Caste,military,migration: Nepali Gurkha communities in Britain

Introduction

In April 2009, the British Parliament voted to grant residency to Gurkha veterans who had served a minimum of four years in the British Army. This landmark reform of a longstanding policy of keeping Gurkha soldiers off British shores following their retirement from their 15-year careers in the army, opened the doors for all retired Gurkhas to settle in the UK (Ware, 2012). In fact, post-1997 retirees had already been permitted UK residency in September 2004. Gordon Brown’s Labour government implemented the changes according to a Parliamentary vote in May 2009, leading to the mass migration of ex-servicemen and their dependants. There are no data on the volumes of migration; Gurkha associations estimated that, as of September 2019, more than 90% of the veteran community – approximately 100,000 individuals – has made the UK, particularly southern England, their new home. The garrison towns familiar to Gurkhas, such as Aldershot and Farnborough in Hampshire, Ashford and Folkestone in Kent have become major Gurkha settlements.

This historic change in Gurkha immigration policy which paved the way for Gurkha mass migration was triggered by the Gurkha Justice Campaign led by actor (and daughter of an army major) Joanna Lumley, who effectively campaigned and lobbied politicians on behalf of the older Gurkhas wanting to settle in the UK (Carroll, 2012). After the success of her campaign, the UK media showered encomiums on Lumley. I was, however, struck by the exclusion of Gurkha voices in the media, even though they had fought for their settlement and other rights for much longer (Pariyar, 2016). This omission reflects the representation of the Gurkhas in the literature. Hundreds of books have been written, and many documentaries made, about these legendary soldiers – mostly authored by retired British officers who had commanded the men – which highlight Gurkha soldiers’ extraordinary fighting skills and express deep admiration for their unflinching loyalty. However, these writings are laced with the authors’ racist and patronising undertones (Bellamy, 2011; Caplan, 1995). And, the men’s own voice is rarely heard.

The larger study on which this article is based (Pariyar, 2016) foregrounds the experiences of Gurkhas, either veterans who have settled in the UK or currently serving soldiers. In doing so, it represents a novel attempt to move beyond what the subtitle of the anthropologist Lionel Caplan’s (1995) book calls the ‘Western imagination’ of the Gurkhas. Here, I will specifically focus on the reproduction of caste communities and identities in the diaspora, drawing on fieldwork carried out in Aldershot from 2012 to the present. This is an ethnographic study involving participant observation and open-ended, semi-structured interviews. As Koonings et al. (2019) demonstrate, ethnography can be a ‘risky business’ while studying violent places and sensitive subjects. Nonetheless, a long-term, immersive study is probably best suited to flesh out the realities of sensitive topics like caste. Between 2012 and 2013, I spent seven months in the town of Aldershot, the biggest Nepali settlement in Britain, for my doctoral study. Furthermore, since November 2018, I have returned to the Gurkha communities in England, including the rural garrison town of Tidworth, South-west England. Born and brought up in a Gurkha village in western Nepal, and having lived among Gurkhas in England for several years, I have long known most of my research participants. These advantages notwithstanding, some Gurkhas tended to exclude me for at least two reasons. First, I was not a military man. Second, most important, I belonged to a so-called low-caste, or Dalit, family. I was therefore excluded and, often subtly, discriminated against, as they did to other Dalits. Thus, as a researcher, the distinction between the insider and outsider was rather complicated in my case (Crossley et al., 2016).

My ethnographic and historical analysis is informed by the British sociologist Vron Ware’s (2012) paradigm of military migration. Documenting the experiences of Commonwealth soldiers and Gurkhas serving in the British Army from 2008 to 2011, Ware (2012) draws attention to the stark contradictions inherent in recruiting migrants to perform a highly symbolic type of work – dying and killing for the country – normally associated with patriotism and allegiance to a national flag. The concept highlights the uneven ways in which the colonial past is instrumentalised to provide the rationale for British recruitment practices in the present. In turn, this gives rise to the phenomenon of militarised multiculture, a concept that is able ‘to sharpen the relationship between civil and military, revealing connections between domestic racism, cultural plurality, migration, social cohesion, national identity and foreign policy’ (Ware, 2012: 263).

The studies of caste as a central problematic are rare among South Asian diasporas, particularly in Western countries. There was a greater interest in the subject during the 1950s and 1960s, wherein most scholars looked at caste among indentured Indian coolies and their descendants in former British plantation colonies such as Trinidad, Guyana, Mauritius, Fiji and South Africa (Jayawardena, 1971; Schwartz, 1967). And the common understanding among these scholars has been that caste, by and large, lost its steam after travelling across the ‘black waters’ (sea voyages considered polluting to Hindus) – and while labouring under the harsh conditions of the colonial plantations. The same theme continues to be reflected in the analysis of Hindu communities more widely (Singh, 2014).

An enduring caste debate in Britain among Indian communities has dismantled the popular assumption that caste cannot thrive in the secular environment of Western countries. Fed up with the ubiquitous problem of caste discrimination, overseas Indian Dalit activists have publicly spoken out about the hidden issues and have demanded legislation to redress them. Some academic and policy studies have validated Dalit claims: Dalits have been harassed and bullied, including in schools, colleges, doctors’ surgeries, service delivery centres, temples and gurdwaras (Dhanda et al., 2014; Metcalf and Rolfe, 2010; Waughray and Dhanda, 2016). However, high-caste Hindu community leaders have vehemently opposed caste law, maintaining that caste has never been an issue in the diaspora (BBC, 2017). Indian scholar Shah (2015) wrote a polemical book attacking the Dalit call for caste law and blaming Christian missionaries and the politics of the Left for allegedly trying to demoralise Indian and/or Hindu religion and culture. Thus far, the Government has not introduced legislative measures to protect the rights of overseas Dalits. Interestingly, neither Indian Dalit activists nor researchers have considered the situation of caste among other South Asian communities, including Nepalis. This study will thus add to the knowledge on caste in the diaspora and, hopefully, help expand the debate.

The caste system and militarised castes

Caste is a complex subject. Half a century ago, prominent scholar of caste, Beteille (1969: 45) warned that ‘it has been used to mean different things by different people in a variety of situations’. For low castes, or Dalits, it is a very unjust and oppressive system. In both India and Nepal, millions of them have been denied basic human rights; they suffer structural domination and daily humiliation and harassment – including psychological and physical violence (e.g. Cameron, 1998; Folmar, 2013; Jaffrelot, 2010; Jodhka, 2015; Pariyar and Lovett, 2016). But, in the eyes of the apex castes, caste is obviously a source of their in-born power and prestige (see Bennett, 1983 for high-caste Nepali communities). These privileged castes are likely to see caste as an essential system for maintaining social order through traditionally prescribed codes of conduct, for regulating important institutions like marriage and family – as well as for fulfilling vital economic needs of society through the traditional divisions of labour.

Scholars have long debated the question of why the system of caste has persisted in South Asia to this day. Earlier Western scholars, many of whom served as census officials for the East India Company, saw caste as a horizontal structure of Indian society. But, from the mid-twentieth century, village studies became more popular, wherein the everyday function of caste was closely observed – and now caste appeared to be much more of a vertical system. Foremost scholar in this line of thinking was the French anthropologist Dumont, who comprehensively analysed caste in Hindu India – Homo Hierarchicus (1980) – through the structural functionalist approach. Dumont (1980) argued that caste hierarchy retained its saliency in modern India due to, in the main, religious ideology. The notion of ritual purity and pollution is, according to the Dumontian understanding, the backbone of the caste system.

The practice of caste is not exclusive to Hindus, of course, but its fundamental concepts have been outlined in the Hindu scriptures. Ancient Vedas divide the Hindu world into four broad categories – known as the varnas – with the Brahman (priests) at the top and the Kshatriya (warriors) in the second rank. The Vaishya (business people) come below them followed by the lowest ranks, the Shudra (slaves and servants). In time, the varnas evolved into thousands of castes and sub-castes (jat or jati). The subsequent texts such as Dharmasashtras, particularly Manusmriti, developed intricate rules governing the caste system, which reduced the Shudra to slavery. Dumont (1980) argued that, despite its inherent inequality and injustice, Hindus of all ranks consent to caste as an article of faith. His paradigm was appreciated and criticised; Marxist scholars particularly emphasised material conditions over religious ideology (e.g. Gough, 1989; Mencher, 1974).

Particularly relevant to my thesis here are the studies that have shone a light into the role of British colonialism in reinforcing and consolidating the caste system. Cohn (1996) shows, for example, how the British Empire discovered, collected and analysed information about Indian society, including the institution of caste, as a means of asserting its cultural hegemony and political control in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The anthropological historian Dirks (2001) further developed this idea by demonstrating the many ways in which colonial knowledge and categorisation – census data, archives and ethnographies – were used for strategic purposes. As a consequence of this long policy, Dirks argues that caste emerged as a principal marker of identity and community in modern India. Colonial army and police utilised ethnographic knowledge to label the castes as ‘martial’ or ‘criminal’, a pseudo-scientific categorisation aimed at military recruitment and organisation (Rand and Wagner, 2012: 35). Nepal was never colonised. And yet – I would argue – the British have strengthened its caste system remotely, through, in the main, their policies and the practices of the Gurkha Army.

Caste-ified Gurkha regiments

Gurkha service has been highly caste-selective, right from the start of the recruitment in 1815. Except during the two Great Wars, when caste rules were relaxed to draw large numbers of fighters (Caplan, 1970: 114), only a handful of castes from specific regions of Nepali highlands have been selected. Until the mid-1990s, the Brigade of Gurkhas comprised four caste-specific infantry regiments: the second Gurkha Rifles (2 GR), 6 GR, 7 GR and 10 GR, respectively, recruited the Magar, Gurung, Rai and Limbu (Gellner, 2013). The Gurung and Magar originated in the mid-western hills whereas the Rai and Limbu hailed from the eastern highlands – and some from the adjoining Darjeeling area of West Bengal, India. Thus, for the Gurkha Army, caste has been more important than even nationality. In this section, I consider the following two important issues: (1) Why did the British favour just these four castes from over approximately 125 castes and/or ethnic groups of Nepal (Yadav, 2017: 37) and (2) How has caste been institutionalised in the army?

There are no official documents explaining the choice of castes for Gurkha regiments, but this can be discerned from the theory of martial race used to raise and maintain the colonial Indian Army. This is relevant because the Gurkhas were part of the Indian troops until the 1947 Indian Independence, and more or less the same principles have governed the British Gurkhas since (Caplan, 1995). The historian Streets (2004) and others have demonstrated that the British counted only select groups among the colonised peoples as capable of bearing arms. This was defined in biological and scientific terms: such as race (the Aryans or close to them), climate (inhabitants of cooler climates on higher altitudes) and personal traits (skin colour, colour of the eye, height, etc.). Equally important was the history of warfare. Overall, martial races were ‘those who most closely resembled what the British thought themselves to be’ (Metcalf, 1995: 127).

In what Dirks (2001) calls ‘the ethnographic state’ of India, caste was a key consideration for military recruitment. Until the mid-nineteenth century, high-caste Brahmins and Rajputs from Bihar and Oudh formed the bulk of the colonial troops (Rand and Wagner, 2012). These groups lost favour, however, after the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857. In the aftermath, the colonial authorities concluded that the violence, as well as many other troubles before it, was caused by the upper castes’ ‘superstitious beliefs and caste rules conflicting with the rules and laws enforced by the company’ (Basham, 2008: 10). So, post-1857, high castes were purged from the Bengal and other arms of the Indian Army. Their places were taken by Sikhs and Gurkhas, whose regiments were expanded. They had proved their loyalty to the British by refraining from participating in the Mutiny and helping the British brutally crush the mutineers.

Not enough attention has been paid to the fact that the same sensitivities of caste reshaped Gurkha Regiments after the Mutiny. The Gurung and Magar were deemed suitable because they belonged to the middle ranks and were therefore perceived as less strict on caste rules (Vansittart, 1896: 63). As the Gurkha forces increased further, from the 1890s, similarly, middle-ranking Rais and Limbus were introduced into the Gurkha troops (Gould, 1999: 127). They, too, were seen as less rigid on Hindu caste customs; they took pork like the Magar, for example (which would seriously defile a high caste). High-caste Chhetri and Thakuri were recruited in small numbers, but their 9 GR was handed over to India during the sharing of Gurkha forces in 1947.

Particularly, since the mid-20th century, the recruiters followed stringent guidelines to retain the caste and cultural homogeneity of the Gurkha regiments. Unlike Commonwealth soldiers, Gurkha soldiers have been recruited in Nepal. The first phase of selection, known as ‘hill selection’, was carried out in targeted villages in the Himalayan foothills (Gould, 1999). Native recruiters called galla wallas scanned Gurkha heartlands in the hills to pick potential candidates. According to some retired recruiters, they were under strict instructions to select the fittest and most agile boys in their late teens – albeit only from the favoured castes. Village recruiters used their local knowledge of the villagers, candidates’ citizenship certificates, their familial links to the army, etc. to determine the caste identities of the recruits. Likewise, British and native recruiting officers in the recruiting depots in the towns of Pokhara and Dharan vetted the social backgrounds of the new recruits.

Despite this strong policy of avoiding unwanted castes, some men from the ethnically and linguistically similar groups – such as the Tamang, Sherpa, Sunuwar, Thangmi and Thakali – tried to gain access to the Brigade of Gurkhas. There are many stories of some of the smartest boys being rejected in the final stages of selection after their true caste identities were discovered. A high-caste Chhetri ex-serviceman living in Aldershot recalled his final selection interview with a British ARO (Area Recruiting Officer) in Pokhara in the late 1980s as follows:

The white officer stared at my face and asked what caste my surname indicated. When I told him that I was a Chhetri, he shook his head in disapproval and stated that the Chhetris were cowards. I assured him that I was not a coward as I was born in a Rai-dominated village and had grown up bullying Rai boys. Finally, he accepted me.

Reinforcing caste hierarchy in the regiment

Their hatred of the high castes notwithstanding, surprisingly, the British have long reinforced caste hierarchy through Gurkha traditions. Until recently, the soldiers were required to register as Hindus (with little regard to the fact that many men followed syncretic practices including Hinduism, Buddhism, Shamanism, Kirantism, etc.), and they were instructed to follow Brahmanic Hinduism in the camps. To date, every regiment has a Hindu temple supervised by high-caste Bahun priests; these chaplains obviously control the ritual sphere of the Gurkha Army. The traditional rituals and priests of respective castes – such as the phedangma of the Limbu and ghyabri of the Gurung – are still unavailable in the Gurkha Army. The soldiers have been ordered to show reverence to the high-caste chaplains and receive their blessings and listen to their chanting of Vedic mantras that no Gurkha understood. Religious conversion was not tolerated: I have met some ex-servicemen who lost their jobs because they turned to Christianity.

Moreover, the Brigade of Gurkhas has secretly preserved supposed ritual pollution associated with the lower castes (Pariyar, 2018). Many Dalit interviewees shared their terrible experiences of isolation and frustration of harassment and bullying at the hands of the soldiers and officers from the predominant, ‘clean’ castes. Until recently, every regiment recruited a section (15–20 men) of Dalit men in support roles to perform their hereditary – but socially segregated – roles: Damai tailors (making Gurkha hats, fitting the uniforms, etc.), Kami blacksmiths (repairing and maintaining guns) and Sarki shoemakers. Until the 1980s, many regiments officially segregated Dalits in the camps: they worked in their separate workshops well away from infantry and other support units. The Dalits were forbidden to enter into the mess kitchen, to dine with other soldiers and to touch others’ food and water. Also, Bahun chaplain did not let Dalits into the temple, nor did he perform the lifecycle rituals of Dalit children. Verbal abuse and derogatory language were commonplace; they were physically attacked by their native officers for committing the slightest mistakes.

Thus, the policies and practices of the Gurkha regiments – which may well have been originally pushed by the high-caste Nepali state – have greatly reinforced the ritual superiority of the Bahun and emphasised ritual pollution associated with the lower castes. Many ethnically conscious Gurkha interviewees shared their deep frustrations and anger at being forced to follow Brahmanic Hinduism and respect the high castes in the army. And Dalits are still angry at the way they have been segregated and humiliated and harassed by Nepali men. Today, Gurkha officers emphasise the recent changes, including the avoidance of corporal punishment; however, to a degree, caste-based segregation and humiliation persist.

Regimented castes abroad

The mass migration of retired Gurkha soldiers and their families after 2004 and 2009 has not only boosted the Nepali population in the UK, but transformed the community in many ways. Thanks to caste-selective recruitment, the Gurung, Magar, Rai and Limbu have become the vast majority in the community. This is a big change to the demographic of Nepali population in the UK which was previously – as in most other developed countries – dominated by the high-caste Bahun, Chhetri and Newar. Another phenomenal change since the influx of the military migrants has been the proliferation of their associations and communities. Most of these groups are based on their original districts, towns, villages, professions, religions, etc. (Gellner, 2013: 144), and often, caste is the central axis of these communities.

Caste associations ¹ have played a pivotal role in resurrecting overseas caste. In India, ‘caste associations carry out social, economic, educational and political functions’ (Shah, 2004: 15). Membership is acquired through birth (and women through inter-caste marriage), but modern caste associations tend to operate as voluntary organisations; similar to political parties and charity organisations, they are run by periodically elected officials. Caste associations have played a central role in the diaspora, too; for example, among Gujarati Hindus resident in Britain (Vertovec, 2000). Caste associations operate much the same way in Nepal and overseas. Most of the Gurkha caste associations have been registered as charitable organisations in England and Wales. They have played a major role in recreating and sustaining the bonds of caste – and, as I shall show, in projecting caste as a primary source of Gurkha identity and community overseas.

Growing exclusion of Dalits

Any ethnic identity movement ‘recreates and reinforces group boundaries … by inhibiting the development of cross-cultural ties’ (Wimmer, 2013: 72). The rise of Gurung, Magar, Rai and Limbu communities along the lines of caste and/or ethnicity may have greatly promoted their belonging and identity in the UK; but, on the flip-side, the same has caused growing exclusion and discrimination against the members of minority castes (Pariyar, 2016, 2018). Caste has inevitably undergone a significant change in a politically, economically and culturally different country like the UK. However, the 1500-strong Dalit community finds itself subjected to certain traditional forms of caste-based exclusion and oppression in the diaspora. Some of their key issues overseas now follow.

First, as in Nepal, marital relations with Dalits are strictly forbidden (Pariyar, 2018). Most marriages in the UK have happened with the same castes, with some exceptions between the ethnically and culturally similar groups – such as the Rai and Limbu from eastern Nepal, and the Gurung and Magar from the west. A union with a lower caste is perceived as hugely scandalous, as it would lead to the severe loss of family prestige and honour. A Gurkha in Aldershot explained the typical scenario:

I do not have faith in the caste system, but I cannot let my daughters marry other castes. Marrying another ‘touchable’ caste would be detrimental to our ethnic identity; cultures would be mixed and diluted. But a union with an untouchable would bring huge shame to our family. It would be against the grain of our cultural practice. How can we accept a Dalit as our relative when he is not even permitted into our homes or tea shops in Nepal and, to some degree, in the UK, too?

Second, Dalits face the acute problem of residential segregation in the overseas Nepali community. According to Dalit groups based in the town, approximately 80% of Nepali homes in Aldershot would not rent their rooms or flats to Dalits (Pariyar, 2018). I have seen and heard ‘casteist’ Nepali landlords screen out ‘untouchable’ tenants by first inquiring about their surnames and, if their caste identities are not clear, about their ancestral trades and original towns or villages. Some Dalit tenants concealed their castes – as in Gurkha towns in Nepal, such as Pokhara (Pariyar and Lovett, 2016) – to gain access to upper-caste properties. And, in some cases, they have been immediately evacuated from their rental properties once their true identities were discovered. Dalits often forestalled the pain and humiliation by sharing homes and flats with fellow Dalits – or by renting Indian and Pakistani properties.

Thus, the segregation and discrimination against Dalits in the Nepali/Gurkha diaspora community is more to do with the retention of the religious orthodoxies and cultural practices, instead of the assertion of ethnic identity. This takes me to my third arena of the domination and separation of Dalits on the basis of caste: domestic rituals. It is important to make the distinction here between the public and the private. As in Nepal, I have seen most Nepalis mix freely and share food and drinks with Dalits in public events. In fact, one of the popular curry houses in Aldershot is owned and run by a lower-caste Gurkha family. But caste strictures are observed much more rigidly in many homes and in the circle of extended family and kinship networks. It was difficult, of course, to ascertain the extent of segregation in individual homes; but, most households did not invite Dalits into their family rituals and functions, including their close neighbours and friends. And there have been cases of Dalit Gurkhas and their children being told to stay away from certain areas of the home, particularly kitchens and prayer rooms.

Many UK Dalits seem to uncritically accept these and many other forms of segregation and discrimination, as the unchanging character of Nepali culture. Unlike Indian Dalits, they have not publicly raised their voices against their persistent dominance. From the more private and intimate discussions, it emerged that they are most hurt by the widespread issue of verbal abuse. The situation seems similar to the experiences of Indian Dalits (Ghuman, 2011; Waughray and Dhanda, 2016). I have witnessed and heard anecdotes of the ubiquitous use of degrading language and hurtful caste slurs; often caste names – the Kami, Damai and Sarki – are used derogatorily. The Gurkhas have a peculiar derogatory term for the Dalit castes represented in the forces: the KDS (Kami, Damai and Sarki) – which is widely used to demean and humiliate Dalits.

The persistent plight of a small community of Dalits – the Kami, Damai and Sarki – in the UK is attributable to at least two factors: (a) The policies of the Gurkha Army, as described earlier, which either officially sanctioned caste discrimination and untouchability, or let the problem persist and (b) the growing sensitivities of caste as an inevitable consequence of increasing caste clustering among the Gurkhas. As I have shown, most of the large events are organised by Gurkha caste associations, many of which are, by definition, specific to the respective castes. A few others may as well participate, but strictly as invited guests: otherness is made explicit. As caste-based organisations have increasingly monopolised the public space, members of small groups such as Dalits have been understandably cornered. Dalits too have opened at least three communities; but they are too small to make a mark in the community. Thus, the ascendancy of Gurkha caste associations, among other things, has further marginalised Dalits and stigmatised their identities abroad.

Conclusion

I have shown that the largely unwritten – but well-known to Nepalis – pro-caste policy and practice of military recruitment and organisation is key to understanding the dynamics of overseas caste among contemporary Nepalis residing in the UK (Pariyar, 2018). Their large numbers certainly provided the Gurkhas an advantage in the diaspora; and, moreover, the long policies of caste clustering in the regiments have also augmented their loyalty to their castes. I have found that their military service has strongly shaped most men’s thinking and attitude; they therefore behave like in the army. The senior ranks – majors, captains and lieutenants – continue to command awe and respect among the men post-retirement. Fellow soldiers, called numberis, have kin-like relationships. The Gurkhas tend not to easily mix with civilians. Thus, it is important to conceptualise Gurkhas as military migrants (Ware, 2012) to properly understand why they have been so efficacious in reproducing their caste-based communities and identities in their new homes in England.

A question may then arise: Why have these Gurkha migrants not rejected caste together with the Hindu religion? This may be explained in a number of ways. First of all, despite its provenance in the Hindu religion, caste is followed by virtually all religionists in South Asia. Furthermore, the apparent contradiction should be understood through the distinction between macro and micro-level practices (Kelle, 2005) – as well as between the public and the private. As part of their transnational ethnic movements, characterised by their large caste/ethnic associations, Gurkhas have rejected Hindu customs and cultures in public. But this is evidently not true in everyday practice. Gellner et al. (2014) have shown that most Gurkha households follow a mix of Hindu, Buddhist, Kiranti, shamanistic traditions. And, I would add, there is a small but growing population of Christian converts, too. There is no pattern of one caste or religion or region dominating and humiliating Dalits more than others. Much of the discrimination and oppression of Dalits overseas is concealed, as it occurs in the more intimate, private spheres such as homes, marriages and domestic rituals. Unlike in swathes of Nepal, they are not excluded from public spaces such the houses of worship, shops or restaurants. Nonetheless, in certain aspects of their lives, Nepalis of almost any faith are likely to honour the popular custom of excluding Dalits. Through their caste-based clustering and ethnic activism, Gurkha migrants have actively challenged the traditional superiority of the upper castes while retaining, if not promoting, the inferiority of those considered lower than them.