On 15 October, a video surfaced that starkly captured a moment
of tension and protest among the women and members of the tea garden workers'
union at Longview Tea Estate in Kurseong. In the video, a man posed the
question, “Timi yaha janmeko ho?”
“Were you born here?” followed by the assertion, “Timi pari pati Mechi ma janmeko ho” “You were born in Mechi
(Nepal), right.” This was not merely an inquiry but a challenge directed
towards those who have long been at the mercy of exploitative practices in an
industry that produces some of the world's most expensive teas. The women were
protesting for their rightful claim to a 20% bonus, an amount that stands in
stark contrast to their meagre earnings of less than Rs 250 per day. The
situation is further exacerbated by the fact that tea workers in West Bengal
remain excluded from the protections of the Minimum Wages Act—a demand that has
been championed by trade unions for years. The irony is palpable: those who
toil to cultivate and harvest luxury teas find themselves among the lowest paid
in the labour market.
The annual struggle for a bonus is but the tip of the iceberg
regarding the myriad challenges confronting tea workers. Since the
establishment of tea plantations by the British in Darjeeling over 150 years
ago, the reliance on cheap labour has been integral to the industry's
prosperity. The current planters, however, remain obstinately resistant to
meaningful change, perpetuating a cycle of exploitation that has long been
entrenched.
This incident serves as a potent emblem of both ethnic
nationalism and the mechanisms of patriarchy that are deeply embedded within
this socio-economic fabric. It crystallises a project of transformation amid
profound insecurity, illustrating that ethno-nationalism is not simply a
contemporary phenomenon but rather fundamentally rooted in a constructed
historical memory. This memory manifests as a narrative of victimhood,
characterised by a persistent sense of subjugation to foreign incursions,
whether historical or perceived.
In the wake of the post-1986 movement, the enduring colonial
grievances articulated by various communities in the region do not primarily
stem from the legacies of British colonialism. Instead, they are often framed
within the context of foreign invasion from across the border. As I.B. Rai
elucidates in his 1994 work Indian Nepali
Nationalism and Nepali Poetry, those who seek to reconnect with the past
while denigrating Indian Nepalis as “settlers” or “immigrants” reveal a
profound ignorance of the complexities of this region's history. The
significance of this moment is further accentuated by the fact that it was
articulated by a Nepali-speaking individual, whose very identity is woven into
the intricate tapestry of the region.
To truly comprehend the specific nature of Darjeeling’s
ethno-nationalism, it is imperative to situate it within the broader historical
continuum of political, cultural, and colonial assaults that have beset the
Darjeeling Hills since the nineteenth century. While the political ascendance
of Darjeeling's identity movement has indeed intensified anxieties surrounding
land security, its ideological implications transcend mere political discourse.
They delve into the moral psychology and the politics of ignorance and
aggression, posing challenges to the rights and democratic freedoms of
individuals.
Let’s face it that Darjeeling’s tea garden workers possess a
legacy that spans over 150 years. They have endured the trials of two world
wars, colonial oppression, the Indian independence movement, the establishment
of a new nation, as well as natural calamities such as landslides, droughts,
and severe monsoons. The landscape of post-1986 Darjeeling would be
inconceivable without their enduring presence and resilience. Yet, their
identity remains a contentious issue, igniting a complex political discourse around
identity in the Darjeeling Hills. This discourse starkly reveals the schism
between the urban elite—disengaged from the realities of the tea gardens—and
those historically connected to them, many of whom continue to labour under
exploitative conditions. At times, even the most morally progressive
individuals, who once affiliated themselves with the tea gardens but have since
ascended to higher social strata, may exhibit remarkable insensitivity. They
may show a refusal or an inability to respond to pressing moral imperatives
that call for solidarity with the very workers who sustain the industry. The
radical inequalities in the Darjeeling Hills have fostered a categorisation of
individuals reminiscent of different species, wherein the existence of certain
groups imposes no moral obligation regarding their basic needs and rights,
ultimately engendering a quotidian form of moral indifference.
Collective identities can obscure our perception of the humanity
and individuality of others, rendering us particularly susceptible to a kind of
moral cretinism. The development of terms such as "Kamanane" and "Bustyko,"
often employed in derogatory contexts, further alienates us from the moral
imperatives that ought to transcend our collective narcissism. Our morality,
shaped to protect our identities, compels us to identify new adversaries,
thereby precipitating a profound moral regression characterised by the
suppression of the weak and the marginalised. In contemporary discourse, it is
disconcerting to observe a climate where individuals openly question the moral
foundations of their identities with scant regard for nuance or
self-reflection. Public discourse has, in many instances, rendered nuanced
moral responses virtually unattainable, and expressions of sympathy are
frequently demarcated along partisan lines. In such a context, the prospect of
a genuine human response to tragedy and atrocity appears increasingly elusive.
This phenomenon of moral cretinism is, in fact, intricately tied
to the prevailing identities and ethno-nationalism—its aesthetic allure often
serves to obscure deeper ethical considerations. The question of the truth of
identity becomes a veritable trap. As Pratap Bhanu Mehta perceptively noted, we
find ourselves ensnared in what can be termed an "identity trap," a form of collectivism that compels us to
engage in abstract identification with a predetermined script that is fraught
with classification. On one hand, we yearn for self-definition— on the other,
we are compelled to forgo it in favour of a collective form of identification
that is fundamentally vicarious.
If something is posited as true, we feel an obligation to accept
it. Yet, what if there exists a kind of freedom in breaking the shackles
imposed by an origin of identity? This liberation would not only entail a
rejection of imposed classifications but also a critical engagement with the
realities that these identities obscure.
In an era increasingly impatient with institutional frameworks,
many have sought salvation in charismatic figures who can articulate a new
vision of identity—one that often undermines the very existence of individuals
who fight for their rights. Such figures, embodying authoritarian
characteristics, possess a sheer will to power that paradoxically becomes part
of their allure. Their effectiveness lies in their singular focus, often at the
expense of acknowledging the lived realities of those they claim to represent. In this landscape, we encounter individuals
who present themselves as moral paragons, devoid of self-interest. Yet, in
their quest for an idealised vision of identity, they may unwittingly
contribute to the erasure of those very individuals whose struggles have paved
the way for such discourses. The moral complexity of these dynamics demands our
attention, as it reveals the intricate interplay between identity, power, and
the ethical responsibilities we owe to one another in an increasingly fragmented
society.
The challenge remains: how do we navigate the complexities of
identity, engage in meaningful moral discourse, and ensure that the voices of
the most vulnerable are not only heard but actively integrated into the
narratives that shape our collective existence? The answer lies in cultivating
a more nuanced understanding of the interdependencies that define our social
fabric, recognising that the struggles of one community are inextricably linked
to the broader tapestry of human rights and dignity that we all share.
(Views are personal. Email: anuvishub@gmail.com)