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THE PERSISTENCE OF CASTE

The Political Economy of Atrocities

The Shaping of The Macabre Spectacle

Anand Teltumbde

Reservation, Assertion and Atrocity

In such a caste-fixated society, where independent, enlightened dalit politics was also successfully thwarted, dalit assertion came to manifest itself in the form of an increasing number of Buddhist viharas and statues of Ambedkar in dalit localities all over the country. The impetus for this came from the number of dalits entering jobs through reservation, the base of which was widened owing to a policy trust on public sector expansion. For those with some disposable income and economic security, statues and viharas served to meet their psychological needs – the need to demonstrate their gratefulness to Ambedkar, to whom they attributed their place in the system; the need to show a return made to the community and the need to overcome the alienation induced by their new work environment – since they were often, subtly or otherwise, excluded from political activity. The Ambedkar statue soon became a symbol of dalit existence and aspiration, overwhelming all other material considerations. Anyone could install such statues and claim concern for dalit interests. The electoral significance of dalits, in terms of their sheer numbers and the competitive pressure among the ruling-class parties to garner their votes also resulted in support for grander Ambedkar statues at public places, with state backing and at state expense.

The Ambedkar statues, while coming to symbolize dalit aspirations and assertion, created a psychological deficit among nondalits. It tended to disturb the equilibrium of caste society. The clandestine attacks on or defilement of Ambedkar statues reflect this psychological intimidation, though most of these acts of vandalism are part of the political intrigues of the mainstream parties.

    Caste Hindus in rural areas never took kindly to the policies of positive discrimination that advanced dalit interests. The increasing incidence of education among dalits, much more than among other shudra castes, was attributed to these policies and begrudged. Educated dalits also tended to assert their rights more keenly, which created further resentment. It is commonplace in dalit experience to face humiliating references and oblique remarks about being the ‘sons-in-law of the government’; these are nothing but manifestations of caste spite and vexation. With education, and exit from villages, many dalits have made good progress. It invariably brings about some amount of economic as well as cultural advancement for the families left behind in the village home. This often serves as an inspiration for dalit youth because it means their families do not have to depend upon the village’s caste Hindus and hence are not constrained to endure their offensiveness.

The benefits accrued from the policy of reservation, however negligible, have caused rancor. In the job sector, the system of mandatory reservation was applicable only within the domain of public sector where a fixed share (quota) in employment opportunities was allocated in proportion to the population of dalits in each state. However, even in the public sector, key posts were usually kept out of bounds for dalits. Considering the employment structure in the country, where the organized sector employment hovered around just 6 to 8 percent of the total workforce, just about 62 percent was in the public sector. Only an estimated 9 percent of dalits even manage to reach a level of higher education which qualifies them for reserved jobs. Of this lot, only 30 percent manage to land some reserved post or the other. The rest of the dalits are left to suffer prejudices ordained by the caste system and straitjacketed into menial, undervalued occupations. What this means is that the much publicized quota system has ensured some form of employment merely to about 3 to 4 percent of dalits.

While the general brahminical lament is that the public sector in India underperforms owing to the policy of reservation that apparently compromises ‘merit’, the participation of dalits in decision-making jobs has been so negligible that the quota system can hardly be blamed. On the contrary, it is a reflection of the incapacities of the brahminical classes who disproportionately dominate decision-making. Even within the minuscule dalit elite that benefits from scarcely available public sector employment, very few people manage to land white-collar jobs; it is usually the blue-collar and janitorial services – officially and derogatorily referred to as Class IV jobs in India – that remain the prerogative of the dalits.

After the adoption of neoliberal economic reforms since 1991, there has been a systematic contraction of the domain over which the reservations were applicable. With the growth rate of employment in the public sector remaining negative, reservation for dalits has been effectively neutralized without the statutes being tinkered with. Moreover, even this limited means of empowerment was undermined by the extension of quotas to other new claimants – the Backward Classes. The extension of reservation to erstwhile shudra communities as part of the implementation of the Mandal Commission report starting in 1990 coincided with the inauguration of the policy of the World Bank-dictated liberalization of the economy and the weakening of the already moribund public sector. Given that the privileged castes, abetted by the media, protested vehemently against the extension of provision of reservation, the anti-reservation sentiments of the elite segments affected not just the BCs but also dalits – it brought the very issue of reservation under question. The ensuing competition between the Backward Classes (shudra) and dalits for the meager spoils of the reservation system further sharpened the antagonism between the two blocs.

The resentment, amplified by the rise of a tiny class of dalit and its assertion in the cultural-symbolic realm, easily transforms into hostility because of the relative weakness of the community. While the existence of caste consciousness and animosity are the essential ingredients of any caste crime they may not manifest themselves as violence. For the precipitation of a caste crime, there needs to be an immediate cause, a provocation, natural or fabricated, that acts as the spark, a sufficient excuse. Invariably, caste prejudices and resentment create conditions that may provoke defiant behavior from dalits, which then could be used as ‘justification’ for a violent reaction.

The 1927 Mahad satyagraha is a classic example. Led by Ambedkar, dalits marched to a public tank in the Maharashtrian town of Mahad to exercise their civil right to draw water. Though the orthodox elements were opposed to their doing so, they made no move to stop them until the protestors arrived at the tank. This they then claimed was an affront enough for them to spring a brutal attack on the demonstrators. In the case of Khairlanji, the caste Hindus of the village were always hostile to the Bhotmanges for not confirming to the behavioural code expected of them and for asserting their independence  and dignity, as well as shall see in Chapter 5.

  Shifting trends in electoral politics have also added a new dimension to caste dynamics in rural India. Where dalits were previously supposed to follow the diktat of the traditional village hegemon when casting their vote, with the post-1970s rise of competitive identitarian politics, the dalit vote could no longer be taken for granted. Fundamentals of democratic franchise could and many times did become a trigger to violence: voting for a candidate or a party of choice, contesting against a caste Hindu, unacceptable independent-mindedness in a dalit candidate or complaints against electoral irregularities and malpractices – any such could be used to punish dalits collectively.

The panchayat raj system has in many areas aggravated caste equations to the detriment of dalits. Many atrocities have taken place around the issue of the panchayat election or its operation. One of the most violent atrocities over panchayat elections was witnessed in Tamil Nadu’s Melavalavu in Madurai district in June 1997, when K. Murugesan, the dalit panchayat president of Melavalavu, and his five dalit associates were hacked to death. The cause for the multiple murders can be traced to the 1996 elections to local bodies, when the panchayat was designed as a constituency reserved for the Schedule Caste. Dalits who had filed nominations had to withdraw following caste-Hindu terror; the election was thus rendered infructuous. When elections were held some time later with fresh nominations, booth-capturing necessitated a re-poll. Murugesam was elected in the re-poll, but he was prevented from functioning as panchayat president by some caste Hindus.

Many instances have been reported of an elected dalit sarpanch (head of panchayat) found sitting sidelined on the floor while a caste Hindu conducts the panchayat proceedings seated on a chair. (The seating arrangement underscores in body metaphor the elected representative’s low status; dalits in any case are not supposed to use chairs in the presence of a caste Hindu, though they may squat if so required.) Any resistance to this could lead to an atrocity.

How then do we prevent atrocities? One strategy could be to prevent three factors – caste consciousness, caste antagonism and provocation – from coming together. That would mean that people could have caste consciousness but without developing grudges against each other, a situation analogous to the one that prevailed in classical caste society. A second strategy is prevention – even when people have caste consciousness and caste antagonism, if one could avert provocative incidents, caste crime too many be largely obstructed. This may be achievable through the law and order machinery. However, if asserting one’s civil rights could be construed by caste Hindus as a provocation, curbing such an assertion would amount to curbing civil rights – a most retrogressive measure, worse than the potential atrocity. The solution, therefore, lies in curbing either caste consciousness or caste antagonism. Caste antagonism can be viewed as a corollary of the anticaste struggle and preventable, therefore, only at the cost of democratically valid assertion. It hence follows that the only viable strategy to curb caste crimes is to eliminate caste consciousness.

This strategy holds good in the case of spontaneous caste crimes. But spontaneous is not what caste crimes always are. A momentary provocation may lead to a crime, but in most cases, the objective is to show the community its place. Murder, then, not a simple killing, becomes a display of ghastly violence –Melavalavu’s Murugesan was beheaded and his head thrown into a well. Rape is not a private affair – in Khairlanji, it was a celebratory public spectacle. Atrocities involve intricate and devious planning so that they constitute a ‘lesson’ for the entire dalit community. The worst crimes are planned meticulously to inflict maximum damage. In this sense, the so-called provocation is just an excuse. The crime is committed when its perpetrator is reasonably sure of several tiers of protection. First, as Khairanji demonstrates, the crime could be suppressed as a non-atrocity. If it cannot be fully suppressed, it could be carelessly registered, and attempts could be made to destroy the evidence and weaken the investigation; in court, the prosecution can be paid off or frustrated. If, after all this, the criminals are convicted (particularly under pressure of public outcry), the case could be taken on appeal to higher courts. This would take years, and by then, the public clamor would have subsided, and the case itself would have been forgotten by all, except the survivors.