Deluge amidst conflict: Hydropower development and displacement in the North-east region of India

I Introduction

Hydropower projects are being projected as the remedy for India’s energy crises and the underdevelopment of its North-east. The Ministry of Development of the North-eastern region has identified this area as the ‘future powerhouse of India’. In 2001, the Central Electricity Authority (CEA) of India, in a preliminary ranking of river basins in India, gave Brahmaputra Basin the highest place of order for its high potential in electricity generation. The CEA also hatched a plan to construct 168 large hydropower projects (Hussain, 2008: 105) and 900 smaller schemes throughout the North-east region (Mahanta, 2010: 132). Many of these are already in the process of construction. These 168 large projects will have a total installation capacity of 63,328 MW. The drive to construct these hydropower projects was primarily pursued by the Central Government of India, until the slow process of liberalization of hydropower policies allowed the sub-national state governments to invite private players into the sphere of dam building. Sikkim was the first of the states to spearhead the process in 2001-02, but the process in effect gathered pace from 2005. Apart from Sikkim, Arunachal Pradesh was another early entrant in this entrepreneurial venture of dam construction (Vagholikar and Das, 2010: 3).

In fact, Arunachal Pradesh is the largest player in hydropower generation among the North-east Indian states. Increasing camaraderie between the Chinese and the Indian state has led to changes in Indian policy towards Tibet vis-à-vis Chinese policy towards Arunachal Pradesh. This has created an amenable environment for hydropower investment in Arunachal Pradesh (Hussain, 2008: 106). Smaller states in these regions such as Meghalaya, Manipur, Mizoram and Nagaland are also active participants in hydropower generation. However, states such as Tripura and Assam are relatively smaller players because of their somewhat disadvantaged topography (Vagholikar and Das, 2010: 3).

To accelerate the process of generating power for the future development of the region, North-eastern states have started rampantly signing and establishing Memoranda of Understandings/Agreements (MoUs/MoAs). The central government has continued to fund and give environmental clearances to these projects (Vagholikar and Das, 2010). These projects are going to severely transform the landscape, riverscape, demography and biodiversity of this area.

The construction of large dams has already emerged as a major issue of conflict in India and throughout the world (Baviskar, 1995; McCully, 1996). The main issue at stake regarding construction of large dams has been the problem of Resettlement and Rehabilitation (R & R) of the displaced population (Dwivedi, 2002; Parasuraman, 1999). The various problems that the dam-displaced faces are well documented (Cernea, 2009: 264). Moreover, these mega developmental projects mainly have affected the already marginalized population of the ‘scheduled tribes’ and ‘scheduled caste’ in India (Meher, 2009). Many of these areas where the projects are being planned are remotely located and inhabited by various tribes, who are dependent on forests, swidden cultivation (Jhum land) and the river ecosystem for their food security and livelihood. This transfer of rights to use common property resources from the tribal and rural communities to the public sector, private industries and the bureaucratic apparatus of the Indian state is already generating considerable discontent in the civil society (Klingensmith, 2007: 13), In these issues of development and ‘progress’, the Indian state has continuously promoted a ‘politics of silence’ (Nandy et al., 2001).

To comprehend the nature of dam and development-related conflicts, it is imperative that we should consider North-eastern India as a ‘region’, despite all the diversities that it entails. Space and geography have great control and influence in shaping the economy, urbanization and cultural patterns of life that emerge out of that. In North-east India, ecology, history, ethnicity, identity, development, geographical remoteness and marginality near the borders, all intertwine to form a distinct terrain, where every kind of developmental discourse takes a distinct regional pattern, when applied to the field. Both presence and absence of development, in its particular forms, takes the colour of identity, culture, religion, ethnic division, issues of control of land, natural resources and conflict in the context of the North-east ‘region’. These narratives and ‘texts’ of national developmental paradigms, discursively construct the North-east as an ‘ethnic cauldron’. Developmental policies, which are supposedly made for ‘integrating and uplifting’ the North-east region, themselves give rise to endless conflicts, in their ‘presences’ and ‘absences’, as these policies are never contextualized. Furthermore, the anxiety of the postcolonial Indian nation to consolidate its territory and to establish its sovereign rights is constantly contested by the multiple identity and ethnicity oriented movements that emerge from this ‘contextual messiness’ (Asthana, 2009: 6). In this article, we will be considering the North-east of India, not only as a geographic ‘region’ but also as a region that is discursively constructed by history, culture and politics. A part of this natural physiographic region now lies beyond the borders of the sovereign Indian state in the Burma country. Hence, a ‘borderland region in flux’ approach will render us a better understanding of the conflicts generated by the development projects, unfolding in these settings.

II Conceiving North-east India as a ‘Region’

There can be some criticism for conceiving North-east India as a ‘region’: first, we are glossing over the internal diversity of North-east India and second, this is some kind of radical imagination and exercise in constructivism, which is regional and provincial in nature. We have certainly exercised a political constructivism here, of the possible formation of an ‘ethno-regional identity’. Such an identity will be based on sharing the bond of cohabitation, in a common ‘regional’ landscape, historical–cultural space and on the common experience of being de-ethicized, displaced and dispossessed by the recent developmental projects. However, this idea is not being proposed to promote a secessionist agenda. Rather it comes from a desire to visualize a vibrant civil society at the regional level, which can politically ‘negotiate’, with the Indian nation state, within the bounds of a constitutionally defined space for activism. The expectation is that these negotiations will bring mutual commensurability between the national intervention and the regional demands as well as put a limit to the ‘excesses’ of the ‘State’ and ‘Development’.

The arguments that we are forwarding are not entirely unfound. North-east India can be conceived of as a ‘region’, which is primarily geographic, but is equally shaped by history, politics and culture. The region extends the political and international borders of Indian nation state, but for the sake of focus and clarity, in this article, we will talk about the Indian side only. The North-east region in India consists of seven states, commonly known as the ‘seven sisters of India’. They are Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, Tripura and the later included eighth state Sikkim. The state of Sikkim was appended to the regional assemblage in the year 2002. The region is distinct for its bio-diversity; hilly upland bound indigenous culture and is largely locked by the Brahmaputra river basin, which contains it as a separate physiographic ‘region’. This region is the denizen for more than one hundred indigenous tribe communities, whose life and livelihood depends upon its traditional natural resources (Haokip, 2011: 109).

This region largely comes under one of the world’s largest drainage basin of the river Brahmaputra that covers an area of 580,000 sq. km. This river system with 33 major tributaries in India and Bhutan and a few in Bangladesh is intricately linked with the floodplain ecology of wetlands (beels) and grasslands in Brahmaputra Valley. This region also comes under a high seismic sensitivity zone, due to conjoining of the Chinese and the Indian tectonic plates. The region has seen devastating earthquakes periodically (Menon and Kohli, 2005).

The second major river basin that covers North-east India is the Barak river system. This river originates in Manipur and covers major portion of the state in the upper course, while the middle course covers the Chachar plains in Assam and lower deltaic course is in Bangladesh. These two river systems of Brahmaputra and Barak largely unite the area in an ecosystem that gives credence to the geographic ‘region’ perspective.

The North-east is also a ‘border region in flux’. It is a ‘contact zone’ (Pratt, 1991) and an ‘ethnoscape’ (Appadurai, 1990) situated in the borderlands of Inner Asia. Its geographical locale at the junction of South, South-east and East Asian has rendered it a perpetual and fleeting migratory population, regularly using this space as an entryway. J.B. Fuller, in his introduction to Major Alan Playfair’s book on the Garos, wrote that ‘The province of Assam at the far north-eastern corner of India is a museum of nationalities.’ It has been the meeting ground of different people who migrated to the region from South-west China or South-east Asia via Burma at various points of history. The different indigenes who stay in the area originally claim to have migrated from different parts of South-east Asia, such as the Kukis of Manipur, Nagaland, Assam and Tripura and the Mizos of Mizoram are believed to have migrated from Southern China, whereas the Garos roved from Southern side of Central Tibet. The Nagas probably came from southern Tibet and Meiteis from the North-western borders of China in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (Haokip, 2011: 110).

These migrants, through the process of ‘ethnogenesis’ intertwined with their ‘historically significant lived landscape’ to form dissimilar identities, cultures and clans; on the basis of which they claimed communitarian ownership of their landscapes and riversscapes. These processes of making claims did not go uncontested amongst the various groups, as common resources and often, the same ‘sacred places/groves’ were claimed by multiple clans and tribes that gave rise to conflicts.

Moreover, the terminology North-east is not simply a geographical one, rather it is a politically loaded terminology. It is North-east of the economic centres of colonial and post-colonial India and holds a marginal position in the Indian political economy and political geography. This place in its present form was created primarily by the colonial policies. The British colonial state kept this region secluded from the valley people, who were Hinduized and Aryanized in their culture. This multi-ethic, multi-cultural region containing valiant groups of indigenous people was sought as an ally by the British Empire. Therefore, they were secluded from the influence of the people of the plains and at the same time their cultures were not tampered with to keep them as living museums, which was a political move. Hence, this area saw a significant spread of Western modern education and proselytization activities by the church during the colonial times. Some preliminary natural resource extraction developmental activities occurred in this region in the colonial times mainly in the Brahmaputra and Surma valleys, such as tea plantations were done in a huge scale and hence railroad tracks were also laid here (Deka, 2010).

Colonial cartography or ‘mapping’ was also one of the mechanisms that were used to spatially fix the ever shifting ‘geo-body’ of the North-east region (Zou and Kumar, 2011). The main reason behind the political administration of the North-east in a particular way was thus to secure the turbulent border region, through ally making with the indigenous people staying there. In this process, the psychological disaffinity that developed between the ‘hill people’ and the ‘plain people’ due to the British policies of segregation or prevention of free intercourse between them, led to ‘ethnicity’ taking precedence over ‘nationalism’ in this region (Zou and Kumar, 2011). These initial British colonial policies of ‘divide and rule’ and the later negligence of the postcolonial Indian state towards this region aggravated the situation further. Additionally, due to the independent nature of these hilly tribes, organized into separate clans under chieftainships, including them in the process of the Indian nation-building has been a difficult and painful exercise for both sides. Autonomy has been a prime concern of the people of these Zomiyan highlands (Guite, 2011; Scott, 2009). This makes the region noted for its socio-economic complexities, associated ethnic conflicts, cessationist movements, struggle for autonomy between various armed groups and increased incidences of violence and terrorism. These colonial policies later formed the basis of all the entho-nationalist movements and conflicts that emerged there of late.

Due to its positionality at the frontier of the colonial British Empire and at the margins of the postcolonial Indian nation, this ever vulnerable, relatively remote and hilly frontier region has been largely neglected in the process of national integration and development, even by the postcolonial developmentalist state in India. The partition in 1947 and the resultant redrawing of borders reinforced the seclusion of the North-east region from the rest of India. Sequestered in the margin and encircled by different international states, this region now acts as a ‘buffer-zone’ to keep the countries of South-east and East Asia at bay (Haokip, 2011: 109).

After Independence, the term North-east was first used in 1972, when the region was reorganized through the division of the erstwhile state of Assam into several small states. The Indian state later was not able to develop a ‘hegemonic project’ to allure these sub-nationalist currents into the mainstream pan-Indian nation-building project and failed to create an all-inclusive national ‘imagined community’ (Anderson, 1983). Instead of being subsumed under the equal space for democratic nationalism, the North-eastern region came into the clasp of centre–periphery syndrome. In the postcolonial Indian political geography, its status perpetually remained as a ‘peripheral region’. On the one hand, this remoteness has protected its distinctiveness and biodiversity from destructive development until now, but on the other hand it has also intensified its economic and political exclusion from the mainland India.

The postcolonial Indian state maintained an ambiguous relationship with this region. To manage the administrative aspects of the North-east, the Indian government has applied sixth-schedule administration and other constitutional provisions, which extend certain degrees of autonomy and self-management (including management of natural resources and forests) there. However, the Sixth schedule (Articles 244 and 275) provisions are for the administrations of tribal areas for certain states such as Assam, Meghalaya, Tripura and Mizoram, and not all the states of North-east India come under this mode of rule. Contradictorily, again to control this ‘conflict ridden’ region, the draconian Armed Forces Special Power Act (AFSPA) in 1958 gave special power to the army to make arbitrary arrests and shooting. Consequently, the Indian state has not been able to create an amenable environment of peace, necessary for any kind of developmental activity in the North-east region.

This region has currently been chosen as the hub for mega developmental projects particularly large hydro power projects, for the export of power and the ‘overall development’ of this area. But ironically this devel­opment has arrived as a homogenizing entity of the capitalist development machine, with complete disregard for the people, ethnicity, culture, history and geography of this region (Ferguson, 1990). Consequently, it has given rise to manifold problems.

However, before engaging with those problems, it would be instructive to mention here that the idea of conceiving North-east as a ‘region’ has certain caveats. Despite the conceived ‘unity’ of North-east as a ‘region’ created by physiography, history and cultural, this understanding has not forged any pan North-east ‘ethno-regional identity’. Due to this, multiple identity and ethnicity oriented mobilizations against these developmental projects have proved to be ‘self-limiting’ in capacity. Forging of internal differences, galvanized together to form a ‘solidarity’ based movement, is yet to emerge; the act of envisioning that will need an ‘etic’ approach to look beyond the ethno-cultural differences. Yet, possibilities are not bleak, as we will discuss few cases towards the end of this article, where mutual collaboration among some social movement groups against large dams has taken place in the local and regional level.

In the following section, we will deal with the discursive problematization of North-east as a ‘resource rich’, ‘underdeveloped’ and ‘conflict ridden’ entity by the postcolonial state and how ‘development’ in the form of hydropower projects is regarded as a ‘solution’ to the problem.

III ‘Discursive Creation’ of the North-east in policy texts

The physiography, culture, history and its representation by the postcolonial India nation together create North-east as ‘regional discursive formation’ (Peets and Watts, 1996), where the Indian nation state has imposed its hegemonic discourses through the idea of national ‘progress’ and ‘national development’, over the mythologized discourses of peripheral and dominated people. In the national imagery and imaginary of visual and textual representation, certain images and narratives of North-east recurrently circulate and create a ‘regional discursive formation’. These narrative and images discursively construct the ‘North-east’ that overwhelms the national-popular imagination.

In the national policies on regional development, the North-east region is represented as a ‘resource rich’ and yet a ‘backward’ region that is riven with political conflicts. To observe the discursivity of these discourses, analyzing a primary government report will be instructive. I focus my attention here on the ‘Report on Development of the North-eastern Region’ prepared by the National Committee of the Development of the Backward Areas prepared in the year 1981, under the aegis of Planning Commission of India. The language that has been deployed to construct an ‘image’ of North-east is remarkable.

The report referring to the seven sub-national states of North-east region of India says, ‘Much of the region is covered under one or the other category of “fundamental backwardness”. Specifically three types of fundamental backwardness are found in the region viz., areas of tribal concentration, hill areas and chronically flood affected areas’ (GoI, 1981: 1). Additionally, it points out to the fact that ‘the problems of development lie not in the lack of natural resources but in unavailability of the large investments required for infrastructure development’ (GoI, 1981: 1–2). By positing the region within the discourse of ‘fundamental backwardness’ (emphasis added), in which one of the factors is of devastation brought about by periodic flood, the report further elaborates: ‘In all these states the potential for surface and ground water irrigation is quite substantial. The development of this potential is vital, if the strategy of avoiding the flood season is to be implemented’ (GoI, 1981: 27).

The report also lays emphasis on the ‘other modes of transport’ which can be created by ‘opportunities of movement by inland waterways’ (GoI, 1981: 97). Finally, it exclusively talks about the ‘immense Hydel power potential’ of the North-east region, clearly stating that it approximately amounts to ‘quarter of the national total’ indicated as 12,500 MW (GoI, 1981: 25). It acceded to the fact that ‘despite potential for future electricity development that electricity may not be properly supplied to each parts of the region because of its difficult geography’. That signifies that from the very beginning the aim was to develop electricity for consumption outside the region (GoI, 1981: 99–100).

The report mentions the availability of excellent natural resources in the region and lays down an argument for extraction of these resources. It says – ‘natural reserves in the region are exceptionally well-endowed and in most items the availability in relation to population is well in excess of what can be found in other parts of the country’ (GoI, 1981: 21). The subtle irony is that this ‘excessiveness’ or ‘surplus-ness’ of the resource of the region is decided by the paternalistic state, on behalf of the people of that region. Not surprisingly, the region failed to ‘develop’ even with this ‘excess’ of resource for the last 30 years, since the report was first written. This is probably the greatest fallacy of the top–down centralized planning.

Another report that was commissioned by the World Bank (Rao, 2006), dealing with hydropower projects in North-east India, is also riven with the liberal deployment of utilitarian lexicons, woven with the bipartisan logic of the ‘Nation’ and ‘Capital’. This policy text is couched in the language of ‘harnessing the potential’ of the ‘unexploited’ ‘natural resources’ available in the North-east (Rao, 2006: 1). It talks about an ‘optimal realization of this potential’ (Rao, 2006: 1) and state control of river water. That will help in ‘irrigation’ and ‘flood control’, which thus becomes a trope that the state extend on the one hand and appropriate the autonomy and common property rights of the indigenous people on the other hand. The ‘untapped hydropower potential’ of this flowing water is then used for generating electricity which is ‘fundamental to industrialization’ and for ‘improving the quality of life’. It also supposedly propels ‘growth’ and ‘improve the wellbeing of the people of the region’. Again, often the logic of supposed ‘importance and urgency of the construction of these projects’ due to ‘increasing energy demands’ (Rao, 2006: 6–15) are used to bypass any proper Environmental and Social Impact Assessment (E & SIA) of these projects.

Interestingly, many of the NGOs also use similar language and models, albeit in a more polished techno-managerial parlance, such as the Strength, Weakness, Opportunity, Threat Analysis (SWOT Analysis) to explain the problem of the North-east in a most ahistorical manner. ¹ This discursive construction of the North-east, created by the national policy texts can actually be appropriated and embraced to constructively frame a counter-discourse of ‘ethno-regional identity’.

In the following section, we will present a general overview of problems created by hydropower projects in North-east India and along with that demonstrate how similar kinds of conflicts emerge due to these projects, reflecting a regional pattern. We will also discuss its implication for the development of a ‘regional identity’.

IV Dams in North-east India

Arunachal Pradesh has been the biggest power player in this region with about 132 hydropower projects with a 40,140.5 MW, which has been allotted by the state government, as of October 2010 data (Vagholikar and Das, 2010: 3). It is the abode of numerous indigenous communities with their own distinct culture and traditional practices. Since 2006, the Government of Arunachal Pradesh has signed Memorandums of Understandings (MoUs) for 103 large projects to be constructed on the Kameng, Subansiri, Siang, Dibang, and Lohit Rivers and their tributaries, which are expected to generate 30,000 MW of energy. This is more than twice of India’s total hydroelectric generation capacity (Baviskar, 2009). There has been hardly any Environmental or Social Impact Assessment (E & SIA) carried out for these projects.

The North-east as a region, particularly Arunachal Pradesh, is not entirely unaccustomed to dam-related conflicts. The Karnaphuli Hydropower Scheme better known as Kaptai Dam was constructed in Chittagong Hill Tract (CHT) in the Kaptai part of East Pakistan in 1957. According to the official estimate, it submerged 54,000 acres of arable land and 18,000 families under the East-Pakistan military regime (presently in Bangladesh). It deluged the homelands traditionally inhabited by the Chakma and the Hajong indigenous community groups. It had a spillover effect in India, as parts of these groups were compelled to cross the international border as refugees to the North-eastern region of India (Chakraborti, 2003: 44). It created problems particularly in Arunachal Pradesh where this unwanted influx of refugees has caused serious conflicts between them and the local host communities. In the next three decades, this refugee population grew to more than 65,000. The Chakmas are one of the 14 major tribes in CHT, collectively known as the Jumma people. Now, after they have migrated to the Indian lands, they mostly use their traditional skills to make bamboo handicrafts and grow vegetables for their living. With their population growing ever higher in number, at present, these refugees still survive in India as ‘stateless people’, waiting for the elusive Indian citizenship (Hussain, 2008: 131; Mahanta, 2010: 138). Rather than a bridging of various identities based on the similarity of shared experience of being evicted by development project, the influx of indigenous refugees created a divisive field of civil society. Where in need of protection and welfare from the state the refugees remain stranded with their ‘bare life’ (Agamben, 1998) exposed to various monstrosities of the host society and the sovereign states.

And yet, to avoid blame the state claimed to create some basic infrastructure in the project affected areas. But quality of these infrastructures and the intention of the state behind providing them both remain questionable. For example the Ranagadi Hydro Electric Project (RHEP) stage I that was commissioned in 2002 in Arunachal Pradesh involved the transfer of water from Ranagadi, which is a tributary of Subansiri, into Dikrong that merges with Brahmaputra. This project eventually failed as it was not able to produce the promised power generation capacity of 172.4 MW. It displaced around 30 families who were rehabilitated 25–30 km away from their original settlement site. A school, which has no teacher, was constructed as a part of the resettlement plan and the houses that were constructed were made of poor quality materials. The scheme of free-electricity that was promised by the government never materialized. Some of the families already left the resettlement sites in search of better prospects. The downstream of the dam is also badly affected by the project due to the complete diversion of water during the winter, creating problems for agricultural water. In the summer, the unregulated release of water causes flooding in the downstream and has already caused the decimation of cattle. The private corporation that manages this dam has not taken the responsibility for these problems and has shown a cavalier attitude to the loss of human and animal life.

Conflict here takes the colour of ethnicity, cultural identity and cultural rights questioning the very basis of unitary cultural representation of nation-hood in India, which excluded many at the cost of including few. Tana Pinji, president of Lichi Cher Ranagadi Area Project Committee (LCRAPC), which looks after the problems faced by the affected downstream population, says ‘the circular issued by government violates the basic rights of people. We are dependent on the river for everything, but they tell us to stay away from it. This is unjustified and insulting’ (Dutta, 2008: 36–37).

The question of identity, ownership of resources traditionally used by the indigenous population and claim on property entitlements are intricately related. Through these development projects, as the contact of these indigenous communities with the outsiders’ increases, the claim to community resources through ‘identity’ construction becomes sharper. For example, the Dibang Multipurpose Project (DMP) that is being constructed in Pather Camp in Arunachal Pradesh is going to submerge over 5,000 hectares of forest land. Besides this, the National Hydro-Power Corporation (NHPC) will need to acquire another patch of community forest land for the compensatory afforestation, which will lead to another cycle of ‘displacement and resource alienation’. Since the classification of land is not very clear in Arunachal, communities enjoy not only sylvan, but also riparian usufruct rights. The 17 projects that have been planned as a part of the DMP will result in further restricted access to community resources and land. Additionally, the influx of about 12,000 to 100,000 labourers to build these 17 projects may increase pressure on available resources and result into their conflicts with the local Indu Mishmi population, who are about 12,000 in number only (Dutta, 2008).

The state of Assam also reflects similar regional patterns of hydropower-related conflicts. Here, the Paglidiya Dam on river Brahmaputra, according to the official estimate, will displace around 18,743 people. The Pagladiya project has seen huge resistance against it by an organized group named Jivan Aru Jivikar Nirapatta (the security of life and livelihood) (Bharali, 2009: 135). According to recent and unofficial estimates, it is going to displace over 50,000 people and 5,000 families in 38 villages. The submergence area falls in the proposed indigenous Bodo area, the Bodo Territorial Council (BTC). Ninety per cent of the people being affected by the submergence belong to the Bodo tribe. This proposed project is supposed to protect 40,000 hectares of land from flooding and erosion covering an area of five revenue circles, consisting of 190 villages. Additionally, it is supposed to irrigate 54,160 hectares of land in 145 villages of the Nalbari district.

It is going to submerge a number of public institutions such as 5 high schools, 13 middle English schools and 40 lower primary schools, 50 libraries, 90 temples, 5 public markets, 1 sericulture farm and many civic institutions like a health centre, village common properties and namghar (indigenous prayer houses). But the Brahamaputra board in its R & R package has proposed to reconstruct just three medium schools and primary schools. This severe reduction of civic amenities will result in a variety of deprivations. To aggravate the problem, the 1,100 hectare of land marked by the state government for the rehabilitation site is already occupied by other people. The beneficiaries of this project are mostly non-tribal populations living on the southern bank of Pagladia. The negative stakeholders are mostly Bodo and other tribes such as Hmars. The state fails here to protect tribal culture and their inalienable generational rights over cultivated land, forest and common property resources (CPRs). Ironically, these tribes who stay on their own land are continued to be labelled as ‘encroachers’ by the government. There is a strong possibility that a conflict may emerge between the tribal and non-tribal ethnic groups (who are the beneficiaries of southern banks of the river) in this area. This is directly being induced by hydropower projects.

Due to sustained resistance against this project, the Brahmaputra Board (tasked with the construction of this project) has failed to carry out ground survey work in this area. The discontent among the people however did not affect the policy stance of the state. Conversely, the state has fortified its stand with compulsion and disinformation. The Brahmaputra Board has supported two Non-governmental Organizations (NGOs) – the All Assam’s Council for People’s Action and Manab Sewa Sangha, who are working on behalf of the state, to smoothen the process of the construction of this project (Dutta, 2003: 5152).

Another Dam in Assam, the Subansiri is permanently displacing tribes who use myriad of extinct language and dialects like the Mishing, Miri, Deuri, Bodo, Sonowal, Kochari and Galong causing them to be exposed to a range of ‘risks’ of livelihood, health and life (Mahanta, 2010: 138). The most strident protests directed against big dams in the North-east region have been on the issue of surging effects of these dams on the downstream populations. Until now there has been no positive strategy to deal with this issue. Social activists and anti-dam groups from the North Lakhimpur and Dhemaji districts of Assam are already raising concerns with regard to the impact of large dams on downstream populations. But interestingly we do not see much cooperation among these people who inhabit variously within the sphere of their ‘locational dialectal identities’ (Suan, 2011).

The case of the state of Tripura is complex and unique. In Tripura, the indigenous populations have cohabited steadily with a Bengali population, most of whom came with the erstwhile East Bengal (now Bangladesh) region refugee influx, which happened initially during the independence war of Bangladesh but has also continued afterwards persistently (Vagholikar and Das, 2010: 1). One of the pressing problems in Tripura is the land alienation among the tribals, mostly appropriated by these outsiders that are the Bengali refugees, under the state patronage. This sense of loss and marginalization have given rise to ethnic militancy in this state since 1967 among the Reang tribesmen as a direct retaliation, when under the ruling Congress party patronage a group of Bengali settlers forcefully took away lands. There has been a steady alienation of tribal land since 1970s, when 40 percent to 60 percent of tribal lands were alienated that resulted into the acceleration of tribal insurgency during this period (Bhaumick, 2003: 84). This process was aggravated by the construction of the Dumbur Hydroelectric Project along the river Gumti in the tribal heartland that submerged huge tracts of arable lands and displaced 2,558 tribal families. Many of these families were the official owners of land and were in possession of land deeds. Unofficially, the project displaced about 8,000 to 10,000 tribal families, which constitute a population of around 60,000 to 70,000 tribe people. Most of the displaced did not get any compensation and were compelled to re-settle in the uphill areas. The dam has intensified tribal and Bengali people conflict and radicalized both the groups further.

The matter, however, did not end there; the spectre of the Dumbur dam has re-emerged in a form that illuminates a new kind of problem and brings to light a novel conflict situation associated with large dams. In the year 2007, there was a sharp drop in water level in the dam due to increased siltation and some portions of once submerged land again emerged from the reservoir. Many tribes flocked around the pace to reclaim that land as their lost land. The Marxist party that was in control of the state at the time did not allow anybody to settle in that land (Hussain, 2008: 31). Decommissioning this dam will result in the reclamation of 45 sq. km of the submerged land in the catchment area and a total of 30,000 tribal families can be resettled there.

Such a step, if successfully organized, is likely to bring about an ethic of reconciliation between the state, Bengali refugees and the tribal insurgent groups. Needless to say, this could have been a huge step towards curbing tribal militancy in this area peacefully. However, to make the issue more complex: the tribal militant groups support the idea of decommissioning the dam, whereas the militant groups that support Bengali refugees are trying to protect the interest of the Bengali fishermen, whose livelihood is dependent on fishing in the Dumbur reservoir (Bhaumick, 2003: 86). Not only did any ethical or political ground of reconciliation emerge here, rather the texture of the civil society itself got fragmented into many interests and identities. And these identities appeared along the ‘tribal/non-tribal’, ‘outsider’/‘insider’ dichotomies. The state being an equal partisan to this conflict thawed the alliance formation among various groups in the civil society, by supporting one against the other.

Similarly, the state of Sikkim saw alarming protest against large dams in the years 1993–97. This dissent was lodged against the Rathongchu Hydroelectric project that was planned in Yoksun, a proclaimed biodiversity hotspot of WWF. The idiom of protest against this dam took a strong religio-cultural and ethnic hue when the Lepchas, Bhutias and Buddhist monks took active participation in stalling this project, arguing that the commissioning of this project would defile the sacred landscape of Sikkim. They threatened to burn the ‘gnas bsol’, that is, the sacred text of the Sikkimise Buddhists unless the project was suspended. The case created an ethnic and social rift in Sikimmise society and activists fought against the state in the High Court and the Supreme Court. The project was ultimately scrapped in 1997 and it was finally shelved in 2002. The project was halted on grounds of unpleasant ethnic enmeshments, rising conflicts, issues of saving the sacred landscape of Yokshun and respecting Buddhist religious sentiment. It was a cogent decision by which an intense ethno-political face-off was avoided (Arora, 2006: 4068).

However, the spectre of large hydroelectric projects re-emerged in Sikkim in the year 2007, when in the month of June, Lepcha youth and anti-dam activists organized an indefinite non-violent Satyagraha (truth seekers movement)by deploying a typical Gandhian repertoire demanding the closure of Panam hydroelectric project in Dzongu, the Lepcha reserve. Their other demand to the state government was to review many of the 24 hydropower projects that were planned on Teesta River, in Sikkim and in North Bengal. The Affected Citizens of Teesta (ACT), an NGO formed in 2005 in northern Sikkim, lent their voice to this movement. The project was going to affect various communities such as the Lepchas, the Bhutias, particularly the Lachengpa and the Lachungpa living in Lacheng and Lachung valley regions of Sikkim, respectively, as well as the Nepali community. The Lachen families took united decisions in their traditional village council (Dzumsa) to wholeheartedly oppose this project. This time also the idioms of protest were expressed in a strong cultural language. For the Lepchas, the building of the hydropower project and the loss of their sacred reserve (Dzongu) amounted to ethnocide. This region, also known as the celestial paradise (Mayellyang) in Lepcha cosmology, is sacrosanct to the community (Arora, 2007: 3451–52). The limitation of these protests, again as we can discern, its parsed nature. Lepcha and the Bhutias did indeed come together to form identity oriented movement based on shared landscape and experience. However, the collaboration did not last for very long.

There is a similar imbroglio in the state of Meghalaya mirroring the regional hydro-developmental pattern. The state has taken steps to develop hydro and thermal power for its overall drive towards industrialization. The Myndtu–Leshka dam has been proposed in the Jaintia Hill district, which is submerging the home of mainly the Jaintia hill tribes. This proposed dam has been a major cause of simmering conflict in Meghalaya. The land here is owned by joint ownership (Myriam or Khyrim) system, and also there is some private ownership in land. The submergence is creating increasing pressure through encroachment on the surrounding forest lands (Kharbuli et al., 2003: 87–89). Unfortunately, here also there has been no effort to bridge the ‘narcissism of minor differences’ (Suan, 2011) among the Jaintia Hill tribes to form a larger solidarity based movement.

Nevertheless the situation is not entirely bleak. There is indeed a possibility of emergence of local level and regional level cooperation between different identities and ethnicities. In the next cases, we will see examples of such collaborations, though it is in an initial state.

The Tipaimukh Dam in Manipur is located on the Ahu tributary of Barak River. This dam is primarily being constructed for the purpose of flood prevention in the Chachar plains in Assam. It is submerging 275.5 sq. km of land in the state of Manipur in India. The Hmars (Kuki–Chin group) of Churachandpur district and the Zeliangrong Nagas of Tamenglong district will be particularly affected by this dam. The people of 67 villages will be deprived of their livelihood, which is primarily agriculture and horticulture. About 15,000 people will be direct victims of the dam, and the Hmar and Zeliangrong people will lose their ancestral rights to land and natural resources which is the backbone of their tribal economies (Ranjan, 2003: 76–79).

The Naga women’s union Manipur conveys that ‘tribal people have ancestral and emotional bond[s] to their land, and mother-earth constitute[s] their cultural and psychological frame of mind and [these] cannot be compromised or negotiated’ (Pamei, 2001: 1054). This submergence will bring about the purging of Ahu cascades and most importantly the disappearance of five important lakes, where the magical sword of Jadonang, the Naga national hero, is believed to be hidden. In this issued statement, it is clearly discernible that when developmental paradigms are juxtaposed against ethnicity, history and mythic discourse, it ultimately gives rise to an ‘Avatar-isque’ moment (relating to the movie Avatar) (Islam, 2010) of rupture and incommensurability between the dominant, homogenizing and hegemonizing discourse of the postcolonial Indian nation state and the ‘recessive discourses’ that persist as marginal history and mythic narratives. Interestingly, in this case the Hmars and the Zeliangrong Nagas have come together to jointly submit a memo to the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO), thereby giving rise to the first historical moment for developing an ethic of reconciliation between two different ethnic identities. Thus, it can be considered as a giant leap towards the formation of a ‘regional identity’. ²

The Mizos have also protested against the Tipaimukh Dam in Manipur, which affects some of the parts of Mizoram since 2004 and argued that the Indian government has violated the Article 46 of the Indian constitution, which seeks to ‘protect (the weaker section of people) from social injustice and all forms of exploitation’, particularly the rights of Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes have been grossly neglected in this case (Thangliana, 7 December 2004). This constitutional mode of articulation of demands demonstrates the fact that some groups in the apparently ‘conflict ridden’ North-east region still believe in the constitutional pre-eminence of the Indian nation state and are ready to ‘balance’ and ‘negotiate’ without getting co-opted.

In the case of the Turial Hydro Power project in Mizoram, more than 400 families have lost their land and means of livelihood as reported by the All India Tribal Rehabilitation Association (AITRA). The project will bring about a deluge in a 350-km peripheral stretch of land. There should be an organizational counterpart like AITRA in North-east at the regional level, to bolster the formation of a vibrant civil society based on ‘ethno-regional identity’. A positive intervention from ‘outside’ organizations, which can reinforce regional and local indigenous rights, will be important to see through the ‘narcissism of minor differences’ by adapting an ‘etic’ view.

Recently an organization called the ‘North East People’s Alliance’ (NEPA) has been established in the year 1999, which is an assembly of movement organization and NGO that works on issues of displacement, dispossession and land alienation among the indigenous people of North-east (NEPA, 2012). Though it seems fairly promising, the role of such an organization in the formation of a ‘regional identity’, through the politicization of these ethnic socio-environmental mobilizations, has to be observed in the long run (Nandy et al., 2001).

V Conclusion

In this article, we have convincingly argued, with several examples from each of the states that North-east India despite its diversity can be conceived of as a ‘region’, when deployment of developmental projects particularly hydropower is concerned; because the developmental projects such as hydropower give rise to a regional pattern of conflict that invariably orients the mobilizations to issues around culture, identity and indigenous rights. In continuation to that, we have also discussed the way the ‘North-east’ is imagined, problematized and represented in various governmental and non-governmental policy texts. Developmental projects such as hydropower projects are promoted as a panacea to the ills of North-east society.

To illustrate the intricacy of these processes, in the second part of this article, we have provided a general picture of various kinds of cultural and identity orientated conflicts that hydropower projects produce. However, we also marked the limitation of our project, as envisioning North-east as a region has not simultaneously given rise to the formation of a politically conscious ‘ethno-regional identity’. It is the crisis of alternative political and cultural imagination that has stopped the process of a ‘creative appropriation’ of the nationalist discourse on ‘North-east’, to frame a counter hegemonic discourse. However, we concluded with a positive note that the situation is not entirely bleak, as the recent developments of forging identity beyond the local level renders hope that in the near future a regional level identity might be conceived.

The postcolonial state with its ‘develop-mentality’ has pursued de-contextualized and de-historicized developmental projects in North-east. On the one hand, the state along with its techno-bureaucratic apparatus has tried to operate atop the level of particularistic interests of the civil society (Dutta, 2003: 5153). On the one hand, the resistant movements have challenged the ‘proclaimed rationality of national development’ of the postcolonial state. But this challenge is still too feeble and fragmented. Through the formation of a regional civil society, by forging an alliance between several popular ethnic demands, against the large dams and various other development projects, a limitation can be put to the excesses of the state and its notion of development.