gaining, or regaining control of the resources they depend on. In several cases, indigenous communities’ claims to “firstness” have translated into legal rights, granted (or perhaps better, acknowledged) by the “modern” states in which they are included. Examples include the granting of forest rights by the Brazilian government to the Amazonian Kayapo (Conklin and Graham 1995), the Canadian government’s acknowledgment of Inuit land claims in the creation of Nunavut, as well as Australian Aborigines’ continuing, and in certain respects successful, struggle for control of ancestral territory (Havemann 1999).
For indigenous communities, nature is often the prime resource upon which people depend for their livelihood. This dependence, coupled with omnipresent “noble savage”-like imaginations, which position indigenous people as almost part of nature, lends credence to the common idea that their connectedness to land is characterized by “deep ecological knowledge” (Karlsson 2006: 187–88). In popular perception, such knowledge assumes a harmonious engagement with nature. Or, as the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues states, “Indigenous people … possess invaluable knowledge of practices for the sustainable management of natural resources” (United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues n.d.: 2). Such resource use, which is “traditional” in the sense that it was supposedly also practiced by prior generations, entails techniques of cultivation and extraction that are deemed sustainable, given that they have been supported by the natural environment over many, perhaps innumerable, generations. Because indigenous extractive practices tend to be regarded as far less exploitative than those of their more “modern” competitors (who mine, log, or create large-scale plantations), indigenous demands for land rights are frequently phrased in terms of environmental struggle (Dove 2006). In short, in popular perception, a lot of credibility is granted to what Baviskar (2006: 38) has called the “organic linkage” between indigenous culture and ecology. This also suggests that indigenous land claims are in line with more general conservationists’ concerns. To sum up, this positions people such as the Dongria Khond as archetypical conservationists, driven by the “sacrality” which they locate in nature.
For any community to fit in with what Karlsson (2003) has called the “indigenous slot,” it is compulsory that they meet the kind of expectations outlined above. This particularly holds for people’s perception of nature, and their relatedness to land. More problematically still, it presumes that indigenous communities are internally homogeneous when it comes to perspectives on land and nature, and the kind of engagement this translates into. This is not at all self-evident, as it disregards the often substantial disparities between the interests of urban, educated activists who have the connections and the communicative skills to advocate an indigenous cause at a national and international level, and the (often) rural people on whose behalf they claim to speak (Shah 2010). Romantic and reified interpretations of the cultural practices of the latter then provide the arguments that indigenous activists draw upon.
Referring to these disparate interpretations of culture, Adam Kuper (2003: 395) has argued that “indigenous movements” base themselves on “obsolete anthropological notions and a romantic and false ethnographic vision,” thus “fostering essentialist ideologies of culture and identity.” Accordingly, claims made with reference to “being indigenous” are then primarily politically motivated, which creates doubts about their authenticity and legitimacy. But rather than playing down the social relevance of indigenous claim making, which would not do justice to the complexity of the political realities in which a term like this figures, I want to follow Barnard (2006). Barnard argues that even though, from the perspective of anthropological theory, indigeneity is an essentialist concept, “the legitimate claims of ‘indigenous peoples’ appeal not to objective elements of anthropological theory, but to common identities objectified by participants … [and] … who are we to deny the ethnic identity, or the ‘indigenous’ identity, of others, however unscientific such a claim may seem to us?” (Barnard 2006: 13).
Indigeneity, “Tribe,” and Indigenous Activism in India
In India, the formal position of the state is that all Indians are indigenous to the country. Consequently, no citizen is by birth entitled to rights that surpass those of others (Xaxa 2008). Yet the Indian state has instituted policies of preferential discrimination that aim at improving the position of (among others) the communities it categorizes as “tribes.” The erstwhile colonial administration coined “tribe” as an administrative category, which has however proven difficult to apply. For instance, going by sociological indicators, it is often impossible to distinguish between “tribes” and castes. Inclusion in the category of “tribe,” notably, can be advantageous, given the benefits bestowed by policies of preferential discrimination. There have been quite a few cases where communities earlier categorized as “caste” have managed to be reclassified as “tribe” after a prolonged political struggle.
So what, according to the Indian state, characterizes a “tribe”? According to the Draft National Tribal Policy (a Policy for the Scheduled Tribes of India), “tribes” are “known to dwell in compact areas, follow a community way of living, in harmony with nature, and have a uniqueness of culture, distinctive customs, traditions and beliefs which are simple, direct and non-acquisitive by nature” (Ministry of Tribal Affairs 2006: 2). This suggests that “tribes” are isolated, if not excluded, vis-à-vis encompassing structures such as markets and the state. At the same time, this definition has evolutionist connotations, since “simplicity” of “traditions and beliefs” relegates a “tribal” community to a presumably lower scale on the civilizational ladder. Scholars have severely criticized this usage of the category “tribe” as archaic and deterministic (Bates 1995; Béteille 1998; Rycroft and Dasgupta 2011). Yet many people to whom the concept applies—that is, “tribals”—indicate that they do not necessarily experience it as discriminatory. Quite apart from the question of self-identification, one explanation might be that the Indian state’s preferential discrimination policies are on the whole much appreciated.
Beyond the more immediate interests associated with the categorization of communities as “tribal,” indigenous claim making is more generally of great political significance in South Asia. One region in which this is particularly evident is Northeast India. In Northeast India, activist groups and political parties playing the indigenous card have dominated the political sphere for decades, and the struggle for political power and state-associated resources has mainly been fought along ethnic lines (Vandekerckhove 2009). The region has gained a reputation over the last four to five decades as one of the most troubled parts of the South Asian subcontinent. Ever since India gained independence from colonial dominance, Northeast Indian insurgent groups have disputed the authority of the Indian state. Apart from electoral contests and civil protests, this has resulted in violent confrontations and draconian counter-insurgency measures (Baruah 2005). Geographically, Northeast India is almost entirely surrounded by international borders. This has allowed militants to seek shelter abroad, outside the reach of the Indian security forces. The insurgent groups tend to phrase their cause in ethno-nationalist terms, positioning themselves as representatives of “communities” or “people” who seek a certain degree of self-rule and self-administration to control natural and other resources, vis-à-vis people who are “outsiders” to their homeland (Bhaumik 2009). The most important resource by far is land, and disputes in relation to it are central to all of the insurgencies of the North Eastern region (Barbora 2002; Fernandes 2005).
One area in which ethno-nationalist insurgent groups have, over the last decade, gained increasing prominence is the Garo Hills. Encompassing the western third of the state of Meghalaya, the Garo Hills have seen an ever-increasing number of militants, who battle the Indian security forces.2 More so, these insurgent groups challenge the presence of non-Garo people residing in the area. The prime political demand of these militant groups is the creation of Garoland, a separate Garo state that would continue to be part of the Indian union. The influential student unions of the Garo region, as well as some of the regionally important political parties, support this demand. Contrary to the militant groups the latter operate within the confines of Indian democracy. These political groups are primarily composed of urban-based (or at least urban-educated) activists.
All