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From Out Of The Gloom They Come

From out of the gloom of the Mahim distance, from among the cars and buses and trucks that streamed unendingly towards us, from within the dust that hangs over life in the big city -- from somewhere in there, I saw them emerge. Hundreds of them, they came. Tired and dusty, trudging along wearily, but still raising their slogans, they came. In minutes, they were swirling around me, finding places to flop down on the ground, catch their breath, down some water, lay back and close their eyes. They had been on the road for nearly four full days; this most recent leg of their trip had been especially long. Through towns like Niphad, Nasik, Kasara and Thane, on little sleep and under the summer-fierce sun, they had spent most of the last 24 hours on the move.

Now they were here, in Mahim's Macchimar Nagar (Fishermen's Colony), to spend the night. Tomorrow presented the prospect of another trek, this time to Azad Maidan in South Bombay, to hold a rally and a press conference. And then it would be time to hop on trains, take their message north. To Delhi.

A long haul indeed, and most of the miles lay still -- and hot and dusty -- ahead. But considering the long road already travelled -- on this trip, yes, but also over the last decade and more -- today was scarcely more than a sweat-breaker. There had been and would be many more slogans, many more rallies, many more protest marches. After all, the fight to save your home, your land, your life itself, especially if you are a tribal or a poor farmer, is a long and hard one. A trek through Bombay is thus only a small part of a much larger whole. And that's probably why, despite being grimy and weary, few of these people looked or acted defeated. Not at all. There was almost an air of some defiance in the air.

Yes, it was the Manavadhikar Yatra (Human Rights Rally) come to town. From the valley of the Narmada River, from the shadow of the Sardar Sarovar Dam on the river, carrying bags and food and water, they had come to Bombay: some 2000 men, women, youths.

They had set out from their homes to show that despite a recent interim order from the Supreme Court, their struggle for a minimum justice continues. The order allows the Government of Gujarat to raise the dam's height by almost 5 metres. Considering that the same Court has prevented construction on that dam for over 4 years while hearing a comprehensive case about it, given the exasperation that stoppage has caused among contractors and politicians in Gujarat, it is not surprising that the order was hailed as a major victory by the government of that state. But they might rein in the celebrations a little longer: this is an interim order, and the case is still to be fully decided.

In any case, renewed construction raises the same issue all over again; the very same issue that few in the government or in cities that benefit from dams have much time for. Namely: what shall we do with the people who are displaced by the dam?

Now the Gujarat government may enjoy thinking, and telling you, that with this order, all "obstacles" in the path of the Sardar Sarovar Dam are now gone. The thousands who set out on the Manavadhikar Yatra set out precisely to show up the lie in such an impression. They are the flesh and blood that prove how hollow has been India's treatment of people pushed from their land and homes by dams. It is a treatment with a long and dishonourable history, one that finds new chapters every year. This is why people on this Yatra will continue to struggle against that dam. They look at what happened to millions who have gone before and they know: they, too, will be turned into destitutes by the dam. Their only hope, their only way, is to raise their voices, wave their hands, try to get your attention. Your concern. Your interest. Because the justice they are fighting for today is the justice that, if they fail, will be denied to you tomorrow.

After all, there have been many directives and agreements and court orders, too, that have urged our governments to adequately resettle and rehabilitate (R&R) people affected by dams. Those have never been greeted in Gujarat with the euphoria that this most recent Supreme Court order has; those have never, therefore, been given much attention. For just one random example, take the International Labour Organisation's Convention 107. It concerns "the Protection and Integration of Indigenous and other Tribal and Semi-Tribal Populations in Independent Countries."

India was one of the earliest countries to ratify Convention 107: on September 29, 1958. Article 12 of that Convention addresses the removal of tribal populations "in the interest of national economic development." That interest, we hear said so often, is the reason for dams like Sardar Sarovar. Such removed people, the Convention requires of signatory nations, "shall be provided with lands of quality at least equal to that of the lands previously occupied by them, suitable to provide for their present needs and future development."

The thousands on that Yatra know just how well we have followed this Convention we signed so eagerly over 40 years ago.

I didn't get around to asking, but I am quite sure some of them remember what happened in Kevadia, a little town in Gujarat very close to the site of the Sardar Sarovar Dam. If you visit Kevadia, you will find there a wondrously neat colony where the engineers who work on the project live.

Most of the land of six villages -- Kevadia itself, Kothie, Vaghadiya, Gora, Limdi and Navagam -- was acquired to build this colony. In 1992, the Morse Report estimated that this acquisition had affected nearly 1000 families. Many from those six villages were paid some compensation (between Rs 90 and Rs 250 per acre, Morse reported) for the loss of their land. But most are clearly unhappy with their situation, with promises of compensation and rehabilitation not kept. "Both non-government organisations and World Bank representatives," Bradford Morse wrote, "have strongly criticised Gujarat's failure to deal fairly with the six villages."

His terse comment after speaking to many of these villagers: "They felt cheated."

And when was Kevadia Colony built? Work began there, and thus the land was acquired, in 1961. Nearly 40 years ago. Just a few years after we signed the ILO's Convention 107. I can think of no better measure of how the Gujarat government has approached R&R than that figure: 40 years.

Over the last few days, a nation has hung anxiously on the plans of a large lady who should long ago have been made the political pariah her resume indicates she must be. Meanwhile, a prime minister flies across the country to rename an ugly mess of an airport, shares a platform with a remote control just as deserving as the large lady of pariah-hood, and tries to pretend this renaming alone is progress, is a fabulous achievement.

It is with such substantial phenomena that a Manavadhikar Yatra must compete for your attention. That is why it might have been greeted in Bombay, as most protest rallies and marches are these days, with indifference and even hostility. Who are these grubby wanderers, holding up traffic and making a ridiculous racket with their silly slogans? Why can't they remain where they came from? Why are they here?

Quite simple, really. They were here, and are now in Delhi, because 40 years is a long time to wait.

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Tailpiece:

In a column here last week, you read these lines:

The dorks on Rediff had taken great pains to establish that the Christian population of India has fallen...

[Census figures for Christians]

1961: 10,728,086
1971: 14,225,045
1981: 16,165,447
1991: 19,640,284

The decadal *growth* rate figures of 1981-91:

Buddhists: 35.98 %
Muslims: 32.76 %
Hindus: 22.78 %
Christians: 16.89 %
Jains: 4.42 %

And then there was this rhetorical question:

Did someone say the Christian population had fallen...?

Classic tactics: set up a straw man, tear him to bits, pose as the forthright defender of truth. Meanwhile, hope that nobody notices the straw man was hollow to begin with. Or that the tearing-to-bits was flawed too.

First of all, nobody that I know of, let alone "the dorks on Rediff," has claimed that the Christian population in India has actually fallen. (If somebody actually did claim that, it would be an extremely foolish claim). What has been claimed is that the *proportion* of Christians in India has declined. That is borne out by the decadal growth figures quoted above: if the Christian growth figure is less than the others, a moment's reflection tells you that their fraction of the population has gone down.

Second, the very figures above are false. A 1981 population of 16,165,447 and a 1991 population of 19,640,284 means a decadal growth of not 16.89%, but 21.5%. Either that 1991 figure is wrong, or the decadal growth figure is wrong.

In any case, even with a decadal growth of 21.5%, the first point above is still valid: since it is less than the other growth rates, the proportion of Christians in the country has declined. Proved by the very figures quoted to you.

A side point: it is very hard to believe that the Jain population increased by just 4.42% in 1981-91. My trusty Tata Statistical Outline tells me Jains went from 2.6 million to 3.2 million between 1971 and 1981: a 23.08% increase. Why would that rate have declined so sharply, to 4.42%?

Dilip D'Souza