NonAlignment 2.0: A Foreign and Strategic Policy for India in the 21st Century (11 page)

It is, therefore, time to think creatively about managing this migration. Instead of operating with unsustainable categories like citizen and non-citizen, it would be desirable to introduce a system of work permits that would more frankly acknowledge the realities on the ground, would allow migration to be documented and managed better, but would still preserve the sense that there is a distinction between citizens and people who come here for work. It would protect the rights of both groups better.

The other blunt truth is that the Central government will have to take some political risk. Apart from the burden of past wrongs, which the state has yet to recognize, the single most potent symbol of alienation in the North-East remains the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act.
Despite a concerted campaign over the last five years and promises made from the highest levels, this act is no closer to being repealed than it was several years ago. Nor has any effort been made to give citizens a credible assurance that grievance redressal mechanisms will be made more effective. The AFSPA has therefore become a symbol of permanent political estrangement. The problems posed by it need to be addressed.

A better understanding of political discourse among various groups in the region is also needed. They remain trapped in negotiating impasses. There are two big obstacles to creating new political discourses. First, leaders fear becoming hostage to the logic of radicalism noted above, which seeks to succeed by outbidding. Often this makes them vulnerable to violence from within. A state needs a political strategy to defuse this threat—and political leaders who are willing to take the risk. Without addressing this issue, no conflict can be resolved. Second, almost all the measures states propose to alleviate grievances, like development, opening the economy and infrastructure, do not address political narratives around identity or political grievances linked to rights abuses. The great resilience of territorial demands and demands for representation and justice is that they tap into a collective politics of self-esteem. Development can provide resources and
escape mechanisms to individuals. This is important, but it needs to be accompanied by a narrative that replaces the romance of identity politics with a new narrative of integration and economic advancement. There are few examples of politicians who have been able to convert a narrative of identity, resentment and fear into a narrative of hope and change.

In addition to continuing regional state-level conflicts, the Indian state will face two types of new challenges of inclusive governance: sub-regional demands and conflicts over megacities. The Telangana movement exemplifies the challenge of sub-state nationalism, and a couple of general lessons emerge from it. First, there is no objective basis for determining the optimal size of states. While an intuitive case can be made that several of India’s states are too big to provide accessible governance, what counts as an optimal or viable state does not lend itself to delineation in terms of necessary and sufficient conditions. What is evident is large intra-state inequalities in India’s states. Ideally these can be addressed through normal policy instruments. But increasingly—sometimes even without justification—intra-state inequality will be attributed by those subject to its effects to active discrimination by the state, rather than being seen as a product of complex economic processes. In this sense, intra-state inequality
poses a political challenge. When intra-state inequality is cast as a political challenge, the ‘bring development’ slogan may not be sufficient: the state may have to concede, in the name of development, the demands of poorer regions, as it did in 2000. Yet the conundrum is that once it deeply legitimizes the principle of sub-regional nationalism, it could have cascade effects, as happened in the North-East. There are, in principle, other solutions—which can lie anywhere between the formation of new states to the creation of local government. One might also experiment with intermediate structures like regional boards, such as the Ladakh Hill Council, for instance. These regional representative structures have been often put on paper and talked about, but seldom implemented.

The second big emerging challenge for inclusive governance centres on India’s most successful cities: What is the place of megacities, both in defining India’s global profile and in domestic political equations? The fact is that mega cities like Hyderabad and Mumbai are sources of immense economic power. The great conflict is over the resources these cities provide. Even in Telangana, part of the ambition is to diminish the alleged control of outsiders over the resources of Hyderabad. States like Uttar Pradesh, where there is no dominant urban centre, will be easier to divide into smaller states; but states like
Maharashtra, Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka, which possess high-stake urban centres, may find themselves embroiled in protracted conflicts which could paralyse their productive centres. India simply does not have a framework for megacity governance. But these cities are increasingly going to be at once the sites and objects of conflict: questions centring on who controls their vast resources, who is allowed into these cities, and others will become pressing. From a strategic point of view, we will need to evolve frameworks of state, local and urban government that can enable the governance needs of megacities, fostering their economic dynamism and cosmopolitan identities.

We also have to acknowledge that there are certain sectors of the citizenry for which the state has failed to provide a viable place in the federal architecture. Adivasis are the truly marginalized citizens of India’s federal democracy. Confined to areas where the state has had a fitful and arbitrary presence, few of their promised rights as citizens have been delivered to them. Further, they have seen their traditional forms and sources of livelihood collapse around them, without being provided the tools to enter into the more modern sectors of the economy. Finally, unlike other hitherto marginalized groups like the Dalits, the Adivasis have no overarching emancipatory
narrative, no effective mainstream party and political leadership, and no capacity to mobilize in politically significant ways within established structures.

Part of the difficulty with Adivasi policy has been its construction around a fundamentally flawed dichotomy. For a long time, the state and planners have seen the choices before them as either one of promoting the gradual integration and access of Adivasis to the wider economy or of creating enclaves where traditional ways of life can, to a certain degree, be preserved. What this dichotomy between ‘assimilation’ and arcadia obscures is the fact that ‘integration’ with the wider economy has always been on terms that have been unfavourable to the Adivasis, who lose their land and homes for large projects without getting in exchange tangible, long-term benefits out of them. Add the ecological factor, and it is clear that the cost society carries for this sort of ‘integration’ is greater than the sum of individual costs the Adivasis themselves bear. Finding ways of harnessing the economic potential of Adivasi lands in a manner that sustains and eventually enriches the environment as well as Adivasi lives is the principal challenge facing the Indian state.

Another segment of the citizenry that has fallen through the interstices of the federal architecture are those very diverse groups that are clubbed together under the heading
of Left Wing Extremism (LWE) and Naxalites: loose terms, of course, since there is considerable variation across them in terms of ideology, organization, strategy and local political opportunities. A full analysis of the Naxal movement is beyond the scope of this document. But some analytical observations are germane to the strategic perspective with which we are concerned. First, Naxalism too—like every one of the forms of conflict we have noted in this chapter—is a primarily political form of struggle and conflict. No doubt it feeds on objective background conditions: landlessness, deprivation and alienation. But it is articulated into a specific form of armed revolutionary ideology as a result of politics.

Although there is a family resemblance between different Naxal groups, their tactics and political viability depend largely on local conditions—which even in their core areas show great variance. Andhra Pradesh, for instance, had experienced great Naxal violence till early 2000, but then managed to bring it under control. In Bihar, all the data show that Naxal violence has varied considerably across districts, almost disappearing for years on end. The same is true of West Bengal. In most of these instances, the state decided to intervene in various ways, usually a combination of coercion and development. The interesting question is: What
determines the state’s resolve to intervene? The Indian state is quite capable of controlling violence if it so desires: suppression of insurgency has historically been one of the state’s strengths. So why is there such enormous variation in the state’s response? Where does politics have a role in this?

The standard response of the state in combating Naxalism is through a combination of ‘law and order’ approaches and development. There are two crucial questions on the law and order front. On the one hand, in a federal system, interstate coordination between police forces is very weak. Indeed, there is evidence that Naxals do a form of forum shopping, escaping from states that are taking concerted action into bordering districts of other states. The very success of anti-Naxal operations in some areas can produce more violence in others. A challenge for federal systems is whether policing of this kind should be a local function—or should it have a more centralized dimension? On the other hand, even where there are ‘unified commands’, success has continued to prove elusive.

The state often relies on counter-insurgency operations. These are successful to varying degrees, though often at terrible human cost. But a common thread running through conflict management in India is that there is still
no serious attempt at making the presence of the state more effective in its routine policing functions. One of the big political economy puzzles is: Why do states not invest more resources and institutional energy in police reform? The politics of Naxalism is crucially linked to this larger question. There is a real danger that even where counter-insurgency operations are successful, the state will not invest in creating routine policing functions. In developing country democracies, police reforms are the lowest priority item. Again, almost every single report on Naxalism talks about strengthening civilian administration. But there is little effective pressure to bring about the necessary reforms in either of these domains.

In some respects, it will be the failure of the state, if it needs to resort to hard power for domestic security. The emphasis should be on preventive measures and political solutions, including, eventually, negotiations and peace talks. But in the eventuality that hard power has to be used domestically, it needs some restructuring.

Insofar as hard power is concerned, the most important capability would be locally raised and well-trained police forces operating responsibly and with a degree of accountability—without the culture of impunity which has often led to large-scale rights violations and generally exacerbated the conflict. The current pattern of relying
on Central paramilitary forces to compensate for the weaknesses of state police units is problematic. The Central paramilitaries tend to lack the necessary knowledge of local geography, language and customs. Besides, their training for such operations leaves a lot to be desired in terms of tactical skills and soft skills required to win over the local population. Given the range and location of the Maoist insurgency (and its potential for spreading out), relying on the paramilitaries or the army would be unrealistic. The states must raise, equip and field police forces that are embedded in local conditions. But it cannot abdicate its responsibilities to citizens’ militias or vigilante groups, as Chhattisgarh’s use of the Salwa Judum has shown. The Central government must help states devise proper recruitment and training procedures. In particular, these must equip local recruits with all the capabilities and knowledge necessary for effective policing. The army too could play a larger role in training such forces. We need to focus on strengthening the state police forces vis-á-vis the Central Armed Police/paramilitary forces. But in the end there is no substitute for building effective states.

The Central Armed Police Forces comprise slightly less than two million personnel. The armed forces comprise nearly 1.2 million. With the requirement to keep the armed forces young, there is a need to establish a flow of
personnel from the armed forces to the Central Armed Police Forces and vice versa. This will have two major spin-offs. First, it will reduce the burgeoning pension bill of the armed forces substantially. Second, it will facilitate transfer of skills from the armed forces to the Central Armed Police Forces. Though the need for such a manpower policy has been recognized, its implementation has not been possible due to institutional turf battles, and achieving this will require political direction and guidance.

The operational complexities are numerous, and our discussion in this chapter is not even a remotely adequate acknowledgement of these complexities. But there has to be a consensus on three things if India is to avoid continued and serious internal conflict. First, we need to build a credible state that makes citizens feel secure. Second, we need to further develop models of inclusive governance that can address the sense of disempowerment in certain sections of the population. Third, we need a political culture that is attuned to defusing conflict rather than exacerbating it.