In response to Professor Sanjib Baruah‘s article ‘Stateless in Assam‘ which discussed a new focus on detention camps for ‘stateless citizens’, Suraj Gogoi, Gorky Chakraborty and Parag Jyoti Saikia reflect on the implications of reducing people to ‘bare life’.
The Concentration camps that came to the fore during the Holocaust, left a deep impact on human history. It showed us that hate can be nurtured to humiliate, torture, and reduce people to ‘bare life’. The concept of the ‘exception’ used by Hannah Arendt and Giorgio Agamben has been articulated in the context of Northeast India by Professor Bimol Akoijam, as to how the Indian state through the Armed Forces Special Power Act (AFSPA) inhumanely treats its own citizens and the whole region as a ‘different minority’. However, the manner in which Prof. Sanjib Baruah used this example in his article ‘Stateless in Assam’, in invoking the idea of camps sends chills down the spine, as he presents enforced settlements as normal human condition, a fate to be endured for some. His views on camps have been lauded by a number of caste Assamese intellectuals, amongst others. It has thus created a ‘state of exception’ in a space which itself is a ‘state of exception’ to the Indian state. This double exceptionality makes the lives of Hanif Khan, who killed himself over fears he was excluded from a list that identified ‘legitimate’ Assamese citizens, and a host of others extremely precarious.
Since Professor Baruah has invoked this idea of exception, let us in return, invoke the idea of love and solidarity. Martha Nussbaum notes that cultivating love instead of hate would make the world a better place to live in. The lack of love, in the public and in our emotions, should be an area of great concern. Hanif Khan and his family needed love and solidarity, not a reminder of Arendt’s work, which indeed became a mockery of his life. Such an injunction creates what W.E.B. Du Bois called ‘twoness’ or even a stranger. It is the worst form of alienation where you see yourself through the eyes of the other. Being poor is hard, but to be despised by the society, the state, and its institutions estranges an individual in everyday life. Becoming a ‘problem’ is a ‘strange experience’ itself, no one needs to reiterate the point that one is a stranger. Such things only amplify the distance and distinction. What does such a position from a senior writer on the Northeast inform us?
Professor Baruah’s article also misses out on certain fundamental issues associated with National Register of Citizens (NRC). The idea of an ‘original inhabitants’ state in NRC is contrary to equal citizenship, as arbitrariness and suspicion loom large around the identification process. The legacy data of 1951 and 1971 was taken as the basis on which the citizenship of the people living in Assam was to be determined. However, there was hardly any question raised about these legacy documents, since they were considered sacrosanct. The legacy documents were no census documents. Rather, they were rough notes books of census enumerators which lack official validity.
NRC is using majoritarianism in the worst possible manner. It misuses law in making minorities stateless. As a form of identification, non-inclusion reduces an individual to a lesser human being. Deportation is perhaps a bilateral issue, while death isn’t. A matter of life and death, fear and pain, should not be an issue of ‘business’ and ‘watching’. His position ignores the reduction of people’s lives to a mere piece of document, the resultant alienation and social pain. His belief placed on public officials to ensure ‘accuracy’, leaves no space to question the process of preparing NRC. An argument such as this is surprising, since, for many students of our generation who became interested in studying the Northeast, his India against Itself taught us to question the state in the Northeast. It presented the rhetoric of state making, mired in violence. However, the rhetoric of suicide and a text on Holocaust is the last thing one should compare, particularly when it lacks sensitivity and love, which was evident the manner in which Professor Baruah ended his article.
In response to Professor Sanjib Baruah‘s article ‘Stateless in Assam‘ which discussed a new focus on detention camps for ‘stateless citizens’, Suraj Gogoi, Gorky Chakraborty and Parag Jyoti Saikia reflect on the implications of reducing people to ‘bare life’.
The Concentration camps that came to the fore during the Holocaust, left a deep impact on human history. It showed us that hate can be nurtured to humiliate, torture, and reduce people to ‘bare life’. The concept of the ‘exception’ used by Hannah Arendt and Giorgio Agamben has been articulated in the context of Northeast India by Professor Bimol Akoijam, as to how the Indian state through the Armed Forces Special Power Act (AFSPA) inhumanely treats its own citizens and the whole region as a ‘different minority’. However, the manner in which Prof. Sanjib Baruah used this example in his article ‘Stateless in Assam’, in invoking the idea of camps sends chills down the spine, as he presents enforced settlements as normal human condition, a fate to be endured for some. His views on camps have been lauded by a number of caste Assamese intellectuals, amongst others. It has thus created a ‘state of exception’ in a space which itself is a ‘state of exception’ to the Indian state. This double exceptionality makes the lives of Hanif Khan, who killed himself over fears he was excluded from a list that identified ‘legitimate’ Assamese citizens, and a host of others extremely precarious.
Since Professor Baruah has invoked this idea of exception, let us in return, invoke the idea of love and solidarity. Martha Nussbaum notes that cultivating love instead of hate would make the world a better place to live in. The lack of love, in the public and in our emotions, should be an area of great concern. Hanif Khan and his family needed love and solidarity, not a reminder of Arendt’s work, which indeed became a mockery of his life. Such an injunction creates what W.E.B. Du Bois called ‘twoness’ or even a stranger. It is the worst form of alienation where you see yourself through the eyes of the other. Being poor is hard, but to be despised by the society, the state, and its institutions estranges an individual in everyday life. Becoming a ‘problem’ is a ‘strange experience’ itself, no one needs to reiterate the point that one is a stranger. Such things only amplify the distance and distinction. What does such a position from a senior writer on the Northeast inform us?
Professor Baruah’s article also misses out on certain fundamental issues associated with National Register of Citizens (NRC). The idea of an ‘original inhabitants’ state in NRC is contrary to equal citizenship, as arbitrariness and suspicion loom large around the identification process. The legacy data of 1951 and 1971 was taken as the basis on which the citizenship of the people living in Assam was to be determined. However, there was hardly any question raised about these legacy documents, since they were considered sacrosanct. The legacy documents were no census documents. Rather, they were rough notes books of census enumerators which lack official validity.
NRC is using majoritarianism in the worst possible manner. It misuses law in making minorities stateless. As a form of identification, non-inclusion reduces an individual to a lesser human being. Deportation is perhaps a bilateral issue, while death isn’t. A matter of life and death, fear and pain, should not be an issue of ‘business’ and ‘watching’. His position ignores the reduction of people’s lives to a mere piece of document, the resultant alienation and social pain. His belief placed on public officials to ensure ‘accuracy’, leaves no space to question the process of preparing NRC. An argument such as this is surprising, since, for many students of our generation who became interested in studying the Northeast, his India against Itself taught us to question the state in the Northeast. It presented the rhetoric of state making, mired in violence. However, the rhetoric of suicide and a text on Holocaust is the last thing one should compare, particularly when it lacks sensitivity and love, which was evident the manner in which Professor Baruah ended his article.