Denotified tribes: Strangers in their own land

It is common practice for those in the Kanjar basti in Chhatarpur district, Madhya Pradesh, to lay low when there is news of a crime in a neighbouring village, city or town. Tagged 'criminals' at birth, this community’s life is confined within walls that are closing in.

This is what Vishal Raj (name changed), a member of the tribe, narrates as he speaks about the enduring colonial legacy of police harassment against denotified tribes (DNTs). In fact, at the time of this interview, yet again, a sense of disquiet has descended on his basti — the police has come knocking.

It has been a year since Raj was implicated in a criminal case, even though he was 30 kilometres away from the scene at the time of the crime. This visit by the law enforcement agency is for different reasons. They have come to arrest two teenagers — a fourteen-year-old and a fifteen-year-old — in connection with a theft.

The arrest of the teens only dissipates Raj’s hopes of being free of police harassment. Ample examples around him indicate that his community’s identity has become the albatross around his neck.

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A thousand kilometres away in Hubballi, Karnataka, a similar atmosphere prevails in a Gantichor community settlement. “When there is no basis for the police to file cases against us, they turn to old cases and people are plucked from their lives,” says Murali Parashuram Dattawad, an auto-rickshaw driver who lives in the settlement in Dharwad district.

Dattawad says there is little difference between how the community is treated currently and how it was treated in the past, under the British administration. In fact, 33 per cent of people belonging to DNT communities in the state report harassment by the police. Another 21 per cent say that a family member has been arrested.

The open-air jail that the colonial powers once used to contain the Gantichor tribe still stands next to the settlement, replete with barbed fencing, a symbol of their unresolved past. After denotification, the community was allotted housing next to the jail.

“All these years later, we do not have title deeds to the houses we were allotted after being freed,” says Dattawad.

In the absence of title deeds, the community is unable to apply for bank loans, resolve property disputes or transfer ownership of the houses.

In surrounding cities and villages, the settlement is an identifier of caste. “People are reluctant to keep us on at jobs when they learn that we are from this area. We have to lie that we come from another village,” says Dattawad.

A significant 10 per cent of India’s population is composed of 'Vimukt Jatis' (a term for denotified tribes), like the Gantichor and Kanjar tribes. Yet, politically and socially, the communities have been relegated to the margins.

The tribes were once listed under the Criminal Tribes Act (CTA) of 1871 as the administration alleged that they were “addicted to the systematic commission of non-bailable offences.” The CTA was only repealed in 1952 in independent India, and the tribes were then denotified.

Freedom is, however, a far cry for the Vimukt Jatis. Community members are routinely persecuted by law enforcement, stigmatised by the public, and denied access to government benefits and schemes.

Disagreements about membership in scheduled caste, scheduled tribe, or other backward caste categories have also been major deterrents to accessing affirmative action.

The result is that, even seven decades after they were ‘freed’, the Kanjars, Gantichors, and other Vimukt Jatis continue to bear the brunt of prejudice of the present and injustices of the past.

Guilty until proven innocent

Instead of correcting social biases, legal infrastructure like the Habitual Offenders Act of 1952, reinforces them. Enacted soon after the Criminal Tribes Act was repealed, this law places the burden of responsibility of the crime on individuals, rather than the community. It arms the police with a wide ambit of powers, enabling preventive policing and surveillance.

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Additionally, sections 109 and 110 of the Code of Criminal Procedure empower executive magistrates to obtain ‘good behaviour bonds’ from people with prior offences. These bonds have several stipulations, some unreasonably restrictive. A violation of the bond results in judicial custody, prompting constant police monitoring and exposing the communities to further harassment and intimidation.

“Police training manuals still teach trainees to be vigilant of nomadic and semi-nomadic communities, embedding the idea that these tribes pose danger,” says K M Metry, professor at the department of tribal studies, Hampi Kannada University. As long as police continue to intimidate the communities and denotified communities do not speak up when their rights are violated, progress will be slow, he says.

Also, excise duty, forest and wildlife protection laws criminalise traditional occupations and activities that Vimukt Jatis are associated with.

Several Vimukt Jatis across India, for instance, brew a homemade liquor from the Mahua flower. “These communities have been following this tradition for generations, and it has social and economic significance. However, since they do not have liquor licences, they are continually booked under excise laws,” says Sanjana Meshram, an advocate at the Criminal Justice and Police Accountability Project, Bhopal.

Such criminalisation of occupations means that several members of the tribe now have a ‘history sheet’ or criminal record.

A vicious cycle

Herein begins the communities’ problems. According to Shashikant Bijuvad, a member of the Korama community in Hubballi, having a criminal record is often viewed as possessing a predisposition towards felonies.

“This leads to a cycle where, if there are a number of pending cases against an individual, then it is assumed that he or she is a hardened criminal. More and more cases are then piled on this person,” Bijuvad says.

The criminal justice system is set up to view pending cases as an indicator of criminality, regardless of whether the cases amount to convictions. Law enforcement officers make use of these procedures, either consciously or without their notice, to implicate members of vulnerable tribes.

To achieve desired results, the officers often use the unreliable testimonies of stock witnesses when filing First Information Reports and chargesheets. “Several cases, across different police stations, will sometimes have the same witnesses. These witnesses seldom show up during trial proceedings,” says Meshram.

False cases are all too familiar for the Kanjars and Gantichors. “They (false cases) continue to pour in due to the lack of a sound accountability system. In fact, the police are rewarded when they hit a target of a certain number of arrests,” she adds.

Education disrupted

A disruptive atmosphere, one filled with fear, incarceration and torture, leaves little space for mundane activities. “We are not even able to go out and buy groceries. Sometimes, police are waiting to apprehend us in marketplaces or as soon as we leave the house,” says Raj.

“Children who are studying and dream of a better life are not able to achieve this, because we live a life of fear,” he adds.

In fact, unpredictability and danger posed due to police visits kept Raj’s neighbour, a young girl pursuing a Bachelor in Commerce degree, from attending her final round of examinations.

“Even I had many dreams. I wanted to become a police officer and help protect my community, but was forced to discontinue my studies because I would find out that a neighbour or someone from my family was arrested. This had a profound impact on my mind,” he says.

It should come as no surprise that about 40 per cent of DNT women in the country have never been enrolled in school. In Karnataka, 57 per cent of DNT children have not been enrolled.

A study by New Delhi-based NGO New Education Group (NEG) found that 47% of nomadic and semi-nomadic communities believe that migration patterns have an adverse impact on their children’s education. According to the report, only 14% of the migrant respondents were able to send their children to school at the place they have migrated to.

Alienation at school, lack of a familiar language and discrimination are some reasons children from nomadic and semi-nomadic communities find school a demotivating place.

The report’s observation that nearly three-fourth of children are not being educated at the migration destination is a matter of particular concern as this often translates to them getting involved in child labour.

“Serious interventions need to be made on the education front. There need to be proactive district administrators who notify schools when there is a settlement of a nomadic community so teachers can prepare,” says Metry. In a government pilot project, the integration of the history of the community, language and bridge courses for teachers and students helped ease feelings of isolation and encouraged children to learn about each other effectively. “Literate people from the settlements can also help tutor children and translate when necessary,” Metry adds.

Even in permanent settlements, the lines in the sand are clear. “There is one Kannada-medium school near our settlement and all our children go there. The English-medium school with more facilities is unofficially for people from upper caste categories. Our children are ridiculed or ostracised when they go to that school,” says Dattawad.

A crisis of identity

Not just access to education, members from denotified tribes also lack access to government welfare schemes. According to the NEG report, only 11 per cent of respondents were able to avail government schemes, even though a majority had identification documents.

Confusion regarding applicable programmes was a major barrier for members of denotified communities, with 26 per cent of respondents having no information about the schemes.

Years of stigma had also prompted Vimukt Jatis to change their surnames. “Our ancestors started adopting the last names of the castes they were working with. They had started spinning cotton and doing other odd jobs,” says Ananth Kattimani, a lawyer from the Gantichor community. This community adopted the surnames of the Girni Vaddars (spinners and labourers).

“The Idate Commission bifurcated the Gantichors as they were under the impression that these were two different tribes,” adds Kattimani. As a result, the Girni Vaddars are not eligible for the same benefits as the Gantichors.

Then there are tribes that have been excluded from SC, ST or OBC classifications. About 35 per cent of denotified communities, 64 per cent of nomadic communities and 1 per cent of semi-nomadic communities have yet to be categorised.

A confluence of these factors discourage DNTs from making use of programmes at their disposal. A source in the Union Department of Social Justice and Empowerment explains that though Rs 200 crore was allocated last year for DNTs, “not a single application has been approved, not a single rupee has been spent.” The money was earmarked for programmes under the Scheme for Economic Empowerment of Denotified, Nomadic and Semi-nomadic communities.

Political participation

Delay in the categorisation of DNTs also means that without reservation, the community is not adequately represented in political institutions. “Reduced political empowerment and representation affects their ability to advocate for their rights and interests,” says Pradeep Ramavath J, associate professor at the School of Social Work, Tata Institute of Social Sciences.

Deferrals in classification also limits access to employment opportunities in the formal sector. “In the past, this forced them to rely on informal and low-paying jobs, leading to economic vulnerabilities and reduced social mobility,” he adds.

Denotified tribes and nomadic communities also have distinct social and cultural identities that may differ from those of other scheduled castes and tribes. Building a caste consensus and getting all parties on board to share opportunities may present a complex political challenge. “There are many politicians, with their own caste vote banks, who advocate against the inclusion of denotified tribes,” says Arun Joladakudligi, a folk researcher.

In the absence of caste consensus, “and participatory enumeration processes, the status of communities cannot be understood. This is a significant hurdle. One has to evolve better enumeration techniques and involve communities in decision-making processes,” says S Japhet, founding director of the Centre for the Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive Policy.

Ensuring that the Vimukt Jatis have a meaningful seat at the table is the only way to address structural inequalities and atone for the cruelties of the past.

While welfare schemes are welcome, there is a pressing need to dismantle legal infrastructure and police procedures that view the communities with suspicion from the start. Otherwise, already plagued by the consequences of unceasing surveillance, persecution and discrimination, denotified tribes will continue to be treated like strangers in their own land.