Hailing from Rajasthan’s Rajsamand district, Shankar Singh is a social and political activist, musician, lyricist, theatre artist, and storyteller. He co-founded the Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan (MKSS) alongside prominent activists Aruna Roy and Nikhil Dey. MKSS is known for its role in advocating for and implementing the Right to Information Act (RTI) in the country.

Shankar Singh has employed a variety of creative strategies to champion the rights of marginalised labourers and farmers, focusing on issues such as wages, employment, and other government social entitlements. His approach is marked by a unique blend of entertainment, music, and sharp wit and satire. He has led many successful movements and campaigns, both at the grassroots and national level. Notably, he has contributed to the implementation of landmark schemes like MGNREGA and government processes such as social audits.

In this conversation with IDR, which is the second of two episodes, Shankar Singh talks about using different mediums—folk music, drama, and puppetry—to engage with communities during social movements. He also discusses what those with specialised skills have to offer to grassroots nonprofits and offers valuable perspectives on carrying on in the face of disappointment and fatigue.

Here are some highlights from the conversation:

00.16 | On working with different mediums

I got the chance to see puppets at one place, the Literacy House in Lucknow, so I started following these people. I felt that I had to learn this and asked them to teach me how to use puppets. Whenever I got the chance, I’d go to them. There was a workshop there, after joining the nonprofit. I went to that workshop. But in the same campus there was a department of puppetry that did only this work. I showed a lot of curiosity in it. I thought that I definitely wanted to acquire this skill. Then I learned puppetry from there. I assimilated puppetry into my thought and then expressed myself through it. 

I felt that these mediums are very strong, be it drama, songs, stories, or puppetry. I completely assimilated these mediums while working with that nonprofit. 

[During L K Advani’s Rath Yatra,] we thought about what we should do. We made a beautiful chariot out of a cart that we got from the vegetable market, placed big horses made of cloth in front of it, and wrote ‘Ghotala Rath Yatra’ on it. We put placards around an umbrella. These placards bore the names of all the ghotalas(scams) that had taken place. And a chair was placed on the cart for the leader to sit on. The chariot was covered with saffron decorations. We did all this behind the tent, and the police did not know that we were doing something. And I announced on the mike, “Tomorrow at 5 o’clock in the evening, a Rath Yatra will start from here. And the leader of our Rath, his name is Rajvani, he will come from Delhi. He will be riding on the chariot and there will be a Rath Yatra.” 

The next day we took out the chariot from there. And I was on top of the cart as a leader. I was dressed such that all the parties were included. The Congress cap and saffron-coloured gamchha (scarf). And the leader sat on a chair on the stage. There was a ghotala umbrella, and on the front it said ‘Ghotala Rath Yatra’. It also said Rajvani. And he came out. And there was also singing, “Ghotala raj ki jai jai bolo, jai-jai bolo, jai-jai bolo. Bhrashtachaar karo, hari hari bolo.” (Praise the reign of scams. Do corruption and take the lord’s name.) “Arey hawala ka halwa chaat chaat khaya.” (We really enjoyed the black money pudding.) 

Whatever scams happened like this, we kept talking about them in songs. 

08.11 | On how people with specialised can collaborate with those working on the ground

Let me give you an example. When this person called Vineet came to us, he said that we can see the Jan Soochna Portal. But how do we show it in the village? For this, he took a projector. Placing his small projector on a white wall, he brought out the Jan Soochna Portal. Then he called over some children, who thought they were being shown a film. So first he played a small film, some seven to 10 minutes long. He showed something related to RTI. The children saw it, enjoyed it. Then he asked one child to bring his ration card. He entered the ration card number in the portal. Vineet then displayed it on the wall, and when he did that the child could see a photo, which was of his father. He said, “Oye, this is my father’s photo,” and was quite amazed. Then Vineet said, look, I will show you all the times you took wheat. When he accessed the information on the portal, he said that the child’s family had taken 80 kg last month.

The child ran home, called his father and brought him back, saying, “They’re saying that you took 80 kg. The film in the projector is saying it.” The father said, “It was not 80 kg, we got 40 kg.” “But they’re saying something else.” The father came and asked to look. Then he saw that it said 80 kg. “Sir, it is not 80 kg. We took 40 kg.” “But here it says 80 kg.” “But I am telling you that I took 40 kg. We have never got 80 kg, we have got 40 kg every time. Every alternate month.”

He went to the dealer, who is from the village, and said, “Look at this, I have got 80 kg on paper and you gave me only 40 kg.” The dealer asked him where he had got this information from, and told him to take the rest of his wheat but not make any noise.

Soon, people queued up before Vineet asking for their ration information, and Vineet kept giving them this information. There was a line outside the ration [shop].

12.30 | On incidents that have left a lasting impact

There is an old couple in the village, they don’t have children. They don’t even have a house; they live under this shed. So I have helped them in getting pension. Sometimes they’re not able to get the ration food, so there are fights with the dealer on why they have not been given it. Sometimes he gives it and sometimes he doesn’t. I could not go for two to three months. Vineet and I both could not go, so they reprimanded us with great authority, that you did not come. I just asked them how things were going. “Okay,” they said.

When I lifted the lid of the drum, I saw that there was nothing in it. And there were no other things either. I asked, “Is there no atta (flour)?” “No, it has been five days. There has been nothing.” “There has been nothing for five days?”

Vineet went to bring her wheat and I was sitting near the old woman. She asked me to write down my mobile number on the wall somewhere. “I don’t have a phone but if someone comes I will tell them to talk to you.” I came [back] after writing [the number]. That day I felt very sad. And the next day I get a call that the old lady has passed away. We had brought that wheat. Even that wheat was of no use.

When we arrived [at the cremation,] there were some very big things being said there. Spiritual conversations. I mentioned that I have met this family, and said that this death happened due to hunger. Then this person asked how. I said I had visited them and there was no food in that house for five days. I said that I had bought the bag of wheat from the ration shop yesterday, and it was not even useful.

17.36 | On maintaining his passion for social change

While doing this work, many times you feel tired and disappointed. It definitely happens. It happens in my mind too. Whenever I have felt that I am in a lot of conflict and trouble, or if I am not sure about what I am doing and feeling stuck, that day I go to some poor person’s house. You sit there for an hour or two, you will understand their whole economics, and you will think, how can I stop? What is the condition of the family I have met? And what about me? I am much better off. I start thinking, personally, I don’t have any problem at all. I would not be doing any good if I withdrew myself. One’s enthusiasm doubles. And there is a lot of strength [in being around] a poor person, who has nothing but darkness all around, how will he survive in his life? Strength is found there. In this area, we know the houses, the families [that are struggling]. A friendship is formed whenever you go and talk to them. They also come to us, and together we try to find solutions. And then I don’t feel any physical fatigue, and my enthusiasm comes back.

Read the full transcript here.

—

Know more

• Watch the first part of this interview here.
• Learn about the Indian theatre movement.
• Watch Shankar Singh sing to bring awareness to the people of Rajasthan.

India ratified the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities in 2007. To bring the disability law in line with this treaty, the 1995 act was replaced with the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (RPwD) Act, 2016.

This law seeks to promote the inclusion of persons with disabilities by expanding the legal definition of disability. According to the 1995 act, disability refers to “blindness, low vision, leprosy-cured, hearing impairment, locomotor disability, mental retardation, and mental illness”. The 2016 act recognises 21 disabilities, including those listed in the older law.  In addition to this, it recognises acid attack victims as persons with locomotor disabilities. It also displays a more nuanced understanding of intellectual disabilities, a category that now includes learning disabilities and autism spectrum disorder. Moreover, the law specifies disability due to chronic conditions—neurological diseases such as multiple sclerosis and Parkinson’s and blood disorders such as hemophilia, thalassemia, and sickle cell disease. Finally, the act also acknowledges individuals with multiple disabilities, such as Deafblind people.

Certain entitlements under the RPwD Act apply only to persons with benchmark disabilities, which refers to those “with not less than 40 per cent of a specified disability”. Persons with disabilities can qualify as persons with benchmark disabilities by a certifying authority, which is usually a hospital or a state- or district-level medical board.    

What is guaranteed by the RPwD Act?

Here are some provisions made by the act with respect to education, skill development and employment, healthcare and allowances, and recreation and cultural life.

Education

According to chapter 3, educational institutions funded by the government are supposed to make their campus accessible and provide the facilities that persons with disabilities require. This is in keeping with the aim of offering support “to maximise academic and social development consistent with the goal of full inclusion”. The act also mandates detecting learning disabilities in children at the earliest and taking appropriate steps to include children with learning and developmental disabilities into the classroom.

According to the act,  the local government—the panchayat or the municipality—should conduct a survey every five years to identify children with disabilities. Having this data set would help set up an adequate number of teacher training institutes. To make the classroom a more inclusive space, the act also instructs hiring teachers who are trained to work with children with intellectual disabilities; teachers with disabilities; and teachers qualified in Braille and sign language. In addition, it encourages the use of alternative forms of communication, such as sign language and Braille, so that those with speech, communication, or language-related disabilities are able to participate.

Chapter 6 lays down certain provisions for children with benchmark disabilities: free education in any government school or special school till the age of 18, free-of-cost learning materials, and scholarships. In government-run institutions for higher education, at least 5 percent of the seats are to be reserved for students with benchmark disabilities, along with a five-year relaxation on upper age limit. The act also recommends giving scholarships to students with disabilities.

Skill development and employment

Chapter 4 of the act mandates the maintenance of data on how persons with disabilities are faring in terms of skill development and employment. It states that exclusive skill training programmes with active links to the market should be developed for those with multiple disabilities or intellectual and developmental disabilities. Moreover, it notes that loans should be made available so that those with disabilities can take up vocational courses or self-employment. For example, a state sector scheme in Goa provides monthly financial assistance to those engaged in traditional occupations and businesses.

Just as in education, much of what the act directs as far as employment is concerned applies to government employment. Section 20 asks for non-discrimination in employment, and government offices are supposed to provide reasonable accommodations and a barrier-free environment so that persons with disabilities may carry out their responsibilities effectively. If a government employee becomes disabled before their tenure has expired, they need not be demoted or removed but can be shifted to another role on the same pay scale.

Section 21 states that every government establishment shall have an equal opportunity policy. To ensure greater accountability, section 22 mandates recordkeeping in all employment-related matters, including documenting information regarding those with disabilities seeking employment. These records may be inspected at any time.

As per section 33 in chapter 6, up to 4 percent of positions for any government posts are to be reserved for applicants with benchmark disabilities. While the act mentions that there should be incentives for private companies, it doesn’t explicitly lay out what these should be.

Additionally, plans for government buildings are supposed to be approved only if they are disability-friendly. The act also specifies a time period of five years within which all existing government buildings are to be retrofitted with disability-friendly infrastructure.

Healthcare and allowances

Some of the healthcare-related specifications listed in chapter 5 include the provision of free healthcare in the vicinity of persons with disabilities, barrier-free access in all parts of government and private hospitals/health centres, and priority attendance and treatment. It mentions that there should be schemes to promote healthcare and prevent the occurrence of disabilities. A relevant example is the nationwide Disease Eradication Programme that the Government of India launched in 2021 to eliminate malaria, elephantiasis (lymphatic filariasis), and kala-azar.

Other measures for prevention of disabilities are also recommended—conducting surveys, investigations, and research regarding the occurrence of disabilities and organising annual screenings for children to identify at-risk cases. The act instructs healthcare centres, primary schools, anganwadis, etc. to undertake concerted public awareness campaigns as well.

The act specifies that aids and appliances and corrective surgery may be offered for free to persons within a given income bracket. Certain states, such as Delhi and Punjab, have launched schemes that enable persons with benchmark disabilities to receive assistive devices. Disability pensions and caregiver allowance for those with high support needs are also mentioned. Recognising the extra costs that living with disabilities might entail, persons with disabilities are entitled to a 25 percent higher allowance than others under social security schemes.

Recreation and cultural life

Recognising that persons with disabilities have the right to an adequate standard of living and a cultural life, section 29 of chapter 5 states that recreational activities should be made available to them. It lays out a few provisions, such as having a disability history museum, grants and sponsorships for artists with disabilities, making art accessible to people with disabilities, the use of assistive tech, and redesigning the arts curriculum so that persons with disabilities can also participate.

What are the duties of the government?

1. Collecting information on persons with disabilities

The act has a data-oriented approach to disability, as is evidenced by the stipulations on data collection by many different agencies. For example, other than the data collection by local governments, government offices, and healthcare authorities, the act directs the National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) to maintain a record of persons with disabilities so that their access to safety measures during emergencies can be guaranteed. The NDMA is also expected to circulate information in forms that are accessible to persons with disabilities, and their needs are to be taken care of when planning for reconstruction activities as well.

2. Enabling accessibility and inclusion

The act prescribes that all public spaces—including schools, government offices, primary healthcare centres, and public transport—be made accessible to all. It also mandates ensuring the accessibility of polling stations and any government papers or publications as well as improved access to justice, which includes facilitating the recording of testimonies of persons with disabilities.

3. Appointing officials, advisory bodies, and special courts

The act asks for the establishment of a number of government positions to ensure adherence to it. Every public institution is required to have a grievance redressal officer, for instance, and any person who feels discriminated against when applying for a position may seek redressal through this office. If this also proves unsatisfactory, they may complain to the district-level committee on disability.

A Central Advisory Board on Disability and State Advisory Boards on Disability have also been set up under the act. The members of these boards are from the ministries and departments concerned with disabilities at the central and state levels, joint secretaries from a number of departments including health and education, and disability experts—a proportion of whom must be disabled, women, and belonging to SC or ST communities. These bodies meet every six months to take stock of how far the spirit of the disability law is being preserved in different policies.

The act prescribes the appointment of a chief commissioner and state commissioners (whom the grievance redressal officers report to) for persons with disabilities. These commissioners are accorded powers similar to that of a civil court. They must promote research and see to it that the existing laws and provisions are useful for persons with disabilities, and make recommendations if they’re not. Any suggestions made by the chief or state commissioner should be acted upon within three months.

The act also instructs that a special court be established to try offences against persons with disabilities and calls for the appointment of special public prosecutors for the same.

How is the 2016 act different?

Both the 1995 and 2016 acts have provisions for data collection and recordkeeping, accessible education, healthcare, and employment, reservation, and special government offices to see to the implementation of disability law. Both acts also require regular screenings to be conducted and certain measures to be taken to prevent disabilities.

However, the 2016 act is different in a few respects.

1. Rights-based focus

The act not only guarantees inclusion and accessibility rights to persons with disabilities, but also looks at the right to enjoy art and culture and recreational activities, to live independently or with a community, and to choose one’s caregivers. These provisions are in place to give more agency to persons with disabilities.

There is also an acknowledgement of the diversity within the disability community, on grounds of gender, age, and socio-economic background. Moreover, while there is a lot of emphasis on research and data collection to promote understanding and make appropriate policies on disability, the act explicitly states that no person with disability shall be subjected to research without informed consent.

2. Tangible provisions and grievance redressal mechanisms

While the 1995 act had clauses on accessibility and inclusion, including making government buildings barrier-free and conducting regular screenings, the 2016 act makes more concrete provisions by specifying a time period within which such activities are to be undertaken.

While the 1995 act did not have explicit penalties for any offences under it and left these to the discretion of the judicial authority overseeing a particular case, the 2016 act clearly specifies what manner of fines and imprisonment should follow offences. For instance, an offender will be fined INR 10,000 for their first offence under the act, and subsequent offences will merit a fine of INR 50,000–5 lakh. Fraudulently availing benefits under the act could result in fines as well as imprisonment.

The current status

While the act requires buildings to be updated, the most recent Central Advisory Board meeting concluded that progress was slow on some fronts, such as the retrofitting of existing buildings. Budgetary allocations remain low as well. Similarly, being recognised as disabled does not always equal access to government schemes. For instance, although acid attack victims are recognised as persons with disabilities by the act, there are gaps in access to disability certificates, employment, disability support, and subsidies. Government officials are also not always sensitised to the needs of persons with disabilities, and disability pensions fall short of truly addressing the needs of those targeted by such schemes.

However, covering a greater number of disabilities is a necessary first step towards inclusion. And while mass education and sensitisation will take sustained efforts, recent judgements and guidelines by the chief commissioner, the Election Commission, and the Bombay High Court show that the concerns of persons with disabilities are being regarded with greater seriousness.

—

Know more

• Read India’s national policy on persons with disabilities here.
• Read this article to learn how benevolent ableism harms persons with disabilities.
• Read this article to learn how building accessibility norms laid down by the 2016 disability law are faring.
• Read this article to learn how attitudinal barriers faced by persons with disability.

India has a diverse coastline stretching over approximately 7,500 km, encompassing 75 fishing zones. The marine fisheries sector, sustaining the livelihoods of around four million people, plays a pivotal role in this coastal landscape.

What are coastal commons?

Coasts are the interfaces between the land and the sea. They involve close and complex interactions and outcomes between social and ecological subsystems, involving plant-animal-environmental relationships.

Coastal commons comprise diverse, interacting resource systems – mangroves, water, pastures, beaches, estuaries, reefs and fish. They may include sandy shores, placid backwaters, laterite cliffs, granite rocks, mangroves, mudflats, sand dunes and pebble bays.

These spaces serve important economic, ecological, social, cultural and
recreational functions in coastal and fishing communities. They are used for fishing activities such as fish landing, fish drying, docking, parking boats but also for recreation, relaxation, religious celebrations and cultural expressions.

Social scientists often include people living on the coasts within the scope of commons, along with their relationship with local natural resources and the rules they come up with. In that sense, commons include the local community, the values and norms of those who practise commons, the “commoners.”

How do local communities use coastal commons?

In traditional fishing villages of south India, people often live right on the coast, park their boats and keep their gear right on the shores. “Others such as the Waghers in Gujarat and West Bengal’s Sagar Islanders maintain permanent residences inland and alternate occupations as cultivators and daily-wage labourers. During the fishing season, these communities relocate their entire households, livestock and all, to temporary shore-side settlements and devote their labours primarily to fishing,” notes a booklet published by Dakshin Foundation, a Bengaluru-based conservation group.

The men of the community often launch and land rafts, canoes and small boats from these shores. They operate shore seine units that engage 20-50 fishers, including elderly fishermen and those who are unable to join a boat’s crew. The shores are used as boat yards and people make and mend nets and lines there. Women dry, smoke and salt fish here.

Fishers often use cliffs and rocks as high points to get a clear view of the sea and the sky around to assess the weather conditions. They also serve as way markers clearly visible offshore. Granite rocks such as the ones on the shores of Kovalam and the laterite ones near Varkala in Thiruvananthapuram act as rich habitats of mussels, bivalves and crustaceans such as lobsters supporting livelihoods of free divers and shoreline fishers.

In the unique, brackish waters of estuaries, fishes breed, plants and animals thrive, mudflats housing oysters and clams. These places are natural harbours where fishers can safely dock or park on the banks of the rivers and lagoons.

What are some of the ecological benefits of coastal commons?

Coasts support bursts of biodiversity or a variety of life forms. “Diverse fauna such as lizards, snakes, beetles, mice, hares, foxes and antelope such as the blackbuck thrive in coastal sand dunes, while bivalve, octopi and crustaceans are plentiful in rocky shores,” Dakshin Foundation marine biologists note.

Mangroves, coral reefs, seaweed forests, mudflats, salt marshes and seagrass meadows and green belts of forests or plantations protect the coasts from waves, surges, high tides, tsunamis, sea level rise, and subsequent flooding and erosion. During the 2004 Asian tsunami, mangroves famously saved many lives across South and Southeast Asia.

Coastal wetlands are carbon sinks that absorb excess carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. They accumulate 15 to 50 times more carbon per unit area than forests on land. Therefore, they are considered immensely valuable nature-based solutions to global warming.

How are coastal commons governed?

Community ownership and control of local resources for the “common good” is the norm promoted by the Indian Constitution. The Forest Rights Act 2006 also protects community rights over commons. The Environmental Impact Assessment Notification 2006 provides opportunities for community participation in decision-making for development projects. The Coastal Regulation Zone Notification 2011 defines coastal conservation and governance frameworks.

Communities often use these laws and international norms to protect the commons. There are also traditional ways that coastal commons are managed and conserved.

In South India and elsewhere, fishers deploy creative and equitable resource-sharing practices to use coastal commons. The ooru panchayats (village councils) in Tamil Nadu and Dheevara karayogam, Jamaats and Christian parish committees of Kerala are some of the socio-religious bodies that regulate the use of commons amongst fishers. In Kerala, a system called padu defines rights over fish stock and boundaries of fishing grounds.

The dynamic nature of coastal commons makes governance challenging.

However, the area of the commons keeps shifting. Unlike the built, solid, stable urban spaces, marine and coastal areas are fluid, moving masses that change size, shape and texture continually. For instance, a sandy shore may lose parts during the monsoon season when the waves carve out its parts. After the rains when the wind, currents and wave movements shift, they may transport back the sediment taken away and build back the beach. A paper published in the International Journal of the Commons in January 2024 underlines the dynamic character of the coastal areas by saying, “Water use and control in one place may have significant repercussions elsewhere. For example, currents and tides transport nutrients, pollution, salt, sediments and other substances, having ecological consequences over a wide area and affecting and often dispossessing other potential and existing uses.”

“The dynamic nature of coastal commons makes governance challenging,” says Nandakumar D., Professor of Geography (adjunct) at Sree Sankaracharya University of Sanskrit, Kalady, Kerala. “Mapping, territoriality, fluidity of the sea-land relations — all these can be complex. This complexity can make claims for space difficult,” Nandakumar says, based on his experience in community mapping of Coastal Regulation Zone violations.

What are the pressures on coastal commons?

Rights over coastal commons are often contested. Complex and simultaneous challenges due to the over-capacity of the fishing fleet, over-fishing, climate change, marine pollution and coastline erosion due to infrastructure development projects make them increasingly vulnerable. This trend is pronounced on the southwestern Indian coast, one of the densest habitats of artisanal fishers. Fishers are often driven out of these places for roads, ports, disaster risk reduction measures and tourism, as news reports show.

Coastal ecosystems are fragile, complex, and often poorly understood.

“In particular, the discourses of ‘blue economy’ and ‘blue growth’ have become powerful buzzwords,” writes Synn Movik of the Norwegian University of Life Sciences in a recent research article on contested coastal commons. A blue economy involves sustainable development defined differently and involves diverse activities such as fishing and aquaculture, shipping, mining, renewable energy, and marine biotechnology. Currently estimated at $1.5 trillion per year globally, the blue economy is set to double by 2030.

“There is a lack of consensus on what the ‘blue economy’ encompasses as there are multiple perspectives, including viewing oceans as ‘natural capital,’ as ‘good business,’ but also as important for ‘small-scale fisher livelihoods,’” Movik points out.

“Moreover, coastal ecosystems are fragile, complex, and often poorly understood. The pressures on them are increasing, not only from climate change but also from economic development interests, causing,” Movik and colleagues noted in a study published last year, on Mumbai’s Koli fishers. They critique the city planners’ age-old practice of reclaiming the sea and turning it into profitable real estate. Such acts threaten to undermine the city’s ecological integrity and its coastal communities, the authors caution.

A recent study that reviewed a major port project in Vizhinjam village of Thiruvananthapuram documented details of the local coastal commons – rocky reefs and rich and diverse fish stock threatened by the venture. For centuries, the local fishers exercised shared rights and responsibilities here. The report noted that there are clear norms about when, where, and under what conditions different user groups can fish in the local waters. The study team called the coastal commons “lifelines of our coexistence with nature” and urged to “cherish and protect” these treasures.

Dakshin Foundation scientists caution, “Restricted and altered access to coastal commons creates widespread livelihood loss and displacement among fisher communities that also adds to the burden of poverty in urban areas where these groups migrate in search of alternative opportunities.”

Movik calls attention to spatial dimensions of social struggles for rights and access in marine and coastal areas, or the ‘blue commons’. Such systems question the notion that resource users selfishly overuse commons. While some policies and practices lead to resource destruction, some resource users invest time and energy to sustain environmental resources, as political thinker Elinor Ostrom argued.

This article was originally published on Mongabay.

Hailing from Rajasthan’s Rajsamand district, Shankar Singh is a social and political activist, musician, lyricist, theatre artist, and storyteller. He co-founded the Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan (MKSS) alongside prominent activists Aruna Roy and Nikhil Dey. MKSS is known for its role in advocating for and implementing the Right to Information Act (RTI) in the country.

Shankar Singh has employed a variety of creative strategies to champion the rights of marginalised labourers and farmers, focusing on issues such as wages, employment, and other government social entitlements. His approach is marked by a unique blend of entertainment, music, and sharp wit and satire. He has led many successful movements and campaigns, both at the grassroots and national level. Notably, he has contributed to the implementation of landmark schemes like MGNREGA and government processes such as social audits.

In this conversation with IDR, which is the first of two episodes, Shankar Singh delves into the complexities of building a movement, shedding light on how the journey of a movement is charted and the concerted efforts required for it to succeed. He also offers valuable perspectives on identifying grassroots issues and building effective communication channels for collaboration between the government and the people.

Here are some highlights from the conversation:

00:22 | On early life and influences

After finishing school, parents insist that their kids take up some or the other job. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. My father died early on, so my mother became a widow at a very young age. She told me to think about getting a job since she wouldn’t be able to educate me any further. So, I moved to the city.

While doing all these jobs, I ended up at a place where there was a nonprofit organisation nearby. Chance, it was all chance. I asked [the people there], “What is going on here?” and someone responded, “This is an organisation.” “What do they do?” I asked. “This is a nonprofit,” they said. I told them I had never understood what nonprofits do. “They talk about why the condition of the poor is what it is, why there is poverty, how to face it—they talk about that.” I asked about money (salary). They said that people are paid for their work.

“So you get paid for talking?” I asked. Then I said that for money, even I would talk.

As soon as I entered that nonprofit, I felt that there were many types of people there. Some had started working and then left their jobs, and some had MBBS degrees, some had done engineering, some had done a law course. And among them was Aruna, who had left the IAS. I thought, why do they come here, [what do they hope] to achieve by leaving everything? This curiosity gave me many opportunities. The nonprofit took away my fervour of being a teacher, and working there for a year changed my mindset.

08.29 | On the formation of Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan (MKSS)

[When we started working in Devdungri, people] knew that I was a local from this area, and would call me Shankar mama because my sister-in-law’s house is here. People started asking, “What do you want to do?” You know, when you set out to find out something about people, before that they want to know about you. “Who are you, why are you doing this, what do you get, how much money are you paid, and what’s in it for you?”

Then they thought that we had come here to earn more. People started asking, what they will earn in this house? How? Will they plant mines or do something else? We started talking to them. I said that we want people to think about what they need and how we can help them.

The first person who came to us was [a local named] Lal Singh. Lal Singh ji had come to our place to work as a mason, to do some kitchen repairs. He also asked us what we wanted to do here. We told him that we will do this…even I was not very clear. He said, “We have a big issue [in our village]. We have a jagirdar (feudal landlord)—a thakur—and he is very cruel. He beats whoever he wants and no one can file a complaint against him with the police because he is a jagirdar.”

The villagers kept trying to figure out how to confront that jagirdar, but were beaten up every time. We said that we will talk in your village, and so we got a chance.

It took a year for the village to gradually unite, and that was because of Lal Singh ji. Some families were still in favour of the jagirdar. Some land was collectively allotted to the village. The organisation (MKSS) had not been formed till then.

When we went to measure the land, the thakur attacked us. He attacked the villagers as well. This news reached Sohangadh village and, the following day, at least 50–60 people from there arrived here on foot. They said that they would go and fight [the jagirdar]. We said no and decided to go to the village and have a talk. The next day we held a meeting in the village. That was the first time we had a choice [between violence and non-violence]. We could have taken the path of violence since we had been beaten up. Those villagers could have gone and beaten up the thakur, and there would have been no solution to what would have followed. Each party would be violent to the other and take turns. So we said no, we do not want to take that route. The entire village—children, women, everyone—walked 11 km to Bhim. At that time, just one village was involved in this. We walked through the village telling people about the thakur and ended up outside the office of the tehsil Sub Divisional Magistrate (SDM). We sat there all day long. The thakur was arrested in the evening, and the news spread in the entire area. People started speculating about how much influence ‘these people from Devdungri’ (referring to Aruna, Nikhil, and me) wielded since they got that thakur arrested. “He is a jagirdar, but he was arrested. There is something very special about them.” After that we started working in this area. This incident is from 1987. In 1990, the organisation (MKSS) was set up.

17.02 | On agitating for the Right to Information

When this movement started, what was the first question we asked? We did not say that you (the government) should improve our education system, that you do all these things for us, make our health systems equal. We had asked a question. The people in the villages where we went and held meetings had said that they (government works) do not pay us the full amount. They do not pay full wages. We said to them that this is the question we should be asking the government. I told them thatwe will not go, you all come along, and together we will ask why you aren’t paid the full amount you’re owed.

So when I went to [the government official] and asked him why he does not pay people the full amount, he said that they do not do the full work. [Then the people said,] “But even when we did the full work, you didn’t give full wages.” He said that there must be some other reason for this. I asked, “What is that reason? Show us the documents. Show me that paper in which you noted down how much work someone has done and how much they were paid for it.” [The government official replied,] “How can I show you these documents? They are government documents.”

When he refused to show us the papers, we contemplated what to do next. I suggested, “Hold a protest in front of their place, sit in front of the tehsil, sit in front of the BDO’s office.”

The following day the SDM invited a couple of representatives from the protest. “Those of you who are the main people, come here. I will show you the muster roll because collector sir said so,” he stated. I was very happy that this victory happened on the first day itself. As soon as I went inside, he ‘showed’ us the paper [by quickly opening and closing it]. We said, “Not like this, give us a photocopy of it.” He replied, “How can I give you a photocopy? That is not possible.”

The collector said, “Tell them they won’t be given photocopies. As if we can give just anybody photocopies! There is no law like this. Do one thing: Tell them to copy it by hand. Write it down. But no photocopies.”

We felt that all right, we got one victory. We manually took down the muster roll, and they insisted we use pencils instead of pens.

As soon as we reached the village, we began reading it aloud. The villagers inquired, “What are you reading?” I replied, “This patwar ghar (land records office) was constructed here. These individuals had been employed here.” [The villagers replied,] “But how is his name on it? He died a while back.” “She also had passed away before the construction of this.” “She was not present at the time.”

One of them (a government official) walked over to me, peered over my shoulder at the paper, and said, “Oh, this paper is fake.” I asked, “Why?” [He replied,] “It is written in pencil, you will write anything and bring it, is this a government paper? Government paper is printed, not written in pencil. These people are lying!”

We came to the conclusion that there is no other way. We will have to sit in protest again, so we mobilised people. Leave everything else, we should have the right to see these documents. The slogan was raised: Leke rahenge hum iss baar, soochna ka adhikaar. (This time we will win the right to information.)

We persevered for as long as we could because we wanted to have that law. We did not get tired…it was the government that eventually relented, leading to the implementation of the Right to Information Act.

24.18 | On building and sustaining mass movements

I understood that there isn’t some book where it’s written what you need to do to sustain a movement. When you go among people and actually work, that is when one gets to learn, and one’s own values are determined. 

This work is such that it is not possible to do it alone. Hundreds of people have contributed in this. No one can carry any movement alone. I am the one telling you all this, but it was a movement that depended a lot on what people believed, and the methodology was also determined.

In the movement, people came from one place to another, paying their own fare to sit in the protest. In their minds, they realised how important this is. At that time perhaps people might not have thought how the Right to Information [Act] would help them, because at that time they were thinking about wages. Their wages were stuck. As soon as people demanded information, they didn’t receive the information but they received their wages due to the fear that if the information was released, it would lead to bigger revelations.

26.23 | On mobilising for the right to information in a politically charged environment

Today… corruption has reached a level where there is complete complicity in corruption. This includes [government] employees, leaders, and some common people too. There is severe corruption due to the nexus of all three. That corruption will come out only because of your RTI.

Today, the matter is an electronic one—the computer has arrived. Everything is here, but what are you (the government) trying to show? You are showing what you want to show. What you don’t want to show, we all know that you won’t. Suo moto, we say in the RTI Act’s Section 4. Information has to be shown to citizens suo moto. In Rajasthan, there is the Jan Soochna Portal. You can see all the information in that portal. Where is my pension stuck? What is the reason for it being stuck?

In a way, this era of RTI will continue only if there is a movement today. In places where people are fighting and struggling together, they get the information they need and there is no murder. Those who are fighting alone are being murdered. We used it (the RTI) the most in the organisation (MKSS). [We] got public hearings done, got everything done, but they know that this is a group that is fighting for a cause together. It is not that we have never been beaten up or assaulted, but when a group is formed, it has its own strength.

30.45 | On keeping the democratic spirit alive

Look, no matter who wins, this is a democracy; whoever wins, that government is ours. We cannot say that this government is not ours, and we will not talk to it. Because our dialogue will be with whoever is in power. There will be no dialogue with the one who loses. But we will have to have a dialogue with the one who won. This is democracy, if you are sitting on that chair then we will communicate with you. We also raise the same slogans: Sarkaar humare aap ki, nahin kisi ke baap ki (the government is ours, not one person’s property) or Yeh desh hamare aap ka, nahin kisi ke baap ka (this country is ours, not someone’s father’s).

Read the full transcript here, and watch the second part of the Shankar Singh interview where he speaks about the role of music and theatre in driving social movements.

—

Know more

• Watch this TEDx Talk by Shankar Singh to learn more about how the RTI Act came to be.
• Read more about why we need more accountability laws with rising attacks on RTI activists.
• Read about a day in the life of an eMitra who enables citizens to access their rights digitally.

In 2008, the National Commission for Denotified, Nomadic and Semi-Nomadic Tribes roughly estimated the NT-DNT population in India as 10–12 crore, that is, approximately 10 percent of the country’s population. And yet they are not counted in the census conducted by the government. Most of them do not have any land in their name, which prevents them from accessing several social welfare schemes.

Public services are usually not planned keeping NT-DNTs in mind. Their needs are different because they are constantly moving. They typically reside in kaccha tent houses or pakka rented rooms and struggle to access basic amenities such as water, sanitation, and electricity. The kaccha tent houses are built on any available piece of land and cannot have toilets inside them, so they have to resort to open defecation or visit paid or communal toilets.

In order to highlight the sanitation needs of NT-DNTs, Anubhuti Trust—a nonprofit that works with marginalised communities for the recognition of their rights—conducted an audit of the sanitation facilities for NT-DNTs in Thane district, Maharashtra. Based on our findings, we prepared a list of recommendations in our report Toilet for Tents. The entire process from conceptualisation to execution was led by youth and women from NT-DNT and Bahujan communities. The findings are from 209 interviews conducted with individuals from 11 NT-DNT communities residing in 22 pockets, 14 bastis (slums), and 6 municipal corporations of Thane. Twenty-eight toilets, of which 20 were community toilets and eight were pay-and-use ones, were audited. The conditions described below are applicable to both types of toilets. While pay-and-use toilets had better facilities, they remain inaccessible to NT-DNTs as they cannot afford to pay for them.  

Here are the main findings and recommendations from the report.

1. Recognise nomadic and denotified tribes and their patterns

Among those surveyed, 58.8 percent were living in kaccha tent houses and the rest in pakka rented rooms. These communities move from one place to another throughout the year. However, their migration route is planned and they stay at fixed or nearby spots every year for the same amount of time. Currently, the NT-DNT population is neither counted nor taken into consideration while planning for the provision of sanitation services. Therefore, it is important for the administration to recognise their migratory patterns (which are based on work opportunities), count them officially, and provide sanitation facilities accordingly. These can be constructed or mobile toilets in the locations where families set up their tent homes.

This is also how the audit was conducted—the community members that led the process took the community leaders’ help to identify where families were staying. Twenty-two pockets within the 14 bastis surveyed were home to approximately 6,880 families, but this data isn’t recorded anywhere.

2. Include NT-DNTs in government schemes

Certain social welfare schemes require households to provide proof of ownership of a house or of land to avail the benefits they offer. An example is the Swachh Bharat Mission, which aimed to make India open-defecation free by 2019 by providing access to toilets to all rural households. However, such schemes exclude nomadic populations and don’t have any provisions for the homeless who don’t own land or a permanent home. This is evident from the survey as eight out of 10 NT-DNT community members did not have a toilet at home.

These are the communities that provide the essential services of building, cleaning, and maintaining villages and cities. But they are denied basic amenities and have to use paid public toilets or are forced to defecate in the open, which poses a threat to their dignity, privacy, and safety. So, it is even more important that provisions be made for allocation of housing and land to NT-DNT communities and for their active inclusion in social welfare schemes and planning.

3. Build better toilets and improve existing ones

Seventy-four percent of those who were surveyed reported that they have a public toilet in the area they reside in, but that these are too far away from their homes since they live on the outskirts of the bastis. Eighty percent stated that they have to defecate in the open. This is due to several reasons. One of them is that when they try to access public toilets, the attendants and security guards often ill-treat them.

Some toilets didn’t have basic facilities such as basins and dustbins; only four out of 10 toilets had a window. While 67.8 percent toilets were open 24 hours (the rest were closed at night), it was difficult to use them because, along with the cleanliness issues and discrimination faced by the community members, 88 interviewees reported that the toilets near them did not have lighting. The water supply was also inconsistent in 16 toilets; six of these did have water but remained closed at night. This is why 62.3 percent respondents said that they have no option but to go out in the open at night.

The basic facilities provided at existing toilets must be improved immediately and new toilets must be built near NT-DNT settlements. In 78 percent of the areas surveyed, respondents said that officials from the municipal corporation or nagar parishad never inspected the public toilets. The new toilets should be public, free, government-owned, and inspected regularly.

4. Make toilets safer for women and transpersons

Women and transpersons reported feeling unsafe—some toilets didn’t have locks or even doors, in addition to being unclean and not lit properly. These conditions force them to defecate in the open, but the security guards nearby shout at them and women and transpersons are harassed by men.

The survey also found that six out of 10 toilets did not have any attendants. For the safety of women and transpersons, attendants should be allotted to all the toilets and be sensitised to their needs. CCTV cameras must be installed in the vicinity of the toilets to prevent harassment. Separate toilets for men and women and at least one gender-neutral toilet should be built in each area to make it more comfortable for transpersons to use these facilities.

5. Make toilets accessible for persons with disabilities

Out of the 28 toilets audited, only one had a support railing. There were no other facilities available for persons with disabilities. The one toilet that had been built for them was run-down, and its path was blocked by rocks and debris.

These sanitation facilities can only be accessible if every toilet has a ramp, support railing, appropriate basin height, and at least one separate toilet stall that is disability-friendly.

—

Know more

• Read this report on community-youth-led research on NT-DNTs’ access to toilets at MSRTC bus depots.
• Read this article to understand the social exclusion suffered by the nomadic and denotified tribes in urban India.
• Read this article to learn about the mental well-being of denotified tribes in India.

Mahuatand, a Santhal village in Ramgarh district, Jharkhand, is an example of what the closure of coal mining can set off in rural communities around mines. With the first energy transition—when a public sector undertaking (PSU) set up its mine in the 1980s—residents lost their agricultural land and, hence, their generational wealth and food security. They became almost entirely dependent on the coal job economy. The jobs are few. While the handful of employees still continue to receive their salary, this source may soon run its course as the mine shut down in 2019.

Bablu Hembrom, who fought for a job with the mining company and finally secured it in 2016, goes in daily to mark his attendance. Father of two, Bablu knows the future is uncertain for the younger residents of the remote village. “Most of us regret the decision our parents or grandparents took in 1964 to swap agricultural land for compensation or jobs. Coal mining started in 1984. The money we received as compensation has run out for many of us. Jobs came to only one person in each family. That will also not last. In the future, we will end up as beggars,” he says. According to Sarpanch Kiran Devi, approximately 75 percent of the population here is unemployed. “Working-age adults, even when they have education and degrees, are financially dependent on their parents.” Biju Oraon adds, “Even if other industries develop, will there be enough jobs for all of us?” It doesn’t help that, so far, the growth of renewable energy is concentrated in some southern and western states.

In Chhattisgarh, Shivpal Bhagat, who belongs to the Oraon community and is the sarpanch of Kosampali village, Raigarh, tells us that his family has lived in the area for four generations but they have never known such financial insecurity before. He says, “We have been floundering since we gave up our land in 2007. We were expecting development and thought we would get stable employment. Instead, only a few of us get jobs, that too of lower grades, and with contractors.” His brother Kuldeep Bhagat pitches in, “When our parents sold the land, they were not equipped with the necessary information or understanding.”

A conflicted relationship with coal

On the one hand, mining activity is increasing: India opened 22 new coal mines between 2015 and 2022, and has another 93 proposed coal projects. On the other, employment in the coal sector has not seen growth. The use of mechanisation, private contractors, and mine development operators (MDOs) has resulted in fewer and more informal engagements. By some estimates, the number of contractual and informal workers in the sector is 2.4 times that of formal workers.

Most locals working in the coal sector seem to have a conflicted relationship with it.

Some residents allege that contractors and MDOs prefer people from other states, often their own, for most of the work. Migrants are put up in camps inside the mines and work daily for a few months, they add. “They believe we take too many leave days and prefer the migrants who are available at all times,” alleges a local employee.

Most locals working in the coal sector seem to have a conflicted relationship with it. Two men from Churchu in Hazaribagh, Jharkhand, say they are grateful for the jobs they secured as compensation for their ancestral land. However, requesting anonymity, both allege they get their payslips from different companies every couple of months. They are confused about who they are employed with and wonder what the terms will be if they are laid off and whether they will be compensated. In Sarasmal village, a guard now hired by a contractor reports that he was laid off from his cleaning job with the mining company as one of his eyes was deemed weak after a medical examination. In Tapranga, Raigarh, union leaders for local employees tell us they would be devastated to lose their jobs but complain about how houses crack or break because the mine is too close to their colony.

In Bhujangkachar, located on the precipice of a mine in Korba district, Chhattisgarh, Bhagwan Das* who lost his agricultural land to mining, is worried that the excavation is now moving closer to his house. His son Shyam Das,* who lives with him, has a contractual job with the very company about to take over the land where his house stands. Many of his peers live with this ambiguity. One of them, Ransahi Sonpakat, says he prefers to hedge his bets for the future. “I would like to continue farming the land I have remaining, even if it is not as much as before. My children may get a job. If not, it is important to have land so they can use it for agriculture later,” he says.

No land, no food security

Approximately 42 percent of the population in Jharkhand and about 29 percent in Chhattisgarh is multidimensionally poor. Most locals equate land ownership with food security. “We always had food when we had our own land. Now we need to pay for everything. The salary is not adequate for that,” says Ram Sewak Badal, who lives in a rehabilitation colony in Dhenga, Jharkhand.

In Sarasmal, Bhagwati Bhagat, 60, says she used to run her house on mahua, tendu, and other forest pickings. “I worked for six months and that was enough to feed my family for the whole year. There is such little forest produce now. On top of that, to get to the forest, I walk across the mine. It is steep and dangerous. We used to eat so much moringa (drumstick) earlier. Now it is covered in soot, and we need to wash it many times before we can cook it.” Local women who worked as agricultural labour or made a livelihood from forest produce are deeply affected by coal-related displacement.

In Mahuatand, many migrate to other regions and states for sustenance. Others, however, succumb to the informal coal-gathering economy. A queue of women and adolescents climb down a precarious dirt path into the valley, mobiles in their hand so they can use them as torches. People with a smaller build fare better in the dark underground mine. The company has made a trench around the abandoned mine to prevent them from going in. But the coal gatherers have broken a passage through it. Ram Manjhi* says, “If I don’t collect and sell this coal, we won’t be able to cook dinner. If the coal is carried out in trucks, it’s development. But if we carry it out on our bicycles and motorcycles, that’s stealing.” One of the many people displaced by mining, Manjhi received neither compensation nor a job. After he vacated his house, he moved closer to the forest. He alleges forest officials filed a case against him for encroachment on forest land. 

Land is critical for survival

Rural communities currently facing land acquisition by newer mining projects have learned from the history of ‘coal’ villages. In villages such as Jugra, Jharkhand, and Pelma, Chhattisgarh, locals persistently protest displacement. Chunnulal Soren, an Ekta Parishad activist from Vishnugarh, Jharkhand, says locals are aware that the coal industry can’t be sustained for long and that they may lose their land for nothing.

Sudhlal Saw is a sugarcane farmer in Jugra, Jharkhand, and his family of two sons, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren work together to produce jaggery. He says, “I refuse to convert my generational wealth to money. It will turn us from masters of our land to servants elsewhere. Look at what is happening all around. Will they give jobs to all of us for every generation?” Kailash Saw, an activist in the village, points out the folly in using fertile land for excavations. “Barkagaon (the village he lives in) is part of what is known as the rice bowl of the region. Why are we using this land for mining?”

History has taught us not to give up our land for short-term gains.

Ramdular Saw, a schoolteacher in Jugra, says, “Why are they acquiring land now if they have to close down the mine in three or four decades? History has taught us not to give up our land for short-term gains.” In 2018, the residents of Jugra complained to the district administration that land was being acquired forcefully from them.

In Chhattisgarh, locals have been protesting industrial mining with a coal satyagraha since 2011. In Pelma, Chhatisgarh, there is a near consensus that mining won’t change their fortunes for the better but for the worse. Rajbala*, a resident of Pelma, believes it will be disastrous to give up her land. “It will be a big loss. I want my children to stay here and continue with agriculture.”

Shivpal Bhagat speaks for most people affected by mining in the region when he says that jobs in future industries will not be enough to secure their sustenance. “Agricultural land is critical to our survival,” he says. Shivpal was among the petitioners who sought environmental damages from a mining company for failing to, among other things, remedy the topsoil they had destroyed. He says that mining companies should follow the law and level the land when they are done, restoring the topsoil so it can be reused for the benefit of local communities. Union leaders at Tapranga say that even infertile land will help as locals can use it for fishery, animal husbandry, and other livelihood options.

However, India lacks the legal framework necessary to facilitate the transfer of land back to the communities. Ramesh Sharma, national coordinator at Ekta Parishad, says, “Once the government has taken the land for mining, it can transfer this land to another project or lease it to a private company. Even if renewable energy grows, private companies will get large tracts of land to run solar or wind farms. But land should be returned to the indigenous people or the farmers who originally owned it. It can be co-owned by communities.”

Approximately 120 districts in the country have sizeable fossil-fuel or related industries and they have one-fourth of the country’s population. For a just transition, India may need to consider a strategy appropriate to the needs of affected locals, and these needs are rooted in land.

*Names changed to maintain confidentiality.

—

Know more

• Read this article to learn about the intergenerational nature of India’s coal economy.
• Read this article to understand the impact of coal mines and their closure on communities in Chhattisgarh. 
• Read this report to learn how coal mining in India violates Adivasi rights.

The role of food subsidy

The Public Distribution System (PDS) has played a crucial role in minimising the stress of low income and food insecurity among Adivasi households in the two states. Chhattisgarh in particular is known as a pioneer state in effectively implementing PDS throughout the state following the enactment of the National Food Security Act, 2013 (Drèze and Sen 2013).

The food subsidy provided through PDS is helping Adivasi households to get some relief amid their low incomes. In Chhattisgarh, where Adivasi households, on average, consume goods worth nearly Rs. 18,000 annually from PDS, only 13% is spent by the households, with the government’s subsidy of Rs 15,660 significantly contributing to lower income stress. Similarly, in MP, Adivasi households, on average, procure goods worth Rs. 10,000, while bearing only 22% of the cost, with government subsidy of Rs 7,800 making up the remaining 78% (see Figure 1). 

Figure 1. Average household income and subsidy availed from PDS 

Our study 

The study was designed to cover six facets of Adivasi livelihoods—cultural ethos, resource conditions, external interventions, household characteristics such as literacy and landholding, activities undertaken, and outcomes such as income, food security and nutrition. We conducted a household-level questionnaire survey to get a sense of household perspectives; used a village factsheet and administered semi-structured focus group discussions (FGDs) to capture the village-level perspective; and semi-structured personal interviews to understand the views of scholars, activists and community leaders. This data collection was done from May to August 2022. The overall sample composition is given in Table 1. 

Table 1. Sample composition

There are 46 recognised Scheduled Tribes in MP, with Bhils being the majority, followed by Gonds. Three groups—namely Baiga, Sahariya, and Bhariya—are recognised as Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups (PVTG). In Chhattisgarh, there are 42 tribal groups with Gonds being the majority. Of these 42 groups, seven belong to PVTG—Kamar, Baiga, Pahadi Korba, Abujhmadiya, Birhor, Pando, and Bhujia.

The sampling strategy was drawn to ensure that the tribal groups, generally concentrated in specific areas, are represented in the study as far as possible (Table 1). Accordingly, the Adivasi regions in MP were divided into three regions—Bhil, Gond, and ‘other’. Chhattisgarh was divided into north, central and south regions. There are disparities in household incomes even across regions within a state. The Bhil region in MP is notably ahead on account of its proximity to the industrial belt—even though it is prone to drought and has low forest cover. In fact, the average income here is at least 1.5 times that of other regions (Rs. 24,571 versus a range of Rs. 12,000-15,000).

The sample was drawn from tribal-dominated administrative blocks under the Intensive Tribal Development Programme (ITDP). In both Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh, the sample was distributed over nine districts, proportionally to the population. Additionally, the PVTG population was given an 8% sample allocation, despite being 4% of the population. One thousand non-tribal households were also surveyed from ITDP blocks to draw comparisons between Adivasi and non-Adivasi households within the same regions.

Human development indicators among Adivasi households

Livelihoods and income: More than 60% of the Adivasi households in MP, 90% in Chhattisgarh and almost all PVTG households in both states report depending on forest products. The majority collect fuelwood, with 98% of households in both states utilising it for personal consumption.

However, contrary to popular belief, the contribution of income from forest gathering to the total income is almost insignificant in both states (Figure 2). As we do not have the imputed value of self-consumption for forest gathering, this may have led to some underestimation.

Figure 2. Contribution of forest gathering to household income

During the village-level focus group discussions, villagers report that the availability of forest products such as mahua, tendu leaves, char, and chironjee is declining every year. According to them, because of the Forest Department’s exclusive focus on timbers, these plants are disappearing fast from the forest. Even from the viewpoint of biodiversity loss and climate change, this phenomenon needs deeper exploration.

Food security and dietary diversity: Improved performance of PDS has possibly resulted in better food security in Chhattisgarh. However, excessive reliance on rice from PDS may have affected dietary diversity negatively. 

Figure 3 shows the percentage of households that have the resources to access adequate food that they generally prefer to eat. This includes food from own farming, PDS, and purchased food.  

Figure 3. Share of households reporting no issues in accessing their preferred food 

Source: Coates et al. (2007) 

Data on dietary diversity was collected using the Food Consumption Score (FCS) developed by the United Nations World Food Programme. FCS is a composite score based on dietary diversity, food frequency, and relative nutritional importance of different food groups. Figure 4 shows the percentage of households that had taken a combination of foods from diverse food groups necessary for nutrition.  

Figure 4. Share of households with acceptable dietary diversity 

Malnutrition among children: Within the sampled households in MP there were 506 children (276 male and 240 female) and in Chhattisgarh there were 455 children (239 male and 216 female) below the age of 60 months. Head circumference is one of the indicators of malnutrition among children below five years.³ Trained enumerators measured their head circumference with a measuring tape, and found that children from MP showed higher malnutrition as compared to children from Chhattisgarh. The non-Adivasi households in MP fared most poorly. Separate studies are needed to probe into this issue further and to understand the underlying reasons.

Figure 5: Share of children under five with malnutrition

Increasing landlessness: The rate of landlessness among rural households in both states significantly surpasses the national average of 8.2%. It is important to understand what is contributing to this high level of landlessness among Adivasis in these two states, since access to land and forests has been an integral part of Adivasi identity. Displacement and dispossession from land for development projects is commonly cited as the reason for Adivasis’ loss of land, but this may not be the sole contributor. Further study is needed to explore the contributing factors and potential changes over the past decade. 

Figure 6: Share of landless households 

Functional literacy: In surveyed villages, functional literacy tests were administered to heads of households and their spouses. Most of these individuals are within the age range of mid-30s to mid-40s, and were supposed to complete their primary education around 25 to 35 years ago. However, the results reveals that a majority of them did not even attend schools during their childhood.     

Figure 7. Share of respondents who cannot read and write 

Access to road connectivity and Anganwadis: Despite the above inadequacies, Adivasi villages in both Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh exhibit improved road connectivity, with almost 80% of these villages having access to all-weather roads. However, only 42% of Adivasi villages in MP and 30% in Chhattisgarh are connected by public transport. Anganwadis, or childcare centres, are also present in almost 100% of Adivasi villages in both states. 

Way forward

While the SAL report primarily focuses on presenting the current state of Adivasi livelihoods without offering specific recommendations, personal interviews yield valuable suggestions for potential improvements. The quality of education in Adivasi areas has been identified by the communities as a crucial factor where government and non-government agencies should focus. Many of them said that the kind of education Adivasi children and youth get does not help them compete with non-Adivasi students. The necessity of vocational education to help acquire employable skills is also highlighted.

Almost all interviewees believe that the local governance system has to be strengthened in Adivasi areas, giving the local bodies the right to plan and execute what they need. According to them, this plan ought to be based on the values and worldviews of Adivasis. In contrast, most plans by the government and other agencies seem to reflect mainstream values of individualism, wealth accumulation and exploitation of resources. 

A majority of interviewees put forth the view that the effective implementation of the Forest Rights Act, 2006—especially in terms of community rights—can help rejuvenate forest biodiversity.

All the interviewees emphasise the importance of preserving Adivasi identity, tradition, culture, and customs so that their alternative values such as collectivism, living in harmony with nature, non-accumulation of wealth, do not get lost. Adhering to those values is the only way to save not only Adivasis, but also the entire human race.

This article was originally published on Ideas For India.

—

Footnotes:

1. Adivasis are people generally belonging to the administrative category of ‘Scheduled Tribes’, primarily living in the central Indian belt.
2. In the 77^th Round of the National Sample Survey (NSS) (2019), an agricultural household is defined as one receiving over Rs. 4,000 annually from the sale of agriculture produce (crops, horticultural crops, fodder crops, plantation, animal husbandry, poultry, fishery, piggery, bee-keeping, vermiculture, sericulture, etc.) and having at least one member self-employed in agriculture, either in the principal or subsidiary status, during the last 365 days.
3. The head circumference of a child should ideally fall within the 3-97 percentiles of the recommended population scores.

Many of these villagers were part of Jan Chetna, a community-based sangathan (people’s organisation) I work with. We protested against the legality of the environmental clearance given to the mining company and were met with a lathi charge by the police; our people retaliated and the violence that followed injured at least 50 villagers, and many more were arrested. Residents from the neighbouring villages came to know about this and as the oppression from the authorities increased, so did the people’s willingness for sustained protest.

Since the horrific violence faced by the villagers in 2008, we had decided that our protests would be non-violent; we realised that if we physically retaliate, the authorities will get an opportunity to paint a negative picture of our people and quash our resistance. At one of the meetings, we started talking about M K Gandhi’s Salt Satyagraha, its non-cooperative stance, and long-lasting impact. Gandhi was fighting using salt from the country’s seashores as a symbol of people’s sovereignty over their natural resources. In our case, we started a coal satyagraha. On October 2, 2011, Gandhi’s birth anniversary, we decided that if we’ve been forced to live in a coal economy, we should mine our own coal, sell it in the market, and make sure that the profit is used for the well-being of the community.

We marched from Gare village to the Kelo river, whose riverbeds are fertile with coal. We dug up the land there and brought 3 tonnes of coal back to the village. The next step was finding a buyer. There were people among us who worked at brick kilns and dhabas, so we decided to use this network. We involved the kiln and dhaba owners in the auction, and sold the coal to them.

However, setting up a coal business of our own is just one aspect of the coal satyagraha. We learn from one another and work on people’s various needs, including education, healthcare, and land rights. We also continue to organise protests against corporate mining, and have built a media ecosystem so that people outside our area are aware of these issues.

In 2023, the satyagraha completed 12 years. As we step into a new year, here are some lessons that we want to share about our experience of sustaining a movement against corporate mining in rural India. While our struggle is against coal mining companies in Chhattisgarh, we believe our methods can be useful for communities anywhere in the country that are resisting corporate takeover of their land and natural resources. As part of the movement, we:

Educate

1. Learn from people and adapt to their needs

In the initial days of the movement, the issues we focused on were people’s right to food and pensions, apart from their right to mining. But at the meetings, our members asked us, “If we don’t have land, what will we do with food and pension?” That is how we started working on land rights. Many of our members were landless Adivasis, so we began helping them get their land deeds as well as their community forest rights.

For landed farmers who lose their land to mining, Coal India is supposed to provide INR 5 lakh per acre and a small plot of land as compensation. With the help of our community leaders, we started taking people’s complaints to the authorities and, if necessary, to the court.

However, while useful, we realised that compensation may not be the best solution for every family, as it can only sustain them for a limited period of time. In our villages, there were widows and young people who had lost the earning members of their families. In place of monetary compensation, Coal India also has the option of providing employment to those whose land they have acquired for mining. It took the Jan Chetna members some time to convince many Adivasi families in our area to take up formal employment. We explained to them that INR 5 lakh will run out, but a job in the public sector could fetch them a regular income. We assist them with filling the forms for their job applications. When necessary, we also help them get employment through private contractors. Since landlessness is common among families here, we spoke with Coal India and helped in setting up microenterprises for the people.

We focus heavily on educating the youth. Many of them end up joining our organisation or working on the issues of their communities in other capacities. We make it a point to communicate in all our gatherings that while young people should use education for personal growth, they also have a responsibility towards their community and society.

2. Spread the word

Young people who are part of the sangathan are also skilled in technology such as the use of smartphones. We found an opportunity here to create our own media ecosystem.

At the beginning of the movement, there were times when we would relate an issue to the mainstream media and they would provide an entirely different picture; for example, ‘200 people came to protest against mining’ would be reported as ‘200 people came in support of mining’. We started training our own people with the help of nonprofits that had journalistic expertise such as Video Volunteers. 

We initially sent four people—two boys and two girls—to train with them for 15 days. The nonprofit helped them identify stories, shoot videos, and effectively deliver the message. For two to three months, they worked in mining areas focusing on challenges such as road infrastructure and healthcare. They made two–three-minute-long documentaries on these topics.

Video Volunteers pays them INR 1,000 per film. When they make a follow-up movie on the same issue, they get INR 2,000 which means they have a steady income. Each of our 10 members now makes INR 10,000–15,000 per month on an average, and we also end up doing good ground reporting. We post these videos regularly on all social media channels such as Instagram, Facebook, WhatsApp, and X (formerly Twitter) so that people are inspired to do the same in their areas. We also circulate these videos among the local print and digital media outlets. When they publish these stories, they send us photos and newspaper cuttings; this encourages our members to continue.   

Organise

1. Ensure gram sabha representation

The PESA Act gives the gram sabha the power to self-govern villages in the scheduled areas. It recognises Adivasi communities’ rights over natural resources and can approve and reject development projects. Thus, the gram sabha becomes a platform for the communities to assert their opinions and also bring about change.

Recognising this, we started training women leaders from the villages to participate in panchayat elections. Currently, 15–16 women and Adivasi members we work with are part of janpad panchayats (block-level panchayats), which are a link between the gram panchayat and zila (district) panchayat. These panchayat members are helping us demand fair utilisation of the District Mineral Foundation and CSR money for the welfare of the people living in these mining areas. They have also helped us bring down ensure efficient PDS delivery in these areas.

2. Set up a company

In 2011, we showed the authorities that we could mine our own land and also ensure that the profits are distributed among the villages. However, we were told that our mining activity was illegal and only companies can extract coal. We informed the authorities that we didn’t have a company but we could set it up in a few months. Then the officials asked us, “Do you know the qualifications that you need to start a company? Do you know how much money it takes?” We told them that every house in our village has a person as educated as the Ambanis and Jindals. We challenged their assertion by claiming that no one uses personal funds to start a mining company. As per our understanding, in cases where the government seizes our land and gives it to a private company, the company typically uses the land as collateral to secure a loan from a bank for starting their coal-mining operations. Our proposal was straightforward: If you can provide them with INR 40 lakh, then allocate INR 10 lakh to us for mining, and we will demonstrate how sustainable mining can be done.

In 2013, Gaare Taap Upakrama Producer Company Limited was registered as a farmer producer company. We crowdfunded and mined coal on 1 acre for a year to prove that it could be done without external funding. Internally, we discussed the role of the women, young people, and both landed and landless farmers in a company like this. We collectively decided that the money we earn should go directly to the gram sabha, which could help in providing basic necessities such as healthcare, electricity, and clean water in the villages.

People were willing to give their land for their company. They offered us copies of their land deeds and no-objection certificates to mine on their land. Now, we have 700 acres of land given by the people. While the government has not allotted us any mines, we continue to dig out coal with our shovels.  

Agitate

1. Battle it out in the courts

At every stage of our work, our people have had to fight legal battles for their rights. For example, the Mines Act, 1952, prohibited women from being employed at coal mines. However, Rathho Bai, one of our community members, had lost her brother and her father in a mining accident. If she wasn’t a woman, she would have been given a job in Coal India. So we took Coal India to the Chhattisgarh high court and argued that when the Constitution doesn’t discriminate based on gender, how could the Mines Act? As a result, Rathho Bai received employment.

Then there was the case of Rathkumar, whose husband had died of a heart attack while working at Coal India’s mine. When the company said that no one by her husband’s name had ever worked at that mine, we filed a Right to Information query and proved in the court that they were lying. Rathkumar too got a job. Rathho Bai and Rathkumar are among the many success stories of women’s employment in the mines.

2. Keep protesting

Our satyagraha started from protests, and these agitations continue to be the backbone of our movement. They have grown gradually over the years. In 2012, when we entered the second year of the satyagraha, we started holding meetings with members and representatives from nearby villages. We also invited the organisations we knew at the national level; people from 16 states came to participate. Some were troubled by bauxite mining, others by iron-ore mining, and so on. We said that we had opted for a coal satyagraha because we were surrounded by coal mines, but our model was replicable.

We also take our members on visits to protests and movements in other villages and states so that we can learn from them. Our resources are scarce, but people pitch in. We ask for a fistful of rice from each house in the village. People who can afford more give more, and some also donate money to keep the movement going. In 2024, we have made a rule for community donation—those who own 1 acre of land will give INR 100 and those who own 10 acres of land will give INR 1,000. We have been able to raise approximately INR 8.5 lakh already and have collected approximately 40 quintals of rice. Whenever there’s a march, traffic jam, or sit-in protest, this money and rice sustain us. We have also bought a projector, a music system, a printer, a laptop. We make sure that there’s complete financial transparency; everyone knows how much money has been collected and who is responsible for the money.

During ongoing protests, to make sure that people’s livelihoods aren’t disrupted, each village is responsible for organising one day of the demonstration. For example, if 500 people from my village go today, tomorrow it will be your turn.

Despite recent attempts by companies to set up mines here, people in and around the villages in Raigarh have managed to thwart all such advances. As long as they come for our resources, we will stand up and defend ourselves. We don’t want coal mines in our villages, but if this is the only way the government understands development, then we want our share in it too.

—

Know more

• Learn why India needs to address its historical wrongs for a just transition from coal.
• Understand how commercial mining affects Adivasi communities in Chhattisgarh.
• Learn about the importance and implications of the Niyamgiri case for indigenous communities in India. 

The members of the Constituent Assembly considered these values as central to addressing entrenched issues of poverty, illiteracy, and systemic social discrimination along caste, class, gender, and religious lines. When put into practice by people and institutions, these values, rights, principles, and duties sustain our secular, democratic republic. Therefore, it is important for all citizens and organisations—but especially those working against rights violations and discrimination—to closely understand the Constitution.

Despite being progressive and forward-thinking, how much of the Constitution have we internalised and put into action? Two nonprofit organisations and a government institution explain how they use the Constitution in their work with people and communities. They speak of the various ways in which they instil constitutional values into the collective consciousness to bring about an ideological shift, and how they connect rights and laws to realities on the ground so that all sections of society are able to access legal tools.

Understanding the Constitution is a journey, not an event

CIVICACT Foundation, an organisation that works at the grassroots in Madhya Pradesh, highlights how understanding and applying these values and principles is a continuous journey, not a one-time event. Developing a lens informed by constitutional values is a gradual process that unfolds over months or even years. Consistently creating a space to experience fraternity, equality, and freedom as well as to reflect and discuss deep-set ideologies and beliefs is crucial to fostering change. CIVICACT achieves this through workshops that extend over several months, facilitating discussions among people from diverse caste, gender, and class backgrounds. These workshops also promote holistic thinking and empathy. For example, in one of the first workshops, participants are given a question to debate, such as “Is violence justifiable in some cases?”. The nuances raised in these workshops are connected to the values of equality, justice, fraternity, liberty, and rights while bringing in the participants’ contexts and ground realities.

Samvada, a Karnataka-based organisation dedicated to youth rights and empowerment, forms ongoing relationships with the young people it works with. Many of the youth it trains continue to actively work for change in their colleges by conducting fact-finding exercises on issues faced by their community. For example, they recently demanded the creation of internal complaints committees (under the Prevention of Sexual Harassment Act, 2013) in their colleges. However, this point is reached after a two-year training programme divided into three phases. During the first phase of their engagement with youth, Samvada concentrates on sensitising participants to themes such as caste, gender, class, religion, and the intersectionality of these structures of inequality. This approach allows them to lay a foundation for unpacking and understanding structural discrimination before connecting it to constitutional principles. In the second phase, they conduct workshops to build leadership skills as well as cover topics such as the Preamble and Fundamental Rights and Duties—these are taught by referencing real-life experiences. In the third phase, they connect the learnings of the first two years and act on issues faced by their communities.

Balancing tradition with the Constitution

In India, various traditions and beliefs often run counter to the principles and rights enshrined in our Constitution. These contradictions can be seen in practices such as Karva Chauth, where only women observe fasts for the longevity of their husbands, or in instances where women are barred from entering certain mosques. Recognising the deeply ingrained nature of these societal norms and people’s strong attachments to their beliefs is crucial to navigating the balance between upholding constitutional values and respecting traditions that may be at odds with constitutional principles.

Ram Narayan Syag from CIVICACT emphasises how the transformative power of change can start within one’s own family. He recounts the journey of Rekha*, a woman from a scheduled caste background, who challenged age-old casteist practices in her village in Jaipur district. Previously in this village, following local tradition, if a person considered ‘upper-caste’ visited the home of a Dalit, the latter would ceremoniously vacate their chair and offer it to the visitor, choosing to sit on the floor even if other chairs were available. Because of various constitutional literacy workshops, Rekha recognised the discriminatory nature of this custom and began speaking about it within her family. After members of her family started unfollowing this tradition, many other households in the village followed suit.

Connecting one’s local cultural heritage to the values in the Preamble is another way of nurturing acceptance of the Constitution.

Initiating this change, however, was not without challenges. The family, initially resistant, required many months of open discussions before they could be persuaded. She actively listened to the concerns of her grandfather and father, seeking to understand their perspectives and feelings of fear and ostracisation, before managing to convince them of the need to abandon this discriminatory tradition.

Connecting one’s local cultural heritage to the values in the Preamble is another way of trying to spread awareness and nurture acceptance of the Constitution. When facilitators at Samvada have to contend with the assertion that B R Ambedkar and others copied the Indian Constitution from the West, they find a way to connect the teachings of local social reformers to the ideals in the document. For example, they bring in the teachings of Basava and Kabir, poets and social reformers from the Bhakti movement period who rejected gender and social discrimination, or Jyotiba and Savitribai Phule, who fought against societal evils to provide girls and Dalit castes access to education in the 1800s.

In order to make the Constitution accessible to all, the Kerala Institute of Local Administration (KILA) started a programme called The Citizen in February 2022, employing volunteers known as ‘senators’. Several volunteers who had previously believed in inherently unequal local superstitions such as women should not be allowed in the Sabarimala temple changed their minds after engaging in trainings related to constitutional literacy. They told KILA that they just weren’t aware of the rights and principles in the Constitution and how these provisions applied to them.

Creating systems to mobilise people

Even though India’s Constitution is considered one of the most liberal and progressive globally, many people in the country aren’t familiar with its contents. Since gaining independence, successive governments have failed to prioritise widespread awareness. As a result, civil society organisations (CSOs) working on this have had to come up with new and creative ways to impart constitutional principles and rights.

Before starting The Citizen programme in Kollam district, KILA created an environment conducive to learning across the state. They did so by mobilising gram panchayats, bureaucrats, and political parties to learn about constitutional rights and responsibilities and educate communities they had influence in. According to V Sudesan, senior faculty at KILA, because of Kerala’s historical precursors—high literacy and a history of people’s participation in governance—there was no opposition to educating citizens on the Constitution. The plan was discussed with the many stakeholders—college students, teachers, youth organisations, and even religious organisations—who played a pivotal role in rallying people to attend constitutional literacy classes and workshops.

Additionally, the gram panchayats selected approximately 4000 ‘senators’ or volunteers, who were paid an honorarium of INR 1000 per month and trained by KILA about the Constitution and its relevance in day-to-day life. These volunteers in turn engaged with their families and the schools, local public offices, and religious institutions in their neighbourhood. KILA intentionally trained youngsters from the community—more than 80 percent of whom were women—instead of government teachers to prevent the facilitators from falling back to conventional teaching methods. Kollam is the first district in India that is 100 percent constitutionally literate. One of the challenges that the Kerala state machinery faced was that though ‘ordinary’ people—MGNREGA workers, women, students from rural and marginalised backgrounds, and even some heads of religious institutions—were open to the process, those with formal education and from an upper-class background tended to be resistant. This is because they felt like they already knew about the Constitution, and that the programme would be a waste of their time.

What will it take to instil constitutional values on ground?

Over the course of their work, here’s what KILA, Samvada, and CIVICACT Foundation have learned about instilling constitutional values on ground:

1. Fostering a sense of ownership can help connect people with the Constitution

All three organisations demonstrate that empowering the youth, disadvantaged sections, and women, along with encouraging leadership roles, plays a pivotal role in spreading awareness about and enabling action on constitutional values, rights, and duties. This approach creates a sense of ownership among people. Also, establishing a connection between injustices or rights violations and the corresponding constitutional remedies makes the Constitution more tangible.

2. Various tools can be employed to create dialogues about constitutional values 

KILA spreads constitutional literacy through YouTube and social media platforms. Displaying the Preamble in schools, colleges, and public spaces is another effective and simple tool to disseminate information about the Constitution. The Karnataka government has established libraries with youth clubs for regular discussions on community issues and values. Holding such discussions in open spaces, where there are individuals from diverse backgrounds, encourages people to learn from one another’s lived experiences, sensitising them to rights violations that may be happening with someone else. Incorporating positive aspects of local cultures and traditions—often through theatre, music, and games—is also important.

3. Connecting the Constitution to other programmes can help highlight its relevance in addressing social challenges

Samvada integrates the Constitution into every programme it runs, ensuring a connection between core themes such as gender and caste with constitutional principles. In this way, CSOs can apply the lens of the Constitution on issues they work on. By bridging the gap between societal issues, lived experiences, and constitutional principles, organisations can contribute to an understanding and appreciation of the Constitution’s relevance in addressing social challenges.

In addition to these, citizen’s movements, CSOs, and nonprofits that are working to promote values of equality, liberty, justice, and fraternity, and/or work on rights, should come together and share ideas and methods to create a more constitutionally literate India. 

*Name changed to maintain confidentiality.

Bipin Kumar, Ram Narayan Syag, V Sudesan, Poornima Kumar, and Ramakka R contributed their valuable insights to the article.

CIVICACT Foundation and KILA are part of Har Dil Mein Samvidhan, a campaign to create awareness about Constitutional values.

—

Know more

• Watch this explainer on the Constitution of India.
• Read this to learn more about preserving constitutional values.
• Read this article to learn how the Constitution can be used in classrooms.

The Constitution of India, adopted on January 26, 1950, serves as the supreme legal document governing the world’s largest democracy. Framed by a constituent assembly, and drafted by Dr B R Ambedkar, the Constitution embodies the principles of justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity. It provides a comprehensive framework for the functioning of the government, delineates the powers and responsibilities of various institutions, and guarantees fundamental rights to its citizens. Its relevance today is undeniable, as it continues to guide the nation’s governance, ensuring a balance between individual rights and collective interests.

The Constitution acts as a dynamic blueprint that upholds democratic principles, safeguards human rights, and fosters a pluralistic and inclusive society. Find out more about the Preamble, Fundamental Rights, Directive Principles of State Policy, and Fundamental Duties, and learn how we can include these in our work and daily lives.

—

Know more

• Read this article to find out more about how nonprofits can use constitutional values to promote active citizenship.
• Watch this television series about the history of how the Constitution was made.
• Learn about the Har Dil Mein Samvidhan campaign, which helps create awareness about the Constitution of India.