1 2.6 2.4 7.4 5.3 1.7 7.2 Food Products* 10.0 152.0 0.2 7.8 3.8 4.8 -0.5 2.4 15.1 6.3 8.4 Food Index (computed)* 24.3 180.8 1.5 9.9 10.6 9.5 6.4 6.8 18.5 7.3 6.7 All Commodities (point to point basis)* 100.0 156.8 0.6 9.7 9.1 4.9 4.8 9.7 10.4 1.6 7.8 All Commodities (Monthly average basis)* 100.0 154.2 – 9.5 9.1 9.6 9.8 9.6 3.8 8.1 4.9 * Data pertain to the month of October 2011 as weekly release of data discontinued wef 24 Oct 2009. ^The date of first release of data based on 2004-05 series wef 14 September 2010. Variation (in %): Point-to-Point Cost of Living Indices Latest Over Over 12 Months Fiscal Year So Far Full Fiscal Year Month 2011 Month 2011 2010 2011-12 2010-11 2010-11 2009-10 2008-09 2007-08 2006-07 9 Industrial Workers (IW) (2001=100) 197 1.5 10.1 9.8 6.5 5.3 8.8 14.9 8.0 7.9 6.7 10 Agricultural Labourers (AL) (1986-87=100) 619 0.7 9.4 8.4 5.8 5.6 9.1 15.8 9.5 7.9 9.5
2006-07 12.9 12.7 13.4 0.9 6.5 4.3 9.6 6.8 6.5
2005-06 5.3 5.3
Note: Superscript numeral denotes month to which figure relates, e g, superscript 9 stands for September and 10 stands for October. Variation Money and Banking (Rs crore) 4 November Over Month Over Year Fiscal Year So Far Full Fiscal Year 2011 2011 2011-12 2010-11 2010-11 2009-10 2008-09 Money Supply (M3) 7010561 47739(0.7) 970085(16.1) 511013(7.9) 437744(7.8) 896817 (16.0) 807920 (16.8) 776930 (19.3) Currency with Public 968051 18819(2.0) 103113(11.9) 53854(5.9) 97445(12.7) 146704 (19.1) 102043 (15.3) 97040 (17.1) Deposits Money with Banks 6041202 29979(0.5) 869945(16.8) 459564(8.2) 339857(7.0) 750239 (15.5) 707606 (17.2) 683375 (19.9) of which: Demand Deposits 644057 -7862(-1.2) -18534(-2.8) -73602(-10.3) -55379(-7.7) -310 (-0.0) 129281 (22.0) 10316 (1.8) Time Deposits 5397145 37841(0.7) 888479(19.7) 533166(11.0) 395236(9.6) 750549 (18.2) 578325 (16.4) 673059 (23.5) Net Bank Credit to Government 2192844 34871(1.6) 356722(19.4) 210073(10.6) 166937(10.0) 313584 (18.8) 391853 (30.7) 377815 (42.0) Bank Credit to Commercial Sector 4476698 30945(0.7) 672318(17.7) 241291(5.7) 312970(9.0) 743997 (21.3) 476516 (15.8) 435904 (16.9) Net Foreign Exchange Assets 1551778 9712(0.6) 188425(13.8) 158451(11.4) 81884(6.4) 111858 (8.7) 367718 (-5.2) 57053 (4.4) Banking Sector’s Net Non-Monetary Liabilities 1224070 27789(2.3) 248539(25.5) 99390(8.8) 124929(14.7) 274078 (32.2) -9050 (-1.1) 94672 (12.4) of which: RBI 530784 11966(2.3) 182733(52.5) 162510(44.1) 46437(15.4) 66660 (22.1) -86316 (-22.3) 177709 (84.5) Reserve Money (18 November 2011) 1401226 12036(0.9) 169327(13.7) 24344(1.8) 76212(6.6) 221195 (19.1) 167688 (17.0) 59696 (6.4) Net RBI Credit to Centre 415623 21277(-) 157528(-) 21589(-) 46514(-) 182453 149821 176397 Scheduled Commercial Banks (4 November 2011) Aggregate Deposits 5654106 29174(0.5) 841320(17.5) 446137(8.6) 319960(7.1) 715143 (15.9) 658716 (17.2) 637170 (19.9) Demand 564735 -7944(-1.4) -25820(-4.4) -76971(-12.0) -55055(-8.5) -3905 (-0.6) 122525 (23.4) -1224 (-0.2) Time 5089371 37118(0.7) 867140(20.5) 523107(11.5) 375015(9.7) 719048 (18.7) 536191 (16.2) 638395 (23.9) Investments (for SLR purposes) 1731638 -3140(-0.2) 243407(16.4) 230019(15.3) 103479(7.5) 116867 (8.4) 218342 (18.7) 194694 (20.0) Bank Credit 4180474 31876(0.8) 650078(18.4) 238392(6.0) 285608(8.8) 697294 (21.5) 469239 (16.9) 413635 (17.5) Non-Food Credit 4103011 17729(0.4) 626363(18.0) 225211(5.8) 280349(8.8) 681500 (21.3) 466961 (17.1) 411825 (17.8) Commercial Investments 170559 1284(0.8) 17468(11.4) 22958(15.6) 35020(29.7) 28872 (24.5) 11654 (11.0) 10911 (11.4) Total Bank Assistance to Comml Sector 4273570 19013(0.4) 643831(17.7) 248169(6.2) 315369(9.5) 710372 (21.4) 478615 (16.9) 422736 (17.5) Note: Government Balances as on 31 March 2011 are after closure of accounts. Index Numbers of Industrial Production September* Fiscal Year So Far Full Fiscal Year Averages (Base 2004-05=100) Weights 2011 2011-12 2010-11 2010-11 2009-10 2008-09 2007-08 2006-07 General Index 100.00 163.2(1.8) 166.0(5.0) 158.1(8.2) 165.4(8.2) 152.9(5.3) 145.2(2.5) 141.7(15.5) 122.6(12.9) Mining and Quarrying 14.157 111.0-(5.7) 122.6-(1.0) 123.8(7.2) 131.0(5.2) 124.5(7.9) 115.4(2.6) 112.5(4.6) 107.6(5.2) Manufacturing 75.527 175.7(2.1) 176.6(5.4) 167.6(8.8) 175.6(8.9) 161.3(4.8) 153.8(2.5) 150.1(18.4) 126.8(15.0) Electricity 10.316 144.1(9.0) 148.2(9.4) 135.5(3.8) 138.0(5.6) 130.8(6.1) 123.3(2.8) 120.0(6.4) 112.8(7.3) * Indices for the month are Quick Estimates Fiscal Year So Far 2010-11 End of Fiscal Year Capital Market 25 Nov 2011 Month Ago Year Ago Trough Peak Trough Peak 2010-11 2009-10 2008-09 BSE Sensitive Index (1978-79=100) 15695(-18.8) 17255 19318(12.3) 15695 19702 16022 21005 19445(10.9) 17528(80.5) 9709(-37.9) BSE-100 (1983-84=100) 8157(-20.0) 8955 10191(12.7) 8124 10262 8540 11141 10096(8.6) 9300(88.2) 4943(-40.0) BSE-200 (1989-90=100) 1915(-21.3) 2098 2432(14.0) 1905 2427 2034 2753 2379(8.1) 2200(92.9) 1140(-41.0) S&P CNX Nifty (3 Nov 1995=1000) 4710(-18.8) 5192 5800(13.5) 4706 5912 4807 6312 5834(11.1) 5249(73.8) 3021(-36.2) Skindia GDR Index (2 Jan 1995=1000) 1980(-38.0) 2375 3196(22.3) 1980 3441 2477 3479 3151(9.3) 2883(134.2) 1153(-56.2) Net FII Investment in (US $ Mn Equities) - period end 101806(0.1) 101796 101727(44.3) – – – – 101454(31.5) 77159(43.1) 51669(-18.6) September* Fiscal Year So Far Full Fiscal Year Foreign Trade 2011 2011-12 2010-11 2010-11 2009-10 2008-09 2007-08 2006-07 2005-06 2004-05 Exports: Rs crore 118234 723432 (49.3) 484687 (23.2) 1118823 (32.3) 845534 (0.6) 840754(28.2) 655863(14.7) 571779(25.3) 456418(21.6) 375340(27.9) US $ mn 24822 160049 (52.1) 105241 (30.0) 245868 (37.5) 178751 (-3.5) 185295 (13.6) 163132(29.0) 126361(22.6) 103091(23.4) 83536(30.8) Imports: Rs crore 164759 1055339 (30.0) 811773 (30.4) 1596869 (17.1) 1363736 (-0.8) 1374434(35.8) 1012312(20.4) 840506(27.3) 660409(31.8) 501065(39.5) US $ mn 34589 233510 (32.4) 176360 (37.6) 350695 (21.6) 288373 (-5.0) 303696(20.7) 251654(35.5) 185749(24.5) 149166(33.8) 111517(42.7) Non-POL US $ mn (* Provisional figures) 25379 163161 (28.5) 126955 (40.0) 249006 (23.7) 201237 (-4.2) 210029(22.2) 171940(33.5) 128790(22.4) 105233(37.1) 76772(33.2) Balance of Trade: Rs crore -46525 -331907 -327085 -478047 -518202 -533680 -356449 -268727 -203991 -125725 US $ mn -9767 -73461 -71119 -104827 -109621 -118401 -88522 -59388 -46075 -27981 * Provisional figures. Variation Over Foreign Exchange Reserves (excluding 18 Nov 19 Nov 31 Mar Fiscal Year So Far Full Fiscal Year gold but including revaluation effects) 2011 2010 2011 Month Ago Year Ago 2011-12 2010-11 2010-11 2009-10 2008-09 2007-08 2006-07 Rs crore 1433191 1241568 1245284 -4101 191623 187907 69322 73038 -57826 33975 359500 189270 US $ mn 279103 274319 278899 -7953 4784 204 14628 19208 18264 -57821 107324 46816 Figures in brackets are percentage variations over the specified or over the comparable period of the previous year. (–) not relevant. [Comprehensive current economic statistics with regular weekly updates, as also the thematic notes and Special Statistics series, are available on our website: http://www.epwrf.in]. Economic & Political Weekly EPW december 10, 2011 vol xlvi no 50
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Budget Heads
April - September 2001-02 Actuals
2002-03 Actuals
2003-04 Actuals
december 10, 2011 vol xlvI no 50 EPW Economic & Political Weekly
2011-12 Actual
15 as 12%
A Gross Tax Revenue 187060 216266 254348 304958 366151 473512 593147 605299 624528 795063 932440 324397 40.8 369353 (-0.8) (15.6) (17.6) (19.9) (20.1) (29.3) (25.3) (2.0) (3.2) (27.3) (17.3) (25.3) (13.9) 1 Corporation Tax 36609 46172 63562 82680 101277 144318 192911 213395 244725 299422 359990 123161 41.1 127375 (2.6) (26.1) (37.7) (30.1) (22.5) (42.5) (33.7) (10.6) (14.7) (22.4) (20.2) (17.9) (3.4) 2 Income Tax 32004 36866 41387 49268 55985 75093 102644 106046 122370 139147 164526 56480 40.6 66249 (0.8) (15.2) (12.3) (19.0) (13.6) (34.1) (36.7) (3.3) (15.4) (13.7) (18.2) (13.6) (17.3) 3 Customs Duty 40268 44852 48629 57611 65067 86327 104119 99879 83324 136058 151700 61051 44.9 74808 (-15.3) (11.4) (8.4) (18.5) (12.9) (32.7) (20.6) -(4.1) -(16.6) (63.3) (11.5) (61.8) (22.5) 4 Union Excise Duties 72555 82310 90774 99125 111226 117613 123611 108613 102991 138372 163550 52058 37.6 59315 (5.9) (13.4) (10.3) (9.2) (12.2) (5.7) (5.1) -(12.1) -(5.2) (34.4) (18.2) (41.1) (13.9) 5 Other Tax* 5624 6066 9996 16274 32596 50161 69862 77366 71118 82064 92674 31647 38.6 41606 (10.8) (7.9) (64.8) (62.8) (100.3) (53.9) (39.3) (10.7) -(8.1) (15.4) (12.9) (5.4) (31.5) Surcharge of Financing NCCF 686 1600 1600 1565 2825 2000 1800 1800 3160 2970 4525 1204 40.5 1448 Assignment to States 52842 56122 65766 78595 94385 120330 151800 160179 164831 219303 253458 89778 40.9 113174 (2.2) (6.2) (17.2) (19.5) (20.1) (27.5) (26.2) (5.5) (2.9) (33.0) (15.6) (24.5) (26.1) B Centre’s Finances 1 Revenue Receipts (a+b) 201306 230834 263813 305991 347077 434387 541864 540259 572811 794277 789892 398234 50.1 305528 (4.5) (14.7) (14.3) (16.0) (13.4) (25.2) (24.7) -(0.3) (6.0) (38.7) -(0.6) (62.9) (-23.3) (a) Tax Revenue 133532 158544 186982 224798 270264 351182 439547 443319 459444 572790 664457 233415 40.8 254731 (Net to centre) (2.3) (18.7) (17.9) (20.2) (20.2) (29.9) (25.2) (0.9) (3.6) (24.7) (16.0) (25.7) (9.1) (b) Non-Tax Revenue 67774 72290 76831 81193 76813 83205 102317 96940 116014 221487 125435 164819 74.4 50797 (24.7) (6.7) (6.3) (5.7) -(5.4) (8.3) (23.0) -(5.3) (19.7) (90.9) -(43.4) (180.3) (-69.2) 2 Non-Debt Capital Receipts 20049 37432 84118 66467 12226 6427 43895 6705 33194 35599 55020 6491 18.2 12755 of which: (40.2) (86.7) (124.7) -(21.0) -(81.6) -(47.4) (583.0) -(84.7) (395.1) (7.2) (54.6) -(1.7) (96.5) 2.1 Recovery of Loans 16403 34191 67165 62043 10645 5893 5100 6139 8613 12752 15020 4256 33.4 10024 2.2 Other Receipts 3646 3151 16953 4424 1581 534 38795 566 24581 22847 40000 2235 9.8 2731 3 Borrowing and Other Liabilities 140955 145072 123273 125794 146435 142573 129814 336992 418482 369043 412817 133252 36.1 280810 (8.6) (2.9) -(15.0) (2.0) (16.4) -(2.6) -(8.9) (159.6) (24.2) -(11.8) (11.9) -(32.6) (110.7) 4 Total Receipts (1+2+3) 362310 413338 471204 498252 505738 583387 715573 883956 1025883 1198919 1257729 537977 44.9 599093 (8.6) (14.1) (14.0) (5.7) (1.5) (15.4) (22.7) (23.5) (16.1) (16.9) (4.9) (19.9) (11.4) 5 Revenue Expenditure 301468 338713 362074 384329 439376 514609 594433 793798 911809 1039130 1097162 473155 45.5 527308 (9.6) (12.4) (6.9) (6.1) (14.3) (17.1) (15.5) (33.5) (14.9) (14.0) (5.6) (15.6) (11.4) of which: (a.1) Interest Payments 107460 117804 124088 126934 132630 150272 171030 192204 213093 234739 267986 102779 43.8 122499 (9.6) (9.6) (5.3) (2.3) (4.5) (13.3) (13.8) (12.4) (10.9) (10.2) (14.2) (18.6) (19.2) 6 Capital Expenditure 60842 74535 109129 113923 66362 68778 118238 90158 112678 159789 160567 64822 40.6 71785 (9.6) (22.5) (46.4) (4.4) -(41.7) (3.6) (71.9) -(23.7) (25.0) (41.8) (0.5) (64.5) (10.7) of which: (a.1) Loans Disbursed 2468 6409 1938 2494 2014 1497 1593 1709 1143 24985 17151 11194 44.8 23027 (9.6) (159.7) -(69.8) (28.7) -(19.2) -(25.7) (6.4) (7.3) -(33.1) (2085.9) -(31.4) (4045.9) (105.7) 7 Total Expenditure (5+6) 362310 413248 471203 498252 505738 583387 712671 883956 1018526 1198919 1257729 537977 44.9 599093 (12.3) (14.1) (14.0) (5.7) (1.5) (15.4) (22.2) (24.0) (15.2) (17.7) (4.9) (19.9) (11.4) 8 Revenue Deficit 100162 107879 98261 78338 92299 80222 52569 253539 338998 244853 307270 74921 30.6 221780 (17.5) (7.7) -(8.9) -(20.3) (17.8) -(13.1) -(34.5) (382.3) (33.7) -(27.8) (25.5) -(54.6) (196.0) 9 Fiscal Deficit 140955 145072 123273 125794 146435 142573 129814 336992 418482 369043 412817 133252 36.1 280810 10 Primary Deficit 33495 27268 -815 -1140 13805 -7699 -41216 144788 205389 134304 144831 30473 22.7 158311
39.6
* : Includes Service Tax, Securities Transction Tax, Banking Cash Transaction Tax, Fringe Benefit Tax, Wealth Tax, etc. Actuals are unaudited provisional. BE: Budget Estimates. NCCF: National Calamity Contingency Fund. Figures in brackets are percentage growth over the corresponding period of the previous year. Source: http://www.cga.nic.in/data0212.htm and Central Government Budget Documents, various issues.
2004-05 Actuals
2005-06 Actuals
2006-07 Actuals
2007-08 Actuals
2008-09 Actuals
2009-10 Actuals
2010-11 Actuals
2011-12 BE
2010-11 Actual
13 as 11%
35.4 40.3 49.3 36.3 44.9 32.0 44.7
38.7 38.3 40.5 23.2 66.7 6.8 68.0 47.6 48.1 45.7 44.7 134.3 47.6 72.2 68.0 109.3
STATISTICS
114
Finances of Government of India (April-September) (Rs crore)
