States in Conflict with Their Minorities: Challenges to Minority Rights in South Asia [1 ed.] 2010018996, 9789385985935

Table of contents :
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
List of Tables and Boxes
List of Abbreviations
Acknowledgements
1. Introduction
2. Violence, Cultural Diversities and the Fantasies of a Monolithic Nation-State
3. A Long-term View of Contemporary Muslim Situation in India
4. Media, Modernity and Minorities
5. Hindus in a Polarized Political Environment: Bangladesh's Minority
6. Chittagong Hill Tracts of Bangladesh: Justice Denied
7. Discrimination in Pakistan against Religious Minorities: Constitutional Aspects
8. Religious Minorities in Pakistan: Mapping Sind and Baluchistan
9. Strangers in the House: Minorities in Pakistani Textbooks
10. Sri Lanka: Recent Shifts in the Minority Rights Debate
11. Muslims in Sri Lanka: Political Choices of a Minority
12. Inclusion and Accountability in a ‘New’ Democratic Nepal
About the Editor and Contributors
Index

Citation preview

States in Conflict with their Minorities

States in Conflict with their Minorities Challenges to Minority Rights in South Asia

Edited by RITA MANCHANDA

Copyright © South Asia Forum for Human Rights (Nepal), 2010 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. First published in 2010 by SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd B1/I-1 Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area Mathura Road, New Delhi 110 044, India www.sagepub.in SAGE Publications Inc 2455 Teller Road Thousand Oaks, California 91320, USA SAGE Publications Ltd 1 Oliver's Yard 55 City Road London EC1Y 1SP, United Kingdom SAGE Publications Asia-Pacific Pte Ltd 33 Pekin Street #02-01 Far East Square Singapore 048763 Published by Vivek Mehra for SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd, typeset in 11/13 pt Aldine 401 BT by Tantla Composition Pvt Ltd, Chandigarh and printed at Chaman Enterprises, New Delhi. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data States in conflict with their minorities : challenges to minority rights in South Asia / edited by Rita Manchanda. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Minorities—Political activity—South Asia. 2. South Asia—Race relations— Political aspects. 3. South Asia—Politics and government. I. Manchanda, Rita. JQ98.A38M58 323.154—dc22 2010 2010018996

ePub ISBN: 9789385985935 The SAGE Team: Elina Majumdar, Shweta Tewari, Mathew P. J. and Trinankur Banerjee

Contents List of Tables and Boxes List of Abbreviations Acknowledgements 1. Introduction Rita Manchanda 2. Violence, Cultural Diversities and the Fantasies of a Monolithic Nation-State Ashis Nandy 3. A Long-term View of Contemporary Muslim Situation in India Javeed Alam 4. Media, Modernity and Minorities Sukumar Muralidharan 5. Hindus in a Polarized Political Environment: Bangladesh's Minority Afsan Chowdhury 6. Chittagong Hill Tracts of Bangladesh: Justice Denied Amena Mohsin 7. Discrimination in Pakistan against Religious Minorities: Constitutional Aspects Shahla Zia 8. Religious Minorities in Pakistan: Mapping Sind and Baluchistan Ishtiaq Hussain 9. Strangers in the House: Minorities in Pakistani Textbooks Rubina Saigol 10. Sri Lanka: Recent Shifts in the Minority Rights Debate Jayadeva Uyangoda 11. Muslims in Sri Lanka: Political Choices of a Minority Farzana Haniffa

12. Inclusion and Accountability in a ‘New’ Democratic Nepal Mahendra Lawoti About the Editor and Contributors Index

List of Tables and Boxes Tables 8.1 Percentage Population by Religion 8.2 Hindu Population by Percentage 12.1 Parliament Seats under the FPTP and the PR Systems, 1991, 1994 and 1999 12.2 CHHE's Hegemonic Domination in Sharma's Federal Model 12.3 Proportionality FPTP and PR Methods 12.4 Distribution of Household (HH) and Area Owned (in per cent)

Boxes 8.1 Hindus in Sind at Risk 8.2 Mohammad Ali Jinnah: Excerpts of Interview 8.3 Christian and Hindu Votes Impact Fifty National Assembly Seats 8.4 Survey Findings

List of Abbreviations AL BDR BJP BNP BPML CCC CHHEM CHT CIAA CPNUML CSC CWC EPRLF FSC FPTP HBCOP HDC HWF ICC ICDS INSEC IPKF ISGA ISF JHU JI

Awami League Bangladesh Rifles Bharatiya Janata Party Bangladesh National Party Bengal Provincial Muslim League Central Constitutional Commission Caste Hill Hindu Elite Male Chittagong Hill Tracts Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority Communist Party of Nepal-Unified Marxist Leninist Christian Study Centre Ceylon Workers’ Congress Eelam People's Revolutionary Liberation Front Federal Shari'at Court First Past the Post Hindu Bouddha Christian Oikkya Parishad Hill District Council Hill Women's Federation International Criminal Court Integrated Child Development Scheme Informal Sector Service Centre Indian Peace Keeping Force Interim Self Governing Authority Islamic Socialist Front Jathika Hela Urumaya Jamaat-i-Islami

JMB JP JVP LTTE MOCHTA MPRF NGP NPLP NUA NWFP NWP&O PA PCP PCJSS PGP PHP PHWA PNA PPP RSS SB SLMC TNA TMDP TMVP TUF TULF UPDF UPFA UPFN

Jama'atul Mujahedeen Bangladesh Janata Party Janatha Vimukhi Peramuna Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam Ministry of CHT Affairs Madehsi People's Rights Forum Nepal Goodwill Party National People's Liberation Party National Unity Alliance North West Frontier Province North-Western Provinces and Oudh People's Alliance (led by Sri Lanka Freedom Party) Pahari Chatra Parishad Parbattya Chattagram Jana Samhati Samiti—The United People's Party of CHT Pahari Gana Parishad Pakistan Hindu Panchayat Pakistan Hindu Welfare Association Pakistan National Alliance Pakistan People's Party Rashtriya Swayam Sevak Sangh Shanti Bahini (Peace Force) Sri Lanka Muslim Congress Tamil National Alliance Tarai-Madhes Democratic Party Thamil Makkal Viduthalai Puligal Tamil United Front Tamil United Liberation Front United People's Democratic Front United People's Freedom Alliance United People's Front Nepal

UNF UNP

United National Front United National Party

Acknowledgements This is to acknowledge the contribution of the South Asian Forum for Human Rights (SAFHR) team and, in particular, the work of Devjani Sani, in the preparation of the manuscript. Also, I wish to express my sincere gratitude and appreciation to the contributors who did not lose faith, despite delays, and bore patiently my repeated requests for updating the material. The publication reflects their commitment and their scholarship.

1 Introduction RITA MANCHANDA

I

Ethnic Kin States The final solution, the partition of the subcontinent in 1947, did not resolve the subcontinent's minority question and instead made it hydra-headed. Moreover, it produced a South Asian state system of ethnic kin states where a majority in one state was a minority across the border, entangling the minority question in the power intricacies of inter-state relations. Given the endemic low levels of cross-border tension in the India-dominated state system, the result has been to cast the constituent members of a minority group as ‘proxy citizens’ of the country where they are a majority, rather than full citizens of their own country. As Afsan Chowdhury in this volume describes, So Hindus in Pakistan and Bangladesh, the madhesis in Nepal and the Tamils in Sri Lanka are not just minorities, but are looked upon as proxy Indians and imagined as a threat or an enemy, and this is based on that state's relationship with India. Discrimination against them gets justified as part of the caretaking exercise against a nationalist threat.

Reinforcing this securitization of the minorities, is the Constitu-tion of the minority as suspect in the global ‘terrorism’ discourse, for example, Muslims in India and Tamils in Sri Lanka. The founding fathers of the kin state system of South Asia, aware of the cross-border minority–majority implications, had mooted the ‘hostage theory’,1 that is, the expected deterrent value of having a minority in one country being a majority in another. That theory

foundered in the early days itself, with the haemorrhaging of minority populations, fleeing the state and society's communal attitudes and practices. Inter-state level relationships still do influence how the minorities are treated by their own state and society, but as evident in Bangladesh, India's concern about the Hindu minority may have reinforced the vulnerability of that community. This is succinctly captured in a quote cited by Chowdhury in this volume: ‘A Hindu is now a secret Indian because he will have a place to runaway should he need or want to. But India will not let the Muslim go there.’ The communal inclination of the Indian state is used to justify the already existing alienation of Muslims and Hindus at the societal level in Bangladesh, whereas for the state, ‘many Hindus have become nonBangladeshis, irrespective of whether they live in Bangladesh’, argues Chowdhury. The minority question in South Asia has become a foreign policy question. The bilateral and multilateral nature of the minority people of South Asia should have predicated a supranational framing of the nature of the minority question and invited shared policy responses. Take the Lhotsampas or ethnic Nepalis of southern Bhutan, a trilateral minority, pushed out by the Drukpa regime as a part of the state policy of homogenizing a multiethnic popula-tion into a ‘one nation, one people’ state. As a result, some 120,000 Lhotsampas were rendered stateless and forced into protracted refugee exile in neighbouring India and Nepal. Inevitably, in an ethnic kin system, focalized incidents of communal tension in one country (for example, the destruction of Babri Mosque in 1992) have their backlash against the minority in another (for example, attacks on Hindu minority and temples in Pakistan and Bangladesh). However, South Asia is singular in not having bilateral or regional arrangements for the safeguarding of the rights of transreligious and national minorities. In this barren terrain, an early initiative stands out—the 1950 Nehru– Liaquat Ali pact,2 meant to secure the interests of each other's minorities in India and Pakistan. The attempt predictably failed. It is a reflec-tion of the complex web of competing interests in this kin state

system in which the interests of transnational communities is sacrificed to foreign policy and national security considerations. In the case of Tamil community in Sri Lanka, India has acted in defence of a cross-border minority community. But, even here the solidarity of the cross-border Tamil communities of Sri Lanka and India (not a divided product of the problematic partition legacy) has proven weak and insignificant in comparison with the competing pulls of raison d'etat of the two states. In 1948, the fledgling Sri Lanka state passed a Citizenship Act by virtue of which 800,000 Tamils were effectively disenfranchised because they were deemed ‘Indian Tamils’. Eventually, their citizenship rights were partially secured through the Shastri–Bandranaike pact in 1964 by which Sri Lanka recognized some 375,000 and India agreed to repatriate the rest. Again, the 1987 Indo-Sri Lanka accord made a bold departure in recognizing and legitimizing India's role in the safeguarding of the rights of the Tamil minority rights in Sri Lanka via a package of devolution of power. However, dur-ing the recent Eelam IV military campaign in 2008–09, the states of India and Sri Lanka colluded together in the common interest of safeguarding the rights of the sovereign state, national integration and battling ‘terrorism’. Its consequence has been not only the decimation of the Tamil national question, but also the aggressive political positioning of Sri Lanka's minorities as second-class citizens and their social acquiescence. Alongside, there has been the dangerous valorization of the military model as a way of resolving ethno-nationalist struggles in South Asia. It is important to emphasize that different cultures and cultural values, and markers of ethnic national identities by themselves, are not a source of conflict, but denial of socio-economic rights, cultural disrespect, marginalization and exclusion of political voice has and will lead to political mobilization around religious, ethnic, regional and national identities. Increasingly, the tendency is to focalize grievances along identity politics. In South Asia, as elsewhere, identity politics is displacing and distorting other fault-lines of class and conflict over resources, and so on.

No state of South Asia is free from internal strife. People belonging to different minorities—ethnic, religious, linguistic and indigenous tribes/communities—are engaged in struggles against the states for their cultural, economic and political rights. Their demands vary from equality and integration to regional/territorial autonomy, self-rule, self-government and self-determination, including separation. Whether the relationship between the majority and minorities will be one of pain and tension is critically determined by the design and effect of the orientation of the state. Indeed, at the core of the minority predicament in a democracy is the argument that nation and state are majoritarian concepts. Our emphasis in this volume is on conceptualizing minority as a political category of nondominance and powerlessness as distinct from a numerical or cultural statement.

State and the Modern Minority Problématique The colonial and post-colonial historical and cultural contingen-cies of this multireligious, multiethnic and multilinguistic South Asia region have made for a landscape of inequality. As elsewhere globally, the modern triumvirate of state, nation and liberal democracy has produced the modern minority problématique. As Andreas Wimmer, coming from the domain of anthropology to political science, argues, ‘nationalist and ethnic politics are not just a by-product of modern state-formation’ (built on democracy, citizenship and popular sovereignty), but ‘that modern principles and institutions of inclusion (of belonging to the “true nation”) are tied to ethnic and national forms of exclusion’.3 States produce minorities as an essential part of their construction process; since the majority, in producing the state, also produces the ‘others’ or the minorities. Minority is posited as a political category, understood in contradistinction to the nation-state. Sukumar Muralidharan, drawing upon Eric Hobswam's writings, reiterates that the state is itself a construct involving ‘artifact, invention and social engineering’. Similarly, argues Muralidharan, in this volume, ‘minority attributes are not innate in social identities, but

are a function of the contingent distribution of power within society and the exercise of power by the national state’. Such is especially so in multiethnic, multireligious and multilingual societies derived from pre-state geographies of mobility. With the emergence of the territorial state in the 17th century, the principle that a political society should be the ‘owner’ of a particular space and that this ownership confers sovereign right to determine legal rights and obligations of all persons therein, questions of true belonging and thus of control have become crucial. With the consolidation of the ‘nation’ state, the ideology of nationalism and republicanism has predicated political structures organized around one nation, one people. But the nation-state space was rarely homogenous. Its territory often included numerically smaller people with different national, ethnic, linguistic and religious identities, that is, minorities that did not wish to be assimilated and that had histories of ‘homelands’. Some well-known scholars of the analytical trajectory of the modern state producing the minority predicament emphasize the modern secular state's praxis of governmental technologies. Ashis Nandy, a psycho-sociologist, draws attention to the signifi-cance of the modern state's praxis of statistical enumeration of populations in fixing the fluid identities of communities into neat and precise categories via census operations. In this volume, he reiterates that ‘globally the modern nation-state has proved to be more dangerous for its own citizens than religious fundamentalism or religious nationalism’. Other scholars from the multiculturalism stream had fondly hoped that the modern liberal state and shared (or at least state inculcated) basic values of popular sovereignty, equal rights and respect for individual human dignity, and above all, the practice of representative politics would depoliticize the politics of numbers in an expanding common civic culture and identity. The practice of democracy was expected to universalize equal rights. However, the reduction of democracy to largely procedural democracy, structured around electoral politics, has ended up producing permanent majorities and minorities.

Today more than ever, ‘identity’ politics has emerged as the dominant motif of our political articulation. The struggle for recognition and redistribution is fast becoming the paradigmatic form of political conflict in our times. The political challenge for liberal democracy and post-socialism discourses is how to democratize the ‘nation’ so that ‘minority’ as a category of subordination and oppression, vanishes. As scholar activist Tapan Bose reminds us, The Minority like everywhere is a fluid identity in South Asia. Its markers are language, culture, religion and ethnicity. But the most important marker is the position of ‘non-domination’ or ‘powerlessness’. The history of the last six decades of state- or nation-making in South Asia proves the axiom—democracies create minorities. Nation and State are majoritarian concepts. These are also repositories of power. Access and control over these institutions of power and the distance from these sources of power or denial of access define the majority and the minority.4

The minority as a political category of powerlessness spans religious, linguistic and social (caste) minorities, ethnic groups and nationalities, and indigenous people. Generally speaking, indigenous people are conceptually distinct from the category of an ethnic, religious, linguistic or national minority, but in practice the categories overlap because of the common experience of being disempowered, discriminated and marginalized. Several minority groups, as for example, the Tamil community of Sri Lanka, the Naga people of north-east India and the indigenous people of the Chittagong Hill Tribes of Bangladesh have repudiated identification as a minority (and its subordinate connotations) and claimed for themselves the identity and status of ‘nation’. Each claims to be a nation. The history of the struggles of the Tamil, Naga and Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT) people maps a narrative of how and when at a historical moment, a group refuses to accept the identity of a minority and claims the status of a people and a nation. The particular ‘histories’ of minorities are integrally linked and run parallel to the history of state-making in the region. In the case of

South Asia, its colonial encounter paved the way in transforming the region's ethnogeography of multilayered and fluid identities into fixed categories. British administrators had sought to make the colony susceptible to a certain kind of governance on the basis of communal entities. In the pro-cess, fluid identities were essentialized and even posited in a mutually irreconcilable relationship of otherness. The colonial government's decision to introduce religion (and ethnicity in Sri Lanka) as the fundamental category of administrative and electoral classification infused a particular political meaning into concepts like Hindu and Muslim. It privileged religious aspects of identity at the expense of other aspects. As a result, even socio-economic factors got configured in communal or ethnic terms. Separate electorates institutionalized these differences in the sites of political representation. Post-independence, as these multilayered societies trans-formed themselves into modern states, the challenge was to construct a state before the emergence of nation, of seeking to make a heterogeneous ‘people’ congruent with territorial borders. However, after six decades of independence, the states of South Asia are still grappling with myriad sub-nationalities and religious communities—a profusion of linguistic, ethnic and caste groups—all are jostling for recognition and resources. Arguably, the feared balkanization of South Asia state system (despite the East Pakistan exception) has not happened. India's demos enabling federalism, that is, the linguistic and now increasingly ethnic reorganization of states, seemingly, has stemmed disintegrationist movements from Tamil Nadu in the south to Mizoram in the north. No doubt, ideologies of nationalism, republicanism and democracy have expanded the public sphere and given disadvantaged groups a substantive access, especially in some countries. In many of these polities, the state aspires to be a harbinger of social reform and transformation. In the law of the land in all these states, fundamental rights are inscribed in the Constitution of every one of these countries. However, fundamental rights with citizenship as the fulcrum of these rights tilt towards the indi-vidual and thereby the

majority in matters of political rule. Nowhere is the state a neutral umpire holding the balance between different groups. To varying degrees, the states of the region have showed up the inability of a hegemonic collectivity to deal equitably with the subordinated and oppressed. The modern structures of govern-ance of these states have proved to be centralizing, coercive, hegemonic and exclusionary. Moreover, minority assertion for ‘recognition’ of cultural rights and ‘redistribution’ of power and resources has conjured up in the majoritarian national imagina-tion, anxieties about the integrity of the nation-state and true ‘belonging’. In these majoritarian states and societies of South Asia, the minority problématique has splintered into questions of nationalism versus separatism, of who is a ‘true citizen’ and who a ‘proxy citizen’, of communalism versus secularism, of ‘special rights’ (read ‘appeasement’) versus ‘equal rights’ (read the ‘majority’ setting the norm) and ‘insider’ versus ‘outsider’ politics.

South Asia—Land of Minorities South Asia is often referred to as a land of minorities. The challenge of pluralism is truly formidable. More than 800 languages are spoken in the region and only 66 per cent of the population has access to education in the mother tongue.5 In India alone, there are eight major religions and myriad creeds, twenty-two official languages and 325 recorded mother tongues, a mosaic of castes and sub-castes classified by the People of India project into 4,635 largely endogamous communities, sixty socio-cultural sub-regions and fifteen distinct agro-climatic zones. More than 8 per cent of the population comprises indigenous people. India's 130 million Muslim population makes it the third largest Muslim population in any political unit in the world. Even Pakistan, constituted as a homogenous state for the Muslims, has six major and over fifty-nine small languages. According to the Pakistan census, Punjabi speakers are 44 per cent, Pashtun 15 per cent, Sindhi 14 per cent, Seraiki 11 per cent, Urdu 8 per cent and Baluch 4 per cent. However, Pakistan's Constitution

barely reflects its multilingual or multinational character. Only one article of the Constitution Article 251 recognizes Pakistan's multinational character. Bangladesh, though linguistically and culturally the most homogenous of the states of South Asia, includes the non-Bengali hill tribal Chakmas, Marmars, Tripuras and plains tribal ethnic communities. They make up a little over 1 per cent of the population. With Bengali nationalism deriving its identity from Bengali language and culture (Article 9, 6), these non-Bengali population have been reduced to ethnic minorities. Non-Bengali-speaking populations, including the Urdu-speaking Biharis have become linguistic minorities. Also, with Islam being the state religion, the Hindu (9.2 per cent), Buddhist (0.7 per cent), Christian (0.3 per cent) and animist communities have been made excluded religious minorities. Sri Lanka, defies the expected homogeneity of an island state, and like the rest of South Asia, comprises a highly multiethnic, multilingual plural society with four main ethnic groups, two dominant linguistic streams, four major religious com-munities and distinct geographic divisions. The Tamil-speaking community is split into Sri Lankan Tamils (6.2 per cent), hill-country-Indian Tamils (4.9 per cent) and the Muslims (8.9 per cent). In addition, there are Malays and Burghers. As for Nepal, notwithstanding its relative small size, it is ethnically, linguistically, culturally and regionally very diverse. Nepal, before its post-2006 republican assertion, denied its multireligious character and institutionalized exclusion of its linguistic and ethnic minorities. State statistical record showed more than twenty-one caste groups, fifty-nine indigenous nationalities and classified ninety-three spoken languages (2001) belonging to four language families, namely, Tibeto-Burman, Indo-Aryan, Dari and Munda. Nepalese people have faith in Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Kirant, Bon, Animism and Christianity. Bhutan may assert that ‘Pluralism is only practical for a larger country where diversity of customs traditions and culture enriches the nation. A small country like Bhutan cannot afford the luxury of

such diversity among its people’,6 but its landscape is multiethnic, multireligious and multilinguistic. Its ruling Drukpa ethnic minority (16 per cent) has sought to homogenize the kingdom into a ‘one nation, one people’ state imposing its language and religion. Populous ethnic minorities in south, the Lhotsampas (variously estimated at 35 per cent) of Nepali origin, and the Sharchops (34 per cent) of TibetoBurman stock in the east and central districts have been regionally isolated and excluded. Recognition of a minority group is a crucial precondition for protecting minority rights. Different South Asian states have variously interpreted what constitutes a minority. Pakistan recognizes only religious minorities and not Sind, Baluch or Pushto nationalities, and has created Muslim minorities—Ahmadis and even Shias. Bangladesh, constitutionally, does not recognize that it has linguistic, religious or ethnic minorities. Sri Lanka's minority rights discourse has been so ethnically polarized that till recently the third community, Muslims, had slipped through the interstices. Also, there is no recognition of social (depressed caste) minorities or indigenous groups. As for India, it does not list its Dalit population as a minority and state institutions tend to legitimize a homogenous Hindu identity, excluding multiple religious sects from the religious minority category. Constitutionally, there is the construction of a religious and a linguistic minority as a cultural category, sidestepping the issue of power and political representation. The challenge of pluralism in South Asia is enormous and so too is the gap between the fundamental rights promised in the various Constitutions and the banality of discrimination, violence and inequality that is the everyday experience of persons belonging to minority communities and indigenous people.

Minority Predicament Under colonial administrations, the fluid identities of minorities were politicized. During the process of constitutional reforms in the transition to independence, such identities became entrenched. Post-colonial electoral democracy has reinforced the official

discourse of majority and minorities, rather than transcending the politics of numbers. The early constitutional debates of the states of the region reflected an awareness of the importance of democratizing the nation to such an extent that ‘minority’ as a category of powerlessness disappears and numbers loose their political value. However, driven by the exigencies of state power consolidation and the paranoia of the Great Partition, the founding elite did not anchor minority rights in an expanding democratic agenda and equal rights of all people. Instead, state ideology and archi-tecture, increasingly veered towards constituting a majoritari-anism. Sukumar Muralidharan, in his essay Media Modernity and Minorities, takes us back to the architect of India's Constitution, Ambedkar, who was not worried about a ‘communal majority’ in the numerical sense. ‘Its dominance was a matter of social power rather than numbers.’ Ambedkar fretted about the opportunity universal franchise afforded for a ‘social majority’ to consolidate itself as a ‘political majority’. Six decades later, for the country's two largest exceptions to the hegemonic nation—the Muslim minority and the scheduled castes— what has happened to the faith in the possibility of a pan. Indian civic identity, displacing and making irrelevant identity politics. For both Javeed Alam and Muralidharan, in this volume, the critical event is the twin mandal–kamandal moment or the anti-Mandal agitation and the Ram temple agitation culminating in the destruction of the Babri Mosque. Muralidharan's reading of the minority–majority dynamics in a democracy leads him to interpret the minority as falling back on an ‘insistence on separateness as their only available defence’. However, Javeed Alam, tracking that same historical moment identifies a move towards expanding democratic participation in egalitarian politics. He posits a contentious thesis of regionally differentiated Muslim communities moving away from the practice of a politics of difference to ‘citizen politics’ in alliance with other similarly disadvantaged groups. In the contradictory and competing pull of egalitarian politics versus politics of difference, it is a sad testimony that the minority as a political category, far from vanishing, has proliferated into a

veritable ‘minorityism’. There is an aggressive assertion of minority and disadvantaged identities so as to claim ‘special rights’, largely reservations.

Democracy Deficit Common citizenship has delivered formal equal treatment and some lonely schemes of positive discrimination that derogate against equal rights. It has proven insufficient to solve the discrimination dilemma. Moreover, democracy as (and when) practised has got reduced to an exercise of numbers and gets articulated in the official discourse of majority and minorities. As Ranabir Samaddar in his incisive analysis of the minority question in India emphasizes at its core is ‘democracy deficit’.7 Indeed, in South Asia as a whole, follow the tracks of the minority rights question and it will lead us back to the ‘democracy deficit’. Unfortunately, recognition that minority (ethnic) groups are deficient as right holders is a minority perspective. More commonly, scholarly analysis and practitioner's understanding are oriented towards interpreting even socio-economic tensions through the official categories of majority–minority identities or worked through the discourse of ethnicity and ‘ethnonationalism’. Yash Ghai, a social scientist, succinctly captures the political continuum of an ethnically differentiated group becoming a political category. An ‘ethnicity’ is consolidated ‘when these (cultural, religious, linguistic) markers cease to be mere means of social distinction and become the basis of political identity and claims to a specific role in the political process or power’.8 Ethnic movements often have, at their core, hardcore issues of social and economic justice and of public participation—but as in the case of Sri Lanka, not only do the protagonists of the ethnic conflict articulate it in terms of essentialist ethnicity and identity, but the third minority, Muslims, too, have come to put themselves forward as an ethnicity. It is the discourse of power that constitutes the category of majority and minority identities. Redistribution of power lies at the vertex of the relation between the state and the ‘national’ minorities.

But the state, as we have seen, is not neutral and democracy has become captive to a social majority becoming the political majority. The consequence is that public space has become vulnerable to a system that can be taken over by a dominant group, which is determined to impose its values and opinions as the norm. We see this articulated in the way the concern about ‘public order’ is interpreted and the rights of the majority are upheld and the rights of minorities sacrificed. In this, the role of the judiciary is crucial. Shahla Zia in her study of the Pakistan Constitution backing discrimination notes the judiciary's: …growing emphasis on ‘protecting the rights’ of the Muslim majority, rather than those of the minorities. The judiciary's inclination has been to prevent a breach of peace by placing restrictions on minority groups like Ahmadis so as to avert provoking the Muslim majority, rather than taking preventive or punitive action against them. (See Chapter 7 of this book)

The status of most minorities in the region is abject. In some cases, as in Bangladesh, minority communities are poor because of their minority status. For example, there is the working of discriminatory laws like the Enemy Property Act (1965), morphed in post-liberation Bangladesh into the Vested Property Act (1971). According to one estimate, 43 per cent of all Hindu families have been ‘legally’ affected by virtue of this act.9 Sheikh Hasina's government withdrew it in 2001. In the case of India, Muslims make up a disproportionate number of the poor in relation to their population size of 13 per cent. In rural India, Muslim landlessness is 51 per cent as compared to 40 per cent for Hindus. However, as Javeed Alam points out, there is no evidence to suggest that the Indian state created poverty among the Muslims as in the case of the tribal and dispossession. ‘Muslim poverty is as much a result of the many intersections of feudalism and the depredations and predatory practices of British colonial rule, as poverty in general’. Nonetheless, the Sachar Committee Report has shown a very disturbing congruence between Muslim habitation and deprivation of civic amenities, public works and development infrastructure.

The contrast in poverty and development levels is particularly striking in the case of territorially concentrated nationalities and regions, provoking struggles against ‘colonialism from within’, for example, the struggles of the Naga, Baluch, Tamil, CHT, and Madhesh peoples. Take politically and economically margi-nalized Baluchistan. The province produces 36 per cent of the country's natural gas, consumes only 17 per cent and receives only 12.4 per cent of the revenues. Baluch ‘nationalists’ reject the division of oil revenues on the basis of population, whereby Punjab gets 57 per cent of the revenue and Baluchistan, which spatially comprises 47 per cent of the country, gets 6 per cent. Baluchistan's disadvantaged and discriminated status is epitomized by the people of Quetta having to wait twenty years, after Multan and Rawalpindi, to get gas.10 Several of the writers in this volume locate their analysis within a framework that joins the struggle of the politics of recognition with the politics of redistribution or socio-economic justice.11 Amena Mohsin, in particular, draws attention to the centrality of the land question in these struggles of the indi-genous peoples of the CHT.

South Asia's Majoritarian States The states and societies of South Asia, as demonstrated in this volume, have experimented with a mix of constitutional and policy approaches to safeguard, largely, the cultural rights of minorities. Arguably, India has the most far ranging constitu-tional provisions and executive policies regarding ‘recognition’ and even ‘redistribution’ of rights of the minorities. While emphasizing the liberal republican idiom of equal rights, provi-sions exist for recognizing special rights of religious minorities, though these are largely in the cultural and educational domain. Then, to offset histories of social disadvantage (of specially notified oppressed and subordinated castes and backward tribes), the Constitution provides for positive discrimination in the form of reservations in education, jobs in public services and in political office. In recognition of linguistic differentiation, internally, states have been reorganized

along linguistic lines and subsequently along ethnic lines in north east. Moreover, in accommodation of the specific historic particularities of the integration of the states with the Indian Union, special autonomies exist for states like Jammu and Kashmir, and for the erstwhile ‘excluded’ hill tribal areas of the north east. In the case of Pakistan and Bangladesh, the Constitution itself is the source of discrimination and victimization. The constitutional scheme treats Muslims as a privileged majority while religious minorities are promised at best protection. Islam-based provisions place minorities at a disadvantage. Pakistan was envisaged as a homeland for Muslims and Pakistan's state ideology is anchored in the faith of the Muslim people as a nation. Pakistan's state ideology and the historical contingencies of building a nation-state in a land of multinations has had authoritarian consequences for the polity as a whole and discriminatory consequences for non-Muslims and other ‘nationalities’ in the provinces (Baluch, Pushtun, Sindhi). Even the federalizing provisions of the 1973 Constitution failed to shake off the centralizing legacy of 1955 ‘One Unit’ created to counter the numbers weightage of the Bengal nation. Within a few months, the Bhutto regime destabilized the provincial governments of Baluchistan and North West Frontier Province (NWFP). As elsewhere in South Asia, narratives and discourses are used to structure relations—to differentiate loyal from disloyal. These stereotypes are deeply embedded in the widely shared narrative and discourses. Rubina Saigol, in this volume explores the role of the ubiquitous text books in turning the minorities—those who do not belong—into cameos. ‘Those who belong, the insiders are collapsed into an imagined homogeneity of goodness, those who are the outsiders, are homogenized into an evil or wickedness.’ The Hindu Other is configured as ‘racist and fundamentalist’; the Christian Other as Trickster and Cheat; the Sikh Other as ‘Knife-wielding Butcher’ and the Bengali Other as Back-stabbing. Bangladesh's political culture and institutions demonstrate considerable continuity with its earlier avatar as part of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan under the 1956 Constitution. Bangladesh emerged as a ‘secular’ democracy in the 1972 Con-stitution but the

tension between ‘Bengali nationalism’, based on language and culture, and ‘Bangladeshi nationalism’, rooted in the primacy of religion, has resulted in a steady drift towards Islamic hegemony. Repeated amendments to the Constitution have eroded the civic, economic, religious and cultural rights of minorities. In ‘old’ monarchial Nepal, as Mahendra Lawoti here shows, the ruling upper-Caste Hill Hindu Elite Male (CHHEM) monopolized power in the Cabinet, the government and political parties. The practice of first past the post-electoral democracy institutionalized the exclusion of the ‘majority’ of the population comprising janajatis, backward castes and women. Overlaying this was regional disadvantage and deprivation in a highly centralized—Kathmandu centric—polity. The domination of the Khas-Nepali language made the majority of Nepal's non-Nepali-speaking people linguistic minorities, the hegemony of the Hindu majority and upper-caste Hindu culture made for exclusion and active cultural disrespect of the religio-cultural practices of the indigenous peoples. As for Sri Lanka, its unitary state had pursued a constitutional path of accommodating minority rights—equal rights, some language rights and a limited degree of decentralization—against the backdrop of the military conflict. The dynamics of the majority–minority power relationship challenged the terms of the liberal minority rights discourse posited on constitutionally protected individual ‘equal’ rights and some decentralization and devolutions. In the case of Sri Lanka, the minority question was effectively displaced by the national question, bringing to the fore claims to ‘group rights’ as Jayadeva Uyangoda brings out in his chapter. In the end, the final solution to the demand for a Tamil nation spearheaded by a no less fascist force was a military resolution. That can only reinforce the Sri Lanka state's unitary ideology, centralized structure and Sinhala-Buddhist hegemony. Without a fundamental de-ethnicization or for that matter decom-munalization of the state and power-sharing arrangements, the politics of numbers will continue to haunt Sri Lanka. South Asian states, on the whole, have been extremely wary; if not hostile, to devolving power. Even India, which has evolved a

quasi-federal polity with a complex structure of special autono-mies, uses the nomenclature, centre–state relations. Although the constitutional debates presaged wide-ranging devolution of power, post-Partition, federalism came to be viewed as carrying the seeds of secession and disintegration.12 Moreover, the Nehruvian economic model under girded by centralized planning was predicated on central control. The Indian Constitution carries that unitary bias. The Indian Parliament keeps the right to change the boundaries of the states. The 50-year-old struggle of the Naga people for self-rule in the north-east; Jammu and Kashmir's uprising against the erosion of constitutionally sanctioned special autonomy and the Punjab insurgency over power-sharing and self-rule are but three of the most significant conflicts that testify to the Indian elite's centralizing and majoritarian impulse. However, the linguistic reorganization of the Indian state system is a testimony to its capacity for accommodating plural demands. In the following section, I attempt to traverse the broad con-tours of the constitutional dynamics of protection and exclusions of three different models that have emerged from the breaking up of a colonial state—Pakistan, Bangladesh and India.

Three National Models: Minority Rights Protection India: Limits of Constitutionalism Minority Rights discourse is monopolised by Muslims. This may explain why questions about minorities are necessarily linked in the mind with the minority problem during the British days, which gave rise to ‘communal politics’, separatism and finally partition. The Indian discourse on ‘minorities’ as concept as well as groups of people therefore gets defined and delimited by communalism versus secularism and nationalism versus separatism. It is hardly ever placed in the perspective of mainstream human rights movement which wants to ensure all rights for all people.13

India's constitutional guaranteed regime of equal rights based on common citizenship and non-discrimination is mediated by a

complex web of special rights and protections. There is statutory backed creation of special territorial autonomies providing for ‘selfrule’ (Jammu and Kashmir, Article 370–371H); for social minorities affirmative action provision of reservations for notified scheduled castes, hill tribes and backward classes (Part XVI, Article 15, 16, 330 and 332); for the linguistic minorities protection of language rights (Articles 29, 347 and 350) and state-hood for major linguistic groups; and for the religious minorities a system of legal pluralism with differentiated personal law regimes, rights to public management of religious and educational institutions. However, such prescriptive policies of protection and ‘affirmative action’ have delivered not equality, but the demand for more and more groups seeking the dividends that accrue to ethnic (and caste) politics by claiming official recognition of ‘minority’ status, for example, the Gujjars in Rajasthan and the Rajbhansis in Assam claiming Scheduled Tribe status to tap designated special rights. Meanwhile, an unsympathetic majority castigates such policies as ‘appeasement politics’. Also, India's innovative experiments in evolving a range of ethnically delimited autonomous ‘homelands’ (even experi-menting with degrees of shared sovereignty) have subsumed secessionist demands. But without any fundamental expansion of democratic value in the institutions at the centre or in the autonomous unit, it inevitably has led to exclusion of non-dominant ethnic groups and the relentless reproduction of more ethnicities and the demand for other homelands. These autonomy institutions are not necessarily institutions for enhancing democracy but more likely to reinforce ‘insider–outsider’ politics. The result is the north east is scarred in a welter of conflict lines. As regards the schema of protection and special rights of religious minorities, Gurpreet Mahajan, a scholar of minority rights, evaluating the impact of these provisions, succinctly observed that it has assured the protection of cultural identity by ‘safeguarding cultural autonomy and promoting cultural diversity’; where ‘it has failed is in promoting equality, non-discrimination and vitally, equity’.14 Such

emphasis on cultural identity has fostered a distortion in the community's politics. For example, the elite of the Muslim community has got tied up in the pursuit of identity politics, raising with the state demands centering on issues concerning religio-cultural orthodoxy (that is, religious holidays, personal law, banning books, and so on) rather than leveraging equal opportunities in political representation, access to development, education, and so on. That, argues Javeed Alam, is changing, and giving way to the emergence of a ‘citizen politics’, that is, participation in democratic politics for realizing an egalitarian social ethos. Pakistan: Constitution-based Discrimination At the other end of the spectrum, in Pakistan, the Constitution itself ends up discriminating against religious minorities as shown by Shahla Zia in a study of the state's deepening Islamization. The injunction in the Objectives Resolution that no law repugnant to Islam could be adopted has paved the way for all the Islamic provisions in the Constitution, that is, from direct stipulation of Head of State being a Muslim to indirect discriminatory provisions via electoral oaths as well as the policy of separate electorates. General Musharraf, in 2002, ended this political apartheid created by separate electorates. The constitutional scheme treats Muslims as a privileged majority while religious minorities are promised only protection. Fundamental rights are guaranteed, even special protective provisions are stipulated, but they become meaningless in the precedence given to the Islamic Provisions. Such Islam-based provisions place minorities at a disadvantage, making for ‘religious-based exclusions’, in public office and political participation, economic taxes and educational discrimination, and especially in the legal system. The dual system of Federal Shari'at Courts and Civil Courts has created an ambiguity which is manipulated to the disadvantage of religious minorities and women as evident in the workings of the blasphemy law and Hudood ordinances introduced under General Zia-ul-Haq. In the Federal Shari'at Court, a supraconstitutional body, non-Muslims can neither

be members nor non-Muslim lawyers appear before these Courts; Hudood Ordinance ousts the testimony of non-Muslims against a Muslim accused (and makes women half witness in law) and the Hudood (offence of Zina) Ordinance makes adultery punishable, and creates serious problems for Christian divorces on the ground of adultery; blasphemy law discrimi-natingly protects the sanctity only of Muslim Holy personages and their religious sentiments. Pakistan's crisis of political legitimacy, inevitably, has been accompanied by a renewed push towards Islamization, especially when challenged by ethnic nationalist assertions. Pakistan's Constitution does not recognize its ethno-nationalist minorities. In Pakistan, after the founding of the state of Pakistan, or as political scientist Mohammad Waseem wryly describes it, ‘when the Pakistan movement came to the bounded territory of what became Pakistan’, the Muslim majority provinces of East Bengal, NWFP, Sind and Baluchistan became ethnic ‘minority’ provinces in what became a Punjab-Mohajir-dominated bureaucratic and military oligarchy. Pakistan carries the legacy set in 1955 when various provinces of West Pakistan were integrated into ‘One Unit’ to counter populous Bengali province of East Pakistan. Pakistan ruling elite's discriminatory and anti-democratic politics of treating East Pakistan as an internal colony and the denial of the Bengali cultural identity resulted in a second violent partition, Bangladesh, and further fuelled secessionist paranoia against autonomy. The 1973 Pakistan Constitution fails to recognize non-religious minorities. More recently, Islamization (increasingly cast in the Sunni–Wahabi mode), and its various manifestation, such as Talibanization, as Istiaq Hussain observed, has put pressure not only on the religious minorities but also on the Muslim minorities.15 There is the imposition of zajiya or religious tax on the minute Sikh community in Peshawar. But more ominous is the production of Muslim minorities. As early as 1974, under Bhutto, Ahmadis were declared non-Muslim. While their persecution has increased, and minor sects like Zikris have also come under pressure, it is the rising incidence of Shia–

Sunni sectarian violence that is the marker of this new wave of intolerance and exclusion. Bangladesh: Hegemony of One Religion and One Language Bangladesh might have emerged from a struggle against a situa-tion of internal colonialism, by a discriminated and disadvan-taged ethnicity. But statehood is cast in a structure that is marked by the hegemony of one religion and one language. As Afsan Chowdhury in ‘Hindus in a Polarised Political Environment’ states, ‘In Bangladesh minorities in general and the Hindu minority in particular, are not imagined as occupying a rightful and legitimate space within the architecture of the majority's imagination of the nation.’ Although the new state of Bangladesh emerged as a secular polity with a constitutional embargo on religion in politics, Amendments to the 1972 Constitution saw the displacement of the principle of ‘Secularity’ with ‘Absolute trust and faith in the Almighty Allah’. Tension between ‘Bengali nationalism’, based on language and culture, and ‘Bangladeshi nationalism’, rooted in the primacy of religion, has resulted in a steady drift towards Islamic hegemony. Both have had exclusionary consequences for its religious, linguistic and ethnic minorities.16 The Bangladesh state declared itself as a unitary and culturally homogenous nation emphasizing the hegemony of the Bengali nation, thus excluding non-Bengali Chakmas, Marmar Tripuras and plains tribal ethnic communities that make up a little over 1 per cent of the population. Subsequent amendments (Article 6) declared that the citizens of Bangladesh were to be known as Bengalees, turning the non-Bengali population into ethnic minorities. Article 3 adopted Bengali as the state language turning non-Bengali-speaking populations, including the Urdu-speaking Biharis, into linguistic minorities. Article 2 made Islam the state religion, excluding the Hindu, Buddhist, Christian and animist communities. The Bangladesh Constitution proclaims Islam and Bengali language and culture as the two main characteristics of the nation-state and only

exceptionally recognizes the rights and identities of its other constituent groups. Amena Mohsin, a scholar of Bangladesh nationalism, mapping the processes by which the rights of Bangladesh's minorities and indigenous peoples have been derogated argues that constitutional provisions by implication have ‘become instruments of hegemony and domination’ in the hands of successive governments.17 Suppression of their cultural identity and the rights of the hill tribes culminated in 25 years of armed struggle that was brought to an end by the 1997 peace accord.

Minority Rights: New Challenges Complicating the minority question is the media-mediated Constitution of the public discourse on security in which select minorities are constructed as ‘suspect’ communities. In particular, on the march these days are cultural and military doctrines rooted in the theory of the ‘clash of civilizations’ and the ‘war on terror’ which have been extremely detrimental to the rights of minorities. It is members of minority groups who are predominantly targeted by Prevention of Terrorism and other Emergency Regulations whether it is in India18 or in Sri Lanka. Moreover, the positioning of ‘militarized’ struggles for minority rights/ethno-nationalist assertion as ‘terrorism’ has delegitimized the struggles, hollowing out the socio-economic and political grievances driving them. Farzana Haniffa's essay in this volume draws our attention to this aspect. By locating the Sri Lanka state's all out military offensive against the civilian embedded Tamil insurgent group, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), as part of the ‘war on terror’, its brutal violations of the human and humanitarian rights of its citizens comes to be largely condoned by the international community. More insidious is the demonstration effect of Sri Lanka's military victory in resolving ethno-nationalist conflicts. Why negotiate politically, when you can militarily finish them off? In addition, globalization and the economic doctrines of neoliberalism have brought renewed pressure to exploit and expropriate

the natural resource-rich territories of the indigenous peoples. In an effort to accommodate the ongoing struggles of self-determination of the tribal people to assert their own control, India and Bangladesh have experimented with policies of creating autonomous regions and states. But as Mohsin's critical audit of the CHT autonomous region demonstrated and the experiences of the ‘tribal’ state of Jharkhand and Chhattisgarh and Nagaland, Mizoram or Arunachal Pradesh corroborate, it is not the indigenous populations who have been empowered. More and more tribals are being drawn into radicalarmed struggles variously associated with ‘Naxalism’ or as the state describes it ‘left wing extremism’. It is widespread in 13 states and has affected 220 districts in India. Another aspect of the minority predicament that increasingly is being recognized is ‘Minorities within the Minority’. In the overall claim to securing the rights of minorities, a rights perspective is drawing attention to the violation of the rights of non-dominant groups within the minority. In particular, the inter-sectionality of a gender perspective has shown up the special vulnerability of women to oppressive personal law re-gimes and customary traditional practices—jirgas, khap panchayats. Women bear the burden of being constructed as the cultural markers and purveyors of identity. Indeed, both the patriarchal state and the ‘minority’ or collectivity give primacy to the role of women in the construction of relations, between collectivities and the state and vice versa. Also, while the liberal formula of decentralization and devolu-tion of power to federal or autonomous entities, for example, along linguistic and ethnically determined principles promises an expansion in democratization, what is often not addressed is the rights of the non-dominant linguistic, ethnic and religious minorities. Autonomous entities arising out of a democratic demand are rarely themselves democratic in their functioning. Moreover, as claims of redistribution get linked with recognition and perpetuate competitive and divisive identity politics, there is a fragmentation of identities with more and more groups claiming special status and entitlements as distinct minorities. The complex dynamics of the emergence of a collectivity into a political minority is

explored in this volume by Farzana Haniffa. She tracks Sri Lanka's third minority—the Muslims. Till the 1980s, the Muslims as a third ethnicity and third political voice did not exist. The community's political choices were dictated by the political disadvantage of being a spatially dispersed community having a territorial concentration only in the East. Only 30 per cent of the Muslim population of the country is from the north and the east. The larger number of Muslims that reside outside the north and the east see no real need for a Muslim political voice outside of the Eastern Province or of separate representation in the peace negotiations 2002–06. II Studies on Minority Rights in South Asia have been largely locked into isolated national frames despite the obvious historical and cultural continuities that make for structures of analysis and policy responses that are regional. The practice of studying minorities within their national frontiers speaks of the persisting pressure to produce ‘patriotic’ national scholarship. It is often forgotten that till the Zia era, in Karachi University, the use of the concept and term ‘South Asia’ was not allowed as it was seen as pro-Indian.19 Moreover, the critical significance of the status of minority rights as the index of democracy in our countries has led researchers and commentators to privilege the gloss of nationality rather than the thrust of scholarship. While lecturing on minority rights to students coming from South Asia, I have been struck by the defensiveness of human right activists from these countries. Its corollary is the big spread that the state and independent media give to the reports of minority rights violations of the ‘other’, especially that of Pakistan in India and India in Pakistan. The minority question is a foreign policy question in South Asia. The essays in this volume go beyond a mapping of the status of minorities in South Asia as exemplified in the classic Shrinking Space: Minority Rights in South Asia (1998). This collection, more than ten years later, is positioned as second-generation studies by leading analysts who have shaped the discourses on minority rights

in the region. At one level, they are stand-alone country-focussed essays, but read together, they constitute a mosaic marked by the thread of common themes and perspective and cross-border resonances. The distinct leitmotif that runs through these otherwise dispersed essays is the explicit understanding that the minority is a political category that needs to be located in modern state-making projects. The minority is constructed in contradistinction to the nation and state which are majoritarian concepts. As Afsan Chowdhury explicates, ‘South Asian politics is the product of an endless number of identities piled upon each other with most linked to state-making projects.’ Taking his analysis of the construction of minorities as being integral to the state-making process to its logical conclusion, Chowdhury provocatively posits that the disadvantaged majority/minority state of ‘otherhood’ can be ended only by becoming the majority/powerful in a freshly constructed state. ‘It has happened in Pakistan and Bangladesh and it continues to be pursued aggressively in conflict zones in India and Sri Lanka.’ Scholars and policy makers in the field of minority rights studies have focussed on the politics of recognition, that is, the struggle of identity politics and for ‘special rights’. The trend has been to depoliticize the minority as a political category and to emphasize the minority as a cultural category. Reflecting this perspective, the Indian Constitution provides a framework for minority rights configured as a cultural category. Its consequence is that the concept of Minority Rights has become an instrument for enhancing cultural autonomy and diversity, but not equality and equity.20 The essays in these volume shift emphasis to the minority as a political category and focus on the structural pat-terns of discrimination and exclusion rooted in the nature of the state and modern processes of governance. Within this common analytical perspective, there are cross-cutting themes and interdisciplinary approaches. One set of essays can be grouped as centering on religious minorities—by Javeed Alam, Afsan Chowdhury, Ishtiaq Hussain, Rubina Saigol and Farzana

Haniffa. Shahla Zia's study also addresses the religious minority question but as indicated in the title, ‘Discrimination in Pakistan against Religious Minorities: Constitutional Aspects’, it is a political exploration of the state's Islamization articulated through the shifts in Pakistan's three Constitutions. Shahla Zia's study is a rare opportunity for South Asian and in particular, Indians to walk along the path of Constitution and lawmaking in Pakistan. For those of us who are familiar with Indian Constituent Assembly debates in the development of the minority discourse, it is a necessary complement to have a Pakistani scholar push ajar a window on the Pakistan's Constituent Assembly taking up the minority question, to discover the contentious voice of the non-Muslim members challenging the ‘Objectives Resolution’ or to follow the debates on separate and joint electorates in the Constitutional Commission set up by Ayub. Zia, unlike many scholars, does not dismiss the ‘secular’ thread in Jinnah's historic 1946 declaration that religion had nothing to do with the statebuilding. Ishtiaq Hussain's essay seizes that secular thread to assert that the minorities belong (emphasis added) to the nation. Reflecting the compulsions of an organization working for religious minority rights, Hussian wistfully suggests that the change in Pakistan's constitution and policies towards a less tolerant, more discriminatory, exclusionary and Islamic orientation was not inevitable, there were other possibilities. ‘Like the Muslim League and other Islamic parties such as Jamaat-i-Islami (JI), the Indian National Congress was arrayed against the Hindu Mahasabha and other such fundamentalist groups.’ Carrying further the logic of the argument, Hussain posits that ‘the weakening of modernist forces’ in India saw the resurgence of rival forces in the form of the Hindu Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and ‘in Pakistan the Islamicist forces’. Sukumar Muralidharan's essay spans both religious and social minorities. Saigol and Muralidharan's essays examine the role of the media and school textbooks, respectively, in constituting minority– majority discourses. They bring back to the analytical frame the subjective aspect, that is, the role of prejudice and negative

stereotyping in the socio-cultural embedding of minority–majority narratives. It is complementary to the otherwise dominant emphasis in the volume on the structural aspects of discrimination as showed up in Mahendra Lawoti's Inclusion and Accountability in a “New” Democratic Nepal’. Lawoti returns to his policy prescriptive approach in analyzing institutionalized exclusion that underlay Nepal's Maoist conflict. The new edge is that before him is the unfolding process of the construction of ‘Naya’ Nepal. Two essays, Jayadeva Uyangoda's on Sri Lanka and Amena Mohsin's on CHT, explore another aspect of the state—minority problématique—ethnonational assertion or the ‘nation and its discontents’. The two are a study in two contrasting political trajectories; the former examines the morphing of the minority question into a secessionist national self-determination struggle in Sri Lanka, while the latter audits the working of a compromise formula of territorial autonomy via the CHT peace accord in Bangladesh. The essays provide a rich comparative field in tracking both historical and cultural continuities as well as the sharp discontinuities arising from shifting nature of the balance of political forces, for example, in Pakistan, the implications of the ascendancy of a centralizing bureaucracy and army on provincial political identity make for authoritarian rule and a fallback on homogenizing politics around an exclusionary Islamic identity. What does it augur for Christian minorities in Pakistan as opposed to Christians in India? The authors in this volume have been in the forefront of empirically and theoretically defining the scholarly discourse on minority rights. Here, they track both change and continuity. Uyangoda, in particular, maps the changing contours of the minority question—its widening and narrowing—as a conse-quence of civil war. The liberal democracy frame of minority rights as individual rights had been redefined as a nationality question involving the ‘internal’ self-determination of a group.

For two and half decades, the military strength of the Tamil secessionist campaign, the capacity of the Tamil society to endure a protracted civil war and the resolve of the Sri Lankan state to defeat the Tamil nationalist insurgency have conditioned the extent to which minority rights should be acknowledged, accommodated or resisted. (See Chapter 10 of this book)

Uyangoda bleakly closes on the acquiescence of the minority political elite to second-class citizenship.

Conclusion For the dominant, majority–minority rights challenge the state. For the minority communities, it is a common experience of majoritarianism and discrimination and exclusion, resulting in submissive acquiescence or violent revolt. Since India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Bhutan, all have minority pro-blems that result in creating refugees, it is not the problem of a rogue state but common to the cluster of post-colonial states that have emerged in the region. Political liberalism anchored in equal rights has proved insufficient to deliver equality and justice to minority groups. It should be added that in the midst of new challenges that place minorities at risk in the region, there also are more other comforting winds of change. There is the positive shift in the politics of some of the minority communities away from the politics of difference towards a politics centred on egalitarian claims, and common issues of democratic governance. Most importantly, there is a reaching out to other oppressed groups and a tentative politics of alliances. Alongside, there is the growing recognition of the value of special ‘autonomy’ arrangements for accommodation of ‘special rights’, including territorially focussed autonomies for spatially concentrated minorities. Also, there is growth in awareness and assertion among minority community of their rights. The fact that several of the contributors to this volume straddle both the scholarly domain and activism is a testimony to this development.

Notes and References 1. Papiya Ghosh, Partition and the South Asia Diaspora: Extending the Subcontinent (New Delhi: Routledge, 2007). 2. Text of 1950 Pact in Iqbal Ansari (1996) edited Readings on Minorities: Perspectives & Documents, Vol. I & II, Institute of Objective Studies. 3. Andreas Wimmer, Nationalist Exclusion and Ethnic Conflicts: Shadows of Modernity (Cambrdge: Cambridge University Press, 2002):4–5. 4. Tapan Bose, ‘Foreword’ in Rita Manchanda, No Nonsense Guide to Minority Rights in South Asia (New Delhi: Sage, 2009): xv. 5. UNDP HDR 2004, http://hdr.undp.org/en/media/hdr04_complete.pdf, p. 34. 6. Rakesh Chhetri. ‘Refugees and Bhutan's Security’, The Kathmandu Post, 30 January 2002. 7. Ranabir Samaddar, ‘The Juridical Political Claims of Minority Protection in India’, Paper in a Reader for South Asian Workshop on Combatting Racism, Xenophobia and Discrimination against Ethnic Minorities and Indigenous Peoples, SAFHR Kathmandu, May 2004. 8. Yash Ghai, ‘Ethnicity and Autonomy: A Framework of Analysis’ in Autonomy and Ethnicity: Negotiating Competing Claims in Multi-ethnic States, ed., Yash Ghai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000):2. 9. Abul Barakat, Shafique us Zaman, Md. Shahnewaz Khan, Avijit Poddar, Saiful Hoque and M. Taher Uddin, Deprivation of Hindu Minority in Bangladesh (Dhaka: Pathak Shamabesh, 2008). 10. No Nonsense Guide, p. 70. 11. Nancy Fraser, Justice Interruptus (From Redistribution to Recognition? Dilemmas of Justice in a “Postsocialist” Age) (New York: Routledge, 1997; Verso 2003). 12. Balveer Arora ‘Adapting Federalism to India’, in Mutliple Identities in a Single State; Indian federalism in a Comparative Perspective, eds, Balveer Arora and Douglas Verney (New Delhi: Konark, 1995), see also Nirmal Mukharji and Balveer Arora ‘Introduction’ in N Mukharji and B Arora (eds), Federalism in India: Origin and Development (Delhi, Vikas Adapting Federalism, 1992): 5–14. 13. Iqbal Ansari, ‘Introduction’, in Readings on Minorities: Perspectives and Documents, ed. Iqbal Ansari (New Delhi: Institute of Objective Studies, Vol. II, 1996):xxvii. 14. Gurpreet Mahajan, Identities & Rights: Aspects of Liberal Democracy in India (Delhi: OUP, 1998). 15. see also Suroosh Irfani ‘Pakistan's Sectraian Violence: Between the “Arabist Shift” and Indo-Persian Culture’, in Religious Radicalism and Security in South Asia, eds, Saty P Limaye, Robert Wirsing and Mohan

Malik (Honolulu, Hawai: Asia Pacific Centre for Security Studies, 2004):147–70. 16. Saleem Samad, ‘Bangladesh: State of Minorities’, in Shrinking Space: Minority rights in South Asia, ed., Sumanta Banerjee (SAFHR, Kathmandu: Manohar, 1999). 17. Amena Mohsin, ‘Ethnicity and Conflict: The Bangladesh Case’, in Comprehensive Security, ed., V. Raghavan (New Delhi: Delhi Policy Group, 2003):331. 18. A study carried out by the NGO ‘People's Tribunal’ in 10 states in July 2004 found that 99.9 per cent of those arrested under POTA were Muslims. 19. S. Akbar Zaidi, ‘A Conspicuous Absence: Teaching and Research on India in Pakistan’, Economic and Political Weekly 44, no. 38 (19–25 September, 2009):57–68. 20. Gupreet Mahajan, Identity and Politics: Aspects of Liberal Democrcay in India (Delhi: OUP, 1998).

2 Violence, Cultural Diversities and the Fantasies of a Monolithic Nation-State♣ ASHIS NANDY I have been a student of human violence for the last thirty-five years and have worked in two diametrically opposite domains of human endeavours—human destructiveness or violence and on human creativity and potentialities. Also, I have often tried to relate the two. Human creativity, I believe, is a reparative gesture, atonement for our innate destructiveness. I started life as a student of medicine and then went into clinical psychology and something of the touch of the clinic has stayed with me. This place where we are meeting, Jamia Hamdard, is a clinical institution and Vice Chancellor Ahmed will bear me out that, when a patient comes to you here, you do not attempt an audit of his health through pathological tests or clinical examination, to assess the strengths and the weaknesses of the patient's health, and decide on that basis whether he should live or die. Even if the laboratory test results are disappointing, even if the prognosis is pessimistic, you nevertheless try to build upon whatever inner strengths and potentialities the patient has. You do so even when you know you are fighting a losing battle. That is what the task of a healer is. I think that this principle, to some extent, should hold true of societies too. Whatever we do, we cannot wish away the one-andhalf billion South Asians we are stuck with. We cannot elect our people every fifth year the way we elect our political leaders, though I have met many in my life who would prefer to do that; they are very disgruntled with their compatriots and would love to re-engineer them—to make them a little bit more rational like the French, diligent like the Japanese or disciplined like the Germans. Whether

ultramodern liberals or fanatic reactionaries, few seem satisfied with the people of their own country in this part of the world. Therefore, the first principle that I want to propose as a radical pluralist is this: we have to learn to live with the people we have, and we can do that only if we somehow enter the world of the people that we are dealing with, not only by learning their language—and language here actually means culture—but also by looking at the world through their eyes, so that we can touch them and open a dialogue or a modest conversation with them that will make sense to them as well as to us. That is the intellectual challenge in the kind of work all of us, in different ways, are doing. After saying this, let me start by pointing out the experience of the 20th century that we have just left behind. In that century, we killed in organized mass violence roughly 210 million people and of those killed—this will disappoint many of you—only 6 to 8 million died in religious or quasi-religious violence. More than three-fourth of those killed—this could be an underestimation because I am giving you a conservative estimate based on the data that R.J. Rummel of University of Hawaii amassed a few years ago—died at the hands of nation-states and a majority of them in the hands of secular states. So, if you would think a secular state automatically protects you against ethnic and religious violence, I am afraid, I shall appreciate your optimism, not your touch with reality. Indeed, I shall go further and point out that a huge majority of those killed by nation-states in the last century were killed by their own states. My second proposition, therefore, is that globally the modern nation-state has proved to be more dangerous for its own citizens than religious fundamentalism or religious nationalism. I say this because we love simple, glib solutions and we think that if we can somehow establish an institutionally secular state, our problems are solved. I have come to the conclusion that human beings, given long enough time and adequate opportunity, can turn any emancipatory idea into a new justification for violence and exploitation. I now come to the third proposition: that we shall have to learn to live with transient explanations of social phenomenon, with theories which do not acquire a stranglehold on our lives, and with the

awareness that our favourite emancipatory ideologies may one day turn into new justifications of violence and authoritarianism. In brief, we shall have to live with a new, robust scepticism that is not reverential towards trendy ideas and ideologies that claim universal applicability and permanent relevance. I now want to draw your attention, on the basis of the experi-ence of the last 100 years, to three other phenomena that have become globally relevant. I will come later to what is specifically South Asian, but allow me to first give as global a picture as I possibly can, not only on the basis of my work but on the basis of what others, better scholars than me, have done. First, the quality of violence in the world in which we are living is changing dramatically. A huge proportion of the violence now takes place not on the basis of hatred, bitterness and fanaticism. A huge proportion of the violence we see around us is mechanical, institutionalized and bureaucratic. You kill not so much by pulling a gun out and shooting somebody or by unsheathing a sword—these are now exceptions—you usually kill by pushing files, by taking administrative or managerial decisions and by clicking the mouse of a computer. Probably the first to notice this was a South Asian, the poet Rabindranath Tagore, when he flew over Afghanistan on the way to Persia, about seventy years ago. When the pilot began to brief him on the beauties of the Afghan war and how bombing was used to quell the savage, warlike Pathans, it struck Tagore that the distance between the airborne bomber and his victims liberated the bomber from anger or passionate hatred. He could do his job like any professional by pressing buttons at 10,000 feet and feel perfectly free from all sense of shame or guilt, because the actual suffering— the blood he was shedding—was no longer visible to him. He had become distant from the victims. Later, this same idea of distance, between the perpetrator and the victim, was chillingly developed by Hannah Arendt in her book, Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem. Eichmann was responsible as concentration camp commandant, for the murder of more than a million at Auschwitz. Arendt, who was attending the trial of Adolph Eichmann at Jerusalem, noticed how pathetically the prosecution lawyer was

trying and failing to prove that Eichmann was personally involved in killing or torturing his victims, that he was a monster by conventional standards. The lawyer had no clue to the new kind of monster that we have produced in our times, who did not have to kill the way mass murders previously did, and mentally ill serial killers still do. As the commandant at Auschwitz, Eichmann had merely set up an efficient assembly-line like a true-blooded, modern industrialist and management expert. Subsequently, the same understanding was deployed, with great finesse and superb clinical acuity, by Robert Lifton, who studied Nazi doctors and found out that these doctors were driven not so much by hate, animosity, prejudice, stereotypes and negative imageries about their victims, but by their ideas of scientific rationality and professional competence. Their morality came from 19th century biology and eugenics, which inspired and legitimized what they had done. These were doctors who had experimented on and killed innocent victims—as concentration camp doctors. Later Zigmund Baumann, a distinguished Polish sociologist, was to further develop this idea. Some of the most obscene forms of violence, Baumann argues, are typical of our times and are heavily dependent on modern institutions and subjectivities. This is the nature of violence, which we have now begun to see in South Asia. Let me spell this out: While studying Partition violence, for the first time I became aware that the violence I was studying, which had taken place sixty years earlier, had very different emotions and motives associated with it. I had studied riots intermittently over the previous twenty years and had come to the conclusion that riots were organized, executed and handled the way a chartered accountant handled accounts. Politicians made elegant calculations about who gained what by precipitating or instigating a riot and executing it. They were not angry or bitter. Even when they gave hate speeches, it was an open question whether they believed in them or not. They had more flexibility in this respect than what academics were willing to grant to them. It was a different kind of personality that one required for precipitating a successful riot; most riots were efficient managerial enterprises. I had often claimed, to

the chagrin of my friends, that riots were the most secularized part of Indian society. Partition riots were different. There were elements of organization and dispassionate political calcula-tions involved in the riots but a much bigger role was played by sentiments. The riots that we have seen in recent years do not have much room for ideologies or sentiments. I shall give an example, particularly for the benefit of those of you who are not Indians. There is a Commission of Inquiry which is still investigating and trying those responsible for the demolition of the Babri mosque. One of the chief accused is Mr Kalyan Singh, who at the time of the demolition was the chief minister of Uttar Pradesh (UP). Some years ago, while the Commission was sitting, Mr Singh was defeated in a factional battle within the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and, hence, lost his position as chief minister. He quickly resigned from the BJP and called a press conference to announce the news. In the press conference, understandably, he was asked if, with a new party at his disposal, he was going to more aggressively pursue the cause of a Ram temple at the place of the Babri mosque at Ayodhya? Mr Singh said, no, he had left the BJP and had gifted that issue to Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee of the BJP. Soon thereafter, Kalyan Singh forged an understanding with Mulayam Singh Yadav, the darling of Indian secularists. Mulayam Singh Yadav did not dare to accommodate Kalyan Singh in his government but found a place for Kalyan Singh's son in his cabinet. Within weeks, Kalyan Singh had begun to accuse the BJP of violence, hatred and anti-secular activities. You can see from this account, that we confront here a different kind of person and a different form of violence. This is a personality that Eichmann represented in its extreme form. When we talk of prejudice, hatred or stereotyping, we are probably talking of things that have different meanings in their world. I have heard of a parliamentarian from Hyderabad, who was involved in a number of riots in the Char Minar area. There was on the other side, a riot specialist of a national party, so famous that when he arrived at Ayodhya, some members of his party were sure that there would be riots in the city. Someone later told me that the two were friends; they occasionally shared a meal of Biryani together. Actual rioting in

South Asia is left to the hoi polloi, to the slum-dwellers and the lumpen proletariat. Those who handle larger issues of politics only plan and organize riots, or protect those who participate in riots, giving them political patronage and economic support, but without getting emotionally involved in the dirty work. That is what I mean by the changing nature of violence and the changing status of prejudice. Finally, we are living in a world where ideology has a distinctive status. We live in societies, which till recently, were predominantly dominated by faiths. Ideologies did not matter in our lives beyond a point; they were not deeply embedded in our personalities. That is why the two religious ideologues at Hyderabad could be friends, and Kalyan Singh could change colours so quickly. And their constituencies also were not offended by such acts. Probably, ideologies are still relatively skin-deep in this part of the world. But with faiths in decline, the nature of religion is changing and ideologies are becoming more important. In fact, religions themselves are often ideologized and become politically live in a secular sense. It is no accident that Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, who wrote the bible of hindutva and was involved in the assassination of Gandhi, was an atheist. Though many call him a fundamentalist, he was aggressively committed to scientific rationality and modern technology. He rejected the sacredness of the cow, refused a proper Hindu funeral to his wife, despite protests by his own party members, and willed that on death he did not want to be carried on human shoulders but on a motorized vehicle. He was a devout atheist not in the Buddhist or Vedantic sense, but in conformity with the 19th century European idea of rationality. Yet, Savarkar did manage to produce a blueprint for what we recognize today as the ideology of hindutva. Many like to call it an extreme form of Hinduism, but it has little to do with Hinduism because hindutva, basically an ideology of European-style nationstate, sees both Hinduism and the Hindus instrumentally—they are the building blocks of a future Indian nation-state. I could have given a comparative picture of Mohammad Ali Jinnah, too. He was no believer, yet he organized and mobilized people in terms of religion. We have not noticed this changing role of ideology in South Asia.

Gradually, ideologies have begun to encroach upon our lives. However, they still do not have the grounding they have in many societies that are more individualized and modern. We are still more or less a community-based society and, while communities are breaking, they have not broken down entirely. I wanted to describe for you these changes because it is in this context that we have to view the problems we face today. I shall now spell out for you what could be a few other of the possible components of such a perspective. First, community-based societies are always more open to prejudices, stereotypes and shared myths that depict one's own community as better than others. These constitute a poor man's sociology. No one can belong to a community or believe that one's community and the culture of the community is worth preserving unless he or she thinks that the community and the culture are better than the others. That is an unavoidable part of a community-based society. More than a decade ago, I got involved in a study of the city of Cochin, an old city mentioned even in Roman texts. Cochin's written history extends to some 600 years and it is a city where a large number of communities have always stayed. It has all the ingredients of ethnic and religious strife. But there is no record of serious violence in the city. I was persuaded to do a study by my Sri Lankan friend Neelan Thiruchelvam who himself later became a victim of ethnic violence—he was assassinated by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). I began my study of Cochin by asking people why they thought there had been no ethnic or religious violence in the city. The answers were predictable and comforting, the kind of answers that should gladden our hearts. Why was there no violence? Because they were all literate in that part of the country, even the women; Ernakulam district was 100 per cent literate. Or because they were are all progressive and secular there. Cochin is a part of Kerala, ruled alternatively by a Communist-party-dominated coalition and Indian National Congress-dominated coalition during the last five decades and between the two coalitions there has not been much scope for any other language of politics to enter the picture.

Whenever I heard such stereotyped responses, I would say something like, ‘Yes, I have understood that part of the story. Tell me now something about your life—your childhood, your parents, brothers and sisters, your friends in school, your locality and city.’ As I built up their biographical profiles through interviews spread over a number of days, I found out that in Cochin few oozed brotherly sentiments. Once they began to talk about their lives, it became pretty obvious that most Cochinis were full of stereotypes and prejudices and convinced that their own community was better than the others in Cochin. They also had their own private ‘histories’—not proto-histories but pseudo-histories or quasi-mythic jati puranas or community epics which described which communities had been good to them in the past and which had not been. Cochin's tolerance, alas, had as its underside, mutual dislike. However, I also found out that there were three distinct processes at work. First, while every community had its jati purana that confirmed the community's greatness and the inferiority of the others, everyone also knew that the other communities also had their limited-edition histories and one's own community did not fare very well in those histories. And they did grant the other communities the right to have their normal quota of ‘biased’ histories. Second, the other communities did not only exist as others, they were seen as a living part of everyone's life; they were an inescapable, internalized presence in one's inner life. No community in Cochin could imagine their world without the rest. They did not like it, but had to make a place under the sun even for the communities they disliked because even these disliked communities defined what had been and was Cochin. Finally, Cochin, like probably most people in South Asia, lived with what might be called an epic vision, in which gods and demons, the godly and the ungodly, had to be there for the story to be complete. It was a bit like a Ramlila that had to have a Ravana to be complete? I suspected that these three principles ensured the tolerance of Cochin. Afterwards, when I began working on genocide, I found that this was not something peculiar to South Asia. To give just one example, the organization that saved the largest number of Jewish

lives in Europe during World War II was Zegota, an organization run by a Polish woman. I was astounded to discover that the founderhead of Zegota was herself an anti-Semite—she did not like the Jews but she did not like them to be killed. I can give you other such instances, but I do not have the time. However, I do want to emphasize that the enlightenment vision and the ideas of progress that push the idea of total elimination of all prejudices and stereotypes may not be the only model of cosmopolitanism available to those of us living in communities-based societies. This Cochin model also has its own hazards. Some of the most venomous and brutal violence takes place when the communities in conflict are close to each other and are not strangers. The Sinhalas and Tamils in Sri Lanka; Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus in Punjab in undivided India; Bosnian Muslims and Serbs in post-Yugoslavia; Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda—these are instances where warring communities were in many ways indistinguishable from each other. That is why, where communities survive, in societies like ours, the picture is so ambivalent. If you ask me what finding in our ongoing study of Partition has surprised me the most, I shall probably say that of the 1,343 victims of riots and ethnic cleansing interviewed, about 40 per cent said that they had been helped by someone or other from the ‘other’ side. Even this might be a gross understatement because in our more detailed interviews, we found that a larger proportion of people who had received help, found it uncomfortable to admit the help given, because, in the meanwhile, they had joined various chauvinist parties or groups in their bitterness. But even 26 per cent is a very high figure, when compared to data from genocides elsewhere in the world. We have many reasons to be ashamed about what we did during the Partition, but some reasons to be proud, too. I confess that I am radical pluralist; I believe that diversity is an end in itself, not because it leads to communal or caste amity or ethnic brotherliness. I believe that human beings have diversity because it is only through diversity that we can experiment with the new and preserve strands of social organization and cultural life to which we might have to return in case the mainstream turns out to

be a false trail or reaches a dead end. I believe communities and cultures hold in trusteeship aspects of human potentialities in the form of diversity. This is not only true of their cultural life, but also of their systems of knowledge, healing traditions, agronomy, modes and concepts of education, and so on. I believe that this diversity is a form of insurance for human survival. I emphasize this because there is now an all-round attack on diversity, though the attack is not often deliberate. And three or four processes have been primarily responsible for it. Diversity is often seen as a handicap in nation-building and stateformation, and as a liability for development. Hence, diminution of diversity is seen as historically inevitable. This perception is strengthened by a home-brewed theory of tolerance of diversity. We like diversities when they are tamed, defanged, house-broken— diversities that behave according to our dictates and conform to our current public values. We like diversities the way we like animals in a zoo, or sharks or snakes in an aquarium. And the contemporary world has developed extremely efficient processes through which diversities are managed. Our concept of cosmopolitanism has deeply shaped our style of diversity-management. In the citadels of global cosmopolitanism, stranger cultures now survive in broadly five forms: as cuisines at specialist restaurants, as stage shows or cinema that one might frequent during weekends, as subjects of anthropological study in university departments, as artefacts in museums and as lifestyles in reservations. These are the five technologies that are almost ubiquitous and South Asian regimes are learning them as avid, dutiful students. It is in this world that we have grapple with the violence that takes place in the name of culture, religion, ethnicity and identity. How do we do so? I have no final answer to the question. Just because I am raising the question does not mean I have the answer to it. But one comment I can add. We are living in a world where the nature of violence has changed; so has the status of prejudices and ideologies. In this world—highly manipulative, managerial and contractual—ethnic and religious prejudices are mobilized for purposes other than the maintenance of community solidarities. The

idea of diversity has become increasingly instrumental in our public life. Indeed, I sometimes feel that there has grown a core of freefloating violence that finds expression in organized forms of violence, taking advantage of diversities. Such violence does not usually arouse shame or guilt, of the kind that makes initiatives such as the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa feasible or viable. Hence, we are caught in a paradox. Religious and ethnic violence is neither religious nor ethnic; it is secular. Religion and ethnicity are being mobilized for purposes that have nothing to do with issues that are religious or ethnic. It is no accident, that some of the fiercest fanatics of recent times have been hard secularists in personal life. I sometimes suspect these persons are driven by angry defiance of the shallow, meaninglessness, managerial world in which they live. Manipulating others by using religion or culture as a cause gives some meaning to their lives, binds anxieties and makes them feel that they are not hollow men or women. ♣Adapted from a presentation made at a Workshop on Europe–Asia Exchange

Project on Experiences of the Politics of Recognition, Jamia Hamdard University, New Delhi, 27 September–1 October 2006.

3 A Long-term View of Contemporary Muslim Situation in India♣ JAVEED ALAM Oppressed Communities and ‘Citizen Politics’ A deep change has begun to crystallize among the Muslim communities in the recent period. Since the submission of the Sachar Committee Report in December 2006, a discernible, unify-ing thread of a positive kind is beginning to shape the articulation of political demands among the Muslims. Much of what is being talked about can be summarized as the politics of inclusion as citizens. For the sake of convenience, let us call it, citizen politics. A pronounced characteristic of citizen politics is that it is resistant to discrimination and is marked by a push towards an egalitarian social ethos. Citizenship, minimally speaking, is concerned with entrenched equal rights for all and it therefore becomes facili-tative of egalitarian living. This follows because a citizen, ideally, is constituted without reference to anything that attaches to us as cultural (specifically in the case of India of ritual–status) inher-itance. Therefore, it needs to be noted in passing that citizen politics cannot be conducted except within a secular framework. Democratic politics in the last fifteen to twenty years has so reshaped the issues of discrimination, disadvantage and marginalization, that all those communities which had been left behind or strongly felt that they had, now are in the forefront of struggles for an egalitarian social order. Democracy in India has primarily become—over and above the many other definitions that mark out its terrain—the politics the governed take recourse to, to gain a voice, a foothold, a sign of status and a measure of effective

power. Apart from the modern proletariat, the category of the governed in India has been largely made up of the Dalits and other backward classes (OBCs) and the women among all of these groups. The category of the governed more or less overlaps with those who were direct producers in the pre-capitalist economy. We must remember that among the producers, women played an important role both in household production and agriculture. Regrettably, however, in the present day battle of the oppressed for equality, the leadership of the oppressed communities, including among Muslims, has systematically excluded women from the struggle for equality and rights. This is an infirmity in the continuing expansion of democracy in India. This broadly sets the terrain of what can be called the politics for bourgeois equality.1 It is a battle being waged by all the oppressed communities and has two aspects. On the one hand, there is the constitutional formal equality which is a matter of declaration (you declare everyone to be equal), and is some-thing passive, in the sense, that it does not necessarily change the conditions. On the other hand, there is the struggle for recognition, which is the active component of the process because it is based on reciprocity. That is, in the process of recognizing, at the minimal, we remove the opposition between the self and ‘the other’ as something necessarily present, and maximally, we make ‘the other’ constitutive of our own self. Together, these make for an egalitarian society, however much materially based inequalities may continue to persist. In the last twenty years, the Muslim communities are in reasingly joining this politics. As this process has gained momentum, an interesting development has taken place among the Muslim. Oppressed communities among the Muslims who have joined this battle for bourgeois equality have moved away from the Muslim elite who traditionally had provided them leadership. This has widened the split between the ordinary Muslim masses and the established gentry. Muslim communities which are socially oppressed have sought alliances with those who are adjacent to them in term of work and leisure. As a result, they have been supporting different political

parties of the oppressed, particularly in the Indo-Gangetic belt, with resultant impact on the declining prospects of the Congress Party. Following the Sachar Report, there is a new social churning. How it impacts upon the political equations on the ground, may be too early to tell. What is discernible is that you cannot talk about politics among the Muslims, without reference to what is happening among similar disadvantaged communities within other religions. This is a matter of some importance in avoiding absolutization of community politics. This is the positive good that democracy has done to India, whatever the other infirmities of this politics.

Dramatic Moment A curious feature of the social churning and the new kind of politics emerging is that in the case of most oppressed communities, it was a dramatic moment which brought this out into the open as a discernible pattern. The dramatic event acts as a catalyst of what is a long-term secular trend in the making with all its currents and diverse propensities and gets crystallized as a unified politics. In the case of the OBCs, it was not just the announcement of the implementation of the Mandal Commission Report, important though that was. What made it the dramatic moment was the kind of reaction and the expression it took. In particular, it was the longlasting vandalism by the upper-caste youth who held the society to ransom, backed by the shrill support of the mass media and the backing of the bureaucracy. This polarized the society into two warring camps. It was the moment which created a privilegensia with the decomposition of the consciousness of the middle class into the fragmented consciousness of the upper-castes, and their gravitation into the militant Hindu right-wing as a counter to the assertion of the oppressed. Something similar happened in the case of the Muslims in India. The Ram Janma bhoomi movement made the Muslims bewildered, more so after the demolition of the Babri Masjid. The killings, mayhem and anarchy in the wake of Advani's rath yatra, culminating in the massacre following the demolition with all its violent disorder,

was something India had never seen since the Partition killings. Moreover, from this moment on, riots in the conventional sense ceased to occur in India. What came in their place are pogrom like killings and cold-blooded massacres reaching their climax in Gujarat. To call these riots, as many still do, is to surrender to the discursive strategy of hindutva ideologues, of becoming complicit in the making of a false and deceptive public perception of the current situation. The mass killings and the virulent propaganda against the Muslims as a treacherous presence for the nation's integrity created a situation where Muslims were left wondering whether anybody in India accepted them as belonging to the ‘nation’. Paradoxically, it was this moment that brought about a radical change in the orientation and disposition of Muslims towards the Indian nation and the politics within it. A feature of this change is that it does not seem to be the culmination of long-term tendencies or any structural changes but because of an exemplary act—V.P. Singh giving up power and losing his prime ministership to protect the Babri Masjid. In the eyes of Muslims, it became an act of crucifixation. The memory of it still operates in an exemplifying fashion, filling Muslims with a sense of wonder over his action. They had come to believe that in the power games of electoral politics, communities, especially the Muslims, have always only been a calculation for gaining power. That everybody, including the Janata Party (JP) in 1977, had used them to climb to power. Here, however, V.P. Singh, and V.P. Singh alone, abdicated power for their honour and dignity. He made them feel that with him they could stand with dignity, as an inalienable part of the nation. One could argue, quite conceivably, that the process of change may have been in the making for some time and comprising many factors. Whatever the case, V.P. Singh's exemplary act worked as a catalyst, precipitating a shift in the way their dispo-sitions were aligned in their consciousness. Questions of secu-rity, so carefully fostered by the Congress Party, got pushed back and concern with dignity (and honour) gained a relative ascendance. Muslims seemed to be learning that the questions of life, limb and property, were not

the only events that should decide their public lives.2 This development took place in the background of the Mandal movement which further reinforced the identification between this politics and the shift in consciousness within the Muslim communities. All of this brought about a positive pan-Indian dimension to Muslim politics. At the time, I was travelling from Shimla to Hyderabad to Calcutta and many other different places. Wherever I went, I encountered the same tone and flavour in the discussions and debates among the Muslims—how best can we align with the new secular trends or formations that were emerging in the different parts of the country. The rapid spread of the hindutva ideology, physically manifest in sadhu's armed with trishuls, menacingly marching up and down the country, added to the urgency of their search for new secular allies. The all-India dimension of the Muslim political consciousness, which took shape then, is crystallizing now with the dissemination of the finding of the Sachar Report. Earlier, Muslim politics in India, largely, was region specific, in the sense that there were distinct regional patterns. The regional specificity did not die out with V.P. Singh's exemplary act. It remained a parallel current. Nor will it die out with the Sachar Report. All region-specific currents remain but are being subsumed under citizen politics.

Region and Muslim Politics Some anthropologically inclined political analysts have argued that there is no such thing as a Muslim community in India, because Muslims are scattered into diverse ethno-cultural and linguistic regions in the country and, second, because at a micro-level, the surrounding Hindu ethos has made imperceptible yet deep inroads among Muslims. There are three kinds of writings that emphasize directly or inferentially the multicommunity nature of the Muslim population in India. One set of writers argues that this is due to the survival, as strong and visible residues, of previous modes of living habits, thinking patterns and worshipping styles among Muslims from times before their conversion to Islam.3 The second group points to

the deep impact on Muslims of the caste and ritual practices of the surrounding Hindu milieu, which resulted in perceptible differences in the outlook and behaviour of Muslims even across short distances.4 The third viewpoint holds that the multi-community character is due to the implications and consequences of being embedded in the larger social structure and the demographic features of Indian society.5 I disagree with this naïve application of anthropological categories which are notoriously oblivious of the underlying political process.6 This is true not only of the anthropological approach to the Muslim problem in India, but also in the case of various adivasi communities undergoing processes social and/or political unification.7 Ethnic and other diversities, linguistic differences and social differentiation can all co-exist with growing political unification or an emergent sense of ‘community’. I argue that a pan-Indian Muslim community has begun to take shape. Earlier, however, to have talked of a pan-India Muslim politics was an over generalization for there was an absence of a unifying democratic strand informing the political debates among the Muslims or the demands raised by them in the different regions or subregions of India. The politics of Muslims in Hyderabad or the Telengana region of Andhra Pradesh had little to do with what existed in Malabar or the northern region of Kerala. Likewise, what prevailed in Uttar Pradesh (UP) or Bihar had little connection with the southern regions. Bengal had its distinct pattern. Muslims in each region had, and still have, their specific problems and in their differentiated articulation, the politics of these regions had acquired a distinct flavour. Also, there was very little actual contact between the leadership of the Muslims in these regions, although they all knew one another and sympathized with each other's politics. The regionally specific nature of Muslim politics is rooted in the very nature of the presence of Muslims as minorities in the various linguistic–cultural communities of India; to put it another way as the minority component of the different nationalities (a term deeply suspect and disfavoured as usage) in India. There are two aspects

of this difference. One, Muslims as a people, before Independence and up to the present, did not get culturally integrated within their (linguistically determined) nationality groups. The other aspect has to do with the differences in the nature of the relationships between the Muslim minority and the nationality of which it is a constituent part. For example, the nature of the relationships between Muslim Bengalis and Bengali Hindu as compared to those in Kerala or Tamil Nadu or those in UP is bound to give rise to different flavours in Muslim politics in the different regions. Some of the region-specific political formations have been parties of a communal nature, most prominently, the Muslim League in Kerala and the Ittahad ul Muslimeen in the Hyderabad, Telengana region and on a smaller scale the Muslim League in Tamil Nadu.8 In these southern states, these communally oriented parties have become the main electoral voice of the Muslims. Each of these parties possesses distinct histories, context and a pattern of development.9 It is surprising that Muslim communal formations thrive in regions where Hindu communalism does not have a strong presence. Surprising, that is, because it is generally thought that one form of communalism reinforces another.10 But where hindutva forces are strong and have been in power often, there are no organized Muslim communal parties. However, this does not mean that there is no Muslim communal consciousness in these regions. Historically, in the pre-independence period this was the region where the separatist politics of the Muslim League was the strongest. This may probably be the reason for the absence of Muslim communal parties, that is, the defensive fear of being linked to that separatist politics again.11 Also, the process of one communalism reinforcing the other is a more complex one. For instance, the government of India's systematic anti-women stand in the Shah Bano case worked in favour of hindutva by giving a new voice to the most hidebound sections of the Muslim community. The region specificity character of Muslim politics makes Muslim communalism quite different from the militant Hindu right-wing communalism. Unlike hindutva, as manifested in the different

organizations which band together as Sangh Parivar, Muslim communalism neither has a single all-India ideology nor a single monolithic organization guided and led by something like Rastriya Swayam Sevak Sangh (RSS). It is not only region specific but dispersed and without any identifiable foundations. It is based, on the one hand, on resentments, grievances and apprehension and, on the other hand, on vague aspirations and hopes of getting a better deal from the government.

Aligning with Secularism Muslim communalism and Muslim communal consciousness, it is worth remembering, is not as extensive in its spread as the presence of Muslims in the different regions of India. Moreover, there has emerged ambivalence, or perhaps a contradiction, in the Muslim consciousness since the beginning of Ram Janma Bhoomi and the Babri Masjid controversy. From the Muslim point of view, the ‘menacing’ growth of Sangh Parivar organizations and the stints in power of Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), have prompted Muslim organizations, in-cluding the communal ones like the Majlis in Hyderabad or the League in Kerala, to increasingly voice a defence of ‘secularism’. There have been a number of ideological statements talking of secularism as a desirable ideology12 as well as constant appeals to voters to vote for the ‘best proven’ secular candidate in their constituency. Moreover, unlike before, Muslims are in alignment with different secular forces in different regions of India. This is at the level of politics. However, on cultural and religious questions they have shown an uncanny affinity with Muslim orthodoxy across the world, taking to the streets on the slightest provocation, where in fact, there was no cause for provocation. This hypersensitivity shows a clear unease with the process of secularization. One can cite innumerable instances from the reactions to art, cinema and dress to demonstrate how strong the resistance can be to choices others make which seem contrary to what is taken to be Islamic sensibility or identity.

This is an ambivalence which needs to be studied both in its theoretical and empirical manifestations more closely. Nonetheless, this alignment with secularism as a political ideology as well as with the secular forces has altered Muslim consciousness, including those of the communal formations. There is no shrill communal voice among the Muslim organi-zations. They are communal to the extent of defending the issues and interests close to the community. Given this, they have become or are becoming akin to communitarian organizations. This undoubtedly is a welcome development with long-term democratic possibilities.

Terrorist Violence But together with this has emerged a very worrisome aspect, and disastrous for the country as a whole. A very small section of the Muslim community, in fact miniscule, has taken to terrorism of a wanton kind. And slowly this has acquired international links. Terrorism among the Muslims in India is of post-Babri Masjid origins. The first recorded act of Muslim terrorist violence in India (leaving aside the violence in Kashmir, not because Kashmir is not part of India but because together with the north-east, it has a history of specificities which places it apart), took place on 6th December 1993, to the day, a year after the demolition of the Babri Masjid. And it took place with crude bombs placed in some trains leaving from Hyderabad. Some exploded but most did not because this was the job of young men who had hurriedly learnt to make bombs to observe the barsi (death anniversary). It is with this that the trans-border terrorists came to know that there is a potential constituency which can be tapped into. Since then, it has grown extensively and by now comprises many modules in the country with clear trans-border links. Before this, there was no evidence that any Indian Muslim could be recruited by any of these international networks. Nonetheless, now it is a menace both to the Muslims and the country at large, irrespective of its origins, though these origins are relevant in that they give you the first causal links.

Riots: Being Unwanted Underlying the regional specificity and dispersed character of Muslim consciousness, there are emerging social and political processes that are imparting a recognizable common feature to Muslim consciousness. They are acting to keep Muslim com-munities away from the different democratic currents in Indian politics. The key element producing these shifts has to do with the history and sociology of riots since the early 1960s, and their increasing incidence since the 1980s. This has produced, I believe, some sort of pan-Indian unification of the Muslim communities. Whatever the differences between Muslims belonging to different linguistic–cultural communities and within these communities of varying occupations and skills, a consciousness born of common experience has emerged. It is of a negative kind, in the sense of instilling the feeling of being ‘outsiders’ lacking in the bonds of belonging with other communities. Put another way, Muslims have been feeling as the unwanted ‘other’ in Indian society. This had gone on from the 1960s till, what I have above termed as V.P. Singh's exemplary act of sacrificing for the sake of Muslims. It is a controversial thesis and not easy to establish in a conclusive way. I argue, that what provides the basic impetus to the political unification of Muslims around a common discourse, of equal significance to them, wherever they may be in India, is the regularity of riots and the pervasive perception of being discriminated against and unwanted in society. This is not to say that the socio-political problems faced by Muslims or the demands they raise in Kerala or Andhra Pradesh, are one and the same. Yet, these differences tend to get subordinated to the overwhelmingly brutal fact of riots and the growing sense of being discriminated. Common suffering in communal riots13 brings Muslims together just as economic strangulation unites tribals, or the evils of untouchability unites Dalits, or gender humiliation unites women—all in common political action and generating a sense of bonding. There is one big difference, here. Communal carnage and butchery are much more prominent items in the news media.

Wherever they may occur, they immediately become a part of Muslim consciousness everywhere. The fact of carrying a Muslim name is to involuntarily share in this consciousness. Wherever I have travelled in India since the late 1970s, among the first questions Muslims have asked me are: ‘Are there riots in your area?’ ‘How safe are Muslims there?’ ‘Are they well off?’ ‘Do they get jobs?’ It is this shared perception that has given rise to the process of unification among Muslims and an incipient sense of belonging to a pan-Indian community. However, the absence of organizational uniformity and of a common ideological foundation to Muslim (communal) politics has to a large extent hampered this process. Given that this common consciousness is rooted in a negative development, that is, the making of the Muslims, as ‘the Other’ of the nation, there is need and circumstances that leave open the possibility of radical, dem-ocratic interventions in the making of a new politics.14

Shaping of a ‘New’ Politics That possibility is now taking shape. What started with V.P. Singh is now crystallizing with the discussions and movements around the Sachar Report. A uniform thread of a democratic kind is fast becoming visible across different regions of the country. At the start of this essay, I argued that this was a positive development because it represents citizen politics. This citizen politics has three important values, namely, equality, recognition and equal rights and a set of demands like jobs, income, education, health and housing. These precisely are the ones which have come to the forefront of Muslim politics. These values and issues whether in relation to the Dalits or OBCs or Muslims are the stuff of secular politics and these now provide a common basis to the politics of the oppressed. One important component of secular politics, which is rarely talked about, has to do with everyday life. It brings to the forefront the daily rhythms of our mundane life. It does not mean that the sacred or the substantive in terms of our beliefs or commitments become unimportant, but rather that they no longer occupy the foreground in

the political life of the ordinary people. Instead, issues of everyday life are privileged. This is what happened in 19th century Europe and played a rather decisive role in the secularization of politics, and eventually of society. I am not suggesting a replay of what happened in Europe, but merely drawing attention to the importance of this devel-opment. By what route the secular will come to be a publicly acknowledged feature of our society is not going to be easy to predict. What, however, ought to be taken note of is the emergence of secular themes in the politics of the oppressed even while we recognize that this has not yet got stabilized and there can be reversals given the prominent presence of right reaction.

Sachar Report The Sachar Report can be expected to strengthen this political trend, though its findings are double edged and can be used by communal elements to reinforce the communities’ feeling of discrimination and alienation from the Indian state.15 The Report has established that the socio-economic condition of the Muslim communities is abysmally low, that it is just above that of the Dalits, and may be worse off than that of the OBCs. The question of the under representation of Muslims in services and allied areas, their lagging behind in education and their poor access to health facilities is equally well established. Not that this evidence comes as a startling revelation. Many of us who have been using the Centre for the Study of Developing Societies’ survey data on class formation within different communities have written on similar lines. What distinguishes the findings of this Committee is not just its exhaustive thoroughness, but the official stamp it carries.16 Where the Report's findings break fresh ground is in the revelation of the backwardness of all territorial areas where Muslim populations have a very sizeable presence. These have to do with provision of housing, tap water, schools, medical facilities, roads and what the Sachar Report has called the infrastructural variables. The access of Muslim children under Integrated Child Development Scheme

(ICDS) is also low and so is the overall coverage. According to 2001 census, there are eleven districts where the Muslim population is above 50 per cent and in thirty-eight districts where it is above 25 per cent. About a third of the Muslim population lives in these areas. There are another 182 districts where the Muslim population is between 10 and 25 per cent, and about 47 per cent of Muslim population lives in these areas. Also, there are a large number of small- and medium-sized towns with a sizeable Muslim population. All these areas are poorly provided with urban infrastructure and other civic amenities. This is astounding. In the case of the under representation of the Muslim in services and higher unemployment, it can be argued that it may be due to the educational and social backwardness of the community; although the extent of political under representa-tion cannot be accounted for by the degree of backwardness. But how does one account for the sheer absence of physical infrastructure? The absence of physical infrastructure implies that Muslim areas are deliberately ignored in the state provision of public services of all kind.17 With regard to the deprivation of physical infrastructure, the Committee's findings establish that densely populated Muslim areas are similar to tribal belts or village areas where Dalits reside.18 A very high degree of deliberate neglect therefore becomes undeniable. This has led many to quite innocently assert that all deprivation and poverty among the Muslims is the making of the Indian state. A section of the communal-minded leadership among the Muslims has jumped on this, to defame the Indian state. This view is distorting. Certainly, the state is involved, but in a different way, as we see here. The state did not create poverty among the Muslims like it did among the tribal communities through massive displacements.

Historical Context: Makingof Poverty among Muslims In understanding the present plight of the ordinary Muslims, it is essential to take an analytical look at poverty among them. This requires us to understand how conditions left behind by the precolonial feudal rulers got affected by the working of colonial

economy. In short, Indian poverty, including among Muslims, is a creation of a complex combination of feudalism and colonialism. Self aggrandizement on the part of Muslim landlords on one hand and changes introduced by the British in patterns of revenue collection and measures regarding com-pensation on the other, had made the Muslim peasantry as impoverished as the Hindu peasants. This reality challenges the popular belief among rabble rouser Muslim leaders and hindutva chauvinists that the ordinary Muslim had been a beneficiary during the long periods of Muslim rule.19 Historically, the Muslim gentry and the ruling classes among the Muslims, treated the Muslim masses no differently than the other subjects under them—as beasts of burden, unworthy of respect or dignity. It is important to remember the limits to the brotherhood of faith in conditions of feudal rule. There is no evidence that in areas ruled by the Muslim kings, the condition of Muslim masses, including the peasantry was any better. Take Telengana, till quite recently (1948) ruled by the Nizams. If anything, the conditions of the peasants, including Muslim peasants was worse off, than in any other parts of southern India. The same is the case with Marthawada, also ruled by the Nizams. In UP or Bihar, there were vast feudal estates under Muslim lords, but there is no evidence to show that the conditions of Muslim peasants were any better there than where the Muslim peasants were under Hindu feudal lords. When the British conquered India from the Muslim rulers in 1757, they found that the condition of Muslim peasants was no better than that of the Hindus.20 Colonialism impacted on this situation in many ways but two of them were significant, in the making of poverty that India inherited after Independence. The impoverishment of the peasantry was the result of these factors. By the time the first British conquest of India was completed, the revenue policy of the new colonial regime was well in place. It made for three major changes in the revenue policy of the Mughals perfected by Raja Todar Mal (itself based on Alauddin Khilji's policy). The English colonial administration changed the basis of levying revenue from the land cultivated to the land

owned. That is, under the Mughal system, if the peasant had 100 acres, but cultivated only 50 acres, revenue was calculated only for 50 acres. Under the colonial system, it was levied on the entire 100 acres owned. Second, under the pre-colonial system, revenue was collected after the crop was harvested but the British changed it to the financial year. In effect, it meant before the crop was harvested, and thus the peasant was forced to borrow to pay the revenue.21 Together, these measures not only doubled the amount of revenue levied, but also added to the interest burden of the peasant because he now had to borrow to pay the revenue. Moreover, under the Mughals, the state made concessions in case of crop failure. The British discontinued it. Additionally, part of the revenue collected by the state earlier used to come back for land improvement and other welfare measures undertaken by the state for the society. The British used the entire revenue either to finance further conquest of India or to repatriate the amount to Britain.22 The result was the impoverishment of the entire peasantry. On top of that was the biggest famine India had experienced till then. It affected each and every community equally, depending on who inhabited which area. For the first time, landlessness followed on a very large scale. This was exacerbated by the drastic change introduced by the British in the land policy in India. In pre-British times, there was a long established convention that a non-peasant would not be allowed to alienate the land of the peasant, only a peasant could acquire the land of another peasant. All these changed with the British. Anyone could buy land like any other commodity. With rising indebtedness, large amounts of land passed into the hands of money lenders and traders who no longer were barred by the state from buying peasant lands. Historical research has not produced any evidence to sug-gest that these changes in revenue policy impacted different communities differently. What, however, impacted different communities differently was the onset of Industrial Revolution in Britain. It resulted in a process of de-industrialization on a massive scale. India had a vast pre-modern manufacturing sector so much so that Akbar had

established a department called Mahkam e Kharkhana (Department of Factories). It is well-known that India had a vast and flourishing textile sector. There was also large-scale manufacturing of guns and armaments and its corollary, the spread of innumerable foundries. Manufacture of saltpeter was also quite extensive. Guilds of various kinds existed for the manufacture of articles required by the courts, the numerous aristocrats and the gentry. All these were more or less completely destroyed by the forced imports of British industrial manufactured goods.23 It is true that in the caste order and under its influence, differ-ent communities specialized in different kinds of manufacture, including Muslims in some sectors. But it was not the case then that Muslims were overwhelmingly present in all of these factories. There is no study to show that especially Muslims were badly affected. They went down together with all the others creating a very large pool of the unemployed. All of these people were eventually thrown on to agriculture, further impoverishing agriculture and increasing the burden of the peasants. In our analysis of poverty (and deprivation), the structure, in its conceptual sense, is generally under theorized. There is a need to pay more careful attention to this. The dynamics of what happens here is much deeper and the remedial actions also should attempt to alter the deeper forces emanating from the structure. The need to pay attention has another angle. We then can avoid a totalizing view of the community and adopt a disaggregated discursive strategy in talking about the problem. Politics so built will not allow communitarian concerns from becoming communalism. We should remind ourselves that communalism is a result of interventions from the above by the powerful within the communities. After all, communalism is a power relation whichever way you tune its ideology. The Muslim League before Partition and the forces of hindutva today helped the hegemonic elements in community to establish their control over politics in the name of the community. Love of Ram never became hatred of the other, without intervention from above.

Muslim poverty is as much a result of the many intersections of feudalism and the depredations and predatory practices of British colonial rule, as poverty in general. India after Independence inherits this situation. The Indian state is in no way responsible for the Muslim poverty as is alleged by communal leaders out to make a quick political buck out of the findings of the Sachar Report.24 The state in India is responsible though for the manner in which it has treated poverty in general and in being blind and insensitive to the continued under representation of Muslim in the services and other public bodies. In fact, in a number of sensitive areas of employment, there has been a declining trend, even evidence of secret directives from certain ministries to be careful in recruiting the Muslims. Here, the Indian state is culpable and ought to be held accountable.

Caste Society's Deep Contempt In order to understand the dilemma of the Muslims, it is important to be perceptive of the fault-lines that create insensitivities and cruelties in Indian society. Muslims are not the only people who have suffered neglect. The Dalits have also been the victims of hostile neglect, routine violence and sporadic killings. Their presence is like that of a deadly virus that should be immediately removed or else it may cause fatal contaminations. It is by way of sustained reservations for them over an extended period of time, that the ordinary people from among the Dalits have produced a stream into the middle classes, which in turn has provided a reserve of energy for protracted struggles. And yet they remain at the bottom of the heap of the unwanted humanity in Indian society. The adivasis, in fact, in one sense, have suffered the worst at the hands of the Indian state. They are the most numer-ous among the victims of the massive displacement due to the developmental process and unnecessary gigantism that has become a part of it. Compensation and rehabilitation has been so pathetic that Roy Burman once wrote, ‘displacement–compensation–displacement continuum’, meaning thereby that you so rehabilitate people that they soon get alienated

both from land and income and remain part of the heap called poverty. I have one explanation why such has been the case, which may be speculative, but nonetheless, meaningful. Caste society produces a consciousness, which has deep contempt, often unconsciously, for those who are below you, all the poor and the oppressed and the disregarded belong here. That is, it does not cause you pain if they remain the way they are for as long in the future, as they have been in the past. Given this, there cannot be the need for urgency or hurry. This consciousness will always try to prove that things have got better, when they have not.25 How else can we explain the rather pronounced efficiency of the same personnel who can restore the infrastructure and other physical assets in the case of natural disasters but fail in distributing food and relief to the poor in case of drought or famine? The attitude to the lowly, the people of degraded social status, where caste (seen as karma's fruit here) historically, is genetic to consciousness, is one of utter contempt and also therefore of condescension. Consciousness is a curious thing, in terms of its structure. If it is predisposed to prejudice, then in the experience of the ‘Other’ it will always find something or other to reinforce the prejudice by screening out all else that may negate it. Prejudice always employs gate keepers who never allow anything to gate crash. Consciousness in which caste is a genetic feature is akin but not identical to the consciousness in which patriarchy is a genetic component; you are blameless, it is the other who is always complaining. So we find the poor, including the Muslim, who are always grumbling when the state is doing so much for them. Taking my speculative line of reasoning further, I argue that much of what goes in the name of affirmative action has failed to take off the ground. Administrative negligence or failure has its roots, not in this or that technicality or lapse, but in this deep-rooted contempt for the ordinary people.

Looking to the State: Uplift of Muslims

Let me go back to colonial times to highlight something which has become so much a part of Muslim thinking and gives it a certain sensitivity, even a hypersensitivity at times. While the impoverishment of the peasantry, including the Muslims, went on, the Muslim gentry and the salariat were doing quite well in services and employment. Muslims did not experience any decline till the mid1830s despite a very versatile and eminent elite emerging among the Hindu upper-castes which eventually would usher in both the Indian renaissance and religious revival. But when the decline set in, it was rapid and steep. It happened with the adoption of, what is famously known as, the Macaulay Minute. After a long debate on the issue of Vernacular versus English, Macaulay won the debate and his Minute was adopted in 1833–34 as the official language policy for the British Empire. In 1837, orders were issued for a shift from Persian, till then the language of administration, to English. After this, the Muslim decline was rapid.26 Since then, the Muslims have held the government as responsible for their decline and lack of upward mobility. Muslims were proficient in Persian as many Hindus also were. But by 1830s, a sizeable number of Hindus had become proficient in English. Muslims had pronouncedly lagged behind. Many writers have said that Muslims were resistant to English because of their conservatism and Hindus with their nose attuned to opportunity took to English and hogged it. To put the story on a different pitch, let me speculate again. When the Hindus had learnt Persian and Urdu they did it out of necessity, because there were opportunities in doing so. When they had to give up Persian and Urdu and take up English, they were moving from one foreign setting into another foreign landscape, again full of opportunities. For Hindus, it was a rational choice situation. For Muslims, on the contrary, Urdu and Persian were regarded as their own languages and to give them up for English was seen as giving up your mother tongue for a foreign imposition. For the Muslims, it was not a rational choice situation but an emotional burden to decide about. Such a quandary always delays decisions, which it did till about 1860s. However, after 1860s,

they made very rapid strides, once the reasons for the decision became clear with the intervention of Sir Syed Ahmad Khan at the national level and many regional leaders like Syed Abdul Lateef in Bengal. Quite apart from small measures of self-help, Muslims leaned heavily on the state to lift them up. Sir Syed's advice to them to stay away from the emerging Congress platform, in my reading, was aimed at dissuading them from getting involved in politics so that they could concentrate on economic demands. The British read this, again in my reading, quite clearly. They conveyed to the Muslim leadership that their demands being non-political could be easily met, whereas the Congress demands being political could hardly be conceded. So, it was better for the Muslims to stay away from the Congress. This then became one plank in, what has come to be known as the divide and rule policy. On Partition, the material and human resources that had been built up from 1860 to the time of Independence, got shifted to Pakistan, barring a region or two left in India. The elite among the Muslims, who had fought for Pakistan, migrated to their realized ‘homeland’ leaving the Muslim masses to fend for themselves. Since then, with minor shifts of an inconsequential nature, the conditions of the Muslims have remained as described in the Sachar Report. As before, the Muslims again will have to lean on the government. As a vulnerable community they cannot, barring a small measure of selfhelp, overcome the many hurdles of the economic and social structure, quite apart from the many prejudices and biases scattered within these structures. If the government is not forthcoming, their communal leadership is waiting to take charge.

Widespread Backwardness, High Accomplishment I have often in this essay spoken of the economic and social backwardness of the Muslim that they are just above the Dalits and generally below the OBCs. Having said that, it should also be emphasized that Muslims taken as a whole are unlike any other backward community. There is no other community in India with such

a large-scale presence of backwardness that also has such a big stratum of people with pronouncedly a high level of accomplishment as the Muslims of India. In the creative fields of art, literature, music and culture they are second to none in the world; in the intellectual world of science and humanities they stand in equal measure to any other community in India; in the professional world of doctors and lawyers they have done exceptionally well; such is the case in the field of sports; and so on. Suffice it to note, Muslims are a highly accomplished and successful people. These accomplishments of the Muslims are a highly visible feature of Indian social life, while the extent of their backwardness is a statistical feature. The two sides put together, widespread backwardness and high accomplishment makes Muslims a uniquely incomparable people. This specificity ought to be recognized by the democratic movement in India. When the Sangh Parivar talks of pandering to the Muslim, it is to this section of successful Muslims they point to. It is easy to sway the communally minded and ignorant that such is the case. For the democratic forces in India, it will be a most delicately balanced struggle. The communal-chauvinists led by RSS and BJP are going to make a big issue of the minorityism of the secular forces and especially of the ‘pampering’ of the Muslims by the Congress Party. Their main contention will centre round the theme of the threat to the unity and oneness of India. Whenever the issue of positive discrimination for Muslims comes up, the alarm is raised that quotas for Muslims will lead to separatism, as they did historically. The argument being that the Muslim elite has always had a separatist mentality. Whatever may be the meaning of the ‘separatist’ in today's context, it is the negative charge that the term carries, which is important.

Politics of Difference versus Politics of Citizenship This involves an issue of some significance that needs to be carefully sorted out. It has to do with the nature of the difference in the character of Muslim political demands today as distinct from those in the days prior to Independence, starting with the

intervention from Sir Syed Ahmad Khan in the aftermath of the 1857 great rebellion. Much of what we see of Muslim political demands in the last few decades has to do with what is entailed in the politics of citizenship and therefore with egalitarianism and rights. This represents a sea change in the way Muslims have placed themselves in relations to the main currents in India's political life as against the pre-independence period. Muslims, in other words, have joined the politics of empowerment, egalitarianism and the deepening of democracy. This is what I have referred to above as the politics of citizenship rights. This is not to argue that other trends do not exist in Muslim politics, like that of political Islam or terrorist activity. However, the trend mentioned here, it seems to me, has the decisive edge. There is now a possibility of building alliances of the oppressed communities, which is already happening in ad hoc ways. The left democratic interventions must help to cement these. It should be obvious that politics based on communities, however oppressed, can never become class politics. But if through demo-cratic alliances of the oppressed it can acquire the tone of radical democracy, then it can come into close alignment with Left democratic politics. That is one important task for the radical forces. Therefore, it is very important to distinguish the nature of Muslim politics today from that which dominated the pre-independence era. This is all the more important because BJP and the hindutva forces are raising the bogus debate that attention to the recommendations of the Sachar Report will strengthen separatist trends and weaken national unity. Nothing can be more far fetched. This new politics, as should be obvious, is radically different from the pre-independence trends within the Muslim politics. From Sir Syed Ahmad Khan to Jinnah and the partition of the country, whatever the major differences in the politics of Sir Syed and Jinnah and the implication is that there are many, one feature runs as a common theme. This has to do with the amount of mental energies that went into showing that the Muslims were different and that their politics had nothing to do with that of the emerging freedom movement. In other words, the effort was to demarcate the Muslim

communities as an ally of the British and to demand not only a share in power, but a weighted reservation, something more than their proportion in the population. All this was viewed as essential to neutralize the overwhelming preponderance of the Hindus. This early separatism (that is, keeping the Muslims separate as people and not necessarily territorial division) persisted in changing forms at different times and was the crux of pre-independence Muslim politics. To compare the politics of these two different times is ridiculous. The change by now both in the content and form is quite evident and rather drastic. Except at the surface level, that is, asking for reservations and quotas and forms of affirmative actions, there is nothing in common between the politics then and now. Surface similarities are always misleading. Careful attention to detail should go into the making of our understand-ing of the current situation. The BJP and the hindutva forces are going to raise hell on any move to create special schemes for the welfare of Muslims or the demands for reservations. Whatever strengthens chauvinism weakens democracy. And the weakening of democracy is not in the interests of the ordinary people, including the Muslims. So, the leadership of the Muslim com-munities needs to give careful thought as to how they formu-late their demands. It should be obvious to them that whatever be the nature of the backwardness of Muslims, they have not been marginalized in the country except, perhaps, in Gujarat.

Notes and References 1. For a detailed discussion on these issues see Javeed Alam, Who Wants Democracy? (New Delhi: Orient Longman, Tracts for the Times 15, 2004). 2. Many of these issues have discussed in Javeed Alam, ‘A Minority Moves into Another Millennium’, in India: Another Millennium, ed., Romila Thapar (New Delhi: Penguin, 2001). 3. For this viewpoint, see Mohammad Mujeeb, The Indian Muslims (London: Allen and Unwin, 1967), see esp. the ‘Introduction’. 4. For an elucidation of this viewpoint, see the studies in Imtiaz Ahmed, ed., Caste and Social Stratification among the Muslims, (Delhi: Manohar Book Service, 1973).

5. For studies around this theme, see Zafar Imam, ed. Muslims in India (Delhi: Orient Longman, 1975). There are many more words on these themes but the ones noted above best represent such viewpoints. For as interesting historical overview, also see Percival Spear, ‘The Positions of Muslims, Before and After Partition’, in India and Ceylon: Unity and Diversity, ed., P. Mason (London: OUP, 1967). 6. There is another debate on this issue within the Marxist tradition. On this, see Irfan Habib, ‘Problem of the Muslim Minority in India’, Social Scientist 4, no. 11 (1976), where Habib assumes, rightly I think but for reasons I may disagree with, that something of a pan-Indian community has already began to take shape. Suneet Chopra in his rejoinder under the same title in Social Scientist, September 1976, feels that the heterogeneity of factors will not allow such a sense of community to emerge. 7. See my study on the Jharkhand adivasis for an empirically based articulation of this argument in ‘The Category of Non-Historic Nation and Tribal Identity in Jharkhand’, in Self-Images, Identity and Nationality, ed., P.C. Chatterji (Shimla: IIAS along with Allied Publishers, 1989). 8. For Hyderabad, see Javeed Alam, ‘Communalism among Muslims: The Majlis-e Ittehad ul-Muslimeen in Hyderabad’, in Region, Religion, Caste, Gender, and Culture in Contemporary India, ed., T.V. Sathyamurthy (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996). For an earlier period, see Rasheeduddin Ahmad Khan, ‘Muslim Leadership and Electoral Politics in Hyderabad: A Pattern of Minority Articulation’, Economic and Political Weekly 6, no. 15. April 10 and 17 (1971). 9. As far as I am aware, there is perhaps no study of Muslim communalism or of the Muslim League in Kerala or Tamil Nadu. 10. I am not suggesting that one communalism does not reinforce another. It does, but the process is much more complex. One can perhaps, study the process of mutual reinforcement by examining how government of India's anti-women stand in the Shah Bano case worked in favour of hindutva forces by giving renewed voice to the most hide bound sections of the Muslim community. 11. See Mushir ul Hasan, ‘Adjustment and Accommodation: Indian Muslims after Partition’, in Communalism in India: History, Politics and Culture, ed., K.N. Panniker (Delhi: Manohar, 1991); see also Percival Spear, ‘The Position of the Muslims, Before and After Partition’ op. cit. 12. Abdul Rahim Quereshi, Secretary, Muslim Personal Law Board, has written articles in Urdu defending that Palestine must remain a secular state because there is a sizeable minority of Christian there who should be made to feel secure. This was in the context of the tussle between the Hamas and the al Fateh in the wake of the death of Yasser Arafat.

13. On riots, see Asghar Ali Engineer, ed., Communal Riots in PostIndependent India, (Hyderabad: Sangam, 1984) and M.J. Akbar, Riots after Riots: Reports on Caste and Communal Violence in India (New Delhi: Lotus Collection–Roli Books, 2003). 14. For very different kind of discussion on the dialectics of Muslim orientations in India, see Mushirul Hasan, ‘In Search of Identity and Integration: Indian Muslims since Independence’, Third World Quarterly 10, April 2 (1988). 15. Among much very useful discussion, see the Symposium on Sachar Committee Report in EPW, March 10–16, 2007 comprising five articles. 16. For an earlier situation, especially in relation to the Gopal Singh Report, see, among others, Muthusamy Varadarajan, ‘Minorities: Basic Questions, Possible Answers’, Conference papers presented at the Rajiv Gandhi Institute for Contemporary Studies, RGICS Project No. 20, 1997, (New Delhi: 19 December 1996). 17. It is also reported in the Sachar Report that many areas of Muslim concentration have been designated by Banks as ‘red zones’ or negative geographic zones which means that the banks should be very cautious in granting loans in these areas. What makes the banks declare these areas as not credit worthy? There is no evidence, I am told by those well informed, of any greater extent of non-recovery of loans from the Muslim. In fact, my experience of work in rural areas tells me that the vulnerable are very afraid of not abiding by contractual obligations whether with the official or non-official agencies. By their very social location, it is not easy for them to defy unlike the powerful who can simply get away with whatever they want to in our rule deficit society. 18. Indicators of development here are of an objective, quantitative kind so the matter neglect or discrimination is qualitatively of a different kind altogether. The point is: in the selection of a candidate for a job, a subjective element of one sort or another is involved. This requires not just a fair assessment of skills or merit, but also prejudice, bias or simply the lack of sensitivity as in the case of women even if we write off hostility. There just cannot be any subjectivity when it is the case of choosing an alignment for a road or for providing a doctor or a teacher to a Primary Health Centre or a School and such other things. When such is the case, it is deliberate and intentional on the part of decision makers and ultimately reflects on the nature of the state. During the terrorist blast in Malegaon, a town of a few lakhs with a majority of Muslim population, there is not a single government hospital. We are told that the chief minister of the state, in his blissful ignorance, was shocked when he came to know that!

19. The dedicated champion of Muslim rights and well-being, Iqbal A. Ansari is one of the few men who explicitly acknowledges this fact. He writes, ‘The facts are that the overwhelming majority of the present day Muslims of India are of the indigenous origin and they did not have any share in power even during Medieval India, and they did not undergo any socio-economic upward mobility by the virtue of their conversion to Islam. Their present backwardness can be traced to their occupational structure and social status that has remained unchanged during the period of about a thousand years’. See his ‘Minorities in India: The Muslim Case’, in Minorities in India, Conference Papers, Rajiv Gandhi Institute for Contemporary Studies, RGICS Project No. 20, 1997 (New Delhi, 19 December, 1996). 20. See James Grant, Analysis in the Fifth Report, 1812, in Historical Introduction to the Bengal Portion of the Fifth Report (Calcutta: R. Cambray and Co., 1917), reprint, ed., W.K. Firmingar (Calcutta, 1962). 21. Amiya K. Bagchi, Political Economy of Underdevelopment (Cambridge: CUP, 1983); Indian edition by Orient Longman; see also Irfan Habib, ‘Colonisation of Indian Economy, 1757–1900’, Social Scientist 32, no. 3 March (1975). 22. Ibid., see also his ‘Reflections on Patterns of Regional Growth in India During the Period of British Rule’, Bengal Past and Present, Vol. 95, Part 1, No. 180 (1982). 23. Amiya K. Bagchi, ‘De-industrialisation in India in the Nineteenth Century: Some Theoretical Implications’, Journal of Development Studies, 12, 2 (1976). 24. There is nothing written on these lines by anyone. But, in a number of conventions of Muslims that I had a chance to be present this has not been an unusual refrain. A certain leader went on to shame the Indian democracy, calling the condition of Muslims a black spot on democracy in India. He had to be gently reminded that it is entirely because of democracy in India that something like the Sachar Report becomes possible and much else that is happening. 25. There are two kinds of debates going today without the policy makers trying to link them or at least to see if there is any connection between the figures being cited. I mean the figures about poverty and those about malnutrition. The figures about undernourished children at 47 per cent plus are about the double of what the Planning Commission has given out for poverty. Now to me the question is, even a methodological one, who these 20 per cent and more children are and from what kind of families. It is also a disturbing fact that after the lactation period, the number of the under nourished children slightly goes up. Now, who the hell are these parents, especially the mothers given the structure of our families, who give birth to

under weight children and allow them to remain malnourished? If it is not poverty then it has to be deliberate neglect or callousness. If we do not answer this question in terms of poverty, then we are making a very disturbing comment on the culture informing the Indian family and the attitudes to child upbringing. 26. The classic work on this issue is W.W. Hunter, Indian Musalmans, available in many different prints. Some very useful material has recently been reproduced in a reader-friendly manner Najmul Karim, Dynamics of Bangladesh Society (New Delhi: OUP, 1980), see also Amalendu De, ‘Roots of Separatism in 19th Century Bengal’, in Essays in Honour of Professor S.C. Sarkar, ed., Barun De (New Delhi: People's Publishing House, 1976). ♣ This is a slightly modified version of ‘A Long View of Contemporary Muslim

Situation’, an article that appeared in Economic and Political Weekly, 43(2), 12–18 January 2008.

4 Media, Modernity and Minorities SUKUMAR MURALIDHARAN

I

Minority Predicament in a Democracy Some of India's most significant early reflections on the minority predicament within a democracy came from Dr B.R. Ambedkar. As a term, ‘minority’ had little respect till he appeared on the scene with a passionate espousal of its relevance. He worked within a context of epochal confrontation, soon to culminate in a catastrophic separation, between rival understandings of India as a nation. That collision involved the Hindu and Islamic elements, but there was a third aspect that Ambedkar struggled with. This involved the ritually ostracized communities outside the caste-Hindu fold, which enjoyed the right to vote and were assured of formal equality under the law, and yet for all that, remained oppressed in the real world. More than the assurance of ‘one man, one vote’, true demo-cracy for Ambedkar lay in the principle of ‘one man, one value’. Though intuitively appealing, this is a principle that has posed enormous complexities in the transition from a conception of individual rights to a construct of group rights. Just over a year before his death, with public agitation raging over the shape of the Indian political map, Ambedkar pleaded forcefully for the recognition of cultural affinities as the basis of political organization. States based on cultural uniformity, he argued, were the only assurance of stability, since a ‘state is built on fellow-feeling, (or)…a corporate sentiment…which makes those who are charged with it feel that they are kith and kin’. There was no intrinsic

propensity for enmity between cultural groups, except when they were compelled to live in close proximity, and share the cycle of governmental activities among themselves. Separation on the basis of language was a way out, but with clearly defined limits. None of the autonomous linguistic units in the Indian polity could be allowed its choice of official language, since that would be the surest path to the vivisection of the nation. With all his concern for minority welfare, Ambedkar conceded that the unity of the whole is often a requirement for the welfare of the part. To preserve the unity of the whole, every constituent unit had to be compelled to work with the official language stipulated by the political centre. Ambedkar was aware that other identities could emerge with fresh energy, once the bonds of language were recognized by the nationstate and frozen within the boundaries of a province-state. Every linguistic area, he observed, was under the effective control of a particular caste.1 Thus, a Punjabi linguistic zone could well become a state of the Jat caste, as the Telugu and Marathi zones could become the fief of the Reddy and Maratha castes. Far from diminishing the case for linguistic states, this only meant that ‘definite checks and balances’ should be instituted that would ensure that ‘a communal majority does not abuse its power under the garb of a linguistic State’.

Social Majority Becoming Political Majority The ‘communal majority’ that Ambedkar worried about was not one in a numerical sense. Its dominance was a matter of social power rather than numbers. In the years immediately following independence, Ambedkar fretted about the opportunities that the universal franchise afforded for a ‘social majority’ to consolidate itself as a ‘political majority’. And as India's constitution was being drafted, he proposed wide-ranging safeguards for minorities, including—most implausibly—a non-parliamentary executive, which would reflect the social diversity of the country and have a life independent of the elected legislature.

The legal and institutional remedies that Ambedkar sought might today seem rather impractical. But cutting through all the ambiguities, the most important feature of his approach was its fluidity, its willingness to experiment with differing modes of popular representation. This in turn, is a consequence of the mutable and changeable character of the term ‘minority’ itself. Far from being something intrinsic to the social group, the status of ‘minorityism’ arises from the contingent features of the political power-sharing contract. It is not in numbers that the status of a ‘minority’ lies, but in the realities of discrimination and exclusion from the structure of state power. ‘Nationality’ has in modern times ascended to the status of being, putatively, the absolute and primary marker of identity, against which every other claim has to prove itself. And yet, the conditions under which ‘nationality’ sheds all ambiguity and becomes a principle that can command the allegiance of all whose destinies are controlled by the ‘nation-state’, remain elusive and ill-defined. Hobsbawm has for instance pointed out in a work on nationalism, written in the closing years of the 20th century, that with all the absolutist claims made on behalf of nationalism as an immutable part of an individual's being, there is no escaping the element of ‘artefact, invention and social engineering’ involved in its creation.2 A similar fuzziness surrounds the notion of a ‘minority’, which is typically understood in contradistinction to the ‘nation’. Minority attributes, as emphasized above, are a function of the contingent distribution of power within society and the exercise of power by the national state. There is a political tendency to treat identity as innate, and argue from there that ‘nationhood’ is on this account, inerasable. The alternative perspective is simply that identity is a matter of individual choice and ‘innatism’ is an invention of the modernization process, a consequence of the coercive nature of nation-building. As for the Indian political experience, it has invested several terms with a special resonance. ‘Secularism’ is one such and this is a concept, or a political practice, that has increasingly been at odds with a creeping notion of ‘cultural nationalism’. In this collision of

alternate conceptions, ‘secularism’ has been defined in a sense, as a variety of civic nationalism, a principle that locates the foundation of the nation not in ethnic similarities, but in an agreed compact between citizens, premised upon liberal notions of individual freedoms. Political liberalism raises equality under the law to the status of a necessary and perhaps, sufficient, condition for democratic perfection. It fails to account for the fact that the denial of equality seldom is a denial in law. There are few nation-states that maintain formal structures of the law that institutionalize inequality. There could be rules—as for instance, on language of com-munication and education; the character of public observances and national holidays —that enshrine discriminatory norms and procedures. But these rules are contingent circumstances, far from being fundamental to a nation's existence. It is only when nations are constituted on grounds of a transcendentally invested right to reign (such as an absolute monarchy) or of specific ethnicity—as for instance, an ‘Islamic’ republic—that the law could be deemed inimical to the equality of all citizens. In such situations, the law would of necessity, have to write in a charter of minority rights, to define the status and position of those excluded from the dominant ethnicity.

Media and Constitution of Minority Notions of majority and minority indeed are flexible. Identities are forged in the crucible of political contestation. It is now recognized through the work of Benedict Anderson and others that the media is an institution that evolves in close synchro-nicity with the nation, that indeed, it is a part of the process of constituting a ‘national’ identity. And since ‘minority’ and ‘the nation’ are in a sense co-constituted, the media could properly be viewed as a vehicle through which the minority identity is defined, represented and perpetuated. Milton Israel, in a study of ‘propaganda and the press in the Indian nationalist struggle’, points out that ‘in significant measure, the ideal of an All-India nation-state…was imagined in English print’.3 This reading is deeply influenced by Anderson's work on ‘imagined

communities’, in particular, the strong distinction he makes between language as an ‘emblem’ of nation-ness—which in his view is erroneous—and seeing ‘print language’ as the artefact around which a sense of nationalist belonging is constructed.4 Print technologies allowed for a large-scale agglomeration of people of shared linguistic identity. Classical manuscripts, written typically in Latin, were confined to a limited audience. As Anderson puts it, ‘Manuscript knowledge was scarce and arcane, [but] print knowledge lived by reproducibility and dissemination.’ Cheap editions of books and broadsheets printedfor mass circulation represented the ‘revolutionary vernacularizing thrust of capitalism’. Indeed, book publishing was one of the earlier forms of capitalist enterprise, which embodied ‘all of capitalism's restless search for markets’. The spread of a standardized vernacular that could be used in daily social intercourse by communities that were otherwise seldom in contact with each other, contributed to the growth of a protonationalist consciousness. Mass printing technologies allowed ‘for reaching larger constituencies, for validating each local community with its own linguistic identity and for providing the underpinning for a common effort that (was) not compromised by tensions of class, community, locality or denomination’. The modern sociology of the media recognizes that the media is not just about answering a community's needs for information; it is as much about constituting that community. The media does not hold up a mirror to reality, it creates that reality. Sociological analysis of the media has moved far beyond the passive ‘transmitter–receiver’ model that looked only at the message as a means of indoctrination, towards viewing the media as an apparatus, or more so, a process, of creating shared meanings that an audience can identify with, that equip them with the vocabulary and the empirical knowledge to engage in a public conversation. The media cannot be understood except as an institution organically linked to the evolution of modern social identities, whether supposedly acceptable ‘national’ identities, or more narrowly defined

‘sectarian’ identities which introduce a putatively unwanted element of discord into the nationalist discourse and hence must be suppressed, sequestered or co-opted. People could frame their divergent and deeply contentious perceptions since the ‘revolutionary vernacularizing thrust of capitalism’ as Anderson puts it, could divide just as it creates ‘particular solidarities’. In the Indian context, this is suggested by several recent studies. Alok Rai's work on ‘Hindi nationalism’ recognizes the historic significance of the replacement of Persian with local vernaculars as the language of British colonial administration. However, in northern India the directive on official language engendered much local variation. Rai identifies the ‘McDonnell moment’, when the imperial governor of the North-Western Provinces and Oudh (NWP&O)—the epicentre of the 1857 uprising against colonialism—decreed that the official correspondence of the province would be con-ducted in ‘Hindustani’ as written in the Nagari script. This was a reward to the loyalist Hindu upper-caste element. Subsequently, the new nationalist element in the NWP&O would be prepared to reject the Persian script because of its ostensible foreign origin and its oppression of native idioms.5

Colonial Modernity and Identity Claims It has been the convention in Indian historiography to ascribe all the divisiveness that marked the early proto-nationalist phase—when identities were forged and the emotional ties of kinship and community were elevated to the status of nationalist bonds—to a sinister and deliberate British policy of ‘divide and rule’. A more reasonable reading would view the proliferation of identity claims in colonial India as the response of a diverse social milieu to the dislocations of modernity, as defensive reflexes of people being sucked into force-draught modernization. Coupled with this, were the technical imperatives of the new print technologies, which demanded standardization and led quite naturally to what Rai calls a ‘normalizing’ perspective. Interestingly,

many of those who turned to classical Sanskrit sources for inspiration saw the proliferation of the print industry as an impediment to the discovery of the true cultural identity of India. The printing presses, they complained, were sowing confusion, allowing shallow pretenders to hold the field and impeding the recognition of Sanskrit's undeniable claims. A recent work by Anindita Ghosh on the development of print in Bengal portrays a new vernacular idiom in the Bengali language evolving under multiple social determinants, including the need to refute the European criticism of Bengali as an inferior language and cultural form. The refinement of the cultivated classes in turn was underlined by comparison with the universe of the lower strata. In general, the Islamic cultural presence was identified as the alien ‘other’ whose hitherto pervasive influence needed to be contained and isolated. This in turn created a contending cultural politics within the Muslim community, which set about retrieving its own traditions from the rubble of history, refurbishing it to meet the demands of the new climate of colonial modernity.6 In 19th century Bengal, as indeed in various other milieus where colonialism was dominant, the vernacularizing thrust of print capitalism was associated with the sharp polarization between communities on the basis of imagined primordial identities and emerging social stratification. The argument regarding the co-constitution of the nation and its minorities could now be quickly summed up. The recovery of ‘Hinduism’ under conditions of colonial modernity induced social and political divergences along a multitude of axes. There was first, the alienation of those who identified themselves with the Islamic faith. Till then, relatively unpoliticized in terms of their social identities, and long used to living in comfortable syncretism with those formally of another faith, the Muslim community reacted to the imagination of the ‘Hindu nation’ with a reinvention of its own traditions. Along a different fault-line of colonial modernity, there occurred the cultural and political rebellion of the lower castes, which peaked with the Communal Award of 1932, just a few steps before the constitutional transition to Indian independ-ence. Gandhi's epic fast,

undertaken to prevent the vivisection of Hinduism, marks the point at which the ‘untouchables’ are enfolded back into the Indian nationalist domain. Yet, far from being a unitary conception, this was a nationalism that recog-nized separateness and accorded certain special privileges to the ‘untouchables’. In the more positive constructions of this historic recon-ciliation, the recognition of a separate charter of rights under the nation for those of the lower castes was a temporary measure of conciliation to remedy the disadvantages forced upon them by contingencies of history. Early nationalist optimism engendered the belief that once independence came and India embarked upon its autonomous path of development, the need to maintain the special privileges of those at the bottom of the caste hierarchy would rapidly be dispelled. II

Pan-Indian ‘Civic’ Identity Displaced Citizenship in the Indian nation that emerged out of coloni-alism was conferred by the territorial circumstances of an individual's birth. No other criterion was required under the Indian Constitution adopted in 1950. The constitutional guarantees of equality before the law, freedom of conscience, right to free speech and association, were applicable to all citizens. In a concession to post-Partition realities, and in particular, the raw wounds of the Muslim community, Articles 29 and 30 were written into the Constitution, specifically on the rights of minorities. These articles perhaps suffered from an inbuilt ambiguity in language, the main problem being the definition of a minority as adherents of a ‘distinct’ religion or culture, or practising a ‘distinct’ language. There was no reference to what body of religion, culture or language, this sense of ‘distinctness’ was to be measured against. In this conceptual vacuum, a variety of perceptions flourished. But the vision—or more accurately, the pretence—that the Indian state sought to embody was that identities were immaterial. The state would serve as the focus of nationalist allegiance and in turn would

treat all citizens equally, recognizing no identity as having a bearing on a citizen's entitlements, except his or her existence as a locus of material needs and aspirations. The model of ‘economic man’, a construct which effaced all facets of cultural identity, was key to the implementation of economic planning by the Indian State—a process that would lift the general level of social well-being by uplifting the status of each citizen.7 A recognition then emerged that because of particular histori-cal circumstances, there were at least two distinct minority groups within the Indian nation. One minority group was the residue of a national community that had chosen to secede, to partition the topography of India. The other was a group that had been persuaded to abandon its quest for separate nationhood, in return for the assurance of separate and privileged treatment. The Indian nation's promise, as it set off on its journey towards planned economic development, was that over time, these boundaries would be effaced and a pan-Indian ‘national’ identity established. By the mid-1980s, these expectations were all but abandoned. Since they were never overtly articulated, it is difficult to find a moment when they were explicitly disowned. But increasingly, the political discourse through the 1980s is infused with a notion of ‘Indianness’, as defined by cultural attributes derived from a civilizational source that has remained unsullied through millennia. This provoked an equal and opposite reaction from the two recognized exceptions to the hegemonic claims of the Indian nation —the Dalit and the Muslim—both of which determined that insistence on separateness was their only availa-ble defence.

Challenges to Hegemonic ‘Nation’: Two ‘Separate’ Constituencies The legacies of history determined different trajectories for the two ‘separate’ elements. The Islamic element invited a coercive response, not so much by the state, which continued to swear by a doctrine of neutrality, but by civil society. On the other front, the belief that special treatment for the ‘untouchables’ would gradually become

superfluous was rapidly being belied. Indeed, the political call for expanding the scope of affirmative action to include segments of the Indian population left out by the first enumeration of the disadvantaged—a list that subsequently became a ‘schedule’ to the Indian Constitution—was growing. In 1989, political forces claiming to represent the cause of ‘cultural nationalism’ or hindutva began mobilizing across the country. The target of their attentions was a Muslim place of worship in Ayodhya. Great paroxysms of violence gutted the run-up to national elections late-1989, entirely occasioned by the effort to regain this unsullied site of Hindu identity. In part, because of its record of opportunistic pandering to rival pressure groups, the Congress party, which had ruled for ten years with a seemingly unshakeable grip, was ousted by a disparate coalition of parties embracing the entire spectrum, left to right. In August 1990, the new ruling coalition chose to implement a tenyear-old report extending affirmative action to cover communities classified as ‘other backward classes’ (OBCs), to distinguish them from the ‘scheduled castes’. Although accepted by unanimous acclaim by Parliament, the report named after its principal author B.P. Mandal, had since 1980 been consigned to official neglect, since no government had really been keen to grasp what was a political hot potato. The reasons were soon evident in the reactions of outrage in the media. To take a sample of the English-language press, which often is referred to as the ‘national’ press, because of the continuing imagination of the nation in English, the Times of India (ToI) in an editorial headlined ‘Back to the past’ (9 August 1990) bemoaned that the decision on extending reservations in government employment to the OBCs threatened to undo ‘at one stroke’ all that had been achieved over four decades of inde-pendence, in building a ‘modern, egalitarian order’. Reservations, the ToI continued, would ‘enshrine casteism, undermine meri-tocracy and excellence and work against the creation of a pan-Indian identity’. Anxious to underline that it was not opposed to rendering the OBCs a fair deal, the newspaper argued that disadvantaged sections could be helped to improve their

‘competitiveness’—a word much favoured by the upwardly mobile— through the provision of ‘abundant educational, health, nutritional and other social welfare benefits’. The Hindu the same day adopted a more restrained tone in an editorial deprecatingly titled ‘A populist move’. Operating from the southern state of Tamil Nadu, where reservations of up to 68 per cent in education and employment are the norm, the newspaper had good reasons for caution, commenting rather vaguely that the move was imprecisely grounded in social reality and politically unimaginative. Far from being a means of ensuring progress, it made of social backwardness a vested interest. Echoing the ToI's editorial line in one important respect, The Hindu argued that it may have been far preferable if the government had undertaken ‘special development programmes targeting the OBCs’, apart from launching ‘all out efforts to change the socio-economic structure which is heavily weighted against these communities’. The Hindu here assumed that governments, rather than being creations of the ‘socioeconomic structure’, stand outside them and can change the circumstances of their creation. More frank and furious in tone was the Indian Express (IE) editorial headlined (9 August 1990) ‘Ruinous’. A ‘further deterioration of the state apparatus and heightened social tensions’, it said, were inevitably going to be the ‘first consequences’ of the ‘crassly opportunistic’ decision to extend reservations to castes which were ‘rich and dominant in several parts of the country’. Aggrieved elements were soon out on the streets. As the agitation spread, the IE pronounced it ‘clearly in defence of the national interest’. In a shocking breach of editorial responsibility, if not an open incitement to riot, it urged the students fomenting the disturbances to fulfil their ‘responsibility to spread and intensify them’.8 The Hindu (14 August 1990) reacted adversely to the spreading violence, but was prepared to lay the blame on the government for doing what was ‘manifestly populist and dramatic’ rather than ‘approaching the question dispassionately and with circumspection’.

From the first stirrings of unrest on the street in August 1990, there were several efforts to calm the student disturbances. The burden of the rationalization for Mandal was that ‘organized sector’ employment was a very limited world. There was a whole ‘unorganized’ world outside that needed to be accommodated in the formal structures of bureaucratic power. But with the media unequivocally behind it, the anti-Mandal agitation was conspicuously displaying its contempt for the unorganized sector by this time. Students from Delhi's elite colleges were trooping to the dhobi-ghats on the Yamuna riverfront to exercise their laundry skills in full view of the national media; others chose strategic street corners to sit with shoe-shine kits, offering their services to any passer-by. An elitist contempt for all the livelihood recourses of the ‘unorganized sector’ was evident in this pattern of public demonstration. By this time, it was evident that the anti-Mandal movement had lost its moral compass, having made too explicit a statement of disdain for the vast majority of the country's population. Inevitably, the momentum of the agitation was beginning to die out within a month of the policy announcement by the central government. This is when, in circumstances that still remain obscure, a Delhi student, Rajeev Goswami began a cycle of attempted suicides by selfimmolation in full view of the media. Goswami survived that attempt, but the picture of him ablaze was featured prominently on the front pages of the IE, the ToI and a number of other newspapers. It became emblematic of the anti-Mandal agitation and soon enough sparked off a series of copycat attempts, several of which proved fatal. The first such case in Delhi, involving an associate of Goswami, S.S. Chauhan, was featured prominently, again on front pages, by both the ToI and IE. The manner and tone of media coverage of these incidents were in obvious breach of a well-accepted professional code on coverage of the act of suicide. But few seemed inclined to pause and think over this issue, when brazen excess seemed the norm. In the middle of August, when the agitation was beginning to move into high gear, the IE and the ToI devoted an enormous portion of its newspaper

space, both in terms of print and visual coverage, to the anti-Mandal agitation.

Media Interprets Democracy's Principle—‘One Man, One Value’ Bare figures on space devoted in newspapers to particular events would mean nothing, unless there is a credible baseline for comparison. One possible datum would be the media coverage then of an ongoing confrontation, along another of the fault-lines in the Indian polity. In September 1989, a spark of sectarian blood-letting was lit in the northern region of the country in the course of a nationwide mobilization by forces intent on reclaiming Ayodhya. Soon a vast swathe of the country was aflame and lives in thousands were lost, predominantly of the Muslim minority. How concerned was the national English-language press at these developments? To arrive at a scale of values, a comparable period of forty-seven days may be taken between 1 October and 17 November 1989. The space that the three national dailies under consideration devoted to the sectarian killings in the country may be assessed and compared to the space that these same dailies thought the anti-reservation agitation deserved. (In arriving at this scale of values, the reasonable—though admittedly arbitrary— assumption may be made that the impact of visual coverage is twice as great as that of print coverage.) We then find that the IE devoted 12.81 times as much space to the anti-reservation agitation, as it did to the sectarian riots of October–November 1989. The corresponding ratio for the ToI would work out to something like 9.81, while for The Hindu, it would be the rather more humane figure of 5.75. When these figures are further weighted for the number of lives lost, we would arrive at the perfectly piquant conclusion that a life lost in the defence of a few hundred thousand jobs against the claims of the disadvantaged, is in the estimation of the IE, worth seventy-five times more than one lost in the cause of building a shrine to a godking of Hindu mythology. The corresponding ratio for the ToI would be in the region of sixty and for The Hindu, around thirty-five.9

If ‘one man, one value’ is the fundamental principle of demo-cracy, then the national press in India had certainly found a rather twisted manner of interpreting it.

Media Shifts: Constitution of Inter-community Solidarity To the extent that ‘communities’ are defined by negative association, the media would reflect, sometimes subtly though often rather crudely, the perceptions of ‘otherness’ without which communal boundaries would remain uncomfortably fluid. But sections of the media also claim to represent a ‘national’ perspective, untainted by narrow pulls of community loyalty. This practice of the media embodies the conceit of a segment that views itself as the ‘national mainstream’ against which the distinctness of minority groups could be sharply set off. But the national main-stream does not represent an unchanging sensibility. As circum-stances change, so too would its perceptions and priorities. Some of these features emerge from a comparison between two crucial reference points in India's recent history, when the communal virus was rampant. The first is the period between 1990 and 1992, when the country was convulsed by the Ayodhya conflict. If the media in most parts of the country was guilty of not opposing the communal adventurism of the hindutva forces with sufficient passion or principle, the media in the Hindi-speaking region was engaged actively in abetting them. This is no subjective judgement, since it was the firmly established view of the Press Council of India, which in 1990 went into the news coverage and editorial comment of four of the largest Hindi language dailies and passed severe strictures against all of them.10 Moving forward from those dark days to 2002 and the communal carnage of Gujarat, another pattern of media conduct is evident. With the exception of the Gujarati press—where a clear tilt was evident towards lurid exaggeration and incitement to violence—the rest of the press nationwide earned wide credit for their unflinching portrayal of the brutalities of Gujarat.11 Indeed, the pressure was

severe enough for the Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi to lash out at the media for creating what he called ‘secular riots’. There had evidently been a significant cultural change over the preceding twelve years, especially in the Hindi language press. The crucial factor here could well be the tremendous growth in the reach of the Hindi press since the days of Ayodhya. One estimate puts the total number of readers of Hindi dailies in 1990 at around 7.8 million. By the year 2001, it was over 21 million.12 Today, the two leading newspapers in Hindi alone are estimated to have a total readership of 40 million. This quantitative explosion has led to significant qualitative changes. The need to bring larger numbers of readers on board, for one thing, has induced Hindi newspapers to go beyond traditional notions of audience taste and take in cross-community interests. There is a theory in the sociology of the media, which likens the daily newspaper reading ritual to the practice of prayer, a mass ceremony which individuals in their social isolation pursue, without direct knowledge of others who are similarly engaged. But the implicit knowledge that others too are going through that mass ceremony serves as a form of social solidarity. In this sense, the growth of the Hindi language press in the 1990s may be both the cause and consequence of these emerging new forms of inter-community solidarity. At the same time, there are other social exclusions, other kinds of particularities, which are unstated premises of media functioning. It is not necessary to go any further than the news coverage and editorial comment on the Rajinder Sachar Committee Report, submitted in 2006, on the status of India's Muslims, to grasp the processes through which this works.

Media Narratives of Social ‘Otherness’ The presentation of the Sachar Report in Parliament coin-cided with an outbreak of violence in Maharashtra over the vandalization of a statue of Dr B.R. Ambedkar in Uttar Pradesh. The country's largest English-language newspaper, the ToI, confined the Sachar Report to

the news digest section, occupying about three column centimetres on the first page. Considerably more attention was devoted to the violence of the Dalit protests in Maharashtra, with the picture of a train that had been set afire between Mumbai and Pune, getting marquee space on the front page.13 Both the Sachar Committee and the Dalit protests earned significant space in the inner pages of the ToI that day, with the latter enjoying by far the greater prominence. What the ToI chose to highlight in its coverage of the Sachar Report was the government's uncertain resolve about introducing reservations in education and employment for the minorities. Thus, the issue of the institutionalized discrimination suffered by the Muslim minority was transformed in the ToI discourse into a concern over keeping India's enclaves of modernity secure from the ingress of the underprivileged. Where the Dalit protests in Maharashtra were concerned, perceptive media critics have pointed out that the consistent refrain of the mainstream press, in both English and the bhasha, was the inherent violence of the Dalit agitators and the ease with which they could be provoked into serious acts of depredation. There were oblique references to the Khairlanji massacre of 29 September 2006 —where four members of a Dalit family, a mother and three children, including a visually challenged youth, were killed in the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra—as a contributory factor in the groundswell of Dalit rage. But no effort was in evidence to make amends for a shocking record of media neglect of the egregious crime. The record of the media since the massacre was to underplay it, to not see it as an expression of the unrelenting social persec-ution that Dalits suffer, but to cast it as a regrettable case of moral vigilantism carried to excess. Surekha Bhotmange, the mother who was killed, was with many an insinuating nudge and wink, held responsible for having invited the terrible retribution by her licentious social conduct.14 And it speaks eloquently of the blinkers that the media wears, that it took a Dalit-owned newspaper in Maharashtra to investigate and bring the crime to light after weeks of arduous effort.

An identical set of blinkers was donned by the media when dealing with the Sachar Committee findings. There could be various alibis offered for the relative inattention with which the report was received by the media. It could well be argued that the social and educational handicaps of the Muslim community are not exactly a news flash. But then, neither was the choice of the Indian cricket team a news flash. In a situation that involves a choice between two supposedly jaded news items such as these, the tie-breaking vote belongs to the advertiser. And unlike the Indian cricket team, the minorities in India do not enjoy the patronage of a corporate sponsor with a generous adver-tising budget.15 Those familiar with the dynamics of competition in the news-paper business might ascribe the relative neglect of the Sachar Committee Report to another factor. The IE, a rival newspaper, even if more limited in reach, had ‘scooped’ the main findings of the Sachar Committee well over a month before its report was formally presented. The IE coverage appeared in a compact series of articles on the front page, through the last week of October 2006. The newspaper began this series of articles with an editorial flagging the danger that the committee's findings could be used as a basis to argue for reservations for the religious minority in employment opportunities. The IE's editorial verdict was to urge the political leadership to acknowledge the undeniable verity that economic growth was the way out of social backwardness.16 In effect, the IE succeeded in submerging the complexity of the Sachar Committee's findings in a simplistic nostrum much favoured in today's neo-liberal climate. While the IE was constructing this narrative of discrimination on its news pages and editorially paying obeisance to the virtues of globalization, a quite different picture of willing thraldom to superstition and stubborn refusal to adopt basic norms of modernity was being assembled in another quarter of the print media. Between 24 and 29 October, the ToI carried no fewer than six articles—both news reports and comments, of which two were on the front page and one on the editorial page—on the case of Imrana, a young

Muslim woman who had been raped by her father-in-law and stigmatized by the Muslim clergy for her temerity in seeking to bring the criminal to account. On 25 October, the ToI ran a story on Imrana on page one, alongside another one on the confusion within the Muslim community about the date of observance of Eid festivities. This latter story evoked the subjectivity underlying the precise date on which the most significant of Muslim religious observances is celebrated and the tension that this set up with modern notions of objectivity. These stories were topped off by a large photograph, occu-pying marquee space on the front page, of the touring Pakistani cricket team offering Eid prayers at Chandigarh with the caption ‘Champions of the faith?’. With this rather mystifying juxtaposition of stories and visuals, the ToI managed within about a third of the space on its front page to reinforce several stereotypes about the Muslim community. On 4 November, it ran an editorial giving its take on the main findings of the Sachar Commission Report. It deprecated the policy of reservations as a ‘blunt instrument’ that failed to reach the core of the problem. Instead, other forms of ‘positive discrimination’ could be thought of, including building ‘quality schools’ and ‘providing healthcare’ in ‘backward districts’ that have high settlement densities of Muslims, Dalits or tribals. Government contracts again could be preferentially allocated to these disadvantaged social groups to ‘facilitate their participation in the modern economy’. In turn, the ToI chose to place a special onus on the ‘Muslim leadership’ to ‘encourage the community to take to modern education in larger numbers’. On 8 November, the ToI in an edit page article on Islamic schools or madarsas titled ‘Beyond Terror’ argued that the debate on these institutions had been confined too long within the issue of terrorism. Because the Muslim community was under pressure in times of global concern over terrorism, it had responded with a spirited defence of these institutions and the learning they imparted. This attitude in turn simply evaded the reality that the madarsas have a tendency to ‘promote a narrow, insular mindset’. And as long as security concerns remained the principal impulse behind the debate,

there was little chance that matters of immense import to the ‘welfare of millions of children studying in madarsas’ would be addressed. Although the Sachar Report had not been formally released at the time this article was published, many of its key findings were in the public domain. On the issue of madarsas, the conclusions were fairly clear—fewer than 4 per cent of Muslim children in the school-going age group attended these institutions; at an all-India level, their number is not the ‘millions’ as the commentator in the ToI suggested, but just marginally over one million, of which three-quarters were in the primary stage. Far from being an institution of choice, madarsas were ‘often the last recourse of Muslims especially those who lack the economic resources to bear the costs of schooling, or households located in areas where “mainstream” educational institutions are inaccessible’. And for all the odium heaped on them, madarsas had very often been found to ‘have indeed provided schooling to Muslim children where the state (had) failed them’. Granted, the commentator in the ToI could not possibly have reflected the complexity of these findings which were at that time unavailable in the public domain. But in his sweeping denunciation of madarsas, he seemed intent on going beyond available facts— indeed to not let a few inconvenient facts stand between him and a compelling narrative of social backwardness by choice among the Muslim community. It was mid-November when the ToI returned to the theme of the Sachar Committee. On 17 November, it reported that the committee's recommendations had put the ruling coalition, the United Progressive Alliance, in a ‘fix’. The following day, it front paged a report warning that the committee's recommendation that the Muslim share in several vital sectors be increased, would in effect ‘give rise to the demand for a community quota leading to a full scale political confrontation’. Having begun its coverage of the Sachar Report by viewing it through the narrow frame of the reservations issue, the ToI saw no reason to change course when its detailed findings became available. In its approach to religious sectarianism, the media may well have ironed out some of the rough edges visible in the early-1990s. That

was the time that the Muslim minority was deemed to bear responsibility for the numerous injuries that had been inflicted on India's original cultural identity in the distant past. Today, the same minority is portrayed as an impediment to the glittering promises of modernity that lie ahead for India. Where the Dalits and backward classes are concerned, a different attitude is on display, at once patronizing and mindful of the threat they represent to the enclaves of modernity that the media have learnt to celebrate.

Media's Caste Bias This is as much a function of who speaks through the Indian media as of who it speaks to. A recently concluded survey of the British media found that of the senior journalists with decisive influence over news priorities and editorial policy, a signi-ficant majority is drawn from a narrow, privately schooled, Oxbridge-educated elite.17 Indeed, as British society becomes more diverse and the political system grapples with the challenge of inclusion, the media (if a comparison were to be made with similar data from the mid-1980s) has tended to become an enclave of class privilege. As a report in the Guardian puts it, the dominance of the upper crust is strong enough to ensure that it is ‘difficult for those from other backgrounds to get a foothold’. These findings from distant shores were published at roughly the same time that a decision by the Indian government to set aside a fixed proportion of seats in the higher education system for classes of citizens disadvantaged by history had ignited a debate on the quality of representation afforded by the institutions of Indian democracy. Among the institutions that came in for examination— even if rather hesitantly and fleetingly—was the media. A survey prompted by the controversy found that in a sample of 315 journalists in the Indian national capital with the authority to determine media agendas, not one belonged to either a Scheduled Caste or Tribe.18 No less than 49 per cent of the sample was drawn from the Brahminical strata. And if all caste Hindu groups were to be

considered in addition to the so-called dwija or twice-born, their share in the total was no less than 88 per cent. It is a far from settled point that where one comes from determines what one is. That notion of determinacy is completely antithetical to all conceptions of individual liberty. It could be a valid proposition though that a psychology of conformity could operate within large aggregates of individuals. Particular individuals could well transcend the limitations imposed by the circumstances of their origin and their accumulation of lived experiences. However, in large groups, personal commitments and convictions may well get submerged in the overriding pressure to do what is accepted. Leaving aside all the happy portrayals of the media as the bold and unflinching mirror of society, the basic reality is that this is an industry sustained not by the quality of information it delivers to the public, but by the quality of the audience that it delivers to the advertiser. The media arena is not a competitive marketplace where information and ideas are allowed a free run so that the best among them rise to public attention. Rather, it is a controlled environment that seeks to ensure the most favourable circumstances for advertisers to sell their wares to carefully screened audience. In 1990, when the Indian media faced its first significant challenge on the question of affirmative action for the backward classes, it responded by invoking the sacred trope of a seamless Indian national identity and denouncing the divisiveness of caste. Having identified the augmentation of ‘competitiveness’ within the backward classes as a national priority, the media then lapsed into a phase of inattention. When ‘structural adjustment’ kicked in as official economic policy in 1991, the Indian media eagerly joined the chorus of acclaim. It took the resurrection of Mandal, this time in the shape of reservations for backward classes in institutions of higher education funded by the central government in 2008, to reawaken media interest in the gigantic defaults of social welfare policy through the 1990s. Initial editorial comment tended to be fairly uniform in emphases. By providing preferential access to higher education, the government was effectively reversing priorities, said the media.

Countering the perpetuation of inherited disabilities was undoubtedly a national priority, but these needed to start with the basics of the learning process. Higher learning should be reserved as a domain where merit alone prevailed, where selection processes were entirely free of extraneous concerns. This national priority would not conflict with others, such as the redress of the iniquities of history, if opportunities for all sections were to be equalized through a universal and non-discriminatory system of school education. The patronizing flavour in these editorial recommendations was not missed, predicated in the suggestion that the backward classes were yet to prove themselves worthy of the professions, since they had not passed the threshold of school education. Rather than risk a further alienation of public sentiments, the media chose a line of retreat. The ToI, in an editorial argued (31 May 2006) that the available database for public policy on affirmative action was seriously flawed. This made ‘caste census’ in India a ‘necessary evil’. Later, the ToI (14 June 2006) deprecated the fact that ad hoc decisions had for long held the field when ‘the need of the hour’ was a ‘coherent justification’ and a ‘clear roadmap for future policy on reserva-tions’. Since several of the classes that had reservation benefits through earlier generations had graduated out of backwardness, there was a case for a continuing process of review of the list of beneficiaries. The IE ploughed the track of reservations threatening to fatally erode India's potential to contribute to the global knowledge economy, where its competitive advantages were well established. In a 5th June editorial, it warned that the ‘space for liberal policymaking [had] been won after a long political fight’. The more ‘intelligent leaders’ of Indian politics had realized that ‘quality and efficiency, in most fields, cannot simply be mandated by fiat’. This hard fought gain, the IE bemoaned, was at risk of being squandered in the pursuit of political advantage by ambitious individuals. Editorially, The Hindu (25 May) urged that three imperatives be borne in mind in implementing reservations for OBCs, so that it would not diminish opportunities for others. First, the central government ‘must get serious about strengthening [the] physical and

academic infrastructure’ of the institutions that it was directly responsible for. Second, in ‘the larger interests of the nation’, certain institutions ‘need to be retained as islands of excellence, their entrance standards uncompromised even by socially desirable goals’. And finally, the central government should steer clear of the political trap that several states had fallen into, of viewing affirmative action merely in terms of employment quotas. The concern about basic education was awakened within the national media only when the disadvantaged staked a claim to a place in the bastions of higher academic excellence, where the best of India's youth was expected to be prepared to take on the challenges of globalization. Editorially, the media tended to adopt a more restrained tone on Mandal II, especially in comparison with Mandal I. But in moments of deep social turmoil, far more decisive influence is exerted by the tone and content of news coverage. In this respect, some of the biases that were blatantly in evidence during Mandal I did resurface. The proximate relationship between the media and the formation of community identities makes the media function in a situation of social and political conflict especially crucial. Should the function of accurate reporting be uppermost, even if it is disconnected from moral judgements? Or is an ethical posture inherent even in the most dispassionate account of any event or sequence of events? Does a well-considered effort at ascribing responsibility for a state of inequality aggravate an already inflamed situation? Or does it, by focussing attention on the sources of injustice, impel society to grapple with the viruses and root them out? If any convincing answers to these questions existed, they are yet to be elucidated or articulated in media practices. Media content that is in conformity with a placid and uncontested paradigm of social evolution is acceptable, because it serves elite interests and safeguards their social pre-eminence. Anything that departs from this idiom would be behaviour warranting stricture and quite possibly, sanction. A noted scholar on the Indian media, recently wrote, following Ernest Renan, that if ‘nationalism is a daily referendum’, then

purchasing a newspaper constitutes a vote of affirmation.19 Clearly, there are inherent in this daily ritual, multiple layers of meaning of who make up the nation and who constitute its ‘minorities’. In the years since 1990, the Indian elite which continues to imagine the nation in English has stepped more confidently out of its sequestration and become a player on a global stage. But it is yet to figure out an answer to the troublesome question of how it is to deal with the ‘minorities’ within the fold of the nation, which are represented and reproduced in the image that the ‘mainstream’ would like to cast them in, through daily productions of the media.

Notes and References 1. All quotations are from the following two texts of Ambedkar: ‘On Linguistic States’ and ‘On Constitutional Reforms’. These are available in B.R. Ambedkar, Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, Volume 1 (Bombay: Education Department, Governement of Maharashtra). The quotations can be found at pp. 167–68, 131–35 and 396–97. 2. Eric Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism Sine 1780, Programme, Myth, Reality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990):10. 3. Milton Israel, Communications and Power, Propaganda and the Press in the Indian National Struggle, 1920–47 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994):21. 4. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983):133–34. 5. Alok Rai, Hindi Nationalism (Hyderabad, India: Orient Longman, 2000): 45–49. 6. Anindita Ghosh, Power in Print, Popular Publishing and the Politics of Language and Culture in a Colonial Society, 1778–1905 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006). 7. Partha Chatterjee, ‘Development Planning and the Indian State’, in State and Politics in India, ed., Partha Chatterjee (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997):271–297. 8. Editorial, Indian Express, 15 August, 1990. 9. The full figures can be found in the article from that time: Sukumar Muralidharan, ‘Mandal, Mandir aur Masjid: Hindu Communalism and the Crisis of the State’, Social Scientist XVIII, no. 10, (1990): 27–49, reprinted in K.N. Panikkar, ed., Communalism in India (Delhi: Manohar Books, 1990).

10. Charu Gupta and Mukul Sharma, ‘Communal Constructions: Media Reality Versus Real Reality’, Race and Class, 38 (1996):1–20. 11. Siddharth Varadarajan, Gujarat: The Making of a Tragedy (New Delhi, India: Penguin Books, Chapter 8):271–306. Also, see the report of the factfinding team of the Editors Guild of India, Rights and Wrongs, reproduced in John Dayal, ed., Gujarat 2002, Untold and Retold Stories of the Hindutva Lab (Delhi: Media House, 2002):705–72. 12. These figures are obtained from the bi-annual surveys conducted by rival market research organizations: the National Readership Survey and the Indian Readership Survey. Though these surveys often produce contradictory figures, reflecting the rivalry between media groups, they are in agreement on broad aggregates. 13. ‘Dalit Anger Singes Maharashtra: Two Die in Protests over Ambedkar Statue Affront’, The Times of India, Delhi, 1 December 2006, page 1. 14. See Jyoti Punwani, ‘Khairlanji and the English Press’, available at: http://www.thehoot.org/web/home/searchdetail.php?sid=2414&bg=1. (Accessed on 9 February 2010). 15. The Times of India on 1 December 2008 featured the return of a former captain, Saurav Ganguly, to the Indian test cricket team as its lead story, prioritizing this over both the Dalit protests in Maharashtra and the Sachar Committee Report. 16. See the series of articles by Seema Chishti, The Indian Express, 23–29 October 2006, and the editorial dated October 23 titled ‘Not by fatwas’. 17. Owen Gibson, ‘Most Leading Journalists Went to Private School’, The Guardian, Thursday, 15 June 2006. 18. Siddharth Varadarajan, ‘Caste Matters in the Indian Media’, The Hindu, 3 June 2006. 19. Robin Jeffrey, India's Newspaper Revolution, Capitalism, Politics and the Indian-language Press (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000):6.

5 Hindus in a Polarized Political Environment: Bangladesh's Minority AFSAN CHOWDHURY

I

State-making Project and Minorities South Asian states operate on the basis of exclusivity frameworks operating through various equations, including minority–majority ones. The idea of state-making as a modernity project is still not an established idea in the region. Socio-economic conflicts also are interpreted politically. Ethnic and communal differences are deemed political identity markers even when the same is the product of or descriptive of economic denials by a powerful group or forms of class behaviour. For example, in feudal Bengal, during the British rule, the relationship between the minority Hindu landlords and the dominant Muslim peasants was not articulated as an economic injustice issue but basically as a communal and sociological conflict. Pre-Partition politics—whether it was the two-nation theory that produced Pakistan or the one-nation theory that produced India—belonged to this group. It led to communal conflicts and social divides across India and ultimately to the argumentative process of multiple statemaking leading to more subsequent conflicts.1 South Asian politics is the product of an endless number of identities piled upon each other with most linked to state-making projects. These states produce minorities as an essential part of their construction process since the majority in producing the state also produces the ‘other’ or the minorities. It is argued that the

disadvantaged majority/minority state of ‘otherhood’ can be ended only by becoming the majority/powerful in a freshly constructed state. It has happened in Pakistan and Bangladesh, and it continues to be pursued aggressively in conflict zones in India and Sri Lanka. The Bangladesh case needs explaining though minorities face problems wherever they are in South Asia. However, in each country they face problems which are by-products of their own history.2 Although Bengalis were the majority population in Pakistan, they were socio-economically marginalized and treated as a political ‘minority’. The Hindus were a minority within this political minority situation. So were the Biharis/Mohajirs who experienced marginalization all over Pakistan. They were part of the religious majority but ethnically minor and excluded from Pakistan's ruling class structure. The Dalits and other lower and backward castes of India are not an insignificant minority in terms of numbers but constitute a functional minority, and like Bengalis in Pakistan, they are people expelled from the state power centres because they do not share the ethnosocial identity of the ruling class. In cases where possible, the functional or physical ‘minorities’ strive to construct a new state as happened in the case of Bangladesh. In other cases, they can agitate and hope for better days as in case of Indian Dalits.

The Minority: Proxy Citizens of the Enemy South Asian states are each other's neighbours and share the same basic population composition. As a result, minorities of one state and the majority next door are often the same. The ‘Great South Asian Minority’ (that is, the Hindus) is present in all South Asian states, while in India which is the largest state in the region, Hindus are the majority population. They have become the ‘critical minority’ outside the Indian state. Meanwhile in India, Muslims have acquired the reverse identity as perceived contestants of the Indian state because their religion, and its attendant South Asian politics identifies them with Pakistan, a Muslim majority state.

Minorities of today's South Asia have become proxy citizen of the country where they are a majority rather than full citizens of their own country of origin. So, Hindus in Pakistan and Bangladesh, the Madhesis in Nepal and the Tamils in Sri Lanka are not just minorities but are looked upon as proxy Indians and imagined as a threat or an enemy, and this is based on that state's relationship with India. Discrimination against them becomes justified as part of the nationalist threat-caretaking exercise. Similarly, Muslims in India have to struggle to prove their loyalty to India, their homeland, that they are not pro-Pakistani or more, proxy citizens of the neighbour and enemy. The notion of shared nationhood in a state is weak in South Asia, unless it is about sharing the enemy identity, it seems. In Bangladesh, minorities in general and the Hindu minority in particular, are not imagined as occupying a rightful and legiti-mate space within the architecture of the majority's imagination of the nation. They are increasingly pushed into occupying the imagined ‘superimposed’ space of the super-neighbour India even as they live in Bangladesh. This perception is influenced largely by Indo-Bangla relations, which is perpetually in a state of low-intensity hostility. The majority–minority problem is not just one of local geo-politics, but often takes on a religious hue. In India, the Hindu majority's relationship with the minorities—Muslims, Sikhs, Christians and the North-Easterners—is a major matter of concern. In Pakistan, the minorities have been overwhelmingly marginalized which includes the minority Shia sect of Islam, the dissident Muslim Ahmediyya sect, Christians and Hindus and other groups. In Sri Lanka, the Sinhala-Tamil ethnic conflict which also is a minority–majority contest as well as a Buddhist–non-Buddhist conflict has generated a multidecade war. In Nepal, ethnic conflict was partly streamed into the Maoist insurgency which tapped into the resentment of the indigenous people and the Madhesis of the Terai lowlands against the hill Bahuns and Chetris of the ruling class. Subsequently, it has reared to the forefront in the violent Madhesi street agitations. They have felt left out of the post-monarchy political

state-making in a classic case of reconstruction of intra-ethnic relationships and power-sharing. Meanwhile, in Bangladesh, only the Muslim Bengalis appear to have the right to claim to be elite leaving out almost totally over 10 per cent of the population. Given this situation across the regional map, it appears to be a problem not just of a particular state and its ideological practices but of the region and state-formation in general.

The Minority as an Enemy: Bangladesh 1947–1971 Bangladesh is a product of a long series of ethnoreligious conflicts in the region which have their footprints in other countries as well. While some of these conflicts are outright and open as was the case in Pakistan's relationship with East Pakistani Bengalis and its Hindus; some are more multiple as is in the case of India. Nepal falls in between with its many ethnoreligious equations, including interchangeable caste and class identities. In Sri Lanka, Tamils are largely identified with Indian/Hindu practices, and the Sinhala majority has a strong Buddhist militant support base making Sinhala nationalism and Buddhism contiguous. In Bangladesh/East Pakistan, the Hindus were outsiders from the very birth of Pakistan in 1947, though the majority population, the Bengalis, themselves were repressed. A state which came into being for the protectionist benefit of the sub-continental Muslims who were a minority in the sub-continental state, there could be no space for Hindus, the old Indian majority, in the new country. In fact, in Pakistan, the Hindus were not even constructed as a minority group but identified as an ‘enemy’ group because Pakistan's principal enemy was India with a Hindu majority population. Pakistan emerged as a contestation of what it saw as Hindu domination of India. Hindu and India held the same meaning to Pakistan and through this process the ethnic–religious and political identity was subsumed into one. This process not only denied them any identity other than that given to them by the state where they resided, but also created a platform of vulnerability which continued to have a long-term impact continuing into the Bangladesh era. It seems that

many of the principal positions and practices regarding the management of minority relations did not change after 1971, that is, before becoming an effective minority, they were the enemy, brother to the hostile majority across the border.3 Between 1947 and 1971, some Hindus in East Pakistan became part of the non-religious political movement, especially the Left which was secular in nature. They were not in any leadership position except in communist parties. At that time, the situation in Pakistan was not so bad that it inspired large-scale migration at the cost of losing the homeland. But many of the middle class did build up alternative homes and livelihoods in India, recognizing their limited opportunities and the possible threat to safety. India was a sanctuary home for those who could afford it. Since Bengalis in general were in conflict with the Pakistani state, there was a sense of shared denial which kept the intra-community conflict under wraps in East Pakistan. During this period, there were two major communal riots, in 1950 and 1964, both occurring across the region and felt in India and then Pakistan. In East Pakistan, in the media and in literature, Urdu-speaking migrants were largely blamed rather than local Bengalis.4 However, Hindu integration was very limited and although Bengali nationalism reigned, it was not a construct free of religious identity seeking. It should also be remembered that the secular Left movement was often led by Hindus who were ‘anti-Muslim’ or not fully secular. Even within supposedly secular constructs, under currents of communal divide were there.

The 1971 Phase and Hindus If 1971 was the pinnacle of nationalism in Bangladesh, it was also the period when the nature of the state was defined often through the dynamics of vulnerability. Hindus were particularly targeted as enemies. Those who could, left Bangladesh to escape the pogrom in their homeland. The appropriation of Hindu property was common, and protecting Hindus was considered risky. Hindus were subjected to the highest

level of looting and rape. Many Hindus left their property in the hands of their neighbours. According to anecdotal information while some was returned, much was not when they returned from refugee-hood in India. So, looting—economic crime—had a communal character because Hindus were considered least able to resist. As we moved towards the border, we made small bundles of our jewelry and would throw them at people who would waylay us. These were people taking advantage of the situation, not even professional criminals in many cases. We just had no protection and they were ready to take advantage of those without protection even in such times.5

Another impact of the war phase was on the trading and business activities of the Hindu communities at the sub-national level. The established norms, practices and entrenchments of sub-national economics were destroyed as refugee Hindus left their business establishments and network behind to seek sanctuary in India. Business in general declined in 1971, but whatever was left was largely taken over by the Muslims. After the war was over, a new class came to power that had already established itself in the business sectors, including that once dominated by Hindus. Property too was grabbed, in many cases, not only of Hindus and Biharis but also of Muslims who were less powerful. The new class of owners defended their businesses and resisted the Hindus who as a community were often the trading leaders. The Shahas, Baniks and other Bengali Hindu trading class/caste communities began to reassess their position in this new society and shifted to other professions. The material base for this new communalism was initiated by the acts committed by the Pakistanis in expelling the Hindus in 1971 and creating a culture of social theft which the appropriating Bangladeshis later embraced.

From 1972 to 1975: The Hindu–India Trap The Hindus were better accommodated at the national rather than the sub-national level in Bangladesh, because at this level the state wanted to uphold an image that all communities were equal as

regards Bangladesh nationalism. Also, Indian public opinion still mattered as the new state depended on India for various kind of support, and Hindus mattered in India. Thus, Hindus fell into the Hindu–India trap. Given the considerable discomfort of the Bangla leadership over India's management of the war politics, this did not strengthen the position of the Hindus. Official India's attitude towards the 1971 Bangladesh war ranged from patronizing to condescending, to that of outright dislike of Bengalis/Bangals/Muslim Bengalis. In Bangladesh, most of the political groups recognized India's role in 1971 but resented its unilateral way of running the war. Beneath the veneer of the new found friendship was a wide-ranging hostility, including among the Awami League (AL). Thus, the Indo-Bangla relationship was a significant factor in determining how the Hindus as ‘Indian representatives’ were treated in Bangladesh. Two factors influenced the political psychology of the period. First, that the AL government was supported by India whatever may be the private feelings of its leaders. This AL government was misruling. Therefore, India was supporting the misrule. Second, Indian goods overwhelmed the market as cheap supply chased high demand. Smuggling and black market was extensive and the Indian–AL alliance was blamed. Most smuggled goods were Indian and most smugglers had links to the new power group in town, dependent on India for political legitimacy and even power. Moreover, the most repressive paramilitary force in town—the Rakkhi Bahini—was trained and mentored by Indians, further bolstering this negative perception.6 Though local Hindus had very little to do with the situation, they were blamed because Hindus and India had once again become inextricably linked together through the political and economic management of the new state under the AL.

Bangladesh Congress Party: India's Hindu Party in Bangladesh?

Members of the Pakistan Congress had played a significant role in the first stage of constructing the Opposition to the central Pakistan right after 1947. Congress MP Dhiren Dutta was the first to raise the Bangla language issue in the Pakistan Assembly in 1948 and many Hindus were members of the leftist parties that supported the Bengali nationalist movement. But, over time the nationalist mainstream found no space for the Congress Party as it never developed an agenda that had an across the board appeal. It was perceived as the East Bengal representation of the Indian National Congress (INC). As long as separate electorate existed under which Muslims and Hindus voted for their own candidates, there was some visibility, but once that disappeared in 1955, the Congress Party in East Pakistan also ceased to be an effective presence. Of its members, many went away to India and some joined the AL or turned communist. After 1972, when the Congress tried to revive itself, it was perceived more as a loyalist Indian caucus, as it had done little to establish its independent status or partici-pated as a party or group in the critical stages of the Bangladesh nationalist project. As it overwhelmingly supported the AL in all its actions, it neither created an independent space nor became a political party as such but gained a reputation as the ‘Hindu’ arm of the AL. The situation peaked in 1975 when Sheikh Mujib-ur-Rahman considered the founding leader of Bangladesh established one-party rule in Bangladesh by bringing together a coalition comprising the AL, the Congress Party and the then pro-Soviet Communist Party which was also an Indian ally. The one-party construct called Bangladesh Krishak Sramik Awami League (BKSAL) was very unpopular. It was widely thought that the Indo-Soviet alliance was behind the birth of the party. When one-party rule fell in a bloody military putsch in August 1975, the demonization of India, the AL and Hindus began in earnest at a national level so as to discredit the deposed political party and its patrons. The worst victims of this process were the Hindus who were branded as representatives of the principal supporter of the oneparty rule, India. And Hindus represented India, the principal enemy.

With gains in respectability made by the Islamists owing to the failures in governance of the AL, the Hindus lost further ground. Secularism became a hated concept as people misconstrued it to mean the refusal of the state to practice religion. By extension, it came to be seen as a concept Indian would promote for the benefit of the India friendly Hindu population of Bangladesh. When the AL lost power in a military putsch, India described the situation as a ‘hostile take over’. The new rulers—the military–civil combine—easily constructed their political demonizing structure on popular perceptions of hate which centred on India, Soviet Union, the AL and their various political wings. To this list was added the community of Hindus as supporters of India and the AL. It opened the floodgates to Hindu oppression, as the most vulnerable and convenient community to repress in Bangladesh.

Property Grabbing as a Wealth-producing Activity In a pioneering study on property grabbing and community identity, Professor Abul Barakat and his colleagues have shown that Hindu property was systemically looted and by all the powerful political parties. The key instrument was the Enemy Property Act which was passed by Pakistan after the 1965 war and after 1971 became known as the Vested Property Act. So great is the vested interest of the grabbers, that no political party has shown any inclination to dismantle this law. Today, even though the act is no longer in force, many loopholes can be found to enable the grabbing of Hindu property to continue regularly.7 This phenomenon is built on an economic opportunity generated by vulnerability. Systematically, the state has socially, legally and economically marginalized the minorities. Taking advantage of Hindu vulnerability has become so entrenched in social practices that it does not require state sanction. At the societal level, Muslims and Hindus are alienated from each other while for the state many Hindus have become non-Bangladeshis irrespective of whether they live in Bangladesh or elsewhere.

The sub-continental character of inter-communal relationship may be rooted in both the construction of nation-states as well as the changes in the patterns of economic sociology within the nationstates. In Bangladesh, two major factors have had long-term effects. The 1947 Partition and the state-formation process introduced state condoned formal appropriation of property and resources of the minorities in the name of nationalism and asset creation for migrants from India. The migrants from India were the prime beneficiaries. This helped create an elite class that grew up on a culture of demonizing as a necessary and convenient method to increase wealth.8 In order to sustain this appropriation of property, it is necessary for the Hindus to remain the ‘outsider’. Assimilation would be counterproductive as a multinational state is obligated to treat all fairly, especially the minorities. Appropriation therefore makes communalism an essential part of legitimizing economic crimes. By making them an ‘enemy’, they are no longer a ‘minority’ and not eligible for protection.

Politics of Departure Pinaki Das, a chartered accountant running his own company in Dhaka said, For us, the great loss is that of our leaders. The community has no one to provide strength and support. Those who are left behind are not from the top of society. So Hindus in Bangladesh have become a minority as well as a weak community.9

There are not too many achievers like Pinaki Das. Although there are graduates of medical and engineering colleges and other professional institutions, many have ended up in India. Now admissions have become tough for Hindus. ‘We can't produce graduates to fill up the Indian medical system’ assert administrators when accused of discriminatory policies. While no data exists on how many were denied admission or how many left for India, both assumptions are publicly accepted. Although technical education

may not be at the same level of India, in Bangladesh the competition is less. Such graduates may not become high fliers but they fill the ranks of the lesser official and private services which are not so attractive to the graduates of India's elite institutes. Professor Abul Barkat, in a data survey of departed Hindus, using the 1971 and 1991 comparative data, argues that over five million Hindus are missing. The actual number of non-Muslims in Bangladesh remains a subject of contestation. Religious and ethnic minorities constitute close to 15 per cent of the population according to unofficial estimates. Official statistics place the figure at 11.7 per cent. Ethnic communities have long insisted that their numbers are underestimated in official census figures to diminish their significance as a group and highlight their numerical minority status. For the most part, minorities are conspicuous by their absence in the public sphere, in the judiciary, in the administration as well as in academic institutions, business and entertainment.10 But the arrow of communalism is drawn long before the Hindus depart from their original home. There is a high level of denial by the establishment of repression against Hindus. Dina M. Siddiqui, writing on the situation says, In Bangladesh, Public discourse on the ‘minority problem’, tends to veer between ostrich like denial and a call to arms that verges on rhetorical excesses in moments of crisis. This ‘excess’ can be understood as a fallout of the syndrome of misrecognition…Silence, denial and a not so benign neglect are hallmarks of majoritarian responses to reports of discrimination and violence faced by ethnic or religious minorities. Ask any Muslim Bangladeshi about communalism, nine times out of ten, s/he will tell you it doesn't exist, that communal riots happen in India, not in Bangladesh. Indeed, there is a great deal of pride that the program against Muslim in Gujarat in 2002 did not result in retaliatory violence against Hindus in Bangladesh. Suffice it to say, the absence of ‘riots’ does not necessarily indicate the absence of all forms of violence. Among other things, riots require two relatively equal sides to battle it you.11

The reasons for seeking India are obvious—a steady career, peace of mind and prospects for upward mobility (freed of state

assented discrimination), in a high-growth economy. However, it unwittingly contributes to the production of demonizing images for both communities. The Hindus migrate because they feel alienated and the establishment feels justified in discriminating against them because of regular Hindu migration to India. It is in this context that India as a recipient of migration and a refuge for Hindus reinforces its ambivalent identity as a provider of space where career opportunities and communalism rub shoulders. What makes this even more politically loaded is the varied treatment of different communities, including India's own Muslim minority population, now officially acknowledged as an underdeveloped community. Departure has become a bearer of several meanings. Dominantly, it indicates the migration of Hindus to India to escape a hostile environment that does not offer safety or opportunities. The classes that have got most depleted are representatives of the middle and upper classes. It echoes the migration trends of 1947 when cross-border mobility was influenced by the vision of a longterm better future as much as by the present and immediate past. Those who have not departed either see no future for themselves in India or cannot afford the journey in a social or economic sense. They are mostly the poor and the very poor.12 India is the recipient of the middle-class Hindus. These are generally people who believe they have the skills to make a transition in another country. Whatever frustrations they encounter, are somewhat compensated by the greater comfort of belonging, of identity construction. They become the new members of the majority and often are hostile towards those who were the erstwhile majority in Bangladesh. India accepts them partly because they are not aspirants or competitors to the elite, while being part of the majority.

Communalism and Migration Politics The categories of migrants flowing into India receive different receptions, illustrating the ideological nature of space in migra-tion politics of South Asia. The largest number of migrants to India are

impoverished Muslims from Bangladesh who have little economic space in their country of origin and not much more in their reluctant host country. Compared to the impoverished Hindus they naturally fare much worse, in India which accepts Hindu migrants but rejects Muslims. To the Indians, the Hindus are refugees while the Muslims are illegal migrants, and in many eyes, the tormentor of Hindus in Bangladesh or kin to the half-Pakistani/very reluctant Indian Muslim. The significance of the Hindu factor is further highlighted by looking at India's policy of providing sanctuary to the indigenous people during the Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT) insurgency in Bangladesh from 1975 to 1995. The Chakma (Buddhist) refugees left for India fearing death at the hands of the Bangladesh military and their supporters. They were allowed inside India but not allowed to become part of Indian society. Unlike the Hindu migrants they lived in sequestered camps to ensure the temporary nature of their stay. India wanted them to return. They were not allowed to assimilate. It was similar to the policy followed regarding the Bangladeshi refugees in 1971. India has chosen to assimilate a particular community, the Hindus of Bangladesh, but has resisted absorbing the ‘Indigenous People or Muslims’. This has clear political connotations. Half-Hearted Bangladeshis? For the dominant Bangladeshi Muslim imagination, Hindus are not economic but political migrants. Hindus who can afford to do so, do send money to India and that is the dominant image of the potential Hindu migrant in Muslim eyes. This imaging, mostly true, also effaces his right to nationhood with Muslims in Bangladesh which coupled with his religious identity makes him a lesser Bangladeshi and would-be Indian. Rezaur Rahman, a businessman who bought quality Hindu owned land at low price, says that the Hindus would not have been able to sell such land without his support and would have lost it had he not intervened. This pattern is almost universal. According to him,

A Hindu is now a secret Indian because he will have a place to runaway should he need or want to. But India will not let the Muslim go there. He will be pushed back. So if people take their property, it's just a matter of price because they are leaving anyway. They don't care what happens to Bangladesh.13

Hindus, therefore have become half-hearted Bangladeshis. And the evidence points to many members of the Hindu middle class. However, what is left unstated is that this position is not a matter of choice for the Hindus. The occupation of equal space by Hindus in this country even in 1972, was a very contestable argument. Given the record, it would seem that Bangladeshi Hindus were never allowed to be part of the politico-economic space. They have also got the worst end of the fallout generated by the Indo-Bangla relationship case. Shafiq Rahman of the weekly newsmagazine, Probe, says that there is a double jeopardy situation here. A little threat from a powerful neighbour and the Hindus are willing to leave for India. Many Muslims also receive such threats but they fight back and stay on. It appears to be more of vulnerability than anything else. That way India is both a blessing and a curse. One can escape to India and that encourages social bullies who want them to leave.14

In such a scenario, the poor have suffered most because they do not have the resources to become professional and parley that into a livelihood in India. They are treated the worst in Bangladesh. This population segment is outside the literary or political imagination of those who speak out against commu-nalism in Bangladesh. The notion of ‘desh’, which translates into motherland and village simultaneously, has become a contested notion for many, especially Hindus. For the poor, the country has little meaning, for they perceive nationhood through their livelihood and community lenses. For the minorities, the crisis has happened with state indulgence and often encouragement. Simultaneously, it is seen as an issue within the Indo-Bangla relations framework, which again is viewed partly through communal lenses.

II

Electoral Politics, Numbers and Conflicts The situation of Hindus in Bangladesh is entangled in entrenched popular perceptions about voting patterns and the state of electoral representation in Bangladesh politics. Traditionally, Hindus have supported the AL which is a political descendant of the pre-Partition Bengal Provincial Muslim League (BPML) that always had a strong Bengali nationalist strain. After 1947, their main opponent was the central Pakistan rule which established a regime that ignored the interests of Bengalis. This allowed Bengalis to construct a linguistic– ethnic identity and the politics that emerged out of that created a common ethnolinguistics identity for the moment. This was reinforced by the flourishing of the Left in post-1947 politics. The Left adopted a large number of non-communal political positions. Between 1947 and 1971, India became a lesser enemy by the day as Pakistan became the enemy, everyday to the East Pakistanis. During this period, Bengali Hindus had more socio-political space but were never fully integrated into Bengali Muslim-dominated society. However, the platform for integration was slowly growing. The events of 1971 and the dynamics of the situation that emerged, more or less closed that opening, and we see the emergence of Hindus as permanent outsiders. What is significant, however, is the number of Hindus that continue to live in Bangladesh despite the non-equitable social space and their political marginalization. In absolute terms, the proportionate presence in each constituency should reflect the clout of the minority voters. According to Shamshul Arefin, author of a major work on election arithmetic, 134 of the 300 seats are identified as ‘minority seats’ meaning where their votes act as deciding factors in elections. Traditionally, Hindu voters have been thought of as hardcore AL supporters. It was that perception which precipitated the worst example of electoral violence since 1990. The Bangladesh National Party (BNP) launched brutal

revenge attacks after winning the elections in 2001. Hindus were simplified into becoming the face of the ‘enemy’.15

The Convenient Enemy The Hindus were the most convenient enemy. This enemy could not fight back. The BNP, having won the election against several odds, now enjoyed a ‘pay back’ time. While no Hindu had dared to repress a Muslim of any shape or size during any rule, they were targeted because they are the most vulnerable community of the poor and have no national support network despite being 10–12 per cent of the population. They were considered as supporters of the BNP's political enemy, the AL. It was thought that since all Hindus supported the AL, attacking a Hindu meant one was certain to hit an enemy. Moreover, Hindus were so vulnerable that they could be attacked at will. Regarding the electoral arithmetic, two issues need clarification. One, there is an element of confusion about the AL's Hindu vote bank. Out of these seats, the AL won fifty-four seats in 1991, eightyone seats in 1996 and thirty-two seats in 2001. On the other hand, the BNP got forty-six seats in 1991, twenty seats in 1996 and the BNP led four-party alliance won ninety seats in 2001. In 2001, the BNP-led alliance included Jamaat-i-Islami (JI), and the Islamic vote tilted the electoral victory towards this alliance.16 There are a large number of seats which are decided by a narrow margin. Thus, political analysts were able to look at voting patterns and party shares and predict that if the BNP joined Jamaat they would sweep to power because the winning vote difference in many constituencies was very low. This included the so-called minority seats.

Minority Representation in National Politics In 1991 National Assembly, there were eight MPs from the minorities, including three from the CHT. All were from the AL. In 1996, the number came down to seven and with one MP, Gautam

Chakrabarty winning on a BNP ticket. In 2001, the number came down further to six, with two winners from the BNP and another, Moni Swapan Dewan, a member of the Chakma community from the CHT. Apart from the shrinking number of minorities in the Parlia-ment, the AL cannot be called the only favourite and the BNP is increasingly eating into minority votes. But the more fundamental question is—if there are so many Hindu seats, why are Hindus not nominated to run in those seats. It calls into question the assertion of analysts like Shamshul Arefin that there are 134 minority seats. Moreover, as Hindus are around 10 per cent of the population, the number 134 of the 300, claimed as minority seats, seems disproportionate. Even allowing for that, existing minority representation is far below their demographic presence. However, the image of Hindus as voters of the AL dominates the popular imagination. In fact, religious identity and national identity plays a major role in electoral politics. The BNP positions itself as a strong anti-Indian party though this is largely rhetorical. Its tirade against India is considered a vote puller and generally has an impact in the areas affected adversely by the Farakka Barrage, in particular, and the anti-Indian vote bank in general. The BNP plans apparently do not include many Hindu votes. Nonetheless, their Hindu vote share has risen rapidly, as the AL vote share has obviously declined.

Awami League's Islamic Crisis The AL certainly has an advantage when it comes to Hindu vote seeking. But the AL too has taken the ‘para-Islamic’ line. It was cobbling together an electoral alliance before the military supported civilian government took over. In March 2007, they signed an agreement with Khilafat Majlish, a highly conservative Islamist group with influence in pockets of the rural areas and the madarsa population. This agreement included allowing the mullahs the right to issue a fatwa or religious edict, a principal source of power and income for the Islamic groups especially in the rural areas. Fatwas are banned in Bangladesh as it contravenes the sole right of the

state to make laws. The agreement was criticized and after national elections were postponed, the AL cancelled the agreement, seeing its negative reaction. However, the AL's anxiety about its ‘Islamic image’ and being perceived as the traditional pro-Indian party was clear. The Hindu voters are deemed to have an ‘influence’ much bigger than their demographic presence. Political parties play the patriotism card regularly and that has become, at least partly, linked with religion and by extension ‘Hindu India’. No one is sure if it actually plays a role. For example, the JI as an openly anti-Indian party has a loyal support bank, but it has not increased in any significant way in the last three decades. In fact, their contestants are drawn from madarsa pressure groups and the pirs—holy men—who have entered the electoral fray since 1990. The Islamist parties together control about 25 seats in the 300-member parliament. All are out to grab the soul of the same men.17

Islamists and Elections JI is a Wahabi inspired pro-Pakistani–Saudi-supported cluster. But the pirs are not endorsed by global Islamic orthodoxy though they are also conservative. Hence, the JI and the pir backed parties fight each other. However, some members from within the Jamaat and other Wahabi inspired parties have turned militant over the last decade. Connection with and participation in the activities of Pakistan-based groups and by extension in Afghanistan, have played a role in the rise of this militancy. Jama'atul Mujahedeen Bangladesh (JMB) and Harakatul Jihad are two violent groups which have committed public violence and blood shedding, including attacking meetings of the AL, the Communist party and other left of centre parties. Its members have admitted to killing and other violent acts. They are banned in Bangladesh. Several top leaders of these parties have been hanged to death. They have not disappeared.18 During election time, Sheikh Hasina and Khaleda Zia com-pete with each other in appearing as pious Muslims, evidently assuming that being seen as ‘pious Muslims’ has some popular appeal. The

BNP has been openly anti-Indian hoping that the association of India with the AL in the public mind will translate into more votes from the anti-Indians. However, there is no evidence that this is so. The AL has been trying to develop a pro-Islamic image for some time fearing that not having that may have cost it votes. There is an element of mental denial in this. Neither party is willing to consider that they get voted out, on the basis of their track record. Religion appears to be a rather questionable ploy to gain ‘patriotic’ credentials.

The Hindu Response in Bangladesh There have been several studies initiated by Hindus themselves which are routinely critical of the social situation and state policy. Dr Nimchandra Bhowmik has done a detailed survey of the access of Hindus to the official apparatus and system, arguing that they are routinely denied promotions and sensitive postings in administration. He states, Though there are 55 Secretaries, two are there from among the minorities. There are now 117 Additional Secretaries but none from the minorities; 383 Joint Secretaries, but only 13 are religious minorities. Among 80 judges at the Supreme Court, only 2 are minorities. The percentage of minorities at different organizations range from 3% to 6%. It's 3% in the Police department, and below 1% in the Army and the BDR. There are [sic] only 1 minority among 27 major generals and 2 minorities among 100 Brig. Generals of the army.

Bhowmik adds, ‘There are 46 full embassies of Bangladesh in different countries of the world. But there is no minority ambassador in any of them.’ Their limited presence in administration, is particularly painful for the minorities because they do much better at the public exams level compared to their population proportion. Also, as Bhowmik points out, ‘In the HSC examination of 2002, 420 persons place on the talents list. Among them minorities are 73; that is, 17 per cent of the total number. In the HSC examinations of 2003, 20 persons got GPA 5.2 of them are minorities’.19

Bangladesh Hindu Bouddha Christian Oikkya Parishad (HBCOP) which is the joint platform of minorities has protested the 5th and the 8th Amendment of the constitution, both of which weakened if not dismantled the secular character of the constitution. The 8th Amendment has declared Islam as the state religion. The HBCOP claims that ten million minorities have departed from Bangladesh.20 The decline of the Hindu population is probably a more reliable indicator of the state of the Hindu mind in Bangladesh. On the other hand, migration data is neither easily available nor reliable. Muslim migration to India is a common feature and that accounts for a large percentage as well. One can be more confident about using this data as a trend indicator rather than as an absolute statement of the situation. What it does indicate is the impact of socio-economic vulnerability where several imaginations are at work in becoming what remains a still fluid state of Bangladesh. III

Trends Production of communalism or minority repression is located in multiple realities and at several levels. At one level, it is related to the various nationalist movements that construct nationalist positions and its end product—the state. To an extent this is inevitable given the political culture in South Asia and which relies almost entirely on ethnonationalist identities to produce the politics that creates the State. For example, the Bangladesh nationalist movement was dominantly anti-Pakistani in nature and did not have an anti-Hindu or minority construction. But the dynamics of the situation in 1971 generated high repression of the Hindus and created opportuni-ties to grab Hindu property, belongings and business and sub-sequently was mainstreamed at the national level after the war. But there is another factor that is influential. No state is friendly with each other in South Asia and each minority has a counterpart population in another state. This results in minorities acquiring a new

meaning in the region. Thus, the state-level relationships among south Asians determine how the minorities are treated by the state power holders. So, the Hindus in Bangladesh, Muslims and northeasterners in India, all minorities in Pakistan, Tamils in Sri Lanka, Madhesis in Nepal are all mistreated. Minorities in fact become proxy citizens of the other country and become the enemy. This also prevents them from being treated as a minority. As a full or part ‘enemy’ population, they have fewer rights. The issue of the socio-economic vulnerability of minority groups is so contingent upon various factors of statehood that it offers little by the way of relief for the beleaguered populations strewn across South Asia. As it affects all South Asia and is linked to the management of foreign policy and internal resource gathering, including appropriation, elimination of this phenomenon of marginalization, dispossession and exclusion is more complex than the ability of one or two nations to address. Since India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Bhutan all have minority problems that result in creating refugees, it is not the problem of a rogue state but common to the cluster of post-colonial states that have emerged in the region and their collective inability to deal equally and equitable with all population groups of their respective states.

Epilogue Return of the ‘native’ Pinaki Das After many summers, Pinaki Das has returned home to his native ‘desh’ in the Sylhet district of Bangladesh bordering on Assam. He has begun to support social activities in the locality. He finds his relationship with his fellow villagers has improved dramatically. In fact, he has become a social leader, respected and loved in the area. He has no desire to leave Bangladesh and go to India. He has found himself after so many years after returning to the village from where it all began.21 He has also gifted away whatever property he had left. There is little cause for conflict now.

Notes and References 1. Afsan Chowdhury, Bangladesh 1971 (Dhaka: Mowla Brothers, 2007), 80– 100. 2. Mohd. Rafi, ‘Can we get along?’ An account of communal relationship in Bangladesh (Dhaka: Panjeree Publications, December 2005). This is one of the most comprehensive academic books on the topic exploring both the incidental and the foundational issues of the minority situation in Bangladesh. 3. Songkhaloghu Shomoshha Deshey Deshey (Minority Problems in Various Countries), Dr R. M. Debnath, Shahittica, Dhaka, July 2003, pp. 45–50. The Author deals with the problem of minorities as a generic issue and then explores the situation in Bangladesh. Also interesting as it's written from the perspective of a Hindu in Bangladesh. 4. Afsan Chowdhury, Bangladesh 1971, Vol III (Dhaka: Mowla Brothers, 2007). 5. Interview of K.S. Das with the author. 6. Phantoms of Chittagong, Major General Sujon Sing Oban. This particular Indian officer set up the Mujib Bahini, a para military force which was populated by young AL activists. The Indian government did not consult the Mujibnagar/Bangladesh exile government and many within the Indian establishment were also unhappy with the rise of this force as it appeared to be outside all kinds of chain of command. It even clashed with the Mukti Bahini. Oban was later invited to set up the para-military Rakkhi Bahini which became known as a highly repressive, extra-judicial force during 1972–75. It initiated the practice of extra-judicial killings in Bangladesh. 7. Abul Barkat et. al., Political Economy of the Vested Property Act in Rural Bangladesh (Association of Land Reforms and Development, ALRD, 2004). This is a landmark publication which exposed through evidence the scale of Hindu property grabbing in Bangladesh and its impact on the political and economic mind of Bangladesh. 8. Afsan Chowdhury, Bangladesh 1971, Vol I (Dhaka: Mowla Brothers, 2007). 9. Pinaki Das, Interview with the author. 10. Professor Abul Barkat has dealt with issues of migration, Islamic fundamentalism and militancy in a series of books and articles. This article was presented at the meeting of the Bangladesh Economists Association, 2005. 11. Dina M. Siddiqi, ‘Communalizing the Criminal or Criminalizing the Communal? Locating Minority Politics in Bangladesh’, in Violence and Democracy in India, ed. Amrita Basu and Srirupa Roy (Calcutta: Seagull, 2007):224.

12. Afsan Chowdhury, ‘State and the Minority Identity: The Case of Hindus in Bangladesh’, in On the Margin: Refugees, Migrants and Minorities, ed. Chowdhury R. Abrar (Refugee and Migratory Movements Research Unit, 2000):145. 13. Interview with the author. 14. Interview with the author. 15. A.S.M. Shamsul Arefin, Bangladesher Nirbachon 1970–2001 (Elections of Bangladesh 1970–2001), (Bangladesh Research and Publications, 2003): 468. 16. Ibid., 469. 17. The Daily Star, March 2006–07. 18. The Daily Star archives 2007–08. Bangladeshi media extensively covered the topic during this period and continues to do so. Barring the Islamist and the then BNP government media, it had no media support. 19. N.C. Bhowmik, Problems and Prospects of Minorities in Bangladesh (Originally published in The Bangladesh Observer, 2005):4. It has been later distributed as a pamphlet (communication with the author). 20. Undated leaflet of Hindu-Bouddho Christan Oikko Praishad. 21. Pinaki Das. Interview with the author.

6 Chittagong Hill Tracts of Bangladesh: Justice Denied AMENA MOHSIN Prologue I had never thought that my last visit in May 2004 to the Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT) would be anything different from my earlier visits. I have been frequenting the region since 1992 largely for academic reasons to which are added now personal ones, for over the years I have made a number of friends. The visit, however, turned out to be quite eventful and largely disturbing. I could not stay in the house of the friend I was supposed to; twice the area came under bomb attacks, once I was stranded in the street caught in crossfire between the two rival factions of the day. I had to cut short my visit and returned home without meeting many of the people that I wanted to. Polarizations and politicizations in conflict and post-conflict scenarios are not unknown; in fact, it has become an integral part of our entire polity today. But in the case of the CHT which had witnessed over two decades of insurgency, an autonomy movement under the garb of Jumma nationalism, and a much acclaimed peace accord in December 1997, one can only wonder and be dismayed at such a state of affairs. But if one traces through the political history of the region, it should not be surprising. It is suggested here that the seeds of polarizations, conflicts and stratifications are sown by the dominant ruling community. This structural tension becomes more pronounced if the dominated or the sub-ordinate belongs to the ‘other’. This chapter is an attempt to probe into the politics of polari-zation and the denial of justice to the Hill people in the CHT. This

polarization, it is argued here, is largely the consequence of exogenous factors. This, however, is not to suggest that divisions had not existed before but to make the point that earlier the Hill people had evolved mechanisms to resolve their own problems and conflicts, and more importantly they were independent people within their own system. However, with the intrusion of the state, they lost control and were turned into dependent people. This chapter further argues that though the Hill people carried on an armed insurgency for over two decades till the signing of a peace accord on 2 December 1997, the accord has failed to do justice to the Hill people, further polarizing the society.

The Colonial State and the Hill People The intrusion of the British colonial state in the CHT marked the beginning of the erosion of political autonomy of the Hill people. Though appearing to be benign the colonial state penetrated into the Hills in subtle but effective ways gradually institutionalizing its own power as well as producing divisions and stratifications within the Hill people. The CHT Manual of 1900 was commonly referred to as a protective device for the Hill people by the British to save them from the exploitations of Bengalis. However, deeper analysis reveals that it took away most of the powers of the chiefs and vested them into the state, an institution in which the people had no representation or power to influence. The Manual laid down an administrative structure for the CHT. Article 7 of Chapter III placed the CHT under the administration of a deputy commissioner (DC), empowered with exceptional powers by the governor of Bengal. These powers were not enjoyed by DCs of other districts of Bengal. Under Article 38.A of Chapter IV, the CHT was divided into three major administrative subdivisions: Rangamati, Ramgarh and Banderban. These were further sub-divided Thanas (police stations) as per the administrative structure in the rest of Bengal. Parallel to this was another administrative structure unique to the CHT. In 1881, the CHT had been divided into three Circles,

comprising the Chakma Circle of 1658 sq. miles (excluding government Reserve Forests of 763 sq. miles); the Bohmang Circle of 1444 sq. miles (excluding Government Reserve Forests of 620 sq. miles) and the Mong Circle of 653 sq. miles. These Circles were subdivided into Mouzas (clusters of villages) and Paras or individual villages. Each Circle was placed under a government appointed chief, who appointed a Headman or Dewan of the Mouza, in concurrence with the DC. Each Para was placed under a Karbari, appointed by the Mouza Headman with the concurrence of the Chiefs. The offices of Chief and Headman were usually hereditary. The 1900 Regulation maintained the traditional institutions of the Circles Chief and Headmen. But all powers, executive, judiciary and financial, were vested in the DC. The powers of Circle Chiefs were limited to collection of taxes and dispensing justice in the traditional courts. Rule 34 of the Regulation restricted possession of land by outsiders in the CHT, but did not impose a total ban upon it. Land could be acquired for the following purposes: [Rule 34(b)] for plantation on commercial basis; [Rule 34(c)] industrial purpose; [Rule 34(d)] residential purpose; [Rule 34(e)] commercial purpose. Under Rule 52, no non-indigenous people could enter or reside in the CHT without obtaining permission from the DC. More importantly under Rule 51, the DC had the power to expel anybody from the CHT within 24 hours if he or she was found to be undesirable. The provisions of the Manual, though seemingly favour-able to the Hill people, in the long run ended up jeopardizing their interests. The CHT Manual in actuality was a legal docu-ment that ensured the erosion of the Hill people's sovereignty, and paved the way for their alienation from the political system with which they were later integrated. The three-tiered administrative structure set up by the Manual though apparently based on the local system of administration was in fact far from it. Under the new system real authority lay with the DC. The Manual did not have any provision whereby the local people or their representatives could formulate rules for themselves. Under Rule 18, the local government (Bengal Government) was vested with all the power to lay down, define and amend rules and regulations pertaining to the Hill people. The local

hierarchy had virtually been turned into a group of ‘rent collectors’ for the state. The Manual also undermined the power of the Chiefs of the other smaller groups of CHT, as it gave recognition to three Chiefs only. Rule 34 left open scope for the acquisition of land for commercial and residential purposes. This invariably favoured the Bengalis for the Hill people were not versed in the complexities of property transactions. Their mode of exchange within themselves and with the Bengalis was based on the barter system (Chapter IV). In order to make the Hills economically more profitable for the British, in 1933 Rule 52 was repealed. This opened up the Hill Tracts (HT) to Bengali migrants. In 1920 by an amendment, the CHT were declared a ‘Backward Tract’. It gave the Governor-General-in-Council the responsibility of administrating the CHT as an excluded area. The Government of India Act of 1935 designated the CHT as a ‘totally excluded area’. This implied a formal severing of political links with the province of Bengal. A far more damaging impact of protection via exclusion was that it left the Hill people unprepared for the political system into which they were later incorporated. It may explain why in 1934 the Chakma Crown Prince, Nalinakkho Roy, pleaded with the British Bengal governor not to provide franchise rights to the Hill people on account of their backwardness, and to keep them under his protection.1 These demands for continuing colonial tutelage manifest the total segregation of the CHT from the rest of India and especially Bengal which was in the forefront of the nationalist movement. It also suggests that the Chiefs being deprived of real power saw the British as their protectors. By keeping the HT segregated from the democratic ferment of the nationalist movement the Chiefs had hoped to protect their own position.

Independence: Erosion of Autonomy and Conflict After independence, in the state of Pakistan the constitutional safeguards to the special status of the CHT were gradually eroded. The first Constitution of Pakistan in 1956 retained the special administrative status of the CHT as an ‘excluded area’. The

Constitution of 1962 changed the status of the CHT from an ‘excluded area’ to that of ‘tribal area’. Its distinctiveness was recognized but the CHT would not remain excluded. In 1963 during President Ayub's absence abroad, the acting President Fazlul Quader Chowdhury, a Bengali, amended the Constitution doing away totally with the special status provision of the CHT. Despite strong protests it came into effect in 1964. In 1964, the Dacca High Court, whose jurisdiction had recently been extended to the CHT, struck down Rule 51 of the CHT Manual giving the DC the power to expel non-Hill people from the area. It was held to be in violation of the fundamental right of freedom of movement of citizens within the country. Further, Rule 34 was amended to give non-Hill people, with continuous residence of fifteen years, property rights. These changes deepened the Hill people's sense of alienation from the state of Pakistan, especially as the Hill people were not consulted. More importantly, these amendments were introduced against the backdrop of the Kaptai project crisis. The dam built in 1964 for producing electricity for East Pakistan had submerged 40 per cent of the prime land of the Hill people in Rangamati and made 100,000 homeless. About 50,000 crossed over to India while the rest became internally displaced persons (IDPs). The construction of the Kaptai dam in the CHT opened up new economic opportunities for the Bengalis, making the Hill people suspicious of the Bengali's elite's policies which seemed to facilitate access for the Bengalis. This exacerbated the antagonism of the Hill people towards Bengalis and sowed the seeds of politicization of the Hill people. A consequence of this alienation was that the local people in general and their Chiefs remained indifferent to the cause of Bengali nationalist movement during the Pakistan period. The Bengali political elite also had not taken either the Hill people or their Chiefs into confidence. Bangladesh was liberated on 16 December 1971 through the surrender of the Pakistan army. The Hill people due to the decision of the Chakma Raja were viewed as collaborators of the Pakistan army.

As the new state moved ahead with the formulation of a Constitution, the Hill people pressed for constitutional safeguards to protect their rights as a separate community. On 15 February 1972, Manobendra Narayan Larma (the lone elected member from CHT) led a delegation to Sheikh Mujib demanding—(a) autonomy for the CHT with its own legislature; (b) retention of the 1900 CHT Manual in the Constitution of Bangladesh; (c) continuation of tribal chief's offices; (d) constitutional provi-sions restricting the amendment of the Manual, and imposition of a ban on the influx of non-tribal people into the CHT.2 The demands were rejected. Sheikh Mujib insisted there could be only one ‘nation’ in Bangladesh. He urged the Hill people to forget their separate identity and become Bengalis. He threatened to turn them into minorities by settling Bengalis into the CHT.3 This was unacceptable to Larma and on 7 March 1972, he formed a regional political platform, the Parbattya Chattagram Jana Samhati Samity (PCJSS: The United People's Party of CHT). Its armed wing was the Shanti Bahini (SB: Peace Forces). The seeds of Jumma nationalism —an identity that the PCJSS now claims for the Hill people—had been sown. Meanwhile, the 1972 Constitution of Bangladesh legally consolidated the hegemony of Bengalis over the Hill people of CHT. The Constitution was mono-cultural and mono-lingual with Bengali nationalism as the basic premise of the state. Bengali nationalism had alienated the non-Bengali com-munity. The Hill people of CHT categorically rejected it. Post Mujib's assassination saw the attempts to Islamize the Constitution through Bangladeshi nationalism. This brand of nationalism, too, had no space for the Hill people. Islam is not their religion. As the Hill peoples’ sense of alienation increased, so did the armed activities of the PCJSS. The military government of General Zia ur Rehman responded by stepping up the military operations against the Hill people. As a counter-insurgency strategy, the regime attempted to bring about a demographic shift in the region through Bengali settlements. By mid-1980s around 400,000 Bengalis were settled in the CHT. This led to widespread land alienation among the

Hill people. The move was strongly resented by the Hill people as land was allotted to the Bengalis by evicting the Hill people. The government claimed that it had settled the Bengalis in Khas land, that is, land owned by the government. But what the government claimed as khas land the Hill people regarded as their communal land. Some 100,000 people were made homeless, and around 54,000 crossed over to India as refugees while the rest became IDPs. The refugees provided the main pool of human power to the SB, thus defeating the very objective of the government's counter-insurgency strategy. By the mid-1980s, the PCJSS began using the term Jumma nationalism to counter the hege-mony of the Bangladesh state and unify the different groups in the CHT.4 On 2 December 1997, a peace accord was signed between the Government of Bangladesh (GOB) and PCJSS. The accord sowed the seeds of polarization within the Hill people as it contained many provisions that denied justice to Hill people.

The Accord: Justice Denied The CHT accord5 has been successful to the extent that it has put an end to more than two decades of armed insurgency in the Hills. But it has failed to establish peace and provide justice to the Hill people. With the accord, a second phase of conflict has started in the region. This conflict is more protracted and is being fought between and within the communities—the Hill people as well as Bengalis. The flaws within the accord have major implications for the region.

Political and Economic Autonomy Political and economic autonomy were two major demands of the Hill people. In the context of political autonomy, the Hill people had demanded their own legislative bodies. In the case of economic autonomy, the Hill people had demanded the right and the authority to have control over their resources as well as the return of their

lands, which they believed had been illegally occupied by the Bengali settlers. The resolution of the land question is, therefore, inextricably linked to the Bengali settlers’ issue. On the question of political autonomy, one can argue that the creation of the Ministry of CHT Affairs (MOCHTA) has ended up strengthening government control over the administration of the CHT. The composition of the Regional Council (RC) is also problematic from the perspective of genuine autonomy and especially the representation of the smaller communities in the Hills since the Chakmas have dominance in the body. The RC comprises: Chairman—one (tribal); Members (tribal) male —twelve; Members (tribal) female—two; Members (non-tribal) male —six; Member (non-tribal) female—one. Among the total male tribal members, five will be elected from the Chakmas, three from Marma, two from Tripura and one each from Mro (Murong) and Tanchangya. In case of female members, one from the Chakma and one from another tribe would be elected. Two persons would be elected from each district in case of the non-tribal members. In addition, the accord has resulted in the creation of several administrative bodies, for example, the MOCHTA, the RC, the Hill District Council (HDC), which has the potential of creating conflicts and discord, unless rules and regulations are clearly laid out. Proper coordination among the different individuals and institutions is necessary otherwise there is a very real danger of an administrative stalemate. On the positive side, one may argue that the different bodies have the potential of ensuring a check and balance system, that is, if a truly democratic spirit evolves at the national and local level. However, the current political atmosphere of deep polarization and intolerance makes this a remote possibility. Loss of rights over land has been one of the major grievances of the Hill people. To any observer of the CHT issue, it is crystal clear that peace in the CHT is largely dependent on the resolution of the land question. Much has been made of the HDC authority over land issues. It, however, needs to be pointed out that the actual area

under the control of the HDC constitutes only 10 per cent of the total land area of CHT. The accord stipulates that land would be returned to the owners, once the Land Commission formed through the accord can ascertain their rights to ownership. True, many of the Hill people have deeds to their land. But it is equally true that in the CHT areas where the Hill people practice jhum cultivation, there is no conception of private property. In these areas, land is communally held and individuals have rights to usufruct only. Under such circumstances, it is difficult to envisage as to how the Hill people would produce documents of land ownership. On the other hand, the government had provided documents of land ownership to the Bengali settlers and also many Bengalis have been settled in lands left behind by the Hill people who had taken refuge in India as refugees. It is also interesting to note that the accord stipulates that the Land Commission while settling land disputes will take into account the customary rights and usages of the people. If that is the case, then the land taken over by the state as khas or government owned land should revert back to the Hill people who regard it as their communal land based on customs and usages. Much of this land is in the possession of Bengali settlers. The return of this land to the Hill people would pre-suppose the removal of Bengalis from those lands. But the accord makes no reference to the question of the withdrawal of Bengali settlers. The PCJSS claims that there was an unwritten understanding about the withdrawal of the Bengali settlers.6 The government, however, insisted upon the implementation of the written provisions only. Under the circumstances, it is difficult to see as to how the government can return land to the Hill people, and yet keep the Bengali settlers there. In this context, Raja Devasish Roy, the Chief of the Chakma Circle, pertinently points out that while customary rights and usages are to be taken into account, the accord does not say that the usages and customary rights would override the land deeds provided to the settlers, which he argues are illegal within the context of the land question in the Hills. He further states that in taking decisions on the land issue, the accord has

given absolute powers to the Chairman of the Land Commission and not on the basis of majority decision. The three Circle Chiefs are members of the Commission.7 Another major anomaly of the accord centres round the exploitation and use of the natural resources of the Hills. The HDC are to receive a percentage as royalty for the exploitation of the resources, but the percentage has not been fixed. It is also not clear as to who or which party will decide upon the amount of the percentage to be allotted. This omission is likely to give rise to conflicts in future.

Hegemonic Peace The accord lacks the principles and vision of creating a nonhegemonic society that can be the basis of a sustainable peace in the region. Hegemony is evident at various levels and forms. Hegemony in the accord cuts across national, tribal and gender lines. By recognizing the CHT as a ‘tribal’ inhabited area, not as the land of Jumma nation, the state has only reaffirmed the dominance and hegemony of the Bengali ‘nation’ within the state of Bangladesh. Significantly, this provision has implications for the other minority communities of Bangladesh as well. They are the plains indigenous people who live along side the Bengalis. They are struggling for recognition by the state of their customary rights over their land, and also for recognition as indigenous people. The accord has recognized the CHT as a ‘tribal’ inhabited area, since it has traditionally been the abode of the Hill people alone and they continue to live there in a concentrated form. This recognition brings in its wake certain rights and privileges for them. None of the other minority communities can claim such a geographical space for themselves, as they live along with the Bengalis all over Bangladesh. The other communities, therefore, remain deprived of any special rights, since according to the provisions of the accord the Hill people have been given the rights because of the land. Quite ironically, the land not the people have become important in this matrix. The

accord thus has negative implications for the Hill people, and also the other indigenous people of Bangladesh.8 The accord has also established the hegemony of the Chakmas, who are the numerical majority and have dominance over the minority communities in the region. A look at the composition of the RC reveals the predominance of the Chakma community in this body. Thirteen communities inhabit the CHT, and in actuality only four will have their representation in this body, as the Mrung and Tangchangya together will have one representa-tive. The other communities will have to be content with one representative. This is a very imbalanced situation. The smaller communities feel deprived and point out that the RC is supposed to be representative of the different communities in the HT and not of numbers. A Bengali cannot represent a Chakma, likewise the latter cannot represent a Kheyang or Tangchangya. They feel that this should not have been the case in the RC, for it is a nominated body, not a directly elected one. In its present form, the RC is replicating and reproducing the hegemony that it had been purporting to fight.9 At a national conference held on 18–20 December 1997 on the adivasis of Bangladesh, the smaller communities of the CHT had expressed their resentment on the proposed composition of the RC. It is also a gendered accord. Based on the hierarchical equa-tions of majority/minority, it only strengthens the masculine values of politics.10 The composition of the RC with only three seats for women, in a House of twenty-two reflects gender imbalance and male hegemony. It needs to be emphasized here that women had played an active role in the Hill people's struggle for autonomy. They had not only cooked for and nursed the SB male insurgents, but also acted as their informers, coming under tremendous pressures and at great risk. The women's wing of the PCJSS had its organizational setup even in remote villages where they organized the village Hill women and made them aware of the PCJSS's objectives and garnered support for the movement. It goes without saying that women were the worst victims of the conflict, but many of them overcame this victimhood and acted as agencies of change.

The Hill Women's Federation (HWF) formed in 1990, through its democratic movement within and outside the CHT had succeeded in creating general awareness about the human rights violations in CHT, more specifically human rights and sexual abuse of women by the military. The HWF focussed its agitation on the issue of rape as an instrument of counter-insurgency.11 It is regrettable that no woman from the CHT was ever made part of the negotiations process that sprawled over two decades. The accord also does not have any provision that deals with the woman question. It is perhaps pertinent to point out here that among the Hill communities except for the Marma women, the other Hill women do not inherit parental property. The PCJSS agenda has remained silent on this issue of women's right to land despite waging a struggle that had land, as its core agenda. A common argument in this context is that land rights to women might result in land alienation in case of a woman marrying outside the community specially a Bengali. The woman question thereby is subsumed under the ‘national’ question.

Peace without Justice During the insurgency, the CHT had undergone total militari-zation. The entire administration was under the military and the region was turned into a military camp. During that period, there were massive violations of human rights committed by the military. These included cases of forced religious conver-sion and religious persecution, forced eviction, arrests, tortures and kidnapping. There were also as many as eleven massacres of Hill people. Rape was also used as a strategy. It was reported that between 1991 and 1993, over 94 per cent of rape cases of Hill women were by the security personnel. Over 40 per cent of the victims were women under eighteen years of age.12 The HWF allege that there were many more cases of rape, but those remain unreported due to social pressures. Among the cases of abduction, the case of Kalpana Chakma, the General Secretary of the HWF is the most publicized one. Kalpana was abducted allegedly by an army officer, from her hometown, while campaigning for the PCJSS backed candidate in the 1996

general elections. Till today, the whereabouts and fate of Kalpana remain unknown, despite repeated promises by the government to probe into the matter.13 The accord makes no reference to human rights violations committed in the Hills. There is no provision for the compen-sation of the victims of violence, nor is there any mention of rehabilitation or counselling of the rape victims. It is suggested here that the insertion of a clause on reparations for the victims would have expedited the process of healing and reconciliation between the two communities. It is perhaps pertinent to point out here that Bangladesh is a signatory to the International Criminal Court (ICC) convention that declares rape as crime against humanity. Bangladesh, officially, has demanded an apology from Pakistan for human rights violations and more specifically for the rape of Bengali women by the Pakistan military during the liberation war of 1971.14 In this backdrop the total absence of any justice clause for the Hill people is reflective of a number of things. First, it speaks of the hegemonic position of the Bengali nation over the Hill people; second, and more significantly, of the weakness of democratic practices in Bangladesh. The accord was signed by a democratically elected regime yet it failed to do justice to a segment of its population for excesses committed by its military. It also demonstrates the power position of the military in Bangladesh politics.15

Absence of Constitutional Safeguards A constitutional guarantee to the cultural distinctiveness of the Hill people, and their rights and privileges had been a long-standing demand of the PCJSS. The CHT accord indeed is a testament to the distinctiveness of the Hill people. The various provisions of the accord, regarding administrative and economic matters, do make references to the special rights of the Hill people. But the accord is not constitutionally guaranteed. It is an executive agreement concluded between GOB and the PCJSS and approved by

Parliament. This suggests that with regime change, theoretically speaking, changes might be made in the provisions of the accord.

Absence of a Time Frame The accord does not provide for a time frame for the im-plementation of the accord. A time frame was fixed only for the surrender of arms by the SB and the return of the refugees from India. This is indicative of the unequal position of the parties concerned in the negotiations. The two provisions for which a time frame were fixed were important for the GOB. The refugees were not only an embarrassment for the government but also evidence of the continuing conflict in the region. Also, as long as arms remained in the hands of SB, there was always the possibility of their returning to a state of armed violence. The government determinedly imposed a time frame on these two priority areas of concern, but stipulated no other time frame for the implementation of the rest of the accord. The current stalemate in the CHT perhaps could have been avoided had there been a time frame for accord implementation.

Absence of an Independent/Neutral Monitoring Team The accord does not provide for the creation of an independent or neutral monitoring team to assess the progress of the implementation of the accord. This makes it difficult to assess the pace of accord implementation. The post-accord situation in the CHT bears out the problématique of this absence.

Post-accord CHT Frustration, resentment, anger and a sense of helplessness and entrapment pervades the Hill people in the face of the post-accord situation in the Hills. The accord had raised hopes of providing a framework for laying the foundations of peace and stability in a region scarred by violence for over two decades. The post-accord

situation in the CHT, however, belied the general expectations of the Hill people. Analyses of certain key issues will make this clear.

Political Aspects Political empowerment through political autonomy has been one of the major demands of the Hill people. But that process has slowed down if not stopped, altogether. Parallel Administration and Lack of Coordination It was expected that the accord through the creation of the institutional structures of the RC, the strengthening of the three HDCs and the MOCHTA would devolve political and economic powers to the Hill people and thereby empower them. Apart from these institutions, as discussed earlier, there exists a parallel fourlayered administrative system in the Hills since the British colonial period. The existence of so many parallel bodies and layers of administration in the region has created a chaotic situation. It is difficult to say who or which body is in control. There is not only lack of coordination among the different structures, but also personality clashes among the leadership. Regarding the existence of the different layers, the Chakma Chief takes a positive view opining that,16 the more the better as it will prevent any one body to become too powerful. It is designed to ensure checks and balances in the administration. This would be true in an ideal situation where there are clear-cut divisions of powers and responsibilities, but within the arithmetic of Bangladesh national politics vis-à-vis the CHT, it has created more problems than solutions. To begin with, it has created a situation of administrative stalemate in the region, especially as the government has neither framed rules and regulations for the new bodies, nor devolved full powers to them as per the accord. This augurs ill for the new bodies set up by the accord, especially the RC and the credibility of the JSS leadership. Indeed, the Hill people gradually are losing confidence in the JSS

leadership. Shantu Larma,17 the leader of JSS and Chairman of the RC quite emphatically pointed this out and saw it as a government ploy to deliberately destabilize the region and undermine the JSS leadership. Governmentalization of Administration and Lack of Democracy Following the accord, the CHT has witnessed overgovernmentalization of the administration, instead of decentralization. The traditional administrative structure has further contributed to this. In this context, the powers arrogated to the DC through the CHT Manual may also be mentioned. As pointed out earlier, the DC's powers are absolute and sweeping in the region. The local traditional leaders have only advisory roles. The DC is not obligated to go by their advice or decisions. The DC being a government employee is bound to carry out the mandate of the government or the state. Consequently, the Hill people perceive the DC as opposed to their interests and favouring the interests of the Bengali community. The CHT accord makes no reference to the powers and privileges of the DC. It may be argued that the CHT Manual, since it contains many clauses protective of the economic interests of the Hill people, is very special to the Hill people. Any amendment to it might have had a negative impact on the peace process. But it is equally true that the state has time and again amended the 1900 Manual to relax the restrictions on Bengali migration and settlement in the CHT, as well as the restrictions on acquisition of land by outsiders in the CHT. These provisions were particularly cherished by the Hill people yet the state amended those provisions of the Manual without consultations with the chiefs to suit its own interests and to the detriment of the Hill people. The ‘excluded’ status of the CHT was amended on the ground that CHT is a part of Bangladesh and the constitution provides freedom of movement, right to property to all its citizens, so the CHT cannot be kept as an exclusive area. But significantly enough, the state never compromised on the powers and functions of the DC as

provided in the Manual. As pointed out earlier, the DCs in other districts do not enjoy such sweeping powers. Interestingly, no uniformity has been sought in this regard. In the post-accord situation, the DC's office has often come into conflict with the new administrative bodies. Political empowerment of the Hill people through decentralization of power makes it imperative that the CHT Manual be amended to curtail the powers and functions of DC. Political empowerment is a process that requires a culture of democratic practices and nurturance of democratic values. Above all, it requires a culture of tolerance and accommo-dation. The above conditions are precisely lacking in the Hills. Long years of insurgency had turned the CHT into a military-controlled zone. The accord held out hope for the resumption of democratic practices in the CHT. The three HDCs are supposed to be elected bodies, while the members of the RC are to be selected by the elected members of the HDCs. Elections to the HDCs have not been held despite clear provisions in the accord. Rules that would determine the RC's relationship with the other local administrative bodies have not been framed. Consequently, the RC remains ineffective. As for the CHT Ministry, it is a part of the government's machinery. The above situation is largely the by-product of the govern-ment's failure to frame rules and regulations for the functioning of the different administrative bodies and devolves power and responsibilities to the newly created bodies. There is constant conflict and tension among the different units of administration regarding their roles and jurisdiction. The prob-lem is compounded due to ego clashes among the Heads of the different bodies.

Security Aspects The accord had provided that the military will be withdrawn to the cantonments and its temporary camps would be withdrawn. But the presence of the military is very visible in the region and the temporary camps are spread all over the region. The administrative stalemate in the CHT has seriously impacted upon the law and order

situation in the region. This provides a justification for the military to retain its high profile in the region which further reinforces the resentment of the local people who blame the military forces for many of their problems, in the first place. It has resulted in the widening of the gap between the state and the Hill people and threatened the security and stability of the region. Following the accord, the political and security situation in the CHT has been complicated due to the emergence of unidentified armed groups. These groups are involved in collecting tolls. Though the identity of these groups is not known, sources say elements from Myanmar rebels have joined hands with these groups in Banderban, providing them guns in lieu of shelter.18 The use of drugs and small arms are also in the rise in the region. The CHT, with its close proximity to Myanmar, is considered a route for arms and drugs trafficking. Unstable political and social conditions provide a safe haven for drugs and arms as well. More than two decades of armed violence has turned the CHT into a violence-prone society. The border areas of the CHT and the sea routes are the main points for the smuggling of the firearms in the CHT. Money for arms is procured through looting, toll collection and kidnapping.19 Lack of employment opportunities in the Hills has turned many youths towards drugs and arms. The Hill people argue that drugs and small arms are the most powerful weapons of a tacit policy of ‘ethnic cleansing’. They gradually enter into the sinews of a society and wipe it out. They believe that it is a deliberate ploy of the state to turn the Hill people into an extinct race. They point to the heavy presence of military and military check posts all over the CHT and raise the question—how can the military not know about the smuggling of arms and drugs. The polarization that took place within the Hill people following the accord is also responsible for the loss of human security. A section of the Pahari Chatra Parishad (PCP), HWF and the Pahari Gana Parishad (PGP), had rejected the CHT Peace Accord as a ‘compromise accord’, and declared that they would continue the movement of the Hill people for ‘full autonomy’, that is, except for the

matters of taxation, currency, foreign policy, defence and heavy industries, the rest would remain in the total control of the CHT administration.20 It is important to note here that in theory at least much power has been devolved to the local administration. However, there are significant caveats. The CHT Ministry which is responsible for all activities of the CHT is an organ of the government. The powers of the DC also infringe and constrain the powers and functions of the newly formed local administrative bodies. On 26 December 1998, the anti-accord groups floated a political party, the United People's Democratic Front (UPDF). In its manifesto the UPDF stated, …Speaking for the establishment of people's rights, the PCJSS led the resistance movement for around two decades through legal as well as illegal means, and initially it was able to muster overwhelming support from the peoples. But of late, the agreement with the ruling Awami League (2 December 1997) and the ‘surrender’ (10 February 1998) have clearly demonstrated the political bankruptcy of the PCJSS…It would not have been necessary for us to launch a new party had there existed any other political party in the CHT truly representing the people in terms of giving leadership to the struggle for establishing the rights of the downtrodden masses. The democratic forces of the Hill People's Council, Hill Student's Council and HWF, which emerged through the students’ upsurge in 1989, would have joined such a party and played their due role in the struggle. Unfortunately, no such party exists in the CHT.21

The stated objectives of the UPDF are: to ensure the existence of all nationalities in the CHT through the establishment of full autonomy, and to establish a democratic society free from oppression and exploitation. Equality of nations, equality of both sexes and non-communal and democratic ideals shall constitute the basis of all activities of the party; it shall show respect for the freedom, sovereignty and integrity of the country.22 Conflict of interests and violence has erupted between the proand anti-accord groups, with both groups vying for support of the Hill people. The JSS regards the UPDF as a terrorist group, while the latter accuses the JSS of being government agents. The two sides

accuse each other of killings, toll collections and abductions. The general people are caught between the violence of the two groups adding to the general insecurity and uncertainty of life in the region. The Hill people allege that following the accord extortions by the activists of the pro- and anti-accord groups have made their lives miserable. People are scared to express their opinions for fear of being branded pro- or anti-accordists. Such identifications, the general people opine, might cost them their lives. It reflects the lack of tolerance and anti-democratic environment prevailing in the CHT today. Shopkeepers, non-governmental organization (NGO) workers, transport owners and even ordinary people are forced to pay tolls to the activists of the two sides.23 A survey carried out by the author in May 2003 of different communities revealed that they hold the UPDF–JSS discord to be the main cause of unrest in the Hills. The survey showed that while the people referred to social and religious differences among the communities in the HT, they did not see that as posing political problems. Polarization has deepened between the Hill people and the settlers following the accord. There have been several incidents of violence between the two communities, which ranged from cases of land grabbing to rapes. For example, on 26 August 2003, a dispute between a Bengali settler and a Hill person flared into a violent attack on the hill people, which left one tribal dead, twenty-five wounded, nine women raped, 400 houses in twelve villages torched and 2000 Hill people rendered homeless. Prior to the accord, the Hill people had expected that the settlers would be withdrawn from the region. This had been a primary demand of the PCJSS. The total silence of the accord on the issue has made them more hostile towards the settlers because they perceive them as responsible for their problems. They believe that the state has placed human bombs in the region to wipe out the Hill people from their own land. Developments carried out in the Hills by the state, they argue, have benefitted the Bengali community which has grabbed their lands.

The settlers on the other hand, see themselves as victims of poverty and natural calamities. Many of them, had been brought into the Hills by the government after they had lost their lands due to river erosion, floods and cyclones, while some had never possessed any land. Since their arrival in the 1980s, they had been living on ration supplied by the government. These are controlled and distributed by the local Bengali leaders who are affiliated to the ruling political parties. There appears little respite for the poor among the settlers. It is also disturbing to note that for over two decades, the settlers have been living on rations or charity doled out to them, turning them into a dependent people. This not only raises questions about the economic viability of this settlement project, but also about the sincerity of the government in actually getting these people settled. The settlers too have become victims of the power politics of the ruling elite of Bangladesh who now look upon them as vote banks in the region. In this entire matrix, the settlers somehow have lost their autonomy and identity as human beings, who have a right to live as ‘normal’ respectable human beings, rather than objects of charity. The failure of the accord to address the question of settlers is a serious flaw and is detrimental for the security of the settlers as well as peace in the region. The settlers’ issue is inextricably linked to the question of the proper rehabilitation of the refugees and the IDPs, since the former in many instances have been settled in the land once occupied or belonging to the returnee refugees and the internally displaced. The Hill people had been turned into refugees, both within and outside the state boundaries because of insecurity. It is questionable whether they have returned to secured circum-stances. Since their return, there have been several cases of violence, ranging from harassment to murder of refugees due to disputes over land with Bengali settlers. The accord has made no provision for the women-headed households of refugees. There is hardly any scope for selfemployment or income generation for them without financial support from the state or NGOs. It is quite disturbing to note that neither the state nor the Hill people's leadership think that these returnee

refugees require special consideration. It is evident that for the state as well as the JSS, the ‘national question’ is more important than the ‘women question’.24 It, however, needs to be pointed out that the women question in this context is inextricably linked to the issue of human security. The plight of the IDPs is most deplorable. The refugees at least received some benefits and rations from the government for the first one-and-a-half year of their return. The IDPs never received any ration or benefits from the state. They had to leave their homes out of insecurity during the insurgency period. Some of them took refuge with their relatives within the CHT, while others went deep inside the jungles. There they carried on jhum in basically fragile lands that impacted upon the environment quite negatively. The land left behind by these people was mostly occupied by Bengali settlers. The IDPs do not have any sustained and viable source of incomes. Many of them are living in starvation conditions.

Economic Aspects Economic autonomy had been a major demand of the Hill people. The accord has given substantive economic powers to the local bodies. But since full powers have not been devolved to the local administrative bodies as per the provisions of the accord, the Hill peoples’ aspirations for economic autonomy and empowerment have remained unfulfilled and the development process in the Hills is yet to evolve into a coherent and compre-hensive process. At present the government, NGOs, both national and local as well as some international agencies are involved in the development process of the region. The Hill people view many of their programmes as politically motivated and oriented towards the settlement of Bengalis in the region. They believe that local NGOs despite their present limitations and differences within themselves should be encouraged and empowered. The international development agencies are also preferred by them over the national NGOs. It, however, needs to be emphasized that it is too early to make a comprehensive assessment of the development activities in

the region by the various actors. The slow pace of accord implementation, the administrative stalemate and the deteriorating law and order situation has slowed down the pace of economic activities.

Conclusion The entrapment of the Hill people is a consequence of the loss and erosion of their political and economic autonomy. This chapter attempted to trace through the politics of the region, the indigenous political structure and its restructuring by the external actors. It has been observed that at each stage, beginning with the British colonial period, the state had manipulated the system for its vested interests and denied justice to the local people. It prompts one to ask fundamental questions about the very nature of the state and also the kind of politics that the state premises itself upon with the hope that such interrogation may lead towards a humane and just polity. Following the national elections in December 2008, Bangladesh has entered into a new phase of democracy and democratization. The two years of care-taker government saw an intense interrogation and criticism on the part of the people at large about the nature of politics and politicians. The registration of political parties was made mandatory and nomination of electoral candidates had to be made through primaries at the grassroots levels of the constituencies. The media was in the forefront of examining the structure of Bangladesh politics. Also, Raja Devashish Roy, the Chakma Chief, was inducted as one of the special advisers to the care-taker government. Although it did not result in any meaningful change in the CHT situation, nonetheless, the induction of the Chakma Chief does have a symbolic value. It suggests that the minority issue is gradually making its entry into the mainstream agendas. Following the elections, the Awami League regime has appointed Dipankar Talukdar as the state minister for CHT Affairs. He has pledged to implement the peace accord in a ‘package’; however, till date the government has not unpacked the package. Meanwhile, the conflict between the UPDF and the PCJSS has intensified, with both

sides accusing each other as betrayers of the autonomy cause. Needless to say that such division within the Hill people only strengthens the state; while the dreams of the Hill people remain unfulfilled. The onus not only lies with the regime to correct the anomalies of the peace accord and have it implemented; the Hill people also need to take the responsibility and hold their leadership accountable for its failures.

Notes and References 1. Biraj Mohan Dewan, Chakma Jatir Itibritte (An account of the Chakma nation) (Rangamati: Saroj Press, 1969):184. 2. Selina Haq and Ehsanul Haque, Disintegration Process in Action: The Case of South Asia (Dhaka: BILIA, 1990):44–46. 3. The CHT Commission, Life is Not Our’ Land and Human Rights in the CHT Bangladesh (Denmark: Netherlands: IWGIA, 1991):14. 4. For a political mapping of the CHT, see Amena Mohsin, The Politics of Nationalism: The Case of Chittagong Hill Tracts, Bangladesh (Dhaka: UPL, 1997). 5. For details of the accord, see Amena Mohsin, The Chittagong Hill Tracts Bangladesh: On the Difficult Road to Peace (NewYork: International Peace Academy, 2003). 6. This was stated to the author by Shantu Larma, leader of the PCJSS in a personal interview on 4 April 2001. 7. These were stated to the author by Raja Devasish Roy in a personal interview on 23 April 2001. 8. Amena Mohsin, The State of Minority Rights in Bangladesh, Nethra (Colombo: ICES, 2000):56–100. 9. This was stated to the author by members of the small communities during her visit to the HT in May 2001. The same was reiterated to the author by Sudattya Bikash Tangchangya, Member Secretary of the Committee for the Protection of Forest and Land Rights, in a personal interview on 9 June 2001. 10. For a detailed exposition of this view, see Rebecca Grant and Kathleen Newland, eds, Gender and International Relations (UK: Open University Press, 1991). 11. See Meghna Guhathakurta, ‘Women's Narratives from the Chittagong Hill Tracts’, in Women, War and Peace in South Asia: Beyond Victimhood to

Agency, ed. Rita Manchanda (New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2001): 252– 93. 12. The Chittagong Hill Tracts Commission, Life is not Ours: Land and Human Rights in the Chittagong Hill Tracts, Bangladesh (Copenhagen: IWGIA, 1997): 9. Also, see Amena Mohsin, ‘Military Hegemony and the CHT’, in Living on the Edge: Essays on the Chittagong Hill Tracts, eds, Subir Bhaumik, Meghna Guhathakurta and Sabyasachi Basu Ray Chaudhury (Kathmandu: SAFHR, CRG, 1997):17–44. 13. For details, see Hill Women's Federation, ed., Kaplan Chakmar Diary (The diary of Kalpana Chakma) (Dhaka: Hill Women's Federation, 2001). 14. For details, see Amena Mohsin, ‘Women, War and Nation’, Paper presented at a regional conference on Conceptualizing Women: A Making of Meaning, organized by ASR, Women Studies Center, Lahore, Pakistan, 24–28 March 2001. 15. The military had ruled Bangladesh for over a decade in its three decades of existence. During this period, the military had established itself as an important factor in Bangladesh politics. Till 1991, all regime changes in Bangladesh had taken place either due to military action or in action. Military support is considered extremely important by the civilian regimes. Military budgets have remained consistently high during the civilian regimes. The appointments to the services chiefs have been politically motivated, and the civilian regimes have chosen chiefs considered to be pro-regimes. 16. In personal conversations with the author. 17. This was stated to the author in a personal interview on 4 April 2001. 18. Newspaper reports suggest that several armed organizations are active in the CHT. One of them, the Bengal Tiger Force (BTF), formed in 2001, includes both Bengali and Hill people, and is mainly involved in imparting arms training in remote regions. A Bengali person is allegedly the leader of this group. Also, another organization, the Democratic Peoples of Arakan (DPA), which emerged in 2003 in Banderban, is involved in imparting arms training and smuggling in the CHT. 19. The Independent, Dhaka, 10 July 2003. 20. This was stated to the author by Proshit Khisha, President of UPDF, in a personal interview on 6 May 2001. 21. The CHT Commission, Life is not Ours’: Land and Human Rights in the CHT, Bangladesh (Copenhagen: IWGIA, 2000, Update 4):31. 22. Ibid. 23. The JSS and the UPDF, however, deny their involvement in this, and both sides accuse the other of toll collection.

24. Upendra Lal Chakma, President of the Jumma Refugee Welfare Association (JRWA) told this author that the issue of women refugees was never even raised during negotiating the refugee package. Shantu Larma told this author that he does not believe in women empowerment, adding that they will be empowered when the society, implying Hill people will be empowered.

7 Discrimination in Pakistan against Religious Minorities: Constitutional Aspects SHAHLA ZIA

I This study1 seeks to identify the extent to which religious minorities in Pakistan are marginalized through oppressive legislation, social discrimination and psychological intimidation. It examines how the Constitution of Pakistan and its laws of citizenship are manipulated by state institutions and used against specific religious minorities. It documents how and when the Constitution started changing and shifting towards its present form which is less tolerant, more discriminatory, exclusionary and Islamic. The focus of the study is on the constitutional status of minorities. However, to exemplify that status and how it has been translated into law or policy, reference has been made to the impact of certain laws and governmental policies on the actual situation of the minorities and in particular, the role of the judiciary in upholding the Constitution and protecting the rights of minorities. It should be clarified that the study focusses on non-Muslim minorities, since there is no overt discrimination or denial of rights in the Constitution against Muslim minorities. For the purpose of this study, the classification of Muslim and non-Muslim minorities has been done in accordance with the constitutional position of the period. Thus, Ahmedis, who believe to be Muslim, have been referred to as a Muslim minority till such time as their status was constitutionally changed, and thereafter deemed a non-Muslim minority.

Profile of Non-Muslim Minorities The non-Muslim minorities in Pakistan, according to the last population census held in 1998, constituted less than 4 per cent of the total population, that is, 4.9 million in a population of 132.4 million. Of the non-Muslim minorities, the largest are the Christians (1.69 per cent), evenly divided between Roman Catholics and Protestants, followed by Hindus (1.40 per cent). The remaining nonMuslim communities—Ahmedis, Parsis, Buddhists, Sikhs, and so on —each, constitute less than 1 per cent (Ahmedis–Qadianis 0.35 per cent; Scheduled Castes 0.33 per cent and Others 0.06 per cent).2 At Independence in 1947, non-Muslim minorities in Pakistan formed 24 per cent of the population, largely because of the significant Hindu population in then East Pakistan. After the separation of East Pakistan, the minority population fell drastically, increasing marginally when the Ahmedis were constitutionally declared a minority in 1974.

Minorities and Pakistan's Original Vision The creation of Pakistan had been preceded by a period of disenchantment on the part of the Muslims of India with the attitudes and policies of the All India National Congress and its Hindu leadership, especially after the general elections of 1937. Alienated at being treated not only as minorities, but as second-class citizens of a nation, the Muslims deemed it appropriate and expedient to insert safeguards for minorities in the Lahore Resolution (later referred to as the Pakistan Resolution), adopted by the All India Muslim League on 23 March 1940. It affirmed that, [A]dequate, effective, and mandatory safeguards should be specifically provided in the constitution for minorities in these units and in these regions for the protection of their religious, cultural, economic, political, administrative, and other rights and interests in consultation with them. And in other parts of India, where the Musalmaans are in a minority, adequate, effective, and mandatory safeguards shall be specifically provided in the constitution for them and other minorities for the protection of

their religious, cultural, economic, political, administrative, and other rights and interests in consultation with them.

This concern about the non-Muslim minorities in the future state of Pakistan was further expressed by Mohammad Ali Jinnah in 1946 in a conversation with Doon Campbell, the Reuters correspondent, when he stated, ‘The new state would be a modern democratic state with sovereignty resting in the people and the members of the new nation having equal rights of citizenship regardless of their religion, caste or creed’.3 Consolidating this, Jinnah in his historic presidential address of 11 August 1947 stated, You are free; you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other places of worship in this state of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or caste or creed—that has nothing to do with the business of the state.4

Following the horrific communal violence, it was not sur-prising that communal harmony was uppermost in the minds of the founders of Pakistan. Even though Pakistan was created in the euphoria of Muslim triumph, recognition of its minorities was apparent in the design of its flag—a green field with a star and crescent represented Islam; and a white stripe covering one-quarter of the area represented the minorities. It accurately reflected the then minority population of 24 per cent, almost all, in East Pakistan. Discussions on the issue of minority rights and simulta-neously the questions about the Islamic character of the Consti-tution started almost immediately after Pakistan's creation. In theory, the vision of the Muslim League, at least as articulated by Jinnah, had been that of a secular state, but Pakistan also was visualized as a ‘homeland for the Muslims’ and the population, as well as the Constituent Assembly, comprised representatives of several religion-based Muslim groups whose views completely differed from those of the founder. The first dent in the original vision of absolute equality came at the initial stage of developing the aims and objectives of the Constitution. The ‘Objectives Resolution’ adopted by the Constituent

Assembly in March 1949, was unanimously opposed by all the nonMuslim members of the Assembly because of its Islamic character, and with good reason as it paved the way for the Islamic provisions that followed. A second major contestation was over the issue of representation, that is, the religious qualification for head of state and joint versus separate electorates. The proposal of separate electorates was not incorporated in the 1956 Constitution, primarily because the minorities opposed it. However, in West Pakistan, there was fanatical opposition to a joint electorate, both by the Muslim League and religious parties; whereas in East Pakistan, the Awami League and majority opinion passionately supported joint electorates. As a compromise, the Electorate Amendment Act, recommended separate electorates for West Pakistan and joint electorates for East Pakistan. Subsequently, separate electorates were introduced by the military ruler Zia-ul-Haq, till another military government under Pervez Musharraf restored joint electorates. The study tracks the erosion of the fundamental rights of equality and religious freedom, in the wake of the Islamization of the Constitution through three distinct phases: (a) the early period of constitutional development when, despite a significant proportion of non-Muslim population, concessions were made to the orthodox religious lobby; (b) constitution-making during Bhutto's regime when, in an effort to evolve a consensus docu-ment, compromises were made to accommodate the religious parties; and (c) the martial law period of Zia-ul-Haq, when Islamization was used to justify his remaining in power and his government was in alliance with a religious party. The Islamization of the Constitution and the legal system saw the entrenchment of blatantly discriminatory provisions under the Hudood Ordinances, the blasphemy laws and the Federal Shari'at Court (FSC). None of the civilian governments that followed Zia-ulHaq's regime reversed any of these measures. Once introduced in the name of Islam the changes became extremely sensitive issues, particularly in a climate of growing intolerance. Political expediency also played a role, as the ruling political formations, military and

civilian, have been in some form of alliance with politico-religious parties. II

The ‘Objectives Resolution’ In the articulation of the Aims and Objectives of the Constitu-tion, lay the contradiction between the liberal constitutional vision of absolute equality and the political compulsions of constitutionally realizing an Islamic ‘homeland’. The constitu-tional debate following its introduction brings out the political philosophy of the then government and its principal critics. The Resolution, in parts, stated, Wherein the principles of democracy, freedom, equality, tolerance, and social justice as enunciated by Islam shall be fully observed; …Wherein adequate provision shall be made for the minorities freely to profess and practise their religions and develop their cultures; … Wherein shall be guaranteed fundamental rights including equality of status, of opportunity and before law, social, economic and political justice, and freedom of thought, expression, belief, faith, worship, and association, subject to law and public morality; Wherein adequate provision shall be made to safeguard the legitimate interests of minorities and backward and depressed classes…

Moving the Resolution in the Constituent Assembly, Prime Minister Liaquat Ali Khan, made no specific reference to ‘minorities’, but emphasized that Islam recognized no distinc-tion based on race, colour or birth, and added that Muslims had a great record for tolerance.5 Non-Muslim members of the Constituent Assembly warned against the ‘serious blunder’ of passing the Resolution. Birat Chandra Mandal warned against letting the ulemas take over the country, and drew attention to a strong Muslim state like Turkey not having an Islamic Constitution. Bhupendra Kumar Datta argued that by intermingling politics with religion, they ran the risk of subjecting religion to sacrilegious criticism. One Muslim member, Mian

Mohammad Iftikharuddin opposed the Resolution, but because it did not truly reflect the principles of the Islamic conception of ‘real democracy’. In support of the Resolution, Dr Ishtiaq Hussain Qureshi6 assured members that it was not meant ‘to keep the minorities in a subservient position’, but to remind the majority, who were Muslims, to use their newly achieved power as a sacred trust and not to misuse it. Maulana Shabbir Ahmed Osmani emphasized that Islam did not believe in keeping religion a private affair between man and his Creator, rather it is a complete code of life. Quoting from Quaide-Azam's speeches, he challenged the assumption that had he been alive, the Resolution would not have come up before this House.7 Closing the debate, Liaquat Ali Khan reassured non-Muslims that a non-Muslim could still be head of state. Liaquat Ali, presenting the draft Constitution in 1950, clarified that the Objectives Resolution would-be incorporated as a directive principle of state policy, without prejudice to the incorporation of fundamental rights in the Constitution.8 However, as the constitutional history of Pakistan demonstrates, the Objectives Resolution opened the flood gates for the incor-poration of Islamic provisions and rendered the absolute-ness of constitutional fundamental rights meaningless. By creating ambiguity and conflict within the Constitution itself, they paved the way for discriminatory laws and some unfortunate judicial decisions, which upheld discrimination.

Fundamental Rights The Committee dealing with ‘Fundamental Rights’ had recommended that all citizens—Muslims and non-Muslims—be guaranteed equality of all citizens before the law; equal pro-tection of law to all citizens; no discrimination on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex or place of birth with regard to access to places of public entertainment, recreation, welfare or utility. All citizens were given the right to apply to the Supreme Court for enforcement of their

fundamental rights. Moreover, each qualified citizen had the right to be deemed eligible for induction in the state service, without discrimination. Freedom of speech, conscience, expression, association, profession, occupation, trade or business was guaranteed.9 Special provisions were to be incorporated to allay apprehensions that in an Islamic state, non-Muslims would not be able to instruct their children in their own religion, and that Islam would be propagated and maintained with public money, including their taxes. In particular, the personal law of every community was guaranteed. Ironically, at the time some of the Hindu leaders maintained that they did not want any special safeguards. In its final report, the Constituent Assembly included that any minority having a distinct language, script or culture of its own should not be prevented from conserving the same; that the state would not discriminate in granting aid to educational institutions, or discriminate against any educational institution merely on the ground that it is mainly maintained by a religious minority. A minister for minority affairs was to be appointed both at the centre and in the provinces. The Second Constituent Assembly built upon the recommendations of the First Constituent Assembly (1954) further asserted that any existing law, custom or usage having the force of law, which was found to be inconsistent with these rights, would be considered void to that extent. Article 18 guaranteed freedom of conscience and the right to profess, practice and propagate any religion, subject to public order and morality; Article 13 provided that no one attending any educational institution could be required to receive religious instruction or to attend religious worship other than that of his own community or denomination; no religious community could be prevented from providing religious instruction to pupils of that community in any educational institution which it maintained; and no one could be compelled to pay any special taxes for the propagation or maintenance of any religion other than his own. These fundamental rights, liberties and liberal principles were duly incorporated in the 1956 Constitution and retained in the 1962

Constitution, the Legal Framework Order (LFO) of 1970 and in the 1973 Constitution. However, alongside was the parallel constitutional debate flowing from the Objective Resolu-tion, which produced the incorporation of ‘Islamic Provisions’.

Islamic Provisions Islamic Republic: The 1956 Constitution declared Pakistan an ‘Islamic Republic’ wherein the principles of freedom, equality, tolerance and social justice as enunciated by Islam would be fully observed. Head of State—Muslim: Despite Prime Minister Liaquat Ali's assurance during the debate on The Objectives Resolution that a non-Muslim could be head of state, the Basic Principles Committee of the Constituent Assembly stated in its Report (1952) that the head of the state was required to be a Muslim. The justification given was that Pakistan was founded on the basis of Islamic philosophy, and therefore the president as the symbolic head should be from the believers in the Muslim faith. Moreover, as real power was vested in the Parliament, reserving the presidency for a Muslim would not reduce the non-Muslims to the position of second-class citizens.10 The 1962 Constitution and the LFO of 1970 also required the head of state to be a Muslim. Head of Government—Muslim: Subsequently, the provisions of the Interim Constitution of 1972, later incorporated in the 1973 Constitution, provided that both the president and prime minister had to be Muslims. In the case of the president, this was done directly through Article 41; and in the case of the prime minister, this was done indirectly through the provisions of the prime minister's oath of office. The oath of office required both president and prime minister to affirm their belief in the unity of God and the finality of prophethood of Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him [PBUH]). This oath effectively excluded members of the Ahmedi sect. ‘Injunctions of Islam’ and Laws

The 1956 Constitution, in Article 198 stipulated that ‘no law shall be enacted which is repugnant to the injunctions of Islam as laid down in the Holy Qur'an and the Sunnah’ and that existing laws ‘shall be brought into conformity with such injunctions’. Whether a law was repugnant to Islam or not was to be decided by the National Assembly. Subsequently, the martial law government of President Ayub set up a Constitutional Commission to examine the subject of Islamic provisions. Regarding an Islamic state, it was felt that a Constitution based on the broad principles of Islam should not cause any apprehension to the non-Muslim citizens of Pakistan. The treatment accorded to the minorities in any state depends on the ideals of the majority or those in power. In a religiously oriented society, the ideals of the majority are coloured by the religion they follow. The Commission cited a number of shining examples of religious toleration under Islamic ideals and traditions.11 Specifically addressing the issue of whether the preamble of the previous Constitution, containing various Islamic provisions, should be retained in the proposed Cons-titution, it favoured its retention. Although the Islamic provisions were incorporated in the 1962 Constitution, it dropped the word ‘Islamic’ from its title, with Article 1, simply stating ‘Republic of Pakistan’. However, the National Assembly, in the First Amendment to the 1962 Constitution, redesignated Pakistan as an Islamic Republic. The Interim Constitution of 1972 also designated Islam as the state religion, and provided that the president and prime minister had to be Muslims. The third Constitution of 1973 was a consensus document adopted by all the political parties in the National Assembly. Islam was declared the state religion of Pakistan (Article 2) and the president (Article 41) and prime minister (Article 91) were required to be Muslims. Under the chapter on ‘Islamic Provi-sions’ (Part IX), while it reiterated that ‘all existing laws shall be brought in conformity with the injunctions of Islam…’, Article 227 provided that nothing in Part IX would affect the personal law of non-Muslims or their status as citizens. However, the impact of the Islamic Provisions was

strengthened by Articles 228 and 230 directing the president to appoint the Council of Islamic Ideology to make recommendations to the Parliament and the Provincial Assemblies for bringing existing laws in conformity with the injunctions of Islam. Under the Directive Principles of State Policy (Article 40)—the Islamic way of life was to be promoted and measures to be taken for the organization of zakat, auqaf and mosques; the state would endeavour to facilitate learning of Arabic, promote observance of Islamic moral standards and strengthen bonds with the Muslim world. The pace of ‘Islamization’ of the Constitution accelerated rapidly and drastically under General Zia. In 1979 the High Courts were conferred jurisdiction to decide whether any law or provision of law was repugnant to the injunctions of Islam12, whereupon, the president or governor would duly amend the law. High Courts were required to constitute Shari'at Benches of three Muslim judges, and for hearing appeals, the Supreme Court would constitute Shari'at Appellate Bench of three Muslim judges of the Supreme Court. In 1980, a FSC was constituted of five Muslim members, including the chairman, who was appointed by the president. The chairman was someone qualified to be a judge of the Supreme Court, while other members were persons qualified to be judges of a High Court. A constitutional amendment in 1982 provided for the inclusion of three Ulema members, to be nominated by the president in consultation with the chief justice. Subsequently, the strength of the FSC was increased from five to eight Muslim members and the nomenclature of its members upgraded to justices and the chairman, as ‘chief justice’. Significantly, unlike other office-holders, including the super-ior judiciary, the oath of the FSC judges omitted the crucial commitment to uphold the Constitution13, thus creating a supra-constitutional body. Apart from the problems created by a parallel judicial system, especially one whose decisions were binding on the superior courts, it further undermined the equal rights of non-Muslim minorities. NonMuslims cannot be members of the FSC or the Shari'at Appellate Bench; neither can non-Muslim legal practitioners appear before

these courts. However, if the parties before the court are nonMuslims, a non-Muslim advocate may appear as counsel for such a non-Muslim party.

Constitutional Violationsof Fundamental Rights Ahmedis Decreed non-Muslims The first violation of fundamental rights at the constitutional level took place in September 1974, when a Muslim minority the ‘Ahmedis’, believing itself to be Muslim, was constitutio-nally declared non-Muslim. This was done despite the fact that a 1954 Court of Inquiry14 had found that while representative ulema from all the main religious groups were unanimous in their opinion that the Ahmedis were kafir (disbelievers), these leaders of various sects and schools of Islam called each other kafir as well. The change in the religious status of Ahmedis was effected through the passage of the Second Amendment to the Constitution, whereby a new Clause (3) was added to Article 260 explaining who is a non-Muslim, a person who does not believe in the absolute and unqualified finality of the Prophet hood of Muhammad (PBUH), or claims to be a Prophet, in any sense of the word or of any description whatsoever after Muhammad (PBUH), or recognises such a claimant as a Prophet or a religious reformer, is not a Muslim for the purposes of the constitution or law.

Although the amended Article 260 carries no specific reference to Ahmedis, the amended Article 106 (pertaining to provincial assemblies) mentions them among the non-Muslim faiths for whom seats would be reserved, ‘persons of the Qadiani group or Lahori group (who call themselves “Ahmedis”)’.15 Article 2A: The second clear violation of fundamental rights at the constitutional level was in 1985, when Zia-ul-Haq's Revival of the Constitution of 1973 Order (RCO), removed the word ‘freely’ from the paragraph of the Objectives Resolution which guaranteed nonMuslims the right to ‘freely profess and practice their religions and develop their culture’. Subsequently, it was validated through the

Eighth Amendment by which the Objectives Resolution became a substantive and operative part of the Constitution through the insertion of Article 2A. It was designed to provide constitutional cover for constraining Ahmedis from freely professing and practising their religion.

Discriminatory Laws The Hudood Ordinances, introduced by Zia as a part of his ‘Islamization’ process in 1979, include four laws: Offences against Property (Enforcement of Hudood) Ordinance, 1979 (Ordinance VI of 1979); Offence of Zina (Enforcement of Hudood) Ordinance, 1979 (Ordinance VII of 1979); Offence of Qazf (Enforcement of Hadd) Ordinance, 1979 (Ordinance VIII of 1979) and Prohibition (Enforcement of Hadd) Order, 1979 (President's Order 4 of 1979). All of them, in addition to the penalties already inscribed as a part of the penal code (now re-designated as ta'zir penalties), prescribe hadd (or Islamic law) punishments. These controversial laws are discriminatory against non-Muslims or in violation of their fundamental rights. First, since all the Hudood laws are said to be derived from Islamic sources, making nonMuslims liable to be punished under Islamic law could be construed as imposing the religion of the majority on minorities. Further complicating the issue is the fact that criminal laws are generally applicable to all citizens without exception. Second, the law requires witnesses against a Muslim accused to be adult, Muslim males. Thus, while Muslims can be valid witnesses against non-Muslims, the reverse does not hold. Moreover, the presiding officer of a court trying a case under the Hudood ordinances must be a Muslim, unless the accused is a non-Muslim in which case the presiding officer may be a non-Muslim. Again, a Muslim judge can preside over the trial of a Muslim, but a non-Muslim cannot do so in the case of a Muslim accused. Finally, the introduction of the Hudood (Offence of Zina) ordinance has had serious implications for the Christian law of divorce where adultery is the only valid ground for divorce. With

adultery becoming a punishable offence under the Hudood law, the implications of imputing adultery become serious. These provisions are in violation of the constitutional right of equality and the guarantee given under Article 227(3) that nothing under the ‘Islamic Provisions’ section would affect the personal laws of non-Muslims or their status as citizens. The Qanun-e-Shahadat Order16 (1984) that replaced the Evidence Act (1872) gives the courts the power to determine the competence of a witness in accordance with the qualifications prescribed by the injunctions of Islam. Pakistan Penal Code Amendments: Offences against Religion Blasphemy Laws In the 1980s, amendments were made in the Pakistan Penal Code (PPC) chapter on offences relating to religion. Earlier, the PPC, in the general provisions relating to all religions, prescribed relatively short terms of imprisonment for offences. The new provisions—the blasphemy laws—were only Islam- or Muslimspecific and prescribed extremely strong penalties for some offences. Section 298-A (1980) made the use of derogatory remarks in respect of certain Muslim Holy Personages a punishable offence, including any imputation, innuendo or insinuation, directly or indirectly. Section 295-B (1982) made defiling, damaging or desecrating the Holy Qur'an or its extracts or using it in a derogatory manner or for any unlawful purpose punishable by life imprisonment. Section 295-C (1986) made defiling the sacred name of the Holy Prophet, whether through spoken or written words or by visible representation or by imputation, innuendo or insinuation, directly or indirectly, an offence punishable by death. By introducing serious penalties like life imprisonment and capital punishment, and including words like ‘any imputation, innuendo or insinuation, directly or indirectly’, they have radically broadened the

scope for misuse of the law. Religious extremists have exploited these laws, often using false accusations, to perse-cute religious minorities, settle personal scores and for monetary gains. Moreover, since the public authorities like the complai-nants are predominantly Muslim, minorities become vulnerable to harsh punishments and ill treatment, undermining their funda-mental right to be considered innocent till proven guilty. In April 2000, President Musharraf tried to check the blatant misuse of this law by introducing the procedural safeguard of referring blasphemy cases to the deputy commissioner/district coordination officer for preliminary investigation and sanction. Opposition from the religious parties made the government back down. Ordinance XX (1984) introduced two new provisions in the PPC— Sections 298-B and 298-C that specifically targeted the ‘Ahmedis’ (Qadianis). Section 295-B made punishable the misuse of epithets, descriptions and titles reserved for certain holy personages or places of worship of Muslims; and the Qadianis call of prayer as Azan or its recitation like Muslims; and made punishable their calling themselves Muslim and preaching or propagating their faith. III

Citizenship and Minority Representation Issue of Joint and Separate Electorates The question of separate or joint electorates has been an important constitutional issue in Pakistan's history and a key test of equality, citizenship and representation. The Basic Principles Committee (1952) laid down the principle on separate electorates by allocating separate seats to the minorities. The minority members S.C. Chattopadhyaya, B.K. Datta and Prem Hari Barma, all recorded their dissent. The proponents of separate electorates argued that they formed the very basis of the creation of Pakistan, since during British rule separate electorates had been a consistent demand of the Muslims, to ensure their proportionate representation. After

Independence, with the Muslims in Pakistan in a predominant majority, there was no justification for establishing separate electorates, unless demanded by the minorities. There being no such demand, the 1956 Constitution did not provide for a separate electorate. The controversy was revived when Suhrawardy became prime minister in 1956 at a time when the National Assembly in West Pakistan was fanatically opposed to a joint electorate, whereas in East Pakistan the Assembly was overwhelmingly in favour. The Muslim League and religious parties like the Jamaat-i-Islami claimed that the Hindu majority wanted to exploit the divisions among the Muslims and branded supporters of joint electorate traitors to Islam. The irony of a majority demanding safeguards against a minority was completely lost on them. As a compromise, the Electorate Amendment Act, recommended separate electorates for West Pakistan and joint electorates for East Pakistan. However, the controversy refused to die, destabilizing governments. The Constitutional Commission (1960) set up by President Ayub Khan, examined why the religious minorities in Pakistan, in a religiously oriented society, should want a joint electorate, especially as the minorities in West Pakistan and a section of the scheduled caste in East Pakistan, earlier, had asked for separate electorates. Moreover, when Suhrawardy had espoused a joint electorate system, he claimed the Hindus desired it ‘due to a high sense of citizenship’ and a ‘keen desire to merge themselves in the majority’. The Commission stated that the behaviour and policies of the caste Hindus in Pakistan had not demonstrated any such emotion. Many upper-class Hindus in East Pakistan preferred not only to keep their families in India, but also sent earnings to that country. ‘Their (caste Hindus) demand for a joint electorate seems clearly to be for some ulterior purpose other than the welfare of Pakistan’. The Commission recommended separate electorates, ‘Till we can reasonably be certain that they have reconciled themselves to the continuance of Pakistan, it does not appear safe to have a joint electorate’.17

The Commission also suggested that the Citizenship Act should be suitably amended to prevent non-Muslims in East Pakistan from keeping their families in India while remaining in Pakistan, to earn money and remit it across the border—‘if a citizen of Pakistan feels that his family cannot be happy in Pakistan and has therefore to be left in India, he can hardly be trusted to be wholly loyal to Pakistan’.18 Ayub Khan rejected the recommendation, and the 1962 and the 1973 constitutions continued the system of joint electorates. Under the Fourth Amendment, some seats were reserved for the minorities in the National and Provincial assemblies and elections were held on the basis of proportional representation with a single transferable vote. The politics of electorate came to a head in 1977 when the opposition Pakistan National Alliance (PNA) comprising several religious parties, felt that it was at a disadvantage in the system of joint electorates. Votes of the minorities were believed to go to the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) because of its liberal and leftist views. Parties like the Jamaat-i-Islami, Jamiat-ul-Ulema-e-Pakistan and Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Islam felt that disenfranchising the minorities in elections to the general seats would be to their advantage. General Zia, who feared the resurgence of the PPP, willingly obliged. The Representation of the People Act (1976) was amended and separate electorates introduced in 1979.19 More importantly, separate electorates for minorities were now given constitutional recognition.20 None of the civilian governments that followed had the courage to revert to the system of joint electorates. In 1996, the PPP government of Benazir Bhutto announced a cabinet decision to undertake electoral reforms, including the provision of a dual vote to non-Muslim citizens, one for minority seats and the other for general (Muslim) seats. They would still not be eligible for contesting general (Muslim) seats. Bitter oppo-sition from religious parties persuaded the government to drop the matter. Separate electorate system continued till General Pervez Musharraf's LFO 2002, reintroduced joint electorates for the national

and provincial legislatures. Although the number of general seats was increased, the number of seats reserved for the minorities remained 10 or about 3 per cent, which is equivalent to their share in the population. There is no reservation for minorities in the Senate. Also, the method of election—on the basis of party lists—deprives independent candidates of the opportunity to contest seats, including reserved seats for women. And, whereas earlier, there were direct elections, under the current system, the seats reserved for minorities are allocated to political parties, proportionate to their representation in the concerned assembly. Moreover, local government elections are still on the basis of separate electorate. Discrimination with regard to Ahmedis continues. Under the joint electorate system, only a single voting list was required, however, under pressure from orthodox Muslim groups like the Tehreek-eKhatm-e-Nabuwat, the government retained a single list for all religious communities (Muslims, Hindus, Christians, Sikhs, Parsis and Buddhists) except Ahmedi voters, for whom there is a supplementary list.

State Policies and Actions Discrimination against the non-Muslim minorities and the violation of their rights has also resulted from specific state policies and actions and apathy or inaction of the state. General education reforms undertaken by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto's government involved taking over the management of private colleges and schools and while the reform21 was not specific to the institutions of non-Muslims, it affected them acutely as they ran several prestigious colleges. The regulation ended up undermining high-quality educational institutions and adversely impacted on the possibilities of education and employment of native Christians in the missionary institutions, thus reinforcing the depressed status of minorities. Officially prescribed education syllabus violates Article 22 which provides that no person attending any educational institution shall

be required to receive religious instructions, take part in any religious ceremony or attend religious worship relating to a religion other than his own. A study22 of the syllabus prescribed by the Boards of Education, government schools and universities, reveals that non-Muslims are exposed to Islamic teachings in the study of Urdu, Social Studies and Pakistan Studies. Urdu and Pakistan Studies are compulsory subjects up to the undergraduate level and the prescribed textbooks are replete with venom against religions other than Islam. Patriotism is insidiously linked to the citizens’ religion. And students who memorize the Holy Qur'an get twenty extra marks for admissions to institutions of higher education, employment and professional studies.23 Conversion remains a sensitive issue. Though there is no legal bar to conversion, the religious Muslim parties hold conversion from Islam to any other religion an offence punishable with death. Public reaction has been extreme as in the reported case of a Muslim convert to Christianity. The Imam of the mosque convened a Panchayat and ordered the man stoned to death for blasphemy. In the case of a wife who had adopted the faith of her Ahmedi husband, both husband and wife, were arrested.24 In practical terms, the freedom to convert extends only to conversion to Islam. The Human Rights Monitor25 recorded 64 cases of conversion to Islam in 1999, 113 in 2000, 125 in 2001 and 73 in 2002. In particular, there are reports of forcible conversion of non-Muslim girls, including minors to Islam. In January 2003, it was reported that at least 350 Christian women were kidnapped, forcibly married, converted to Islam and divorced soon thereafter. The Courts, largely, validate these practices; however, in 2002 in a case alleging kidnapping and marriage of a sixteen-year-old Christian girl to a Muslim, the Lahore High Court ruled that no minor could be removed from her parents’ home, even in the case of a conversion to Islam. The Court restored her to her parents.26

‘Offences against Religion’ provisions apply to both Muslims and non-Muslims, though there is the particularity of Ahmedi-specific provisions. Cases filed against non-Muslims have been disproportionate to their percentage in the population. In 2000, under the blasphemy provisions, thirty cases were filed against forty-nine Muslims, fifteen cases against fifty-one Ahmedis (twenty-five under blasphemy provisions and twenty-six under Ahmedi-specific provisions) and two against Christians. In 2001, under Section 295-C, fourteen cases were filed, eight against Muslims and six against non-Muslims (four Christians and two Ahmedis). In 2002, of the six persons convicted under the blasphemy law, three were non-Muslims.27 With growing intolerance fuelled by the orthodox religious parties, implicitly or explicitly supported by state organs, these provisions have proved effective in harassing and persecuting non-Muslim minorities and sects. Violence against minorities has met with state inaction or apathy, in violation of fundamental right to life and security (Articles 4 and 9) and the constitutional right to enjoy the protection of the law and to be treated in accordance with the law. The worst sufferers are the Ahmedis, but Hindus too are targeted, particularly in moments of tension with India. The Christian community became the prime target of harassment following ‘9/11’ and the US attack on Afghanistan. The graph of violence has been rising. In 2000, ten Ahmedis were killed, five of them when militants opened fire at their place of worship; five Hindu temples were vandalized, three Hindus were killed by Muslim mobs and thousands displaced. In 2001, eighteen Christians were gunned down in a church, two in a bomb attack; eight Ahmedis were killed in an attack on their place of worship, a police contingent demolished an Ahmedi place of worship following complaints by local orthodox elements. In 2002, attacks on Christian places of worship left thirty-eight people, mostly Christians, dead. Officially, there seems tacit encouragement, as manifest in allowing provocative rallies and

speeches in sensitive areas; inaction against offenders and inadequate protection and timely intervention. Appeasing minorities and lessening discrimination of minorities, the government in 2001 announced a grant of 15 million rupees to restore churches and other minority places of worship. By implementing the 5 per cent quota of non-Muslims in the police, their number is expected to reach 5,000, thus lessening discrimination. In addition reservations were to be increased for minorities in government jobs from 3 per cent to 10 per cent. In 2002, the government promulgated the Protection of Communal Properties ordinance by which the sale or transfer of property belonging to the minority communities—places of worship, educational institutions, health centres, vacant lands, and so on, was made subject to government clearance to check alienation of minority properties and lands. IV

Judiciary and Fundamental Rights Objectives Resolution The incorporation of the Objectives Resolution as a substantive part of the Constitution via Article 2A expectedly led to several constitutional challenges. The judiciary was in a quandary over the status of Article 2A vis-à-vis other constitutional provisions. In the case of a conflict between ordinary laws and constitutional provisions, the Constitution obviously prevailed, since laws derive their legitimacy from it; however, conflict between constitutional provisions was a different matter. Now, the Courts had to determine whether any constitutional provision could be declared null and void on grounds of repugnancy to the injunctions stipulated in the Holy Qur'an and Sunnah. In Habib Bank Limited Versus Muhammad Hussain (1987), Justice Tanzil-ur-Rahman observed that by virtue of Article 2A, the Book of Allah and the Sunnah of the Holy Prophet (PBUH) have become the

supreme law of Pakistan, and any contravening law void. However, a full Bench of the Lahore High Court in Ghulam Mustafa Khar Versus Pakistan (1988) held that the Objectives Resolution as embodied in Article 2A, was not ‘to be given a status higher than that of other provisions and used to defeat such provisions’. The High Courts of Sindh and Lahore adopted an identical view in Habib Bank Limited Versus Waheed Teethe Ltd and Kaniz Fatima Versus Wali Muhammad. The Supreme Court of Pakistan settled the issue in Hakim Khan Versus Government of Pakistan (1992), ruling that the Courts do not have the jurisdiction to declare any law invalid on the ground of it not being within the limits provided by Allah Almighty.

Role of Courts in Enforcing Minority Rights Freedom of Religion Article 20 provides for the rights of minorities to ‘profess, practice and propagate’ their religion, but adds the caveat of considerations of ‘law, public order and morality’. Complaints of violations of Article 20 have been plentiful, by Muslims and non-Muslims, and overwhelmingly by the Ahmedis, after the promulgation of Ordinance XX (1984) and the new provisions in the PPC chapter on ‘Offences Relating to Religion’. In 1957, the Supreme Court held that the phrase ‘subject to law’, does not permit the Legislature to take away a fundamental right, it may only be regulated. However, it observed that …while the legislature may not interfere with mere profession or belief, law may step in when professions break out in open practices, inviting breaches of peace or when belief, whether in publicly practicing a religion or running a religious institution, leads to overt acts against public order.28

Progressively, this argument came to be used to shift away from court judgements that had been in support of minority rights. In 1978, after Ahmedis had been constitutionally declared non-Muslims, the Supreme Court rejected the contention that no non-Muslim could

construct a place of worship resembling a mosque or call it a mosque/masjid or say Azaan or pray in the manner ordained for Muslims, arguing that it was not supported by any Qur'anic injunctions, traditions or the opinion of the Imams. Observing that Islam was a religion of tolerance, it held that non-Muslims were free to profess and practise their religion.29 The judgement upheld the right of Ahmedis to practise their religion in the same manner as Muslims. In 1984, shortly after its promulgation, Ordinance XX was challenged by a number of Ahmedis as violating the freedom of their faith and restraining them from practising their religion as guaranteed by Article 20 of the Constitution. The FSC explicated that the Ordinance was consequential on the Constitutional Amendment of 1974, which had been disregarded with impunity by the Qadianis; that is, restraining them from posing as Muslims or calling their faith Islam. Since it may deceive Muslims, the prohibition was imposed. The Court held that none of the prohibitions interfered with the right of Ahmedis to profess and practice their religion, however, it conceded that Clauses c and d of Section 298-C were in violation of the fundamental right of religions’ freedom and of equality and freedom of the speech as they penalized only the Ahmedis.30 However, in 1985, the FSC in a case challenging Ordinance XX, gave its interpretation a new twist of threatening public order by calling their faith Islam and propagating their religion freely. Under these circumstances, the Ordinance was covered by the ‘law and public order’ exception in Article 20.31 In 1992, in a case before the Lahore High Court, the Ahmedi petitioners challenged government orders banning their centenary celebrations as no genuine apprehension of breach of tranquillity had been expressed in the order. The Advocate General argued that if the views held in the books of Qadiani community were propagated publicly, not only would it amount to an offence under the Pakistan penal law, it would also outrage the religious feelings of the Muslims, the predominant majority in the country and ignite riots. Eventually, the Lahore High

Court upheld reasons of public policy and public good as a justifiable basis for banning the celebrations.32 In an appeal before the Supreme Court in 1993, Ahmedi petitioners challenged the Ordinance as ‘oppressively unjust, abominably vague, perverse, discriminatory’ and in violation of Articles 19, 20 and 25. Some 1,790 criminal cases had been registered against Ahmedis for offering daily prayers, use of Kalma Tayyiba, reciting Azaan, preaching religion, posing as Muslims and for using Arabic expressions like Assalam o Alaikum, that is, the religious practices of this minority that were permissible both under the Constitution and the law as held in other cases.33 The Court argued that since there was a constitutional mandate for preventing Ahmedis from claiming to be Muslims, such provision [Section 298-B (c) (d) PPC] could certainly be made an offence within the framework of the Constitution. Adding that no one has a fundamental right to outrage the religious feelings of others while propagating his own religion, the Court upheld Section 298-C, as consistent with the Constitutional provisions contained in Articles 19, 20 and 260(3). Thus, Ordinance XX of 1984 was not ultra vires of the Constitution.34 In a bail case (2000) where an Ahmedi petitioner was charged under Section 298-B for constructing a place of worship like a mosque and injuring the feelings of Muslims, the court held it to be a serious offence that had provoked Muslims and created an atmosphere of hostility between the Muslims and Qadianis. The court clarified that Sections 298-B and 298-C were brought on the statute book to keep the said minorities within certain limits of the law and protect the rights of the vast majority of Muslim citizens of Pakistan.35 The case law reveals that the judicial attitude underwent a U-turn after the promulgation of Ordinance XX. Rather than coming to grips with the essence of the issues concerning fundamental rights, the Courts tended to brush the matter under the carpet by shielding behind the rubric of public policy, law and order and legal technicalities, thereby denying the protection of law to the Ahmedi minority. Even more unfortunate, and ironic, has been the growing

emphasis on ‘protecting the rights’ of the Muslim majority, rather than those of the minorities. The judiciary's inclination has been to prevent a breach of peace by placing restrictions on minority groups so as to avert provoking the Muslim majority, rather than taking preventive or punitive action against them. Thus, there has been a gradual erosion of minority rights under Article 20 and even where certain provisions of the PPC were held to be ultra vires of the Constitution by the FSC, this decision was reversed by the Supreme Court. Admission Policy—Educational Institutions Article 22 guarantees that no person shall be required to receive religious instruction other than his own, prohibits discrimination on the grounds of religion alone with regard to admission in educational institution receiving public assistance and allows affirmative action by public authorities for the advancement of disadvantaged groups. Here, the case law is with regard to Muslim students studying in minority educational institutions. In 1965, the court held that, …if, for instance, an institution is wholly maintained by the Christian community, it may provide religious education in Christianity for its own Christian pupils, but Muslim pupils cannot be required to receive such education. The institution may, however, make provision for education of Muslim pupils in their own religion.

Moreover, if an educational institution received aid from public revenues, it could not refuse admission to a student merely on the ground of his race, religion, caste or place of birth. It could, however, regulate the admission on the ground of other factors, for instance, merit or residence.36 In 1975, the Peshawar High Court held that the denial of admission on the grounds of religion was in conflict with Article 22 of the Constitution.37 However, in 1976, the Sindh High Court, adjudicating a case relating to the admission of minority candidates to a medical college on the basis of general merit, ruled,

The categorisation of seats among the communities being a valid method for regulating admissions, it cannot be said that because an applicant falling in one category cannot compete with an applicant falling in another category, admission has been denied to him. He is denied admission because he is not qualified to be admitted from his own category on merit, as he has not obtained higher marks than others in his category. Therefore, if a person has been refused admission it is not on the ground of his religion only.38

In a series of judgements, the Sindh High Court juridically entrenched such religious discriminations in educational institu-tions (Abdul Qadir Bhatti Versus Government of Sindh 1976). The Courts gave tacit licence to educational institutions to devise an admission policy using religion as the yardstick. The logic behind reserving seats for minorities was to ensure that the minorities got a minimum opportunity to get admissions, but the Courts chose to interpret it to mean maximum representation allowed to minorities in educational institutions. Ironically, in a similar case relating to reserved seats for girls in a medical college (Pakistan Legal Decisions 1990 Supreme Court 292), the Supreme Court declared that the restriction of medical college seats for women, since it was discriminatory, violated Article 25. Public Office Article 25 provides for equality before law; Article 27 guarantees non-discrimination in public service appointments with the proviso of time-bound affirmative action; Article 41 stipulates that only a Muslim can be head of state. The mandatory oath of office for the prime minister—swearing that s/he is a Muslim, effectively debars non-Muslims from holding the two highest posts in the country. Also, non-Muslim judges and lawyers are discriminated in the FSC and under the Hudood Ordinances, unless the accused is a non-Muslim. Apparently, there were no major challenges to these provisions by non-Muslims, possibly because of the Islamic provisions in the Constitution. Moreover, the trend of the judgements of the superior court was not encouraging. Ironically, it is Muslim peti-tioners who have challenged the appointment of non-Muslims. A Karachi

advocate and former judge of the FSC constitutionally challenged the confirmation of Justice Bhagwandas (and a woman) to the Sindh High Court on the plea that Islam did not permit the choice of a nonMuslim as a judge. The Sindh High Court (2002) held that there was no constitutional bar to the appointment of non-Muslims on high court benches. Meanwhile, Justice Bhagwandas was elevated to the Supreme Court. The bench declared it had no authority or power to pass a restraining order against a judge of the Supreme Court.39 Of Reservations The Sindh High Court (1989) had before it the case of a parliamentarian belonging to the Hindu community that ‘reserved’ seats were not being treated equally with the Muslim seats, as the latter were contested on the basis of single-member constituency, while candidates for reserved seat for minorities had to contest on the basis of multi-member constituencies, which not only was difficult but also entailed double the expense. This, being discriminatory, was in violation of Article 25. The Court held that reserved seats had been provided for minority communities as an exception and if all other things had been equal, the provision of single-member constituencies for the minority communities would have been in violation of Article 25. But since all the other things were not equal and reserved seats stood on an entirely different footing from Muslim seats, there could not be any comparison between the two categories of the candidates.40 On Joint and Separate Electorates In 1993, a Christian lawyer filed a writ petition (No. 9077/930) in the Lahore High Court, claiming that he was entitled to contest a general seat for elections to the Provincial Assembly; and entitled to vote in general elections to the Provincial and National Assembly, not only for reserved seats, but also for general seats. The Election Commission rejected the request to entertain the petitioner's nomination papers for a general seat and to consolidate the list of Muslim and non-Muslim voters for election on the basis of joint electorates for the seat. The petitioner contended that (a) while Clause (1) of Article 51 of the Constitution (as amended by Zia-ul-Haq), relating to the National Assembly,

specifically men-tioned 207 ‘Muslim’ members to be elected by direct and free vote, clause (1) of Article 106 relating to Provincial Assemblies, contained no such injunction; (b) The provisions relating to qualifications for voters for general elections [in Articles 51(2) and 106(2)] did not make any religious distinction whatsoever. Dismissing the petition, the Lahore High Court held that other clauses provided for separate electorates and that ‘mere omission of the word “Muslim”…cannot be made the basis for nullifying the effect of other provisions of the Constitution’. As for entitlement of nonMuslims as voters for general/Muslim seats, it would result in giving minorities a double vote, and lead to discrimination in terms of Article 25. The Court stated, ‘Pakistan is an ideological State and the principle of separate elections is inherent in its ethos and thus no one can be permitted to raise any objection with regard thereto’. The petitioner immediately filed an appeal in the Supreme Court (No. 1147-L of 1993), as also a petition for the grant of an interim injunction. The chief justice granted the interim injunction—ordering the returning officer to issue the petitioner a nomination form; and to the Election Commission to consolidate the lists of all voters in the concerned constituency ‘since, prime facie, both Muslims and nonMuslims are eligible to vote in the election…’ (Interim orders were recalled). In 1994, before a seven-member bench of the Supreme Court, the attorney general (PPP government) opposed the petition as the Constitution embodied separate electorates. (The case was postponed and has still not been heard.) In 2001, two cases were filed before two benches of the Lahore High Court on whether local government elections to the offices of Nazim and Naib Nazim, and seats reserved for workers and peasants were to be held on the basis of joint or separate electorates. The Punjab Local Government Election Ordinance had specified separate electorates for other seats but was silent on the issue. The two Benches gave conflicting decisions, one upholding separate electorates, the other joint electorates. Finally, the Supreme Court stated that except for seats reserved for Muslims and nonMuslims, elections to these offices and seats could be contested by

persons irrespective of religion; and all voters, irrespective of religion, could jointly cast votes.41 V

Conclusion Every constitution of Pakistan has contained provisions relating to the fundamental rights, and the very concept of fundamental rights is that the law cannot take them away. But the ‘Islamic’ provisions in the Constitution, while they have not in themselves specified discrimination or derogation of the special rights of minorities (except in Article 2A and the FSC provisions), they have created ambiguity and the scope for conflict since they make fundamental rights open to interpretation. When there is ambiguity and conflict within the Constitution itself, the protection given to fundamental rights through Article 8 becomes practically meaningless. Moreover, the judiciary has not played a positive role in upholding or establishing the rights of religious minorities. The judiciary, is subject to the same biases as society, has also been swayed by the prevailing political climate. There is a marked difference in the attitude of the judiciary towards Ahmedis in the pre- and post-Zia era; and in the case of joint electorate issue, the Supreme Court was more effective in taking prompt and appropriate action in the Musharraf period than before it. On the whole, the state has made no concerted effort to safeguard minority rights, whether through policies directed towards creating greater tolerance or appreciation of minorities; reviewing and reforming the constitutional and legal system in this regard; or through affirmative action measures. Under the circumstances, the religious minorities in Pakistan are fully justified in feeling insecure, vulnerable, discriminated against and relegated to the status of second-class citizens.

Notes and References

1. Basic research for the study was conducted by Barrister Syed Masroor Shah, assisted by his Associates, Quratulain Sikander and Urooj Shuja'at Ali Janjua. 2. 1998 Census Report of Pakistan, Population Census Organisation, Statistics Division, GOP, Islamabad, December 2001. 3. Mohammad Munir, From Jinnah to Zia (Lahore: Vanguard Publications, 1979). 4. Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah, Speeches and Statements as Governor General of Pakistan, 1947–48. 5. Liaquat Ali, The Heart of Asia: Speeches in United States and Canada (Cambridge Mass: Harvard University Press, 1950); Pakistan Constituent Assembly Debates, 8–12 March 1949. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid. 8. Safdar Mahmood, Constitutional Foundations of Pakistan (Lahore: Publishers United, 1975), Para 1, Part 1, Annexure II of the Interim Report. 9. Hamid Khan, Constitutional and Political History of Pakistan (Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2001). 10. Ibid. 11. Report of the Constitution Commission, Pakistan (Karachi: Government of Pakistan Press, 1961): 116–20. 12. Constitution (Amendment) Order, 1979. President's Order 3 of 1979. PLD 2979 Central Statutes 31. 13. The Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan (1973) Third Schedule: Oaths of Office; http://www.pakistani.org/pakistan/constitution/ (last accessed 11 February 2009). 14. Mohammad Munir, From Jinnah to Zia (Lahore: Vanguard Press, 1979). 15. The Muslim community refers to Ahmedis in general in a derogatory sense as ‘Qadianis’, in reference to Qadian, a place in the district of Gurdaspur in India, which was their earlier centre, or as ‘Mirzais’ in reference to their spiritual leader, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad. Lahoris are a faction which split with the main body in Qadian and later in Rabwah and established their headquarters in Lahore. 16. President's Order 10 of 1984. PLD 1985 Central Statutes 14. 17. Ayesha Jalal, The State of Martial Rule: The Origins of Pakistan's Political Economy of Defence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 18. Ibid. 19. Representation of the People (Amendment) Ordinance 1979. Ordinance L of 1979. PLD 1979 Central Statutes 532. Section 47-A e. 20. Hamid Khan, Constitutional and Political History of Pakistan (Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2001); and President's Order No. 14 of 1985.

21. Martial Law Regulation No. 118. PLD 1972 Central Statutes 441. 22. A brief analysis of the Urdu textbook prescribed for three classes shows that for Class V of thiry-four chapters in the textbook, eleven (32 per cent) are based on Islam; in Class VI textbook, eighteen (40 per cent) out of forty-five; Classes IX and X textbook, sixteen (24 per cent) out of sixty-eight chapters. (Carried out by the National Commission for Justice and Peace, Lahore, Pakistan, April 2003.) 23. Report on the Religious Minorities in Pakistan 2002–2003, National Commission for Justice and Peace, Lahore, Pakistan. 24. State of Human Rights in 2001–02, HRCP. 25. Based on monitoring four newspapers, National Commission for Peace and Justice, Lahore. 26. State of Human Rights in 2002, HRCP. 27. State of Human Rights in 2000–02, HRCP. 28. Jibendra Kishore, Achharyya Chowdhry vs The Province of East Pakistan, PLD 1957 SC 9. 29. Abdur Rehman Mubashir vs Amir Ali Shah Bokhari, PLD 1978 Lahore. 113. 30. Mujeeb ur Rehman & others vs Federal Government of Pakistan, PLD 1984 FSC 136. 31. Mujib ur Rehman vs Federal Government of Pakistan, PLD 1985 FSC 8. 32. Mirza Khurshid Ahmed & others vs Govt of Punjab & others, PLD 1992 Lahore 1. 33. Abdul Rahman Mobashir & others vs Syed Amir Ali Shah Bokhari & others, PLD 1978 Lahore 113. Mujib ur Rehman & others vs Federal Government of Pakistan & another, PLD 1985 FSC 8. 34. Zaheer ud Din vs The State, 1993 SCMR 1718. 35. Ata Ullah vs the State, PLD 2000 Lahore 364. 36. Naseem Mehmood vs Principal King Edward Medical College Lahore, PLD 1965, Lahore 275. 37. Ejaz Aslam & another vs University of Peshawar & others, PLD 1975 Peshawar 186. 38. Kayomarz R. Ferozepurwala & others vs The Administrator, DOW Medical College Karachi & another, PLD 1976 Karachi 1039. 39. Editor's note: Justice Bhagwandas has become the acting Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Pakistan (2007). 40. Prem Kevalram Shahani vs Government of Pakistan, PLD 1989 Karachi 123. 41. Pakistan Supreme Court Monthly Review 2001 SCMR 1709.

8 Religious Minorities in Pakistan: Mapping Sind and Baluchistan♣ ISHTIAQ HUSSAIN Introduction Conservative estimates based on the 1998 official census indicated that religious minorities living in Pakistan make up nearly 4 per cent of the population with Hindus and Christians forming the largest ‘non-Muslim’ group followed by the Ahmadis. However, more realistic and recent community-based estimates suggest that the overall figure is likely to be twice that, representing more than 8 per cent of the total population. The state of Pakistan through discriminatory laws has made religious minorities second-class citizens, especially through the enactment of Islamic laws and in particular the blasphemy laws. The founding father of Pakistan had termed religious minority groups as equal citizens of Pakistan but successive governments and the changing nature of the power structure in Pakistan has undermined that vision. Successive governments propped up by insecure and non-representative ruling elite have sought legitimacy through the promulgation of Islamic penal codes, for example, the Hudood laws, which have targeted vulnerable minorities and women. Religious minorities in Pakistan do not enjoy equitable participation in local, regional and national politics; suffer discrimination in government employment and the general job market and they live in an overall environment of increasing intolerance and religious extremism. In schools and colleges, history books spread hatred towards religious minorities.

Religious minority members are easy target for kidnappers as police rarely take their cases seriously; they face hardships in recovery of credits and property; and politicians and government officials neglect the development needs of areas where they are concentrated. Moreover, given the fact that the minorities in one country are the majority in another, if there is violence against Muslims in India, Hindus in Pakistan become a target. More recently, the Christian community is facing violent backlash at the hands of hardliners after America's attack on Afghanistan. Christians face anger for political and economic reasons compounded by factors rooted in ‘land grabbing’ or racism. Ahmadis are well-organized and affluent, but official and societal anger puts many restrictions on their social and religious mobility and their organization. As regards the smaller communities—the Bahais, Buddhists, Ismailis and Parsis—their general level of economic self sufficiency and cosmopolitan contacts ensure their security against majoritarian backlash. The small size of the Sikh community and their dispersal gives them a sort of ‘invisibility’, and the common Muslim view of them being ‘anti-Hindu’ allows them a bit more space. It is the estimated four million Hindus, largely under-educated and under-employed, who may be in need of most support in Pakistan because they suffer from stigmatization and a lack of proper support networks. Hindus suffer due to the Indo-Pakistan discord and over the decades they have been seen as fifth colum-nists. The feudal nature of the Sindhi society, where the majority of the Hindu population lives, the collaborative relationship of the majoritarian Muslim Sindhi elite with the local administration, precludes the possibility of any redress for Hindu grievances. This chapter is structured in three parts. While the first captures the micro profiles of being ‘non-Muslim’ minorities in Pakistan; the second analyzes the legal and political narrative of discrimination and marginalization and the third draws upon a field-based mapping study of the demography and status of religious minorities, largely Christians and Hindus, in ten districts of Baluchistan and Sind.1 The

survey focused on the extent of the enjoyment of a whole range of rights enshrined in the international covenants and guaranteed in the Constitution and legal system in the country. It addressed their rights as a community and as individual citizens. Also, it examined the workings of structures and mechanisms that inflict injustice, discrimination and marginalization of religious minorities. I

Profiling Minorities in Pakistan Pakistan's population in 2008 was estimated to be 163.3 millions. In the last available census of 1998, the population was 137 million. Muslims accounted for 96.16 per cent while non-Muslims (religious minorities) accounted for 3.84 per cent of the population (Table 8.1). TABLE 8.1 Percentage Population by Religion

In the 1981 census, out of a total population of 84.3 million, Muslims accounted for 81.4 million, Christians 1.3 million, Hindus 1.3 million and Ahmadis 0.1 million. The decades of the 1980s and the 1990s saw a spurt in the overall population growth, largely because of the influx of millions of Afghan and some Iranian refugees as well as de-emphasis on family planning. In 1990, the total population of the minorities was 3.1 per cent or an aggregate figure of 3.7 million, comprising an estimated 1.8 million Christians, 1.7 million Hindus, 9,462 Parsis, 3,564 Buddhists and 2,898 Sikhs with the ‘others’ collectively estimated to be 13,640. In two years, the total population of the minorities stood at 4.2 million, with Christians and Hindus at

2.0 million each.2 The census of 1998 showed the minorities nearing 11–13 million. Ahmadis, Christians and Hindus claimed to have a population of 4 million each. Given the disadvantages and stigmatization, communities do not like to be identified as minorities. So the abovementioned figures may be an under-estimate, as some people may prefer not to identify their ethnic or religious background. There is generally no population figure available for Pakistan's smaller minority communities. More recent estimates place the minority population at 7–10 per cent of the total. Pakistani minorities consist of Ahmadis, Bahais, Buddhists, Christians, Hindus, Jains, Kalasha (of Chitral), Parsis and Sikhs. Except for the Ahmadis, they all accept being non-Muslim. Within these communities there are caste, class and denomination-based divisions as well as ethnic, gender, rural and urban distinctions.

Christians Christians are the largest religious minority community in Pakistan and while the 1998 census places them at 1.6 per cent of the population, the current figure is much higher. On the basis of the Catholic Church's record of births, and the members of the Protestant Church, it is closer to 2.5 to 3 per cent. Cities like Peshawar, and areas of Bahawalpur, Hyderabad, Rawalpindi and Quetta, have a sizeable number of Christians engaged in various professions in the service sector. There are converts, descendants of converts, Anglo-Indians/-Pakistanis and Western missionaries. The church organization is very similar to that in other South Asian countries with a definite Pakistani cultural and linguistic embodiment. The post-Partition changes in the economy along with the positing of a Pakistani identity based on Islamic uniformity have added to an anti-Christian sentiment and the disadvantaging of the Christian community. For example, many Christians in Punjab belonged originally to the farming communities but after independence, large numbers became landless, working as sweepers which further stigmatized them.

There has been a historical tradition of the Christians, in particular, and other non-Muslim communities in general, being involved in the social betterment of the communities now living in Pakistan through their educational institutions established during the British era. Their nationalization under Bhutto not only removed these prized institutions and crimped their chances to move up the socioeconomic ladder, but Pakistani society also forgot the educational, social and welfare contributions that had been made by the Christian (and other communities) to the country as a whole. Although a large number of foreign mission workers visit Pakistan, its tortuous procedures for obtaining resident and work visas has ensured that the churches are indigenously led. The absence of any confessed strategy of evangelism vis-à-vis the over-whelming Muslim majority would seem to minimize opportu-nities for foreigners to be useful. However, foreign church funds do sustain the social service projects, which help many poor Pakistani Christians who otherwise find little outreach from the churches in Pakistan. Many services to the Christian poor, includ-ing drug education and rehabilitation programmes, institutions for the handicapped and food programmes are sustained by outside funding. This promotes residual gratitude towards foreign Christians and highlights the leadership limitations of the local officials. For the native Christian churches, their real estate is a huge resource as well as the source of their problems. The church spires that dominate Pakistan's major cities are legacies of British rule when large tracts of prime real estate in the Raj cantonment areas— now the downtowns of Karachi, Lahore, Quetta and Pindi—were dedicated to cathedral and parish uses. After Independence in 1947, most of this real estate passed to the native Christian churches. The upkeep of these old buildings and the need to fend off Muslims and dissident Christians who want the land preoccupy the country's Protestant and Catholic hierarchies.3 Most pastors believe the best way to keep Christian–Muslim relations calm is to maintain a low profile in terms of evangelism and hunker down to protect the real estate from vultures within and

outside the community. Their strategy is to maintain good relations with the Muslim power brokers and hope that the Christian poor will remain faithful. Studies by the Christian Study Centre (CSC) in Rawalpindi reveal that Christians and other non-Muslims do not occupy higher positions in the civil services or armed forces, thus mak-ing for a sense of inequality. This lack of trust only further disem-powers a vast section of competent Pakistanis. While christians may be disliked and discriminated against, there have been no serious antiChristian riots in Pakistan. However, following the US-led war in Afghanistan, there has been a rise in attacks on Christian churches, schools and hospitals. These are often attributed to groups like the Jammat-i-Islami (JI), including the attacks on the Christian school in Murree and the chapel in Taxila Hospital in early August 2002. Christian women, though less than Hindu women, are vulnerable. The rape of seven Christian women on a bus returning from their factory outside Lahore in the summer of 2000 was widely deplored in Pakistan.4

Hindus Hindus are equivalent in number to the Christians, accounting for nearly four million of the population. They are divided into several castes and further intersected by ethnic diversity. After the partition of India, Hindus had a much smaller numerical presence in the newly created State of Pakistan. In August 1947, at the end of the British Raj, the population percentage of Hindus in what became Pakistan was between 15–20 per cent. However, by the 1998 Census, Hindus con-stituted about 1.6 per cent of the total population, and about 6.5 per cent of the population in the province of Sind (Table 8.2). The Pakistan census enumerates Schedule Castes separately. They make up 0.25 per cent of national population. Pakistan has the fifth largest population of native Hindus. Over 65 per cent of the Hindu population is young.

TABLE 8.2 Hindu Population by Percentage

Districts hosting a majority Hindu population in Sind are Tharparkar (370,014) and Khairpur (43,616); in Punjab are Rahim Yar Khar (75,400) and Rajan Pur (11,400); in Baluchistan are Sibi and Naseerabad and in NWFP (North-West Frontier Province) are Peshawar (1,100) and Manshera (1,000). Hindus are most concentrated in the Sind province of southeast Pakistan. Before Partition, most Hindus in today's Pakistan were urban, highly educated and economically advantaged. Most middle- and upper-class Pakistani Hindus immigrated to India after the 1947 Partition. Those who remained tended to be poorer and rural. Lacking the resources to organize politically (large numbers are bonded labour), Hindus have remained politically and economically marginalized in Pakistan. Hindus as a minority in Pakistan have few privileges, rights and protections. Cultural marginalization, discrimination, eco-nomic hardships and religious persecution have driven many Hindus to convert to Islam and Christianity. As Hindus are not ‘People of the Book’ like Christians, de-facto they have been given fewer rights by the Muslim majority than the country's Christians. Of course de jure Hindus have equal rights under the law. Pakistani Hindus suffer due to the communalization of IndoPakistani politics and their inter-state rivalries. The desecration of Hindu temples during the Indo-Pakistani wars of 1947–48, 1965,

1971 and again in December 1992, following the destruction of the Babri Mosque in India are inextricably linked with the rise in communal hatred. The community is generally depressed, under-educated and under-employed. The feudal nature of the Sindhi society and its collaborative relationship with the local administration precludes the possibility of any redress for Hindu grievances (Box 8.1). The landless peasants, nomads and Dalits among the Hindus suffer from multiple deprivations. BOX 8.1

Hindus in Sind at Risk

Pakistan Hindu Council states Hindus in Sindh are insecure because of the rising number of kidnappings and murders. According to Nisar Khuhro of the Pakistan People's Party (PPP), more and more of them are being kidnapped for ransom. On 2 March 2007 the BBC reported the disappearance of Garish Kumar from Umerkot. His father, a local trader says nobody in authority is interested in taking up the case because the victim was a Hindu. Hindu women in particular are vulnerable to kidnappings and forcible conversions. Source: Irfan Hussain, ‘Open Season on Minorities’, Dawn, 2 June 2007.

The Pakistan Hindu Panchayat (PHP) and the Pakistani Hindu Welfare Association (PHWA) are the primary civic organizations that represent and organize Hindu communities on social, economic, religious and political issues. Since 1998, the Hindus have demonstrated a degree of political mobilization to protect their interests. As the Hindu population gains confidence in their political organizations and if they continue to build alliances with other minorities, their condition may improve.5 Some mainstream Pakistani parties, including the Sind Democratic Party and individual Muslim intellectuals have expressed support for Hindu aspirations. Hindus still remain at risk for intercommunal violence. However, political alliances with other communities and secularly oriented parties may alleviate this danger. The stability of Sind could depend on such

alliances, as they may be necessary to meet the desperate resource needs of many ethnic groups.

Ahmadis: Qadianis According to the 1998 Census, Ahmadis account for 0.22 per cent of the population and are divided into the Lahori and Qadiani groups. Both the leaderships, the London-based and the native elite of the movement are predominantly Punjabi, with smaller communities in other provinces. After their designation as a non-Muslim minority, many moved to Europe and elsewhere, although their cultural, family and language links with the Punjab remain strong. Most of their propagation activities have shifted to the West. Their television programmes, largely beamed from London, in English, German, Urdu and other languages, generally centre on religious issues, with Urdu programmes on ‘Muslim Television Ahmadiyya’ focusing on the teachings of the leader, Mirza Tahir Ahmad. Their publications view their designation as a minority as politically motivated. However, they do not dispute the claim of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, the founder of the movement, to be the Messiah/Mahdi or Mehdi-i-Mauood (the promised prophet). Founded in 1889, the movement initially remained confined to the Punjab and some of its leaders, like Sir Zafrullah Khan, played a very important role in the freedom movement and went on to distinguish himself as Pakistan's first foreign minister. However, after Bhutto's anti-Ahmadi legislation in 19746 declaring the Ahmadis a non-Muslim minority, Zia in 1984 proscribed Ahmadi's abilities to profess their (Muslim) identity, visibly congregate or publicly express their faith.

Sikhs, Parsis, Bahais and Kalasha The Sikhs are mostly Punjabis with smaller traditional com-munities in Karachi and NWFP. There are a few Sikhs in the tribal areas that are bilingual and have a close relationship with Sikhs in Afghanistan. During the Taliban's ascendancy, many Afghani Sikhs migrated

abroad, with just a small number coming to Pakistan. The Sikhs remain reasonably secure compared to other religious communities, as most popular resentment is reserved for Christians and Hindus. Parsis are strictly an urban and entrepreneurial community based in Karachi and Lahore, with a few families in other major cities. Due to their strong commercial links, the non-evangelical nature of their faith and a steady outward migration to North America, the Parsis remain ‘less visible’ in Pakistan, and there are no reports of harassment or anger specifically directed against them. Some Parsis, like Bahram Avari, Bapsi Sidhwa, the Dinshaws, the Markers and the well-known columnist, Ardeshir Cowasjee, are national role models. The Bahais are, in general, converts and middle-class urbanites who publish magazines and books but keep a very low profile. The Bahai religion began in Iran (Persia) in the 19th century before spreading to South Asia. So far they have escaped any collective anger from other majority communities due to their small number and limited activities. The Kalasha of Chitral are an old community; folklore has it, of Greek origin. In the past they ruled Chitral, although now they live in three small, landlocked hamlets and are extremely poor. Since the late 19th century, the Kalasha (locally called ‘Kafirs’) have been under great pressure to convert to Islam. They are divided by the Durand Line demarcating the Pakistan–Afghan border. In the 1890s, Amir Abdur Rahman, the religious King of Kabul, forcibly converted many of the Afghan Kalasha to Islam. Some of them sought protection on the Pakistani side of the Line. They are estimated to number a bare 3,000. Their isolated, mountainous region and way of life has protected them from outside influences. However, the tourist attraction of their valleys in the Hindu Kush has drawn attention to these small communities. Even more unsettling has been the impact of Islamic activism since the 1970s, emphasized in the uniform school syllabus and the emphasis on Urdu and Arabic in the official schools. The unique religio-cultural identity of the Kalasha is under pressure.

Some estimates place the number of Pakistanis belonging to minority communities at 10–13 million, with Christians, Hindus and Sikhs among the most prominent. It should be remembered that this number does not include several Muslim denominations, which do not wish to be identified as minorities. These include Shias, among who are Ismailis and Zikris—Muslim communities that are deeply disturbed by Sunni de-mands that they be designated as minorities. Moreover, the Ahmadis—officially declared a ‘minority’—refuse to be cate-gorized as non-Muslims. It should be remembered that in what became Pakistan, the minorities have a long history of residence, and some were present before Islam was introduced to the region. They opted for Pakistan and in the process Bahais, Christians, Hindus, Parsis, Sikhs and others, all experienced partition and suffering, along with the Muslim community. Minorities have stood by other citizens in defence of Pakistan, their homeland, yet have received only insecurity and deprivation from successive governments and certain elements of the majority community. All the way from the Objectives Resolution to more recent times, regimes have opportunistically pandered to a policy of segregation between Muslims and non-Muslims and, sadly, this segregation has become multi-dimensional.7

‘Equal Citizenship for All in Pakistan’: Founding Father's Democratic Vision In the 1930s and the 1940s, the demand for a separate Muslim state emerged as a focal point for converging socio-economic forces. For the emerging Muslim elite in British India, Pakistan symbolized a cohesive, binding force enabling disparate Muslim communities to break free of the permanent bondage to an overpowering majority.8 To the landless peasants, it represented a utopia, and for others it held the promise of a trans-regional Muslim identity in a revivalist sense.9 Jinnah and his modernist Muslim colleagues envisioned Pakistan as a progressive, democratic and tolerant society, which, while

retaining Muslim majority, would give equal rights to its non-Muslim citizens (Box 8.2). The basis of this tolerant society was to be the separation of religion and state as articulated in his speech to the first Constituent Assembly of Pakistan on 11 August 1947. Jinnah said: You are free; you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other places of worship in the state of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or caste or creed—that has nothing to do with the business of the state…We are starting with this fundamental principle: that we are all citizens and equal citizens of one state. Now, I think we should keep that in front of us as our ideal and you will find that in course of time Hindus would cease to be Hindus and Muslims would cease to be Muslims, not so in the religious sense because that is the personal faith of each individual, but in the political sense as citizens of the state.

Supporting this ‘secular’ orientation, it is relevant to recall that several Muslim religio-political parties in India had rejected the idea of Pakistan as anathema because secular and ‘westernized’ Muslims were fielding it. Subsequently, the majority of Indian Muslims voted for the Jinnah-led Muslim League. However, over the succeeding decades, especially in the 1970s and the 1980s, the Pakistani state, underwent a major shift that undermined equal rights and equal opportunities to its Muslim and non-Muslim citizens. BOX 8.2 Q.

Mohammad Ali Jinnah: Excerpts of Interview, 14 July 1947, New Delhi

Could you as governor-general make a brief statement on the minorities’ problems? A. At present, I am only governor-general designate. We will assume for a moment that on August 15 I shall be really the governor-general of Pakistan. On that assumption, let me tell you that I shall not depart from what I said repeatedly with regard to the minorities. Every time I spoke about the minorities, I meant what I said and what I said I meant. Minorities to whichever community they may belong will be safeguarded. Their religion or faith or belief will be secure. There will be no interference of any kind with their freedom of worship. They will have their protection with regard to their religion, faith, their life, their

culture. They will be, in all respects, the citizens of Pakistan without any distinction of caste or creed. They will have their rights and privileges and no doubt along with this goes the obligations of citizenship. Therefore, the minorities have their responsibilities also, and they will play their part in the affairs of this state. As long as the minorities are loyal to the state and owe true allegiance, and as long as I have any power, they need have no apprehension of any kind. Q. What are your comments on recent statements and speeches of certain Congress leaders to the effect that if Hindus in Pakistan are treated badly they will treat Muslims in Hindustan worse? A. I hope they will get over this madness and follow the line I am suggesting. It is no use picking up the statements of this man here or that man there. You must remember that in every country there are crooks, cranks and what I call mad people. Q. Would you like minorities to stay in Pakistan or would you like an exchange of population? A. As far as I can speak for Pakistan, I say that there is no reason for any apprehension on the part of the minorities in Pakistan. It is for them to decide what they should do. All I can say is that there is no reason for any apprehension so far as I can speak about Pakistan. It is for them to decide. I cannot order them. Q. Will Pakistan be a secular or theocratic state? A. You are asking me a question that is absurd. I do not know what a theocratic state means. Q. [A correspondent suggested that a theocratic state meant a state where only people of a particular religion, for example, Muslims, could be full citizens and non-Muslims would not be full citizens.] A. Then it seems to me that what I have already said is like throwing water on a ducks’ back. When you talk of democracy I am afraid you have not studied Islam. We learned democracy thirteen centuries ago. Source: Mohammad Ali Jinnah, Speeches and Statements 1947–48. Karachi: OUP, 2000.

Scholarly opinion on this change in Pakistani official and societal attitudes varies. One group argues that the demand for Pakistan had hinged on Muslim majority provinces and used Islamic symbols for mobilization, thus predicating a Muslim majoritarian bias. Therefore, despite the Muslim League's assurances to minorities, the party's Muslim credentials were pronounced both during the colonial and the

national periods. Other scholars root it in the enduring contest between the religious and the liberal positions regarding nationalism. Like the Muslim League and the other Islamic parties such as JI, the Indian National Congress was arrayed against the Hindu Mahasabah and other such fundamentalist groups. The weakening of modernist forces from inertia, exhaustion or disarray, allowed these rival forces to achieve power. As with the Hindu Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in India, the Islamicist forces in Pakistan have rewritten South Asian history to suit their religious views. A third group of scholars explain the rise of unilateralism over pluralism as being due to economic and political reasons. The masses’ continued economic and political disempowerment that has encouraged the emergence of counter forces which are proposing an alternative to the ‘westernized’ paradigms. Still others locate the roots of xenophobia as embedded in the nature and aspirations of South Asia's middle classes, for whom regional and sectarian identifications remain paramount. There are some who emphasize the role of individuals like Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Zia-ul-Haq, among others, who co-opted and encouraged obscu-rantist forces—to seek legitimacy or mobilize a political constit-uency. Finally, the globalists see political Islam re-emerging as the rallying point to counter the overpowering forces of westernism. Our basic position is that there is nothing inevitable about Pakistan's shift from a Jinnahist to a more Jihadi (Islamic fundamentalist) course. As we shall detail later, opinion surveys indicate that most people in Pakistan still believe in tolerance and coexistence and would like to revert to the original dream.10 However, inter-community relationships have been severely distorted by the acrimonious Indo-Pakistani relationship. While Muslim anger has been directed against Hindus in Pakistan; in India, Hindu fundamentalists treat Muslims as scapegoats or regard them as traitors. In this exclusionary process of nationalism(s), other commu-nities have been deeply affected, including Christians in both countries, and Ahmadis and Shias in Pakistan. This concept of majoritarianism

is fallacious, as both Islam and Hinduism are not monolithic. In Pakistan, the growing emphasis on ‘Muslimness’ has not only caused justifiable concern among non-Muslims, but the intra-Muslim ideological divides have also become more acute as apparent in the growing discovery of ‘enemies from within’. This is translated in the rising incidence of Shia–Sunni violence.

Jinnah's Vision Vanishes Jinnah had envisioned Pakistan as a tolerant and egalitarian society, where state and religion would be separated. However, his vision of constitutional politics was thwarted by a growing accent on administration rather than governance. The regional disparities between East and West Pakistan were used to delay the framing of a Constitution. In the meantime, the Indian Act of 1935 and the Independence Act of 1947 remained the constitutional guidelines for the regimes. These documents, dating from the Raj, despite their inherent communitarian definitions, including separate electorates, were generally secular. They stipulated a limited franchise based on age, education, landholding and tax payment. For Pakistan to have its own political identity, it needed its own Constitution rather than continuing with imperial traditions and rules. Moreover, the Pakistani elite wanted to look different from ‘secular’ India to construct a pronounced Muslim identity. Subsequently, many regimes would use the Islamic factor, not only for nation-building purposes but also for legitimizing their policies. Alongside these political convulsions, the administrative and economic structures remained static. In short, the state and society failed to achieve interdependence. In the 1950s, land reforms were introduced in a partisan manner, implemented in the eastern wing; whereas feudal West Pakistan remained untouched. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto's land reforms in 1972 were cosmetic as landowners were advised in advance to distribute their properties among their families. Most of the politicians in Pakistan's Assemblies come from feudal families. These feudal families have vast trans-regional and trans-ethnic matrimonial links; and their links

with the professional classes, further guarantee the protection of their class-based interests. Significantly, the religious ulama or clerics, despite their lower middle-class or peasant origins, have not campaigned for the eradication of feudalism. In rural Sind, heinous practices such as ‘honour killings’, marriages with Qur'an (mock marriages) are prevalent. In the NWFP, the tribal system has been shaken up due to migration and socio-economic development in the region. Within Baluchistan, especially in the Bugti and Marri areas, it remains ascendant. In Baluchistan, the chieftains like the Sindhi Waderas (big landowners) exercise absolute control. The clerics in the Pushtun society have a higher status than those in Baluchistan, although in rural Sind, the Syeds (holy people) and the Sufi orders (piri-muridi), attached to the shrines of early Sufis command greater allegiance among the people. A Syed or Pir Wadera is more powerful than an ordinary Wadera. Despite the chauvinist and power-based structures underlying these systems, they have generally offered protection to non-Muslim minorities. The non-Muslim minorities—however affluent—do not enjoy equal social status.11

Partition and Demographic Changes The partition of the Indian subcontinent into India and Pakistan in August 1947 resulted in one of the largest and the most rapid migrations in human history with an estimated 14.5 million people migrating within four years. Pakistani Punjab saw 19.7 per cent of its population leave. By 1951, 25.5 per cent of its population was from across the border. In Indian Punjab, 40.4 per cent of the population left and in 1951, 18.8 per cent of the population was migrants.12 The percentage of Muslims fell from 32 per cent in 1931 to 1.8 per cent by 1951 in districts that were to end up in Indian Punjab. Similarly, in the districts that became part of Pakistani Punjab, the percentage of Hindus and Sikhs fell from 22 per cent to 0.16 per cent.13 Partition left Punjabis divided by the Indo-Pakistani border— Muslims fled east Punjab after killings and mass expulsions, and

Hindus and Sikhs fled killings in west Punjab. Christians mainly concentrated in undivided Punjab, which, religiously, was the most plural of all the British provinces, were also seriously affected. As far as the 565 princely states were concerned, their plural societies were initially protected, but with India and Pakistan's desire for their integration, voluntary as well as forced population transfers followed. In particular, many Muslims from the princely states of Jammu and Kashmir, Junagardh and Hyderabad moved to Pakistan, whereas Bahawalpur and other such predominantly Muslim states saw an outflow of Hindus to India.14 The 1970 civil war between East and West Pakistan and the emergence of the new state of Bangladesh led to more transregional migration. In 1979, following the Iranian Revolution and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, refugees from these two neighbouring countries added to Pakistan's population.15 All this has resulted in radical demographic changes that have fed into already highly competitive and volatile inter-community relationships.

Tricks of Constitutions In 1949, a year after Jinnah's death, Prime Minister Liaquat Ali Khan introduced the Objectives Resolution. This document tried to placate the Muslim clerics and equally tried to establish Pakistani nationhood on the principle of religious conformity. Accordingly, the rules and regulations were to be framed in consonance with Islam, allowing a greater role for the ulama, who felt emboldened by this greater recognition. The ulama's sectarianism came into the open in 1953. They wanted the regime to declare Ahmadis a non-Muslim minority and remove Pakistan's first Foreign Minister, Sir Zafrullah Khan, an Ahmadi. The violence led to the imposition of the first martial law in Lahore and the arrest of several religio-political leaders, including Syed Abul Ala Maudoodi, the founder of the Jammat-i-Islami. He was tried and sentenced to death (eventually commuted). This was the first time that the religio-political parties had pressurized the regime in Karachi to play arbiter on religious affairs. The regime resisted but the ulama found a common allying point that they would

more effectively use twenty years later. Maudoodi's trial exposed serious intra-Muslim differences within the ulama over the definition of a Muslim.16 Other than the interim legislation of 1947 and the Objectives Resolution of 1949, Pakistan has had four Constitutions since its independence. Viewed from the framework of a minority rights lens, Pakistan's successive Constitutions represent a steady movement towards institutionalization of exclusion and segregation of minorities. This has legitimized wider socio-economic segregation of minorities and other underprivileged groups such as women. The 1956 Constitution largely reflected the spirit of the Objectives Resolution and officially declared Pakistan an ‘Islamic Republic’. Ayub Khan's 1962 Constitution retained the Objectives Resolution as the Preamble but dropped the word ‘Islamic’ from the country's title. His successor, General Yahya Khan, offered a legal framework order —an interim constitutional arrangement that did not segregate minorities, nor did it co-opt the religious groups. Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto's 1973 Constitution was singular in that it was adopted by elected representatives, thus reflecting opinions across the country. The Objectives Resolution, once again, became the Preamble of the Constitution, Islam became the state religion and the occupants of the two highest offices in the country—the President and the Prime Minister—were required to be Muslim. The religio-political elements such as the JI and Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (JUI) called for more Islamic clauses to be inserted into the Constitution. Bhutto himself initiated the process of introducing Islamizing amendments to the Constitution, which was consolidated by Zia. Bhutto's anti-Ahmadi legislation converted the National Assembly—a political institution—into a forum which defined a community's creed and religious profile. Zia-ul-Haq Constitutional Amendments The Eighth Amendment (1985) to the Constitution changed the entire spectrum of policies and attitudes towards minorities and women. Zia's own religiosity, his effort to woo religious parties like

the JI and JUI, and his strategy to counter the revolutionary impact from neighbouring Iran, all underwrote these amendments. Under Zia-ul-Haq, a military–clerical nexus was installed in Pakistan. Zia favoured Sunnis over Shias and scripturalists over the syncretists. The introduction of ushr, zakat and other Islamic taxes provoked protest from Shia groups, with the regime agreeing to some official concessions. Zia posed as the Amir ul Momineen (leader of the faithful), with the help of a pliant media controlled by his generals. Zia established the Federal Shari'at Courts and superimposed its verdicts on the country's elected institutions, bringing all existing laws in line with the ‘Injunctions of Islam’. By bringing in Article 260, which specified who was a Muslim and a non-Muslim, the state defined the religions of its citizens, in addition to offering an exclusionary definition of Islam. The second Amendment (1974) had declared the Ahmadis a non-Muslim minority, Zia's Ordinance XX 1984 prohibited any Ahmadi from identifying as a Muslim and making it a punishable offence. Many Ahmadis were tried and convicted for calling themselves Muslims or using the word ‘mosque’ for their place of worship. Anti-blasphemy Code and Legal Exclusion The Zia regime's various amendments and additions to the Penal Code resulted in severe socio-legal discrimination against minorities. The blasphemy laws established a unilateral system in which any male Muslim can institute litigation. The law prohibits women and minorities from initiating blasphemy cases. The Zia law of evidence (Qanoon-i-Shihadah)—equating the evidence of two women or two non-Muslims to that of a single male Muslim—further disempowers non-Muslims and women, while making it easier for Muslim men to pursue legal proceedings against the accused party. The 1885 Blasphemy Laws of the Raj were introduced to outlaw the inflaming of religious hatred. These laws became part of the Pakistan Penal Code as Section 295. Pakistan, under Zia, added two new clauses: B—which brings within the punitive ambit of the law, ‘defilement’ derogatory use of the Holy Qur'an, and C—which widens ‘intention’

to include ‘imputation, innuendo or insinuation, directly or indirectly’, and the death penalty. In February 1994, Pakistan Law Commission led by the Chief Justice found that the anti-blasphemy clause was being frequently misused by the police and recommended its review by the Islamic Ideology Council. Benazir Bhutto's government agreed but following nationwide demonstrations, the PPP regime backtracked. Musharraf's regime also failed to remove them because of the outcry of fundamentalists. The anti-blasphemy code has been used against both Muslims and non-Muslims. According to some reports, there are more Muslims in jail accused of blasphemy than non-Muslims.17 In August 2002, Rukhsana Bunayad, became the first ever Muslim woman to be arraigned on a charge of blaspheming against the Qur'an in a public meeting in Mianwali. The Qisas and Diyat Ordinance brought in by Zia—Sharia laws regarding murder and blood money—have been part of the Penal Code since 1990. Qisas and Diyat are age-old tribal traditions, which allow revenge or payment of blood money. These ordinances have severely hampered minorities’ and women's ability to obtain equal rights and due justice, especially in adverse situations. First, both women and minorities are completely disadvantaged as witnesses given the law of evidence. Second, the ordinances offer a parallel system of private justice where any kind of miscarriage of justice is possible. For example, the consumption of alcohol was banned in Pakistan under Zulfikar Ali Bhutto in 1976, but non-Muslims were allowed to consume, manufacture and purchase it via permits. However, this system has led to corruption and discrimination. While the Muslim religious elements denigrated non-Muslims for immoral practices, corrupt officials encouraged some non-Muslims to run illicit sales. This lowered the self-esteem of Christians, especially, as the prohibition law has led to a kind of ‘moral degradation’ of the community and has undoubtedly criminalized certain sections of their communities.

Political Separatism Significantly, people in Pakistan have usually voted for the mainstream non-religio-political parties. Also, Pakistanis, gener-ally have not sought separate electorates. It was Zia who divided Pakistanis into Muslim and non-Muslim voters. In 1984, Article 51 was amended (Clause 4A) and the segregationist regime of separate electorates for minorities was established. In other words, nonMuslims would have their own constituencies and separate representatives. Despite living side by side with Muslims, they would not share the same voting rights and constituencies. Their constituency may be shared with people they have never met or who live hundreds of miles away. Similarly, their representative may be a total stranger to them. Moreover, the Muslim representatives, even if they live in the same town, would have no concern for them (Box 8.3). BOX 8.3

Christian and Hindu Votes Impact Fifty National Assembly Seats

Non-Muslim minorities can make a difference in no less than fifty National Assembly seats, says a study by a Christian organization of the 1993 elections. The basis of the study is the difference between the votes polled by the winning and the losing candidates, which in these seats was far less than the number of the registered non-Muslim voters in the constituency. The study shows that the Hindu population is so concentrated in Sanghar, Tharparkar and Mirpur Khas that they could tilt the balance in three to five seats, and make a difference in Jacobabad, Hyderabad, Khairpur, Ghotki, Badin and Karachi with the help of Christians and other communities. Christian voting population can influence election results in at least thirtyfive National Assembly constituencies in the Punjab and one in the NWFP. There are five such constituencies in Lahore, four each in Faisalabad and Sheikhupura, three each in Kasur, Sialkot and Gujranwala and two each in Sargodha, Okara and Sahiwal districts. In the NWFP they can decisively influence the results in Chitral constituency. Almost all elections held since 1985 show that non-Muslim voters could have made a big difference. The PPP won from Faisalabad-VI by a margin of only 159 votes. The number of non-Muslim votes in the area was 11,065.

Similarly, the Pakistan Muslim League (PML) won from Sialkot-III by 391 votes. The Christian voters there numbered 12,568. Source: Mahmood Zaman, ‘Minorities Upbeat on Joint Electorate’, Dawn, 19 January 2002.

Zia's Presidential Order specified ten seats in the National Assembly for non-Muslims (four for Christians; four for Hindus; one for Sikhs and Parsis together and one for Ahmadis) and similarly in the four Provincial Assemblies (for example, in Sind, nine seats were reserved for non-Muslims; five for Hindus; two for Christians; one for Sikhs and one for Ahmadis; in Baluchistan, one seat was reserved for Christians, and one for Hindus, Sikhs and Parsis combined). The system of separate electorates put the minority leadership in a dilemma. If they chose non-participation, they would be totally disenfranchised, whereas participation would be seen as supporting enforced segregation. Before the 1993 elections, a minority candidate for the Punjab Assembly, Naeem Shakir, had gone to court. The Supreme Court initially allowed Muslim and non-Muslim voters to cast their votes interchangeably across the religious boundaries in his constituency. However, a larger bench of the Supreme Court in October 1993 reversed its earlier verdict. Naeem Shakir was disallowed from contesting. The forced segregation resulted in representatives from the majority community ignoring development schemes in the areas inhabited by minorities since they did not fall within their constituencies. In the same way, most of the minorities, who were already poor, could not reach their representatives, either because they did not know them or had no means of contacting them. Over the last two decades, many civic groups, Muslim and nonMuslim, have demanded the annulment of this harmful and immensely discriminatory policy.18 It was only after the US action against the Taliban and US pressure on the government for reforms, that President Pervez Musharraf, in early January 2002, abolished the separate electorates as well as the reserved seats for minorities. Musharraf also removed the statement regarding reaffirmation of the finality of prophethood on the voter's registration form, which had

seriously affected the Ahmadis. However, within months the regime was obliged to rescind its decision and restored the practice in May 2002. Musharraf had increased the overall number of seats in the National and Provincial Assemblies, and also those reserved for women and minorities. However, meagre economic resources and a lack of organizational means have made it nigh impossible for minority candidates to contest elections on their own.

Majoritarian Pakistan Zia ushered in a socio-political ethos in which the notion of Pakistan as a sovereign country was declared an ideological construct, rooted in Islam, which simply added to prevalent ambiguities about its national identity. In addition to civic and social costs, Pakistan experienced an economic downturn because of a hostile attitude towards investments, and some economic practices warded off potential investors. Politically, rulers have browbeaten their opponents using Sharia. For example, Sharif's supporters aligned with the religio-political parties, and used Islam and Sharia to embarrass Benazir Bhutto, denouncing a woman's leadership of a predominantly Muslim country. Using religious populism, Sharif's supporters demanded the implementation of Sharia laws. In the end, it was a discomfited Sharif, who as prime minister, was obliged to fulfill the demand of his coalition partners to impose Sharia laws in every sphere. For example, religious legislators demanded the end to riba (interest on loans and savings) and other radical changes, which deeply unnerved him. To pre-empt growing pressure from the religious parties, a watered-down version of the Sharia Bill was pushed through by Sharif's Muslim League government in the National Assembly. The new legislation reinforced the Objectives Resolution and the other Islamic clauses in the 1973 Constitution, further Islamicizing Pakistan. It required the government to Islamicize the national judicial, educational and economic system. Such provisions simply

ignored the plurality of Pakistan and displayed a disregard for nonMuslims’ aspirations. The exclusion of minorities from socioeconomic life, higher positions in the civil and military sectors had been the everyday experience of discrimination and racism across the country. Now, Pakistan's officially institutionalized discrimination added another dimen-sion to the marginalization of minorities and women. The emphasis on exclusionary nationhood as portrayed in the various forms of constitutional arrangements from the Objectives Resolution to Zia's amendments has entrenched minorities’ feelings of inequality. As the Centre for Legal Aid, Assistance and Settlement (CLAAS) stated: Laws are not only a reflection of society's attitudes to any given issue; they can change the prevailing attitudes. Good laws can help foster tolerance; bad laws can fire hate. Attitudes once set into motion are hard to bring to rest. The Blasphemy Law has very rapidly incited hate and its misuse continues with impunity.19

Backlash: Minority as Scapegoat In recent years, Western policies in the Muslim world have been seen as inherently anti-Muslim and based on double standards. The tragic human sufferings in Afghanistan, Bosnia, Iraq and Palestine, and the denigration of Islam in some quarters following the attacks on the World Trade Center (September 2001), infuriated many, especially, Muslims. The massacre of worshippers in Bahawalpur on 28 October 2001 and the grenade attacks on a church in Islamabad on 17 March 2002, followed by similar attacks in Murree and Taxila, were linked with the fury of some Muslims towards the West, with Pakistani Christians used as a scapegoat. Further, the frequent fissures and tensions in Indo-Pakistani relations add to the antiHindu feeling in Pakistan, making the community feel increasingly insecure. Physical attacks, social stigmatization, psychological insecurity, forced conversions and continued institutional degradation characterize the position of religious minorities in Pakistan. Recent anti-

Shia attacks also show a growing sectarian intolerance to-wards Muslim ‘minorities’. On 20 February 2002, five members of a Shia family in Chichawatni, near Multan, were murdered by Sunni militants. Six days later, twelve Shia worshippers were gunned down in Rawalpindi in a mosque, while several others were critically injured. Pakistan is undergoing a process of fragmentation and exclusion along seemingly religious fault-line, but a deeper analysis may well show that in fact the feuds may not be religious, but rooted in economic and other factors. A small number of militants have been able to exploit the politico-economic frustrations of the rest, and these gather momentum within a non-democratic system. Moreover, the politics of disempowerment and international or regional geopolitical factors further fuel this backlash. This is exacerbated by prevailing prejudices stemming from ignorance about other religious traditions and by stereotypes of Christians, Hindus, Kalasha, Shias and others. The religious bigots inflame hatred through the mosques and on the streets, against non-Muslim minorities as well as against (Shia) Ismailis, Twelvers and Zikris.20

Mapping of Religious Minoritiesin Sind and Baluchistan21 Survey focussed largely on the Christian and Hindu minorities which were concentrated in these ten districts. Mapping was structured around two components, forty Focus Group Discussions followed by Survey Questionnaire administered to 1,000 respondents (Box 8.4). BOX 8.4

Survey Findings

Seventy per cent of the minority population is below 25 years of age with nearly 45% below 18 years [1–5 years: 17%; 6–17 years: 28%; 18–25 years: 22% and 25–60 years: 30%]. ⊕ Out of the 5,244 family members above 18 years of age, 49% are illiterate (males 38%; female 56%). 21.4% have matriculate or higher qualification.

97% state they have complete freedom in performing their religious rituals and prayers. 73% say people of other religions do participate in their religious festivals. Some 68% of the respondents say they own properties in the districts where they live and 9% own property in additional districts. Males (97%) and female (86%) members of minorities have registered their votes. Minority population (93%) participates in casting votes. 39.45% respondents say that they are discriminated in educational institutions. 30% of the respondents say that they are discriminated on the basis of religion in job market. 20% cite workplace as places where they face discrimination on the basis of religion. 30% of respondents cite hospitals as places where they face discrimination. 4% cite government departments ⊕ figures rounded Source: Centre for Peace and Development, ‘Mapping Minorities in Baluchistan and Sind’.

Teaching in schools is heavily oriented towards Islamicizing pupils. For example, twenty extra marks are given to any candidate for admission into schools and higher institutions for memorizing the Qur'an. Even prison inmates receive a remission for learning or memorizing the Qur'an. The lack of a proper educational system and a holistic syllabus that takes Pakistan's plural traditions into account has only added to a great sense of loss.22 Based on the 1998 census, Pakistan's National Council for Justice and Peace (NCJP) in a study (2001) of literacy profile of minorities found that the average literacy rate among Christians in Punjab, is 34 per cent, compared to the national average of nearly 47 per cent. The average literacy rate among the Jati (upper-caste) Hindus is 34 per cent, scheduled castes (Dalits) 19 per cent and others (including Parsis, Buddhists, Sikhs and nomads) is 17 per cent, respectively. For Ahmadis, it is slightly higher than the national average of 51.67

per cent. Similarly, on the other socio-economic indicators, minorities were mostly found lagging behind.23 Further, the economic marginalization of the minorities, that is, their confinement to menial, low-paid and low-status work, especially for Christians and Hindus, has seriously dimi-nished their selfesteem, besides consolidating ethno-religious stereotypes. With a few exceptions, most Christians (male and female) work as street sweepers and suffer from discrimination. The rural Hindus are mostly poor and lack organization, and are vulnerable to feudal and police oppression. There are inflammatory posters in the streets against mi-norities; for example, there are anti-Ahmadi statements outside mosques, and signs outside hair salons and water purification plants prohibiting non-Muslims’ entry.24 Further, frequent graffiti betray the strong antiminority prejudices of sections of society. In the Federal Ministry of Religious and Minorities Affairs—the only one among forty ministries to deal specifically with minorities—there is an inscription in the main hall: ‘Of course, Islam is the best religion in the eyes of GOD.’ To Muslims, this may be right given its Qur'anic context, but stating this in a national ministry dealing with non-Muslims shows a misplaced emphasis on uniformity. In the media, the mastheads of Pakistan's Urdu newspapers and magazines routinely carry a verse from the Qur'an, while the teachings or beliefs of other religions are not displayed at all. Some of the English press and some Urdu newspapers and magazines generally play a responsible role while reporting on plural issues, but communal elements popularize anti-minority myths, especially during a local or regional crisis. Radio and television offer programmes on Islam but make no organized effort to raise awareness of other religions or of the need for pluralism. Also, there have been instances when the incitement of religious hatred has been used to acquire properties belonging to minorities. Mob attacks have taken place and cases of blasphemy have been lodged against non-Muslims. In the early 1990s, the case of Salamat Masih of Gujranwala, and others, made headlines. One of the

accused had to seek exile, while two others were murdered on court premises. Land and property alienation of the non-Muslims has been aided and abetted by the policies of the Evacuee Property Trust, which since the early 1950s administered and allocated proper-ties to immigrants. These properties belonged to non-Muslims who left for India during Partition. Various landowning groups seek out prime properties housing temples and churches, and use religion as a ploy to dislodge the owners. The recent anti-Christian disturbances in Faisalabad, Gujranwala and Khanewal were linked with such ‘land mafia’ groups.

Conclusion The policies and actions of non-representative regimes and the difficult inter-state relations have worsened inter-community relations in South Asia. Moreover, the forces of politico-religious populism and extremism are encouraged by poverty and disillusionment over the failure of democratic governance and development. As admitted by the government in 2001, every third Pakistani is living below the poverty line. From 17 per cent in 1990s, the number living in poverty has deepened to 34 per cent by 2000. The most vulnerable are the minorities. It is argued that the situation of the minorities of abject poverty, discriminatory lack of development infrastructure, high rate of unemployment, the emphasis on religious uniformity, all linked to the official policy of populist appeasement, has reduced millions of people in Pakistan to feeling like second and even third class citizens. In 1992, coding religious affiliation on national identity cards was nearly conceded, and was withdrawn only after strong protest from civic groups. However, the reiteration of the khatam-i-nubawwat (the finality of the Prophethood) is formally institutionalized on passport applications and voter registration forms. This reaffirmation is supplemented with the rejection of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad as a ‘false claimant’ to the succession of the Prophet. It has de-facto disenfranchised the

Ahmadi community as well as raised obstacles in their acquiring passports. Ahmadis and Christians are the communities that have most regularly documented cases of discrimination and oppression, both at the official and the societal levels. While each minority community may have its own respective safety networks, the Christians in this sense seem to be better organized, with church based and secular organizations emerging to focus on human rights. The rural nature of most of the Hindu communities has precluded such initiatives. On the other hand, Parsis and Ismailis (the latter not characterized as a minority) are the most organized and well-knit communities. The Ahmadis are well-organized and affluent, yet official and societal anger puts many restrictions on their social and religious mobility, and their organization. The reality of Pakistan is that it is a multi-ethnic, multi-religious country. Pakistani nationalism must symbolize the plural realities of society rather than demanding or imposing a unitary nationhood. We argue that the overwhelming major-ity of the population of our country remains tolerant and in favour of giving equal rights to minorities and women. This was evinced in a major national survey undertaken in 1997, which showed that 74 per cent of the people supported a ban on sectarian groups; 81 per cent demanded a stop to hate-inciting khutbas (sermons) in mosques; 67 per cent rejected the Taliban-style restrictions on women; 59 per cent wanted to give women the right to divorce; 63 per cent believed in giving equal weight to the evidence of women and men; 74 per cent favoured family planning and 74 per cent supported joint electorates.25

Notes and References 1. Centre for Peace and Development. ‘Mapping Minorities in Baluchistan and Sind: A Survey’, Baluchistan and the South Asia Forum for Human Rights, 2008. 2. Government of Pakistan, Pakistan Year Book 1994–95. 3. Gene R. Preston. ‘Pakistan's Christian Minority’, Christian Century, September 19–26 (1990): 841–44. Also available on ‘Religion Online’,

www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=811 (accessed on 10 February 2010). 4. See The Daily Din, Karachi, 7 June 2000. See also, US State Department's Annual Country Report, Pakistan: International Religious Freedoms Report, 25 January 2001. Available on http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/irf/2001/5705.htm (accessed on 10 February 2010). 5. Interview Diary, Focus Group Discussions. 6. 1973 Constitution, Article 260, Clause C [b] ‘non-Muslim’ means a person who is not a Muslim and includes a person belonging to the Christian, Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist or Parsi community, a person of the Qadiani group or the Lahori group (who will call themselves ‘Ahmadis’ or by any other name), or a Bahai and a person belonging to any of the scheduled castes. 7. D. Moghal, ‘The status of non-Muslims in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan: A confused identity’, in Religious Minorities in Pakistan: Struggle for Identity, eds, D. Moghal and J. Jivan (Rawalpindi: Christian Study Centre, 1996). 8. I.H. Malik, Islam, Nationalism and the West: Issues of Identity in Pakistan (Oxford: St Antony's-Macmillan, 1999). 9. T.I. Hashmi, Pakistan as a Peasant Utopia (Denver: Westview, 1992); A. Jalal, The Sole Spokesman: Jinnah, the Muslim League and the Demand for Pakistan (Cambridge: CUP, 1985). 10. ‘Fifty Years: Fifty Questions’, Herald, Karachi, January 1997. 11. For the politics of feudal elitism and the official reluctance to implement land reforms and agricultural tax, see A. Hussain, Elite Politics in an Ideological State (London: Dawson, 1979); see also M. Masud, Hari Report: Note of Dissent (Karachi: Hari Publications, 1948). 12. ‘The Big March: Migratory Flows After the Partition of India’, Harvard Kennedy School. 13. ‘The Partition of India: Demographic Consequences’, Prashant Bharadwaj, Asim Khwaja and Atif Milan. 14. G. Kudaisya, and Yong Tan, T, The Aftermath of Partition in South Asia (London: Routledge, 2000). 15. M.A. Qadeer, Lahore: Urban Development in the Third World (Lahore: Vanguard Books Limited, 1983). 16. For details on constitutional developments and the religious riots in the early years, see M.R. Afzal, Pakistan: History and Politics, 1947–1971 (Karachi: OUP, 2001); L. Binder, Religion and Politics in Pakistan (Los Angeles, 1961); S.V.R. Nasr, Mawdudi, Making of Islamic Revolution (New York: OUP, 1996).

17. J. Bennett, ‘Religion and democracy in Pakistan: the rights of women and minorities’, Paper presented on occasion of Sustainable Development Policy Institute (SDPI) 4th annual conference on Discourse on Human Security, Sustainable Development and Policy Institute, Islamabad. 24–26 May 2000. 18. A. Saleem, Pakistan Aur Aqlieetain (Pakistan and minorities) (Karachi: Danlyal: 2000). 19. Centre for Legal Aid Assistance and Settlement ‘Some Victims of Allegedly Defiling the Holy Quran 295B and the Holy Prophet (PBUH) 295C’, Lahore, CLAAS, 2000; cited in Ifthikar Malik Religious Minorities in Pakistan, Minority Rights Group, London 2002, p. 27. 20. According to the Minority Rights Group's annual report, Pakistan has risen by eight places to occupy the eighth position on the Minority Rights Group (MRG)'s ranking of countries where minorities are at risk. 21. Baluchistan districts of Noshki, Bolan, Nasserabad, Jaffarabad and Sibi; Sind districts are Umarkot, Mirpurkhas, Sanghar, Tharparkat and Badin. 22. When asked about a new educational curriculum to create a greater sense of respect and sharing of plural traditions, a senior official in the Ministry of Religious and Minority Affairs was indifferent. Instead, he asked the author to visit the Ministry of Education in each of the four provinces as ‘it did not come within the purview of this ministry’. 23. National Commission for Justice and Peace (NCJP), Human Rights Monitor – 2001, Lahore, NCJP, 2001. 24. National Commission for Justice and Peace (NCJP), Human Rights Monitor – 1999, Lahore, NCJP, 2000. 25. ‘What do Pakistanis really want?’, Herald, Karachi, January 1997. ♣ This chapter is adapted from the Report ‘Religious Minorities in Pakistan’ by

the Centre for Peace and Development and South Asia Forum for Human Rights. It is part of a European Commission-funded three-year project on ‘Mainstreaming Minority Rights in Pakistan's Sindh and Baluchistan’. I wish to acknowledge the contribution of Shahid Fiaz, Nasurullah Barech, Manfoosa Ali and Asim Zubair in the development of the study. Also, mention should be made of the enumerators who filled the questionnaires for the Survey and Focus Group discussions. And above all, thanks to those who participated in the Survey.

9 Strangers in the House: Minorities in Pakistani Textbooks♣ RUBINA SAIGOL Collectively Remembering, Forgetting Together Historical narratives are a part of the process of nation-building and state-formation. They construct national memory and determine what we collectively choose to remember and what we are required to forget as we tell the tale of our collective coming into being as a nation and as a state. Carefully crafted national stories of suffering, loss, death, pride and martyrdom enable a diverse and heterogeneous group of people to feel an imagined sense of oneness called national identity. This identity is manufactured by exclusions (forgetting, eliding, overlooking) those who do not belong, and inclusions (remembering, glori-fying and claiming) those who do belong to the nation as it is officially defined, agreed and stamped and approved. Those who form an integral part of the nation, the insiders, are collapsed into an imagined homogeneity of goodness, while those who are external to the nation—forever challenged and precarious, self-defined as the outsiders—are also homogenized but into an evil or wicked oneness. Nations, and particularly newly formed states, reiterate the story of their coming into being, lest the carefully woven tale is forgotten. The wounds inflicted by the evil outsiders, the perpetual enemies, are relived so that future generations do not forget the blood spilled and the sacrifice given that nurtured the infant tree at its birth. Similarly, the heroic deeds, real or conjured, of those who spilled their blood are remembered, reiterated, repeated, retold, embellished and re-

written as often as the nation's actual existence is challenged or threatened by enemies within and enemies without. There are many forms of writing the legends and folktales of the nation for national memory. There are cinematic represen-tations, television serials, nationalist poetry and songs, national day parades and towering monuments that all recount the ‘great history of the nation and state’ for posterity. However, the most effective, farreaching and reliable method of ensuring the con-tinuity of nationalist legends and myths is through the omni-present, ubiquitous and easy to acquire and grasp textbook—the textbook enables the future generation to remember itself, its history and its glory with an ease rarely available to other forms of public talking. It is cheap, often compulsory, available every-where and there is always the teacher, the school, the textbook board and the ministry of education to ensure that the national story is told, reiterated, revised, remembered and spewed out faithfully on an examination paper. The latter method ensures that it is fully absorbed and internalized. The entire system built around the textbook is designed to ensure that it works—that it reproduces the myths of the state and legends of the nation. One of the biggest problems in the national tale is—‘those who do not fit’ or ‘those who do not fit completely’ into the national narrative. These are the blemishes and stains on the national fabric that rupture its smooth surface, taint its pure weave and become uncomfortable reminders that all is not great and wonderful in the story of the nation. Either these ‘spots’ have to be removed to ‘clean’ the carefully designed fabric, or these ‘others’, these intrusive outsiders that do not belong, have to be covered up, concealed and forgotten. They have to be re-written or written out of history. These are the minorities that the nation can either not acknowledge or claim only partially as they are reminders of a connection with the past that must be forgotten for the sake of the nation's purity. They are also reminders of the nation's connections to many ‘others’, to many outsiders who do not belong. They are unhappy reminders that the nation is not quite as pure as it would like to be—that it is mixed, that it has a multiplicity of ‘others’, either religious, linguistic or ethnic that

rupture its otherwise monotonous and uninterrupted tale of oneness and glory.

A Tale of Two Nations Pakistan's tale of the two nations is riddled with stains and spots that do not fit into the neat national design. The story of the Pakistani nation, built on the epic idea of two eternally opposed groups, forever enemies and permanently separated by history, experience and memory, is fractured by the presence of too many ‘others’. Inside the territory of the pure, residing in the very heart of the land of the pure, are groups of people belonging to other religions— Christians, Hindus, Parsis—all those who interrupt the tale of religious oneness crafted with so much painstaking effort. Additionally, there are Sikhs lurking on the borders, and Jews some distance away who also figure in one or another way in the story of the nation. To make matters worse for the spinners of the national tale, there are/were linguistic and ethnic minorities—those Bengalis sitting on the golden jute, those Sindhis with their access to the riches of the sea in the south, those Balochis sitting on those fabulous riches deep within the land and those Pakhtoons holding forth in the mountains of the north. The Punjabi, Muslim, Sunni, Hanafi (preferably male)—the arch prototype Pakistani—is beleaguered by these many others on all sides. He must subjugate them, bring them into line, erase them and, if nothing else works, write them out of HIS-story so that HE can live happily forever in his fairyland of the five rivers, his Punjab, knowing that the world is HIS oyster. The most effective tool of the powerful—the power of any nation, ethnicity or religion—is the word and the image that help forge that ultimate weapon—the textbook, and in particular the social studies history textbook. Through its words and images, the textbook silences and speaks, hides and reveals, tells and refuses to tell the story of the nation, its others, its enemies, its outsiders and most importantly—the outsiders within. It is these outsiders within, the

minorities that intercept the national story in so many places that are most difficult to define or not define, erase, silence or make invisible. One way that ingenious weavers of the national tale use to deal with these uncomfortable presences is to turn them into cameos— the inherently evil Hindu, the trickster and cheat Englishman, the knife-wielding, butchering Sikh, the moneylender Jew and the backstabbing Bengali.

Inherently Evil: The Hindu ‘Other’ The Hindu ‘other’ is represented as racist and fundamentalist. One sub-heading in a book on Civics is ‘Hindu Revivalism and Fundamentalism’. The intentions of the Hindu ‘other’ are described in the following way: The Hindus had become very ambitious during the 19th century. They were dreaming of making this vast sub-continent a Hindu land by driving out the British rulers and exterminating the Muslims whom they called Malichchas or dirty people. It was the same kind of racialism and racehatred that is found in all aggressive peoples and nations, like the ancient Aryans who called the non-Aryans as Dasyus or black-demons, or like Americans and Europeans who call the non-white peoples of the world as ‘gooks’, etc.1

One fails to see how the author discovered that all the Hindus had become ambitious during the 19th century, and how did he have access to what they were dreaming about. Nonetheless, these assertions are made in the text along with the claim that the same kind of racialism and race-hatred is found among all aggressive peoples and nations. The examples given are the Aryans, Americans and Europeans. Here, all the perceived ‘others’ are lumped together and provided with the attribute of aggression that allegedly ‘all of them’ possess as a natural trait. Since the construction of the ‘other’ is simultaneously a construction of the Self as the absence of all that the ‘other’ represents, it is implied that Muslims are not aggressive or ambitious and do not have expansionist dreams. The history of the

sub-continent gives the lie to such a suggestion, but then what is often missing from this kind of history is History itself. There is a subtle but discernible shift in the gendered nature of the discourse of the self and other. In my earlier study of the textbooks of the Ayub Khan, Zulfikar Bhutto and Zia-ul-Haq eras, I argued that textbook writers tend to create the Muslim heroes in highly masculine, active, potent and virile terms, while con-structing the Hindu ‘other’ in feminized terms such as weak, unable to fight, timid and passive.2 While this is still the case in many textbooks which glorify Muslim conquest and warriors, there is a perceptible tendency in the current textbooks to construct the ‘others’ of Muslims in terms that are aggressive, masculine, active and potent, even though negative. When Muslim conquest, glory and imperial pursuit are discussed, the masculinist discourse becomes celebratory. The heroes of the Muslims are great, strong, brave and valiant. However, when the ‘other’ is discussed in active and masculine terms, the discourse shifts to a different moral ground. In the case of nonMuslims, the desire for war is aggres-siveness and Hindus are aggressive, ambitious, hostile, warmongers and anti-peace. The Muslim Self takes on feminine postures vis-à-vis hostile ‘others’ who have evil designs against them. However, occasionally, the ultra masculine Muslim image as conqueror, invader and warrior appears in the social studies textbooks written in 2002 but produced under the influence and curriculum guidelines of the era of General Zia. The curriculum prepared by the National Curriculum Committee, Ministry of Education in 1984 requires that the spread of Islam and Mohammad Bin Qasim's invasions in India be taught to students.3 Under ‘Affective Objectives’, the curriculum includes ‘aspirations for Jehad’, love and regard for Islamic values, and among the concepts to be given to students, the curriculum includes martyrdom, valour and the idea of a cannon.4 The activities suggested for students include drawing the picture of cannon, tracing Mohammad Bin Qasim's conquest route and discussing Islam's advent into the sub-continent. The following passage from the social studies textbook for Class VI

illustrates how the curriculum of 1984 is realized in a textbook of 2002: In the middle of the city of Dabel there was a Hindu temple. There was a flag hoisted on top of it. The Hindus believed that as long as the flag kept flying, nobody could harm them. Mohd. Bin Qasim found out about this belief. The Muslims began to catapult stones at the temple and at the flag, ultimately making it fall to the ground. The whole city became tumultuous and the Hindus lost heart. Some Muslims clambered up the walls of the temple and forced open the door. Qasim's army entered the city and after conquering it, announced peace. The Muslims treated the vanquished so well that many Hindus converted to Islam.5

This description of breaking down the barriers of the sacred space of the ‘other’ and making a forcible entry to take over is typical of several other depictions that appeared in the textbooks of the era of General Zia. A very similar account of the forced and violent entry of Mahmud of Ghazni into a Hindu temple, along with the defeated and begging postures of Hindus, appears in a Class V textbook produced in 1987.6 The scene in this story starts with the idea of a flag hoisted atop a temple and the belief that as long as it keeps flying nobody could harm the Hindus. This description is akin to the maintenance of virginity and its public announcement. The next image is one of Muslims catapulting stones at the temple and the flag making it fall down, and then clambering up the walls of the temple and forcing open the door. The connotation of rape by Muslims and the loss of Hindu ‘virginity’ are unmistakable. Sacred and protected space is violated by force and then desecrated. A number of descriptions of conquest and victory bear resemblance to rape. However, immediately after this triumph of the Masculine Muslim Self, the posture of peace is as-sumed. The feminine side re-emerges and the kind treatment of the Hindus is announced. The sudden shift from a violent act against the Hindus, to the announcement of peace and good treat-ment is not explained. One fails to understand how such a sce-nario could have led to peace and such good treatment that many Hindus voluntarily embraced Islam. The great deal that has been left unsaid, the gaps left open in this compressed account

would explain the puzzling shifts. However, compression serves to create the impression that despite excessive aggression, the Muslims were basically peace loving and the moral Self is retrieved. We need to remember that in most stories told to children, aggression is attributed to the ‘others’ and peace to the self. Page 72 of the social studies book, produced in 2002, highlights the idea of Jehad against foreign rule, recommended in the 1984 curriculum guidelines. Another continuity that one notices from the textbook of the era of General Zia is the construction of Hindu/Muslim polar opposition in the description of architecture. The social studies textbook for Class V produced in 1988 contrasts a Muslim mosque with Hindu temples in a manner which shows the Hindu temple as dark, narrow and enclosed and the Muslim sacred space as open, well-lit and clean.7 In my work on the Zia era textbooks, I argued that the contrasting description of sacred space is gendered in that Hindu sacred space has associations with femininity (narrow, dark and mysterious, internal), while the Muslim space represents masculine power (open, well-lit, spacious, wide, external). In the Class VI social studies textbook produced in 2002, similar images are transferred on to wider secular and profane spaces. This is how the Class VI textbook describes ‘Muslim Contributions to the Architecture of the SubContinent’: The Muslims made valuable contributions to the architecture of the subcontinent. Prior to the advent of the Muslims, the people of the subcontinent resided in narrow, congested and dark houses. The architecture of the Hindus exhibited narrowness, labyrinthine complications, layer upon layer of complexity and conical shaped structures. The architectural refinement of the Muslims exhibited openness, vast spaces and external glory. They built open, airy and grand structures.8

The association of narrowness, congestion and darkness, which in the earlier discourse was associated with Hindu sacred space, is now transferred to the Hindu home. The image of ‘labyrinthine complications, layer upon layer of complexity’ seems designed to suggest that the Hindus were somehow ‘not straight and simple’ and

that there were deeper, darker layers in their psyche that sug-gest ‘something crooked’ or ‘mysterious’. This description fits in with the notion that Hindus are devious. The Muslim contribu-tion is defined as ‘architectural refinement’ exhibiting openness (reads honesty), vast spaces and external glory (reads imperial domination). The word ‘open’ is used again in the last sentence to underscore the idea that Muslims are somehow more honest and transparent than the more ‘opaque’ Hindus. Since the dis-course is written within the two nation differentiation, the Hindus represent all that is denied and repressed within the Muslim Self. The caste system is provided as yet another proof of the Hindu ‘other’ as an unjust and uncivilized creature. What is omitted from the discourse is the fact that Muslim Pakistani society too is torn by a form of caste system and biradari system, despite the claims of Muslim equality. What is silenced here is the fact that in so-called ‘equal’ Pakistani society, the small Hindu minority living mainly in Sind, and in particular the Hari community, is subject to the most inhuman treatment by Muslim landlords. All Hindus are reduced to the stereotype of ‘The Hindu’ whose loyalties to the Muslim state are always suspected as he is ideologically placed across the border in India while his body resides in Pakistan. He therefore has to continually prove, aver and reassert his loyalty to the Muslim-defined state.

Trickster and Cheat: The Christian Other Pakistan's largest minority group consists of Christians who are ideologically perceived to be a part of the ‘Christian nation’ across the globe. Ever since the era of General Zia-ul-Haq's Islamization, and even more so since 9/11, the Christians have to continually prove their loyalties to the Islamic state. Most social studies and history textbooks barely mention even the existence of Pakistani Christians, an erasure and a silence that solidifies the tenuous notion of an internally unified nation. However, suddenly and from nowhere, in the social studies textbook for Class VII which focusses on the crusades, a generous number of pages are allotted to Christianity

and Christendom. In most other cases, Christians enter the textbook scene only as ‘The English’ or ‘The British’, terms reserved to represent the cruelties of colonialism and imperialism. The Christian and English ‘other’ also play a significant role because of the interlocking history of British imperialism and Indian and Pakistani nationalism. The English seems to stand for Christianity as well as the West in general. In the context of the Indian struggle for independence, the ‘other’ is referred to either as ‘the English’ or ‘the British’, the latter term being usually reserved for the discussion of imperialism. In the context of the crusades, the reference is consistently to Christians as the ‘other’. In the case of the freedom movement, the religious identity of the third interlocutor in the English–Hindu–Muslim triad is not paramount. Rather, the national identity of Englishness is the preferred mode of speaking about the English, in sharp contrast to the preferred mode of speaking about the Hindus only in religious terms. For textbook writers, the Hindus and Muslims constituted religious communities, while the British were a secular force. This representation contrasts with the preferred form used by Indian textbook writers to refer to the Congress as secular and the Muslim League as communal.9 In nearly all the references to the English or British within the context of the independence movement, the English appear as conspirators, tricksters and cheats.10 Cruelty is also attributed to them, especially when referring to the Jallianwala Bagh and other incidents of massacre, but their primary characteristic appears to be cleverness, trickery and a propensity towards conspiring. For example, the Class VI social studies textbook states that ‘after conquering, the English treated the local population with great cruelty. They murdered thousands of men, women and children with cruel abandon. They destroyed the property of the local people. They exiled the last Mughal King to Rangoon’.11 In this description, the English are cruel, murderous and uncivilized as they murdered women and children with cruel abandon. The British argument about the uncivilized and savage natives is turned upon its head to show lack of civilization of the rulers. The story of the cruelty of the British

‘other’ recurs in several textbooks, partly to justify independence and partly as a rebuttal of the charge of Muslim cruelty and lack of civilization. The Christian ‘other’ is presented in the following way in social studies textbooks: The people of Africa requested the Muslims to invade their lands to save them from the tyranny of their Christian rulers who extorted taxes from them.12

The Christian rulers are not only tyrannical, but they extort taxes from their subjects. The excluded piece of knowledge is that Muslims also extracted taxes from Muslims as well as Jaziya (religious tax) from non-Muslims. The depiction of tyrannical Christian rulers requires a contrast with the self, which is provided in the following way: History has no parallel to the extremely kind treatment of the Christians by the Muslims. Still the Christian kingdoms of Europe were constantly trying to gain control of Jerusalem. This was the cause of the Crusades.13

The self is constructed as kind as opposed to the tyrannical ‘other’. The cause of the crusades is quickly attributed to the militarist and expansionist designs of the ‘other’. No historical, political, economic or social explanation is attempted, nor is the complex dynamics of the crusades provided. One singular cause is attributed to the prolonged conflict. One form of the reproduction of ideology, and with it identity, is oversimplification—the removal of all complexity by reducing conflict to ‘Them’ and ‘Us’ categories. The aim of this pedagogy is not the inculcation of understanding or intellectual reflection, but the creation of religious identity. The Christian ‘other’ is also a liar and cheat. In spite of the kind treatment of the Christians by Muslim rulers, the former had inexplicable proclivities toward lying. As the textbook historian states: Some of the Christian pilgrims to Jerusalem fabricated many false stories of suffering. If they were robbed on the way, they said it were [sic] the

Muslims who robbed them.14

Tales of suffering under Muslims are mere fabrication and Muslims are of course incapable of robbing. The textbook historian then bemoans the fact that all the Christian countries united against the Muslims and sent large armies to attack them and justified it by saying that Jesus Christ allowed it. ‘The Pope was caught in a religious frenzy’ says the textbook. The Christian ‘other’ thus also had tendencies towards needless ‘religious frenzy’. The major absence in this tale of the two nations is that Pakistan's non-Muslim minority has suffered a great deal of op-pression at the hands of the state which has used the blasphemy law to systematically target Christians and many of them have become its victims, including an eleven-year-old child, Salamat Masih. Christian churches have been burned in Islamabad, Bahawalpur and Christian organizations such as Idara-e-Amn-o-Insaf in Karachi was attacked and seven workers were killed in cold blood. The nation writes its tale in blood—on the pages of history texts and on the bodies of its non-Muslims citizens.

The Greedy Usurer: The Jewish Other The Jewish ‘other’ of the Muslim self does not figure very prominently in middle and secondary level textbooks. This omission is noteworthy because anti-semitic sentiments are widespread in Pakistan where people overwhelmingly support the Palestinian cause. One possible reason for this relative silence within textbooks may be because of the physical distance between Jews and Pakistani Muslims. There are hardly any Jews living in Pakistan who could pose a direct threat to the Pakistani self. Although the Hindu minority in Pakistan is also miniscule, the geographical contiguity of India reflects the proximity of this threat. And, as already stated, the story of the two permanently inimical nations is a Hindu Muslim story. While varying ‘others’ may enter the construction of Muslim Pakistan, it is primarily the blood stained severance from the Hindu ‘other’ that incites memories of pain and sorrow.

However, as in the case of Indian and Hindu, no distinction is made between Jews and Zionists. When the Jews do appear in textbooks they are almost always as Zionists, and there is no concept of a non-Zionist Jewish person. Pakistan's official foreign policy is anti-Israel, and at times the impression one gets from public discourse is that all Jews are perceived as Israelis. All Israelis are to be condemned as all of them are cruel, wicked and imperialists. Fine distinctions between Jews, Israelis and Zionists are seldom made in public discourse or textbook representations. There is generally scant mention of Jews except while discussing Pakistan's foreign policy or in the process of constructing a pan-Islamic identity. Whenever the Jews do appear in textbooks, they almost always play the role of Shylock—the greedy, bloodthirsty usurer. They are forced into a singular and narrow identity of the moneylender who charged very high rates of interest and destroyed the lives of people. The Hindu moneylender (referred to as baniya in Pakistan) and the Muslim moneylenders do not figure highly in the curricular discourse. The stereotype of the tight-fisted and parsimonious Jew obliterates the possibility of a poor or destitute Jewish person. Such a creature, it is assumed, does not exist. A generous, magnanimous, friendly or large-hearted Jewish person is also unthinkable since textbook categories are not prone to dealing with complex categories. In the construction of the Jewish ‘other’ once again there is continuity from the textbooks of the earlier eras, which go as far back as the time of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. A social studies textbook for Class VI produced in 1975 contrasts the time before Islam and after its advent as dark/immoral/bad time versus good/moral and enlightened time of Islam.15 After making a series of anti-Christian statements in which Christianity is presented as a source of corruption and evil, the textbook historian turns towards the Jews and one of the first sentences is about how rich trade had made them. This envy is followed by accusations of how they corrupted their faith and misled and deceived the Holy Prophet of Islam. The social studies textbook for Class VII, in the course of a discussion about ‘Islamic Society’, has this to say of the Jews:

Some Jewish tribes also lived in Arabia. They lent money to workers and peasants on high rates of interest and usurped their earnings. They held the whole society in their tight grip because of the ever increasing compound interest…In short there was no sympathy for humanity. People were selfish and cruel. The rich lived in luxury and nobody bothered about the needy or those in suffering.16

The Jews are thus primarily moneylenders who have no sympathy for humanity and are selfish and cruel. The alleged Jewish tendency to accumulate wealth is contrasted in the sub-sequent pages by asserting that Islam prescribes a just distribution of wealth and caring for the poor and needy.17 This kind of contrast of the self and other is designed to create both religious communities as mutually exclusive categories that are morally opposed.

The Knife-wielding Butcher: The Sikh Other The Sikhs constitute another minority in India where Hindus form the majority religious community. The Sikhs are, therefore, not a strong or direct threat to Pakistan. On the contrary, Pakistan tacitly supports the occasional rumblings of anti-state feeling in Eastern Punjab. However, when the Sikhs do make an occasional appearance, they are dressed in militant attire, wielding the Kirpan (sword-like knife, dagger) as butchering, murdering and marauding hordes. The stereotype of the ‘martial race’ is conjured up in the representation of the Sikhs, who appear as those who challenged Muslim rule. Usually, two occasions are reserved for the appearance of Sikhs on the stage of textbook dramas. One is their takeover of the Punjab after the decline of the Mughal Empire, and the second is at the time of Partition when they appear as looters, marauders and killers. At other times, the Sikhs simply disappear into the mist of ‘history’ lying somewhere waiting to be ‘discovered’ as ac-tors in the historical drama by some less forgetful textbook writer. Their function in the politics of textbook writing in Pakistan seems to be to underscore the sufferings inflicted upon hapless Muslims who sacrificed for the Land of the Pure. Their only role is that of the villain in the shadows who

appears suddenly from nowhere to kill the hero of the drama, the besieged Muslim. The first type of appearance of the Sikhs, as invaders of the Punjab, is exemplified by a social studies textbook written for Class IV in 1998. According to this representation: After the death of emperor Aurangzeb in 1707, the Mughal dynasty became weak and mutinies began in several provinces. When the government of the Punjab became weak, the Sikhs began to increase their influence and started plundering the larger cities of the Punjab. Lahore and Multan were plundered and looted several times by the Sikhs who murdered the people and unleashed terror and violence upon them. Finally, the Sikh ruler Ranjit Singh established his hold over the Punjab and the Sikhs and the Hindus together committed many atrocities and cruelties upon the Muslims. They particularly desecrated Muslim holy places and shrines.18

When the hero of the textbook story, the Muslim assailed from all sides, becomes weak, the Sikh butcher enters the stage as plunderer, looter and murderer. The Muslim takes on the feminized posture of suffering as atrocities and cruelties are committed upon the self by highly masculine ‘others’ who join hands to inflict misery upon the defenceless self. In the story of the ‘independence movement’, the British collude with the Hindus against the Muslim who is besieged from all sides. In the story of the decline of a Muslim empire, the Sikhs collude with the Hindus against the Muslims. The ‘others’ of the self seem to invariably collude in the conspiracy against Muslims. As all political, social and historical dynamics are written out of the story of blood and violence, the reader is left with no clue as to the causes of the alleged ‘collusion’. The impression that is left on the young minds is that it is the nature of the beast to shed blood. The projection of all violent tendencies on to the ‘other’ serves to cleanse the moral self of any aggressive propensities. The second appearance of the murdering, knife-wielding Sikh around the time of Partition can be viewed in the following depiction taken from the Pakistan Studies textbook for Classes IX and X produced in March 2002:

When the Hindus and Sikhs realized that Pakistan is being established, they started riots in parts of the Punjab. As a result hundreds of thousands of Muslims were wounded and murdered. In this difficult time, the Muslims of the Punjab did not let go of fortitude and strength and welcomed the refugees from Indian territory and were generous to them. They proved that Muslims always help each other.19

In the gory tale of wounding and murdering at Partition, the story of killing and murdering by Muslims is a silence in the text. It has been recorded by many noted scholars that during Parti-tion violence, rape and murder were committed by all religious communities against all others.20 The idea of the textbook storyteller is to underline the sacrifice and suffering of Muslims in the blooddrenched drama of the creation of state and nation. The wounds are reiterated lest we forget how our blood was spilt for the homeland. This kind of reiteration of injury is a nationalist remembering, as it adds poignancy and urgency to the tale of the making of the nation. The Sikhs perform their ‘historical’ role as those who shed our innocent blood as we departed on our way to the homeland. Deprived of any other knowledge of the Sikhs, as indeed of Hindus, Christians or Jews, the student is left with a one-dimensional picture of the ‘other’, the inherently evil Hindu, the conspiratorial Christian, the usurious Jew and the butchering Sikh. The Muslim represents the absence of all that is attributed to these various, shifting and multiple ‘others’. The appeal of Shylock as in ‘when you prick us, do we not bleed’, is not allowed to these ‘others’. They do not suffer, bleed or sacrifice; only we do. They do not have any noble moral intentions, generosity, kindness, justice, fairness or forgiveness—only we do. We do not have any cruel, murderous, imperial or conquering impulse—only they do. In this manipulation of knowledge, textbook tellers of tales, construct our fractured, broken and denuded identities rooted in ‘otherness’, ‘difference’ and alienation. Our common or shared past experience with others is written out of the tale of the two nations.

The Back-stabber: The Bengali Other

The national narrative is interrupted at many points by ‘others’ residing within its territory and pushing at its seemingly inviolate boundaries. The stranger in the house comprises the religious, parochial, provincial and regional minorities who have never been fully included into the shifting self. At times, these dangerously close ‘others’ have been rudely catapulted out of the definition of the national Muslim self, for example, when the Qadianis were declared non-Muslims in 1974. At other times, these parts of the self have violently ruptured through the layers of repression built around them and broken away, as the East Pakistanis did in 1971. A nation defined as Muslim has never been at ease with the non-Muslims residing within its territorial boundaries, as their loyalties are forever suspect. While the national self may be engaged in a perpetual war of self-definition in relation to the many inimical and hostile external ‘others’, it is also at war with itself. Its boundaries, both ideological and physical, keep shifting in renewed efforts to define and re-define itself. Pakistan perhaps has the unique distinction of being the only country from which the majority seceded in 1971 and formed a separate homeland. When the quarrel is with a Hindu, Christian or Jewish ‘other’, religious justifications are easily invoked in support of the besieged self. When the quarrel is with fellow Muslims, not only does the story of the two nations become transparently fictional, the religious basis of holy war cannot be invoked. Bangladesh becomes a gaping hole in national memory. The only way to speak about it is through silence. This ‘other’ is a part of the self, is not really an other. It is not really the self. The only way to define it is to not define it. A self so constrained and confined within a religious self-definition, has no language with which to speak of other definitions based on language or ethnicity. They can only be erased from consciousness. This is precisely what the textbooks do—they erase Bangladesh by not telling the tale. There are many ways of not telling. One of these is to tell a different story, to speak half the truth. The story of Bangladesh is silenced between half truths, and full lies. If ever speech is used to create silences, it happens in the case of

Bangladesh. One liners and short phrases on Bangladesh at the end of chapters cover up oceans of unspoken horrors. The compulsion to not remember requires the expenditure of energy on the different story. Here is how the untold story of Bangladesh appears in the Civics textbook for Class IX and X produced in 2001: Certain political elements began to propagate that nation depends on language and ethnicity instead of religion. This led to an increase in provincial prejudices. Shaikh Mujib-ur-Rehman took full advantage and started telling the people that the people of West Pakistan were exploiting them. He had the support of India and other enemies of Pakistan to break Pakistan up into pieces. He started to sow hatred into the hearts of the Bengalis. The Bengalis were influenced by this propaganda and as a result the Awami League won the election overwhelmingly. Mujib started to propagate a confederation and said that East Pakistanis can only develop under his 6 point formula. This was an evil design dressed in the garb of provincial autonomy. The Awami Leaguers and the so-called Mukti Bahini began the mass murder of non-Bengalis. They destroyed public property. In this storm of murder and looting, nobody's life and property was safe. At every step the law of the land was violated. Bangladeshi flags were flown all over the land. Finally in order to overcome this revolt, the Pakistan army was given authority. India started to pass statements to incite the Bengalis against the Pakistan army. India convinced them that the Pakistani army is inflicting cruelty upon them. Finally Mujib-ur-Rehman was arrested and India, which was fully part of the conspiracy by Mujib, made a great noise over this arrest. India used the insurgents and miscreants and started a poisonous campaign against Pakistan all over the world. When India saw that it is achieving its nefarious designs, it attacked Pakistan. The Pakistan army fought with full courage for the sake of the pure land, they sacrificed their lives. If they had been allowed to go on fighting, the enemy would never have succeeded, but because of incompetent leadership in Pakistan, they had to surrender. So, finally East Pakistan became separate from Pakistan due to treason of Awami League, and Indian aggression. The whole Pakistani nation was tormented and writhing in the pain of this deep wound.21

The entire episode of the formation of Bangladesh is relegated to the dark and insidious realms of conspiracy. The Bengalis ‘stabbed

us in the back’ by joining hands with India. They committed the murder of non-Bengalis, they looted and they destroyed property. The Bengalis started the violence and were responsible, along with conniving and scheming India, for the deeply wounding break of Pakistan in 1971. There is a great deal of silencing in this story. Why were the Bengalis so easily misled and convinced by India's propaganda? Why did they start killing non-Bengalis? Why did they believe that the Pakistan army was committing atrocities upon them? None of these questions are answered. The brevity and compression used here to describe events that have a long history and background in Pakistani politics and economics, forestalls any critical thinking about what parted us. What is absent here is also the role of the Pakistani military, which receives plaudits for its exploits but no disapprobation or condemnation of its well-known acts. In telling half the story, the textbook historians fail to mention that the Awami League (AL) of East Pakistan had won the 1970 election overwhelmingly but the elite establishment of West Pakistan refused to transfer power to a duly elected party. This failure was at the centre of the crisis of 1971. The myth of the moral and upright self would fall apart if the real story were to be told instead of half truths and full lies.

The Self in the Other: Shared Pasts and Other Stories In spite of attempts by the state to re-order the unacceptable past, fragments of that forgotten past sneak into collective memory and create disturbance. The repressed ‘others’ in the national self are ruthlessly crushed by the state, which names them ‘traitors’, ‘antinationals’ and outsiders. These outsiders reside within the territory of the state—they are the strangers within. They represent an uncomfortable continuity with the past and refuse to be welded into a coherent and homogenized new wholeness. These are the regional and ethnic entities that participate less in the power of the Centre, and remember their connections to earlier belongings, long before the nation-state ever emerged. They hold on to their languages, their unique cultural expressions and their own political and social

vocabularies. They resist the Centre's pressures to forcibly weld them into the new imaginary of the state/nation. And they are duly punished, as the militaries of the state appear with full force to make them forget forever who they once were and who they wanted to be. But in a dialectical way, the very instruments of power used to make them forget, become tools which help them remember. The more the Indians tried to cling to what was becoming Pakistan and drifting away, the more strongly did the new entity assert its independence and broke all ties, not only political and economic, but cultural, social and emotional. The more violent and angry its break, the more vociferously Pakistan enacted and re-enacted its separation. In the same way, the more the Pakistani military tried to hold on to East Pakistan, drenching every home there in blood and semen, intruding into every space where nothing but hate prevailed for it, the more angrily did the Bengalis push it out, never to let it in again. Harsh memories on all sides, made harsher with every passing year, created many tales of blood and gore, tales that eventually found their way only partially and in sanitized form into history textbooks as officially sanctioned truth. Each sorrow on one side was a triumph on the other, every loss on one side was a symbol of victory on the other. Some stories are silenced as they disrupt the official truth, others find their way into obscure accounts that do not see the light of day. But lying deep somewhere in the conscious and unconscious memories of ordinary people, are tales not told in textbooks. These are poignant tales of love across the nation's divides, stories of friendship and bonds beyond the borders, narratives of common hopes and dreams shared with the ‘Other’.

Notes and References 1. Mazhar-ul-Haq, Civics of Pakistan (Lahore: Bookland, 2000): 5. 2. Rubina Saigol, Knowledge and Identity: Articulation of Gender in Educational Discourse in Pakistan (Lahore: ASR, 1995). 3. National Curriculum Committee, Social Studies Curriculum (Islamabad: National Bureau of Curriculum and Textbooks, 1984): 16. 4. Ibid.

5. Social Studies Textbook for Class VI (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board, 2002): 63. 6. Rubina Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, 231. 7. Rubina Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, 235. 8. Social Studies Textbook for Class VI (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board): 67. 9. Krishna Kumar in his Prejudice and Pride states that Indian textbooks are written within the binary of secular versus communal identity and struggle, p. 207. The Indian textbooks oppose secular nationalism to communalism. The Pakistani textbooks, as I have argued in my book Knowledge and Identity, are overwhelmingly within the two-nation binary which is based on opposing religious identities. However, the English are seldom, if ever, referred to as Christians while discussing the freedom struggle. 10. Social Studies Textbook for Class VI (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board): 75–77. 11. Social Studies Textbook for Class VI (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board): 77. 12. Ibid., 21. 13. Ibid., 25. 14. Ibid., 26. 15. Rubina Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, 225–26. 16. Social Studies for Class VII (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board, 2002): 13. 17. Ibid., 18. 18. Social Studies Textbook for Class IV (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board, 1998): 82. 19. Pakistan Studies Textbook for Classes IX and X (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board, 2002): 32. 20. Ritu Menon and Kamla Bhasin, Borders and Boundaries and Urvashi Butalia's The Other Side of Silence, for details of the kinds of atrocities committed by all sides against all sides in the formation of the nation. 21. Civics for Classes IX and X (Lahore: Punjab Textbook Board, 2001): 112– 14. ♣ This chapter is a shortened version of a much longer article called ‘Enemies

Within and Enemies Without’ published in a Journal called ‘Futures’ edited by Imtiaz Ahmad.

10 Sri Lanka: Recent Shifts in the Minority Rights Debate JAYADEVA UYANGODA Introduction This chapter surveys some key shifts in recent debates and politics on minority rights in Sri Lanka. The basic argument of the chapter is that the ethnic conflict has provided a context as well as an impetus for the rearticulation of the minority rights discourse in Sri Lanka. It first brought the idea of group rights to the centre of political struggles, waged by the minority communities. The group rights claim made by the Northeastern Tamils has precipitated similar assertion of rights among other minorities, Muslims and Upcountry Tamils. The ethnic conflict has also produced a minor paradox. Despite the shift towards greater salience of group rights, the liberal constitutionalist and human rights discourses continue to define the terms of the mainstream approaches to minority rights, viewing group rights claims by minorities with both suspicion and hostility. Then, the consequences of the ethnopolitical civil war, as this chapter shows, have paradoxically led to the undermining of the legiti-macy of the rights claim of a key group, the self-determination right as asserted by the militant Tamil nationalists. Thus, the impact of the ethnic conflict, the civil war and the failed peace processes is crucial to the understanding of Sri Lanka's minority rights debates and the politics of minority rights. This chapter examines these processes in relation to the three main ‘minority’ communities in Sri Lanka—Tamils in the Northern and Eastern provinces, Muslims and Tamils of ‘recent Indian origin’. It needs to be noted at the outset that the concept ‘minority’ is somewhat contested in Sri Lanka. Politically conscious Tamils of the

Northern and the Eastern provinces would not view their community as a minority, but as a ‘nation’ or at least a ‘nationality’. They would consider themselves being described as members of a ‘minority’ as politically offensive and unacceptable because it immediately places the Tamil community in a structure of hierarchy in relation to the ‘majority’ community of the Sinhalese. This conceptual disjuncture emanates from the specific experience of majority–minority politics in post-colonial Sri Lanka in which the political class of the majority community had claimed and maintained a hegemonic control of state power. In fact, post-colonial Sinhalese nationalism does not have a concept of inter-group equality. It bases itself on the ontology of inequality. It means that in the understanding of Sinhalese nationalism, the liberal notion of equality in practice favours religious and ethnic minorities who are supposed to have been ‘privileged’ over the majority community during the colonial rule.1 Meanwhile, the ‘minority’ communities consider their being classified as minorities as a discriminatory and disabling practice. This context is further characterized by the absence of affirmative action for ethnic or social minorities in Sri Lanka's public policy or constitutional scheme of arrangements. Quite intriguingly, even after twenty-five years of an ethnic–separatist civil war, Sri Lanka does not yet have equal opportunity legislation. The one attempt made for an equal opportunity law in 1996–97 had to be abandoned by the government in the face of resistance by the Sinhalese nationalist groups. The argument put forward by them was that equal opportunity legislation would have favoured the ethnic and religious minorities while being discriminatory against the majority Sinhalese-Buddhist community. Thus, in the public discourse as well as the political practice, ‘minority’ has not been a neutral, analytical or descriptive concept. It is a category that has legitimized group discrimination and in turn evoked resistance.

The Context

Sri Lanka's post-colonial political structure has had a distinctly ‘ethnic’ character. The framework of governance shaped according to conventional parliamentary democracy has enabled one community that is in numerical majority to acquire and maintain a near exclusive monopoly over state power. This is a classic example of ‘majoritarian democracy’ in both theory and practice. It has produced a civil war at the heart of which is the question of sharing state power between the majority ethnic community and the other ethnic communities. In the period preceding the war, Tamil politics was shaped by what was viewed at the time as ‘minority grievances’, which included discrimination in the areas of language rights, access to land and public resources and access to structures of governance. The war that began in the early 1980s progressed under new conceptual foundations of the Tamil political project, making a decisive shift from a framework of ‘minority grievances’ to a paradigm of ‘national aspirations’. This transition of Tamil politics in relation to the Sri Lankan state has relocated majority–minority politics in Sri Lanka in a process of state-formation in a period of civil war. The prolonged civil war with its devastating political, human and social consequences has brought forward new issues concerning minority rights. The original issues that defined the grievances discourse of minority politics are now displaced by the dynamics of a protracted civil war. Among the issues that have dominated the politics of Tamil minority rights during the past two and half decades have been the question of national self-determination, the strategies to end the civil war, the nature of the post-civil war state and the choice between regional autonomy and secession. Nevertheless, Sri Lanka's mainstream constitutionalist perspective on minority rights continues with some reluctance to change. It revolves around two approaches. The first is the idea that the constitutional entrenchment of the fundamental rights of all citizens, while guaranteeing the language rights of the main ethnic minorities, would be adequate to address minority grievances. The second approach accommodates to a limited degree the claims of group rights of the ethnic minorities. It accepts devolution of power as a political measure necessary to meet the Tamil and Muslim demand

for regional autonomy. The ethnic conflict has exposed the inadequacy of both these approaches to grapple with the new issues of minority rights that have emerged in the backdrop of a protracted internal war. With regard to the first perspective, Sri Lanka's Constitution has a chapter on fundamental rights with a non-discrimination clause. It claims to ensure that ‘no citizen shall be discriminated against on the grounds of race, religion, language, caste, sex, political opinion, place of birth or any one of such grounds’.2 The 1978 Constitution also has fairly liberal provisions for minority language rights. While Sinhalese, the language of the majority, is the ‘Official Language of Sri Lanka’, Sinhalese and Tamil are ‘National Languages’.3 Any person is entitled to be educated through the medium of either of the national languages, subject to a few procedural restrictions. Despite these constitutional guarantees, citizens belonging to the minority communities seem not to seek judicial redress for repeated rights violations that would come under the non-discrimination clause as well as the language rights provisions. There are two reasons that explain this situation. First, it is exceedingly difficult to prove before a court of law the legal requirement of the intent of discrimination on the basis of race, religion or language. Second, Sri Lanka's higher judiciary does not have a strong record of protecting minority rights. There is also enabling legislation to give effect to the constitutional provisions on language rights. An Official Lan-guages Commission was set up in 1991 to provide institutional support for the proper and effective implementation of the language legislation. However, experience so far suggests that mere constitutionalization of language rights is not sufficient to honour and protect minority rights. Studies on the implementa-tion of Tamil language provisions show that most of the gov-ernment departments, which are run primarily by Sinhalese officials at all levels of responsibility, do not have resources, per-sonnel or the commitment to transact in the Tamil language with Tamil or Muslim citizens. Meanwhile, the Official Languages Commission has little or no authority to enforce the official lan-guages law, except making recommendations to the

government. Even when recommendations are made, the governments have taken little or no action to acknowledge and implement them.4 As Shanmugaratnam has pointed out, at the heart of this inability of governments to give effect to the official languages law is the majoritarian communal character of the post-colonial Sri Lankan state. De-communalization of the state is an essential precondition for the protection of minority rights through legislation.5 The approach of accommodating minority demands for political rights through the devolution of power has a record of disappointing outcomes that has had grave implications. The devolution process that began in 1987 initially was meant to pro-vide a framework of regional autonomy to the Tamil community amid a secessionist war carried out by a host of militant Tamil nationalist groups. Later, Muslim claims for autonomy were also incorporated into the devolution discourse. Provincial Councils for devolution, as opposed to decentralization of power, were the first institutional frameworks which the Sinhalese ruling elites established in response to the selfdetermination claims of the Tamil minority. Two previous attempts made in 1957 and 1966 to institutionalize Tamil demand for regional autonomy had failed in the face of Sinhalese nationalist opposition. Meanwhile, the devolution of power established in 1987 through the 13th Amendment to the Constitution has not worked in the Northern and the Eastern provinces where it was needed the most. The crippling of devolution there occurred as a result of the dissolution by the central government of the elected Provincial Council in 1990, when the provincial administration headed by the Eelam People's Revolutionary Liberation Front (EPRLF) declared unilateral independence.6 That prompted the central government to run the provincial administration through a governor who was appointed by the president. How-ever, recent changes in the military balance in the Eastern Province have given rise to a new development concerning the provincial council. After the government under President Mahinda Rajapaksa managed to push the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) out of the Eastern province in 2007, the election to the Eastern provincial council was held. The Supreme

Court decision in 2006 to demerge the two provinces has been in the backdrop of these new developments. At the provincial council election, the Thamil Makkal Viduthalai Puligal (TMVP), a breakaway faction of the LTTE, won the majority. The TMVP's victory was made possible by its alliance with the United People's Freedom Alliance (UPFA), the national ruling coalition headed by President Rajapaksa. Against the backdrop of continuing civil war, the deep divisions within the Tamil polity and the continu-ing refusal by the LTTE to reach an autonomy arrangement with governments in Colombo have provided an opportunity for the Mahinda Rajapaksa administration to alter the parameters within which a political solution to the ethnic conflict could be worked out. This development will be discussed in some detail later in this chapter. The point that needs to be made against this background is the following—Sri Lanka's ethnic conflict has brought the possi-bility and the necessity of group rights to the centre of the political struggle, although minority rights are not usually understood in a language of group rights. Meanwhile, many of the group rights issues that emerged through the protracted ethnic conflict call for an approach that can grapple with the self-determination rights of ethnic minorities. They include representation rights, security rights, recognition rights, development rights and governance rights.7 These rights are in turn linked to the question of how state power is shared among different ethnic communities and how the state in its structural composition should reflect the ethnic diversity of the polity. In this context, an important question that warrants explora-tion is: what has the civil war done to the theory and practice of minority rights in Sri Lanka? It has significantly altered the form and content of minority rights. It has indeed brought into a collision course the liberal and nationalist perspectives on minority rights. The liberal constitutionalist approach believes in the efficacy of legal reforms and institution building to ensure minority rights. ‘Minority nationalists’, on the other hand, seek either secession or the radical restructuring of the state in a federalist framework. The framing of minority rights can no longer be made on the plane of individual

rights or in relation to civil and political rights and language alone. It calls for a group rights discourse. However, the ethnic minority's advocacy of prioritizing group rights has posed a radical challenge to the mainstream liberal constitutionalist discourse in Sri Lanka. This challenge revolves around the position that the entrenchment of group rights through regional autonomy would place at great risk individual civil and political rights within the community. The war has reinforced the argument that the group rights approach to minority rights might lead to illiberal consequences. At the same time, advocates of group rights argue that giving priority to individual rights over the self-determination claims of minority communities is a continuation of ethnic majoritarian politics by other means, that is, behind the veil of human rights.8 The civil war has also brought to the political agenda the nature of Sri Lanka's post-conflict state and its capacity to accommodate minority aspirations for political equality. The Tamil nationalists, particularly those who share the thesis that Tamils constitute a nation in Sri Lanka, envisage reconstitution of the existing state, enabling Tamils to enjoy an extensive measure of territorial autonomy. Paralleled with the Tamil nationalist vision for a post-civil war state is the Muslim vision. The political leaders of the Muslim minority have articulated the idea that a post-civil war state should be conceptualized to accommodate regional autonomy to the Muslim community in the Eastern province. What is noteworthy is that during the attempts at a negotiated settlement to the civil war, an argument for extensive state reforms has emerged from the minority communities. However, in the Sinhalese society, the idea of state reform to accompany a civil war settlement process continues to remain intensely contested. There seems to be three clusters of approaches on this issue in the Sinhalese society—no state reform at all, state reform through expanded devolution and limited, pragmatic reforms.

Tamils and the Claim to ‘Nationhood’

The most dramatic shift in Sri Lanka's minority rights discourse is linked to the rise of Tamil ethnic nationalism, which claimed that the Tamil community was not a ‘minority’, but a ‘nation’ with the right to self-determination. Since the Tamil nationalists have always defined the rights of the Tamils in a framework of self-determination, the liberal constitutionalist discourse of minority rights could not for many years engage with this particular con-ceptualization of rights. But it had recognized the ‘collective rights’ of minorities in the form of the right to non-discrimination.9 The Soulbury Constitution of 1947, drafted mainly by the advisors of the outgoing British colonial state, contained a crucial provision that prohibited the Sri Lankan Parliament from enacting discriminatory legislation.10 However, the socialist–nationalist constitutionalism that came to prominence in the 1960s and 1970s radically disagreed with the liberal constitutionalist perspective of minority rights as collective rights. Thus, the 1972 Constitution removed the collective rights clauses of the Soulbury Constitution and subjected minority rights entirely to the will of the legislature, the majority of which were under all circumstances, members of the ethnic majority. Meanwhile, the notion of self-determination, as politi-cally constructed in Tamil nationalism, has had both ‘internal’ and ‘external’ claims. The political goal of ‘internal self-determination’ has been posited as regional autonomy. The Federal Party's federalist idea, articulated as far back as the early 1950s, was based on this notion of ‘internal self-determination’, although the literature of the Federal Party did not exactly carry the formulation in these terms. The formulation used was then the right to ‘nationhood’. Interestingly, secession had not entered the political imagination of Tamil nationalists in the early phases of post-colonial state-formation in Sri Lanka. The reframing of self-determination in ‘external’, or seces-sionist terms occurred in the late 1970s. And in the early 1980s, it entered the political practice of Tamil nationalism in a serious way in the form of an armed insurgency. The argument of secessionist Tamil nationalism was that the nationhood goal of the Tamil ‘nation’, which

has been reduced to the status of a ‘minority’ in Sri Lanka's postcolonial political order, could be achieved only through a project of separate ‘statehood’. This was quite different from the presecessionist Tamil nationalist project of ‘nationhood’. The latter was based on the idea that the ‘nationhood’ goal of the Tamil minority could best be achieved within a reformed and federalized state of Sri Lanka. While the nationhood goal envisioned a future of ‘two nations–one state’, the statehood goal posited a vision of ‘two nations–two states’. Indeed, the Tamil nationalist struggle for separate statehood through secession constituted a qualitatively new dimension in the political practice of a minority to secure group rights. But, the politics of secession, particularly of armed struggle, only further complicated the minority rights campaign of the Sri Lankan Tamils. The protracted civil war that began in 1983 brought forward some new dynamics that even put into doubt the validity of secession as a credible path to group rights with democracy. The emergence of militarized and thoroughly authoritarian rebel movements and their eventual dominance weakened the Tamil nationalist project for democratic rights. Since the armed struggle, understood in the language of ‘national liberation’, gave primacy to self-determination rights over civil and political rights, the protracted ‘liberation struggle’ has turned itself into an intensely militarized phase of state-formation of the Tamil polity. One of its key features is the exceptionally high level of internal militarization of political and social relations that has allowed virtually no space for democratic struggles within. The problematic consequences of according primacy to selfdetermination rights became manifested when the LTTE, the main Tamil nationalist insurgent movement, began to control territory and administer civilian populations. From the mid-1990s, the LTTE set up institutions and structures of a ‘parallel state’ in areas under its control in the Northern and Eastern provinces. These institutions included the police, the judiciary, social services, education, civil administration, management of humanitarian assistance and the LTTE's military institutions. While setting up these institutions, the LTTE also engaged in war with the Sri Lankan state. The process

has produced a highly militarized system of a sub-national state in a part of Sri Lanka. Combined with the LTTE's authoritarian politics, this militarized sub-national state precluded internal democracy within the Tamil polity. It did not provide space for representation, political pluralism, dissent or civil and political rights. This situation enabled the Sri Lankan state, run by the Sinhalese political class, to claim that democratic and minority rights are better guaranteed and practised by the Sri Lankan state from which the LTTE is seeking secession. It has reinforced the conventional liberal constitutionalist argument that self-determination claims by minorities are not necessarily emancipatory projects. The LTTE is not the only Tamil nationalist entity that has brought into sharp focus the limits of the self-determination project of Tamil nationalism in terms of democratic rights. In the course of their armed struggle, all Tamil militant groups have been using excessive violence against civilians, including Tamil civilians whom they claimed to be liberating from the Sri Lankan state. The primacy accorded to the armed struggle has to a great extent prevented any broadening of the debate on political emancipation within the Tamil polity. As the experience of the EPRLF-run provincial council administration in 1989–90 demonstrated, even the non-LTTE Tamil nationalist groups had not thought of including democratic rights in their governing practices. While, non-LTTE Tamil groups have been sharply questioning and opposing the LTTE's authoritarian politics as ‘fascist’, they have failed to provide a democratic alternative to the LTTE's authoritarianism. They have initiated no discussion in the Tamil polity for a critical re-examination of the possibilities as well as the limitations of the secessionist armed struggle to ensure democratic rights of the Tamil people. Those ex-militant groups who have given up armed struggle and joined parliamentary politics are not known for being standard bearers of human rights and democracy in the Tamil polity. Moreover, in their continuing internal war with the LTTE they have often allied themselves with the state armed forces and intelligence agencies to hunt down even Tamil civilians linked to the LTTE. The record of violence of the Karuna group, which emerged in 2004 as a

breakaway faction of the LTTE, illustrates this fundamental paradox in Tamil politics in Sri Lanka. Karuna and his followers in the Eastern province have joined hands with the state armed forces in the latter's low-intensity war with the LTTE. The Karuna group has been directing its violence and brutality almost exclusively against Tamils. The Tamil nationalist practice of militarized violence and authoritarianism within the Tamil polity gives credence to the ‘deficiency thesis’ of liberal constitutionalism concerning minority rights, which posits that ‘ethnic groups are deficient as rightholders’.11 The extreme polarization of Tamil politico-military groups into two camps—LTTE and anti-LTTE—and their fratricidal internal war has been detrimental to the realization of the Tamil community's democratic rights. This has led to an unusual paradox: the democratic rights of the Tamil people as a ‘minority’ needs to be protected not only from the majoritarian Sinhalese state, but also from the Tamil politico-military groups who using violence to control the everyday life of Tamil citizens. This contradiction in Tamil ‘national liberation politics’ was highlighted in the aftermath of the 2002 Cease-Fire Agreement, in the war between the mainstream LTTE and the breakaway Karuna group. It was possible for the state and the Tamil polity to de-escalate war and violence through mutual agreement; but the moment that happened, the Tamil polity turned the violence against itself. What does all this tell us about the political project of minority rights? It tells us that those who wage an armed struggle to secure minority rights are not the best guarantors of democratic rights. Protracted armed struggle has not been a path paved with democracy or human rights. In waging war for national rights, its practitioners have begun to instrumentalize the entire rights discourse. Claims like, ‘it is too early to practice democracy within ourselves; we must first win national independence’, however outrageous they may appear to the politically conscious citizen, are informed by an essentially nationalist as well as an instrumentalist reasoning concerning rights.

Rights Claims in Muslim Politics Muslims are Sri Lanka's second largest minority community with a little over 8 per cent of the total population. They are concentrated in the Eastern province and dispersed throughout the country. During the first three decades after independence, the rights claims of the Muslim community were not as assertive or radicalized as those of the Tamil community. Till the mid-1980s, Sri Lankan Muslims did not have a political party of their own. In this early period, the Muslim political leadership came primarily from the business and professional elite in the Western province and worked with the main Sinhalese political parties. This Sinhalese–Muslim ‘alliance’ ensured parliamentary representation and cabinet positions for elite Muslim politicians who were members of either the United National Party (UNP) or the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP). Meanwhile, Muslim communities in the Northern and Eastern provinces voted for Tamil parties in a context where ethnic identity politics had not polarized Tamil–Muslim social formations. In the early phase of mobilization, Tamil nationalists took for granted that the Tamil movement represented Muslim interests as well. The formulation, ‘Tamil-speaking people in Sri Lanka’ had been deployed in the Tamil nationalist discourse to include both Tamil and Muslim communities on the premise that both communities shared the same language, Tamil. In the absence of a separate Muslim political party, the Muslim community advanced their interests through Sinhalese and Tamil political parties. In the Northern and Eastern provinces, where the Muslim community lived side by side with the regional majority of the Tamil community, the Federal Party, which later became the Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF), attracted Muslim voters as well as Muslim political activists. The ethnic war radically altered this political co-existence between the two communities. Three factors seem to have contributed to the Tamil–Muslim competition and conflict in the mid and the late 1980s. The first was the use of violence by Tamil armed groups against Muslim civilians, particularly in the Eastern province, in the early phase of the armed

struggle. The second was the deliberate policy of Sinhalese political leaders to create deep divisions between the Tamil and the Muslim communities in their strategy of ‘divide and rule’ in the Eastern province.12 The third was the intense competition for land and economic opportunities between the two communities in conditions of war, particularly in situations where population displacement had occurred due to violence. Against this backdrop, a new generation of politicized Muslim youth activists emerged in the Eastern province, which challenged both the traditional Muslim political leadership as well as the Tamil nationalist position that Tamil parties represented Muslim interests as well. The formation of the Sri Lanka Muslim Congress (SLMC) in 1986 was the outcome of this emergence of Muslim identity politics based on the claim that the political interests of the Sri Lankan Muslim community were fundamentally different from those of the Tamils.13 Muslim political leaders argued that an alliance with the Tamil secessionist insurgency would be utterly detrimental to Muslim interests. Instead, Muslims should establish their own political party independent of Tamil politics and serve their interests through negotiation and cooperation with the Sinhalese political leadership. The increasing hostility between the Tamil and the Muslim communities in the North and East during the war was marked by civilian massacres in the Eastern province, population displacement and ‘ethnic cleansing’ in the North by the LTTE. This relationship of hostility shaped the nature of a possible political solution to the ethnic conflict, particularly in relation to the power-sharing arrangements in the Eastern province. The proposals for the resolution of the ethnic conflict, from the late 1980s had to grapple with the Muslim demand that Muslim regional autonomy should be an essential outcome of a negotiated political settlement. The Salience of the Muslim autonomy claim made itself felt on two occasions. The first was in the early 1990s when a Parliamentary Select Committee was set up to find a framework of settlement to the ethnic conflict. The second occasion was during the 2002 peace process.

In 1991, under President Ranasinghe Premadasa, Sri Lanka's Parliament appointed a Select Committee, headed by an Opposi-tion member of parliament (MP), Mangala Moonesinghe, to explore a settlement framework acceptable to all the stakeholders to the conflict. By this time, the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) had left Sri Lanka and hostilities against the LTTE had resumed. The consultations initiated by the Moonesinghe Select Committee regenerated the debate on a political solution that had remained dormant since the 1987 Indo-Lanka Accord. The debate on devolution centred on two questions—the ‘extent of devolution’ and the ‘unit of devolution’. The question of the ‘extent of devolution’ was about the quantum of regional autonomy adequate to meet Tamil demands. The broad con-sensus at that time was that any new settlement framework should expand the powers of the provincial units beyond those granted to the Provincial Councils under the 13th Amendment to Sri Lanka's 1978 Constitution. But the question of ‘unit of devolution’ turned out to be the most intractable issue in the devolution debate in the early 1990s. The complexity concerning the ‘unit of devolution’ arose from the competing positions held by Sinhalese, Tamil and Muslim political parties on the nature of the autonomy unit in the Northern and Eastern provinces. Already, it had been complicated by the Indian government in the Indo-Lanka Accord of July 1987, which had recognized the Northern and Eastern provinces as ‘areas of historical habitation of Sri Lankan Tamil-speaking people, who [had] at all times hitherto lived together in this territory with other ethnic groups’. It even provided for the merger of the two provinces so that ‘one administrative unit, having one elected Provincial Council’ could be established.14 Thus, with the Indo-Lanka Accord of July 1987, the ‘merger’ of Northern and Eastern provinces became a firm and ‘nonnegotiable’ position in Tamil nationalist politics. But the Muslim and Sinhalese parties resisted the ‘merger’ claim. The Muslim argument was that the merger would create Tamil dominance in the regional administration of the North and East and reduce the Muslims to the position of a disempowered minority while

endangering their security.15 In order to safeguard Muslim interests and their security, the SLMC formulated the demand for a separate Muslim unit, combining administrative divisions with Muslim majority populations in Amparai and Batticaloa districts. A ‘non-contiguous Muslim autonomy unit’ in the Eastern province was the formulation that eventually emerged in this debate. But all the Tamil parties in the Select Committee process were adamant that the North–East merger was ‘non-negotiable’. The Select Committee’ Report proposed a compromise—an Apex Council and two provincial councils for the two provinces. Both the Tamil and the Muslim parties rejected this proposal as a move designed to weaken the Tamil claim to a unified autonomy unit. The question of the unit of devolution was left unresolved and still remains unresolved with little possibility of a compromise between the Tamil and the Muslim positions. In the 2002 peace process, the Muslim question re-emerged in the form of Muslim parties demanding a direct role in the negotiation process. The framework within which the 2002 peace process had been conceptualized was that the two principal parties—the United National Front (UNF) government and the LTTE—alone should negotiate the Cease-Fire Agreement and the eventual peace agreement. As the SLMC was a member of the governing UNF coalition, its leader took part in the negotiations but only as a member of the government delegation. Muslim parties resisted this framework fearing that the Sinhalese and the Tamil leaders would ignore Muslim interests and claims. Moreover, following the split in the SLMC and the fragmentation of the Muslim polity, Muslim anxieties were further heightened. The Muslim parties made two major demands. First, there should be separate Muslim representation at the peace talks with negotiations becoming a tripartite process. Second, the negotiated solution should be a tripartite solution jointly arrived at by the Sinhalese, Tamil and Muslim leaders. The LTTE's approach to the Muslim issue in 2002–03 reflects the particular political complexity that came to characterize Muslim– Tamil relationships during the civil war. The LTTE did not recognize

the Muslim claim for separate representation at the peace talks. The war had been between the Sri Lankan state and the Tamil community, and therefore the settlement agreement should have been between the two principal parties to the conflict. The LTTE also claimed that once a peace agreement was reached with the state, the LTTE would sign a separate peace agreement with the Muslim representatives of the Northern and the Eastern provinces. Given the recent history of extreme violence in the LTTE–Muslim relationships, the LTTE position did not have much credibility in the Muslim polity. During the 2002 peace process, there in fact emerged a new wave of radicalization of Muslim youth, who felt excluded and marginalized from the government–LTTE negotiations. Meanwhile, adding to the complexity of the rights question of the Muslim minority, during the 2002 peace process, a diversity of perspective and division arose among the community. Some political activists among the Muslims in the Northern Province, particularly those living in displaced conditions, began to argue that their needs and interests were substantially different from those of the Muslims in the Eastern province. Forming a new political party in 2008, the All Ceylon Muslim Congress claimed that regional autonomy for Muslims is not a solution to their problems, but the right to return to areas where they had earlier lived in the Northern Province. What are the political consequences of the continuing fragmentation of the Sri Lankan Muslim polity? One answer is that it has weakened the political bargaining capacity of the Muslim minority during the peace processes and state reform initiatives. In opposing Muslim representation in the 2002 peace talks, the LTTE emphasized that in the absence of a unified voice, Muslim parties could not be accommodated at the negotiation table. Deep divisions among Muslim political groups have also enabled the Sinhalese political leadership to exploit this disunity, pitting one group against the other. The other side of the coin is that divisions have immensely benefited the Muslim political class. With no unified Muslim leadership and voice, they have found it relatively easy to leave the main Muslim political party, the SLMC, and join Sinhalese-led

coalition governments and be personally rewarded with ministerial positions.

Plantation Tamils and Power-sharing Claims The rights violations of the Plantation Tamil community are legendary. With acutely low wages, living and employment conditions of semi-slavery, exceedingly low social development indicators and deliberate discrimination by the post-colonial Sri Lankan state, they are a community subjected to gross denial of human rights as well as minority rights. Their grievances have been a part of the minority rights discourse in Sri Lanka since the inception of the post-colonial nation-state in the late 1940s. In fact, nearly one million Tamil plantation workers and their families lost citizenship rights in one of the earliest pieces of legislation passed by Sri Lanka's independent legislature, namely, the Citizenship Act of 1948. In the franchise law passed a year later, those who had lost citizenship rights also lost their franchise rights. Sri Lanka's judiciary saw nothing wrong in these two laws, although Tamil political parties viewed them as discriminatory and argued that they were ultra vires of Sri Lanka's independent Constitution. The Plantation Tamil community were the first and the most celebrated victims of ethnicdiscriminatory public policy that has characterized Sinhalese majoritarian assertion in the post-colonial political order in Sri Lanka. In a way, the initial impetus for mainstream Tamil nationalism came from the group discrimination against the Plantation Tamil community. As a social formation, the Plantation Tamil community is distinct from the mainstream, ‘Sri Lankan Tamil’ community who consider the island's Northeastern provinces as their ‘traditional homeland’. To drive home this distinction, the Plantation Tamils are sometimes called ‘Tamils of recent Indian origin’. The descriptive label ‘recent origin’ derives from their association with the establishment of the colonial plantation economy by the British colonial rulers in the second half of the 19th Century. The plantation workers were brought from southern India and are mostly concentrated in the tea

plantations of the Central and Uva provinces. Relatively small populations of them continue to be employed in rubber and tea plantations in the Sabaragamuwa, Western and Southern provinces as a dispersed minority. Till the late 1970s, two issues dominated the group rights politics of the Plantation Tamil community—first, citizenship rights and, second, their economic and social rights. The 1948 Citizenship law had denied citizen rights to nearly one million Tamil plantation workers and their descendents. The Sri Lankan government's position was that since these workers had ‘recently’ migrated to Sri Lanka from south India, the Indian government should offer them Indian citizenship. The Indian government rejected this position. The issue of some 975,000 stateless persons was partially resolved in October 1964 when the prime ministers of Sri Lanka and India signed the Sirima–Shastri agreement whereby Sri Lanka would give citizenship to 300,000, while the Indian government would accept repatriation of 525,000. Even then, 150,000 people remained in Sri Lanka as stateless.16 A subsequent agreement signed between the two govern-ments in 1974 stipulated that the two countries would share these ‘stateless’ people equally. This was an arrangement made between the two governments; there was no consultation with the affected people or their political leaders. It prompted S. Thondaman, the leader of the Ceylon Workers’ Congress (CWC), the leading plantation workers’ trade union, to remark that the Indian Tamils as a ‘community of human beings, with soul, mind and body with personality’ should not be ‘apportioned between countries like beasts of burden…only to maintain good neighbourly relations’.17 The mainstream Tamil nationalist movement took up the citizenship rights issue of the ‘stateless Tamils’ as a major theme in their campaign for ‘Tamil rights’. For example, the 1985 Thimpu Principles, put forward by all the Tamil groups in their negotiations with the Sri Lankan government, demanded the ‘recognition of the right to full citizenship and other fundamental democratic rights of all Tamils, who look upon the Island as their country’.18 In 1986, the

government of President J.R. Jayewardene conferred citizenship to 94,000 ‘stateless’ Tamils in the plantation sector, bringing the citizenship issue to an end. The closure of the citizenship problem coincided with the CWC joining the ruling United National Party (UNP) in a coalition government. Evidently, President Jayewardene had an electoral objective in mind. After the citizenship issue was resolved, the question of the rights of the ‘Upcountry Tamil’ community shifted to two other main areas. Moreover, the theme of their economic and social rights has taken a new turn after the privatization of plantation management in the mid1980s. Among the politically active sections of the Upcountry Tamil community, the demand has emerged for autonomy and selfdetermination rights. The context for this shift is the national debate on power-sharing and regional autonomy for Northeastern Tamil and the Muslim communities. The way in which the leadership of the Upcountry Tamil community has negotiated its political relationship with the state, moving away from the militant politics of the Tamils in the Northeast, constitutes an interesting model. The CWC was initially a member of the Tamil United Front (TUF), formed in 1975, to advance minority Tamil grievances. In 1976, the TUF adopted a militant programme of action to mobilize the Tamils for national self-determination and the establishment, through peaceful means, of a separate Tamil state. With this change in Tamil nationalist politics, the CWC left the TUF and soon joined the government of the UNP which came to power in 1977. What is noteworthy is that the CWC chose the strategy of coalition building with the Sinhalese political establishment at a time when the mainstream Tamil politics was in the process of shifting towards the path of armed struggle. The CWC has continued this policy throughout the subsequent years, joining UNP and People's Alliance (PA)-led governments, without maintaining strict partisanship with either. For example, the CWC contested the 1994 parliamentary elections in a coalition with the UNP, but after the elections joined the PA to form a coalition regime. Again in 2004, the CWC contested the parliamentary election in alliance with the UNP; but after the elections, it joined the UPFA government. This flexibility

in entering coalition alliances during and after parliamentary elections is a part of the innovative model of pragmatism evolved by a small minority community in a context where the main minority community has opted for the path of armed struggle against the state to win its self-determination rights. Similarly, the political leadership of the Muslim community has adopted a flexible strategy of coalition politics. Meanwhile, there has been the concurrent debate in Sri Lanka on regional autonomy, devolution and federalism as possible alternatives to secession. The proposals for a political solution to the ethnic conflict and appropriate constitutional models have given rise to a state reform discourse. It is in this context that a new political awakening has emerged among political and social activists among the Upcountry Tamil community to envision a new framework of autonomy rights. Three perspectives have emerged in this regard. The first seeks regional autonomy for an area comprising districts with a majority of Plantation Tamil population. It is based on the principle of regional autonomy for regional majority communities who are national minorities. Some advocates propose the Pondicherry model of India. The second is power-sharing rights within a scheme of devolution or federalism for plantation Tamil communities who are either dispersed or who constitute significant minorities in Sinhalesemajority districts. It is inspired by the principle of non-territorial power-sharing. The third perspective is strengthening of the existing local government institutions with enhanced powers and functions to ensure that the Upcountry Tamil people have greater access to institutions of governance. This idea presup-poses the principle of asymmetrical local governance.19

‘Localized’ Minority Communities and Constitutional Options The issue of minority rights in Sri Lanka is related to the broad question of access to and the sharing of state power. This ques-tion has been framed in terms of federalism and autonomy in the pre-civil war period, and subsequently in a discourse of secession versus the

unity of the state. The autonomy/federalism framing of minority rights returned to the political debate in 2002–03, but it did not last long. Although the main focus of this debate has been on the political relations between the Sinhalese and the Tamil communities, it has also given rise to other proposals for multi-level power-sharing arrangements to accommodate political aspirations of smaller minority commu-nities. These have emanated from the perspectives of smaller, regional or ‘localized’ minority communities. The Oslo principles on federalism and internal self-determination reached between the government and the LTTE in December 2000 provided the impetus for this new thinking on power-sharing. As Devaraj notes, the agreement between the Sri Lankan government and the LTTE to ‘explore’ new structures of power-sharing had opened the way for ‘deepening of the power-sharing discourse’.20 We have already discussed the claims made for power-sharing rights from the perspectives of the Muslim and the Plantation Tamil communities. Here, the focus is on the localized communities which are dispersed in relatively small numbers in areas, provinces as well as districts, where the majority of the population belong to a national or regional majority. In the Tamil-speaking North, the Sinhalese, Muslims and various other mixed communities are such localized minorities. Similarly, in the southeastern coastal areas where the local majority population is Muslim, Sinhalese and Tamils constitute a local minority. In the Sinhalese majority provinces—or in the socalled ‘South’—the Tamils, Muslims and other ethnic groups are minority communities. Sri Lanka's dominant debate on powersharing and federalism does not account for the group rights of these small minorities. Having being excluded from the reckonings of regional autonomy, they run the risk of becoming oppressed minorities under territorialized devolution and federalism. Sri Lanka's devolution proposals drafted in the 1990s did not take into account the rights of local minorities. One reason for their exclusion is that the devolution discourse as evolved in Sri Lanka has been shaped by the logic of ‘ethnic nationalisms’ of Sinhalese, Tamil and Muslim communities. It has turned the concept of ethnic

self-determination into a vision of territorialized ethnic enclaves or ethnic homelands.21 Also, it is based on the conventional federalist reasoning that the best way to politically empower a national minority is to make them a regional majority, with constitutionally guaranteed powers of regional or territorialized autonomy. In such a framework, would the rights of regional, local and dispersed minority communities be protected? Rajasingham-Senanayake quite rightly expresses the concern that the territorialized model of devolution/federalism is very likely to make official the ethnic enclave mentality and strengthen fears, suspicions and cultural differences that have been built in the course of the protracted war and violence. In this argument, devolution for multi-culturalism and pluralism should have arrangements to safeguard the rights of local minorities while ensuring their safety and security from the hegemonic possibilities of the local majorities. They centre on five issues22—representational rights, security rights, recognition rights, right to development and governance rights. I propose that they require innovative constitutional and institutional options. A reform agenda may be elaborated as follows. The first set of rights, representational rights, calls for constitutional guarantees for all minorities to secure representation in the assemblies of governance, in Parliament, provincial councils and local government bodies. The electoral system will need to be reformed to translate these constitutional guarantees into institutional practice. Smaller minorities would not stand a chance to secure representation in Parliament in ‘normal’ first past the post electoral systems. The question of security guarantees for smaller minorities can be partially addressed by means of ensuring representational rights as above. In addition, measures of affirmative action should be provided, particularly through non-territorial mechanisms of federalism. Recognition rights entail their recognition as political communities of equal worth, followed by the recognition of their language and cultural rights. Developmental rights emanate from the need to alter the continuing conditions of economic and social

marginality of almost all these marginal minorities and link them with mainstream of the developmental process, thereby enabling them to benefit from state policies for development. Access to state power encompasses representation, legislative decision making and participation in executive process—at the national, provincial and local levels. In concrete terms, this agenda calls for (a) territorial as well as non-territorial federalism, (b) federalizing national, provincial and local assemblies of governance with guaranteed participation of minorities and (c) making new electoral arrangements for smaller minorities to secure representation in sub-national assemblies.

Changing Dynamics of MinorityRights Discourse 2007– 08 As suggested in this chapter, the arguments, discourses and policy options concerning minority rights in Sri Lanka have been largely shaped by the trajectories of the civil war. For two and half dec-ades, the military strength of the Tamil secessionist campaign, the capacity of the Tamil society to endure a protracted civil war and the resolve of the Sri Lankan state to defeat the Tamil nationalist insurgency have conditioned the extent to which minority rights should be acknowledged, accommodated or resisted. For example, the arguments for minimal political reforms as well as wider state reforms for federalist autonomy have been policy options that emerged in the Sinhalese polity in response to the challenge of the Tamil nationalist insurgency. When the Tamil insurgency was militarily strong, the Tamil nationalists could demand extensive regional autonomy, as exemplified in LTTE's proposals in 2003 for an Interim Self Governing Authority (ISGA). In 2007–08, as the LTTE has been militarily weakened, the nature as well as the terms of the political solution to the ethnic conflict has been undergoing a major alteration. Here I explore the changing dynamics of the minority rights discourse in response to the anticipated defeat of the Tamil insurgency. When hostilities between the newly elected Mahinda Rajapaksa administration and the LTTE broke out in 2006 and developed into

an undeclared war in 2007, the process to find a negotiated settlement to the ethnic conflict came to an effective end. For both the government and the LTTE, the resumption of war seemed to be the preferred option. The ruling coalition led by the UPFA is a new political configuration in which two hardcore Sinhalese nationalist parties, the Janatha Vimukhi Peramuna (JVP) and Jathika Hela Urumaya (JHU), play a key role in defining the regime's ideology, policies and approaches to the ethnic conflict. The JHU denies the existence of an ethnic conflict or minority grievances. For the JHU, the LTTE rebellion is pure terrorism. Terrorism calls for a military solution. There is no political problem that requires a political solution. The JVP's position is slightly different. The JVP acknowledges the existence of minority grievances, but rejects the legitimacy of the insurgency. The JVP wants the state to defeat the LTTE militarily and then offer ‘decentralization’, and not devolution, as a framework of accommodating minority demands. The policies of President Rajapaksa to the ethnic conflict seem to be a pragmatic synthesis of the positions of both the JVP and JHU. In 2004–06 as the peace process foundered, it impacted quite negatively on the prospects of resolving the ethnic conflict by political means within an autonomy framework.23 In December 2002, the UNF government and the LTTE had arrived at an understanding to ‘explore’ a federal solution to the ethnic conflict within the parameters of a ‘united Sri Lanka’. This understanding reached at the Oslo talks initially created the impression of a breakthrough in Sri Lanka's protracted ethnic conflict that would enable minority aspirations to be constitutionalized in a manner that would enjoy the concurrence of the majority as well. However, it took only a little time for the Oslo understanding to be subsumed by the irreconcilable differences between the government and the LTTE on how to take the peace process forward. The LTTE's decision to suspend its participation in peace talks until the government proposed a scheme for an interim administration for the North and the East brought the negotiation process into a stage of crisis. When the UNF government made two sets of proposals for an interim administration in May

2003, the LTTE rejected them as inadequate in the proposed scope of power and authority. In turn, the LTTE developed and presented its own proposals for ISGA. The LTTE proposals envisaged a structure of self-rule, with extensive regional autonomy. The interim body would have ‘plenary powers’ for the governance of the two provinces, including ‘all powers and functions in relation to regional ad-ministration exercised by the Government of Sri Lanka (GOSL) in and for the North East’.24 The LTTE, it appeared, expected the new interim mechanism to formalize the existence of what they called their ‘de-facto administration’. The opposition SLFP, which had by this time mobilized Sinhalese nationalist resistance against the UNF–LTTE ceasefire and negotiations, described the LTTE's proposals for an interim administration, as a ‘blueprint for secession’.25 The ISGA proposals even surprised the UNF government. It led to a new crisis in Colombo and the collapse of the UNF government. This controversy demonstrated the vast gulf that existed between the Sinhalese political establishment and the LTTE on the nature of even an interim political solution to the ethnic conflict. The Sinhalese political establishment saw it in minimalist terms, whereas the LTTE approached the interim as a necessary step to formalize the regional administration—or the regional sub-state—it had established. Regime changes following the parliamentary election in April 2004 and the Presidential election in November 2005 led to further polarization of government–LTTE relations. If the defeated UNF represented an unstable middle ground between two extreme positions on minority rights, the new UPFA regime and the LTTE constituted opposing positions that could not be reconciled through negotiations. The war once again became the medium through which the outcome of the conflict was to be determined. The UPFA administration headed by President Rajapaksa is in a way a multi-ethnic coalition, despite its commitment to a military solution to the ethnic conflict. Since 1994, all governments have been multi-ethnic coalitions of Sinhalese, Tamil and Muslim political parties with some measure of a proto-consociational character. This

multi-ethnic coalition dimension of regimes makes it necessary for the governments to explore greater political accommodation with the minority communities. President Rajapaksa, in May 2006, established an All Party Representative Committee (APRC) to formulate the framework of a political solution to the ethnic conflict. The Committee comprised rep-resentatives of most of the political parties in Parliament, the exceptions being the UNP, the Tamil National Alliance (TNA) and the JVP. The UNP, the main opposition party in Parliament, and the JVP, a leading member of the UPFA coalition government, boycotted the APRC proceedings. The APRC process met with many challenges and com-plexities between 2006 and 2007. The trouble began when the APRC's Committee of Experts submitted an interim report in December 2006 proposing a political solution with enhanced province-based devolution. It proposed to further strengthen the existing system of power-sharing in Sri Lanka to address Tamil aspirations for regional autonomy. The president and the ruling party immediately dissociated themselves from the report of the Experts Committee. Sinhalese nationalist partners of the ruling coalition, the JVP and JHU, harshly denounced the proposals. Despite this political setback, the APRC proceedings continued through to 2008 but with little progress in terms of any concrete proposals. The hardcore Sinhalese nationalist representatives of the APRC appear to believe that neither the APRC nor the government should make any commitment on the nature and scope of a political solution until the war against the LTTE is successfully concluded. The assumption being that once the LTTE is militarily defeated and the Tamil community is disarmed, the political solution would not require any degree of regional autonomy. The way in which the Rajapaksa administration has redefined the debate about a political solution warrants acknowledge-ment.26 By 2008, it became quite clear that President Rajapaksa has altered the basic framework within which a negotiated poli-tical solution to Sri Lanka's ethnic conflict has hitherto been conceptualized. He has changed four components of that frame-work and added two new

elements. The first is about the constitutional scope of the envisaged political solution. President Rajapaksa's formula is ‘maximum devolution within a unitary state’ as the guiding principle of the political solution. The limited scope of regional autonomy implied in this formula is minimum devolution which is a fundamental deviation from the positions held by the previous PA and UNF governments. The second is about the basic strategic path to peace in Sri Lanka. The government appears to believe that a political solution without a military victory over the LTTE will not provide sustainable and durable peace in Sri Lanka. In the government's thinking, as articulated by the president and the government's political theorists, a military solution, or a political solution paralleled with a military victory, is more likely to work. This differs from the argument of previous governments that the LTTE needed to be militarily weakened in order to persuade its leadership to opt for a political settlement. The emphasis now is on defeating, rather than weakening, the LTTE. The third, emanating from the first and the second, concerns the LTTE's role in a possible negotiated solution to the ethnic conflict. The government does not seem to believe, nor does it hope for, any negotiations with the LTTE. The military defeat and the elimination of the LTTE from the politico-military equation seem to be the government's strategic objective in the present phase of the war. Those who pursue the objective of peace without the LTTE treat the LTTE as the ‘absolute enemy’ of the Sri Lankan state. The LTTE is seen as the main obstacle to peace in Sri Lanka and is to be removed through military conquest. The fourth concerns the unit of regional autonomy. With the help of the JVP and through judicial intervention, the government has achieved a goal which no other government would have dared—the demerger of the Northern and the Eastern provinces. Tamil nationalists for long held that the merger of the two provinces was a non-negotiable principle in any political settlement. Acknowledging this, the Indo-Lanka Accord of July 1987 proposed the merger of the two provinces. They were temporarily merged a few months later. The demerger occurred in 2006 when the Supreme Court, in a

determination of a petition filed by the JVP, held that that temporary merger was illegal. Almost all the non-LTTE Tamil parties and groups have now reconciled to this new political reality and abandoned the conventional Tamil nationalist notion of a unified Tamil home-land encompassing the Northern and the Eastern provinces. The fifth component entails pragmatic political deals with the nonLTTE Tamil militant groups as the military thrust against the LTTE proceeds. The first phase of this new strategy has been successfully implemented in the demerged Eastern province, with the active participation of the TMVP, which broke away from the LTTE a few years ago. In the North, the Eelam People's Democratic Party (EPDP) heads the non-LTTE entity with which the government has already established a strategic partnership. These anti-LTTE Tamil parties, which earlier had engaged in the armed insurgency against the state, share the view that the LTTE, with its secessionist goal and continuing commitment to the armed struggle, is the main obstacle to securing Tamil rights in cooperation and collaboration with the Sinhalese political establishment. Their strategic path is to win Tamil demands not by confronting the state, but by alliancemaking with the Sinhalese political establishment that manages the Sri Lankan state. The sixth is the willingness demonstrated by minority political groups, except the LTTE and TNA, to accept under the Rajapaksa presidency, a political solution to the ethnic conflict that ensures a secondary status to ethnic minorities. Some of the major minority political parties seem ready to accept the status of unequal citizens on the argument that confrontation and war with the Sinhalese-led state has done little for the minorities. Cooperation and collaboration is viewed more acceptable and pragmatic than resistance to the state that produces no tangible benefit. The minority parties in Sri Lanka also seem to recognize that in the post 9/11 world, the best course of action available for ethnic minorities is the path of least resistance and unilateral compromise. This is reinforced by Rajapaksa's strategy of effectively linking the war against LTTE with the global war against terrorism.

Internationalization of Concern for Minority Rights Sri Lanka has the distinction among South Asian states of inviting a very high degree of international concerns for minority rights. Two reasons have contributed to this concern. First, Tamil minority citizens living in the Northern and the Eastern provinces have been direct victims of humanitarian consequences of the protracted civil war. Second is the realization among key international actors that governments in Sri Lanka driven by the imperatives of Sinhalese nationalist agenda are unlikely to voluntarily guarantee minority rights. India was the first external actor to engage the Sri Lankan state on the rights of the Tamil community in the early and mid-1980s.27 In the early phase of the civil war, Sri Lankan government was pursuing a military option to defeat the separatist insurgency. The Indian government while backing the Tamil groups, tried to bring about a negotiated settlement. The Thimpu Talks of 1985 between representatives of the Sri Lankan government and the Tamil militant groups were facilitated by the Indian government. They failed but the Indian government continued its efforts at a negotiated settlement that would ensure some measure of regio-nal self-rule to the Tamil community. The entry of the concept of devolution of power in Sri Lanka's political discourse in the mid-1980s was specifically an Indian contribution. The Indo-Lanka Accord of July 1987 proposed a political package of devolution which established through a constitutional amendment a system of Provincial Councils. India's role is particularly significant because it succeeded in persuading a reluctant Sinhalese political establishment to acknowledge the necessity of regional autonomy to accommodate Tamil political aspirations. International concerns about the position of the minorities in Sri Lanka's post-civil war polity have re-emerged in 2008, in the context of government claims about winning the war against the LTTE. The US has reiterated that a military victory should be accompanied by a political solution to the ethnic conflict. India too is emphasizing that there is no ‘military solution’ to the ethnic conflict and the

government of Sri Lanka should introduce a political solution acceptable to all communities, including the ethnic minorities. Apparently, both the US and India are apprehensive that a military victory for the state might not provide an incentive to the government to share power with the ethnic minorities. Sri Lanka's dilemma is that there is no strong domestic constituency other than the minorities themselves that can make an argument for the protection of minority rights in a comprehensive manner. But the protracted civil war has also made the minority communities ineffective and powerless in their capacity to influence any significant state reform process.

Conclusion Sri Lanka's minority rights discourse has been widened and then narrowed down quite significantly, in the context of the ethnopolitical civil war. While the understanding of the concept of ‘minority’ has been contested and transformed, the focus of minority ‘rights’ has shifted decisively from the domain of civil and political as well as collective rights to group rights along with self-determination claims. The rights claims made by the Tamil nationalist groups engaged in an armed struggle with the Sri Lankan state called for a radical agenda of state reform in Sri Lanka as the alternative to a secessionist outcome. However, with changes in the balance of power between the state and the LTTE in the course of the civil war, the state reform agenda has also been subjected to major alterations. In redefining the political discourse of minority rights, governments have contributed significantly. The UNP government introduced in 1987–88 the concept of devolution and the institution of provincial councils to constitute the framework of a political solution to the ethnic conflict. The PA government in 1995–96 expanded the scope of devolution by proposing greater autonomy to provin-cial councils in a semi-federal framework. The UNF government introduced in 1993 federalism as the suitable constitutional framework for accommodating minority political aspirations. The UPFA government of 2005 took the debate away from federalism and the new UPFA government has taken this position further to

reframe the scope of power-sharing in a minimalist formula of ‘maximum devolution within a unitary state’. Meanwhile, the strategies of minority political parties and movements underwent notable changes. The Tamil community remains deeply divided over the best political path to achieve its political aspirations. The LTTE continues to wage an armed struggle to reach the goal of ‘national independence’ which may mean secession or even confederal regional autonomy. Quite a few other Tamil parties are strongly opposed to the goal of secession as well as the strategy of armed struggle. They have opted for sharing power at the level of central government with even limited autonomy to the periphery. In achieving this goal, they have even entered into alliances with hardcore Sinhalese nationalist parties on the argument that militarily defeating the LTTE is a necessary precondition for the Tamils to achieve their rights without challenging the state. Two smaller minorities, Muslims and Upcountry Tamils, have adopted a pragmatic strategy of alliance building with the main Sinhalese political parties. This strategy has enabled them to join coalition governments with the assurance of receiving cabinet positions in the central government and representation as well as sharing of office in the provincial councils and local government bodies. The strategy of coalition politics seems to have served their interests quite well. In what direction would the minority rights debate move if the government's military campaign to defeat the LTTE succeeds? While it is hard to predict the outcome of the war, it is also difficult to see how a strong minority rights argument can politically survive in the context of a military victory of majority Sinhalese nationalism over minority Tamil nationalism. The argument for minority rights will come from two sources, the weak civil society committed to human rights and minority rights and a few international actors, notably India and the US. The Indian and the US governments have been repeatedly reminding the Rajapaksa administration in Sri Lanka to find a political solution, paralleled with the military solution, in which minority rights are protected and some measure of regional self-rule is guaranteed. It needs to be noted that under the present

government, the space for external actors to influence govern-ment policy is quite limited. After nearly three decades of civil war, Sri Lanka's prospects for institutionalization of minority rights in a framework of equality and power-sharing seem weak.

Notes and References 1. This notion of ‘privileged minorities’ versus the ‘underprivileged majority’ continues to surface in the Sinhalese nationalist discourse of victimology. Thus, the claims to equality made by ethnic and religious minorities are interpreted as an attempt to secure or re-gain the privileged status that they were supposed to have enjoyed under the colonial rule. One of the early articulations of this position was by J.L. Kotelawala, a leader of the first independent government, who became the prime minister in 1952. In a Senate debate on the proposed national flag for independent Sri Lanka, Kotelawala said: ‘The imperial policy was to subjugate the majority community and extract the wealth of the country…The minority communities were able to enjoy the crumbs that fell from the table and what the minority communities left went to the majority community. That is what happened in India, Burma, Malaya and Ceylon. The minority communities were, under the British rule, in a privileged position as against the majority community…Now the minorities are worried about their privileged position’. (Senate Debates, 13 January 1948, Column 431). In 2008, sixty years after Kotelawala made this speech, Sinhalese nationalist parties in Sri Lanka continue to propagate this thesis of ‘privileged minorities’ versus the ‘dispossessed majority’. 2. Clause 12(2) of the Constitution of the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka, 1978. The Constitution further elaborates discrimination as follows: ‘No person shall, on the grounds of race, religion, language, caste, sex or any such grounds, be subject to any disability, liability, restriction or condition with regard to access to shops, public restaurants, hotels, places of public entertainment and places of public worship of his own religion’.— Clause 12(30) of the 1978 Constitution. It is important to mention here that this particular provision is meant to protect the rights of social minorities (the marginal caste communities) from the discrimi-nation practised by hegemonic castes within the Tamil ethnic community. It does not refer to the protection of Tamil rights as an ethnic minority. In other words, it seeks to prevent internal discrimination within the Tamil society. 3. Clauses 18 and 19, respectively.

4. The inaction of the Sri Lankan state to properly implement even the existing legislation on minority language rights is quite disturbing. The Official Languages Commission as well as human rights organizations have repeatedly pointed out to successive governments that strengthening institutional capacity, supported by a clear public commitment of the government, is crucial to the proper implementation of constitutionally guaranteed language rights of the minorities. All successive governments have not done much beyond providing lip service to the language rights issue. 5. N. Shanmugaratnam, ‘Sustaining the Peace Process and Going Beyond’, Pravada 3, no. 10 (1995). 6. No government since has thought it necessary to hold fresh provincial council elections for this Province, although elections have been held for other provincial councils many times. 7. This point is elaborated in Uyangoda Jayadeva, ‘Power-Sharing and Autonomy Rights of “Minority” Communities in Sri Lanka,’ in Perspectives on National Integration in Sri Lanka, ed. Amal Jayawardane (Colombo: National Integration Programme Unit, 2007). 8. This tension between the liberal and the nationalist approaches to human rights developed into a minor controversy in 2003 during the peace negotiations between the Sri Lankan government and the LTTE. The Sri Lankan government, backed by the international community and the local human rights groups, brought the issue of human rights to the negotiation agenda, with the intention of persuading the LTTE to commit itself to a regime of civil and political rights in the areas under its administration. Ian Martin, the former head of the Amnesty International was invited to prepare a ‘road map’ to human rights. Although the LTTE accepted this move, they were not enthusiastic about what they called the ‘individual rights’ approach. The LTTE leaders pointed out in personal conversations as well as their propaganda literature that the ‘self-determination rights’ of the Tamil people should take precedence over individual rights. 9. It is necessary to make a distinction between ‘collective’ rights and ‘group’ rights in this discussion. Collective rights are cultural, language and religious, and so on—rights that individual members of any ethnic community should enjoy by way constitutional or legal guarantees. They are individually enjoyed rights of a community. The concept of group rights refers to specific political rights of community enjoyed on the recognition that that community is the agency and the holder of those rights. Collective rights are usually ‘granted’ by the state whereas group rights are ‘earned’ through political struggle.

10. Section 29(2) of the Soulbury Constitution stipulated that no law passed by Parliament shall (a) prohibit or restrict the free exercise of any religion, (b) subject persons of any community or religion liable to special disabilities or restrictions and (c) confer on persons of any community or religion special privileges or advantages. 11. For the ‘deficiency thesis’, see James W. Nickel, ‘Group Agency and Group Rights’, in Ethnicity and Group Rights, eds, Ian Shapiro and Will Kymlicka NOMOS XXXIX (New York and London: New York University Press, 1997): 235–56. 12. Rajan Hoole records and comments on these aspects in Rajan Hoole, Sri Lanka, The Arrogance of Power: Myths, Decadence and Murder (Colombo: University Teachers for Human Rights [Jaffna], 2001), Chapter 20, 308–48. 13. For background details of the emergence of the SLMC, Shari Knoerzer, ‘Transformation of Muslim Political Identity [in Sri Lanka]’, in Culture and Politics of Identity in Sri Lanka, eds, Mithran Tiruchelvam and C. S. Dattathreya (Colombo: International Centre for Ethnic Studies, 1998). 14. Clauses 1.4 and 2.2, respectively, of the India–Sri Lanka Accord of July 1987. 15. For an extensive account of this debate, see Loganathan, K., Sri Lanka, Lost Opportunities: Past Attempts at Resolving Ethnic Conflict (Colombo: University of Colombo, 1996): 168–83. 16. R. Sahadevan, India and Overseas Indians: The Case of Sri Lanka (Delhi: Kalinga Publishers, 1995). 17. Cited in Sahadevan, 1995, p. 189. 18. Cited in Loganathan, 1996, p. 105. 19. This account is based on the author's dialogues and discussions with political and social activists in the Upcountry plantation Tamil society. 20. P. P. Devaraj, ‘Introduction’, Rights and Power Sharing Mechanisms for Non-Territorial Minority Communities in Sri Lanka (Colombo: Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, 2004). This book contains the papers presented at a seminar held in Colombo in May 2003 in an atmosphere of some optimism generated by the government–LTTE commitment to explore a federal solution to the ethnic conflict. This is also the first time that the thinking on power-sharing mechanisms for smaller minorities was publicly articulated. 21. Darini Rajasingham-Senanayake, ‘The Dangers of Devolution: The Hidden Economies of Armed Conflict’, in Creating Peace in Sri Lanka, Civil War and Reconciliation, ed., Robert Rotberg (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 1999). 22. Jayadeva Uyangoda, ‘Minorities, Federalism and Non-Territorial Power Sharing’, in Rights and Power Sharing Mechanism for Non-Territorial Minority Communities in Sri Lanka, ed., P. P. Devaraj (Colombo: Friedrich

Ebert Stiftung, 2004), 18–29; Jayadeva Uyangoda, ‘Power-Sharing and Autonomy Rights of “Minority” Communities in Sri Lanka’, in Perspectives on National Integration in Sri Lanka, ed., Amal Jayawardane (Colombo: National Integration Programme Unit, 2007). 23. For extensive discussions on the progress as well as breakdown of the 2002 peace process, see Jayadeva Uyangoda, Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka: Changing Dynamics (Washington, DC: East-West Center, 2007); Jayadeva Uyangoda, and Morina Perera, Sri Lanka's Peace Process 2002: Critical Perspectives (Colombo: Social Scientists’ Association, 2004); Sumanasiri Liyanage, ‘One Step at a Time’, Reflections on the Peace Process in Sri Lanka (Colombo: South Asia Peace Institute, 2008); Jonathan Goodhand, and Bart Klem, Aid, Conflict and Peacebuilding in Sri Lanka 2000–2005 Colombo: The Asia Foundation, 2005). 24. The ISGA was to establish ‘separate institutions for the administration of justice’ and ‘powers to borrow internally and externally’. Also, the ISGA ‘shall have control over the marine and offshore resources of the adjacent seas and the power to regulate the access’ to the sea. See also Anton Balasingham, War and Peace in Sri Lanka: Armed Struggle and Peace Efforts of Liberation Tigers (Mitcham, England: Fairmax Publishing Ltd., 2004): 503–14. 25. A press statement on ISGA (4 November 2003) said, ‘The SLFP views with grave concern the proposals released by the LTTE for the establishment of an ISGA which lays the legal foundation for a future, separate, sovereign state. The proposals clearly affect the sovereignty of the Republic of Sri Lanka and violates its Constitution’. 26. See Jayadeva Uyangoda, The Way We Are: Politics of Sri Lanka 2007– 2008 (Colombo: Social Scientists’ Association, 2008): 55–57. 27. There is a wide body of literature on India's engagement with Sri Lanka's ethnic conflict. Some notable examples are Rajat Ganguly, Kin State Intervention in Ethnic Conflicts: Lessons from South Asia (New Delhi: SAGE Publications, 1998); Dayan Jayatilleka, Sri Lanka: The Travails of a Democracy, Unfinished War, Protracted Crisis (New Delhi: Vikas, 1995); Shelton U. Kodikara, Indo-Sri Lanka Accord of July 1987 (Colombo: University of Colombo, 1989); Sankaran Krishna, Postcolonial Insecurities: India, Sri Lanka and the Question of Nationhood (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999); Keteshwaran Loganathan, Sri Lanka, Lost Opportunities: Past Attempts at Resolving Ethnic Conflict (Colombo: University of Colombo, 1996); S. D.Muni, Prangs of Proximity: India and Sri Lanka's Ethnic Crisis (New Delhi: SAGE, 1993).

11 Muslims in Sri Lanka: Political Choices of a Minority FARZANA HANIFFA Introduction The Muslims of Sri Lanka are currently 8.9 per cent of the population. And in a country whose nation-building project confined itself to the image of the Sinhala nation, and where its protracted, over three-decade-long conflict has been historically cast as one between the majority Sinhalese and the minority Tamils, narrative accounts of the country and the conflict often do not represent or grapple with the presence of this other minority other than through a cursory reference to their presence. However, the question of Sri Lanka's plural polity is not one that is emerging only at this late stage in the conflict. It had troubled the colonial masters at the dawn of modern era, when modern forms of governance were being considered as suitable for the colonized as well. In fact, in the process of managing the affairs of state in Sri Lanka, the British, rather early on in their administration, made provision for communal representation. All investigations into possible administrative structures for the country, the Colebrook–Cameron reforms, the Manning reforms, the Donoughmore reforms and finally the Soulbury reforms, acknowledged the complexity of the ethnic picture, and all, with the exception of the Donoughmore Constitution, reluctantly accepted some form of ‘communal’ or ethnicity-based representation for the country.1 However, the trend towards liberal government in the colonial metropolis was reflected in the colony as a reluctance to foster communal sentiment and there was a move away from the customary communal representation in the Donoughmour Constitution of 1931. Uyangoda in his writings explores the manner

in which this legacy, of liberal late colonial reluctance to communalize the administration, meshed well with the majoritarian impulses of the Sinhala elite.2 Constitutionalism and minority rights in Sri Lanka are marked by minority anxieties regarding majority dominance through representative democracy, and the majority community's abso-lute lack of sympathy or sensitivity to such anxieties.3 The assertion of Sinhala nationalism was seen by and large as the only sustained critical local response to colonialism. Sinhala nationalist ideology has long seen itself as the flag bearers of a post-colonial indigenous consciousness. Underpinning this consciousness is the dual preoccupation that the minorities col-luded with the colonial state, and that majority entitlement had an ethical basis endorsed as it was by representative democracy. The Constitution at independence, that is, the Soulbury Constitution, had several minority right guarantees. These included instructions to delimitation commissions to be mindful of ade-quate minority representation in the delimitation of electoral districts and the injunction forbidding discrimination on religious or ethnic grounds.4 However, state-making in the aftermath of independence was done very much in line with a Sinhala nationalist agenda, and the marginalization of the minorities who were seen to have benefitted under the colonial administration, was very much a part of this ideology. In the two constitution-making exercises that the Sri Lankan state engaged in, after independence, it progressively did away with the minority rights guarantees in the Constitutions. The first did away with Section 29(2) and the second with the instruc-tions to delimitation commissions to be mindful of minority representation. This chapter is concerned with the Muslim community's response to this process of minority marginalization. As many writers have pointed out, the formidable political disadvantages that the Muslims as a collective have faced in Sri Lanka have dictated their political choices.5 For instance, Muslims are less than 10 per cent of the population of Sri Lanka and are widely dispersed in different parts of

the island. The only two signifi-cant population concentrations are in the Ampara district of the eastern province and in the Colombo district of the western province. As such, mustering a significant vote base that was Muslim only is difficult, and assured only in the east.

Politics by Muslims While the Tamil leadership reacted strongly to the Sinhalese refusal to guarantee minority rights constitutionally, Muslim leaders of the time adopted a different approach of working with the respective ‘national’ political parties that controlled the state. They resorted to linking their fate to the relationships that Muslim parliamentarians were able to forge with the respective national parties of which they were a part. This strategy has been critiqued in the narratives of Sinhala nationalist entitlement as well as the discourse of Tamil nationalist self-determination struggle. Muslims, bit players in both narratives, are seen as collaborating with whoever was in power, switching from one national party to another in keeping with political expediency and in denial of their ‘actual’ Tamil ethnicity.6 Curiously, scholarship on the issue, too, has not addressed the question of Muslim political engagement from a Muslim perspective and seriously interrogated what benefits, if any, accrued to Muslims in this choice to suspend a Muslim political voice.7

Muslim Politics at Independence: Strategy of Ethnic Blindness Muslim political choices in the face of the refusal of a predo-minantly Sinhala state to consider minority rights have been to render their distinct religio-ethnic identity invisible in the political realm. Such a position meshed well with liberal claims that ‘we are all one’, but in the emergent ethnically polarized context, exacerbated by the electoral reforms of 1987, it resulted in the increased political marginalization of Muslim interests. Many Muslim members of parliament (MPs) of a previous era, embracing the principle of ethnic blindness, contested seats and won

from mostly multiethnic constituencies. There were many such persons, including T.B. Jayah and Dr M.C.M. Kaleel, but the most significant example of such an engagement is the highly respected former MP for Balangoda, M.L.M. Aboosally. He had the distinction of defeating the entrenched Kandyan Sinhala aristocrats, the Ratwattes.8 These Muslim MPs, given their political dependence on constituencies other than the Muslim vote, did not think of themselves as Muslim MPs representing Muslim concerns. They rarely highlighted their ‘Muslimness’ or emphasized Muslim issues. Later, they were criticized for not paying adequate attention to Muslim community concerns. Muslims of this era were caught in the bind of not having Muslim-specific political representation, but of having to resort to Muslim MPs to speak on behalf of Muslim concerns based on their ethnic affiliation. Such actions were ultimately of no political benefit to the MPs themselves. Little attention has been paid by scholars to this particular conundrum faced by Muslims. In the ethnicization of politics, Muslims lost out as group that was the last to ethnicize its own politics. Little surprise then that the Muslim MPs—representing constituencies that were not necessarily Muslim—were ill equipped to address the urgent security concerns of Muslims in the north and east that emerged with the escalation of the conflict. While arguably the material consequences of such a marginalization were negligible in the south, in the north and east the consequences were dire. Two other political figures from the Muslim community that have gained an important place in the history of Muslim political engagement with the state are Badiudeen Mahmood and Razik Fareed. In the meagre references to Muslim politics in the histories of Sri Lanka's post-colonial state, great prominence is given to these two Muslim figures as representing Muslims’ chosen strategy of political engagement. Fareed hailed from a wealthy Colombo Muslim family and entered politics in 1930. He is famous for vociferously advocating a ‘standing by the majority’ position for Muslims, and in particular, for supporting

the institutionalization of Sinhala as the country's only national language, and backing the dominion status bill regardless of its inadequate minority safeguards. As a member of the education committee of the government of 1936, Fareed encountered Tamil opposition to the promotion of Muslims as teachers in Tamil language schools serving Muslim communities. Fareed, born and raised in the south, in a Sinhala majority area, spoke all three languages, was most comfortable in English and felt no special affinity for the Tamil language. Also, encountering at a very early stage in his political career, what he construed as anti-Muslim and caste-based sectarianism among Tamils, Fareed thought it far more politic for Muslims to cast their lot with the Sinhalese. Among the southern Muslims’ stereotypes of ‘the others’, the Sinhalese are seen as genial and easy going, and the Tamils as industrious, crafty and manipulative. Such sentiments also seem to have had a part in motivating Fareed's political choices. Perhaps, given that the wrath of the genial Sinhalese when aroused was quite ferocious—as Muslims of Fareed's generation experienced in the 1915 anti Muslim riots—Fareed thought it more politic for Muslims to cast their lot with the Sinhalese. Although Fareed supported the Sinhala majority, he was arguably one of the more ‘communal’ minded of the Muslim representatives in Parliament. Fareed's political career is marked by attempts to institutionalize ‘Muslim’ as an administrative category within the state and thereby to have their cultural practices recognized and legitimized institutionally. Fareed's political achievements for the community were to gain con-cessions for Muslims like leave for Friday prayers and the recognition of Meelad-un-Nabi, the Prophet Mohamed's birthday as a national holiday. During his time, schools with a majority of Muslim students were institutionalized as Muslim schools with special calendars, syllabi and uniforms. Fareed's actions greatly contributed to the institutionalization of a particular Muslim identity. However, Fareed's politics were not those that garnered much status for him within the various governments of which he was a part. Indeed, other than being a member of the three-month-long caretaker cabinet following the assassination of

Prime Minister S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike, he held no important positions within the governments. Fareed, as a prominent Muslim figure, is seen as exemplary of Muslim political choices as well as political gains. His emphasis on gaining recognition from the fledgling state for Muslim religious and cultural practices, and having minimal say in questions of governance are seen as emblematic of politics by Muslims. However, this was hardly the case. Too much has been made of positions favoured by him and too little analysis has been done of his minimal political clout. There were many different positions and opinions among Muslims regarding the major issues of that time, and Fareed represented only one of these. Badiudeen Mahmood, an influential figure in the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP), is another important figure in Muslim politics. A friend and close confidante of S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike, Mahmood was founder secretary of the SLFP, and after the death of Bandaranaike, he was appointed member of the cabinet of two SLFP governments under Bandaranaike's widow, Mrs Sirimavo Bandaranaike. Mahmood represents yet another way in which the Muslim leadership attempted to address their political marginalization within the Sri Lankan polity. Unconstrained by any need to win at elections—Mahmood was twice an appointed member —Mahmood had a very autocratic approach to the Muslim community and his plans for it. He identified the distinct educational disadvantages of the Muslim population, and focussed on policies to get redress, and to that end Mahmood influenced first, the Education Minister Wijayananda Dahanayake and later, taking on the portfolio of Education himself, did much to influence the development of Muslim education. At the political level, Mahmood was committed to the success of his party and manipulated Muslim vote banks to assure the SLFP's victory in at least one instance. He did so by mobilizing large segments of the Muslim vernacular intelligentsia around ideas of Islamic Socialism. Forming the ‘Islamic Socialist Front’ (ISF), Mahmood successfully mobilized a generation of educated Muslim youth, giving voice to Muslim opinion on vital national issues for

several years. Mahmood did this while in the opposition and ensured the shift of a substantial Muslim vote from the United National Party (UNP) that the Muslim trader elite was traditionally loyal to, to the SLFP. And after the SLFP victory of 1972, when the constitution was redrafted and Sri Lanka declared a republic, Mahmood organized a mammoth celebration of Muslims welcoming the government's initiative. This was the same constitution that did away with section 29 of the independence constitution and was boycotted by the Tamil leadership. After the election and another cabinet appointment for himself, Mahmood lost interest in the ISF. It had served its purpose as far as he was concerned and there was no more use for it. The years of mobilization and organizing on ideas of Islamic Socialism and Muslims’ political place in Sri Lanka were to no avail. This was a cause of great resentment among a generation of the Muslim intelligentsia.9 Mahmood's treatment of the ISF is indicative of the anti-democratic nature of the Muslim leaders’ engagement with the community they claimed to represent. Fareed and Mahmood, given their national stature, have become emblematic of Muslim engagement with the state. However, the special circumstances of their prominence, where Mahmood was important because of his place in the SLFP and his close ties with the Bandaranaike family, and Fareed because of his stature as part of an elite philanthropic family, did more than a little to influence their particular paths. This aspect of Muslim politics, where Muslim political leaders held the communities captive, has not been adequately understood or appreciated by scholars of Muslim politics. These elisions speak to the inadequacy of studies undertaken into Muslim politics in Sri Lanka. Very significantly, neither Fareed nor Mahmood were elected by the Muslims that they claimed to speak on behalf of. The much more pedestrian political careers of Kaleel, Aboosally, M.H. Mohamed and the like, arguably are more typical of the place of Muslim political power within the state.10 It is a story of minimal personal clout and a dependence on good relations with the party leadership and a politics that embraced the plural nature of the Sri

Lankan polity.11 However, there was little overall gain in the sphere of Muslim political power. There were few that could publicly speak on behalf of Muslims in government, and none who could claim to represent a Muslim mandate during this time.

‘Muslim’ Politics in the Contextof the Ethnic Conflict The proportional representation system introduced with the new Constitution in 1978 did away with what little political power these MPs with their multiethnic constituencies had consolidated. It brought about an era of the small ethnic parties. Thereafter, any party that initially could muster 12 per cent of the vote of a district and later just 5 per cent of that vote was eligible to be considered for a seat from the district.12 Additionally, voters were called upon to indicate their preference from the respective political parties’ list of names. Therefore, nomination to the list from the party and additionally, mustering preferential votes from the entire district was a challenge that individual politicians had to face and hence, the competition among individual MPs from the same district became rather fierce. Those with erstwhile success, in selected areas, like Aboosally in Ratnapura, speedily lost their seats. Political leaders argue that the proportional representation system exacerbated ethnic tensions as politicians were compelled to appeal to a larger constituency and win their preference by any means possible.13 Ethnicity then was the most readily available platform to mobilize masses. The eastern province has traditionally been the home of Muslim and Tamil villages, often situated next to one another or of Muslim villages surrounded by Tamils. Historically, according to local residents, Tamil Muslim co-existence in the eastern province included incidents of sporadic localized altercations between the two communities. These were mainly specific to the neighbouring villages among whom they took place and would generally end within the course of the day due to the need for amicable interaction for daily business. However, in the mid to late 1980s, the polarization

between communities became more marked with the involvement of outside elements. The Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF), the Sri Lankan Armed Forces and Tamil militants and later, Muslim ‘home guards’ armed by the state were all instrumental in manipulating ethnic differences and exacerbating enmity between the two communities. The Tamil Muslim Riots in Batticaloa in 1985 were allegedly orchestrated by the state in a manner similar to the events of July 1983.14 The eight-day siege of Kattankudi by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) in 1987, the IPKF bombing of Ottamavadi, the massacres of Muslim at prayer by the LTTE in Kattankudi and Eravur (1990), the disappearance of the Hajj pilgrims from Kurukkalmadam the same year are all pivotal moments for Muslims from recounting their victimization due to the conflict. Additionally, inhabitants of thirty-three Muslim villages in the Batticaloa district were displaced during the conflict. Most of these people moved to the densely populated town of Kattankudi further swelling the population of that town. The 1990 expulsion of Muslim in the north by the LTTE and the resulting nineteen-year displacement of the northern Muslims have often been attributed, in discussions, to the disturbances in the east. Certain small-scale reprisal killings of Tamils by Muslims in the aftermath of militant attacks have also been recorded. These were largely by Muslim home-guards with overt and cover support from the Special Task Force (STF). Later, these home guards were systematically hunted down and killed by the LTTE. Further, Muslims in the east are accused of questionable land acquisitions and are perceived as taking advantage of Tamil misfortune. Muslim purchasing of paddy land from Tamil absentee landlords, buying up Tamil-owned shops, the creeping spread of Muslim villages into Tamil villages is part of the contemporary reality of the eastern province. Any illegality in this process is not yet established; however, Tamil and specifically LTTE resentment of this process has been recorded,15 and Muslims are seen to have indirectly benefited from the depletion suffered by Tamil society.16

The Sri Lanka Muslim Congress (SLMC) emerged in the context of the escalation of the conflict between the Sinhala state and Tamil militant groups, the exacerbation of ethnic tensions in the eastern province and the state-aided enmity between the Muslims and the Tamils. In the 1980s, the Muslim MPs in Parliament struggled to articulate Muslim issues, and given the polarization between the Tamil and Muslim communities in the east the time was ripe for the emergence of a Muslim-identified party representing Muslim interests. Therefore, we see the emergence of the SLMC with a publicly stated Muslim political agenda and a powerful base in Amparai and Batticaloa districts in the eastern province. While the SLMC under the leadership of its founder M.H.M. Ashraff was successful in giving voice to Muslim aspirations of the north and east, after his death the party has been plagued with difficulties. For instance, there was a significant split in the party after his death, with his wife, Ferial Ashraff, taking the leadership of the National Unity Alliance (NUA) that Ashraff had formulated before his death. Previously an umbrella body of which the SLMC was a part, the NUA today functions as a Muslim-led national party in the eastern province. More recently, there have been further schisms in the party with M. Athaullah, Rishard Bathiuddeen, and several others leaving to formulate their own breakaway parties. Further, while the proportional representation system allows for minority representation and makes minority seats crucial for the formation of a majority government, in practice there is much that is done to undermine minority strength. For instance, the practice of MPs crossing over from the various parties is common.17 The national parties have no compunctions about ‘acquiring’ additional seats from the minority parties by soliciting individual crossovers. And party representatives, especially though not only from the Muslim parties, have been only too willing to be bought over. While there are provisions for parties to go to courts to expel such MPs and thereby deprive them of their seats, the courts have no history of granting judgements in favour of the complaining parties. Therefore, the minority parties, especially the SLMC, have

seen extremely damaging crossovers in the recent past that has challenged the party's structure and discipline, and also fuelled questions about Muslim political competence by the state and the LTTE. And the SLMC's reference to itself as the sole representative of the Muslims of the north and east has failed to impress either the breakaway factions or the larger Muslim community.18 The SLMC's failure to hold the party together has been attributed to Rauf Hakeem's reportedly authoritarian leadership style. Additionally, the northern Muslim position, as understood by the SLMC, has been critiqued by many northern Muslims who experienced the expulsion. The SLMC position on a solu-tion to the ethnic conflict has long been eastern province centric and based on Tamil Muslim enmity, and a non-contiguous ad-ministrative area based mostly on the southeast. Such an arrange-ment does not address the specific concerns of the northern Muslims expelled by the LTTE in 1990. The northern Muslims do not consider the Tamil people as a whole to be their enemies and hold only the LTTE responsible. In the east the distinction is not that clear. Further, given the fact that the Muslims of the northern province are only 5 per cent of the population and live dispersed in small communities throughout the province with only one significant area of concentration in Musali in Mannar, such highly ethnicized solutions will not be able to guarantee Muslim safety and security. They understand that it is a pattern of coexistence that will be beneficial to them.19 Further, complicating the emergence of an autonomous and unified Muslim politics is the fact that only 30 per cent of the Muslim population of the country is from the north and east. The larger number of Muslims that reside outside the north and east see no real need for a Muslim political voice outside of the eastern province. Southern Muslim politicians, in particular, resent the SLMC's attempts to reformulate itself as a national party. They continue to practise the system of resting their trust on their allegiance to the leadership of the national parties and do not necessarily support the SLMC's call for separate Muslim representation at the peace negotiations.

Today, the SLMC together with its breakaway factions are struggling to assert their claim to articulate Muslim political needs. They compete fiercely among one another and their personal enmities are strong, while there is little discernable difference on issues. Unfortunately, their factionalism plays into the hands of the state and the LTTE's long entrenched stereotyping of the Muslims as being in political disarray. As many have argued, and I have illustrated elsewhere,20 historically Sri Lanka does not have a culture of recognizing minority rights. The Sinhala state, supported by certain Muslim political actors from the south, and in keeping with a long history of Muslim political absence considers it presumptuous of Muslims to claim a seat at the negotiating table. They are called upon to trust the state to look after their interests. But the state has no history of doing so. Additionally, Tamil nationalism has a particular place for Muslims in its narrative of emergence. Sri Lankan Muslims are largely Tamil speaking, and Tamil nationalists generally see Muslims as fellow ethnics that refused their ‘Tamilness’ for narrow political ends.21 They see Muslims as traitors to the Tamil cause. For Muslims, militant Tamil nationalism has meant a constant threat of violence in the east, an undermining of their livelihood activities and steadily deteriorating relations with neighbouring Tamil communities. Muslims consider the oft-brought out concept of the ‘Tamil-speaking people’ a ruse by which Tamil nationalists have tried to benefit from the advantage of Muslim numbers. However, Tamil nationalism has had little real interest in incorporating Muslim representation or in addressing Muslim-specific concerns. The LTTE's act of ethnic cleansing—the group systematically expelled all Muslims from the northern province in October 1990—forever sealed the enmity, as far as the Muslims were concerned, between them and the Tamilspeaking Tamil people. In 2004, the Peace Secretariat for Muslims (PSM) was formulated on the basis of a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) between the SLMC and the NUA. Its role was to build a consensus between the various political and civil society actors within the community and

to provide an institutional base from which the Muslim position or positions could be articulated. Although created with massive donor support, the success of the PSM within the community itself was negligible. More than four years after its establishment, the institution remained a body run mainly by the SLMC and the NUA. It has concen-trated its energies on developing regional linkages and the abil-ity to provide technical support to Muslim delegations travelling abroad. The institution struggles to maintain its legitimacy among the community.

The Situation Today The Rajapaksa regime gambled on bringing about its victory through an appeal to the ethnic Sinhala majority. The combined minority vote of the Muslims and Tamil communities should have guaranteed a victory for the UNP and its candidate Ranil Wickremasinghe, who was perceived to be pro-peace and pro-federalist. Instead, President Mahinda Rajapaksa came to power in November 2005 in an election which the LTTE compelled Tamil citizens of the north and east to boycott. The victorious coalition included a party of Buddhist Monks (Jathika Hela Urumaya [JHU]) and the ostensibly left leaning but Sinhala nationalist Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP). The coalition also included the traditional Sri Lankan left, long time allies of the SLFP. Some progressive forces hoped that the Rajapaksa regime would usher peace with justice, which the UNP had not been successful in doing. Since the presidential elections of November 2005, the country has experienced a drastic turnaround as the new regime adopted a distinct orientation towards resolving the conflict through military means. Public support for a negotiated settlement declined, and there was a steady deterioration in the institutions of governance and law and order. Although all regimes in power since 1994 had publicly accepted that Tamil grievances were legitimate and that powersharing under a federalist mode was to be the solution to the conflict, the Rajapaksa regime successfully projected the conflict not as an ethnic conflict but as a terrorist problem to be dealt with in the style

of the US-led ‘War on Terror’. Earlier, these sentiments had been publicly expressed by the JVP and the JHU. However, what were considered fringe ideas by progressive forces in the country were rendered mainstream by the Rajapaksa regime. Moreover, support for the war went hand in hand with strong anti-minority sentiments that justified the targeting of all Tamils as possible terrorists and marginalized other minorities like the Muslims in the economic and political sphere. The ceasefire was abrogated in January 2008. The escalation of the war meant the escalation of human right abuses and impunity as has been evident in intense conflict situations throughout Sri Lanka's post-colonial history. The current Sri Lankan regime conducts itself in violation of all international human right norms in the name of fighting terrorism. It pays lip service to the need to deal with the political dimension of the problem, but its treatment of the All Party Representatives Committee (APRC), convened to formulate proposals for a political solution, has rendered that process false. After nearly two years of deliberations, the APRC produced a disappointing two-page document recommending the ‘proper implementa-tion’ of the 13th Amendment. The 13th Amendment to the Constitution, brought into force in the aftermath of the Indo-Lanka accord of 1987, has long been considered an unsuccessful attempt at the devolution of power with the centre maintaining its control despite the creation of a provincial administrative structure. In the process of devolution, certain powers were put on a concurrent list with the centre reserving the right to intervene. Many see it as an added burden on the state finances with little real benefit to the people. The resurfacing of the minimalist 13th Amendment is an insult to Tamil nationalist thinking. Under the current regime, it remains the only permitted discussion option on power-sharing. The defence secretary and powerful members of the govern-ment coalition maintain that the problem is a terrorist problem and not a political problem. The war has been fought with little regard to human rights norms, and the law and order situation has steadily deteriorated in keeping with the systematic terror tactics adopted by

the state. In the deeply entrenched culture of impunity for human rights violations in Sri Lanka, the minorities have become even more vulnerable targets. Minority rights have no purchase with the Rajapaksa regime. Many of those powerful in the regime have gone on record-making anti-minority sentiments. Army Commander Sarath Fonseka has stated openly that ‘the country belongs to the Sinhalese’22 and minorities should know their place. Champaka Ranawaka, member of the JHU and a powerful cabinet minister, has called all those other than the Sinhalese ‘visitors’ to the country.23 The Military and the JHU are enormously powerful within the current regime.

Eastern Province ‘Liberated’ In early 2008, the government entered into a military operation in the eastern province, took over the previously LTTE controlled area of Vakarai and declared a military victory in the eastern province. The process itself was more a publicity stunt than a victory, Batticaloa residents claim that there was no significant LTTE military presence in the Vakarai area, and that the government forces fired over people's homes, schools and markets, displacing thousands. Having ‘liberated’ the eastern province, local government elections were held.24 The United People's Freedom Alliance (UPFA), the governing coalition in an alliance with the Tamil Makkal Viduthalai Paligal (TMVP), won the eastern provincial council elections and the leader of the provincial council is currently the head of the TMVP, a former LTTE cadre and child soldier Pillayan or Sivanesathurai Chandrakanthan as he is known today. The Muslim parties too won a considerable amount of seats in the provincial council elections. The government had struck parallel deals with the TMVP and the Muslim parties with the promise of the chief minister position for the winner. Although the Muslim parties claim to have won the largest number of seats, the government gave the position to Pillayan and placated the Muslim Hisbullah with the position of provincial health minister. The state has also demarcated

certain sections of the newly liberated area as high security zones and resettled people in areas different from those which they fled. The government currently has plans for economic development zones for those areas. The government is also engaged in massive infrastructure development projects in the region. The region remains unstable with ethnic tensions mounting and killings taking place on a daily basis. Muslim community leaders that were interviewed recently claimed that there is a JHU-driven campaign to undermine Muslims’ economic activity in Colombo and the government has openly set in motion the Sinhalization process of the east. Under such a dispensation basing one's arguments on human rights norms and calling for preservation of minority rights have no hopes of success. The SLMC under the current regime has consistently aligned itself with the UNP (other than for a brief period where it joined the government allegedly under pressure from presidential sibling and advisor Basil Rajapaksa). The party left the government to vote with the UNP during the budget debate of 2007, and seems to be placing its bets on an election victory for the UNP. However, the UNP itself is in disarray and any such victory will require some serious reform of its own internal problems. For the eastern province elections, the SLMC had three of its members resign their Parliament seats and contest as UNP candidates. Rauf Hakeem, leader of the SLMC, was the UNP candidate for the chief minister position. Unfortunately, the UNP did not make an adequate showing. The UNP won fifteen seats while the UPFA won eighteen. The UNP also won a greater number of seats in the Trincomalee district where Rauf Hakeem won the largest number of preferential votes.25 Of course the election itself was considered highly flawed, but the fact remains that the SLMC's gamble again failed to pay off. However, the SLMC has consistently maintained its position as a UNP ally. The All Ceylon Muslim Congress that currently consists of a section of powerful Muslim MPs outside of the SLMC and the NUA is close to the regime and seems willing to support the regime for certain compromised gains for the Muslim commu-nity. Both Risharth

Bathiuddeen and Hisbulla are members of the party and maintain good relations with the regime. While they seem to be working with a strategy of engagement different from the SLMC's position of opposition, the political gains from such an engagement are still to be seen. Muslims then, remain caught within a state system that has historically done little to grant them legitimate political rights, but instead, has encouraged an economy of collusion; and an anti-state movement that holds them culpable for just such a collusion and has systematically perpetrated acts of violence against them. Today, Muslim political parties continue to struggle against a system loaded against minority political representation or minority political power in general. Muslims, therefore, have much to gain in any reorganization of the state in the aftermath of the conflict. Muslim political representatives have much to do in any lead up to such a reorganization of the state.

Notes and References 1. While the debate on whether the British, or the two other colonial powers that were in Sri Lanka prior to the British, created the ethnic/racial/religious categorizations through their structures of governmentality still remains to be resolved, the fact remains that differences of various sorts were potentially ripe for political exploitation at the time of independence. 2. Jayadeva Uyangoda, Questions of Sri Lanka's Minority Rights (Colombo: International Centre for Ethnic Studies, 2001): 29. 3. Ibid. 4. Section 29(2) (b) and (c) of the Soulbury Constitution provided that no law enacted by Parliament could (b) make persons of any community or religion liable to disabilities or restrictions to which persons of other communities or religions are not made liable; or (c) confer on persons of any community or religion any privilege or advantage which is not conferred on persons of other communities or religions. 5. K.M. De Silva, Reaping the Whirlwind: Ethnic Conflict, Ethnic Politics in Sri Lanka (New Delhi: Penguin, 1998). 6. Muslims, a largely Tamil-speaking community in Sri Lanka, have long resisted the Tamil ethnic label. The origins of the resistance can be traced to British colonial machinations regarding native representation. The British

decision to create a Muslim seat in the Legislative Council effectively institutionalized Tamil–Muslim difference in the country. 7. The writers who have attempted an engagement, but have reproduced the same categories of Muslim collusion without attempting an alternative reading, however, are many. For the most sustained engagements on the subject see A. Ali, ‘Politics of Survival: Past Strategies and Present Predicament of the Muslim Community in Sri Lanka,’ Journal of the Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs 7 (1986): 147–170., M.M. Mahroof, ‘Muslims in Sri Lanka: the Long Road to Accomodation’, Journal Institute of Muslim Minority Affairs 11 (1990): 88–99. Q. Ismail, ‘Unmooring Identity: The Antinomies of Muslim Self Representation’, in Unmaking the Nation, eds, P. Jeganathan and Q. Ismail (Colombo: Social Scientists’ Association, 1995). 8. See K.M. De Silva, Reaping the Whirlwind. Also, based on author's interview with M.L.M. Aboosally in May 2005, shortly before his death in December that year. 9. For a longer discussion of Mahmood, see my dissertation chapter ‘Minority Politics’ in F. F. Haniffa. In Search of an Ethical Self in a Beleagured Context: Middle Class Muslims in Contemporary Sri Lanka (Columbia University, 2007). 10. A.C.S. Hameed, as foreign minister and diplomat, and stalwart of the UNP was a powerful minister in his time but quantifying his power as of particular benefit to Muslims is rather difficult. He is remembered for his skilled diplomacy outside the country, in connection with the LTTE as well as with regard to keeping the UNP together during difficult times. 11. The post of foreign minister was held by A.C.S Hameed, during the middle-east oil boom and influenced their consequent generosity with development aid. 12. In fact, members of the SLMC believe that it was Ashraff who persuaded President Premadasa to revise the requirement of 12 per cent of votes to 5 per cent. 13. Aboosally, a long-standing MP for Balangoda, lost his seat when the constituency became the whole of the Ratnapura district. 14. Rajan Hoole, Rajini Thiranagama, D. Somasundaram and K. Sritharan, The Broken Palmyrah (California: Harrey Mudd College, 1989). 15. F. Haniffa, 2005. P-TOMS or The Post Tsunami Operational Management Structure: A Wakeup Call to the Muslim Leadership. Lines 4. 16. D. Saminathan, ‘Tamil Perspectives from the East’, in Dealing with Diversity: Sri Lankan Discourses on Peace and Conflict, eds, G. Frerks and B. Klem (The Hague: Clingendael Institute, 2005): 113–29. 17. After the general elections of 2004, where the SLMC aligned with the losing national party, the UNP, it was compelled to sit in the opposition. It

prompted several of its members to cross over to the UPFA or the ruling coalition. 18. See the SLMC document ‘Resolution to the Conflict in the Northern and Eastern Province: The Muslim Dimension (no date)’, p. 6. 19. In the current political context, the SLMC position regarding the northern Muslims has shifted to an extent and the party seems willing to consider the specific concerns of northern Muslims. The Peace Secretariat for Muslims, constituted upon a MOU between the SLMC and the NUA recently conducted consultations regarding the specific concerns of the displaced northern Muslim population in Puttalam. Also, Risharth Bathiyutheen, a northern Muslim, has been recently appointed the leader of the All Ceylon Muslim Congress, a party constituted of former members of the SLMC. And if the SLMC is to remain legitimate among northern Muslims, the party needs to address the specific concerns of the community. 20. F. Haniffa, Human Rights and the Muslim Minority: Some Reflections. http://www.lines-magazine.org (accessed August 2005). 21. The British institutionalized Muslim–Tamil difference through creating both a Tamil seat and later a Muslim seat in the Legislative Council. The Tamil member protested, saying that the Muslims, as ethnic Tamils did not need additional representation, Muslims, on the other hand, vociferously argued against this position claiming descent from Arabs and a separate ethnic history. 22. See Izeth Hussein, Sarath Fonseka's Statement Reeks of Sinhala Trumphalism. http://transcurrents.com/tc/2008/11/post_76.html. 23. The statement was made on a TV talk show as well as in an interview ‘Hard Talk’ in the Daily Mirror of 16 October 2008. Further, JHU spokesperson when contacted for comment reiterated the position and called it historical fact and saw no problems with the statement. In fact, it reflects what the local history books teach Sinhala medium students about minorities. See http://www.lankadissent.com/en/index.php? option=com_content&view=article&id=2312:muslims-agitate-againstminister-ranawaka&catid=1:latest-news&Itemid=50. 24. The election itself, endorsed by foreign election monitors was considered by many local groups as flawed, and as conducted under conditions of militarization among a terrorised population. 25. Eastern Provincial Council Election Results. Accessed from Lankapuvath news agency at http://www.lankapuvath.lk/index.php? option=com_content&task=view&id=842&Itemid=89.

12 Inclusion and Accountabilityin a ‘New’ Democratic Nepal MAHENDRA LAWOTI The restructuring of the state in Nepal has begun after the success of the second people's movement in April 2006 that forced the King to give up power. Since then, major reforms initiated include the declaration of the state as secular, a commitment to federalism in the Interim Constitution, distribution of citizenship to more than 2.6 million,1 the election to the Constituent Assembly with a mixed electoral method and the abolition of monarchy. Are the reforms going in the right direction? Are they adequate? What other political and structural reforms are necessary for democratic state-building? How should some of the contentious questions, such as the type of federalism to be adopted, be settled? One guideline for assessing and arguing for further reforms should be the potential for the reforms to tackle the problems Nepal witnessed in its previous democratic practice in the 1990s, namely growing inequality, increasing or continuous exclusion of marginalized groups like the Dalit, indigenous nationalities, Madhesi and women, and the culture of power abuse among polit-ical leaders in absence of effective accountability mechanisms.2 These problems went on to create governance crises, fuel the Maoist insurgency and exacerbate ethnic movements and conflicts in the country. To address these problems, the first step is to identify the causes. This chapter begins by identifying centralization as the root cause. In the first part, I show how centralization contributed to inequality, exclusion and the culture of impunity. In the second part, I propose political institutions that would promote ethnic and class inclusion and facilitate political accountability. I argue that the centralized state

has to be restructured to share power among different ideological, class and national/ethnic and caste groups and among different sectors of government, that is, both vertically and horizontally, to address exclusion and the lack of accountability. In the third part, I argue that power redistribution could facilitate inclusion of both class and ethnic groups, promote accountability and contribute towards the consolidation of democracy. Power-sharing, however, need not weaken the central state. In fact, the central state will continue to play a very important role in some sectors. It is argued that if the centre confines its functions to limited necessary arenas, it will be more effective. The state's overall effectiveness will, in fact, increase when different sectors and levels of governments are effective in their respective sphere of jurisdictions.

Centralization, Inequality, Exclusion and Violent Conflict Excessive Centralization in Nepal The Nepali polity has been highly centralized—most of the state power resides at the centre. I have discussed the various dimensions of excessive centralization elsewhere, so I will just briefly summarize it here.3 The main mechanism of centraliza-tion was the unitary structure of the state because of which even the minimal power awarded to local governments through administrative decentralization was at the mercy of the centre. The first past the post (FPTP) electoral method facilitated the central power to be confined to a party without it necessarily having a popular majority by facilitating the creation of an artificial majority. Moreover, at the centre, most of the state power was concentrated in the cabinet. The Parliament mostly followed the executive in legislation and other official business, while most central agencies depended upon the executive for budget and personnel, in addition to being influenced through the nomination process. The centralization of the polity was facilitated and reinforced by the centralizing political culture. The society ingrained by the caste

system and patriarchy maintained inegalitarian values that favoured certain caste and gender groups. The political parties and state agencies were overwhelmingly dominated by the caste hill Hindu elite males (CHHEM). Further, the political parties were run nondemocratically, that allowed the top political leaders to maintain a firm grip on the parties for long periods of time.

Centralization and Inequality Inequality in Nepal increased during the 1990s as compared to the previous decades. The Gini Index was 0.300 in the 1980s in Nepal and it increased to 0.426 in the 1990s, to become the highest in South Asia. Ironically, inequality increased despite the improvement in overall Human Development Indicators. ‘[The] income share of the top 10 percent of the people increased from 21 percent in the mid1980s to 35 percent by the mid-1990s, while the share of the bottom 40 percent shrank from 24 percent to 15 percent by the mid-1990s’.4 Poverty was significantly higher in rural areas (44 per cent) than in urban areas (20 per cent). The opening up of the market since the 1980s may have further increased the inequality. In the period 1988– 96, the nominal income of people living in urban areas increased by 16 per cent per annum (from US$ 126 to US$ 285) as against only 4 per cent for the rural population (from US$ 95 to US$ 125).5 A few development objectives the government achieved, such as the extension of roads and the expansion of the service sector like private banking and airline services, largely benefited a small section of the society. Centralization reinforced inequality by denying regions and rural areas with authority and resources to develop their areas and look after the welfare of their people while the central government focussed on policies that benefited the urban areas and capital. The governments were unable to foster economic growth and meet the rising aspirations of a large number of people. They also failed to introduce social and political reforms to end inequalities and discrimination.

Exclusion of Marginalized Groups6 The adoption of the majoritarian institutions of democracy in 1990 allowed the continuation of centralization. The policies formulated and implemented by a state dominated by the CHHEM led to the political exclusion of marginalized groups. The caste hill Hindu elite (CHHE) comprised the largest ethnic group consisting of the largest two caste groups spread across the country, the Chhetri and Bahun, and two smaller castes, Thakuri and Sanyasi. The unitary and centralized state structure contributed to the continuing domination of the CHHE by facilitating the group's domination of the centre. As a result, the various national/ethnic and caste groups, many of whom are regionally concentrated, became disempowered and disadvantaged minorities at the centre. The control of the centre in a unitary system allowed the CHHE to impose public policies, which were influenced by their values, over all other groups. The CHHEM influenced cultural, educational and development policies, which contributed to the political exclusion of marginalized groups.7 For instance, due to the central policy of instruction in Khas-Nepali language in schools, there was a high dropout rate among non-native Nepali speakers.8 The lower literacy rate among the marginalized groups disadvantaged them in everyday life. It lowered their abilities for articulating and demanding rights, competing for resources, jobs and political offices, as well as being effective supporters of ethnic movements and parties. The FPTP electoral method also contributed to the exclusion of marginalized socio-cultural groups. The FPTP system in Nepal has been biased towards the big political parties,9 which were overwhelmingly dominated by the CHHEM. For example, in 1999, the CHHEM dominated the two largest political parties accounting for a presence of over 70 per cent in the Nepali Congress and 87 per cent in the mainstream Communist Party Nepal-Unified MarxistLeninist (CPN-UML). This has led to under- or non-representation of smaller identity-oriented parties in elected offices. A comparison of seats based on votes under the then FPTP system and the

proportional representation (PR) method in the three successive elections to the House of Representative (HOR) after 1990, shows that the marginalized groups got less representation under the FPTP system. For instance, in 1999 the National People's Liberation Party (NPLP) of the indigenous nationalities with 1.11 per cent of the vote and the Nepal Goodwill Party (NGP) of Madhesi of Tarai region with 3.34 per cent of popular votes would have got three and seven seats, respectively, under the PR method, instead of zero and five seats under FPTP (Table 12.1). In the 1994 hung Parliament, the NPLP with 1.18 per cent of popular votes would have elected three members. The 2008 Constituent Assembly (CA) election has further demonstrated that PR electoral method can contribute in increasing representation of Dalit, indigenous nationalities, Madhesi and women. The CA elected a significant contingent of Dalit members (fifty) for the first time in Nepal's history. There were no Dalit representation during 1994 and 1999, whereas a single Dalit had been elected to the Lower House in 1991. Likewise, the representation of women (33.22 per cent)10 as well as that of indigenous nationalities and Madhesi has increased significantly. Most Dalit, indigenous nationalities and women got into the CA through the proportional representative seats.

Culture of Impunity Nepal witnessed widespread abuse of power and corruption after the 1990s. In most instances, the power abuse went unchecked. It fuelled a vicious cycle of power abuse. Centralization contributed to the process because it undermined horizontal accountability mechanisms. Excessive power concentration in the executive in Nepal rendered most other central agencies like the Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority (CIAA) and the Election Commission weak. The central constitutional commissions were also not independent because the executive influenced them through the nomination, budgetary and personnel staffing process. These nonexecutive central agencies could not check the abuse of power of

the executive (see note 7). Elections were not sufficient to hold leaders accountable in between the elections. Increase in corruption, politicization of administration and the failure to deliver, eroded the legitimacy of the democratic regime. Thus, centralization contributed to the crisis of governance in Nepal. TABLE 12.1 Parliament Seats under the FPTP and the PR Systems, 1991, 1994 and 1999

Growth of Maoist Insurgency Some of the conditions for violent conflict, such as inequality and poverty, had existed in Nepal prior to 1990. The difference was that continuing centralization, even in a democratic era, ripened the situation for revolt. Freedom allowed people to air their dissatisfaction and to mobilize for ending real or perceived neglect and discrimination. In a context of growing inequality, continuing exclusion, governance crises and the erosion of legitimacy of the democratic regime, the Maoists came forward with a trenchant criticism of the parliamentary democratic system and made radical promises to address the problems faced by different segments of the

society. The alienation among the rural people was such that they were susceptible to the promises of radical transformation. The Maoists initiated actions against exploitations and inequalities, which initially endeared them to large section of the population. The centralized polity in Nepal worked to push the Maoists towards insurgency by not providing them space to operate even though they had participated in the first parliamentary and local elections. The majoritarian and centralized polity gave no meaningful space to the opposition, as power was mostly concentrated in the cabinet and whoever controlled it enjoyed most state power. The Parliament and its committees were powerless and ineffective, so the opposition parties were practically powerless except to raise issues. The situation was further aggravated by the blatant abuse of the state's coercive power by the ruling party for partisan purpose. Following political differences between the Maoist's political organization, the United People's Front Nepal (UPFN) and the local cadres of the ruling Nepali Congress, the Centre resorted to violent repression of the Maoists in their local strongholds. Before the outbreak of the ‘Peoples War’ in 1996, the Nepali Congress government jailed and tortured activists and leaders of the UPFN in the districts of Rolpa and Rukum, and even elected officials of the UPFN controlled district development committees were targeted. The abuse of power by the central authority, which controlled the police and administration, was designed to strengthen the Nepali Congress, but ended up pushing the Maoists into the insurgency.11 This blatantly partisan use of force could take place because of the unitary and centralized structure of the state. If there had been a federal structure, or if the police force had been under the district governments, the extensive one-way abuse of power by the centre would not have been possible because the Maoists controlled the district government in Rolpa, while the Nepali Congress controlled the centre at the time. The irony of Nepali centralization was that the state had a very weak reach beyond the district and sub-district centres. This allowed

the Maoists to establish themselves easily in the rural areas because no effective state agencies were present to resist them. When the people saw the police and other agencies like the banks and agricultural extension services leaving the rural areas due to the Maoist threat, they further lost faith in the government. Even the people who opposed the Maoist ideology did not dare resist publicly because the state could not protect them. The growth of Maoist power in the more neglected regions also supports the thesis that alienation is a factor in the Maoist expansion. The mid west, the hot bed of the insurgency, is one of the most neglected and isolated regions. Likewise, politically excluded groups like the women, indigenous nationalities and Dalit have been found to support the insurgency in large numbers.12 Public opinion surveys in 1999 and 2001 illustrate the alienation. In 1999, a survey showed that ordinary people did not consider the Maoists to be one of the top three problems faced by Nepal.13 This was at a time when political leaders, intelligentsia and journalists were crying themselves hoarse against the rebels. Evidently, the people were less critical of the insurgency that the elite labelled as a major problem.14

Restructuring the State Federalism The Interim Constitution (2007) has made a commitment to establish federalism but it has not specified the type of federalism. Some members belonging to the dominant groups have advanced arguments for administrative federalism, while ethnic groups are demanding ethnic federalism to provide them with autonomy. If the aim of federalism in Nepal is to promote equality and justice among ethnic and caste groups, then ethnic federalism is necessary. The objective of federalism in multiethnic societies is to empower groups that are a minority in the centre by making them a plurality or a majority in the regions. This will empower many groups instead of only one that controls the centre. Administrative federalism will fail to do that. This is illustrated in Pitamber Sharma's (2007) model for

administrative federalism. Despite the claim of being non-ethnic, the CHHE, the author's ethnic group, will continue to dominate at the centre as well as in all the six regions he has proposed (Table 12.2). If that or a similar model were to be adopted, the hegemony of the CHHE will continue even in ‘new’ Nepal. This administrative model divides groups that could have been grouped together in a region. It prevents groups like the Limbu, Rai, Tharu, Maithili speakers, Gurung, Newar, Tamang and others from forming a plural group in the regions of their concentration. To be sure, Sharma has proposed districts within regions where different groups will have plurality of population.15 However, it does not guarantee autonomy to ethnic groups, as the constitutional determined power separation in federalism is between centre and regions and the districts will be largely dependent upon power devolved by the regions. Since all the regions will be dominated by the CHHE, they will influence regional policies and effectively influence the power awarded to the districts as well. TABLE 12.2 CHHE's Hegemonic Domination in Sharma's Federal Model

If ethnic autonomy is denied, Nepal will most probably encounter ethnic conflicts. In addition to the armed Madhesi groups, indigenous groups like the Rai, Limbu and Tharu have established militias and armies. In fact, the Limbus have begun to effectively practise ethnic federalism as various Limbu groups have begun to collect taxes, administer the region with militias, maintain armies and maintain communication outlets like the FM and the newspapers. Some Madhesi and Limbu groups have declared independence as well.16 Ethnic autonomy, if granted before the autonomy movements rigidify into violent secessionist movement can arrest likely conflict. The Madhesi parties like the Madehsi People's Rights Forum (MPRF), Tarai-Madhes Democratic Party (TMDP) and NGP have

begun to demand one Madhesh region. This demand is helpful in bringing a larger group in the Madhesi fold but it is not clear whether it will allow the Madhesi to become the largest group in the proposed region. If the Tarai districts which have an overwhelming number of hill migrants and Tarai indigenous groups, such as those in the far east (Jhapa, Sunsari, and so on) and far west (Kanchanpur, Kailai, Bardiya, and so on) as well as some in central inner Tarai districts like Chitwan are included in a single province, the Madhesi population within the region will be diluted. As Madhesi votes are divided among the splintered Madhesi parties as well as mainstream parties, and hill migrants rarely vote for the Madhesi parties, the Madhesi parties could end up losing elections in a region comprising all the Tarai districts. Federalism is the most important institutional form for includ-ing various ethnic and caste groups but no single type of federal-ism will be able to address the aspirations of autonomy of different ethnic groups of varying size, territorial distribution, aspirations and mobilizational evolution. Territorially, concentrated groups like the Newar, Limbu, Gurung, Maithali, Abadhi speaking communities and others would benefit from territorial based autonomy. However, there are other groups which are spread across the country and do not form majority or plurality in any territory. Such groups could benefit from non-territorial autonomy. With regard to smaller groups or ethnic groups which are settled in the regions of other groups, they could be provided autonomy at local levels. Devolving power to the regions, however, is not sufficient. Power should be devolved to local governments as well. Unlike in the past, extensive devolution should be carried out that devolve not only administrative responsibilities but political and fiscal powers as well. On the other hand, empowerment of local governments alone may not be sufficient to empower the people. Mechanisms to make the local governments accountable to the local people should be devised, beyond the electoral method. Promoting transparency could be one route. Providing political space to multiple agents like nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), local communities and even the central state (if it engages in activities to promote accountability

and empower local people) would empower local people and promote account-ability as different agents check and balance each other at the local level.17

Upper House of Nationalities A bicameral chamber is an essential part of a federal system. The Upper House brings together the regions and it can effectively become the House of Nationalities. However, a powerful Upper House is necessary to negate the potential centrifugal tenden-cies of the regions. The Upper House should be made nearly as powerful as the Lower House. It should have veto power on matters that affect the regions, such as cultural issues and centre and region relations. If the Upper House does not have sufficient power, the regional groups would have no incentives to come to the centre that does not address their concerns. The Upper House should over represent smaller groups and regions to counter the domination of the larger regions and groups that have more influence in the Lower House which is elected on the basis of population. The Upper House should have power to screen appointees to the various constitutional commissions, judiciary, top security personnel and executive appointees. It is better suited for such purpose as it is a perma-nent institution. The Upper House should also be given a role in supervising the army. It will reduce the executive's monopoly of the army.18 It will provide a check to the possibilities of the abuse of an armed institution, which could lead to the breakdown of democracy.

Constitutional Protection of Minorities No country can aspire to be democratic without protecting minority rights. At best, it could become an electoral democracy. The protection of minority rights is even more important in Nepal because all national/ethnic and caste groups are minorities. Further, despite the categorization of different groups into the CHHE, indigenous

nationalities, Madhesi and Dalit, there are many subgroups within these broad categories. The largest national/ethnic and caste group, CHHE, has been dominating the country, but in an electoral democracy the tide could turn if others unite against it. Thus, it is in the interest of the CHHE to protect minority rights, lest a coalition of the disadvantaged groups (Madhesi, indigenous national-ities and Dalit), who collectively are more than two-thirds of the population, should threaten its rights. In this regard, the abolishment of the monarchy in 2008 and the declaration by the HOR in 2006 to make the Nepali state secular is a progressive step. Some Hindu organizations and individuals have objected to the HOR declarations saying that the people should be allowed to follow their traditions. Making the state secular does not hinder citizens from following any religion or traditions. Further, as the largest religion in the country, the domination of Hindu religion in everyday life would continue. Such societal domination per-petuated through informal institutions, however, should be prevented from becoming a threat to other religious groups. A three-language policy—a local language, a country-wide medium language and an international language—should be adopted to promote equality among native languages. Likewise, cultures of various groups should be protected and promoted. This is very salient for small minority groups who are losing important aspects of their cultural heritage due to modernization and colonization by larger groups and traditions. To protect cultures and promote equality at a symbolic level, steps to celebrate festivals of different groups as public holidays after 2006 change are positive. Prominent persons from different groups should be declared national heroes as well. The ‘nationalism’ promoted by the state should be made inclusive and school texts should celebrate multiculturalism and not carry derogatory stereotypes of minorities.

Mixed Electoral Method The FPTP method creates disproportionality, whereas a pure PR method facilitates the domination of top leaders of the parties. Thus,

an electoral method that employs both the FPTP and PR methods, with an aim of reducing disproportionality and maintaining the accountability dimension, like in Germany, would be more desirable. In the proposed mixed method, the first half of the members should be elected on the FPTP method. During the elections, the voters also have the right to vote for a party of their choice. The second half of the seats should be distributed based on the votes received by the political parties, aimed with reducing the disproportionality of the FPTP method. For example, if a party A gets 40 per cent of votes but 60 per cent of seats (which is 30 per cent of the total seats) under the FPTP method, then it should be awarded only 20 per cent of seats (10 per cent of the total seats) in the second round under the PR. Table 12.3 illustrates the method that results in a proportional distribution of seats. This proposal is different from the mixed method employed in the CA elections in two ways. First, the end result of this method is proportional, whereas the CA produced some disproportionality. For instance, with around 29 per cent of votes, the Maoist won around 38 per cent of seats through the FPTP and the PR methods. Second, this model will follow the party list principle strictly to nominate candidates under PR. Representatives should be elected based on their ranking in the party list. If this rule is not followed, then the party leaders could abuse the system to nominate their wives, family members and loyalists who are originally put in lower rank in the list, as occurred during the CA election. TABLE 12.3 Proportionality FPTP and PR Methods

The threshold for the PR election should be minimal as in the CA to facilitate the election of ethnic members from small ethnic parties. If ethnic oriented parties are not elected, then ethnic issues may not be adequately articulated in the Parliament because marginalized group members aligned with mainstream political parties may not raise the issues effectively. They might be constrained from raising group issues by party agenda or an insensitive CHHE leadership. The NGP raised the Madhesi issues loudly and clearly in the house in the 1990s and not Madhesi representative from the mainstream political parties, who only took up the cudgels for the Madhesi cause later.

Inclusive Mechanisms and Affirmative Policies A federal system and proportionate electoral method may not be able to ensure the representation of some groups like Dalit, women and other marginalized groups. Mainstream political leaders often excuse themselves for not nominating members of these communities by saying that they do not have capable people. Notwithstanding that such attitudes are racist, the salient issue is that such excuses are still used to avoid nominating candidates from these communities. It is a fact that only one Dalit out of 615 members in the three Lower Houses in the 1990s clearly demonstrates the prejudiced attitude and behaviour of the CHHE leadership. Reservations for the marginalized national/ethnic and caste groups and quotas for women should be clearly provided in public offices, educational institutions, administra-tion (as in India), and public contracting (as in the United States). Reservations are necessary but not sufficient. Other inclusive institutions and policies should be also promoted. In focussing on inequality, along with social injustices, class inequality is equally, if not more, essential to address in a ‘new’ Nepal. It was class inequality and poverty that fuelled the Maoist insurgency. I propose power-sharing in economic sector policy, and one time resource redistribution to reduce inequality and promote economic development. An attractive framework is ‘Democratic

corporatism’ which ensures the representation of different classes in economic governance and helps in reducing inequality by extending social welfare and promoting social justice. A mechanism is developed whereby representatives of labour, business and the state sit together to decide on economic matters such as the minimum wage and benefits. The peak organizations of labour and business represent their groups in the negotiations.19 Democratic corporatism is common in non-English-speaking democracies like Norway, Sweden, Austria, Denmark, Switzerland, Netherlands, Belgium and Germany.20 New democracies like South Africa have also established cor-poratist mechanism. Corporatist mechanism should be devel-oped in Nepal so that the working class has a more effective voice in matters that affect them.21 Also, a corporatist mechanism could arrest the unhealthy radicalization of labour unions due to the competition among partisan unions that has forced some industries to close down. The challenge in Nepal, where most political parties have sister labour organizations and few if any independent labour organizations exist, would be to organize a peak organization that is relatively non-party based. The working class in Nepal, however, is only a small fraction of the labour force, more important; it is not the poorest group. It is the landless, near landless peasant or small farmers who make up the majority of the poor. It is the peasants in Nepal as else-where in developing countries who are the mass base of insur-gencies and rebellions. A mechanism to represent the peasants in governance should be devised so that their needs and aspirations are heard and addressed by the government. The representatives of the peasants’ peak organization could sit with the government representatives periodically to discuss issues that affect the peasants. Rich peasants would in all likelihood dominate these organizations, as demonstrated in the composition of the peasant sister organizations of various political parties. To circumvent this, the peasant organization should be elected by the poor farmers. Land holding size could be made a criterion for eligibility to vote and stand for elections in the peasant organizations. To ensure representation

of different interests within smaller farmers, sub-associations of different farming groups could be formed, such as rice growers, wheat farmers and sugar cane farmers. Alternately, sub-association could be formed based on the basis of geographic divisions, like the mountain, hill and the Tarai.

Land Reforms Land reform could be a policy tool that could make available resources to the vast numbers of landless or smallholder farmers for bettering their lives. Land reforms could also contribute to addressing food security and the economic development of the country. Small holder farmers have been found to be more productive than large farmers in developing countries.22 Small landholders have an interest in raising productivity because they directly benefit from it whereas a farm labourer working on a large farm does not as s/he will not benefit from the increased output. Land reforms could also yield other indirect benefits. It could breakdown the extensive control of the land-less and smallholder peasants by landlords (patron–client) through tenancy, credit, and so on, and liberate the poor and oppressed peasants and transform them into fuller citizens who can practise their democratic rights with lesser constraints. Several land-related policies have been implemented in Nepal. The abolition of jamindari in the 1950s was a positive aspect as it ended very large land holdings. However, it also enabled some with jagir land given temporarily as compensation for serv-ices to the state but still owned by the state, to claim it as personal property. The land reform during the three decade Panchayat period had mixed consequences. It distributed some land to the landless but took away communal land from the indigenous people and gave land to the hill people in the Tarai. Writing about the ethnic Limbu and the elimination of their communal land ownership system called Kipat,23 Caplan pointed out that it not only contributed to the Limbu's economic marginalization, but contributed to their loss of culture and identity as well, as Limbu identity and lifestyle were closely related to

their ancestral communal land holdings. Likewise, Guneratne24 has argued that the land colonization policy in the Tarai benefited the hill migrants but had severe consequences for indigenous Tharu and other Madhesi. The Tharu's loss of control over their traditional land turned many into bonded labourers. The nationalization of forests in the late 1950s, a form of redistribution of land, had disastrous consequences. By nationalizing private and communally held forests, the government claimed to transfer the forests to all citizens but by making the forests open access resources from restricted resources, the nationalization contributed to massive deforestation. The large-scale deforestation forced the government to transfer the resources to forest user communities from the 1970s onward. Community forestry has been widely cited as successful in re-greening the hills.25 But it did not result in the restitution of the traditional communal lands to the indigenous people. The community forests are often controlled by local elite,26 and the combined process of nationalization and community forestry more likely realigned control over resources to the CHHEM. Future land reform policies should enable the return of traditional lands to the indigenous people who had maintained them in sustainable ways. Another form of land reform that could spell disaster is the collectivization of land. In China, for instance, around thirty million people died of hunger after collectivization of land because production went down and distribution failed. Ten million farmers died in the USSR when Stalin collectivized the farms. On the other hand, in Vietnam and China, production increased in the agricultural sector only after the collectivization system was reformed.27 A recent study by Marie Lecomte-Tilouine, titled, ‘Political Change and Cultural Revolution in a Maoist Model Village’ suggests that the Maoist experiments in collectivization were not successful in producing enough food for the members of the groups.28 In the Nepali context, with regard to land redistribution, critics might argue that there is not much land to redistribute as most land holdings are small and the government has already distributed the

fertile land in the Tarai. Table 12.4 shows that 18.7 per cent of land holdings in 1991 were larger than 4 hectares and owned by 2.51 per cent of households. If these lands were to be redistributed to the landless or those with less than 1 hectare, it could meet the food needs of the poor and contribute in promoting economic development by increasing agricultural productivity. Land reforms have occurred successfully where land holdings were small as in Japan, Taiwan and South Korea.29 In Nepal, the real challenge in implementing successful redistributive land reform is likely to be the political will as well as administrative capability. Land reforms, have often succeeded, when states employed coercion—under occupation in Japan or under an authoritarian regime in Taiwan, South Korea and Peru. In democratic polities, the resource-rich large land owners could deploy a host of strategies to undermine land reforms. They have passed the title of lands to proxy owners—family and friends. Also, large landholders have challenged the policy in the court as violative of property rights, an important tenet of liberal democracy. Even where governments have mustered political will, they face the challenge of administrative capability. A capable and non-corrupt bureaucracy is essential to implement the land reforms. It is questionable whether Nepali bureaucracy can implement redistributive land reforms, as many high-level bureaucrats and their families own significant land holdings. Also, there is the post-conflict experience of land reform policies being abused by the ruling political parties to distribute land to their cadres and not to the poor as happened in Zimbabwe and Nicaragua. TABLE 12.4 Distribution of Household (HH) and Area Owned (in per cent)

The other option could be market-based land reform as promoted in some countries since the 1980s. The principle is to provide incentives for big landowners to sell their land and pro-vide credit and other support to the poor to enable them to purchase land at market prices. The buyers are often required to contribute some amount from their own pocket. The govern-ments could levy progressive taxes to larger land holding so that large landholders are compelled to sell their land. The progressive tax could also contain the land value at its productive price (and check land speculation). The World Bank has provided substantial funds for such programmes in various Latin American countries like Brazil, Colombia, Mexico and in South Africa. Market-based land reforms have worked in some countries and not in others. In Colombia, the reforms became more effective when implemented in a decentralized manner compared to when implemented centrally. Also, land reform works well (in terms of increasing productivity) if the land is given to people who are familiar with farming. From the productivity angle, making land available to the tiller first should be the preferred option. In Nepal, in addition to progressive tax on larger land holding, tax could be levied on even smaller farm land holdings that are not tilled by the owner itself. It could make more land available in the market.

The advantage of market-based land reform is that it will not produce as much resistance as redistributive land reforms. In addition, market-based land reform could contribute in industrialization by making capital available for investment from the large land holders after they sell their land. Some critics have pointed out that the poorest of the poor would not be able to purchase land if they have to pay a portion of the land cost. In that case, an exception could be made and complete credit made available to the poorest.

Promoting Accountability Horizontal accountability mechanisms should be made effective to hold political leaders and the powerful accountable in between the elections. Constitutional commissions and central agencies as well as the non-executive branches of the government should be empowered and made independent to make them more effective. Parliament can be made more effective by strengthening its committees and awarding more committee chairpersons to the opposition, as in Germany.30 Distribution of chairpersonship of committees based on PR in the Parliament could give more power to the opposition in the Parliament. Judicial review process can be strengthened to limit authoritarian tendencies of the executive by establishing a constitutional court, as discussed in the subsequent paragraphs. Empowerment and independence of central agencies would not only facilitate checking power abuse by the executive but the various agencies could also check power abuse by each other. The first step is to make different agencies powerful in their respective jurisdiction. For instance, the CIAA should be empowered to prosecute anyone, including the head of the executive. However, empowering the agencies alone may not be enough, especially if the agencies are under the influence of the executive. To promote independence, the executive alone should not have the prerogative to nominate commissioners heading the central agencies. Other branches of government like the Parliament and Judiciary should have a role in

the nomination and approval process. Likewise, the Parliament could decide on the allocation of budget and the agencies themselves could recruit administrative personnel. In principle, the presidential system is the political structure that separates power among different branches of government, and hence could promote accountability. In practice, the presi-dential system in many developing countries has concentrated power in the person of the president instead of separating power.31 Except for the USA, practically, all presidential systems have faced major crises32 unlike parliamentary system, which has mixed record. Presidents have often undermined the authority of the Parliament and Judiciary and ruled in semi-authoritarian ways. In Nepal, the major proponent of the presidential system, the Maoists, seem to view it as a tool to establish a powerful executive.

Constitutional Court and Judicial Review A federal system could invite a lot of constitutional debates about various constitutional articles that deal with rights between the centre and regions, articles that protect the rights of minorities and articles that empower central constitutional commissions (CCC). The articles could come under debate and scrutiny requiring to be interpreted. This necessitates a judicial review process. Nepal's 1990 Constitution provided for judicial review or interpretation and there were some significant judicial inter-ventions. However, there were some major problems as well. A major problem of the judicial system has been criticism regarding the Court's ideological, ethnic and gender biases. In the 1990s, the then dominant left political party in Parliament, the CPNUML found itself disadvantaged by the rulings of the Supreme Court. When the prime minister belonging to the CPN-UML dissolved the Parliament, the Court ruled against it despite there being a precedent. Not surprisingly, the CPN-UML perceived the Court as made up of social elite that favoured the centrist Nepali Congress. Even more marked was the bias in the Court rulings against the marginalized groups. Between 1990 and 2002, the Supreme Court's

rulings on cultural issues that conflicted with the values and interests of the CHHEM, went against the interests of the marginalized groups. In the Public Service Commission controversy, the Supreme Court ruled that Khas-Nepali language ought to be language of the public service examination. Non-native Nepali speakers (indigenous people and the ‘Madhesi’ peoples) were disadvantaged in the competition with the native speakers. As a consequence, the gap between the native speakers and others continued to rise in the administration in the 1990s.33 Likewise, the Supreme Court ruled that local governments could not introduce local native languages as the second language of governance even though the Local Self Governance Act, 1999 permitted it. Also, the Court's ruling prohibited distribution of citizenship certificates to Madhesi and others who did not posses them. Finally, in the case of women, the Court's rulings, though in some instances progressive, generally, did not promote equal rights between men and women. While some of these decisions were based on the discrimi-natory articles of the 1990 Constitution, others were influenced by the values of the justices, who were overwhelmingly male Bahun (hill Brahmin). As the American experience shows, constitutional articles may be interpreted differently by people with different values in different periods. The same constitu-tional articles interpreted to discriminate against Blacks prior to the civil rights movement in the 1960s, were subsequently inter-preted differently to extend political rights and civil liberties. Consequently, even after the Constitution is made inclusive and progressive, the CHHEM would continue to dominate the Supreme Court and interpret the constitutional articles based on values that favour the Hindu religion, Khas-Nepali language, and hill nationalism. These problems can be addressed by the establishment of a Constitutional Court, whose sole job is to interpret the Constitution. It will additionally free the judicial system to look at regular litigations. As it will be newly constituted, it can be made inclusive in terms of ideology, ethnicity and gender. A proportionately constituted Constitutional Court has less chance of favouring one

group consistently. Proportionality of the Constitutional Court could be facilitated by nomination of justices from the regions. The East European countries have had successful experience with the Constitutional Court system. It has contributed in the consolidation of democracies in some of the countries by restricting the abuse of power by the executive.34

Towards Democratic Inclusion and Accountability For the poor and marginalized groups in Nepal, a functioning democracy may give them more space to be heard, and to make the most of mobilizing the numbers they have. The politicians will not be able to ignore the poor if they vote in higher number as in India, because the politicians need votes to win in free and fair elections. However, for electoral politics to work for the poor, democracy should function properly. Any type of democracy will not function in multicultural societies. Majoritarian democracy failed in Nepal because it not only excluded different groups but also fostered power abuse. In this chapter, I have argued that power should be distributed among different agencies, institutions, groups, actors and sectors to promote equality, inclusion and accountability. In addition to managing conflict and promoting inclusion and accountability, power distribution in the historically centralized polity will contribute in the consolidation of democracy as well.

Notes and References 1. In four months from 15 January to 14 May 2007, 561 mobile teams distributed 2,615,615 citizenship certificates. Data obtained from Citizenship Section, Ministry of Home Affairs, Government of Nepal. 2. The Dalit and indigenous nationalities are around 15 and 37 per cent of the population, respectively, the Madhesi 18 but 32 per cent if you add the Tarai's Dalit, indigenous nationalities and Muslims to the category of Madhesi. Collectively, the marginalized groups are more than two-third of the population (Krishna B. Bhattachan. Indigenous Nationalities &

Minorities of Nepal. A Final Report submitted to the Minority Rights Group International (London: Minority Rights Group International, 2003). 3. Mahendra Lawoti, ‘Centralized Politics and the Growth of the Maoist Insurgency in Nepal’, Himalaya: The Journal of the Association for Nepal and Himalayan Studies 23 (2003): 49–58; Mahendra Lawoti. Looking Back, Looking Forward: Centralization, Multiple Conflicts and Democratic State Building in Nepal. (Washington, DC: East–West Center, 2007). 4. Kishor Sharma, ‘The Political Economy of Civil War in Nepal’, World Development 34, no. 7 (2006): 1237–253. 5. Mahendra Lawoti, ed. Contentious Politics and Democratization in Nepal (Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore: Sage Publications); see also note 4. 6. This section draws on: Mahendra Lawoti, Looking Back, Looking Forward: Centralization, Multiple Conflicts and Democratic State Building in Nepal (Washington, DC: East–West Center, 2007). 7. Krishna B. Bhattachan, ‘Possible Ethnic Revolution or Insurgency in Predatory Unitary Hindu State, Nepal’, in Domestic Conflict and Crises of Governability in Nepal, ed., D. Kumar (Kathmandu: CNAS, 2000); Gurung, Harka, Malla K. Sunder, Krishna Bhattachan, and Om Gurung (eds). Janajati Bikasko Jukti (Ideas for Nationalities’ Development). (Kathmandu: Janajati Bikash Samanoya Kendra, 2000); Mahendra Lawoti, Towards a Democratic Nepal: Inclusive Political Institutions for a Multicultural Society (New Delhi, London and Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications, 2005). 8. Bryan Maddox. ‘Language Policy, Modernist Ambivalence and Social Exclusion: A Case Study of Rupendehi District in Nepal's Tarai’, Studies in Nepali History and Society 8, no. 2 (2003): 205–24; Sharon Stash and Emily Hannum. ‘Who Goes to School? Eduacational Stratification by Gender, Caste, and Ethnicity in Nepal’, Comparative Education Review 45, no. 3 (2001): 354–78; Ramavatar Yadav, ‘The Use of the Mother Tongue in Primary Education: The Nepalese Context’, Contributions to Nepalese Studies 19, no. 2 (1992): 177–90. 9. Table 12.1 shows that the two largest political parties would have received lesser seats under PR in all three parliamentary elections after 1990. The rest of the parties would have received more seats in 90 per cent of cases under a PR system. 10. Indira Aryal, ‘Women in Constituent Assembly’. The Rising Nepal. (21 May 2008). 11. Prachanda. ‘Red Flag Flying in the Roof of the World’, Revolutionary Worker 1043, February 20 (2000). Available online at http://rwor.org/a/v21/1040-049/1043/interv.htm. Revolutionary Worker is an online news outlet; INSEC, ‘Maoist Activities and the Treatment of the

Government’, in Annex 3, Nepal Human Rights Year Book (Kathmandu: INSEC, 1999). 12. Mahendra Lawoti, ‘Maoists and Minorities: Overlap of Interests or the case of Exploitation?’ Studies in Nepali History and Society 8, no. 1(2003): 67– 97. 13. Himal Association, Political Opinion Survey Nepal. (Kathmandu: Himal Association, 2001); Sudhindra Sharma and Pawan Kumar Sen, Matdataharuko Dristima Rajniti, Rajnitik Dal, ra Rajnitigyaharu. (Kathmandu: Himal Association, 2056 v.s.[1999/2000]). 14. Later opinion polls (Nepali Times, ‘Full Details of the Opinion Poll 2002’. Nepali Times, 2002) have shown that the people began to blame the Maoists for the crises in the country. The attitude change came after the Maoists began destruction of development infrastructures, such as schools, health posts, telephone transmission towers, and Village Development Committee (VDC) offices. In October 2003, Prachanda, the supreme Maoist leader, issued a statement saying that the politburo meeting of the party decided to stop the destruction of development infrastructures. The destruction, however, did not completely stop. 15. For reasons not clear to the author, Sharma does not provide calculation of distribution of ethnic groups in regions. In a model for federalism, that should have been the main task. 16. J.B. Pun, ‘Jatiya Rajyako Kasrat (Practicing Ethnic Statehood)’, Himal Khabarpatrika, September 1–16 (2008). Interviews with activists and journalists in summer 2008 and documents provided by them. 17. Judith Tendler, Good Government in the Tropics (Baltimore and London, 1997). 18. In a parliamentary system, the executive will represent the Lower House's interest as it is elected from it. 19. Following Philipe Schmitter (‘Reflections on Where the Theory of NeoCorporatism has Gone and Where the Praxis of Neo-Corporatism may be Going’, in G. Lehmbruch and P.C. Schmitter, eds, Patterns of Corporatist Policy-Making, pp. 259–79, London: Sage), Lijphart (Patterns of Democracy, 1999: 172) identifies democratic corporatism with an interest group system where: (1) interest groups are relatively large in size and relatively small in numbers, and (2) they are further consolidated in national peak organizations…(3) regular consultation by the leaders of these peak organizations, especially those representing labor and management, both with each other and with government representatives to (4) arrive

at comprehensive agreements that are binding on all three partners in the negotiations. 20 Arend Lijphart, Patterns of Democracy: Government Forms and Performance in Thirty-Six Countries (New Haven and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 1999). 21. Corporatist mechanisms have been employed by non-democratic regime to broaden support and legitimize their rule, for example, in Latin America. In Nepal, the Panchayat system also mobilized workers, peasants, women, youth, and so on, to broaden support base. This history might make democrats a bit wary of corporatism. However, as the non-Englishspeaking European democracies have demonstrated, corporatism can become an effective mechanism in reducing inequality and extending welfare and social justice in democracies. Corporatism in autocracy could be problematic as it lengthened the regime's rule while it is desirable in democracies because it facilitates representation of lower classes in governance. 22. Hans P. Binswanger and Miranda Elgin, ‘Reflections on Land Reform and Farm Size’, in International Agricultural Development, eds, K.K. Eicher and J.M. Staatz (Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1998): 316–28. 23. Lionel Caplan, Land and Social Change in East Nepal. (Kathmandu: Himal Books, 2000 [revised edition]). 24. Arjun. Guneratne, Many Tongues, One People: The Making of Tharu Identity in Nepal, (Ithica and London: Cornell University Press, 2002). 25. Arun Agrawal and Elinor Ostrom, ‘Collective Action, Property Rights, and Decentralization in Resource Use in India and Nepal’, Politics and Society 29, no. 4 (2001): 485–514. 26. Ian Harper and Christopher Tarnowski, ‘A Heterotopia of Resistance: Health, Community Forestry, and Challenges to State Centralization in Nepal’, in Resistance and the State: Nepalese Experiences, ed., D.N. Gellner (New Delhi: Social Science Press, 2003). 27. The World Bank,. World Development Report 2008: Agriculture for Development (Washington, DC: The World Bank, 2007). 28. Marie Lecomte-Tilouine, ‘Political Change and Cultural Revolution in a Maoist Model Village, mid-western Nepal’, in, The Maoist Insurgency in the Twenty-first Century: Dynamics and Growth in Nepal, eds, M. Lawoti and A. Pahari (London: Routledge, Forthcoming). 29. Keith Griffin, Azizur Rahman Khan and Amy Ickowitz ‘Poverty and the Distribution of Land’, Journal of Agrarian Change 2, no. 3 (2002): 279–330. 30. Manfred G. Schmidt, Political Institutions in the Federal Republic of Germany, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

31. Guillermo O'Donnell, ‘Delegative Democracy’, in The Global Resurgence of Democracy, eds, L. Diamond and M.F. Plattner (Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 1996). 32. Juan J. Linz, ‘The Perils of Presidentialism’, in The Global Resurgence of Democracy, eds, L. Diamond and M.F. Plattner (Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 1996); Fred W. Riggs, ‘Presidentialism: A Problematic Regime Type’, in Parliamentary versus Presidential Government, ed., A. Lijphart (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992): 217– 22. 33. Lawoti, ‘Exclusionary Democratization in Nepal, 1990–2002’. 34. Herman Schwartz, ‘Surprising Success: The New Eastern European Constitutional Courts’, in The Self-Restraining State: Power and Accountability in New Democracies, eds, A. Schedler, L. Diamond and M.F. Plattner (Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1999): 195–214.

About the Editor and Contributors The Editor Rita Manchanda is currently General Secretary, South Asia Forum for Human Rights (Delhi) and Research Director of SAFHR (Nepal) Project on Auditing Partitions as a Method of Conflict Resolution. She is a writer, researcher and a journalist and has written extensively on security and human rights issues. Her publications include War and Peace in South Asia: Beyond Victimhood to Agency (2001). Her research study on ‘Naga Women in the Peace Process’ (2004) is a benchmark contribution in field studies of gendered war narratives. She also co-edited the book States Citizens and Outsiders: Uprooted Peoples of South Asia (1997).

Contributors Javeed Alam is Chairperson of the Indian Council of Social Science Research (ICSSR) and is one of the more reflective Marxist intellectuals writing on Democracy and Equality in India. His writings include Dissent and Domination: Peasant Politics in India, Who Wants Democracy (2004) and Living with Modernity (1999) and most recently, the article, ‘Democracy in India and the Quest for Equality’ (2009). Afsan Chowdhury is a distinguished journalist, film maker and rights advocate known for his courageous, independent and well researched writings. In 2008, he was the Oak Fellow at the Oak Institute for the Study of International Human Rights at Colby College, USA. Earlier, he was editor of Daily Star. His wide ranging publications include Media in Times of Crisis (2003). Forthcoming is an ambitious oral history documentation of Partition narratives.

Farzana Haniffa is an anthropologist and senior lecturer at the University of Colombo. She was also a member of the Muslim Peace Secretariat in Colombo. Her writings include In the Pursuit of Democracy in Post-Colonial Sri Lanka: Local Human Rights Approaches to Transitional Justice. Ishtiaq Hussain is a development professional with experience in working for United Nations Development Programme, Catholic Relief Services, Academy for Educational Development and the Research Triangle Institute. He lives in Quetta and is currently working with Center for Peace and Development as Head of Programmes and Operations. Mahendra Lawoti is an Associate Professor, Department of Political Science, at Western Michigan University, USA. He is the author of Contentious Politics and Democratization in Nepal (2007) and Towards a Democratic Nepal (2005) and is well known for exploring the paradigm of ‘institutionalized exclusion’ in Nepal which laid the ground for conflict and insurgency. Amena Mohsin is Chairperson, Department of International Relations, University of Dhaka, Dhaka, Bangladesh. She is one of the leading scholars on nation and state building and the conflict in the Chittagong Hill Tracts. Among her more recent publication is The Chittagong Hill Tracts, Bangladesh: On the Difficult Road to Peace (2003), and the chapter ‘For Her the War Continues: Women in Chittagong Hill Tracts, Bangladesh’ in Rita Thapa et al. (eds), Women and Insurgency in South Asia (2007). Sukumar Muralidharan is an eminent journalist and insight-ful commentator and is presently associated with the International Federation of Journalists. He has written extensively on the politics of the hindutva movement, Dalit politics and the Media and Public Discourse. He co-authored the study on Communalism, Civil Society & the State: Reflections on a Decade of Turbulence (2003).

Ashis Nandy is one of the most influential public intellectuals of our time. A political psychologist and social theorist, his wide-ranging research interests cover political psychology, mass violence, nationalism, religion and culture and cultures of knowledge. Among his many writings are the classics, The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self under Colonialism (1988); The Illegitimacy of Nationalism: Rabindranath Tagore and the Politics of Self (1994) and The Ramjanmabhumi Movement and Fear of Self (1994). Rubina Saigol is a Scholar Activist with extensive writings in the areas of education and women's rights. Among her more recent publications is a co-authored book on Social Sciences in Pakistan: A Profile (2005) as well as Knowledge and Identity: Articulation of Gender in Educational Discourse in Pakistan (1995). She also coauthored Locating the Self: Perspectives on Women and Multiple Identities (1994). Jayadeva Uyangoda is a senior Professor in the Department of Political Science at the University of Colombo. He is one of Sri Lanka's more influential and controversial public intellectuals on the ethnic conflict and minority rights. In 1999, he worked with the late Neelan Tiruchelvam in drafting a model Constitution. Among his many publications are Questions of Sri Lanka's Minority Rights (2001); Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka: Changing Dynamics (2007) and Beyond Negotiations: Towards Transformative Peace in Sri Lanka (2001). Late Shahla Zia was one of the pioneers of the women rights movement in Pakistan and founder member of the Women Action Forum, Aurat Foundation and the AGHS Women's law firm and legal aid centre. She was at the forefront of the struggle against discriminatory laws against women and reli-gious minorities and was jailed for protesting against the Law of Evidence at the Lahore High Court in 1983. One of her publications is the co-authored study, Violence against Women and their Quest for Justice (2002).

Index Adivasi communities, 47, 59 Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem (Hannah Arendt), 34 Adolph Eichmann, trial of, 34 Ahmedis, 144, 153–54, 156 Alam, Javeed, 11 All-India nation-state, 73 All Party Representatives Committee (APRC), 273 Ambedkar, 11 Anderson, Benedict, 72–73 Arefin, Shamshul, 110 Ashraff, Ferial, 269 Ashraff, M.H.M., 269 Athaullah, M., 269 Awami League (AL), 100–02, 109–12 Babri Mosque destruction, 11, 35–36 Bangladesh access of Hindus to the government, 112–13 appropriation of property and community identity, 102–03 Congress Party in, 101–02 decline of Hindu population, 113 departed Hindus from, 103–06 discriminatory laws, 13 fatwas in, 111 immigration politics, 106–08 Indo-Bangla relationship, 100–02, 107–08 majority–minority problem, 96–97 minority as outsiders, 97 minority people, 9 political scenario, 108–13 position of the Hindus in the period 1972–1975, 100–01 treatment of Hindus in the period 1947–1971, 97–100 Bangladesh Hindu Bouddha Christian Oikkya Parishad (HBCOP), 113 Bangladeshi nationalism, 16, 21 Bangladesh Krishak Sramik Awami League (BKSAL), 102 Bangladesh National Party (BNP), 109–12

Barkat, Abul, 102, 104 Barrage, Farakka, 110 Bathiuddeen, Rishard, 269 Baumann, Zigmund, 34 Bengali nationalism, 16, 21 Bengal Provincial Muslim League (BPML), 108 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), 35, 63–64, 186 Bhotmange, Surekha, 85 Bhowmik, Nimchandra, 112 Bose, Tapan, 6 Caste hill Hindu elite (CHHE), Nepal, 282, 287, 291, 294, 296 Caste hill Hindu elite male (CHHEM), Nepal, 281–83 Caste society, 59 Centre for Legal Aid, Assistance and Settlement (CLAAS), 196 Centre for the Study of Developing Societies, 54 Ceylon Workers’ Congress (CWC), 241–43 Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT), 6, 106 accord and related flaws, 123–31 administration of, 124, 127–28, 133–34 administrative status post independence, 121–23 administrative structure and provisions laid down in CHT Manual of 1900, 118–21, 132 amendments against the backdrop of Kaptai project crisis, 121–22 constitutional provisions, 130 economic aspects post-accord situation, 139 and Government of India Act of 1935, 120 and hegemony of the Chakmas, 126–28 human rights violations in, 128–29 lack of neutral monitoring team and its impacts, 131 militarization of, 128–30 PCJSS interventions and activities, 122–23 polical aspects post-accord situation, 131–34 politics of polarization within Hill people, 118–23 security aspects post-accord situation, 134–38 time frame for the implementation of, 130 Chittagong Hill Tribes of Bangladesh, 6 Chowdhury, Afsan, 1, 25 Citizenship, 42 Citizenship Act, 3, 158 Cochin, city of, 37–39

Colonial policy and identity politics, 74–76 Communal majority, 70–72 Communal tension, incidents of, 2 Communist Party Nepal-Unified Marxist-Leninist (CPN-UML), 283 Community-based society, 37 city of Cochin, 37–39 theory of tolerance of diversity, 40–41 Consciousness, 59–60 Constitutional status of minorities, in Pakistan blasphemy laws, 20, 155–56 conflict between ordinary laws and constitutional provisions, 162–63 constitutional violations of fundamental rights, 153–56 discriminatory laws against non-Muslims, 154–55 education reforms and syllabus, 159–60, 166–69 freedom of religion, 163–66 ‘Fundamental Rights’, 148–53 General Pervez Musharraf's LFO 2002, 159 Hudood Ordinances, 20, 147, 154–55, 167 Islamic conception of ‘real democracy’, 148 Islamic provisions, 150–53 ‘Islamization’ process, 154 issue of conversion, 160 issue of separate or joint electorates, 156–59, 168–69 ‘Objectives Resolution’, 147–48, 162–63 ‘Offences against Religion’ provisions, 161 Ordinance XX (1984), 156, 163 Qanun-e-Shahadat Order (1984), 155 state policies and actions, 159–62 status of Ahmedis, 153–54 violence against minorities, 161 Constitution Article 251, 9 Constitution-based discrimination, 19–20 Cross-border minority–majority relations, 1–2 Indian intervention for Tamil community in Sri Lanka, 3 military model intervention, 3 Dalits, 43, 52–54, 58–59, 62, 85–86, 88, 95, 180, 199 Das, Pinaki, 103, 114–15 De-communalization of the state, 228 Democracy, minority–majority dynamics in, 11–14, 43 predicaments, 69–70

Democratic practice, in Nepal accountability mechanisms, 299–302 centralization mechanism, 280–82 constitutional protection of minority rights, 291–92 corruption and politicization of administration, 283–85 electoral methods, 292–93 establishment of administrative federalism, 287–90 first past the post (FPTP) electoral method, 280–81, 292–93 land reforms, 295–99 Local Self Governance Act, 1999, 301 political exclusion of marginalized groups, 282–83 poverty statistics, 281 reservations and policies, 293–95 rise of Maoists insurgency, 285–87 Upper House of Nationalities, 290–91 Devolution of power process, Sri Lanka, 3, 16–17, 24, 227–29, 231, 237–38, 243, 245, 247, 249, 253–54, 273. See also Minority rights, in Sri Lanka Discrimination, aganinst minorities. See specific headings in Baluchistan, 14 in Bangladesh, 13, 15–16 in Nepal, 16 in Pakistan, 15–16, 154–55 Sachar Committee Report, India, 14 in Sri Lanka, 16–17 Discrimination in Pakistan against Religious Minorities: Constitutional Aspects (Shahla Zia), 26 Drukpa ethnic minority, 10 Education reforms and syllabus, in Pakistan, 159–60, 166–69 Bengalis in textbooks, 219–21 caste system, 211 descriptions of conquest and victory, 209–10 forms of writing of legends and folktales, 205–06 Hindus as racist and fundamentalist, 207–11 historical narration, 204–05 history of British imperialism, 212 history of the sub-continent, 207–08 idea of Jehad against foreign rule, 210 imaginary of the state/nation, 222 Islamicization of teaching, 198 Jallianwala Bagh massacre, 212–13

Jews in textbooks, 214–216 mention of Pakistani Christians, 211–14 Mohammad Bin Qasim's invasions in India, 209 national identity of Englishness, 212–13 national tale, 205–07 reference to the Congress, 212 Sikhs in textbooks, 216–19 textbooks of the Ayub Khan, Zulfikar Bhutto and Zia-ul-Haq eras, 208 Zia era textbooks, 210–11 Eelam IV military campaign, 3 Eelam People's Democratic Party (EPDP), 251 Electorate Amendment Act, 157 Emancipatory ideologies, 33 Enemy Property Act (1965), 13, 102 Ethnic kin states, system of, 1–4 Ethnonationalism, 12 Ghai, Yash, 12 Ghosh, Anindita, 75 Ghulam Mustafa Khar Versus Pakistan, 162 Global cosmopolitanism, 41 Gujjars in Rajasthan, 18 Habib Bank Limited Versus Muhammad Hussain (1987), 162 Habib Bank Limited Versus Waheed Teethe Ltd, 162–63 Hakeem, Rauf, 270 Hakim Khan Versus Government of Pakistan, 163 Haniffa, Farzana, 24 Harakatul Jihad, 111 Hasina, Sheikh, 112 Hill Women's Federation (HWF), 128 Hindi nationalism, 74 Hinduism, 37 under colonial modernity, 75–76 Hindu minority, in Bangladesh, 2 Hindus, 95–96 access to the government in Bangladesh, 112–13 decline in Bangladesh, 113 departed from Bangladesh, 103–06 status in Bangladesh, 97–101 status in Pakistan, 178–81, 207–11

Hindus in a Polarised Political Environment (Afsan Chowdhury), 21 Hobswam, Eric, 4 Hostage theory, 2 Hudood Ordinance, 20 Hussain, Istiaq, 21 Idara-e-Amn-o-Insaf, 214 ‘Identity’ politics, 6 Imrana, case of, 86 Independence Act of 1947, 187 Indian Act of 1935, 187 Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF), 237 Indo-Sri Lanka accord, 3 Innatism, 71 Integrated Child Development Scheme (ICDS), 54 Internally displaced persons (IDPs), 121, 123, 138 Internal self-determination of a group, 28, 231, 244 Inter-state-level relationships, 1–2, 180 Islamic-based provisions, for minorities, 19–20 Israel, Milton, 73 Ittahad ul Muslimeen, 48 Jamaat-i-Islami (JI), 109, 157–58, 190 Jama'atul Mujahedeen Bangladesh (JMB), 111 Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Islam, 158 Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (JUI), 190 Jamiat-ul-Ulema-e-Pakistan, 158 Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP), 247, 251, 272 Jathika Hela Urumaya (JHU), 247, 272 Jhum cultivation, 125 Jinnah, Mohammad Ali, 145 Kaniz Fatima Versus Wali Muhammad, 163 Kathmandu centric-polity, 16 Khan, Ayub, 157–58 Khan, Liaquat Ali, 147, 189 Khan, Sir Syed Ahmad, 61, 64 Khan, Sir Zafrullah, 190 Khan, Yahya, 190 Khap panchayats, 23

Lahore Resolution (Pakistan Resolution), 144 Languages, 9. See also Media central policy in Nepal, 16, 282, 291–92, 301 development of Bengali language, 75 English-language press, 78–79 linguistic identity of print technologies, 73 linguistic minorities protection of language rights in India, 18, 70, 72, 77 Macaulay Minute, 60–61 provisions on language rights in Sri Lanka, 16, 227–28, 246, 264 rights in Bangladesh, 21–22, 101 rights in Pakistan. See Education reforms and syllabus, in Pakistan in South Asia, 8–10 tension between ‘Bengali nationalism’ and ‘Bangladeshi nationalism’ due to, 16 vernacular vs English in India, 75–79 Larma, Manobendra Narayan, 122 Larma, Shantu, 132 Lawoti, Mahendra, 16 Lhotsampas, 2 Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), 23, 38, 229, 246–52 Macaulay Minute, 60–61 Madehsi People's Rights Forum (MPRF), 289 Mahajan, Gurpreet, 19 Mahkam e Kharkhana, 57 Majoritarian states, of South Asia, 14–17, 25 Mandal–kamandal moment, 11 Mandal movement, 46 Mass printing technologies, 73 Maudoodi, Syed Abul Ala, 190 McDonnell moment, 74 Media agendas, 89 caste biasness, 88–92 in colonial India, 74–76 coverage of anti-Mandal movement, 78–81 coverage of communal carnage of Gujarat, 82–83 coverage of the Sachar Report and Dalit protests, 84–88 editorial coverage of Mandal Commission, 90–92 growth of press and inter-community solidarity, 82–84 interpretation of democracy principle, 81–82

on the issue of madarsas, 87–88 narrative discrimination of violence against minorities, 84–88 in portraying minority, 72–75 references to the Khairlanji massacre, 84–85 Media Modernity and Minorities (Sukumar Muralidharan), 11 Minority, as a political category of powerlessness, 6 Minorityism, 12, 71 Minority–majority dynamics, in democracy, 11–14, 96 Minority people, of South Asia Bangladesh, 9 Bhutan, 9–10 identity predicaments, 7, 10–12 incidents of communal tension and consequences, 2 India, 8 issue of the socio-economic vulnerability, 114 Lhotsampas, 2, 10 minorities as an essential part of society, 4–5, 95 modern minority issues, 4–8 Nepal, 9 Pakistan, 8–9 Sri Lanka, 9 Minority rights, in Sri Lanka APRC proceedings to resolve ethnic conflict, 249–52 collective rights of minorities, 231 constitutionalist perspective on minority rights, 226–27 constitutional provisions on language rights, 227–28 degree of international concerns for minority rights, 252–53 devolution process and political rights, 3, 16–17, 24, 227–29, 231, 237–38, 243, 245, 247, 249, 253–54, 273 ethnic conflict, 229–30, 246–52 framing of minority rights, 230 and Indo-Lanka Accord, 238 Interim Self Governing Authority (ISGA) and 2004–06 peace process, 247– 52 LTTE's authoritarian politics, 232–34, 239–40 multi-level power-sharing arrangements among localized communities, 244– 46 notion of ‘internal self-determination’, 231–32 Plantation Tamil community and power politics, 240–44 post-colonial Sinhalese nationalism, 225

power sharing between majority ethnic community and other communities, 226–31 rights claims of the Muslim community, 230, 235–40 rise of Tamil ethnic nationalism, 231–35, 246–47 Soulbury Constitution of 1947, 231, 261 Thimpu Talks of 1985, 252–53 ‘Upcountry Tamil’ community, 242 Minority rights, models Bangladesh, 21–22 challenges, 22–24 India, 17–19 Pakistan, 19–21 religious minorities, 19 MOCHTA, 131 Modern nation-state, 33 Mohsin, Amena, 14, 22–23 Moonesinghe, Mangala, 237 Mujib, Sheikh, 122 Mujib-ur-Rahman, Sheikh, 101 Muralidharan, Sukumar, 4–5, 69–92 Musharraf, Pervez, 195 Muslim communities, In India alignment with secularism, 49–50 character of Muslim political demands, 63–65 and citizen politics, 42–46 and communal riots, 51–52 economic and social backwardness of, 62–65 in ethno-cultural and linguistic regions, 46–51 issue of Vernacular versus English, 60–61 and Mandal movement, 44–46 pan-India Muslim politics, 47–48 post-partition, 61–62 poverty predicament, 55–62 Sachar Report, 52–55 terrorism among, 50–51 Muslim community, in Sri Lanka and devolution process, 273–74 ethnic conflict and power politics, 267–72 and human right norms against the backdrop of terrorism, 272–76 JHU-driven campaign against, 275 Peace Secretariat for Muslims (PSM), 272

political marginalization of Muslim interests, 262–67 proportional representation system and Muslim politicians, 269–72 rights claims of, 230, 235–40 SLMC's position of opposition, 276 Sri Lanka Muslim Congress (SLMC), 236, 238, 269–72, 275–76 and Tamil nationalism, 271–72 violence against, 268–69 Muslim League, 48, 157, 186 Naga people of north-east India, 6 Nandy, Ashis, 5 Nationality in democracy frame of minority rights, 28 issues in Sri Lanka, 225 in modern times, 71 relationships with Muslim minority in India, 48 National People's Liberation Party (NPLP), 283 National self-determination, 226, 262 National Unity Alliance (NUA), 269, 272 Nation-state, 5, 8, 15, 22, 32–33, 37, 70–73, 103, 240 Nehru–Liaquat Ali pact, 3 Nepal. See also Democratic practice, in Nepal majority–minority problem, 97 Nepal Goodwill Party (NGP), 283 NGOs, 138–39, 290 North-Western Provinces and Oudh (NWP&O), 74 North West Frontier Province (NWFP), 15, 20 Pahari Chatra Parishad (PCP), 135 Pahari Gana Parishad (PGP), 135 Pakistan. See also Constitutional status of minorities, in Pakistan; Education reforms and syllabus, in Pakistan; Religious minorities, in Pakistan majority–minority problem, 96 minorities and democratic vision of communal harmony, 144–47 minority as an enemy, 98 non-Muslim minorities in, 144 profile of minorities, 175–83 Pakistan National Alliance (PNA), 158 Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), 158 Pan-Indian ‘national’ identity, 76–77 Parbattya Chattagram Jana Samhati Samity (PCJSS), 122, 137

Partition riots, 35 Political liberalism, 72 Poverty, in Muslim communities of India, 55–57 Premadasa, Ranasinghe, 237 Print media, 75 Proxy citizens, of a country, 1, 95–97, 114 Punjab-Mohajir-dominated bureaucracy and military oligarchy, 20 Rahman, Rezaur, 107 Rahman, Shafiq, 107 Rajapaksa, Mahinda, 229, 249, 272 Rajbhansis in Assam, 18 Ram Janma bhoomi movement, 45, 49 Ranawaka, Champaka, 274 Rastriya Swayam Sevak Sangh (RSS), 49, 63 Religious ideologues, 36–37 Religious minorities, 19 religious or quasi-religious violence, 32 Religious minorities, in Pakistan Ahmadis, 174, 181–182 anti-blasphemy code and legal exclusion, 191–93 Bahai religion, 182 Christian community, 174, 176–78 democratic vision of equal citizenship, 183–87 discriminatory laws against non-Muslims, 191–93, 195–96 discriminatory laws and status of, 173–74 Hindus, 178–81 impact of partition and demographic changes, 188–89 inter-community relationships, 187–88 issue of separate or joint electorates, 193–95 Kalasha of Chitral, 182–83 mapping of, 197–200 and Objectives Resolution, 189–91, 196 Parsis, 182 role for the ulama, 189–90 Sharia laws and, 195–96 Shias, 183 Sikh community, 174, 182–83 Sindhi society, 175 violence against, 196–97, 199–200 Zia's Presidential Order, 194

and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto's constitutional reforms, 188, 190–91 Renan, Ernest, 92 Representation of the People Act (1976), 158 Riots. See also Violence anti-secular activities, 35–36 in the Char Minar area, Hyderabad, 36 communal, 51–52 as discursive strategy of hindutva ideologues, 45 Roy, Chakma Crown Prince Nalinakkho, 120 Roy, Raja Devasish, 126 Saigol, Rubina, 15 Sangh Parivar, 62 ‘Sectarian’ identities, 74 Secularism, defined, 72 Secularization, process of, 50 Self-determination rights of ethnic minorities, 4, 23, 27–28, 224, 228, 230–33, 242–45, 254 Shakir, Naeem, 194 Shared nationhood, 108 Shastri–Bandranaike pact, 3 Shia–Sunni sectarian violence, 21 Siddiqui, Dina M., 104–05 Singh, Kalyan, 35 Singh, V.P., 45 Sinhala-Buddhist hegemony, 17 Sri Lanka. See also Minority rights, in Sri Lanka majority–minority problem, 96–97 Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP), 235 Sri Lanka Muslim Congress (SLMC), 236, 238, 269–72, 275–76 State-making project, 94 minorities as an essential part of construction process, 95 proxy citizens, notion of, 95–97 Suhrawardy, 157 Tagore, Rabindranath, 33–34 Talibanization, 21 Tamil community of Sri Lanka, 6, 9 Tamil Makkal Viduthalai Paligal (TMVP), 274–75 Tamil National Alliance (TNA), 249 Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF), 236

Tarai-Madhes Democratic Party (TMDP), 289 Tehreek-e-Khatm-e-Nabuwat, 159 Thamil Makkal Viduthalai Puligal (TMVP), 229 Thondaman, S., 241 ‘Transmitter–receiver’ model, 73 United National Party (UNP), 235, 249 United People's Democratic Front (UPDF) manifesto, 135–36 pro- and anti-accord groups, 136–37 stated objectives of, 136 United People's Freedom Alliance (UPFA), 229, 249 United People's Front Nepal (UPFN), 286 Upper-Caste Hill Hindu Elite Male (CHHEM), 16 Uyangoda, Jayadeva, 16 Vajpayee, Prime Minister Atal Bihari, 35 Vested Property Act, 102 Vested Property Act (1971), 13 Violence. See also Riots ethnic, 41 idea of distance between perpetrator and victim, 34 as mechanical and bureaucratic action, 33–34 partition, 34–35 religious or quasi-religious, 32, 41 Waseem, Mohammad, 20 Wickremasinghe, Ranil, 272 Wimmer, Andreas, 4 Yadav, Mulayam Singh, 35–36 Zia, Khaleda, 112 Zia, Shahla, 13