Assam At A Crossroad: The Human Cost Of Development

During World War II, large contingents of allied forces gathered in Assam, making the state a vast military staging ground. To accommodate the influx of soldiers, a massive number of tents were erected, leading to the procurement of vast quantities of wooden poles. This marked the beginning of industrial-scale logging in Assam's forests, disrupting the state’s already fragile environmental balance.

Human intervention with nature has a long history in Assam. The Ahoms were renowned for constructing river embankments and harvesting ponds designed to facilitate irrigation while also controlling water flow. However, in the wake of modern neoliberal policies, such interventions have become continuous, leaving little room for nature or the people to adapt to the ongoing changes. Over time, these disruptions have upset the delicate balance between Assam's natural environment and its inhabitants, resulting in a series of disasters-both immediate and long-term.

Majuli: Assam’s Saddest Tale

Let’s take Majuli as an example. The island, deeply intertwined with Assam’s cultural heritage, has been gradually eroding over the years. In the 1790s, Majuli spanned over an area of 1,300 sq km. By 1901, this had shrunk to 1,255 sq km. However, as human intervention intensified, so did the pace of erosion. By 2001, the once-vast riverine island had been reduced to just 421.65 sq km, and by 2014, it had further diminished to a mere 352 sq km.

This erosion pattern mirrors the broader impacts of increasing neoliberal human activity. There are multiple factors contributing to Majuli's shrinking and sinking. Naturally, the Brahmaputra River, while being a lifeline for the region, also brings powerful currents that erode the land it nourishes. This was reportedly accelerated when the river changed its course after the disastrous earthquake of 1950. Yet, human factors have exacerbated this process. Deforestation, coupled with rapid urbanisation and human activity across the island, has led to the loss of wetlands and grasslands, which used to help mitigate erosion.Adding to the crisis, climate change has altered rainfall patterns, resulting in more flooding that further accelerates the erosion of the island.

However, it is not just land that is being lost with the erosion of Majuli.The ethnic culture that embodies the ethos of Assam is disappearing as well. Majuli is home to two important cultural pillars of Assam - its Satras and the Mising tribe.

As the land erodes, the Misings adapted by constructing homes elevated several feet above the ground using bamboo stilts as makeshift beams. Known as Kare Okum (or Chang Ghar in Assamese), these houses are designed to withstand the annual flooding of the Brahmaputra and its tributaries. 

Unfortunately, the Satras are not as fortunate. The centuries-old institutions cannot simply be lifted and adapted to flood-resistant designs. As a result, many of these sacred sites are submerged year after year, suffering significant property damage, resulting in major cultural loss. While the Satras may eventually emerge once floodwaters recede, the damage to their historical and cultural integrity is already done. In the 2013 floods, for instance, the revered Bor Alengi Satra was completely submerged. 

Development, But At What Cost?

It is an undeniable reality that infrastructure development in Assam has surged over the past decade. While some may see these advancements as anecdotal, the cumulative effect of these changes across the state's villages tells a compelling story of Assam's modernisation. From the progress made through the Bharatmala projects to the establishment of AIIMS Guwahati, from the conversion of railway tracks from meter gauge to broad gauge, coupled with the ongoing electrification of the rail network, to the widening of roads across the state - these developments provide enhanced logistical support to the most remote corners of Assam. However, this rapid infrastructure push comes at a significant cost. 

Take the Baghjan gas leak, for example. What began as reportedly negligent drilling culminated in a 173-day disaster. It devastated the already marginalised communities living around Dibru-Saikhowa National Park and threatened the delicate ecosystem it supports. The incident was allegedly compounded by a lack of necessary clearances and the involvement of well-connected private contractors. This highlights the existence of a 'shadow state',  a system where the official state apparatus is hollowed out by a vast network of brokers, advisors, political operatives, and unscrupulous contractors.

Amid this dysfunction, one tragic case stands out: Sukeshwar Neog, a poor fish farmer who reportedly chose suicide over enduring the hardships brought by the Baghjan disaster. Neog’s despair was reportedly exacerbated by his exclusion from the compensation list drawn up by Oil India Limited.

Is The Brahmaputra At Fault?

The relationship between humans and the environment shapes society to a great extent. The Brahmaputra River has sustained generations along its banks. Yet, the same river, almost humanised by the people, can be both a boon and a bane. In Indira Goswami's Jatra (The Journey), an elderly Vaishnavite man laments, "Alas, the river has swallowed up many of the Namghars on its banks—Arimrah, Holapar, Kohara, Mihimukh."

The river has nurtured numerous cultural hubs for the state and its people, yet it has also consumed much, both land and culture. As Goswami’s stories reflect, where the river is simultaneously motherly and treacherous, human actions, driven by relentless neoliberal tendencies, have tilted the balance. In many ways, the river now stands as more treacherous than maternal.

Human Impact On Nature, Which, In Turn, Impacts Humans

In the quaint town of Naharkatia, a significant infrastructure drive is underway. Roads are being widened, and a proposed overbridge is poised to become a reality in the near future. These developments are crucial for the town's progress. However, they come at a cost. Decade-old trees, which once formed a lush canopy are being chopped down.

I spoke with Harinath, a poor thelawala, about the impact of these changes. The 2024 heatwave had taken a major toll on the poorer sections of Assam. Harinath travels from the town’s center to Rampur Gaon, carrying six bags of 50 kg cement in his cart. His route takes him past the Langharja Tea Estate. For over a decade, this journey has been part of his daily routine.

This year, however, things have changed. The massive trees beside the estate have been chopped down, leaving behind scorching roads and no place to rest. Harinath explained, “I used to push my thela for half a kilometer, then rest under the shade of the tree to recharge. Now, my skin burns. There are no trees, and I’m growing old.”

Assam is home to countless individuals like Harinath, and their place in society’s progress must be considered. Harinath’s struggles highlight the human toll of non-sustainable development. As the state pushes forward with its progress, these personal stories must not be overlooked. Development should not serve only the dominant class, imposed upon the dominated poor. It must be inclusive.

The government must strike a balance and invest in green infrastructure. Development should not come at the expense of nature, and the protection of nature should not hinder development. 

Mere greenwashing through ‘compensatory afforestation’ is not the solution. A robust, transparent plan, free from the selfish intervention of the shadow stateis needed. This plan should reflect a comprehensive vision for Assam’s much-needed infrastructure boom, one that avoids exacerbating natural disasters and incorporates both immediate and long-term human support.