Asia Pacific Research

George Matthew Fernandes, who left a deep imprint on Indian politics through his sharp ideological convictions, fearless positions, and combative temperament, was one of the most influential socialist leaders the country has ever produced. This leader, shaped by the labour movement, remains remembered to this day as an extraordinary personality in the history of Indian democracy. Being elected to the Lok Sabha nine times, founding the Samata Party, and heading important ministries such as Industry, Railways, and Defence in the central government are some of the defining highlights of his long political life. Built on the firm foundation of socialist thought, this personality created, for the youth of India in the 1970s, a living symbol of resistance, rebellion, and struggle against injustice.

He was born on 3 June 1930 in Mangaluru, Karnataka, into a Christian family. George was the eldest among the six children of his father John Joseph Fernandes and mother Alice Martha Fernandes. His mother held a special admiration for King George V of Britain, and so she named her eldest son George. From childhood, George was exceptionally intelligent and independent in thought. Though the home environment was steeped in Christian religiosity, the tendency to question and the instinct to challenge authority had taken root in him from an early age. At the age of 16, he was sent to a Christian missionary institution to become a priest. However, the rigid traditions, the rules, and the gulf between precept and practice became unbearable for him. The world of religious instruction was incompatible with his rebellious nature. Finally, in 1949, he came to Mumbai in search of livelihood. The early days were difficult  sleeping on footpaths, working as a proofreader in a newspaper  a life marked by struggle.

After arriving in Mumbai, he took active part in the labour movement. Through socialist ideology and trade unionism, he began fighting for the rights of workers. He built agitations around the issues of dock workers, municipal employees, taxi drivers, and hotel workers. His leadership qualities and fearless nature gradually fashioned his image as an influential labour leader. In the 1950s, he became an important leader of the taxi drivers’ union. George Fernandes, who had become the voice of ordinary workers, never abandoned his commitment to fighting injustice. He also led agitations on the issues of Indian Railway workers. The thoughts of socialist leader Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia had a deep influence on him. Fighting for the weaker sections of society and boldly questioning those in power became the defining character of his politics.

In the 1967 Lok Sabha elections, he defeated the veteran Congress leader S. K. Patil from the South Mumbai constituency. This victory was so unexpected that he earned the title of “Giant Killer.” The fact that a labour leader had defeated a Congress stalwart in a metropolis like Mumbai became the subject of wide discussion in national politics as well. After this victory, his standing in Indian politics grew ever stronger. Between 1969 and 1973, he served as the General Secretary of the Samyukta Socialist Party.

A historic milestone in his political life came in 1973, when he was elected President of the All India Railwaymen’s Federation. In May 1974, he called for a nationwide railway strike to press for various legitimate demands of railway workers. Approximately 1.7 million employees participated in this strike. It is considered one of the largest industrial agitations in Indian history. Railway services across the country came to a standstill for 20 consecutive days. This agitation placed an unprecedented challenge before the government of then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. But the government crushed the strike through severe repression. Thousands of workers were arrested, and many had their homes ransacked. Even after all these coercive measures, George Fernandes rose higher in public esteem as a selfless leader of the workers.

In 1975, Indira Gandhi imposed Emergency in the country. George Fernandes strongly opposed this decision, which throttled democracy. He continued working underground to sustain resistance against the government. During this period, a grave charge was levelled against him  that he had smuggled dynamite to blow up government installations and railway lines. This case came to be known in history as the “Baroda Dynamite Case.” In 1976, George Fernandes was arrested and lodged in Tihar Jail in Delhi. He and 24 others were charged with sedition and conspiracy to overthrow the government. Among the accused in this case were Viren J. Shah, G. G. Parikh, C. G. K. Reddy, Prabhudas Patwari, Devi Gujjar, and several others. The Central Bureau of Investigation conducted the inquiry into this case. In this very case, his close colleague Snehalata was also arrested. She had already been suffering from severe asthma and a lung ailment. Being kept in extremely harsh conditions in a Bengaluru prison caused her health to deteriorate rapidly. On 15 January 1977, she was released on parole. But within just five days, she passed away. She is remembered in history as the first martyr of the Emergency.

During the hearings of the Baroda Dynamite Case, whenever George Fernandes was brought to Tees Hazari Court in Delhi, students of Jawaharlal Nehru University raised slogans “Jail ka phatak tod do, George Fernandes ko chhod do” (Break open the prison gates, free George Fernandes). The political atmosphere in the country at that time was extremely charged. While the Congress government was deploying all its might to silence the opposition, the signs of elections were also on the horizon.

Image: The arrest of socialist labour leader, George Fernandes in 1976, one of the key accused in the Baroda dynamite case. (Fair use)

In 1977, Indira Gandhi announced elections and the Emergency came to an end. At that time, George Fernandes was confined in a prison cell. He contested from the Muzaffarpur constituency in Bihar. Throughout the entire campaign period, he could not visit the constituency even once. Yet the people elected him with a record margin of votes. Photographs of him in handcuffs were used extensively in the campaign, and the fire of anger against repression that had been smouldering in the hearts of the people was expressed through those votes. He won by approximately three lakh votes. After the Janata Party government was formed, he was made the Industry Minister in Prime Minister Morarji Desai’s cabinet.

As Industry Minister, he took firm action against multinational companies under the Foreign Exchange Regulation Act. As a result, two corporate giants Coca-Cola and IBM shut down their operations in India. This was a bold and politically significant decision. His stance of promoting indigenous industries made him even more popular in public imagination. The Janata Party subsequently split and the political equations changed. During this period, he founded the Samata Party and forged political cooperation with the Bharatiya Janata Party.

As Railway Minister, one of his important contributions was his role in the development of the Konkan Railway. The dream of connecting the remote Konkan coastline to the country’s main railway network, which had remained unfulfilled for many years, was realised with his significant contribution. The railway that ran through the Konkan  crossing mountains, valleys, rivers, and forests  changed the lives of millions of people.

During 1998 to 2004, he served as Defence Minister in the National Democratic Alliance government led by Atal Bihari Vajpayee. This proved to be an important and celebrated period in his political life. During his tenure, successful nuclear tests were conducted at Pokhran in 1998. In the Kargil War of 1999, he played a crucial role as Defence Minister. He would go to meet soldiers deployed in extremely remote and challenging terrain like Siachen to bolster their morale. This sensitivity earned him deep respect in the hearts of the jawans. He also played an important role during Operation Parakram. However, during this same period, his name came up in connection with the Coffin Scam and the Tehelka affair. The Tehelka sting operation brought him face to face with political crisis. But the court later acquitted him of these charges.

In 2004, despite the nationwide defeat of the National Democratic Alliance, George Fernandes was once again elected victorious from the Muzaffarpur constituency. However, age was advancing, health was gradually declining, and the political situation was changing. In the 2009 Lok Sabha elections, the Janata Dal (United) denied him a party ticket. He nonetheless contested as an independent, but this time he faced defeat. He subsequently went to the Rajya Sabha unopposed  this was made possible because JDU did not field a candidate against him.

George Fernandes was married on 22 July 1971 to Leila Kabir, daughter of former Union Minister of State Humayun Kabir. The couple has a son named Sean Fernandes. However, the hectic journey of political life and the strains of personal life caused Leila to drift away from him in 1984. In a remarkable twist of fate, full 25 years later, when George was afflicted with serious illnesses, Leila returned to his life. In his final years, he was tormented by two ailments Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. His memory was fading and his body was weakening. But Leila cared for him through those difficult times.

In 1977, George Fernandes met Jaya Jaitly. She went on to become his close political associate and played an important role in the work of the Samata Party. Jaya Jaitly has often said that George sincerely respected the political and intellectual capabilities of women. His ideology was deeply humanistic. While in prison, he had made a nest from his own woollen cap for baby birds that had fallen from a nest on a fan. He had a habit of giving toffees to children. Through such small acts, his sensitive, humane nature revealed itself constantly.

George Fernandes was known not merely as a politician but also as a rebellious intellectual. He had an enormous love for reading. He read voraciously from popular novels like Harry Potter to biographies of Mahatma Gandhi and Winston Churchill. He had accumulated a vast personal library over his lifetime. He maintained the habit of washing his own clothes himself. It is also said that he never bought or used a comb throughout his life. He had no liking for starched white clothes. He had a fondness for flavourful food, and in particular he was deeply fond of fresh Konkan fish and crab curry.

Many examples of his simplicity are often cited. Even while serving as Defence Minister, his residence had no grand gateway or tight security arrangement, and any ordinary citizen could meet him with ease. Once, when the security arrangements for then Home Minister Shankarrao Chavan blocked the road to his house, George  in protest  had the very gate of his own house removed. Even after becoming Defence Minister, he refused to keep security guards. Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee had also requested him to enhance his security. But it was only after the terrorist attack on Parliament made it clear to him how serious the security question was for the country’s Defence Minister that he reluctantly accepted some security personnel.

George Fernandes also drew millions of people to him through the power of his oratory. He was an exceptionally effective speaker. From the platform of trade unions to the floor of Parliament, his voice held his audiences spellbound. From Mumbai to Muzaffarpur, from workers to farmers, his commitment was universal. He was a socialist, but his was a clear-eyed socialism. He was a nationalist, but he never gave blind nationalism any room. Whether under the yoke of colonial rule or during the dark days of the Emergency in independent India, he never allowed his voice to be suppressed.

He passed away on 29 January 2019 in New Delhi. A brilliant star of Indian socialist politics had set. As a labour movement leader, warrior against the Emergency, Industry Minister, Railway Minister, Defence Minister, socialist thinker, and ardent champion of democracy through all these roles he enriched Indian public life. Being elected nine times to the Lok Sabha over nearly four decades from 1967 to 2004 is undeniable testimony to his mass following. As we remember George Fernandes on the occasion of his birth anniversary, this leader  forged in struggle, who valued principles above power, and who continued fighting for the common person until his last breath  shall remain immortal forever in the history of Indian democracy.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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The true measure of a democracy lies not in the deference it pays to the influential, but in its unwavering capacity to hold those same figures accountable when they transgress the law. While a society may appear stable when its institutions cater to the elite, the actual strength of a democratic framework is revealed only when the shield of status is stripped away by the sword of justice. When the powerful are allowed to operate with impunity, the foundational promise of “equal protection” becomes a hollow platitude, eroding public trust and transforming the rule of law into a mere tool for the preservation of hierarchy. Conversely, a robust democracy asserts its legitimacy by demonstrating that no title, wealth, or political standing provides a sanctuary from legal consequences; it demands that the mechanisms of oversight and prosecution function with blind impartiality. This commitment to accountability serves as the ultimate safeguard against autocracy, ensuring that the social contract remains a binding agreement for all citizens rather than a selective burden for the marginalized. Ultimately, the health of a free state is indexed by the courage of its judiciary and the resilience of its norms in the face of concentrated power. 

Across the world, there are nations that have built justice systems strong enough to withstand political pressure, wealth, and influence, proving that the rule of law can be more than a theoretical ideal. In countries such as Japan, South Korea, Singapore, and several Scandinavian states, the institutional culture treats public office as a sacred trust rather than a personal fiefdom, ensuring that officials who abuse their power are investigated, prosecuted, and punished with remarkable speed and efficiency. Their status does not shield them from accountability; instead, it serves as a magnifying glass for their conduct.

In these jurisdictions, the legal framework is often reinforced by a societal “shame culture” or a high degree of transparency that makes corruption politically and socially terminal. In South Korea, for instance, the judiciary has famously prosecuted multiple high-profile cases, signaling to the populace that the executive branch is not above the law. Former presidents have been investigated, tried, convicted, and imprisoned for corruption and abuse of power.  In Singapore, anti-corruption laws are enforced rigorously, and public officials know that even the appearance of misconduct can trigger swift investigation. Similarly, the Nordic model thrives on a foundation of extreme institutional trust, where the expectation of integrity is so high that even minor ethical lapses can trigger immediate resignations and legal reviews. By ensuring that the higher an office a person holds, the greater the burden of their accountability, these nations create a stabilizing deterrent against the creep of autocracy and the corrosive effects of cronyism.These countries are not corruption-free, but their institutions possess something that many developing democracies struggle to achieve—a credible certainty that wrongdoing will be punished.

The Philippines presents a painful contrast.

For decades, the nation has been paralyzed by a dual-track justice system where the weight of the law is felt disproportionately by those at the bottom of the social hierarchy. While the state displays efficient, often ruthless, speed when prosecuting the marginalized for “crimes of survival” such as the theft of basic staples like sardines or bread, it exhibits a sudden, systemic lethargy when addressing the grand larceny of the elite. This disparity transforms the courtroom into a theater of the privileged; a hungry man is processed through the system in days, while a high-ranking official accused of plundering billions in public funds can employ a phalanx of high-priced lawyers to exploit every procedural loophole, filing endless motions to quash, appeals, and petitions for bail.

This “culture of impunity” is further reinforced by the physical and social conditions of the accused. While the indigent wait in overcrowded, sweltering jail cells, the powerful often “maneuver” through the system from the comfort of private hospital wings or via “hospital arrest,” citing sudden medical emergencies to avoid standard incarceration. This selective enforcement does more than just delay justice; it fundamentally breaks the social contract. When the public witnesses million-peso plunder cases languishing for decades in the Sandiganbayan or higher courts while petty offenders are swiftly penalized, the law ceases to be a moral authority and instead becomes a tool for the preservation of class interests. This persistent inequity breeds a deep-seated cynicism among the populace, suggesting that in the eyes of the state, the gravity of a crime is measured not by the harm done to society, but by the net worth of the person who committed it.

This double standard has become one of the greatest moral failures of the Philippine justice system.

History provides sobering examples.

The 1986 People Power Revolution did more than just end a regime; it unveiled a staggering financial labyrinth of “ill-gotten wealth” estimated at $5 billion to $10 billion, marking the beginning of one of the world’s most protracted legal recovery efforts. Four decades later, the Presidential Commission on Good Government (PCGG) remains locked in a web of litigation that spans continents and decades. The persistence of these cases in public discourse is a testament to a national psyche still seeking restitution, yet the sheer duration of the proceedings stretching across multiple generations of lawyers and judges serves as a sobering indictment of the Philippine justice system’s vulnerability to “attrition litigation.” The ability of the powerful to utilize interlocutory appeals and technical delays has turned the pursuit of justice into a marathon that many fear will outlive the primary witnesses and the collective memory of the crimes.

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An iconic photo of the People Power Revolution in the Philippines in February 1986 showing hundreds of thousands of people filling up Epifanio delos Santos Avenue (EDSA). The view is looking northbound towards the Boni Serrano Avenue-EDSA intersection. (Photo taken by Joey de Vera / Fair Use)

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This systemic struggle was again put to the test by the rise and fall of Joseph “Erap” Estrada. His 2007 conviction for plunder, a capital offense involving the misappropriation of over 4 billion pesos, initially appeared to be a watershed moment for the rule of law, suggesting that the era of presidential immunity had finally ended. However, the subsequent executive pardon granted by President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo just weeks later fundamentally complicated that victory. While the conviction established a legal precedent for accountability, the swift pardon re-introduced a bitter reality: in a highly transactional political landscape, “justice” is often treated as a negotiable commodity. To many, the pardon did not represent an act of national healing, but rather a strategic political maneuver that signaled to future leaders that even a guilty verdict in the highest court could be undone by the stroke of a political ally’s pen.

More recently, the multibillion-peso Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) scandal, commonly known as the “pork barrel scam,” shocked the nation. The scandal implicated numerous politicians and exposed alleged schemes that diverted public funds into fraudulent organizations. While arrests were made and cases were filed, many Filipinos became frustrated by the slow pace of judicial proceedings and the prolonged uncertainty surrounding final accountability.

These are not isolated incidents. They are symptoms of a deeper institutional problem.

The recurring spectacle of high-profile fugitives evading the reach of the law has become a corrosive “theater of avoidance” that fundamentally undermines the state’s authority. Time and again, individuals facing grave criminal charges ranging from large-scale plunder to human trafficking and extrajudicial killings have managed to vanish just as warrants are issued, often eluding misplaced dragnets or hiding in plain sight within fortified estates. These disappearances are rarely viewed by the public as mere lapses in police work; rather, they are seen as calculated failures. When a well-connected individual evades arrest for months or years, it broadcasts a demoralizing message: that the country’s borders are porous for the wealthy and that law enforcement’s “intelligence funds” are curiously ineffective when directed toward the elite.

This trend of “convenient” escapes fuels a deep-seated suspicion that justice in the Philippines is a negotiable reality, where financial resources  and political connections can provide safe houses and early warnings. Each day a fugitive remains at large, the credibility of the Department of Justice and the National Police atrophies. It creates a narrative where the legal system is portrayed as a “spider web” that catches the small flies but lets the great ones break through. Furthermore, the eventual “surrender” of these fugitives is often choreographed as a high-profile media event complete with bulletproof vests and smiling escorts which further mocks the gravity of their alleged crimes. Ultimately, when the state fails to apprehend those who defy its courts, it doesn’t just lose a prisoner; it loses the public’s belief in the very possibility of a fair and equal society.

The consequences are devastating.

The systemic diversion of public funds into private pockets is not a victimless administrative lapse; it is a direct assault on the nation’s human capital and infrastructure. Every peso siphoned through bloated contracts, ghost projects, or kickbacks represents a tangible loss to the Filipino family: a desk not built in a rural classroom, a life-saving ventilator missing from a provincial hospital, or a farm-to-market road that remains a muddy trail, cutting off farmers from economic survival. Corruption acts as a regressive tax on the poor, effectively stealing the “opportunity ladder” from millions of citizens. It forces a child in a crowded public school to learn in an environment that stifles their potential and condemns a patient in a public ward to suffer because the budget for their medicine was traded for a political favor.

This economic hemorrhage is compounded by a profound psychological injury: the death of hope through impunity. When a society repeatedly witnesses a “justice of the few,” where the powerful treat the legal system as a series of negotiable hurdles rather than a binding set of rules, the collective spirit of the citizenry begins to rot into cynicism. This disillusionment is the most dangerous byproduct of corruption; once people stop believing that the system is fair, they stop participating in it with integrity. They may begin to view taxes as a “donation to the corrupt” rather than an investment in the future, and they may turn toward populist or authoritarian alternatives that promise “order” at the expense of liberty. When the rule of law is perceived as a weapon used only against the weak, the very foundation of democracy, i.e., the belief that we are all equal before the law, erodes, leaving behind a fragile state where power, not principle, dictates the future.

A nation cannot prosper when accountability is optional for the elite and mandatory for the poor.

The fundamental challenge facing the Philippine legal landscape is not a scarcity of legislation, but a deficit of application. The country possesses a comprehensive, even sophisticated, array of statutes from the Anti-Graft and Corrupt Practices Act to the Anti-Plunder Law and maintains a sprawling bureaucracy of prosecutors, specialized courts like the Sandiganbayan, and oversight bodies like the Commission on Audit. On paper, the architecture of accountability is robust. However, this structural abundance is often neutralized by a lack of consistent political will and the persistent fragility of institutions under the pressure of partisan interests. In a system where appointments are frequently transactional and budgets are controlled by those subject to oversight, “blind justice” becomes an aspirational concept rather than a functional reality.

Institutional strength is the only viable antidote to the gravity of wealth and influence. When institutions are weak, they behave like reeds in the wind, bending toward whichever administration or tycoon holds the current advantage. True reform requires moving beyond the “personality-driven” justice of a specific leader’s crusade and toward a system where the machinery of the state operates automatically and impartially, regardless of who is in power. This means insulating the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) and the National Prosecution Service from political interference and ensuring that social status does not dictate the speed of a trial. Until the law is applied with the same mechanical indifference to a senator as it is to a sidewalk vendor, the Philippines will remain a nation of laws that are too often “for show” rather than for justice.

The fight against corruption will never be won through the high-minded rhetoric of speeches, the catchy cadence of slogans, or the cyclical allure of election promises that fade as soon as the ballots are counted. These are merely cosmetic treatments for a systemic disease. The real victory begins only when the psychological landscape of public service shifts from one of entitlement to one of profound risk where every official, from the local barangay level to the highest halls of the legislature, understands that stealing from the people is no longer a high-reward gamble, but a path to swift and certain professional and personal ruin. Accountability must move from being a rare “lightning strike” of bad luck to a reliable, mechanical consequence of wrongdoing.

This transformation requires a visible restoration of the state’s teeth. It will be won when the spectacle of the “vanishing fugitive” is replaced by a law enforcement apparatus capable of tracking and apprehending those who believe their wealth makes them invisible to the state. It will be won when the judiciary sheds its reputation for “attrition litigation,” ensuring that cases are resolved within a timeframe that respects the public’s memory and the victims’ right to closure. Most critically, it will be won when the law is applied with a terrifying equality where the gavel falls with the same weight on a cabinet secretary as it does on a common thief.

Until that day arrives, corruption will not merely persist; it will thrive as a rational choice for the unscrupulous. Each day the status quo remains, the social fabric is further compromised: public trust erodes, civic engagement withers, and the promise of a genuine democracy that promotes a government of, by, and for the people remains a hollow, unfulfilled aspiration. While the maxim “justice delayed is justice denied” is a global legal truth, the Philippine experience has revealed a more sinister evolution: for the powerful, justice delayed has effectively become justice defeated. By dragging proceedings out until witnesses die, evidence is “lost,” or political tides turn, the elite have learned to outrun the law itself, leaving the rest of the nation to bear the cost of their immunity.

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Prof. Ruel F. Pepa is a Filipino philosopher based in Madrid, Spain. A retired academic (Associate Professor IV), he taught Philosophy and Social Sciences for more than fifteen years at Trinity University of Asia, an Anglican university in the Philippines. He is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG).

Featured image: Sandiganbayan building (CC BY-SA 4.0)

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China’s expanding nuclear industry is becoming a new instrument of geopolitical influence across Southeast Asia.

From Vietnam to Indonesia, governments increasingly view nuclear energy as necessary to sustain industrial growth, AI infrastructure and rising electricity demand while reducing dependence on coal. The result is a regional nuclear reconsideration that would have seemed politically improbable only a decade ago.

Vietnam and Russia signed an agreement in March 2026 for the Ninh Thuan 1 nuclear power plant. The Philippines and Indonesia aim to operationalize reactors in the early 2030s, while Malaysia, Thailand and Singapore are studying small modular reactors as part of future energy planning.

At the center of this transformation stands China. While France, Russia, South Korea and the United States remain major exporters, Beijing has emerged as perhaps the most consequential long-term nuclear partner for Southeast Asia, combining financing, industrial scale and state-backed delivery capacity few rivals can match.

Nuclear partnerships are not ordinary infrastructure deals. They are strategic relationships that can last more than half a century and shape everything from fuel dependency and industrial standards to regulatory systems and geopolitical alignment.

China’s Nuclear Industrial Rise

China’s emergence as a major nuclear exporter is the result of decades of sustained industrial policy and technological accumulation. As of 2026, China operates 61 nuclear reactors and has another 36 under construction, giving it the world’s third-largest reactor fleet while leading global nuclear construction.

Unlike many Western industries that stagnated after the Cold War, China sustained investment across reactor engineering, manufacturing and workforce development. This enabled Beijing to localize roughly 90% of reactor components domestically.

That localization reduces supply-chain vulnerabilities, lowers manufacturing costs and allows Chinese firms to offer comprehensive turnkey packages covering engineering, procurement, construction, financing, training and long-term fuel supply.

In effect, China is exporting entire nuclear ecosystems rather than standalone reactors. The centerpiece of this strategy is the Hualong One (HPR1000), a third-generation pressurized-water reactor jointly developed by China National Nuclear Corporation and China General Nuclear Power Group.

With more than 40 units operational or under construction, Hualong One has become one of the world’s most actively deployed reactor designs. It incorporates advanced safety systems and generates around 1,100 megawatts per unit – enough for roughly one million homes.

For developing economies facing mounting electricity deficits and industrial expansion pressures, these capabilities are highly attractive.

China’s nuclear appeal also lies in speed. Western nuclear projects frequently struggle with cost overruns and lengthy delays. Russia faces mounting geopolitical constraints, while South Korea lacks China’s scale of financing.

China, by contrast, offers financing, rapid deployment and integrated implementation simultaneously.

Beijing has reportedly set a target of exporting 30 reactors to Belt and Road Initiative countries by 2030, a push potentially worth 1 trillion yuan (US$145 billion). Projects and nuclear cooperation agreements already extend across Pakistan, Argentina, Kenya, Kazakhstan and Saudi Arabia.

For Southeast Asian governments operating under tight development timelines, this matters enormously.

Strategic Risks Behind the Opportunity

Yet the attraction of Chinese nuclear technology comes with strategic consequences that regional governments cannot easily ignore.

Nuclear infrastructure creates an unusually deep, long-term dependency. Reactor lifespans often exceed 40 years, while fuel supply, technical upgrades and spent-fuel management remain tied to the original vendor for decades.

This is particularly significant because only a limited number of states possess industrial-scale uranium enrichment capability. Russia still dominates global low-enriched uranium supply, but China is rapidly expanding its own fuel-cycle infrastructure to support future reactor exports.

As a result, recipient states could become dependent on Beijing not only for reactor construction but also for long-term fuel access and operational continuity.

Technology lock-in may ultimately prove even more consequential than fuel dependency. Unlike ports or industrial parks, nuclear ecosystems are exceptionally difficult to unwind once institutional and technological dependence becomes embedded over decades.

Maintenance systems, engineering standards and regulatory adaptation usually remain linked to the original supplier, gradually shaping industrial priorities and strategic alignment over time.

China, therefore, exports more than power-generation infrastructure. It exports long-term strategic influence.

This does not necessarily imply malign intent, as all major nuclear exporters create similar dependencies. But China combines reactor exports with Belt and Road financing, industrial integration and broader geopolitical influence mechanisms, making the strategic implications especially significant.

For Southeast Asian states seeking to preserve strategic autonomy amid intensifying US-China rivalry, that matters. Washington increasingly views critical infrastructure competition in maritime Southeast Asia through a strategic lens as Chinese-backed energy, port and digital projects expand across the region.

Chinese reactor diplomacy could therefore become another dimension of Indo-Pacific competition over influence, standards and long-term regional alignment.

ASEAN governments are consequently likely to hedge rather than align exclusively with any single supplier. Maritime Southeast Asian states such as Indonesia and the Philippines may pursue more diversified technology partnerships, while mainland Southeast Asian economies could become more deeply integrated with Chinese industrial and financing ecosystems.

This divergence risks creating competing technological ecosystems whose infrastructure standards and fuel arrangements increasingly reflect broader geopolitical alignments, adding another layer of fragmentation to Indo-Pacific competition.

China is also investing heavily in next-generation nuclear systems, particularly thorium molten-salt reactors. In June 2024, China’s Wuwei Thorium Molten Salt Reactor reportedly reached full operational capacity, marking an important milestone in advanced reactor development.

While thorium technology is promoted as safer and more sustainable than conventional uranium cycles, its geopolitical significance may ultimately matter more than its technical characteristics.

If China becomes the first major exporter of commercially viable thorium reactors, Beijing could gain substantial influence over future nuclear technology standards across parts of the developing world.

Southeast Asia’s Balancing Strategy

Still, portraying Southeast Asian states merely as passive recipients of Chinese influence oversimplifies regional realities. Many governments are seeking external partnerships to accelerate domestic technological learning and industrial capacity building.

Thailand provides one example. In 2015, Ratchaburi Electricity Generating Holding acquired a 10% stake in two Hualong One reactors at Fangchenggang in Guangxi province, while Chinese firms simultaneously trained Thai nuclear professionals. This cooperation later helped underpin the 2025 China-Thailand memorandum on peaceful nuclear energy cooperation.

Importantly, China itself followed a similar developmental path. Beijing’s modern nuclear industry was built partly through technological absorption from Canadian, French, Russian and American systems before China eventually developed reactors with largely indigenous intellectual property rights.

Southeast Asian states may now attempt a comparable strategy by leveraging foreign partnerships initially while gradually building domestic expertise, regulatory capacity and industrial capability.

The challenge will be maintaining diversification. If regional governments become overly dependent on any single supplier – whether China, Russia or the West – strategic flexibility could narrow significantly over time.

Southeast Asia’s nuclear revival is no longer solely about decarbonization or electricity generation. It is increasingly tied to industrial competitiveness, technological sovereignty, AI infrastructure expansion and geopolitical positioning.

For China, reactor exports strengthen industrial reach, expand geopolitical influence and reinforce Beijing’s image as a provider of advanced technological solutions for the developing world.

For Southeast Asian governments, Chinese nuclear cooperation offers financing, rapid deployment and industrial learning opportunities that many competitors currently struggle to match.

The countries that dominate Southeast Asia’s future nuclear infrastructure may ultimately shape the Indo-Pacific balance of technological influence for the rest of the century.

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Saima Afzal is a researcher specializing in South Asian security, counterterrorism, and broader geopolitical dynamics across the Middle East, Afghanistan, and the Indo-Pacific. Her work examines strategic affairs and evolving patterns of regional conflict. She is currently a Research Scholar at Justus Liebig University, Germany.

Featured image: Construction site of Huanglong One unit 4 in Zhangzhou, East China’s Fujian Province, September 27, 2024. Photo: Global Times

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The Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (MGNREGA) which for nearly two decades provided a solid foundation to India’s rural employment policy, has now been replaced by the Viksit Bharat  Rozgar Aur Ajeevika Mission (Gramin) Guarantee Adhiniyam, 2025, known as the VB-GRAM JI Act.

This new law is set to come into force across all states and union territories of the country from 1 July 2026, and MGNREGA will officially stand repealed. While tabling the bill in Parliament, Union Rural Development Minister Shivraj Singh Chouhan stated that the guiding intent behind this change was to address the structural flaws in MGNREGA and transform it into a modern, implementable, and integrated employment guarantee.

However, the most significant and troubling change that stands out in this new law is the silent dismantling of the rights-based entitlement that guaranteed rural households 100 days of unskilled employment. According to experts, MGNREGA was not merely an instrument for fulfilling the right to work embedded in the Directive Principles of the Indian Constitution, it was also an important vehicle for mobilising resources to strengthen the livelihoods of the rural poor. On the other side, some argue that MGNREGA amounted to avoidable waste of resources. The principal opposition party, the Congress, has already announced its intention to rally against the new law and demand the restoration of MGNREGA. Members of the opposition raised fierce objections in Parliament to the provisions making this a supply-driven scheme and imposing a 40 percent expenditure burden on states, causing considerable uproar in the House.

Before examining the core provisions of the law, it is necessary to scrutinise the manner in which it was passed. The Lok Sabha approved the bill on 16 December 2025, and presidential assent was obtained within just three days. This haste is truly astonishing, especially given how wide-ranging the economic and administrative consequences of this law are going to be. This is a matter of particular concern for state governments, which carry the primary responsibility for implementing employment guarantee programmes. No prior consultation was held with the states before the bill was introduced, a fact that raises serious questions about the central government’s commitment to cooperative federalism. After the law came into existence, the Rural Development Minister dismissed claims of undue haste and insisted that extensive consultations had taken place with state governments, but no public record of these consultations is available. The law was also not referred to any standing committee or Joint Parliamentary Committee a long-standing convention for major legislative reforms.

Critics argue that the new law converts a statutory employment guarantee into a centrally-sponsored scheme that offers no legal guarantee whatsoever. Their concerns stem from six key provisions. Under Section 4(5), the statutory employment guarantee of MGNREGA is converted into an annually allocated, centrally-sponsored scheme, and the central government is given the authority to determine state-wise allocations each year. Section 5(1) empowers the centre to notify the rural areas where the guarantee will apply, effectively ending the universal eligibility that was the hallmark of MGNREGA. Section 22(2) raises the states’ share of expenditure from 10 percent to 40 percent, although for north-eastern and Himalayan states the ratio will remain 90:10. Section 22(4) replaces MGNREGA’s funding mechanism with a standard allocation determined by the centre. Critics contend that this transforms a rights-based, demand-driven entitlement into a supply-constrained, allocation-based programme. The new law removes the provision for year-round employment in response to local demand, and under Sections 6(1) and 6(2), work is restricted to only 60 days during the peak agricultural season.

It is true that not all of these changes are entirely new. For instance, the central government’s power to notify areas under Section 5(1) is a verbatim reproduction of Section 3(1) of MGNREGA, which was included for phased implementation  with the intent that the entire country would be covered within five years of the law coming into force. The new law, however, carries no commitment to universal coverage within any fixed timeline. The concern that employment guarantee under VB-GRAM JI will not remain universal is therefore not without basis. With no publicly declared criteria for which areas are to be included, the law offers very little protection against arbitrary or politically motivated exclusions.

The law also caps states’ entitlement through standard allocations to be determined by criteria set by the central government. This provision appears to be an attempt to address an old flaw in MGNREGA, the tendency for expenditure to lean towards states with comparatively lower rural poverty. Evidence shows that the share of expenditure by high-poverty states and the actual incidence of poverty among them did not correspond  spending depended largely on a state’s capacity to generate demand and the environment for translating that demand into action. But this imbalance was not merely a function of financing  it also reflected the severe lack of administrative capacity in high-poverty states. Unless sustained investment is made in strengthening state-level capacity, increasing the share of poorer states through standard allocations is unlikely to improve matters. Wealthier states will see their allocations reduced, while poorer states will remain unable to utilise their increased shares  the likely outcome being a broad decline in both the coverage and expenditure of the employment guarantee programme.

Raising the states’ expenditure share from 10 percent to 40 percent poses even greater challenges. For many large states in western and southern India, this amounts to a double blow limited central allocation compounded by a heavier fiscal burden. Estimates suggest that if the 60:40 cost-sharing formula had been applied in the financial year 2025, states would collectively have had to bear an additional burden of ₹31,000 crore. Uttar Pradesh alone would have had to contribute ₹4,230 crore more, Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu each over ₹3,000 crore, and Bihar and Madhya Pradesh would each have had to pay more than ₹2,500 crore additionally. It is difficult to justify imposing such massive financial obligations on states without prior consultation.

Yet it may be difficult for states to simply dismiss this new formula as impractical, given that they themselves are spending heavily on direct benefit schemes such as unconditional cash transfers to women. According to data from PRS India, 12 states have budgeted ₹1,68,040 crore for the financial year 2026 for cash transfer schemes targeted exclusively at women. Bihar too, on the eve of its recently concluded assembly elections, spent ₹2,500 crore on an unconditional cash transfer scheme for women under the name ‘Das Hazari’.

The question of whether it is justified to mandatorily shut down the programme during the busiest months of the agricultural calendar is also an important one. During the drafting stage of the 2005 Act, a similar provision from the Maharashtra Employment Guarantee Act, 1977 was considered and rejected after deliberation. Policymakers at the time acknowledged that the availability of a public employment alternative like MGNREGA even during the crop season served as a powerful disciplining force to ensure that agricultural labourers received at least the statutory minimum wage. Economist Karthik Muralidharan, in his 2024 book Accelerating India’s Development, noted that MGNREGA’s most significant impact was not only on the wages of MGNREGA workers themselves, but on the indirect increase in wages of all rural labourers. Removing this public alternative risks leaving rural labour-dependent households defenceless before the monopsonistic power of large landowners. Moreover, the evidence that MGNREGA significantly disrupted the supply of agricultural labour is mixed  the peak sowing and harvesting months account for only 15 percent of total MGNREGA person-days. A blanket two-month suspension was therefore neither necessary nor wise.

The minister has highlighted certain features of the new law. The minimum guaranteed employment period per household has been raised from 100 to 125 days. Works have been categorised under four broad themes water security, basic rural infrastructure, livelihood-related assets, and climate-disaster protection. A provision has been made to direct more resources towards states with higher rural poverty. Rules relating to unemployment allowance and delayed payment of wages have been made stricter. The use of digital tools such as biometric identification, geospatial planning, mobile applications, dashboards, and artificial intelligence-based fraud detection has been made mandatory. Some of these changes are thoughtful, while many are largely symbolic. The decision to raise the guaranteed employment days to 125 is the best example of this. Audits by the Comptroller and Auditor General have revealed that actual employment generation under MGNREGA was far lower in practice  declining from 54 days in one year to 43 days in another. Between financial years 2007 and 2025, average employment remained between 46 and 50 days, and one study found that only 7 to 12 percent of households actually received the full 100 days of work. Raising the ceiling to 125 days is therefore unlikely to change outcomes in the short term. The reclassification of permissible works under four themes is appropriate but not transformative. Whether explicitly stating expected outcomes in the law will improve implementation quality depends not on its design but on its actual execution. On the other hand, removing the disqualification condition for unemployment allowance and introducing parallel evaluation processes are genuinely welcome changes.

The mandatory use of digital tools is more contentious. Many of these systems are already in place through executive orders. Activists and researchers familiar with ground-level implementation have raised questions about the effectiveness of the National Mobile Monitoring System app used for attendance verification. Digital tools can improve transparency, but only when safeguards exist to ensure that the rights of those without digital access are not undermined.

Critics of MGNREGA have identified four long-standing structural weaknesses in its implementation  repeatedly flagged by the Comptroller and Auditor General as well. These are the consistently poor performance of Bihar, Maharashtra, and Uttar Pradesh, which together account for 46 percent of rural poor; concerns about the quality of assets created; delays in wage payment; and corruption through fake job cards, inflated measurements, and the use of machinery. The first problem is sought to be addressed directly through standard allocations, but this will not be sufficient unless sustained efforts are made to strengthen administrative capacity in poorer states. Concerns about asset quality, while valid, are often overstated. A 2018 study by the Institute of Economic Growth  based on fieldwork across 30 districts in 21 states  found that 76 percent of surveyed households rated asset quality as good or very good, while only 0.5 percent described it as unsatisfactory.

On the issue of delayed wage payments, the new law has included a set of provisions in Schedule II making payment within 15 days mandatory  which is essentially a replication of the existing guidelines of the Ministry of Rural Development. Whether merely giving statutory status to these provisions, without any change in the underlying processes, will actually stop delays remains uncertain. The new framework places heavy reliance on technology-driven monitoring and social audit to curb corruption and leakages. Experience, however, counsels caution  despite its conceptual strength, social audit has never been fully or consistently implemented across all states, and its impact has remained uneven.

Beyond these implementation concerns lies a broader and more fundamental question  should rural livelihood security in Viksit Bharat@2047 continue to rest primarily on unskilled manual labour? Viewed from this lens, the VB-GRAM JI Act does not appear forward-looking. It largely ignores the growing employment potential of the rural services sector, particularly the care economy. Creches to enable women’s participation in the workforce, trained manpower for an ageing population, and systematic skills development of the rural workforce to enhance productivity and expand opportunities are equally essential. A reimagined employment guarantee scheme could have incorporated these emerging forms of labour within its ambit. The failure to do so represents a major missed opportunity  and in the ongoing debate over the VB-GRAM JI Act, this deserves to be spoken about far more prominently.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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An invisible enemy has now made its home on farmlands across the world and that enemy is the raging fury of rising temperatures. The picture painted by the jointly published report “Extreme Heat and Agriculture” by the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) and the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) is not merely alarming it is directly linked to human existence itself. The livelihoods, health, and labour of more than one billion people are becoming entangled in the grip of this devastating heat. Over the past 50 years, the frequency, intensity, and duration of extreme heat events have all increased rapidly, and there is every indication that this crisis will deepen further in the times ahead.

FAO Director-General Qu Dongyu, while describing this situation, used the term “risk multiplier” meaning a condition that does not wound just one sector alone, but simultaneously injures agriculture, animal husbandry, fisheries, forest resources, and the social systems dependent upon them, all at once. The Secretary-General of WMO also stated clearly that it is now heat itself that is deciding how farming will happen, where it will happen, and how much will happen. This is a crisis that pushes already vulnerable communities even deeper into the pit.

The impact on agriculture is not merely temporary. Once temperatures cross thirty degrees Celsius, the productivity of most major crops begins to fall. For some crops like potato, the adverse effects begin at even lower temperatures. Speaking of livestock, once temperatures rise above 25 degrees, most animals begin experiencing “heat stress,” which reduces milk production and has long-term consequences on their overall health. For poultry and pigs, this threshold is even lower. The situation for fish in the oceans is no different in warmer water, oxygen levels drop and their survival becomes difficult. In 2025, marine heat waves were recorded across more than ninety percent of the world’s oceans this single figure is enough to convey the scale of this crisis.

The impact on agricultural labourers is direct. In South Asia and many other regions, there may be nearly 250 days in a year when working under the open sun could be life-threatening. Moreover, heat is not the only crisis it also accelerates water scarcity, sudden droughts, forest fires, and the spread of pests and diseases. A global study conducted by scientists affiliated with the University of British Columbia has laid out this crisis even more clearly. They closely studied the year-on-year changes in the production of three important crops maize, soybean, and sorghum. The findings are startling for every one degree Celsius rise in global temperature, volatility in maize production increases by seven percent, in soybean by 19 percent, and in sorghum by ten percent. These are not mere numbers for a farmer, one bad season means the difference between family prosperity and poverty. Dr. Jonathan Proctor put it precisely: a farmer does not live on average output but on the actual harvest of each year. One bad season is enough to push him into financial ruin.

The relationship between the intensity of temperature rise and its consequences is not linear it is geometric. If temperatures rise by just two degrees Celsius, then soybean crops that were destroyed once in a hundred years will now be destroyed once in 25 years. Maize crops could face crisis once in 49 years and sorghum once in 54 years. If atmospheric emissions are not controlled, by the end of the century soybean crops could be devastated once every eight years a picture that is terrifying from the perspective of food security. It must be understood that agriculture is not merely a farmer’s issue. As Dr. Proctor says not everyone farms, but everyone needs to eat. When production becomes volatile, its ripple spreads across global markets, prices rise, and the common person’s plate begins to go empty. An example of this is the 2012 drought in the American Midwest maize and soybean production fell by twenty percent, the American economy suffered a blow of billions of dollars, and food prices in global markets rose by ten percent.

The epicentre of this crisis, however, lies in the most deprived continent. Countries in sub-Saharan Africa, Central America, and South Asia are at the greatest risk because here farming is rain-dependent, irrigation facilities are absent, and the economic safety net is frayed. Where irrigation is available, volatility reduces to some extent, but it is in the most dangerous regions that water scarcity is the greatest this is a vicious cycle from which escape is not as easy as it appears.

Speaking of India specifically, the reality presented by the “Weathering the Storm” report by IPE Global and ESRI India is deeply troubling. By 2030, extreme rainfall events in the country could increase by forty-three percent and heat wave days could become two and a half times more frequent. It has been projected that in major cities like Mumbai, Delhi, Chennai, Hyderabad, and Patna, heat wave days will double. Between 1993 and 2024, the number of extremely hot days during summer (March to September) in India has increased 15-fold and in just the last ten years, this figure has reached 19-fold. Serious threats loom over agricultural production in many districts such as Darjeeling, Salem, Hassan, and Chikmagalur. In states like Gujarat, Rajasthan, Maharashtra, Uttar Pradesh, Odisha, and Uttarakhand, both heat waves and extreme rainfall are projected to converge simultaneously, and it is estimated that by 2030, more than 80 percent of the districts in these states will be affected.

There is a separate dimension to this situation that is often overlooked and that is the interrelationship between heat and extreme rainfall. Where heat waves are more intense, irregular and sudden heavy rainfall has also been found to be greater. Prolonged heat disrupts weather cycles, and from this, torrential and uncontrolled rain is born. In addition to this, changes in land use, deforestation, and encroachment upon mangroves these factors affecting local climates create further complications.

As solutions to all of this, experts suggest several measures selection of heat-tolerant crops, changes in sowing schedules, improved agricultural management, early warning systems, and financial protection measures such as crop insurance. For India specifically, the recommendation has been made to establish systems like a “Climate Risk Observatory” that will monitor climate hazards in real time. There is also a suggestion to appoint “Heat Champions” at the district level to deal with heat waves.

But beyond all these measures, there is one solution that is fundamental and unavoidable halting global warming, which means imposing strict cuts on emissions. Local measures, however important, prove insufficient as long as radical changes are not made at the global level in emission policies. Showing the courage to move away from high-emission models of development, increasing international cooperation, and working on risk-sharing policies only when all of these come together will it be possible to overcome this crisis.

The future of food does not belong only to farmers it belongs to all of us. When standing crops in the fields are scorched by the sun, the impact begins from the farmer’s home and reaches all the way to global markets. In this interconnected world, ignoring the shadow of heat is like striking a blow at one’s own plate. There is still time but it is passing swiftly, and it is essential that this be understood.

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Click the share button below to email/forward this article. Follow us on Instagram and X and subscribe to our Telegram Channel. Feel free to repost Global Research articles with proper attribution.

Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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In the halls of the Philippine Senate and the House of Representatives, a long-standing assumption persists: that the people best suited to craft laws are lawyers. Today, both chambers of Congress are heavily dominated by legislators with legal training. Their expertise is undeniably valuable, especially in interpreting statutes, refining legislative language, and ensuring constitutional compliance. Yet an important question remains: should the making of laws be entrusted primarily to those trained only in the practice of law? 

An increasing number of observers argue that the “lawyerization” of Congress may unintentionally limit the nation’s political imagination. When legislative bodies become overly concentrated with legal professionals, policymaking can drift toward technical precision while losing sight of broader human realities. The law may become correct in form yet insufficient in spirit.

Lawyers are trained to analyze precedent, defend positions, and operate within established legal frameworks. These skills are essential for maintaining order and consistency. However, the role of a legislator requires more than technical mastery. Legislators are not merely custodians of existing rules; they are architects of society. They are called to envision the kind of nation people aspire to build. 

A country does not progress through legality alone. It progresses through wisdom, moral imagination, and a deep understanding of human needs. 

The Limits of Legalism

Legal thinking plays an essential role in the legislative process. Lawyers are trained to value procedure, precision, constitutional interpretation, and careful statutory analysis. These qualities are indispensable in drafting laws that are coherent, enforceable, and consistent with constitutional principles. They help ensure that legislation protects rights, maintains institutional stability, and operates within the rule of law. However, when legal reasoning becomes the dominant framework within legislatures, it can also narrow political imagination and weaken responsiveness to the broader social realities laws are meant to address.

Legalism in legislation tends to prioritize what is technically permissible over what is morally necessary. A bill may satisfy constitutional standards, survive judicial scrutiny, and adhere to established legislative procedures, yet still fail to confront the deeper injustices experienced by ordinary citizens. Laws can be formally valid while remaining socially inadequate. Throughout history, many systems of inequality endured not because they lacked legal legitimacy, but because legislators interpreted legality too narrowly to address structural injustice. In this sense, technical legality alone cannot serve as the highest measure of effective legislation.

An excessive reliance on legal reasoning can also distance legislators from the lived experiences of the people they represent. Lawyers are trained to analyze issues through precedent, statutory language, procedural frameworks, and institutional constraints. While this analytical discipline is valuable, legislation requires more than technical interpretation. It also demands empathy, imagination, and an understanding of how laws affect communities in practical and human terms. Citizens do not experience legislation as abstract legal doctrine; they experience it through wages, healthcare, housing, education, public safety, and opportunities for dignity in everyday life. A law crafted primarily for technical efficiency may overlook the human consequences it creates.

Moreover, excessive legalism within legislatures can encourage caution at the expense of meaningful reform. Because legal training often emphasizes risk avoidance, procedural correctness, and incremental change, legislative bodies may become hesitant to pursue bold solutions to urgent social problems. Challenges such as poverty, inequality, environmental degradation, labor exploitation, and systemic discrimination frequently require imaginative and interdisciplinary responses. If lawmakers approach every issue primarily as a technical legal question, legislative debates may become more concerned with procedural compliance than with achieving substantive justice or long-term social improvement.

This critique is not an argument against lawyers serving in Congress or participating in legislative life. Their expertise remains essential in drafting legislation, interpreting constitutional boundaries, and maintaining institutional integrity. Democracies need legislators who understand legal systems and the complexities of statutory language. The concern arises only when one professional perspective becomes disproportionately dominant within the legislative process. A legislature composed too heavily of lawyers risks developing a narrow approach to lawmaking, one that privileges legal technicalities over broader social insight and practical human experience.

A healthy legislature benefits from diversity not only in ideology or demographic background, but also in professional experience and intellectual orientation. Teachers, scientists, entrepreneurs, healthcare workers, labor leaders, social workers, farmers, artists, and community organizers each contribute forms of knowledge that legal training alone cannot provide. Different professions encounter society from different vantage points, allowing legislation to become more grounded, creative, and responsive to the realities of everyday life. Broader representation within Congress encourages laws that are not only legally sound, but also socially informed and morally attentive.

Legislation should aspire to more than procedural correctness. Laws are not merely technical instruments of regulation; they are expressions of a society’s moral priorities and collective vision. Effective legislatures function best when legal expertise is balanced with practical wisdom, ethical reflection, and genuine engagement with the lives of ordinary people. A legislative culture dominated solely by legalism risks reducing lawmaking to technical administration rather than democratic problem-solving. A stronger Congress requires lawmakers capable not only of interpreting legal principles, but also of understanding human realities, confronting injustice, and crafting laws that advance the common good.

The Four Pillars of a Visionary Legislator 

To genuinely serve a diverse and evolving nation, lawmakers must cultivate qualities that transcend technical expertise. Four principles are especially important. 

1. Profound Social Justice

A great legislator must ask not only, “Is this legal?” but also, “Is this just?” Legality and justice are not always identical. A law may conform to constitutional standards and procedural requirements while still failing to address the inequalities and hardships experienced by vulnerable communities. True statesmanship requires the moral imagination to recognize that the purpose of law extends beyond maintaining order or preserving institutional stability. Laws should serve as instruments of fairness, dignity, and human flourishing.

Public office carries a responsibility not merely to govern efficiently, but to confront the structural conditions that prevent citizens from living with equality and opportunity. Poverty, discrimination, unemployment, unequal access to education, and social exclusion are not isolated personal failures; they are often the consequences of deeper systemic forces embedded within society. Effective legislation therefore demands an awareness of how economic and political systems affect ordinary people differently depending on their class, race, gender, disability, or social background. Without such awareness, policymakers risk creating laws that appear neutral in theory while reinforcing inequality in practice.

A commitment to profound social justice requires lawmakers to listen carefully to the voices that are frequently ignored or underrepresented. Marginalized communities often experience government in ways that differ sharply from those in positions of privilege. For the poor, the law may appear not as protection, but as bureaucracy, exclusion, or indifference. For minorities facing discrimination, formal equality under the law may not erase unequal treatment in everyday life. Legislators who are genuinely committed to justice must therefore move beyond abstract legal principles and engage directly with the realities faced by those at the margins of society.

This perspective also demands empathy as a political virtue. Good legislation cannot emerge solely from statistics, legal briefs, or administrative reports. It must be informed by human experience. A policymaker who understands the anxiety of unemployment, the insecurity of inadequate healthcare, or the humiliation of social exclusion is more likely to craft laws that respond meaningfully to public needs. Justice requires not only intellectual analysis but also moral sensitivity — the ability to recognize suffering and respond with compassion and responsibility.

Furthermore, profound social justice recognizes that neutrality alone is insufficient in unequal societies. Governments cannot simply treat all citizens identically while ignoring historical disadvantages and structural barriers. In many cases, justice requires active measures to expand opportunity, protect vulnerable groups, and correct imbalances of power. Policies concerning education, labor rights, healthcare, housing, and social welfare should not be viewed merely as administrative concerns, but as moral commitments to creating a more equitable society.

This does not mean abandoning the rule of law or constitutional principles. Rather, it means understanding that law should be guided by ethical purpose. The legitimacy of democratic institutions depends not only on procedural correctness but also on their ability to improve human lives. A society that values justice must evaluate laws not simply by whether they are enforceable, but by whether they advance human dignity and reduce unnecessary suffering.

Profound social justice calls for a broader vision of governance  that combines legal knowledge with moral courage and social awareness. The best legislators are not only skilled interpreters of statutes and constitutions; they are advocates for human dignity. They recognize that democracy is strongest when its institutions serve all citizens, especially those who have historically been neglected, excluded, or silenced. In this sense, justice is not an abstract ideal separate from governance. It is the very measure by which democratic leadership should be judged.

2. The Sanctity of Human Life

At the heart of every democratic society lies a fundamental principle: the human person possesses inherent dignity and worth. Public policy, regardless of its complexity or technical sophistication, should ultimately be evaluated according to how it affects human life and well-being. Governments may pursue economic growth, institutional efficiency, and political stability, but these goals lose their moral legitimacy when they disregard the welfare of the people they are meant to serve. A society cannot call itself truly just if progress is achieved at the expense of human dignity.

Economic development is often treated as the primary measure of national success. Rising gross domestic product, expanding industries, and improved fiscal performance are frequently celebrated as signs of effective governance. While these indicators are important, they are incomplete if ordinary citizens continue to suffer from poverty, hunger, inadequate healthcare, unsafe working conditions, or social neglect. Economic systems exist to improve human life, not the other way around. Growth that benefits only a privileged few while leaving vulnerable populations behind cannot be considered genuine progress. Legislators must therefore ensure that economic policies remain connected to the broader moral purpose of promoting human flourishing.

Similarly, administrative efficiency should never become an excuse for indifference toward individual suffering. Bureaucracies are designed to organize public services and maintain order, but when institutions become overly focused on procedure and convenience, they risk treating people as statistics rather than as human beings. Policies may appear efficient on paper while producing harmful consequences in practice. A healthcare system that prioritizes cost reduction over patient care, or a welfare system that burdens struggling families with unnecessary obstacles, may satisfy administrative goals while undermining human dignity. Legislators must resist the temptation to value institutional convenience more highly than the lives affected by public decisions.

The sanctity of human life also demands moral courage in policymaking. Difficult political decisions often involve competing interests, financial limitations, and ideological pressures. In such situations, lawmakers must possess the ethical clarity to remember that every policy affects real people with real vulnerabilities. Decisions concerning healthcare, labor protections, housing, education, criminal justice, and environmental regulation are not merely technical debates; they are questions about the quality and value of human life. Responsible leadership requires sensitivity to the consequences of legislation on families, workers, children, the elderly, and marginalized communities.

Moreover, recognizing the sanctity of human life means affirming that every individual deserves respect regardless of social status, wealth, ethnicity, religion, gender, or political belief. Democratic governments exist not only to preserve institutions, but also to protect the equal dignity of all citizens. Laws that tolerate exploitation, neglect, or dehumanization weaken the moral foundation of society itself. A government that truly values human life seeks to create conditions in which people can live securely, participate meaningfully in society, and pursue lives of dignity and opportunity.

This principle becomes especially important during times of crisis. In periods of economic hardship, conflict, public health emergencies, or political instability, governments may be tempted to prioritize order, productivity, or national interests over individual welfare. Yet the true test of democratic leadership lies precisely in whether it continues to protect human dignity under pressure. Legislators must be willing to defend the vulnerable even when doing so is politically difficult or economically inconvenient. Moral leadership requires more than technical competence; it requires compassion, conscience, and a deep respect for the value of every human life.

The sanctity of human life should serve as the moral compass of public policy. Laws and institutions are not ends in themselves; they are instruments created to serve people. A humane society measures success not only by wealth or efficiency, but by the extent to which it safeguards dignity, reduces suffering, and enables individuals to live meaningful and secure lives. Legislators who understand this principle recognize that governance is not merely about managing systems but about protecting and honoring humanity itself as well.

3. Responsible Freedom

Freedom is often understood simply as the absence of restraint, i.e., the ability to act without interference from government or other individuals. While this negative conception of liberty is important, it is incomplete. True freedom is not merely the removal of restrictions; it is the presence of meaningful opportunities that allow individuals to develop their abilities, pursue their aspirations, and participate fully in society. A person cannot be considered genuinely free if poverty, discrimination, ignorance, or social exclusion deprive them of the capacity to live with dignity and purpose.

Responsible lawmakers recognize that liberty must be connected to human development. Political rights such as freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and freedom of association are essential foundations of democracy, but these rights have limited value when citizens lack access to education, healthcare, employment, or social security. Freedom becomes meaningful only when individuals possess the practical conditions necessary to exercise their rights effectively. A society committed to liberty must therefore invest not only in protecting civil freedoms, but also in creating social and economic conditions that allow all people to flourish.

This understanding of freedom rejects the idea that democracy should be built solely on radical individualism. Human beings do not exist in isolation; they live within families, communities, and institutions that shape their opportunities and responsibilities. Every exercise of freedom affects others. For this reason, rights must always be balanced with obligations toward the broader community. Freedom without responsibility can devolve into selfishness, social fragmentation, or the abuse of power. Democratic societies remain stable not because individuals pursue only personal interest, but because citizens recognize their shared duties to one another.

Wise legislators therefore understand the importance of the common good. The role of government is not simply to protect individual autonomy in the abstract, but also to preserve the social conditions that allow liberty to exist for everyone. Laws concerning public health, education, labor protections, environmental sustainability, and public safety often require balancing personal freedoms with collective welfare. Such measures are not necessarily attacks on liberty; in many cases, they are essential to ensuring that freedom remains accessible, secure, and meaningful for the entire population rather than only for the privileged or powerful.

Responsible freedom also requires civic virtue. Democracies depend not only on constitutions and institutions, but also on the character of citizens themselves. A free society can endure only when individuals are willing to participate constructively in public life, respect the rights of others, and contribute to the well-being of their communities. Voting, civic engagement, public dialogue, and respect for democratic norms are responsibilities that sustain political freedom across generations. When citizens become indifferent to these obligations, democratic institutions weaken and social trust begins to erode.

Moreover, lawmakers must recognize that unrestricted power, whether exercised by the state, corporations, or individuals,  can threaten freedom itself. Economic inequality, disinformation, exploitation, and social injustice can create conditions in which formal liberties exist in theory but remain inaccessible in practice for many citizens. Protecting freedom therefore requires vigilance against systems that concentrate power in ways that undermine equal opportunity and democratic participation. Responsible governance seeks to create a society in which liberty is not merely a privilege enjoyed by a few, but a lived reality shared by all.

Responsible freedom is grounded in the understanding that liberty and responsibility are inseparable. A democratic society flourishes when citizens are empowered to pursue their own aspirations while remaining conscious of their obligations to others. Freedom is not diminished by solidarity, compassion, or public responsibility; rather, these values strengthen the moral foundations upon which genuine liberty depends. The best legislators understand that democracy succeeds not through unchecked individualism, but through a culture of mutual accountability, shared dignity, and commitment to the common good.

4. Empowering Creative Talents

The ultimate purpose of governance should not be limited to maintaining order, collecting taxes, or administering institutions. At its highest level, the government exists to create the conditions in which human beings can realize their fullest potential. A nation advances not only through economic growth or political stability, but through the creativity, intelligence, and aspirations of its people. Societies flourish when citizens are encouraged to think freely, innovate boldly, and contribute meaningfully to the common good. Effective governance therefore requires more than regulation; it requires the active cultivation of human talent.

Every individual possesses abilities that, when properly developed, can enrich society in countless ways. Scientists expand knowledge and solve practical problems. Entrepreneurs create opportunities and drive economic development. Artists and writers preserve culture, challenge assumptions, and deepen human understanding. Educators shape future generations, while skilled workers and professionals sustain the everyday functions of society. A healthy democracy recognizes that national progress depends on empowering people across all fields of endeavor, not merely on protecting institutions or preserving existing systems of power.

Education is central to this vision. Genuine freedom and opportunity cannot exist when citizens are denied access to quality learning. Schools and universities should not merely train individuals for employment; they should cultivate curiosity, critical thinking, creativity, and civic responsibility. A society that neglects education limits the potential of its people and weakens its future capacity for innovation and leadership. Legislators therefore have a responsibility to ensure that educational systems remain accessible, inclusive, and capable of nurturing both intellectual and moral development.

Scientific inquiry and technological innovation must also be supported as essential pillars of national advancement. Progress in medicine, engineering, environmental sustainability, and digital technology has transformed human life and expanded the possibilities available to society. Yet innovation thrives only in environments where intellectual freedom, research funding, and open inquiry are protected. Governments that invest in science and research are investing not merely in economic competitiveness, but in the long-term well-being and resilience of their citizens. Wise legislation encourages discovery while ensuring that technological progress remains guided by ethical responsibility and public benefit.

At the same time, a truly flourishing society must value culture and the arts alongside economic and scientific achievement. Artistic expression is not a luxury separate from public life; it is a reflection of a nation’s identity, imagination, and humanity. Literature, music, theater, visual arts, and cultural traditions help societies understand themselves and preserve the stories, values, and experiences that bind communities together. Support for the arts enriches public discourse, encourages empathy, and inspires citizens to think beyond immediate material concerns. A government that neglects culture risks creating a society that is materially advanced yet spiritually impoverished.

Entrepreneurship and economic creativity are equally important in empowering citizens. Individuals should have opportunities not only to seek employment, but also to create, innovate, and build institutions of their own. Small businesses, startups, cooperatives, and community enterprises often serve as engines of local development and social mobility. Effective legislation should therefore reduce unnecessary barriers to innovation while ensuring that economic systems remain fair and accessible. Policies that encourage creativity, reward initiative, and expand opportunity can unleash the productive energies of an entire population.

Empowering creative talents also requires lawmakers to recognize the importance of social conditions that allow individuals to pursue their aspirations. Creativity struggles to flourish where poverty, insecurity, discrimination, or political repression dominate public life. Citizens who are burdened by hunger, fear, or exclusion are often denied the freedom to explore their abilities fully. Governance must therefore address not only economic growth, but also the broader social foundations of human development,  including healthcare, social protection, equal opportunity, and civil liberties.

Effective legislation should aspire to inspire rather than merely control. Laws should not exist solely to regulate behavior or preserve administrative order; they should help create a society in which human potential can thrive. The true measure of a government is not only the efficiency of its institutions, but the extent to which it enables people to live creative, meaningful, and dignified lives. A nation reaches its highest possibilities when it empowers its citizens not simply to survive, but to imagine, create, and contribute to the progress of humanity itself.

Why Philosophers Matter in Congress

Among the many professional backgrounds that should be represented in a healthy democracy, philosophers would bring a particularly valuable perspective to legislative life. Philosophers are trained not merely to discuss abstract theories, but to examine the deepest ethical foundations of society itself. Their discipline encourages rigorous reflection on questions that lie at the heart of democratic governance: What is justice? What obligations do citizens owe one another? What are the limits of state power? What does freedom truly mean? How should society balance individual rights with the common good? These are not purely academic concerns. They are questions that shape every major political decision and every enduring social institution.

Modern legislatures often operate within environments dominated by legal technicalities, partisan conflict, media pressures, and short-term political calculations. Policymaking can easily become focused on immediate electoral gains, procedural maneuvering, or narrow administrative concerns. In such a climate, there is a danger that deeper moral reflection is pushed aside. Philosophers can help counter this tendency by encouraging lawmakers to think beyond immediate expediency and consider the broader ethical implications of legislation. They are trained to identify hidden assumptions, clarify concepts, and evaluate whether policies are consistent with the values a democratic society claims to uphold.

One of the greatest strengths philosophers bring to governance is their capacity for critical thinking. Philosophical training develops habits of questioning that are essential for democratic deliberation. Philosophers do not simply accept prevailing assumptions because they are politically convenient or socially popular. Instead, they ask whether those assumptions are coherent, justified, and morally defensible. In legislative settings, this capacity can help prevent public policy from becoming trapped in unexamined traditions, ideological rigidity, or superficial rhetoric. Philosophers can challenge lawmakers to explain not only how policies function, but why they are ethically justified.

Philosophers are also uniquely equipped to analyze the moral consequences of political decisions. Every law reflects an underlying vision of human values and social priorities. Decisions regarding healthcare, education, economic inequality, criminal justice, environmental policy, and technological regulation are never morally neutral. They involve judgments about fairness, responsibility, human dignity, and the distribution of opportunity. Philosophers can contribute by helping legislatures think carefully about the ethical trade-offs involved in policymaking and by ensuring that public debates remain connected to deeper principles rather than mere political advantage.

In addition, philosophers often bring a long-range perspective that is frequently absent in contemporary politics. Electoral cycles and partisan competition can encourage short-term thinking, with lawmakers prioritizing immediate popularity over long-term societal well-being. Philosophical inquiry, by contrast, encourages reflection across generations. It asks not only what policies are beneficial today, but what kind of society current laws are shaping for the future. Philosophers can therefore contribute a broader civilizational perspective, helping legislatures consider how present decisions affect future citizens, democratic culture, environmental sustainability, and social cohesion.

The importance of philosophical insight in politics is not a new idea. Many of history’s most influential political thinkers understood that governance is fundamentally a moral endeavor as well as a legal and institutional one. Political systems are not sustained solely by constitutions, regulations, or economic structures; they are sustained by ideas about justice, human nature, civic virtue, and the common good. Philosophical reflection has historically shaped democratic ideals, human rights traditions, theories of liberty, and conceptions of social responsibility. To exclude philosophical perspectives from legislative life would therefore be to neglect one of the deepest intellectual resources available to democratic societies.

At the same time, philosophers should not replace lawyers, economists, scientists, or other professionals in public office. Rather, their value lies in complementing these perspectives within a broader and more balanced democratic institution. Lawyers contribute legal expertise and institutional knowledge. Scientists provide empirical understanding and technical insight. Educators understand the realities of learning and social development. Farmers and laborers bring awareness of economic and rural concerns. Entrepreneurs contribute knowledge of innovation and commerce. Artists and cultural workers enrich public understanding of identity and imagination. Community organizers understand local struggles and grassroots realities. Philosophers add another essential dimension: ethical reflection and moral reasoning.

A Congress composed of individuals from diverse intellectual and professional backgrounds would be better equipped to confront the complexity of modern governance. Contemporary societies face challenges that are not merely legal or technical, but deeply ethical and human. Questions surrounding artificial intelligence, biotechnology, economic inequality, climate change, social fragmentation, and democratic decline cannot be solved through procedural expertise alone. They require wisdom, moral clarity, and the ability to think critically about the direction of society itself.

Philosophers matter in Congress because democracy requires more than efficient administration or legal compliance. It requires thoughtful reflection on the values that should guide public life. A legislature enriched by philosophical voices would be more capable of examining not only what policies are possible, but what policies are right. By encouraging deeper deliberation about justice, responsibility, freedom, and human dignity, philosophers can help ensure that governance remains connected to the ethical purposes that give democracy its legitimacy and meaning.

Diversity of Thought as a Democratic Strength

A healthy democracy depends not only on fair elections and strong institutions, but also on the diversity of perspectives represented within its legislative bodies. A legislature composed of individuals from varied disciplines, professions, and life experiences is better equipped to understand the complexity of society and craft policies that respond to real human needs. Governance becomes stronger when lawmakers bring different forms of knowledge into public deliberation, because no single profession or intellectual tradition possesses a complete understanding of national life.

Scientists, for example, contribute analytical rigor, empirical reasoning, and evidence-based thinking to policymaking. In an age shaped by technological advancement, environmental challenges, public health concerns, and rapid scientific change, legislators with scientific expertise can help ensure that policies are grounded in credible research rather than misinformation or political expediency. Their training encourages careful evaluation of data, long-term thinking, and a commitment to factual accuracy. These are qualities essential for addressing issues such as climate change, healthcare, infrastructure, and technological regulation.

Educators bring another indispensable perspective. Teachers and academic professionals understand how social conditions shape learning, personal development, and civic responsibility. Because they work closely with students, families, and communities, educators are often deeply aware of the structural inequalities that affect opportunity and social mobility. Their experience allows them to recognize how policies concerning schools, public investment, youth programs, and community support systems influence the future of society. Legislatures that include educators are more likely to appreciate the long-term importance of cultivating informed, capable, and socially responsible citizens.

Farmers and workers connected to rural life contribute practical knowledge that is often overlooked in urban-centered policymaking. They understand firsthand the realities of food production, environmental stewardship, labor conditions, and the economic vulnerabilities faced by agricultural communities. Rural populations frequently experience political neglect despite their essential role in sustaining national economies and food systems. Legislators with direct experience in these sectors can ensure that public policy reflects the concerns of communities that might otherwise remain underrepresented in national debates.

Community organizers and grassroots leaders provide yet another vital dimension to democratic governance. Because they work directly among marginalized populations, they possess a close understanding of the struggles faced by the poor, minorities, informal workers, and socially excluded groups. Their perspective is grounded not in abstract theory, but in everyday encounters with inequality, discrimination, displacement, and institutional failure. Such experience can help legislatures remain connected to the realities faced by vulnerable sectors of society and encourage policies that are more compassionate, inclusive, and socially responsive.

Entrepreneurs and business leaders also contribute valuable insight into innovation, economic development, and employment creation. Their experience in building organizations and responding to changing economic conditions can help shape practical and forward-looking economic policies. Artists, writers, and cultural workers enrich public life by preserving cultural identity, encouraging creativity, and fostering empathy and imagination within society. Philosophers contribute ethical reflection and long-range thinking, while healthcare professionals understand the human realities of illness, care, and public well-being. Each profession illuminates different dimensions of national life that legal expertise alone cannot fully capture.

The presence of diverse experiences within Congress creates a government that is more grounded, adaptable, and humane. Policymaking becomes more reflective of society as a whole rather than the worldview of a narrow professional class. Laws emerge not only from legal interpretation and institutional procedure, but also from practical engagement with the realities of work, education, science, culture, family life, and community struggle. Such diversity strengthens democratic deliberation because it broadens the range of ideas, concerns, and moral perspectives brought into political decision-making.

This diversity of thought also helps prevent intellectual conformity and institutional blind spots. When legislatures are dominated by individuals with similar educational backgrounds and professional training, they may approach problems through the same assumptions and frameworks. While expertise is important, excessive uniformity can limit creativity and reduce sensitivity to experiences outside elite institutional circles. A broader range of voices encourages constructive disagreement, critical reflection, and more innovative solutions to complex social challenges.

Ultimately, democratic leadership requires more than technical competence or familiarity with legal codes. A nation needs lawmakers who understand the hopes, fears, struggles, and aspirations of the people they represent. Citizens do not experience society solely through constitutional doctrine or legislative procedure; they experience it through work, family, education, culture, health, and community life. Legislators who have lived and worked within diverse sectors of society are often better positioned to appreciate these realities and to craft laws that genuinely serve the public good.

By broadening the standards of leadership beyond legal credentials alone, Congress can evolve into a more representative and visionary institution. It can become not merely a factory for regulations and administrative procedures, but a forum where the full richness of national experience contributes to public decision-making. A legislature strengthened by intellectual, professional, and social diversity is more capable of addressing the complex realities of modern nationhood while advancing justice, creativity, and human progress.

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Prof. Ruel F. Pepa is a Filipino philosopher based in Madrid, Spain. A retired academic (Associate Professor IV), he taught Philosophy and Social Sciences for more than fifteen years at Trinity University of Asia, an Anglican university in the Philippines. He is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG).

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The impeachment trial of Philippine Vice President Sara Duterte is unfolding under a cloud of political inevitability. Long before evidence is weighed or arguments are fully heard, many observers already believe that the verdict has, in effect, been predetermined. With a bloc of 13 senators—reduced to 12 following the unexplained absence of Senator Ronald dela Rosa, who reportedly left the Senate premises despite being under protective custody pursuant to Senate President Alan Peter Cayetano’s agreement with officials of the National Bureau of Investigation—widely perceived to be politically aligned with the vice president, the constitutional process intended to ensure accountability now risks being reduced to little more than a ceremonial exercise. 

For critics, the trial increasingly resembles not a solemn democratic proceeding, but a carefully choreographed political performance whose conclusion is predetermined. In that sense, the impeachment process threatens to undermine the very principles it was designed to uphold: impartiality, transparency, and public trust in democratic institutions.

Impeachment occupies a unique place in democratic governance. It is neither purely legal nor entirely political. Rather, it is a constitutional mechanism meant to hold the nation’s highest officials accountable when ordinary remedies are insufficient. Because of its extraordinary nature, impeachment proceedings demand the highest standards of fairness and credibility. Citizens must believe that senators acting as judges are guided not by partisan loyalty or political convenience, but by constitutional duty and evidence.

Yet this ideal becomes difficult to sustain when political arithmetic appears to outweigh judicial deliberation from the outset. In the Philippine Senate, where personal alliances, political dynasties, and electoral calculations often shape legislative behavior, impeachment trials frequently become tests of political survival rather than objective inquiries into accountability.

Image: Newly elected Senate President Alan Peter Cayetano (PNA photo by Avito Dalan)

The perception that the outcome of Vice President Duterte’s trial is already assured stems largely from the composition of the Senate itself. Several senators are either openly allied with the Duterte political camp or dependent on coalition politics that discourage confrontation with one of the country’s most influential political families. In such an environment, the distinction between juror and partisan actor becomes blurred.

This is particularly troubling because impeachment trials are expected to transcend ordinary politics. Senators take an oath to administer impartial justice, but public skepticism intensifies when voting patterns appear predictable even before proceedings begin. If citizens believe senators have already chosen loyalty over evidence, then the trial ceases to function as a meaningful constitutional process. It instead becomes an exercise in political optics.

The danger of such perceptions extends beyond the fate of one political figure. Public confidence in institutions is fragile, especially in democracies where corruption, patronage, and elite political dominance are longstanding concerns. When impeachment proceedings appear scripted, they reinforce cynicism about governance itself. Citizens begin to suspect that accountability mechanisms are selectively applied and ultimately powerless against entrenched political influence.

In this sense, the trial risks being dismissed as a “kangaroo court”—a process that preserves the outward appearance of legality while lacking genuine impartiality. The term is harsh, but its growing use in political discourse reflects deeper frustrations with institutions perceived as subordinated to political interests. Critics argue that if senators are unwilling to independently evaluate the merits of the case, then the proceedings amount to little more than expensive political theater funded by taxpayers.

The cost of such a spectacle is not merely financial. Impeachment trials consume legislative attention, dominate media coverage, and intensify political polarization. Time and public resources devoted to a process widely seen as predetermined could arguably be better spent addressing urgent national concerns such as inflation, unemployment, education, infrastructure, and disaster preparedness. In a developing nation confronting persistent socioeconomic challenges, citizens understandably question whether prolonged political drama serves the public interest.

At the same time, supporters of the impeachment process argue that even a likely acquittal does not render the proceedings meaningless. They contend that constitutional accountability requires allegations against high officials to be publicly examined, regardless of the expected outcome. From this perspective, the trial provides an opportunity to place evidence on record, clarify constitutional standards, and demonstrate that no public official is entirely beyond scrutiny.

This counterargument carries weight. Democracies are not measured solely by convictions or acquittals, but by whether institutions are allowed to function openly and lawfully. A transparent trial, even one ending in acquittal, can still contribute to democratic discourse if senators seriously engage with the evidence and explain their decisions in principled terms.

However, transparency alone cannot compensate for perceptions of entrenched political bias. If the public sees senators treating the trial as a partisan obligation rather than a constitutional responsibility, the institutional damage may endure long after the proceedings conclude. The legitimacy of impeachment depends not only on procedural compliance but also on public confidence that justice was genuinely pursued.

The broader issue exposed by this controversy is the persistent tension between law and politics in presidential systems. In theory, impeachment serves as a safeguard against abuses of power. In practice, its success often depends on political will. When political alliances dominate constitutional accountability, impeachment becomes less a mechanism for justice than a reflection of shifting power balances among elites.

The Philippines has witnessed this dynamic before. Impeachment efforts throughout the country’s democratic history have frequently been shaped by coalition-building, political bargaining, and public pressure rather than strict constitutional interpretation. As a result, many Filipinos have grown skeptical of whether impeachment can truly function independently of partisan interests.

The trial of Vice President Duterte may therefore become more significant for what it reveals about Philippine democracy than for its final verdict. If the proceedings reinforce the perception that powerful political figures remain insulated by loyal legislative majorities, public trust in democratic institutions could further erode. Conversely, if senators demonstrate genuine independence and rigor even amid political pressures the Senate may still preserve some measure of institutional credibility.

Ultimately, the legitimacy of an impeachment trial cannot rest solely on constitutional formality. It depends on whether citizens believe the process was conducted honestly, fairly, and in pursuit of truth rather than political expediency. In democratic societies, justice must not only be done; it must also be seen to be done.

If the outcome of Vice President Sara Duterte’s impeachment trial is indeed predetermined, then the greatest casualty may not be the impeachment case itself, but the public’s already fragile faith in the capacity of democratic institutions to hold the powerful accountable.

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Prof. Ruel F. Pepa is a Filipino philosopher based in Madrid, Spain. A retired academic (Associate Professor IV), he taught Philosophy and Social Sciences for more than fifteen years at Trinity University of Asia, an Anglican university in the Philippines. He is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG).

Featured image: Duterte addresses supporters at Malieveld in The Hague, Netherlands, on March 23, 2025, calling for her father’s release and return to the Philippines. (Public Domain)

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For six months, fugitive Senator Ronald “Bato” de la Rosa had remained absent from Senate sessions, hiding from authorities after reportedly receiving information that the International Criminal Court (ICC) had already issued a warrant for his arrest in November 2025. The former Philippine National Police chief, long associated with the bloody “Operation Tokhang” anti-drug campaign under former President Rodrigo Duterte, had vanished from public view while legal and political tensions intensified around him.

Then, on Monday, 11 May 2026, de la Rosa suddenly resurfaced inside the Senate.

His dramatic return was not motivated by legislative duty alone. According to political insiders, de la Rosa had been convinced by fellow Senator Alan Peter Cayetano to appear personally in order to strengthen the numbers needed to execute a political coup within the Senate. The objective was clear: remove Senate President Vicente “Tito” Sotto III from power and install a new Duterte-aligned majority that could shield Vice-President Sara Duterte from a looming impeachment conviction.

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Former President Rodrigo Duterte (center) awarded to PNP Director-General Ronald Dela Rosa (right) the Major Award for Law Enforcement during the 18th anniversary celebration of Volunteers Against Crime and Corruption. (Public Domain)

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As de la Rosa entered the Senate premises, chaos erupted almost immediately. Agents of the National Bureau of Investigation reportedly approached him to serve an arrest order directing him to appear before the Criminal Investigation and Detection Group (CIDG) of the Philippine National Police. Instead of complying, the senator allegedly resisted violently. Witnesses described a heated confrontation in which de la Rosa fought with the agents before breaking away and storming into the Senate session hall furious and shouting invectives.

Image: Former Senator Antonio Trillanes IV (Source)

The situation became even more explosive when former Senator Antonio Trillanes IV appeared at the Senate lobby carrying what was later confirmed to be a copy of the ICC arrest warrant against de la Rosa. The presence of Trillanes, one of Duterte’s fiercest critics, transformed the Senate grounds into a stage for a political and legal showdown unprecedented in recent Philippine history.

Yet instead of distancing themselves from a fugitive senator facing allegations of crimes against humanity, Duterte-aligned senators warmly welcomed de la Rosa into the chamber. Their support was not merely symbolic. The Senate session itself had allegedly been organized to overthrow Sotto and restructure the chamber’s power balance.

The backdrop to the coup was the overwhelming approval by the House of Representatives of the impeachment complaint against Vice-President Sara Duterte. Once transmitted to the Senate, the impeachment trial would require senators to act as judges. Duterte allies feared that under Sotto’s leadership, an anti-Duterte majority could secure the vice-president’s conviction and permanent political downfall.

To prevent that outcome, a dramatic political realignment was engineered.

By the end of the session, Sotto had been unseated. His bloc, once the ruling majority, had suddenly become the minority. In his place, Alan Peter Cayetano, one of Duterte’s most loyal political allies, was elected Senate President. The takeover fundamentally altered the political landscape of the upper chamber and effectively secured Duterte-aligned control over the impending impeachment proceedings.

But the most controversial development came afterward.

Under the new Senate leadership, Ronald “Bato” de la Rosa was reportedly granted protective custody within the Senate premises itself. He was allegedly provided a private room where he could remain hidden from arresting authorities. Critics argued that the Senate, an institution tasked with upholding the rule of law, had effectively been converted into a sanctuary for a fugitive facing international criminal charges.

Behind the maneuvering, observers pointed squarely at Cayetano, whose actions were seen not only as political protection but as direct obstruction of justice. The new Senate leadership appeared willing to use the institution’s authority to shield de la Rosa from lawful arrest.

Public reaction was immediate and deeply polarized.

Supporters of Duterte hailed the Senate takeover as a necessary defense against what they called political persecution. Critics, however, condemned it as a dangerous collapse of democratic accountability. For many Filipinos, the central issue remained unavoidable: Ronald “Bato” de la Rosa was being accorded extraordinary protection despite allegations linking him to thousands of deaths under Operation Tokhang, the anti-drug campaign accused by human rights organizations of systematically targeting poor and defenseless citizens.

Then came the incident that plunged the crisis into even darker territory.

On the night of Wednesday, 13 May 2026, gunshots suddenly rang out inside the Senate premises. Panic spread instantly. Initial reports suggested that armed National Bureau of Investigation agents had stormed the Senate compound in an attempt to forcibly arrest de la Rosa.

Several senators quickly accused the NBI of carrying out an unauthorized operation.

However, when contacted, the NBI Director, Atty Melvin A. Matibag reportedly expressed shock at the accusation. He denied sending any agents to the Senate and stated that he had previously been instructed by higher authorities not to conduct any arrest operation inside the legislative complex.

As investigations unfolded, the narrative unraveled.

Authorities eventually confirmed that no NBI agents had entered the Senate during the shooting incident. Instead, it was members of the Senate Office of the Sergeant-at-Arms who had discharged the firearms.

The revelation fueled a powerful theory: the shooting had been staged.

According to critics and investigators, the gunfire may have been deliberately orchestrated by senators protecting de la Rosa in order to manufacture confusion and create the appearance of an external assault. Amid the chaos, they allegedly executed the real objective—spiriting de la Rosa out of the Senate compound before authorities could close in.

And when calm finally returned, the fugitive senator had vanished.

Despite intensive searches, Ronald “Bato” de la Rosa was nowhere to be found inside the Senate premises. He had successfully escaped once again, and his whereabouts remain unknown.

As investigators continue piecing together evidence, suspicion increasingly centers on Senate President Alan Peter Cayetano and the Duterte-aligned bloc that engineered both the Senate coup and the protection of de la Rosa. By the principle of command responsibility, critics argue that Cayetano bears ultimate accountability for the sequence of events that transformed the Senate into the center of a national political scandal.

The implications could be historic.

Should evidence conclusively establish that top Senate officials orchestrated a false-flag operation to facilitate the escape of a fugitive facing crimes against humanity charges, the fallout may extend beyond criminal prosecutions. Legal experts and political observers have warned that convictions involving abuse of institutional authority at the highest legislative level could trigger constitutional and political crises severe enough to call into question the legitimacy and even the continued existence of the Senate in its current form.

What began as the return of a fugitive senator has now evolved into a defining confrontation over power, accountability, and the future of Philippine democracy itself.

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Prof. Ruel F. Pepa is a Filipino philosopher based in Madrid, Spain. A retired academic (Associate Professor IV), he taught Philosophy and Social Sciences for more than fifteen years at Trinity University of Asia, an Anglican university in the Philippines. He is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG).

Featured image: Newly elected Senate President Alan Peter Cayetano (PNA photo by Avito Dalan)

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On Constitution Day last week, Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi stood before a pro-revision forum and issued what amounted to a quiet ultimatum to Japan’s postwar identity. “Debate cannot be for debate’s sake,” she declared, calling for parliamentary discussions that “lead to decisions” — signaling a renewed push to amend Article 9, the pacifist clause renouncing war that has defined Japan’s moral standing since 1947. After nearly eight decades of constitutional continuity, Japan now stands at an inflection point, and the consequences of getting it wrong could be severe.

Article 9 states that the Japanese people “forever renounce war as a sovereign right” and will not use force or the threat of force to settle international disputes. Drafted during the American occupation after Japan’s defeat in World War II, it became more than a legal provision; it evolved into a national ethos and a collective repudiation of imperial militarism. For generations, it has served as Japan’s defining promise to itself and to its neighbors.

Takaichi, a protégé of the late Shinzo Abe, is now the most powerful advocate for dismantling that promise. Her Liberal Democratic Party secured a landslide victory in February’s lower house election, winning well above the two-thirds threshold required to advance constitutional revision to a national referendum. Politically, the opportunity for revision has rarely been stronger. But political opportunity and strategic wisdom are not the same thing.

The domestic picture is more complicated than Takaichi’s supermajority suggests. In April, a rally titled “Emergency Action to Protect the Peace Constitution” drew roughly 30,000 participants — many of them young people and women — outside the Diet, chanting, “Peace cannot be built through military force.” These were not fringe voices. A Kyodo News survey found that while 75 percent of respondents supported constitutional revision in general, opinion was nearly evenly divided on revising Article 9 specifically, with 51 percent in favor and 46 percent opposed. Japan’s public is more pragmatic about defense than in previous decades, but also more constitutionally cautious than election results alone imply. A government that mistakes electoral dominance for national consensus risks fracturing the unity necessary for coherent security policy.

The regional implications are even more serious. China has watched Japan’s military evolution with growing alarm — and with some cynicism. Beijing benefits politically from portraying any expansion of Japanese military power as a revival of militarism. Yet behind the propaganda lies a genuine strategic calculation. Japan has already deployed long-range missiles, loosened restrictions on weapons exports, and sent troops to participate directly in joint exercises in the Philippines. For China, which views the Taiwan Strait as a core national interest, a formal revision removing the last textual constraints on Japanese military power would not appear to be a mere legal adjustment. It would represent a strategic red line. The risk of miscalculation — of Beijing reacting not to Japan’s intentions but to the symbolism of revision itself — is real.

There is also a deeper irony at the center of this debate. The Self-Defense Forces already function as a military in everything but constitutional designation. Their helicopter destroyers operate F-35 fighter aircraft, long-range strike weapons are entering procurement, and Japan fields one of the most capable naval forces in the Western Pacific. In practice, Japan has already achieved much of the military normalization its revisionists seek. The debate over Article 9 rests partly on a misunderstanding of what the clause has actually done: institutional adaptation has mattered far more than textual revision.

What constitutional revision would truly change is not Japan’s military capability but its political symbolism — and symbols carry enormous weight in East Asia. For China, South Korea, and other nations that experienced Japanese imperial expansion, formally abandoning Article 9 would not register as a technical adjustment. It would be interpreted as a declaration of intent. The resulting spiral of defensive posturing, arms racing, and diplomatic deterioration could make the region less stable and Japan itself less secure.

Japan’s most pressing strategic challenges — managing its alliance with the United States, deterring North Korea, and balancing relations with a rising China — would not become easier through constitutional revision. These challenges require diplomatic dexterity, economic leverage, and credible deterrence built steadily over time. They do not require a constitutional bonfire that signals revisionism to neighbors already on edge.

Japan’s national interest is not necessarily the same as the LDP’s constitutional ambition. A nation that has remained at peace for eighty years, built extraordinary prosperity, and earned international respect through restraint should think carefully before trading that inheritance for the uncertain dividends of legal normalization. Japan is already capable of defending itself, and the public understands that reality.

The question Takaichi must answer is not whether Japan can amend Article 9. Clearly, it can. The real question is whether it should — and whether the momentum provided by her supermajority represents wisdom rather than simply power. History’s verdict on Japan’s postwar pacifism has, by almost any measure, been favorable. The burden of proof lies with those who would abandon it.

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Alan Callow graduated from Western Mindanao State University (Philippines). He is a freelance journalist with experience in writing about the Asia-Pacific region.

Featured image: Takaichi giving a speech for LDP presidential election in Nagoya, September 2025 (CC BY 4.0)

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The condition of groundwater in India is becoming increasingly serious day by day, and this crisis has been neglected for many decades.

The National Green Tribunal expressed strong displeasure in January 2026 over the report submitted by the Central Ground Water Authority. The report lacked important information that had been sought, it avoided explaining what criteria are used to grant permissions for development projects in groundwater-stressed areas, and the overall tone of the document was vague and incomplete. When the tribunal raised questions about this, the authority stated that the task of setting criteria falls under the jurisdiction of state-level regulatory bodies.

But the tribunal immediately posed the next question when most states have not even established such bodies, how exactly is the permission process being implemented? Whether audit reports for commercial usage are published, whether no-objection certificates are issued from time to time, how much environmental penalty has been imposed on those who violate the rules  the authority had no answers to any of these questions. This situation is not merely administrative negligence but a deep gap in the management of one of the country’s most fundamental natural resources.

According to the 2024 report of the Central Ground Water Board, the average rate of groundwater extraction in India has reached 60.47 percent, which is higher than 59.26 percent in 2023. In 2024 alone, 245.64 billion cubic meters of groundwater was extracted. Of this, 87 percent, that is 213.29 billion cubic meters, was consumed by the agricultural sector alone, domestic use accounts for 11 percent and industrial use for a mere two percent. Out of 6,746 assessment units in the country, 751 units  meaning more than 11 percent  have been classified as “over-exploited,” meaning that in those areas, groundwater extraction exceeds annual recharge. In Punjab, Haryana, Rajasthan, Delhi, and Dadra and Nagar Haveli, extraction is over 100 percent, meaning more water is being drawn from the ground than nature replenishes. This picture is not merely alarming but extremely dangerous for future generations.

The quantity of groundwater is declining, that is true, but the quality of groundwater is also deteriorating rapidly. While citing the 2024 Annual Groundwater Quality Report, the NGT pointed out that in Haryana, Rajasthan, Gujarat, Punjab, and western Uttar Pradesh, the levels of salinity, fluoride, and heavy metals in groundwater are increasing.

Even more shocking is the presence of uranium in India’s groundwater. In 2019-20, a nationwide survey was conducted for the first time in which 14,377 samples were tested. It was found that in some places, the uranium content in water is as much as 96 times higher than the prescribed limit. The World Health Organization has set the limit of uranium in drinking water at 30 micrograms per liter. In Punjab alone, 24.2 percent of wells were found to have uranium levels exceeding this limit, in Haryana 19.6 percent, in Delhi 11.7 percent, and in Telangana 10.1 percent of wells face this alarming situation. The Bureau of Indian Standards has still not established any national standard for uranium in drinking water, which is a symbol of the neglect toward the seriousness of this problem. 151 districts across 18 states are partially affected by this high uranium concentration, and millions of people are unknowingly drinking this contaminated water.

The most painful and human face of this entire water crisis is that of women and girls. According to United Nations statistics, in water-stressed areas, 80 percent of the responsibility of fetching water falls on women. Carrying pots on their heads, buckets and drums in their hands, these women spend approximately 250 million hours every day solely in procuring water. This is the time that could have been invested in their education, livelihood, and health. The scarcity of water directly wounds the education of girls. From sanitation to safe childbirth, 27 percent of women in the world are at health risk due to insufficient water. The irony is that the women who have the most direct experience of water management have less than 17 percent participation in decision-making. The labor is women’s, but the rights and policies remain in men’s hands  this inequality persists even today.

Now against this backdrop, a new, comparatively invisible but rapidly intensifying water crisis is emerging  one connected to Artificial Intelligence, or AI. We usually see AI as a mobile app, chatbot, or image-generating tool, and make the mistake of considering it virtual. But the machinery behind these services is extremely physical  data centers filled with thousands of servers, where chips with billions of transistors work round the clock. These chips consume enormous electricity while running AI models and generate heat in equal proportion. If this heat is not controlled, the chip gets damaged and the entire system can collapse. That is why large amounts of water are needed to keep these data centers constantly cool. A medium-sized data center can use approximately 110 million gallons of water per year solely for cooling, which is roughly equal to the annual water needs of nearly one thousand households. Large data centers can consume up to 5 million gallons of water per day  meaning the annual water usage of a single center can be equivalent to that of a small town with a population of ten thousand to fifty thousand. In developed countries, the growth in the number of data centers in just a few years has been so rapid that local administrations are having to allocate more water to industries and digital infrastructure than to domestic use.

The water footprint of AI  what is called the water footprint  is not limited only to running models in data centers. It begins from the very manufacturing of the semiconductor chips on which AI models run. The production and cleaning of these chips requires extremely pure water, and this purification process itself is immensely water-consuming. A single chip, which eventually gets installed in a data center, has already consumed thousands of gallons of water during its manufacturing journey. After that, the same chip demands more water for cooling while running AI models. The energy requirements of AI make this water equation even more complex.

In many parts of the world, electricity still depends on coal and gas-based thermal power plants, which consume enormous amounts of water. According to the World Energy Outlook and World Water Development reports, in many countries including the United States, China, and France, 30 to 40 percent of the total water share goes solely into energy production. After cooling, some water returns, but in a heated state, which affects the ecological systems of local rivers and lakes. The remaining water exits the usage cycle as vapor. This means that in addition to the water directly used in data centers, there is a large invisible water footprint hidden behind the electricity they consume.

Understanding how deep the impact of all this is in everyday usage is important. According to research conducted on large language models, a simple AI question-and-answer conversation, meaning a question and answer of 100 to 200 words  has indirectly already consumed approximately one bottle’s worth of water. Since this water does not visibly appear, we do not feel it, but when billions of users run millions and billions of prompts every day, this invisible water usage transforms into a colossal figure. According to the research paper ‘Making AI Less Thirsty,’ in just the single year of 2025, the total water that global AI systems could indirectly use may reach the level of the entire bottled water industry’s annual water consumption worldwide.

Here emerges the sharpest contradiction of the modern age. On one side is a girl who, every morning before going to school, walks two to three kilometers to fetch water and whose education is often interrupted for this very reason. On the other side is a data center, a large part of which is often filled with unnecessary prompts, consuming in a single day the amount of water that perhaps hundreds and thousands of women like her have never seen in their pots even across a lifetime. Both are drawing from the same limited global freshwater reserves, but there is a profound gap between them in terms of decision-making power, distribution of benefits, and participation.

The benefits of AI-based services most often accrue to those same societies and classes that are already comparatively prosperous  the corporate sector, the global north, the urban middle class and upper class. But the blow of the water crisis falls on those communities which have the least control over water and whose large part of the day goes in searching for water. This is not merely a technical or economic inequality but an ethical question that demands an answer today. This does not mean that AI is “wrong” or that we should turn away from technology.

The question is, in what form, at what cost, and with what responsibility is AI being developed and used? If AI models are playing a positive role in health, education, agriculture, climate, research, or disaster forecasting, then that is welcome. But this role will be just only when the water used in their development and operation does not threaten the water availability of communities already in serious crisis  especially women and the poor. For this, it is necessary that companies transparently disclose the total water consumption of their AI models. In cooling technology, only recycled or non-potable water should be used. It is also necessary to raise digital awareness among general users that behind every unnecessary AI process, somewhere an additional burden of water gets added. This does not mean that we should be afraid to ask every question, but it means that we should thoughtfully consider whether the use of AI is truly necessary for every task. The time has come for policymakers and companies to be asked  alongside “how intelligent is your AI,” “how much water does it drink?”

If we want that in the future no girl should have to stake her education and health for a few buckets of water, then we must ensure today that the water hunger of AI and data centers does not gain priority over the rights and needs of those communities  especially women and the poor. The question of AI is not only about algorithms and model architecture  it is also a question of water, justice, and gender equality. The fundamental need of water must be given the highest priority first. Responsible technology will be that which accepts this truth and keeps water and the people connected to it at the center of every new expansion plan.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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In the Petlawad tehsil of Jhabua district, Madhya Pradesh, nestled within the Moicharani Panchayat, lies a small tribal village called Borpada perhaps no more than a dot on any government map, yet its life is no less complex than the turmoil of a big city. The only difference is that the hardships of a city make newspaper headlines, while the hardships of a village are silently endured.

The water crisis in Borpada had not arrived suddenly. It had deepened gradually, year by year. There was a public well at the heart of the village, and a protective parapet around its mouth was essential but that work was never completed. As a result, every monsoon brought soil, stones, and debris tumbling into the well. Over three years, the well filled so completely that nothing remained inside but silt and contaminated mud. The doors of the panchayat were knocked on again and again each time, promises were given; each time, disappointment followed. Three years of hope slowly turned into exhaustion. And what comes after exhaustion is either collapse or resolve.

A meeting of the Gram Swaraj Samuh, formed by Vaagdhara, was held in Borpada. When the well came up in the discussion, someone said that waiting for the government would cost them another three years. It was then that someone recalled the old path shown by their ancestors Halma. And in that meeting, it was decided: on 6th May 2026, Borpada would hold its Halma.

On the morning of 6th May, traditional musical instruments rang through the village, and Halma songs were sung. These songs carry more than melody they carry a call to action, a reverence for labour, a promise to walk together. The procession woke the village. People stepped out from every home. Women lifted tageris (flat baskets) on their heads; men rested spades and pickaxes on their shoulders. When they gathered around the well and peered inside, three years of neglect had left it wounded  a heavy accumulation of stones and mud. But the villagers did not stop. Some descended into the well, others stood above. Stones were hauled out, earth was scooped away, baskets filled and emptied in a steady rhythm.

Halma is an ancient collective tradition of the Bhil tribal community. Its direct meaning is: to work together without wages, without contract, sustained only by the bond of mutual belonging. There is no leader here, no grand announcement   there is simply work, done side by side. The roots of this tradition reach back to an era when these communities had neither large resources, nor government support, nor a marketplace. What they had was each other’s hand. In the farming season, when work was heavy and hands were few, the entire village would descend upon a single person’s field. Whether a house was to be built, a well dug, or a dam constructed  Halma was called upon. No wages were demanded, none were given. In return, there was simply this trust: when my turn comes, the village will stand beside me.

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The well before cleaning — years of neglect had filled it with debris and silt. (Photo Credit: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, Vaagdhara)

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Voices from the Village

Vishnu Ninama, who led that day’s Halma, says:

“We had been making rounds to the panchayat for three years. Every time we were given assurances, never action. When we decided to do it ourselves, a lightness came over us  as though a burden had been lifted.”

Dhulsingh Vasuniya’s words touch that philosophical dimension of Halma that cannot be seen from the outside:

“Halma is something our ancestors gave us. It is not just work — it is our way of saying: we are one. When the village stands together, no task feels too great.“

And Ramchandra Vasuniya draws attention to a vital aspect: that day’s Halma was not for men alone. The women of the village participated with equal standing in the labour — from filling baskets to carrying debris. This is a glimpse of the Bhil community’s tradition, where collective work holds no distinction between men and women.

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Women  of the tribal community contributed equally to the Halma  carrying baskets and clearing debris. (Photo Credit: Mukesh Porwal, Block Facilitator, Vaagdhara)

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The role played by the Vaagdhara Gram Swaraj Samuh in this Halma also deserves recognition. They did not give the villagers answers they created the space for them to ask questions and find their own answers. In the language of modern development, this is called “community participation,” but in truth it runs far deeper it means trusting people: trusting their wisdom, their traditions, the strength of their relationships. Mukesh Porwal, a community facilitator at Vaagdhara, sees this Halma as carrying a larger message:

“We want this to be more than a single day’s effort. What this village has done shows a path to other villages too   trust in your own strength.”

A Lesson for Our Times

When we view tribal societies through an urban lens, there is one thing we often forget: that these communities have kept alive, for centuries, the art of living together. A tradition like Halma is far older and far deeper than modern “teamwork” or “community development” because here there is no expectation of a salary, no desire for fame. There is simply this instinctive human feeling: when my neighbour is in trouble, I will be there. In an age where individualism is spreading village by village in the winds of modernity, traditions like Halma become all the more precious.

In the tribal heartlands of Madhya Pradesh, Vaagdhara is keeping this tradition alive. For Halma is not merely a community task  it is a celebration of society’s strength. True honour will come when Halma becomes a partner in development, not a substitute for it.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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The so-called “mega development project” of Great Nicobar Island is being pushed by the Modi government as a symbol of progress. But from an environmentalist’s standpoint, as from anyone with human rights as an anchor – as our Constitution guarantees, it is something far more troubling. It’s nothing less than a blueprint for a massive ecological erasure in one of the last remaining intact tropical rainforest  landscapes in South Asia, and one among several critical remaining ones on Earth. And that erasure will be “forever” in a country’s civilisational time scale. 

A Rainforest That Still Breathes Whole 

Great Nicobar is not just any “forest land”, as even many scrublands are defined. It is a living, breathing ecological wonderland of extraordinary richness and rarity. Lying within the Indo-Burma Biodiversity Hotspot, the island contains primary (old-growth) rainforests, meaning ecosystems that have evolved over tens of thousands of years without large-scale human disturbance.

These Forests Are Also Huge Carbon Reservoirs

Dense tropical rainforests like these store massive amounts of carbon in both above ground biomass and soil, acting as natural buffers against climate change. Their destruction releases this carbon irreversibly, at least in the centuries-scale measurements. They are also very good 

hydrological stabilizers –  the rainforest regulates rainfall patterns, groundwater recharge, and prevents soil erosion  —  especially crucial on an island vulnerable to cyclones and tsunamis.

A Genetic Diversity Treasure House 

Scientists have repeatedly emphasized that many species here are still undocumented, even unknown to science. Destroying these pristine forests means wiping out unknown medicinal, ecological, and evolutionary knowledge forever, which might be critically needed for human adaptation in this age of rapid climate collapse. 

Among the many species uniquely tied to this ecosystem:

The Nicobar megapode, a ground-dwelling bird that builds remarkable incubation mounds from forest debris, the giant leatherback sea turtle which nests at Galathea Bay — one of the most important nesting sites in the Indian Ocean, endemic reptiles, amphibians, and insects found nowhere else on Earth. 

Coral reefs and  mangrove systems that form an integrated land-sea ecological continuum: This is not replaceable biodiversity. It is irreplaceable. 

The Indian government’s plan to  do the replacement plantations in the Haryana Aravallis, smells of absurdity and massive corruption. These are two completely different ecosystems, the Aravalli mountains being a sparse dry forest area, not even comparable to the dense tropical rainforest of Great Nicobar. No comparison of biodiversity, of carbon storage and climate control.

Indigenous Life Interwoven with Nature

For the Shompen and the Nicobarese, the traditional residents of Great Nicobar, the rainforest is not a “resource” — it is identity, sustenance, culture and history.

The Shompen, particularly, live deep within the forest in small, semi-nomadic groups. Their knowledge of plants, animals, and seasonal cycles represents a form of ecological intelligence that modern science is only beginning to understand. To fragment their habitat is to dismantle an entire worldview.

History has shown that when such communities are exposed to rapid “development”, diseases and demographic collapse often follow. 

Cultural systems disintegrate. Economic marginalization replaces self-sufficiency. 

No compensation package can substitute for the loss of a living culture rooted in land.

The Scale of Destruction

The project proposes:

Diversion of ~130–150 sq km of pristine forest, felling of nearly 1 million trees, construction of a massive transshipment port, airport, power plant, and township. 

But numbers alone fail to capture the much deeper damage. This is not selective logging—it is landscape-level transformation:

Roads will carve the forest into fragments, isolating wildlife populations. 

Light, noise, and pollution will penetrate deep into previously undisturbed habitats. 

Coastal engineering will alter sediment flows, affecting coral reefs and turtle nesting beaches.

And all this in a region that lies in a highly seismic zone, still bearing the memory of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami.

A Dubious Economic Argument 

We are told this sacrifice is necessary to build a global transshipment hub, competing with ports like:

• Port of Singapore
• Port of Colombo

But this narrative is shaky at best. Global trade is entering an uncertain phase, shaped by geopolitical tensions, regionalization, and slowing growth. Existing ports are already efficient and deeply integrated into shipping networks. Building a new mega-port in an ecologically fragile, remote island—at enormous financial and environmental cost – raises serious questions of viability.

Environmentalists and economists alike ask:

Is this truly about national interest, or about enabling large-scale private corporate profit under the banner of development?

Ecological Collapse in the Age of Climate Crisis

At a time when the world is grappling with climate breakdown – heatwaves, floods, massive forest fires, increasing g storms and cyclones,  biodiversity collapse, … – the destruction of a  primary rainforest is not just a local issue. It is another step to a global catastrophe.

Tropical rainforests like Great Nicobar:

• Absorb carbon emissions we are failing to reduce, 
• Buffer extreme weather events,
• Sustain biodiversity that stabilizes ecosystems worldwide.  

To destroy them is to accelerate the very crises we claim to fight.

The Ethical Question 

This is not merely a technical or economic debate. It is an ethical one. Do we, in the 21st century – armed with full knowledge of ecological limits – still choose to erase ancient forests, displace indigenous peoples, and gamble on uncertain economic returns?

Or do we recognize that some places are too valuable to destroy? In reality, most of the remaining natural places should be inviolate ?

A Different Vision

An environmentalist’s perspective does not reject development. It demands a different kind of development:

• One that respects ecological thresholds. 
• One that centers indigenous rights and knowledge.  
• One that values long-term planetary stability over short-term gains. 

Great Nicobar offers India an opportunity—not to repeat the mistakes of extractive development—but to lead with a model of conservation-led, climate-conscious stewardship.

To lose it would not just be a national tragedy.

It would be a global one.

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Soumya Dutta — 

Trustee: MAUSAM (Movement for Advancing Understanding of Sustainability And Mutuality)

Exec. member: Friends of the Earth India,

Former Advisory Board member: UN Climate Technology Centre and Network,

National Working Group member: NAPM (National Alliance of People’s Movements),

Founding (former) Co-Convener: South Asian People’s Action on Climate Crisis SAPACC;

Former Board Chair: Green Peace Environment Trust, India,

Advisor: ICAN (Indian Community Activists’ Network),

Advisor: NPSSFW (National Platform for Small Scale Fish Workers)

Founding Orgn Secy.: Bharat Jan (Gyan) Vigyan Jatha (translates to : India people’s science campaign),

Founding member: India-Climate-Justice,

Former Ashoka Fellow. 

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For hours, families of activists on the Global Sumud Flotilla had no idea where their loved ones were. Phones went dead on April 30. Messages stopped. People simply vanished from contact at sea.

That alone should concern us. But it also shows how control is exercised — not just through force, but by cutting communication and creating uncertainty.

The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) intercepted a civilian flotilla carrying humanitarian aid to Gaza, surrounding boats, cutting communications and boarding with armed personnel. On board were doctors, artists, aid workers and activists, including Australians.

The IDF released some activists in Crete. But what happened during the IDF’s interception and detention cannot be brushed off or treated as a minor incident.

There are reports that the IDF used rubber bullets at point-blank range. They kicked others in the testicles and punched them in the ribs and face. Some activists required medical care after their release. Thiago Ávila from Brazil and Saif Abukeshek from Spain, have been taken to Israel for “questioning”.

These are not small details. They go directly to the issue of human dignity. This was not an isolated event. It reflects a broader and ongoing reality for Palestinians.

For decades, Gaza has been subjected to an illegal blockade, including restrictions on the movement of people and goods. Access to food, medicine, clean water and healthcare remains extremely limited. Since 2023, Israel’s war has dramatically worsened the privations.

In that context, civilian efforts to deliver aid are not symbolic; they are necessary.

Intercepting a civilian flotilla in international waters is considered by rights groups to be a violation of international maritime law. At the very least, it raises serious legal questions, particularly when humanitarian aid is involved. Even where detention occurs, there are clear limits. Civilians must be treated with dignity. They must have access to medical care. They must not be cut off from communication.

Israel’s interception of the Global Sumud Flotilla and abduction of civilians demands an explanation. The presence of Australian activists on board makes this a clear domestic issue. The Australian Labor government must not treat this as routine consular work or a minor administrative matter.

When citizens are detained and report injuries and mistreatment, silence is not enough. Silence is not neutral. It is a position.

Labor must condemn Israel’s aggression in a public way, as Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez has done. It should condemn any mistreatment of its citizens, demand full transparency about what has taken place in international waters, ensure the safety and medical care of all Australians involved and support an independent international investigation into the interception and detention of civilians.

Australia should also take concrete diplomatic steps, including summoning the Israeli ambassador to explain what happened. Letting this pass without accountability sets a dangerous precedent. It signals that civilians can be treated as targets and that humanitarian action can be restricted without consequence.

The flotilla did not reach Gaza. But Israel’s illegal action on international waters has brought news of the Global Sumud Flotilla much further.

This is no longer just about what happened at sea. It is also about which governments are prepared to defend their citizens who were on a mission to deliver humanitarian relief to Gaza.

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Shamikh Badra is a Gadigal/Sydney resident, originally from Gaza in Palestine. He is a convener of the Coalition for Justice and Peace in Palestine, a PhD candidate at the School of Humanities and Social Inquiry at the University of Wollongong and holds a master’s degree in Peace and Conflict Studies from the University of Sydney. His research examines Palestinian peaceful and diplomatic resistance to the Zionist movement and the creation of the state of Israel.

Featured image: Jews against the Occupation ’48 organised a solidarity action with the Global Sumud Flotilla at Coogee Beach on May 3. Photo: Peter Boyle

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Southeast Asia is watching the US-Israel conflict with Iran — and quietly drawing conclusions. Most countries have adopted a policy of non-interference, but behind the cautious and neutral stances, they are accelerating efforts to reduce their defense dependence on Washington.

The recent US-Indonesia defense agreement, followed by an apparent rift between the Indonesian defense and foreign ministries over granting the US overflight rights above the Strait of Malacca, resulting in a hold on access, clearly illustrates this tension.

President Trump’s unpredictable, transactional foreign policy has widened the divide between Washington and many Southeast Asian capitals. Eroding trust and diminishing alignment are increasingly visible, while US disengagement from Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) multilateralism signals a diminishing role in the region.

Though suggestions of a diminished US role in the region have circulated for some time, they have not always been backed by concrete evidence or outcomes. Successive administrations managed to reassert engagement after periods of drift. Those were seen in the “Pivot to Asia” under Barack Obama, the Indo-Pacific strategy during the first Trump administration and its continuation under Joe Biden.

At present, however, US influence appears to be declining more markedly. One key and visible indicator is the absence of unequivocal support from allies and partners during the ongoing Middle East crisis. Even traditionally friendly countries have voiced criticism of the US’s war against Iran.

For instance, Singapore Foreign Minister Vivian Balakrishnan stated in late March:

“I was surprised by the onset of hostilities. I did not think it was necessary. I do not think it is helpful. Even now, there are doubts about legality. For 80 years, the US underwrote a system of globalization based on UN Charter principles, multilateralism, territorial integrity, and sovereign equality. It led to an unprecedented period of global prosperity and peace.”

Another important indicator is the ISEAS-Yusof Ishak Institute’s State of Southeast Asia 2026 survey. Unsurprisingly, regional attitudes toward China and the US have shifted in recent years.

According to the survey, 52% of respondents now favor alignment with China, compared to 48% who still prefer the US. While the overall margin is narrow, the finding is nonetheless noteworthy: China is now perceived as more closely aligned with the interests of ASEAN member states than the US.

More striking, however, are the variations across individual countries. In Indonesia (80%), Malaysia (68%) and Singapore (66%), respondents show a clear preference for alignment with China over the US. By contrast, only 23% of Filipino respondents express a similar inclination toward China.

Two major factors underpin this shift. Most immediately, the conflict and disruption of the Strait of Hormuz have severely impacted ASEAN economies.

The ASEAN Centre for Energy reported that Middle Eastern crude made up 56% of ASEAN’s total crude imports last year. The resulting energy shock is the most visible consequence, with effects already felt across regional markets. Foreign investors, for example, are selling Thai assets amid concerns about energy price volatility stemming from the US-Iran conflict.

Second, rapidly declining confidence in the US is a critical factor. Perceptions of unpredictability — from the imposition of tariffs to a lack of sustained economic and security focus on the Indo-Pacific — have reinforced doubts about Washington’s reliability.

Trump’s transactional, temperamental and often flippant approach to foreign policy has prompted a serious recalibration among allies and partners in the region.

With US attention and resources overstretched across multiple conflicts from Europe to the Middle East, and a focus on America First at home and abroad, such a regional recalibration is both justified and understandable.

The apparent US failure to shield its partners in the Gulf from Iranian attacks is a grim reminder that self-reliance, complemented by credible strategic support from major powers, remains the ultimate guarantor of security.

For many middle and small regional powers, the choice is no longer limited to the US or China. While trust in Washington is clearly in decline, it does not automatically translate into alignment with Beijing.

Instead, most Southeast Asian countries are prioritizing flexibility and diversifying their strategic partnerships. Japan, Australia, India, Turkey, the United Kingdom and the EU are seen as partners with untapped potential.

The US-China dynamic is often framed as benefiting China, but that view is overly simplistic. Divisions within ASEAN persist, especially regarding the South China Sea.

While China has frequently exploited differences among ASEAN members, this fragmentation also creates challenges for Beijing. The Philippines’ more assertive stance, for example, has complicated China’s efforts to maintain a consistent regional strategy.

The US-Israel-Iran conflict has made clear that ASEAN member states do not view it as their conflict, prompting a reassessment of their global positions and creating space for more autonomous foreign policies.

Crises can present opportunities. For many ASEAN states, this may be the moment to address internal divisions and pursue a more coherent, collective approach — one that strengthens the bloc and reduces vulnerability to external shocks.

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Dr. Rahul Mishra is an associate professor at the Centre for Indo-Pacific Studies, School of International Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India, and a senior research fellow at the German-Southeast Asian Center of Excellence for Public Policy and Good Governance, Thammasat University, Thailand. He is also the series editor for the Palgrave Series in Indo-Pacific Studies. He can be reached at [email protected] and tweets at @rahulmishr_

Featured image: ASEAN member states are reassessing their relations with America amid the Iran war. Photo: Agencies

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Abstract

Steve Rabson introduces Why are We in Okinawa? A History of Violence (Bloomsbury Academic, 2026) and interviews the author, Jon Mitchell, about his work with the Okinawan media, why he wrote the book, and what it reveals about the continuing overconcentration of U.S. military bases in the prefecture. An excerpt from the book follows the interview.

Introduction and Interview by Steve Rabson

In his new book, Why are We in Okinawa? A History of Violence (Bloomsbury Academic, 2026),¹ journalist Jon Mitchell traces the origins of the ongoing U.S. military presence in Japan’s southernmost prefecture. Starting with an exploration of the Ryukyu Kingdom and the Meiji government’s “Ryukyu Disposal”, he then moves to the twentieth century to focus on U.S. and Japanese atrocities during the Battle of Okinawa, the U.S. military’s 27 years of colonial rule and how the Japanese government colluded to keep the bases in Okinawa following the islands’ return to Japanese administration in 1972. The subsequent chapters detail how, throughout 50 years post-reversion, the Japanese and U.S. governments have constantly broken pledges to reduce Okinawa’s military burden. In response, Okinawans have created a resilient, non-violent movement found few other places in the world. The final coda – “So why are we reallyin Okinawa?” – draws together the threads Mitchell weaves throughout the book to compellingly conclude that the primary reasons for keeping 31 U.S. bases in Okinawa have very little to do with their purported deterrence effect – the real reasons are money (on the U.S. side) and structural discrimination (on the Japanese side).

As well as drawing on Okinawan, Japanese and American sources, the book features declassified CIA materials and documents that Mitchell obtained via the U.S. Freedom of Information Act. These reveal aspects of Okinawan history hitherto unknown, such as covert Cold War operations, accidents involving U.S. chemical and nuclear weapons, and CIA attempts to manipulate Okinawan public opinion as recently as 2012. As one reviewer, Catherine Lutz, co-founder of the Costs of War project, writes, “Based in sources unearthed from the U.S. government, Why Are We in Okinawa? is a must-read for anyone concerned with justice movements, geopolitics in Asia and the Pacific, and U.S. military policy and behavior.”

Unsurprising given Mitchell’s expertise in environmental issues, the book discusses the environmental impact of militarism, including the U.S. Air Force’s contamination of 450,000 Okinawans’ drinking water with toxic Forever Chemicals – a problem that is still unresolved. His newspaper articles and previous English book, Poisoning the Pacific (2020), have helped U.S. veterans to receive compensation from the Department of Veterans’ Affairs and this book will surely help many more.

Why are We in Okinawa? A History of Violence is by far the best history in English of Okinawa’s long-running and continuing militarization. It is rigorously researched, containing lengthy endnotes and bibliography to enable readers to further explore the issues raised. At the same time, the book is eminently readable and accessible for a non-academic audience. Illustrating how well Mitchell’s research is regarded in Okinawa, too, Naomi Jahana, University of the Ryukyus, wrote, “For Okinawans who continue to fight – even though they sometimes feel alone – this book offers guidance like the North Star or Ninufabushi, which helped ancient Ryukyu sailors to traverse the oceans. It connects the people of Okinawa with others around the world.”

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Figure 1: The cover of Why are We in Okinawa? A History of Violence (Bloomsbury Academic) incorporates original artwork by Yuken Teruya, The Ryukyu Beltway, as an obi wrap.

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Interview

Steve Rabson (SR): Thank you for agreeing to this interview and congratulations on publication of your new book. You and I have been in contact since the mid-2010s when you interviewed me about the Okinawan diaspora in Japan. But we did not meet in person until March 2023 when you came to New York University to screen your documentary about PFAS contamination, Nuchi nu Miji: Okinawa’s Water of Life. You co-directed that documentary with Shimabukuro Natsuko from the Okinawan TV station, Ryūkyū Asahi Hōsō, and you are a correspondent for the newspaper, Okinawa Times. Can you explain about your work with the media in Okinawa?

Jon Mitchell (JM): I’ve been writing about Okinawa since 2009. When I started, I was a freelancer for Japan Times writing mainly about the Cold War; for example, the deployment of nuclear weapons – a topic about which I know you have firsthand experience. In 2016, I became a correspondent for Okinawa Times specializing in the U.S. Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). Also, I work with TV stations and independent film directors to report about military issues in the prefecture.

Originally, I’m from Wales, a country that shares similarities with Okinawa, including linguistic suppression and a deep-rooted culture of pacifism. Wales has a strong tradition of investigative journalism, too. In the 1930s, Gareth Jones was the first journalist to reveal the Soviet Union’s famines, notably the Holodomor in Ukraine. During the Vietnam War, the Welsh photojournalist, Philip Jones Griffiths, recorded the brutality and the futility of that American conflict – and helped to turn U.S. public opinion against that war. So, I come from a country that values how journalism can make a difference. The media in Okinawa shares a similar outlook.

As I explain in my book, journalism in Okinawa has been strongly influenced by two main factors. Before and during World War II, journalists in Okinawa glorified militarism, thus encouraging Japanese imperialism and setting the stage for soldiers’ atrocities. So, there is a deep feeling of responsibility and regret for journalism’s role in that war. The second influence: For 27 years, Okinawa was a U.S. military colony which lacked freedom of speech; the media was censored and journalists surveilled. Those two factors have given the media in Okinawa a strong desire not to glorify militarism and a deep respect for freedom of the press. Journalism should hold the powerful to account and serve the public first.

At Okinawa Times, my main tool is FOIA which had not been widely used before by the media in Japan. After reporting about the documents I obtain from U.S. authorities, I donate them to archives in Okinawa and universities in the United States. As journalists we always demand transparency from the government so I believe that journalists need to provide the same openness to the public so people can scrutinize the accuracy of our work. Much of what I uncovered with FOIA makes up the latter sections of my book.

SR: You have written five books before this one. Those books mainly focused on the environmental damage caused by U.S. bases in Okinawa and the Pacific region. Why did you decide to write this book? What do you hope it will achieve?

JM: One of the primary reasons dates to 2016. That year I received a document from the CIA via a FOIA request. It was a 60-page manual titled Understanding Base Politics in Okinawa, a guide for American policy makers on how to convince Okinawans about the benefits of U.S. military bases in their prefecture. It was quite recent – written in 2012 – and it offered a fascinating window into the thinking of the U.S. intelligence community. One of the things that struck me the most was how the CIA blamed the Japanese government for Okinawans’ resentment of hosting U.S. bases. The CIA report washed Americans’ hands of how US actions contributed to Okinawans’ animosity towards the military presence. And it omitted how the bases damage the prefecture’s economy and environment, or how military crimes have targeted Okinawans for more than eight decades.

The CIA manual fit into a pattern of U.S. government agencies playing down the impact of the bases on the lives Okinawans – or providing incorrect information. So, one principal motivation for writing this book was to provide an accurate history for English language readers – especially those in the U.S. military – to understand the origins of the bases in Okinawa and why they anger many Okinawans.

The book draws upon the work of researchers from Okinawa, Japan and the United States (including your studies on the diaspora) and weaves in the discoveries I’ve made using FOIA with interviews and on-scene reporting. I hope the book conveys the voices of Okinawans and how they feel about hosting a disproportionate share of the defense burden. Surveys show that many Okinawans support the U.S.-Japan alliance, but they question why so many bases are packed into their prefecture. Many U.S. defense experts, too, argue that such an overconcentration leaves the military vulnerable to attacks or natural disasters.

SR: What is wrong with the claims of the United States and Japanese governments that the grossly disproportionate U.S. military presence is in Okinawa to defend Japan and maintain security in the region?

JM: This is a question that runs throughout my book and the last chapter focuses almost entirely on dispelling this myth. As you say, for decades, Japanese and U.S. government officials have argued that U.S. bases in Okinawa are essential to deter aggression from the Soviet Union, China and North Korea. But packing 31 U.S. bases in Okinawa is very difficult to justify no matter how you look at it. From a financial perspective, the bases occupy 15% of the main island but contribute less than 5% to the prefecture’s GDP – and they actually hinder economic growth. Environmentally, there have been hundreds of accidents which concentrate toxic contamination in a small ecosystem. And morally, Tokyo broke its pre-reversion pledge to more evenly distribute the bases throughout the nation. As a result, Okinawa hosts 70% of the U.S. military footprint on 1% of Japan’s total land mass.

So how about militarily? Aren’t the 31 bases in Okinawa vital for the defense of Japan? Many defense experts I cite in my book say “no.” They argue that the main deterrence comes from elsewhere. Deterrence comes from the U.S. Navy port at Yokosuka, mainland Japan, and the existence of the Japanese Self Defense Forces, one of the world’s largest militaries. Over this, there is the U.S. nuclear umbrella which the Japanese government has consistently asked America to apply to Japan. As for Okinawa, deterrence mainly comes from Kadena Air Base, the largest U.S. base in the Pacific region.

As for the other 30 U.S. bases in Okinawa, defense experts argue that their close proximity turns the islands into a magnet for attack – and it is foolish to cram all one’s eggs into one basket.

SR: So why are the 31 bases still there? Or, as the title of your book poses, “Why are we in Okinawa?”

JM: It is an important question – perhaps the most important one. I think any answer needs to be approached from the slightly different rationales of the United States and Japan. As for the United States, there are three main reasons. First, it uses its Okinawan bases not to defend Japan but to launch attacks around the globe – in Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Iraq, Afghanistan and now, as I speak, Iran.

Secondly, the DoD regards Okinawa Prefecture as an unfettered site for training. It teaches jungle and urban warfare, parachute drops, and air-to-ground bombings (some involving depleted uranium). In the United States, the Pentagon theoretically heeds local communities’ complaints about such training – but in Okinawa the military feels it can act without constraint.

Finally, we come to the biggest reason: Money. We Japanese taxpayers pay an estimated 75 percent of the cost of stationing U.S. troops in Japan. This is almost double the ratio paid by South Korea. Plus, Japan pays American arms manufacturers tens of billions of dollars for military equipment.

But these three factors do not account for why the bases need specifically to be in Okinawa. The U.S. military would enjoy many of these benefits no matter where the bases were in Japan. So, why Okinawa? The responsibility lies with the Japanese government. Mainland Japanese politicians keep the bases in Okinawa because they understand that if they were moved to their own constituencies, there would be a public backlash. That’s why the U.S. marines were moved from Japan to Okinawa in the 1950s – and why they are still there today.

Of course, NIMBYism (Not in My Back Yard) is common everywhere. But in Japan, NIMBYism over the U.S. bases runs deeper. Okinawa has always been a place that Japan has treated differently – at best with neglect and at worst as a national sacrifice zone.

SR: In your book, you frame this as a form of discrimination. Can you elucidate?

JM: One of the many Okinawan historians whom I highly respect is Arasaki Moriteru. In 2016, a couple of years before he passed, I was greatly honored to lecture alongside him in Tokyo. In his writing, he emphasized how forcing U.S. bases onto Okinawa was a manifestation of structural discrimination. And how this formed the very core of post-1945 Japan-U.S. relations; the subjugation of Okinawa was like a glue that bound the alliance together.

Japan’s mistreatment of Okinawa has a long history. In 1880, for instance, the Meiji government offered to split the islands with China in return for most-favored-nation status in trade. Then during World War II, the Emperor called for one decisive victory which led to the decimation of the islands to delay the U.S. invasion of the mainland. After the war in 1947, Hirohito suggested to the United States that it keep control of Okinawa for 25 or more years. Yet again, 1972 was another betrayal of Okinawans’ wishes. The Japanese government had promised hondo nami whereby the bases would be reduced to a level proportionate to the mainland. But behind closed-door talks with the United States, the Japanese government broke that promise and sought to keep the bases within Okinawa. So, you can see that, time and time again, the Japanese government has sacrificed Okinawa to benefit the mainland.

Today, the clearest embodiment of ongoing structural discrimination is the U.S.-Japan Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA). Signed in 1960, it allows the U.S. military to operate outside Japanese laws – and because the bulk of the bases are in Okinawa, residents there suffer the most from SOFA’s inequities. The military can keep jurisdiction over accused service members if it deems them “on duty”. Troops are exempt from Japanese immigration procedures. And the military can refuse requests for on-base environmental checks. Such powers would be almost inconceivable in Europe where U.S. bases need to abide by local laws. SOFA is deeply unpopular among Okinawans – but Tokyo and Washington ignore their demands for revisions.

SR: In your book, you incorporate some on the ground episodes which you covered as a journalist, for example reporting from base construction protests at Henoko and Takae. One of the most striking scenes is in Chapter Ten where you describe the visit by Okinawan municipal leaders to Tokyo in 2013. Could you talk about that?

JM: Sure, for me it was a major eye opener into the ongoing discrimination faced by Okinawans. In January 2013, the leaders (or representatives) of all 41 Okinawan municipalities staged a march in Tokyo to protest about the planned deployment of Osprey aircraft to the prefecture. After the rally, they walked through Ginza, Tokyo’s glitziest shopping district. And they were met with hundreds of Japanese nationalists, lining both sides of the boulevard waving Japanese and American flags, screaming at the mayors that they were traitors and Chinese stooges. This was despite the fact that some of the Okinawans were conservative members of the LDP. Witnessing that firsthand highlighted how discrimination against Okinawans was still very much alive in Japan.

Around this time, there was a boom in books and magazine articles denigrating Okinawans. The Internet only served to inflame anti-Okinawan prejudice. As I explain in my book, members of the State Department and U.S. military have also expressed some highly discriminatory attitudes towards Okinawans.

SR: What do you think is at the root of American and Japanese discrimination towards Okinawans?

JM: That is an important question. My book explains how Okinawan resistance – and at times their very existence – triggers many people in the United States and Japan. It challenges some of the national beliefs that many American and Japanese people hold so sacred.

For Americans, their government’s treatment of Okinawans runs counter to the principles of self-determination, democracy, and respect for human rights. U.S. oppression of Okinawans parallels similar oppression of Chamorro, Hawaiians, Native Americans, and other indigenous groups. In particular, Okinawa belies two of the most hallowed American myths: First, that World War II was “the good war”. My book chronicles widespread war crimes committed by U.S. troops during the Battle of Okinawa. And, second, today Okinawa challenges the belief that the military is a force for good with service members who act with bravery and honor. Last year, the crime rate for U.S. service members, their dependents or military contractors in Okinawa was the highest in 22 years.

For Japan, the questions Okinawa poses are even more disruptive. Okinawa demands a reexamination of the belief in racial and linguistic homogeneity, the notion that Japan was a victim in World War II, and the fallacy that Japan is a sovereign nation with a healthy democracy and independent judiciary. The greatest myth that Okinawa challenges is the sanctity of Emperor Hirohito and his absolution of responsibility for the catastrophe of World War II. The issue remains so taboo that very few in the Japanese media and academia dare to address it.

As I argue in my book, in many ways Okinawa provides people with an important chance to reconsider many of their preconceptions about Japan. If you really want to understand Japan, you need to understand Okinawa.

SR: Faced with such harsh treatment, how do Okinawans resist Japanese and U.S. policies today?

JM: Sometimes Okinawan resistance resembles the methods honed during the Cold War – the approaches you must have seen when you were deployed there. Today, residents still march, petition, and conduct suwarikomi (sit-ins). In addition, though, Okinawan resistance encompasses an incredible creativity.

One of the forms is music. Just like other marginalized peoples, Okinawans have embraced rap to express their resistance. Comedy, too, is one of the tools to subvert the authorities (unlike in mainland Japan where political satire is notably absent). Okinawa’s most famous comedy troupe is called Owarai Beigun Kichi (Laughing at the U.S. Bases). They play sold-out shows at venues across the prefecture, performing skits lampooning the problems caused by the bases – the noise, the crime, the environmental contamination.

Humor, too, permeates the work of Okinawa’s most famous artists. In 2018, Yuken Teruya, staged a reenactment of Okinawa’s infamous civic disturbance, the 1970 Koza Riot. In the actual version, Okinawans destroyed dozens of Americans’ cars in the islands’ largest anti-U.S. riot. But in Yuken’s version – called My Father’s Favorite Game– two teams of Okinawans joyously compete to tip and roll wrecked cars, all the while flinging brightly colored powder like Indian Holi festivities. One of Yuken’s other masterpieces – a bingata kimono – is the first work of Okinawan contemporary art to be acquired by the British Museum. I was greatly honored when he agreed to design the original obi that wraps around my book’s cover. Called The Ryukyu Beltway, it captures the beauty of Okinawa alongside the incongruousness of military hardware.

As well as these artists, there are photographers, sculptors, poets and award-winning novelists – and teachers determined to rescue their indigenous languages from the brink of extinction. All their work channels Okinawans’ dedication to peace – and peaceful resistance. It truly is an inspiration during these bleak and troubled times.

SR: Thank you, Jon.

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Please be aware the following excerpt contains depictions of sexual violence and discriminatory language.

2016

In Okinawa, not a year goes by without US military brutality, but there are certain years when the slew of injustices is so intense it leaves residents reeling. In 1955, troops stormed Iejima and Isahama, forcing villagers from their land. Then a soldier raped and murdered a six-year-old girl. Another abominable year was 1969: Americans murdered five Okinawans and killed another six in traffic accidents, and a leak of nerve agent struck terror into residents. And then there was 2016.²

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Figure 2: In July 1955, a woman with baby stands beside a banner in Isahama proclaiming the slogan which became a rallying cry for the dispossessed, “Money is for one year. Land is for ten thousand years.” Government of Ryukyu Islands / Okinawa Prefectural Archives.

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The year began with the realization that the US Air Force had polluted Okinawa’s primary aquifer with per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS)—“forever chemicals”—which cause cancers, developmental delays, and harm the human immune system. Decades of training with toxic firefighting foam at Kadena Air Base had seeped PFAS into the groundwater, a source of drinking water for 450,000 residents. Although Okinawans had long been aware of the base’s potential risks—in the 1960s, fuel leaks had made water from nearby wells catch fire—nobody had envisioned this scale of impact, one of the largest cases of environmental contamination in Japanese history. Further checks by the Okinawa prefectural government also discovered dangerous PFAS levels near Camp Hansen, where the drinking water for Kin Town residents was affected, and near Futenma Air Station, where the grounds of an elementary school and sacred springs were polluted. Okinawan officials demanded access to the bases to inspect the sources of contamination, but the US military refused; SOFA enabled it to pollute with impunity.³

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Figure 3: In August 1965, Sato Eisaku became the first Japanese Prime Minister to visit U.S.-administered Okinawa where he famously declared, “Until Okinawa is returned to the homeland, the postwar period will not be over for our country.” Government of Ryukyu Islands / Okinawa Prefectural Archives.

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As Okinawans began to grapple with the fact that Kadena Air Base had poisoned their drinking water, an American from the same facility was arrested for murder. On the evening of 28 April, Kenneth Gadson, a former marine employed as a civilian contractor, drove through Uruma City seeking a woman to rape. He was not afraid of arrest, he later explained, because he believed that Japanese females tended not to report sexual assaults. At approximately 8:00 p.m., Gadson spotted a twenty-year-old woman walking along the roadside. Military police files describe what Gadson did next: “He kidnapped, bound, raped, bludgeoned, stabbed, and strangled (the victim). Subsequently, he placed (the victim) into a suitcase which he placed into the trunk of his vehicle.” Gadson drove to woodland and disposed of her corpse. Then he dumped the suitcase inside Camp Hansen, where he thought Japanese police would not be able to investigate. If Gadson had been living on-base, he might have evaded arrest by Japanese police due to SOFA, but because he resided in a civilian area, local police were able to detain him. In interviews, he confessed he had fantasized about raping and killing women for many years, and during enlistment, he had told recruiters that his motivation to join the marines was to kill people.⁴

In response to the murder, the Okinawa Prefectural Assembly passed its first ever resolution to demand the removal of the marine corps from the islands, and 65,000 people staged a mass rally. Once again, Washington and Tokyo attempted to quell the anger with promises of reform. In July, they announced limits to the protections contractors received under SOFA, but when the changes were announced the following January, they proved merely cosmetic, leaving the text of SOFA unchanged. In December, Gadson was sentenced by a Japanese court to life in Yokosuka Prison.⁵

Given Okinawans’ levels of grief, the Japanese government might have been expected to dial back its oppression, but instead it rubbed salt into residents’ wounds with the construction of yet more US military facilities in the Yanbaru forests. The region hosts the Northern Training Area, where the military had tested Agent Orange and built mock Vietnamese villages in the 1960s, but under SACO, the two governments promised to release approximately half of its land. Just like the closure of Futenma Air Station, however, there was a catch: Before it could be returned, new facilities had to be built elsewhere. Six landing pads for helicopters and MV-22 Ospreys—each around the size of a baseball field—would be constructed around the tiny hamlet of Takae.⁶

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Figure 4: In April 2020, a U.S. Marine Corps “morale barbecue” triggered sprinklers in a hangar at MCAS Futenma, spilling 144,000 litres of foam and water contaminated with toxic PFAS. U.S. Marine Corps via FOIA.

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Even in an area as ecologically significant as the Yanbaru, Takae was unique. Nearby lived Japan’s highest concentration of endangered and rare species; among the 126 varieties was the Okinawa rail (Yanbaru kuina), a flightless bird only officially recognized in 1978. Residents vowed to protect this biodiversity from military construction projects, and since 2007, they had staged sit-ins against the helipads. The Japanese government had tried to thwart the demonstrators with “strategic lawsuits against public participation” (SLAPP), including one filed against an eight-year-old child.⁷

Refusing to buckle to such intimidation, residents had successfully blocked construction of four of the helipads. But in 2016, Prime Minister Abe’s administration decided to proceed with construction by force. Wary of potential blowback from voters, the government waited until 11 July, the day after the upperhouse elections, to launch its attack. Then it deployed more than five hundred riot police—many from mainland Japan—who dragged away the citizens attempting to protect the forest. Scuffles between the police and demonstrators led to arrests and injuries. Journalists were corralled, hindering their ability to report on the violence.⁸

The authorities felled some 30,000 trees and brought in thousands of truckloads of gravel to build the helipads. Particularly galling to many residents was the use of Self-Defense Forces helicopters to fly in materials. Okinawans clambered atop the construction fences and appealed for the workers to halt their operations. Veteran environmental activist Iha Yoshiyasu explained the forest was a “treasure of humanity”; reminded them how military bases had already devastated Okinawa’s environment; and emphasized, “This forest belongs to Uchinaanchu.”⁹

Mainland police responded to the resistance by hurling racial slurs. In an encounter caught on video, one officer from Osaka Prefecture called demonstrators dojin, the derogatory term for indigenous people harking back to Meiji Era insults against Okinawans. Forced to comment on the matter, the minister of state for Okinawa and northern territories affairs refused to denounce the word as discriminatory, instead defending the police officer: “Everyone has freedom of speech.” Another officer called demonstrators shinajin (a racist word for Chinese people) in a comment that followed a familiar pattern of blaming Okinawans’ civil disobedience on outsiders. (Both officers received reprimands from their police departments.)¹⁰

With international attention on Takae, the Japanese government decided to send a message to islanders that further resistance would not be tolerated by moving against its nemesis, the charismatic leader of the Okinawa Peace Movement Center, Yamashiro Hiroji. On 17 October, police arrested and detained him on charges of snipping barbed wire set by the Okinawa Defense Bureau. The estimated cost of the damage: ¥2,000. Under Japanese law, the police can hold suspects for twenty-three days before indictment. So to prolong his detention, Japanese prosecutors pressed additional charges for incidents allegedly occurring many months previously: interference of official duties and bodily injury (in which an Okinawa Defense Bureau officer received a cut to his leg) and blocking the gates of Camp Schwab with 1,500 bricks, an action the police witnessed but ignored as it happened. Yamashiro had previously been diagnosed with malignant lymphoma, but he was not allowed visits by his doctor or family during the five months of his detention before finally being released on bail. On 14 March 2018, Yamashiro appeared in court, where he received a two-year suspended sentence.

Among the human rights organizations condemning his treatment was Amnesty International, which stated, “The arrest of Hiroji Yamashiro, a symbolic opposition figure, has had a chilling effect on others who are peacefully exercising their rights to freedom of expression, association and peaceful assembly. Some activists now hesitate to join the protest for fear of reprisals.”¹¹

Okinawans’ year of abominations was still not over. In December, what many residents had feared became a reality when a marine corps Osprey crash-landed into shallow seas in Nago City. Fortunately, nobody was injured among the crew or on the ground, but it was a stark reminder of the dangers of the aircraft for which the Japanese government was building new landing pads in the nearby Yanbaru forests. By 2024, another two Japan-based Ospreys had been destroyed in crashes: One in 2017 killed three marines during training in Australia, and the other in 2023, involving an air force Osprey, killed eight service members near Yakushima, Kyushu Prefecture. The aircraft’s moniker was proven tragically appropriate: the Widowmaker.

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Jon Mitchell is an investigative journalist based in Japan and recipient of the Foreign Correspondents’ Club of Japan’s Freedom of the Press Lifetime Achievement Award. Author of four acclaimed Japanese books about Okinawa, in 2021, Mitchell’s first English book, Poisoning the Pacific: The US Military’s Secret Dumping of Plutonium, Chemical Weapons, and Agent Orange, was a winner in the Society of Environmental Journalists’ annual awards. In 2023, he received Japan’s most prestigious journalism prize, the Ishibashi Tanzan Memorial Journalism Award for public service.

Steve Rabson was stationed as a U.S. Army draftee at the 137th Ordnance Company (SW) in Henoko, Okinawa from July, 1967 to June, 1968. He is professor emeritus of East Asian studies at Brown University and has published books and articles about Okinawa, and translations of Okinawan literature. His books are Okinawa: Two Postwar Novellas(Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1989, reprinted 1996), Righteous Cause or Tragic Folly: Changing Views of War in Modern Japanese Poetry (Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1998), Southern Exposure: Modern Japanese Literature from Okinawa, co-edited with Michael Molasky (University of Hawaii Press, 2000), The Okinawan Diaspora in Japan: Crossing the Borders Within (University of Hawaii Press, 2012), Islands of Resistance: Japanese Literature from Okinawa, co-edited with Davinder Bhowmik (University of Hawaii Press, 2016); and translator of Okinawa’s GI Brides: Their Lives in America by Etsuko Takushi Crissey (University of Hawaii Press, 2017). He was stationed in Okinawa as a U.S. Army draftee in 1967-68., and is an Asia-Pacific Journal contributing editor.

Notes

1. Note that the series in which this book was published, Asian Voices, is edited by Mark Selden, founding editor of Asia-Pacific Journal: Japan Focus.
2. “Inochi, songen mō ubawasenai,” Okinawa Times, 19 June 2016, 31.
3. Jon Mitchell, “PFAS Contamination from US Military Facilities in Mainland Japan and Okinawa,” Asia-Pacific Journal 18, iss. 16, no. 9 (15 August 2020): 1–19, https:// apjjf.org/2020/16/jmitchell.
4. Brandon Marc Higa, “Unpacking Okinawa’s ‘Suitcase Murder’: Revisiting Extraterritoriality Protections for Military Contractors Under the U.S.-Japan SOFA Supplementary Agreement,” Asian-Pacific Law and Policy Journal 21, no. 2 (May 2020): 9–20; US Naval Criminal Investigative Service, Report of Investigation (Closed), 4 October 2016.
5. Agreement Between the Government of Japan and the Government of the United States of America on Cooperation with Regard to Implementation Practices Relating to the Civilian Component of the United States Armed Forces in Japan, Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan, 16 January 2017.
6. Tabuki Yoko, “Looking Back on the Distressful 12 Years in Takae Through Photos,” Ryukyu Shimpo, 11 October 2019, https://english.ryukyushimpo.jp/2019/10/16 /31132/.
7. Iha Yoshiyasu, “Kaisetsu: Yanbaru no mori to Takae heripaddo no kensetsu,” in Okinawa: Aragau Takae no Mori, ed. Yamashiro Hiroaki (Kōbunken, 2017), 85; Tabuki, “Looking Back.”
8. Iha, “Kaisetsu,” 87; Tabuki, “Looking Back”; International Movement Against All Forms of Discrimination and Racism and All Okinawa Council for Human Rights, Joint Report, 24.
9. Iha, “Kaisetsu,” 87–88.
10. International Movement Against All Forms of Discrimination and Racism and All Okinawa Council for Human Rights, Joint Report, 4–6.
11. G.A. Opinion No. 55/2018, United Nations Human Rights Council, Opinions Adopted by the Working Group on Arbitrary Detention at its Eighty-Second Session, 20–24 August 2018: Opinion No. 55/2018 Concerning Yamashiro Hiroji (Japan) (27 December 2018); “Open Space for Protest Must Be Created in Okinawa,” International Movement Against All Forms of Discrimination and Racism, 16 June 2017, https://imadr.org/unhrc35-sideevent-summary-freedomofexpression-okinawa -japan-16june2017/; “Prominent Peace Activist Detained Without Bail,” Amnesty International, 26 January 2017, https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/asa22/5552 /2017/en/.

All images in this article are from APJJF

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Nestled in the Gagadtalai tehsil of Banswara district, Rajasthan, Hadmat is a predominantly tribal village. Yet this village recently accomplished something that would make even the most prosperous cities and well-resourced places pause and reflect. The people here did not look to any politician for help, nor did they wait for any government scheme — instead, they rolled up their sleeves, collected contributions door to door, and together installed tin shed roofing in their school, providing the children with a safe and organised place to sit and study.

For years, several rooms of the Government Higher Secondary School, Hadmat had fallen into disrepair; walls were cracking, rain seeped through the roof, and children suffered in sweltering heat during the day. Studying in such conditions was itself a kind of ordeal. Everyone could see the problem teachers, parents, villagers yet no concrete initiative had taken shape. Government files moved at their own pace, and the children endured at theirs.

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Under the tin roof installed through the contribution of a Bhamashah donor at Government Senior Secondary School, Hadmat, Block Gagadtalai, District Banswara, school teachers with members of the Gram Swaraj Group and the Krushi avm Aadivasi Sagthan (Photo Credit: Vikas Meshram)

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Against this backdrop, a monthly meeting was held by the Gram Swaraj Samuh, formed under the guidance of Vaagdhara, and Krishi Evam Adivasi Swaraj Sangathan, Gagadtalai. When the issue of children’s attendance and seating arrangements in the school was raised, the depth of the problem came to the fore once again. But this time, the discussion did not end at complaints. The members collectively decided that three sets of tin sheds would be installed in the school and this work would be done by the community on its own, without waiting for any government assistance.

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Government Senior Secondary School, Hadmat, Block Gagadtalai, District Banswara — Tin roofing installed through the contribution of a Bhamashah donor (Photo credit: Vikas Meshram)

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No sooner was the decision made than the work began. Members of the Gram Swaraj Samuh went door to door, informing people about the purpose of this endeavour. They explained that if everyone contributed a little today, tomorrow their children would have a better place to learn. Awareness spread gradually. Then one day, drums were beaten to gather the entire village in one place. Young and old, men and women all came together and stepped forward to contribute according to their individual capacity.

The single most inspiring contribution to this entire effort came from Shri Bhuralal Ji Parmar, a resident of Hadmat itself. He donated an entire one lakh rupees for the tin shed. About this, he said:

“These are the children of the village, our children. If their place of learning is set right, their future will be set right. Money can be earned again, but the time that children lose in a broken environment can never come back.”

Chunnilal Ji Damor came from Navagaon. He was not even a resident of this village yet he arrived with a contribution of five thousand and one rupees. When asked why he had come forward for the school of another village, his answer was simple:

“Education is not the responsibility of just one village. The children who study here will serve the entire society tomorrow. So this is the work of all of us.”

Subhashchandra Ji Pargi, a resident of Patiya Galiya village, also registered his presence in this campaign with a contribution of five thousand and one rupees. He said:

“When the people of a village are doing so much for their own children, it becomes the responsibility of every person to stand alongside them. In such endeavours, one should not think ‘why should I give?’ — rather, one should think ‘why should I not give?'”

All the teachers and staff of Government Higher Secondary School, Hadmat collectively contributed 15,551 rupees, a testament to the belief that those entrusted with a school’s life also bear responsibility for its spirit. Among them, the role of teachers Rajesh Garasia and Parmesh Ji Katija was particularly noteworthy. Their involvement was not limited to financial contribution — they were active and dedicated participants in the entire campaign. Teacher Rajesh Garasia said:

“A teacher’s work is complete only when he not only teaches children but also prepares a better environment for them. If there is no proper place to sit in the school, how will children be able to focus on their studies?”

Teacher Parmesh Ji Katija, sharing the same sentiment, said:

“This school is our responsibility too. When the community came forward with such effort and dedication, how could we teachers stand back?”

Sarpanch Walchand Punaji contributed 5,551 rupees, fulfilling his share in this collective effort. He said:

“When a community is determined to do something, stand with them. What the people of Hadmat have done is a matter of pride for all of us.”

His presence further strengthened the villagers’ conviction that this work was moving in the right direction.

The foundation of this entire initiative was laid by all the villagers together, who collectively raised the substantial sum of 115,795 rupees. This included contributions of every size — someone gave a thousand rupees, someone 500, someone as much as they could. The amount was never judged by its size; every contribution was received with equal respect. For this was the expression of love for the children, of attachment to the village, and of a sense of responsibility. As the village elders have always said:

“When everyone walks together, the path makes itself.”

The people of Hadmat showed exactly that.

The thread that wove this entire process together was Laxman Damor, the community facilitator of Vaagdhara. Working alongside the Gram Swaraj Samuh, he engaged in continuous dialogue, resolved people’s doubts, and kept the momentum alive at every step.

When all the contributions were added together, nearly 247,000 rupees had been collected. With this sum, three sets of tin sheds were installed in the school. Today, the school premises are nothing like what they once were. Children have a safe, well-organized space to sit, and the continuity of learning is maintained.

The greatest achievement of this initiative is not the tin sheds themselves — those are merely an outcome. The real achievement is what was built and strengthened through this entire process: the understanding that solutions to problems come not from outside, but from within. And when a community rises on its own, change arrives.

Hadmat’s experience is not merely one village’s community initiative. It stands as a model for all those villages that still depend on external forces to resolve their own problems. When Bhuralal Ji gave one lakh rupees, when the villagers pooled from their hard-earned wages, when teachers contributed from their own pockets, when the sarpanch stepped forward, when people from other villages also joined what was built was not just a tin shed. It was a reflection of a society that is ready to pay any price for the future of its children. And it is this awareness, this unity, this spirit this is the idea of Swaraj and the greatest capital any society can possess.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

All images in this article are from the author / featured image: Government Senior Secondary School, Hadmat, Block Gagad Talai, District Banswara — List of ‘Bhamashah’ Donors. (Photo Credit: Vikas Meshram)

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Experts are almost unanimous in their opinion that there is no alternative to the independence of institutions like judiciary, human rights commission, and anti-corruption commission for curbing the totalitarian grip of executive branch in a democratic dispensation. These institutions have remained under executive control since the independence of Bangladesh both structurally and functionally, and is considered the main reason for repeated rise of autocratic rule in the country, the worst example being the ousted AL-regime.

Naturally, the general masses have been aspiring for institutional reform in the power structure following the 2024 mass-upsurge. The interim government led by Professor Muhammad Yunus promulgated some ordinances toward that end. These included ordinances for establishing a separate secretariat for the judiciary under the Supreme Court and a transparent mechanism for appointing top court judges; strengthening the investigative powers of Anti-Corruption Commission (ACC); prevention of crimes like enforced disappearances; and bolstering the powers of National Human Rights Commission (NHRC).

As the first elected government following the July-upsurge and inheritor of the July-spirit, it was the responsibility of BNP-government to convert the above ordinances into law through acts of parliament. But instead of advancing on a path consistent with people’s aspirations over many years, the BNP is shunning these laws apparently to hold on to old autocratic power structure. By not constituting the council for constitutional reform, a grave uncertainty has been created regarding meaningful changes in the constitution. Some of the top functionaries even appear shy of using the term ‘reform’, and instead prefer expressions like ‘amendment’, which is indicative of their anti-reform mindset.

Among the 133 ordinances promulgated by the interim government, 98 have been converted into acts of parliament without any change, 15 have been passed in amended form including one that favours past defaulting owners of banks, but 20 have been completely shelved. The latter category includes five ordinances related to the judiciary, the crime of enforced disappearance, the ACC, and the NHRC. The repeal of these ordinances clearly indicates an intention to maintain an iron-grip over these institutions, rather than heed to the aspirations of common people as reflected by the referendum result.

The interim government promulgated the Enforced Disappearance Prevention and Redress Ordinance, 2025 in accordance with the provisions contained in related international convention, where it was identified as a crime with maximum punishment of death penalty or life imprisonment. Although the election manifesto of BNP included a pledge to take legal measures in accordance with the international convention for combating enforced disappearances, the government has now deviated from that promise by repealing the ordinance. It now seeks to omit detention on ground of national security from the definitions of enforced disappearance, and insert the provision of prior permission from government for investigating security agency members. It should be noted that the ordinance did not bar detentions on the ground of national security, but only stipulated that such detentions could not be kept secret.  The planned changes in law would undoubtedly make the law inconsistent with the international convention. Besides, it would enable the government to continue the inhuman and barbaric act of enforced disappearances through the functionaries of security agencies, as was done by the fascist Hasina regime.  

The interim government also incorporated some fundamental changes while promulgating the National Human Rights Commission Ordinance in order to make it more effective and independent. The commission was thereby empowered to undertake enquiries against government organizations and law enforcement agencies for violating human rights, including allegations of enforced disappearance. The grounds cited by the BNP for repealing this ordinance included lack of a supervisory authority for the commission, and the need for government approval before investigating security agency personnel. But if the commission remains under any ministry or division of the government, then independence of the commission cannot be ensured. Besides, the very purpose of the commission is to investigate transgressions committed by the executive branch of the state. Therefore, the requirement of seeking government approval would nullify the independent status of the commission. The government apparently seeks a subordinate NHRC as was the case during the fascist era.

The Anti-Corruption Commission (Amendment) Ordinance, 2025 promulgated by the interim government incorporated a provision for constitution of search committee that would appoint the ACC commissioners; and the committee was supposed to have 7 members including 3 nominated by the government. The government repealed this ordinance as it apparently could not agree with this stipulation, as that would have curtailed its authority in appointing commissioners. The move clearly contradicts the pledge made by the BNP in its election manifesto, which sought to amend the law related to Anti-Corruption Commission in order to ensure transparency and accountability of ACC through systemic reforms. The path the BNP is now treading would curb the independence of ACC instead of making it more autonomous.  

BNP has similarly not opted for passing the ordinances related to separation of judiciary and appointment of Supreme Court judges, although it pledged to do so in its election manifesto. As a result, ordinances related to appointment of judges in the Supreme Court and the establishment of an independent secretariat under the apex court have been repealed. The Appointment of Supreme Court Judges Ordinance, 2025 promulgated by the interim government in line with Article 95 (2-C) of the Constitution stipulated formation of a Supreme Judicial Appointment Council headed by the chief justice for recommending appointment of judges. Similarly, the Supreme Court Secretariat Ordinance, 2025 was repealed although the election manifesto of BNP unambiguously pledged to hand over control of the lower judiciary to the Supreme Court and strengthen the independent secretariat for the purpose.

All these indicate a strong preference by the BNP-government towards retaining old structures in various branches of the state. But it amounts to a clear betrayal with the spirit of 2024 mass upsurge and the pledge of putting Bangladesh before everything else.

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Dr Helal Uddin Ahmed is a retired Additional Secretary and former Editor of Bangladesh Quarterly. Email: [email protected]

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The scorching heat of inflation that has burned every common household across the country has reached the tribal areas of Rajasthan as well. When LPG cylinder prices began touching the sky and firewood became scarce as forests shrank, the villages of Palibada, Sasawadla, Loharia, Maskamohdi, Bachlipad, Dugariapada, Bijlpur, and Amlipad in the Sajjangarh tehsil of Banswara district found a path that not only solves the problem of the kitchen but simultaneously addresses farming, health, and the environment  That path is biogas.

Without understanding the geography and economy of this region, it is difficult to grasp the significance of this initiative. Most tribal families in Banswara depend on farming and animal husbandry. Maize, soybean, and cotton are the main crops here, but due to limited rainfall and hot, arid weather, growing a second rabbi crop is extremely difficult. The lack of cash income was such that refilling a gas cylinder every month was a heavy burden. Meanwhile, water scarcity, uncontrolled grazing, and hot winds have reduced the region’s greenery, making firewood increasingly hard to find. Women in the villages had to walk several kilometers on foot to collect firewood for cooking   paying the price with their time, labour, and health.

It was in these circumstances that Vaagdhara, an working for rural livelihood empowerment, intervened. The organization, through its Hiran, Mahi, and Mangarh units, supported the establishment of biogas plants in these villages. By 2025, a total of 280 biogas plants have been installed in the region, of which 40 new units were set up in the aforementioned villages in the year 2025 alone. Through training programmes, people were taught the simple structure of this technology a pit into which a mixture of dung and water is poured, a dome-shaped chamber where gas accumulates, and a pipeline that carries the gas directly to the kitchen stove. The technology was new, but not complex, and within a few months it became a natural part of villagers’ daily lives.

The results have been striking. Sarita Rakesh Damor, a woman farmer from Maskamohdi village, puts just fifteen kilograms of dung and ten liters of water into her plant every day and in return receives enough gas to meet her entire family’s cooking needs  without any additional expenditure. Sita Katara of Sasawadla village says “With the dung plant, there is no smoke in the kitchen now, food cooks faster, and the compulsion to wander miles through the forest is gone. Similarly, Thawarchand Hakri says Depending solely on LPG is not feasible given inflation and irregular income  installing the dung plant has saved five thousand rupees in five months.” Farmers like Parsing Munia and Dhansingh Katara are obtaining thirty kilograms of gas per day by mixing fifteen kilograms of dung with fifteen litres of water. From an economic perspective, each family is saving an average of five thousand rupees annually savings coming both from reduced LPG consumption and lower expenditure on chemical fertilizers. Across 280 families, this collective saving amounts to approximately fourteen lakh rupees annually  money that earlier left the village is now being reinvested in children’s education, healthcare, and agricultural inputs.

Another important by-product of the biogas plant is slurry  the residue left after gas production. This is an  excellent organic manure that improves the biological quality of the soil far more sustainably than chemical fertilizers. Farmers found that with regular use of slurry, soil fertility improved, crop quality enhanced, and the overall cost of farming decreased. This is the direct link between energy, agriculture, and livelihood that makes the decentralized energy model noteworthy from a policy perspective as well.

Perhaps the deepest impact of this initiative has been on the lives of women, who bore a double burden of inflation and fuel crisis. Standing for hours in smoke-filled kitchens, burning eyes, persistent coughing, and breathlessness all this was a normal part of their day. Biogas has changed this daily reality. The kitchen is now smoke-free, food cooks faster, and the compulsion to roam miles for firewood is gone. The time saved is now being spent on children’s studies, farm work, or self-development. At the health level too, there has been a notable decrease in smoke-related ailments  which may not yet have been measured in any official survey, but is on the lips of every woman in the village.

From an environmental perspective as well, this initiative is significant. When firewood consumption decreases, pressure on forests reduces; and when dung is used in a biogas plant instead of being burned or left to decompose in the open, methane emissions are also controlled. In this era of climate change, when every small or large effort matters, these villages of Banswara stand as an example of a practical and local solution.

Perhaps the most important aspect of this entire work is that this transformation was not imposed from above. Farmers took the initiative, women led the way, and the community collectively embraced it. Vaagdhara played the role of a catalyst, but the real change came from the hands that found solutions to their own problems. This is why the initiative is sustainable, and this is why it can serve as an inspiration and a reference point for other villages too. These villages of Banswara underline a simple truth: the path to true self-reliance can begin with something as ordinary as dung.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is a social development practitioner and writer working at the intersection of tribal culture, indigenous knowledge systems, water conservation, and community-led governance. His work is grounded in long-term field engagement with tribal and rural communities in India. He writes on alternative development paradigms, ecological sustainability, and participatory models rooted in traditional practices and lived experiences.

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In memory of Alyssa Alano, a student leader at the University of the Philippines Diliman, who was among 19 people killed in a clash between Philippine government forces and New People’s Army rebels in Toboso, Negros Occidental, on 19 April 2026.

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Across the world, political activism takes many forms. From bustling city streets filled with chants and placards to remote mountain encampments where armed struggle unfolds, young and old individuals commit themselves to challenging governments they perceive as oppressive, corrupt, or unjust. Despite their differences in method, these activists often share a common ideological foundation: a desire for systemic change and a rejection of abuse of power. 

Yet, the divergence in tactics creates a deep and often uncomfortable tension within activist movements themselves.

Some activists choose to operate in open, legal spaces. They organize protests, mobilize communities, build coalitions, and engage institutions. Their struggle is visible, public, and largely nonviolent. It depends on persuasion, moral pressure, and the belief that systems, however flawed, can be influenced or reformed through sustained civic engagement. These activists often invest time in building legitimacy, cultivating public support, and framing their cause in ways that resonate broadly. Their tools are speeches, petitions, strikes, and elections; their battlefield is the public sphere.

Others, however, become convinced that such avenues are insufficient. Repeated crackdowns, unresponsive leadership, or deeply entrenched inequalities can erode faith in peaceful methods. For them, the state is not merely unjust but structurally incapable of reform. Viewing armed struggle as necessary, they retreat to the margins, sometimes literally, into forests, deserts, or mountains, where they join revolutionary forces and prepare for direct confrontation. In these environments, discipline, secrecy, and survival replace visibility and dialogue. The logic shifts from persuasion to coercion, from symbolic resistance to material disruption.

At the level of principle, both groups may claim alignment. They speak the same language of justice, resistance, and liberation. They may even draw from the same historical narratives or ideological texts, honoring similar figures and moments of struggle. But in practice, their choices place them in entirely different realities wherein one is grounded in civil resistance, where success depends on legitimacy and numbers while the other, in armed conflict, where success hinges on strategy, endurance, and force.

This divide is not merely strategic; it is deeply moral and psychological. Nonviolent activists may view armed struggle as a dangerous escalation that risks lives, alienates potential allies, and invites severe repression. Those who take up arms, in turn, may see peaceful activism as a naïve or complicit  approach that legitimizes systems they believe must be dismantled entirely. Each side can come to question the other’s effectiveness, commitment, or even integrity.

The tension between these paths often shapes the trajectory of movements. In some cases, they coexist uneasily, influencing one another in complex ways wherein peaceful protests create space for negotiation, while the threat of armed resistance increases pressure on authorities. In others, the divide leads to fragmentation, weakening the broader cause.

This divergence reflects a fundamental question at the heart of political struggle: how change is achieved, and what costs are acceptable in its pursuit. While the goal of justice may be shared, the means of reaching it remain contested revealing that within any movement for change, unity of purpose does not guarantee unity of action.

In moments of death, this disparity becomes most stark.

When an armed activist is killed in battle against government forces, it is not uncommon for non-armed activists in urban or “lowland” settings to issue strong condemnations. Statements of outrage, mourning, and solidarity circulate widely, often framing the fallen individual as a victim of state violence. Names are memorialized, stories are shared, and the language used frequently mirrors that applied to civilians harmed in clearly one-sided acts of repression.

But this reaction raises a difficult question: what exactly is being condemned?

An armed encounter between state forces and rebel fighters is, by definition, a conflict in which both sides anticipate and accept the possibility of lethal outcomes. Those who take up arms do so with an implicit or explicit understanding of the risks involved. Death, in this context, is not incidental; it is an inherent part of warfare. The battlefield, whether in remote terrain or contested rural zones, operates under a fundamentally different logic than a protest march or a community assembly. It is shaped by strategy, force, and survival rather than persuasion or public visibility.

This does not mean that all deaths in such contexts are morally equivalent or beyond scrutiny. Questions of proportionality, conduct, and legitimacy still matter deeply. Was the killing part of an active engagement, or was it an execution after capture? Were the rules of engagement followed, or were they violated? These distinctions are crucial, yet they are often blurred or ignored in the language of blanket condemnation.

For non-armed activists, the impulse to denounce such deaths may stem from genuine solidarity, a broader opposition to state power, or a desire to maintain a unified narrative of resistance. However, it can also reveal an unresolved tension: an attempt to reconcile two fundamentally different modes of struggle under a single moral framework. By framing all deaths of activists as comparable instances of victimization, the specific realities of armed conflict risk being flattened or obscured.

At the same time, acknowledging this complexity can be uncomfortable. To recognize that an armed fighter knowingly entered a lethal confrontation is not to deny their cause or diminish their humanity. But it does complicate the narrative. It forces a distinction between tragedy and injustice, between loss and wrongdoing. Not every death in conflict can be understood in the same way as the killing of an unarmed protester or civilian.

This tension underscores a broader challenge within activist movements: how to speak honestly about the consequences of different strategies without fracturing solidarity. It raises questions about responsibility, representation, and the ethics of framing. In trying to honor the dead, movements must also grapple with the realities of the paths those individuals chose as well as the fundamentally different worlds those choices inhabit.

To ignore this reality can lead to a kind of selective moral framing. When non-armed activists condemn the killing of an armed rebel without acknowledging the conditions of armed struggle, they risk oversimplifying a complex situation. The fallen activist was not a passive participant; they made a conscious decision to engage in violent resistance, to operate in a space where confrontation is expected and where lethal force is not an aberration but a defining feature.

This does not reduce their death to something insignificant or unworthy of grief. Rather, it changes the nature of how that death is understood. There is a difference between condemning an abuse such as the killing of someone who is unarmed, detained, or otherwise out of action due to injury or damage and responding to a death that occurs within the dynamics of an armed clash. When these distinctions are blurred, moral language can lose precision, and with it, the ability to critically assess what actually took place.

This is not to deny the value of their conviction or the sincerity of their cause. On the contrary, choosing to enter an armed struggle often reflects a level of commitment that goes beyond rhetoric and into personal risk. It requires individuals to accept isolation, hardship, and the constant possibility of death. In many cases, those who take this path do so because they believe all other avenues have failed or are fundamentally closed to them. Their decision can be rooted in a deep sense of urgency, frustration, or moral duty.

But that same decision also carries consequences that cannot be easily separated from the choice itself. To participate in armed resistance is to accept a different ethical and practical framework  in which actions are judged not only by intention but by their role within a cycle of force and counterforce. Death, in this setting, is not simply something inflicted; it is something risked, anticipated, and, to some extent, incorporated into the logic of the struggle.

Recognizing this does not require abandoning empathy or solidarity. It does, however, call for a more careful and honest vocabulary  that can hold two ideas at once: that a person may be deeply committed to a cause one finds just, and that their chosen method of pursuing it places them in a fundamentally different moral and strategic landscape. Without that clarity, responses risk becoming more about preserving a unified narrative than about understanding the realities on the ground.

At the same time, it would be overly simplistic and ultimately misleading to dismiss non-armed activists as merely lacking courage. Courage is not a single, uniform quality that only appears under fire. It manifests in different forms, shaped by context and choice. Standing unarmed before riot police, returning to the streets after repeated crackdowns, organizing communities under constant surveillance, or risking arrest, imprisonment, or social exclusion are  acts that demand a sustained, often quieter kind of resolve. It is a courage rooted not in confrontation through force, but in persistence, visibility, and the willingness to endure pressure without retreating into violence.

For many, this path is not the “easier” option but a deliberate commitment to a different philosophy of change that seeks to transform systems without reproducing the very dynamics of coercion and harm they oppose. The risks may be less immediately lethal than those faced in armed resistance, but they are no less real. Lives can be upended, livelihoods destroyed, and personal safety continually threatened. Courage here is measured not in moments of battle, but in the ability to continue despite exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty.

The real issue, then, may not be about who is braver, but about how movements understand and respect differing paths of struggle. When these paths are reduced to caricatures wherein one side is seen as reckless militants while the other as timid reformists, the possibility for honest dialogue collapses. Each approach emerges from a set of assumptions about power, change, and what is possible within a given political context. Recognizing this does not require agreement, but it does require a willingness to engage those differences without dismissiveness.

Activism does not inherently require armed resistance. History offers numerous examples of transformative change achieved through nonviolent means, where mass participation, moral pressure, and institutional engagement reshaped political realities. At the same time, it also shows that some movements have turned to armed struggle when they rightly or wrongly concluded that all other avenues were blocked or ineffective. These choices are rarely made in a vacuum; they are shaped by conditions on the ground, by lived experiences of repression, and by differing interpretations of what constitutes viable action.

What is essential, then, is clarity and consistency. Movements must be honest about the implications of the strategies they endorse or defend. If nonviolent activism is the chosen path, it should be articulated not as a default or a limitation, but as a principled stance with its own logic and expectations. If armed struggle is supported or justified, that support should come with an acknowledgment of its realities like its risks, its ethical complexities, and its consequences.

Without this clarity, tensions deepen. Language becomes a tool not for understanding, but for smoothing over contradictions. Solidarity risks becoming performative rather than grounded. But with it, movements can at least confront their internal differences with integrity, recognizing that while their visions of justice may align, the roads they choose to pursue will not always converge.

If activists choose to support armed resistance, whether directly through participation or indirectly through advocacy, messaging, or material aid, they take on more than a symbolic position. They align themselves, at least in part, with a form of struggle in which violence is not incidental but structural. That alignment carries an obligation to confront its realities without euphemism: that armed conflict entails not only the possibility but the likelihood of injury, death, and escalation; that it draws in not just committed fighters but often affects surrounding communities; and that it can reshape the very movement it aims to advance. To support such a path while speaking of it only in abstract or romantic terms risks turning lived consequences into distant concepts.

At the same time, those who reject armed methods have their own responsibility to remain consistent in how they articulate their position. If the commitment is to nonviolence, whether for strategic, ethical, or pragmatic reasons, then that stance should be reflected clearly in moments of crisis. It becomes difficult to maintain coherence when one simultaneously distances oneself from armed struggle while invoking the sacrifices of those who engage in it as if they were interchangeable with nonviolent actors. Respecting individuals who chose that path does not require adopting their framework or blurring the distinctions that define it.

This is where the question of consistency becomes especially important. Movements often rely on shared narratives to sustain unity, but when those narratives flatten meaningful differences, they can obscure more than they reveal. Acknowledging that different strategies carry different consequences does not weaken a movement; it can, in fact, strengthen its internal honesty. It allows participants to understand not only what they are working toward, but what they are and are not willing to endorse along the way.

Condemnation, to be meaningful, must therefore be grounded in a full understanding of context, not just emotion or ideological alignment. Outrage alone, however sincere, is not a substitute for clarity. To condemn effectively is to identify what, specifically, is being objected to: is it the fact of death itself, the conditions under which it occurred, or the broader system that produced the conflict? Without that precision, condemnation can become diffuse like an expression of grief or anger that gestures toward injustice without clearly naming it.

A more grounded response does not require detachment or indifference. It allows space for mourning, for solidarity, and for critique, but it anchors those responses in a recognition of reality. In doing so, it avoids collapsing distinct experiences into a single narrative and instead engages with the difficult, often uncomfortable truth that the paths people choose in pursuit of change shape not only their goals, but the terms on which they live and die within that struggle.

In the end, the divide between the streets and the mountains is not just geographical. It is philosophical, strategic, and deeply human. It reflects fundamentally different answers to the same underlying questions: What is power? How does it yield? What risks are justified in trying to transform it? And what responsibilities come with the methods one chooses? These are not abstract disagreements; they shape how people live, act, and ultimately what they are willing to sacrifice.

For those in the streets, change is often imagined as something built patiently, collectively, and in public view. It relies on legitimacy, numbers, and the belief that systems can be pressured, reformed, or reshaped from within or alongside existing structures. For those in the mountains, change may be seen as something seized through rupture rather than reform, through confrontation rather than negotiation. Each path carries its own internal logic, and each demands a different kind of commitment, discipline, and tolerance for uncertainty.

Bridging that divide, then, requires more than expressions of solidarity that gloss over these differences. It demands intellectual honesty: a willingness to name what each path entails without softening its edges or selectively framing its consequences. It also requires mutual respect not in the sense of uncritical agreement, but in recognizing that individuals arrive at their choices through lived experiences, constraints, and convictions that are not always visible from the outside.

Perhaps most difficult of all, it calls for a readiness to confront uncomfortable truths about choice, risk, and responsibility. Every strategy carries trade-offs. Every form of resistance creates not only possibilities, but costs borne by those who choose the path and often by those around them. To engage seriously with these realities is to move beyond simplified narratives of heroism or victimhood and toward a more grounded understanding of struggle itself.

Such an approach does not resolve the divide, nor does it eliminate tension. But it creates the conditions for something more durable than surface-level unity: a form of engagement rooted in clarity rather than assumption. In that space, disagreement can exist without distortion, and when  solidarity is expressed, it can carry a weight that is earned through understanding rather than asserted through rhetoric.

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Prof. Ruel F. Pepa is a Filipino philosopher based in Madrid, Spain. A retired academic (Associate Professor IV), he taught Philosophy and Social Sciences for more than fifteen years at Trinity University of Asia, an Anglican university in the Philippines. He is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG).

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There are certain moments in history when multiple crises intertwine simultaneously, and their combined impact is far more devastating than each crisis in isolation. India today stands at precisely such a difficult crossroads. The war smouldering in West Asia, a weakening monsoon due to El Niño, declining industrial productivity, and a slowdown in international investment all these challenges have collectively pushed India’s economy into a complex bind. To truly understand the depth of this crisis, one cannot merely look at numbers; one must also examine the structural realities and geopolitical entanglements that lie beneath.

The strikes carried out by the United States and Israel against Iran in the latter half of February 2026 sent shockwaves through global energy markets whose reverberations extended well beyond a simple rise in oil prices. Shipping through the Strait of Hormuz virtually ground to a halt, disrupting nearly twenty percent of the world’s total oil supply. This was particularly dangerous for India, which imports approximately 85 percent of its crude oil requirements, a substantial portion of which travels through this very route. Shipping costs rose, insurance premiums spiked, and the rupee came under severe pressure. At one point, the Indian rupee fell to a historic low of 93–94 against the dollar, while major stock market indices collapsed by roughly ten percent within a single month. These developments were directly reflected in industrial production data. In March 2026, India’s Index of Eight Core Industries recorded a contraction of 0.4 percent, the worst performance in 19 months. For the full financial year 2025–26, the combined growth of these sectors stood at a mere 2.6 percent, the weakest performance in five years since the COVID-19 pandemic. These eight sectors carry a weight of nearly 40 percent in India’s Index of Industrial Production, meaning their decline is far from sector-specific.

The most alarming figure within this decline was the record fall in fertiliser production, a staggering 24.6 percent drop in March, the steepest single-month contraction since the current data series began in April 2012. Crude oil production fell by 5.7 percent, marking the seventh consecutive month of year-on-year contraction. Coal output declined by four percent, and electricity generation contracted by 0.5 percent. According to ICRA’s Chief Economist Aditi Nair, growth in steel and cement production, both closely tied to the construction sector, also weakened in March compared to February, signaling a slowdown in construction activity. India’s connection to the conflict extends well beyond energy. Chief Economic Adviser V. Anantha Nageswaran outlined four primary channels through which India is being affected: disruption in the supply of oil, gas, and fertilisers; rising import prices; higher freight costs; and a decline in remittances from Indians working in Gulf countries. This last factor often goes unnoticed, yet it is of critical importance. Gulf countries contribute approximately 38 percent of India’s total foreign exchange earnings. When economies in those nations are destabilized and Indian workers are forced to return home, it not only reduces foreign currency inflows but also compounds the domestic unemployment challenge.

Moody’s analysis has identified India as one of the most vulnerable economies in the Asia-Pacific region. If the conflict is prolonged, India’s income could fall nearly four percent below original projections. EY has been even more explicit, stating that if disruptions continue into financial year 2027, India’s real GDP growth rate could decline by approximately one percentage point, while inflation could remain one and a half percentage points above initial estimates. This dual crisis of sluggish growth combined with rising inflation has placed the Reserve Bank of India in an extraordinarily difficult position: raise interest rates and risk further weakening growth, or lower them and risk stoking inflation further.

But even as India grapples with the war’s fallout, nature demands equal attention. In April 2026, the India Meteorological Department released its first long-range forecast, projecting monsoon rainfall at 92 percent of the long-period average, the first below normal forecast in three years. The primary culprit is El Niño. The IMD has indicated that El Niño-like conditions are expected to develop in the central equatorial Pacific Ocean from June onward, a phenomenon historically associated with reduced rainfall over the Indian subcontinent. According to the IMD, there is a 31 percent probability of below normal rainfall this monsoon season, and a direct 35 percent probability of deficient rainfall, that is, below 90 percent of the long-period average, which is more than double the historical average probability of 16 percent. Private weather agency Skymet offered a slightly more optimistic forecast of 94 percent, but even they placed a 60 percent probability of below normal rainfall specifically for the month of August. August and September are the most critical months for kharif crops, making rainfall during this period of exceptional importance. The IMD believes that a positive phase of the Indian Ocean Dipole could partially offset the monsoon’s weakness, and meteorologist K. J. Ramesh has also noted that global warming is increasing moisture content within the monsoon system. However, these remain uncertain factors, and basing policy on uncertainties is inherently dangerous.

To appreciate the economic significance of monsoon uncertainty, one crucial fact must be kept in mind. Although India’s proportion of irrigated farmland has improved from 49.3 percent to 55 percent in recent years, 45 percent of agriculture still depends entirely on the monsoon. Pulses and oilseeds, which are predominantly grown in non-irrigated areas, are particularly vulnerable. If their production declines, imports will rise, food inflation will surge, and overall economic growth will be hampered. The convergence of these two crises, fertilisers made expensive by war and reduced output due to a weakened monsoon, delivers a double blow to farmers. On one side, input costs rise; on the other, yields fall. Nearly 60 percent of India’s farmers are entirely dependent on the monsoon for the kharif season. When they are in distress, their purchasing power diminishes, directly impacting rural demand. Since rural consumption forms a substantial share of India’s total domestic consumption, this effect ripples through like a chain reaction, eventually reaching urban industries.

In this context, the government has several options available, but each carries its own constraints. Increasing fertiliser subsidies widens the fiscal deficit. Reducing excise duty on petrol cuts into revenue. Reports indicate that the government has decided to reduce excise duty on petrol by ten rupees per litre, a burden that will fall squarely on the exchequer. Yet these measures are temporary, and structural reforms are what India truly needs for lasting solutions. There are, however, some reassuring factors. India produced a record 357 million tonnes of food grains in 2024–25, and the Food Corporation of India’s central buffer stocks held over 60 million tonnes of wheat and rice at the beginning of April 2026, a robust shield from the standpoint of food security. Moreover, in financial year 2025–26, steel production grew by 9.1 percent and cement production by 8.6 percent, indicating relatively strong performance in the infrastructure sector. Yet even as these positives stand to the nation’s credit, the liabilities remain large.

The true significance of March’s data is this: India is moving toward a moment of high risk. The kharif sowing season lies ahead, global supply chains remain stretched, and there are no signs of an early resolution to the West Asian conflict. If fertiliser prices and energy costs remain elevated through April and May, the combined pressure of agricultural input costs and food inflation will hurt ordinary citizens far more acutely. The Chief Economic Adviser has explicitly stated that India’s projected growth rate of 7 to 7.4 percent for 2026–27 carries significant downside risks. The head of the International Monetary Fund has also noted that the effects of the war are already being felt, and that even if the conflict ends quickly, its economic consequences will not easily dissipate. Chatham House has estimated that if the conflict persists for several months, oil prices could rise to 130 dollars per barrel, a scenario that would make India’s situation far more dire.

In confronting this multi-layered crisis, the Indian government cannot afford merely reactive policymaking; proactive planning is essential. Fertiliser stockpiling, water resource management, accelerating rural employment schemes, equitable food distribution, and the Reserve Bank’s deft monetary stewardship to maintain rupee stability, all of these must be managed simultaneously. This is a moment of reckoning. Two years of favourable conditions, cheap fuel and good monsoons, had lent the country a certain aura. Now, as those tailwinds fade, India’s policymakers must truly demonstrate their mettle. A nation’s shining image is not sustained by favorable circumstances alone; it is proven through resolute leadership and decisive action in times of crisis. The question is not whether the crisis will come. The question is how prepared and how effectively we will face it.

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Whenever a bill comes up for vote in India’s Parliament, what lies behind it is not merely a piece of legislation, it carries the weight of decades of history, the hopes of countless people and women, and the tangled calculations of political parties.

On April 16, the central government had tabled the Women’s Reservation Amendment Bill that is, the 131st Constitutional Amendment Bill 2026 along with the Delimitation Bill 2026 and the Union Territory Laws Amendment Bill 2026 in the Lok Sabha. But ultimately, the bill was defeated in the vote. The bill received 298 votes in favour and 230 against, and the government could not secure the two-thirds majority required for a constitutional amendment. Since the NDA’s total strength in the Lok Sabha stood at 293, it was never possible for the bill to pass without the support of the opposition. This defeat is not new. The pain of women’s reservation is more than three-decades old. The very first women’s reservation bill was introduced in Parliament on September 12, 1996, by the HD Deve Gowda government, in the form of the 81st Constitutional Amendment Bill. However, due to the failure to achieve political consensus and opposition from within the coalition government itself, it was referred to a Joint Parliamentary Committee, and was lapsed with the dissolution of the 11th Lok Sabha. Every government that followed took up the issue, but each time it sank in the mud of political calculations.

In 2010, the UPA government passed the Women’s Reservation Bill in the Rajya Sabha. The Congress had deliberately chosen to begin with the Rajya Sabha, knowing well that there was a split within its own UPA coalition in the Lok Sabha. When Sharad Yadav mockingly referred to “park-cut women” during the parliamentary debate, it symbolized the resistance within the UPA itself. Congress knew it lacked the numbers in the Lok Sabha, so it kept the bill alive by getting it passed in the Rajya Sabha. For the next ten years Congress remained in power, yet it never mustered the courage to bring the bill to the Lok Sabha. Then in 2023, the Nari Shakti Vandan Adhiniyam  that is, the 106th Constitutional Amendment got the Women’s Reservation Bill passed with near-unanimous support. Only two members of Parliament voted against it at the time. The entire Parliament stood united. But that law carried a crucial condition: the reservation would come into force only after delimitation. The women’s reservation was to take effect after the delimitation that would follow the 2026 census, and a fresh census would first have to be conducted. In other words, the law was passed, but to bring it into effect, the key of delimitation was needed. And that very key became the centerpiece of the 2026 bill.

The government’s objective through this bill was to redraw constituencies on the basis of the 2011 census, increasing the number of Lok Sabha seats from the current 543 to 816, and to reserve 33 percent of those seats for women, so that this reservation would come into effect from the 2029 elections. But this delimitation, that is the redrawing of parliamentary constituencies, became a matter of concern particularly for the southern Indian states. The southern states have demanded that the basis for delimitation should not be population alone, but should also include the states’ economic performance. Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, and Andhra Pradesh had consciously controlled their population growth and prioritized education, health, and economic development. Their human development indices are, in many respects, better than those of states in northern India. However, if delimitation is carried out on the basis of population, the representation of these states in Parliament will shrink while the share of northern Indian states will grow.

The southern states had previously expressed similar discontent regarding the conditions set by the Finance Commission  where their better performance did not translate into proportionate benefit. Therefore, the opposition from southern Indian leaders and parties to this bill was not a resistance to women’s reservation per se, but a resistance to the potential reduction of their representation through delimitation.

The 2023 constitutional amendment had clearly stated that women’s reservation would come into effect only after a census and delimitation. The government now wanted to expedite this process, and had decided to carry out delimitation based on the 2011 census. But the opposition asked: the 2011 census is now 15 years old, what was the harm in waiting for a fresh census?

Furthermore, the previous delimitation process had taken about eight years, making it extremely uncertain whether new delimitation could be completed before 2029. Congress and the INDIA alliance argued that 33 percent reservation for women should be granted immediately on the existing 543 seats, without waiting for delimitation. But this was not practically feasible because the 2023 law itself had stipulated the condition of delimitation and the opposition parties themselves had voted for it at the time. Now those same parties were saying that delimitation was unacceptable — the contradiction was plain for all to see. They ought to have honestly proposed sitting with the government to amend the conditions of the law, but that did not happen.

As soon as the bill fell, NDA women members of Parliament staged a protest in the parliamentary premises, and the BJP began labelling Congress and INDIA alliance members as anti-women. Looking at all this, one could tell that posters had been printed even before the bill was defeated, that plans for a national agitation had already been laid. In other words, the BJP had come prepared to use this bill as a political weapon. It was purely a political arrow shot to corner the opposition by capitalizing on the sentiment of Nari Shakti.

When Prime Minister Modi addressed the nation, he described it as an effort to deliver rights that had been pending for 40 years. But in making this statement, one question remains unanswered: in the last 11 years, when the BJP enjoyed a sweeping majority, why was no sincere effort made to build consensus?

The real question is: who truly wants women’s reservation? Broadly speaking, 86 percent of Lok Sabha members are men, and in state assemblies this figure is around 90 percent. If one-third of seats were reserved, many of these male members’ constituencies would fall into the women’s quota. Each constituency has been built over years of labour and crores of rupees spent. Who would willingly give that up? This has been the root cause of the stalling since 1996  not the absence of the will to pass the law, but the fear of losing one’s own constituency. This truth holds equally for the ruling and the opposition parties.

On the other side, the 73rd and 74th Constitutional Amendments of 1993 reserved a minimum of 33 percent seats for women in panchayati raj institutions. Thereafter, more than 20 states and union territories, including Bihar, Uttarakhand, and Maharashtra, raised this reservation directly to 50 percent. Today, more than 14.5 lakh women serve as elected representatives in local self-government bodies, accounting for approximately 46 percent of total members. It is true that some of these women still serve as a façade for the political ambitions of their husbands, brothers, or sons. But a far larger number are those women who are not merely active but are demonstrating their competence in administration and decision-making. A second generation is now entering politics  the gram sabha member wants to rise to the district level, the municipal councillor wants to become an MLA. The aspirations of these women are becoming the foundation of billions of votes. However, the picture in Parliament and state assemblies remains dismal. In the 18th Lok Sabha, only 75 out of 543 members are women, barely 14 percent. In the Rajya Sabha, around 39 women members, that is 17 percent. And if we count all Lok Sabha and state assembly members across the country combined, out of 4,666 MPs and MLAs, only 464 a mere 10 percent  are women. This imbalance is so deep that it cannot be corrected without political will in Parliament.

In all of this, the most important issue is dialogue. When the Nari Shakti Vandan Adhiniyam was passed in 2023, there was near unanimity in Parliament the same atmosphere could have been created in 2026 as well. The Prime Minister ought to have invited the Leader of the Opposition, formed an all-party committee, and openly discussed all the concerns, delimitation, a quota-within-quota for OBC women, and the fears of the southern states  with an open mind. But this did not happen. Neither did the ruling party engage in dialogue, nor did the opposition put forward a sincere alternative proposal. This bill went exactly the same way as the three farm laws did in 2020; brought in with inadequate consultation, imposed for political reasons, and ultimately abandoned.

India’s politics has repeatedly betrayed Nari Shakti over the last three decades. But now, women voters are more aware, their political aspirations are alive, and they can recognize who truly delivers them justice and who merely uses their name for electoral purposes. The question of women’s reservation is no longer merely a matter of parliamentary numbers; it has become a question of social justice and political credibility. Until both the ruling side and the opposition are willing to rise above their own self-interest and sit together, this dream will remain unfulfilled  and the price will continue to be paid by half the country’s population.

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Sajjangarh block in Banswara district of Rajasthan is a region where the majority of the population belongs to tribal communities. The people here live scattered across hills and hamlets, with neither adequate irrigation facilities nor any stable means of livelihood. Most families in this area depend on rain-fed agriculture and daily wage labour for their survival. When the rains fail or crops are lost, entire families migrate to cities like Ahmedabad to find work in construction. This migration sometimes stretches to more than six months out of 12. Its deepest toll falls on women’s health, children’s education, and the social fabric of the family. Climate change has only sharpened these hardships.

It is against this difficult backdrop that Dayabai Motilal Dodiyar lives in the village of Bijalpura. Forty-six years old and part of a family of five, she owns eight bighas of agricultural land yet because farming here depends entirely on rainfall, only a single crop could be grown each year. For the rest of the year, migrating to Ahmedabad with her family for wage work was an inescapable reality. Near Dayabai’s field, the Gram Panchayat of Godawada Narang had constructed a check dam back in 2013. But more than a decade had passed, and silt had accumulated to the point where the structure was entirely non-functional. It still stood there, but no water was retained and no benefit reached the fields. The farms of other members of the Saksham group Binubai Dodiyar, Hira Dodiyar, Radhika Dodiyar, Meera Dodiyar, Sangeeta Dodiyar, Rajkumari Dodiyar, Manjula Dodiyar, Kali Dodiyar, Lakshmi Dodiyar, Shila Dodiyar, Devli Dodiyar, and Sita Dodiyar   also adjoined this same check dam. For all of them, that crumbling structure was a shared problem, and yet no one had ever made an effort to find a solution.

During this same period, Vaagdhara in collaboration with Hindustan Unilever Foundation, was working in the area on sustainable agriculture and the efficient use of water. Through Gram Swaraj groups, Saksham groups, and Bal  Swaraj groups, regular training sessions and meetings were held to make communities self-reliant in matters of water, forests, land, livestock, and seeds. Community facilitators at these gatherings encouraged people to return to nature and tradition. From 2023 onwards, the programme began a focused dialogue on the construction, repair, and sustainable management of water conservation structures, and awareness around water gradually deepened within the community. During one such meeting of the Bijalpura Gram Swaraj group, deliberations were underway on water conservation and the repair of water structures. Dayabai was present and listening carefully to everything being discussed. When the conversation turned to the water structures in their area, the memory of that long-dormant check dam came to her mind. She thought that if the check dam could be deepened, not only her field but all the surrounding farmers could receive water.

Dayabai first discussed this idea with her Saksham group companions  Binubai, Hira, Radhika, and Meera. All agreed unanimously that the proposal should be placed before the Gram Swaraj group meeting. When Dayabai and her colleagues presented the proposal for deepening the check dam at the Gram Swaraj meeting, everyone gave their consent. After collective deliberation, a formal proposal was prepared in the name of Gram Panchayat Godawada Narang, and submitted by Dayabai and the Saksham group members at the Gram Sabha under the oversight of the Gram Swaraj group. The Gram Panchayat accepted the proposal, and the work of deepening the check dam was sanctioned under the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme. Once work began, members from approximately 70 surrounding families worked shoulder to shoulder. The effort continued for two months, and throughout this period Dayabai, Binubai, Hira, Radhika, and Meera played a particularly significant role  from providing water to laborers to actively participating in cleaning and pitching work through the collective tradition of Halma. Halma is the tribal practice of communal voluntary labour, in which the entire community unites for a common purpose. This ancient tradition answered a modern need, and the whole community came together with a renewed sense of hope.

When the deepening of the check dam was complete and the rains came, water began to collect and in that gathered water, these women saw their own future. They resolved that this time, there would be no migration. This time, they would stay home and cultivate their own land. That single decision changed everything. Across 62 bighas of farmland connected to the check dam, 14 farmers sowed Rabi crops. Chickpeas, wheat, maize,  and pigeon peas began to thrive  a satisfaction that no wage labour could ever offer.

The impact of water being retained in the check dam was not confined to the fields alone. The groundwater level in nearby wells, hand pumps, and bore wells improved. The area under irrigation expanded, and with it came relief in animal husbandry as well, since livestock no longer had to travel far for water. During the deepening work, approximately seventy neighboring families received continuous employment for two months, generating around 2,200 person-days of work. The efforts of Dayabai and the other women demonstrate that when women learn to raise their voice, and when traditional knowledge meets modern schemes, change is certain to follow. Today, Dayabai is no longer confined to the limits of her home. She regularly reaches out to other women to strengthen the Saksham group and educates her community about the importance of water, land, forests, livestock, and native seeds. Her husband and other family members, who had earlier migrated for more than six months at a stretch, now farm their own land and live together as a family. Only an empowered community can lay the foundation for its own secure future.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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Introduction

The evolution of India’s political economy reveals a deep tension between constitutional ideals of social justice and the growing dominance of market-oriented reforms. The intellectual legacy of B. R. Ambedkar is central to understanding this contradiction. While Ambedkar is widely recognized as the chief architect of the Indian Constitution and a pioneering anti-caste thinker, his economic philosophy—particularly his advocacy of State Socialism—remains relatively underexplored.

Ambedkar’s vision of economic democracy, articulated most systematically in States and Minorities (1947), sought to institutionalize social justice through state intervention, public ownership, and the redistribution of resources. In contrast, India’s post-1991 embrace of neoliberalism following the 1991 Economic Liberalisation in India marked a decisive shift toward market-driven development, privatization, and global integration.

This essay argues that neoliberalism in India represents a significant departure from Ambedkar’s emancipatory project. By privileging growth over equality and markets over social justice, neoliberal policies have often reinforced structural inequalities—particularly those rooted in caste. An Ambedkarite critique thus provides a powerful framework for rethinking India’s contemporary political economy.

Ambedkar’s Concept of State Socialism

Ambedkar’s conception of State Socialism was both radical and pragmatic. It combined elements of liberal constitutionalism with socialist economic principles, all grounded in a deep commitment to social justice and the annihilation of caste.

In States and Minorities, Ambedkar proposed the nationalization of key industries such as insurance, transport, and mining (Ambedkar 1947/1979). His objective was to prevent the concentration of economic power in private hands, which he believed was incompatible with democracy. For Ambedkar, political democracy could not survive without economic democracy.

Equally significant was his proposal for collective agriculture. He advocated state ownership of land and its cultivation through cooperative farming systems. This was aimed at dismantling the entrenched system of landlordism and caste-based agrarian exploitation. Unlike Marxist collectivization, however, Ambedkar’s approach was rooted in constitutionalism and democratic governance.

Another distinctive feature of Ambedkar’s thought was his insistence that economic rights—such as the right to work and livelihood—should be fundamental rights enforceable by law. This position was far ahead of its time and reflected his belief that civil and political rights are meaningless without material security.

Ambedkar’s economic philosophy was inseparable from his critique of caste, most powerfully articulated in Annihilation of Caste (1936). He argued that caste is not merely a social system but an economic order that structures access to resources and opportunities (Ambedkar 1936/1979). Therefore, any meaningful economic reform must address caste-based inequalities.

Neoliberalism in India: Origins and Features

India’s transition to neoliberalism began in 1991 under Prime Minister P. V. Narasimha Rao and Finance Minister Manmohan Singh. Faced with a severe balance-of-payments crisis, the government initiated a series of structural reforms that liberalized the economy, reduced state intervention, and opened the country to global markets (Chandra et al. 2000).

Neoliberalism is premised on the belief that free markets are the most efficient mechanism for allocating resources. It emphasizes privatization, deregulation, and globalization. As David Harvey (2005) argues, neoliberalism seeks to maximize individual entrepreneurial freedoms within a framework of strong private property rights and free markets.

In the Indian context, neoliberalism has coexisted with democratic institutions but has operated within a deeply unequal social structure. While it has contributed to economic growth, it has also led to rising inequality, regional disparities, and the marginalization of vulnerable communities.

Ambedkar versus Neoliberalism: A Comparative Analysis

The contrast between Ambedkar’s State Socialism and neoliberalism can be understood along several key dimensions.

First, there is a fundamental difference in the role of the state. Ambedkar viewed the state as an active agent of social transformation, responsible for ensuring justice and equality. Neoliberalism, by contrast, envisions a minimal state whose primary function is to facilitate markets.

Second, the two frameworks differ in their approach to economic justice. Ambedkar prioritized redistribution and equality as essential conditions for democracy. Neoliberalism prioritizes economic growth, often assuming that the benefits of growth will eventually “trickle down” to the poor—a claim that has been widely contested (Drèze and Sen 2013).

Third, Ambedkar’s emphasis on public ownership and anti-monopoly measures stands in sharp contrast to neoliberalism’s promotion of private capital accumulation. This has significant implications for the distribution of wealth and power in society.

Finally, Ambedkar’s thought is deeply attentive to caste, whereas neoliberalism tends to treat individuals as abstract market actors, ignoring the social structures that shape economic outcomes.

Caste and Neoliberal Political Economy

One of the most significant limitations of neoliberalism in India is its failure to address caste. Ambedkar’s analysis makes it clear that caste is a system of graded inequality that structures economic life. Access to land, education, and capital is deeply mediated by caste.

Neoliberalism, however, assumes a level playing field in which individuals compete freely in markets. This assumption obscures the ways in which historical disadvantages continue to shape economic opportunities.

Scholars such as Anand Teltumbde (2018) have argued that India’s neoliberal economy is best understood as a form of “caste capitalism,” where market processes reproduce and even intensify caste hierarchies. Upper castes continue to dominate high-value sectors, while Dalits and Adivasis are concentrated in precarious and informal forms of labour.

Consequences of Neoliberalism in India

The neoliberal turn has had several significant consequences for Indian society.

First, it has led to rising economic inequality. Studies such as the World Inequality Report (Piketty and Chancel 2018) show a sharp increase in wealth concentration in India over the past three decades.

Second, the privatization of education and healthcare has made these essential services less accessible to marginalized communities. This undermines the principle of equal opportunity and contradicts Ambedkar’s emphasis on state responsibility.

Third, labour market reforms have led to the informalization of work, weakening job security and labour rights (Breman 1996). This disproportionately affects historically marginalized groups.

Finally, the shift from universal welfare to targeted schemes has limited the scope of redistribution, leaving structural inequalities largely intact (Patnaik 2018).

Toward a Neo-Ambedkarite Political Economy

Given these challenges, there is a need to revisit Ambedkar’s economic thought in order to develop a more just and inclusive model of development.

A neo-Ambedkarite political economy would seek to combine economic growth with social justice. It would involve a more active role for the state in regulating markets, preventing the concentration of wealth, and ensuring access to essential services.

Such a framework would also require caste-conscious policies that address structural inequalities. This could include measures such as affirmative action in the private sector, expanded access to credit for marginalized communities, and renewed efforts at land reform.

Above all, it would reaffirm the principle that economic policy must be guided by the values of equality, dignity, and justice.

Conclusion

The contrast between Ambedkar’s State Socialism and neoliberalism highlights a fundamental tension in India’s development trajectory. While neoliberal reforms have contributed to economic growth, they have often done so at the cost of deepening social inequalities.

Ambedkar’s vision, by contrast, offers a framework for achieving substantive democracy through economic and social transformation. His insistence that political democracy must be grounded in social and economic equality remains profoundly relevant in contemporary India.

Revisiting Ambedkar’s economic philosophy is therefore not merely an academic exercise but a necessary step toward building a more just and inclusive society.

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SR Darapuri, National President, All India Peoples Front.

Sources

Ambedkar, B. R. 1936/1979. Annihilation of Caste. In Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar: Writings and Speeches, Vol. 1. New Delhi: Government of India.

Ambedkar, B. R. 1947/1979. States and Minorities. In Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar: Writings and Speeches, Vol. 1. New Delhi: Government of India.

Breman, Jan. 1996. Footloose Labour. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chandra, Bipan, Mridula Mukherjee, Aditya Mukherjee, K. N. Panikkar, and Sucheta Mahajan. 2000. India After Independence. New Delhi: Penguin.

Drèze, Jean, and Amartya Sen. 2013. An Uncertain Glory: India and Its Contradictions. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Harvey, David. 2005. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Patnaik, Prabhat. 2018. The Retreat to Unfreedom. New Delhi: Tulika Books.

Piketty, Thomas, and Lucas Chancel. 2018. World Inequality Report.

Teltumbde, Anand. 2018. Republic of Caste. New Delhi: Navayana.

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In the history of India, many social reformers have come and gone, but in the realm of broad, legal and constitutional battles fought for women’s rights, the place of Bharat Ratna, Dr. Babasaheb Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar is unparalleled. He was not merely a leader of the Dalit community, but a born protector of every marginalized being in India especially of women. The caste system and patriarchy had pushed women into darkness for centuries, and to bring her out of that darkness, Babasaheb effectively wielded the weapons of law, the Constitution and social awakening. In his view, the progress of a society is measured by the heights its women have reached  and this was not merely a statement, but a principle to live by.

As the architect of the Indian Constitution, Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar incorporated gender equality into the very framework of the Constitution. Article 14 established the principle of equal treatment before the law for all. Article 15 explicitly prohibited discrimination on the sole basis of sex. Article 16 ensured equal opportunities for both men and women in the field of employment. These provisions granted women dignity as citizens  not merely in words, but in the language of law. Along with this, Article 39 included the directive principle of equal pay for equal work, which proved to be a long-term protection for working women.

On the question of the right to vote, Babasaheb’s stand was absolutely firm. When India attained independence, many countries in the world had yet to grant women the right to vote. Due to the stand taken by Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar in the Constituent Assembly, every man and woman who had completed eighteen years of age received the right to vote in India  without any gender distinction, without any conditions or terms. As a result, crores of women entered the mainstream of democracy for the very first time. This decision was not merely political  it was a definitive milestone of social revolution that acknowledged the very existence of women. Babasaheb believed that the ballot box is an instrument of power, and for that instrument to be in the hands of every woman means her freedom remains inviolable.

The boldest and most far-reaching step in Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar’s work for women’s welfare was the Hindu Code Bill. As India’s first Law Minister, he introduced this bill in Parliament, with the objective of granting Hindu women legal equality in property, inheritance and divorce. Under the Hindu law of that era, a daughter could not claim rights over her father’s property, a widow had only a nominal right over her husband’s property, and no matter how abusive the husband was, there was no legal avenue available to a woman for obtaining a divorce. For the first time, the Hindu Code Bill opened the path to grant a Hindu woman legal inheritance rights in her father’s and husband’s property. The bill contained provisions to recognise a daughter as an heir on par with a son, the right to divorce, the right to remarry, and just provisions regarding the custody of children.

However, this bill faced tremendous opposition in Parliament, particularly from traditionalists. Attempts were made to trample women’s rights in the name of religious beliefs. Prime Minister Nehru himself, yielding to political pressure, deferred the bill indefinitely. At that point, Babasaheb took a historic decision — he resigned from his position as Law Minister. He considered it more honourable to relinquish power than to compromise on the just rights of women. This resignation was not merely a political event  it was the ultimate expression of a moral stand, one that deserves to be written in golden letters in the history of Indian politics even today.

Babasaheb’s work for women was not confined to the four walls of Parliament. As a member of the Labour Department, he also looked at the problems of working women from a broad perspective. He brought about amendments in the Mines Workers Act and banned women from working in underground mines, because the conditions there were extremely dangerous for health and safety. He also advocated for the Maternity Benefits Bill, under which women working in factories should have the right to receive paid leave before and after childbirth. These reforms gave the working women of India a legal protective shield for the first time.

Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar stood firmly against child marriage. He felt that marrying a girl at a young age was a betrayal of her health, her education and her dreams. His position was that marriage should be an agreement between two mature, consenting adults, and not a compulsion imposed during childhood. He demanded that a minimum age for marriage be fixed, and included a provision for the same in the Hindu Code Bill. He also strongly opposed the Devadasi system, because that practice was nothing but the enslavement of women hidden behind the veil of religion.

In his works such as “Castes in India” and “The Annihilation of Caste,” he made it clear that the caste system does not merely divide people, but is also a powerful medium for exercising control over women’s bodies, sexuality and marriages. He proved through logical and sociological analysis that the practice of Sati, the opposition to widow remarriage, and the freedom granted to men to have more than one wife all these things were being used by caste-patriarchy to keep women in bondage. He believed that the annihilation of caste is also the path to women’s liberation.

Through social movements too, Babasaheb inspired women. Many women participated in the Mahad Satyagraha at Chavadar Lake (1927) an extraordinary event, because prior to this, women’s participation in public agitations was rare. Babasaheb regarded those women not merely as followers, but as independently thinking, fighting human beings. He constantly spoke to women about the importance of education. He firmly believed that education is the gateway to self-reliance, self-respect and freedom, and many institutions established by him made special efforts for women’s education.

On 14th October 1956, when Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar embraced Buddhism, lakhs of women also converted to Buddhism alongside him. In Buddhism, men and women are accorded equal human dignity, and a woman has the right to pursue religious practice as a Bhikkhuni. His view was that whether a religion truly grants freedom or not is determined by how it treats women. Embracing Buddhism was for him not merely personal salvation, but a means of showing lakhs of women the path to living with dignity.

The fruits of the seeds sown by Babasaheb were gradually obtained in later times. The Hindu Succession Act (1956), the Hindu Marriage Act (1955), the Special Marriage Act (1954), the Maternity Benefit Act (1961) all these laws have their foundational basis in the concepts laid out by Babasaheb. In 2005, through an amendment to the Hindu Succession Act, a daughter was granted equal rights as a son in ancestral property  this was the fruit of his struggle, received late but nonetheless received.

The work done by Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar for women was not limited to a particular caste, religion or class. It was a great endeavour to deliver justice to the entirety of Indian womanhood  to compel law, society and women themselves to accept her as a human being. He sought inheritance rights because without property, freedom is crippled. He sought the right to vote because without participation in politics, power cannot be obtained. He insisted on education because without knowledge, there is no liberation. Today, when a woman in India votes, goes to court, claims her inheritance, seeks a divorce, remarries, takes up employment and demands equal wages  at every such moment, she is indebted to Babasaheb’s foresight and courage. His work is a truth inscribed on the canvas of time that cannot be erased  without women’s liberation, the true liberation of any society remains incomplete.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

Featured image: B.R. Ambedkar, Former Minister of Law and Justice of the Republic of India (Public Domain)

Agriculture is the backbone of India, this is what we have been hearing for generations. But there is a pain hollowing out this backbone from within and that is the unequal distribution of land. On the one hand, news of farmer suicides, indebtedness, and rural migration keeps coming; on the other, agricultural land across the country continues to concentrate in the hands of a few wealthy individuals.

A significant report has recently come to light on this reality of inequality, the research report titled Land Inequality in India: Nature, History, and Markets’ by the World Inequality Lab. Co-authored by Nitin Kumar Bharti, David Blakeslee, and Samreen Malik, this report involved an in-depth study of land ownership data across approximately 2.70 lakh villages in ten major states of India, covering a population of 65 crore people and its findings are shocking. Only the top ten percent of wealthy families in rural India control 44 percent of the land, while 46 percent of rural families are entirely landless. The richest five percent of families hold 32 percent of the land, while just one percent of ultra-wealthy families have 18 percent of rural land concentrated in their hands. The Gini Index, the standard measure of land inequality, has reached an average of 71. In some villages, the situation is so severe that more than 50 percent of the village land is in the possession of a single landlord, and on average, the largest landholder controls approximately 12 percent of the total land. A person who has no land gets neither bank loans, nor government assistance during drought, nor any assurance of income from farming. He remains trapped in the web of wage labour for eternity  and this vicious cycle continues to roll forward from generation to generation.

Regarding Maharashtra in this report the state is considered one of India’s progressive and agriculturally innovative states. It has all kinds of cash crops: sugarcane, cotton, orchards, and vegetables. Yet even within this market-oriented agricultural economy, land inequality persists and in some respects, it comes through even more starkly. According to this report, Maharashtra’s Gini coefficient stands at 0.709, which is indicative of an extremely high level of inequality. Approximately 48.1 percent of families in the state are landless, meaning nearly half of all families do not own even a single piece of land in their own name. The top ten percent of families hold 40.8 percent of the land, while just one percent of the wealthy families have 14.7 percent of the land concentrated with them. Furthermore, even proximity to roads or markets has not reduced this inequality this observation tells us that the roots of inequality do not lie in land productivity; they are deeply embedded in history, social structure, and power equations.

Across states nationwide, there are vast differences in land inequality. Punjab has the highest rate of landlessness, reaching up to 73 percent  which is particularly astonishing since Punjab is considered an agriculturally advanced state. In Bihar, the share of the largest landholder goes as high as 20.1 percent. In Kerala, the landlessness rate is 65.4 percent, while in Tamil Nadu it is 66.5 percent. An important point emerges from this comparison Kerala and Tamil Nadu are considered frontrunner states in social indicators, yet even there, the rate of landlessness is high. This means that even if literacy, health, and education improve, land inequality does not automatically diminish. It requires special policy intervention.

One important cause of land inequality is the land revenue systems imposed during British colonial rule. In areas that were controlled under the zamindari system during British rule, greater land inequality is still found today, whereas in areas that were under princely states, this proportion appears comparatively lower. The three types of land revenue systems introduced under British rule: ryotwari, zamindari, and mahalwari, profoundly influenced the economic and social structure of rural India. The zamindari system gave intermediaries unlimited power over farmers. These intermediaries remained in a race to extract maximum revenue from farmers. The farming class was pushed into the abyss of debt, and land continued to concentrate in the hands of the wealthy. After independence, land reform laws were enacted, zamindari abolition took place, land ceiling laws came into force, and through Vinoba Bhave’s Bhoodan movement, some land was distributed to the landless. However, although these post-independence efforts have shown positive results, the fundamental inequality in land ownership still remains.

Another major cause of land inequality is the caste system, a cause equally historical and profound. The impact of social hierarchy is still clearly visible on land ownership. The proportion of landlessness is highest among Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe families. For centuries, these communities were denied the right to hold land. Till the land, but the land remains in the names of the upper castes, this vicious cycle still continues in many places. Looking at tribal areas in Maharashtra in Nandurbar, Gadchiroli, Palghar, and Chandrapur districts, tribal farmers have been cultivating land for generations, yet their names do not appear on the 7/12 land extract. In the Sahyadri valleys, Vidarbha, and Khandesh in Maharashtra, many tribal and hilly-area farmers have been farming on forest or grazing land for generations. They nurture that land with their own sweat, but their names do not appear in government records. As a result, they receive neither crop loans nor government assistance during droughts. The reasons for this are the historical absence of land registration, fake purchase agreements, transactions carried out under pressure, and ignorance about the complexities of the law.

In Maharashtra, there are strict provisions under Section 36(A) of the Maharashtra Land Revenue Code, 1966 for the protection of tribal lands. A tribal person can sell land only to another tribal person; if the sale is to be made to a non-tribal, the prior written permission of the District Collector is mandatory. However, in the past, fake purchase agreements, fake powers of attorney, incorrect succession entries, or transactions carried out under pressure took place in many locations, and as a result, thousands of tribal people were deprived of their land. No matter how stringent the laws, as long as enforcement is not effective, as long as tribal communities are unaware of their rights, and as long as corruption and pressure persist, the prospect of reducing land inequality continues to recede. In 2006, the Government of India enacted the ‘Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act.’ This Act made an attempt to grant legal rights to tribal and forest-dwelling communities over the land they have been cultivating for generations. This was an important remedy for a historical injustice. With proper documentation, supplemented by modern satellite evidence and the strength of the gram sabha, legal rights over land can be obtained. However, the implementation of this Act is extremely slow. Many claims are rejected, the process is cumbersome, the government machinery’s response is inadequate, and claims still remain pending  they remain trapped in the web of landlessness.

It is often argued that the development of markets, road networks, and agricultural trade will reduce land inequality. This argument may seem theoretically attractive, but the reality is different. Market integration does not completely eliminate historical land inequality. The proximity of cities, roads, and markets does not change the deeply entrenched patterns of land inequality that have been shaped by natural conditions and institutional history. On the contrary, market orientation often increases pressure on small farmers. Unable to afford the capital needed for cash crops  seeds, fertilizers, irrigation  small farmers sell their land, wealthy farmers and industrialists buy it up, and as a result, land inequality increases further.

The unequal distribution of land directly impacts poverty, agricultural productivity, and rural development. Land is a crucial factor in rural India that determines income, social status, and access to credit. A farmer who owns land gets bank loans, government subsidies, and compensation in the event of crop failure. But a landless farmer is deprived of all these benefits. He works as a labourer on others’ farms, depends on seasonal employment, migrates to the city when the monsoon season ends, his children drop out of school to work as labourers, when health deteriorates, treatment is paid for through debt, and to repay the debt, whatever little he has must be sold. This vicious cycle continues from generation to generation. If solutions are to be found for this situation, multi-dimensional policy intervention is needed. Digital land registration, computerisation of 7/12 extracts, and land surveys reduce fraudulent transactions. Maharashtra has made some progress in this area, but in rural and tribal regions, this work is still not complete. The lakhs of tribal families whose forest rights claims remain pending must be resolved immediately. Government lands, grazing lands, and Class-II lands in the possession of the state should be allocated on a priority basis to landless Dalit and tribal families. Through women’s self-help groups and cooperative organisations, collective land cultivation, group farming, and the formation of producer companies can include the landless in the production chain. Many non-governmental organisations are working in this direction, and the results of their efforts are also beginning to show.

The diversity of land inequality across states in India is almost as vast as the diversity found among nations across the world — this observation tells us that each state in India needs a different policy; a uniform national answer is not sufficient. The World Inequality Lab is a research institution affiliated with the Paris School of Economics that works to explain the causes of inequality worldwide through evidence-based research. This institution’s report has sparked discussion at the international level on India’s land inequality because as long as this issue remains confined to local discussions, it does not receive its rightful place in national and international policies.

This report by the World Inequality Lab reflects our reality. The data encompassing the land issues of 65 crore people tells us that much still remains to be done. The landless must receive land, tribal rights must be strengthened, and Dalit farmers must receive the fruits of their labour  these are not merely welfare measures, but the indispensable necessity of a just society. Eliminating land inequality does not merely mean distributing pieces of land  it means restoring to a person his dignity. These matters must be taken seriously.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

Featured image: Photo: P. Casier (CGIAR). (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

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The highly inspirational freedom movement of India had several streams and two of these have been most identified with the names of Mahatma Gandhi and Shahid Bhagat Singh in leadership roles. While both of these great leaders have countless admirers who out of mutual respect generally avoid being critical of each other, there is also a widespread tendency to consider their work as reflecting two highly divergent trends in the freedom movement, one completely committed to non-violence, the other identified in the public mind most with courageous acts which in several cases involved at least some violence against the many-sided injustices of colonial rule and their perpetrators. 

However, in my writings I have tried to highlight that the convergence of the paths and their common destination to be more significant compared to this divergence. On this basis I have sought to build a case that the creation of a new India based on justice, equality and peace must benefit from the combined legacy of both of these great leaders, thinkers and freedom fighters.

In fact, both of them basically thought in terms of a peaceful world that is based on justice. In his writings Bhagat Singh speaks of brotherhood of all humanity as the most noble of all concepts and also of ending wars. However this must be based on ending the highly unjust contemporary order based on colonialism and imperialism. He also speaks about the very high value he and his comrades accord to human life. This is supported further by their deliberate efforts to avoid indiscriminate violence, and to minimize any threat to life even when they have to take up any violent action. So whatever the other differences, the two great leaders are united in aiming for peace with justice, placing high emphasis on struggle against imperialism, placing very high value on human life and avoiding indiscriminate violence.

What is more, if we look at the priorities of the two leaders in terms of the reforms needed in Indian society, the similarity of their understanding becomes even more emphatic. For both of them inter-faith harmony and unity was of very high importance. Both of them placed very high emphasis on ending all social discrimination and uplifting those who had suffered the most injustice historically (dalits in the context of Indian society). Both of them emphasized that highest importance should be given to eradication of poverty and reduction of inequalities. Both of them rejected a life of luxury consumption, and emphasized simplicity in the life of those in leadership roles. Both of them were in favor of women playing a wider social role, all the more so in the freedom movement.

Thus while the differences are found to be not so big as are often stated, the convergence and similarity of priorities are found to be more significant than is often realized.

What is more, the two streams of the freedom movement were often found to be involved in mutually supportive roles. Highly courageous actions of Bhagat Singh and his comrades helped the Congress to move more swiftly towards the goal of complete independence. On the other hand several Congress supporters played an important role in the many protests against the death sentence and other extreme punishments imposed in highly unjust ways on several revolutionaries.

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Source: Bharat Dogra

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In fact in the last and most inspirational phase of their life in jails, Bhagat Singh and his comrades made the highest impact on the freedom struggle and in their direct reach to people, and in this phase the methods they used came very close to those of Mahatma Gandhi, particularly in terms of their prolonged fasts.

Hence I have been strongly advocating the idea that the legacy of these two great leaders and their close colleagues should be more rightly seen as a combined legacy which should be the basis for wider national unity to create a country and society based on peace, equality, justice, non-discrimination and unity, aligned to the wider efforts for a world based on justice and peace.

Earlier when for the greater part of my life I was in Delhi I discussed this idea in several group discussions and this was almost always well received. Now after temporarily moving to Mohali I had the same experience here. I also edited two books in English and Hindi on the freedom movement highlighting this aspect which were well received. These books are ‘When the Two Streams Met’ and ‘Azadi ke Deewano ki Daastaan’. My experiences so far show that the idea of a combined legacy of Shahid Bhagat Singh and Mahatma Gandhi as a guidepost for India is a sound one. Of course in addition we must learn also from other great freedom fighters, and here I’ll particularly like to mention the great Badshah Khan, truly a king of our hearts.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include Planet in Peril, Protecting Earth for Children, Planet in Peril and A Day in 2071. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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Abstract

Rabson introduces Sleeper’s novel about an American journalist in Okinawa during the 1990s, asking her about the autobiographical elements and what she learned during her own time living in Okinawa.

Introduction and Interview by Steve Rabson

The novel Gaijin is loosely based on journalist and author Sarah Z. Sleeper’s four years in Okinawa. Sleeper worked as a writer and editor there from 1993 to 1997. She raced in a dragon boat against Okinawan school teachers, studied macrobiotic eating with an American expatriate couple, explored the art of a prominent Okinawan quadriplegic painter—and wrote about all of it for a local magazine, This Week on Okinawa.

Sleeper says she was a “sponge,” taking in the local culture as well as that of the U.S. military, with a special focus on how the two interacted. It was a formative period at the start of her career, and she took on extra work as editor for the American Chamber of Commerce on Okinawa, and for the marketing department on Kadena Air Base. She had a unique vantage point as neither a Japanese citizen nor part of the military, so a bit of a gaijin in both situations.  

Her novel Gaijin debuted in 2020 to glowing reviews. The seeds of the story sprouted while Sleeper was in Okinawa, and she updated the fictional tale by adding contemporary news and data. Her research about sexual assaults committed by servicemen against Okinawan women add a startling and important element to the book.

Here’s what author Porochista Khakpour wrote about Gaijin: “This story of the ‘unwelcome foreigner’ is not an easy one, and it takes an award-winning journalist like Sarah Sleeper to give it the precision, sensitivity, and depth it deserves. The Far East and the Midwest are both on trial as Sleeper investigates the past and present of Japanese-American relations through a haunting, unforgettable story of love lost. Sleeper’s prose is full of natural poetry as she explores all the different shades of heartbreak where personal and political intersect.”

In this interview, Sleeper discusses how she adapted to life in Okinawa in the 1990s and what she learned from the experience. She then shares an excerpt from her novel.

Rabson: What brought you to Okinawa in the first place?

Sleeper: I was married at the time to a civilian employee of the U.S. government. When he accepted an assignment there, I moved there with him.

Rabson: You were in Okinawa from 1993 to 1997, with a visit to Tokyo?

Sleeper: Yes, I was there for almost four years. I traveled to Osaka and Tokyo while I was there, and also to South Korea. But keep in mind that I was young and poor and so my travel budget was limited. I mainly immersed myself in local culture and tried to learn all I could. In addition to my work as a reporter and editor for an English-language magazine, I rode my bike up and down the island, studied Japanese at a local school, and learned to scuba dive on the coral reef in the East China Sea. I packed quite a bit into the three-and-a-half years I was there.

Rabson: What things did you read about Okinawa before, during, and after you were there?

Sleeper: When I moved there, I was utterly unprepared. I was young and newly married, and determined to start a writing career. It was pre-Internet and if you recall, research was much more laborious at that time. But when I landed, I hit the ground running. I found This Week on Okinawa right away and applied for a job. I realized that the magazine was run by Americans and owned by an Okinawan, so it was an excellent place to learn about many things, including American-Okinawan relations and how Japanese workplaces operated. I still feel so lucky to have found that job—it was an absolute life-changer in that it gave me many opportunities to experience and write about Okinawans as well as about the U.S Air Force, Marines, Army and Navy.

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Commander, Fleet Activities Okinawa (CFAO) is headquartered on the north side of Kadena Air Base, adjacent to the Kadena Town. (Public Domain)

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My apartment was right off Kadena Gate Street and I took daily walks and drives to familiarize myself with my new surroundings. That was where I first saw street protests about the U.S. military presence. It was pretty much immediately clear to me that the relationship between Okinawans and Americans was complex and sometimes fraught. It was a lot to take in, but I was young and irrationally fearless. Just ready to make the most of my new home and my career.

Rabson: Were you aware of differences in the cultures and histories of Okinawa and mainland Japan? If so, what in particular?

Sleeper: That awareness dawned over time as I worked as a journalist. I realized fairly quickly that there was some tension between Okinawans and mainlanders, but it took me a while to recognize the nature of the division and that some Okinawans felt discriminated against. That some Okinawans felt they were part of the Ryukyu Kingdom and retained that cultural identity more than they felt Japanese. It didn’t take much reading to understand that the island was conquered by the Japanese, and then victimized by WWII. It was not surprising to me at all that some Okinawans resented both the Japanese and the Americans. As I continued reading, experiencing the culture first-hand, and writing about all of it, that knowledge certainly informed my novel.

Rabson: You were in Okinawa during the 1995 child gang rape and its aftermath. What do you particularly remember about it?

Sleeper: I recall being horrified, as was the staff at the magazine, of course. It led to big protests and a tense environment and it stuck with me as a terrible memory. That crime was not the origin of my novel, Gaijin¸ but it felt necessary to include such information in my book. How could I possibly write about an American in Okinawa without addressing the fact that sexual assaults have taken place ever since the U.S. military was there and continue to this day? This is not to say that Okinawans don’t commit crimes too, but since my character Lucy was an American, it was imperative that she be witness to that type of situation. And as a woman, I’m sure I felt that it was important to report on the real numbers of such crimes, so I do that in the book. Probably because I’m a journalist as well as a novelist, I wanted my book to be “true” in all the important ways. The facts of relations between Okinawans and American military are real and true, while the specifics of Lucy’s story are fiction. That’s the best kind of novel, in my opinion, in which characters deal with real life situations.

Rabson: How do you think Lucy’s experience as a gaijin in Japan would have been different if she was as man?

Sleeper: Well, for one thing, her experiences in business may have been quite different. I recall (and wrote about it in the book) that at my magazine office, the graphic artist (an Okinawan woman) would stop her work each afternoon to serve tea to the press men and publisher. She didn’t serve tea to the Okinawan or American women in the office and there were no American men there. I never felt slighted by this practice and I understood it as a cultural difference, but I did wonder if I would have been served tea too, if I were a man. I was the editor, the next ranking employee after the publisher.

Anyhow, there’s no doubt that in Japanese culture as well as in American culture (including on the military bases) women and men experience different things. Here’s an interesting memory—My husband was a high-level civilian employee of the U.S. government. This led to an invitation for me to join the officers’ wives’ club. At the time I was unfamiliar with the workings of the military and unclear on what this club was. Anyhow, I attended an introductory meeting and to say I was out of place is an understatement. As a woman working in the local community much more than I was part of the military community, I was truly a gaijin in that group. Needless to say, I didn’t join it. But I will always remember the remarkable patriotism and loyalty of those American spouses. I was neither American military, nor Okinawan, and so the beginnings of Gaijin started to hatch.

I have many stories to tell about how much I learned in Okinawa. During my years there, I had cultural immersion into three unfamiliar worlds: Okinawa, Japan and the U.S. military. In my novel, I tried to capture those experiences as a newcomer to all of it.

Rabson: Why did you choose to share with us this particular excerpt from the novel?

Sleeper: The novel has quite a few passages that readers might find startling or educational. But I believe that few Americans realize the extent of protests that take place there all the time. I attempted to describe the protest scene accurately and with enough detail to bring it to life for readers.

Chapter Twelve

The street protests raged on. There was no violence, but the rhetoric became more threatening; in one news photo, a protestor held a placard, “Death to Americans!” My driver mapped out a route, so we’d pass the crowds from a safe distance. I watched local news on the television in my hotel room, sipping cool white wine to dull my sharp edges. Outside every American base, Okinawan citizens raged, waved signs and chanted calls for Americans to leave their island for good. . .

It was time to start my first assignment, a story about a retired Marine and his Okinawan wife, who’d launched a controversial new dating website, MarryAmerican.com, devoted to hooking up local women and American men. I’d read that some Okinawan women wanted to marry soldiers or sailors and move to the United States, and some servicemen wanted shy and subservient Japanese wives. I found these notions repugnant, but they also piqued my curiosity. Would I be able to find men willing to go on the record about this? Would Okinawan women be willing to be interviewed? Wasn’t this akin to American sites like Sugarbaby.com or MarryaMillionaire.com, where daters chose each other for money or sex? And in light of the unrest on the island, was it okay to highlight American-Japanese couples who met this way? I texted Amista with my worries. She said Okinawa Week covered all kinds of stories, not just the biggest news, and I should consider myself lucky to have a fluff piece amidst all the strife.

During my research I came across a reference to “Bride Schools,” a set of classes put on by the American Red Cross for Japanese women marrying American men after World War II. In the nineteen-fifties, forty-thousand Japanese married G.I.s during the post-war occupation, and in the most patronizing, belittling way imaginable, the Red Cross took it upon themselves to offer to train the Japanese women on how to use washing machines, cook pot roast, host social events and so on, the way American housewives of that era did. It was sanctioned, gender-based brainwashing. That was more than a half-century ago, but to my surprise, in addition to MarryAmerican.com, I also found present-day social groups and nightclubs that existed specifically to connect American men with potential local spouses.  

With that new information, the knowledge that as in the fifties, American-Japanese hook ups were a “thing,” I wasn’t surprised that it took only one day for me to find men and women to interview. I contacted the PR man from the website, and he gave me names. The first two couples I contacted were more than happy to be interviewed for my story. Since I didn’t have a car yet, Ashimine-san hired the hotel driver to take me to the appointments. 

The first interview was at a modest concrete apartment on a residential street with a tatami mat at the front door for shoes. The mat jolted my memory to the mat where Owen and I placed our shoes in his fort during a makeshift tea ceremony. At the time, I hadn’t realized it was a traditional straw tatami. I was becoming expert at ignoring my nagging questions and memories while I was at work. When I was off work, I was a mess, drinking, worrying. Owen invaded my thoughts and I was itchy to see Hisashi again.

The door opened and I was greeted by the jowly, retired Marine who’d launched MarryAmerican.com, along with his pretty Okinawan wife. He wore faded jeans and shook my hand too tightly. We sat on a tattered couch and before I could ask a question, he said, “I suppose you want to know why we launched this site.” I didn’t have a chance to respond before he continued. “I’m so happy with Kimiko here, I figured other couples could be happy too. She’s the best cook and look at how clean our house is.” Kimiko nodded and stared at the floor and the Marine patted her knee. “She never leaves my side and only talks if I ask her to.”

I held my face in expressionless sincerity, tightening my lips to hide my disgust. “May I ask her a few questions?” I said, trying to look indifferent. He agreed to translate.

I asked if she’d always wanted to marry an American and she said yes because they were “nicer” than Japanese men. I wanted to know if she’d dated Japanese men before and she said no, only Americans. I asked if that was a common choice and she said she didn’t know because she doesn’t have friends. 

The Marine jumped in. “She doesn’t need outside friends. We’re happy with each other.”

I asked the Marine if MarryAmerican.com was successful and he said there’d been more than thirty dates set up in the first few weeks. “I’m not in it for the money,” he said. “Just to help guys like me find gals like this.” He again patted his wife’s knee and kissed her on the top of the head. She shot me a serious look I couldn’t read.

I was curious how this rough man had managed to woo this lovely woman, but no way I could ask that. “Your site didn’t exist when you and Kimiko got married,” I said, “where did you meet each other?”

“She was a stripper. I liked the bar where she worked, and I liked her better.” As if she understood what he said, Kimiko looked away, ill at ease.

I left the suffocating house and took a gulp of air. I collected myself and headed to the second interview in a similar small beat-up home. There, a young Okinawan newlywed with bright blue eyeshadow told me, “Ray is sweet. He lets me go out for coffee with friends when he’s at work.” I cringed at her use of the word “lets.” I knew some Japanese still adhered to traditional gender roles, but it was hard to fathom the type of patriarchy I’d encountered at the two homes. My own parents had been strictly egalitarian, and I wasn’t prepared for such stereotypes as these. 

Back at work, I slogged through the writing process, trying not to sprinkle the piece with my cynicism. My story was published two days later along with photos of the happy couples that I’d taken myself. “How to marry an American,” earned me a set of disgusted emails. “Since when is it news that Japanese women try to steal our men?” said one email, from a woman who called herself “Flyboy Wife.” I showed this email to Amista.

“Obviously that’s a woman whose husband is an Air Force pilot,” she’d said. It hadn’t been obvious to me . . .

During my first weeks, Ashimine-san promised that I’d get a chance to cover bigger stories, but that I had to be patient. “Chotto matte kudasai,” he’d said, a phrase he often repeated: “Please wait a moment.”It was a bit of Japanese that could fit any number of circumstances: a delay in earning the attention of a waiter, a too-long hold on the phone when trying to schedule an interview. In Okinawa people said the phrase constantly, chotto matte kudasai, and Ashimine-san said it most of all. 

“May I cover Prime Minister Abe’s visit?” I’d asked, after reading that Japan’s leader would be coming to Okinawa to address the protestors’ demands.

“Chotto matte kudasai,” he’d said. “It’s not yet your turn. You will earn your way to cover top stories.” He smiled with such kindness that if I hadn’t heard him, I would have believed he’d said hai . . .

The trial date hadn’t been set yet, but reporters from the mainland and from the U.S. were swarming the island and there were media events scheduled every day, different members of Midori’s camp and of Stone’s, making their cases to the journalists. Amista asked me if I’d like to tag along with her for those events when I was free. It would be a good experience, she said, for me to participate in such a major story. I wanted to go with her, but I was uneasy, not sure I could handle the anti-American hostility on top of the sadness I felt for the alleged victim. . .

Ashimine-san hadn’t yet assigned me a second story and Amista told me he was giving me time to settle in. During my free time I kept tabs on the rape case . . . The word gaijin kept popping into my mind. Owen had called himself a gaijin both in the U.S. and in his own family. Maybe I understood now, a little, because of feeling like such an alien in Okinawa. So much was going on around me, so much conflict and drama, but I was on the outside of it all, an observer more than an active participant . . .

Chapter Twenty-Four

. . .

“Miss Tosch? Lucy?”

“Yes. Takazato-san?” She came over and took both of my hands.

“Please call me Akari.” She offered us two metal chairs by her desk, and we sat. On the walls were photos of Japanese women and girls, their names and the dates of the crimes against them. “Mika Sakaguchi, May 30, 2015,” “Yuka Tomayasu, February 2, 2001,” “Chieko Aiko, October 2, 1995,” and on and on and on, all the way back to “Etsuko Fumie, December 10, 1972.” Akari watched me take it all in. The faces of the women looked out from the wall, smiling, the photos taken at some happy moment before their assaults. 

“It’s difficult to see these faces, knowing what happened to them,” Akari said. She leaned forward thoughtfully and pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear. Her clothes were utilitarian, leggings, sneakers and a plain black t-shirt. “I know you have your questions, but may I first give you some statistics?” I nodded. “These one-hundred-and-twenty photos represent the reported rapes of Japanese women by U.S. men. There are thousands more, unreported,” she said. In 1972, the U.S. military occupation of Okinawa ended, she explained, and before that no data was kept. The Battle of Okinawa ended seventy-one years ago, so for almost thirty years, rapes and other crimes were undocumented. She paused while I absorbed this data. “Heartbreaking, isn’t it?”

“How do you know there have been thousands of unreported rapes during those years?” I was in reporter mode, far off my script of questions about collaboration between women’s groups and determined to get the story she wanted to tell. She maintained a friendly demeanor, smiling and polite but beneath her professional polish, I sensed her passion for this cause.

“Lucy, you know women are reluctant to report rape. Even in the most civilized countries and situations, few women come forward.”  . . .

“Do you have data to back up your claims?” It wasn’t so much that I doubted her veracity, but I needed proof for any story that I might eventually write.

“Your own government provides compelling data,” she said. “In 2012, the U.S. Department of Defense announced that in one year there were an estimated nineteen thousand sexual assaults inside the armed forces. Soldier on soldier, not even counting soldier-civilian instances. Nineteen thousand, in one year. Hard to grasp, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t see how that relates to Okinawa.” 

“Well, consider that in a press conference in Washington D.C. your government spoke about the rape of a woman soldier by her superior officer. They talked about it as an example of all that was wrong in the U.S. military. That rape took place on a base on Okinawa. If rape can happen on base, can’t you see how it can happen even more so off base, where soldiers roam freely?”

This woman was beyond articulate. She provided me with data, quotes and context, not only for a news story, but for the broader story about what was happening on Okinawa. I might not be able to use it but would pass it along to Amista. 

“Let me give you an anecdote,” Akari said, pointing to a photo on the wall of a young girl, snuggling a creamy brown rabbit on her lap. “In 2005, this ten-year-old girl was victimized.” After hearing that news, Akari explained, another woman came forward to report that twenty years earlier, three American soldiers raped her. Because she didn’t take the case to court, it wasn’t counted among the one-hundred-and-twenty. “I wonder how many more invisible victims there are? From every year and in every era?”

The truth of her statement settled into me. I knew she was right and felt deflated by this sad set of facts. I changed course and asked, “What is the goal of your group, Women Against Military Violence?” I knew she probably had a stock answer, but I wanted to hear how she put it. 

“Our goal is to reduce or remove U.S. forces from Okinawa. This as the only way to end the violence that comes to us from the bases.”

I wanted to bring the conversation around to my story, although my story seemed silly at this point. “Akari, the subject of my piece is how you work together with American women’s groups.” I sounded ridiculous, but I went on. “Do you work with American women’s groups?”

Akari’s face went hard. “We work with anyone who will fight to end U.S. violence against Okinawans.” She sat back in her chair, serious now. “What about you, Lucy? Will you work with us to end violence against women?”

She’d turned the tables on me, and I didn’t have an adequate answer. “I’m here as a reporter,” I said, lamely . . .

*

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Sarah Z. Sleeper is a journalist with an MFA in creative writing. Gaijin is her first novel, and her second, Walloon Lake, comes out in 2026. Her published short stories, essays and poems include, “A Few Innocuous Lines,” which won an award from Writer’s Digest, and “On Getting Vivian,” in The Shanghai Literary Review. She won three journalism awards and a fellowship from the National Press Foundation. Her website is here: http://www.sarahzsleeper.com/

Steve Rabson writes books and articles about Okinawa and translates Okinawan literature. His latest book is Training and Deployment of America’s Nuclear Cold Warriors in Asia: Keepers of Armageddon (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2022), first-person accounts by him and his fellow U.S. Army veterans stationed at a nuclear weapons base in Okinawa during the 1960’s. He is an Asia-Pacific Journal contributing editor and member of the translation committee.

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Today, the entire world is grappling with the adverse effects of climate change, and marginal farmers stand at the very front of this crisis. Unpredictable monsoons, depleting groundwater levels, soil degradation due to chemical farming, and market volatility together, these forces break the spine of the farmer. But from the Vagad region of southern Rajasthan, a different story is emerging. This is the story of tribal farmers who, together with their land, their traditions, and Vaagdhara, have found a path that is both climate-resilient and life-sustaining.

Vaagdhara’s journey that began in Ghatol Village started with just 15 farmers who had limited resources and an unknown road ahead. But the seed of community participation sown in those early days has today grown into a mighty tree now operating across 1,168 villages in Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, and Gujarat. Vaagdhara’s primary agricultural intervention is known as the ‘Sachchi Kheti’ (True Farming) programme farming becomes ‘true’ when it connects with the earth rather than depleting it; when it frees the farmer rather than making them dependent. Under this programme, farmers receive practical training in natural farming methods. Making biofertilizers  jeevamrit and ghanjeevamrit  and preparing pest-control materials at home is central to it. This gradually eliminates dependence on chemical fertilizers and pesticides, freeing small farmers from the heavy expenditure that used to push them into a debt trap.

Women farmers play a central role in this programme. Traditionally, men have dominated agricultural decision-making, while women’s contribution to actual farm labour sowing seeds, weeding, harvesting, cleaning grain has been far greater. Vaagdhara recognized this contradiction and made a conscious effort to bring women to the center of agricultural decision-making. Women’s empowerment groups were formed, receiving both training and resources. Today, women from these groups not only speak up in the fields but also raise their voices in village-level meetings. Nutritional kitchen gardening  growing diverse vegetables according to the family’s needs  is led primarily by women.

An exemplary illustration of this is Bahadur Charpota of Kudli village in Ghatol tehsil, who has today become an inspirational name in the Vagad region. A few years ago, his situation was like that of most farmers around him — four bighas of land, dependence on the uncertainty of monsoons, and extremely limited profit at the end of the year. After joining Vaagdhara, Gram Swaraj Group   Bahadur transformed the entire structure of his farming. Monoculture gave way to mixed farming vegetables, fruit trees, and animal husbandry, all together. Dairy and goat rearing added a new and stable source of income.

Bahadur shares about his experience:

“Earlier we only waited for rain and managed with whatever grew. Vagdhara taught us that diversity in farming is the real source of income. Now if one thing doesn’t work out, another will — there is milk, there are vegetables, there are goats.”

Through this farming system, Bahadur earned an annual income of one lakh twenty thousand rupees (₹1,20,000) from his four bighas of land, and his three children  two sons and a daughter  are now pursuing higher education. His wife Asha Charpota is an equally important participant in this transformation.

Asha says:

“Since we started natural farming, we have seen a difference in the children’s food too. Earlier we had to buy vegetables from the market; now we get fresh produce from our own field. Money has been saved, health has improved, and our livelihood has also grown.”

Before Vaagdhara intervention in Vagad, most farmers were dependent on single crops like maize. This monotony multiplies climate risk manifold failure of one crop means the ruin of the entire year. Through crop diversification, Vaagdhara has dispersed this risk. Pulses, vegetables, fruits, medicinal plants — multiple types of produce on a single field not only create several sources of income but also improve soil health. Leguminous crops fix atmospheric nitrogen in the soil. Growing crops with deep and shallow roots together nourishes various layers of the soil.

With regular use of bio fertilizers and proper crop rotation, the biological structure of the soil is improving rapidly. In this mixed farming model, goat-rearing-based livelihood has emerged as an important link for marginal farmers. The initial investment in goat rearing is low, care is relatively simple, and it provides a means of regular income. Goat manure serves as an excellent bio fertilizer for the field, and goat rearing has had an impact at both social and economic levels by providing a source of income close to home.

Farmers who previously spent thousands of rupees per acre on chemical fertilizers and pesticides now prepare biofertilizers themselves. With reduced dependence on the market, costs have decreased by 20 to 30 percent. Crop diversification and multi-layered farming have increased productivity. The nutritional security of families has been strengthened many families now grow the vegetables and fruits at home that they previously had to buy from the market.

As Bahadur Charpota says:

“Work with nature, not against it. Learn with it.”

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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Chikli Badra village in Banswara district of Rajasthan where the land is sloping, rainfall is unreliable, and the roots of tradition run so deep that even the winds of change could not shake them. Women here worked in the fields, but their voices never carried beyond the field boundaries. There was no place for them at the decision-making table. But four women from this very village Kalpana Pargi, Santosh Pargi, Manjula Pargi, and Lalidevi Pargi together wrote a story that became an inspiration not just for their families, but for women across the entire region. On just two bighas of land, they cultivated American maize through community farming and earned an income of nearly one lakh rupees. This is not merely about money it is the beginning of a new way of thinking.

The lives of Chikli Badra’s women followed a fixed rhythm. Head to the fields at sunrise, toil through the day, and return home in the evening to sink into household responsibilities. The labour was theirs, but all decisions related to farming — which crop to sow, where to source seeds, where to sell the produce, and how to spend the money — all of this fell within the domain of men.

Kalpana Pargi recalls

“We worked in the fields all day, but farming decisions were made by the men. Income was low and expenses were high. Sometimes we had to take loans. That’s when we felt something new had to be done.”

Sloping land has its own limitations. Soil erodes, water doesn’t stay, and yields are never stable. In rain-dependent farming, one failed season could throw the entire year into crisis. When rains were scarce, crops withered. When rains were excessive, the water simply ran off. Families remained economically weak, trapped in this cycle. Santosh Pargi describes the pain:

“If the rains fell short, the crop would fail. Many times we had to do wage labour. Running the household became very difficult.”

Every great change begins with a small knock at the door. Lalita Makwana, a community facilitator from Vaagdhara, came to Chikli Badra, listened to these women, and inspired them to organise. It began with community meetings, where women were informed about government schemes which schemes existed, how to benefit from them, and what the application process was. Group management and new livelihood options were also discussed. The women were connected to the Saksham Group When the idea of community farming was raised in these meetings; it was entirely new for these women. In traditional farming, each family worked alone on its own land small plots, limited resources, and big risks. The concept of community farming was simple: work together on one piece of land, share the costs, share the labour, and share the profits equally.

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Around this time, the suggestion of growing American maize came forward. This crop was different from traditional maize higher yield, strong market demand, and no need to travel far for sale. The four women deliberated among themselves. There were risks a new crop, new techniques, and the anxieties of their families. But collective courage pushed individual fear a side. Making a decision is one thing; putting it into practice is another. These women faced several practical obstacles simultaneously. Family members were sceptical about this new experiment, and fear of loss was natural. Lalidevi Pargi shares “People at home said there is risk in new farming. But we explained, and gradually the family came around.

Shortage of resources was another major challenge. Seeds, irrigation, field preparation all of it required money and means. The women found a solution through their group. Collective purchasing reduced costs and collective effort made the work easier there was no prior experience or training in growing American maize. Here, Vaagdhara played a crucial role once again. The organization provided hands-on training the right time to sow, organic fertilizers, water requirements, and pest control. This training not only gave the women technical knowledge but also instilled in them the confidence that they were moving in the right direction. The four women then prepared a 2-bigha joint field. From tilling the soil to sowing the seeds, every task was done together. No one was alone — not in the labour, not in the responsibility. Every day these women went to the field, tended to the crop, and gradually the American maize plants began to flourish. When the crop was ready, they contacted traders from Udaipur and Banswara, sold the American maize produce in the markets, and together the four women earned an income of nearly one lakh rupees. This amount was not merely a figure for them it was proof of their capability.

One lakh rupees meant money for the children’s education, the ability to meet household needs, and the possibility of freedom from debt. But something even greater came with it recognition. These four women were no longer seen merely as field laborers; they began to be recognized as farmers and this recognition was not given to them by anyone else. They earned it themselves. Success leaves its mark not just on a bank account, but on the mind. After this experience, a new self-confidence awakened within these women. They now speak openly, participate in decisions, and show others the way forward.  Kalpana, Santosh, Manjula, and Lalidevi are now playing a new role in the village. They share their experiences and inspire other women toward community farming.

Two bighas of land, four women, one lakh rupees these numbers may seem small, but behind them lies struggle, courage, and solidarity. Even on sloping land, crops can flourish all that is needed is a strong resolve. The four women of Chikli Badra have proven exactly this, and their journey does not end here this is only a new beginning.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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To understand farmer suicides, it is essential to analyze their underlying causes, especially in the context of Maharashtra. In 1990, P. Sainath, the rural editor of The Hindu, began reporting on recurring farmer suicides, with initial cases emerging from Maharashtra and later from Andhra Pradesh.

Initially, it was believed that these suicides were largely confined to cotton farmers in the Vidarbha region. However, data released in 2010 by the Maharashtra State Crime Records Bureau revealed that suicides were widespread among farmers cultivating various cash crops across the state. Importantly, this crisis was not limited to small farmers; medium and large farmers were also affected. In response, the state government established multiple inquiry committees, and then Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh announced a relief package of ₹110 billion for farmers in Vidarbha. Despite these measures, the agrarian crisis deepened, with farmer suicides reported across several states including Maharashtra, Karnataka, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, Punjab, Madhya Pradesh, and Chhattisgarh. According to the National Crime Records Bureau, 17,368 farmer suicides were recorded in 2009, with 62 percent occurring in just five states—Maharashtra, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, and Chhattisgarh.

In Maharashtra alone, between January 1 and December 31, 2024, a total of 2,706 farmers from Vidarbha and Marathwada died by suicide, as acknowledged by State Relief and Rehabilitation Minister Makarand Patil. Of these, 1,069 cases were from the Amravati division and 952 from the Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar division, driven by factors such as climate change, unseasonal rainfall, drought, crop failure, and indebtedness. Out of these cases, 1,563 were deemed eligible for government compensation, with affected families receiving financial assistance of ₹1 lakh in structured support. Over the past decade, Maharashtra has recorded an average of around 3,000 farmer suicides annually. In 2020 alone, 2,270 farmers ended their lives, according to data obtained through the Right to Information Act. While official claims suggest a decline in some regions, Vidarbha continues to remain a hotspot for such tragedies.

The fundamental issue lies in the structural vulnerability of agriculture in the region. A significant portion of Vidarbha’s population depends entirely on farming, with nearly 91 percent of agricultural land reliant on monsoon rainfall. This dependence makes farmers highly susceptible to climatic uncertainties. However, the crisis is not solely environmental; it is also rooted in policy failures, rising input costs, and systemic neglect. Farmers often lack access to reliable institutional credit and are forced to depend on private moneylenders, trapping them in cycles of debt. Additionally, the shift towards high-cost cash crops like cotton has increased financial risks, particularly in the face of erratic weather patterns.

Take the example of cotton cultivation in Vidarbha, especially in districts like Yavatmal. Farmers invest approximately ₹36,000 per acre, covering expenses such as land preparation, seeds, fertilizers, pesticides, irrigation, labor, and transportation. Despite such significant investments, unpredictable weather often leads to severe crop losses—sometimes up to 60 percent—resulting in financial collapse. Even when crops are harvested, farmers frequently struggle to secure fair prices due to delays in government procurement processes. As a result, many are forced to sell their produce at lower rates to private traders, further compounding their losses.

Data from recent years shows that Amravati division has recorded the highest number of farmer suicides, followed by the Aurangabad division. Regions like Nashik and Nagpur have also seen rising trends. This indicates that the crisis is widespread and not confined to a single geographic area. At a broader level, Indian agriculture continues to be heavily dependent on the monsoon. Crop failures, rising input costs, declining profitability, and mounting debt create a vicious cycle from which farmers struggle to escape. The shrinking size of landholdings adds another layer of vulnerability. Average landholding has significantly declined over the decades, making agriculture less viable as a primary livelihood.

According to NABARD’s All India Rural Financial Inclusion Survey (NAFIS) 2021–22, while farmers’ average monthly income increased from ₹8,059 in 2016–17 to ₹12,698 in 2021–22, their monthly expenditure rose even faster—from ₹6,646 to ₹11,262. This indicates that rising income is being offset by increasing costs. Simultaneously, the percentage of indebted households has increased, with more farmers relying on institutional credit and schemes like the Kisan Credit Card. Although financial inclusion has improved, it has not translated into economic stability.

The situation is further aggravated by broader environmental and economic challenges. According to the Centre for Science and Environment, 10,881 individuals associated with agriculture died by suicide in 2021, averaging around 30 deaths per day. Maharashtra recorded the highest number of such cases. Climate change, pest attacks, declining crop prices, and rising input costs have made agriculture increasingly unviable. Despite policy announcements and claims of doubling farmers’ income, many farmers do not receive Minimum Support Prices for their produce. Consequently, they fall deeper into debt and despair, often facing humiliation from creditors and middlemen, which pushes them toward extreme steps.

Today, farming has become a loss-making occupation for many. This has led not only to an increase in suicides but also to a growing trend of rural youth abandoning agriculture in search of better opportunities. The promise of doubling farmers’ income remains largely unfulfilled, raising serious questions about policy implementation and effectiveness. There is an urgent need for structural reforms that ensure fair pricing, reduce input costs, and strengthen institutional support systems.

In addition to economic distress, India is also facing an escalating water crisis. Reservoir levels have declined significantly, with storage levels dropping by around 30 percent, indicating drought-like conditions in several regions. States such as Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, and Tamil Nadu are experiencing severe water shortages, affecting both agriculture and daily life. These challenges highlight the urgent need for improved water management, investment in irrigation infrastructure, and promotion of water conservation practices.

Agriculture, the backbone of India’s economy, is currently grappling with multiple interconnected challenges. While efforts such as financial inclusion, insurance coverage, and pension schemes have shown some progress, they are insufficient to address the deeper structural issues. Shrinking landholdings, rising costs, climate uncertainty, and policy gaps continue to threaten the sustainability of farming.

Ultimately, when a farmer sees all doors closed, suicide becomes a tragic last resort. Preventing this requires a collective effort from the government, society, and civil institutions. Strengthening farmers’ resilience through sustainable agricultural practices, crop diversification, climate adaptation strategies, and fair market access is critical. Without urgent and decisive action, not only will farmers continue to suffer, but the country’s food security will also be at serious risk.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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A few years ago, I sat in a meeting room in a government ministry in Delhi. Around the table were senior officials, technical experts, and representatives from development organisations. The agenda was ambitious: a programme designed to improve services in an important sector.

The proposal was sound. The resources were available. And the people in the room were sincere. Yet as the discussion unfolded, something familiar began to happen. Questions of procedure slowly replaced questions of purpose. Files would need to move through several departments. Approvals would require multiple committees. Authority seemed scattered. Responsibility seemed unclear. By the end of the meeting everyone agreed the programme was important. But it would need “further examination.” Months later, very little had changed.

Over the years I have seen variations of this scene many times—across ministries, agencies, and development programmes. Intelligent people design thoughtful policies with genuine commitment. Yet the system often struggles to turn good ideas into real results.

And yet, outside government systems, Indians frequently perform remarkably well. Our entrepreneurs build global companies. Our scientists launch missions to space. Our professionals lead institutions across the world.

This contrast raises an uncomfortable question.

Why does a nation so rich in talent so often struggle to deliver consistent outcomes at home?

This series explores that question. I call it the India puzzle.

The Illusion of Constant Reform

India is always busy. New schemes are announced. Policies are unveiled. Missions are launched. Dashboards are created. Activity is everywhere. Yet beneath this movement there is often a deeper stillness. Files move. Outcomes don’t. Institutions expand. Efficiency stagnates. Programs multiply. Problems remain. India’s challenge is not a lack of ideas. It is the difficulty of turning ideas into sustained execution. Too often we mistake motion for progress.

Where India Has Succeeded

The puzzle becomes clearer when we look at the sectors where India has succeeded.

In areas where government control was lighter and autonomy greater, Indians have competed—and often excelled—globally.

The information technology industry did not grow through central planning. It expanded through entrepreneurship, global markets, and flexible talent.

Indian cinema became a worldwide cultural force through creativity and risk-taking.

Indian cuisine spread across the world without subsidies or policy frameworks.

Our hospitality sector built hotel brands known internationally for service and professionalism.

In each of these areas, where constraints were fewer, India flourished. The lesson is uncomfortable but difficult to ignore: When freedom expands, performance often follows. Which raises a deeper question—why does this freedom remain limited across governance, education, healthcare, agriculture, and urban management?

Three Forces Behind the Puzzle

India’s constraints are not caused by a single institution or group. They arise from three powerful forces that reinforce each other.

The bureaucracy, originally designed to maintain order, has evolved into a system that often rewards caution over creativity, procedure over purpose, and compliance over outcomes. Many talented officers enter public service with idealism but find themselves constrained by rigid rules and fragmented authority.

The political system operates under constant electoral pressure. This encourages visible short-term actions rather than long-term institutional reform. Deep changes in civil services, urban governance, education, or agriculture require patience and political risk.

Society also plays a role. Our social structures, shaped by long traditions of hierarchy and authority, sometimes resist institutional change. We demand modern outcomes but often remain cautious about challenging old practices.

Together these three forces reinforce one another. Bureaucracy blames politics. Politics blames society. Society blames the system. And the system changes slowly.

Islands of Excellence

Despite these challenges, India repeatedly shows what it is capable of.

Across the country there are islands of excellence: administrators transforming districts, innovative models in health and education, entrepreneurs building world-class firms, and digital platforms serving hundreds of millions efficiently.

These examples show what is possible. But they remain exceptions. Success appears in pockets. It rarely spreads across the system. Great individuals shine. Institutions change slowly.

The Real Cost

The cost of this puzzle is paid every day by ordinary citizens. By the farmer navigating inefficient markets. By the child in a failing school. By the patient in an overcrowded hospital. By the worker struggling through chaotic cities. By the poor citizen facing layers of bureaucracy for basic services. Over time another cost appears—cynicism.

People begin to say:

“This is India.”

“This is how things work.”

But no nation transforms while accepting dysfunction as destiny. This essay is not meant as an academic critique or a political argument. It is an attempt to understand why a country with immense talent and ambition often struggles to build institutions that deliver consistently. I have examined how bureaucratic structures create inertia, how political incentives shape policy choices, how social norms influence reform, and what meaningful change might require. Not slogans. Not quick fixes. But deeper institutional shifts.

India does not lack brilliance. What it lacks are systems that allow brilliance to become normal. Until we confront the structures that hold back execution, equity, and excellence, we will continue to dream big while delivering small. The question is not whether India can rise. The real question is whether we are willing to solve the puzzle ourselves.

How Indian Bureaucracy Became So Powerful?

Some years ago, during a conversation with a group of international business leaders, the discussion turned to India.

Many of them admired the country’s talent, market size, and entrepreneurial energy. Yet when the subject of investing in India came up, the mood shifted slightly.

“The opportunity in India is enormous,” one executive said. “But dealing with the system can be exhausting.”

Over the years I have heard similar remarks in many places—from investors, development professionals, and even Indians working abroad. The hesitation is rarely about India’s potential. More often, it is about navigating its administrative machinery. Why does this perception persist? Part of the answer lies in how India’s bureaucracy evolved after independence.

More Than a Colonial Legacy

It is often said that Indian bureaucracy is so powerful and authoritarian because she simply inherited the steel frame administrative system created by the British. That explanation is only partly true.

The colonial administration was designed mainly to maintain order and collect revenue across a vast territory. Its culture emphasised hierarchy, procedures, and strict adherence to rules.

After independence, however, India greatly expanded the role of the state. The new nation faced enormous challenges—poverty, food shortages, weak industry, and fragile infrastructure. Government was expected not only to govern but also to build the economy and transform society.

In doing so, India made an important policy choice.

The Development Model That Shaped the Bureaucracy

In the early decades after independence, India chose to develop its economy largely through the machinery of the state.

Influenced by socialist thinking and central planning, policymakers believed that the government should guide industrialisation, allocate resources, and control key sectors of the economy.

Institutions such as the Planning Commission became central to economic policy. Large parts of industry were reserved for the public sector, while private investment required licences and approvals.

Over time this system became known as the licence–permit–quota regime. Under this framework, the state became the main gatekeeper of economic activity. And the bureaucracy became its principal instrument.

When Administration Turns into Control

This decision had profound consequences. Civil servants were no longer simply administrators. They became regulators, inspectors, and approvers of economic activity. A new factory required licences. Imports required clearances. Capacity expansion required permissions. Investment decisions passed through multiple layers of government. Rules multiplied because economic activity was tightly regulated. Files multiplied because every decision required approval. Gradually a system developed in which following procedure became more important than achieving results. Caution became the safest option. In a tightly controlled system, a wrong decision could invite scrutiny. Delays, however, rarely carried consequences.

Over time this reinforced a culture of procedural correctness rather than initiative.

Beyond the Elite Services

Public discussions about bureaucracy often focus on the Indian Administrative Service. But the administrative system is far larger. It includes other All India Services, central and state services, regulatory bodies, and a vast network of subordinate staff who keep government machinery running. The culture created during the licence–permit era gradually spread through this entire system. Authority became associated with control. Citizens and businesses often encountered the state not as a facilitator but as a gatekeeper whose permission was required at every step. These habits developed slowly over decades in a system where government decisions shaped much of economic life.

Reform and Institutional Memory

Economic reforms beginning in the early 1990s removed many of the earlier controls. Industrial licensing was largely abolished, and the private sector gained greater freedom. But institutions have memory. Administrative cultures built over decades do not disappear immediately when policies change.

Many officials today work with professionalism and integrity. Yet the broader system still carries habits formed in an earlier era—caution, procedural complexity, and fragmented decision-making.

One Piece of the Puzzle

India’s bureaucracy has also played an important role in holding together one of the world’s most diverse democracies. It has administered elections, implemented national programmes, and managed a country of extraordinary scale.

But administrative systems must evolve as societies change. Habits formed in an era when the state controlled large parts of the economy may not serve a country seeking rapid innovation, investment, and growth. Understanding this evolution is an important piece of the India puzzle. Because bureaucracy does not operate in isolation. Its behaviour is shaped by political choices, economic policies, and social expectations.

India does not lack capable administrators. What it often lacks are institutions that consistently encourage initiative, reward outcomes, and build trust between the state and society. Solving that challenge will be central to India’s next stage of development.

How Politics Undermines India’s Performance?

India’s democracy is often celebrated as one of the great achievements of the modern world. And rightly so.

More than 900 million citizens are eligible to vote in India today—the largest democratic electorate in history. The electorate of the United States, the world’s next largest democracy, is less than one-third that size. Every few years the Election Commission of India conducts elections across this vast country with remarkable efficiency.

India’s democracy has also become far more socially inclusive over time. Leaders from communities that once had little presence in national politics—figures such as Mayawati, Lalu Prasad Yadav and Mulayam Singh Yadav—rose to prominence by mobilising groups that had long remained outside the traditional centres of political power.

Women’s participation has also transformed the electoral landscape. In several recent elections, women voters have turned out in numbers equal to—or even greater than—men. By almost any measure, Indian democracy has become broader and more representative. Yet this success raises a deeper question. If India’s democracy is so vibrant, why does the country often struggle to sustain long-term institutional reform?

In this essay,  I have argued that three pillars shape India’s institutional performance: bureaucracy, politics, and society. If bureaucracy determines how policies are implemented, politics determines which policies receive attention in the first place. Understanding the incentives created by India’s political system is therefore essential to understanding the India puzzle.

The Permanent Election Cycle

In many democracies elections occur at predictable intervals. Governments campaign, win or lose, and then return to the work of governing until the next election approaches. India’s political rhythm is different.

Elections take place at several levels—national, state, municipal, and village. Because these cycles occur at different times, the country is almost always somewhere in an election season.

Even when national elections are distant, major state elections may be approaching. When those conclude, municipal or panchayat elections often follow.

The result is a political system that rarely leaves campaign mode. Governance and campaigning frequently happen at the same time. In such an environment, policies are often evaluated not only for their long-term benefits but also for their immediate political impact.

Identity and Political Mobilisation

India’s extraordinary social diversity inevitably shapes its politics.

Caste, religion, language, and regional identity often influence political mobilisation. Ideally, democratic politics gradually transforms such identities into broader policy-based coalitions.

In practice, electoral competition sometimes reinforces these identities. Instead of the politicisation of social groups within a shared national framework, politics itself can become organised around those identities.

When elections revolve around caste or communal loyalties rather than policy choices, political competition becomes sharper and more polarised. Attention shifts from long-term governance challenges to immediate identity mobilisation.

Incentives for Short-Term Politics

Democratic politics everywhere rewards visibility.

Policies that produce immediate and tangible benefits—cash transfers, subsidies, or high-profile announcements—often attract greater political attention than reforms whose benefits appear slowly.

India’s electoral history offers telling examples.

The government led by P. V. Narasimha Rao initiated sweeping economic reforms that reshaped the country’s economy. Yet his party lost power in the 1996 elections.

Similarly, the government of Atal Bihari Vajpayee presided over strong economic growth and major infrastructure initiatives, including the Golden Quadrilateral highway network. It too was unexpectedly defeated in the 2004 elections.

Such outcomes inevitably shape political calculations. If long-term reform does not guarantee electoral reward, governments often favour policies that deliver immediate political returns.

In recent years, many states have expanded welfare transfers and targeted benefits, particularly aimed at women voters. These initiatives often address genuine social needs, but they also illustrate how electoral incentives influence policy priorities.

Personalised Politics

Political communication in India has also become increasingly personalised. Even relatively small public projects often prominently display the image or name of political leaders. In cities such as Delhi, for instance, modest infrastructure improvements may carry the photograph of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Such practices reflect how strongly contemporary politics revolves around individual leadership narratives. When political messaging becomes highly personalised, institutions themselves can sometimes fade into the background.

Who Enters Politics?

Another question naturally follows. If politics plays such a central role in shaping national outcomes, who chooses to enter politics?

Reports analysing election affidavits by organisations such as the Association for Democratic Reforms show that a significant proportion of elected representatives declare pending criminal cases.

In recent Lok Sabha elections, more than 40 percent of Members of Parliament reported some form of criminal case, with many involving serious charges.

A pending case does not necessarily imply guilt. India’s judicial system moves slowly, and some cases arise from political rivalry. Yet the pattern raises uncomfortable questions.

Political parties often nominate candidates primarily on the basis of their ability to win elections. Local influence and political strength can outweigh reputational concerns. This dynamic affects public perceptions of politics.

In earlier decades many leaders entered politics motivated by the ideal of public service and nation-building. Today, despite the expansion of democracy, relatively few young professionals openly aspire to enter political life.

When talented citizens remain distant from politics, the quality of leadership inevitably suffers. And when leadership quality declines, the ability of institutions to translate national talent into consistent outcomes declines with it.

One Piece of the Puzzle

India’s political system has achieved something extraordinary: it has brought hundreds of millions of citizens into the democratic process. But the incentives created by constant electoral competition inevitably shape how governments behave.

When political attention focuses heavily on immediate mobilisation and visibility, the patient work of institution-building becomes harder. This tension forms another important piece of the India puzzle.

India does not lack political energy. What it sometimes lacks are political incentives that consistently reward patience, institutional reform, and long-term thinking.

Until those incentives evolve, the country may continue to display extraordinary talent while struggling to convert that talent into durable institutional outcomes.

How Social Behaviour Shapes Institutional Outcomes?

Earlier in the essay, I  examined two parts of the India puzzle.

We saw how bureaucracy can slow things down. We saw how politics often focuses on the short term.

But there is a third part of the story. And this one is closer to home.

What role does society itself play? Do we strengthen institutions—or work around them?

Let us start with a simple question. When a system does not work well, what do we usually do? Do we try to fix the system? Or do we find a way around it? In everyday life in India, the answer is often clear. We find a way around it.

A Small Story, A Larger Pattern

Let me offer a recent example.

My wife and I wanted to register our will. The process seemed simple. The official website explained it clearly: take an appointment with the registrar, pay a nominal fee of about ₹1,000, bring two witnesses, and the document would be registered.

In reality, it did not work that way.

Getting an appointment through the website was almost impossible. We had to visit the registrar’s office. There were long queues. And eventually, we were advised—quite matter-of-factly—to use a “facilitator.”

For a fee of around ₹10,000, the facilitator arranged the appointment, ensured the case was listed on time, escorted us through the process, and delivered the registered document.

Everything worked—smoothly. Just not through the system that officially exists. What does this tell us?

This is not an isolated story. Versions of it play out across the country—in cities, towns, and villages. Now ask a simple question. Why does such a parallel system exist? Because:

• the formal system is slow or unreliable
• enforcement is weak
• accountability is limited
• citizens need results

So an informal system emerges. And once it emerges, something important happens. People begin to prefer the workaround.

The Self-Reinforcing Loop

This is where the deeper problem lies. Weak institutions lead to weak enforcement. Weak enforcement encourages workarounds. Workarounds reduce pressure for reform. And so institutions remain weak. Over time, this becomes a loop. No one designs it. But everyone adapts to it.

What happens to talent? India does not lack talent. In fact, individual success stories are everywhere. People succeed despite the system. But here is the question. Does the system become stronger because of that success?

Often, it does not. Because talented individuals learn to succeed around the system, not through it. They adapt. They optimise. They move forward. The system stays where it is.

Do we accept more than we should? Another question is worth asking. How much do we tolerate? We accept delays. We expect inefficiency. We adjust to broken processes. And adaptation, in many ways, is a strength. It keeps society moving. But it also has a cost. When citizens adapt instead of demanding better, the pressure for reform weakens. The system survives. But it does not improve.

The Role of Social Habits

There is another layer to this. Indian society has long been shaped by hierarchy—of caste, class, age, and position. That history influences behaviour even today. Questioning authority is often uncomfortable. Challenging the system feels risky. Conformity feels safer than confrontation. These habits matter. Because institutions improve only when they are questioned.

Trust: Systems vs Networks

In strong institutional systems, people rely on rules. In weaker systems, people rely on relationships. In India, both exist—but often side by side. When trust in formal systems is limited, people turn to what they trust more: family, community, and networks. This is rational. But it has consequences. The more we rely on informal systems, the less we invest in improving formal ones.

Why do we get the system we get? This leads to a deeper question. Why does India get the kind of governance it does? In a democracy, governments do not operate in isolation. They reflect the expectations, preferences, and behaviour of society. So what shapes those expectations?

India adopted modern democratic institutions at independence—universal adult franchise, constitutional governance, and the rule of law. This was a bold and remarkable choice. But it was also a society shaped by very different historical conditions.

For centuries, social organisation was influenced by hierarchy and limited access to education and opportunity. For many citizens, the state was distant and not always reliable.

In such a context, expectations from institutions evolve slowly. Citizens may value:

• immediate relief over long-term reform
• personal access over impersonal systems
• visible benefits over institutional improvements

These preferences are not irrational. They reflect lived experience.

The Political Connection

And this brings us back to politics.

Political leaders respond to what voters value. If voters reward immediate benefits, politics will provide them. If voters demand systemic reform, politics will move in that direction. This creates a powerful chain:

social expectations → political incentives → institutional outcomes

One Piece of the Puzzle

India’s social fabric is resilient, adaptive, and deeply rooted. It has helped society function through enormous challenges. But some of the same strengths—adaptability, reliance on networks, acceptance of imperfection—can also slow institutional change. This does not mean society is the problem. It means society is part of the system. And like bureaucracy and politics, it shapes outcomes. And those responses, over time, shape the system itself.

What Would Meaningful Change Require?

If the problem lies in how incentives are structured, then solutions must begin there.

Meaningful change will not come from more schemes or new announcements alone. It will require shifts in how institutions are designed and how they are expected to perform.

Administrative systems will need to move from control to outcomes—from managing processes to delivering results.

Political incentives will need to reward long-term improvements as much as short-term visibility. This is not easy in a competitive democracy, but without it, deep reform will remain elusive.

And perhaps most importantly, society will need to demand more from institutions—and be willing to rely on them when they improve.

Stronger institutions are not built by policy alone. They are built when expectations change, when accountability becomes visible, and when performance becomes the norm rather than the exception.

A Final Reflection

India does not lack talent.

It does not lack ambition.

What it sometimes lacks is a collective insistence on strong, fair, and consistent institutions.

Until citizens demand systems that work—and are willing to rely on them when they do—the gap between potential and performance may remain.

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To understand farmer suicides, it is essential to analyze their root causes. In the context of Maharashtra, this becomes particularly important.

In 1990, P. Sainath, the rural editor of the English newspaper The Hindu, reported regular incidents of farmer suicides. Initially, these reports emerged from Maharashtra, and soon similar reports began coming from Andhra Pradesh. At first, it was believed that most of these suicides were committed by cotton-growing farmers in the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra. However, data obtained from the State Crime Records Bureau in 2010 made it clear that suicides were widespread among farmers cultivating not only cotton but also other cash crops across the entire state. These suicides were not limited to small farmers; medium and large farmers were also affected.

To investigate this crisis, the state government constituted several inquiry committees. The then Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh, announced a relief package of ₹110 billion for farmers in Vidarbha to be spent by the state government. Subsequently, due to the ongoing agrarian crisis, farmer suicides were reported in Maharashtra, Karnataka, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, Punjab, Madhya Pradesh, and Chhattisgarh. In this context, in 2009, India’s National Crime Records Bureau recorded 17,368 farmer suicides. The highest numbers were reported from Maharashtra, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, and Chhattisgarh, which together accounted for 10,765 suicides, or 62% of the total.

In Maharashtra, between January 1 and December 31, 2024, a total of 276 farmers from Vidarbha and Marathwada reportedly died by suicide, as acknowledged by the state’s Relief and Rehabilitation Minister Makarand Patil. In the Amravati division, 169 cases were reported, while in the Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar division, 952 farmers died due to factors such as climate change, wet and dry droughts, crop failure, and indebtedness. This information was provided by Minister Patil in a written reply to a starred question in the legislative assembly. A shocking set of figures further revealed that in the same period, a total of 2,706 farmers in Vidarbha and Marathwada died by suicide. Of these, 1,563 cases were declared eligible for compensation, while in 101 cases, the heirs of the deceased farmers received financial assistance of ₹30,000 through direct aid and ₹70,000 through a bank monthly income scheme, totaling ₹1 lakh per family.

Data from the past decade indicates that, on average, around 3,000 farmers die by suicide every year in Maharashtra. In 2020 alone, 2,270 farmers died by suicide, according to information provided by the state’s Relief and Rehabilitation Department under the Right to Information Act. While releasing these figures, the department claimed that except for the Nagpur and Nashik divisions, all other regions witnessed a decline in farmer suicides in 2020. Vidarbha, however, continues to be identified as a hotspot for such tragedies. Although financial assistance is provided to families after such incidents, there is little focus on identifying and addressing the root causes before these tragedies occur. In reality, a large population in Vidarbha depends entirely on agriculture, making it their only means of livelihood. In other words, they have no alternative. With 91% of agriculture in the region dependent on monsoon rains, the uncertainty of rainfall directly impacts their lives. However, the crisis in Vidarbha is not solely due to monsoon dependency; it is also linked to government policies, rising costs, and the neglect of farmers’ issues by political leadership. Furthermore, there is a lack of reliable institutional credit systems, forcing farmers to rely on private moneylenders. The crisis is also closely associated with unseasonal rainfall and the high-cost cultivation of cash crops like cotton. The recent agricultural losses further highlight this issue. Vidarbha is one of Maharashtra’s leading cotton-producing regions, yet last year, farmers growing Kharif crops suffered losses of up to 60%, severely disrupting their financial stability and affecting future cropping cycles.

Yavatmal district in Vidarbha is particularly known for cotton production, but like other districts in the region, it has gained notoriety for farmer suicides over the past several years. Farmers here have been trapped in a cycle of agrarian distress for decades, unable to escape it. Despite these hardships, they continue to sow their fields every year in the hope of a better yield.

The question arises: how much does a cotton farmer in Vidarbha spend per acre each year in the hope of a good harvest? The process begins with leveling the land, followed by clearing debris and purchasing seeds, fertilizers, and pesticides. Farmers then hire laborers for sowing. Cotton requires irrigation at specific intervals, and once the crop is ready, it must be graded. After all these efforts, when farmers bring their produce to the market, they face further challenges in selling it. Even after months of hard work and spending thousands of rupees, small farmers often fail to receive fair prices for their produce. This year, delays in procurement at government cotton purchase centers forced many farmers to sell their cotton to traders at rates of ₹5,300 to ₹5,400 per quintal.

Cotton remains the most widely cultivated Kharif crop in the region. Farmers report that they spend approximately ₹36,000 per acre on cotton cultivation each year. This includes ₹1,000 for land leveling, ₹500 for cleaning, ₹750 for seeds, ₹100 for sowing, ₹5,000 for fertilizers, ₹5,000 for herbicides, ₹5,000 for pesticides, ₹10,000 for irrigation, ₹4,000 for cotton grading, ₹2,000 for transportation, and ₹1,000 for watch and ward. Despite such high investments, unpredictable weather often destroys crops. Heavy rainfall at critical stages leads to yields dropping to less than half, resulting in severe losses. Continuous losses mean that farmers are increasingly burdened by debt.

Data from the past two years also shows that the Amravati division in Vidarbha recorded the highest number of farmer suicides, with 1,893 cases. Yavatmal district alone accounted for 295 of these cases. The Aurangabad division in Marathwada ranked second, with 1,528 suicides. Nashik and Nagpur divisions followed, recording 774 and 456 cases respectively, with an increase compared to 2019. The state’s Relief and Rehabilitation Department attributes a decline in suicides in 2020 to measures such as loan waivers introduced by the Maha Vikas Aghadi government, as well as relief in land revenue and electricity bills during natural disasters.

Indian agriculture is largely dependent on the monsoon, and crop losses due to monsoon failure are considered a major cause of farmer suicides. Situations such as drought, rising costs, and mounting debt create a vicious cycle of distress. Farmers often become trapped in networks involving banks, moneylenders, and intermediaries. One of the main reasons pushing farmers toward suicide is that agriculture is no longer economically viable or capable of sustaining livelihoods. The reasons behind declining profitability include shrinking landholdings—from an average of 2.3 hectares in 1960–61 to 1.6 hectares in 2002–03—and rising expenses alongside income. Although farmers’ incomes have increased, their expenditures and debt burdens have grown even faster. As incomes rise, households are also spending more on non-food items, while the reduction in landholding size remains a major concern.

The All-India Rural Financial Inclusion Survey (NAFIS) 2021–22 conducted by the National Bank for Agriculture and Rural Development (NABARD), based on a sample of one lakh rural households, provides further insights into the post-COVID economic condition. According to the survey, the average landholding of farmers declined from 1.08 hectares in 2016–17 to 0.74 hectares in 2021–22, marking a 31% reduction in just five years. Meanwhile, average monthly household income increased from ₹8,059 to ₹12,698, a rise of 57.6%. However, monthly expenditure also rose significantly from ₹6,646 to ₹11,262, an increase of 69.4%.

The share of expenditure on food declined from 51% to 47%, indicating a shift toward non-food expenses, which may raise concerns about food security. At the same time, the proportion of indebted households increased from 47.4% to 52%, highlighting growing financial stress. The percentage of households with outstanding loans also rose, suggesting a greater dependence on borrowing to meet expenses.

Farmers are increasingly relying on institutional credit. The proportion of households accessing formal credit rose from 60.5% to 75.5%. The expansion of the Kisan Credit Card (KCC) scheme has been significant, with coverage increasing from 10.5% in 2016–17 to 44.1% in 2021–22. Pension coverage has also risen from 18.9% to 23.5%, while insurance coverage has increased dramatically from 25.5% to 80.3%, reflecting a shift toward financial security mechanisms.

Financial literacy has improved considerably, rising from 33.9% to 51.3%. About 72.8% of households now manage their finances effectively and pay bills on time, compared to 56.4% earlier. Savings have also increased, with average savings rising from ₹9,104 to ₹13,209, and the proportion of households saving increasing from 50.6% to 66%.

Overall, the survey shows that while incomes in rural India have increased, so have expenditures and debt burdens. The use of institutional financial services has expanded, and schemes like KCC, pensions, and insurance are being widely adopted. However, shrinking landholdings and rising financial responsibilities remain major challenges for the future. Since economic liberalization, agricultural practices—especially cash crop farming—have undergone significant changes. Due to socio-economic constraints, many farmers lack the technical knowledge required for cultivating such crops. As a result, those engaged in capital-intensive crops like Bt cotton are more vulnerable to indebtedness and agrarian distress.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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On 18 March 2026, the tribal village of Sajjangarh in southern Rajasthan witnessed the grand and dignified inauguration of a vegetable market (mandi). This market has been established through the tireless joint efforts of the Krushi avm Adivasi swraj Sagthan  (Bhilkuaan) and Vaagdhara, under the active leadership of the Gram Panchayat of Sajjangarh. It is being seen as a strong cornerstone toward local self-governance, self-reliance, and a sustainable rural economy in the region. When farmers came directly to this market with their produce and received a fair price, the satisfaction and confidence visible on their faces was the greatest achievement of this initiative.

Farming has long been the axis of life for the residents of Sajjangarh and dozens of surrounding villages. However, to sell their agricultural produce, farmers had to go to the doors of middlemen, who would buy their produce at throwaway prices and sell it in city markets at several times the cost. In this process, a large share of the farmer’s hard work was swallowed up in the middleman’s profit.

Additionally, the heavy cost of transportation to distant markets and the loss of precious time had been keeping farmers economically weak. Fresh vegetables would spoil during transport, causing further losses. The only permanent solution to all these problems was the establishment of a local, organised, and transparent market. Vaagdhara and the Bhilkuaan Organisation had been working toward this goal for years, and today their dream has come true.

The inauguration ceremony was held as a grand event. People’s representatives, senior citizens, farmers, vegetable vendors, traders, and a large number of villagers from Sajjangarh and four surrounding gram panchayats  Tanda Ratna, Rath Dhanraj, and Tanda Mangala — were present. The programme was chaired by Shri Azhar Khan, Development Officer of the Panchayat Samiti, Sajjangarh. The proceedings were conducted by Shri Dinesh Chandra Dindor. Distinguished guests included Shri P.L. Patel (representative of Vaagdhara Sansthan), Mandal President Shri Ramanlal Garasia, Sarpanch representative Shri Shantilal Katara, Deputy Sarpanch Shri Dadam Seth, President of the Tambeshwara Organisation Shri Man Singh Katara, President of the Bhilkua Organisation Shri Rubin Garasia, Sarpanch representative of Tanda Mangala Shri Lavji Bhai, Deputy Sarpanch Shri Ranveer Singh, and local trader Shri Neeraj Kalal. The presence of all these individuals was proof that this is not merely the initiative of one institution or organisation, but a shared endeavour of the entire community.

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Various dignitaries shared their thoughts at the programme, reflecting deep insight into the significance of this market and its future possibilities.

Shri Azhar Khan said: The inauguration of this vegetable market in Sajjangarh is not merely the establishment of a marketplace — it is an important step toward the economic empowerment of the tribal region. Farmers will receive fair prices for their produce and will be freed from the cycle of middlemen. The administration will extend every possible support for the development of this market.

Shri P.L. Patel, representative of Vaagdhara Sansthan, said:”Vaagdhara Sansthan has always aimed to promote self-reliance in rural and tribal areas. This market in Sajjangarh is a living example of that effort, where farmers will be able to connect directly with consumers and receive the right value for their produce. Our goal is that the concept of self-governance (Swaraj) be implemented in the life of every person.

Mandal President Shri Ramanlal Garasia, giving voice to the feelings of the farmers, said:This market will prove to be a blessing for the farmers of our region. They will no longer need to depend on distant markets to sell their produce. They will receive a fair price locally, which will strengthen their financial position.”

Sarpanch representative Shri Shantilal Katara, highlighting the role of the Gram Panchayat, said that Gram Panchayat Sajjangarh has always prioritised developmental work, and this market is the next link in that chain, which will become the identity of the entire region in the times to come. Our aim is not merely to establish a market, but to develop it as an ideal marketplace where both farmers and consumers benefit.

*Shri Man Singh Katara, President of the Tambeshwara Organisation, speaking in the context of self-respect and self-reliance, said that this initiative will take society to new heights, and everyone must work together to make it a success.

This vegetable market has been established not merely as a buying-and-selling centre, but as a symbol of a social movement. It incorporates several important features and commitments that make it distinct and special from other markets: Separate Identity for Organic Vegetables: An important decision was taken at the programme to ensure a separate identity for organic and chemical-free vegetables in the market. Special boards and banners will be put up so that consumers can easily identify which vegetables have been grown entirely by natural methods. This is significant not only for health reasons but is also a positive step toward encouraging organic farming. It will provide special encouragement to those farmers who cultivate using natural and traditional methods, staying away from chemical fertilisers and pesticides.

Polythene-Free Campaign Another important pledge was taken on this occasion to run a polythene-free campaign in the region from 1 April. Shri Azhar Khan appealed to all organizations, traders, and villagers to cooperate with this campaign. This campaign is an important initiative for environmental protection that will improve both marketplace cleanliness and environmental health. Cloth bags and other eco-friendly alternatives will be promoted in place of polythene. A Platform for Farmers to Learn While conducting the proceedings, Shri Dinesh Chandra Dindor made it clear that this market will not only be a centre of trade but will also become a platform for farmers to learn and grow. Information about new agricultural techniques, improved seeds, modern irrigation methods, and market trends will be shared here. This will increase farmers’ knowledge and allow them to improve both the quality and quantity of their produce. This market will provide direct and accessible market access to farmers from approximately 65 villages across 16 gram panchayats. Its economic impact will be multi-dimensional and far-reaching Until now, farmers were compelled to depend on middlemen to sell their produce. Middlemen would offer low prices and take away a large share of the farmers’ hard work. With this market opening, farmers will be able to reach consumers directly and receive the fair market price for their produce. It is estimated that this could increase farmers’ income by 30 to 50 percent.

Savings in Transportation and Time Previously, farmers had to spend hours and considerable money to travel to distant markets. By being able to sell their produce at the local market, there will be major savings not only in transportation costs but also in time. The saved time and money can be invested by farmers in their fields and families. Vegetables would often spoil during long-distance transport, causing losses to farmers and preventing consumers from getting fresh produce. Now, fresh, high-quality vegetables will reach consumers within just a few hours of the morning harvest at the local market. The establishment of the market will benefit not only farmers but will also create new employment opportunities for local youth  in market management, loading and unloading, weighing and measurement services, cleaning and maintenance, and commercial activities. This will give further momentum to the local economy.

Vaagdhara has been working for decades to put this very concept of Swaraj (self-governance) into practice at the grassroots level among tribal and rural communities. Through land rights, water conservation, organic farming, women’s empowerment, and women’s self-help groups, this organisation is engaged in enriching tribal life. The vegetable market in Sajjangarh is yet another important milestone in that journey.True local self-governance means: when farmers themselves decide the price of their produce; when the panchayat itself plans the development of its village; when society finds solutions to its problems from within itself that is when true Swaraj is realized. This market has taken another step in the direction of that Swaraj.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

All images in this article are from the author

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In the small village of Kundali, under the Ghatol tehsil of Banswara district in Rajasthan, begins the story of a tribal family the story of 43-year-old Vanta Ramdas Charpota, who, even after enduring the sting of failure, did not give up. Through sheer determination, hard work, and the tools of advanced agricultural techniques, she transformed her land into a field of hope.

Vanta Devi’s life was like that of every tribal woman who spends her days divided between the farm, the home, and the family. Within her lived a dream that one day she, too, would be able to bring prosperity to her loved ones. To meet daily needs, she grew only vegetables on her land. Her farming was for survival, not for trade.

One day, she happened to visit her parents’ home. On the way, she spotted a field bursting with deep red tomatoes. The sight of that lush, thriving farm stirred something inside her: if that farmer can grow such a wonderful crop, why can’t I? In that moment, a dream began to take shape  a dream where her own field would be just as laden with fruit, where her family would have nutritious food, and where a steady livelihood would take root.

Upon returning home, she resolved to grow tomatoes. But while enthusiasm was plentiful, technical knowledge was not. She had no idea how to test her soil, no understanding of the right irrigation methods, and no grasp of the proper ratios of fertilizers and manures. She invested all her savings and held nothing back in terms of effort yet the results were discouraging. The crop did come up, but the yield fell far short of expectations.

Around that time, the organization Vaagdhara had begun its activities in her village. Vaagdhara works across the tribal belts of southern Rajasthan to empower women, teach them sustainable farming practices, and strengthen their livelihoods. The organization’s community facilitator, Mukesh Maida, had formed a Saksham Mahila Samuh (Capable Women’s Group) in the village and encouraged Vanta Devi to join  offering her an opportunity for leadership. Once part of the group, she began receiving training under the Sachchi Kheti (True Farming) program through a Farmers’ Field School. This training was hands-on and field-based learning by doing.

She first understood how essential it is to maintain soil moisture, and how effective drip irrigation can be toward that end. She learned to use water wisely and efficiently. But the most important lesson she took away from the training was how to prepare enriched natural manure from cow dung using the Ukda method. Vanta Devi’s household had three buffaloes, two bullocks, one cow, and six goats. These animals had always been her economic backbone, yet she had never been able to fully utilize the dung and waste they produced. Vaagdhara taught her that everything she already had animal dung, dry leaves, crop residue, twigs, and other organic matter could be transformed into extremely useful and powerful compost. This compost would not only enrich her soil but also help her cut the heavy expense she had been incurring on chemical fertilizers.

The Ukda composting method is not new  it is embedded in the very roots of our agricultural culture. For centuries, our ancestors have revered cow dung as sacred and useful. It is a testament to the deep bond between livestock, nature, and human sustenance. What Vanta Devi was taught was simply the scientific form of this age-old traditional knowledge.

The process of preparing this compost is systematic and step-by-step. First, a pit is dug at a suitable location  ideally on elevated, dry ground so that rainwater cannot collect in it, as waterlogging impedes the composting process and causes foul odors. Into this pit, animal dung, waste matter, dry leaves, crop residue, and other organic material are collected and layered. Then, approximately five to ten kilograms of rock phosphate is mixed in per ton of the organic blend. Rock phosphate increases the phosphorus content of the compost, which is vital for strengthening plant roots and supporting overall growth. Bio-fertilizers containing beneficial microorganisms that fix nitrogen and phosphorus are then sprayed over the mixture. These microbes accelerate the breakdown of organic matter and make the compost even more nutrient-rich. Instead of covering the heap with soil, it is covered with grass or organic material so that air can continue to circulate within it. Maintaining moisture is an essential part of the process, so the heap is lightly watered at regular intervals. Every fifteen to twenty days, the compost is turned with a spade to maintain airflow and keep the microorganisms active. After sixty to ninety days of this process, the compost turns a deep brown and takes on the fresh scent of earth  a sign that it is fully ready.

Vanta Devi learned all of this carefully and applied it to her own land. She began collecting dung from her animals, dry leaves, and crop residue. With plenty of livestock at home, raw materials were never in short supply. She dug a pit at a suitable spot near the village and began preparing the compost following the full method. Two to two-and-a-half months later, when she saw the finished Ukda compost for the first time  that deep brown, fragrant with the smell of earth  her heart filled with joy and excitement.

This time, she decided to grow tomatoes again  but this time, she was ready. On her quarter-acre plot of land, she applied around one quintal of Ukda compost. She adopted drip irrigation, first raised the seedlings in a nursery and then transplanted them into the field. She kept a careful watch on soil moisture, weeded and tilled at the right times, and continuously monitored the crop. This time, her hard work and knowledge came together  and the result was extraordinary. From just a quarter of an acre, she harvested two thousand five hundred kilograms of tomatoes. At the market, she received twenty-five rupees per kilogram, pushing her earnings well beyond sixty-two thousand five hundred rupees. In addition, she earned ten thousand rupees from brinjal cultivation and a further eight thousand rupees from spinach, fenugreek, and coriander. She also prepared a tomato nursery for the next season  proof of her foresight and the systematic planning she had newly acquired. In all, that year her farming brought her more than eighty-two thousand rupees in income.

But the impact of this success was not limited to numbers alone. As money came in, the face of the household began to change. Nutritious food appeared on the table. The family was freed from the uncertainty of daily wage labor, and farming became her true identity  one built on dignity, self-respect, and self-reliance.

The journey of Vanta Ramdas Charpota is significant also because it demonstrates that failure is not the end. The loss from her first tomato crop could have been the closing chapter  but she chose to make it a lesson. She received the right guidance, the right techniques, and the support of an organization, and she absorbed all of it with complete dedication. Preparing compost the proper way is a technique that gives new edge to old knowledge.The role of Vaagdhara and its Sachchi Kheti program is absolutely central to this entire story. The organization not only provided technical training but also gave women a collective platform where they could learn from one another, inspire each other, and move forward together. The Saksham Mahila Samuh became a space where women like Vanta Devi could share their struggles and find solutions together. It is this sense of community that forms the true foundation of lasting change.

Today, Vanta Devi stands as a living example for every woman in that village who wishes to build a better life from her land, her livestock, and her labor. Her success carries the message that even small-scale farming can be profitable provided the farmer has the right knowledge, the right technique, and the firm resolve to act. Her story is a crop grown from the soil of Banswara’s tribal heartland not merely of tomatoes, but of hope, self-respect, and transformation. The seed she has sown is taking root not only in her own field, but in the hearts of every woman around her who dares to dream of a better tomorrow.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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When the lush green fields of turmeric sway in the tribal belt of southern Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, and Gujarat, it is not merely a spice crop it is the golden glow of self-reliance. In villages where even basic spices once had to be bought from the market, the very soil today is yielding a prosperity that has transformed the lives of thousands of families. At the heart of this transformation is the initiative of Vaagdhara, which has linked turmeric with livelihoods, nutrition, and village self-governance (gram swaraj).

Turmeric’s place in our lives is not limited to the kitchen. Whether it is the turmeric ceremony at a wedding, post-natal care, or the everyday lentils and vegetables, turmeric is an indispensable need in every household. Yet, the irony was that many families in tribal regions were buying even the turmeric they needed from the market. Every year, cash was spent on turmeric packed in small plastic pouches. Though this expense may seem small, for families with limited incomes, it was a burden too.

To change this situation, Vaagdhara launched a comprehensive campaign with turmeric at its centre. The organization provided turmeric seeds to more than two lakh (200,000) families across approximately 2,000 villages in its operational area. Alongside the seeds came training, group formation, the concept of nutrition gardens, and a clear vision of freedom from market dependency. Through the already active Gram Swaraj groups, Saksham Mahila Samoohs (women’s empowerment groups), and Krushi avm Adivasi swraj saghatahn this idea was carried door to door.

Baleshwar Tabiyar, a farmer from Dhanewa Bada village in Anandpuri block of Banswara district, is a living example of this change. He shares that earlier, turmeric was only grown in small quantities for domestic use. “We had never even thought that turmeric could also be a source of income. When it was explained in detail at the Gram Swaraj group meeting, we tried it on a small scale. The yield was good and the cost was also low. This year, I have planted turmeric across a full bigha,” he says with a smile. The lush green crop standing in his field truly seems like a symbol of a new confidence.

Farmers embraced turmeric also because it is a relatively low-risk crop. Traditional crops like wheat, gram, and sesame are more susceptible to weather and pest damage. Sudden rains, hailstorms, or strong winds can often ruin months of hard work. In contrast, turmeric rhizomes develop underground, which reduces direct exposure to weather conditions. The cost of cultivation remains limited and demand is steady. Whether in the kitchen, medicine, cosmetics, or religious use turmeric is always needed. This stability gives farmers the confidence that their produce will not go to waste.

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The most empowering aspect of this initiative is the participation of women. Rajubai from Sakarwara village in Sailana tehsil says, “For the past three years, I have not bought turmeric from the market. We sowed the seeds received from Vaagdhara in our fields and this time we got two quintals of turmeric. Now I will sell it and increase my livelihood.” The confidence in her voice is not just about the crop  it is about self-reliance.

Anitabai from the same village shares that she used to buy plastic-packed turmeric from the market before. “We didn’t even know how much harm that plastic causes to the environment. When we learned about it at a Saksham Mahila Samoohs meeting, we understood how much better it is to use turmeric from our own fields. Now we have stopped buying turmeric in plastic,” she says. Her words also highlight the environmental impact of this initiative.

Lakshmibai, Rajeshwaribai, Gangabai, and Sugnabai from Kangsi village are also no longer dependent on the market. They share that earlier they had to buy turmeric multiple times throughout the year. Now, even after meeting the household requirement, surplus produce remains, which  is sold to local traders. This additional income may seem small, but it provides cash for children’s education, medicines, and other essential needs.

In truth, turmeric has brought not only economic change to these villages but has also influenced social structures. When women began participating in decisions related to production and marketing, their role within the family grew stronger. Their presence in village meetings increased. Their voices began to be heard in decision-making processes. This transformation has happened gradually, but it is lasting.

The foundation of Vaagdhara’s strategy has been community organization. Regular meetings included discussions on farming techniques, the use of organic fertilisers, seed preservation, and crop management. Farmers were told that even on small landholdings, spice crops can become a source of steady income. Emphasis was also placed on small but important measures such as fencing fields to prevent damage from livestock, thereby combining technical guidance with traditional knowledge.

Viewed in a broader context, this turmeric initiative is an effort to put the concept of gram swaraj into practice. When a village reduces its dependence on the market for its basic needs, it becomes economically more empowered. Two lakh families engaging in turmeric production is not merely an agricultural programme  it is the practice of self-reliance at the household level. It has increased local market availability, strengthened the role of women, and made savings of cash possible.

Today, in these villages, turmeric is no longer just a spice. It has become the colour of confidence. The green leaves swaying in the fields and the golden rhizomes growing in the earth carry this message: with the right guidance and collective resolve, even an ordinary-looking crop can become a medium of transformation. When  Rajubai speaks about the turmeric from her field, her face lights up. “Earlier, we used to wonder what we had. Now, it feels like everything is within our own soil,” she says. This feeling is the very essence of this entire initiative. The golden glow rising from the earth is illuminating not just the fields, but the thinking of entire villages.

The story of this turmeric tells us that change does not always come from large resources  it comes from the right vision and community participation. In villages that once had to look to the market even for spices, the fragrance of self-reliance is spreading today. This golden glow will inspire more villages in the time to come, because when a community moves forward on its own, development becomes not just a programme, but a part of life.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is an independent writer, social worker, and researcher associated with rural development. He regularly writes on issues related to tribal communities, rural livelihoods, agriculture, climate change, and social transformation. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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If a farmer is able to raise vegetables worth around rupees 50,000 or more in a year on a small plot of just 1/20 of an acre (just 200 square meters) then surely this is great news for all those who have been striving to find the way forward for ensuring adequate livelihoods and income for small and marginal farmers in India (as well as several other countries).

In addition if this achievement is made with natural farming methods (implying that cash expenditure on expensive chemical fertilizers, pesticides and weedicides is entirely avoided), then these hopes will increase further due to a big reduction of expenses.

This is precisely what Gauradevi and Harcharan are achieving in Nayakhera village located near the town of Tikamgarh (Madhya Pradesh). They have about two acres of land. A small patch of this land, just 1/20 of an acre, is devoted to creating a multi-layer vegetable garden. With the help of bamboos, wires and ropes, a structure has been created on this land which makes it possible to grow more vegetables in a healthier way on a small plot of land, combining vegetables which grow below on land, on surface and creepers which climb upwards. Thus over a dozen or more vegetables can be grown on this small plot of about 200 square meters. 

Both Gaura Devi and Harcharan work here in very creative ways. They have a cow and two calves, also one buffalo. They prepare organic fertilizers and pest repellants on their farm using cow dung, cow urine, leaves of some trees and other local materials. Hence their dependence on any cash-purchased inputs is greatly reduced and overall expenses are also kept low.

Practicing these low-cost methods, they achieved production worth rupees 45,000 this year from just this small plot of land of about 200 square meters (not counting the produce of the rest of their farm) despite the crop loss suffered by excessive rain and adverse weather conditions  in recent times. In very favorable weather conditions, Gaura Devi is confident that they can double these earnings, approaching closer to one hundred thousand rupees or one lakh rupees worth of vegetables produced in a year. In moderately good weather also they can exceed the production value of 50,000 rupees.

Gauradevi adds that this is only a part of the gains, as the healthy vegetables produced on this farm helps to keep away illness from family members. The good health brought by vegetables produced using natural farming methods should also be considered in any appraisal of their work, she adds. What is more, she says, we also make available healthy vegetables to others and their health improves too.

Gaura Devi is a very spirited lady, and when I asked her if I’ll be able to see the higher yield in a good weather year at the time of my next visit, she replied that I’ll show the complete record of how we come close to increasing production value to one hundred thousand rupees or one lakh rupees.

The she opened a knot on a corner of the sari to take out the earnings from this morning’s selling of vegetables. She counted the cash and said that this morning’s sale within the village has amounted to rupees 700. She had left about an hour back carrying a few vegetables from the farm in a basket and as other villagers know that her vegetables are very healthy, these were sold very quickly. 

Often she also goes to Tikamgarh city with a greater collection of vegetables to sell. When the collection is even bigger, then Harcharan goes in a rented vehicle and sells directly to traders. However, earnings are higher in retailing directly to customers in small quantities.

Harcharan was hard at work on the vegetable garden at the time of our visit but agreed to stop this for some time to have a discussion. He said that by providing support for more creeper based vegetables to grow higher up, the quality of the produce improves, there is less harm from pests and fungus, and the excess water can drain out more easily. He said that earlier we used a different version of this method which we called mandap but then a voluntary organization SRIJAN came to the village and with their help and advice we could take up this more advanced form called multi-layer vegetable garden. SRIJAN also helped by providing bamboos and seeds. On a similar pattern several other farmers here and in nearby villages have been helped and encouraged to initiate such vegetable gardens on a small part of their land.

Harcharan says that their work will be facilitated further if they can receive a power tiller. According to Kamlesh Kurmi of SRIJAN, this work is being supported here by Inter Globe Foundation and the results in the context of most farmers have been encouraging, despite adverse weather conditions. 

Rakesh Kumar has been involved with this idea since the early days. He told me that on behalf of SRIJAN he first went to study this idea at some places in Gujarat, but found that the technology being used was too expensive and its replication by many farmers would not be a practical proposition in this area. Hence they decided to take it forward in their own low-cost and ecologically protective ways, and in this form many more farmers are coming forward to adopt this.

What is more, he adds, farmers continue to add and innovate in their own way, sometimes quite successfully. Ideally in local conditions here, I would go in for just about 13 types of vegetables in a year including turmeric and ginger below the surface, some leafy vegetables like spinach, methi and coriander leaves, about half a dozen creeper growing vegetables like gourd, bitter gourd, cucumber and turai, plus a papaya tree or two. In this model, Rakesh said, I am keeping out some popular vegetables as these can be more susceptible to pests, but some farmers insist on growing tomatoes, chillies and cauliflowers, and so we have a diversity of experiments being made all the time and farmers share their results with each other, evolving what appears to be more suitable for them.

Rishu Mishra of SRIJAN said that depending on resource availability and local conditions there can be a few differences in the model being spread in various villages but the essence is the same of improving the sustainable livelihoods of small farmers based on the production of healthy vegetables.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include India’s Quest for Sustainable Farming and Healthy Food, Man over Machine, A Day in 2071 and Protecting Earth for Children. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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“Whenever we faced a family emergency, we had to borrow from private moneylenders at such high interest rates that it became difficult to emerge out of these debts. Sometimes the borrower ended up even losing his land.”

This is how Kamla recalled the old days before she and other rural women organized themselves in self-help groups. However the situation could improve significantly within a few years with the help of SHGs. As Kamla says,

“We are now not only able to meet our emergency needs on the basis of our own savings collected in SHGs, in addition we can tap our savings to improve our farming, such as by finding a new irrigation source, or starting various small and cottage scale enterprises which can become a modest but independent source of additional income for women and their households.”

Kamla and her friends like Soora take even more pride in the fact that they have been able to use these savings to help in the higher education of their children, not just sons but also daughters. Thus Kamla was able to arrange for the training of her two daughters as nurses while Soora supported the education of her daughter for becoming a teacher.  

Kamla Devi is a leading member of various women-led initiatives in Suveri area of Kherawar block (district Udaipur) in South Rajasthan. These were started by a leading voluntary organization Seva Mandir (SM) first in the form of adult literacy classes and then in the form of SHGs. While SHGs improved the economic base of women, these also enabled women in many villages to take a more united stand against any incidents of violence or injustice against women. Such efforts acquired a more firm base with the establishment of a women resource center (WRC) around the year 2015, one of several such centers established over the course of a few years in South Rajasthan by SM. Since then the Suveri group has been taking up the resolution of various disputes and cases of injustice against women on a regular basis. As Kamla explained, the resolution process starts with the case being listed along with the payment of a modest fee. In many cases the dispute or the case can be resolved to the satisfaction of all concerned in just one or two hearings, but in more complex and contested cases these can continue for a longer period and sometimes mediation of more experienced persons at higher levels can be helpful.

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Another useful role of the resource center that is becoming of increasing relevance for women, particularly women from weaker sections in more remote villages, is that of improving access to various government schemes. There are many kinds of government schemes of various benefits, pension schemes and medical care schemes but access to them depends on various documents being available in correctly updated form. Access to benefits may be denied even to most deserving beneficiaries if the documents are not available or if certain corrections and updating need to be made. Hence the help provided in this context to women from remote villages can be very important for them.

The resource center does not wait for women who need their help to reach them. If two members stay at the center, two others visit various villages regularly so that they can provide the necessary help to women right within their villages.

Similarly the efforts to reduce injustice against women are not confined just to resolving disputes or taking action when domestic or other violence against women has taken place. Instead efforts to raise social consciousness in various villages are made with continuity so that the possibilities of any violence or injustice against women can reduce significantly. Women here said that the overall incidence of violence against women has reduced significantly in these villages during the last decade or two.

However at the same time people say that some complex social problems, which cannot be simply described as injustice or violence, are also emerging in new forms, whether under the influence of social media or in other ways, which can ultimately result in a lot of distress, complications and uncertainty. Hence efforts to understand and to reduce these problems at an early stage need to be made and these are being initiated.

This is a region of many kinds of creative and promising developing activities being initiated by SM and its partner organizations. The growing unity, assertiveness and social space makes it possible for women to both contribute in more effective ways to these processes and efforts, and also to benefit from them. To give just one example, the work relating to pasture regeneration is particularly beneficial for women, while at the same time they have also made very important contribution to the success of these efforts.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include Protecting Earth for Children, When the Two Streams Met, Navjeevan and A Day in 2071. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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On February 25, 2026, the Philippines marks the 40th anniversary of the EDSA People Power Uprising, the four-day mobilization from February 22 to 25, 1986, that forced the strongman Ferdinand Marcos Sr. from Malacañang and installed Corazon Aquino in his stead. The event, now canonized in textbooks and commemorations, is frequently invoked as a triumph of democratic will and thus interpreted as proof that unarmed citizens can bend the arc of history.

Yet four decades on, a more unsettling question intrudes: if EDSA was the decisive rupture it is said to be, how did the Philippines arrive at a political moment in which Bongbong Marcos, son of the deposed dictator, occupies the presidency, alongside Sara Duterte, heir to another formidable political dynasty? The restoration, many argue, is complete.

To commemorate EDSA honestly in 2026 is not to rehearse its mythology, but to interrogate its limits.

Insurrection, Not Revolution

The language of “People Power” suggests a revolution considered as a foundational reordering of the political and social contract. But EDSA was, more precisely, an insurrection: a dramatic and morally potent uprising that removed a ruler without dismantling the architecture that enabled his rule.

The dictator fell. The system did not.

Political dynasties endured. Patronage networks persisted. Oligarchic dominance remained intact. The coercive and extractive logics of Philippine politics survived the transition. In this light, EDSA did not inaugurate a new order; it rearranged the furniture of the elite.

The romanticization of EDSA by elevating it  to near-sacred status has often served as a substitute for deeper structural reform. Annual commemorations risk becoming ritualistic absolution, obscuring the harder truth that the uprising did not decisively transform the political economy that sustains dynastic rule.

The Phantom of Accountability

The ascent of Marcos Jr. and Duterte is not merely the product of political maneuvering, though maneuver they certainly have. It is also the consequence of a system in which accountability is spectral, i.e., invoked rhetorically but rarely enforced institutionally.

To interrogate their mandate is to confront an uncomfortable premise: a politically underdeveloped electorate, susceptible to disinformation, nostalgia, and the transactional allure of patronage politics. Despite the global transformations of the 21st century characterized by digital connectivity, expanded education, and economic integration, the aggregate Filipino voter has not undergone a parallel maturation in civic consciousness.

This is not a condemnation of individual citizens so much as an indictment of the structural conditions that shape political subjectivity. Decades of underinvestment in civic education, endemic inequality, weak party systems, and a media ecosystem vulnerable to manipulation have conspired to produce an electorate that is mobilized episodically but rarely empowered systematically.

In such an environment, dynastic recurrence is not an aberration; it is an inevitability.

The Restoration

The presence of a Marcos once again in Malacañang is rich with historical irony. It exposes the fragility of memory and the permeability of historical narrative. The son’s electoral victory did not occur in defiance of democratic procedure but through it. It is an outcome that complicates any simplistic dichotomy between dictatorship and democracy.

If EDSA’s promise was the institutionalization of democratic norms, then the return of the Marcos name to the presidency suggests that those norms were never fully consolidated. Memory alone cannot substitute for reform. Commemoration cannot replace transformation.

The restoration is not merely symbolic. It signals the resilience of a political culture anchored in personality, dynasty, and patronage rather than programmatic ideology or policy continuity. It underscores how easily democratic mechanisms can be harnessed to reproduce entrenched power.

The Myth of Incrementalism

Forty years after EDSA, incremental reform appears exhausted. Anti-dynasty provisions languish. Party systems remain weak and personality-driven. Campaign finance transparency is porous. Disinformation spreads with algorithmic efficiency.

The Philippines requires more than technocratic tinkering. It demands a radical recalibration of its democratic trajectory  that addresses structural inequities and institutional frailties rather than celebrating episodic uprisings.

Such recalibration might include:

• Enforceable anti-dynasty legislation to disrupt hereditary monopolies of power.
• Comprehensive civic education reform to cultivate critical political literacy.
• Robust campaign finance regulation to sever the nexus between wealth and electoral viability.
• Strengthened party development to replace personality cults with programmatic platforms.
• Institutional safeguards against digital disinformation.

None of these measures are revolutionary in the romantic sense. Yet collectively, they would constitute a deeper transformation than the events of February 1986.

Beyond Hagiography

To cease the hagiography of EDSA is not to diminish the courage of those who gathered along Epifanio de los Santos Avenue in 1986. It is to honor them by confronting the unfinished work their uprising revealed.

The essential inquiry of 2026 is not whether EDSA mattered. It did. It prevented bloodshed on a potentially catastrophic scale and re-opened democratic space. But its singular significance must be measured against its structural aftermath.

Did it fundamentally alter the Philippine political climate? Or did it simply dislodge one strongman while preserving the conditions for his lineage and others like it to return?

Forty years later, the anniversary should not be a tableau of yellow ribbons and nostalgic slogans. It should be an inflection point: a moment to acknowledge that insurrection without institutional transformation is insufficient.

If the Philippines is to escape the cycle of dynastic recurrence, it must move beyond symbolic catharsis toward systemic reconstruction. The democratic maturation of the nation cannot be postponed indefinitely. History has demonstrated that when structural failure goes unaddressed, restoration follows revolution.

The lesson of EDSA at 40 is stark: the work of democracy is not completed by a single uprising. It is either continuously deepened or quietly undone.

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Prof. Ruel F. Pepa is a Filipino philosopher based in Madrid, Spain. A retired academic (Associate Professor IV), he taught Philosophy and Social Sciences for more than fifteen years at Trinity University of Asia, an Anglican university in the Philippines. He is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG).

Featured image: An iconic photo of the People Power Revolution in the Philippines in February 1986 showing hundreds of thousands of people filling up Epifanio delos Santos Avenue (EDSA). The view is looking northbound towards the Boni Serrano Avenue-EDSA intersection. (Photo taken by Joey de Vera / Fair Use)

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The headlines are predictable by now. The United States restricts chip exports. Chinese labs release competitive models. Pundits declare who is “winning” the artificial intelligence race. The language borrows from sport and war: sprints, breakthroughs and supremacy.

It makes for compelling drama. It also misses the point.

A key issue in the AI era is not who builds the most powerful model. It is what different societies want intelligence to do. And on that metric, China is not merely competing in a Western-defined race. It is redefining the destination.

In Silicon Valley, AI is framed as frontier exploration. What are the implications of general intelligence that rivals or exceeds human cognition? Should it be regulated? The US government largely maintains a hands-off posture, funding research while allowing private firms to lead.

In Beijing, the framing is different. The question is not: How intelligent can machines become? It is: How can intelligence be integrated into society and embedded in national infrastructure?

China’s national policy treats artificial intelligence as a capacity to be absorbed. The emphasis is on systemic embedding. AI is deployed across logistics, healthcare, finance, and urban management. It becomes part of the national architecture.

The contrast appears in investment patterns. In the US, capital flows toward foundational models, breakthrough research and moonshot ventures. The assumption is that innovation happens at the frontier, and the rest of the economy will adapt.

China inverts that logic. Before AI can transform society, the required substrate must be built: data centers, high-speed connectivity, industrial internet systems, power grids and interoperability standards.

These investments are capital-intensive, but once established, they lower the marginal cost of deploying intelligence across every sector.

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Fig. 1. China’s AI development: From Catch-Up to Co-Architect

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Economically, AI is intended to serve as a primary engine for productivity growth, offsetting demographic challenges posed by a shrinking workforce through industrial automation and smart manufacturing.

Among the objectives: capturing a dominant share of the projected $5 trillion global humanoid robot market, with AI-powered robots deployed across industrial, commercial, and household applications.

By 2050, China aims to achieve global leadership in artificial intelligence, building upon the foundational 2017 Next Generation Artificial Intelligence Development Plan. The strategic vision calls for a fully realized “AI-optimized society” in which intelligent systems drive transportation, healthcare, urban planning, and all public services.

The Confucian-Legalist Lens

To understand China’s approach, one must look beyond policy to deeper cultural patterns. Chinese political thought has long emphasized order, hierarchy, and systemic coherence. These are not rhetorical flourishes. They are operating assumptions embedded in institutions.

Confucianism provides a moral vision: a well-governed society is one in which roles are defined, duties are fulfilled, and harmony is maintained. Technology is judged by its contribution to order. AI is valued not because it maximizes individual autonomy, but because it can reduce uncertainty and align behavior with collective norms.

Legalism supplies the machinery. It assumes systems decay without enforcement. Stability requires clear rules and credible consequences. AI sharpens this capacity. Algorithmic monitoring, risk scoring, and targeted intervention make discipline scalable.

The two traditions are complementary. Confucianism defines the harmony to be preserved. Legalism provides the instruments to preserve it. Artificial intelligence enhances both by expanding visibility and precision.

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Fig. 2. Chinese AI governance: The Confucian order (the “why”) and Legalist leverage (the “how”).

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This composite logic explains why Chinese AI can appear both pervasive and abrupt. The regulation of major platforms illustrates the pattern.

Firms like Alibaba, during their rapid expansion, were encouraged to innovate, gather data and digitize vast sectors of the economy. As platforms approached infrastructural status (controlling finance, payments, and data flows), the calculus shifted.

Concentrated private power risked distorting hierarchy and undermining state authority. Legalist correction followed: antitrust actions, restructuring mandates, and regulatory tightening.

In 2022, Algorithmic Recommendation Regulations required platforms to register their recommendation algorithms with authorities and mandated transparency in how they operate. Algorithms became legible to the state.

The objective was not destruction but reintegration. Private capability was absorbed into public strategy. The pattern is consistent: allow growth, observe concentration, intervene at leverage points and restore equilibrium.

The Predictive State

The deeper consequence of China’s AI strategy is the emergence of what might be called the “predictive state.”

Traditional governance is reactive. It legislates rules and responds after violations occur. The Predictive State aims to detect deviations before they crystallize into instability. It intervenes not only in the fact of transgression but also in the probability of one.

This requires a reengineered nervous system. Digital identity platforms, integrated payments, and sensor networks do more than monitor society. They render it computationally legible. Transactions, movements, and interactions become structured inputs for predictive models.

Once legibility is achieved, preemption becomes possible. Traffic congestion is mitigated before gridlock forms. Financial risk is flagged before contagion spreads. Public health interventions activate before outbreaks accelerate. The state shifts from referee to systems architect.

For citizens, the benefits are tangible: reduced friction, faster services, perceived stability. The bargain is not simply privacy for convenience. It is visibility for inclusion. Disconnection from the system limits participation in economic and social life. Participation becomes not just rational but necessary.

Western debates often focus on AI replacing humans. In China, the emphasis is functional reorganization.

AI systems coordinate, filter, and optimize within hierarchical institutions. Human roles persist but change. Workers supervise dashboards rather than operate machinery. Physicians use diagnostic systems to triage. Administrators review algorithmic outputs and intervene when anomalies appear.

Labor moves from direct execution to supervision and exception management. Hybrid systems are more resilient than fully automated ones; human oversight absorbs failure.

Yet this reorganization carries a structural cost. When expertise is encoded in software, tacit knowledge erodes. Decision-making increasingly aligns with quantified indicators. Discretion survives, but within parameters set by system design.

Political Design

Whether this model proves durable remains uncertain. Predictive systems excel within the boundaries of the known, extending past patterns into the future. But history includes rupture as well as continuity. Financial crises evade models. Technological shifts can challenge existing frameworks.

The AI era will not be defined by a single breakthrough, a benchmark score or a temporary lead in model performance. It will be shaped by how societies choose to embed intelligence into their institutions, economies and daily life—and by what those choices reveal about their deepest political priorities.

Some nations will treat AI primarily as an amplifier of markets, innovation and individual agency, letting private firms and open competition drive progress while minimizing centralized direction.

Others, like China, will embrace it as a powerful instrument of coordination, risk management and enhanced state capacity. It will actively integrate AI to improve industries, manage public services, ensure social stability and promote national independence through planned strategies such as the “AI+” initiative and long-term plans aimed at widespread use across manufacturing, services, urban management and more.

The true contest, therefore, lies not in who temporarily builds the most advanced system, but in which model ultimately delivers the most sustainable and broadly shared outcomes for human well-being.

AI serves as a mirror, reflecting how civilizations define progress, value collective well-being and envision the proper role of government in orchestrating shared prosperity and stability.

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Jan Krikke is a contributing writer for Asia Times and author of the forthcoming book “The Predictive State: China, AI, and the Future of Governance”, from which this essay is adapted.

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In the Sajjangarh block of Banswara district, located at the southern tip of Rajasthan, lies a small village called Ghoti ki Todi. Kamladevi Bhagora, a 43-year-old woman from this village, has done something that has become an exemplary inspiration  not just for her own village, but for women across many other villages. A mother of three sons, coming from a farming family, this ordinary woman fought for her land, her rights, and her dreams with remarkable courage  and she won.

Kamladevi’s childhood was spent in the fields. She learned the art of sowing seeds, growing crops, watering, and harvesting from the very courtyard of her home. From a young age, her hands had a deep bond with the soil. But one thing she had always observed since childhood was this: in the fields, her mother worked just as hard as her father, yet the right to make decisions always remained in the hands of men. What to plant, how much to sell, where to spend money all of this was decided according to the wishes of men. Women only contributed their labor; they had no say in decisions. This social imbalance stayed in young Kamladevi’s eyes like an unanswered question. She did not know that one day she would strive to find the answer to that very question.

Kamladevi’s life began to take a new turn the day she joined Vaagdhara an organization working in the tribal regions of Rajasthan for women’s empowerment, organic agriculture, and community rights. By associating with Vaagdhara, Kamladevi formed Mahila Saksham Samuh (Women’s Empowerment Groups) and Gram Swaraj Samuh (Village Self-Governance Groups) across seven neighboring villages. The Mahila Saksham Samuh brought together 140 women from these seven villages, while the Gram Swaraj Samuh included 140 members  both women and men. The goal of these groups was to increase the participation of villagers  especially women  in gram panchayat affairs. Through these groups, Kamladevi began working on issues such as women’s rights, land ownership, and sustainable agriculture. She became an inspiring leader for the women of these seven villages.

Vaagdhara provided her with in-depth training on land rights, organic sustainable farming, and women’s participation in the Panchayati Raj system. Through capacity-building workshops and field visits, her understanding and vision expanded considerably. She came to understand that until women farmers become aware of their own rights, meaningful change is not possible.

When Kamladevi began talking to the women farmers in her villages about sustainable organic agriculture, she encountered a deep challenge. The women would listen, they would understand — but they would not take the step forward. When Kamladevi thought deeply about it, she realized that these women had no ‘role model’ — no one they could look up to, no one they could identify with. Moving from chemical farming to organic farming was a bold decision, and without a living example, it was difficult for them to make that choice.

Kamladevi recognized the root of this problem and resolved: ‘If I want to show others the way, I must walk it myself first.’ Just as a true leader walks ahead to show the path, she decided to become that example herself.

Kamladevi farms approximately four bighas of land with her family. She first held deep discussions with her family about the matter and shared the long-term benefits of sustainable organic farming. She began practicing sustainable organic agriculture on 3 bighas of land. For this, she did not wait for expensive resources  instead, she started with what she had at home. Her household had two cows and eight goats. She prepared organic compost from cow dung. She used traditional bio-pesticides like Dashparni and Neemastra, which are completely natural. In this way, she completely eliminated her dependence on chemical fertilizers and pesticides.

Her main crops were indigenous varieties of maize and tur (pigeon pea). Alongside these, she also grew green vegetables for household use  including brinjal, tomatoes, bottle gourd, okra, and onions. Kamladevi always paid special attention to local seed varieties. She would save seeds from her previous harvest to use in the next season. This not only reduced costs but also preserved the purity of the seeds and their adaptability to local weather. This harvest was not just for her  it was a living example for the entire village. Women who had earlier listened but not stepped forward could now see with their own eyes that organic farming truly works. Seeing lower costs in the field and superior taste in the produce, the trust of other village women began to awaken.

Kamladevi did not limit her efforts to farming alone. The 8 goats in her household became another source of economic strength. Between 2021 and 2025, she earned a total of ₹1, 02,500 in livelihood income by selling goats. This was a significant achievement, proving that by combining small-scale animal husbandry with farming, a family’s financial condition can be greatly improved. Cow dung became compost; goats became a source of income  this integrated farming system brought stability to her life.

Through the Mahila Saksham Samuh and Gram Swaraj Samuh, Kamladevi encouraged women to participate in panchayat meetings. She informed women of their legal rights — the right to a share in land, the right to vote in the panchayat, and the right to benefit from government schemes. Gradually, women’s voices began to grow stronger in these villages. They started attending panchayat meetings and speaking up for themselves.

Seed Banks: The Foundation for the Future

Kamladevi’s foresight did not stop there. She recognized that preserving local seeds not only reduces farming costs but also safeguards our agricultural heritage. She has been working to establish seed banks for local crop varieties in her villages  through which farmers can share seeds with one another, local varieties can be preserved, and the compulsion to buy seeds from the market can be eliminated. This initiative may seem small, but its long-term impact is immense. When a community preserves its own seeds, it becomes free from external dependence and ensures its own food security.

A Wave of Inspiration: Light Reaches Over 200 Women

Today, Kamladevi has inspired more than 200 women farmers across 7 villages and has helped them adopt sustainable organic agriculture. These women are now preparing bio-fertilizers in their own fields, using local seeds, and moving away from chemical farming. Surekha Dama, a member of the Mahila Saksham Samuh who was inspired by Kamladevi to take up organic farming, shares her feelings: ‘Adopting organic farming has been very beneficial  it has saved our household expenses. All of this is because of Kamla. She boosted my confidence and gave me the opportunity to voice my opinions in decisions. Earlier, we just used to work; now our views are listened to as well.’ Surekha’s words echo the voices of hundreds of women in whose lives Kamladevi has brought light. When one woman empowers herself and lifts others, the entire community transforms.

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The Mark of a True Leader

Kamladevi’s greatest quality is that she has never just spoken words  she stepped forward and became the example herself. A true leader is one who first walks the path they wish to show others. Kamladevi did exactly that. Her organic farming, her animal husbandry, her group formation all of these are living proof of her leadership. The training provided by Vaagdhara transformed her thinking, but the courage to bring about change came from within herself. She has proven that a lack of resources cannot block the path of transformation   when there is resolve in the heart, the way opens itself.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is a social development practitioner and writer working at the intersection of tribal culture, indigenous knowledge systems, water conservation, and community-led governance. His work is grounded in long-term field engagement with tribal and rural communities in India. He writes on alternative development paradigms, ecological sustainability, and participatory models rooted in traditional practices and lived experiences.

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When a regime starts rationing a prisoner’s light, it is no longer governing — it is unraveling.

If credible reports are accurate that Imran Khan’s eyesight has catastrophically deteriorated in custody, this is not bureaucratic failure, nor medical misfortune. It is escalation. It is the continuation — by more brutal means — of a four-year campaign of relentless state persecution against the most popular, electrifying, and historically singular political figure Pakistan has produced in its 78-year existence. The dimming of his vision is not incidental. It is terror by design.

Custody is sovereign monopoly distilled. The state controls light, air, medicine, sleep, contact — the total architecture of human survival. Under such conditions, physical deterioration is not “neglect.” It is the exercise of power. When a regime commands every variable of a prisoner’s existence and that prisoner’s body breaks down, the state owns the outcome.

Field Marshal Asim Munir and the high command over which he presides do not operate as reluctant custodians. They operate as proprietors. Elections are pre-engineered, judges are corralled, media is disciplined, civilian governments are rearranged with barracks precision. “Stability” is invoked as a doctrine of supervision — a euphemism for perpetual military arbitration of politics. The generals present themselves as indispensable guardians of order.

Yet this supposedly omnipotent machinery has chosen to brutalize the body of its most formidable rival.

This is not incompetence. It is calculated persecution.

If the top brass can choreograph parliamentary arithmetic and manipulate electoral outcomes with surgical accuracy, they can ensure medical integrity. The targeting of Khan’s physical and mental health must therefore be understood as an extension of the same war that has filled prisons with tens of thousands of his supporters. The message is unmistakable: no sanctuary, no mercy, no limit.

And here lies the regime’s profound miscalculation. Imran Khan is no longer merely a political competitor. He has become a historical force. For tens of millions, he embodies rupture in a system long monopolized by dynastic patronage and praetorian oversight. His defiance has transformed him from politician into symbol; his incarceration has elevated him from symbol into legend. Each arrest, each humiliation, each confinement has fused biography into myth.

Pakistan’s rulers have manufactured the singular icon they sought to extinguish.

Domestically, the regime’s legitimacy is not eroding — it is completely hollowed out. The barricading of Islamabad with thousands of shipping containers is not governance; it is fortress psychology. A capital sealed against its own citizens reveals estrangement, not authority. The repeated deployment of force against largely unarmed protestors reflects insecurity in uniform. Support for Khan has not dissipated under repression; it has hardened. What the generals intended as attrition has matured into consolidation.

More destabilizing still is what the high command can no longer fully conceal: fissures within the security apparatus itself. Reports of reluctance among mid-level officers and rank-and-file soldiers to enthusiastically wage a domestic political war are not trivial whispers. Whether through quiet refusal, procedural slow-walking, or visible discomfort at brutalizing their own communities, the signs point to an institution whose lower and middle tiers do not uniformly share the zeal of its apex. That fractures the regime’s monopoly on violence — the one asset it long assumed inexhaustible. A command structure that must constantly reassure itself of obedience and increasingly lean on underpaid police as expendable instruments is not projecting strength. It is signaling brittle dependence.

The dynastic auxiliaries — the Houses of Sharif and Bhutto-Zardari — remain fully complicit. These hereditary enterprises, sustained by patronage and allergic to genuine competition, have tethered their survival to military arbitration. Their silence in the face of escalating custodial brutality is not neutrality; it is collaboration. They do not defend constitutional order; they subcontract it.

Yet the pressure is no longer merely domestic. Internationally, the façade is cracking.

Field Marshal Munir has invested heavily in persuading Washington and other capitals that stability prevails — that unrest is containable, that repression is measured, that the army remains the indispensable anchor of order. The message is disciplined and repetitive: turbulence exists, but the institution is firm.

Increasingly, that narrative collides with observable reality.

With the notable exception of overtly transactional figures such as Donald Trump and Marco Rubio — whose calculus privileges pliant strongmen over democratic optics — a widening segment of the international political establishment is growing uneasy. Diplomats and financial institutions observe a barricaded capital, intensifying crackdowns, and escalating custodial brutality. They see a regime that must deepen repression to simulate equilibrium.

Stability, in such conditions, becomes rhetorical rather than empirical.

Financial hesitation and diplomatic recalibration reflect risk assessment. A state that appears unable to govern without escalating coercion is not a predictable partner; it is a volatility vector. Each new act of repression erodes the credibility the Field Marshal seeks to preserve abroad.

And in such brittle circumstances, the specter of further escalation looms. Regimes that feel their control thinning often resort to manufactured crises, sweeping crackdowns, or orchestrated spectacles of “law and order” to justify expanded authority. The danger is not abstract: a state already willing to brutalize its most prominent prisoner may well be tempted to engineer broader repression under the banner of necessity.

This is not episodic. It is structural. Domestically, legitimacy has thinned while Khan’s stature has expanded into historic singularity. Within the security apparatus, cracks are visible. Internationally, confidence is fraying.

In attempting to break one man, Pakistan’s rulers have exposed themselves.

They command prisons and decrees.

He commands allegiance — and increasingly, history’s attention.

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Prof. Junaid S. Ahmad teaches Law, Religion, and Global Politics and is the Director of the Center for the Study of Islam and Decolonization (CSID), Islamabad, Pakistan. He is a member of the International Movement for a Just World (JUST), Movement for Liberation from Nakba (MLN), and Saving Humanity and Planet Earth (SHAPE).

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The cutting of pleasures, the trimming of delights and telling people how they can enjoy life, is the sort of thing that will be tolerated, up to a point. Otherwise liberal countries do suffer moral convulsions, be it about sex, drug taking, smoking and boozing. Regulations and laws are inevitably passed, much of it tolerated. But instead of addressing the vice in question, invigilating rule makers and bureaucratic needlers often end up creating something worse. That’s when questions start being asked.

The demon tobacco is particularly relevant here. While tobacco companies deserve their satanic reputations for ruining health, knowingly denying medical science and encouraging addiction, governments and state authorities have also capitalised. The smoker, in effect, has become a unique exploited species, derided by the moralists for taking to the puff and polluting sacred air, seduced into addiction, and having the wallet raided by the severe excises levied upon the product.

The relentless battle against tobacco consumption has had a curious turn of late in a country which counts itself one of the most successful in restricting it. Over five decades ago, the Marlboro Man vanished from Australian billboards and was nowhere to be seen on television. An aggressive health campaign, accompanied by images of graphic savagery and brutal steep rises in the tobacco excise, accounted for a decline in consumption. (From 2013, the Commonwealth legislated 12.5% annual increases, followed by further rises in the excise.)

In recent years, however, a few problems have emerged. In 2025, the revenue model that the Commonwealth had relied upon was no longer providing expected returns. Legal cigarette and tobacco sales had fallen by 29% in the year through to September. The Australian Tax Office, in calculations made for 2023-24, estimated a net loss of A$3 billion.

Economist John Quiggin explains this decline with admirable clarity:

“The short answer is that, over the past decade or so, the tobacco excise has been steadily increased to the point where there are big profits to be made from dodging the tax.”

The Australian Financial Review, with a dash of cynicism, also noted that the unquestionable harm caused by smoking had “given successive governments social license to ratchet up taxes on tobacco products for decades while enjoying the accompanying budget bonanza.”

A paper by the conservative Centre for Independent Studies published in November last year argues that a misalignment of priorities has emerged in the policy of taxing tobacco consumption. The Commonwealth, in the main, had been “rewarded for over-taxing while states and local communities bear the health, policing, and insurance costs of the disorder that results.”

Punishing excises have, effectively, encouraged smokers to shop elsewhere. The number of tobacconists and innocuous convenience stores have proliferated, profiting from under-the-counter sales of untaxed tobacco with plain packaging and illegal vapes. The variation of price between a legal pack of 20 cigarettes (about A$50) and one available at such stores (say A$16), should make policy makers blush. The onus has fallen to the States to try to punish infringements, something they have been doing with a certain degree of leniency. To this can be added a throbbing surge in violent crime, thriving criminal syndicates and, if any concession to abject failure was needed, an increase in smoking rates.

In the face of such a collapse in policy, government wiseacres and health advocates remain stubborn to any change on taxing tobacco. Terry Selvin, chief executive of the Public Health Association, sees no reason why the tobacco lobby should be placated, placing the stress, as all fundamentalists on controlling behaviour do, on stiffer regulations.

“I think it’s perfectly legitimate for the current excise rate to remain at its current level to allow time for proper enforcement to be put [in] place.”

The Australian treasurer Jim Chalmers and the federal health minister, Mark Butler, have both refused to lower the excise. This is despite Butler’s admission in September last year about instances of “violence and arson taking place as rival gangs try to take control of what is a very high-revenue market for them.”

The prohibitive nature of the tobacco excise in Australia has created a state of affairs uncannily similar to the banning of liquor for sale and distribution between 1920 and 1933 in the United States. Initiated by the passage of the Eighteenth Amendment and the Volstead Act, Prohibition was the fruit of frightful earnestness and fanaticism, progressive hope and aspirational absurdity.

“The American people have said that they do not want any liquor sold, and they have said it emphatically by passing almost unanimously the constitutional amendment,” declared House of Representatives Judiciary Chairman Andrew Volstead.

Instead of discouraging the consumption of liquor, it created an industry of illicit, often dangerous consumption, producing such criminally enterprising types as Al Capone, encouraging the bootlegging antics of Joseph Kennedy Sr, father of the 35th President of the United States, and gave birth to The Great Gatsby, Scott Fitzgerald’s near perfect, sublime novel of debauched sensibilities and ruined dreams.  From then on, America became a nation of habitual lawbreakers.

The effect of Prohibition was inimitably captured by the Republic’s most acerbic critic on the subject.

“None of the great boons and usufructs that were to follow the passage of the Eighteenth Amendment has come to pass,” thundered H. L. Mencken in 1925. “There is not less drunkenness in the Republic, but more.  There is not less crime, but more.  There is not less insanity, but more. The cost of government is not smaller, but vastly greater. Respect for law has not increased, but diminished.”

The Australian model of prohibitive sale of tobacco, accompanied by a zealous public health campaign, initially diminished consumption. The tide has turned. Government greed and monomania set in. The continuing increase of the tobacco excise has encouraged a tobacco black market run by savvy syndicates waging turf wars over distribution. In response, both the bureaucracy of ineffective law enforcement and the number of smokers has increased. Even the generally dull New South Wales Premier Chris Minns had to grimly muse that “this would be the only tax in the world where it’s doubled but the rate of revenue collection has halved. Something is obviously happening here.” The obvious trend, however, is often the least observed in Canberra.

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Dr. Binoy Kampmark was a Commonwealth Scholar at Selwyn College, Cambridge. He currently lectures at RMIT University. He is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization (CRG). Email: [email protected]

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In Amarthoon village of Banswara district, Rajasthan, a transformation is underway that is not only changing the face of the fields but also bringing a new wave of prosperity into the lives of women farmers. This is the story of those courageous women who stepped out of the confines of traditional farming, ventured into vegetable cultivation, and are now reaping the sweet fruits of their hard work.

Brinjal and cluster beans   these two seemingly ordinary vegetables have today become a symbol of economic freedom for the women farmers of Amarthoon. Where earlier a mere ₹10,000 could be earned from 2 bighas of land, these same women are now earning up to ₹1,50,000 from the same piece of land. This is not just a matter of numbers; it is a true story of transformation.

Banswara: A Land of Challenges

Banswara is a tribal district in Rajasthan where 80 percent of the population belongs to the tribal community. Agriculture is the primary livelihood here, but this farming is surrounded by numerous challenges. Around 85 percent of farmers in the region have less than one hectare of land, placing them in the category of small and marginal farmers.

The biggest problem is the lack of irrigation facilities. Most farmers depend on rain-fed agriculture, which is risky due to the uncertainty of monsoons. Amarthoon village, located in Ghatol block, has long faced these challenges. Farmers here traditionally grew crops like maize and soybean during the Kharif season, earning only ₹15,000 to ₹20,000 annually.

Migration: The Painful Reality

Due to financial hardship and limited means of livelihood, farming families of Amarthoon had to migrate every year. After the farming season, these families would go to Gujarat to work as labourers. This migration not only tore families apart, but also affected children’s education, the social fabric, and ties to cultural roots.

Pari Magan Charpota, a woman farmer from Amarthoon, shares her experience:

“There was no permanent source of income in our village. We were unemployed and had to go to Ahmedabad in Gujarat for construction work. The conditions there were tough and it was difficult to be away from family.”

Vaagdhara’s Initiative: A New Beginning (2022)

In 2022, Vaagdhara organisation initiated a new effort in Amarthoon village. This organisation aimed to improve farmers’ livelihoods through agricultural diversification. They identified that vegetables could be a high-value crop capable of yielding good profits even on small pieces of land.

Vaagdhara’s strategy was multi-pronged. First, Women Empowerment Groups were formed in the village. This step was crucial because women are not only active participants in farming but also play an important role in family nutrition and economic decision-making. Through these groups, women were organised and made aware of their collective strength.

Training, Seeds, and Modern Techniques

Each participating woman farmer was provided with improved vegetable seeds. Brinjal and cluster beans were chosen because they have good market demand, grow well in the local climate, and yield good profits. Providing seeds was just the beginning. The real transformation came when farmers were given comprehensive training.

Vaagdhara organised Farmer Field Schools (Kisan Khet Pathshala), where farmers were taught advanced vegetable cultivation techniques in a practical way. These schools covered every stage from seed sowing to harvesting — how to select crops according to the season, how to prepare the soil, at what spacing to sow seeds, and how to manage pests and diseases. This balanced combination of theory and practice gave farmers confidence.

Organic Farming: Dual Benefits

A unique aspect of Vaagdhara’s initiative was the promotion of organic farming. Women farmers were trained to prepare organic inputs such as Jeevamrit, Dashparni Ark, and vermicompost. This brought dual benefits.

First, the cost of these organic inputs was much lower compared to chemical fertilisers and pesticides. Farmers could prepare them using locally available materials, reducing overall farming costs. Second, the reduction in use of chemical pesticides improved the quality of produce and made it safer for health.

And the results were astounding. Where once a mere ₹10,000 could be earned by growing maize and wheat from 2 bighas of land, these same women are now earning up to ₹1,50,000 from brinjal and cluster beans.

Impact on Life: Beyond Numbers

The increased income had a direct impact on the standard of living of the farmers. Some farmers developed their fields, and several families replaced their old mud houses with pucca (permanent) homes. Spending on children’s education increased and some families enrolled their children in better schools. Access to healthcare also improved.

The most important change was a reduction in migration. Now farming families can stay in their village throughout the year and earn a sufficient income. This keeps families together, children can continue their education, and the social fabric is strengthened.

From One Village to a Movement: 13,952 Farmers

What began with women farmers in 2022 has today transformed into a larger movement. More than 13,952 farmers in Banswara district are now connected with this initiative. This number itself validates the success of this model.

These thousands of farmers have not only increased their income but have also improved various aspects of their lives. Migration has decreased, living standards have improved, and nutritional levels have also improved with increased vegetable consumption. This is an example of holistic development where progress has been made across economic, social, and health dimensions.

Key Lessons from Amarthoon

The story of Amarthoon teaches several important lessons. Agricultural diversification can be a game-changer for small and marginal farmers — moving away from traditional crops towards high-value crops can be economically rewarding.

Empowering women is not merely a matter of social justice; it is also the key to economic development. When women receive resources, training, and opportunities, they can deliver extraordinary results.

Training and capacity building are as important as providing physical resources. Just giving seeds is not enough — it is equally necessary to teach farmers how to use them most effectively.

Organic farming is not only good for the environment, but it can also be economically beneficial. The combination of lower costs and better quality brings dual benefits for farmers.

Conclusion: The Promise of Rural India

The work of Pari Magan Charpota and the other women farmers of Amarthoon demonstrates that with the right guidance, resources, and support, even small and marginal farmers can achieve prosperity. And change is possible. More than 13,952 farmers of Banswara are witness to how agricultural diversification and women’s empowerment can together work wonders. This number continues to grow, and every new farmer adds a new chapter to this success story.

The journey of Amarthoon gives us the confidence that there are immense possibilities for development in rural India. What is needed is simply to work in the right direction, to believe in farmers, and to provide them with the necessary support. Ordinary vegetables like brinjal and cluster beans can bring extraordinary change — Amarthoon has proven this.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is a social development practitioner and writer working at the intersection of tribal culture, indigenous knowledge systems, water conservation, and community-led governance. His work is grounded in long-term field engagement with tribal and rural communities in India. He writes on alternative development paradigms, ecological sustainability, and participatory models rooted in traditional practices and lived experiences.

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Despite the persistence of many-sided injustices and problems in unequal societies, democracy opens up several windows of opportunities which can be used by committed social activists, working with the help of respected mentors, to achieve significant rights for workers. This brings new hope to workers and the possibilities of replicating such efforts lead to more initiatives and greater hope. This in turn strengthens democracy and the various provisions of social justice in India’s constitution, making these more meaningful for workers and strengthening constitutional values at the grassroots. 

In India several such efforts to help workers (including porters, dock and port workers, coal and iron ore miners as well as other sections of workers) can be identified which are a source of hope and inspiration even though the success of such efforts can never be complete and some problems continue to persist while new ones also rise. One such effort which has the potential of benefiting very large numbers of workers is an effort to bring justice to construction workers which numerically constitute perhaps the second largest segment of workers after the farming and -related activities sector. 

These efforts started with the initiatives taken to set up an organization for taking forward the rights of construction workers in Delhi as well as at the national level around the year 1986. These efforts culminated in the setting up of a national organization called Nirmana (translated as Construction). One of the most important objectives of this organization was to make continuing efforts for justice based legislation for construction workers at the national level. As this was a far-reaching objective which could benefit millions of workers, it was important to involve several senior persons and unions in this campaign and this led to the creation of the National Campaign Committee for Construction Labor (NCC-CL). A trade union of construction workers Nirmana Mazdoor Panchayat Sangam (NMPS) was also formed. Some of the key activists involved with this effort subsequently also took up issues relating to other sections of unorganized sector workers including domestic workers. Efforts for justice-based comprehensive legislation for all unorganized sector workers as well as for domestic workers were also made. With the coming of the new Labour Codes it is a period of transition and these groups are carefully assessing and understanding the new situation and its implications. This is a good time to assess their struggles and achievements so far.

In India construction industry is the second largest economic activity, next to agriculture. An estimated 14.6 million persons were directly employed in construction work in 1995-96. Today nearly 56.5 million workers are registered with various Building and Other Construction Worker Boards (BOCW boards). Estimates of number of construction workers range from 50 million to 70 million. There are projections of high increase in the years to come. According to the National Labour Commission Report (2002), around 16% of the nation’s working population depends on the construction industry for their livelihood.

Before the creation of NCC-CL some localised efforts to assert construction workers’ rights had achieved reasonable success in Tamil Nadu and Kerala. In Tamil Nadu these efforts were led by the Tamil Manila Kattida Thozhilalar Sangam (TMKTS – The Tamil Nadu State Construction Workers’ Union). This was an independent trade union not affiliated to any political party or national trade union. It consisted of local, district and state-level units with elected representatives at each level. Its efforts played a notable role in the passing of the Tamil Nadu Manual Workers Act in 1982. In 1983 the Tamil Nadu government sought to introduce new legislation for construction workers which fell much below the expectation of the TMKTS and had some undesirable features as well. The TMKTS launched a state-wide campaign against this legislation.

The experiences gained at the state level encouraged the TMKTS leadership to make wider efforts at the national level for legislation which is suitable and adequate to meet the needs of construction workers. Earlier the First National Commission of Labour as well as the Labour Ministry’s Industrial Committee on Building and Construction Industry had emphasised the need for comprehensive legislation. In1981 M. Kalyansundaram and George Fernandes, two members of Parliament, introduced private member bills in the Parliament relating to welfare of construction workers. The former bill was withdrawn on an assurance by the government that it was contemplating a comprehensive legislation on this subject. In February 1985 the Labour Ministry constituted a Tripartite Working Group (TWG) for the Building and Construction Industry, consisting of representatives of the Government, builders’ associations and trade unions.

In November 1985, thanks to  initiative taken by the TMKTS (particularly its leading activist R. Geetha) and some other labour and legal activists – a national seminar on construction labour (with special emphasis on legal protection) was organised at Delhi. Some organisations which helped this effort included PRIA, CILAS and Legal Aid and Advice Centre. This seminar brought together about 250 construction workers, trade union activists, lawyers and jurists, voluntary organisations and government officials to consider various aspects of protective legislation for construction labour in detail for three days.

This seminar concluded that the existing legislations were both inappropriate and inadequate to meet the real needs of construction workers. The seminar therefore recommended that comprehensive draft legislation should be prepared keeping in view the real situation of the industry and the real needs of the workers. It was also agreed that a nationwide campaign should be launched to make this comprehensive legislation a reality and to mobilise construction workers on this issue. The realisation of the need for such a campaign led to the immediate formation of the National Campaign Committee for Central Legislation on Construction Labour (NCC-CL).

This committee was fortunate to have from the outset as its chairperson an outstanding public figure   associated with many reforms and campaign – Justice V.R. Krishna Iyer, a retired Supreme Court judge. Its convener, a public-spirited lawyer named R. Venkatramani and co-ordinator, Subhash Bhatnagar, a leading trade unionist and social activist, were equally well chosen for their   important roles in this campaign. Others in the core group who played an important role for several years included Justice P.S. Potti former Chief Justice of Gujarat High Court, T.S. Sankaran, former Additional Secretary in the Ministry of Labour, and well-known trade union activists like D. Thankappan, N.P. Swamy and R. Geetha. In the next few years an increasingly important co-ordinating role was played by Nirmala Sundaram, who left a deep and lasting impression on the entire movement within a short period till her extremely tragic and sudden death (in 1996) at the young age of 40 years. In the legal struggles for justice eminent lawyers like R. Venkatramani and Colin Gonsalves made very important contributions. 

In the mid-80s Subhash Bhatnagar had started shifting from his IIM union activities in Bangalore to take up wider responsibilities relating to construction workers in Delhi. This being the capital city of India was considered a very important center for coordinating activities relating to the campaign for justice-based legislation for construction workers. Similarly Nirmala Sundaram shifted from South Rajasthan, where she was working for various weaker sections with Prayas voluntary organization, to Delhi to take up wider challenges relating to construction workers. Around this time Subhash and Nirmala were married and became the center of a very dedicated team that emerged to take forward the cause of construction workers. As Subhash recalls, several friends from his student days came forward to help in important ways. Sujata Madhok in particular was very consistent in her support over several decades. Other friends who were very helpful included a former corporation member Mehar Chand Yadav. 

The first efforts to mobilize construction were made in Saraswati Vihar and neighboring colonies of Delhi like Bannuwal Nagar, Haiderpur and Prashant Vihar. Several workers from here became long-term friends of Nirmana organization and contributed in important ways for several decades. Such friends include Ishwar Sharma and Umesh Singh. When crisis time came to these workers’ colonies in the form of demolitions and resettlement in distant places like Bawana, Nirmana extended a helping hand and the close linkages also continued in resettlement sites.

The first and foremost task before the NCC-CL was to prepare a draft comprehensive legislation that could ensure the welfare and social security of construction workers. In the drafting of this legislation construction workers were involved closely. Several workshops and seminars were organised for this purpose at Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai and Bangalore. This effort benefited from the experiences of the earlier enactment of legislation for dock-workers and head-load workers.

In this drafting special care was taken to keep in view the production process which operates through a long chain of contractors and subcontractors creating a lot of instability. As the NCC-CL states in a summary,

“The NCC-CL bill asserts that construction workers can only be assured social security and labour welfare by substituting the existing instability by a Tripartite Construction Labour Board consisting of workers, employers and government representatives. It would provide a minimum guaranteed wage per month as well determine and provide appropriate conditions of service, thus alleviating the misery of workers, which stems from insecurity of employment and rampant exploitation. The board would collect a cess for its administrative expenses and a welfare levy from employers to fund social security and labour welfare schemes. It would also resolve relevant industrial disputes.”

NCC-CL also made concerted efforts to create a consensus on main features of legislation for construction labour among representatives of various national trade unions, particularly using the forum of TWG for this purpose.

On December 5, 1986 the draft bill and scheme were submitted to the Petition Committee of the Lok Sabha (Lower House of Indian Parliament) supported by the signature of more than 4 hundred thousand workers from all over the country. Thousands of workers wrote post cards to the Prime Minister with requests for an early hearing. Finally the NCC-CL was invited to present its demands and evidence before Petition Committee on 30th September, 1988, where along with oral evidence a number of significant documents were also submitted.

Meanwhile the Government on its own introduced a bill in Rajya Sabha (Upper House of Indian Parliament) which had a title similar to the one submitted by NCC-CL but which fell woefully short of providing social security to construction workers. The NCC-CL now had a new task on its hands. The serious short-comings of the bill introduced in the Rajya Sabha had to be explained at many fora to many people and that too in a short time. The NCC-CL submitted a well-argued critique of the    Government Bill to the Petition Committee.

On 25th July 1989 the Petition Committee submitted its report to the Lok Sabha. This Report upheld the stand of the NCC-CL when it recommended,

“The committee recommends that the bill pending in the Rajya Sabha be withdrawn and a fresh comprehensive bill be introduced so as to cater to the long felt demands of a hitherto neglected segment of the working class.”

What is more – the committee expressed a strong appreciation of the work done by the NCC-CL. It found that NCC-CL had “done considerable useful work at the grassroots level to organise the construction workers with a view to enabling them to demand central legislation as a right to provide security of employment and other social welfare measures.”

The Report of the Petitions Committee further added,

“since (NCC-CL) has done a good deal of pioneering work in this area and formulated certain proposals after in-depth study of the problems… it would have been appropriate if (NCC-CL) had also been invited by the Ministry for consultation and discussion on the proposed legislation… Even now the representatives of (NCC-CL) which is headed by an eminent person like Justice Krishna Iyer, may be invited for an exchange of views on the scope and objects of the Bill and how these can be best attained.”

In a similar vein the Petition Committee said,

“The Committee desires that the legislation proposed by the Campaign Committee may be examined, considered and all good features there of may be suitably incorporated in the Government Bill.” This report went a step further when it added, “it is for the Government to ensure that the legislation which is finally created encompassed all the above features to the extent practicable.”

Meanwhile a new government assumed power and agreed to withdraw the highly inadequate government bill. In March 1989 several hundred thousand signatures, probably nearly one million had been collected to support the NCC-CL demand for comprehensive legislation. In December 1991 a National Federation of Construction Labour, based in Bangalore, was established.

NCC-CL continued its efforts for central legislation in the form of meetings and dharnas, while at the same time supporting state level organisations which were working for legislation with the same spirit at the state level in states like Kerala, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh and Maharashtra.

In November 1995 two ordinances on construction labour were issued by the government. As these fell short of the model draft bill prepared by the NCC-CL, the committee once again had to take up hectic activity to prevent retrograde legislation. NCC-CL worked hard to inform more and more people, particularly MPs and trade unions, about the gross inadequacy of these ordinances in meeting the aspirations of construction workers. Efforts made by this campaign played an important role in      construction workers’ demands finding a place in the election manifestos and programs of some political   parties, including the Common Minimum Program of the United Front. On 26th February 1996 construction workers observed a Protest Day all over the country. In Delhi a day long dharna organised by Nirman Mazdoor Panchayat Sangam was joined by over fifty delegations of construction workers (supported by other workers like fish workers) from various parts of the country.

In July 1996 two bills on construction workers were introduced in the Parliament. NCC-CL worked hard to take the message of better legislation to more and more MPs and some of them supported the NCC-CL suggestions openly in the Parliamentary debate. Some important amendments could be successfully adopted. For example the provision relating to cess collections for welfare of workers being deposited with the Boards and not with the Consolidated Fund. So the legislation which was eventually passed was much better than what was originally introduced, although it still fell much short of the aspirations of the NCC-CL as reflected in its model draft bill.

Anyway, now two important pieces of central legislation applicable all over India were a reality – the Building and Construction Workers (Regulation of Employment and Conditions of Service) Act, 1996 and the Building and Other Construction Workers Welfare Cess Act, 1996. NCC-CL was happy about the big success but it was also quite emphatic about the shortcomings of this legislation. 

In the post legislation phase Nirmana and NCC-CL continued to work tirelessly for the welfare of construction workers at several levels. Firstly, the help of courts of law including the Supreme Court was sought for improving implementation and good success was achieved in this effort. Secondly, meetings were held repeatedly with officials to secure better implementation. Secondly, NCL organized several peaceful protests whenever a need for this arose in the course of the long struggle for implementation. Nirmana and NCL representatives participated in several mobilizations, meetings and seminars relating to the problems of construction workers to take forward the effective resolution of their problems. Several efforts were made to improve monitoring of implementation and carry out periodic documentation of real life conditions and new emerging problems of construction workers (such as periodic loss of employment at the time of extended periods of rise of air pollution levels in Delhi). In terms of continuing work with construction worker communities in places like Bawana, Shahbad Dairy, Rohini and Haiderpur, efforts with continuity were made to help in registration, other paper work relating for instance to grievance removal as well in securing various due benefits. Efforts were also made to maintain contacts with construction workers gathering at labour chowks or daily gathering points.

Keeping in view the continuing denial of benefits provided by legislation to many construction workers, the efforts of these organizations continue to be highly relevant and in addition they are also trying to improve the living conditions of workers’ colonies like in Bawana.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include Protecting Earth for Children, Planet in Peril, A Day in 2071 and Navjeevan. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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Life in the remote villages of Ghatol block in Banswara district of Rajasthan has never been easy. Water scarcity, lack of employment, inadequate education, and the burden of old social traditions have persisted for generations in these villages nestled in the hilly areas. But amid these challenges, some women have emerged who have not only transformed their own lives but have also become a source of inspiration for the entire community. These are the stories of women who, without formal education and despite lack of resources, ignited the spark of change in their villages.

Indra Devi’s story is one of water and dignity. Forty-five-year-old Indra is now a well-known name in Goj Rathore village, but her journey began from a very ordinary start. Indra Devi is a farmer, and farming in a hilly area like Ghatol was no less than a struggle. Farmers yearning for every drop of water, dry land, and low yields despite hard work this was the reality around her. But when she joined Vaagdhara’s Gram Swaraj group and learned about government schemes, and heard about the Pradhan Mantri Krishi Sinchayee Yojana for the first time, she saw the possibility of change.

This scheme was not just a paper promise, it provided drip and sprinkler irrigation systems to marginal farmers, which conserved water and increased crop productivity. When a government official called Indra for the first time, she was skeptical. She couldn’t believe that the government was talking to her. But a field worker from Vaagdhara recognized her potential and encouraged her. With the help of the Gram Sevak, she started the work. First ten families, then 20, 50, hundred and to date, she has helped more than 250 families benefit from this scheme.

Indra’s role was not limited to just filling forms. She herself goes to the government office located at Roopji ka Kheda to bring application forms, returns to the village to explain to people how to fill the forms, gets Aadhaar cards linked to mobile phones, gets OTP verification done, and coordinates with banks. Many times she even pays for petrol from her own pocket so that she can take people to the office. Each farmer receives a set of 700 feet of drip pipes and 40 sprinkler heads, and Indra organizes training sessions outside her home where people are taught how to install the system and maintain it.

Despite not being a technical expert, Indra herself provides guidance in minor problems, which has increased people’s trust. Today, people in the village respectfully call her ‘Didi’. But her contribution extended beyond irrigation. She connected villagers to vermi-compost and better seeds through Vaagdhara. The biggest achievement came when she organized women and demanded water infrastructure. Through collective efforts, hand pumps were installed in 2019, freeing the women of Goj Rathore from having to walk a kilometer every day to fetch water.

This journey was not easy. In the beginning, people gossiped. Her husband also objected to her going out and removing the veil. But gradually, when results started showing, the opposition decreased. Today, her husband proudly supports her. At Vaagdhara’s 2025 Delhi Swaraj Samvad, Indra spoke on the microphone for the first time and sang in front of a crowd. This experience was a symbol of self-respect and recognition for her.

Meera Devi’s story is one of determination. Meera, a resident of Jajor Kanta village, has been farming for the past three decades. Born into poverty, Meera lost her mother in childhood, so she never got the opportunity to go to school. She started farming at a very young age and remained connected to her village throughout her life. Now in her mid-50s, Meera lives with two grandchildren. Her son died years ago due to alcohol addiction. After her son’s death, her daughter-in-law returned to her maternal home and has had no contact with the family since. This made it difficult for Meera to avail government schemes, as many schemes require the consent or thumbprint of the children’s mother.

Understanding government procedures is not easy for anyone, especially for someone who never learned to read or write. But Meera did not give up. She slowly learned how to obtain necessary documents like Aadhaar card and ration card, how to bring forms from the tehsil office, and how to get signatures from the local sarpanch. The knowledge she acquired through struggle, she now shares with other people in her village. She goes door-to-door explaining to families about necessary documents and procedures in simple language. Although she could not help her grandson avail the Palanhar scheme due to her daughter-in-law’s absence, she continues to make efforts for other children.

Recently, she helped a family whose children had lost their father to suicide. With Meera’s guidance, that family received the benefits of the Palanhar scheme and the children started receiving regular assistance. Through word of mouth and community participation, Meera has become a strong link of the Palanhar scheme in her village. Her vocal leadership ensures that the vulnerable and needy children of the village are not forgotten. This work, inspired by her life experience and compassion, is helping government assistance reach those children who need it most.

Taku Devi’s story is one of seeds and tradition. Fifty-five-year-old Taku lives with her husband Lalu Ram and son Sunil. Like many women in this region, her life was earlier limited to household responsibilities and subsistence farming. But today she is known as a custodian of indigenous seeds and a strong voice for traditional agriculture. Taku’s journey began in 2019 when she joined Vaagdhara’s Saksham group. Through regular meetings and discussions, she understood the importance of traditional farming, indigenous seeds, and biodiversity conservation. These learnings touched her heart as it gave her a sense of connection with her ancestors’ farming traditions and knowledge. Over time, she also became an active member of the Farmer and Tribal Swaraj Organization.

After gaining new confidence, Taku started collecting and preserving indigenous seeds like wheat, maize, kuri, kodra, kang, and other millets that her family had been growing for generations. Initially, she obtained seeds from her family elders. Later, through Vaagdhara, she also received new varieties which she successfully grew on her land. She carefully stores these seeds at home and uses them every year, maintaining their continuity. Along with farming, Taku has planted ten to 15 types of fruit-bearing plants around her house, including mango, guava, and lemon. Recently, she cultivated Green gram  and earned about 20,000 rupees, which is a significant contribution to her family’s income. Excess grain and produce are either sold in the local market or shared with other women in the village. Most importantly, Taku does not keep this knowledge limited to herself. She also shares her learnings with women who cannot attend group meetings and encourages them to adopt indigenous seeds and practice traditional farming. Through her efforts, she is contributing to reviving biodiversity, improving nutrition, and strengthening livelihoods one seed at a time. Taku’s story reminds us that when women receive knowledge and community support, they become powerful carriers of sustainable change for their families and villages.

Mani Devi’s story is one of courage and social change. Her childhood was spent in Jethalia village, where the future of girls was decided very quickly. Most girls were married before becoming adults, were taken out of school, and burdened with responsibilities they had never chosen. For years, this was considered normal, but Mani decided to challenge it. Her journey began when she joined Vaagdhara and started attending meetings of the Krushi avm Aadivasi Swaraj Sagthan. There, she gained confidence to speak openly about child rights, laws against child marriage, and social issues. Listening to women from other villages, she believed that change was possible even in her own community.

When Mani first raised her voice against child marriage and untouchability, villagers and relatives reacted with disbelief and opposition. But she continued her calm and persistent efforts. Gradually, her confident voice began to influence others as well. A turning point came when she learned that a thirteen-year-old girl in her village was going to get married. Mani went directly to that family and explained to them the legal, health, and social consequences of child marriage. When the family did not listen, she sought cooperation from the panchayat and informed Childline. The marriage was stopped, and this was the first such successful intervention in the village. After this, Mani did not back down. She intervened in more cases, physically stopped wedding ceremonies when necessary, and contacted the police with Vaagdhara’s support. So far, she has successfully prevented more than five child marriages. Gradually, through her efforts, a collective understanding developed in the village that child marriage is harmful and illegal.

Mani soon realized that to prevent child marriage, it was necessary to keep girls in school. She went door-to-door in her village and surrounding areas, especially meeting families where girls had dropped out of school due to migration or economic pressure. She encouraged parents to send their daughters back to school, saying that if girls are educated, their future will be better and the village’s future will also be better. Many families listened to her. Many girls returned to school, and some families even stopped migrating for work. Today, parents openly acknowledge her role, saying that because of Mani, their daughters are studying again.

Using her role as an Anganwadi worker, Mani also strengthened health and nutrition services in Jethalia. With Vaagdhara’s support, she ensured timely care for pregnant women and newborns, organized vaccination and nutrition check-up camps, and promoted nutrition gardens with indigenous plants. She personally supervised the Anganwadi kitchen so that children could get clean and nutritious food, and organized regular awareness sessions for mothers. From challenging deep-rooted social norms to ensuring education, health, and dignity for girls, Mani’s journey shows how a determined woman with collective support can transform an entire community.

Although different, these women’s stories reflect the same truth—when women receive the right platform, knowledge, and community support, they can not only transform their own lives but also give a new direction to the entire society. Indra turned the water crisis into an opportunity, Meera made her grief a means to help others, Taku gave new life to old seed traditions, and Mani raised her voice against social evils. These women were not educated from any book, but life taught them lessons that cannot be found in any classroom.

The role of like Vaagdhara has also been important in these stories. These organizations not only provided information to women but also provided them a platform where they could raise their voices, share their experiences, and learn from each other. Through women’s empowerment groups, Farmer and Tribal Swaraj Organization, and regular meetings, these women gained that confidence. Today these women are carriers of change. They are leading in their villages, inspiring others. These extraordinary journeys remind us that change does not come from far away, it emerges from among us, from ordinary people who show extraordinary courage.

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Vikas Parashram Meshram is a social development practitioner and writer working at the intersection of tribal culture, indigenous knowledge systems, water conservation, and community-led governance. His work is grounded in long-term field engagement with tribal and rural communities in India. He writes on alternative development paradigms, ecological sustainability, and participatory models rooted in traditional practices and lived experiences.

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A social movement has begun in the Banswara district of South Rajasthan that is preparing society to tackle modern challenges while respecting traditions. Through social reform meetings organized via Krushi avm Aadivasi Swaraj Sagthan formed by Vaagdhara, the tribal community has united and made decisions against their problems. From 34 gram panchayats in Anandpuri sub-division to 95 villages in the Gangadtalai panchayat samiti area, hundreds of people from tribal society have together launched a campaign against social evils, wasteful expenditure, and social disintegration. These are not merely meetings, but are taking the form of a people’s movement that has the potential to reshape the future of tribal society.

At a meeting held at the Chhaja Panchayat Bhavan in Anandpuri tehsil, representatives from many villages including Jetiyawada, Kathiriya, Bhojela, Koba, Damaira, Bori, Nawatapara, and Barkota unanimously decided that DJ, dowry, and intoxication would not be permitted at any social event. To enforce these rules, a five-member committee has been formed in each village that will take strict action against violations.

Even stricter rules were made at a meeting held in Wankakhuta village in Kushalipada, Sajjangarh tehsil. A fine of 51,000 rupees was fixed for playing DJ music, while society will punish anyone who comes to any event after drinking alcohol. Declaring alcohol and DJ culture to be fatal for society, a complete ban on them was announced.

The problem of intoxication had taken a serious form in tribal society and the younger generation was ruining their future by falling prey to it. To tackle this, society has imposed a complete ban on serving liquor, bidi, cigarettes, tobacco, gutka, and paan-masala at all social events. There is a complete ban on smoking and drinking, and keeping children under 18 years of age free from intoxication has been made mandatory. There is a complete ban on selling alcohol in villages, and emphasis is being placed on motivating youth toward sports, education, and employment.

In the blind race of modernity, marriages had become a matter of prestige, and families would spend lakhs for show even while drowning in debt. Understanding this problem, society has taken concrete steps. The sacred ritual of kanyadaan will be performed only by parents; food will be only pure vegetarian limited to dal, rice, and lapsi. Only one bus and one vehicle have been designated for the wedding procession, and only one person from each household will participate in the wedding ceremony. The Notara wedding procession will take place only from 9 AM to 6 PM.

At a joint meeting of villages Ganeshpura, Bhitpada, and Bhedipada in Gangadtalai tehsil, the decision was made to use traditional musical instruments, which is not only cheaper but also keeps cultural heritage alive. Important reforms have also been made regarding death feasts and shroud customs. Upon death, only one shroud each will be brought from the maternal side and from home, the Toliya custom has been discontinued, and the son-in-law will bring only one pot. Reforming the Mamera custom as well, it was decided that this will be done only by the maternal uncle, and after a girl’s marriage, only one Mamera from the parents’ home will be valid.

Equal participation of women has been ensured in all Agricultural and Tribal Swaraj Organizations. Special discussion took place in meetings about women’s participation in social decisions. This step is important because strengthening the status of women and their voice in tribal society is necessary. When women are included in the decision-making process, the development of society will be more comprehensive and sustainable.

Strict penalty provisions have also been fixed for violations to make social rules effective. If any person abducts a girl or woman and commits misconduct, he will be expelled from society. For Natara within a village or gotra, there will be a fine of five lakh rupees and social boycott. A married person performing Natara will also face a five lakh fine and expulsion from the village. If a minor girl or boy performs Natara, they will be returned, and taking legal action without asking society will result in a fine of 5,000 rupees.

To avoid the complexities and expenses of the modern justice system, society has decided to revive the traditional Panch-Panchayat system. Except in special circumstances, common family and social disputes will be resolved through mutual consent at the panchayat and society level. This system not only saves time and money but also strengthens the internal unity of society. In these village meetings, an extremely courageous decision was taken that if any political party or candidate in any type of election distributes or is caught distributing alcohol or money, society will not vote for that party or candidate. This is a revolutionary step toward making the democratic process clean and transparent.

The organizations have decided to mandatorily organize social reform meetings twice a year, which will enable review of rules and amendments as needed. Village-to-village awareness campaigns will be conducted so that every person is aware of these decisions. Members have been given the responsibility to ensure participation in meetings of all community-based organizations in their area and to monitor government facilities like anganwadis, schools, and health centers.

Vaagdhara’s Krushi avm Aadivasi Swaraj Sagthan are working as a bridge between government and community. It is the responsibility of organization members to make the community aware of government schemes, help eligible beneficiaries obtain scheme benefits, maintain regular contact with sarpanch and government officials, and assist in applications and follow-up actions.

The greatest feature of these meetings has been widespread public participation. Large numbers of community members were present at meetings held at Chhana Panchayat Bhavan, Wankakhuta, Ganeshpura’s Atal Seva Kendra, and Dhalar. Youth, elderly, women, panches, public representatives, and social workers all together prepared the blueprint for their society’s future.

Office bearers of Agricultural and Tribal Swaraj Organizations have played a leading role in this social revolution. Dedicated office bearers like Ram Singh, Man Singh, Chhatr Singh, Wal Singh, Bahadur, Dinesh, Amuli, Roop Singh, Ganga, Kailash, Vijaypal, Tolaram, Champa, Narsingh, Anil, Chokha, Philis, Sarita, Dhan Singh, Janta, Narendra, Devchandra, Parasing, Maggu, Sita, Hukmchand, Kal ji, Dev ji, Jagmal, Kamal, Devendra Singh, Shantilal Garasia, Ishwar Lal Garasia, Raju Bhai Yadav, Dhanji Damor, Ganesh Damor, Jivanlal Motiya Damor, Jivanlal, Rakesh Dhamot, Daulatram, Himmatlal, Kamla, Shankarlal, Veersingh, Kantilal, Olachand, Ambalal, Ramesh Bhai, Dhanpal Nat, Prabhulal, and Hiralal have provided strength to these meetings by connecting people in their respective areas.

These office bearers have worked to raise awareness in society by going village to village. They explained to people how intoxication, wasteful expenditure, and social evils are hollowing out the entire society. These leaders believe that unless society itself comes forward to solve its problems, no external effort can succeed. Therefore, working at the grassroots level, they contacted every family and connected them to this movement. It is the commitment and dedication of these office bearers that has taken this movement to every person. Their resolve is that they will make their society educated, healthy, addiction-free, and self-reliant, and they are continuously working toward this.

In this entire campaign, the role of Vaagdhara organization has been that of a catalyst. They have not only created organizations but made people realize their power and showed that the community can solve its own problems. But the real power lies in the community, and Vaagdhara has only provided guidance while the community has made decisions itself.

This journey has just begun and the real challenge will be implementing these decisions on the ground. But when every member of the community becomes part of this change, success is certain. This is not just the story of a few villages, but the story of those millions of people who want change, who want to give their children a better future, and who want to preserve their culture and dignity.

Vaagdhara’s Krushi avm Aadivasi Swaraj Sagthan have proven that change is possible. Now there is a need to carry this torch forward, to take this movement to more villages, and to build a society that is educated, healthy, prosperous, and dignified. This is the time to witness history, this is the time to become part of change, and this is the time to build a new India where every community is empowered, every person is respected, and every child can fulfill their dreams.

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We were sitting at a central place in Salaiya Maaf village, located in Mahoba district of Uttar Pradesh, for a group discussion when an elderly woman said in an emotional voice—so good that you people came and land on which nothing grew could also grow good crops.

She was addressing members of a voluntary organization SRIJAN who, with the support of Parivartan initiative of HDFC Bank, have been implementing a program of strengthening sustainable livelihoods based on improved management of natural resources. Many villagers expressed appreciation of the efforts of this project, taken up with close involvement of community members, and said that these have been very helpful for villagers.

However this was not the situation initially about two years back when SRIJAN members had first knocked on the doors of these villagers. It took some time to establish trust and explain that SRIJAN is very sincere in involving the villagers in deciding the work to be taken up, as long as it was within the priorities of the organization of emphasizing weaker sections and small farmers, mainly women from these households, and taking up work which passes the test of improving sustainability, climate resilience and overall improvement of environment.

Gradually village development groups and farmer groups were formed and regular meetings started being held to discuss the priority works and beneficiaries. A good beginning was made by lighting up several village places with solar lights with the result that safety at night improved and market gathering at some places could continue for longer hours.

Starting with this initiative, what villagers liked was that SRIJAN consulted them closely regarding the exact location and other details of various development works as well as selection of beneficiaries and other details for which local guidance was the best way forward. This is why the check dam could give good results and the water conservation work in the form of 23 water channel storages or dohas could conserve a lot of water, raising the water table. This is how the help given for multi-layer vegetable gardens, irrigation sprinklers and small orchards could go to those who were likely to make really good use of these opportunities. While many farmers have benefited from these efforts, three examples given here are particularly encouraging.      

Santosh Kumar and his wife Vinita Devi are committed strongly to natural farming. When SRIJAN started spreading the message of natural farming in this village, he was among the first farmers to respond very favorably to this. He has two acres of land. He says that by bringing this land under natural farming he has been able to increase his production. This is important as generally increase of production is not achieved so quickly. This is perhaps due to the deep commitment that Vinita and he have to this more creative farming and the care and time they devote to this. Sprinkler irrigation arranged by SRIJAN with the support of Parivartan has also contributed to increase of production. Expenses of farming have of course gone down due to avoiding expensive inputs like chemical fertilizers and pesticides. Therefore with increased production their net income has increased even more. While Vinita expresses her commitment and enthusiasm about recent changes more freely, Santosh is by nature a more reserved and quiet person. However his appreciation of recent changes became very clear when at the time of my recent visit to this village he took me aside and said—can this project which came here for three years continue for three more years? If this happens then remaining farmers will also be able to benefit, he said.

Shyam Sundar and Rekha have about three acres of land. They provide a good example of how farmers are carefully considering the economics of shifting from chemical intensive farming to natural farming. On about one-fifth of one acre of land they have planted an orchard of about 60 fruit trees, mostly guava trees but also others, and on this orchard they have shifted entirely towards natural farming. Till the trees grow enough to yield fruits, they are also growing gram crop here which has grown very well. There are also some other patches of land on their and neighboring farms of family members where too for growing turmeric and some other crops there has been already a shift to natural farming. A very good crop of turmeric has been harvested recently. On the remaining land, Shyam Sundar said, he has reduced the use of chemical fertilizers to less than half of the earlier intensive use and hence he is on the path of moving towards natural farming on this remaining land too, although he would like to phase this change over two or three years instead of changing suddenly. Pointing to the wheat crop growing on this farm he said—you can see that the growth here is very good despite reducing the use of chemical fertilizers as we are taking good care. 

Sprinkler provided by SRIJAN as well as technical advice and good quality seeds and plant saplings provided by SRIJAN have been very useful, he says. 

Shyam Sundar has created a small shelter right inside his agricultural fields, close to a traditional well which provides good quality water, and spends a lot of his time here only. His son, daughter and a niece were also there at the farm at the time of our visit, lending a helping hand very cheerfully. All of them appeared to be happy with the recent changes particularly the coming up of the orchard, and were very generous in their hospitality.

Sanjeev Kumar is a leading farmer of this village, owning about 10 acres of farmland. Among the relatively bigger farmers he has emerged as a strong supporter of natural farming. He has already brought about 2 acres of his farmland under natural farming, and told me in the course of a group discussion that he intends to finally shift entirely to natural farming. He is very articulate in expressing his views and his support and example can be very helpful in the spread of natural farming and other ecologically protective practices in this and neighboring villages.

Beni Bai is an elderly lady who had earlier served as a sarpanch of this village.  She said that what she found particularly useful in the contributions of SRIJAN is that thanks to the construction of a check dam and the resulting availability of water and rise in water table, some land which was lying more or less uncultivated earlier could now be brought under cultivation. Her family as well others have benefited in this context, she said. 

Thus several critical problems relating to water scarcity, rising costs and increasing crisis of small farmers have been addressed in the course of the last two years, bringing new hope to villagers and particularly to small farmers including sharecroppers.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include India’s Quest for Sustainable Farming and Healthy Food, Protecting Earth for Children, Planet in Peril and A Day in 2071. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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Anisur Rahman, a Bangladeshi-Swedish writer, argues that the political process in Bangladesh today is no longer primarily controlled by the electorate or even by domestic political parties, but by forces operating beyond the country’s borders. According to him, real decision making authority increasingly lies with a combination of visible foreign actors and less visible external power centres that shape outcomes through pressure, patronage, and strategic alignment. Formal institutions remain in place, but their autonomy has steadily eroded, producing a political system where sovereignty exists more as a symbol than as an operative reality.

Within this environment, Rahman sees the Bangladesh Nationalist Party as a party that retains mass appeal but lacks internal democracy, organizational coherence, and strategic capacity. It is constrained by state pressure, vulnerable to foreign influence, and unable to effectively counter the growing strength of Islamist groups such as Jamaat e Islami. In the absence of the Awami League as a fully functioning political force, the BNP is not emerging as a decisive alternative but rather as a weakened actor navigating survival rather than leadership.

Rahman describes the present political order as marked by coercive management rather than constitutional governance. He characterizes the Yunus-led interim administration as mobocratic and legally reckless, relying on executive fiat, informal coercion, and street-level pressure to suppress opposition politics. Freedom of expression, he argues, has been sharply curtailed, with media institutions and even the judiciary subjected to intimidation, politicization, and administrative incompetence. In this setting, legal justifications function less as constitutional safeguards and more as procedural covers for repression.

On the question of foreign influence, Rahman is particularly critical of Turkey’s expanding role in Bangladesh. He contends that Ankara has acted not merely as a strategic partner but as a patron of certain Islamist extremist individuals and networks, broadly aligning with Pakistan’s long standing strategy of undermining a secular and pro 1971 Bangladesh. He recalls that Turkey opposed Bangladesh’s Liberation War in 1971 and collaborated with Pakistani forces, a historical position that continues to shape its contemporary engagement. In his view, this relationship disproportionately benefits Islamist aligned institutions rather than democratic or civic ones.

India, by contrast, is described as maintaining a consistent public position emphasizing free, fair, and inclusive elections, while avoiding overt intervention. China, despite its deep involvement in infrastructure and security cooperation, is portrayed as a largely silent actor that seeks to maximize economic and strategic gains while minimizing political risk. Rahman suggests that Beijing may exert indirect influence through Pakistani channels, but he does not see China as actively attempting to engineer electoral outcomes. He notes, however, the historical irony that both China and the United States opposed Bangladesh’s independence in 1971 while supporting the Pakistani occupation.

Pakistan’s role, Rahman argues, is neither subtle nor dormant. He points to renewed diplomatic, economic, and security engagement, including direct shipping routes between Karachi and Chittagong, direct flights between Dhaka and Karachi, and discussions on military procurement and security cooperation. A steady flow of visits by Pakistani ministers, diplomats, and military officials, he says, signals a deliberate attempt to revive ideological and political networks aligned with anti 1971 narratives, anti India sentiment, and opposition to secular progressive politics in Bangladesh.

Regarding the scheduled February elections, Rahman warns that postponement remains a real possibility, citing precedents from the 2006 to 2007 political crisis. He emphasizes that deteriorating law and order, rising crime, and widespread insecurity provide convenient justifications for delay. In such a scenario, he believes those who benefit most are unelected power holders and extremist groups that thrive in prolonged uncertainty and controlled participation.

Rahman paints a bleak picture of social cohesion, arguing that the past year and a half has severely fractured Bangladeshi society. He claims the country increasingly resembles a conflict scarred state, drawing comparisons with Syria, Afghanistan, and Libya, not in scale of violence but in institutional decay and social distrust. He frames current polarization as a stark divide between pro 1971 and anti 1971 visions of Bangladesh, accusing the Yunus administration and its allies of attempting to redirect the country toward a Pakistan oriented ideological trajectory. This, he argues, directly undermines sovereignty and national survival.

In his assessment, no institution remains fully capable of mediating conflict. Confidence in the military has been badly shaken, with General Waqr uz Zaman and his allies accused of betraying the administration of Sheikh Hasina. Yet Rahman maintains that social cohesion can eventually be restored through a renewed commitment to the spirit of 1971. He believes the people themselves, rather than institutions, will ultimately drive recovery, even if the process is slow and painful.

On the role of the United States, Rahman suggests that Washington has already secured a substantial part of its agenda through a non-disclosable trade deal with Bangladesh. He argues that American ambitions under the Burma Act 2022 have been constrained by growing strategic convergence between India and China, which has limited US leverage in Burma and the Bay of Bengal. Russia, he notes, has its own strategic motivations in the Indo Pacific, underscored by President Vladimir Putin’s visit to India and a new five-year military agreement.

Moscow’s approach, in Rahman’s view, closely follows India’s. With a 14 billion dollar investment in Bangladesh’s nuclear power sector, Russia has a strong interest in stability and democratic continuity. He emphasizes that both India and Russia were decisive supporters of Bangladesh’s independence in 1971 and continue to play a broadly supportive role. By contrast, he argues that the Election Commission today has no real independence and functions largely as an administrative extension of the executive. Information about election security, surveillance, and vote management, he claims, is deliberately kept opaque, reducing the process to what he describes as a puppet show.

Looking ahead, Rahman warns that an election lacking credibility would impose long term costs on Bangladesh’s sovereignty, institutions, and regional standing. Yet he allows space for cautious optimism. Even a flawed election, he suggests, could open the door to a new beginning if followed by the lifting of restrictions on the Awami League, the restoration of political normalcy, and a national effort to curb the growth of Islamist extremist forces. For Rahman, the crisis is profound and manufactured, but not irreversible. Bangladesh’s future, he concludes, still depends on whether the state and its people can reclaim the unfinished promise of 1971.

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Ashish Singh has finished his Ph.D. coursework in political science from the NRU-HSE, Moscow, Russia. He has previously studied at Oslo Metropolitan University, Norway; and TISS, Mumbai.  

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India has between 17 and 18 per cent of the world’s population, between 2 to 3 per cent of the world’s land area, about 4 per cent of the world’s freshwater resources and less than one percent of the world’s known crude oil and natural gas stocks. Hence India’s quest for development and for meeting the needs of all its people is a difficult one and deserves sympathy and understanding. 

India has been the birthplace of several great religions and spiritual movements. Before colonial rule India was in the forefront of development achievements in several contexts, but the nearly 200 years of colonial rule bled India very badly to support industrialization and luxury of others. India was plundered and exploited ruthlessly to provide resources and markets for colonial rulers. Millions of people died in famines created by colonial rule. Several hundred thousand brave Indians died in freedom movement struggles.

After achieving independence India could avoid mass killer famines and achieved significant gains in terms of all human development indicators, despite continuing problems created by powerful external forces. At the same time it needs to be emphasized that a large number of people are still unable to meet their basic needs in satisfactory ways and India could have and should have achieved much better development results with more equality based path of development. 

India has been a leader of the non-alignment movement and India’s progress as well as difficulties it faces and the choices it makes are watched with considerable interest by the greater part of the world.

Keeping in view the important role of India in world affairs, it is important not only for the well-being of India but also the entire world that India should try to find a path that is the best possible path for the well-being of the people of India, now and in future, while at the same time contributing to the well-being and peace of the entire world.

Keeping in view the present-day situation of many difficulties and adverse external conditions, a six-point path is presented here which in short we call the MIGAC path—path for Making India Great and Caring.

First of all, the path of India must be based on the three key precepts of justice, peace, protection of environment and all forms of life. Of course various political parties and scholars may come up with their own version of this, but we need to keep emphasizing that these three precepts must be at the center of our thinking and then we can have a debate on the details of this and what is most suitable for our conditions and for our times. India’s path, and the path of its cities and villages, must be based on bringing together these key precepts in such mutually consistent ways that these can be taken forward without being disruptive in any way.

Secondly, the unity of all people of India, people of all religions, faiths, sects, castes, ethnicities etc. should be the foundation of the strength of the country—unity based on doing away with any and all kinds of discriminations, providing equality of opportunity to all people, respecting the dignity of all people and providing equal protections to all people.

Thirdly, India should accept its responsibilities in contributing to creating a world based on peace, protection of environment and justice and must strive to contribute as much as possible within various practical constraints for this, while protecting essential national interests.

Fourthly, India deserves a leadership role in protecting the concerns of the global south and should take this forward in various ways, including revival and strengthening of the non-aligned movement in tune with existing realities and needs, and also playing a more important role in improving the international response for humanitarian aid.

Fifth, India must find better ways for creating consensus on some important issues of national interest and unity. While of course opposition political parties will continue to play their democratic role of check and balance and will definitely oppose the government where needed, at the same time the government and opposition parties need to be able to speak with one voice on certain crucial issues of national interest. The opposition should extend its cooperation in such matters and the government should ensure that no unjust victimization of any opposition party takes place.

Last but not the least, in keeping with emerging biggest needs and priorities, India should identify some key areas where the people here can contribute a lot, and make a special effort to excel in these areas. India’s villagers and farmers can be mobilized to create fossil fuel free villages in such ways that the sustainable livelihoods of people are also improved and strengthened. India can emerge as a main center for growing healthy, non-GM food using natural farming methods. There are several other such examples of great possibilities which are helpful for us and can also create very inspiring models for the greater part of the world.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include A Day in 2071, When the Two Streams Met, Planet in Peril and India’s Quest for Sustainable Farming and Healthy Food. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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The Socialism 2025 Conference, held in Malaysia’s capital Kuala Lumpur, on November 15–16, brought together about 200 socialists and activists from across the Asia-Pacific. The Parti Sosialis Malaysia (Malaysian Socialist Party, PSM) has hosted the event annually since 2005, and it has become one of the largest gatherings of socialists and progressives in the region.

Malaysia is one of the few locations in the region (compared with Singapore, Indonesia and Thailand) where socialists can meet openly to share experiences and build the connections necessary for collective struggle.

Socialism 2025 was opened by PSM chairperson Dr Jeyakumar Devaraj, who stressed the need for socialists in the region to work towards economic independence and greater solidarity in the face of multiple crises.

A common thread running through the conference was the impacts of colonialism, capitalism and imperialism, and the ongoing struggle to build socialist alternatives. Speakers gave an insight into what socialists and progressive groups are doing on the ground, and the challenges and contradictions they face.

While hosting the conference, PSM activists led a housing rights and anti-eviction campaign following the demolition of homes in Kampung Papan. This led to some of them being arrested. Grassroots and local campaigning, such as for housing rights, are an important element of the PSM’s work, alongside national campaigns and building international solidarity.

Sri Lanka

Sri Lankan socialist Janaka Adikari, Central Committee member of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP), the leading party of the Sri Lankan National People’s Power (NPP) coalition, gave the keynote speech, which was attended by the Venezuelan and Cuban ambassadors. Adikari discussed the JVP’s attempts to implement democratic and progressive policies since the NPP won government last year.

Adikari described the JVP as a Marxist-Leninist party that is “trying to build socialism from the ground up” in a society wracked by decades of ethno-nationalist policies, corruption, authoritarianism and neoliberalism. Building a mass base among the people, he said, was key to any achievements made so far.

Adikari said the JVP has had some success in implementing reforms such as raising wages and pensions, implementing student scholarships, organising workers living abroad and tackling corruption. However, he noted that the party had gained “political, but not state power” and the government still faced challenges because it had inherited a dysfunctional capitalist system and massive International Monetary Fund debt.

In response to a question from the floor suggesting the JVP had not done enough in support of Tamils, Adikari said the JVP has many Tamil members, and promotes an anti-racism line in support of Tamils, but does not support Tamil separatism.

Thailand

Thai delegates from the Assembly of the Poor and the Miners and Farmers Federations emphasised the devastation that neoliberal policies and global value chains — in which profits flow to the Global North — have on the lives of peasants, farmers, miners and the environment.

The groups stressed that ecosocialist solutions and degrowth are essential, saying that climate justice and land reform must come from peasants, farmers and oppressed peoples, and that indigenous peoples need to be at the centre of the struggle.

Lapapan Supamanta, from the Assembly of the Poor and La Via Campesina, told the conference that “endless capitalist growth” had displaced peasants from their land to maximise profits through the implementation of industrial-scale agriculture and “cash crops”. Supamanta’s organisation is fighting back by asserting food sovereignty, implementing agroecology (a sustainable ecological and social practice of agriculture) and pushing for workers’ and peasants’ rights.

Key to this is the liberation of peasants — broadly defined by Supamanta as oppressed people working the land. Her group is involved in an 80-house-strong agroecology commune near the border with Cambodia, incorporating emerging agricultural and political organisations.

Lek, from Socialist Worker Thailand (SWT), spoke about the struggle to organise under a military dictatorship and economic crisis. They said workers face exploitation by Eastern and Western countries alike, as well as by their own ruling class, pointing out that while the economy is in shambles, the king is the richest monarch in the world.

Despite challenges, and its small size, the SWT maintains Marxist education, regular meetings and Palestine solidarity actions.

Indonesia

Delegates from the Peoples Liberation Party, Organisasi Kaum Muda Sosialis and Perempuan Mahardika (PM), emphasised the rapidly declining democracy and widespread frustration amongst workers in Indonesia.

PM representative Mutiara Ika Pratiwi said massive job cuts and a lack of quality, safe and viable jobs had catalysed the uprising in August–September last year.

Pratiwi said PM is fighting for democracy and job security through feminist struggle within workplaces, explaining that violence against women in the workplace and the home is widespread. The right to dignified, decent work in a safe workplace free from gendered violence is a key demand, and groups such as the Indonesian Women’s Alliance are organising women workers and students against workplace and domestic violence.

Singapore

Twenty young activists from Singapore attended, representing groups such as Singapore Students for Palestine and Workers Make Possible. Despite severe repression, these activists have been campaigning for workers’ rights, advocating for the abolition of the death penalty and agitating on universities for cheaper and free education and in favour of Boycott Divestment and Sanctions (BDS).

A special evening session of the conference brought together speakers from Indonesia, the Philippines and Thailand to discuss the recent popular youth-led uprisings. All agreed that strong leadership from the socialist left was lacking — but for different and complex reasons in each country.

The speakers spoke candidly about problems the socialist left faced during the uprisings, such as the contradiction between the spontaneity of the uprisings versus the need to protect activists from the worst forms of state violence.

Anti-imperialism and Palestine

A special session was dedicated to Palestine, discussing international solidarity and Western complicity in Israel’s genocide. Kamal Aarif, from the anti-imperialist youth group Gegar Amerika (part of PSM), spoke, as well as Baha Hilo from BDS Malaysia, and myself from Socialist Alliance.

Continuing the discussion on imperialism were sessions on counter-hegemony and anti-imperialist struggles. The ongoing struggle for West Papuan independence was represented by Victor Yeimo from the National Committee for West Papua.

Harleen Kaur, from the International People’s Assembly in India, spoke about the unfinished agenda of the 1955 Bandung Conference, which founded the Non-Aligned Movement, and called for a “peoples’ BRICS”, led by mass movements rather than dominated by capitalist interests. This line of thought was continued by Mikaela Erskog (from Tricontinental, South Africa) who pointed out the contradictions among BRICS members, such as India’s support for Israel, and the fact that while BRICS claims to be anti-hegemonic, it is not anti-capitalist.

The PSM’s Sivarajan Arumugam discussed the legacies and challenges of the Bandung Conference, arguing that while Bandung was imperfect, it provided alternative models to imperialist hegemony and sowed the “seeds for global socialism”.

The Rise of the Far Right

The far right is also on the rise in the region, taking advantage of ethnic and religious tensions and the failure of economic liberalism to improve living standards across the Asia Pacific.

Dr Herbert Docena, from Partido Sosyalista, used an anti-eviction campaign on Sicogon — a small island in the Philippines — as a case study to demonstrate how communities can switch support to the far right when their basic needs are not being met.

In the case study, peasant communities on Sicogon refused to be evicted by the large conglomerate Ayala Corporation, in a land grab following a devastating typhoon. After being pressured by representatives of former president Benigno Aquino III’s liberal party to give their land over to Ayala, feeling betrayed, the majority voted for Rodrigo Duterte.

Jacob Andrewartha, from Socialist Alliance, pointed to how policies implemented by so-called social democratic parties in Australia and elsewhere, such as anti-refugee and anti-union policies, paved the way for the rise of the far right.

The PSM’s Gandipan Natha Gopalan explained how the far right in Malaysia is mobilising the working class within traditionally liberal institutions, such as community, family and sporting groups. Far-right figures have also coopted images from the working class and marhaen (marginalised and oppressed) to gain support, and have been successful in building grassroots-style networks. The right has also co-opted Malaysia’s pro-Palestine movement, he said.

Gopalan asked what it would take for socialists to have an equivalent level of community-based organisational structures to the far right.

Socialists from Global South countries represented at Socialism 2025 are trying to build socialism while bearing the brunt of climate change and imperialism. Those of us in Global North countries like so-called Australia are more or less in the “belly of the beast”. Socialists in Australia must double efforts to build support for anti-imperialist and anti-colonial struggles, campaigns for climate justice and for an end to the Australian-US-British military alliance, AUKUS, while strengthening people-to-people solidarity and collaboration in the region.

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Tens of millions of people face very serious humanitarian crisis situation in many countries. Despite this, the funds received for humanitarian aid have been falling far short of real needs.

The world level military spending is around 2700 billion dollars. Compared to this the main humanitarian aid system generally asks for only around 50 billion dollars or so in a year, or less than 2% of the military expenditure. However in year 2025 even this was denied, even 1% was denied.

In fact the year 2025 proved to be the most difficult in this context in recent times, although funding shortages were also experienced earlier.

In July 2025, the UN humanitarian aid system issued June-end statistics that at the end of the first half of the year, only 13% of the funds needed for the year had been received. This was significantly lower than the funds received for the same period during the previous years. 

In view of this serious shortfall compared to the targeted funds, the UN issued a new appeal lowering the fund demand further and said that is asking for only 1 per cent of the world’s defense expenditure and this is absolutely crucial for saving 114 million human lives.

At the end of the year the provisional figures show that the total funds received during this year were only 20.5 billion dollars, compared to double of this in year 2022, even though humanitarian crisis had worsened in several respects.

While several donors reduced their contribution, the biggest cut came from the USA in the first year of the Trump administration.

As the funding has fallen significantly short of even the reduced estimates of the funds that the UN stated in mid-year review were needed desperately for saving 114 million lives, the UN should now present an estimate of the number of the lives that were lost (or the number of lost lives that could have been saved) due to this glaring shortage of essential funds. This would help in wider realization of the tragedy taking place. Even if only one per cent of extra lives were lost (in the identified vulnerable population of 114 million people), this would imply that over one million lives were lost due to the denial of funds.

What is more, the humanitarian aid system is also being adversely affected in other ways. The UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Aid lost nearly 25% of its staff over a period of about a year or so. At the frontlines overburdened humanitarian aid workers are also facing increased risks. 338 humanitarian aid workers were attacked during 2024. About 600 health facilities were also attacked during the same year, according to a report of Red Cross.

Thus at a time when the need for humanitarian aid is increasing, the ability to provide this in satisfactory ways has been decreasing due to a number of factors. This is a very distressing situation which, when compared to a situation of complete adequacy of humanitarian aid efforts, is likely to be leading in the extra loss of a large number of human lives, perhaps one million lives, perhaps several million lives at its worst. The year 2025 has seen one of the worst ever situations in this context. Very significant improvements are needed to avoid such huge tragedies in future.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include A Day in 2071, Earth without Borders, Protecting Earth for Children, Planet in Peril and Man over Machine. He is regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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The beginning of a new year is a time when many of us promise to learn from past mistakes and take corrective actions, aimed at our better and sustained progress. It is in this spirit that the leaders and people of South Asia should approach the early days of 2026 as corrective actions are really needed in so many contexts and on so many fronts.

To help in this, a 5-point plan for the true and sustained progress of South Asia and for the welfare and safety of the people of the entire region is suggested here.

1. There should be much higher prioritization for justice-based, ecologically protective and climate resilient policies for sustainable development. While this is particularly important for rural areas, there is clearly a potential for lot of useful work in the urban context too. Both are related and if sustainable, broad-based, pro-poor development programs prosper in rural areas, then the burden on cities is significantly reduced. Small farmer progress is best based on natural farming and diversification, with very creative integration of agriculture, horticulture, farm produce processing and animal husbandry. It is amazing how much can be achieved even on very small farms in this way (and women farmers have been seen to be exceptionally creative in this) while keeping costs very low, important for small farmers. Farmers and particularly women farmers respond in amazingly creative ways when opportunities emerge with the right policies and programs, as I have seen time and again. What is truly hope-giving is that a lot of this work can happily contribute a lot to climate adaptation as well as mitigation. Of course in addition more specific work for disaster prevention and protection is also needed.
2. A related aspect is that the highest importance must be given to water conservation which as I have seen repeatedly can be the most important aspect of sustainability. While this is most often related to ending or reducing water scarcity, water conservation and rainwater harvesting in thousands of villages also contributes greatly to reducing harm from floods, as water stays where it is needed and does not arrive in excess in places where this is not welcome. A very important aspect of planning properly for water is to take very good care of all rivers, big and small, and all natural as well as heritage water bodies, and protect them. Here lies the key to sustainability from the perspective of water. Instead of talking too much of the share of a river water one can get, we should be talking much more about how all should cooperate to protect all rivers in their entire flow, from place of origin to merger in another river and ultimately the sea.
3. In a region where so many learned persons and saints have preached the message of not just tolerance but also of inter-faith harmony, where inter-mingling of various cultures have produced such beautiful results, it must be clear that the path forward, the path of progress is that of promoting inter-faith harmony at all levels in all countries of the region.
4. A related issue is that all over the region protection of minorities should be ensured and they should be provided equal opportunities. In fact how minorities are treated should be treated as a civilization test. While it is true that taking an overview of the post-colonial period the record of Pakistan has been the worst and just now the situation in Bangladesh is most worrying, the overall reality is not at all good and protective in the entire region and instead of only pointing accusation fingers at each other, all countries of the region need to substantially improve their treatment of minorities, at the very least ensuring protection but in addition also aiming to ensure equal opportunities.
5. There should be absolutely no wars and war-mongering. All the governments of the region should aim to achieve some kind of an agreement to keep this entire region, which has two nuclear weapon countries, entirely free from wars. It should be clearly understood on all sides that a future of wars for this very densely populated region can only bring unprecedented destruction in this region at the time of availability of more and more destructive weapons from the military industrial complex of several countries of world. A related fact is that all the countries of the region should also be very careful to entirely avoid fighting proxy wars of any great power, and to entirely avoid coming under the influence of any such countries in such ways as to get pushed towards wars or unethically motivated for wars on the basis of promises of weapons and other support. Leaders and people should move more and more towards a future that avoids any wars, and the actual wars should be against ecological ruin, increasing disasters and denial of basic needs to people.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include A Day in 2071, Earth without Borders, Protecting Earth for Children, Planet in Peril and Man over Machine. He is regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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Many of those who had initially welcomed the ouster of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina are now reconsidering their assessment. The reasons are obvious for all for see. The law and order situation has become extremely bad and the security of a very large number of people—particularly those seen as political opponents—is threatened. Minorities are feeling highly insecure and at times are being targeted in very disturbing ways. Inter-faith harmony is being threatened as never before in Bangladesh. Prospects of fair elections are receding with the exclusion and obstruction of political parties with a very large base among all sections of people, and particularly among minorities. Hence real choice is increasingly being denied to people. At the same time sectarian and fundamentalist forces which advance by dividing people and have never hesitated to use violence to further their objectives are being helped to become more powerful. These forces had also played a leading role in the opposition to Prime Minister Hasina and her ouster. 

It is also deeply worrying that the efforts of these sectarian and fundamentalist forces had received support at that time from foreign forces, including the forces of imperialism which are still continuing this supportive role. It has been seen time and again that these forces condemn many such sectarian and violent forces at open forums but repeatedly use them to advance their narrow objectives. This tendency often results in very disturbing consequences in the countries where sectarian violent forces are promoted (and sometimes even backfires at the supporters, as seen several times already). While the lessons from several such past experiences are obvious, why was this strategy used again for the ouster of Sheikh Hasina? The former Prime Minister has already spoken about the hand of foreign forces as well as sectarian forces in her ouster. A big question is why foreign forces are doing this, ignoring the tragic consequences of such tactics in the past.

Of course it is extremely tragic that many people died in the suppressive actions against those who were protesting against Sheikh Hasina and demanding her ouster. Many of them could have been very sincere persons who honestly wanted a better future for their country. The loss of each one of these lives must be deeply regretted, any injury or any harm caused to any such person must be deeply regretted. However, as this writer has often emphasized, there is a need to distinguish between those protest movements which are aimed sincerely and honestly at improving the situation in their country, and those which are instigated as a part of regime change operations (in which many well-intentioned persons may also be used without their realization). While the former category of movements generally result in improving the situation, the latter kind of movements always have the potential of resulting in great harm, particularly when sectarian and divisive violent forces are involved in important roles. It is the understanding of this writer that the protest movement against former Prime Minister Hasina was largely a regime change operation in which many sincere persons also got caught without realizing the implications and the nature of the forces exercising key control.

One must not forget, and several younger readers may not know this, that most family members of Hasina including her father and the first Prime Minister of Bangladesh Mujibur Rehman was killed by those murderers who were later revealed to have links to foreign forces as well as sectarian forces. Later Hasina herself faced murderous attacks.

The other aspect that deserves attention is that in terms of the factual position as presented in UN reports, during the greater part of the years of Sheikh Hasina’s years as Prime Minister, Bangladesh had recorded significant improvements in most human development indicators despite several adversities and many successful development initiatives could emerge here.

It has been seen repeatedly in many regime change operations that a few years before this such conditions are created that only negative news and opinion gets pushed, while most good news gets blacked out. This is also what happened in the case of Sheikh Hasina’s last years as Prime Minister.

It is in this wider context that the recent events in Bangladesh should be understood. As for future, clearly for all of South Asia a future based on secularism, inter-faith harmony, protection of minorities, inclusive democracy, socio-economic equalities and protection of environment is the future that can most reduce the distress of people and increase their welfare in sustainable ways. This also requires greater friendship and cooperation of all people and countries of South Asia. Unfortunately the actual situation is steadily moving away from this, and thereby a great sadness hangs over the sub-continent. However the situation can be improved if more and more people remain keenly aware of the direction in which South Asia must move and try to contribute in whatever ways they can for this.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include Protecting Earth for Children, Man over Machine, When the Two Streams Met and A Day in 2071. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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India has a rich heritage of oilseed farming, processing and edible oils of high nutrition and even medicinal value. While the leading oilseeds are mustard, groundnut, sesame and coconut, there are a significant number of more local oilseeds with their special nutrition and medicinal benefits. This can provide sustainable livelihoods for hundreds of millions of farmers and healthy food for an even larger number of consumers and India can emerge as the world leader in the supply of healthy edible oils. This should be taken forward on the basis of natural farming based growing of oilseeds and hence the supply of edible oils can be both very healthy and climate resilient. Traditional rural processing technology emphasizes wood-based extraction which is much more nutritious and healthy, and some modifications to increase its efficiency while retaining nutrition value can be made. Traditionally India has a vast reservoir of skills for growing as well as processing oilseeds.

Unfortunately despite such great potential things have gone terribly wrong, local livelihoods are in crisis, dependence on imports is increasing, availability of healthy edible oils has been becoming more difficult.

To find the way out of these problems some good initiatives for local processing of oilseeds can play a helpful role. An important contribution of local processing is that the important by-product of oil extraction in the form of oilcakes can remain within the village increasing greatly the nutrition available for farm and dairy animals and also improving the economics of oilseeds cultivation.

In this context a new farmer-producer based company recently started in Karauli district of Rajasthan has emerged as an exciting possibility. This company is owned by women farmers of the area, particularly concentrated in Mandarayal and Sapotra blocks but also increasingly in Karauli block. The processing plant established close to Mandrayal in a rural area is attracting a lot of attention already at an early stage.

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This initiative has received support from SRIJAN voluntary organization and in fact has grown out of earlier efforts of the organization to promote natural farming among small farmers of the region most of whom also grow mustard crop to a lesser or greater extent in their annual crop cycle. It was in the course of wider livelihood promotion activities that the idea of a farmer owned company came up as a means of improving the sustainable livelihood prospects of farmers. As most of this work has involved partnership with women farmers, the processing initiative has also involved mainly women farmers although of course it gets the support of the entire communities. As this work has grown out of the spread of natural farming practices, this ensures that the company is protective towards environment and is climate resilient. It has no polluting technologies and its ability to obtain raw material from close to processing units and supply oilcakes close to their place of use means that it saves on transport related environmental costs as well. At the same time as the mustard seeds used here are based on natural farming, this makes available healthier edible oil for people as well as healthier oilcake for farm and dairy animals.

As most farmers from whom mustard is being procured are in effect supplying to their own company, this means that not only are the manipulations like short-weighing and unfair deductions completely avoided, but in addition any profits the company makes will be shared with them. At present the company has over 2000 women farmers as shareholders, and their number is set to increase.

Another big relief for farmers is that they are selling to someone they trust and their payment will be received very promptly. 

A frequent situation in the market is that at the time of harvesting the produce sells at a lower price and later the price goes up. Assume that the harvest season price is 100 rupees but this can go up to rupees 120 some time later. This hike generally goes to traders. However in a farmer owned company the profit ultimately comes back to farmers.

While selling the bulk of her mustard crop, a farmer generally keeps a certain amount of mustard seeds in the family for year round use at home. Now that farmers have their own company, they can locally process it here to ensure that they get better quality oil and in addition can also retain the oilcake obtained as a by-product in the course of the processing for their farm and dairy animals.

There is a lot of enthusiasm in villages like Shyampur where there is a significant number of women shareholders, and when I spoke to them recently at a group meeting in the village they said that this effort should progress very well. Even in a village like Garhi where the women I spoke to had very less land and hence can supply only very low quantities of mustard, there was a lot of goodwill for this effort. 

An important aspect of this initiative is that in many villages production of mustard (and other crops) using natural farming methods could only succeed because of the various development initiatives of SRIJAN, particularly its water conservation efforts. In Shyampur, for example, nearly 18 new water sources have been created while nearly 14 have been renovated. An ancient big water tank has been de-silted and the fertile silt obtained from here when deposited in farms could increase their natural fertility significantly. Most of the farmland here was brought under cultivation only due to these water resources. The drinking water supply for people and animals has also been improved significantly. While this has a big impact on improving daily life, Anita of tis village emphasized that this has also released them for productive work on farms while earlier their entire days was centered around somehow fetching water from a distance.

In Garhi village it is deeply touching to see how a woman Kenti Devi from a marginal farmer household is courageously working to improve her family’s economic prospects even though her husband after working in mines for a long time has been affected by a dust-related disease. She has worked very hard to bring a rocky piece of land near her home under cultivation growing a diversity of vegetables, fruits and other crops including wheat. With the help of SRIJAN she runs a bio-resource center spreading improved methods of preparing organic manure and keeping away pests. 

It is the people of such villages with well-established relationships of trust which can become a big source of strength for the Dang Vikas initiative.

Villagers also hope that later smaller processing units can be established inside or even closer to their villages under this initiative. The effort should try to involve the traditional kolhu oil extractors and some communities have been known for their special skills associated with such processing.

From these villages I went to the main processing unit near Mandrayal (Dang Vikas Farmer Producer Company) where three women from the management committee Rani, Pooja and Priyanka had come to meet me. They spoke in very enthusiastic terms regarding the high hopes women in their villages have from this effort. They and the team leader from SRIJAN Bhavani Singh also discussed possibilities of some new additions like a small plant for making cattle feed also utilizing the oilcakes available here, and the efforts for grading farm produce to enable farmers to get better price for their produce.

The spirit of working together for the new effort with enthusiasm was well captured when our conservation was interrupted by a sudden need for carrying several chairs and some rather heavy tables from one corner of the unit to another for safer storage. Instead of waiting for any workers, the team leader and management committee members immediately started doing the heavy work themselves and finished it in a short time. With such a spirit of working together for a good cause, this basically well-conceived effort which meets important needs can hopefully succeed in showing the way forward for the kind of farmer owned processing of farm produce the country needs. To accomplish this, the effort must remain close to core values of protecting welfare of farmers as well as health and environment concerns. It should be taken forward in thoughtful and innovative ways, and must have a good understanding of the direction in which the food processing sector in general and the oilseed processing sector in particular must proceed.

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include India’s Quest for Sustainable Farming and Healthy Food, Man over Machine, A Day in 2071 and Planet in Peril. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

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Around the year 1980 Keshwanand Tiwari emerged as a very bright young politician of Dehradun, having won two Cantt elections at a very young age. Then just when friends were forecasting a very promising career in politics, he changed tracks and decided to devote his life instead to a voluntary organization committed to constitutional values of justice and equality with special emphasis on rights of women.

When he first came to Saharanpur district (UP) to start the initial programs of this new organization Disha around 1982-83, he could not have anticipated the kind of troubles he’ll soon face. As he and his colleagues firmly supported a struggle of women farm workers for a badly needed rise in wages, he soon incurred the wrath of powerful forces and at one stage a mob assembled to attack his home. However women members of the organization handled the situation very bravely and tactfully and the mob dispersed after some time.

Amazingly, as the harvest season was approaching, the struggle succeeded in raising wages. To consolidate the gains, nearly 10,000 people gathered from many surrounding villages and formed a front or morcha (often simply called the morcha here by people) of women, workers, small and marginal farmers which continues to be active even today.

People from weaker sections and particularly women found the young organization refreshingly different as it was willing to take up the causes close to people’s needs irrespective of the risks involved.

Soon Keshavanand and his wife Jahnvi were in the middle of more difficulties. Local women had been increasingly disturbed by the increase in liquor consumption following the opening of liquor vends inside villages and when they decided to firmly oppose a particularly troublesome liquor vend in Pather village, true to its character Disha  extended its support to the peaceful movement of the villagers for the removal of the vend. However this liquor contractor turned out to be a very powerful person and the struggle had to continue in very difficult circumstances for several months. The prolonged struggle attracted a lot of attention and ultimately the state governor intervened personally to get the vend removed and the long struggle ended on a note of joy and achievement.

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However in the course of this and another struggle around the same time many women activists and others close to Disha, including Jahnvi, were injured in violent attacks and had to be hospitalized. Many others including Keshavanand were threatened and had to endure many hardships. At the same time, these struggles brought people close to each other.

From its outset Disha had been emphasizing constitutional values of non-discrimination, equality and justice at the level of entire communities but particularly among women. Members of Disha team led with their own example. Holi and Eid were celebrated by Hindus, Muslims and other communities together. Similarly people of all communities got together to observe various national days of special significance. Any kind of social discrimination whether at the level of religion, caste or gender was opposed. A beautiful program started by Disha was called ‘Mere Ghar Aakar Dekho’ (Why don’t you come over to my home). Under this initiative people of various communities invited persons from other communities (not close friends but first-time visitors) so as to break imaginary social barriers and encourage more interactions. This sometimes gave very good results and resulted in new friendships.

As in the case of anti-alcohol and other struggles, Hindu, Muslim, Dalit, High Caste all women had courageously faced dangers and risks together bravely, their ties became even stronger than before and in their various initiatives also they worked with more commitment and dedication.

One of the earliest programs of Disha which has continued to this day relates to the organization of self-help groups. Over the years their savings have increased significantly and now it is possible on the basis of these savings for women to start several small local enterprises. Hence women from very poor families have also been able to emerge as small entrepreneurs. In addition they are able to avoid the high interest loaning from private money lenders at the time of various emergencies or other special needs. These self-help group loans have been useful also for education of children. These SHGs have also played the role of drawing attention to several problems of their villages and particularly of women within these villages, and to contributing to resolving some of these problems.

Disha has also been involved in several ways in raising recognition for small farmers and in getting equal rights for women farmers. Groups of women farmers have also tried to spread improved agricultural practices. In some cases natural farming practices have been promoted, particularly in the context of a program of kitchen gardens which has been very useful for those with little or no farmland. Cultivation of medicinal plants has been promoted as a means of increasing earnings from small plots of land.

Along with this Disha has been trying to improve the access of weaker sections to various government schemes meant for them. Providing more detailed information about these schemes, helping in completing various formalities and establishing digital linkages has been helpful for many households particularly those with lower levels of literacy.

Literacy levels have been low particularly among Muslim girls and therefore Disha has started several centers for those Muslim girls who missed school. Here apart from receiving education they are also helped to join mainstream schools at a later stage.

For all other students, keeping in view the need for additional educational support, Disha has opened nearly 90 centers where after school hours students can go for additional educational help. Teachers from within these villages receive regular training organized by Disha. These centers are found to be particularly useful by those students from poorer households who feel the need for some tuition after regular school but cannot afford this. 

A more recent program of Disha that has been much appreciated relates to the spreading of constitutional values of equality, non-discrimination, dignity and fraternity among all people. This program in five districts operates through fellows who are encouraged and helped to have a very supportive understanding of these values and then try to spread and strengthen these in various ways so that the constitutional values can be realized and can become a reality of daily life of people and there is greater recognition and support for these among people. These fellows are in turn supported in various ways by some mentors.

Perhaps the program for which Disha is most widely recognized among people of many villages even beyond its main work-area relates to counselling and resolving disputes among various family members particularly in the context of cases which involve various forms of injustice towards women or domestic violence. As an organization which has been very experienced in this, Disha now receives such cases and complaints from a very wide area and even bigger organizations in Delhi sometimes consult Disha on such issues. Tasneem, a senior Disha member who has a lot of experience in this work, says that over 80 per cent of cases that come to Disha are resolved in a satisfactory manner for both parties.

This is a very commendable achievement as Disha comes to this issue with a perspective of justice for women and rights of women. Hence the ability to resolve these issue in conformity with these core values is a very significant achievement.

Tasneem and others say that a significant number of disputes can be resolved after the very first hearing which again is very satisfactory for all concerned, and speaks for the practical wisdom and experience with which Disha members approach this issue.

In addition Disha continues to work at various levels to increase public awareness of various related issues with the aim of reducing violence and injustice against women in various ways. While working for rights of women, Disha’s experiences also reveal that in a small number of cases, a few women or those instigating them have been misusing protective laws to harass others.

Disha has been taking up several new programs and issues from time to time, but it has consistently striven to remain very sincere to its core values of justice, equality and women’s rights. A dalit woman like Rajjo, a long-time member of the Disha family, who came from a very poor household rose to become the Vice-chairman of the local town area committee and then went on to help many people in significant ways by using this position. Ramrati, another dalit member of Disha, received an award following her great contribution to the anti-alcohol efforts. Several Muslim women who came out of the purda or veil system following encouragement from Disha became known widely as women rights activists. With the help of the Morcha many struggles for justice have been won.

Keshavanand Tiwari says,

“With the passage of time our ways of working may have changed somewhat, but what is important is that we have always continued to work for our core values and objectives.”

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Bharat Dogra is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include Protecting Earth for Children, Planet in Peril, Man over Machine and When the Two Streams Met. He is a regular contributor to Asia-Pacific Research.

All images in this article are from the author

Global Research is a reader-funded media. We do not accept any funding from corporations or governments. Help us stay afloat. Click the image below to make a one-time or recurring donation.