The sorry state of India’s Borders

Kiren Rijiju trekking to the border

Sometimes, though it is rare, one reads some good news in the national press. One of these refreshing items, for me at least, was the visit of the Minister of State for Home Affairs, Kiren Rijiju, to the Indo-Tibetan Border Police (ITBP) posts in Gunji and Kalapani of Pithoragarh District of Uttarakhand.

Another Rediff interview with Kiren Rijiju

According to Sushil Kumar, the District Magistrate, Rijiju went “to take stock of the defence infrastructure in these border areas.”
The young dynamic minister from Arunachal spent a night at Nabhidhang rest house, on the way to Lipulekh-la, no very far from the trijunction between India, Tibet and Nepal.
He is said to have walked the last eight kms from Kalapani to Nabhidhang to reach the last ITBP border post.
And guess what the minister discovered?
A ‘peculiar security concern’, said the local press.
Indian telecom services are not available in these remote areas; as a result, local villagers have to use Nepali SIM cards. Isn’t it shocking?
Rijiju said: “Villagers in this region walk for five days to reach a road. After Dharchula, only Nepal SIM cards work.”
He told The Indian Express: “It’s a shame that in 68 years of independence, we have not been able to provide over 20,000 villagers in this region with roads, electricity and telecommunication. People, including our jawans, use SIM cards bought from Nepal as Indian telecom signals do not reach here. There is no tower in the entire region.”
On his return to the capital, the minister wrote to his colleagues in the Department of Telecom and the Ministry of Defence asking them to immediately remedy this vital lacuna.
This raises several issues.
First, it is not a new phenomenon. Several years ago, I was told by a politician from Arunachal, who had earlier served as a minister, that when he went abroad and he received calls from Tawang, to his surprise, the identification number showed the Chinese ISD code: it meant that calls originating from Tawang were transiting via China. That was long ago, but the situation on the borders does not seem to have improved much.
Then, Rijiju was the first Union minister to visit these areas. Why? It is simply too far from Delhi’s comfort.
Further, Nabhidhang is not an ordinary border post: it is on the track followed by the MEA Yatra to Kasilash-Mansarovar and one of the 3 official landports (with Nathu-la and Shilpi-la) between India and China.
I would be curious to know how many times the Pithoragargh DM has visited this area. Usually, once in a tenure is enough; local officials prefer to dream of a posting in Dehradun.
A larger, but closely linked issue is the migration of populations from India’s frontiers.
A few weeks ago, The Times of India (TOI) reported from Dehradun: “As villages along the international border in Uttarakhand face out-migration on an unprecedented scale, uninhabited areas lie open to territorial claims by the Chinese.”
The journalist studied the case of Niti, the last Indian village, located 26 km south from the Niti pass, which demarcates the border between Tibet and India. For centuries, the village, situated at an altitude of 3,600 metres, saw traders, pilgrims and officials freely moving between the two countries and the area flourished. Unfortunately, all this stopped in 1962; today only 35 families remain in the village; a few decades ago, there were 250.
Trade with Tibet (today China) is dead and the area is virtually closed to outsiders; an Inner Line Permit is not easy to obtain from the local authorities.
Located 88 km from Joshimath, though the village could have been developed into an eco-tourism centre, it was not done. Even amongst the remaining 35 families, most of the young people have moved to the plains in search of a better life.
The Chinese have no qualms to develop their side of the Himalayan range and while Beijing has taken great leaps forward to built its border infrastructure, Delhi has worked at snail’s speed, struggling to create a semblance of infrastructure; migration is the direct outcome of this slow pace.
On the same subject, The Tribune quotes Dr Shamsher Singh Bisht, a social activist: “The rate of migration has increased after June 2013 as most of the people who lost their homes but received compensation preferred to relocate in safer plains.”
Dr Anil Joshi, a ‘gaon bachao’ advocate explains: “Over 3,000 villages in the hills have been abandoned due to policies of the respective state governments which kept neglecting villages when it came to development policies. …A silent migration from rural Uttarakhand is on.”

The 2011 census says that 1,065 villages of the state have been deserted.
Why should a farmer or a pastoralist, living in a remote village of Uttarakhand or near the LAC in Ladakh, remain in his native village when he can earn a decent living by running a small hotel in Dehradun or driving a taxi in Leh.
In one of his monthly radio programs, Maan ki Baat, Prime Minister Modi had announced that he was “deputing Central Government officials to find solutions to problems being faced by the region”. The Ministry of Development of the North-Eastern Region was to send officials to hold week-long camps. The outcome has never been made public.
Remember Verrier Elwin’s A Philosophy for NEFA, so dear to Nehru! Based on French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s theory: “Nothing is so gentle as man in his primitive state, when placed by nature at an equal distance from the stupidity of brutes and the fatal enlightenment of civil man,” the romantic view of the tribal folks ultimately amounted to the segregation of a large chunk of the Indian population and a total lack of development of these strategically important regions.
One of the decisions taken by Modi Sarkar has been to modify the guidelines of the Border Area Development Programme (BADP) drafted some 10 years ago. The BADP is a 100 per cent centrally funded scheme covering in priority all Indian villages located within 10 km of the International Border.
The sucess is doubtful, because despite good intentions, how will the project be implemented on the ground, and crucially how soon?
Another issue is the stagnating petty trade between India and Tibet. Though border trade could have been a way to stop migration, the local babus are not really motivated, while China is not interested to reopen the traditional passes.

Milam village in Pithoragargh district

The serious strategic implication of the depopulation of the entire Himalayan belt is that it has opened wide the door to Chinese incursions.
Take the Barahoti grazing ground in Chamoli district; it was the first area claimed by China as ‘theirs’ in 1954. If there are no Indian grazers to go up with their herds at the beginning of the summer season, the Chinese are quick to send their own to ‘mark’ China’s presence. Recently, Indian district officials had to be sent for a few weeks to ‘stamp India’s presence’ as hardly any grazer from Niti is interested anymore.
Who in Delhi realizes that in case of a conflict, the ‘local’ population will play a crucial role?
Though Mr Modi’s initiative to send officers to the spot is certainly a great improvement in the right direction; a special ‘border’ cadre could also help reverse the tide.
Will Rijiju’s trip be followed by the visit of his colleagues of Defence (who obviously prefers the beaches of Goa for his weekends), Telecom or Road Transport ministries to India’s frontiers?
This would be a boon for the borders of India, but it may not happen.

A Modern Tragedy

Deserted Milam village in Phitoragarh district of Uttarakhand

My article A Modern Tragedy appeared yesterday in The Asian Age and The Deccan Chronicle

Here is the link...

The migration of populations from the frontiers, particularly the borders with China in Ladakh, Uttarakhand or Arunachal Pradesh, is a modern tragedy.
It is rarely mentioned in the Indian press, though a few weeks ago, The Times of India (TOI) reported from Dehra Dun: “As villages along the international border in Uttarakhand face out-migration on an unprecedented scale, uninhabited areas lie open to territorial claims by the Chinese.”
The journalist studied the case of Niti, the last Indian village, located 26 km south from the Niti pass, which demarcates the border between Tibet and India. For centuries, the village, situated at an altitude of 3,600 metres, saw traders, pilgrims and officials freely moving between the two countries and the area was flourishing. Unfortunately, all this stopped in 1962; today only 35 families remain in the village; a few decades ago, there were 250.
Trade with Tibet (today China) is dead and the area is virtually closed to outsiders; an Inner Line Permit is not easy to obtain from the local authorities.
Located 88 km from Joshimath, though the village could have been developed into an eco-tourism centre, it was not done, probably due to the ‘sensitivities’ of the Chinese authorities on the other side of the pass.
Even amongst the remaining 35 families, most of the young people have moved to the plains in search of a better life.
The Chinese have no qualms to develop their side of the Himalayan range and while Beijing has taken great leaps forward to built its border infrastructure, Delhi has worked at snail’s speed, struggling to create a semblance of infrastructure; migration is the direct outcome of this slow pace.
Soon after he took over as the Union Minister of State for Home Affairs, this writer had interviewed Kiren Rijiju, a native of Kameng district of Arunachal Pradesh; he had then said, “My immediate concern is to concentrate on the India-China border.” The young and dynamic Minister added, “It means development of infrastructure, roads, communication, other basic amenities; facilities for local people living in the border area. They should be provided with electricity, water, food.”
But it is not a glamourous process; indeed perseverance and an unshakable will are required to change the tide. Migration is today one of the major issues facing the populations along the Line of Actual Control (LAC) in Ladakh or the McMahon line in Arunachal Pradesh.
Why should a farmer or a pastoralist, living near the LAC in Ladakh, remain in his native village with the risk of being harassed by the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, when he can earn a decent living as a taxi driver or by running a small hotel in Leh?
Defence analyst, Nitin Gokhale, who visited most of these borders areas, wrote about the sad situation in Ladakh: “Chushul, an important village very close to the border did not have a single landline telephone and the lone mobile tower in the vicinity was more a showpiece than a functional facility. The anger among the villagers at the lack of what is now a basic necessity was palpable.”
It is not an easy challenge. In one of his monthly radio programs, Maan ki Baat, Prime Minister Modi had announced that he was “deputing Central Government officials to find solutions to problems being faced by the region”. The Ministry of Development of the North-Eastern Region was to send officials to hold week-long camps. The outcome has never been made public.
Remember Verrier Elwin’s A Philosophy for NEFA, so dear to Nehru! Based on French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s theory: “Nothing is so gentle as man in his primitive state, when placed by nature at an equal distance from the stupidity of brutes and the fatal enlightenment of civil man,” the romantic view of the tribal folks ultimately amounted to the segregation of a large chunk of the Indian population and a total lack of development of these strategically important regions …and today, irreversible migration.
One of the decisions taken by Modi Sarkar has been to modify the guidelines of the Border Area Development Programme (BADP) drafted some 10 years ago. According to the new notification, “The main objective of the BADP is to meet the special developmental needs and well being of the people living in remote and inaccessible areas situated near the international border.”
The BADP is a 100 per cent centrally funded scheme covering in priority all Indian villages located within 10 km of the International Border. Within the 10 km, some villages are identified by the Border Guarding Forces for most immediate help.
This is one way to counter the Chinese claims, which regularly translates into deep incursions into Indian territory; depopulation plays into the Chinese hands. Will the BADP scheme reduce the migration from the borders? It is doubtful, because despite good intentions, how will the project be implemented on the ground, and crucially how soon?
Another issue is the stagnating petty trade between India and Tibet. While Nathu La is better organised, the traders at Shipki La (Himachal) and Lipulekh La (Uttarakand) face many bureaucratic hurdles. Though border trade could have been a way to stop migration, the local babus are not really motivated, while China is not interested to reopen the traditional passes.
Whether in Uttarakhand, Ladakh or Arunachal, life is hard on the borders.
The serious strategic implication of the depopulation of the entire Himalayan belt is that it has opened wide the door to Chinese incursions.
Take the Barahoti grazing ground in Chamoli district; it is the first area claimed by China as ‘theirs’ in 1954. If there are no Indian grazers to go up with their herds at the beginning of the summer season, the Chinese are quick to send their own to ‘mark’ China’s presence. Recently, Indian district officials had to be sent for a few weeks to ‘stamp India’s presence’ as hardly any grazer from Niti is interested anymore. The TOI admitted: “Barahoti had begun emptying out around eight years ago. Ever since, district officials have been marking the territory at regular intervals.”
And in Delhi, very few ‘strategists’ perceive that in case of a conflict, the ‘local’ population play a crucial role to play.
One possible solution would be to replace the present IAS cadre in these areas by dedicated officers, like it was done in the 1950s and 1960s with the Political Officers (POs) of the defunct Indian Frontier Administrative Service.
Every year, the POs would tour these remote border areas, meet the ‘locals’, get to know their problems and dutifully report in long notes to the ‘durbar’.
One can’t expect young IAS officers, dreaming only of a Delhi posting, to be of the caliber of the old Pos.
Though Mr Modi’s initiative to send officers to the spot is certainly a great improvement in the right direction, a special ‘border’ cadre could help revert the tide. It may soon be too late.

Nomads: An endangered species?

My article Nomads: An endangered species?, a review of Himalaya Bound, an American's Journey with Nomads in North India, written by Michael Benanav and published by Harper Collins, appeared in the Agenda section of The Sunday Pioneer

Here is the link...

This book traces the trials of Van Gujjars, a forest dwelling tribe of vegetarian Muslims, writes CLAUDE ARPI

The book of Michael Benanav, Himalaya Bound: An American’s Journey with Nomads in North India, touches a chord. Not just because I, like most humans, still carry nomad’s DNA, but also because it deals with a much deeper issue: The struggle of our ‘modern world’ vs a more traditional way of life. The author, a writer and photographer, perhaps witnessed one of the last journeys of an endearing itinerant Himalayan community.
During the summer season, Benanav follows a nomadic family, belonging to a tribe known as the Van Gujjars. At a time when it is fashionable to speak of climate change, stake-holders and local empowerment, this tribe is truly an endangered species. Van (forest in Hindi) Gujjars are a forest-dwelling tribe, who migrate every spring to higher grazing grounds. The peaceful vegetarian Muslim community has for generations survived on the milk-products of their buffalos. During 42 days, Benanav documented the tribulations of ‘his’ family, who migrate from their forest in the Shivalik range of Uttar Pradesh to the heights of the Govind National Park in Uttarkashi district of Uttarakhand.

Reading Benanav’s account, one soon realises that these nomads are endangered, simply perhaps the ‘modern world’ does not like nomads, whether they lived in Uttarakhand, Tibet or elsewhere in the world. It is indeed easier for a ‘modern’ State to deal with sedentary populations, rather than ‘nomads’: This is the tragedy underlying the narrative. In recent years, the most serious predicament facing this Muslim family, led by Dhumman, the patriarch, has been Uttarakhand’s Forest Department, who repeatedly threatens to block the nomadic families, whose ancestral summer meadows fall within the National Park, from entering the area. The Indian law is strict, nobody is allowed to live or settle in a National Park; as a rule, it is fair, except that it comes into conflict with the ancestral practices of the Van Gujjars.

The book is the riveting story of a family stuck between the Park’s environmental regulations and the unyielding (and sometimes corrupt) babus, manning the ‘gates’ to the higher pastures. The author describes his journey and gives “an intimate picture of the hopes, fears, hardships and joys of people who wonder if there’s still a place for them on this planet.” In 2009, with his friends, Benanav lives difficult moments, as the family was not permitted to reach their traditional pastures and had no choice but to settle in a new place, higher in the Himalayas. In his Epilogue, Benanav notes that the following year (by then, he returned to the United States), the Forest Department once again banned the Van Gujjars and their buffaloes from the meadows of the National Park. Dhumman faced a familiar and difficult dilemma: “My friends had little faith that the gates to Govind would swing open at the last minute, and they were not eager to endure the kind of tension they’d experienced on the road last time, waiting and praying for mercy from those in positions of power.” They decided to not even try to go to the high meadows. Dhumman arranged with a farmer near Kalsi, “at the edge of the plains, where the Yamuna River emerges from the mountains — to stay near his fields from April through September.” Though at the last minute, Uttarakhand’s Chief Minister ordered the Forest Department to let the Gujjars into the Park; it was too late, the Dhumman family had to stay in Kalsi, despite the ‘unbearable heat’ for the humans and the buffaloes.

Eventually they returned to their traditional meadows in 2011 though they were told by the ‘authorities’ that the permission was not official, but on humanitarian ground only. The following years, the forest officials agreed to close their eyes, but the Gujjars are aware that their years of transhumance are counted. They certainly could be offered a hefty compensation, with a concrete house, to live in a village; the Forest Rights Act provides for such a scheme for forest-dwellers, but they are not interested. As the book was going to the press, the nomads were informed that “no decision had been made to block the nomads in 2015, neither would the forest department officially issue their seasonal grazing permits.” The status quo continues.

According to the author, the officials’ attitude toward the Van Gujjars “goes against current conservation trends. Over the past several years, the global conservation community has begun to embrace the possibility that nomadic herders can be important partners in environmental protection projects.” He cites UN reports, which “now support a diverse array of collaborations between tribes and environmentalists.” Benanav’s account raises larger issues than the ones faced by ‘his’ family. Tibetan nomads too have been facing tough Government policies; Beijing has decided that the nomads were over-grazing eco-sensitive areas on the plateau and should therefore be forcefully ‘settled’ in newly-built villages. As Human Right Watch explained: “Since 2006, the Chinese Government has implemented large-scale programs to ‘rehouse’ …under a policy called Comfortable Housing.” As a result, Beijing “has accelerated the relocation and sedentarisation of nomadic herders in the eastern part of the Tibetan plateau, …and laid the round for similar policies [elsewhere].” In Tibet, the nomadic populations do not have the choice to refuse the ‘welfare’ measures from the Chinese Government.

When Benanav spoke about ‘resettlement’ with his friends, they wholeheartedly rejected the idea of leaving the forest: “They would lose virtually everything in their lives, including their buffalo herds, their intimate connection to the natural world, their sense of freedom, even their sense of themselves,  …the forest is the only thing [they] know.” Dhumman told his American guest: ‘We are part of it and it is part of us. It’s where we belong. … whenever I had to spend more than a few hours in a town, I would inevitably begin to feel sick.” I still remember my first visit in these remote areas more than 40 years ago. Travelling by bus on the Himalayan roads, one would often be stopped on our journey by Gujjars and their large herds (often sheep), I always wondered, from where are coming, where are they going? It is rare today to be blocked on these mountain roads: It simply means that such nomadic life is steadily disappearing. I feel that it is a great loss for humankind. But there is another aspect to the migration, which has serious strategic implications for India.

The entire Himalayan belt is getting depopulated; the villages in the high valleys are fast getting empty of their inhabitants. It is true for the border villages in Ladakh, but also in Uttarakhand or in Arunachal Pradesh; one of the ‘strategic’ consequences is that it has opened the door to Chinese incursions. A leading daily recently reported the case of Niti, the last Indian village, near Joshimath, a few km away from the Tibet border: “Years ago, it was a thriving village of about 250 families. Now, only 35 remain,” wrote the newspaper, adding: “As villages along the international border in Uttarakhand face out-migration on an unprecedented scale, uninhabited areas lie open to territorial claims by the Chinese... At Niti, villagers said life was hard, and many more could migrate. The State Government seldom heard pleas for better facilities.”There are many such examples. If Benanav’s book can bring some awareness about the Himalayan ‘migrations’, he would have rendered a great service to both our border people and the nomadic tribes.