When America Falters, the World Pays: Trump's Economic Misadventures and India's Stakes

 

Dr. Asis Mistry

As Donald Trump continues to wreak havoc on the American economy, the silence of Republican leaders and Wall Street executives is deafening — and dangerous, not just for the United States, but for the entire global economy, India included.

Trump’s impulsive trade wars, his attack on independent institutions like the U.S. Federal Reserve, and his destabilising rhetoric on global alliances are not just domestic American matters. In today's interconnected world, America’s economic health is closely tied to India's aspirations for growth, stability, and global leadership. Yet those with the most to lose inside America — its corporate chiefs and political guardians — remain largely mum, hoping futilely that private persuasion will work where public accountability is urgently needed.

The pattern is clear: American businesses, despite seeing their stock prices tumble and their international competitiveness wane, are choosing silence. Republican lawmakers, even as Trump’s tariffs hurt their own rural and working-class voters, remain subservient. Trade groups, which never hesitated to criticise past administrations, now offer little more than polite platitudes.

This matters for India because we, too, are part of the intricate global supply chains Trump is disrupting. Our IT exports, pharmaceutical supplies, and manufacturing sectors are all deeply linked to U.S. markets. Rising protectionism and unpredictable tariffs not only rattle global investor confidence but also slow down India's exports and investment inflows. When American farmers lose international customers due to retaliatory tariffs, it impacts global food prices, a delicate issue for India’s inflation management. When American tech companies face uncertainty, India's IT and service sectors feel the tremors.

There’s a belief among American CEOs that they can whisper sense into Trump's ear behind closed doors. But reality shows otherwise. Temporary concessions — like exemptions for iPhones or vague promises about tariff reductions — are short-lived. The underlying trajectory remains dangerous: an America moving away from a rules-based order towards erratic, personalised decision-making.

This week, another "leak" suggested Trump might lower China tariffs from 145% to a still-draconian 50%. Markets briefly celebrated, hoping for a cooling-off. But hope, especially when based on anonymous sources and "fake news" accusations from Beijing, is not a strategy. A 50% tariff is hardly a victory — it is an economic noose, tightened slightly less.

Trump’s threats against the U.S. Federal Reserve are even more alarming. His pressure to slash interest rates to support short-term political gains risks undermining the Fed’s long-cherished independence — the same independence that has allowed America to maintain monetary stability for decades. India, striving to strengthen its institutional credibility with independent bodies like the RBI, watches with concern. When politicians control monetary policy, the results are often catastrophic — think Venezuela or Turkey.

Yet, public pushback from within America remains feeble. An occasional senator mumbles about the need for an "independent" Fed, only to quickly walk it back with jokes about "hot cocoa" and private hugs. It’s not the kind of principled leadership the world expects from a country that has long projected itself as the steward of democracy and free enterprise.

This abdication of leadership poses risks and lessons for India and the broader developing world. We cannot afford to rely on a volatile U.S. to underpin global economic stability. We must strengthen South-South trade linkages, diversify our export markets, invest in homegrown innovation, and advocate for a truly multipolar world order. At the same time, India must remain vocal about defending democratic norms and institutional independence — lessons we must internalise at home too.

American business and political elites may think they are buying time with their silence. They are not. They are gambling not just with their future, but with the future of countries like India that have, for long, considered America a partner in prosperity.

Silence is complicity. And in today’s world, complicity comes at a global cost.

 

@Author is Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Calcutta

Power Without Knowledge: The Pahalgam Massacre and Pakistan's Failing Proxy Doctrine

 

Dr. Asis Mistry

On July 8, 2024, terrorists ambushed a bus carrying Hindu pilgrims in the picturesque town of Pahalgam in Jammu and Kashmir, killing nine and injuring 33. The victims were en route to the revered Amarnath shrine, undertaking a journey that has long symbolised spiritual unity in a deeply divided region. While India mourns yet another tragedy in Pahalgam, which claimed 26 innocent lives—mostly Hindu tourists from across India—has reignited debates far beyond the tragic loss of life. The larger question must be asked: Why do such attacks keep happening, and what geopolitical logic—or lack thereof—sustains them?

Pakistan’s alleged involvement in sponsoring and sustaining militant networks across the Line of Control (LoC) is not new. What is striking, however, is the sheer persistence of this proxy doctrine, despite overwhelming evidence of its strategic failure. Suppose war is politics by other
means, as Clausewitz suggested. In that case, Pakistan’s use of asymmetric violence without long-term vision reflects a condition best described as power without knowledge—the exercise of influence divorced from wisdom, foresight, and legitimacy.

Strategic Illusions, Tactical Catastrophes

Since the 1990s, Pakistan’s military-intelligence apparatus has nurtured a range of non-state actors to achieve strategic depth against India, particularly in Kashmir. Groups like Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM) have received logistical, financial, and ideological support under the justification of ‘liberating’ Kashmir. This policy was rooted in a Cold War-era playbook, where the use of militant proxies seemed effective in bleeding adversaries while retaining plausible deniability.

Yet this doctrine has become increasingly untenable in the post-9/11 world, where the costs of harbouring transnational jihadist actors outweigh the tactical gains. Internationally, Pakistan is isolated, grey-listed by the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) for years, and diplomatically cornered by a growing India-U.S. strategic partnership. Domestically, blowback from militant violence has ravaged cities from Karachi to Peshawar, eroding public confidence in the state’s ability to ensure security.

The Pahalgam attack, allegedly orchestrated by The Resistance Front (TRF), a LeT-linked outfit, bears all the hallmarks of this failing doctrine. It targeted civilians, had no viable political objective, and immediately drew international condemnation. If the aim was to internationalise Kashmir or create political instability in India ahead of the Amarnath Yatra, it only reaffirmed New Delhi’s narrative of Pakistan-sponsored terror.

A Doctrine without Destination

The problem with Pakistan’s proxy doctrine is not just that it is morally reprehensible or strategically costly. It is that it lacks coherence. There is no clear endgame. If the goal was to ‘liberate’ Kashmir, the means—terror attacks on civilians—have only hardened Indian control, alienated Kashmiri civil society, and justified an expanded military presence. If the aim was to keep the Kashmir issue ‘alive’ on the world stage, the tactic has backfired: most global capitals now view Pakistan not as a defender of Kashmiri rights, but as a habitual exporter of jihadist violence.

This is what makes Pakistan’s behaviour a classic case of power without knowledge. The Pakistani deep state continues to wield considerable coercive capacity—internally through the army and externally through proxies—but shows little understanding of how power must be aligned with legitimacy, strategy, and diplomacy to produce lasting outcomes.

One might contrast this with India’s evolving approach in Kashmir. While far from perfect, New Delhi has managed to integrate the region more deeply into the national economy post-2019, significantly reduce local militancy through counterinsurgency operations, and win international patience through its legalistic framing of the conflict. Pakistan, in comparison, has been left peddling outdated rhetoric and enabling attacks that diminish its moral and strategic standing.

The Regional Fallout

Pakistan’s reliance on proxy actors does not merely destabilise Kashmir; it fuels a broader arc of insecurity across South Asia. The same jihadist networks once used to challenge Indian forces have been recycled in Afghanistan, with catastrophic consequences. The Taliban’s return to power in 2021 was initially seen as a strategic win for Islamabad, but it has quickly turned into a security liability, as groups like Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) now use Afghan territory to launch cross-border attacks.

The persistence of this doctrine has also weakened Pakistan’s relations with Iran, which has grown increasingly wary of Sunni extremist groups operating in Baluchistan. Even China, Pakistan’s "iron brother," has expressed concerns over the security of its nationals after repeated militant attacks on China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) projects. What began as a strategy to contain India has metastasised into a regional security nightmare, threatening the very alliances Pakistan depends on for survival.

The Epistemology of Failure

The intellectual bankruptcy of Pakistan’s strategic doctrine lies in its failure to adapt. Despite mounting evidence of its inefficacy, the Pakistani military continues to double down on proxy warfare, unable or unwilling to acknowledge that the world—and Kashmir—has changed. This stubbornness stems from institutional inertia, bureaucratic self-preservation, and an entrenched belief within Pakistan’s security establishment that conventional diplomacy is a sign of weakness.

Yet real power in international relations is not the ability to inflict harm, but the ability to shape outcomes. That requires knowledge of the enemy, of one’s own limitations, and of the evolving international order. Pakistan, tragically, has confused violence with strategy, and fear with influence.

This condition is not unique to Pakistan. States across the world, from Russia to Iran, have at times fallen into the trap of using force without wisdom. But in Pakistan’s case, the danger is compounded by its fragile democratic institutions, its nuclear arsenal, and its economic vulnerability. A doctrine that produces neither deterrence nor dialogue is not just failing—it is unravelling.

A Way Forward?

Any sustainable resolution to South Asia’s enduring conflicts must begin with the recognition that terrorism is not a legitimate tool of foreign policy. Pakistan must dismantle its infrastructure of proxy warfare—not because India demands it, but because its national interest requires it. A stable, economically integrated Pakistan with a credible foreign policy would gain far more in global standing than one that trades in martyrdom and mayhem.

For this to happen, the Pakistani military must cede space to civilian leadership, allowing for a foreign policy rooted in diplomacy rather than deception. Regional cooperation on climate change, trade, and counter-terrorism is impossible so long as Pakistan sees its neighbourhood through the prism of zero-sum conflict.

The tragedy of Pahalgam is not just the loss of innocent lives. It is a reminder that Pakistan’s current trajectory is unsustainable. Power without knowledge is not only self-defeating—it is dangerous. If Pakistan seeks relevance in the 21st century, it must abandon the ghosts of 20th-century warfare and embrace a future rooted in peace, partnership, and political maturity.

 

@Author is Faculty, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta

Democracy on the Edge: A Nation in the Fog of Its Own Making

 Dr. Asis Mistry

Donald Trump’s political resurgence mirrors historical fascist movements and poses a grave threat to the foundations of American democracy.

History, it is often said, does not repeat itself, but it does rhyme. This adage rings with unsettling clarity when we examine the present trajectory of American politics under the shadow of Donald Trump. With his return to power, the United States finds itself in a moment of democratic vulnerability that carries echoes of early 20th-century Europe, particularly the rise of fascism in Italy and Germany. Though the context and contours differ, the essential tactics—undermining institutions, fostering ultra-nationalist fervour, scapegoating minorities, and attacking liberal thought—remain hauntingly familiar.

In 1922, Benito Mussolini came to power in Italy not by storming the gates of parliament but by being invited in. King Victor Emmanuel III, amid political paralysis, appointed him prime minister, despite the Fascist Party holding only a handful of seats. Similarly, Adolf Hitler, though leading a minority party, was invited to form a coalition government in 1933 by conservatives who believed they could contain and use him to neutralise the left. In both cases, democratic institutions were used as ladders to power—and then kicked away.

Trump’s rise did not initially mirror this trajectory in method, but over time, his politics have begun to reflect its essence. In 2016, he was elected on a wave of populist discontent, promising to "drain the swamp" and restore America's "greatness" against the backdrop of economic uncertainty, racial anxieties, and anti-immigrant sentiment. His supporters were not marginal extremists alone but included mainstream conservatives, business elites, and religious traditionalists, many of whom believed they could ride his charisma to advance their agendas.

During his first term, Trump’s politics flirted with authoritarianism—questioning the judiciary, demonising the press, and stoking white nationalist rhetoric—but remained within certain democratic bounds. It was after his 2020 electoral defeat, however, that the darker undercurrents surfaced with full force. His baseless claims of electoral fraud culminated in the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol, an act of insurrection not seen since the Civil War. The goal was to halt the certification of Joe Biden’s electoral victory, a direct assault on the peaceful transfer of power.

What unfolded that day should have ended a political career. Instead, it hardened a movement. Trump's refusal to accept electoral defeat, his tacit encouragement of violence, and his ongoing campaign of grievance and revenge have only deepened his grip on the Republican base. His latest administration is staffed entirely by loyalists, purging anyone with independent thought or institutional allegiance. Traditional Republican leaders, who once criticised him, now either support him unconditionally or remain complicit in silence.

Trump’s agenda today reveals an unambiguous pattern. He has accelerated mass deportations of undocumented immigrants, sometimes without court authorisation, reviving cruel tactics like shackling migrants and sending them to prisons in foreign countries. His justification is national security, but the message is unmistakable: dissent and difference are unwelcome in Trump’s America.

The comparison with fascist regimes becomes more troubling when we examine Trump’s hostility toward academia and liberal institutions. Under his directives, federal funding has been cut from universities accused of harbouring “anti-Israel” sentiments—often conflated with broader critiques of American foreign policy or human rights. This suppression of intellectual dissent, particularly targeting research on race, gender, and colonialism, mirrors the fascist obsession with ideological purity. In fascist Europe, universities were among the first institutions to be silenced or co-opted, as critical inquiry was seen as a threat to state control.

Trump’s collaboration with billionaire allies like Elon Musk to audit and downsize federal departments further erodes institutional independence. Without any official designation, Musk has been given sweeping authority to identify “waste” and streamline government—a euphemism for ideological cleansing. Thousands of civil servants have been fired, particularly from education and foreign aid departments, which conservatives label as liberal bastions. Again, the comparison is apt: fascist regimes often employed industrialists and media magnates to restructure the state in service of the regime.

Meanwhile, conservative attacks on affirmative action, gender equity, and social welfare have escalated. The Trump administration’s explicit denial of institutional racism and its ban on social diversity programs reinforce a vision of America that is exclusionary, patriarchal, and monolithic. This is not governance—it is a cultural crusade.

Even Trump’s economic policies serve ideological rather than practical ends. His reintroduction of steep tariffs, particularly against China, has rattled global markets and triggered fears of trade wars. The financial logic is dubious, as history and economics warn that trade wars rarely benefit anyone. But for Trump, these moves serve a nationalist narrative: they paint America as a victim of global exploitation and himself as its saviour.

The consequences are immediate. Prices rise. Investments falter. Pensions shrink. Yet Trump persists, because the politics of spectacle and resentment outweigh economic rationality. This is not about fixing America—it is about controlling it.

The most alarming element, however, is the erosion of democratic norms. Trump’s open musing about bypassing constitutional term limits, combined with his threat to weaponise institutions against political opponents, raises serious concerns about the future of American democracy. Fascists, once in power, rarely surrender it voluntarily. They change the rules, suppress dissent, and manufacture consent.

And while Trump may not wear a uniform or lead a paramilitary force, he enjoys the unwavering support of groups like the Proud Boys and other far-right militias. Many of those who stormed the Capitol now hold positions of influence in his party. Their rise is not an accident—it is part of a strategy. Fear, misinformation, and intimidation are tools as potent today as they were in the 1930s.

What is perhaps most disheartening is the passivity of the establishment. Conservative judges, corporate donors, and Republican lawmakers who once claimed to defend the Constitution now look the other way. Their complicity recalls the appeasement of fascism by European elites who thought they could manage the radicals, only to be consumed by them.

America today stands at an inflexion point. The institutions of democracy—courts, elections, press, academia—are under assault not from external enemies but from within. The battle is not only about Trump but about what kind of country the United States wants to be. Will it remain a pluralist democracy, messy and diverse but committed to liberty and law? Or will it slide further into authoritarianism cloaked in the language of patriotism?

The answer will depend on the courage of its citizens and leaders. History teaches us that fascism often wins not because of overwhelming strength but because of the weakness of opposition—because people assume “it can’t happen here” until it already has.

Democracy is not self-sustaining. It must be defended, not only in times of crisis but every day, by those who value freedom, equality, and justice. Donald Trump’s politics may not yet be fascism in its full form, but the shadows are lengthening. And shadows, left unchallenged, eventually turn to night.

 

Note: This essay is inspired by Partha Chatterjee’s insightful article published in Anandabazar Patrika on the political parallels between Donald Trump’s rise and historical 

Who Owns the Narrative? Rethinking the Pahalgam Attack through a Civilisational Lens

 

Dr. Asis Mistry

The recent terror attack in Pahalgam, Kashmir, which claimed 26 innocent lives—mostly Hindu tourists from across India—has reignited debates far beyond the tragic loss of life. The attack has fractured public discourse, not just along communal lines but across ideological divides, offering a potent case study of Samuel Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations thesis. Huntington argued that the post-Cold War world would be shaped less by ideological struggle and more by cultural and civilizational fault lines. In India today, this conflict is no longer hypothetical—it is playing out in blood, rhetoric, and narrative warfare.

Civilizational Identity and the Clash with Islam

In his influential work, Huntington described Islam as a civilisation with "bloody borders," involved in a disproportionate number of global conflicts. The Pahalgam attack, allegedly carried out by Pakistan-backed Islamic terrorists, is emblematic of this pattern. The victims were primarily Hindu pilgrims, tourists, professionals, from Maharashtra, Gujarat, West Bengal, Karnataka, and even a Navy lieutenant from Haryana. Their murder was not random; it was a deliberate act designed to provoke fear among a particular civilisational group: Hindus.

This attack follows a disturbing trend. Whether it's the 2008 Mumbai attacks, the 2001 Indian Parliament attack, or the 2016 Uri and Pathankot incidents, Islamic extremism has consistently targeted India’s symbolic and civilian core. The pattern is unmistakable. Islamic radical groups like Jaish-e-Mohammed and Lashkar-e-Taiba, which operate with impunity from Pakistan, routinely justify their violence in religious terms. They aim to disrupt India's pluralist ethos and challenge its growing assertion of a Hindu cultural identity under the BJP regime.

While it is politically sensitive to admit, Huntington’s framing compels us to view these acts not merely as terrorist incidents but as eruptions in a broader civilizational fault line between Islam and Hinduism.

Hindu Civilisation and Its Unique Fault Lines

Yet, unlike most civilisations in Huntington’s model, Hindu civilisation is uniquely fragmented. It is internally fissured by caste, region, language, and competing ideologies. These internal cleavages have created a fertile ground for what can be described as a “pseudo-secular” counter-narrative—a narrative that deflects from civilizational realities and instead projects the violence inward, often blaming the state, the army, or the government.

This was visible in the immediate aftermath of the Pahalgam massacre. Social media posts circulated widely, suggesting that the attack was a failure of intelligence, a political ploy by the BJP, or a pre-election stunt. Instead of mourning the victims or condemning the ideology behind the attack, many commentators chose to accuse the state of complicity or incompetence. They questioned the timing (with elections near), the absence of security forces, and even implied a Hindutva conspiracy.

What explains such reactions? The answer lies in Hindu civilizational identity. Unlike Islam or Christianity, Hinduism lacks a centralised clerical authority or universalist doctrine. Its pluralism is both its strength and its vulnerability. It allows for multiple narratives, but also enables the proliferation of self-negating ideologies. The Hindu Left, liberal intelligentsia, and pseudo-secular elements have internalised an aversion to civilizational self-assertion, often equating it with fascism or majoritarianism.

Narrative Wars: Three Competing Frames

In the context of the Pahalgam attack, three dominant narratives have emerged:

1. Islamist Apologia: This narrative, often echoed by certain Muslim voices and sympathetic left-liberals, deflects blame from the terrorists to the policies of the Indian state. It argues that the rise of Hindutva provokes such attacks, thereby rationalising jihadist violence as political resistance.
2. Hindu Majoritarianism: In contrast, another narrative paints all Muslims as complicit. It feeds into a siege mentality among Hindus and demands collective punishment. While this narrative recognises the civilizational conflict, it risks alienating innocent Muslims and oversimplifying the problem.
3. Pseudo-Secular Deflection: This is perhaps the most intellectually dishonest narrative. It insists that "terrorism has no religion" and blames intelligence failure, not ideological motives. This narrative obscures the religious identity of the attackers and their victims to maintain a secular veneer.

These narratives aren’t just discursive. They shape public policy, electoral outcomes, and social cohesion. In this narrative battleground, Huntington’s insight proves prescient: civilisations define themselves by what they are not, and conflict arises when these identities clash.

The Economic Fallout: A Civilizational Undercurrent

The Pahalgam attack also had immediate economic repercussions. Tourism—the backbone of Kashmir's economy—took a direct hit. Flight fares to Srinagar dropped by as much as 63%, and nearly 85% of travel bookings were cancelled within 48 hours. Such economic disruptions are not collateral damage; they are central to the terrorists’ goals. By targeting Hindu tourists, they aim to sever the civilizational ties between the Indian mainland and Kashmir, reinforcing the Islamist claim that Hindus are outsiders.

The loss of income for Kashmiri traders, hoteliers, and guides—many of whom are Muslim—illustrates another layer of tragedy. Islamic terrorism not only deepens the Hindu-Muslim civilizational divide but also destabilises intra-Islamic economic cooperation. This again aligns with Huntington’s idea of fault lines, but with the added complexity of intra-civilizational contradictions.

Reimagining the Civilizational Frame

The Pahalgam attack is a painful reminder of the enduring power of civilizational narratives. Huntington's thesis offers a useful lens to understand the macro patterns of identity-based conflict, but it should not be the sole prism through which we respond. While it helps diagnose the fault lines, it does not provide a blueprint for healing.

If we are to move forward, we must not harden these civilizational lines but learn to cross them. Recognising a clash does not mean we must be resigned to perpetual division. Instead, it calls for a deeper reckoning with how historical grievances, political opportunism, and ideological blind spots contribute to conflict.

Rather than polarising ourselves into binaries—Hindu vs. Muslim, secular vs. communal—we must see the whole: the complex, entangled reality of contemporary India, where multiple identities coexist, overlap, and often contradict. True civilisational strength lies in the ability to bridge differences, not merely defend borders.

This moment demands empathy without naivety, strength without aggression, and above all, a narrative that aspires to integration rather than exclusion. Only then can we move from clash to conversation, from suspicion to solidarity, and from fear to a shared future.

 

@ The author is Faculty, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta

Why the Right to Rights Movement Matters in an Age of Shrinking Civic Space

Dr. Asis Mistry

In the age of rising authoritarianism, censorship, and social exclusion, one question continues to resonate across the margins of Indian society: Do we truly have the right to rights? At a time when civic space is being systematically constrained — from the silencing of dissent to the criminalisation of protest — the Right to Rights Movement emerges not merely as a campaign, but as a foundational reminder of what it means to belong in a democracy.

A Crisis of Citizenship and Belonging

The crisis we face today is not just political or economic; it is existential. Millions in India live in what can only be described as a “zone of abandonment” — denied access to healthcare, education, housing, legal recourse, and dignity. Whether it is the daily wage worker in a metropolitan slum, the manual scavenger in rural Bihar, or the tribal family evicted from their forestland, the experience is the same: the state is either absent or predatory.

It is in this context that the Right to Rights Movement becomes crucial. Emerging from the grassroots, especially in states like Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, and Chhattisgarh, this movement is not a demand for charity or welfare. It is a demand for recognition — a call to be seen, heard, and respected as rights-bearing citizens.

What Is the Right to Rights Movement?

Conceptually rooted in Ambedkarite and Gandhian traditions of social justice, the Right to Rights Movement brings together marginalised communities, social workers, legal activists, and public intellectuals in a sustained effort to transform the relationship between the citizen and the state. It seeks to reclaim the idea that rights are not favours bestowed by the government, but entitlements guaranteed by the Constitution.

This movement insists that the poor are not “beneficiaries” but claimants. It moves beyond the language of benevolence and charity, often deployed in government schemes, to one of accountability and justice. It is not enough for the state to provide subsidies or relief; it must ensure justice, equity, and dignity in structural terms.

Shrinking Civic Space: A Global and National Trend

The idea of shrinking civic space refers to the increasing restrictions placed on civil society organisations, grassroots mobilisations, independent media, and ordinary citizens’ rights to organise, protest, and speak freely. Globally, watchdogs like CIVICUS and Freedom House have reported alarming trends — India has, in recent years, been downgraded from a "free" to a "partly free" democracy.

The recent amendments to the Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Act (FCRA), which have choked funding for NGOs; the arrest and harassment of activists under draconian laws like the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA); and the vilification of student and farmer protests in mainstream media — all signal a deepening erosion of civic freedoms.

In such a climate, movements like Right to Rights do more than articulate demands; they hold space for participatory democracy to survive.

From Protest to Praxis

What distinguishes the Right to Rights Movement from other forms of resistance is its insistence on praxis — the translation of ideals into actionable, everyday strategies of engagement. It has made significant interventions in areas such as:

• Right to Work: Strengthening implementation and access to MGNREGA, ensuring proper wage payments, and demanding transparency in employment data.

• Right to Food: Organising social audits, monitoring PDS delivery, and combating exclusions in Aadhaar-based systems.

• Right to Health and Shelter: Demanding accountability for underfunded primary health care centres and working toward urban housing rights for informal workers.

By creating Jan Sunwais (public hearings), community rights clinics, and social accountability platforms, the movement has generated a culture of democratic assertion that thrives in the everyday, not just in elections.

Democracy Is a Verb, Not a Noun

One of the most radical insights of the Right to Rights Movement is that democracy is not an event but a practice. Voting once every five years does not guarantee justice. Rights must be lived, claimed, and defended every day — especially by those for whom the law remains out of reach.

In this way, the movement reclaims the spirit of India’s Constitution. It puts Ambedkar’s warning front and centre: that political democracy must rest on a foundation of social and economic democracy. Without equality and dignity in everyday life, the right to vote becomes hollow.

Towards a New Democratic Ethic

We must understand that the shrinking of civic space is not just about fewer protests or less media freedom. It is about a moral contraction — the narrowing of who counts as a citizen, whose pain matters, whose voice is legitimate.

The Right to Rights Movement pushes back against this contraction. It offers a radically inclusive vision of citizenship, one that is not based on class, caste, religion, or location, but on the shared dignity of human beings.

This is not easy. The movement faces harassment, fatigue, and the immense challenge of sustaining hope in deeply unequal and hostile environments. Yet it endures — precisely because it is not just a movement, but a moral argument for the republic itself.

A Call to Action

If we are to reverse the democratic decline we are witnessing, we need to do more than vote. We must listen, accompany, and amplify those on the frontlines of rights-based struggles. We must question policies that criminalise protest and demonise dissent. We must reclaim the language of rights — not just as legal tools, but as ethical imperatives.

Supporting the Right to Rights Movement is not just solidarity; it is self-interest. A society that denies rights to some ultimately endangers rights for all.

Let us remember: democracies don’t die in one day. They die slowly, through everyday silences, erasures, and exclusions. The Right to Rights Movement — with all its limitations and imperfections — refuses that silence. And for that reason alone, it matters more now than ever before.

@ The Author is Assistant Professor, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta

The Rise of Judicial Politics in Pakistan: Arbiter or Actor?

Dr. Asis Mistry 

In a country where politics rarely follows a predictable script, one institution has emerged as a referee and a participant in the drama—the judiciary. Once seen as a passive arm of the state, beholden to executive whims, Pakistan’s judiciary has reinvented itself as a formidable political force over the past two decades. But this reinvention begs a fundamental question: is the judiciary acting as a constitutional arbiter, or has it become an autonomous actor in the country’s high-stakes power game?

From Doctrine of Necessity to Judicial Activism

Historically, the judiciary in Pakistan has been remembered less for defending democracy than for facilitating its derailment. The infamous "Doctrine of Necessity", first invoked in 1954 to validate the dissolution of the Constituent Assembly, became the judiciary’s go-to justification for military takeovers. In case after case—from Ayub Khan to Pervez Musharraf—the courts sided with strongmen, often under the pretence of national stability.

But something shifted in the early 2000s. The Lawyers’ Movement of 2007–2009, sparked by the sacking of Chief Justice Iftikhar Muhammad Chaudhry, marked a turning point. It mobilised civil society in unprecedented ways and reintroduced the judiciary as a site of resistance rather than submission. The courts regained public trust, and judicial independence became a rallying cry. But with independence came power, and power, as always, tends to seek more of itself.

Enter the Era of Judicial Politics

In the post-Musharraf democratic period, Pakistan's courts became increasingly interventionist. From disqualifying elected prime ministers to blocking laws and summoning bureaucrats on live television, the judiciary blurred the line between legal oversight and executive control.

The 2017 disqualification of Nawaz Sharif—based on Article 62(1)(f) of the Constitution, requiring lawmakers to be "honest and righteous"—was a watershed moment. The ruling was not just judicial; it was deeply political, effectively reshaping the electoral landscape ahead of the 2018 general elections. Critics argued that the judiciary had overstepped its mandate and acted in concert with powerful unelected institutions to engineer political outcomes.

Since then, Pakistan has entered a new phase of judicial politics, one where courts are not merely interpreting laws but actively influencing the course of political events.

The Supreme Court in the Eye of the Storm

The 2024 elections once again placed the judiciary at the centre of controversy. As candidates from the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) faced disqualifications, and electoral rules appeared to be selectively applied, opposition voices accused the judiciary of partisan leanings. Legal decisions about constituency delimitations, election timelines, and party symbols were seen by many as shaping—not just regulating, the electoral playing field.

Moreover, suo motu powers—the ability of the Supreme Court to initiate proceedings on its own—have been exercised with great frequency, often without consistent standards. In matters ranging from sugar prices to political alliances, the courts have intervened in ways that some see as necessary for governance, but others view as judicial overreach.

Even within the judiciary, fault lines have emerged. Split decisions, dissenting opinions, and public statements by judges reveal a judiciary struggling with its own internal coherence—and perhaps, its political soul.

Is the Judiciary Filling a Vacuum?

Supporters of judicial activism argue that the courts are stepping in where the political class has failed. In a system riddled with corruption, dynastic control, and military manipulation, the judiciary, they say, is the only institution left with enough credibility to act as a check on power.

Indeed, many Pakistanis still look to the courts for justice in a system where police and bureaucracy are compromised. Landmark rulings on minority rights, women's inheritance, and environmental protection demonstrate the judiciary’s capacity to protect the vulnerable and uphold fundamental rights.

But legitimacy is a fragile currency. If judicial action is perceived as selective, or worse, politically motivated, it can erode public trust. The danger is not just to the court's image—it is to the very foundations of democratic governance.

Arbiter or Actor?

So, where does that leave the judiciary today? Somewhere in between. It has certainly outgrown the image of a rubber-stamping institution. But whether it has matured into a neutral arbiter is less certain.

When courts begin to selectively interpret constitutional clauses to remove political rivals or dictate policy, they risk becoming political actors in robes. This erodes the separation of powers and undermines the idea of an impartial judiciary. Worse, it opens the judiciary itself to politicisation, where judges are appointed or targeted not for their legal acumen, but for their perceived political leanings.

In such a scenario, judicial independence becomes a myth. What emerges instead is a form of judicial partisanship, often cloaked in constitutional rhetoric.

The Way Forward: Judicial Humility and Democratic Maturity

If Pakistan’s democracy is to mature, all institutions—especially the judiciary—must rediscover their limits. Judicial reform should focus not just on increasing efficiency, but on embedding institutional humility. Judges must resist the allure of public adulation and media limelight and return to the quieter but more powerful role of guardians of the Constitution.

At the same time, the political class must stop looking to the courts for political arbitration. Parties must resolve their disputes in Parliament, not the courtroom. Elections must be contested on manifestos, not petitions. And the military establishment, too, must respect judicial independence and refrain from covertly influencing the legal process.

The Battle for the Soul of the Judiciary

The rise of judicial politics in Pakistan is neither accidental nor entirely undesirable. A robust judiciary is essential for a functioning democracy. But when courts become proxies for political power, the very idea of justice is put on trial.

Pakistan today stands at a crossroads. The judiciary can either serve as the guardian of democratic values or become another pawn in the country’s endless game of power. It cannot be both.

@ Author is Faculty, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta

Gross National Happiness and Electoral Politics in Bhutan: Compatible or Contradictory?

 Dr. Asis Mistry

In the foothills of the eastern Himalayas lies a country that has repeatedly defied conventional wisdom. Bhutan, often dubbed the last Shangri-La, transitioned from absolute monarchy to parliamentary democracy in 2008, not in the wake of revolution or international pressure, but at the behest of its own monarch. At the heart of its political and development philosophy lies a concept that continues to fascinate the world—Gross National Happiness (GNH).

But as Bhutan’s electoral democracy matures—with its fourth general elections recently held in 2023—one cannot help but ask: Is GNH compatible with the rough-and-tumble world of electoral politics? Or do the two sit in quiet contradiction?

GNH: A Radical Vision for Governance

Bhutan’s model of Gross National Happiness, introduced by the Fourth King, Jigme Singye Wangchuck, in the 1970s, rests on four pillars: sustainable development, environmental conservation, cultural preservation, and good governance. It is a bold attempt to measure progress beyond GDP, anchoring it instead in human well-being, ecological balance, and spiritual values.

Unlike traditional development models, GNH prioritises collective well-being over individual material wealth. It calls for balance—between modernisation and tradition, between economic growth and environmental limits, between the needs of the present and those of future generations. In many ways, it is both a philosophical worldview and a pragmatic policy framework.

Electoral Democracy: Pluralism, Competition, and Uncertainty

The democratic experiment in Bhutan is still young. Since the first elections in 2008, the country has seen peaceful transfers of power, increasing political awareness, and the evolution of political parties. But elections, by their very nature, invite contestation, populism, and short-termism—forces that often run counter to the measured, long-term orientation of GNH.

In an electoral setting, political parties are incentivised to promise quick returns—roads, subsidies, jobs—often at the expense of deeper, structural reforms. They must differentiate themselves, sometimes sharply, to win votes, even if it means challenging consensus on sensitive issues such as religious identity, environmental regulation, or foreign investment. This logic of political competition can strain Bhutan’s historical emphasis on unity, harmony, and deliberation.

The question, then, is not whether democracy is right for Bhutan—clearly, the country’s peaceful and purposeful transition is a democratic success story—but whether the competitive nature of elections is fully aligned with the slower, more reflective, and holistic approach of GNH.

Tensions on the Ground

Over the past decade, a few areas have exposed the subtle tension between electoral politics and the GNH ethos.

1. Politicisation of Development

Political parties often frame development promises in terms of quick deliverables—construction projects, cash handouts, or employment schemes. While these may meet immediate needs, they can undercut Bhutan’s long-term commitment to sustainability and equitable growth. For example, pressure to increase infrastructure development in fragile ecological zones or to ease restrictions on mining can conflict with Bhutan’s commitment to environmental preservation.

2. Regional and Identity Politics

GNH emphasises social cohesion and the preservation of Bhutan’s unique cultural identity. However, electoral politics can incentivise candidates to appeal to regional loyalties or ethnic identities, potentially undermining national unity. While overt identity politics remains rare in Bhutan compared to other South Asian democracies, the risk increases as party competition intensifies.

3. Media and Political Speech

Democracy requires a free press and open political debate. But Bhutanese culture values restraint, humility, and respect for authority—traits often seen as incompatible with adversarial political discourse. Negative campaigning and politicised narratives can erode trust, especially in a society where harmony is prized.

4. Youth and Employment

The promise of GNH includes the well-being and empowerment of future generations. Yet Bhutan faces rising youth unemployment and migration, leading to disillusionment. Political parties now compete over who can generate more jobs, sometimes through promises of rapid economic liberalisation or foreign investment, which may not align with Bhutan’s cautious, values-driven development model.

Signs of Compatibility: Democracy as a Tool, Not a Threat

Despite these tensions, it would be unfair—and inaccurate—to portray GNH and democracy as inherently at odds. In fact, Bhutan’s democracy has evolved with surprising maturity, showing several ways in which GNH and electoral politics can reinforce each other.

1. Institutional Checks

Bhutan’s Constitution, adopted in 2008, enshrines GNH as a state objective. This means that elected governments are legally and morally obligated to frame policies in line with their principles. Independent institutions, such as the Gross National Happiness Commission (GNHC), act as policy gatekeepers to ensure consistency with GNH values.

2. Educated Electorate

Voter awareness programs and civic education efforts—especially among youth—have helped Bhutanese citizens understand that elections are not only about material gain but about preserving national values. There is growing public expectation that political parties must align their manifestos with GNH, not just market-friendly reforms.

3. Responsible Political Culture

So far, Bhutan’s political parties have largely avoided demagoguery and have operated within a relatively respectful and constructive space. While competition exists, it is tempered by a shared national ethos and a small population that fosters accountability and interpersonal ties.

4. The Monarchy’s Moral Influence

Although constitutionally limited, the monarchy continues to exert immense moral authority. The King’s frequent engagement with citizens and emphasis on unity and well-being reinforce the foundational values of GNH and act as a subtle counterweight to potential excesses in electoral behaviour.

What Lies Ahead?

As Bhutan navigates its democratic future, it faces a crucial challenge: how to institutionalise GNH in a way that enhances democratic deliberation rather than constrains it.

One solution lies in deepening participatory democracy. If GNH is to thrive in a democratic context, it must not be reduced to a top-down metric. Citizens must be involved in defining what happiness means to them, and in evaluating the performance of elected leaders on those terms. This means investing in local governance, participatory budgeting, and inclusive planning.

Another imperative is political education and media responsibility. As political competition increases, Bhutan must nurture a media landscape that is critical but constructive, and a political culture that embraces disagreement without discord.

Lastly, Bhutan must resist the temptation to emulate other electoral democracies wholesale. It should instead carve its own democratic path—one that celebrates pluralism without undermining harmony, and embraces electoral choice while staying rooted in long-term well-being.

The relationship between Gross National Happiness and electoral democracy is not one of contradiction, but of creative tension. GNH offers a moral compass; democracy offers a method. If Bhutan can continue to steer both with care, it may just prove to the world that politics need not be a zero-sum game—and that happiness and democracy, far from being incompatible, can in fact be co-architects of a just and balanced society.

@ Author is Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Calcutta.

Political Crosscurrents in the Indian Ocean: What India Must Learn from the Maldives’ Shift

Dr. Asis Mistry

When President Mohamed Muizzu chose Beijing over New Delhi for his first official foreign visit after assuming office in November 2023, the message was loud and clear: the Maldives is asserting a new political orientation in the Indian Ocean, and India cannot afford to ignore it. What followed was a series of diplomatic ripples—a public spat over tourism, the March 15 deadline for Indian military withdrawal, and inflammatory social media exchanges. This was not just a diplomatic episode; it was the visible tip of a deeper tectonic shift in the Maldives’ foreign and domestic politics.

In a region where geography defines strategy, the Maldives—a small archipelagic state straddling vital sea lanes—has emerged as a theatre of great power competition. Traditionally a close partner of India, the Maldives now finds itself at the centre of competing interests, with China making substantial inroads in infrastructure, tourism, and political influence. But the story is more complex than a binary India-China contest. Domestic political shifts in the Maldives are as important as external pressures in determining the country’s strategic choices. And India must read these shifts carefully.

Beyond the Optics: Understanding Maldives’ Political Transformation

The Maldives has long projected an image of tropical tranquillity, but its political history is anything but calm. After centuries of monarchical rule and decades of authoritarian governance under President Maumoon Abdul Gayoom, the democratic opening in 2008 marked a watershed. The election of Mohamed Nasheed brought optimism for political reform, human rights, and a values-based foreign policy aligned closely with India.

However, democratic gains proved fragile. Subsequent years saw repeated institutional crises, judicial overreach, and contested elections. The rise of Abdulla Yameen in 2013 and his authoritarian pivot, marked by tighter control over the press, judiciary, and civil society, coincided with a growing tilt toward China. Infrastructure loans, maritime agreements, and opaque deals followed. India watched nervously as its strategic backyard began slipping out of its orbit.

In 2018, the pendulum swung back with the victory of the India-friendly Ibrahim Mohamed Solih. His administration restored bilateral trust and revived Indian-backed development projects. But political volatility remained. With the return of a nationalist, “India Out” narrative under Muizzu in 2023, the cycle repeated. The irony is that Maldives’ foreign policy turns are not mere expressions of geopolitical preference—they are tightly interwoven with domestic legitimacy, coalition politics, and elite rivalries.

The Logic of Linkage Politics

International relations theorist James Rosenau’s concept of “linkage politics” helps us unpack this phenomenon. Domestic and international issues are not separate spheres but deeply intertwined. In the Maldives, leaders often leverage foreign alignments to strengthen domestic authority. The call for the removal of Indian military personnel—used for humanitarian and rescue operations—was less about military sovereignty and more about political symbolism. It was a campaign promise transformed into policy, backed by a claim of popular mandate.

China, unlike India, offers a more transactional model—focused on infrastructure, trade, and debt diplomacy, with fewer concerns about governance or transparency. For small states with high developmental aspirations and fragile institutions, this model can be tempting. Yet the long-term costs—in terms of debt dependence, erosion of democratic norms, and strategic vulnerability—are significant.

A Cultural and Strategic Neighbourhood

India’s historical, cultural, and geographic closeness to the Maldives remains a potent asset. Just 70 nautical miles away, India has been a reliable partner—from helping quash the 1988 coup attempt to providing vital aid during the 2004 tsunami and Male’s 2014 water crisis. More recently, India has invested heavily in infrastructure (the Greater Male Connectivity Project), healthcare (Indira Gandhi Memorial Hospital), and education.

Yet, proximity and benevolence alone no longer suffice. Perceptions matter. The image of India as a “big brother” with hegemonic tendencies has gained traction among segments of the Maldivian political class and public. This perception, regardless of its accuracy, must be taken seriously and addressed with humility and strategic clarity.

Strategic Patience and Smart Partnerships

So, what should India do in response to these developments? First, avoid the trap of reactive diplomacy. India’s initial response to the Maldives’ shift—summoning envoys, suspending travel bookings, and unleashing social media outrage—may have been emotionally satisfying, but was diplomatically counterproductive. Strategic patience is the key.

Second, India must recalibrate its engagement by focusing on long-term partnership building. This includes:

• Soft power diplomacy: Investing in people-to-people ties, scholarships, cultural exchanges, and media literacy programs that build mutual understanding and counter anti-India narratives.

• Smart development assistance: Prioritising sectors that resonate with Maldivian aspirations—climate resilience, fisheries, renewable energy, and youth employment—while ensuring transparency and community involvement.

• Security collaboration without boots on the ground: Replacing military personnel with trained technical experts, as recently negotiated, is a wise move. It preserves India’s HADR (Humanitarian Assistance and Disaster Relief) footprint without feeding sovereignty concerns.

• Regional multilateralism: Strengthening platforms like BIMSTEC and IORA, where India can work with like-minded partners to uphold a rules-based order and maritime security.

Third, India must recognise that its influence will always face competition, not just from China but also from Gulf states, Western partners, and even non-state actors promoting religious radicalism. In this crowded arena, India's comparative advantage lies in offering a model of inclusive growth, democratic resilience, and cultural affinity.

Domestic Winds, External Waves

What’s unfolding in the Maldives is not just a small island state asserting autonomy; it is a case study in how domestic political change, strategic geography, and global power shifts intersect. India’s approach must go beyond aid and access—it must understand and respect the evolving political subjectivity of its smaller neighbours.

The Indian Ocean is becoming an ocean of contestation—of infrastructure, ideology, and influence. The Maldives is a microcosm of these broader tensions. How India responds today will shape not just the trajectory of Indo-Maldivian relations but also the broader credibility of its Indo-Pacific vision.

As India aspires to play the role of a regional leader and a global balancing power, it must master the art of engagement without domination, of partnership without paternalism. The Maldives, with its strategic location and sensitive political fabric, offers the perfect test case.

@ Author is Assistant Professor, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta.

The Enduring Dominance of Upper-Caste Hindus in Bengal: Is a Caste Census the Answer?

In the chaos of every election, a critical piece of news slips everyone's attention. However, in West Bengal, it will soon be back in discussion. Due to a recent judgment by a division bench of the Calcutta High Court, the OBC reservation in the state has dropped from 17 per cent to 7 per cent. Additionally, the number of OBC-listed castes has drastically reduced from 180 to 66. Among them, the number of Muslim OBC castes has decreased from 122 to 12. The honourable judges have stated that those currently benefiting from this reservation will not see any changes in their status. However, it is easy to imagine what impact this judgment might have on the state's education and government jobs in the future.

What's the issue? When Prime Minister Vishwanath Pratap Singh announced a 27 per cent reservation for the 'Other Backward Classes' (OBC) based on the Mandal Commission Report in 1990, the Left Front government of West Bengal was very unenthusiastic about it. However, it soon became evident that candidates from this state were being deprived of the opportunity to avail of the new 27 per cent reservation in central government institutions. Therefore, in 1993, a law was enacted to form the Commission for Backward Classes, and the process of creating an OBC list in West Bengal began. Over the next sixteen years, 66 backward castes were listed. Among them were various artisan castes who practised Hinduism, such as sutradhars, karmakars, kumbhakars, swarnakars, telis, barbers, goalas, moyras, kansaris, weavers, and others. Also included were the Kurmis from the Purulia-Jhargram region. There were several Nepali-speaking castes. Additionally, there were twelve Muslim castes like the Jolhas, butchers, Shershabadiyas, hajams, and others, as well as Christians who had converted from Scheduled Castes.

It is difficult to calculate the overall population of these OBC castes. This is because, since independence, every census has only counted Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes, and no other caste-based census has been conducted. The population figures for OBCs are still based on the 1931 census. There is no doubt that these numbers have fluctuated significantly over the past nine decades due to various religious, social, and economic changes. Additionally, in the case of West Bengal, the displacement of various communities due to the partition of the country adds to the complexity. Therefore, to determine the total OBC population in this state, one has to rely on estimates. According to the Sachar Committee, in 2004-05, Hindu OBCs constituted 8.4 per cent of the total population of West Bengal, while Muslim OBCs made up 2.4 per cent. It is particularly noteworthy that, at that time, the overall OBC population in India was 43 per cent. In other major states, the proportion of OBCs was 50 per cent in Andhra Pradesh, 51 per cent in Uttar Pradesh, 56 per cent in Kerala, 60 per cent in Bihar, and 72 per cent in Tamil Nadu.

Why does the presence of OBCs seem so low in West Bengal? For those who know a bit about the social-political history of Bengal, the answer is quite simple. In other parts of India, large farmer castes are prominent, but in Bengal, their counterparts were Muslim farmers. During the partition, a large portion of these farmers was in East Bengal. In West Bengal, apart from the Mahishyas, Sadgops, Goalas, or Telis in the southeast region, other Hindu farming castes were scattered and small in population. In other districts, the main farming community was Muslim, much of which was equivalent to the OBC class in other states. However, after 1993, the twelve Muslim castes included in the OBC list in this state represented only a small fraction of the total Muslim population.

In 2006, the Rajinder Sachar Committee's report on the social, economic, and educational status of the Muslim community in the country was published. The survey by this committee, appointed by the central government, showed that in terms of education, employment, health, and poverty, the condition of Muslims in West Bengal was much worse compared to most other states. This led to significant criticism of West Bengal's Left Front government. In 2010, Chief Minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee announced that the OBC reservation in the state would be increased from 7 per cent to 17 per cent. By making some changes to the 1993 law, 42 castes were added to the state's OBC list over the next few months. Among them were 41 Muslim castes, including Sardars, Nikaris, Middes, Laskars, tailors, masons, etc. Additionally, the OBC list was divided into two categories: extremely backward (A) and backward (B). In 2012, the Trinamool government made further amendments to the law and included 35 more Muslim castes, such as Sheikhs, Sardars, and Tarafders. As a result, an estimated 80 to 85 per cent of the Muslim population in the state began to benefit from OBC reservations.

From 2010 onward, multiple writ petitions were filed in the Calcutta High Court regarding the expansion of the OBC list and Muslim reservations. In a 221-page judgment on May 22, Justices Tapobrata Chakraborty and Rajasekhar Mantha ruled that the 2010 expansion of the OBC list, subsequent amendments to the OBC law, the bifurcation of the OBC list, and the inclusion of more castes were unconstitutional and invalid. This decision effectively reverted OBC reservations in West Bengal to their 2009 status. The primary reasons for this decision were: 1) the 2010 expansion was done via an administrative order without enacting a new law, 2) the Backward Classes Commission was not consulted regarding the bifurcation of the list, and 3) the commission did not conduct sufficient data-driven surveys before making recommendations for inclusion in the list. According to the judges, according to established law, the state government cannot alter the OBC list without the commission's recommendations and bypassing the legislative assembly. The process by which 42 castes were included in 2010 and the list was bifurcated was deemed 'constitutional fraud.'

One might question whether cancelling the OBC reservation due to procedural errors is an excessive punishment for a minor fault. The judges argued why proper procedure is essential for fair justice. Citing liberal philosopher John Rawls, they stated that to ensure fair justice, it is crucial to maintain complete impartiality in the justice process. The outcome, whether good or bad, is secondary. Rawls's view is quite controversial, as many scholars, including Amartya Sen, believe that the practical outcomes of justice for people's welfare are at least as important, if not more, than the procedures. The question remains whether this partial reference to recent liberal philosophy was enough to establish the ideological foundation of the judgment.

But it’s not just ideological; the judges also discussed in detail the informational deficiencies in the 2010 additions to the OBC list. According to the division bench, the survey by the Backward Classes Commission at that time was incomplete and unscientific regarding the 41 Muslim castes it recommended. Commenting on each caste in the long list, they pointed out that although the number of surveyed families was mentioned, in many cases, the total population of the caste was not provided, and when it was, only about five to seven per cent had been surveyed. To follow a truly scientific method, they argued, the total population of each caste should have been surveyed. Even while respecting the court’s authority, sociologists might raise serious questions about this comment. Firstly, according to statistical science, if a proper sample is chosen, even a much smaller sample than five per cent can yield reliable results. Secondly, although the 1931 census data could be used for Hindu OBC castes, there has never been any caste-based census for the Muslim community. Where would the total population of Muslim OBCs come from? How would each of them be identified? It would require a complete caste census across West Bengal.

During the hearing of this case, the state government presented documented information from the Sachar Committee to illustrate the social backwardness of Muslim OBCs in West Bengal. Regarding this, the judges remarked that the Sachar Committee's report was published in 2006, and by 2010 it had become outdated, hence unacceptable. Isn't it natural to question how the data from a government committee’s survey could become outdated in four years, while OBC reservations across India are based on a 90-year-old census?

The judges' main conclusion was that the commission didn’t conduct any survey; it was all a façade. They stated that the inclusion of 41 Muslim castes in the OBC list was based solely on religion, not on social backwardness, making it unconstitutional. To fulfil the Chief Minister’s election promise, the recommendations from the commission were obtained in a 'record time of just five months' to satisfy a special vote bank. The judges said, ‘The entire Muslim community has been turned into a commodity for political interests.’ Here too, questions arise: if the 41 Muslim castes were excluded from the OBC list due to ideological and informational deficiencies, shouldn’t it have been investigated whether the same deficiencies existed for the 66 primarily Hindu castes on the previous list? Amartya Sen believes that the practical outcomes of justice for people’s welfare are at least as important, if not more, than the procedures.

It has long been observed that although various political organizations have expressed opposition to caste-based reservations, no elected government has ever cancelled any reservation system. Most objections regarding reservations have come from judges in the courts. Consequently, the courts have mandated an upper limit of 50 per cent for total reservations, identified the "creamy layer" among OBC castes to exclude them from reservation benefits, and ruled that reservations do not apply to promotions in jobs. Regarding Muslim OBC reservations, judges in most courts across the country have meticulously examined procedural aspects. Notably, the recent additional 10 per cent reservation for the Economically Weaker Sections (EWS), applicable to non-scheduled castes, has been approved by the Supreme Court.

Despite various objections, Muslim castes in different states of India have been included in the OBC list and are availing themselves of reservation benefits. The example of Andhra Pradesh is particularly noteworthy. In 2004, the Chandrababu Naidu government passed a law providing a separate 5 per cent reservation exclusively for Muslim OBC castes. The Andhra Pradesh High Court struck down this law following a case brought by the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, stating that the government did not consult the Backward Classes Commission. However, the court also mentioned that separate Muslim reservations are not against secularism and, therefore, not unconstitutional. The following year, when the Y.S. Rajasekhara Reddy government passed the law again, the High Court struck it down once more, this time citing inadequate surveys. In 2010, the Supreme Court issued an interim order to maintain the status quo, allowing separate Muslim OBC reservations to continue in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana. The Supreme Court hearing on the matter is still pending. Recently, after winning the election, Chandrababu Naidu stated that even if the Telugu Desam Party joined the NDA government, there would be no change in Muslim reservations in Andhra.

One might think that if the West Bengal government now conducts a new survey through the Backward Classes Commission and passes a new law, Muslim OBC reservations in the state would be reinstated, addressing the High Court's objections. But will that be the case? Where is the guarantee that procedural flaws will not be found again? Arguments such as inadequate surveys, lack of proof of socio-economic backwardness, reservation benefits given solely on a religious basis, and the primary objective being vote bank politics have been heard in various courts across the country.

To resolve all these objections regarding OBC reservations, there has been a nationwide demand for a complete caste census and socio-economic survey. Consequently, during the 2011 census, a parallel socio-economic caste census was conducted, and its report was submitted to the new BJP government in 2014. However, citing errors or using it as an excuse, this census has not been published to date. Meanwhile, in 2023, the Bihar government conducted a caste census in the state. It revealed that 63 per cent  of the state's population is OBC, 19.6 per cent  are Scheduled Castes, 1.6 per cent  are Scheduled Tribes, and the remaining 15.5 per cent  belong to unreserved categories. Compared to the 1931 census, it is clear that the proportion of higher castes has significantly decreased, while the proportion of backward castes has considerably increased. General censuses have shown that the birth rate among the relatively affluent sections has been rapidly declining for several decades, while it has not decreased as much among the lower-income groups, though it has dropped slightly in recent times. Therefore, the mere mention of a caste census creates panic among the upper castes. In West Bengal, this panic is likely to be even stronger. The dominance of upper-caste Hindus in every sector, including government and professional fields as well as education and culture, is unparalleled elsewhere in India. A caste census would prove how this dominance stands on a very small population base. Hence, the likelihood of a caste census being conducted in West Bengal seems highly improbable.

Without such a census, there is little chance of addressing the court's objections. Meanwhile, admissions to undergraduate and postgraduate levels will begin in a few days. If a stay order is not obtained from the Supreme Court, legal complexities and litigations regarding these admissions may never end. Therefore, many questions remain about the real outcome of the High Court's verdict in this case.

Translated by Dr. Asis Mistry, Assistant Professor, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta

Original Article: উচ্চবর্ণ হিন্দুর প্রবল আধিপত্য আজও টিকে রয়েছে এই রাজ্যে: জাতিগণনাই কি সমাধান by Partha Chatterjee (Anandabazar Patrika)

উচ্চবর্ণ হিন্দুর প্রবল আধিপত্য আজও টিকে রয়েছে এই রাজ্যে

জাতিগণনাই কি সমাধান