A Reassessment of Power and Social Development in Kerala, India

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Capability and Cultural Subjects – A Reassessment of Power and Social Development in Kerala, India

Tamara Nair

A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

School of Humanities, University of New South Wales

2012

THE UNIVERSITY OF NEW SOUTH WALES Thesis/Dissertation Sheet Surname or Family name: Nair First name: Tamara Other name/s: - Abbreviation for degree as given in the University calendar: PhD School: School of Humanities Faculty: Arts and Social Sciences Title: Capability and Cultural Subjects – A Reassessment of Power and Social Development in Kerala, India

Abstract

This thesis explores connections between power and social development through an examination of capabilities and the formation of cultural subjects in tribal and fishing communities in the state of Kerala, India. Kerala has long been studied for its unique development model and, since 1996, its People's Plan for Democratic Decentralisation. Although Kerala is not exclusive in pursuing decentralised planning, its successes make it stand out from other Indian states and even other parts of the developing world. Despite its achievements, several scholars question Kerala's development outcomes including the continued deprivation faced by tribal and fishing communities. Through analysing the disadvantages faced by these communities utilising Amartya Sen's capability approach and Michel Foucault's concepts of power and subject creation, this thesis hopes to contribute to a reassessment of social development in Kerala. By illuminating factors besides income that signify development, and acknowledging cultural contexts that affect the participation of marginalised communities in development planning and decision- making, the thesis proposes ways in which these communities can be empowered while also exploring barriers to this empowerment. Foucault's concepts in particular assist in examining these barriers, which arise from the exercise of power in society. In light of this, I investigate the potential for increasing the capabilities of these marginalised groups by looking at policy options and the need for further research in the field. The empirical data I collected through in-depth interviews and document analysis during a five-month field study in Kerala indicates that equitable development and effective public participation of marginalised communities have not been sufficiently addressed by the state and local governments. The thesis shows that government initiatives have not translated into greater capability for the marginalised, and have even impeded capability building for these communities, creating barriers to their inclusion in the development process. My case studies reveal that tribal and fishing communities feel their perceived place in society makes their contribution with regards to local-level planning negligible, and defines them mostly as beneficiaries and recipients of various social programmes rather than as effective participants in sustainable development.

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Abstract

This thesis explores connections between power and social development through an examination of capabilities and the formation of cultural subjects in tribal and fishing communities in the state of Kerala, India. Kerala has long been studied for its unique development model and, since 1996, its People's Plan for Democratic Decentralisation. Although Kerala is not exclusive in pursuing decentralised planning, its successes make it stand out from other Indian states and even other parts of the developing world. Despite its achievements, several scholars question Kerala's development outcomes including the continued deprivation faced by tribal and fishing communities. Through analysing the disadvantages faced by these communities utilising Amartya Sen's capability approach and Michel Foucault's concepts of power and subject creation, this thesis hopes to contribute to a reassessment of social development in Kerala. By illuminating factors besides income that signify development, and acknowledging cultural contexts that affect the participation of marginalised communities in development planning and decision-making, the thesis proposes ways in which these communities can be empowered while also exploring barriers to this empowerment. Foucault's concepts in particular assist in examining these barriers, which arise from the exercise of power in society. In light of this, I investigate the potential for increasing the capabilities of these marginalised groups by looking at policy options and the need for further research in the field. The empirical data I collected through in-depth interviews and document analysis during a five-month field study in Kerala indicates that equitable development and effective public participation of marginalised communities have not been sufficiently addressed by the state and local governments. The thesis shows that government initiatives have not translated into greater capability for the marginalised, and have even impeded capability building for these communities, creating barriers to their inclusion in the development process. My case studies reveal that tribal and fishing communities feel their perceived place in society makes their contribution with regards to local-level planning negligible, and defines them mostly as beneficiaries and recipients of various social programmes rather than as effective participants in sustainable development.

Acknowledgements

A researcher very rarely works on his or her own. This project has materialised as a result of assistance from a number of people to whom I am indebted. First and foremost, I would like to express my gratitude to my two ‘gurus’, Associate Professor Paul Brown and Dr Anthony Corones. Their critical feedback, valuable insights, refreshing ideas and demands for clarity helped me tremendously in this journey, especially during the intensive periods towards the end. Their constant support, encouragement and patience, is deeply appreciated. I would also like to thank Associate Professor Ursula Rao for taking the time to read my work and offering valuable insights.

I count myself very lucky to have met several good people during my stay in Kerala, India. The list is not exhaustive but a few deserve special mention. I am grateful to Professor GopaKumar of the University of Kerala who has been instrumental in the smooth and hassle-free execution of my field study. In addition to assisting me in numerous ways, including providing me a work space in his department, he has been kind enough to answer my many questions on the politics of the state. I extend my thanks to Dr Shaji Varkey who graciously spent time discussing my work with me. I also owe much to Dr Sajad Ibrahim who not only suggested ways to travel around Kerala (and helped make travel arrangements) but also opened his home to this researcher. My time spent in Kerala was all the more enjoyable in the company of his lovely family who made sure I never felt homesick. My thanks also go out to Dr Latha of the River Research Centre in Thrissur and Mr. T. Peter of KSMTF in Trivandrum. My visits to the local communities would not have happened were it not for their kind assistance. Their genuine concern and social activism on behalf of the marginalised communities in the state is an inspiration.

I am also much obliged to my fellow PhD candidates and friends, (the soon-to-be, in the very near future, Drs) M.M. Islam and Rabia Ali. Our discussions on all things south Asian (the good and not- so-good), philosophical, political, religious and the ‘general madness of the world’ has made my life richer and more importantly, more fun, in the research lab. To my friends Chitra Chua and Sandra Grund – I thank you for taking the time and effort at reading (something even I find difficult to do at times), editing and putting together valuable comments on my chapters. I have learnt so much from all of you and for that I am very grateful.

I would like to thank my family, my brothers and my mother, for their encouragement and support.

Lastly, to my husband, Thiru...your unwavering support and your constant and unfailing faith in my abilities has given me the strength to go the distance. To you I owe the greatest debt of gratitude.

I dedicate this work to my late father, Mr C.D. Nair. I know somehow that he knew I would complete this journey some day.

This project would not have been possible were it not for the cooperation and hospitality of the tribal and fishing communities that I visited. It is my sincere hope that this study, in at least a small way, moves towards bettering their lives.

Contents Page

Chapter 1: Introduction ...... 1 1.1 Sustainable development in Kerala ...... 1 1.2 Previous studies ...... 5 1.3 General approach and chapter outlines ...... 7 Chapter 2: Conceptual Framework and Methodology...... 12 2.1 Amartya Sen’s capability approach ...... 13 2.2 Foucault’s disciplinary power and subject creation ...... 20 2.3 The creation of ‘cultural subjects’: a field study of capabilities and the role of power ...... 24 2.3.1. The research scheme and its significance ...... 24 2.3.2. The field – Kerala, South India ...... 26 2.3.3. The methodology – Why interviews and documents? ...... 28 2.3.4. Data analysis, usage, and limitations ...... 31 2.4 Summary and conclusion ...... 33 Chapter 3: Reassessing the Kerala Model and the People’s Plan – Does Opportunity Lead to Capability?...... 35 3.1 The Kerala Model and the People’s Plan ...... 35 3.1.1. Realities of social development sans economic growth ...... 37 3.1.2. The political economy of decentralisation in Kerala ...... 41 3.1.3. Participatory planning – democratic decentralisation ...... 43 3.2 Does opportunity lead to capability? ...... 44 3.2.1. Caste oppression and capability ...... 46 3.2.2. Homogenisation and political patronage...... 47 3.2.3. Women and local planning ...... 51 3.2.4. Marginalised communities as ‘projects’ – participation in development ...... 54 3.3 Summary and conclusion ...... 55 Chapter 4: The People’s Plan and Local Government – Are Panchayats Enabling Institutions? ....57 4.1: Democratic decentralisation: local governments and capability building ...... 59 4.1.1. The constitutional amendments and decentralised administration ...... 59 4.1.2. The Kerala Panchayat Raj Act and the People’s Plan ...... 62 4.1.3. Field sites ...... 65 4.2: The enabling role of local government institutions ...... 67 4.2.1. Participatory planning and capability building ...... 67 4.2.2. Local governments and capability enhancing ...... 68 4.2.3. Gram sabhas and the needs of marginalised communities ...... 69 4.2.4. Attitudes of marginalised communities ...... 72 4.2.5. Attitudes of government officials and elected representatives ...... 73 4.2.6. Political patronage and capability enhancing ...... 74 4.3: Summary and conclusion ...... 77 Chapter 5: The Kadars of Athirapilly – Power, Cultural Subjects and Capability ...... 79 5.1 The Kadar Tribe ...... 81 5.1.1. Kadars and conservation ...... 83 5.1.2. Power dynamics ...... 86 5.1.3. Vana Samrakshana Samithi (VSS) – The Kadars and participatory planning ...... 87 5.2 Athirapilly hydroelectric project ...... 91 5.2.1. Rivers of Kerala ...... 91 5.2.2. Dam building in Kadar territory ...... 93

5.2.3. The fight for the river ...... 94 5.3 The Kadars as ‘cultural subjects’ – defining capabilities...... 97 5.3.1. Tribal marginalisation – identities and capabilities ...... 98 5.3.2. Kadars, capability and the bureaucracy ...... 100 5.3.3. Tribal communities and political participation ...... 102 5.3.4. Tribal capabilities and equity ...... 107 5.4 Summary and conclusion ...... 108 Chapter 6: The Mukkuvars of Vizhinjam – Caste, Church and Capability ...... 111 6.1 The fisher folk of Vizhinjam ...... 112 6.1.1. Caste and class ...... 115 6.1.2. The Roman (Latin) Catholic Church – power and capability ...... 118 6.1.3. Politics of the poverty line ...... 127 6.2 Community and capability ...... 131 6.2.1. Traditional knowledge and local level planning ...... 135 6.3 Summary and conclusion ...... 138 Chapter 7: Power, Capability and ‘Cultural Subjects’ – Theoretical Insights ...... 142 7.1 Marginalisation of deprived groups ...... 144 7.1.1. The creation of identities ...... 144 7.1.2. Power, normalisation and ‘truths’ ...... 146 7.1.3. Disciplinary powers – effects of homogenisation ...... 148 7.2 Foucault’s power –extending Sen’s capability approach ...... 151 7.2.1. Caste as disciplinary power: the realigning of social structures ...... 153 7.2.2. Caste disciplinary power and the capability approach ...... 157 7.2.3. The role of disciplinary powers in Kerala’s democratic decentralisation ...... 158 7.3 Resistance and the ‘unmaking’ of ‘cultural subjects’ ...... 162 7.4 Summary and conclusion ...... 166 Chapter 8: Concluding Remarks ...... 168 Glossary ...... 177 Bibliography ...... 180

List of Tables/Boxes/Maps

Table 2.1: Key terms in Sen’s capability approach...... 14 Table 2.2: Field locations and organisations/communities visited for data collection...... 27 Table 2.3: Interview Participants in Study...... 32 Box 2.1: Research Scheme...... 25 Map 2.1: Political Map of Kerala...... 27 Map 6.1a: Map of Colonial south India...... 113 Map 6.1b: Contemporary Map of south India...... 113

Abbreviations

ADSS Adivasi-Dalit Samara Samithi APL Above Poverty Line BJP Bharatiya Janata Party or the Indian People’s Party. The Party can be considered right-of-centre nationalist, focusing on Hindu nationalism. BPL Below Poverty Line CPM Communist Party of India (Marxists). The CPM forms the largest part of the Left Democratic Front (LDF) coalition in Kerala. CPSS Chalakkudy Puzha Samrakshana Samithi – Chalakkudy River Protection Forum FC Forward Castes IAS Indian Administrative Service KFD Kerala Forest Department KILA Kerala Institute for Local Administration KSEB Kerala State Electricity Board KSMTF Kerala Swathanthra Matsya Thozhillali Federation KSSP Kerala Sastra Sahithya Parishad, or the ‘People’s Science Movement’. Founded in 1962, KSSP is the largest social movement in the state. The organisation was against the fact that a privileged minority was monopolising the benefits of science and technology, resulting in their enrichment at the expense of the majority. Its main mission is to ‘arm’ the majority with the tools of science and technology. The movement adopted the motto ‘Science for Social Revolution’ in 1972. LDF Left Democratic Front NGO Non-Governmental Organisation OBCs Other Backward Castes RRC River Research Centre SC/STs Scheduled castes/ scheduled tribes SHG Self-Help Group TBGRI Tropical Botanical Garden Research Institute UDF United Democratic Front VSS Vana Samrakshana Samithi WAPCOS Water and Power Consulting Services

Chapter 1: Introduction

This thesis gives focus to the place of marginalised communities in processes of development and decentralisation in the state of Kerala, located in the south-western region of India. Kerala was formed on 1 November, 1957 with the merger of three political units, namely, the princely state of Cochin, the kingdom of Travancore, and the Malabar district which was part of the Madras Presidency under British rule (John 2009). Kerala is a distinct region separated from adjoining states by the Western Ghats, a mountain range which runs parallel to the Arabian Sea along India’s western coast. The state is one of the smaller states in India but is also one of India’s most densely populated. As will be discussed shortly, Kerala has long been known to development scholars for its unique development model, and, since 1996, its People’s Plan for Democratic Decentralisation (henceforth, the People’s Plan in this thesis). It is the aim of this chapter to highlight Kerala’s development trajectory and the state’s efforts at democratic decentralisation. In particular, the chapter opens up questions about the sustainability of Kerala’s development vis-à-vis its model as well as the People’s Plan.

This chapter consists of three sections. The next section introduces general themes on sustainable development in Kerala and discusses the need for a reassessment of Kerala’s development trajectory. In section 1.2 I summarise scholars’ differing views about whether the state’s development is sustainable. Section 1.3 discusses the general approach taken and provides a brief outline of the chapters in this thesis, which is built from field studies that also call into question the sustainability of Kerala’s development, with respect to intra- generational equity and effective public participation.

1.1 Sustainable development in Kerala Kerala has become famous for its unique development pattern marked by low per capita income and high rates of unemployment, but boasting high values in social indicators usually associated with highly industrialised nations (Parayil and Sreekumar 2003, 469). This type of development, achieved with little foreign assistance, and through timely and appropriate government interventions and effective popular movements, has become known as the Kerala model of development (Véron 2001, 605). Kerala has in fact proved that rapid economic

1 achievement and growth is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for genuine development (Parayil 2000, 7). Since 1996, there has been a campaign for decentralisation sweeping across the state that can only be described as a radical experiment in democracy (Isaac and Franke 2002, 5). The campaign has decentralised the functions of the bureaucracy, mobilised scores of activists and volunteers, ensured delivery of project funds to marginalised populations, brought about special projects for women and encouraged women elected officials and activists to participate more effectively in public life, among many other initiatives (ibid). Scholars attribute the achievements of the state and its unique route towards development to particular historical and political factors which paved the way for the campaign’s success.1 Though Kerala is not sui generis of such decentralised planning, it stands out from other Indian states or even other parts of the developing world. Since such devolved planning can have significant impacts on sustainable development, and because a decentralised system seems to promise inclusion of local communities in planning and decision-making, Kerala presents itself as a unique case for examination.

The World Commission on Environment and Development defines sustainable development as ‘development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs’ (WCED 1987, 43). Over the past three decades, sustainable development has become a popular concept globally and its principles underpin legislation and institutions at all levels of government, in most nations. However, several scholars, for example senior Indian economics and management expert, A.K. Biswas, state that with such a vague and simplistic definition, the commission itself was originally unable to specify what needs to be sustained or mention how this concept could be operationalised; and that subsequent attempts to implement sustainable development are therefore undermined. Biswas’ main contention is that the definition did not ‘include the realisation of a reasonable and equitably distributed level of economic well-being, without which no development can be sustainable over the long term’ (Biswas 2005, 71). The realisation of equitable economic distribution and long term sustainability of the economy and the natural environment was left in the hands of individual nations.

1 For a detailed analysis on historical and socio-cultural conditions that facilitated Kerala’s development, see Ramachandran 1997.

As political scientist and discourse analyst John Dryzek mentions, sustainable development has many players at many levels, both transnational and local, and all motivated by the public good (Dryzek 1997, 132). The discourse of sustainable development in India is mostly informed by the poverty and environment nexus that needs to be urgently addressed to ensure environmental (and hence economic) sustainability. It is a discourse that encompasses almost all aspects of human interactions and all classes of people although the sector responsible for directing India along its path of sustainable development is the bureaucracy. Corporations and non-governmental organisations (NGOs) as well as other agencies do take the initiative to move towards sustainable development, but it would seem that in India, the sustainable development discourse is most strongly manifest within the bureaucracy, a legacy of India’s colonial rule, where it underpins the management of natural resources, the environment and local-level planning. 2 Since the 73rd and 74th constitutional amendments, several states, including Kerala, have introduced legislation that transfers power over to communities in a bid to enhance community-led development by empowered (both administratively and financially) local self-government institutions. Kerala’s conformity legislation, the Kerala Panchayat Raj Act 1994 has been quite significant in this regard and together with the People’s Plan, seem to propel the state towards genuine grassroots-led development.

Sustainable development includes economic, ecological and social aspects of development. I highlight here that for the purposes of this study, the term ‘sustainable development’ is adapted from the WCED definition given above, but applied within the Kerala context. The five main principles of sustainable development are inter-generational equity, precaution, biodiversity conservation, intra-generational equity and the need for effective public participation (WCED 1987). Sustainable development has been a goal and a process that allows for economic growth, albeit without compromising resource bases, with intergenerational equity. That is, it enshrines the imperative to look to the needs of the future. Sudhir Anand and Amartya Sen mention in their work on human development and economic sustainability that, ‘the demand for sustainability is in fact a particular reflection of universality of claims applied for future generations vis-à-vis, us’ (Anand and Sen 2000, 2003). This concern reflects a belief that future generations should receive equal attention in the formulation of development goals since they stand to inherit both the successes and

2 Donald Schug’s work, among others, on the bureaucratisation of forest management in India provides a good example of such bureaucratic involvement in natural resource management (Schug 2000; also Kumar and Vashisht 2005; Kumar and Kant 2006).

3 failures of current attempts. Anand and Sen also state that in our anxiety to protect the future, the pressing claims of the present generation must not be overlooked. Although it is imperative that we sustain a level of life opportunities for the future equal to that enjoyed by the present, this would make little sense if those life opportunities that we aim to sustain are miserable and indigent (ibid). This, then, becomes a call towards attaining some form of intra-generational equity, its importance no less than that of the interests of future generations.

I believe the principles of intra-generational equity and effective public participation deserve greater focus, especially in a country like India, where economic growth, resource bases and human lives are so intricately linked and the income disparity is so wide. In the context of the reduced role of the bureaucracy and the empowering of local self-government institutions, in this thesis I aim to highlight these principles and their bearing on development trends in the state of Kerala, thus joining the ranks of other scholars (see below) in calling for a reassessment of Kerala’s development trend. Since this project deals with issues of equity focussing on marginalised communities and their place in the decentralisation discourse in Kerala, it adopts a more anthropocentric discourse in analysing the sustainability of long-term human development. As such, it deals with issues concerning social justice and equitable development. Empirical evidence I gathered from field studies seems to suggest that intra- generational equity issues have not been sufficiently addressed in the state. An entire development discourse has grown around the unique Kerala experience, garnering much admiration from development analysts. Yet there is evidence, as I will show, that certain deprived communities still lag behind.

Indeed, like several states in India as well as other parts of the world, Kerala does not have a good record in terms of dealing with its indigenous (tribal) populations and marginalised communities, for example, its fishing communities. If the state hopes to achieve social justice and democratic deepening which then would hopefully lead to development that is sustainable, all members of local communities must be incorporated and be effective participants in their own betterment. For now, it would be contentious to state that Kerala is a possible prototype for sustainable development given that sections of its population remain deprived and marginalised.

1.2 Previous studies In this section I will briefly review the work of key analysts who have recently commented on Kerala’s development. For example, eminent Kerala scholars René Véron and Govindan Parayil have separately discussed Kerala’s potential for carrying forward development in a sustainable manner. In his work on sustainable development in Kerala, René Véron draws a distinction between an ‘old’ Kerala model and a ‘new’ one (Véron 2001). For Véron, the ‘old’ model, which was preoccupied with redistributive policies, failed to introduce economic development into the state and as a result created an economically stagnant environment with increasing unemployment rates and greater dependence on overseas remittances (the majority of which are from the Gulf region). Véron outlines the emergence of a ‘new’ model in the 1990s which promised to better integrate community-based strategies for environmental protection and he proposes that this ‘new’ model holds important lessons for participatory community-based sustainable development in India and elsewhere (ibid, 601). This new approach underwrites Kerala’s People’s Plan.

Véron also cites a World Bank study that assessed the macroeconomic practices of 18 developing countries from the mid-1960s, and isolated four factors that determine sustainable development. These are natural capital, human capital, physical capital and social capital (ibid, 602; World Bank 1997). Véron then argues that sustainable development is possible when the total stock of these assets remains constant or grows further (Véron op cit). However, according to Jules Pretty and Hugh Ward, natural and social capital have been undervalued because of their ‘public goods’ nature (Pretty and Ward 2001; Pretty 1998). Kerala’s historical and political context has in fact given rise to an accumulation of social capital through reforms and the action of social movements in the past few decades. As Dréze and Sen state, in their analysis of India’s development, social development such as the extension of basic education, access to healthcare, land reforms, and access to social security measures are key factors to ensure development (Dréze and Sen 1998). Here we see Kerala leading other Indian states with its progressive social policies, which have seen the state achieve high literacy rates, better medical and healthcare for its people and an efficient public distribution system.

According to Thomas Isaac and K.N. Harilal, the explicit aim of decentralisation in Kerala was to increase production and productivity in agriculture, alleviate ecological problems, improve the quality of social infrastructure, and overcome gender injustice and the

5 deprivation of tribal populations and fisher folk (Isaac and Harilal, 1997). According to Véron, ‘the “new” Kerala model has pursued the objectives of productive development, social improvement and environmental sustainability, thus representing a serious attempt to make development sustainable’ (Véron op cit, 607). Although in large part, this is the case, as reflected by successful projects in decentralised planning (Arun, Arun and Devi 2011, 171; Isaac and Franke 2002, 154-55 and Franke and Chasin 1997), the exclusion of deprived communities, as empirical data suggests (chapters five and six), seems to blindside the state’s attempts at sustainable development.

Despite the fact that Véron is optimistic that the state will achieve sustainability in development, he acknowledges that the empowerment of marginalised communities is a critical issue that needs to be recognised before this can take place. Decentralised planning does not ensure empowerment of deprived communities and neither is local participation in development plans a reflection of the voices of marginalised groups (Véron op cit, 612). This is corroborated by data I gathered from the field and will be examined further in chapters three through to six.

Well-known Kerala scholar, Govindan Parayil, takes another approach to assessing sustainability in Kerala. Parayil defines sustainable development not by how it should be practised but by how a state or society reflects some of the characteristics of what might be deemed as sustainable development (Parayil 1996). To this end, he identifies Kerala as a possible case study, and claims that Kerala comes close to a prototype of sustainable development. Recognising its limitations, Parayil puts forward the argument that the Kerala model ‘has stood out in demonstrating through democratic means that radical improvements in the quality of life of ordinary citizens are possible without high economic growth and without consuming large quantities of energy and other natural resources’ (ibid, 942). Throughout this thesis, I argue that essential elements of what might constitute sustainable development, (i.e. intra-generational equity and effective public participation from marginalised communities), are missing in Kerala, raising concerns about social justice and even biodiversity conservation (to be discussed in chapter five). According to Parayil, radical reductions in population growth and other progressive social change are results of changes brought about by democratically elected state governments using non-coercive methods. As Parayil contends

it should be reiterated that reducing social and economic inequalities through democratic and peaceful means is the best way to practice sustainable development. And to a large extent Kerala has shown that despite tremendous odds, it was able to eliminate acute poverty and deprivation without attaining rapid growth in per capita GNP as is ‘expected’ of all economic development models/theories (Parayil op cit, 950).

There is no denying Kerala’s attainments as stated above, however there is a need for the state to move beyond the achievements of the model or the People’s Plan. Several scholars have already begun to reassess the state’s ‘progressive’ policies in light of gender inequality, economic stagnation, and the marginalisation of tribal and fishing communities (Devika 2010 and Saradamoni 2006; Tharamangalam 1998 and Kannan 1998; Steur 2009 and Damodaran 2006a; and Kurien 2000, respectively). Current literature surrounding issues mentioned above and empirical evidence seem to highlight the precariousness in placing too much emphasis and confidence in Kerala’s existing development strategy and path.

1.3 General approach and chapter outlines Amartya Sen’s capability approach is one way of appreciating the existence of different values and opportunities that exist in society. Sen’s approach, as will be demonstrated throughout this thesis, highlights the importance of non-numeric, qualitative components in assessing development. These might include different discourses surrounding the definition of ‘development’. By assessing such qualitative factors, we are also able to identify reasons, apart from income, that continue to keep tribal and fishing communities in Kerala in a deprived state. Sen’s work and its relevance to this thesis will be discussed in greater detail in the next chapter.

Contemporary issues surrounding social justice are often issues of power and how it is played out in the framework of modern development discourse. One of the principle aims of this thesis is to highlight the effects of power mechanisms on social justice and equity as well as the empowerment of marginalised communities in Kerala, within the state’s attempts at decentralised development. As I will also set out in chapter two, Michel Foucault’s work on power and its related effects provide valuable insights into social behaviour, and can be used to analyse the participation of tribal and fishing communities in decentralised planning.

Foucault describes power as an all-pervasive element that works through the social body and ‘guides’ behaviour in society (Foucault 1998, 92 – 93). Power and its effects on the capabilities of tribal and fishing communities in the state come from the understanding that power mechanisms in operation dictate the level of empowerment accorded to these groups. This then restricts their role in decentralised planning to that of beneficiaries and mere observers rather than effective participants.

In order to navigate through the portals of power mechanisms, an examination of the capabilities of these communities is in order. In light of Kerala’s decentralisation efforts, and using Sen’s approach, I investigate whether income and lifestyle disparities between marginalised groups and mainstream society have been addressed by the People’s Plan (chapter three) and by the newly ‘renewed’ local government institutions (chapter four). After this general analysis, deeper investigation into the capabilities of marginalised groups is presented in chapters five and six through case studies. The value of Foucault’s account on power becomes evident when I attempt to analyse and understand what has been revealed through my investigation in chapter seven where Foucault’s work extends Sen’s approach and allows for a deeper understanding of why tribal and fishing communities in the state remain marginalised.

The next chapter, chapter two, discusses the conceptual framework and methodology adopted in this study. Amartya Sen’s capability approach will be used to examine capabilities of marginalised tribal and fishing communities. I highlight the need for different sources of information that should go into development planning, rather than continuing the focus on the utilitarian-based indicators that signal Kerala as a possible prototype for sustainable development. In using this approach, it is also possible to identify certain barriers that might stand in the way of capability enhancement of these communities. Empirical data seems to suggest that caste hierarchisation is a significant barrier to effective and full participation of these deprived communities. I argue that these barriers are essentially issues of uneven power in society. The chapter also deals with methodological aspects of the thesis including the significance of the research, methods used and their appropriateness. I also discuss issues of limitations in methodology as well as some ethical considerations in carrying out data collection.

In chapter three, I argue that despite the state’s achievements in social development and participatory planning, there are groups that are excluded from these achievements. Using Sen’s capability approach describing development as a function of different freedoms, I argue that opportunities extended to local communities, as reflected in welfare programmes and participatory planning, do not reach the tribal and fishing communities in the state and that achievements that elevate the Kerala model and the People’s Plan have been at the expense of these communities. This chapter brings to light the fact that opportunities that have been presented to these communities have not been easily taken up and where they have been, have not translated to greater capability for these communities to be party to the state’s development programmes.

Chapter four will address the wider objectives of the People’s Plan and the 1994 Kerala Panchayat Raj Act in terms of increasing public participation and therefore increasing responsibility and accountability of local self-governments. Although several best practices have been identified to this effect, I argue local government institutions that cover areas of tribal and fishing communities do not necessarily enable these communities to become effective participants in democratic decentralisation. Through a series of in-depth as well as informal interviews and document analysis, using the Athirapilly panchayat and the Vizhinjam Municipal Corporation as examples, the chapter illuminates how local governments can impede capability building in marginalised communities, and hence stand as barriers to popular inclusion in the development process.

Chapter five is a case study looking at the Kadar tribal community’s participation in local development. The proposed construction of a seventh dam along the Chalakkudy River in Kerala will displace two colonies of the Kadar tribe and destroy habitats of local wildlife as well as devastate unique riverine vegetation endemic to the Western Ghats, a biological ‘hotspot’. There have been no attempts to understand and integrate local power distribution and cultural conditioning in the state’s active decentralisation strategies vis-à-vis tribal communities. A series of in-depth interviews were conducted in Chalakkudy and Athirapilly in Thrissur district. The data revealed that members of tribal communities felt that their perceived place in society made their contribution with regards to local-level planning negligible in decentralised strategies. This chapter also looks at how the creation of ‘cultural subjects’ through social/cultural stereotyping has for the most part excluded tribal communities in democratic decentralisation. Sen’s capability perspective offers a framework

9 to examine the role of the Kadars in sustainable resource management as well as their greater role in development planning in the Western Ghats. This case also illuminates the importance of other factors besides income that affect development.

Chapter six is also a case study, examining participation opportunities for the Vizhinjam fishing community. Located in the southwest coast of Kerala, around 16 kilometres from Trivandrum, Vizhinjam fishing village is predominantly occupied by the Latin Catholic Mukkuvar community. The People’s Plan has opened up several opportunities for participatory planning in this community, especially with regards to the livelihoods of the fishing families as well as the sustainable management of the marine resources on which these communities are dependent. Opportunities also exist for active participation of fishermen as well as fisherwomen in the collection of data and monitoring of diverse projects conducted by various research institutes on marine flora and fauna. Unfortunately, these opportunities have not been employed in this manner. Using data from field visits, in-depth interviews and a review of literature on Kerala fishing communities, I argue that these communities are seen more as beneficiaries and recipients of various social programmes rather than participants in local-level planning. Sen’s capability approach is a likely means of revealing a number of ways that this community can be empowered, including utilising existing local or traditional management strategies. Chapter six also introduces yet another barrier to effective participation of this community in local development, namely, the Catholic Church.

Chapter seven extends the use of Sen’s capability approach and underscores the importance of both power and social choice in development studies. Preceding chapters will have demonstrated that despite the achievements of the vaunted Kerala model of development and greater public participation through the People’s Plan, the capabilities of tribal and fishing communities remain limited. In this chapter, I extend the capability approach through Foucault’s ideas on power and disciplinary action, exploring the possibilities in addressing issues of deprivation and marginalisation of these communities. I argue that a realignment of the People’s Plan with the enabling capacity of local government institutions is one way this can be done. Another way is to explore the ‘unmaking’ of ‘cultural subjects’ through inspecting the workings of power dynamics, especially in caste social order, that exist in Kerala society. Here I scrutinise the possibilities of subversion of power that has hold over these communities. Leading from this, I investigate the potential for increasing capabilities of

10 these marginalised groups by looking at policy options and the necessity for further research in the field.

Chapter eight looks at the overall need to reassess Kerala’s development path in pursuit of social justice and equitable sustainable development vis-à-vis marginalised communities in the state. It also stresses the significance of such a reassessment if development objectives such as poverty eradication and intra-generational equity are to take place. In addition to this, the chapter summarises main arguments covered in the thesis and closes with discussion of further areas for research surrounding issues covered in this study.

Chapter 2: Conceptual Framework and Methodology

This chapter presents the conceptual perspectives and fieldwork methodology undertaken in this study. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the study is placed within the discourse of sustainable development, and in particular, it deals with issues concerning intra-generational equity and public participation surrounding democratic decentralisation and social justice. Development, as used in the context of decentralisation in Kerala, involves ‘closing gaps’ between those that are perceived to be faring well, as recognised by aggregate values of social indicators (outlining for example, literacy, health and hygiene standards etc), and those that fall short of these aggregates. This approach, as will be discussed in this chapter, is based on utilitarian thinking that tries to narrow ‘happiness’ or ‘advantage’ to a single unit. Although such an approach allows for easy comparison, it fails to capture salient factors that give rise to these differences in the first place. Here, I introduce the capability perspective, which with its focus on a more pluralistic approach offers an alternative viewpoint in determining levels of development. It allows for an examination of factors, apart from just income, that may stand in the way of equitable development (as revealed by utilitarian-based indicator values). This sort of analysis gives a better understanding of the role of cultural/social contexts that can determine both public participation and also a more non- discriminatory distribution of various assets, hence development. I argue that in expanding and enhancing the current generation’s capabilities to live lives they have reason to value, what is being sustained is a better quality of life and access to necessary resources that will ensure future generations are able to meet their own needs.

In addition to laying out the conceptual and methodological framework, the chapter will also address issues such as, why particular sites in Kerala were chosen, the appropriateness of research methods used, methods of data collection and analysis as well as data usage. The chapter ends with consideration of limitations in the methodology. The next section discusses the main conceptual framework, Amartya Sen’s capability approach and its relevance to this thesis. That is, in section 2.1, I discuss how the capability approach might be one way of examining participation levels of marginalised communities in local-level planning. Section 2.2 provides a brief introduction to Foucauldian concepts as an analytical tool (as utilised in

12 this thesis). Section 2.3 deals with the methodological aspects of the thesis followed by the chapter’s conclusion in section 2.4.

2.1 Amartya Sen’s capability approach In his seminal work, Development as Freedom, Nobel laureate Amartya Sen argues that very many people around the world suffer from varieties of ‘unfreedoms’ – including the basic freedom to live, as a result of the denial of fundamentals like adequate nutrition, access to healthcare, access to sanitary arrangements or to clean water (Sen 1999, 15). Sen develops his argument by defining freedom both as a process that allows freedom of actions and decisions and as an actual opportunity or opportunities that a person has, given their personal and social circumstances (ibid, 17). Consequently, ‘unfreedom’ can be a result of both inadequate processes (for example the violation of political or civil rights) or through inadequate opportunities that some people have for being able to achieve what they would like to achieve (for example, the capability to escape involuntary starvation or preventable morbidity) (ibid).

Sen’s capability approach is one way of judging the advantages a person has in terms of his or her ability to do things he or she has reason to value. In his book, The Idea of Justice, Sen claims that in assessing human lives, one should not only be interested in the kind of life one leads but also in the freedom that one has to actually choose between different styles and ways of living, and that recognising this freedom is important because it paves the way to broaden one’s other concerns and obligations (Sen 2009, 227). According to Sen, this becomes important when we turn our attention to questions regarding environmental responsibility and sustainable development (ibid). Extending from this line of thinking, we can also consider issues of equity and social justice. Considering development in terms of increasing the freedom of human beings allows for the consideration of the agency of people (ibid, 249). This could include the agency of people in economic, social and environmental sustainability. Therefore, I contend that the examination of concepts such as ‘freedom’ and ‘capability’ have great bearing on development goals including poverty eradication, gender equity and environmental preservation – all part of Kerala’s People’s Plan.

The discussion below will focus briefly on some key themes extracted from Sen’s as well as from Jean Dréze and Sen’s writings on freedoms(s) and capabilities as they apply to development. I will also put forward my interpretation and application of these concepts to

this chapter and the chapters that follow. In table 2.1, I have summarised Sen’s main concepts and their applicability. Table 2.1: Key terms in Sen’s capability approach Concept Meaning Relevance to Kerala Freedom Defined both as a process that allows freedom of actions and decisions and as actual opportunities that a person has, given their personal and social circumstances (Sen 1999, 17). ‘Unfreedom(s)’ The denial of fundamentals like adequate In the case of marginalised communities in nutrition, access to healthcare, access to Kerala, the inability to have full and effective sanitary arrangements or to clean water (Sen participation in local-level planning as a result of 1999, 15). ‘Unfreedom’ can be a result of caste-based barriers can be seen as an both inadequate processes or through ‘unfreedom’. inadequate opportunities that some people have for being able to achieve what they would like to achieve (ibid). ‘Positive Describes what a person can choose to do or The presence of caste-based barriers in tribal and freedom(s)’ achieve according to his/her capabilities. fishing communities’ participation in local development can be seen as an ‘unfreedom’ as discussed above. This reduces these communities’ choices and abilities, for example, the ability of tribals and fisher folk to bring necessary changes to their communities. The choices and means to do this are reduced because of caste discrimination. This is seen as reduced ‘positive freedom’ of these communities. ‘Negative The absence of restraints one person may The People’s Plan can be described as an exercise freedom(s)’ exercise over another or the state may to improve ‘negative freedom’ as it removes exercise over individuals (Sen 1988b, 272). institutional barriers to public participation. Therefore, the Plan, which has institutionalised decentralisation efforts (including fiscal and administrative devolution), makes it possible for all citizens to participate freely in development planning in their community. As a result, ‘negative freedom’ is enhanced.

Capabilities The range of options a person has in deciding The greater the combination of options or what kind of life to lead (Drèze and Sen opportunities that marginalised communities 1998, 10 – 11). have, the more capability they achieve. Enhanced capabilities will be reflected in better access to resources. This also allows and encourages tribal and fishing communities in Kerala to participate in, and even influence local development planning thus allowing them the freedom to lead the type of lives they have reason to value. Information Data beyond homogenous values, including In the case of Kerala, this means going beyond non-numeric, qualitative data that might not using values given by social development be easily measured but has an important place indicators which chart levels of literacy or health in development planning. to indicate levels of development. This also means looking at more qualitative indicators such as cultural factors that play an important role in defining development.

Sen discusses the two forms of freedom – ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ freedoms, in his writings. The former describes what a person can choose to do or achieve and the latter view of freedom focuses on the absence of restraints one person may exercise over another or the state may exercise over individuals (Sen 1988b, 272). ‘Positive’ and ‘negative’ freedoms have been covered extensively by Sen, and Drèze and Sen in their works (Sen 1988a, b; Sen 1999; Sen 2009; Drèze and Sen 1998) as well as by other scholars. In Kerala, there has been some discussion on the state’s role in terms of ‘negative freedom’ i.e. the removal of barriers/restraints (see Oommen 2006; Kannan and Pillai 2004). I argue that ‘positive freedom’ – one’s ‘doings’ (the ability to do) or ‘beings’ (the state of being e.g. well being) (Sen 1988b, 15), are rarely examined or not examined enough in the context of decentralisation or development in the state. I will show that the effectiveness of decentralisation, and claims that such decentralisation supports social justice (Franke and Chasin 1995) and community-led development are dubious especially with regards to participation from marginalised groups like the tribal and fishing communities in Kerala.

If development is concerned with the achievement of a better life, analysing development should include the nature of the life that people succeed in living (Sen 1988a, 15). I intend to focus on marginalised tribal and fishing communities’ capabilities for effective participation in decentralised planning strategies, through local government initiatives and gram sabhas

(village assemblies). Drèze and Sen describe capability as the alternative combinations of options or opportunities from which a person can choose, making capability an idea of freedom – the range of options a person has in deciding what kind of life to lead (Drèze and Sen op cit, 10 – 11). It is my contention that although opportunities for democratic participation are in place and are institutionalised, and plans and programmes exist to include and consult these marginalised communities, they are not able to effectively utilise these strategies to better their lives.3 This is for the greater part, a result of state and societal ‘norms’, and also in part their own understanding of who they are and how they should be. This argument will be further elaborated in later chapters.

One of the most important questions that arises from Sen’s capability approach concerns achievement and opportunity. Why is there a need to go beyond achievement to opportunity? Critics of Sen’s approach (Cohen 1993, Arneson 1989, Stewart 1985 and Streeten 1981, cited in Sen 2009, 235) ask whether it would be more appropriate to base social judgments (of advantages and disadvantages of people) on actual achievements rather than the capabilities of people to achieve (ibid, 235). In Idea of Justice, Sen counters this critique by stating that the importance of the perspective of capabilities and freedom lies in its versatility, the approach being more general and more informational-ly inclusive (ibid). For example, Sen states that even an exact ‘tie’ between two people in achieved abilities may still hide significant differences between the two. That is, one person might really be more disadvantaged than the other (ibid, 236 – 237). Whereas by looking at opportunities and choices, we gain more information in order to make more informed decisions (public policies) concerning development plans and goals. As a policy issue, the distinction between capabilities and achievement is important for another reason as well. This, Sen states, has to do with the responsibilities and obligations of societies and individuals to help the deprived which can have important implications for public provisions and the pursuit of human rights. Sen illustrates this with the provision of basic healthcare as an example. A guarantee of basic healthcare is concerned with endowing people with the capability for enhancing their state of health. If such an opportunity exists and a person, with full knowledge, decides not to partake of this service, then deprivation is not so much a social concern compared with failing to provide the person with such a service (ibid, 238). To provide another example more relevant

3 Effective participation here is understood to mean the capacity to freely participate in decision-making as well as, at least in part, the ability to influence the outcomes of that process.

16 to this research, it is not enough to institutionalise participatory planning and hope it will lead to greater equity in resource allocation and poverty eradication because deprivation can still exist in such a system if capabilities and opportunities are not enhanced, preventing the deepening of democracy. There is much literature praising Kerala’s decentralisation efforts and programmes but how have these translated to actual effective participation, especially from the most deprived communities? A study of these communities’ capabilities might reveal the extent of their participation and this can have implications for policy-making.

Most of the debates surrounding development discourse concentrate on the relationship between policy instruments and the agreed objectives which these instruments serve. However for Sen, development discourse requires a new focus on data and information. Sen argues that The capability perspective does point to the central relevance of the inequality of capabilities in the assessment of social disparities, but it does not, on its own, propose any specific formula for policy decisions…the assessment of societies and social institutions can be deeply influenced by the information on which the approach focuses, and that is exactly where the capability approach makes its main contribution (Sen 2009, 232 – 234). The call for the use of more demographic and health-related information has been seen in recent as well as past works in development planning; and Sen uses this to illustrate the point of seeking different types of data, often neglected in traditional development assessment (Sen 1988a, 21). In his argument for the capability approach, Sen states that it is ‘possible that a more explicit characterisation of well-being and of people’s freedom to achieve what they would value achieving will increase the demand for data and information in the conceptualisation of development’ (ibid, 20 – 21). Similarly, by using the capability approach in analysing development of tribal and fishing communities in Kerala, the need for greater and varied (often more qualitative) information becomes apparent if effective development policies targeting these groups are to be formulated.

Sen writes that any theory of justice has to decide the features of the world that provide the basis for assessing justice and injustice in a society (Sen 2009, 231). Sen discusses two alternative approaches: the utility-based approach (pioneered by Jeremy Bentham, looking at individual happiness and pleasure) and the resource-based approach (as espoused by practical exercises in economics, indicating advantage in terms of income, wealth and resources). Both

17 are ways of assessing an individual’s overall advantage (ibid). Given that the capability approach advocates use of detailed information for judging and comparing individual advantages, this suggests that in dealing with poverty eradication, natural resource management and wider issues of development, effective plans and programmes require carefully derived data on both individual happiness and economic indicators. Sen goes on to argue that once these information needs are recognised, there might then re-emerge a reasonable degree of consensus on what is to be valued and how this valuation takes place, with the caveat that there is also room for much disagreement regarding the importance of different aspects of well-being (ibid). Sen considers this caveat as the problem of ‘value heterogeneity’, a concept with some bearing on the study of social justice in Kerala.

Value heterogeneity points to the possibility of opening up what I would call negotiable space for the inclusion of cultural factors, such as caste order, in the analysis of local power dynamics. From here, the creation of ‘cultural subjects’ can be explored, and these ideas also contribute to the exploration of empowerment and ‘voice’ of marginalised tribal and fishing communities – ideas that merge well with the capabilities of members of these communities – within the larger development discourse of the state. This would be a starting point for social negotiations on the meaning of well-being.

Sen’s approach to ‘information’ differs from a typical utilitarian approach. Generally, economists and policy-makers are comfortable with homogenous values of ‘happiness’ or ‘advantage’, and with the prospect that these make policies easy to manipulate to achieve a desired numerical outcome. However, Sen succinctly writes that ‘we cannot reduce all things we have reason to value into one homogenous magnitude’ (ibid, 239), and his view is supported by the situation in Kerala: the long tradition of utilitarianism together with assumed homogenous utility has contributed to the sense of security in measurable advantage; and the use of the gross national product (GNP) as an indicator of economic progress of a nation is an example of this (ibid). This is not unlike the use of social indicator values to demonstrate Kerala’s ‘development’ relative to other states in India or the developing world. However, the reliance on these indicators (or other units such as income and wealth) to assess social development and progress is a cause for concern since empirical evidence seems to suggest that social progress in marginalised communities (tribal and fisher folk) has slowed considerably or even stalled; compared with earlier times when radical

18 social reforms seemingly improved the lives of these groups (Heller 2001, 142; Kumar 1997, 250 – 215 ; Isaac and Tharakan 1995, 9).

As previously discussed in chapter one, it would seem that the sustainability of the state’s development is debatable. hAlthoug literacy levels for both males and females are high, unemployment rates for females are highest in India (Shah 2010, 19). While health and medical care is available, Primary Health Centres (PHCs) are not well utilised by some (marginalised) communities because of the lack of capacity building in these communities (Mohindra, Narayana and Haddad 2010). There is also great concern about the increasing levels of diabetes and the rise of other such lifestyle diseases in the state (Varghese and Vijayakumar 2008; Raman Kutty, Joseph and Soman 1999). And although great leaps have been made in participatory planning and broadening the reach of democracy, not everyone is enabled to participate in such democratic ideals. All this points to the need to move away from mere numbers to assess more qualitative values such as capabilities of individuals. Such assessments will provide valuable information which can then be used to inform policy- making.

Here it is necessary to mention that numerical indicators of wealth and resource-based growth are not inconsequential. However, as Anand and Sen write, the problem with such indicators is that they disregard the lack of bias needed to comprehend social justice and human development (Anand and Sen 2000, 2031). To further elaborate, the authors state that The most basic problem with the opulence view is its comprehensive failure to take note of the need for impartial concern in looking at the real opportunities individuals have. The exclusive concentration only on incomes at the aggregative or individual levels ignores the plurality of influences that differentiate the real opportunities of people... (ibid). Capabilities are varied, as they undoubtedly would be, since they reflect different abilities of individuals and aspects of their lives (Sen 2009, 239). This goes back to Sen’s concept of ‘value heterogeneity’, as discussed above. Wealth maximisation (and its related values of income and GNP), then, is a necessary but not sufficient condition for development.

Below is a summary of what the above discussion illustrates regarding Sen’s capability perspective.

 If development is concerned with the achievement of a better life, evaluating that development should include the nature of the lives people succeed in living, or in other words, their capabilities to live the lives they value.  The idea of capability is tied to freedom – it is the range of options one has to decide on the kind of life one wants to lead.  In assessing development the recognition of freedom (both ‘positive’ and ‘negative’) paves the way to broaden other concerns and obligations – as freedom allows for the consideration of agency.  The capability perspective is more versatile and general and allows for a pluralistic and comprehensive approach towards data collection in order to make informed development plans.  The capability approach allows for the opening up of new levels of consensus as well as negotiable space for the inclusion of non-numeric (or more qualitative) values.  The capability perspective, most importantly, allows for a reassessment in the value of what is being sustained for the future. The failure to do so might result in greater deprivation and marginalisation. The next section looks at how the work of Michel Foucault might be used to extend Sen’s capability perspective in understanding the inclusion of marginalised communities in the People’s Plan.

2.2 Foucault’s disciplinary power and subject creation The focus of this research is to examine the level of empowerment of marginalised communities in Kerala and their ability to participate effectively in the state’s decentralisation policies. To understand how empowerment can be achieved requires discussion of power and its distribution. No society has equal distribution of power. In their work on the extent of inclusion in local governance in India, B.S. Baviskar and George Mathew claim that the important question is in fact how this inequality of power in society can be explained? According to these authors, there are two schools of thought that emerged in the 1950s and 60s that might provide an explanation, that of the elite theorists and that of the pluralists (Baviskar and Mathew 2009, 4). The elite theorists argued that upper classes always ruled and political power always went to those that enjoyed high status and wealth. Contradicting this view, pluralists argued that the view expounded by the elite theorists was too simplistic

20 and distribution of power in a society was determined by a combination of resources and skills possessed by the people (ibid). In India, the 73rd and 74th constitutional amendments created provisions for the representation of marginalised communities in local government. In doing so, the Union government in fact created a ‘resource’ – a ‘legitimate space’, as Medha Lele points out (Lele 2001) – that allowed these groups to possess power in the absence of wealth and status, thereby following a pluralist line of thinking (Baviskar and Mathew op cit, 5). However, the main question remains – has possession of this ‘resource’ translated to influence in decision-making? In order to ascertain level of influence, the pluralists focus on studying the processes of decision-making (ibid). This research follows the pluralist ideas of different sources of power and rejects the notion that power lies only in the hands of those that possess wealth and status. It is through examining participation strength and assessing levels of influence that we can understand the power (or empowerment) and influence of deprived groups in the wake of reservation4 in local governments.

On a larger scale, this thesis aims to make known the play of power and identity that generates subjugation of certain groups, a result of cultural practices, which defines relationships between the various stakeholders in decentralised planning strategies. For example, I have identified hierarchising effects of caste society as a cultural practice. I am interested in the role and the effects of such practice in Kerala society, specifically with regards to local power dynamics. More specifically, how does caste play a part in empowerment and hence, effective participation in the People’s Plan?

Here I use Foucault’s ideas on disciplinary power and subject creation (Foucault 1972, 1984, 1998, 2002 and elsewhere) to examine how society functions and formulates ideas and perceptions, and dictates behaviour of the social body. It was Foucault’s intention that his work be a way of re-analysing society. As a postmodern thinker, Foucault moves away from a rational arrangement (and explanation) of society to propose a more dynamic, less ‘organised’, more fluid and pervasive element (power) that dictates society’s organisation and evolution. It is important to point out that this discussion does not presume an exposition of Foucauldian thought in relation to deprived communities. It merely attempts to examine the concept of power (and its related concepts such as subject creation) in the social milieu of

4 The idea of reservation in India is similar to that of affirmative action in the United States where legislation or certain public policies are created to assist in the uplifting of deprived communities or groups. The intention is to promote equal opportunity to compensate for past discrimination.

Kerala. As Eric Darrier points out, a Foucauldian approach is most helpful when trying to comprehend the making or deconstruction of subjectivities, and the realistic political strategies of confrontation that are being examined (Darrier 1999, 27). To this I add that in this thesis, Foucault’s concepts such as power, the concept of discipline (which can be defined as ‘schemes’ of power), and the idea of subject creation can also play a part in an overall framework for analysing the effectiveness of decentralised planning and decision- making. These will be examined in greater detail in chapter seven.

With regard to power, the focus of this thesis is on the functioning of Kerala society vis-à-vis caste social order. When techniques of power5 dictate perceptions and actions of a particular group of people, as caste order has done through hierarchising social groups, such techniques create an identity for individuals that the disciplinary power seeks to control or subjugate. Here Foucault explains techniques of power as being ‘co-extensive with the social body’ and the effect of these techniques is that they ‘play at once a conditioning and a conditioned role’ (Foucault 1980b, 142). In effect, these individuals become ‘subjects’ as a result of the techniques of a particular power mechanism. These techniques create subjects of society and allocate to them particular identities and capabilities (as defined by the power mechanism in operation). Since caste, as mentioned above, is categorised as a cultural practice/factor, and as a disciplinary power (section 7.3.1.), I describe contemporary Kerala society as being under the influence of such a power mechanism.

Various scholars have used Foucauldian ideas in diverse fields of study. For example, scholars of development and gender studies have employed Foucault’s ideas to explain the practices/ discourses that surround their disciplines (Brigg 2002 and Sylvester 1999 among others, for ideas on development studies and colonial studies; Bartky 1998 and Scott 1988 among others, for gender-related studies). Scholars looking at environmental discourses have also employed Foucauldian concepts to evaluate how such discourses act out in both the local and global scenarios (Hajer and Versteeg 2005; Rydin 2003; Dryzek 1997; Hajer 1995 among others). Foucault’s intention, as mentioned earlier, was a reformulation of how society should be analysed. It was not intended to be an analytical framework or tool. Yet we find in

5 These techniques are loosely defined as ‘methods’ used to ensure/inculcate ‘right’ behaviour. The techniques might work through the law, rules and regulations or even belief systems such as religious beliefs. They can be imposed on people through institutions like religions, legislation or even schools. From here, it can also be imposed upon oneself and others through ritual practices and beliefs.

22 his work significant contributions to studies surrounding issues such as resistance, dominance, power, and the work of institutions, all of which we also find in contemporary development discourses and being played out in the field as I will later show in my case studies.

Although Foucault’s systems of thought are essentially a western construct, they can be adapted to suit cultural and environmental politics in developing nations. In India, scholars like Amita Baviskar and Arun Agrawal have explored, to some extent, Foucauldian ideas of disciplinary power and subjectivities. These scholars call for a move away from ‘superficial analyses’ and push for research into the workings of powers at play within communities and the creation of subjects as a result of these powers. Baviskar examines these areas in her book, In the Belly of the River (Baviskar 1997). In her later writings, Baviskar moves away from a study of political ecology to what she calls Cultural Politics (Baviskar 2003). She defines Cultural Politics as a worldview that not only looks at the unequal workings of power but also at the complex situations under which identities and interests are not pre-determined but evolve through ‘practices of cultural production’ (ibid, 5052). Taking a slightly different approach, Arun Agrawal examines technologies of government and the making of subjects in his work on the people of the Kumaon forests in Northern India (Agrawal 2005). Agrawal states that new forms of government frame guidelines for villagers’ practices and over time practice will lead to new beliefs, which is how regulation may create new subjects (ibid, 198). Both scholars explore the multiple identities and subjectivities created as result of dynamic workings of power.

I wish to introduce at this point two caveats to the use of Foucault in my analytical framework. Firstly, it is not my intention to produce a Foucauldian analysis of decentralised planning in India or specifically, Kerala. In my analysis, I will be adapting the abovementioned Foucauldian concepts of disciplinary power and subject creation to explain certain phenomena that are unique to the Kerala experience. I will be putting forward my own analysis of these phenomena which are, as I’ve mentioned, influenced by and will at times be reflective of Foucault’s ideas. Secondly, some of Foucault’s ideas themselves are not ‘complete’ in the sense that they continued to evolve as he conceptualised related concerns.6

6 Foucault was still working on developing and taking further some of his systems of thought until his death in 1984. His fourth volume of The History of Sexuality which was to be entitled Confessions of the Flesh was almost complete at the time of his death but was not published.

As such, I have only adapted these ideas in their ‘initial form’ insofar as they are directly relevant to my project without focussing on their ‘chronological’ development.

2.3 The creation of ‘cultural subjects’: a field study of capabilities and the role of power It is my contention that by examining the cultural context surrounding Kerala’s decentralisation initiatives (which are supposed to expand capabilities of people), certain ingrained social stratifications can be identified. These stratifications prevent marginalised communities, including tribals and fishing communities, from being empowered. Such barriers indicate that the state’s decentralisation policies might not be as efficient in fostering local participation as they claim to be. If the intention is to include all citizens of the state, viz., tribal and fishing communities, in the state’s development goals, then it is important to address these barriers and see to what extent they hinder capability building within these groups. One way of addressing these barriers is to examine their possible causes or origins. As mentioned above, the examination of capabilities and opportunities and in its wake the acceptance of new and varied information can lead to different levels of consensus and reassessment of existing policies concerning these deprived groups. An intention of this thesis is to show that it is only through an acknowledgment of various capabilities and barriers to enhancing those capabilities that tribal and fishing communities can fully benefit from planning and implementation at grassroots level. It is important that such varied information is available and included in policies. It is only then that Kerala can truly have a democratic approach to development.

The discussion below, which will take a more reflexive approach, outlines the significance of the research and its place in scholarship surrounding development in the state. It then moves on to an introduction to the field and discussion of the methodological approach undertaken in the field study. Finally, I discuss how the data was analysed and how it will be used throughout the thesis in subsequent chapters.

2.3.1. The research scheme and its significance As discussed earlier (chapter one) the significance of the research scheme lies in the fact that Kerala is a unique case. The achievements of Kerala’s development model (itself a result of social reforms), and the goals set out in the People’s Plan, such as productive development,

poverty eradication, environmental sustainability, and (further) social progress are serious moves towards sustainable development. Unfortunately, the exclusion of deprived communities, as empirical data suggests, stands in the way of these efforts. Seemingly, the state’s democratising strategies have not reached all sectors of society. There has not been any comprehensive study to date which evaluates the effectiveness of Kerala’s decentralisation campaign vis-à-vis marginalised communities. That is, from an examination of existing literature, there seems to be a lack of studies that appraise the effects of decentralisation and its capability enhancing role as it pertains to tribals and fisher folk in the state. This project seeks to address this gap in scholarship. Given its multidisciplinary nature, the research will make a contribution towards three areas of study namely, Kerala studies, Development studies, and South Asian studies. Box 2.1 presents the research scheme for this thesis. Box 2.1: Research Scheme

Research questions:

Are marginalised communities in Kerala enabled and effective participants in the state’s democratic decentralisation campaign, and has their involvement translated to influence in decision-making?

Subsidiary questions:

 To what extent has participatory planning enfranchised marginalised communities under the People’s Plan?  Have capabilities of marginalised communities been enhanced through decentralisation?  What are some, if any, barriers that prevent marginalised communities from participating within the decentralisation discourse?

Objectives:

 To highlight the principles of sustainable development, especially that of intra-generational equity and its bearing on development trends in the state of Kerala.  To reassess current knowledge on the state’s development trajectory vis-à-vis the Kerala model and the People’s Plan in light of capability building in deprived communities and its role in social equity and development.  To identify possible barriers that might stand in the way of effective and full participation in the state’s decentralised planning goals.  To explore cultural and social dimensions within which decentralised programmes operate in order to measure effectiveness of these decentralised programmes.

Central postulates

 Caste as a disciplinary power creates ‘cultural subjects’ as well as regulates an individual’s identity and behaviour.  Cultural practices and caste social order result in certain groups being marginalised and as a result, they have less than effective participation in the People’s Plan.  The examination of the workings of such cultural practices as outlined above provides a more ‘realistic’ view of the decentralisation efforts thus exposing hidden inequalities.  A better understanding of power dynamics at grassroots level can lead to a more pragmatic approach to ensure effective local-level involvement in decentralised efforts.

Data collected through in-depth, semi-structured interviews (and later through document analyses) informed me of the asymmetrical distribution of power that exists between marginalised communities and the larger Malayalee7 society in Kerala. As I will show, this is influenced by cultural factors that are often taken as being part of life and hence, for the most part not considered as an inclusive element in decision-making. My field study explores the possibility that cultural subjugation and resulting marginalisation might hinder effective decentralised planning strategies and expected levels of participation. This is significant in practical terms since only when such issues (as set out in the research questions and objectives above) are addressed can the state secure an ‘acceptable’ standard of living (or at least a minimum standard where there is no excessive degradation and deprivation) that is to be maintained for future generations. This pertains not only to environmental standards but also standards of social justice and issues of public welfare.

2.3.2. The field – Kerala, South India Across a period of five months, in 2010 and 2011, I visited parts of Kerala to collect data for my research pertaining to marginalised groups. Existing literature pointed to two communities that were considered marginalised in Kerala. These are the tribal and the fishing communities of Kerala.8 Tribal communities’ population make up 0.36 million (Government of Kerala 2011a). The total estimated (2005) marine fishing population is around 0.85 million (Department of Fisheries 2005). When compared to the state population of around 34 million (Government of Kerala 2011a), these are rather small communities but they are significant when studying the reach and effectiveness of decentralised planning. Though these communities fare much better when compared to similar communities around India, as statistics suggest, they still remain deprived groups in the state (Centre for Development Studies 2006, 7). This information prompted my visits to areas where these communities live in order to see for myself their living conditions and to ascertain levels of deprivation, if any.

Map 2.1 below shows Kerala’s location in India and the main districts where the interviews were conducted – Wayanad in the northeast, Thrissur in central Kerala, and Trivandrum9 in

7 The people of Kerala are known as Malayalees. 8 This thesis focuses on the marine sector fishing community in particular. 9 Kerala’s capital city, Trivandrum, is also known by its original name, Thiruvananthapuram. Both names appear in this thesis.

26 the south. Table 2.2 below highlights the areas, and organisations and communities visited for data collection. Map 2.1: Political map of Kerala (Prokerala 2011)

Table 2.2: Field locations and organisations/communities visited for data collection Location Organisation/Community Wayanad District – Kalpetta  Kabani (NGO)  Kerala Forest Department (Kalpetta) Thrissur District – Athirapilly  Local government (panchayat) office  Tribal colonies – Vazhachal and Pokalapara  Chalakkudy Puzha Samrakshana Samithi (CPSS) – NGO  Kerala Forest Department (Vazhachal) Thiruvananthapuram District – Vizhinjam  Local government (Municipal) office  Vizhinjam fishing village Thiruvananthapuram City  AKG Centre for Research  Centre for Development Studies  University of Kerala  Kerala Swathanthra Matsya Thozhillali Federation (KSMTF) – NGO  Kerala Sastra Sahithya Parishad (KSSP) – NGO  Kerala State Electricity Board (KSEB)

2.3.3. The methodology – Why interviews and documents? According to Vandana Desai and Robert Potter, early research concerning development stressed economic growth so there was greater emphasis on quantitative approaches (Desai and Potter 2006, 6). This has later changed to using a more humanistic approach or postmodern thinking although empirical data is still collected (ibid, 7). As Douglas Ezzy points out, to adopt the postmodern approach involves questioning and problematising the taken-for-granted realities of people being studied (Ezzy 2002, 16). This is one of the aims of this study. It goes deeper, from mere classification of a class or group to an explanation of why such classification (i.e. ‘marginalised’) may have come about. For example, It tries to explain how hidden inequalities may be produced through particular discourses of power. This study employs a ‘structural/postmodernist approach’ and ‘empirical approach’ as reflected by the use of semi-structured, in-depth interviews and documentary analyses of relevant primary and secondary documents, respectively (ibid, 7). The discussion below outlines the appropriateness of these methods for this study.

a) Interviews According to Michael Patton, interviewing allows us to enter other people’s perspectives since otherwise we cannot see how they have organised their world (Patton 1990, 278). Also discourses and the rhetoric that surround these worldviews are often and most importantly revealed in everyday language and practices (Dryzek 1997, 8). A major part of the study was to  explore discourses that surround tribal and fishing communities in Kerala,  capture issues of identity or image that people carry around in their own discourses concerning marginalised communities,  evaluate capabilities of marginalised communities,  investigate if these capabilities have been enhanced under the People’s Plan,  understand the interrelationship between the state, institutions and actors as understood through different experiences, and  to identify barriers to local participation in participatory planning. In addition, a study outlining the participation of marginalised communities in local-level planning has not been done before so it becomes imperative to ask questions and obtain responses of those very communities.

I used the in-depth and semi-structured interview, which utilises predetermined questions with the freedom to probe beyond the initial answers (Willis 2006, 144). This type of interviewing is most relevant to this study because it acknowledges that people perceive the world in various ways, and the interviewer needs to approach the world from the participants’ perspectives (Gubrium and Holstein in Berg 2009, 107). The study relied on key informants identified based on their  expertise and involvement in decentralisation  expertise and involvement in tribal and fishing community issues  expertise and involvement in government departments /as elected representatives  identities as members of marginalised communities I used nonprobability sampling techniques including purposive and snowball sampling (Babbie 2007, 183-184).

Participants were divided into three categories as outlined below.  Category A - academics / bureaucrats / politicians (relevant persons that deal with decentralised planning and development)  Category B - members of social/environmental movements and social activists  Category C - members of local tribal and fishing communities

Initial identification of participants was based on a web search on tertiary institutions and centres, social movements in Kerala and state departments and boards relevant to decentralised planning as well as introductions to key informants by academics (from Kerala and elsewhere) that I met and discussed my work with. These participants were contacted either by phone or electronic mail. Using ‘snowball’ or network sampling (Neuman 2006, 222-223), further participants were identified on the basis of their links with the initial participants (in their respective categories). The participants were provided details of the study in a participant information sheet, and their written consent was sought (via a consent form) before interviews were carried out. Being multilingual, I conducted interviews in both English and Malayalam and in some cases (as in Vizhinjam fishing village), in Tamil. I interviewed a total of 30 participants. All the interviews (with the exception of one) were recorded, translated (for those in Malayalam and Tamil) and transcribed by me. All effort towards accuracy in data gathering, processing and reporting was employed, using relevant research methodology and an appropriate and honest interpretation and presentation of data.

Given the importance of ethical considerations, approval from the Human Research Ethics Advisory Panel, based on the code of ethics as outlined by the UNSW Human Research Ethics Committee for researchers was sought before field study commenced. Participants were guaranteed anonymity, and in this thesis their names and designations (in cases where identification is possible) have been omitted. The identities of the participants have been noted, with their approval, as reflected in the consent forms that have been acknowledged by them. The option to withdraw from the study was also made clear to all participants. These forms, together with the interview transcripts (in hard and soft copies) as well as audio recordings of the interviews have been collated and are stored in the main office of the School of Humanities at the University of New South Wales.

b) Document analysis Because this project deals with different discourses, documents, especially policy reports, departmental plans and pieces of legislation, became important sources for identifying and examining various worldviews. Such documents also become supporting data to either corroborate or contradict information gathered from interviews. Document analyses assisted in evaluating the views of different actors (the state and its institutions, NGOs and members of marginalised communities), revealing the rhetoric that characterises discourses relating to the state’s decentralisation efforts. I was able to compare the ‘official’ discussions surrounding the People’s Plan with empirical data collected from my field study. Various documents were collected and analysed, including (but not confined to)  current academic literature including reports and discussion papers  electronic resources such as relevant websites  media releases and publications  government reports and publications as well as annual reports From here, I could start my investigation into levels of empowerment and capabilities of marginalised groups and whether they participated in the various local-level development schemes under the People’s Plan.

2.3.4. Data analysis, usage, and limitations (a) Data analysis After interview materials were transcribed, and collected documents reviewed, I carried out a thematic analysis of data.10 According to Bruce Berg, in order to present the perception of others in the ‘most forthright manner’ a greater reliance on inductive methods is necessary (Berg 2009, 347). A thematic analysis is an inductive process. 11 Initial identification of categories was conducted during the ‘open coding’ phase (Strauss and Corbin 1998, 102), where data is examined to see what themes may emerge. As Denzin and Lincoln point out, relevant themes from current literature can be used as categories at the start of analysis. In the case of this study, existing literature on the People’s Plan, and on the marginalisation of tribal and fishing communities act as a basis for initial categories or themes. For example, from the data collected, categories such as ‘beneficiary selection process’, ‘gram sabha (village assembly) attendance’, and ‘political affiliation’, all emerged as possible themes for further analysis. This is consistent with techniques widely used across the social sciences. To give an example, a similar method was employed by G.A. Shelley in her study of how social networks affect people with end-stage kidney disease. She used the ‘Outline of Cultural Materials’ by G.P. Murdoch as a basis for her coding categories and later added additional themes that were derived from data she collected (Shelley, unpublished, cited in Denzin and Lincoln 2003, 275).

As categories became more defined, new forms of coding were used to enable the development of key ideas around which the research is organised (Ezzy 2002, 87). An example of this would be the central concepts that surround political affiliation such as the role it plays in the beneficiary selection process or how certain caste groups can be associated with certain political parties (for example, Mukkuvars or fishing community and right-wing parties). Such secondary analysis was carried out for the themes identified during the initial coding phase. After data was categorised and emerging themes identified, analysis was extended to examine documented (from literature) and perceived (from interviews)

10 As I went through the data, a number of significant ideas that ran through the materials emerged. I then categorised these ideas as key concepts or themes. These key ideas pulled together other lesser concepts, making it easier to categorise information into themes. For example, one of the themes that emerged was ‘sense of hopelessness’ felt by marginalised communities. 11 An inductive process involves the observation and analysis of empirical data (Ezzy 2002, 14) and building up towards theories (or in the case of this thesis, themes) that have emerged from the data.

31 capabilities of these marginalised groups with regards to participation in local-level planning along some of the themes identified. Subsequent chapters discuss these findings.

Qualitative data often presents problems in testing for reliability and validity. However, some aspects of reliability and validity informed by levels of trustworthiness, credibility, dependability, confirmability and authenticity were checked in this project, by considering positions/designations of interview participants and sources of documents. These are some of the categories, as outlined by Alan Bryman, as acceptable categories to test for reliability and validity in qualitative studies (Bryman 2008, 377-80).

(b) Data usage Details of the field study appear throughout this thesis. As names of participants are not mentioned, they will be identified according to categories as outlined earlier (section 2.3.3a). Table 2.3 explains how participants will be acknowledged or referred to in the study.

Table 2.3: Interview participants in study Category A participants 1) Academics: ‘experts’ or ‘scholars’ (according to field/expertise). For example, ‘feminist scholar’ or ‘leading expert in …’ 2) Bureaucrats or administrators – for local bureaucracy: ‘(department name) official’ for example, ‘Vizhinjam corporation official’, or in the case of state bureaucracy: ‘(department name) official (region).’ For example, ‘KFD official (Vazhachal)’, or according to designation, for example, ‘KSEB Engineer’ or ’IAS officer’ 3) Politicians: ‘local politician’ or ‘elected representatives’ Category B participants 1) ‘(particular NGO or movement) member’ for example ‘CPSS member’. 2) ‘Social activist’ (for those not attached to any particular movement) Category C participants 1) Tribal members: ‘(Name of colony) tribesman/tribeswoman’ (for example, Vazhachal colony tribesman/tribeswoman) 2) Fisher Folk: ‘Member of Vizhinjam fishing community’ / ‘Vizhinjam fishermen’ or ‘Vizhinjam female fish worker’.

(c) Limitations of the study In any research methodology, inherent limitations need to be acknowledged as they may affect the robustness and validity of the study. One key limitation in this research is the lack of ethnographic studies. Ethnographic fieldwork within a confined community is a useful technique to ascertain information about social and cultural identities. However, ethnographic

32 studies also require long time frames, especially when multiple communities are involved, as in this project. Though there are ways to shorten ethnographic work in the field (Rees van Donge 2006, 182), this method was not chosen for this project, since the focus is on the role of marginalised communities in decentralised planning. The study also aims to carry out a broader examination of cultural contexts. To carry out ethnographic studies in issues pertaining to local-level planning in each marginalised community would be too ambitious a project, given the time frame for completion of this study. However, this does open up possibilities for future ethnographic work in particular communities, in relation to local-level planning and cultural contexts.

There are also a few other limitations that need to be acknowledged. I encountered documents in which their authors claim to represent marginalised groups, even though this is not substantiated. In document analysis, it might be difficult to identify perceptions of members of marginalised groups who are key players but who might not have their own documented details and therefore recorded activities or perceptions will most likely be someone else’s interpretations. This means that these sources might be politicised and reflect the views of the authors rather than the communities. In light of this problem, other qualitative methods (interviewing) are needed to substantiate what might already be documented about the perceptions of these groups. Other potential limitations include the inability to meet relevant people for interviews and the desire of participants not to be interviewed. This did not prove to be a significant problem because all participants identified were willing to spend the time to answer questions put to them and only one participant did not want the interview to be recorded.

2.4 Summary and conclusion There has been a recent rise in scholarship calling for reassessment of Kerala’s development trajectory in the light of some ‘flaws’ in the development model as well as the People’s Plan. This thesis is an example of work in that direction and it seeks to assess the level of perceived and actual participation in decentralised planning using Amartya Sen’s capability approach, augmented by considerations of power relations using ideas of Michel Foucault. This chapter has outlined the conceptual ideas that frame this thesis and explained the methodology employed in this study. In doing so, I have highlighted the concept of development as it is imagined in Kerala, especially the dimension of intra-generational equity, and its role in

33 development trends in Kerala. While Kerala’s development experience has been exceptional when compared with other states in India, or even other developing nations, the marginalisation of tribal and fishing communities in the state has remained a sore point in efforts to promote democratic decentralisation in the state. This thesis explores the contentious claim that Kerala is a foremost example of sustainable development and social justice.

Sen’s capability approach provides the theoretical framework of this study. Sen contends that when we study deprivation by looking at capabilities of individuals, we can consider development in terms of increasing freedom of human beings. This allows for the consideration of agency of people involved in economic, social and environmental sustainability. To put it succinctly, it allows for the examination of the role of people in development. Tribal and fishing communities are marginalised communities in Kerala. By examining the capabilities of these communities, it is possible to identify barriers that might stand in the way of full and effective participation of tribals and fisher folk communities in the state’s decentralised planning goals. Specifically, Sen’s capability approach dictates that my research will:  assist in reassessing Kerala’s development trajectory in light of capability building in deprived communities and its role in moving towards social equity,  help to identify barriers that might stand in the way of such capability building, and  pave the way to explore cultural and social dimensions within which decentralised programmes operate. The use of Foucault’s disciplinary power and subject creation tries to take Sen’s capability approach further in providing a deeper understanding of the cultural and social dimensions that surround Kerala’s People’s Plan.

This chapter has also addressed issues of field methodology employed in the study. One way of assessing capabilities and the role of power in society is to conduct field studies in areas where marginalised communities live. I conducted a five-month field study, in various parts of Kerala, to collect data on the participation of marginalised groups in local-level planning; such a study has not been done before. I have used qualitative methods, in particular a key informant study based on in-depth interviews, supported by document analysis.

Chapter 3: Reassessing the Kerala Model and the People’s Plan – Does Opportunity Lead to Capability?

As discussed earlier (chapter one), there has been much debate about the sustainability of the Kerala model, especially within the context of globalisation and the vast changes that are happening in India as well as the world in recent years. An impetus for change came in the form of the 73rd and 74th amendments to the Panchayati Raj (or local government) Act in 1993. To conform to these changes, Kerala introduced changes in its own state constitution in the form of the Kerala State Panchayat Raj Act the following year. With the introduction of the People’s Plan two years later, and with an active and vibrant civil society, the state now seems set to move to the phase of community-led development.

This chapter uses field and literature studies to explore how effective the Kerala model and the People’s Plan have been in enhancing the capabilities of tribal and fishing communities in the state. It is my contention that these communities are ‘outliers’ (Kurien 2000), marginalised from the Kerala model. Although there are formal opportunities for them to participate in local level decision-making, their capabilities to do so are not enhanced either by state initiatives or social mechanisms. In this chapter I will investigate the reduced capability of these communities and highlight their lack of ‘positive freedoms’, to borrow a term from Amartya Sen (chapter two).

The chapter is divided into three sections. The next section looks at the Kerala model and the People’s Plan in greater detail than in previous chapters, to examine the realities of this social model, especially with regard to intra-generational equity. Section 3.2 focuses on reasons why capabilities of marginalised communities might not be enhanced, reasons which include political patronage, classification of certain groups in society as ‘projects’, and the push for economic growth without protective measures built in for marginalised groups. Section 3.3 concludes the chapter.

3.1 The Kerala Model and the People’s Plan According to Joseph Tharamangalam, the term ‘model’ to describe Kerala’s development trajectory, is used in its scientific sense to mean a specific pattern of socio-economic and

35 political development which includes public action, support-led security and achievements in social development rather than as an exemplar to be emulated (Tharamangalam 2006, 3). Literature surrounding the Kerala model is vast, as scholars have tried to mystify and demystify it over the years. Almost all scholars agree that the ‘model’ is a result of specific historical as well as the socio-cultural conditions that favoured its development (Kannan and Pillai 2004; Parayil and Sreekumar 2003; Véron 2001; Ramachandran 2000; Parayil 1996). For example, Kerala scholars René Véron and Govindan Parayil consider that peaceful and democratic elections as well as sustained popular movements are the key reasons it developed. Another Kerala scholar, V.K.Ramachandran asserts that at present levels of income, public action that can ensure health, educational and other social achievements similar to those attained by Kerala is possible for people of all the states of India provided necessary social transformations occur (Ramachandran op cit, 97).

It has long been agreed that the Kerala model is indeed an anomaly in economic terms with its low industrial development and high unemployment rates matched by high values on social welfare indicators (Parayil and Sreekumar op.cit, 469; Wallich 1995, 37). That such an anomaly could, through different successive governments with different ideological positions, bring about successful ventures in areas like land reforms, education, healthcare and public distribution of food grains is testimony to the fact that pluralist political practices within a social democratic framework can enhance lives, even though it was previously thought that multiparty democracy and pluralism was too unwieldy and expensive for developing countries to bring about rapid social changes (Parayil and Sreekumar op cit, 480). Richard Franke and Barbara Chasin have even classified Kerala as a social justice model (Franke and Chasin 1995, 28). They highlight land reform initiatives, public food distribution systems to low-income families, protective laws for agricultural workers and pensions for retired agricultural workers, and no statistical evidence of excess female mortality as the main elements of the model (ibid, 25). According to these authors, the main reasons for the betterment of people’s lives in the absence of large-scale economic growth are active grassroots organisations, redistribution of wealth and democratic participation (ibid). Though there has indeed been active grassroots participation, especially in the years following the launch of the People’s Plan, and redistribution of wealth has taken place to a considerable extent through welfare programmes, empirical evidence suggests that there are sections of the population that have fallen ‘below the radar’ in terms of effective public participation. Interviews I conducted with participants in academia, social movements, and local

36 communities seem to suggest that the achievements of the model have not extended to all sections of society. Kerala’s high literacy rates, long life expectancy, low birth rates and better access to healthcare notwithstanding, empirical evidence points to the fact that there are ‘pockets’ of people that still suffer from lack of access to these benefits in what K.P. Kannan and V.N. Pillai call ‘exclusionary development’ (Kannan and Pillai op cit, 38). This idea of ‘exclusionary development’ will be illustrated in the case studies presented in chapters five and six.

3.1.1. Realities of social development sans economic growth As discussed earlier (chapter one), much has been written about the model and its achievements in Kerala by both western and Indian scholars. To contribute to this analysis of how social development was achieved in the state is beyond the scope of this thesis. My main concern is to test the ‘social justice model’ for its shortcomings, as discussed in chapter one. Sundar Ramanathaiyer and Stewart Macpherson give an enlightening view of the illusions and realities of social development in Kerala. The authors, through methodology that attempts to look at both macro and micro level realities of social development in the state, have evaluated premises that underpin the Kerala model (Ramanathaiyer and Macpherson 2000, 186 – 193). The discussion below offers a summary of their findings. The main headings are the widely documented and ‘homogenised’ effects of the Kerala model. To this, I have added some of the critiques levelled at the Kerala model, from my own interview findings and from relevant literature.

 Longer life expectancy Several scholars have outlined Kerala’s achievements in terms of life expectancies and have related this to effective social determinants like education and healthcare (Marmot 2005, 1102; Sen 1998, 9; Franke and Chasin 1992, among others). However, a better quality of life is not assured with longer life expectancy. Given that the birth rate is much lower than other states, an aging population will become a problem for Kerala, effects of it already being seen in the sick and lonely elderly in the three panchayats where Ramanathaiyer and Macpherson conducted their study. Another Kerala scholar, K.K. George reiterates this point when he writes that the health system in the state is not able to cope with the changing profile of diseases due to an ageing population (George 2005, 4). According to a participant I Interviewed, more people are getting ill both physically and psychologically and the

37 government health services are not keeping up with this trend (social activist, interviewed by author. 21/08/10). This participant claims that these illnesses are a result of lifestyle choices brought about by greater wealth and consumption and the stress of having to ‘keep up’ – ‘rich man diseases’. So even though people live longer, they do not necessarily live better lives.

 High literacy rates Kerala is ranked among the most literate states in India (Kapur and Murthi 2009, 3; Centre for Development Studies 2006, 1, among others). Ramanathaiyer and Macpherson contend that this has led to a culture of ‘elitist’ behaviour. According to one of the participants I interviewed, manual jobs are held in contempt in Kerala. Education in Kerala tends to be more quantitative than qualitative and it is of a low quality at all levels, and people consider manual labour beneath them and therefore remain unemployed rather than look out for any work (KSSP12 member, interviewed by author. 16/05/10). It has also resulted in a paradoxical situation where you have high unemployment rates with a high migrant labour population – with people from the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu filling jobs Keralites will not do (ibid).

 High female literacy rates Ramanathaiyer and Macpherson state that while women in Kerala are generally more educated than elsewhere in India, they face an even bigger obstacle in the job market because of their gender. Female work participation is much lower than in the other states. In several sectors there is still discrimination at work. One of my interview participants contends that women go to work because they are forced to do so due to economic conditions. This participant explains low female work participation rates are a result of the fact that women who go to work are obliged to negotiate a terrain within a dominant patriarchy without jeopardising their femininity and perceived roles (feminist scholar, interviewed by author. 22/05/10). In this participant’s opinion, higher literacy levels have not necessarily accorded them better employment opportunities either. Kerala has a high unemployment rate and female unemployment is much higher than anywhere else in India (Shah 2010, 19).

12 The KSSP or the Kerala Sastra Sahithya Parishad (The People’s Science Movement) is a leading NGO in Kerala.

 Almost all children regardless of socio-economic background attend school According to Ramanathaiyer and Macpherson, although almost all children attend school, the quality of education provided in the schools is not that desirable. The dropout rates are low but despite moderation (in grading) the low pass percentage is a sad reflection of the quality of education. Scholars such as Ajith Kumar and K.K. George as well as Suma Scaria attest to these findings in their work on the education system in Kerala (Ajith Kumar and George 2009; Scaria 2009). One of the participants I interviewed was of the opinion that education and training in the state is not reflective of what the state needs. This participant adds that although social development pointed out and prioritised the positive elements of education, an educated citizenry turned out to be the ‘nemesis’ of economic growth and development in terms of the ‘elitist’ behaviour it created, as discussed above (KSSP member interview, op cit). The education system was devoid of any linkage with the productive systems of security and the effect of this is now being felt by the state, reflected in the large numbers of the educated unemployed ( ibid).

 Position of previously oppressed classes have improved In Ramanathaiyer and Macpherson’s study, the authors point to the fact that the majority of the scheduled castes and the scheduled tribe families live in abject poverty. Empirical data suggests that the fishing communities also live in such poverty. The younger generations have improved in terms of educational attainment but are still very much behind compared to mainstream society. Ajith Kumar and George point to an ‘exclusionary trend’ based on micro-level studies that suggest that the famed and documented literacy statistics of the state camouflage discrepancies in the educational attainments of people belonging to different socio-economic groups, and they outline inadequate attention to the problems of disadvantaged groups as one of the reasons for this trend (Ajith Kumar and George op cit, 2 – 3). Their finding is corroborated with the works of scholars who bring to attention the deprivation of disadvantaged tribal and fishing communities (see Steur 2009; Damodaran 2006a; Kurien 2000). According to one of my interview participants, the fishermen’s , tribals’ and even women’s political participation is weakening and they are not becoming stronger pressure groups in society. Their land is disappearing, their health deteriorating and their education is not improving. It seems like the welfare policies of the government are not reaching these sections of society (social activist interview op cit).

From the above discussion, we see that though there have been major breakthroughs in social development in the state under its unique development pattern, there is no uniform agreement that it has promoted a more egalitarian distribution of welfare goods and services. The number of studies of development of marginalised communities (especially the tribals and fisher folk) is small, making it hard to fully evaluate the effectiveness of the Kerala model for those communities. In those relevant studies that do exist, there are criticisms of the model (Damodaran op cit; Omvedt 2006; Saradamoni 2006; Kurien op cit), and my field evidence is consistent with this. The fact that studies on development of marginalised communities are limited itself seems characteristic of a process of homogenising Kerala society by emphasising quantifiable general achievements in social development, while discrepancies have been hidden. I deal with homogenisation in some detail in section 3.2.

In other words, implementation of the Kerala model has not taken into consideration micro- or grassroots level effects of welfare programmes and provisions, including local power dynamics and other cultural factors such as community identity. The provenance of the model itself provides some explanation for this. It is based on socialist economics, supported by political cadres that visualised for Kerala, a society or a people defined as the ‘working class’ that struggled for their freedom from not only the British but also from the trappings of caste and perhaps to a certain extent, religious divide. This has had lasting effects even to present day Kerala. An example of this can be found among the new social movements: the Kerala Swathanthra Matsya Thozhillali Federation, KSMTF (the Kerala Free Fishworkers’ federation), organises itself in effect as a political unit/trade union. This is seen in its hierarchical structure (as a trade union) and in its mobilisation style (as in a political organisation) even though it is essentially located in civil society (Parayil and Sreekumar 2006, 220).13

Grassroots conditions have been revealed through field data and will be further discussed in subsequent chapters. It is my contention that homogenisation of society is one of the reasons why some of the welfare and development projects, especially those targeted at marginalised communities, including participatory planning projects implemented after the launch of the

13 In my interviews with members of Kerala Matsya Thozhillali Federation (KSMTF), the terms ‘comrade’, ‘agitation’ and ‘cadres’ came up quite often in our conversation, clearly indicating the type of discourse and rhetoric that defines the movement. Parayil and Sreekumar contend that it is through such form of organisation that social movements get recognised in the state (Parayil and Sreekumar 2006, 220).

People’s Plan, have not been faring too well. This will be discussed in greater detail in section 3.2. Other reasons include the shortcomings of market-led initiatives, and the flaws in public participation processes associated with decentralisation: Market-led development and the impetus it would provide was a theme explored in the International Congress on Kerala Studies held in Trivandrum in 2005. It was noted in the proceedings that stepping up investment in the state was a major challenge and to meet sufficient levels of growth, more than 80 per cent additional investment would have to come from foreign direct investment, private corporate sector investment and household sector investment, of which the main sources will be the latter two (Anon 2005).

As for public participation, the People’s Plan has opened up a ‘legitimate space’ (Lele 2001) for marginalised communities to have their say through gram sabhas (village assemblies in rural areas and ward assemblies in urban areas), but how well this translates to increasing their capability is not clear. Does the opportunity to participate in decision-making translate to increased capability in influencing development plans? This is further explored below.

3.1.2. The political economy of decentralisation in Kerala How things stand with regards to decentralisation in the state has been covered extensively by others (Venugopal and Yilmaz 2009; Heller, Harilal and Chaudhuri 2007; Kannan and Pillai 2004; Oommen 2004; Chathukulam and John 2003; Sharma 2003; John and Chathukulam 2002; Véron 2001) and a full analysis will not be attempted here. The idea of participatory planning, its programmes in action and its effects are best examined at grassroots level which is what the next chapter aims to do. The discussion below will briefly look at why Kerala presented ideal conditions for launching such a massive campaign for decentralisation and some effects of the People’s Plan as it relates to opportunity and capability.

According to Kerala scholars Govindan Parayil and T.T. Sreekumar, the communist movement that was persecuted by the colonial government found in Kerala a favourable environment to grow and consolidate in post-independence times. The existing anti-caste movement in colonial Kerala organised rural masses for social equality but at the same time regarded the struggle for civic rights and political participation as integral to its cause (Parayil and Sreekumar 2003, 466). This movement aligned itself with Christian and Muslim minorities to gain representation in the state legislature and it transformed itself into a broad

41 platform for democratic rights and social and economic equality (ibid, 467). The nationalist movement later recruited members from this anti-caste movement to anti-imperialist actions often supporting and providing leadership for progressive political mobilisation in the state creating the secular and lasting nature of social movements in Kerala (ibid, 467 – 468).

It has been the case that the state of Kerala has often had a democratically elected Marxist government or left or left-led coalition in power since 1957 and even in today’s post-Marxist world, the left parties enjoy the support of 43 per cent of the state’s population (Madhusoodanan 2003, 1). In his article on the Kerala model, Parayil writes that leftist and socialist governments have been responsible for ‘implementing some of the most comprehensive land reform and other redistributive programmes outside of the communist world’ (Parayil 1996, 941).

As mentioned earlier, Kerala’s unique development trajectory is marked not only by its government that implements successful redistributive policies but also by its vibrant and active civil society. According to Patrick Heller, the state has a wide range of non- governmental organisations (NGOs), unions and associations which constantly organise and express interests of different groups and exert pressure on the state and its agencies (Heller 2005, 82). In fact, according to Thomas Isaac and Richard Franke, the People’s Plan, supporting local development projects, derived much from experiments by social movements like the KSSP, other NGOs, cooperatives and local councils (Isaac and Franke 2002, 28). However, as Heller asserts, much the same could be said about the rest of India as well (Heller op cit, 82).

Scholars including Raka Ray and Mary Katzenstein argue that Kerala represents a unique case as a result of its historical trends (Ray and Katzenstein 2005, 15). They comment that in post-independence India There has been no period in which the awareness of inequality and commitment to its reduction has been more a matter of state concern than during Nehru’s prime ministership; and yet, ironically, in this very period those movements that were most able to advance a strong redistributive agenda were able to do so largely by opposing the state rather than by seeking state sponsorship or alliance (ibid, 12).

To Ray and Katzenstein, the mobilization of worker-peasant-tenant alliance in Kerala started in the 1950s, pushing Nehru’s poverty alleviation strategies further left than intended by the Congress party. 14 By remaining outside the Nehruvian strategies but adhering to a redistributive agenda, the ‘Kerala movement’ was at the forefront in combating poverty in the early days of post-independence (ibid, 13). To this Heller adds that Kerala’s successes in social development lie in the nature of the state’s interaction with society. He stresses that movements in India are vocal but they are limited to narrowly defined sectors and lack the capacity to be politically effective (Heller op cit, 83). According to Richard Crook and James Manner, to achieve its objectives decentralisation requires a set of prerequisites that are often lacking in developing countries (Crook and Manner 1998). These include among others, an educated and politically aware citizenry, a prevalence of law and order, conduct of free and fair elections, existence of reliable information channels (for example, independent media) and the presence of both formal (legislature, judiciary) and informal (civil society organisations) oversight mechanisms. As several scholars have pointed out, historical and political conditions already paved the way for decentralisation in Kerala and the state in fact satisfies most of the prerequisites outlined above for effective decentralisation to take place. Under such conditions, Kerala seemed ready to begin the transition towards democratic decentralisation, which it did under the People’s Plan in 1996.

3.1.3. Participatory planning – democratic decentralisation Pranab Bardhan and Dilip Mookherjee’s work on decentralisation in developing nations offer some valuable insights into the implementation of the People’s Plan in Kerala and highlight the unique situation in the state that allowed such devolution to take place easily. Unlike other villages in India, almost every village in Kerala has a large number of educated people many with technical and professional qualifications and it was this group in particular that the campaign sought to motivate to actively participate in local-level planning (Isaac and Harilal 1997, 54). Consequently, Bardhan and Mookherjee mention that in some contexts, decentralisation may be implemented via a comprehensive constitutional amendment …the mandated change may have left many important details of implementation unspecified or may

14 The Indian National Congress or Congress Party became the leader of the Indian Independence Movement against British rule in India. The Party is generally considered centre-left in the Indian political spectrum.

have devolved the implementation to existing national or regional governments…timing and design of the decentralisation is likely to vary from one region to the next…if so, understanding the political economy of the decentralisation is important to evaluating its impact (Bardhan and Mookherjee 2006, 16). The 73rd and 74th constitutional amendments to the Panchayati Raj Act gave impetus to the decentralisation process in India. However, given India’s federal system, the implementation of this devolution of power to local government institutions was left to the states. Some like Kerala and Madhya Pradesh have made changes to their own state constitutions, for example the Kerala State Panchayat Raj Act and Madhya Pradesh Gram Swarajya Act (Lele 2001, 4702) while others, for example Maharashtra, as Medha Lele states in her work on local governments, still lag behind (ibid).

Kerala’s plunge into decentralisation in 1996 proved to be radically different. Thomas Isaac and Richard Franke present four reasons for this (Isaac and Franke 2002, 18 – 20). 1) A reversal in the typical sequence of decentralisation – instead of waiting for a gradual build-up of administrative capacity to handle decentralisation programmes, the government had already devolved the required funds. This meant that the government had to carry out reforms necessary to ensure that the programmes would be successful. 2) An insistence on mass participation and transparency – mass participation was not restricted to just elected representatives but was also intended to include ordinary people along with non-official experts and volunteers. 3) Institutionalisation of the decentralisation campaign’s creations – the new values evolved through the campaign’s activities would be institutionalised in the legal and administrative system so that they would not ‘disappear’ as the force of the movement ebbs, as it inevitably would. 4) Creating an attitudinal change among participants – the decentralisation campaign wanted to promote a culture where grassroots democratic institutions were promoted and partnerships were developed across party lines and above personal rivalries.

3.2 Does opportunity lead to capability? In his work on the ‘new’ Kerala model (section 1.2), Véron argues that while the state has embarked on a massive decentralised planning campaign, such a campaign does not ensure

44 empowerment (Véron 2001, 612). Véron goes on to add that local development plans are more likely to reflect local political power structures in the village rather than a common will. This triggers possibilities for studies into these ‘local power structures’ and in fact indicates the need to examine such structures which might lead to avenues for greater empowerment of marginalised communities in the state. Studies in this direction tie in with the concepts of disciplinary power and subjugation as conceptualised by Michel Foucault as will be discussed in chapter seven, and resonate with the concept of capabilities, freedom and development as espoused by Amartya Sen as previously discussed in section 2.1. It is my contention that though opportunities for democratic participation are in place and are institutionalised and plans and programmes exist to include and consult these marginalised communities, they are not able to effectively utilise these strategies in place to better their lives. This is, for the greater part, a result of state and societal ‘norms’ and also in part a result of their own understanding of who they are and how they should be. This argument will be further elaborated in later chapters.

As Sen argues, a greater appreciation of varied definitions of well-being and people’s freedom to achieve what they value will open up greater demand for data in conceptualising development (Sen 1988a, 21). Such appreciation will bring about a re-emergence of a degree of consensus on what is to be valued and how such valuation should take place. Effective democratic participation is vital to such a pluralist approach. As discussed in section 2.1, Sen’s capability approach opens up negotiable space for the inclusion of various factors, including culturally specific ones such as caste order, its power dynamics and effects. These factors merge well when examining the limited capabilities of marginalised communities, within the development discourse of the state. Therefore, Sen’s capability approach is a vital tool in reassessing social development in Kerala.

Although the provenance of Sen’s capability approach lies in welfare economics, it is important to note that Sen’s concept of capabilities can be extended to examine, as this project aims to do, quality and effectiveness of public participation with respect to capabilities of marginalised communities, and hence their uplifting or development. After all, the notion of (sustainable) development itself cannot be isolated to any particular type of study and should seek to plant itself within a larger multidisciplinary framework.

While Amartya Sen’s focus is on development as extending beyond real income values, I argue that ‘real poverty’, as Sen says, is not only a matter of income deprivation but also deprivation based on social stratifications like caste and identity. In this section, I will explore the relationship between the opportunity that seems to flow from Kerala’s reforms and the on-the-ground experience of marginalised groups, to understand whether their capabilities are enhanced.

3.2.1. Caste oppression and capability Scholars have argued that caste oppression in the state has mostly been eradicated by popular movements in Kerala which was once one of the most caste-ridden societies in India (Oommen 2008, 3; Kannan and Pillai 2004, 30; Dréze and Sen 1998, 200; Jeffrey 1992, 1 – 3, among others). The force of such popular movements has improved the condition of previously ‘untouchable’ and in some cases, ‘unseeable’ castes, as evidenced by the scholarly works above. However, fissures in Kerala society in terms of social stratification still exist in practice (though often not blatantly obvious) and in the mindsets of people especially those that have to work closely with these communities. Evidence from field data seems to suggest that such thinking has, for the most part, embedded itself in the bureaucratic institutions and this might also be a legacy from colonial rule. However, that is not to say that such discrimination is not found in mainstream society’s dealings with these communities as well. This will be explored further in subsequent chapters. It seems that from being ‘untouchable’ and ‘unseeable’, these communities that once faced caste-based discrimination have now become the ‘marginalised’ (the creation of ‘the marginalised’ will be discussed in chapter seven).15 Apart from caste-based discrimination, M.A. Oommen argues that another ‘crack’ in the fabric of Kerala society is the clientelistic party affiliations that local institutions cannot rise above (Oommen op cit, 15). I shall point out shortly that such affiliations coupled with caste discrimination not only reduce the powers of local institutions but also further marginalise groups that are already disadvantaged.

15 It is important to point out that caste and identity are not only marginalising factors but also structures for gender discrimination. Although it is true that women in Kerala are much better off than women in other parts of India or the developing world, especially in terms of literacy rates and health, this does not mean that women are not discriminated against. Work on gender discrimination and inequality has been covered extensively (Kodoth and Varghese 2011; Thresia and Mohindra 2011; Mohammed et al 2002, among others).

Going back to what was previously discussed, viz. deprivation based on social stratification, I extend Sen’s notion of capabilities to include the questionable ability of tribals and fisher folk to participate effectively in local development. I use the term ‘questionable’ because I contend that these communities lack certain ‘positive freedoms’ that reduce their capabilities in effectively engaging in the ‘legitimate space’ (Lele 2001) created by decentralisation. That is, what these communities can choose to do or achieve, within local-level community participation, is limited. This, I argue, is because of their caste and identity. The institutional mechanisms put in place to secure the legitimacy and importance of local government institutions, as seen in the People’s Plan, protect ‘negative freedoms’, i.e. the removal of restraints one might place over another or the state might place over individuals. However, greater ‘positive freedom’ (and hence increased capabilities) seems to have been downplayed. This becomes apparent when one looks at marginalised communities as they do not seem to fit into mainstream society’s social, political or economic ideas.

3.2.2. Homogenisation and political patronage One problem with the People’s Plan stems from the fact that the entire process homogenises communities (Chathukulam and John 2006, 182; Véron 2001, 612). Jos Chathukulam and M.S. John argue that this is why tribal movements are not ‘taken seriously’ by the state or even other social movements like the KSSP because they lack the political orientation or organisation that defines social movement discourse in the state (Chathukulam and John op cit, 195, see section 5.3.3 for political participation of tribal communities). Pluralism is inherent in democracy, and decentralisation has to support the case for plurality. Sen brings up this issue when he discusses the technocracy vs. democracy argument. Homogenisation makes administration less complex and this is one of the reasons why decentralisation in the state has met with some resistance from the bureaucracy. The other reason is the obvious reduction of their power (Isaac and Franke 2002, 81). E.M.S Namboodiripad, Kerala’s first chief minister and a great proponent of decentralisation, characterised India’s local level institutions succinctly when he stated, ‘if at the level of centre-state relations the constitution gave us democracy, at the level of state – panchayat relations, the constitution gave us bureaucracy (Namboodiripad, as cited in Chaudhuri 2006, 2).

The People’s Plan aimed to empower citizens to a greater level so that they would be responsible for their own betterment and make decisions that benefit them. This has been

47 successful as far as meeting the aims of the campaign but how has participation been negotiated in gram sabhas, especially the participation of marginalised groups? Do different voices get heard? In the next chapter, and through to chapter six, I examine this in greater detail. Suffice to say, capabilities of people or groups of people are compromised when they are homogenised. According to Agrawal and Gibson, viewing communities as a ‘unified, organic whole’, fails to take into consideration differences in community and also ignores how these differences affect ‘resource management outcomes, local politics, and strategic interactions within communities, as well as the possibility of layered alliances that can span multiple levels of politics’ (Agrawal and Gibson 1999, 633). This I believe applies to local level participation in Kerala which is often associated with political patronage (Oommen 2004, 15).

Before going into the discussion on political patronage, I would like to emphasise here what was discussed on the homogenisation of Kerala society. Tharamangalam argues that the collapse of political and social consensus with respect to the People’s Plan is a result of the CPM seeing itself as a ‘vanguard party leading the class struggle and establishing the hegemony of the working class’ and given this ultimate objective, its co-operation with civil society organisations and the opposition parties is for tactical purposes (ibid, 25). Tharamangalam quotes the former Chief Minister of Kerala, E.K. Nayanar, as saying, Decentralisation of power is part of the class struggle and conflict of class interests; precisely for that reason a polarisation is taking place between those supporting and opposing it. This polarisation is actually a manifestation of class struggle. Making the People’s Plan campaign a success is thus a part of the effort at strengthening class struggle. (The Hindu. January 5 1999, as cited in ibid). This in itself is not a new phenomenon or alarming as negotiations between opposition political parties and civil society are often used for tactical purposes, as examples from the developed and developing world will confirm. However, such a view (class struggle) on participatory planning as a hallmark of the People’s Plan ignores the plurality that exists within the whole democratic process. Such homogenisation (all as one in a class struggle) compromises the capabilities of individuals, especially those that are already marginalised and do not have a strong say in the planning process. Homogenisation ignores the different needs of certain communities who are already not seen to be coping well under the Kerala model and need new strategies to include them in the overall development process. As I will

48 confirm in later chapters, for them, the People’s Plan with its participatory planning component does not seem to provide the solution.

Tharamangalam also discusses the issue of political patronage. He brings up the fact that there seems to be a contradiction between decentralisation and ‘democratic centralism’ which is the organising principle to which the CPM is committed (ibid). Clearly this principle requires a level of control from above, of all class and mass organisations within its ‘rule’ (ibid, 26). Some scholars (Krishna Kumar 2005, 2004; Véron 2001) as well as independent observers opine that there is politicisation at all levels including partisanship and the ensuing corruption that comes about by the need to extend patronage to the mass and class organisations of the CPM (as well as other parties). Political patronage is a problem that plagues participatory planning in Kerala. According to Tharamangalam, the unprecedented political and social consensus and popular enthusiasm that marked the beginning of the People’s Plan was marred by accusations of corruption, partisanship and hegemonism that were levelled at the CPM (Tharamangalam 2006, 4 – 25).16 The existence of this type of patronage has been corroborated by empirical data I gathered from the field. Interviews with academics, social activists and local community members have revealed the level of political patronage at the local government levels and participants have expressed concern about how this influences the implementation of the People’s Plan and people’s lives in general. Below are responses of some participants interviewed. People need to get jobs and hold on to their resources so they become members of co-operatives or members of political parties…they have to do this because of political corruption…where party members get better ‘status’. (Social activist, interviewed by author. 21/08/10)

So you have people who earned a lot of money through migration who became very powerful. They’re least interested in politics, their interest is basically in consumption [but] they support certain political groups. (Feminist scholar, interviewed by author. 22/05/10)

16 The CPM or the CPI (M) is the Communist Party of India (Marxists) that forms the largest part of the Left Democratic Front (LDF) coalition in Kerala. The Congress Party is part of the coalition of the United Democratic Front (UDF).

In Kerala the local power centre is usually political…what we did was to go and meet the local party bosses…to avoid hostile intervention from their side. It is very difficult to work independently through the panchayats because the panchayats listen to the party bosses…they will not implement anything unless they have the consent from the party structure…we consider this a part of life. (KSSP member, interviewed by author. 16/05/10) The issue of political patronage is also evident in tribal and fishing communities, as will be discussed in chapters five and six respectively.

To add further to the discussion on political patronage, in his paper ‘The dynamics of women’s participation in development’, K Muraleedharan makes an interesting observation on political affiliation and the level of participation by women at local level. He found that there existed a strong correlation between the political affiliation of gram (village) panchayats and their efficiency in mobilising people to participate in local-level planning (Muraleedharan 2000, 7). The general trend has been that the participation of women (as well as people in general) has been greater in gram panchayats under the Left Democratic Front (LDF) banner (ibid). It is easy enough to explain this phenomenon away as an oversimplification, as Muraleedharan himself states, but it can have some implications for the capabilities of people in both LDF and the opposition United Democratic Front (UDF) ‘ruled’ gram panchayats. Does this mean that people in UDF-led gram panchayats are any less capable in effective participation or perhaps are not motivated to participate?

An interesting explanation for the increased numbers of participants in LDF-led panchayats was revealed to me by a participant I interviewed. According to him, attendance at gram sabha meetings were prearranged by obtaining signatures (denoting attendance) prior to the gathering (social activist interview op cit). Corroborative evidence comes from an article by R. Krishna Kumar which mentions that the Kudumbashree initiative (which is a state government initiative launched in 1998 to eradicate poverty through the increased participation of women) may have something to do with increased numbers in LDF-led panchayats (Krishna Kumar 2004). Kudumbashree is run under the aegis of panchayats or local governments that are under either LDF or UDF (or another Party’s) influence. According to Kumar, members of Kudumbashree in LDF-led panchayats are ‘requested’ to attend gram sabhas and participatory planning meetings to make up numbers.

Political patronage and ensuing corruption severely restricts capabilities of people, especially those of marginalised communities who are already disadvantaged. When beneficiaries are selected based on party affiliation people are still trapped within a system of control by the party. This means that they are not truly free which affects their capabilities to effectively participate in development programmes.

3.2.3. Women and local planning In field data I collected the general consensus is that the Kerala model once served a purpose but is no longer relevant in contemporary times. A good example to illustrate this would be to look at the changing status of women in Kerala society. Proponents of the Kerala model emphasise an active role for women, and this has historical antecedents in the matrilineal culture that once prevailed in the state before British colonisation – for example, the importance of female literacy was motivated by the erstwhile rulers of Travancore in their education programmes (KSSP member, interviewed by author. 16/05/10). 17 Matrilineal women of a bygone era enjoyed considerable autonomy and rights and contemporary Kerala scholars such as René Véron note that apart from gender equality, this history of inclusion of women in education appears to have had a positive influence on children’s health and reduced fertility rates (Véron 2001, 605). However, the high status of Kerala women was considered scandalous by colonialists (Saradamoni 2006, 175 – 177), and this caused the Kerala men to feel embarrassed and ‘uncivilised’ compared to colonialists, giving rise to reforms and legislation that gave men new authority over their homes as protectors and providers, pushing their women into positions of dependence (ibid, 178).

Introduction of the Kerala model has seen further changes in the status of women. In an interview with an academic, the participant claims that women have become a ‘project’ within the framework of the model and decentralisation goals of the state. This in a way makes them ‘objects’ of study and takes away from them, their ‘voice’, their effective participation in their own development. According to the participant, the changes brought about in the 1980s and 1990s, saw development economics play a greater role in national and

17 The state of Kerala came into being in 1957 by the merging of the kingdoms of Travancore, Cochin and Malabar (which was part of the Madras presidency under the British). The rulers of Travancore and Cochin have been far-sighted in their views about universal education cutting across caste and gender. This set the precedent for the higher female literacy rates and the higher literacy rates of lower caste marginalised groups that was achieved in the state (Centre for Development Studies 2006, 10; Ramachandran 1997, 268 – 269).

51 state planning (feminist scholar, interviewed by author. 22/05/10). She argues that the Kerala model’s original human development framework could have brought focus to the status and needs of women, tribals or other marginalised communities, and could have revealed gaps in the way the model provided for such groups. Unfortunately this was not how the model was used so it did not bring about serious changes in the lives of these marginalised groups (ibid). The participant goes on to add that with the launch of the People’s Plan, the framework switched to social democracy – a linking between participatory development and social welfare, and the model was revamped to suit those conditions. It is this framework that casts women as a ‘project’ for the state. For this participant, decentralisation is therefore like striking a bargain with patriarchy – you elevate yourself to a higher playing field but you are still within the same game. When asked about the Kudumbashree project to eradicate poverty through the involvement of women, she says that the project is just a way that women can ‘legally’ escape from their homes. She comments that [women have] got this little courtyard actually, bound on one side by the panchayat, the other side by the Kudumbashree bureaucracy, on one side by their families and on the other by the community...but there is this little playing field in the middle to which you can go and come freely...and women are happy with that (dibi ). She considers Kudumbashree an example of this elevated playing field within a patriarchal system. She is highly sceptical of any changes to the status of women from previous years. It is important to note that this elevated playing field would be for women in mainstream society and does not necessarily apply to all women equally. The Kerala model also homogenises women (as well as communities as was mentioned earlier). Women of disadvantaged societies suffer twice over in that sense – once because of their gender and again because of the communities they belong to. A good example to illustrate this case would be that of a Dalit 18 female auto rickshaw driver in the state, as discussed below.

Chitralekha, a female Dalit auto rickshaw driver in Payanoor district in northern Kerala, faced tremendous atrocities in her effort to earn a living for herself and her family. Chitralekha stated that the Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU), the powerful left trade union wing of the CPM (and at the time, part of the ruling LDF coalition), wanted her to leave the

18 Dalit is a self-designated term for communities previously regarded as ‘untouchable’. They are known as ‘scheduled castes’ in official documents.

52 profession, considered a male bastion (GopaKumar 2011; Nair 2010). Apparently on her first day of work, she was taunted by a group of non-Dalit, CITU-affiliated drivers who hurled abuse pertaining to her caste at her (Nair op cit). Women and human rights groups say that this can only be seen as a clear case of gender and caste politics d(ibi ).

This case illustrates gender and caste discrimination in the state. For the most part, such discrimination is not so blatant as in Chitralekha’s case but the fact that a Dalit woman is being prevented from enjoying opportunities enjoyed by others for reasons of gender and caste is perhaps revealing that the status of women and Dalits (or lower caste communities) has not been as uplifted as thought under the Kerala model or the People’s Plan. Gail Omvedt’s observations on Dalits in Kerala have led her to conclude that as far Kerala is concerned, Dalits are still at a disadvantage similar to the Dalits in other parts of India (Omvedt 2006, 191). Moreover, the lack of economic development in the state has trapped Dalits by keeping them within their traditional occupations of agricultural production and casual labour (ibid, 201).

Robin Jeffrey’s work, Politics, Women and Well Being, illuminates the issues surrounding the agency of women. Jeffrey argues, citing the example of K.R. Gouri, the most prominent woman in Kerala politics, that though schooling for girls and salaried jobs for women are desirable, participation in public politics is not. A woman who goes outside the regulated routine of home and office becomes the target of gossip. Moreover, the men among whom she works often resent a woman’s authority’ (Jeffrey 1992, 215). Jeffrey makes this comment in light of the fact that although Gouri was probably one of the most qualified candidates for the post of Chief Minister in the state in 1987, she did not gain the position. The greater opportunity for female education and for women to make decisions within the family, the rise to middle-levels of authority in salaried jobs, and opportunities to take part in campaigns about local problems can lead to better ‘positions’ for women in Kerala when compared with women in other parts of India, but it does not lead to dramatic changes in their status or in political participation (ibid, 216). It has been two decades since Jeffrey’s observations, but as Chitralekha’s story indicates, the status of women has not changed much. The capabilities of both Dalits, and to a certain extent, women have not

53 expanded, and even though opportunities through decentralisation exist, they are not fully ‘capable’ of effectively using those opportunities.

3.2.4. Marginalised communities as ‘projects’ – participation in development It is my contention that just as women have been made a ‘project’ by development discourse in the state, marginalised communities such as tribals and fisher folk have also become ‘projects’ in a sense that they have to be incorporated into the larger development discourse. Similar to what I have discussed in terms of women in local-level planning in the previous section, such labelling seemingly ‘objectifies’ them and removes their ‘voice’. They are to be ‘dealt with’ within the wider development discourse. We see this from the series of plans and projects targeted at these groups, for example the Vana Samrakshana Samithi (the VSS or forest protection councils) that try to promote participatory planning and management of the forests with tribal communities, led by the Kerala Forest Department (KFD). The question that arises is whether such participatory development projects have in fact made a substantial change in the quality of living for these communities by giving them greater rights and ‘voice’ in projects that affect them i.e. increasing their capabilities? Have their lives improved with greater participation under a participatory development discourse? Chapter five discusses the work of the KFD and VSS vis-à-vis tribal participation in planning and management of forest resources within a larger case study of the construction of a dam. Similarly, chapter six will look at issues surrounding the participation of the fishing communities in participatory development projects. Unlike the (mainstream) women discussed in the previous section, these marginalised communities appear to lack a ‘higher playing field’ on which to negotiate their involvement in participatory development.

An example of this can be seen in a study by Chathukulam and John where it seems that ‘top- down’ intervention is the way in which tribal communities are included. Theoretically, all projects under the tribal sub-plans were to be run with the active participation of tribal communities. However, projects under the tribal resettlement and development mission focussed on conventional development activities (e.g. roads, water supply and irrigation schemes, power supply etc) and from experience, tribes have not benefitted from any of these schemes (Chathukulam and John 2006, 196). The funds allocated for tribal sub-plans, primarily aimed at protecting tribes from exploitation by outsiders and improving their socio- economic conditions, have been misused after devolution of power to local governments;

54 benefitting non-tribals more than tribals, especially in development projects like road construction and power connections (ibid, 185 – 186). Had tribals been consulted, in true participatory planning, their needs would have been identified and projects relevant to their communities might have been put in place.

3.3 Summary and conclusion Tharamangalam contends that the Kerala model of development is only a ‘model’ in its scientific sense – used to mean a specific pattern of socio-economic and political development, though not meant to be a framework that can be emulated elsewhere (Tharamangalam 2006, 3). Analysts of the model have attempted to unwrap and reveal its elements in the hope of demystifying the development trajectory the state has undertaken. Though literature is vast on the Kerala model, with numerous arguments surrounding its sustainability and replicability, all scholars agree that the model is a result of specific historical and socio-cultural conditions that have existed in the state. Kerala stands as an example of how pluralist political parties within a socio-democratic framework can enhance lives even though it was previously thought that such a framework was expensive and unmanageable for developing societies hoping to bring about rapid social changes (Parayil and Sreekumar 2003, 480). Some Kerala scholars, for example Franke and Chasin, have gone so far as to describe development patterns in the state as a social justice model. This they attribute to an active civil society, democratic participation and the redistribution of wealth (Franke and Chasin 1995, 28). Although what Franke and Chasin claim may be true of the state overall, this chapter has argued that the model has not been as it is commonly considered to be, since there are sections of the population that have fallen ‘below the radar’. In fact, these marginalised (mostly tribal and fishing) communities have been part of what Kannan and Pillai have termed ‘exclusionary development’ (Kannan and Pillai 2004, 38). Despite the state’s achievements in social development and participatory planning, there are groups excluded from these achievements and thus still not ‘free’. Using Amartya Sen’s capability approach describing development as a function of different freedoms, I have begun to demonstrate, and will confirm in later chapters, that opportunities extended to local communities as reflected in welfare programmes and participatory planning do not enhance the capabilities of tribal and fishing communities in the state. Indeed, the achievements that elevate the model and the People’s Plan have been at the expense of these marginalised communities.

The lack of success of state-led and market-led development seems to point to community- led development as a means of steering the state towards a form of sustainable development. Although the People’s Plan and participatory planning have led to the opening up of ‘legitimate space’ for communities to have their say, Véron, who sees great promise in participatory planning in the state, has argued that the campaign does not necessarily mean empowerment and may in all likelihood, reflect and entrench local power structures. I have also argued that participatory planning does not necessarily translate to marginalised communities having greater influence. Instead, the opportunities that have been presented through the People’s Plan cannot be easily taken up and where they have been, have not translated to greater capability for these marginalised communities to be part of the state’s development goals.

It is my contention that although there appear to be opportunities to enhance the lives of those who are marginalised, there are several reasons that explain their reduced capability. These are 1) caste oppression, 2) the homogenising of society and political patronage, and 3) women and marginalised groups becoming ‘projects’. In other words, the limited capabilities possessed by the marginalised communities in the state are a result of social stratifications and cultural conditions that influence how these communities are seen by people and how they see themselves, which in turn affects their participation in decentralised planning. Later chapters take up these points in greater detail.

Chapter 4: The People’s Plan and Local Government – Are Panchayats Enabling Institutions?

Following India’s 73rd and 74th amendments to the Panchayati Raj Act in 1993, the state of Kerala introduced its own Panchayat Raj Act the following year with provisions in tune with that of the federal constitution. The Kerala Act has been described as being among the most comprehensive decentralisation laws in the country, ushering a ‘new era of local self- government institutions in the state’ (Suresh 2009, 200). Panchayats in India are the ground level administrative institutions that deal directly with communities. As part of Kerala’s 1994 Act and the wider objectives of the People’s Plan, local government institutions in the state have gained in both administrative and fiscal strength. The aim of such decentralised authority is to increase public participation and therefore increase responsibility and accountability of these institutions towards local communities as envisioned in the plan. It is also a move to include greater local participation in the development process through gram sabhas (village assemblies). Studies have been conducted in the state by both local as well as international scholars that reveal several best practices to this effect. This chapter aims to study the ‘enabling capacity’ of these local government institutions in promoting participation and enhancing the capabilities of marginalised groups in Kerala to become effective participants in democratic decentralisation.

The term ‘enabling capacity’ is taken to mean the ability of local government institutions to increase the capabilities of deprived groups. Put very simply and as mentioned earlier (section 2.1), capabilities refers to the range of options one has to decide on the kind of life one can or wants to lead. In addition, when discussed in the context of development, this chapter extends the definition of capabilities to mean, apart from literacy, the possession of a level of self-assurance and confidence and ability to operate free of social barriers (i.e. casteism or gender bias). These capabilities would then allow marginalised communities to 1) participate freely in the decision making process (surrounding development goals and objectives) and 2) be able to influence, at least to some extent, the outcome of such deliberative processes (Baviskar and Mathew 2009, 6). This includes deciding on the type of development projects that are needed as well as deciding who stands to benefit from state development schemes. Bearing this in mind, local government institutions like panchayats

57 can be described as capability enhancing institutions if they promote through their operations and policies, what has been described above. If local governments have indeed operated in a way that provide the conditions that enhance capabilities, it can be said that they have enabled deprived sections of society to effectively contribute towards development projects and goals. The People’s Plan in Kerala, carried out at local level through the work of panchayats and municipal corporations, can be seen as an attempt at this form of capability building.

To assess the level of enabling these local governments promote is not straightforward, and new criteria are needed. A study of capability enhancing by panchayats has not been undertaken before, and much of the quantitative data collected in other studies pertaining to quality of life in the state masks hidden inequalities (see Devika 2010). In my study I analyse data collected through a series of in-depth as well as informal interviews in Athirapilly panchayat and also in Vizhinjam where the area corporation office falls under the jurisdiction of Trivandrum municipal corporation (see chapter two for details of the methodology). After analysing the data, I argue that local government institutions, specifically those that cover areas of tribal and fishing communities (both marginalised groups in Kerala) that were part of my field study, do not necessarily enable these communities to become effective participants in democratic decentralisation. In addition, I contend that in some instances these institutions impede capability building in marginalised communities, and hence stand as barriers to public inclusion in the development process.

This chapter is divided into three sections. The next section describes local governments and capability building as well as the 73rd and 74th amendments to the Indian constitution and Kerala’s response to it in the form of the Kerala Panchayat Raj Act 1994. The section will also introduce the People’s Plan and two local government institutions that were visited during my field study to ascertain how the plan’s operations affected the capabilities of deprived sections of Kerala society. Using Amartya Sen’s capability approach, section 4.2 will examine the effectiveness of panchayats as capability enhancing institutions and discuss the effectiveness of decentralisation as a tool for social change. In addition, the section will also discuss how these institutions might, in some cases, impede capability building in marginalised communities. Section 4.3 concludes the chapter.

4.1: Democratic decentralisation: local governments and capability building The 73rd and 74th amendments to India’s Panchayati Raj Act created a ‘resource’ through reservation seats for deprived sections of society, and this made the amendments enabling tools for these sections to acquire some power without the traditional resources of wealth and high status (Baviskar and Mathew 2009, 5). Though Baviskar and Mathew have described these amendments as powerful instruments of social change, they concede that opposition and barriers exist in the form of the bureaucracy and traditional power holders (ibid). I extend this argument to not only include their conclusion but to point out how such barriers can impede the development of capabilities in marginalised communities with reference to the state of Kerala. The section will begin with an introduction to the reasons behind and effects of the amendments. The latter half of this section will discuss the People’s Plan, which can be described as the action plan for the Kerala Panchayat Raj Act, the state’s conformity legislation related to the amendments.

4.1.1. The constitutional amendments and decentralised administration In his work on the constitutional amendments and local governments, Shubham Chaudhuri states that article 243G of the amendments specifically calls for states to devolve authority and responsibilities to local government institutions, which captures the core aim of the constitutional reform (Chaudhuri 2006, 174). According to Chaudhuri, this aim is to empower and enable local bodies with the power to play a central role in the ‘provision of public services, the creation and maintenance of local public goods, and the planning and implementation of development activities and programmes’, in an effort to reduce poverty and encourage distributive justice (ibid). This aim is not specific just to the Indian context. Decentralisation has emerged as a dominant concept in world politics and at the heart of it lies a plethora of inter-related and complex themes (Johnson 2002, 4). Craig Johnson identifies three main reasons for the emergence of this idea. These are,  an ideological shift following the inefficiency of central state-led development in strengthening national economic performance and public policy,  a political agenda that has identified decentralisation as a means of governance that is better able to serve the poor and politically marginalised groups, and  a political strategy used to maintain control and legitimacy in the face of political disintegration (ibid, 3 – 4).

In the wake of these changes, Johnson categorises decentralisation discourse into two main schools of thought. The first supports the thesis that decentralisation is a means of improving the public service distribution in developing nations (ibid, 5; also Isaac and Franke 2002, 200 – 201; Crook and Manor 1998; Ostrom 1990). The main result of this would be improved accountability (Johnson op cit, 5).

The second school of thought which leans towards a more critical view of decentralisation argues that the formal process of decentralisation is in fact subservient to, as Johnson mentions, the informal workings of the political economy where ‘power – rooted in class, caste and gender – determines the informal functioning of local political institutions’ (ibid). This critique of decentralisation echoes the reservations voiced by B.R. Ambedkar (who was the chairman of the drafting committee of the Indian constitution, himself from an ‘untouchable’ caste) and Jawaharlal Nehru (India’s first Prime Minister) about the marginalised being able to take over the reins of power (Baviskar and Mathew 2009, 2). These reservations were grounded in the social realities of Indian villages (ibid). As Baviskar and Mathew question, what was the utility in creating democratically elected and politically powerful institutions in the villages without creating enabling conditions? This chapter does not question the utility in creating such institutions as the amendments themselves stand as proof that there is value in institutionalising local governments. However, given the ‘social realities’, and here I define these realities to mean caste issues in the Kerala context, the chapter asks if such local government institutions can create the enabling conditions necessary for full and effective participation from all members of society, especially from those that have been traditionally marginalised. Before examining local government institutions and their enabling effects on marginalised groups in the light of ‘social realities’, a brief look at the constitutional amendments themselves are in order as they set the tone for further discussion.

Chaudhuri argues that the main impetus for the amendments arise from the widespread consensus that there are significant failings in the bureaucratic and centralised apparatus of the Indian state, together with the political agenda for deepening democracy (Chaudhuri op cit, 154). The amendments were to play three main roles.  To provide rural and urban local governments with constitutional status that they previously lacked,

 to create mandatory reservation positions in governing bodies for women and traditionally marginalised communities (lower caste communities and tribal communities) at each of the three-tiers of local governments, and  to create individual state legislation to devolve powers and resources to local bodies to enable them to function as institutions of self-governments (ibid, 153).

The amendments have both mandatory and discretionary provisions. Some of the discretionary provisions allow individual states to legislatively change local government and much of this was left to the judgment of the states’ own legislatures (ibid, 158). As Chaudhuri outlines, these discretionary measures include the endowing of gram sabhas with powers and functions, and devolving powers and responsibilities for the preparation of plans and implementation of schemes for development and social justice to local governments (ibid, 159). This does not mean that states have not paid attention to these discretionary provisions, and Chaudhuri himself points out that Kerala has made serious efforts to engage gram sabhas (ibid, 174). However, Heller et al point out that possible benefits from devolution and allocated power have not been sufficiently well assessed (Heller, Harilal and Chaudhuri 2007, 631), and the effects of such village assemblies remain vague.

As already mentioned, Baviskar and Mathew contend that the 73rd and 74th amendments are indeed powerful tools of social change as they institutionalise local governments and mandate the reservation of seats for women and disadvantaged groups (Baviskar and Mathew op cit, 3). The amendments thereby allow for the transfer of power to local communities and so can act as effective enabling tools that allow these communities to become principal actors in the development process. The extent of this enabling, given Chaudhuri’s argument above, is dependent on action and legislation taken by individual states. It would seem that the state of Kerala has created conducive conditions, through its own conformity act. The Kerala Panchayat Raj Act (1994) has mandated reservation seats, and stressed the importance of gram sabhas and direct elections (Government of Kerala 2011b). Though these disadvantaged local communities are still not powerful in terms of resources, it is hoped that they become better enabled to negotiate the terrains where power is played out (for example, local bureaucracy, village assemblies etc) in order to secure better living conditions for themselves. The premise is that greater empowerment will lead to enhanced capabilities. However, empirical evidence from two local governments seem to suggest that local

61 government institutions may still have some way to go in terms of enhancing capabilities of marginalised groups. This will be discussed in greater detail in section 4.2. The uncertain empowerment of marginalised groups compared with other states notwithstanding, Kerala stands out as more progressive in creating state legislation which conforms to the national amendments.

4.1.2. The Kerala Panchayat Raj Act and the People’s Plan One of the important features of the Kerala Panchayat Raj Act is the creation of a three-tier panchayat raj system (village, block and district levels), each an independent institution with legal and political autonomy (Suresh 2009, 200). In addition to this, in a remarkably bold move, the state devolved 35 – 40 per cent of the financial outlay for projects that will be initiated by local bodies, with priorities identified through gram sabhas. Upon gaining power in the state in 1996, the Left Democratic Front (LDF) coalition set in place the institutional mechanisms required for the effective devolving of functions, functionaries and funds for the People’s Plan (ibid, 14 – 15; Isaac and Franke 2002).

In their work on the People’s Plan, as discussed earlier (section 3.1.3), Thomas Isaac and Richard Franke contend that Kerala stands out from other decentralisation efforts in the country because of the state’s ‘action first – preconditions later’ policy (Isaac and Franke op cit, 18). According to John and Chathukulam, another unique feature of decentralisation in Kerala has to do with the fact that although power alternates between the LDF (the party which initiated the plan) and the United Democratic Front (UDF) coalition, the plan remains, regardless of the administration, with few superficial changes (John and Chathukulam 2007, 54). Also, as Patrick Heller writes, steps taken towards decentralisation in Kerala made it the most fiscally devolved state in India and second only to Columbia in the developing world (Heller 2001).

According to Pranab Bardhan and Dilip Mookherjee, the argument in favour of decentralisation is that local government officials are more likely to be better informed about the preferences of local citizens especially in the face of heterogeneous needs of different communities (Bardhan and Mookherjee 2006, 7). This is an important argument especially with regards to traditionally marginalised groups as decentralised planning allows for greater integration of these communities into the state’s overall development plans and goals. Part of

62 this progression involves empowering these communities with opportunities and capabilities to become effective participants in the planning process. Kerala’s People’s Plan seems to have installed the necessary criteria and structure for this to happen. For example, gram sabhas provide a means for direct democracy by allowing people to prioritise development goals and be involved in beneficiary selection (Venugopal and Yilmaz 2009, 316; Kurian 2000); financial devolution allows for local government institutions to invest in projects that are most relevant to their communities (Centre for Development Studies 2006, 148); the presence of the institution of ombudsman and beneficiary committees to implement public works (Vijayalakshmi 2006, 392), and the presence of a regional appellate tribunal set up to hear appeals against local government decisions (John and Chathukulam op cit, 58) ensure accountability. Kerala has addressed many of the initial hurdles the rest of the states in India are yet to grasp, creating a discourse on decentralisation especially in the context of globalisation (ibid, 54 – 57). Are these conditions enough for empowering marginalised groups and enhancing their capabilities? As Johnson argues, decentralisation does not necessarily lead to poverty eradication without certain conditions being fulfilled. To this end, Johnson has outlined conditions such as the role of civil society and competitive party politics (Johnson 2002, 16 – 22). The vibrant civil society in Kerala has attracted the attention of several scholars (Heller 2000, 497; Frank and Chasin 1997 among others) and the state is highly political with a large section of the population supporting one of the major parties. Does this mean decentralisation has been more effective in Kerala?

Thomas Isaac and Richard Franke present a few examples of successful projects implemented under the People’s Plan. For example, Koyilandy, a municipality of Kozhikode district, is a lowland town with all possible conditions for malaria outbreaks. The town has a dense population, poor drainage and open septic tanks with puddles near houses. A husband and wife team of biologists in the community proposed a multi-pronged approach to mosquito eradication which was then taken up by the local People’s Plan activists. The result was the destruction of more than a million mosquitoes at one or more phases of their life cycle and an 85 per cent reduction over areas where no interventions were carried out (Isaac and Franke op cit, 154 – 55). In another example, Shoba Arun et al describe Kudumbashree – a community- based decentralised participatory structure for women, aimed at asset building at grassroots level (see chapter three) – as an example of community organisations providing valuable lessons for developing asset accumulation strategies (Arun, Arun and Devi 2011, 171). The People’s Plan initiatives have led to the development of participatory planning and, according

63 to these authors, have provided an enabling environment for improving the lives of many (ibid, 172). Kudumbashree is one such initiative that ‘operates as a community-based participatory structure within the decentralisation programme, focussing on poor income households…’ (ibid). For Arun et al, this programme has not only ensured the transfer of power and flow of funds to local regions but has also allowed the development of capacity and participation of different communities in various ways (ibid, 177).

Other examples of the successes of the plan were recorded by Richard Franke and Barbara Chasin (Franke and Chasin op cit). They detail the work of Chapparapadavu and Methala panchayats. Chapparapadavu residents got together in the gram sabhas and explained that the public works department needed to construct a bridge over a nearby river to make their lives easier. They have been requesting this for years with no response from the department. In the spirit of the People’s Plan, the panchayat president asked the residents whether they would be willing to build their own bridge. This they did with contributions from households and labour coming from the community as well. The bridge they built is passable to pedestrians and functions for seven months in a year. The rest of the time, it is submerged under monsoon waters. Another case is Methala panchayat which has 16 squatter huts that crowd the edge of the panchayat along the state highway. Methala’s development plans outlined homes for squatter families and because the People’s Plan has seen the devolution of 40 per cent financial transfer from the state, such plans became possible. A coalition of trade unions offered free skilled labour, and resources (monetary and otherwise) came pouring in from the local communities. The new housing is an apartment complex. These examples stand testimony to the power of people’s involvement in development planning.

Several scholars have analysed the effects of decentralisation in the state. For example, there is some scholarship on the effects on decentralisation on gender mainstreaming (Devika 2010, Devika and Thampi 2007, Vijayan 2007); on marginalised communities (Suresh op cit; Chathukulam and John 2006; Parayil and Sreekumar 2006; Kurien 2000); on participatory planning (Arun, Arun and Devi op cit; Isaac and Franke op cit; Isaac, Franke and Parameswaran 1997; Santhakumar, Rajagopalan and Ambirajan 1995) and on transparency and accountability (Inbanathan 2009 and Vijayalakshmi op cit). This list is not exhaustive as Kerala has become a beacon for all those interested in studies on the developmental state and democratic decentralisation. Oommen (2008, 2006) and Kannan and Pillai (2004) have also examined the Kerala experience in the light of Amartya Sen’s capability approach as

64 discussed in section 2.1. The discussion in this chapter differs from the latter scholars’ work in that it examines the role played by local government institutions in enhancing the capabilities of marginalised groups in the state. Similar studies have not been conducted in the state. This chapter then is an attempt in this direction.

4.1.3. Field sites As part of my field study I visited two local government institutions in the state. The first was a gram (or village) panchayat in Athirapilly in Thrissur district in the central part of the state. This particular panchayat’s jurisdiction extends around 85 kilometres, a good part of which is in the forests of the Western Ghats where a number of tribal colonies exist. The second field site was Vizhinjam area office which is part of the Trivandrum Corporation, in the south. This area office’s jurisdiction covers mostly, though not exclusively, coastal fishing communities. The focus here was the effects local government institutions had on communities, specifically marginalised communities, in the state. I have earlier identified tribal and fishing communities as disadvantaged groups in Kerala. The discontent surrounding major concerns in these two areas have brought up issues relating to the enabling capacity of the respective local governments and of the state with regards to these communities. In later chapters I will set out, and analyse in detail, conditions for the tribal and fishing communities at Athirapilly (chapter five) and Vizhinjam (chapter six), respectively. Only brief introductions are given here.

The proposed construction of a dam by the Kerala State Electricity Board makes Athirapilly an ideal location to study the effects of local-level planning or input from locals in a major environmental and social concern. As part of my data collection, I visited two tribal colonies located within the jurisdiction of the panchayat and interview elected representatives19 as well as Kerala Forest Department officials.

19 I use the term ‘elected representative’ to denote a person elected to office by the constituents. The term ‘official’ denotes a member from the administrative service in local government. Henceforth, these two terms will be used to describe local elected representatives and government officials.

Photo 4.2: Athirapilly Gram Panchayat Office (photo by author)

Vizhinjam is a village made up mostly of fishing communities where members belong to the ‘Other Backward Caste’ (or OBC), specifically to the caste known as Mukkuvas or Mukkuvars – a social group primarily belonging to a fishing community. Several of these families are classified as being ‘Below Poverty Line’ (or BPL). I chose Vizhinjam fishing village because a number of social and environmental issues existed (though not uniquely) in this particular community including health, water and housing issues. There is a corporation office in Vizhinjam and it handles the various administrative matters of the wards. Although I was unable to meet the elected representatives, I interviewed a number of people from the fishing community, both men and women. I also managed to speak to an official in the area office.

Photo 4.5: Vizhinjam Area Office – part of Trivandrum City Corporation (photo by author)

4.2: The enabling role of local government institutions As discussed in earlier chapters, Kerala is fertile ground for conducting experiments in decentralisation given its literacy rates, political participation and interest, as well as its active civil society. The LDF took further the possibilities that could arise from the 73rd and 74th amendments and breathed new life into decentralisation efforts in the state, quite successfully too, at least in terms of setting up institutions and structures in supporting these efforts. Among other successes, all 990 panchayats in the state have produced regular development reports (former IAS officer, interviewed by author. 14/09/11) and continue to do so. And as discussed earlier, several best practices with regards to participatory planning in panchayats have also been recorded. However, the success rate of local governments in areas with a significant proportion of marginalised groups has not, for the most part, been analysed. The studies that have attempted to evaluate panchayat performance (see for example Heller, Harilal and Chaudhuri 2007; Isaac and Franke 2002, among others) have not done so through the experiences of marginalised communities though most studies do mention greater representation of these groups through legislative changes and the People’s Plan.

4.2.1. Participatory planning and capability building As discussed in section 2.1, Amartya Sen’s concepts of freedom and capabilities become relevant to studying the enhancing capabilities of local governments, because it is assumed that decentralisation and its related mechanisms are in place to involve local communities, increase their capability and empower them to be effective participants in development. As mentioned earlier, capability is then extended to include the possession of certain abilities (for example literacy) and certain qualities (self assurance, confidence) and the absence of barriers (for example, casteism or gender bias) to freely utilising these abilities to better one’s own life.

There has been a lack of research conducted to examine to what extent decentralisation (through local government institutions) has enhanced the ‘positive freedoms’ (see chapter two) of marginalised groups. ‘Positive freedom’ here denotes the ability ‘to do’ or to manoeuvre oneself within the system and processes of local governments to enhance one’s own livelihood, and whether local governments play a role in this happening. The following discussion focuses on this aspect of decentralised planning.

Local government institutions are fundamental in engaging grassroots participation, and the pursuit of a community-based sustainable development requires a political system that ensures effective citizen participation (WCED 1987, 65). René Véron contends that decentralisation is the adequate political system for this purpose (Véron 2001, 604). It can be argued that one of the principal aims of decentralisation then is to promote sustainable development where communities prioritise projects and are closely involved in the planning, and at times even the implementation, of those projects. It is hoped that participatory planning will even reduce the poverty gap and reduce corruption (Chaudhuri 2006, 174; Isaac and Franke 2002, 5). Economists, K.P. Kannan and V.N. Pillai have delineated the dynamic sequence of development as entitlement leading to access which then leads to freedom, and this points to the role of the state in creating or opening up opportunities i.e. creating capabilities. Community participation through decentralisation of state power and functions make up an ‘autonomous hence ideal’ way of targeting and addressing development issues through cooperatives. It is implied through this argument that the degree of decentralisation of power of the state can be seen as an indicator of its concern for and commitment to human development (Kannan and Pillai 2004, 6).

4.2.2. Local governments and capability enhancing The role of local government institutions in expanding the social space of marginalised communities becomes crucial if we are to examine capabilities as defined above since these institutions are involved in the daily lives of these communities. The most important question to ask is whether these institutions have been able to transform these communities from mere recipients or beneficiaries of numerous schemes and projects to enabled individuals who effectively participate in prioritising, planning, and in some cases, even implementing development projects. Baviskar and Mathew have argued that free participation in decision- making is not the only goal but participants must, at least in part, be able to influence the outcome of the deliberative process (Baviskar and Mathew 2009, 6). I argue that though opportunities for participation are present, the likelihood of marginalised communities influencing outcomes of the process is limited. In order to assess the capability enhancing capacity of local governments there was a need to come up with a ‘standard’ against which these local institutions could be weighed. To this end, I have marked out four possible areas of assessment that can be analysed in order to consider local governments’ capacity to increase capabilities of marginalised communities. The first two points are discussed briefly

68 in this section and will be taken up again in the case studies in chapters five and six. The possible areas for assessment are,  gram sabha attendance  attitudes of marginalised groups towards these representatives or officials  attitudes of elected representatives and officials in panchayats towards marginalised groups  degree of political patronage To summarise what was said earlier, the effectiveness of local government institutions in enhancing the capabilities of marginalised tribal and fishing communities is best assessed through examining whether local government institutions make specific provisions to ensure that these disadvantaged groups 1) participate freely in the decision-making process and 2) are able to some extent influence the outcome of such deliberative processes.

If local governments have operated in a way that satisfies the conditions that describe capability building (as described earlier), it can be said that they have enabled deprived sections of society to effectively contribute to development. But I contend that local governments’ operations are to some extent influenced by caste politics, and that local governments are not necessarily enabling institutions in that they are not satisfying conditions that describe capability building. This in turn affects the attitudes of marginalised communities towards these institutions. It is important to note that these disadvantaged groups already have certain internal barriers that stand in the way of their enabling. This is a result of power dynamics and resultant subjugation – brought on by social and cultural practices as a result of historical behaviour, as I will elaborate in chapters five through to seven.

4.2.3. Gram sabhas and the needs of marginalised communities The idea of democratic representation is best reflected in the gram sabhas or village assemblies. This is where the direct involvement of people can be seen. Development projects are to be prioritised here, beneficiaries are selected and various programmes are made known at these assemblies. As Timothy Besley et al describe, the gram sabha has often been considered the ‘lynchpin of the panchayat raj system’ which has the potential to structure democratic institutions to ensure the efficient allocation of public funds (Besley,

Pande and Rao 2007, 664). The reasons behind gram sabhas are first, to better reflect citizens’ preference and how to target the neediest groups and second, to monitor the actions of elected representatives and ensure accountability (Besley, Pande and Rao 2005, 649). Such meetings of citizens in every village discussing and deciding the provision and distribution of public goods and services, and monitoring elected representatives and administrative officials is greatly appreciated in Gandhian tradition (Isaac and Franke 2002, 44). However, village assemblies did not receive attention in the Indian constitution when it was formed (ibid). As Isaac and Franke note, the continued degeneration of gram sabhas throughout the years and the lack of awareness of the function of these assemblies coupled with the apathy of villagers has resulted in the ‘poor participation in number and quality’ becoming a common feature in gram sabhas across the country (ibid, 45). Problems of gram sabhas in Kerala present additional blocks in that 1) panchayats in Kerala were large so if convened, numbers in gram sabhas would become unwieldy20 and 2) Kerala’s settlement pattern was more dispersed than clusters found in the rest of India (ibid, 46).

As Ban and Rao state, gram sabhas empowered by state legislature are expected to:  prepare village development plans  select beneficiaries for government programmes  impose new taxes or modify old ones  discuss matters as they may be prescribed (Ban and Rao 2009, 7). The rights granted to these assemblies, by law, to make decisions on public goods allocation and beneficiary selection is central to village life and ensures that gram sabhas are a powerful, constitutionally mandated ‘deliberative space’ (ibid). While holding gram sabhas is compulsory as stipulated in the Panchayat Raj Act in the state (Government of Kerala 2011b), the frequency of meetings and content discussed in these assemblies owes much to the discretion of elected officials (Besley, Pande and Rao 2005, 649). According to the study by Besley et al, holding gram sabhas improves targeting of resources towards the neediest groups and it is the most disadvantaged who attend these village meetings (ibid, 649; Besley, Pande and Rao 2007, 665). However, empirical data seem to suggest the contrary, especially in the case of fishing communities, as I will show in chapter six.

20 This problem was solved as the legislation stipulates that only ten per cent of the population needs to be convened (Government of Kerala 2011b).

Gram sabhas can be considered enabling institutions for disadvantaged groups if they are held with the intention to gather information about the preferences of these groups and be a feedback mechanism through which these communities have a chance to influence the deliberative process. Moreover, even under ideal circumstances, if these assemblies have been seen as democratic institutions, the direct role of people in gram sabhas has its limitations (Inbanathan 2009, 3). The Panchayat Raj Act of Kerala requires that suggestions and recommendations need only be given ‘due consideration’ (ibid; Government of Kerala 2011b, 713). According to Anand Inbanathan, development activities and functioning of the panchayats are largely depend on the bureaucracy and elected representatives (Inbanathan op cit, 3). Of biggest concern here is the attendance of constituents at these village assemblies. The quorum requires that ten per cent of the population needs to be present (Government of Kerala op cit, 715). In some cases, as discussed in the last chapter, certain panchayats have gone as far as altering figures as well as making it mandatory for members of women’s Self- Help Groups (or SHGs for example, Kudumbashree) to attend. Inbanathan’s work on local governments in Kerala and Karnataka also point to low gram sabha attendance. The consulting of electors on a regular basis was also not as common as would be expected (Inbanathan op cit, 11). My own empirical evidence points to similar findings although highlights different reasons for low attendance, unlike what some scholars have noted (see Ban and Rao op cit, 7 for their findings in gram sabha activities21). This will be discussed in later chapters. Some development analysts, such as S. Mohanakumar, contend that communities that have remained grossly ignorant of the planning process are now fully participating, from taking part in gram sabha discussions to social auditing (Mohanakumar 2002, 1494). However, from empirical data gathered at the two sites I visited, it would appear this might not be the reality at grassroots level especially for these disadvantaged groups, as I will elaborate in later chapters.

21 Ban and Rao have noted some interesting findings in their study of transcripts of village meetings in south India. These are:  powerful groups, such as landowners, exert greater influence on deliberative processes but that does not warrant preferential treatment from officials that attend  needs of the disadvantaged are also mentioned but this is a result of these needs being mentioned by officials  high literacy reduces the influence of powerful groups e.g. landlords  presence of an important local official reduces domination of powerful groups  where presidency is reserved for lower castes, discourse is dominated by powerful groups suggesting that reservation seats (for marginalised groups) may produce weak leaders (Ban and Rao 2009, 20).

We can note that tribal communities have their own version of gram sabhas known as oorukootams (literally meaning village gatherings). The evident limitation to tribal participation in both oorukootams and gram sabhas will be further discussed in section 5.3.3.

4.2.4. Attitudes of marginalised communities Administrative and financial devolution in the state was based on the assumption that people would identify development priorities and be part of formulating development plans. Though this has been the case in the majority of panchayats in the state, the fishing and tribal colonies I visited had a different story to tell, as will be revealed in later chapters. In his work on Mananthavady Panchayat in Kerala, examining local government and excluded groups, TG Suresh describes the panchayat as being fraught with social issues/conflicts surrounding traditional beliefs/practices when he writes, ‘as elsewhere in the state, this agrarian society is still pregnant with contradictions originating from traditional identities. Needless to say that caste, religion and gender continue to influence the social positions of individuals’ (Suresh 2009, 205). Such ingrained attitudes are difficult to alter especially since they have been with these communities for a long time.

The People’s Plan and the resultant changes to panchayats and development planning held promise for marginalised communities in the form of oorukootams (for tribals), gram sabhas, SHGs (for example ones like Kudumbashree, especially in the case of women) and numerous other projects and activities that these communities could be part of. Yet, this does not necessarily mean that local governments have enabled these communities. After all, it is not possible to claim success in local development and participatory planning if a section of the community is not actively involved. Of concern is the indifference to local-level participation and perceived discriminatory attitudes from government officials and elected representatives, on the part of marginalised communities. Also, possessing low self-confidence and low self- esteem can impede these communities’ effective participation in the planning and decision- making processes. How such attitudes play out will be revealed in greater details in chapters five and six.

4.2.5. Attitudes of government officials and elected representatives The gram sabha, seen as the ‘lynchpin of the panchayat system’, does have its limitations. There are communities that ‘fall between the cracks’ and end up not being involved in the development process. Although no one actually stops their participation, there is no mechanism that facilitates it either. The best way to enable these communities would be through panchayats which, given the proximity of these institutions to these communities, are best placed to identify on-the-ground realities and direct programmes and operations to reach these communities. Empirical data suggests that elected representatives are often aware of the most pressing issues (like drinking water and waste management in Vizhinjam and alcohol abuse in the tribal colonies) in marginalised communities but do little to address them. Often times, they place the blame on the community itself saying that they are responsible for their own hardship. In interviews with elected representatives in Athirapilly, the alcohol problem came up but it is often raised with the connotation that this is expected behaviour from these tribal communities. However, tribal women interviewed (who suffer most as a result of men drinking) mention that this issue was brought up several times to the representatives, officials and basically anyone who would listen. These women accuse the panchayat of knowing about the sale of cheap (and unsafe) alcohol but do nothing about it. They went so far as to say that local politicians allow the sale of illegal alcohol because they profit from it, a fact that has not been verified. The sale of alcohol is clearly an issue in this particular community and both the tribals as well as the local government know it exists. The panchayat is evidently steering clear of this issue leaving it to the tribal development committee, which also seems to be indifferent towards it (elected representative, interviewed by author. 16/09/11).

The attitudes of officials towards members of the fishing community are somewhat similar to that described above. During my visit to Vizhinjam area office, a woman with the Kerala Fishworkers Union (Kerala Matsya Thozhillali Federation or KSMTF) came in to speak to the official about the issues concerning drinking water in the village. She was told to see her representative as the panchayat officials could not do anything about this. The official insisted she see her representative even after he was told by the woman that she was actually sent to him by their representative! Such examples clearly show that in addition to not providing support and incentive for these communities to be part of overall development goals, local governments can sometimes impede capability building in marginalised communities by perpetuating behaviour that has long been displayed by elected

73 representatives and especially officials in the bureaucracy with respect to disadvantaged groups.

4.2.6. Political patronage and capability enhancing As previously mentioned, René Véron’s work on the ‘new’ Kerala model, contends that local development plans are more likely to be hijacked by local political power structures in the village rather than be an effort of common will (Véron 2001, 612). This conclusion prompts the need for studies into these ‘local power structures’ and in fact signals the need to scrutinise such structures that might possibly prevent the empowerment of marginalised communities in the state. M.K. Das, who describes Kerala’s decentralised planning as a ‘floundering experiment’, echoes Véron’s words when he discusses the ‘pre-selection’ of beneficiaries (Das 2000, 4302). Interviews with local community members, especially with those in Vizhinjam fishing village, corroborate this and point to the idea of partisan politics in beneficiary selection. Political patronage, as discussed in section 3.2.2, an important element in Kerala where party involvement in local governments is strong, (see Inbanathan 2009; Heller 2000; Das op cit) is quite an influential factor at local level. Indeed, Chathukulam and John state that in no other state in India is party affiliation and penetration as strong, especially at the grassroots level, as in Kerala. People do not have easy entry to the structures of the major political parties (Chathukulam and John 2000, 68).

Women are excluded as a result of the patriarchal attitude of the major parties and find it particularly difficult to enter the political arena (ibid). Similarly, from what has been gathered from these communities, it appears likely that marginalised groups like tribals and fishermen find it equally difficult to penetrate the upper (progressive) class, educated, males’ domain in political parties except as supporters and low level officials. However, these ‘officials’/supporters are often backed by the parties to run as representatives at local government level. Projects, beneficiary selection and other local government business is carried out after consultation with the respective parties instead of considering necessities and ‘felt’ needs of the people (Devika, 2010; Inbanathan, 2009). Politics and political patronage plague genuine attempts at democratic decentralisation and thus hamper the enabling of marginalised communities at grassroots level. This is reflected in workings of local government actions.

Some scholars have noted that decentralisation has resulted in the fragmentation of political and bureaucratic power (Isaac and Franke 2002 , 82; Das op cit, 4302) and as a result, this process has had limited party backing (Das op cit, 4303). When tied in with political patronage and party infiltration at local level, there is little scope in this ‘arrangement’ for enabling of marginalised groups because for such a plan to work effectively there must be full co-operation from the parties and more importantly, the bureaucracy, along with an accepted reduction in their power. If beneficiaries are indeed ‘pre-selected’ according to their party affiliation or connection, not only is such a system not enabling, it is also deepening the marginalisation of the most disadvantaged groups in society. Some of these ‘pre-selected beneficiaries’ may also be from marginalised communities and may already be entitled to the state’s services for example, rations at a lower price because of their BPL status (see also section 6.2). When queried about why such injustice has not been made public, local community participants claim that no one is willing to bring these issues to the open and as highlighted by participants, the issue would have to be brought up to the local government official or the elected representative and they might very well be party supporters. There is no evidence that such practices do happen. However, given the mindsets of the people, the state of their communities and the level of hardships they face, it appears as if it is possible that such arrangements may in fact exist. If local governments were to operate under such conditions they cannot be enabling institutions.

Yet another issue surrounding decentralisation and local governments is that the advocates of People’s Plan believed that development programmes for weaker sections (the scheduled castes or scheduled tribes) would be more effective if incorporated into overall local-level planning process. Therefore, 75 – 80 per cent of the Special Component Plan (SCP) and the Tribal Sub Plan (TSP) were devolved to local bodies (Suresh 2009, 201). Chathukulam and John point out the problems in local governments taking control of plans earmarked for marginalised groups. For example, much of the funds that were supposed to go for development projects for these communities have been diverted to predictable projects like road construction instead of being used for targeted projects that would benefit tribal communities. It is true that roads will make accessibility no longer an issue for tribals but construction often begins from the side of mainstream society (from the towns), ending in tribal areas (in the forested areas) and will often take years to complete. This means, others enjoy such development before the tribals ever do (Chathukulam and John 2006). Baviskar and Mathew point out that even in a progressive state like Kerala, tribals are deprived of their

75 land by both the government and immigrants, and panchayat funds meant for tribal welfare end up being used for the benefit of higher/dominant castes (Baviskar and Mathew 2009, 12). Even if it is the case that overall development of the area has been somewhat achieved, it has been at the expense of marginalised communities.

Such local government action prevents the undertaking of specific capability building action for these communities even though funds have been set aside for such projects to take place. In this case, local governments in fact impede capability building in these communities. Here I point out that capability building is also not just about devolving funds. Although financial resources are vital, capability building is more about creating conditions where these communities can become effective and influential participants in development. It seems that local government institutions have not been creating such conditions. In their discussion on social capital formation in Kerala, John and Chathukulam describe the state’s ‘strangulating effect’ on civic life (John and Chathukulam 2002, 1940). Many civic associations have roots in politics or political ideologies and a good example of this is the Kerala Sastra Sahithya Parishad or KSSP (the people’s science movement) and the KSMTF (the fish workers federation), as mentioned in the previous chapter. As a result, effective governance in Kerala has more to do with ‘dynamic interaction of political and civil life’.

With the procedures and protocols local governments have to follow in terms of running gram sabhas or oorukootams, fulfilling the quota of the number of people, coming up with priority areas for discussion and producing development plans, it is easy enough for panchayats to start functioning as another level of bureaucracy. According to a former administrative officer I interviewed, local governments are now starting to function as localised miniature versions of the state government in their running and administration (former IAS officer, interviewed by author. 14/09/11). This indicates a slowing down of the great momentum created during the People’s Plan. Local governments have now evolved into a bigger mechanism and in the process, distanced themselves from the local communities they are supposed to be in touch with. This development is especially critical when we examine the role of these institutions with regards to marginalised communities. When such institutions further themselves from these communities, they run the risk of driving these groups deeper into poverty and deprivation. Clearly this defeats the purpose of the People’s Plan.

4.3: Summary and conclusion One of the goals of decentralisation is to create institutions and groups which provide an enabling environment for the functioning of local bodies as agencies of self-government and to ensure local-level development on a sustainable basis (John and Chathukulam 2002, 1939). Though institutions have received necessary political and legal backing and local level institutions in the form of SHGs and neighbourhood groups have been set up (ibid), I have argued that these do not necessarily enhance the capabilities of marginalised communities in the areas visited during field study. In some cases, local governments have stood in the way of capability building in these communities. As Rao and Raghunandan have argued, one of the aims of the People’s Plan is to produce development plans expressed in village assemblies (gram sabhas), planned at panchayat level, co-ordinated at the block level and finally, approved at the district level (Rao and Raghunandan 2011, 16). The purpose of this is to make sure that local government institutions would play an important role in development planning and democratic decentralisation by 1) promoting local economic development, 2) reducing gender disparities, 3) integrating area development 4) upgrading the quality of basic services provided and 5) improving governance, especially with issues of accountability, transparency and responsiveness, among others (ibid). India’s 73rd and 74th constitutional amendments created a ‘legitimate space’ (Lele 2001) for deprived sections of society and formed enabling conditions for these disadvantaged groups to acquire some power without acquiring the traditional resources of wealth and high social status (Baviskar and Mathew 2009, 3). The amendments call on the states to devolve authority, both administrative and fiscal, to local government institutions to empower them to play a pivotal role in poverty reduction and promote social justice.

It would seem that the state of Kerala tried to create conducive conditions through its own conformity act. The Kerala Panchayat Raj Act has mandated reservation seats and stressed the importance of gram sabha participation. Although such actions have met with covert resistance from the bureaucracy and upper caste members, Kerala’s local government legislation stands out as being one of the more progressive ones in terms of conformity legislation in India. Decentralisation took the form of a campaign where the state government devolved up to 40 per cent of the outlay for projects drawn up by local governments. There was also the insistence on mass participation and transparency which included ordinary citizens working alongside officials. The People’s Plan had produced a number of successful projects in a number of panchayats across the state. At the same time, there are pockets of

77 discontent, especially in local government dealings with marginalised communities like the tribal and fishing communities.

Using Amartya Sen’s capability approach, this chapter has tried to examine the role played by local government in enhancing the capabilities of marginalised communities in the state. The main aim of the chapter was to assess the enabling capacity of local government institutions to improve the capabilities of disadvantaged sections in Kerala society. The enabling capacity of local governments was examined by assessing how conducive these institutions made it for marginalised groups to freely and fully participate in, and to some extent, influence the outcome of deliberative processes. It was found that in the case of the two local governments visited, neither created capability enhancing conditions or promoted capability building among these deprived groups.

The amendments, Kerala’s conformity act and the People’s Plan are all powerful tools of social change but the question is whether they were used to this effect. Elected representatives and officials are often aware of the hardships faced by marginalised communities but seem to put the blame on them for their hardships, for example their illiteracy or alcohol abuse. Political patronage is also another key issue as often it is the supporters of political parties, within these marginalised communities, that receive greater ‘power’ through access to resources that would otherwise be denied to them.

The state of Kerala has progressive local government legislation and has embarked on massive programmes for democratic decentralisation. It has devolved administrative powers and empowered local institutions with the fiscal strength to evolve as centres of democratic deepening. It is safe to say that greater representation, the creation of SHGs, and participatory planning has been beneficial for the majority of Kerala’s citizens. However, are we able to argue that marginalised communities are fully able to effectively participate in local-level planning given greater representation and decentralised administrative and fiscal powers? Indications are that greater devolution does not necessarily translate to greater responsibility on the part of local governments with regards to marginalised communities or to greater capability of these groups. These issues will be taken up in the case studies presented in the next two chapters.

Chapter 5: The Kadars of Athirapilly – Power, Cultural Subjects and Capability

In chapter four I examined the role played by local government institutions in enhancing the capabilities of marginalised communities in Kerala. I explored whether conditions in local governments allow marginalised groups to freely and fully participate in, and to some extent, influence the outcome of deliberative processes. Chapter five now presents a case study to further explore ideas surrounding capability and power mechanisms. With a dispute over dam construction as backdrop, I will investigate the creation of ‘cultural subjects’ through power and how such subject creation affects capability building in the Kadar tribal community.

The Western Ghats in Kerala is beautiful terrain marked by dense and luxuriant vegetation and inhabited by unique species of flora and fauna. These mountain ranges run a length of approximately 1600km through the states of Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Kerala, ending at Cape Comorin (Kanya Kumaari) at the southern tip of the Indian Peninsula (IndiaNetZone 2010). The Western Ghats form water catchment areas for a large number of rivers which drain almost 40 per cent of the sub-continent itself (ibid). This region is where 41 of Kerala’s 44 rivers originate and where this story starts. 22 One of these rivers, the Chalakkudy, flows westwards towards the Arabian Sea, a major part of which flows through dense forests, and in its wake creates unique ecological zones that are habitats to species of fish, flora, birds and mammals, many of which are endemic to the region.23 The river is also the lifeblood of the Kadars; a primitive tribe that has inhabited this region long before European explorers ventured into the Ghats, and are still part of its landscape.

The Chalakkudy is the fifth largest river in Kerala and is also a chief source of water for the central parts of the state. The river also boasts two magnificent falls one at Vazhachal and the other at Athirapilly, which are major tourist attractions in the region and a source of livelihood for local communities. More than that, the river is an intricate part of the life of the

22 Of the 44 rivers, 41 originate in the Western Ghats and flow westwards towards the Lakshadweep Sea through backwaters and estuaries (Chattopadhyay and Franke 2006, 39). The Kabani, the Bhavani and the Pambar originate within the state and flow in an easterly direction. The east flowing rivers flow only short distances through Kerala. Of them, Pambar and Bhavani flow into the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu and Kabani to neighbouring Karnataka state (ProKerala 2012). 23 The Chalakkudy has also come under much scientific interest due to the discovery of several new fish species most of which are strictly endemic to the river (Raghavan et al. 2008, 37).

Kadars, who not only depend on it for food and water, but have an intimate bond with it that defies definition within modern development discourse. At present there are about six dams across the river for the purposes of both irrigation and hydroelectric power generation. This includes the Poringalkotthu and Sholayar dams and the Chalakkudy diversion scheme which was created for irrigation purposes. The proposed construction of a seventh dam along the Chalakkudy, at around 400 metres above the Vazhachal Falls, by the Kerala State Electricity Board (Henceforth KSEB) will displace two colonies of the Kadar tribe and destroy habitats of local wildlife as well as devastate the unique riverine vegetation endemic to the Western Ghats, a biological ‘hotspot’. This brings to light issues of social and environmental justice in the state.

As mentioned in the previous chapter, the Panchayat Raj Act of 1994 works on establishing a system in Kerala which secures a great measure of participation in planned development and in local government affairs. The People’s Plan is the working schema for this, with the objectives of decentralisation, and public participation. I examine the Kadars’ level of involvement in local development. Empirical evidence shows that in devising the proposed project, as well as other local development schemes, authorities have not attempted to understand and integrate local power distribution and cultural conditioning vis-à-vis tribal communities. I conducted a series of in-depth interviews in Athirapilly. The data reveals that members of the Kadar tribal community feel that their perceived place in society makes their contribution with regards to local planning negligible. The primitive Kadar tribe, with their physical isolation and unique hunter-gatherer lifestyle (which they have retained even in contemporary times) was significantly different from traditional peasant society. As historian Susan Bayly writes, a significant element of Indian society has been the ‘presence of very large subordinated populations who have been identified as culturally, morally and even biologically distinct from other Indians: these are the people to whom such labels as “tribals” and “untouchables” have been applied’ (Bayly 2008, 29). Empirical evidence suggests that they were, and still are, classified as being ‘lower’ in caste social hierarchy. I argue that such perceptions in terms of ‘place in society’ is a result of cultural subjugation or the creation of ‘cultural subjects’ via established discriminatory practices of caste society. It is my contention that the caste system is a power mechanism, which dictates behaviour of society in relation to local-level planning. Such a system not only creates subjects but determines degrees of empowerment accorded to different social groups in decentralised planning, as will be demonstrated in this chapter (as well as the next with regards to the fishing

80 community in the state). In addition, as mentioned in section 3.2, tribal and fishing communities have been part of the ‘exclusionary development’ in the state (Kannan and Pillai 2004, 38)

This chapter has four sections which will elaborate and support the above arguments. The next section explores the Kadar tribe in Athirapilly. The Kadars, like other tribes in the state, can be considered quite well integrated with mainstream society. However, many tribal members still practice their traditional economic role as collectors of valuable forest produce, for example, valuable plants and herbs often used in Ayurvedic medicine.24 This section outlines the role of the Kadars in conservation strategies as well as opportunities for participatory planning through forest protection councils. Section 5.2 discusses the proposed Athirapilly hydro project and looks at some contentious issues surrounding the proposed project, including the possible displacement of the Kadars who live in the proposed site. In section 5.3, I discuss the creation of ‘cultural subjects’ and how the capabilities of the Kadars are compromised as result of such subjugation. This section will also look at tribal identities and their effect on political participation, interactions with local bureaucracies, and issues of equity. The chapter concludes in section 5.4.

5.1 The Kadar Tribe The Kadars consists of 2145 members according to the 2001 national census for scheduled tribes (Registrar General & Census Commissioner, India 2011). The Kadars are a primitive tribe in Kerala. In India, primitive tribes are classified as communities exhibiting a pre- agricultural stage of development, stagnant population or very low population growth and very low literacy rates (Varghese 2002, 118). Their name, Kadar, connotes (in Malayalam and Tamil, two south Indian languages), that they are people (‘aal’) of the forest (‘kaad’). In many ways, even in contemporary times, they live up to that name, as I found out in my conversations with them. One of the tribal members interviewed said that she was so familiar with the river and the forests that she has no fear of either. She adds, ‘since young, I grew up looking at this river, we are not afraid of it...as for the forests, I love the peace. I know where

24Ayurveda is considered by many scholars as the oldest healing science known to man. It has been practised in India for at least 5000 years and has recently become popular in western cultures (University of Maryland Medical Centre 2011).

81 to find what I need’. Yet another tribal member I spoke to states that ‘we use plants from the forest for medicine and special occasions in our homes and we know exactly where to find them. We know when and where there will be forest fires and how to deal with them’. It is clear from these conversations that the forests and the river are intimately linked with their lives. Despite the fact that many of them leave their homes in search of jobs in the towns, at least for part of the year, their sense of belonging is tied to the forests. This unique relationship that exists between the Kadars and the forests is an important point to note.

Since colonial times, Kadars have acted as guides for expeditions into the Western Ghats as well as for hunting expeditions. A study conducted by A.A.D Luiz in 1962, one of the first comprehensive studies on tribals in Kerala, highlights that the Kadar tribe, with ‘their highly developed olfactory nerves, knowledge of the forest and skill at tree climbing make them very successful trackers, hunters and honey and hill produce collectors’ (Luiz 1962, 60 – 61). The tribesmen are still collectors of honey and other non-wood forest produce (NWFPs) which they bring to the plains, although the Kadars’ economic activities have extended beyond these traditional occupations, especially in recent times (Chandi 2008, 66 – 68).

History does not speak well of how tribals were treated in the state and there have been state- sponsored initiatives that have demonstrated injustices towards their communities. One such example is Kerala’s land reform laws. Although these laws are meant for the benefit of marginalised groups, they have not been very helpful to tribal communities. Mathew Aerthayil writes of the apathy of the government and society towards tribals who have been alienated from their lands despite reform laws meant to protect them from such alienation (Aerthayil 2003, 289; 304). This has resulted in a substantial number of tribals losing land that legally belongs to them. Scholars like K.T. Ram Mohan writes that such land struggles in Kerala throw up strange alliances, ‘where the proletariat and capitalists have joined forces to fight the landless …’ (Ram Mohan 2008, 15). It would seem then that the tribals are far removed from mainstream society, at least in the minds of the people. Yet another example is the harm done to tribals’ homes and livelihoods as a result of development projects such as dam construction, as this case study will reveal shortly.

Photo 5.1: Pokalapara tribal colony. Proposed dam site is around 4 km downstream from this colony. (Photo by author)

5.1.1. Kadars and conservation Having an intimate knowledge of the botany in the region where they live in the Western Ghats, the Kadars have always been privy to the location of the herbs and medicinal plants used in Ayurveda found deep within the forests. As a natural healing therapy, Ayurveda is famous in Kerala. The state has also taken to promoting this traditional science as a way of boosting tourism (Department of Tourism 2011). Indigenous knowledge, such as that possessed by the Kadars, can and should be acknowledged if conservation remains a primary goal. A study conducted by Pushpangadan and C.K. Atal, investigated the traditional systems of medicine and the specific plants and herbs used by tribals in Kerala. According to the authors, the Western Ghats – given the rich soils and variety of ecological zones from 90 metres to 2700 metres above sea level – supports an abundance of rare medicinal plants and the tribals that live here are well-versed in their use (Pushpangadan and Atal 1984, 60). The Kadars can play an important role especially in the identification and collection of these medicinal plants, as well as, by virtue of their specific local expertise, participate actively in conservation efforts. With greater acceptance and communication with tribes like the Kadars, accessing and classifying such flora becomes easier for researchers or even the Kerala Forest Department (henceforth, KFD), looking to classify, study and conserve these plant species.

In recent times, researchers have also utilised the tribals’ expert knowledge in identifying the locations of several endangered and protected faunal species deep within the forests of the Western Ghats. Such support includes helping researchers locate colonies of Lion-tailed

Macaques that live within the Western Ghats region. The Lion-tailed Macaque, a highly endangered primate, is found in the Chalakkudy and Vazhachal forest divisions among other areas in the region and is one of the most endangered primates in the world (Easa, Asari and Basha 1997, 33 – 35). According to G.M. Oza, this primate has mostly become endangered through encroachment of its habitat by agriculture, further exacerbated by plantations of Eucalyptus (Oza 1980, 194). Hydroelectric projects, which require massive clearance (and flooding) of forest lands, can also destroy habitats. The state of Kerala holds about 50 per cent of population of the species and the recommendation by primate experts is that areas where they are found should be included under protected areas, and that appropriate management strategies for their conservation should be developed while preparing plans for these areas (Easa, Asari and Basha op cit, 36). The Kadars’ knowledge of the forests and locations of these primates could factor into these plans as well as in wider development plans to ensure that the ecological integrity of the Ghats is not compromised as a result of rapid development (see Groombridge 1986, 144).25

Other examples of the involvement of the Kadars in conservation efforts include their role in studying and maintaining the patterns of Asian Elephants’ movement within the Parambikulam wildlife sanctuary. The Anamalai hills (Elephant hills) in southern Western Ghats are an important conservation area for the Asian Elephant and there are a number of protected areas in this region including the Indira Gandhi Wildlife Sanctuary, Eravikulam Sanctuary, Chinnar Wildlife Sanctuary and the Parambikulam Sanctuary (Chandi 2008). The Asian Elephant is classified as endangered and the loss of its habitat is mostly through the spread of agriculture and development projects such as hydroelectric and irrigation projects, and road and railway construction (Venkataraman et al. 2002, 1023; Sukumar 1986, 63).

In a similar vein, Amita Bachan et al in their work on Hornbill conservation have outlined the importance of Kadar expertise in Hornbill conservation (Bachan et al 2011, 37). The Western Ghats is the habitat of the Great Hornbill and the Malabar Pied Hornbill, vulnerable avian species affected by the loss of primary forest habitats. Of the 54 Hornbill species known in the world, nine can be found within India, four of them found in the Western Ghats; the Malabar Pied Hornbill, the Indian Grey Hornbill (endemic to the Indian Subcontinent),

25 The author located a group of lion-tailed Macaques slightly beyond the known habitat range with the help of the Kadars.

Malabar Grey Hornbill (endemic to the Western Ghats), and the Great Hornbill (Mudappa and Shankar Raman 2009, 90). V.J. Zacharias and Anthony Gaston, in their rigorous survey of the birds of forest regions in Kerala over a period of 24 years, have discovered that the avifauna of the region face continuous pressure on their habitats and hence their populations (Zacharias and Gaston 1999, 191). In studies conducted, Bachan et al, together with the help of the Kadar tribe, found in the region the only known available nesting location of the threatened Malabar Pied Hornbill in Kerala (Bachan et al. op cit).

Photo 5.2: A pair of Malabar Pied Hornbills. (Photo by K.Varma in Mudappa and Shankar Raman 2009, 91)

As far as conservation efforts of flora and fauna of the Ghats are concerned, there has been effort on the part of the KFD to involve tribals in the conservation of both plants of medicinal value as well as Hornbills, especially the Malabar Pied Hornbill, which is the official state bird of Kerala. I was informed by a KFD official that the Kadars are 1) being trained in the sustainable harvesting of important plants to minimise the loss of species and 2) engaged in Hornbill conservation strategies (KFD official (Vazhachal), interviewed by author. 20/08/2010). According to this official, the Kadars used to remove the eggs of the Hornbill from its nest. Now, under the supervision of the department, the Kadars help in conservation strategies. He goes on to add that the Kadars are paid to watch the nests and he claims the project is a great success. However a recent study by Sneha Vijayakumar and Priya Davidar indicate that the Dandeli region in Karnataka (India) is believed to be the last stronghold of the Malabar Pied Hornbill in the Western Ghats biodiversity hotspot (Vijayakumar and

Davidar 2011, 45 – 51). This somewhat lessens the official’s claims to success in ‘integrated’ conservation strategies in the Vazhachal and nearby areas of the Western Ghats.

5.1.2. Power dynamics It was understood through my interviews with the Kadars as well as KFD officials that recruiting Kadars in conservation strategies neither involves the exchange of knowledge between the department and the tribals nor translates to greater input into these strategies by the Kadars. It simply translates to the Kadars being trained by the department to implement plans set out by the forest department ‘experts’. Though not explicitly expressed, from the general sentiments surrounding such conservation efforts, it seemed as if officials think that the Kadars are ‘primitive’ and ‘backward’, and that there is nothing that the KFD can learn from them. These ideas have their origins in the power dynamics and accompanying discursive formation surrounding caste identities and tribal communities in Kerala. Such thinking has defined the relationship between these communities and mainstream society. As mentioned in chapter two, this line of argument is adapted from Michel Foucault’s oeuvre on power, discursive formation, and ‘truth’ and identity creation. The idea held by technocrats that the Kadars have little to contribute to conservation strategies or local planning in general will be explored in greater detail shortly. The creation of identities, and ‘truths’ about tribal and fishing communities in the state will be explored in chapter seven. It is equally important to note that such opinions of the Kadars are not shared by everyone in the forest department. Another official I spoke to seemed to take a more rational approach in explaining their ‘backwardness’. He believes that it is their isolation from mainstream society that prevents them from enjoying the benefits of education and medical care. He says this because it is difficult for them to reach schools and hospitals, since they live in the forest (KFD official (Kalpetta), interviewed by author. 19/05/2010). He also says that many stop schooling in year ten (completion of high school) and move on to find jobs.

Apart from the ‘primitive nature’ of the Kadars and their perceived ‘backwardness’, there is also an implicit assumption that some vulnerable species, for example Hornbills, are threatened because of indiscriminate harvesting by the tribals, since no one else, without knowledge of the species and its location, would venture deep into the forest to ‘harvest’ its eggs. This type of thinking removes human encroachment into forested areas as a possible

(and highly probable) cause of reduced numbers in certain mammalian and avian species and places the blame solely on the lifestyle and activities of the Kadars. Human encroachment has clearly been, for the most part, responsible for habitat destruction resulting in reduced avian numbers (Zacharias and Gaston 1999, 193 – 194; 201; 217). The construction of dams is definitely a reason for habitat destruction for both the Asian Elephant as well as the Lion- tailed Macaque (Venkataraman et al. 2002; Easa, Asari and Basha 1997). Also, data is wanting in ascertaining the success (or failure) of involving the Kadars in conservation strategies. This makes it difficult to evaluate and fine-tune these strategies.

Under the aegis of the forest department, the Vana Samrakshana Samithi (forest protection councils) or VSS involve local communities, including tribals, in their conservation and protection efforts. The VSS also provide seasonal jobs for the Kadars. These forest councils develop projects on forest fire protection, wildlife conservation and afforestation. The latter is a national initiative. In the Athirapilly region, which is a tourist attraction because of the waterfalls, the tribal VSS members are involved in security, traffic control, ticketing and general cleaning and maintenance. For the official interviewed in Vazhachal, the VSS is a ‘very successful venture’ on the part of the forest department, to include the tribes in local management. However, he claims that in some areas, due to political influences, the VSS schemes are not that successful (KFD official (Vazhachal) interviewed by author. 20/08/2010). As discussed in chapters three and four, political patronage seems to plague local planning not only in VSS but practically in all aspects of local-level organisation in Kerala. As far as participatory planning is concerned, the tribals seem to be included, to some extent, in the planning process, or at least that of the forest department. To examine the exact nature and impact of this involvement in greater detail, a brief look at the VSS and their functions is necessary.

5.1.3. Vana Samrakshana Samithi (VSS) – The Kadars and participatory planning The Vana Samrakshana Samithi is similar to other joint forestry projects set up in several different parts of India with the intention of changing the conventional approach to forest management. The idea was to bring together the need for environmental stability and be able to address the welfare of local communities dependent on the forests (Pari 1998, 116). VSS were introduced in Kerala, by the forest department in 2000. They provide a means of forest protection with the involvement of tribal and forest fringe populations that live in or near the

87 forests. Accordingly, there are two VSS categories, ‘tribal’ and ‘fringe’. The president of a VSS is always a local community member but the secretary is an official from the forest department. KFD has introduced various measures like conducting training sessions and discussing possible participatory approaches to include tribals and forest fringe populations in forest protection (Masuda, Mishiba and Dhakal 2005, 332). The department together with locals come up with a micro plan (KFD official (Kalpetta), interviewed by author. 19/05/2010). This team consists of people living in the area as well as five or six forest guards. These guards provide training for the locals who will then be involved in planning and once the plan is prepared, activities will be carried out as per the plan (ibid).

There is a system of selecting the VSS committee (usually through elections) and the range officers as well as the secretary and president are reviewed every month by the divisional forest officer (DFO) (ibid). As far as the forest department is concerned, there is no negative feedback because all activities are carried out according to the micro plan which the locals have had a hand in formulating (ibid). However when asked about the tribals, one KFD official I interviewed felt that ‘some tribal VSS do not have the capacity to manage issues so we face a problem of execution. So at execution level, there may be a problem but there are no problems at policy level’ (ibid). This particular comment got me thinking of the need to consider the quality of involvement of tribal populations in the planning process. It raised questions about the extent of involvement of tribals in micro-plans of the VSS.

For there to be no problems at planning level seems to contradict what was said earlier, by some KFD officials, regarding attitudes towards tribal involvement, that is, they are not capable of sharing information nor do they have the capacity to execute plans. The fact that there are ‘no problems at policy level’ also seems to suggests that perhaps policy formulation might largely take place at the department (or higher) level, and this seems to tie-in more with perceived ideas on tribals’ inability to contribute to development efforts including conservation strategies. The importance given to local tribal participation is also influenced by the personalities of forest officials. In interviews with tribal members in the Vazhachal and Pokalapara colonies, many of them preferred a particular range officer because he listened to what they had to say and took that feedback to the department (Vazhachal colony tribesman, interview by author. 20/08/2010). The participant reveals this relationship with the range officer.

There was a range officer here before named ______. He was very good and had a good relationship with us. He would openly tell us about all the issues. If there were meetings anywhere, he would let us know immediately and would tell us to go there and participate in these meetings. He would make arrangements for transport to take us there and that would give us an opportunity to go to these meetings and …voice our opinions….now we have a new range officer and we are not too close to him. We are not interested in talking to the new range officer (ibid).

Photo 5.3: A tribal VSS member noting vehicle registration numbers at Athirapilly. (Photo by author)

Further queries revealed that the new officer does not deal well with the tribal communities and is often curt with them. Several of the tribal members feel that he looks down on them. Range officers themselves have to work within the hierarchy of the department. So even if there are sympathetic officials at grassroots level, there is a possibility that such openness to local input may not be found at the upper echelons of the department, as reflected in Thomas Isaac and Richard Franke’s observations in their work on Kerala’s decentralisation efforts and the sentiments of the bureaucracy (Isaac and Franke 2002, 81). There have apparently been instances when tribals have been ‘threatened’ a few times when they tried to get too involved in local issues (Vazhachal colony tribesman interview, op cit). This might be an isolated incident and has not been proven or recorded anywhere, but it warrants concern and raises doubts about the reach of the People’s Plan in tribal communities.

It is understandably difficult for tribals to participate effectively in local planning given their small numbers. It also seems that they have a weakness in asserting their rights since they see themselves as being ‘lower’ in society. In some cases, consultation with tribal colonies is possibly happening because it is mandatory, as stated in the Kerala Panchayat Raj Act of 1994 following India’s 73rd and 74th constitutional amendments. However, there are officials and elected representatives who do want to see genuine participatory planning. As evidenced by empirical data, it would seem that tribal involvement in local planning is, at present, not at a level where it can be considered effective or influential. The Kadars are a unique and highly skilled community and yet their knowledge and potential is not being tapped, especially in terms of their possible role in ethno-botany and species conservation strategies. Conservation strategies, like those for the Lion-tailed Macaques, Asian Elephants or the Hornbill, as well as other activities in the VSS are perhaps the openings for greater tribal involvement. These are ways that participation can be encouraged because it requires that they use what they are skilled at. The forest department should further develop and encourage their involvement by including them and their knowledge in management strategies. This would certainly translate to true local planning and create greater awareness on the part of the communities for the necessity of such strategies. Unfortunately, though this maybe happening in some VSS, from my conversations with the KFD officials, NGOs, as well as tribals, it is safe to assume that this is not the case in all areas. For the most part, even in participatory planning and joint forest management, a ‘top-down’ approach is still taken. This isolates the tribals into merely doing the leg work, not allowing them to have a stake in the process.

The subtle hints of bureaucrats’ unhappiness at participatory planning suggest that administrators prefer to do the planning and leave the implementation of these plans to the Kadars. This is not surprising as many officials feel that decentralised planning and local involvement have become threats to their power (Isaac and Franke op cit, 80 – 83). Isaac and Franke, in their book on the decentralisation process in Kerala, state that even though Kerala’s earlier state-led social welfare measures, through responses from below followed centralised chains of command down the department hierarchy...the colonial “steel frame of the British Empire” has been allowed to continue (ibid, 81). For bureaucrats, decentralised planning and decision-making is a threat to their entire administrative system and work culture, as they now have to work with and gain input from the grassroots level. It was even subtly suggested in conversations with officials that the old

90 methods of just telling (tribal) communities what to do rather than having to include them in the department’s planning process were preferable and more efficient.

It remains to be seen how such views within the KFD (or other departments) can be reconciled. The answer lies not only in training for the tribal communities but also training for administrators. This has been suggested in the state environment policy. In the section of policy implementation structures and linkages, it has been suggested that ‘departments and their echelons at various levels, shall only be instrumentalities, whose service shall always be available to the Panchayat Raj institutions and people’s organisations (Government of Kerala 2009b, 31). It is suggested that this be done through training for officials. This cannot happen unless ‘the steel frame of the British Empire’ restructures itself. This requires structural as well as attitudinal changes within the bureaucracy and is easier said than done. Since bureaucrats are ‘masters of their domain’, it is unlikely that their power will be relinquished any time soon, as clearly seen in the case of the Athirapilly project.

5.2 Athirapilly hydroelectric project In this section I first review the pressures on Kerala’s rivers, in the face of contemporary development imperatives, then explore the relationship between the Kadars and the proposed hydroelectric project at Athirapilly.

5.2.1. Rivers of Kerala The state of Kerala is one of the smaller states in India but as mentioned earlier, is home to 44 rivers, most of which are sites of the state’s many hydro projects. Kerala is blessed with abundant rainfall. The total annual rainfall varies from 3600 mm in the northern part of the state to about 1800 mm in the south (Kerala State Council for Science, Technology and Environment 2005). The coastal regions of the state receive copious amounts of rainfall, especially during the monsoon months (from June to September), forming the watershed for several rivers (Simon and Mohan Kumar 2004, 211). These rivers traverse the state and in so doing fertilise the land. The cultivation of rice has been a very important activity in the state because of the rich alluvial soil provided by these rivers as well as the fact that Kerala was fed by the southwest and the northeast monsoons (Anil Kumar, Girigan and Parameswaran 2010, 137). When compared to other great rivers in the subcontinent, the rivers of Kerala are

91 small in terms of their length and breadth, although most of these rivers have high velocities as they originate from the hilly terrains of the Western Ghats (All Kerala River Protection Council 2011 ). In addition to its topography, S.N. Sadasivan explains the high velocities in terms of the actual size of the state. Being considerably narrow (120km at maximum width), together with the hilly terrain, most rainwater run-off reaches the Arabian Sea in about 48 hours (Sadasivan 2003, v). This is one reason why Kerala’s rivers are heavily utilised in terms of energy generation.

Photo 5.4: The Chalakkudy River (photo by author).

Dam building gained momentum in Kerala in the 1960s, being constructed for irrigation purposes as well as to generate hydroelectric power as this was and still is the main source of energy generation in the state (KSEB engineer, interviewed by author. 26/09/2010). The Athirapilly project, to be built about 400 metres above the Vazhachal Falls along the Chalakkudy River, was initiated in the 1980s but was rejected twice by then Department of Environment within the Ministry of Agriculture because it threatens the riparian forests 26 and the waterfall (River Research Centre (RRC) member, interviewed by author. 21/08/2010). Scientific evidence suggests that the ongoing conservation plans for the Asian Elephant, Great Hornbill, Malabar Pied Hornbill, and Lion-tailed Macaques in the region will be

26A riparian zone is the boundary area between land and a river. Vegetation found in this region is also known as riparian vegetation. In the case of the Chalakkudy River, forest vegetation starts at this region (as seen in photos 5.4 and 5.5a and b).

92 compromised if the project were to start (For effects of development projects on different species, see Bachan et al. 2011; Raghavan et al. 2008; Venkataraman et al. 2002; Easa, Asari and Basha 1997). The responsibility to protect these animals as well as endemic fish species and riverine vegetation extends beyond Kerala or even India and has global implications. Such responsibility is reflected in India’s Biological Diversity (2002) Act (National Biodiversity Authority 2008).

Photo 5.5a: Vazhachal Falls. Photo 5.5b: Athirapilly Falls. (Photos by author)

5.2.2. Dam building in Kadar territory The rivers of Kerala are under immense stress from human activities such as sand mining (Padmalal et al 2008), industrial pollution, and hydroelectric projects (Latha and Unnikrishnan 2007 ; Pat 2004; Aravindakshan 1987). With regards to the latter, the presence of numerous hydro and small hydro projects exerts pressure on the state’s water resources. This is a result of increasing demands from a population that exhibits high consumption patterns. Statistics in the electricity board’s website reveal as much as 80 per cent of demand comes from domestic usage and KSEB ‘has been taking effective steps to increase the installed capacity of the power system to meet the growth in consumption’ (Kerala State Electricity Board 2010). Much of this will come from these hydroelectric projects which together provide 1993 megawatts, around 66 per cent of the maximum demand of 2998 megawatts (ibid). Under the pressure of mounting demand from ever increasing consumption patterns, the generation of electricity to meet this demand is of great concern to KSEB which

93 relies heavily on these projects for electricity generation. This was revealed to me during an interview conducted with an official of the KSEB. In fact according to him, the KSEB plans to implement more hydro projects of the scale of Athirapilly in the state (KSEB Engineer, interviewed by author. 26/09/2010). This ominous forecast does not bode well for the rivers of Kerala.

Two settlements of the Kadar tribe live in the area where the Athirapilly project is to take place. The tribal colonies of Vazhachal (less than 400 metres below the dam site) and Pokalapara (around four kilometres upstream from the proposed site) will both be significantly affected should the project start. The KSEB’s push for the project and the protests against it have been transpiring for some time now. Opponents of the project argue that if the project is carried out not only would it threaten both national and state conservation policies and create massive environmental problems, but it will also displace, once again, Kadar tribe communities away from the forests bringing them closer to Chalakkudy town.27 Such displacement from the forests to the towns will create shifts in existing power dynamics which may further marginalise these communities. This forced movement of the tribals out of the forests may in the end result in the state having to address a different set of social as well as socio-economic problems, for example the need to find employment opportunities as Kadars attempt to integrate with mainstream society.

5.2.3. The fight for the river Under the 1994 EIA notification within India’s Environment (Protection) Act of 1986, the KSEB was told to conduct a mandatory Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) for the proposed Athirapilly project. The EIA process was started in 1996 by the Tropical Botanical Garden Research Institute (TBGRI) located in Trivandrum. Unfortunately, a rapid assessment was conducted by the TBGRI (this is a provision within the EIA notification) and seemingly

27 In reconciling environmental considerations with developmental goals, the National Conservation Strategy and Policy Statement on Environment and Development 1992, by the Government of India, necessitated a state policy statement which complemented the national objectives (GOK 2009b, 5). The main intention of this environmental policy is to reconcile environmental concerns with development strategies (ibid, 6). It would seem that if the Athirapilly project goes ahead, the state would have wavered from this objective. This is especially true regarding sections (7), (11) and (21) of the policy. These sections deal with forests and wildlife, biodiversity conservation, and the rehabilitation of affected people, respectively.

94 data collection was incomplete. It was revealed to me during the interviews with members of the Chalakkudy Puzha Samrakshana Samithi (Chalakkudy River Protection Council or CPSS), a local NGO that works in the river basin, and with members of local communities, that the rapid assessment was conducted during the monsoon season when river volumes are much higher. This was despite the fact that the condition for rapid assessment is that it be conducted in summer in order to capture data at a time of lean flow.

The tribal communities that live in the river basin as well as the CPSS claim that they had no knowledge that the assessment was being conducted. They came to know of the assessment through the media when clearance was given by the central Ministry of Environment and the Forests. After the first assessment, another EIA was conducted by a consultancy based in state of Haryana (the Water and Power Consultancy Services limited or WAPCOS). It is alleged by the CPSS that this assessment reported incorrect data and no consultation was carried out to ascertain social impacts of the project. In studying a copy of the WAPCOS assessment, I came across the statement, ‘...mucks generated lack nutrients and therefore are difficult to revegetate...since top soils are not available in large quantities in [the] Himalayas....’ (WAPCOS 2002, p_, emphasis added). Clearly this was an assessment done for another place with different climatic conditions but it was placed within this report. As Patrick McCully writes in his illuminating work, Silenced Rivers, the EIA process is sometimes turned into a bureaucratic formality, ‘merely another regulatory hurdle’ which must be crossed to get a project approved (McCully 2001, 54). Empirical evidence from interviews as well as the assessments themselves (for example the WAPCOS assessment above) suggests that the two EIAs authorised by the KSEB might fall into this category.

The EIAs raises a few other concerns. Current literature on EIAs in India in general seems to point to the fact that the process leaves much to be desired (Paliwal 2006; Rajvanshi 2003; Rajaram and Das 2000; Sinclair and Diduck 2000; Bowonder 1986). Unfortunately there is limited literature on the process in Kerala. The second concern is that there is only limited stakeholder consultation. Although the generation of electricity is not within the jurisdiction of local governments, the KSEB’s proposed project still goes against the spirit of democratic decentralisation in the state.

Photo 5.6: Vazhachal tribal colony. The proposed dam site is about 400 metres upstream from this colony. (Photo by author)

Apart from issues stemming from the EIAs conducted, the project does not seem like a viable option given that existing hydro projects in the state are functioning below optimum levels and energy theft is a serious problem in Kerala (CPSS member, interviewed by author. 21/08/2010). In 2001, a Public Interest Litigation (PIL) was filed against the KSEB by the CPSS citing concern regarding the feasibility and viability of the project (Environmental Law Alliance Worldwide 2011). The judgement received was very specific in stating that, …it appears to us that the first step to be taken by the board is to take up rectification or repair works in the (existing) hydroelectric projects so as to restore optimum generation of energy in those projects and also to take steps to minimise the transmission loss and elimination of theft (ibid). The proposed dam is supposed to generate 163 megawatts of electricity (Kerala State Electricity Board 2010). CPSS members claim that this is a dubious figure given that the river has already six dams along its course, reducing its flow considerably. This makes it unlikely that the water flow can support such high energy output (CPSS member interview op cit). Of great concern is the destruction of the habitats of several threatened flora and fauna, some endemic to the region, if the project goes ahead.

A serious problem is the lack of accurate information on the location of the tribal colonies that fall within the impact area. Having visited the proposed dam site, I estimated (and was later told) that the Pokalapara colony is around four kilometres upstream from the site and

96 the Vazhachal colony lies around 400 metres downstream from it. Therefore, both colonies lie within the impact area of the project. However, there are conflicting claims in both EIA reports about the location of these colonies. According to the CPSS, the Vazhachal colony is not found within the impact area in the WAPCOS EIA and the TBGRI EIA places Pokalapara colony much further upstream and therefore out of the impact area (ibid). According to this interview participant, this was done so that the KSEB has to engage in fewer mitigation strategies. As mentioned earlier, the Kadars have been displaced several times over the years as a result of hydro projects, and this new phase of migration out of the forests into towns may result in socio-economic problems and may, in fact, further marginalise the Kadars.

The issues surrounding this project have been greatly debated with neither the proponents nor opponents likely to compromise soon. To date, the project remains in an indeterminate state.

5.3 The Kadars as ‘cultural subjects’ – defining capabilities As mentioned in chapter four, the 73rd and 74th amendments to the Panchayati Raj Act in 1993 in India aimed to devolve greater powers of administration and funding to panchayats (local governments) enabling them to function effectively as local self-governments. Scheduled castes and scheduled tribes were to have representation in proportion to their population percentage and one-third reservation for women was also introduced at all levels of the three-tier system – the district, the block and the village level local governments (Isaac and Franke 2002, 12). In Kerala, the Kerala Panchayat Raj Act of 1994 establishes a Panchayat Raj system in the state in line with the national Act to secure a great measure of participation in planned development and in local government affairs (Government of Kerala 2011b).

From the inception of the Athirapilly project, there has been little or no direct communication or consultation with the 22 panchayats and three municipalities that are within the river basin (local politician, interviewed by author. 18/08/2010). It is alleged by opponents of the project that the EIAs carried out for the proposed site did not involve consultation with the local panchayats whose smaller projects, for example irrigation or the provision of drinking water, would be directly disrupted by the project. That is, not only are panchayats excluded from decisions on massive energy projects such as this proposed by KSEB, the proposed project

97 hampers the carrying out of local plans devised by panchayats and communities as part of local-level planning. Tribal community members allege that none of the colonies in the impact area has been consulted or even informed of the proposed project. Although public hearings have been held and environmental assessments have been carried out, these have not assured the tribal communities of a more secure future if they were to be displaced as a result of the project. Questions arise then about the influence these communities actually have in such projects, especially since such endeavours affect their lives significantly. Indeed, the whole democratic decentralisation process with regards to tribal development needs to be studied in greater detail. This section discusses tribal communities’ participation in local- level planning in light of their identities and capabilities.

5.3.1. Tribal marginalisation – identities and capabilities One of the biggest hurdles tribals and other marginalised communities face in the state comes in the form of cultural norms that people take for granted. The way these communities are treated involves ideas of caste. The caste system, as a power mechanism using certain techniques, dictates behaviour in society, albeit in a covert manner, in relation to local-level involvement. Drawing from Michel Foucault’s corpus on techniques of power, I define these techniques loosely as methods used to ensure ‘right’ behaviour. That is, these methods of control/administration have determined how these communities see themselves and how they are viewed by others. The creation of Kadars as ‘cultural subjects’ is a result of these techniques of power (see section 2.2). The capabilities of these cultural (tribal) subjects are also defined by these techniques as dictated by the power mechanism (caste social order) in operation. Chapter seven explores these ideas in greater detail. The discourse by which marginalised tribal communities are ‘imagined’ and identified is an obstacle to their effective participation in larger society. It allocates to them a particular place; away from mainstream society and both literally and figuratively, along the peripheries of society. This has perpetuated until today and it remains their definitive characterisation. It is also the reason why they are often ignored or ‘forgotten’ by administrators or state institutions like the KSEB. This relationship has precedence in history, first with Indian adherence to the caste system and later with colonial administrators’ approach to marginalised communities (section 7.2.1. will discuss this in greater detail; for more on the caste and colonial systems, see Doron 2008; Gadgil and Guha 1992, 91 – 145).

I argue that in the case of Athirapilly, in examining the level of consultation with tribal communities, their perceived identity (a result of subject creation by power mechanisms) and capabilities (as defined by this identity) become important factors to consider.

Based on my interviews with tribal community members, there is widespread self awareness that they are considered ‘just tribals’ or ‘of no importance’ and as a result their input has no value. An incident that highlights this was revealed to me during my interview with a tribal health representative. Apparently she had completed a number of forms and was at the panchayat office first thing in the morning. She was told to wait while the relevant official saw to others who had come in for various reasons despite the fact that they had come to the office much later than her. When asked if she lodged a complaint about how she was being treated, she explained that it would be pointless and there was nothing she could do (Pokalapara colony tribeswoman, interviewed by author. 17/09/11). I was also informed that such treatment was common enough for the tribal communities to actually think nothing of it. This reinforces the view of how tribals are ‘imagined’ and how they ‘imagine’ themselves as well as how mainstream society uses the tribals’ ‘backwardness’ and ‘lack of ability’ as reasons to deny their effective participation in public affairs. These prejudices are so concrete that according to Chathukulam and John, pejorative remarks were even made about scheduled castes and scheduled tribes finding a place in a chapter dedicated to them within development reports of panchayats (Chathukulam and John 2006, 199). In some cases there were protests against the inclusion of these chapters by ‘mainstream’ people (ibid).

Sen’s capability approach is tied to the idea of freedom, both as a process that allows actions and decisions, and as actual opportunities that a person has, given their personal and social circumstances (Sen 1999, 17). As mentioned in chapters two (section 2.1) and three (section 3.2.1), the People’s Plan is an attempt at ensuring ‘negative freedom’, i.e. the removal of institutional barriers to participation in local government initiatives. Despite the efforts of the People’s Plan, capabilities of tribal communities or ‘the range of options they have in deciding the kind of life to lead’ (Drèze and Sen 1998, 10 – 11) have not been enhanced. This is because members of tribal communities, such as the Kadars, are not truly free to ‘to do’ or ‘to achieve’ something because their capabilities have been defined (hence limited) by caste disciplinary power (section 7.2.2 explores this further). The extent of participation or levels of empowerment are determined by such cultural subjugation. As long as decentralisation and

99 efforts at public participation work within this power mechanism, capabilities will remain limited unless efforts are made to recognise such cultural barriers.

Despite feelings of inferiority and limited capabilities in terms of public participation, we see examples of subversion of power from members of the Kadar community. That is, we see some form of action. One of the tribeswomen in Vazhachal colony has launched a PIL in the High Court of Kerala with regards to her colony being removed from the map demarcating the proposed area for the Athirapilly dam project. In my interview with her, she came across as a determined person who was proud of her roots and she said that she (they) wanted to earn and in fact deserved the respect of people. Such determination is rare in the community and my participant herself acknowledges this. Such ‘resistance’ from the Kadars will be further explored in section 7.3. It seems to me that any level of assertion from tribal communities such as the Kadars might be more of a matter of immediate struggle and survival rather than longer term empowerment or greater general participation. It is controversies such as Athirapilly and the struggle to survive in lands that rightfully belong to them, that make tribals more visible, more so than any government campaign for local involvement in planning. In practice, tribals become excluded from government initiated systems of decentralisation that attempt to be more democratic and inclusionary. I contend that the Kadars’ circumstances highlights K.P. Kannan and V.N. Pillai’s term ‘exclusionary development’, discussed in chapter three.

5.3.2. Kadars, capability and the bureaucracy Unique features of the People’s Plan include the insistence on mass participation and transparency. This is meant to involve local communities’ members attending gram sabhas and working alongside officials to create a new civic culture, where technocratic expertise and planning culture would give way to a more democratic vision (Isaac and Franke 2002, 19 – 20). Another important aspect of decentralised planning is that with regards to traditionally marginalised groups, such planning is meant to allow for greater integration of these communities into the state’s overall development plans and goals. This reflects Pranab Bardhan and Dilip Mookherjee’s argument that local government officials are more likely to be better informed about the preferences of these marginalised groups in the face of distinct needs of different communities (Bardhan and Mookherjee 2006, 7).

100

Scholars examining natural resource management (see Korakandy 2000; Santhakumar, Rajagopalan and Ambirajan 1995) argue that that decision-making and management techniques in Kerala do not necessarily involve a strong social integration or the involvement of all key actors in policy making despite the strength of the civil society. State institutions such as the KSEB seem to set aside local plans when initiating massive projects like that of Athirapilly that will not only displace Kadar communities from their colonies but will also prevent them from living the lives they have reason to value. For example, the Athirapilly project would limit the Kadars’ freedom to practice traditional economic activities as well as their continued access to the forests and the river. As for the Kadars’ involvement in planning, we see that decisions and strategies are still made within the departments. If local participation is included at all, it is usually at the implementation stage, as discussed earlier in KFD’s conservation strategies with Kadar involvement.

The bureaucracy presents its own set of problems when it comes to dealing with local involvement. The bureaucratic machine is sustained by its own power and is threatened by policies that may curb or reduce this power and authority. For example, attempts to devolve administrative and financial power to local governments were not well accepted by the state- level bureaucrats in Kerala (Venugopal and Yilmaz 2009, 321; Isaac and Franke 2002, 81). According to P.R. Dubhashi, development projects require an administration that is creative, responsive, flexible and innovative and must be able to gain the trust and confidence of the people in order to gain their cooperation and involvement (Dubhashi 1990, 140). Unfortunately when the state of Kerala launched its People’s Plan, the administrative structure remained in its ‘wooden, disinterested in public welfare, and corrupt’ state (Saxena 2010, 447). The Athirapilly case suggests that the bureaucracy detaches itself from the reality of changing times as well as local community needs.

In being resistant to public input, the bureaucracy affects capabilities of marginalised communities like the Kadars, in that it locks them in a state of ‘unfreedom’. As stated in table 2.1 in chapter two, Sen describes ‘unfreedom’ as the denial of adequate processes or opportunities (Sen 1999, 15). This is evidenced by empirical data (in section 5.1.2) that points to the fact that the Kadars are only part of the implementation stage of participatory strategies formulated elsewhere because bureaucrats feel that they have nothing to offer in terms of planning and development. Not only does this lead to strategies that might not engage the Kadars in their own development, but by limiting their capabilities, development strategies

101 that target this marginalised community might not be effective and thus leave them in a deprived state. The dam carries forward the power of the bureaucracy. With its emphasis on scientific/‘expert’ knowledge, the bureaucracy’s superior position is challenged by protests against the project. As with forest department officials (section 5.1.3.), For KSEB bureaucrats opening up their operations to include public opinion can be seen as diluting what they see as their highly specialised energy sector expertise leading to a reduction in their power. This mode of thinking needs to change considering that these communities are gaining ‘tools’ including education, NGO representation, and the right to file PILs and the right to information.28 These are their ‘tools’ to subvert bureaucratic power. Section 7.3 in chapter seven explores this subversion in greater detail.

5.3.3. Tribal communities and political participation Although Kerala’s tribal communities do possess new ‘tools’ (above), their gains have been limited by comparison with successes elsewhere by Indian social movements. Ashok Swain has commented that in recent years Indian society’s new movements have covered caste, gender, farmers, civil rights and environmental issues (Swain 1997, 819). In his article on environmental regulation in India, David Stuligross articulates how a strong civil society and institutional structures in place in India’s participatory political system allows any citizen access to elected officials, and courts (Stuligross 1999, 398). Gains achieved by individuals or groups of people have often originated in successful judicial processes (ibid, 398 – 399). However, I find that such achievements have not been won by tribal communities in Kerala. The tribal communities did organise themselves under the banner of Adivasi-Dalit Samara Samithi (The ADSS) in Kerala .29 This tribal agitation was the result of poverty-related deaths of tribals mostly brought on by the state holding on to most of the tribal lands (as mentioned earlier in section 5.1 regarding the state’s land reform act) (Chathukulam and John 2006, 191).30 Chathukulam and John write that according to ADSS, poverty-related deaths among the tribals were a common occurrence which neither the state nor the media took notice of

28 The Right to Information Act was passed in 2005. 29 The term Adivasi or ‘original dweller’ is a sociological term and is more acceptable to tribal communities. The term ‘tribal’ is a legal term and it has both colonial and negative connotations attached to it as the British classified several tribes as being criminal classes. For Dalit, see note 18. 30 The term ‘agitation’ is often used in the state to denote protest marches. The term is obviously used in the Marxist/political sense, the act of trying to stir up public opinion for/against something. In Kerala, ‘agitation’ is often used interchangeably with ‘protest’.

102 because they wanted to ‘salvage the vaunted Kerala model of development’ (ibid). Unfortunately, the reaction of political parties and social movements (like the Kerala Sastra Sahithya Parishad or KSSP) towards the agitation was not as one would expect from a society used to such citizen organisation. Chathukulam and John give an account of the reactions of different groups to this tribal agitation (ibid, 194 – 195).  Tribes in Kerala have always been organised under the Kerala Karshaka Thozhillali Union (Kerala agricultural workers’ union) which was affiliated to CPM, (the Marxist party in the state) and the party criticised the media for paying too much attention to a non-political agitation led by tribals instead of the agitation launched by CPM- affiliated tribal movement for restoration of tribal lands.  Local tribal leaders were dismissive of ADSS leadership (especially that of C.K. Janu, a female tribal member who organised and led the agitation). These local leaders were often sponsored by non-tribal members (mostly rich contractors) and were elected to panchayats because of support from their patrons.  Social movements like the KSSP see the tribal movement as an act of a few individuals rather than an organised movement. It also seems that KSSP might harbour intolerance to forms of resistance that are not organised around leftist sentiments or specifically, not organised by them (ibid, 200).

The fact that the state and mainstream society, so used to mass protests and citizen movements, seem to discredit tribal organisation underscores the way they ‘imagine’ this community and how they understand tribal discourse. Under such conditions, it is easy to see why tribals are socially marginalised. If they do come ‘up in arms’ over injustices done to them, this is treated as a one off event as the common belief is that they do not have the capacity to organise themselves as a political force. Even if they did, their organisation lacks the numbers and the power to take on mainstream parties or movements that seem to have greater legitimacy in the state. It seems that movements that are organised around leftist sentiments gain greater legitimacy. This can be described as yet another form of power and will be explored in greater detail in chapter seven. The CPM has adopted a universalising leftist stance by examining tribal issues within a class framework (ibid, 191). I argue that tribal issues (in addition to being class issues) are also issues of identity and power. As mentioned earlier, attitudes towards tribal communities and their capabilities are tied to their identity which is perpetuated by caste disciplinary power. Unless this is acknowledged, the

103 state cannot address issues of welfare in this community and move to include them in participatory planning.

Yet another important issue is that of political patronage and control as discussed earlier (sections 3.2.2 and 4.2.6). The level of political patronage warrants concern at how such control influences the People’s Plan the lives of the tribal communities in general. Despite the reservation seats for tribals’, control seems to be exerted from party bosses who then decide local plans for development or beneficiary selection. For example in an interview with a local tribeswoman in Athirapilly, the participant discusses the lack of power of her panchayat president (who is a woman and member of her tribe) to oppose the Athirapilly project and support greater development for her community: She has only become the president but she has not done anything to actually uplift the Adivasi community of which she is a member. She supports our causes but she cannot come in front and show her support. She can only listen to the politicians. (Vazhachal colony tribeswoman, interviewed by author. 20/08/10).

In a study on the political developments among tribals, Sibi Zacharias states that while approaching government officers to file a complaint or for some other official matter, 30 per cent of the tribals studied said that they feel fear, 21 per cent have feelings of inferiority and nine per cent feel a sense of subordination (Zacharias 2002, 148). Zacharias’ field data from tribals in the District of Palakkad in Kerala reveal that the feelings tribals have towards the political system is one of detachment and distrust (ibid). Such attitudes towards government officials as well as mainstream society in general are also, to some extent, reflected in empirical data I gathered during my field visits to marginalised (tribal and fishing) communities in the state as will be discussed in section 7.1.3.

It might be argued that tribal populations are not as politically attuned as mainstream society in Kerala and the Kadars are no exception. Zacharias’ work on political development among tribals also points to the lack of knowledge of political systems and political objectives including those objectives that are directly relevant to their communities. According to Zacharias, The traditional political structures still exist in vogue among the tribals...they have a way of relating or culture, which is different from the mainstream

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society...for most of the tribal communities, there are only two specialised roles that are politically significant, those of the Mupan (headman) and the Pujari (religious functionary) (ibid, 149). There is a need to appreciate this point Zacharias makes if the intention is democratic local- level planning. Zacharias mentions that political socialisation is an important element in effective political participation and though tribals do attend party meetings and vote, they do so without being rational or analytical in their political actions ( ibid, 150). Any plan to include them in decentralised planning requires agencies to acknowledge and be aware of their traditional political structures and educate tribals in their participation in micro-planning. There needs to be a link between their traditional system and the political system they are now to be part of. It is also possible that a different participatory plan be adopted for tribal communities instead of that which is used for mainstream society. To revisit discussion in chapter four, this has been addressed to some extent by oorukootams or village gatherings, a local participation forum, akin to gram sabhas carried out in panchayats.

Oorukootams seem to be well attended by the tribal community members I spoke to. Howev er they hardly, if ever, attend gram sabhas held by the panchayats. One way of explaining this difference in attendance would be that oorukootams are held in the tribal colony and within the tribal community. I was informed by an elected representative in Athirapilly that a tribal representative (appointed within the community) informs the community of any upcoming meetings and this meeting is attended by local government officials as well as local elected representatives (elected representative, interviewed by author. 16/09/11). Tribal members find it much easier to discuss issues and challenges whilst within their own community. Notwithstanding their active participation in oorukootams, it is difficult to incorporate them in gram sabhas because they just do not attend most of the time. Several of their problems are discussed in the oorukootams so they do not see a need to go for these assemblies. It is my contention that oorukootams also have the effect of isolating tribal issues further from general development objectives.

Gram sabhas, apart from being a forum to discuss and prioritise development goals and projects, are also important arenas to promote integrated development. According to the representative I spoke to it can be the means to bridge the gap between tribals and mainstream society and he thinks this is necessary if the overall development of the Athirapilly region is to take place. The attendance of tribal members in gram sabhas is

105 necessary if there is to be integrated development. However, this is not an issue isolated to this particular panchayat. Integrated development seems to be lacking in almost all panchayats in Kerala. According to John and Chathukulam, often the flow of information between the three tiers (district, block and village) of local government is poor and there is no integration of plans between the tiers. According to the authors, there is also no horizontal integration and within the panchayats, different working groups do not have any inter-group discussions with regards to local development (John and Chathukulam 2007, 75 – 76). This becomes a problem with regards to tribal oorukootams when what is discussed in the oorukootams could potentially run counter to other local development plans. Here the elected representative I interviewed makes a good point when he stresses the need for such integrated development to ensure the overall development of Athirapilly. This becomes more significant, if the tribal communities get displaced as a result of the Athirapilly dam project.

Photo 5.7: Pokalapara VSS community hall where oorukootams are held (photo by author).

The need for a unique participatory system notwithstanding, limited political socialisation leaves tribal communities little leeway to address injustices that have occurred to them through formal channels/institutions. This will further compound their limited capabilities.

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5.3.4. Tribal capabilities and equity C.R. Bijoy explains the connection of tribal communities to their surrounding environment when he writes, Unlike others, Adivasis have a special relationship and dependence on land which gives them the notion of territoriality. Their existence as communities is possible only if their inalienable right to their territory is acknowledged (Bijoy 1999, 1331). Though Bijoy speaks of tribal communities’ connection to their land, I extend his ideas to Kadar identity and their notions of community. When their relationship and dependency on the forests and its resources are severed through forced displacement, it is as if the community ceases to exist. The tribal discourse itself changes because their connection with nature and their own community practices and rituals are disrupted. Though the existing tribal lifestyles will undoubtedly assimilate and ‘evolve’, it would have been at the expense of their sense of identity and community.

Questions of inter-generational equity plague the Athirapilly dam project. It is perhaps difficult at this point for local community members to think of effects on future generations when such large disparities in not only income but also in patronage and benefits accrued exist at the moment. However in discussing these issues, several local community members including tribals reiterate their fear of not being able to give their children and future generations the opportunities and learning experiences that they have had. In my interviews with them, one of them who owns a small restaurant near the Athirapilly falls says, ‘what can I tell my grandson when he asks me about these falls....the government can build a dam but can they build a river or a waterfall for us?’ (Vazhachal colony tribeswoman, interviewed by author. 19/08/2010). Yet another says ‘we are already at the losing end now....I don’t even have to think about the future...we have to go deeper into the forest to teach our children about useful things they can find...there is very little forest produce visible for us to teach our children’ (Pokalapara colony tribesman, interview by author. 20/08/2010). The question of inter-generational equity extends beyond the waterfall and the forests. What is also at risk is the very idea of meeting the needs of future generations. These are not only economic needs but the ability to appreciate and value existing biological resources. This is something not only Kerala but India has to take responsibility for. The protection of biological and genetic resources is both a legal and moral obligation on the part of the nation. At risk also is the Kadar tribe, whose knowledge and practices might be obliterated should they be given no

107 choice but to assimilate. This will not only result in a loss of tribal identity and their ideas of community but significantly affect their freedom and hence, their capabilities.

Regarding intra-generational equity, it is significant that the electricity generated from the Athirapilly project is to be channelled to cities where domestic demand is high (KSEB Engineer, interviewed by author. 26/09/2010). Understandably, the consumption of electricity in forested and tribal areas is not that high due to the lifestyle patterns of the communities, and because there are technical obstacles to laying power cables in forested areas where accessibility becomes difficult (ibid). Although Kerala is a densely populated state, much of the population live in the coastal plains and cities (Government of Kerala 2001). This is where electricity demand is the highest, and the Athirapilly project is supposed to meet this demand. Since voter numbers are also highest on the coast, the generation of electricity therefore translates into votes, even though the project would proceed at the expense of marginalised Kadar communities.

5.4 Summary and conclusion The proposed construction of a seventh dam along the Chalakkudy River by KSEB will destroy habitats of local wildlife, devastate the unique riverine vegetation endemic to the Western Ghats, and displace two colonies of the Kadar tribe. The project will also violate the living space and destroy livelihoods of the Kadar colonies that are in the project zone.

The Kadar tribes of Athirapilly have always had a close relationship with the forests and the river and have depended on both to sustain their communities. With their advanced knowledge of the forests’ flora and fauna, the Kadars prove to be important members in conservation efforts undertaken to protect the botany as well as animals of the Western Ghats. The community has a lot to offer in terms of ecological conservation. Although they have been part of the KFD’s conservation strategies, their local knowledge has not been utilised by the department. The involvement of the community has almost entirely meant the implementation of plans developed elsewhere. This in large part has to do with the way department officials as well as mainstream society perceive the Kadars. Added to such perceptions are the Kadar’s own weaknesses in asserting their rights.

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This chapter has explored issues surrounding the capabilities of tribal communities and the power mechanisms that define these capabilities. The chapter also looked at how construction of the Kadars as ‘cultural subjects’ has reduced their freedom. The Athirapilly case suggests that attempts to include deprived communities in the development process have not been very successful. It also suggests that local development plans are secondary in meeting the energy demands of the state as the proposed dam project will render several local plans unworkable.

Taking Sen’s approach, I conclude that the capabilities of the Kadars do not seem to be enhanced under the People’s Plan (which would have been one of its aims, at least in terms of participation). Not only do the Kadars’ capabilities remain limited, but it would also seem that the proposed project would in fact deprive this community of living the life they have reason to value. This life involves the freedom to be able to follow a particular lifestyle and have access to resources (in this case, access to the forests and river) that they are used to and that their unique lifestyle is based on. One of the objectives of the decentralisation campaign in Kerala is poverty eradication. A way to achieve this is to promote development through the involvement of local communities where development goals would be identified at local level (Isaac and Franke 2002). The success of such ventures with regards to tribal communities becomes limited when social systems such as caste social order determine the level of effective involvement. In broadening the analysis further and keeping in line with the main arguments in this study, discussion in this chapter has drawn attention to the caste identity of the Kadars and their (resultant) subjugation and how this determines their relationship with state and society. Examining the People’s Plan through this angle acknowledges the fact that the workings of power in creating subjects is an influencing factor in determining capabilities, which in turn influence participation levels in democratic and decentralised development. Therefore, power structures surrounding community participation need further attention and consideration in evaluating decentralisation strategies.

The Kadars, as ‘cultural subjects’ of caste power mechanisms, face hurdles in the form of cultural norms and practices which have affected their behaviour, especially in relation to their participation in local-level planning. Part of the power mechanism that has created certain ‘truths’ about the community has also created in them an inferiority complex. The cultural subjugation of the Kadars has led to them being ignored in terms of bureaucratic planning despite the aims of the People’s Plan. This is seen in the case of the KFD and its VSS activities as well as its conservation strategies, and with the KSEB and the lack of

109 communication with the communities in the proposed Athirapilly project. As a result of their subjugation, tribal organisation is not taken as seriously as other movements in the state. To gauge this community by standards set for mainstream society is not going to solve the problem. Solutions will require a conscientious effort on the part of the state and society to understand and acknowledge the unique nature of this community.

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Chapter 6: The Mukkuvars of Vizhinjam – Caste, Church and Capability

The State of Kerala has a coastline of around 600km and is known for its highly productive waters (Ammini et al 2010, 1; Kurien 2005, 75). Kerala is one of the world’s most important sources of marine prawn and has a high concentration of fisher folk with 222 marine fishing villages spread along the coastline (ibid). Along this coast you will find fishermen known for their skill and daring and the remarkable use of an assortment of fishing gear in order to catch diverse fish species. The fishermen’s intimate knowledge of sea, the structure of the sea bottom and their navigational acumen have enabled them to fish even at the margins of the continental shelf, with relatively modest though varied fishing equipment (Paul 2005, 35). Despite their valuable knowledge of the sea and its resources, this group of people remain one of the state’s most deprived and marginalised communities (Kurien op cit). In Kerala, Mukkuva or Mukkuvars (a caste involved in fishing) are considered ‘Other Backward Castes’ (or OBCs) and they have lagged behind in the state’s development. This is a legacy of historical social practices and enduring caste issues in Kerala. In fishing communities, caste discrimination is experienced more acutely by the women, who have more contact with mainstream society than the men.

The People’s Plan has opened up several opportunities for active participation of fishermen as well as fisherwomen in the collection of data and monitoring of diverse projects conducted by various research institutes on marine flora and fauna. This is important not only in terms of preserving ecological integrity but the research also provides possibilities of additional income, especially for the women of these communities. This can be achieved with the help of local governments or under the operations of women’s Self-Help Groups (SHGs). With the exception of a few isolated cases, these opportunities have not always been employed in this manner. From field visits, in-depth interviews and a review of literature surrounding fishing communities in the state, I surmise that these communities are seen more as beneficiaries and recipients of various social programmes rather than participants in local- level planning. A deeper examination of the capabilities might reveal the extent to which certain barriers prevent empowerment and uplifting of this community. Utilising the fishing communities’ rich knowledge of the sea, seasons, fish species and fishing operations, seems a good way to include them in development planning, empowering them as effective participants in their

111 own long term betterment. Unfortunately, the limited capabilities of this community have prevented them from fully and effectively participating in local level development. Sen’s capability perspective can make known possible barriers to such participation. Similar to the case of the Kadars discussed in the previous chapter, empirical data suggests that caste issues and bureaucratic mentality are two barriers to empowerment and capability building in this community. Yet another possible barrier comes in the form of the Roman (Latin) Catholic Church.

This chapter is divided into three sections. Section 6.1 looks at Vizhinjam fishing village where I gathered much of the empirical data. Of the many issues that concern this village, the availability of drinking water, housing and proper sanitation facilities top the list. The Church maintains a strong and constant presence in these communities. As I will show, the linkages between caste and religion are critical, and the role of the Church is central. Section 6.2 looks at issues of community and capability. Here I discuss Sen’s capability approach and its use as an information tool for development. I look at opportunities for capability building including gram sabha participation. This section also deals with other opportunities for capability building, for example SHGs or the incorporation of traditional knowledge in participatory planning. Finally I discuss some barriers that stand in the way of empowering fishing communities in the state. Section 6.3 concludes the chapter.

6.1 The fisher folk of Vizhinjam Vizhinjam is essentially a fishing village. There are limited studies on the village apart from quantitative data collected mostly by the Centre for Marine Fishery Research Institute (CMFRI), based in Cochin with a field office in Vizhinjam. In addition to my empirical research, I will make use of secondary data for Vizhinjam’s cultural and religious practices from ethnographic studies of other similar regions, for example Kalpana Ram’s, and Cecilia Busby’s study of Mukkuvars in Tamil Nadu and Kerala respectively. In addition, Gotz Hoeppe’s ethnographic study done in the predominantly Hindu fishing village of Chamakkala in Kerala provides relevant insights on what he terms ‘parallel knowledges’ (‘local’ and ‘global’ or scientific), which is useful for analysing capabilities to adapt and change. I believe that there are enough cultural similarities to draw reasonable ideas and conclusions about the Vizhinjam fishing community based on these ethnographic studies in combination with new data gathered from interviews I conducted.

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Photo 6.1: Vizhinjam Fishing Village (photo by author).

Vizhinjam and Kanya Kumaari were once part of the erstwhile kingdom of Travancore. Map 6.1a shows colonial south India outlining the reach of the kingdom. I have included Kanya Kumaari at the southern tip of India (now in the state of Tamil Nadu), as a point of reference. The former kingdom’s extent would have covered southern parts of the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu as well as the southern part of Kerala, including the capital, Trivandrum as well as Vizhinjam (as added on to maps 6.1a and b). This explains the common caste and religious associations of the fishermen in these regions.

Map 6.1a: Map of colonial south India Map 6.1 b: Contemporary map of south India (IndiaNetZone 2012). (Maps of India, 2008).

Vizhinjam Kanya Kumaari Vizhinjam Kanya Kumaari

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Initially Vizhinjam’s local government consisted of Vizhinjam gram panchayat made up of 22 wards with an elected representative from each ward. The president and vice-president of the panchayat were then elected from among the ward members. Vizhinjam is now part of the Trivandrum Corporation and has five wards (Venganoor, Mulloor, Kottapuram, Vizhinjam and Harbar) with an elected representative in each (Corporation of Thiruvananthapuram 2012). Vizhinjam is predominantly occupied by Christian families; but there are numerically smaller groups of Muslim and Hindu families as well. The Christian families are Latin Catholics,31 sharing similar beliefs and practices with their counterparts in parts of Tamil Nadu, as Kalpana Ram mentions in her work on Mukkuvar women in Kadalkarai Uuru (‘Seashore Place’), a study of a fishing village in Kanya Kumaari (or Cape Comorin) district at the tip of the Indian peninsula (Ram 1991). The Christian section is distinguished easily enough with the presence of a Church demarcating the ‘Christian area’ in the village. According to Busby, every fishing village along the coast seems to house a ‘large, imposing Church’ which stands as a ‘powerful material symbol of community’ (Busby op cit, 3; see also Ram op cit, xi). Vizhinjam is no different in this sense. The Sindhuyaatra Maatha Kovil (‘Church of the Mother of Safe Voyages’) towers above the small clustered homes of the fishermen in village. The importance of the Church in the lives of the fishermen will be discussed in section 6.1.2.

Photo 6.2: Sindhuyaatra Maatha Kovil (photo by author).

31 The Roman (Latin) Church is the largest sector of the Catholic Church; Latin Catholics submit to the pope in papal/patriarchal matters (Fortescu 1910). There are also a few among the Mukkuvars who are of the protestant denominations but the majority of Christians are Latin Catholics (Ponnumuthan 1996, 75). The term ‘Roman Catholic’ will be used interchangeably with ‘Latin Catholic’ in this work since the Roman Catholic Church may be used as an equivalent of the Latin Church (Fortescu 1910). The term ‘Church’ refers to the Roman/Latin Catholic Church.

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Fishermen in Vizhinjam use vessels such as the kattumaram (raft) and the vallam (canoe), and gear such as chaalavala (sardine net) and netholivala (anchovy net), kambavala and karamadi (shore seines) and mattu (the hook and line) (KSMTF32 member, interviewed by author. 11/05/10). Kalpana Ram writes of similar vessels and gear used by the Mukkuvars in her study in Kadalkarai Uuru (Ram op cit, 10 – 11). Although almost all of the Vizhinjam fishing community speak Malayalam, it is not uncommon to find that some of them, especially the men who come into contact with fishermen from Tamil Nadu, are able to speak Tamil as well. Cecilia Busby, in her ethnographic work on the Mukkuvar community of Marianad (‘Mary’s land’) in Trivandrum district, draws attention to this closeness in identity with the Mukkuvars in Tamil Nadu. Busby shows that intermarriages are common between these communities and the Tamil language is often spoken by Kerala’s southernmost fishing villages; and her work confirms that fisher folk in this part of Kerala have a greater connection with their counterparts in Tamil Nadu rather than with other parts of Kerala, at least culturally and in terms of their faith (Busby 2000, 3). This leads to the conclusion that the Mukkuvars retain a certain ‘prestige’ in their particular identity (Ponnumuthan 1996, 76).

6.1.1. Caste and class The fishermen of Vizhinjam belong to the ‘Other Backward Castes’ (or OBCs). OBCs are defined by the Government of India as groups that are socially and economically backward and do not fall into the categories of Scheduled Castes (SCs), Scheduled Tribes (STs), Forward Castes (FCs) or any other caste categories. In Kerala, the Dheevaras or coastal dwellers (which include Arayans, Vallans and Mukkuvars among others) are considered as OBCs (Kerala Public Service Commission 2003). As mentioned by John Kurien, a leading scholar in fisheries and fishing communities’ development in Kerala, the state’s marine fishing communities have tribal origins but were later incorporated in Hindu caste society and placed at the bottom of the social ladder (Kurien 2005, 75). Kurien goes on to write that in a state where almost every segment of society is attuned to political issues, and all have for the most part moved forward in the state’s development plan, two communities, tribals and marine fisher folk, mostly residing in the Western Ghats and coastal tracts respectively, have somehow been left behind in this wave of human development (ibid). This has compromised their capabilities despite the state government’s attempts at democratic decentralisation.

32 Kerala Matsya Thozhillali Federation (Kerala Free Fishworkers Federation).

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In their work, Food, Memory and Community in Kerala, Caroline Osella and Filippo Osella write that in comparing the erstwhile kingdom of Travancore, and the city of Kozhikode in the former Malabar district, caste has had different effects, which then impacted on food practices (Osella and Osella 2008, 171). This was largely because Travancore was a Hindu princely state where Hindu cultural practices (of which caste was an important component) were strongly practised. The Malabar region however, was under British administration. Although the authors cover the culture of food and community, the salient point here is that the effects of caste in the former Travancore kingdom created a legacy of such social systems that persist in today’s Kerala.

Today, the influence of Hindu caste society is relatively significant in Vizhinjam, although in wider Kerala society, it plays out mostly in a veiled manner. During interviews I conducted, some participants who are not part of the community have inadvertently revealed that discrimination against fisher folk is a result of their class (being ‘backward’ or less educated) rather than because they are Mukkuvars. In trying to elucidate this particular thinking, and in trying to ascertain the roots of such prejudice, I found it difficult at first to separate caste and class discrimination. People who are of a ‘lower’ class are in most cases of a particular caste as well. One explanation for this might be that entrenched caste identities have travelled through time to become class identities now. In the perceptions of modern Keralites, it is easier to group people as a ‘class’ than as a ‘caste’ to show that society has ‘progressed’.

However, this does not mean that deep-rooted caste consciousness has been completely eradicated though significant progress has been made in this direction. There have been valiant attempts, which for the most part were successful, to introduce changes in societal relations. This came in the form of radical reforms by left political parties, for example the Left Democratic Front or LDF’s struggles against caste mobilisation (see Heller 2001, 142; Isaac and Tharakan 1995, 9). Religious and spiritual leaders were also looking to change social thinking. Religious leader-social reformer, Sree Narayana Guru, whose most popular slogan was ‘one caste, one religion, one God for man’, relied ‘on a variety of sources from tradition to redefine the body in its relations to caste and to agency’ (Kumar 1997, 250 – 1). All these have to a great extent reduced the effects of caste and brought stronger focus on the class aspects of society in the state.

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Scholars working among the southern Indian fishing communities point out that caste and religion are identifying factors for them (Kurien 2004; Busby 2000; Ram 1991). The fishing community of Vizhinjam is no exception and this is relevant and important information for policy-makers. The Mukkuvar caste and the Latin Catholic faith are sources of distinctiveness and perhaps even strength for these communities. The Mukkuvars see themselves as daring people (men) with courage, freedom and strong moral values (Hoeppe 2006, 237; also Ram op cit, 25, for the courage and freedom of fishermen). As mentioned earlier, the Mukkuvars take pride in their identity but that does not mean they have not faced contempt as a result of their caste. Mainstream society views them differently because they are the ‘outsiders’ or fringe dwellers. Colonial and post-colonial classifications and having to deal with scientific management of resources have perhaps changed their self-image and the way they relate to the rest of society. It is important to note that men of Vizhinjam are less affected by caste discrimination than the women. This has been pointed out by scholars such as Ram and Busby, and has also been highlighted by a study conducted by the women’s wing of the KSMTF (John undated).33 My field data also corroborates this, and suggest that women are more likely to be subject to caste discrimination since they are the ones that face society through not only the marketing and sale of the day’s catch but also in dealing with government officials or their elected representatives. The attitudes of mainstream society towards the Mukkuvar community (as well as the tribal community), a recurrent theme throughout this work, will be discussed further in chapter seven, where I will also consider the possibility of changes in the community’s identity and image of itself as a result of power mechanisms.

As previously mentioned, radical reforms in the early years of left politics tried to redefine a person’s position, moving away from caste-based identities. Although he does not specify exactly when, John Kurien mentions that the issue of caste is one that has been re-introduced into fishing communities which then ‘vitiated the question of who should have access to fishery resources’ (Kurien 2005, 87). Perhaps this was in-line with the return to power of the more centrist United Democratic Front (UDF) led by the right-wing Congress party in 2001. Kurien also mentions that contrary to its earlier stand in state elections, many leaders from the independent fishermen’s unions used the caste card to good effect to garner votes (ibid,

33 It is important to note that both Ram’s and Busby’s work take a gender perspective. However, their contribution to the overall scholarship concerning the lives, practices and status of the fishing communities in south India cannot be underestimated and confined to this particular perspective.

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88). According to Wicky Meynen, right-wing political parties always saw the fishing community as a vote bank for their interests and for the most part were supported by the Church in this (Meynen 1989, 751 – 2; see also Ponnumuthan 1996, 167). This is one of the reasons why the independent fishermen’s federation failed to secure power in some areas because of the strength of communal politics (Meynen op cit, 752). The Church also led the fishing communities against communists in the early years of the state (pers., comm. K. Ram). According to Meynen, this was also the reason why cooperatives and unionisation were not very successful among the fishing communities especially in the south of Kerala where the Church is more powerful (Meynen op cit). More of this in the next section.

6.1.2. The Roman (Latin) Catholic Church – power and capability The role of the Church in the fishing communities in Kerala could be described as not only pastoral but also political, especially in the early years of state formation. The political aspect is certainly registered in the fisher folk’s agitation (see below). The Church exerts power over the community positioning itself within the Vatican’s larger system of power, order and hierarchy. Yet, we see the Church also supporting fishing communities, including mobilising fishermen and fisherwomen against injustices done against them, seemingly in the fashion of liberation theologists in Latin American countries in the 1960s and 70s (Williams 2000). In a study on fishing communities in Kerala, F. Houtart and Nalini Nayak sum up succinctly the role and power of the Latin Catholic Church among the Mukkuvars in Kerala. The Church is the central institution within the community and in a way, the raison d’être of the entire community. The priest is the ex-officio leader of the village. Despite the fact that indigenous leaders do exist, no major decisions in the village can be taken outside the priest’s authority. This also accounts for the internal organisation of the community. The Church has a dominant say in the political, economic and social life of the people. By using the pulpit on Sundays, the priest is both the spiritual and ideological leader. He has not only the monopoly of interpreting the word of God but also of determining the social ethics of the community, telling its members what they can or cannot do. (Houtart and Nayak 1988, 6, cited in Ponnumuthan 1996, 76).

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Despite the highly centralised, hierarchical structure of the Catholic Church, there are radical elements within the clergy (as well as laity) in Kerala ‘agitating’ for changes in the socio- economic conditions of the fisher folk in the state. The role of these radical elements will be considered shortly but a brief introduction to the Latin Catholics and their faith as well as the role of the Church in fishing communities is in order before further discussion.

In his work on Basic Ecclesial Communities (BECs)34, Silvestre Ponnumuthan outlines the ecclesiastical history of Trivandrum and the spread of the Latin Catholic faith in the district. Trivandrum is one of the nine Latin Catholic dioceses of Kerala. The Trivandrum diocese is closely related to the diocese of Quilon (present day Kollam), one of the early centres of Christianity in Kerala, declared on 9 August 1329 by Pope John the XXII (ibid, 65). As Ponnumuthan states, despite the early histories of the dioceses of Quilon and Trivandrum (then south Travancore), a massive evangelisation took place in south Travancore with the arrival of the Portuguese missionaries and St Francis Xavier in the 16th Century (ibid, 66).

The Synod35 of Diamper, held in 1559, condemned a series of social evils including slavery, untouchability, belief in magic and witchcraft, concubinage and child marriages (Ponnumuthan 2009). Slavery and untouchability were especially what the lower castes were subjected to among other forms of deprivation. There is no doubt that the Latin Church also contributed significantly to high literacy levels in the state. Not only was the first book on Malayalam36 grammar – Grammatica Lingua Vulgaris Malabarica – written by an Italian Carmelite, Bishop Angelo Francis, but also another Carmelite, Archbishop Benardin Baccinelli issued a pastoral letter in 1860 ordering all parishes to establish schools alongside the Church which would be open to everyone, thus spreading ‘the light of education’ (ibid). This is not to say that existing Hindu rulers in the kingdoms of Travancore and Cochin were not interested in the uplifting of the people. A royal proclamation issued in Travancore in 1817 undertook to defray the entire cost of education of its citizenry in the hope of spreading

34 Basic Ecclesial Communities is another term for Basic Christian Communities (or BCCs). BCCs are the Church’s way of reaching out to its congregation by working in small pastoral groups within the larger Christian community. According to Bishop Peter Kang, in his work on small Christian communities, these BCCs form the communitarian structure of the Church in modern times (Kang 2009, 6). Activities include members of the parish meeting in small groups as part of community building thus inculcating a ‘sense of belonging and solidarity based on a common faith’ (ibid, 5). 35 A synod is a council convened by the Church to discuss a certain issue, for example an issue about a particular doctrine or administration of the Church. 36 Malayalam is the official language of the state of Kerala.

119 education among them (Centre for Development Studies 2006, 10; Ramachandran 1997, 268 – 269). As Ramachandran states, this was a remarkable move in that it was issued in 1817, in a princely state (no similar statement was made at that time by any government in British India), and by a 15-year old woman ruler (Ramachandran op cit, 269). It is often remarked that today’s high literacy rates in Kerala are a result of such historical social progress (KSSP member, interviewed by author. 16/05/2010).

In his doctoral dissertation on liberation theology in Kerala, K.M. Joseph highlights that caste Hindus and ‘upper caste Christians’ (upper caste Hindu converts) considered the Latin Catholics as ‘second-rate Christians’ since they came from the lower castes (Joseph 1997, 247). In some cases there was also resistance to their conversion. Citing several sources, Joseph mentions how the upper castes (Hindus and Christians) viewed the Latin Catholics and how they were unhappy with them being converted to Christianity. He writes, They were of a brownish complexion and belonged to the class of untouchables at the bottom of the caste hierarchy of Kerala. This was especially the case with those converted by Francis Xavier who concentrated on this class. There was also resistance to their conversion (ibid).

Joseph’s work also highlights how in the sixteenth century, the Zamorin of Calicut forbade the conversion of some of the lower castes fearing that the economic foundation of the feudal society might collapse (Moraes 1964, 132, cited in ibid). To this end, Joseph cites an interesting letter in Moraes’ work, A History of Christianity in India, from the ruler of Kolathiri, in Kerala to the Portuguese king in 1507. I desire that certain people whom I and my Nairs have as slaves and belong to two castes viz., the Tines (Tiyan) and the Mucoas (fishermen) should not be made Christians. For with the conversion of these slaves, conflicts may arise between our vassals and these people. The Nairs derive their income from them and they do not want to lose it (ibid). Two interesting points can be derived from the above discussion. The first point of interest is that certain Christians considered themselves to be ‘upper caste’ and secondly, the erstwhile rulers of Kerala saw it necessary to appeal to a foreign ruler on issues of power (here meaning ‘control over’) and ‘ownership’ over slaves/labour. These points overlap when one considers Michel Foucault’s ideas of power, subjugation and the creation of subjects. It also

120 points to the caste system as an operational disciplinary power in society, as discussed in section 2.2 and elsewhere in the thesis. These issues of power are relevant even in contemporary times, albeit with different facets, and will be explored in greater detail in the next chapter. Now, I provide further detail on the linkage between caste and Christianity in Kerala.

From pre-colonial to colonial times, caste-based relations have been a constant factor in Kerala society. Kerala’s caste system was traditionally based on the most ‘primitive transactional concepts of pollution or irrational discriminative institution popularly known as ‘aiyatham’, un-seeability, un-touchability, and un-approachability’ (Sreedhara Menon 1970, 267 – 269, cited in Isaac 2009). Swami Vivekananda, a well-known spiritual personality who was instrumental in the introduction of Indian philosophies to the west, described the Kerala society as ‘the mad house of India’ because of the obsession with caste as a determining factor for all social and economic relations (Sreedhara Menon 2008, 243). Caste divisions not only determined interactions in society and dictated who could be ‘seen’, ‘touched’ or ‘approached’ but there were external caste markers that had to be borne by some, such as the style of hair, ornaments and type of clothing that was allowed, or in some cases, disallowed. For example, with regards to clothing, covering of the upper body by women of lower castes was disallowed (Sujaya 2010, 20). Even in the years after state formation in 1957, the first Chief Minister of Kerala, E.M.S. Namboodiripad described the state as being so caste oriented that scholars, both foreign and local, were of the opinion that every political party regardless of its ideology seem to be based on one caste or another (Namboodiripad 1977, 3). Also, caste has been incorporated into Christianity and Islam, with both adopting local forms of organisation and power that are not unlike Hindu caste society. As Busby states, in her work in Marianad, ‘while Catholicism however, is clearly important, especially as part of an identity of opposition, it is a particular, local form of Catholicism which shares much with local Hinduism in terms of ideas about power, personhood, substance and exchange...’ (Busby 2000, 3). The same can be said about Islam.

According to Kalpana Ram, citing Iyer’s 1909 account of the Mukkuvar community, the Mukkuvars were made to stand at a distance from people of higher castes (Ram 1991, 6) and they were allowed to ‘adore the deities in the Brahmanic temples by standing at a distance from the outer wall’ (Iyer 1909, 274, dcited in ibi ). In addition to their caste ‘pollution’ and geographical separation from the rest of caste society, many became Christians since their

121 low status in society was a powerful incentive to convert as a form of escape (ibid). Missionaries like Francis Xavier focussed on this particular group, and this distinguished them from ‘St Thomas Christians’ who trace their origin to the evangelism of Saint Thomas the Apostle in the first century (Joseph op cit, 247). They are also known as Syrian Christians or Syrian Catholics, and claim descent from high caste Hindus. St Thomas Christians did not admit lower castes converts to their places of worship and the Church in Kerala was quite at ease with this appropriation of the Hindu caste order even though the mentality was contrary to the Bible’s message (ibid; see also Alexander 1971). In the minds of Kerala Christians, such division continues. Contemporary evidence of this comes from empirical data including an interview with a prominent member of the KSMTF, who states, See...I can explain Trivandrum, for the Christian community. I’m a Christian, the Latin archdiocese is here. Most of the Christian community depend on this archdiocese. At the same time, Malankara Catholics are here. They’re upper caste Syrian Catholics. Even within the Catholics there are Syrian and Latin. Latin Catholics are looked down upon. If you look at the Hindu community, just above ‘other life forms’ you have Ezhavas, then Nairs, then Nambuthiris. For the Muslims you have the Puislams,37 the fishing-related community, and then Thangal.38 So many different levels. So these divisions still exist (KSMTF member, interviewed by author. 11/05/10).

When a discriminatory system like that of the Hindu caste system is appropriated by other religious groupings, it stands in the way of enhancing the capabilities of the groups of new converts that are supposedly liberated yet still are subject to social systems that show prejudice against them. Often such prejudice is manifested in attitudes of officials and mainstream society towards the fishing communities, as described in chapter four. Marginalised groups such as the Mukkuvars of Vizhinjam have sought Christianity to escape social disabilities of the caste system but they find themselves victims of new versions of power and subjugation, now hidden or covert. Therefore, despite their conversion, they still

37 ‘Puislams’ or ‘Puthiya Islams’ means ‘new Islams’ or converts to Islam (Ram 1991, 6). The terms ‘Latin Catholics’ and ‘Puislams’ are generally associated with socio-economically backward lower castes in Kerala. 38 Thangal are Muslims of Yemeni origin in the state of Kerala. In Malayalam, the term ‘Thangal’ is an honorific Muslim title.

122 remain subjects of the caste power mechanism. As mentioned, these issues of power will be examined in greater detail in chapter seven.

In moving on to exploring deprivation and exploitation in the fishing community, it is important to mention that the Catholic Church has also been active in socio-economic struggles of the fishing communities in Kerala. From the role of the clergy in the Kerala fishermen’s agitation, the Church has actively pursued justice and development for this marginalised community. The fishermen’s agitation in the 1980s is illustrative of the Church’s role in this regard. Developments in the fishing industry from the 1960s included new mechanised fleets of trawlers, opening up of external markets and declining demand for fisherwomen’s artisanal skills of fish drying and salting. Fishworkers initially attempted to adjust to these new conditions, but later turned to confrontation against these changes (especially attacks against trawlers) throughout the 1970s (Meynen 1989, 744 – 747). Such a volatile situation lent itself easily to political organisation and unionisation among the fishworkers in Kerala. With the help of local priests in various areas along the Kerala coast, such organisations, with the blessing of the Catholic Church, took off in the 1970s (ibid, 747; Halfdanardottir 1993, 148). Former fishworkers who had opportunities because of education, and had moved away from fishing as a livelihood, were appalled by the miserable conditions that faced their fellow community members and were in a position to articulate forcefully the problems faced by the fisher folk (Joseph op cit, 262). Such people became prominent in the Kerala Latin Catholic Fishermen Federation, formed by the amalgamation of these priest-led unions under the aegis of the Church in the late 1970s (Meynen, op cit, 749). It was the liberation theologists of the Church that backed the fishing community and organised their fight for justice against ‘capitalists’ and the state.

Liberation theology can be considered a Christian movement that interprets the teachings of Christ in terms of freedom from unjust political, economic, or social state of affairs. There are two strong and opposing views about this movement. Proponents claimed that liberation theology, that made its presence felt in Kerala for the first time in 1984 (Joseph op cit, 2), was best described as Christian faith interpreted through the suffering of the poor and therefore presented a critique of society. To them it was about discovering the ‘heart of the Christian gospel’, in a God who makes a ‘preferential option for the poor’ (Irvine 2010, 922). According to Robert Gorman, liberation theology was,

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responding to the troubles of dependent nations, whose labour and resources were fuelling foreign economic expansion. Hence, it was primarily – though by no means exclusively – a movement composed of indigenous, politically active Catholic priests, who redefined sin to embody social, economic, and political structures that violated one's Christian personhood. Marxism was their tool for explaining and destroying ‘structural sin’, because it alone had synthesised the interrelated processes of economic colonisation, liberation, and revolutionary organisation. Christian faith thus required acknowledging the possibility of social and spiritual emancipation, and acting in history, as revolutionary Christian socialists, to at least begin achieving salvation (Gorman 1990, 473). Opponents, including influential, high ranking Vatican officials, who simply saw such movements as Christianised Marxism, warned Christians of the risks involved in accepting Marxism as a dominant principle in theological endeavours (Boff and Boff 1987). By the 1980s, this debate contextualised the Kerala fishermen’s struggles against ‘development’ in the fisheries sector.

According to Ponnumuthan, the most important social movement that caught the attention of the Catholic Church in Kerala was the fishermen’s agitation that took place between 1981 and 1984.39 The lead protagonists of these were Latin Catholic fishermen and members of clergy and nuns (Ponnumuthan 1996, 163). As already indicated, the artisanal fishing community was severely affected by modernisation. They experienced increased encroachment into their traditional fishing grounds by trawlers and saw a decline in their catch (Kurien 2005, 78). In protest, they demanded a three month trawler ban (in the monsoon months) and also began to demand greater attention from the state in matters of education for their children and social security protection for their families in times of accidents and old age (ibid). The Latin Catholic Fishermen’s Federation, in a series of memoranda presented to the Chief Minister of Kerala, brought to light the conditions of life and work in the coastal fishing communities (Joseph op cit, 263-64).

39 The term ‘agitation’ refers to protests. See note 30.

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The agitation of 1984 was described by Sister Alice, a Catholic nun and a leader of the protest, as the ‘inauguration’ of liberation theology in Kerala (ibid, 266). It was during this protest that, in a surprising move, the Bishops withdrew their support and asked the priests and nuns to stop the agitation. This led to a local newspaper reporting in its lead article that the agitation was between the poor and rich within the Church (‘Enadu’ July 6, 1984, cited in ibid). The Bishops (as well as civil leaders) were getting increasingly annoyed at the role played by clergy in the agitations including the fact that their (the Bishops’ and leaders’) reaction was criticised by the priests, nuns and laity who had all along maintained a submissive attitude towards the hierarchy (Ponnumuthan op cit, 163). Liberation theology has been accused by the more conservative elements in the Church of replacing Christ with Marx. However, as Edward Martin writes, for centuries the Church has ‘devoted her attention to formulating truths and meanwhile did almost nothing to better the world. In other words the Church focused on orthodoxy and left orthopraxis in the hands of non-members and nonbelievers’ (Martin 2003, 70).

The ideas espoused by the so-called radical elements in the Latin Church did not sit well with their superiors who not only withdrew their support from the fishermen’s agitation but also disciplined these errant clergy. Politically speaking, the Left Democratic Front (LDF) was wholly in support of the agitation. However, an important change of government in 1982 brought in a coalition headed by the United Democratic Front or UDF. The UDF’s support base included communal forces such as the Church-led fishing communities (Meynen 1989, 752). The Catholic Church was ever present in the lives of fishing communities and politically this translated to these communities consistently voting for right-wing parties without the latter having to make any effort at winning votes (ibid, 742). The final outcome of all this was that the fish workers were forced to withdraw their demands when the UDF came to power in 1982 (Joseph op cit, 266). The UDF government was not in support of the fishermen’s protests simply because UDF was supported by the Church and the Church was not happy with the way the agitations were going.

It is clear that challenges to dominant religious systems, like that of the Catholic Church, do not come from those within its establishment but arise from the religious movements near the ‘fringes’ of society (Martin op cit, 75). The fishermen’s agitation in Kerala is an example of this. The unhappiness in the Church and its consequent disciplining of the delinquent behaviour of its radical clergy is also illustrative of the power the Church holds over its

125 establishment and the absolute obedience it demands from it. Clergy that supported the agitation were also disciplined by a letter from Monsignor Netto, a former administrator of the diocese, to the editor in a diocesan periodical. The Monsignor stated clearly that clergy that think the Bishops were ‘wrong’ were being insubordinate to the Church in 1) criticising the Bishops, 2) going against canon law 28740 and 3) inculcating Marxist ideologies among the faithful (Ponnumuthan op cit, 168). The power and influence of the Church hierarchy was also displayed when despite the empowerment of the movement and the possible uplifting of its followers, the withdrawal of support from the Bishops created some doubts in the minds of the community that looked to the Church for support and guidance in all matters (ibid, 167). Here we see the control exerted by the Church over its ‘subjects’ through specific disciplinary techniques. As Joseph mentions, when the protests were quashed in July 1982, the only good the Mukkuvar community had managed to gain from the experience was to have made known to society the hardships they faced. It seemed to them that neither the political parties nor the Church ‘were willing to risk their fortunes in defence of their cause’ (Joseph op cit, 266).

In modern day Vizhinjam, changes in state governments, administrative capacities and literacy levels among fisher folk notwithstanding, the power of the Church is still strong and these fishing communities have come to depend on it for support and guidance in their spiritual as well as political, economic and social lives. In terms of capabilities, it seems that the Church is in favour of helping the fishing communities as reflected in the work of BECs in fishing villages.41 For example, one of the interview participants in Vizhinjam highlights the assistance the Church gives in terms of financial help to the destitute and extreme hardship cases. Soliciting parish support, the BECs also help to get orphaned girls married. Such help is more in line with Christian charity based on the teachings on the poor in the Bible rather than with empowering these communities by increasing their freedom and hence capabilities. Nevertheless, this role cannot be downplayed because the community does require assistance of this sort, especially when it is not forthcoming from other official

40 Canon law 287 dictates that priests should do their utmost to foster peace and harmony based on justice. They are not to play an active role in political parties or in directing trade unions unless in the judgement of competent ecclesiastical authority that this is required for the defence of the rights of the Church or to promote the common good (Anon 2007).

41 See note 34.

126 channels. What is surprising is that the Church seems not to be involved in pressing issues the community feels it faces such as the lack of drinking water and socio-economic classification of the fishing families. The community members seem to have interesting takes on the role of the Church in this regard. Below are some excerpts from interviews with them. The first three are fishermen and the last is a member of the women’s wing of the KSMTF.

These are government issues so even if the Church has any power, it cannot do anything about it.

The Church cannot do anything if we do not tell them anything...the Achan (Father) can only take up these issues if we bring them up to him...If this is not an issue for the Church, why tell him?

Another reason is while we are talking to the Achan about our problems, everybody around will think that “this man is so cheap”. So in order to ‘save face’, even if we feel like telling him, nobody will.

Within the community there are a lot of people not aware of their rights and entitlements. So when those who are aware come up to them on a Sunday after Mass and try and talk about it to the Achan, they say “here she comes again with her ‘ration cards’ and her ‘sugar and rice’ problems.” So it is difficult. Seemingly, these participants are incapable of critically assessing the power of the Church in their lives and this is part of the effectiveness of such power mechanisms. Chapter seven will expand upon this exercise of power.

6.1.3. Politics of the poverty line Given that the men are at sea or resting at home after going out to sea, many of the dealings with officials are carried out by women. Unfortunately the attitude of the fishing community members towards local governments and its officials is one of hopelessness. They do not believe that much good will come from talking to their representatives or of their participation in local-level development given that they are fisher folk. During an interview, one participant said ‘they (elected representatives/candidates) come around during elections

127 and will even be willing to fall at our feet but once in power, we do not exist’. Yet another participant feels that taking their problems to their representatives over and over again insults and degrades them, especially since some of these representatives are from their village and already know of the terrible hardships faced by some families. Many feel that their particular problems are not being taken up because of who they are and what they do. I was told by a female fishing community member who accompanied me to my interview with a local official that the only reason she was allowed to see the officer was because she was with me. She of course took the chance to talk about the problems in her community. She was told to see her elected representative and that there was nothing that the official could do for her. The elected representatives are now based in Trivandrum which means constituents in the ward have to travel to the capital city to talk to them (Vizhinjam Corporation official, interviewed by author. 28/09/11).

The corporation office in Vizhinjam handles the day-to-day operations of the wards, for example, licensing, application for various activities and other administrative matters (ibid). One major problem that arises from this is that the distance between representative and constituents has widened, making it difficult for easy communication. Members of the community, especially the women, have problems travelling to different parts of the district in buses (John undated, 8 – 9). They have been prevented from getting on buses because of the nature of their work and the smell of fish that emanate from the loads that they carry (ibid). After much protest carried out by the women’s wing of the KSMTF (brought on by public buses not stopping for fisherwomen) the state government has agreed to provide special buses for the needs of this group (ibid). However, such travel still takes away considerable time from their homes and work. Therefore, it is not surprising that many just leave things as they are without bringing up these issues to their elected representatives. Several of these issues concern the well-being of the Vizhinjam community, in particular the availability of drinking water, proper housing, and sanitation facilities. I was also made aware of these conditions during my interviews with participants from the village. The availability of proper provisions for cooking was also another point of great concern for women of the fishing families and this was tied with their ‘poverty-line’ categorisation or socio-economic classification according to the state.

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In Vizhinjam, several of the families I talked to are justifiably classified as ‘Below Poverty Line’ (BPL) by the state. However, it was made known to me during the interviews with them that several families are also considered ‘Above Poverty Line’ (APL) even though they themselves feel that they clearly are not. It does not take long to sense the unhappiness in the ‘poverty line’ classification in the community. The female participants were quite forthcoming in providing me with examples of what they felt were wrongly classified families. Before going into further detail, mention must be made that BPL and APL classifications entitle families to different amounts of staple foods like rice, wheat, sugar and oil at reduced prices. Ration cards that are either red (for BPL) or blue (for APL) are given to families. This is what they bring with them to buy rations. During the interview one of the female participants, a widow with three young children, mentioned her problems of being classified as APL even though she does not own a home or have a steady job and her children are still in school (member of Vizhinjam fishing community, interviewed by author. 28/09/11). Yet another female participant who feels that she has been ‘wrongly classified’ lamented that When they come and see our homes, and we tell them we don’t own these homes, we still get an APL card. Even if not having a home is not a criterion, even if it is a rented place, we don’t have a good standard of living, but we still get an APL card. I am an example of this. I am a daughter of a fisherman and my husband is a fisherman and we have two young sons who are in primary school. However, I believe there are many much worse off than me in this village who are considered APL families (Vizhinjam female fishworker, interviewed by author. 27/05/2010). This particular participant is more vocal and proactive in demanding what is owing to the community from her elected representative but this is not surprising given that she is a member of the women’s wing of the KSMTF. It seems that most of the men and women just accept what has been told to them. One of the fishermen interviewed mentioned the difficulties in changing their ration cards from APL to BPL because this meant taking days away from the sea which could mean a considerable loss of income for them. This participant said that he took two days off from going out to sea to settle this matter at the panchayat but he was sent to and fro to get signatures from one officer to the next (Vizhinjam fisherman, interviewed by author. 26/09/11). At the end, he did not manage to get his entitlement sorted out and he lost two days’ worth of wages. This is a great loss for a fisherman who has three

129 daughters under the age of ten and lives with two other families in a small hut. Having seen the crowds outside the local government office, I believe that this is most likely not a one day affair. This puts them off getting these matters ‘settled’ and they try and manage as best as possible.

The APL/BPL situation in Vizhinjam is made complex by what is expected from the villagers. It is possible that there might be some indifference on the part of the officials who classify people but do not pay attention to these particular details which affect a family’s rations. One of my interview participants, who has worked among fishing communities in Kerala for more than two decades, said that: If you go to a fishing village you will see people who by no means should be BPL. But surely the majority, the fisher folk, the vast majority should be classified as BPL…this is a problem of classification of APL/BPL in any case. It is not only something specific to the fishing communities…government officials are recruited on a short-term basis…they don’t know enough about it or are not particularly motivated, socially motivated. They have a job to do. They go by very strict criteria (leading expert in fisheries, interviewed by author. 26/09/2011).

As this participant mentions, generally people want to be classified as BPL because of the benefits in terms of the amount and cost of rations but they are not so happy to be termed BPL on other accounts. For example when they want to get their daughters married off, they would not go around advertising their BPL status (ibid). Another interview I conducted indicated that sometimes community members might have erroneous views with regards to poverty line categorisation. One of the women interviewed in Vizhinjam seemed to think that because she is classified as BPL, this classification should be extended to her daughter, who is married and lives in her own home with her family. Here we see a very strong case to adopt the capability approach mentioned in preceding chapters as an information gathering tool that provides data beyond income or other utilitarian-based criteria. New and varied data will help to widen criteria for APL/BPL classification and it can also be used to obtain local input from the community, opening up areas for involvement and participation. This will be elaborated in the next section.

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6.2 Community and capability Much of Amartya Sen’s work on the capability approach, its use as a way of informing sustainable development, and its value in effective local-level planning has been covered in the conceptual framework section of this study (section 2.1 ). The capability approach allows for the inclusion of different types of valuation (what people perceive to be necessary for a better life) and can be extended to identifying barriers that stand in the way of social, economic or environmental development. Although the effectiveness of democratic decentralisation in local communities has been investigated elsewhere (Venugopal and Yilmaz 2009; Heller, Harilal and Chaudhuri 2007; Franke and Chasin 1997), it has not been done using the capability approach or in terms of understanding the quality of lives led in these communities. This type of study requires a move away from quantitative and superficial qualitative investigations, to a deeper analysis of quality of life, which Sen’s capability approach offers. The capability of individuals and the extent of their freedom in the role they can play in sustainable development and issues of social justice are of great importance when considering development in Vizhinjam fishing village. The level of participation from fisher folk in development is tied to the capabilities of their community. If capability is indeed a key to freedom – the range of options a person has in deciding what kind of life to lead (Dréze and Sen 1998, 10) – it stands to reason that the community in Vizhinjam is not, in this sense, free. If greater capability signifies the ability to tactically position oneself within the panchayat (local government) system (chapter four) and to participate in social processes to enhance one’s own life, then this community has had limited success. As discussed in the case of the Kadars (section 5.3.3), further analysis reveals that much of this has to do with their perceived status vis-à-vis mainstream society. As empirical data suggests, the fishing community in Vizhinjam, similar to the Kadar community of Athirapilly, has limited ‘positive freedoms’ (describing what a person can choose to do or achieve) in regard to the development of their community.

There are opportunities to participate in local-level planning, for example gram sabha participation and the availability of micro-credit through SHGs, especially targeted at women. But this does not necessarily translate to enhanced capabilities or influence. Several participants interviewed stated that they rarely see any solutions to their problems or essential development for the village as an outcome of these meetings. One fisherman said: This is why most people in Vizhinjam don’t attend any of these meetings because there is really no use in attending them. If we go to

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the sea in that time, at least we can earn something for our families (Vizhinjam fisherman, interviewed by author. 26/09/2011). Two other fishermen interviewed expressed similar attitudes towards attending gram sabha meetings. They mentioned the fact that they initially attended these meetings to state their grievances but stopped attending after realising that nothing was being done about development issues such as the provision of drinking water and addressing the waste management issue in their community.42 Another fisherman expressed his unhappiness that gram sabhas were conducted on Sundays (as specified so that the majority of the people can attend). This affects the fishing community because even though they do not go out to sea on Sundays, many fishermen use this day to do necessary chores, for example the fixing of nets, equipment etc to prepare for the week’s work. Sundays are also reserved for Church attendance and to indulge in other Church-related matters for the Latin Catholic fishers. This participant went on to say that even if he set aside his work and went to these assemblies, there would be no positive outcome from the whole exercise for him or his community. This also points to the how local governments blindly follow stipulations without considering communities that are within their jurisdiction given that Vizhinjam is mostly a Latin Catholic fishing community.

A study of SHGs conducted by Sonny Jose and Lekshmi Nair in the coastal communities of Trivandrum district provides an example of the potential for capability enhancing through local level development, especially involving women in fishing areas (Jose and Nair 2011). The authors describe how although initially motivated by external agencies such as the Church and NGOs, women in these communities were in time also motivated through a self- realisation of their predicaments and the possibility of income generation by joining SHGs (ibid, 58). The expansion of SHGs in local communities was a common phenomenon examined in Kerala’s People’s Plan (Bandhyopadhyay, Yugandhar and Mukherjee 2002; Isaac and Franke 2002; Narayana 2002). SHGs and availing of micro-credit have allowed these women access to financial help and have expanded what these women can do in order to improve their states of ‘being’. It is important to note that unfortunately this does not mean

42 The issue of waste management is quite a serious one in Vizhinjam village. Houses have no latrines and people have to use the communal latrines at a cost of two rupees per visit. The management of this public latrine is undertaken by a private corporation. The latrines are locked after six in the evening which means people have to use any area that is available resulting is public health issues. If a house did have a latrine, in most cases, this would be converted into a room for a family due to the lack of homes. The colony I visited had two to three, sometimes even up to four, families living in the same house.

132 that these women are now more empowered. Indeed, Jose and Nair mention that they have been forced to concede that the evidence with respect to the effect of SHGs is mixed (Jose and Nair op cit, 60). As the authors have outlined in their study, ‘product oriented’ and ‘gender related’ hurdles have brought into question whether SHGs and micro-credit schemes have led to poverty reduction (ibid, 58 – 60). In micro-credit schemes, one problem is the repayment of loans taken. Though the amounts are small, they are a burden when compared to the actual earnings of these families. One of the female members of the KSMTF from Vizhinjam clearly articulates this when asked about the impacts of micro-credit and local- level development: The main changes are a lot of loans have been given to women and this amount is increasing now because of SHGs. Unfortunately because of the large amounts many of them cannot even pay the interest on the loans and this creates more problems for them. This is not the development we envisioned. Just giving us loans is not equal to development (KSMTF member, interviewed by author. 27/05/2010).

As I have alluded to at the end of chapter four, despite the opportunities like gram sabha participation or that of SHGs and micro-credit, on the whole, very little has happened in terms of capability enhancing of the fishing community in Vizhinjam. Empirical data suggests that there are no serious attempts by the state or local governments to examine the ‘nature of the lives’ of this community (as well as that of the Kadar community in chapter five) as Sen’s capability approach requires. It is not enough to provide ways for participation without studying the effectiveness of this participation in terms of the capabilities of these communities.

In Kerala there remains a great dependence on utilitarian values and numbers in determining classifications (for example APL/BPL classifications) or distribution (for example quotas for beneficiaries) within the whole system of local government. Such utility-based values do nothing to expose the real deprivation or level of development of marginalised communities, such as the fisher folk of Vizhinjam. Although cultural factors, for example whether a woman is widowed or whether there are female children in the family, are factored in for socio- economic classification purposes, I argue that these are still based on the utilitarian premise of ability to achieve satisfaction based on income. A widowed woman’s income-earning potential is considerably lowered, as in the fishing community there is a clear divide between

133 gender and the type of work each does or is allowed to do (Meynen 1989, 740). It is quite clearly marked out that women do not go out to sea and men do not generally deal with the larger community in terms of processing or selling the catch (Kurien 2004; Busby 2000; Ram 1991). Families with female children will have to make arrangements for marrying them off including providing possible dowry payments. For example in my interviews, both male and female participants stressed their plight at being ‘wrongly classified’ as APL families because they have two or three daughters to ‘kara kay-taan’ (‘bring to shore’). Regardless of what these families wish to be classified as, the underlying factor for classification is income, a utilitarian value. In cases of widowhood or having female children, or both, income (or a dollar value) becomes the common denominator. The same can be said for beneficiary quotas. I argue that the dependence on such utilitarian-based measurements is worrying because empirical data suggests that social uplifting in fishing communities has not been as forthcoming as hoped for, despite having necessary systems in place. This is because the actual problems are different from those which policy-makers perceive.

In Vizhinjam the lack of accurate and relevant social information is easy enough to remedy given that at least some members of the community, especially women, do try and make officials and their representatives aware of their most pressing issues. Many of the elected representatives themselves are residents of either Vizhinjam village or the other wards and are aware of these issues. The question then, is how well this information is taken up by the relevant authorities and what is actually done with data gathered?

Sen contends that once information needs are identified, consensus becomes possible on what is to be valued and how this valuation should take place allowing room for disagreement regarding different aspects of well-being (Sen 2009, 231). This ‘re-emergence’ of consensus then allows for the opening up of negotiable space for the inclusion of cultural factors such as caste that, insofar as marginalised communities in the state are concerned, seem to determine their capabilities. In interviews with fishing community members, participants reflected on the attitudes of official representatives which they perceived to be coloured by ideas of caste and the ‘backwardness’ of the fishing community in general. What these politicians think about us is that, if we go among them and throw 100 rupees at them, they will come our way. They think we are not people who will stand and demand our rights. They think, if they give us money, we will stand with our ward member and agree to whatever

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nonsense our member says. They have this type of opinion of us, they think lowly of us because we are fishermen...they have formed this opinion of us. These gram sabhas and panchayats are just a way of pushing their agendas forward. That is all I have to say. (Member of Vizhinjam fishing community, interviewed by author. 26/09/2011).

It might also be the case that political patronage (see 3.2.2) also determines levels of capability and empowerment in this community. This was revealed in an interview with a local fisherman. In the fishing community, if a fisherman wants to get a boat or an engine, they work hard themselves to obtain it. After all, when a party comes to power and they have 50 engines, they give those to their party members. It doesn’t matter if they are Communists, Congress or BJP.43 They give it to their party people...to those that belong to their caste...if they have 100 engines to give away, it goes to their members. (Vizhinjam fisherman, interviewed by author. 27/05/10). Capabilities might also be tied political patronage in another way. Yet another participant states that it may even be the case that APL families receive BPL status as a result of political connections where they enjoy benefits meant for those at a much more disadvantaged position than them (Vizhinjam fisherman, interviewed by author. 26/09/11). However, there has been no authentication of these claims.

6.2.1. Traditional knowledge and local level planning It would seem that the opening up of negotiable space allows not only for the inclusion of cultural factors such as caste but also allows for a ‘renegotiation’ of the place of traditional knowledge in local-level planning. There has been much discussion about the inclusion of local fishing communities in the sustainable management of marine resources, and thereby to protect livelihoods of fisher folk (Bindu 2011; Thomson and Gray 2009; Damodaran 2006b; Kurien and Paul 2001). According to John Kurien, ‘committed and systematic efforts need to be taken to incorporate social and cultural elements into both the discourse and praxis of

43 The participant refers to the different political parties in the state. He uses the term ‘communists’ to refer to the CPM or the Marxist Party of Kerala. The other two are the Congress Party and the right-wing Bharatiya Janata Party or BJP.

135 management of the fishery resources’ (Kurien 2001, 211). For Kurien, this is important because such diversity and self-reliance ‘run against the current tendency of homogenisation through globalisation’ (ibid). From a capability perspective, development means increasing the capabilities of fisher folk and their agency in sustainable development of coastal communities. In this light, the inclusion of ‘local’ knowledge systems can have significant bearing on human development and environmental preservation, and is consistent with a pluralistic approach involving effective democratic participation from all stakeholders. The capability approach stresses the need for new and varied information and using local knowledge could be the way to meet such needs.

If both ‘traditional’ and ‘expert’ knowledges are included and deployed, there is an opportunity for new levels of consensus to underpin participatory planning. In his work on Chamakkala fishing village, Goetz Hoeppe questions the possibility of a ‘literal global’ knowledge being able to reconcile with a ‘figurative local’ knowledge (Hoeppe 2008, 321). By ‘figurative local’ knowledge, Hoeppe is referring to the fishermen’s understanding of the ‘motherliness’ of the sea or about the ‘truthfulness’ of the sea (ibid). In other words, can the concepts behind traditional knowledge be understood and integrated in terms of scientific thinking or vice-versa? Hoeppe provides a good example of this dilemma in his work covering local perceptions of fishermen regarding government interventions. In the debate surrounding the trawling ban in monsoon months, fishermen in Chamakkala consider these discussions within the scientific realm but they also insist that their viewpoint is no less ‘scientific’ (Hoeppe 2006, 252). Fishermen claim their traditional knowledge is from ancient saastram (or knowledge of science or law) and the connection between modern science and saastram is their claim to truth and authority (ibid). The fishermen claim that saastram, because it rests on the experience of established regularities similar to that assumed for science, can be relevant in the overall management of fisheries and consequently for the development of the communities this enterprise supports. Hoeppe also provides interesting examples of how ‘global’ knowledge has been integrated into local understanding. These are discussed below.

(a) The ambivalent use of the term saastram. Several of the older fishermen in Chamakkala, even though they know that it runs against everyday experience, claim that the sea rises above land towards the west based on the fact that the mountains are visible once one travels further west at sea

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(Hoeppe 2008, 316). The younger fishermen of the village, although not denying outright the ‘rising’ of the sea, argue against it using the authority of a scientific viewpoint, pointing out that saastram can not only refer to scriptural sources of knowledge, it can explain events in modern science (ibid, 318). That is, if saastram is understood in the context of a more practical explanation, as one moves away from the shore, mountains in the distance become visible giving the illusion that the sea is ‘rising’. Therefore, they argue that the older fishermen explain the ‘rising’ in a more metaphorical sense whereas the new generation of fishermen’s ideas are coloured by schooling, the media and travel (ibid).

(b) The use of new terms has led to a re-labelling of old conceptualisations New terms in the ‘language of science’ (English) are used by fishermen to gain legitimacy in how one discusses knowledge of the sea. For example, the term ‘plankton’ refers to ‘tari’ which the fishermen believe is formed when rainwater is mixed with the salt water of the sea and the term ‘pelagic’ (surface swimming fish) has a Malayalam equivalent, ‘katalinre mukal’, loosely translated as ‘it stays in the top of the sea’ (ibid, 319).The use of English terms lends itself to an allusion of power implied by the knowledge associated with it. It suggests a superior way of knowing and making use of the sea (ibid).

(c) Describing the same phenomenon using new metaphors The seasonal formation of coastal mud banks (known as cakara), has become less predicable than in the past. This is illustrated in Chamakkala by statements such as ‘cakara moves with the mantravadi (sorcerer)’ or more recently, ‘cakara behaves rastriyakareppole (like a politician)’ (ibid, 320). Here Hoeppe describes the use of different metaphors implying the unpredictable and unreliable actions of the sea. Such action is associated with the works of sorcerers (previous times) and corrupt politicians (current).

(d) Following new standards of measurement The start of the monsoon season is usually referred to by Chamakkala fishermen using the Malayalam calendar whereas the trawling ban months are linked to the western calendar (ibid, 311). Previously, fishermen determined distance from shore and the depth of the sea by a similar unit, bhagam. Since depth of the sea determined

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the distance from the shore, the sea’s spatial structure was recognised as a scale of depth (ibid, 312). The introduction of ‘kilometres’ has allowed for a more precise description of space available and is now adopted by fishermen (together with bhagam) to give greater definition of distance and space (ibid). The uptake of the ‘literal global’ and ‘figurative local’ knowledge forms, especially in terms of how the two knowledge forms are reconciled, points to possibilities for participatory planning given that the two knowledge forms are not necessarily opposed or exclusive.

The role of local knowledge is also considered by M.S. Bindu in her study on empowering of coastal communities in the cultivation of the algae Kappaphycus alvarezii. She outlines the way local fisher folk can supplement their incomes by being part of the large-scale cultivation of K. alvarezii along the south-western coast of Kerala. According to Bindu, natural seaweed resources are dwindling and the demand for seaweed phycocolloids has been on the rise. Carrageenan, a seaweed phycocolloid that is used extensively in the pharmaceutical, food and dairy industries is extracted from red marine algae such as K. Alvarezii (Bindu op cit, 158). The pilot project for initiating the commercial cultivation of K. Alvarezii with the help of Vizhinjam fishermen, and women’s SHGs, together with the Vizhinjam Panchayat yielded positive results and involved maximum coastal community participation. This has opened up opportunities for participation of these communities in both scientific studies and monitoring. It has also raised awareness within the community for additional employment, especially for women (ibid, 162). Here we see the possibility for the fishing community to be participants in local development and in the betterment of their own community. The inclusion of rich local knowledge on marine resources is arguably a factor in deepening democracy (Kurien 2004, 11). One way of increasing democracy, freedoms and capabilities of this community is to make them effective agents of change by ensuring their rich traditional knowledge can be included in local planning and resource management.

6.3 Summary and conclusion The fisher folk of Vizhinjam belong to the ‘Other Backward Castes’ as defined by the Government of India. Similar to the Kadars of Athirapilly, the fishing community of Vizhinjam (as well as other coastal fishing communities in Kerala) have been left behind in the wave of human development (Kurien 2005, 75). As Kurien and Paul point out, unlike other traditional occupational sectors in the state’s economy, the marine fisheries sector was

138 one in which ‘unbridled market forces, modern technology and export re-orientation were introduced without any opposition from an organised working class’ (Kurien and Paul 2001, 11). Although there were some attempts to form trade unions of fishermen by radical elements (political and religious) in different parts of the coast, for the most part these were met with limited success partly because they did not address problems faced by these communities (ibid). This is still a problem in Vizhinjam, where strategies for poverty eradication or public participation do not address what is needed by the community. For example, the angst over the APL/BPL classification in Vizhinjam points to the need for greater and more varied information in socio-economic categorisation and even selection of beneficiaries. Sen’s capability approach plays an important role in opening up other sources of non-numeric, more qualitative data that can help in planning development strategies for the fishing community of Vizhinjam. This would reduce the dependence on utilitarian values and numbers in determining, for example, socio-economic classifications or quotas for beneficiaries because such values reveal very little about the real problems faced by this community. Unfortunately, despite a decade of democratic decentralisation, policy-makers still depend on utilitarian-based indicators to determine development strategies for the fishing community. This has left the Mukkuvars of Vizhinjam in their deprived and poverty-stricken state.

John Kurien has argued that viewing living resources of the sea as natural assets and placing the locale-specific needs of the ecosystem’s people at the centre of the development perspective is what is needed in current times (Kurien 2004, 11). According to Kurien, this will lead to sustainable resource use and alleviate poverty in coastal areas. However, for this to take place, there needs to be firstly, firm initiatives by coastal communities, secondly, committed action on the part of the state including modulating market forces, and lastly, widespread support of civil society (ibid). Kerala’s decentralisation plans seemed like a good start towards this end, especially in terms of initiatives by coastal communities and state support. The People’s Plan has opened up several opportunities for participatory planning and opportunities also exist for active participation of fishermen as well as fisherwomen in the collection of data and monitoring of diverse projects conducted by various research institutes. Unfortunately, these opportunities have not been employed in this manner. As discussed, this has in large part to do with issues of caste that impede attempts to integrate these communities in the overall development of the state.

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Despite radical reforms to eradicate caste consciousness in Kerala, caste-based discrimination is still part of life for the Vizhinjam fishing community. It is such discrimination that impedes capability building in this disadvantaged group. The role of caste discrimination has been covered in various parts of this thesis. To summarise what has been previously discussed in chapter five and this chapter, on the part of marginalised communities there is a lack of confidence to approach officials and participate freely and effectively in gram sabhas and, there exists an attitude of indifference brought on by their sense of hopelessness due to past negative outcomes for their community. As for local government institutions that deal directly with these communities, to some extent operations of these institutions are influenced by caste politics. For the Mukkuvars, such caste-based discrimination is reflected in the negative attitudes towards them, held by local government officials and their own elected representatives. As for mainstream society, Mukkuvars are ‘outsiders’, for the most part, looked down upon because of their ‘backwardness’. In many ways, such discrimination is faced by the Mukkuvar women more than the men. Women have to face society because they take care of the sale of fish. And more often than not, women deal with government officials and elected representatives since the men are out at sea during the day. Given that these communities already face internal barriers such as a lack of confidence and a sense of hopelessness in their lives, this further prevents their empowerment.

In addition to caste-based discrimination, the Catholic Church might form another type of barrier in the capability building of Christian fishing communities in Kerala. The role of the Church in the lives of the Mukkuvars in Vizhinjam is not only pastoral but can also be described as political, as seen in the fishermen’s agitations in the 1980s. In terms of capabilities and empowerment, the Church does actively assist the Mukkuvar community in Vizhinjam through its BECs. However, this is more in line with Christian charity based on the Bible’s teachings rather than increasing the freedom and hence, the capabilities of this community. The Church also took a stand against the liberation theologists in Kerala in the 1980s, at the expense of the betterment of the Mukkuvars. To not do so would have meant relinquishing some of its power. In taking such a stand, the Catholic Church in Kerala followed similar action of Catholic Churches in several countries in going against liberation theology movements, as it saw these movements as a threat to the centrist power of the Catholic Church. In Kerala, greater devolved power can in many ways be a threat to the Church’s supremacy making it no longer a social, moral and spiritual beacon in the lives of communities such as that of the Mukkuvars in Vizhinjam, but relegating it to only ‘dictate’ the

140 spiritual. For the Mukkuvars, caste and religion are identifying factors. Bearing this in mind, perhaps it would be prudent to look into ways that these factors can be used to enhance capability rather than act as barriers to empowerment of this community.

Despite numerous success cases in local-level development, as far as the fishing community is concerned, it is understood that even though decentralisation has officially devolved ‘power’ to the grassroots level, it still resides in the hands of a few. This pushes the fishing community to further marginalisation and greater deprivation. The next chapter addresses these issues in light of power and its connection to capability building. There I will further explore the themes that have emerged in this chapter, especially those concerning disciplinary power and techniques of power that are a legacy of the Hindu caste society in Kerala.

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Chapter 7: Power, Capability and ‘Cultural Subjects’ – Theoretical Insights

Amartya Sen’s capability approach stresses the importance of social choice and moves away from utilitarian reasoning in development studies. In so doing he emphasises the importance of individual capabilities and the significance of democratic involvement of citizenry. Using Sen’s approach I have demonstrated that despite the achievements of the Kerala model of development and greater public participation through the People’s Plan, the capabilities of tribal and fishing communities remain limited. Chapter four explored the limitations of panchayats as enablers of public participation. Chapter five discussed the Kadar tribe as ‘cultural subjects’ and how this identity plays a part in their struggle against a proposed dam near their homes. Chapter six looked at Vizhinjam fishing community and the effects of caste and community in how they are ‘imagined’. I deduced from empirical data that both the Kadar and Vizhinjam communities had limited ‘positive freedoms’, hence limited capabilities. This has a profound effect on their participation in local development projects. This chapter aims to explain these findings through exploring issues of deprivation and marginality of these groups by means of extending Sen’s capability perspective through Foucault’s ideas on power.

Scholars including Peter Evans, and also Frances Stewart and Severine Deneulin have criticised Sen’s approach for not considering collective action and cultural factors; or for not conceding to the power of global economic forces in framing what people might value (Evans 2002); and for issues concerning the individualistic orientation of the approach, and the reliance on a political economy framework (Stewart and Deneulin 2002). Despite these criticisms, I argue that the approach has much relevance in reassessing development in Kerala vis-à-vis marginalised groups. This is especially so when the capability approach is extended in its analysis by Foucault’s ideas on power and disciplinary action. Using the capability perspective, I explore the possibilities for addressing issues of deprivation and marginality of these communities, moving away from an income-based evaluation of society. Such an approach allows for inquiry into other dimensions such as culture as a means of investigating deprivation and marginalisation. In this chapter, the focus is on extending the approach by using Foucault’s concept of disciplinary power, primarily to create new understandings of the caste system. Such an exploration can assist capability building in marginalised communities.

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As discussed in chapter two, development in the context of Kerala’s decentralisation involves ‘closing gaps’ between those that are perceived to be faring well, as recognised by aggregate values of social indicators (for example, measures of literacy, health and hygiene standards), and those that fall short of these aggregates. I argue that this approach is based on homogenisation and utilitarian thinking that tries to narrow ‘happiness’ or ‘advantage’ to a single unit. Although such an approach allows for easy comparison, it fails to capture salient factors that give rise to these differences in the first place. I propose using Foucault’s argument on power’s normalising44 effects to support Sen’s call for a pluralistic outlook, since Foucault considers the role of power in homogenising society. I argue that homogenisation has given rise to a utilitarian view of development, which cannot be considered sustainable because it does not address fundamental divides in society that influence levels of participation in community-led development.

In synthesising the above, it is important to note that both Sen and Foucault do not provide answers which would ensure more egalitarian participation in the People’s Plan. Sen proposes a more pluralistic approach towards data gathering and policy formulation and hence challenges the very definition of development. Foucault helps to identify power structures that are all pervasive yet covert and he proposes a method of redefining how society should be analysed. In the end, there is still a need for strong and effective policy options to make things work. A greater informational base (as proposed by Sen) that acknowledges subtle yet established cultural practices (as outlined by Foucault’s power) will help in this.

This chapter consists of four sections. The next section looks at how identities are created, focussing on the concept of ‘marginalised’. Here I review how the marginalised have been ‘imagined’ and how caste identities have been developed drawing on examples in previous chapters. The role of power in normalising individuals and homogenising society as well the effects of this homogenising are also explained. Section 7.2 looks at Foucault’s concept of power in greater detail and explores how it might be utilised to extend Sen’s capability approach. Here the focus is on how caste social order has been responsible for realigning social structures as they evolved under colonial and post-colonial systems. This section also

44 The term ‘normalising’ or ‘normalisation’ refers to any process that makes something conform to some regularity or rule.

143 looks at how caste as a disciplinary power works in the state’s decentralisation process. Section 7.3 looks at how resistance has been organised within tribal and fishing communities within the mechanisms of caste disciplinary power and how effective such resistance has been. And finally section 7.4 concludes the chapter.

7.1 Marginalisation of deprived groups Historically there have been noble efforts to change Kerala’s caste system. There have been radical reforms put forward by left political parties (Heller 2001, 142; Isaac and Tharakan 1995, 9) and by religious and spiritual leaders (Kumar 1997, 250 – 1). As discussed earlier, these reforms have had profound effects in reducing the importance of caste, while bringing more focus to the class aspects of society. However, this has not eradicated caste as a defining factor in social interactions in modern Kerala, since caste now operates in a more clandestine manner. This section presents an explanation of current ‘intolerable’ circumstances, that is, caste discrimination of marginalised fishing and tribal communities, using Foucault’s ideas of the ‘history of the present’. Foucault’s goal was to use an understanding of the past to comprehend circumstances that are insufferable in the present (Gutting 2003, 10). The discussion also addresses the concept of caste identity and how marginalised communities are defined. In addition, the section will look at how power not only creates subjects but also creates certain ‘truths’ about these subjects.

7.1.1. The creation of identities As Gary Gutting argues, Foucault’s histories show that 1) the past ordered things quite differently and 2) processes leading to our present practices and institutions are by no means inevitable (Gutting 2003, 10). This will be further discussed in section 7.2.1. For now, these Foucauldian insights can be applied in the Kerala context as follows. Caste society was first seen as a division of labour. This disciplinary power became further established under colonial rule and led to caste-based discrimination. Post-colonial governments and bureaucratic institutions (in most cases, legacies of colonial rule) compounded this discrimination resulting in marginalisation of certain caste groups. As Kerala progressed, reformers (political as well as religious) tried to move society away from the idea of caste. Left politics in the state focussed more on class issues – a move from caste consciousness to

144 class consciousness. The issue of caste, however, has not disappeared but still remains beneath the surface.

In History of Madness Foucault writes of earlier alternative conceptions of mad behaviours, conceptions that had at least as much cognitive respectability as modern understandings (Foucault 2006). Adopting this line of thought, I argue that the contemporary concept of ‘marginalised’ can be said to have evolved from caste-based discriminatory notions. These notions may have held some appeal in earlier Kerala society in that they served to distinguish between individuals of a ‘higher birth’ order and those meant to serve them. In this light, discriminatory practices were not subtle or covert. Current ideas surrounding the ‘marginalised’ in the state, namely tribal and fishing communities, may appear to be post- colonial constructs, but there are contradictions in this explanation if one sees post-colonial ideas as products of caste disciplinary power. The next section addresses these ideas.

In post-colonial efforts to sever ties with colonial discourse, attempts have been made to re- identify deprived groups. For example, Madhav Gadgil and Ramachandra Guha sought to redefine groups as ‘ecosystem people’ (those most dependent on natural environments to meet material needs), ‘ecological refugees’ (those that live on the margins on ‘islands of prosperity’ having been displaced) and ‘omnivores’ (those that consume and enjoy the entire produce of nature) (Gadgil and Guha 1995, 3 – 4). Similarly, according to Joseph Rouse, Foucault’s discipline and training ‘can reconstruct to produce new gestures, actions, habits and skills, and ultimately, new kinds of people’ (Rouse 2003, 98), and this subtle process redefines them. Rouse argues that the most important transformation that Foucault described was in the scale and continuity of the exercise of power which involved much greater knowledge of subjects. They were now further classified, organised and new information about them emerged. As Foucault writes in Discipline and Punish, such disciplinary practices and greater surveillance made possible new kinds of knowledge of human beings even as they created new forms of social control (Foucault 1992, 155). This will be further examined shortly.

In their analysis of power and ‘truth’, Hubert Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow argue that, according to Foucault, ‘unless political technologies had already successfully taken hold at the local level, there would be no class domination’ (Dreyfus and Rabinow 1983, 186 – 187). Dreyfus and Rabinow use this to explain class domination at the end of the 19th century in

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Europe. Here I use it to explain the endurance of the caste system in creating ‘cultural subjects’45, then moving on to class segregation, before creating the ‘marginalised’. To this end, John Ransom has also argued that ‘it is only after one is disciplined in a certain way, only after one’s subjectivity has been shaped’ that individuals can meaningfully give consent to what structures of power will do to them (Ransom 1997, 15). This, Ransom explains, is from Foucault’s idea that not all powers can be claimed ‘legitimate’ or ‘illegitimate’, unlike in liberation tradition where if the need for consent is ignored, power acts illegitimately. Therefore, in Kerala, the classification of people as ‘marginalised groups’ becomes legitimate within the contemporary discourse of development because individuals are already subjects of established caste disciplinary power, since the marginalised tribal and fishing communities in the state are also from lower castes.

As Rouse states, historical fields of power/knowledge or discursive formations brought objects into existence as fields of knowledge evolved (Rouse op cit, 96). According to Rouse, what counted as a serious and important claim at one time will not (or cannot) be entertained as a candidate for the truth at another. However, as mentioned earlier, what was important was the scale and continuity of power (ibid, 97). Permutations were allowed and expected. Such a permutation has resulted in the idea of marginalising certain groups of people within the development discourse of Kerala.

7.1.2. Power, normalisation and ‘truths’ According to Dreyfus and Rabinow, as disciplinary power advances beyond its ‘mask of neutrality’, it imposes its own standards of normalisation or of conforming to its regulatory mechanism as the only acceptable one (Dreyfus and Rabinow 1983, 193). Two salient points relevant to this study emerge from this argument. First, in Kerala, disciplinary power determined how people were identified, as discussed above. Second, the standards of disciplinary power became more important than other standards. This is a result of normalisation, created by the disciplinary power itself. In Discipline and Punish, Foucault writes that:

45 The term ‘cultural subjects’ refers to subjects created as a result of cultural conditioning/practices, for example, the caste social order (section 2.2).

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the power of the norm appears through disciplines...like surveillance, and with it, normalisation becomes one of the great instruments of power at the end of the classical age...In a sense, the power of normalisation imposes homogeneity... (Foucault 1992, 184) In Kerala, privilege previously accorded to status (or ‘higher’ birth) has been replaced by ‘degrees of normality’ which indicate membership of a homogenous social body. In creating identities, caste disciplinary power has also created certain ‘norms’ or standards. Such normalising plays a part in classifying and hierarchising, thus in all aspects, trying to impose homogeneity. As Dreyfus and Rabinow state, Foucault has also argued that normalisation generates more specific types of knowledge (Dreyfus and Rabinow op cit, 195). In Kerala, this meant that a greater numbers of ‘objects’ came under study, to be scrutinised and recorded, as seen during colonial rule in India. In this way, caste society might be seen as a means of imposing ‘homogeneity’ (or acceptance) in a Foucauldian sense in that there were groups that were away from the ‘norm’. For example, not only were these groups physically removed from mainstream society (tribals in the Western Ghats and fishing communities in the coastal villages), they were, by virtue of their lifestyles, not part of peasant society.

In caste society, and as I will discuss shortly in contemporary Kerala as well, normalisation gave rise to ideas of capabilities of subjects. Related to this, Foucault writes ...thanks to a continuous calculation of plus and minus points, the disciplinary apparatus hierarchised the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’ subjects in relation to one another. Through this macro-economy of a perpetual penalty operates a differentiation that is not only one of acts, but of individuals themselves, of their nature, their potentialities, their level or their value (Foucault op cit, 181. Emphasis added). In the Kerala context, the idea of differentiation, as it refers to ‘nature’, ‘potentialities’, ‘level’ and ‘value’, can be described as an individual’s capabilities, as defined by disciplinary power, in this case, of caste society. In a way, these capabilities can be said to mirror the capabilities of individuals that Sen discusses in his approach. I term these as ‘intrinsic capabilities’, ‘assigned’ to certain groups by disciplinary power, which in turn determines how these groups perceive themselves (and their abilities) as well as how they are perceived by others within the same disciplinary mechanism. I argue that by utilising Sen’s capability

147 perspective, it is possible to comprehend the level of influence of these ‘intrinsic capabilities’. Indeed, the capability approach helps to identify caste barriers if one were to look at factors that affect the ‘positive freedoms’ of marginalised communities in Kerala.

Tied to the idea of ‘intrinsic capabilities’ are notions of ‘truths’, also created by the process of normalisation and ultimately by power. As Foucault states in Truth and Power, Truth is a thing of this world: it is produced only by virtue of multiple forms of constraint. And it induces regular effects of power. Each society has its regime of truth, its ‘general politics’ of truth: that is, the types of discourse which it accepts and makes function as true... (Foucault 1980c, 131). Ransom discusses the emergence of certain ‘truths’ about subjects as a result of ‘ordering’ among subjects brought about by normalisation. As distinctions and valuations accumulate, a particular concept of the ‘truth’ about human beings emerges (Ransom 1997, 48). These ‘truths’ can be defined as a ‘group of capacities and motions established’ of human beings as subjects defined by disciplinary power in relation to the tasks set by this power (ibid). Ransom goes on to argue that disciplinary power decides what is normal and measures individuals to see if they fall within the ‘norm’. In Kerala society, such ‘truths’ perpetuated by caste disciplinary power speak of certain ‘natures’ of tribal and fishing communities that have been revealed in empirical data. These ‘truths’ include their perceived ‘backwardness’ and ‘inability’ to grasp certain concepts within popular development discourse (such as the need for energy generation as revealed in chapter five and socio-economic categorisation as revealed in chapter six) as well as their ineffectiveness in local-level planning. In other words, these notions generated by disciplinary power seem to point to their ‘intrinsic capabilities’. Such ‘truths’ also have a role in determining how tribal and fishing communities define themselves. The next section addresses this while the effects of these ‘truths’ and how they affect capabilities of these marginalised communities will be discussed later.

7.1.3. Disciplinary powers – effects of homogenisation From the discussion above, we see that normalisation is a process that makes something more regular or conform to some regularity or rule, and which attempts to create a homogenous social body. In short, as Foucault mentions, ‘the power of normalisation imposes

148 homogeneity’ (Foucault 1992, 184). It is my contention that this homogenisation under caste disciplinary power peaked under colonial rule. Ideas of normalisation and homogenisation created more detailed and specific knowledge, and this helped colonial administrators to use the existing social order to identify ‘deviants’ in society (in most cases, lower caste members). These groups were often labelled as ‘criminal castes’ (Tiwary Jassal 2001, 339). The colonial state used such ordering (of ‘good’ and ‘bad’) and ‘truths’ about respective groups to classify them and act as new forms of social control, further segregating these groups and dividing society.

Amartya Sen utilises the homogenisation argument as well, albeit in a slightly different manner from what has been described above. Sen argues that policy-makers and economists are happiest with homogenous values of ‘happiness’ or ‘advantage’ which makes policies easier to manipulate towards desired outcomes whatever they might be. Sen’s argument is also relevant in discussions of normalisation. Disciplinary powers, as they create ‘norms’ and ‘new knowledges’, have also contributed by narrowing human interest into ‘simple interests’ or utility. This particular type of thinking has dominated contemporary development discourse and has in fact become one of its mainstays. As mentioned in section 6.2, socio- economic categorisation in Kerala and beneficiary selection in local planning is reduced to the homogenising value of income levels. As disciplinary power normalises and homogenises, it also individualises (Foucault op cit) by regarding one’s capabilities as the level of conformation to the ‘norm’. Income levels (as a homogenising indicator) allow for the measurement of such conformity. As Sen has argued, ‘we cannot reduce all things we have reason to value into one homogenous magnitude’ (Sen 2009, 31).

The objectives of the People’s Plan which include poverty eradication can be seen as a mechanism to promote development through various systems of participation, where development goals can be identified at grassroots level. However, based on the argument that society works on the principle of homogenisation as a result of disciplinary powers, development strategies such as the People’s Plan outstretch themselves. This is because within such systems, the level of participation is dictated by ‘intrinsic capabilities’ which are created by the disciplinary mechanism. Therefore, participation can only take place within the limits created or allowed by this mechanism. This argument will be taken up again in section 7.2.2. The concept of homogenising can be used to explain why certain groups are considered marginalised, why their (intrinsic) capabilities are limited and why certain ‘truths’ about them

149 have emerged. Such homogenising has also given rise to certain feelings of inadequacy and inferiority within the members of tribal and fishing communities as well, as evidenced by my empirical data, summarised here:

(i) Expressing indifference to local-level participation and/or exhibiting feelings of hopelessness Many tribal and fishing community members interviewed expressed indifference towards opportunities to participate in local-level planning under the People’s Plan. Some fishermen interviewed felt that attending such planning sessions like gram sabhas (or village assemblies) were not a productive use of their time. They felt that the time would be better spent working at sea. Indeed, almost all participants interviewed, from both tribal and fishing communities, felt that there was no point in their attendance at gram sabhas. Several tribal members as well as fisher folk, both male and female, felt that it was unlikely that anything said at these meetings regarding their quality of life would be addressed by government departments and that no one had genuine interest in their input. Many felt resigned to this lot in life and saw no change in sight for them. This meant they had to make the best of what limited resources they had.

(ii) Possessing low self-confidence and low self-esteem Almost all the participants from marginalised communities showed low levels of confidence when dealing with government officials or other figures of authority. For the most part, they seemed to accept the ‘place’ designated for them by mainstream society. Often the last ones to be dealt with or seen by officials at local government offices, many stated that they were used to it and should not expect otherwise. Some made a point of saying they were ‘just tribals’ or ‘just fishermen/women’, therefore could not do very much about any unfair situation. However, a few participants from these communities expressed indignation at being treated poorly and wanted proper attention from officials. These participants were more educated and usually belonged to social organisations or movements.

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(iii) Perceiving discriminatory attitudes from government officials and elected representatives Participants regarded the dismissiveness of government personnel as evidence of discriminatory attitudes. For example, some said that these officials and representatives came to these gram sabhas with the notion that marginalised community members were only interested in attending meetings because that is where potential beneficiaries were identified. Many of the participants from tribal and fishing communities also thought that these officials and representatives feel that they are ‘backward’ and therefore cannot really discuss development issues. Such empirical evidence sets the scene for further detailed examination of the role of disciplinary power and how in practice it has affected the capabilities of Kerala’s marginalised groups, especially with regards to effective participation in the state’s decentralisation efforts.

7.2 Foucault’s power –extending Sen’s capability approach One of the major objectives of this study has been to highlight the limited capabilities of tribal and fishing communities in the state. Although Kerala’s People’s Plan created a ‘resource’ that allow marginalised groups to possess power (in the form of public participation) in the absence of wealth and status, the question remains – does the access to this ‘resource’ translate to influence in decision-making? It is through assessing effectiveness of participation and levels of influence of marginalised communities that we can understand whether deprived groups are empowered in the wake of decentralisation efforts in the state. Empirical data suggests that these communities have, for the most part, not been effective participants in decentralised planning and as the previous section explored, this has much to do with how they are ‘imagined’ in Kerala society.

John Ransom argues that using Foucault to reclaim critical advantage in thought processes requires changes in the way that we think. Drawing on Foucault’s writing, Ransom argues that critique is not a matter of just claiming that things are not right as they are but a matter of highlighting the assumptions and the unchallenged modes of thinking that shape the practices we consider acceptable (Ransom 1997, 4 – 5). He goes on to state that in order for these changes to take place there needs to be first, a more accurate and up-to-date assessment of power formations and second, tactics that provide a more effective response to the world as it

151 is (ibid, 8 – 9). In reassessing participation of marginalised groups in the People’s Plan, this study aims to satisfy Ransom’s first requirement. In exploring the possibilities of ‘unmaking’ subjects through resistance (section 7.3), the study attempts to address the second.

According to Ransom, Foucault provides a variety of vignettes, of new ways in which power functions and a range of oppositional responses within power itself (ibid, 9). Both of these are aimed to change the way we think critically about society. Foucault conceptualised power as a complex mechanism. In the first volume of History of Sexuality, Foucault discusses his ideas about power. Power must be understood in the first instance as the multiplicity of force relations immanent in the sphere in which they operate and by which they constitute their own organisation...power is everywhere not because it embraces everything, but because it comes from everywhere...it is the name that one attributes to a complex strategical situation in a particular society (Foucault 1998, 92 – 93). The power that Foucault was interested in was exercised through disciplines that function as a ‘calculated but permanent economy’ (Foucault 1992, 170). Ransom describes disciplines as ‘schemes’ created by certain authorities in various fields as one way of dealing with problems and opportunities presented in a population (Ransom op cit, 41). Another way to look at the disciplinary mechanism would be to think of it as a form of micro-level governance. If a state’s actions in directing its population towards conduct that is conducive to public welfare is seen as macro-governance, disciplines form a part of this ‘art of governance’ working at a micro-level (ibid, 29 – 30). According to Ransom, the objective of both macro- and micro- level governance is to persuade individuals to behave in a certain way without provoking them into critically thinking about what they are being asked to do. I use Foucault’s ideas on disciplinary power to examine how Kerala society functions under the influence of caste social order. Identifying the caste system as disciplinary power, I argue that this power dictates behaviour of the social body within Kerala’s decentralisation context. It is my contention that caste society, as a disciplinary mechanism, creates subjects and not only defines relationships between the various sections of society but also determines the degree of empowerment accorded to different communities in decentralised planning strategies. In addition, such powers also define capabilities of individuals, within parameters of the disciplinary mechanism.

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7.2.1. Caste as disciplinary power: the realigning of social structures Commenting on Foucault’s disciplines, Ransom argues that the objective of various disciplines is to organise, distribute and individualise growing populations as a way of reducing the threat they pose. Taken as a simple collective mass, people are ‘unpredictable and dangerous’ (Ransom 1997, 39). Ransom explains that Foucault’s contribution was to examine more closely some of the ‘schemes’ that were designed in response to these problems and opportunities created by a massive realignment of the social system (ibid). Madhav Gadgil and Ramachandra Guha, in their illuminating account of the ecological history of India, present an analysis of the realignment of society in ancient India with regards to the caste system. Gadgil and Guha argue that .....Hinduism has (at least until recently) relied more heavily on an inclusive framework that tries to incorporate rather than reject or convert apparently hostile sects and worldviews. The institutional mechanism for this process of incorporation is, of course, the caste system...hunters and gatherers could forestall extinction by continuing their traditional mode of resource use, though only at the cost of a larger subordination to the victorious peasant mode (Gadgil and Guha, 1992, 110). Here we see the caste system as a disciplinary mechanism, organising and individualising groups within society for better governance. The authors discuss the evolution of belief systems, tied to religions and cultural practices of the subcontinent (some of which still exist today), to explain how the caste system also played a role in resource conservation.

Ransom mentions the importance of governance and its link to ‘salvation’ in discussing disciplines and the ‘art of government’ (Ransom op cit, 28).46 This type of governance involved subjects not so much to be ‘ruled’ as to be ‘guided’ towards desired ends (ibid, 29). The idea of ‘salvation’ in the context of disciplinary power and governance can be used to explain the evolution and role of the caste system. Gadgil and Guha’s work on the caste system and ecological conservation serve as a good starting point to examine the disciplinary mechanisms involved in realigning caste society in pre-colonial and colonial times. However,

46 Ransom discusses ‘salvation’ in the context of situations where individuals and groups are governed (through their own thoughts and acts) to secure their salvation from hostile environments. For example, Ransom mentions those involved in statecraft try to ‘govern’ the actions of subjects in a way that strengthens the state in the context of hostile international environments (Ransom 1997, 28 – 29).

153 the focus of my analysis (of their work) will be on disciplinary power and how society was reorganised as a result of it. As will be discussing shortly, I argue that micro-governance through the caste system can be seen as a form of ‘salvation’ from those who are physically marginalised but have access to land; for example, tribals in forested areas (unlike peasants that encroach upon forested areas for agriculture).

According to Gadgil and Guha, the establishment of agricultural societies in the subcontinent and the creation of agricultural surplus led to sedentary farming, creation of towns and an ‘income’ source. There was a continuous move of agriculture over territories occupied by hunter-gatherer tribes. The production of surpluses made this necessary in a sense, and justified their action in clearing large tracts of forests, impinging on the territories of the hunter-gatherer groups. As ‘enemies’ of surplus (‘income’) creation, hunter-gatherers stood in the way of agriculture and were a ‘threat’ to peasant societies. With the creation of chiefdoms and the encompassing of all the different groups within a single grouping or ‘society’, we see that different endogamous groups were assigned different tasks and status in society. This created practices that would keep the hunter-gatherer tribes (the ‘enemy’ and now occupying the lower strata of society) ‘in place’ yet allow them to be part of the main society itself since they served a purpose, for example, collecting necessary products from deep within forests. These hunter-gatherers would now be classified as certain tribes/primitive tribes in India/Kerala.

I identify this main disciplinary power as the Varna system which kept these endogamous groups different and separate, and subject to its disciplinary power.47 With the exertion of such disciplinary power came the slow breakdown of the traditional practices of the hunter- gatherer tribes as they become assimilated into larger society. The Varna system that assured the division of labour and the territorial exclusion of hunter-gatherer tribes had a pronounced impact on the society and within every individual (defining his/her place and even determining patterns of resource usage) of the period. Over time, the Varna system, as it took hold of society and the individual, concretised into the caste system (Gadgil and Guha op cit,

47 Varna is the Sanskrit equivalent for caste used in ancient Indian literature. The system which originated as a system to divide labour, does not subscribe to the idea that one’s status in society is determined by birth (Kunjan Pillai 1932, 358 – 359).

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103).48 In his report on the 1931 Census of India (for the then Travancore region), N. Kunjan Pillai discusses the difficulty of dating when the Varna system obtained the inflexibility of caste social order. According to Pillai, the rigidity of the caste system probably began to be enforced in the post-Buddhistic period in ancient Indian history (Kunjan Pillai 1932, 360). The idea that the caste system evolved from the Varna system does not mean that caste is no longer attached to one’s occupation. The idea of caste has taken on other defining qualities apart from determining division of labour. As I mentioned earlier in the discussion on caste identities, it now encompasses certain ‘truths’ about caste groupings. Later sections will further elaborate the role of caste and these ‘truths’ in Kerala’s People’s Plan, and its effects on the capabilities of individuals.

I also put forward the argument that colonialism can be seen as another form of ‘salvation’, which drastically and permanently altered the social, cultural and religious interactions within Indian society. Food production and resource usage were not the only systems to be affected but social systems and livelihoods were also changed. One of the first ways we see such change is through the introduction of the market economy and systems of wealth production (Gadgil and Guha op cit, 115 – 116). The power of colonialism was rooted in the latter. This power, invested in ‘rational’ techniques of categorising, coding, data collection and experimentation and later legal mechanisms, led to the breakdown of traditional management systems. As mentioned by Gadgil and Guha, in colonial India, we see the peasant becoming part of the market economy (ibid, 154). In the colonial state’s rationalist ‘mind’, its intrusions into resource use by Indian society had to be organised and systematic and of course needed to be overseen by the state itself through the establishment of bureaucratic authority. This authority worked within the existing social structure. As Assa Doron writes in his ethnographic study of boatmen of the Ganges, the 19th century saw a massive collection of detailed information regarding the manners, customs and cultural practices of the Indians (Doron 2008, 24). Indian society then was objectified, to be studied, analysed and managed (ibid, 25). This suited the commercial aspirations of the colonial state. This rationalist discourse was further ‘enhanced’ by the introduction of legislation, for example the Indian Forest Act of 1878 (Gadgil and Guha op cit, 123 – 124), which now legitimised and

48 The caste system, in addition to being a form of dividing labour in society, also refers to the idea that one’s station in life is dependent on one’s birth.

155 sanctioned the discourse. The effect of this was a realignment of relationships within Indian society.

Foucault states that nothing in society changes unless mechanisms of power that operate ‘outside, below and alongside the state apparatuses’, on a micro level, change as well (Foucault 1980a, 60). The colonial state’s policies impacted on the local society and redefined its members. In colonial times, macro-governance through the creation of the market economy, bureaucracy and legislation, as well as micro-governance through realignment of social structure, were seen as ‘salvation’ from traditional practices and non-scientific thinking. This also saw the introduction of western rational thinking (through rules, quotas, legislation in dealing with populations and resources) working through existing social caste structure. I contend that such systems of governance have been carried down to contemporary times and are reflected in existing bureaucratic practices in the state of Kerala.

As for the role of caste social order as a disciplinary power, it served as a mechanism to manage the population. It led to the development of useful skills in groups of people. For example, Gadgil and Guha describe methods of conservation among tribal castes to protect existing resources (Gadgil and Guha op cit, 94). As a system that dictated the division of labour, the caste social order was a sustainable one that lasted for generations, even through colonial rule. As discussed earlier, colonial administrators often worked within the system which was the dominant social order of the time. As Ransom argues, for Foucault, not all forms of discipline are bad. However, ‘with the variety of attempts to “microgovern” human populations’ (Ransom op cit, 42), we see a change from a simple ‘scheme’ to manage populations to what Ransom terms ‘excess governance’ that develops into something that is limiting and objectionable. In the context of this discussion, the caste system served a purpose to manage society. Nevertheless, ‘as new object domains for knowledge’ were constituted through changing political and epistemic practices (Rouse 2003, 100), such as colonial operations and bureaucratic and religious authority, the level of micro-governance has become too restricting and has kept people entrenched within the system, as evidenced by my empirical data. Ultimately, these practices ‘remodelled’ subjects, created new objects for study and evolved new forms of power (ibid). 49 This does not mean that the caste system

49 I contend that this evolved form of power might be termed colonial (caste) disciplinary power, or simply colonial power. Henceforth, the term ‘caste disciplinary power’ refers to this evolved ‘colonial power’.

156 itself became obsolete. On the contrary, it became more established as caste groupings became objectified, first by colonial attitudes, then via bureaucratic and modern market and development discourses. This has had deleterious effects on the freedom (defined here as the freedom of actions and decisions) of individuals, especially those that are classified as lower castes. Given the vested interests in maintaining the existing disciplinary mechanism (as will be discussed in the next section), it has been to the benefit of those that ‘govern’ to leave things as they are. This means less than effective participation from marginalised (lower caste) communities, such as tribals and fisher folk, in the People’s Plan. This form of ‘unfreedom’ reduces the capabilities of these groups to live the lives they have reason to value.

7.2.2. Caste disciplinary power and the capability approach As explained in earlier chapters, the ‘positive freedoms’ of marginalised communities are still not well established and their functionings are limited; and hence the capabilities of these groups have not been enhanced by Kerala’s drive to develop. I have also argued that this is a result of caste disciplinary power (as discussed above). As a result, caste as a disciplinary power has proved to be a form of ‘unfreedom’ that hinders effective participation by these communities in the People’s Plan. This can be further explained by examining Foucault’s view on the pre-existing ‘possession of self’.

According to Foucault, disciplinary power manufactures individuals and seeks to insert qualities into individuals (Foucault 1992, 170). Individuals are produced by it. Ransom argues that disciplinary power that manufactures individuals does not acknowledge ‘pre- existing’ properties of a person. Drawing on John Locke’s use of ‘property’ Ransom states that ‘property’ accommodated external possession as well as the individual’s possession of ‘self’ and this ‘possession of self’ included an individual’s ability or capacity, which helps one to legitimate the possession of external products ((Ransom 1997, 17). It is my contention that the ‘possession of self’ should be considered a capability; and disciplinary power is responsible for inserting capabilities in an individual. In other words, capabilities are defined by disciplinary mechanisms.

Tribal and fishing communities (indeed, the whole of Kerala society) might be described as manufactured ‘cultural subjects’ of caste disciplinary power. Disciplinary power stands in the

157 way of marginalised communities achieving ‘positive freedoms’ – for example, the freedom to live the lives they have reason to value. This is because they are seen as only being able to be involved at a certain level (as defined by disciplinary power). Using Gutting’s argument, I contend that the understanding of ‘unfreedoms’ is not based on ethical or judicial ideas but the ‘subtle and meticulous control of bodies’ (Gutting 2003, 20). Therefore I conclude that current attempts at decentralised planning are not enhancing capabilities because any action to activate these capabilities (for example, local level involvement) will only be carried out through such disciplinary power.

7.2.3. The role of disciplinary powers in Kerala’s democratic decentralisation Chapter three looked at the Kerala model of development and the People’s Plan, questioning the idea that more opportunities for participation translated to greater capability to participate. Although there have been major breakthroughs in social development in the state under its unique development pattern, the reality is that the model has not promoted social justice. This was ascertained from studies that critique the model with respect to tribal and fishing communities and the natural environment (Damodaran 2006a; Hoeppe 2006; Omvedt 2006; Saradamoni 2006; Korakandy 2000; Kurien 2000). The administrative and fiscal decentralisation in 1996, under the People’s Plan, activated scores of projects, discussion and training groups, and special projects for women and marginalised communities (Isaac and Franke 2002). However, as evidenced by empirical data, these actions have not gone far in improving capabilities of deprived groups, as discussed in chapters five and six. The following discussion looks at some issues that highlight the role of disciplinary powers as a barrier to capability building under the People’s Plan. These are a) integrated planning or attempts to locate local knowledge within ‘formal’ planning strategies and b) vested interests in maintaining status quo or maintaining existing social power structures. These powers include bureaucratic practices (and their established scientific knowledge systems), politicisation and Marxism (especially in social organisation), as well as religious (the Catholic Church) influence. It is my contention that these powers operate in tandem with the existing caste disciplinary mechanism thus exerting greater control.

As mentioned earlier in chapters five and six, in considering the ‘positive freedoms’ and hence the agency of tribal and fishing communities in sustainable development, the inclusion of ‘local’ knowledge systems can have significant consequences on human development and

158 environmental preservation. Empirical data suggests that most development strategies (which might also entail environmental conservation) stem from ‘expert’ or scientific knowledge. This can be deduced from the fact that management strategies are planned elsewhere and marginalised communities are left responsible for the implementation of these plans (as outlined in the workings of Vana Samrakshana Samithi in chapter five). This seems to be the extent of marginalised communities’ participation in planning.

In looking at opportunities presented for capability enhancing in chapter three, I argue that homogenisation of society is yet another reason why development projects (including participatory planning projects) involving tribal and fishing communities have not been faring too well. The capabilities of individuals cannot be fully explored if society is seen as a homogenised community. Such homogenisation ties in with what was earlier explored in caste identities and was further explored in the preceding section. Suffice to say that capabilities defined by disciplinary powers can only ‘contribute’ to the extent allowed by these powers. Delving further in this line of thought reveals why the inclusion of local tribal or fisher’s knowledge has not been that successful in development planning (chapters five and six).

Of particular importance to this discussion are Foucault’s ideas on knowledge formations or as Foucault termed it ‘discursive formation’ and its close ties to power. Foucault points out that as power is exercised through its mechanisms, ‘it cannot but evolve, organise and put into circulation a knowledge...’ (Foucault 1980d, 102). For Foucault, as well as scholars that study his work, power and knowledge are such interlinked elements that they are often termed power/knowledge (Foucault 1998, 98; also Rydin 2003; Rouse 2003; Dreyfus and Rabinow 1983 ). In Foucault’s work on discursive formation and power/knowledge, rules of analysis include the ‘surfaces of emergence’ (the social and cultural areas where a particular discursive formation appears), ‘authorities of delimitation’ (who possesses certain knowledge and authority recognised by public opinion, law and government) and ‘grids of specifications’ (various classification processes that might be utilised) (Sheridan 1980, 97 – 98).

According to Rouse, Foucault’s interest in specific bodies of knowledge was the epistemic context within which bodies of knowledge became understood and gained authority. Power/knowledge had a two-stage development (Rouse op cit, 100). Firstly, it was instituted

159 as a means of control of ‘dangerous’ social elements and later evolved into techniques for enhancing the utility and productivity of those subjected to them (as seen in colonial rule and management). Both these stages were discussed in section 7.2.1. An important aspect of discursive formations also included objects under discussion. These objects came into existence contemporaneous with discursive formation, making it possible to talk about them (ibid, 96). This idea has significant bearing when considering the inclusion of local knowledge. What can be talked about is sanctioned by what has been objectified. In the colonial regime, scientific knowledge became the key power/knowledge form thus delimiting local discourses that do not ‘exist’ under the main discursive field. Castes were objectified as well and were discussed within the dominant discourse framework (Doron 2008, 24 – 25). Current bureaucratic mentalities are a legacy of such dominant power/knowledge. In having local governments and local bureaucratic departments spearhead public participation including participatory planning, it becomes difficult for these institutions to accept unsanctioned knowledge types within their worldviews. In addition, such local knowledge forms can be seen as threats to dominant discourses, such as scientific thinking, that the bureaucracy identifies with. It is not unexpected then that technocratic institutions will seek to restrict what they perceive as ‘unscientific’ discourse (i.e. local/traditional knowledge) from entering mainstream thinking. The devolution of financial and administrative authority itself threatens these institutions and therefore it comes as no surprise, as previously mentioned, that the bureaucracy has not been supportive of decentralisation efforts in the state (Isaac and Franke 2002, 81).

Another way that disciplinary powers are barriers to capability building is via the vested interests of certain institutions in maintaining existing social power structures. Caste-based affiliations in politics are neither a new concept nor isolated to Kerala (see Mathew 1989, cited in Narayanan 2003, 70, also Thomas 1985, 15, and Oommen 1995 for Kerala; Jeffrey, Jeffery and Jeffery 2005 for caste politics in rural North India and Selway, Samraj and Bossuroy 2011 for caste politics in Tamil Nadu, among others). Chapter six outlined how the Catholic Church, a constant presence in the lives of the Mukkuvars, politically leaned towards right-wing parties. This affiliation (of the Church) translated to the Mukkuvars consistently voting for these parties (Meynen 1989, 742). Such caste-based affiliation was obvious during the fishermen’s agitation when a change of government in 1982 brought in a coalition headed by the Congress party (chapter six). Here we see caste disciplinary power expanding

160 influence to include political choices. As an identifying factor, caste becomes a unifying feature that seemingly defines political affiliations.

Marxism and its associated class organisation can also been seen as another disciplinary power in Kerala. Community mobilisation that is not organised in the political sense is often not taken seriously, as exemplified by tribal ‘agitations’ over land reform issues (Chathukulam and John 2006). Such mobilisations are trivialised by the state as well as other social movements like the Kerala Sastra Sahithya Parishad (KSSP) because they lack the political orientation or a class-based social movement discourse in the state (ibid, 200). More ‘successful’ movements, at least in terms of mobilisation and opposition, have organised along class lines. An example already introduced is the Kerala Matsya Thozhillali federation (KSMTF) which is class-based in its hierarchical structure (as a trade union) and its ‘agitations’ (as a political organisation) even though it is essentially located in civil society (Parayil and Sreekumar 2006, 220). Parayil and Sreekumar argue that such forms of organisation are necessary for social movements to gain recognition in Kerala.

Disciplinary powers are also wielded by non-state actors such as the Catholic Church. Caste disciplinary powers may have outlined capabilities of the Mukkuvars, yet another disciplinary mechanism, the power of the Catholic Church, further establishes the worldviews and behaviour of this community (chapter six). As a disciplinary power, the teachings of the Catholic Church have had enormous success in governing its subjects. Thomas Weiss argues, in discussing non-state actors in global governance, that the Church’s growing importance and power are distinctive features in the centre of world affairs (Weiss 2000, 806). The success of such micro-governance is affirmed when subjects cannot critically assess the effects of such disciplinary power (as discussed in the end of section 6.1.2). Indeed, as Ransom argues, the sole aim of disciplinary mechanisms was for power to be exercised through ‘schemes’ that would avoid dissent. In this way, discipline would instil capacities and enhance productivity of individuals while promoting docility (Ransom 1997, 31). However, I argue that it does not stand in the Church’s interests to see greater capability development, beyond that prescribed by disciplinary power, in the community. In Kerala, decentralisation efforts devolve power and can be a threat to the Church’s pre-eminence in the lives of fisher folk. High levels of capability would relegate the Church’s role to dealing only with moral and spiritual matters while relinquishing power over the social and political

161 lives of the community. In Kerala’s Christian fishing communities, empirical evidence suggests that the Church has largely staved off such threats and retained its power.

Given such control and ‘guidance’ in moulding thought and behaviour, in what ways can these marginalised communities resist?

7.3 Resistance and the ‘unmaking’ of ‘cultural subjects’ Commenting on Foucault’s ideas on resistance, Ransom reiterates that it is important to understand that disciplines make individuals, but argues that they do not do so completely or with finality (Ransom 1997, 46). There remains room for change and opposition. Ransom argues that for Foucault, it is not a matter of getting out of the ‘clutches of powers’ because as products of discipline, persons are unable to identify and thus are incapable of criticising powers (ibid, 35). This is illustrated in the discussion above on the Catholic Church and fisher folk in Kerala. In Two Lectures, Foucault highlights this when he states that the idea of ‘outside’ is absent. Individuals are the effects of power but they are also its vehicles (Foucault 1980d, 98). Ransom restates Foucault’s view that it is precisely because individuals are part of the disciplinary mechanism of power that they are in a better position to challenge it (Ransom op cit, 36): The fact that we are vehicles of disciplinary powers reveals...not the omnipotence of power but its fragility. Such vehicles might go off its [the] designated path and frustrate the purpose for which they were originally developed (ibid). In terms of subversion or resistance of disciplinary powers, Foucault does not offer much with regards to strategies for how exactly such resistance ought to take place. As Gary Gutting argues, Foucault’s theories are not intended to be permanent structures, enduring in virtue of their universal truth but should be seen as temporary ‘scaffoldings’ (Gutting 2003, 16). However, what we do know is that resistance towards dominant powers must come from within the disciplinary mechanism in operation (ibid, 36) for it to be effective, rather than expecting change from external sources. This argument seemingly renders discussions on changing policy in order to enhance capabilities moot. How can capabilities be enhanced when these capabilities are defined by disciplinary powers and the only way to resist such powers is to ‘organise’ resistance within it? Preceding sections have looked at:

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 the creation of caste identities and the idea of marginalisation,  the influence and continuity of disciplinary power as well as its hold on Kerala society,  the role of disciplinary mechanisms in restricting capabilities of individuals,  the effects of scientific thinking and its role in entrenching disciplinary power, including shaping the mentalities of government officials that work with marginalised groups,  examples of political ideologies as a disciplinary mechanism, and  effects of the disciplinary power of the Church over the fishing communities, over and above existing power systems. In such extended and established control, how can resistance be organised and where can it come from?

If resistance is from within disciplinary power, as mentioned above, there are examples of such subtle resistance in Kerala. However, the form it has taken has not ‘delivered’ marginalised communities from disciplinary powers that govern them. In fact, resistance from within can hardly break established systems. Rather, in the case of the fishing communities, it has allowed them to face existing and new disciplinary powers (for example, market forces) without having to sacrifice their traditional beliefs. Resistance has also come in the form of mobilising in ‘accepted’ forms of organisation (as seen in the KSMTF). The tribal communities have used ‘truths’ espoused by caste disciplinary power to their benefit by working within the capabilities outlined for them under the disciplinary mechanism to achieve actions beneficial to their colonies. What Foucault wanted was to create a situation where citizens could participate in determining, not dictating, the direction and shape of the next ‘truth’ (Ransom op cit, 58). Drawing on what has already been made of individuals, a knowledge of how that came about, and the systems of forces that maintain it, Foucault thought it possible to enter the game of ‘experience-truth-being’ in a more reflective and conscious manner (ibid). Our relationship with ourselves will change when powers that have worked secretly have been ‘revealed’ and therefore can never have the same kind of force even as they continue to influence us (ibid, 57 – 58).

Gotz Hoeppe’s work among the fishermen in Chamakkala village in Kerala highlights a form of resistance in the form of securing local or traditional knowledge types in the face of

163 scientific reasoning (‘foreign’ or global knowledge) by relegating such knowledge in the figurative realm. Hoeppe provides a number of examples of this which have been discussed in chapter six (section 6.2.1). I have summarised these below. (a) ambivalent use of the term ‘saastram’ (science or knowledge) (b) relabeling old conceptualisations (c) describing the same phenomenon using new metaphors (d) following new standards of measurement (in terms of seasonality or units of depth and distance) Hoeppe argues that in Chamakkala, there has been no clear-cut replacement of local knowledge by ‘foreign’ knowledge. In speech, the border between figurative and literal often remains blurred and has kept shifting depending on individual speakers (Hoeppe 2008, 321). As Hoeppe states, the selective use of figurative language to mark what is traditional knowledge makes it possible to speak and reflect about two domains of ‘truth’ simultaneously, even in the same sentence, given the consensus of speakers and listeners about the border between literal and figurative language (ibid). This achievement brings up two important points of relevance to this discussion. Firstly, it indicates the power of one particular knowledge system, that of science, in engulfing traditional understandings of the marine environment. Secondly, by relegating what is only in the possession of the fishing community (i.e. traditional knowledge) to the figurative, we see that the community is not ready to forsake its own discourse in the face of other disciplinary mechanisms. The traditional discourse still has a place, even though it is only used in the figurative sense. I argue that this is in fact a form of resistance from within, not necessarily subverting power but in a way deflecting complete domination.

The KSMTF is another example of such resistance. As discussed in the previous section, the federation has organised itself as a class-based organisation, well accepted in Kerala’s political climate, to fight for the rights of fishing communities in the state. By breaking away from the Church, and organising along class lines, the organisation is able to cross communal boundaries to be more representative of the fishing communities. Unlike tribal movements, which have organised around specific issues (for tribal agitations see Parayil and Sreekumar 2006; Chathukulam and John 2006), the KSMTF has mobilised within dominant political ideologies which gives it greater clout in demanding rights and entitlements. Its members still work within the disciplinary mechanism and utilise their caste/communal identities to work

164 against dominant powers. This is not unlike tribal communities in Athirapilly as evidenced by field data (chapter five).

The Kadar tribal community has not been as ‘successful’ as the fisher folk in terms of ‘resistance’. As discussed earlier, Kerala society is used to mass protests and citizen movements, yet it seems to discredit tribal mobilisation. This gives an indication of how mainstream Kerala ‘imagines’ the Kadar community and how they understand tribal or any other discourse that is not determined by dominant disciplinary powers (as described above). However, this does not mean that there have been no attempts at resistance. There exist legal mechanisms available to tribals which might be thought of as ‘deflecting tools’ against disciplinary mechanisms. As mentioned in chapter five, a tribal member in the Vazhachal tribal colony has launched a Public Interest Litigation (PIL) in the High court of Kerala with regards to her colony being removed from the map demarcating the proposed area for the Athirapilly project. She has registered complaints with the district collector and the tribal commissioner on separate occasions, about the general condition of her colony, especially with regards to the sale of alcohol. However, any level of assertion from tribal communities like the Kadars (of Vazhachal and Pokalapara colonies) might be more of a matter of struggle and survival rather than empowerment or greater participation (chapter five). Public controversy over the proposed Athirapilly dam and the struggle to survive in lands that rightfully belong to them make tribals more visible. Government campaigns for local-level planning fail in this regard.

Much of the ‘resistance’ organised by tribal communities (or by social movements that represent these communities) works within established disciplinary powers (i.e. the bureaucracy or legal mechanism) and in the presence of existing ‘truths’ about tribals revealed by these powers. These ‘truths’ include the discourse that surrounds tribals and their distance from the ‘norm’ or standards as established by power (see above). Several concessions for tribals are a result of these standards. There is limited literature in Kerala on the assimilation of ‘foreign’ knowledge by the tribals, as is known to occur in the fishing communities. So we do not know how and to what extent tribals reconcile local and ‘foreign’ knowledge systems. However, in light of human encroachment into forests through the construction of dams or conversion of land, the time for such reconciliation might be close at hand. This is certainly a possibility in the case of the Kadar colonies in Athirapilly mentioned in chapter five. If the proposed dam goes through, many tribal members will have no choice

165 but to move into the towns downstream. Perhaps this might give rise to greater ‘resistance’ from the Kadars.

7.4 Summary and conclusion Amartya Sen’s capability approach has stressed the importance of individual freedoms and democratic involvement of citizens in development. Empirical data has revealed that despite greater opportunities for public participation, the capabilities of tribal and fishing communities in Kerala are limited in local development planning. I have identified caste disciplinary power as a cause of such limitations in these communities. The main aim of this chapter has been to explain findings from field data by extending Sen’s approach using Michel Foucault’s ideas on disciplinary powers. Such an exercise has great relevance in reassessing democratic development in Kerala with regards to the tribal and fishing communities in the state.

I have argued that the classification of tribal and fishing communities as ‘marginalised’ has gained legitimacy because these communities are already ‘cultural subjects’ of existing caste disciplinary power. This disciplinary power operates in a covert manner and influences the thinking and behaviour of its subjects. In creating identities for people or communities, caste disciplinary mechanisms have also imposed standards of normalisation for society, and created certain ‘truths’ for each different identity. This explains the pejorative perceptions mainstream Kerala society has of tribal and fishing communities. In addition to this normalisation, there has been the homogenisation of society. Sen argues that policy-makers are content with homogenous values of ‘advantage’ or ‘happiness’ since this makes policies easier to manipulate, while paradoxically Foucault’s ideas on homogenisation of society explain how power has led to more detailed and specific knowledge about groups in society – basically divided into those that conform to standards and those that do not. The homogenising effects of caste disciplinary power peaked in colonial times where certain castes (for example, some tribes or lower castes) were classified as ‘criminals’ and this has led to these groups being further segregated, thus dividing society into ‘the good’ and the ‘bad’. Such thinking has persisted in post-colonial Kerala.

According to Foucault, disciplinary power seeks to insert certain qualities into individuals and does not acknowledge existing ‘properties’ within the individual. It is my contention that

166 these existing ‘properties’ can be seen as an individual’s ‘intrinsic capabilities’. However, these capabilities are set aside in the face of disciplinary power in operation. That is, the capabilities of an individual are defined within the operations of existing disciplinary power mechanisms. I have argued that the capabilities created by caste disciplinary power restrict behaviour of communities in public participation. Therefore they can only participate insofar as allowed by such power. This has great significance if the objective of the People’s Plan is to deepen democracy. In a closer examination of capabilities and power, a number of other disciplinary mechanisms seem to be in operation as well. These other disciplinary powers can only operate because, as mentioned earlier, there is cultural subjugation of society as a result of caste disciplinary power. These other powers include bureaucratic practices, politicisation and Marxism, and the influence of the Catholic Church.

In the last section, the chapter looked at attempts at resisting disciplinary power from within marginalised communities. In this, the fishing community has been slightly more successful, especially via the KSMTF, mainly because it has carried out its resistance within the workings of existing power. Drawing on Hoeppe’s study of Chamakkala, I have also described how fishermen have transposed their traditional knowledge to the figurative realm, thus still retaining the community’s own knowledge system while traversing between two domains of ‘truth’. Meanwhile, amongst tribals, resistance has been organised by communities and individuals embracing their identity and utilising legislative tools that have been created to protect them. In the case of the Kadars, such resistance is a matter of struggle and survival more than empowerment. It is important to note that such resistance has not ‘delivered’ or ‘emancipated’ these communities in any way. It has however helped to reduce the force with which disciplinary powers influence these communities.

In the concluding chapter which follows, I argue that a reassessment of the People’s Plan is necessary to ensure effective participation of tribal and fishing communities at grassroots level. This is necessary to address the poverty and deprivation of these marginalised communities. Leading from this, I investigate the potential for increasing capabilities of these marginalised groups by looking at areas for further research in the field. Understanding capability through different types of data (as Sen advocates) is imperative if Kerala’s development objectives are to be met and sustained.

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Chapter 8: Concluding Remarks

The main aim of this thesis has been to reassess current knowledge about Kerala’s development trajectory vis-à-vis the Kerala model of development and the People’s Plan giving consideration mainly to intra-generational equity and public participation, two key principles of sustainable development. In making this reassessment I had in mind marginalised tribal and fishing communities, communities that John Kurien calls the ‘outliers’ (Kurien 2000), since they appear to fall short of the social advancements experienced by wider Kerala society. Such a re-evaluation is necessary because although tribal and fishing communities in the state fare much better than their counterparts elsewhere in India, this has not meant that they have been uplifted from their deprived conditions, in a state famous for its social developments. According to Kannan and Pillai, they still suffer from a lack of access to social benefits claimed by other sections of society in what can only be called ‘exclusionary development’ (Kannan and Pillai 2004, 38). Such development has focussed on mainstream society, relegating marginalised groups as ‘projects’, under the wider development discourse of the state (section 3.2.4). This has left these deprived communities with very little leeway in trying to better their lives. A re-evaluation could have significant practical bearing on whether Kerala can achieve development objectives such as poverty eradication, equity and democracy. If tribal and fishing communities have not gained much in terms of their social development, despite attempts to include them in the development process (through the People’s Plan), clearly such attempts need to be re-evaluated. If this is not done, what we sustain for future generations of these communities is continued deprivation and marginalisation.

I have utilised Amartya Sen’s capability perspective to determine that tribal and fishing communities have only limited participation in local-level planning and decision-making. Empirical data also show that they exert little influence in the outcome of these processes. Sen’s main argument can be described as a call for the removal of ‘unfreedoms’ experienced by these communities in view of the limited opportunities available to them. Sen’s idea of capabilities is tied to freedom – the range of options one has to decide on the kind of life one wants to lead. Since development is concerned with the achievement of a better life, evaluating Kerala’s development should involve assessing the types of lives people succeed

168 in living, and the options they have to lead the lives they hope for. In other words, we need to assess their capabilities. In chapters three and four, I have shown that opportunities for greater participation in local development have not necessarily enhanced the capabilities of these disadvantaged groups. I have argued that even with Kerala’s Panchayat Raj Act of 1994 and the People’s Plan, the capabilities of tribal and fishing communities have not been enhanced. Although the plan provides opportunities for these communities to participate, for example through gram sabhas, these are not effectively taken up, and where they have been, have not served to strengthen their capabilities. The People’s Plan does not promote a more equitable type of development as long as tribals and fisher folk remain ‘outliers’. In chapter four, I extend the arguments made in chapter three to the inability of local government institutions (or panchayats) to promote capability building in marginalised communities. In order to do so I have specifically looked at 1) gram sabha attendance, 2) political affiliations and patronage within marginalised communities and 3) attitudes of both officials and elected representatives towards these communities and the communities’ attitudes towards the former. I found that not only did local governments not enhance capabilities of these groups; in some cases they have been responsible for impeding capability building in these communities as well. This has in large part to do with prejudiced views against lower caste groups, to which tribals (Kadars) and fisher folk (Mukkuvars) belong.

A good example of reduced capabilities in development planning can be seen in environmental management strategies in the state. Ramakrishnan Korakandy, in his provocative article about the environment in Kerala, asserts that the government of Kerala has exposed the natural resources of the state to the forces of globalisation and has ignored the people’s demand for environmental protection and sustainability (Korakandy 2000, 1801). According to Korakandy, the management of resources in Kerala does not follow principles of sustainability, transparency or accountability and these have become areas of public concern (ibid). The decentralisation campaign was launched in the state, in search of sustainable plans with the participation of local communities, and greater accountability and transparency in the planning process. Yet the state’s apathy in taking concrete steps to protect natural resources is evidence that there is no will to promote sustainable development where natural resource usage is concerned, especially in the case of Kerala’s fisheries (ibid, 1804). In another article about Kerala’s planning for irrigation projects, Santhakumar et al. echo these sentiments about the lack of sustainability and transparency, and they identify corrupt

169 practices that influence the choice of irrigation projects (Santhakumar, Rajagopalan, and Ambirajan 1995, A36).

Though not explicitly mentioned, both articles give the indication that environmental management techniques in Kerala do not necessarily involve a strong social integration or the involvement of all key actors in policy making despite the strength of the civil society. Santhakumar et al. go on to add that ‘powerful interests use rhetoric of a certain kind to perpetuate themselves under the cover of the alleged ‘neutrality’ of science and technology,’ (ibid, 37) implying that environmental decision-making in Kerala is similar to other environmental management strategies in India where science rules and natural resources are in the domain of bureaucratic management and not within the planning capabilities of communities most dependent on these resources. A good example of this type of ‘management’ can be seen in the VSS schemes run by the KFD, as mentioned earlier in chapter five.

There seems to be limited data on the capabilities of local communities with regards to natural resource management apart from official KFD reports, and data collected by the Kerala Institute of Local Administration (KILA), or the Centre for Development Studies (CDS) under their local level development research programme. An example of the latter would be Jayaraman’s work on forest degradation in Kerala (Jayaraman 2001). Jayaraman undertakes his study in the Peechi-Vazhani area in the Thrissur forest division in Thrissur district and looks mostly at the factors and problems of forest degradation as well as the short and long-term effects of such degradation (ibid, 8 – 9). However, such works do not look into how participatory natural resource planning increases the negotiation space for local communities in managing resources that they depend on. Whether or not such ‘space’ is utilised or has resulting effects, becomes an important criterion for determining whether decentralised planning is fully democratic.

Another important challenge for environmental management and for inter-generational equity is that the capabilities of future generations are also compromised when the existing mechanisms do not evaluate and expand the capabilities of marginalised communities. ‘What is being sustained?’ is always an important question. As Sudhir Anand and Amartya Sen articulate, the value in sustaining present conditions is contingent upon quality of these existing conditions (Anand and Sen 2000, 2030). If the People’s Plan is not addressing the

170 needs of the deprived groups despite what seems like attempts to include them in the development process, the plan needs to be reassessed. The reassessment should factor in the plurality of capabilities, since failure to take note of this would mean that what is sustained for future generations of tribals and fisher folk is unrelenting deprivation and marginalisation.

The quantity and quality of information about capability enhancement determine further plans to ensure equity, and relevant information is lacking in evaluative studies on the People’s Plan. According to N. Ramakanthan the former head of KILA, ‘local governments are now capable of formulating and implementing local plans and are competent enough to carry forward the political decentralisation process in the right direction’ (Ramakanthan 2009, 134). He also takes note of the fact that there are some local governments still unable to make full use of the powers vested in them and his solution is to carry out further capacity building projects (ibid, 135). The key point is that although Ramakanthan does discuss the need for evaluative measures, it is only given a cursory mention. It seems to me that perhaps institutions like KILA, set up to oversee the entire local participation and planning process should undertake wider studies on the quality of information pertaining to participatory planning at the grassroots level. This will allow them to gauge whether the capabilities of individuals (in marginalised communities or otherwise) have been enhanced under the People’s Plan, and to put forward relevant suggestions for policies that promote Kerala’s sustainable development by ensuring both intra- as well as inter-generational equity in the state.

As for industrial development in Kerala, P.D. Jeromi analyses the performance of major sectors of the state economy during the past two decades, highlighting some problems that they confront (Jeromi 2003, 1584). In concluding his study, Jeromi argues that a lasting solution to the fiscal problem lies in the development of the economy, redeploying the skilled workforce in the public sector and targeting benefits of social welfare schemes to those below the poverty line (ibid, 1598). Such solutions are similar to those discussed in the International Congress of Kerala Studies as mentioned in chapter three. But how far does this go into addressing the issue of enhancing capabilities especially of groups such as tribals, fishing communities or women? I argue that although economic development is an important component, it cannot on its own enhance the lives of marginalised sections of society. Sen has argued that the market does not lead to enhanced freedoms and development goes beyond real incomes (Sen 1993). Also, the unemployment rates affect educated females more than

171 males, indicating gender discrimination in the labour force (Shah 2010, 19). Although Omvedt argues that economic development in Kerala is key to emancipating marginalised groups from their traditional occupations (Omvedt 2006, 201), I argue that given their existing capabilities are limited, further focus on economic growth without enhancing the capabilities of these marginalised groups will lead to greater disadvantage for these communities.

In assessing development, the great value in Sen’s approach is that it calls for a pluralistic methodology in which the data collected goes well beyond utilitarian numerical values such as GDP or Kerala’s social indicator values. This allows for more informed decisions concerning development strategies. I have argued that the capability approach allows for the inclusion of non-numerical, qualitative factors such as restrictive cultural practices and behaviours (i.e. the caste system and caste-based discrimination) that define and constrain capabilities in Kerala society. Although there have been attempts to eradicate such constraints by the early political and religious reformers in the state (Heller 2001, 142; Kumar 1997, 250 – 215; Isaac and Tharakan 1995, 9), these attempts have met with only partial success. The continued cultural subjugation of the Kadars (chapter five) and the existing influence of caste and religion on capabilities in the Mukkuvar community (chapter six) attest to this. In examining attitudes of state and society towards the Kadars and Mukkuvars, chapters five and six elaborate the prejudiced stand taken against these communities, respectively, by discussing different situations where the capabilities of tribals and fisher folk are not developed through local-level planning. In many ways the two communities are similar in that they are both physically marginalised from mainstream society and are considered lower castes. As evidenced by empirical data (section 7.1.3), both the Kadars and the Mukkuvars experience feelings of inferiority and lack self-confidence in dealing with officials and their elected representatives. The majority of them seem to accept the way that they are (so often) unfairly treated. Caste-based discrimination still operates in Kerala albeit in a more clandestine manner compared with pre-colonial and colonial India. The capability approach allows for such practices to be acknowledged and acted upon.

Although the capability approach has helped to identify barriers to capability building in marginalised communities in Kerala (that is, caste social order and discrimination as result of it), it does not go far in explaining possible reasons for such barriers. In order to extend the analysis beyond assessing capabilities, I have used Foucault’s ideas of power, techniques of

172 power and subject creation as a result of these techniques, to probe further into reasons why tribal and fishing communities in Kerala have remained marginalised and deprived. Hubert Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow point out that Foucault’s aim was to isolate, identify and evaluate the unequal relationships initiated by techniques which undercut theoretical equality dictated by law and political philosophy (Dreyfus and Rabinow 1983, 185).

It can be argued that systems of subverting caste disciplinary power can have an effect on enhancing capabilities of these groups, especially when opposition is organised from within the disciplinary power itself. This examination of resistance follows from Foucault’s idea that not only are individuals products of power but they are also its vehicles (Foucault 1980d, 98). Ransom, elaborating on Foucault’s concept of resistance, reiterates that it is precisely because individuals are part of the power mechanism that they can challenge it (Ransom 1997, 36). Unfortunately, Foucault’s input on resistance ends at this point, though extrapolation of his line of reasoning is possible. I have argued that both tribals and fisher folk have to some extent displayed resistance in subtle forms (section 7.3). However, such resistance is still organised within existing disciplinary mechanisms and it does not free them from their deprived states or subvert the existing power mechanisms. However their resistance has in a small way deflected complete domination by these powers.

Emerging scholarship and empirical data has revealed that Kerala’s development model is not the vehicle of social justice that it claims to be (for example, as claimed by Franke and Chasin 1995). The People’s Plan, put forward as a ‘new ’ model for sustainable development (Véron 2001) has not successfully addressed issues of intra-generational equity and effective public participation, as evidenced by empirical data revealed in chapters five and six. Theoretically, the People’s Plan seems an ideal way for all members of local communities to become part of their own social and economic development. However, the Left Democratic Front that initiated the People’s Plan, has narrowed societal problems and the search for equity to class struggles (Tharamangalam 2006, 25). Homogenising society in such a way has negated the need for the evaluation of the unequal (power) relationships that exist in society. As a result, despite having the objectives of poverty eradication and effective public involvement in development, local-level planning and larger decentralisation efforts have not enfranchised marginalised communities in the state. Although Sen and Foucault do not provide answers to ensure a more egalitarian society, their respective analyses imply the need for strong policy options that will make development more equitable and hence sustainable.

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In revisiting the research questions and objectives set out in my research scheme (Box 2.1), this thesis has revealed that  Tribals and fisher folk still lag behind and have not benefitted much from social development policies.  The Kerala model of development and the People’s Plan are not models of social justice and do not reflect ideals of sustainable development.  Members of mainstream society in Kerala have been able to convert their capabilities to desired outcomes and they have been responsive and influential in decentralised planning. Much of Kerala’s success in terms of social development is attributed to this majority.  Caste as a disciplinary power mechanism is still operational albeit in covert form, and is responsible for the continued deprivation of tribals and fisher folk.  In addition, other power mechanisms, for example, political systems such as Marxism, bureaucratic practices and the Church (for fisher folk) have operated within, and in addition to, caste disciplinary power.  Individual capabilities and levels of empowerment are determined by these disciplinary powers.  Such ‘regulation’ has kept tribal and fishing communities in states of ‘unfreedom’, so that power mechanisms have become ‘limiting and objectionable’ (Ransom op cit, 42). Such inequitable social achievements cannot be sustained because while fundamental divides hold sway, Kerala’s development trajectory has little to offer in terms of social justice and equitable development for marginalised tribal and fishing communities, even as it enhances capabilities of mainstream Kerala society as discussed above. I present areas for further investigation below that might be addressed and could inform policy formulation in search of a more sustainable form of development.

Areas for further investigation In my examination of Sen’s capability perspective and Foucault’s power within the framework of Kerala’s development model and the People’s Plan, other areas of investigation relating to existing development planning have opened up. I describe three of these below.

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 Capability-building through collective action I have demonstrated that politicisation, the infiltration of caste identities (Kurien 2004), and the dominant role played by religious institutions (such as the Catholic Church and fishermen’s cooperatives, Paul 2005), have created problems in carrying out collective action by marginalised groups in Kerala. Such collective action can give these communities greater capability in participatory planning and more influence in deciding the most relevant projects that will help them. Therefore further study into the viability, conduct and outcomes of collective action and its effects on capability building might prove valuable in Kerala’s development planning.

 Addressing issues of globalisation and ‘global empires’ and systems of subverting power In this thesis, I have deliberately limited the discussion of power mechanisms to those that exist within Kerala society. The discussion has not ventured out to include global power mechanisms that might be in operation as well. To do so would have widened the scope of the thesis considerably. With India’s economic liberalisation in 1991 and the fact that Kerala has historically been open to global forces (from historical trade links, to employment of Keralites in the Gulf region and more recently in many other parts of the world), the force and influence of the powers of ‘global empires’ can be expected to affect capabilities of individuals and communities. Here I insert the example of the Plachimada case. In 1999, the Hindustan Coca-Cola Beverages Private Limited, a subsidiary of the Atlanta based Coca- Cola Company, established a plant in Plachimada, in the Palakkad district of Kerala. The Perumatti Village Council gave a license to the company to commence production in 2000. Coca-Cola drew around 510,000 litres of water each day from boreholes and open wells. For every 3.75 litres of water used by the plant, it produced one litre of product and a large amount of waste water. Two years after production local communities complained that water pollution and extreme water shortages were endangering their lives (The Rights to Water and Sanitation 2012). The example shows the infiltration of ‘global power’ into Kerala society, and there are only limited studies conducted into the way local communities, including tribal and fishing communities, negotiate the terrains of these new systems or powers in operation over and above pre-existing power mechanisms. In light of such new complexity, the need for Sen’s more pluralistic approach to data gathering seems all the more important. This opens up the need for greater research into the combined effects of ‘global empires’ and local

175 disciplinary power on the capabilities of communities, within the decentralised development framework.

 Novel tactics and new strategies of power A third interesting area for further research involves the ‘manipulations’ and projects/schemes that exist within the People’s Plan itself. Thomas Isaac and Richard Franke discuss in detail the programmes, selection and training of personnel and the systems through which the plan would be carried out (Isaac and Franke 2002). This gives rise to the possible emergence of new kinds of power through the use of fresh tactics and strategies. Both the Left Democratic Front (LDF) and the United Democratic Front (UDF) have retained the People’s Plan during their respective administrations despite having different political ideologies regarding growth and development of the state. Scholars including R. Krishna Kumar have suggested that the People’s Plan is just another political tactic, brought up during elections to increase voter numbers (Krishna Kumar 2005, 4). As discussed in section 4.1.1, political scientist Craig Johnson states that decentralisation has emerged as a dominant theme in world politics because it serves as an efficient political strategy to maintain control and legitimacy in the face of political disintegration (Johnson 2002, 3 – 4).

The People’s Plan might be seen as a power mechanism in its own right, installed over existing mechanisms, in a bid to regulate thinking and behaviour in a particular direction in favour of such political reorganisation. This warrants further investigation, to question the motives behind the plan as well as the development path the state is following. If indeed the People’s Plan is a way of moulding the citizens’ preferences and mindsets in terms of suggesting greater ‘development’ and ‘advances’ in society, then it is likely that the plan already functions as another disciplinary power mechanism in Foucault’s sense. Though as discussed earlier (section 7.2.1), not all disciplinary mechanisms are negative, the concern is the amount of control such mechanisms exert on society. What would be the end result of such moulding or ‘guiding’ mechanisms (in the People’s Plan) with regards to the development of the state? Looking at these new strategies of power might offer some clues towards identifying the state’s development path in current times. Is Kerala on a path of state- led development, party-led ‘progress’ or community-led growth? The future of marginalised tribal and fishing communities, and ultimately sustainable development, is an essential part of this inquiry.

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Glossary

Adivasi The term Adivasi means original dweller. It is how the tribal community members interviewed refer to themselves and prefer to be addressed as the term ‘tribal’ has colonial/negative connotations. Agitation The term ‘agitation’ is used to denote protests or protest marches. The term is used in a more Marxist/political sense – an act of steering public opinion for or against something. Capability The term ‘capability’ in this thesis refers to the range of options one (approach/perspective) has to decide on the kind of life one can or wants to lead. That is, the more capable a person is, the more the range of options available. The capability approach/perspective refers to assessment of the range of options available to individuals; assessing the levels of capability. Caste Any of the hereditary social classes or subclasses of traditional Hindu society, especially the Brahman, Kshatriya, Vaisya, and Sudra castes. Caste is also understood as a mark of one’s birth – a person is born into a caste with ascribed social roles. In this definition, caste provides identity, security and status and has historically been open to change based on economic, social and political influences. Some castes are deemed to be at the bottom of the social scale and even now perform the jobs nobody else wants such as raw sewage handling, killing animals or execution of criminals. This thesis has used the latter definition of the term. Congress (Party) The Indian National Congress or Congress (Party) is largely considered centre-left. Congress became the leader of the Indian Independence Movement, in its struggle against British rule in India. The Congress Party leads the coalition of the United Democratic Front (UDF). Cultural subjects In this thesis, the caste system has been identified as a cultural factor/practice that acts as a disciplinary power. Members of a society under the influence of such a cultural practice, that seeks to create identities for individuals, have been defined in this thesis as ‘cultural subjects’.

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Dalits The term Dalits is a self designation for communities formally regarded as ‘untouchables’. They are known as ‘scheduled castes’ in official documents. Dheevaras Coastal dwellers Gram Sabha Village assembly Kadar Name of a tribe. Classified as one of the primitive tribes in Kerala. The Kerala model of This is a development model that is marked by low per capita income development and high rates of unemployment but displays high values in social indicators, usually associated with highly industrialised nations. This runs against most contemporary development discourses that state that economic development is the key to growth in other areas. The unique development path taken by the state has been dubbed the Kerala model of development. Knowledge types or This refers to the different types of knowledge used to view a problem forms of knowledge and arrive at solutions. For example, the bureaucratic management of natural resources is widely considered to be reliant on scientific and technocratic knowledge to understand and manage development issues and problems. Critics of this approach commonly argue the need to incorporate traditional knowledge into development planning and decision-making. Kudumbashree A community-based decentralised participatory structure for women in Kerala, which aims at asset-building at grassroots level. Malayalam One of the 22 scheduled languages of India and official language of the state of Kerala. Malayalees The people of Kerala. Mukkuvar A Dheevara caste. The term ‘mukku’ means the ‘tip’ of something (in this case ‘tip’ or edge of land) or ‘moger’ (Portuguese), meaning ‘diver’. Mukkuvars are classified as ‘Other Backward Castes (OBCs) in Kerala. Oorukoottam Village gathering/village assembly in tribal areas. Panchayat Local government.

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People’s Campaign A massive decentralised participatory planning programme that spread for Democratic over the length and breadth of the state and involved the mobilisation Decentralisation or of several thousand people starting from the grassroots level. This The Peoples’ Plan campaign was started in 1996, under the Left Democratic Front Party, and is generally regarded as a successful experiment in participatory planning. Tamil One of the 22 scheduled languages of India and the official language of the state of Tamil Nadu. Union Government The Government of India. Varna Varna is the Sanskrit equivalent for caste used in ancient Indian literature. The system which originated as a system to divide labour, does not subscribe to the idea that one’s status in society is determined by birth.

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