The Land Fights Back: Assam’s Cry for Dignity and Justice

By any measure, the “Adhikar Samabesh” at Guwahati’s Chachal on Sunday was not just another protest — it was a people’s uprising in spirit. Beneath the October sun, hundreds gathered under a single banner — Bhumi Adhikar Joutho Sangram Samiti — to declare, loudly and clearly, that Assam’s land is not for sale.

They came from Kaziranga, Dima Hasao, Karbi Anglong, Bodoland, and the riverine plains — farmers, students, activists, artists. And amid the chants of “Maati aamar, adhikar aamar” (The land is ours, the rights are ours), young singers from Assam performed Zubeen Garg’s iconic songs through the loudspeakers — turning his music into a symbol of resistance. The melodies echoed like a rallying cry, merging grief with defiance. Zubeen’s legacy has become more than music — it has inspired a movement.

At the heart of this protest lies a fundamental question: who truly owns Assam’s land — its indigenous people, or the corporations to whom the government seems determined to hand it over?

The Land and the Betrayal

For decades, indigenous communities have cultivated, protected, and revered these lands — not as property, but as identity. Today, they find themselves treated as encroachers on their own soil. The figures are chilling: 5,000 bighas in Barduar, 18,000 and 12,000 bighas in Karbi Anglong for so-called “green energy projects,” 9,000 bighas in Dima Hasao, 3,600 in Prabatjhora — all being acquired in the name of development. Development for whom, though?

Because the truth is, the promised jobs and benefits rarely reach the indigenous youth. As one protestor remarked bitterly, “We’ll get jobs as peons and security guards while outsiders take the real positions.” The pattern is clear — eviction for the poor, opportunity for the powerful.

Voices from the Ground

Subrata Talukdar of the Bhumi Adhikar Joutho Sangram Samiti minced no words: “The government has handed tribal lands to corporate giants like Adani and Ambani. Indigenous people have suffered the most. We demand proper land pattas and an immediate halt to these evictions.”

His words cut deep because they are not just political rhetoric — they are lived truth. Villages erased in Silsako and Mikir Bamuni, families displaced in the name of progress. “Our lands are being taken for hotels and corporate projects,” shouted a protestor from Kaziranga. “Women are crushed under microfinance loans. Himanta Biswa Sarma must beware — the people are watching.”

Lurinjyoti Gogoi, Assam Jatiya Parishad (AJP) chief, captured the mood succinctly: “Land rights are the primary rights of indigenous people. This government has chosen to threaten rather than protect them. When lands go to businessmen like Adani and Ramdev, remember — it’s not development, it’s daylight robbery.”

The Anger of Conscience

The fiery speech of journalist-turned-politician Ajit Bhuyan laid bare what many quietly believe: that the Himanta Biswa Sarma government’s so-called eviction drives are selective, politically motivated, and tainted with corruption. “Why did the bulldozers stop when they reached properties of the powerful?” he asked, referring to Silsako. “The people have proven today they no longer fear this regime.”

Bhuyan linked the protest to Zubeen Garg’s untimely death — calling him “the soul of Assam.” Zubeen, who had openly criticized the BJP’s communal politics, has become an unlikely martyr figure — symbolizing the conscience of a state that refuses to be silenced.

And then came the most sobering voice of all — that of veteran scholar Hiren Gohain. “It’s tragic,” he said, “that in a free India, people must still fight their government for their own land.” Drawing historical parallels, he added, “The British introduced the revenue system to extract wealth; today’s rulers continue that exploitation under new names — solar power, cement, hotels.” His warning about demographic manipulation through the delimitation process and selective citizenship grants struck a chord — an uncomfortable truth wrapped in political foresight.

The Invisible Dead

Amid the fiery speeches and slogans, the crowd paused for silence — to mourn nine Dimasa workers killed recently: Munna Kemprai, Sorbojit Thaosen, Phaibit Fanglu, Bidayum Porbosa, Paban Sorong, Prayanto Sorong, Suman Kharikap, Dimaraj Thaosen, and Dipak Raijung. Their deaths — unnoticed by the state — were a grim reminder that economic exploitation kills as effectively as violence. The protestors demanded justice, compensation, and accountability from the companies involved.

The Larger Truth

This protest was not just about land. It was about dignity — about reclaiming what has been systematically stolen from Assam’s people. The slogan that rose from Chachal was simple yet profound: “Our land, our right.” It was not anti-development, but a call for just development — one that includes, not excludes.

The government’s narrative of “modernization” collapses when confronted with the truth of mass evictions and corporate favouritism. What the protesters made clear is that the people of Assam are not anti-progress — they are anti-plunder.

When Zubeen Garg’s songs played across Chachal, they became more than melodies — they became a reminder that culture and conscience still live in the hearts of the people.

A Movement, Not a Moment

The Adhikar Samabesh was more than a gathering; it was the beginning of a movement that fuses art, land, and identity into a single moral force. From now until the 2026 elections, one issue will define Assam’s political landscape — land justice.

The government may deploy bulldozers, laws, or propaganda, but it cannot bury the cry rising from the soil:
Assam’s land is not for sale.

In that chant lies the heartbeat of a people who, for centuries, have lived with the land — not off it. And if history has shown anything, it is this: the land always fights back.

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Also Read: "Himanta Biswa Sarma, Beware”: Hundreds Protest in Guwahati Against Land Evictions