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By:

Abhijit Mulye

21 August 2024 at 11:29:11 am

Red flag to green steel

Ex-Maoists forge new destiny in Gadchiroli Gadchiroli: The rugged, forested terrain of Gadchiroli district, long synonymous with the violence and deep-rooted anti-establishment tenets of the ‘Red Ideology’, is now witnessing a remarkable social and industrial transformation. At the Lloyds Metals and Energy Ltd. (LMEL) plant in Konsari, once-feared Maoist operatives are shedding their past lives and embracing a new, respectable existence as skilled workers in a cutting-edge Direct Reduced Iron...

Red flag to green steel

Ex-Maoists forge new destiny in Gadchiroli Gadchiroli: The rugged, forested terrain of Gadchiroli district, long synonymous with the violence and deep-rooted anti-establishment tenets of the ‘Red Ideology’, is now witnessing a remarkable social and industrial transformation. At the Lloyds Metals and Energy Ltd. (LMEL) plant in Konsari, once-feared Maoist operatives are shedding their past lives and embracing a new, respectable existence as skilled workers in a cutting-edge Direct Reduced Iron (DRI) and pellet plant. This ‘green steel’ project, part of LMEL’s push for an integrated steel complex in the region, is functioning not just as an industrial unit but as a crucial pillar in the Maharashtra government’s surrender-cum-rehabilitation policy. So far, LMEL, in coordination with the state government and the Gadchiroli Police, has provided employment and training to 68 surrendered Maoists and 14 members of families affected by Naxal violence, a total of 82 individuals, offering them a definitive pathway back to the mainstream. The Shift The transformation begins at the company’s dedicated Lloyds Skill Development and Training Centre at Konsari. Recognizing that many former cadres had limited formal education, the company implements a structured, skill-based rehabilitation model. They are trained in essential technical and operational skills required for plant administration, civil construction, and mechanical operations. For individuals like Govinda Atala, a former deputy commander, the change is palpable. “After surrendering, I got the right to live a new life,” Atala said. “I am very happy to get this job. I am now living my life on my own; there is no pressure on me now.” Suresh Hichame, who spent over a decade in the movement before surrendering in 2009 too echoed the sentiments. He realized the path of violence offered neither him nor his family any benefit. Moreover, his self-respecct was hurt. He knew several languages and carried out several crucial tasks for the banned organization remaining constantly under the shadow of death. Today, he works in the plant, receiving a steady monthly salary that enables him to care for his family—a basic dignity the ‘Red Ideology’ could never provide. The monthly salaries of the rehabilitated workers, typically ranging from Rs 13,000 to Rs 20,000, are revolutionary in a region long characterized by poverty and lack of opportunities. Trust, Stability The employment of former Maoists is a brave and calculated risk for LMEL, an industry that historically faced stiff opposition and even violence from the left wing extremist groups. LMEL’s management, however, sees it as an investment in inclusive growth and long-term stability for the district. The LMEL has emphasized the company’s commitment to training and facilitating career growth for the local populace, including the surrendered cadres. This commitment to local workforce upskilling is proving to be a highly effective counter-insurgency strategy, chipping away at the foundation of the Maoist movement: the exploitation of local grievances and lack of economic options. The reintegration effort extends beyond the factory floor. By providing stable incomes and a sense of purpose, LMEL helps the former rebels navigate the social transition. They are now homeowners, taxpayers, and active members of the community, replacing the identity of an outlaw with that of a respected employee. This social acceptance, coupled with economic independence, is the true measure of rehabilitation. The successful employment of cadres, some of whom were once high-ranking commanders, also sends a powerful message to those still active in the jungle: the path to a peaceful and prosperous life is open and tangible. It transforms the promise of government rehabilitation into a concrete reality. The plant, with its production of iron ore and steel, is physically transforming the region into an emerging industrial hub, and in doing so, it is symbolically forging the nation’s progress out of the ashes of extremism. The coordinated effort between private industry, the state government, and the Gadchiroli police is establishing a new environment of trust, stability, and economic progress, marking Gadchiroli’s transition from a Maoist hotbed to a model of inclusive and sustainable development.

Is Caste-Based Census an Empowerment Tool or a Catalyst for Division?

As political leaders revive caste-based counting, the promise of empowerment risks being overshadowed by a dangerous drift from the goal of true social equality.

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When political self-interest begins to sit atop the shoulders of societal welfare, the chasm of social inequality only deepens. Hostility among castes and communities intensifies, and eventually, this gives rise to social anarchy. In India, a determined movement to annihilate caste was initiated with the hope that if caste could be eradicated, social inequality would significantly reduce. Brotherhood would flourish, and the dream of a progressive society could become a reality.


However, instead of bolstering this movement with moral and ideological strength, political leadership chose to pit castes and religions against one another for electoral gains. As a result, caste identities have grown sharper. And now, sounding the trumpet of a caste-based census adds yet another layer of complexity to this volatile mix. What exactly will this census achieve? How will society benefit from it? These remain unanswered questions. But one thing is clear — it will widen the existing social disparity gap. Hence, even as the nation makes economic strides, this move may well push it toward greater social unrest.


Caste-based enumeration dates back to the 19th century in India. The outcomes of those early experiments were stark — rather than fostering unity, they sowed division, leading to the eventual discontinuation of such censuses. Today, only Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes are counted in official statistics. The broader categorisation of so-called "upper castes" and Other Backward Classes was halted.


Notably, even in the second decade of the 21st century, the UPA government under Dr. Manmohan Singh undertook a similar exercise. However, Singh — a globally respected economist — recognised the potential perils in the data and shelved the file. Ironically, the same Congress party that then closed the door on a caste-based census is now vocally championing it, with party scion Rahul Gandhi aggressively advocating it as if it were the sole path to India’s development. In interviews across Indian and international media, Gandhi projected the census as a panacea for social justice.


At that time, the BJP-led government under Narendra Modi opposed caste-based enumeration. Yet, surprisingly, just before the Bihar assembly elections, the Centre announced support for such a census — a move widely considered a strategic attempt to counter the opposition. In this game of political one-upmanship, the core issue of social inequality has been sidelined conveniently.


Census operations in India have continued uninterrupted. British civil servant John Henry Hutton, who served as Census Commissioner during the colonial era, is often credited with initiating caste-based enumeration. Hutton’s anthropological work on the Naga tribes and his observations on India's caste structure remain well known. But how many castes are there in India today? Even the proponents of such a census and their political patrons may not have a clear answer.


One survey pegs the number of castes and sub-castes at a staggering 4.5 million. One can only imagine how sharply defined these identities are. Making caste-wise population data public could very likely lead to further fragmentation, sparking new battles over representation and entitlements, rather than promoting unity.


Behind the renewed push for a caste census lies a clear electoral calculus. The formula is simple: more population, more benefits. In princely Kolhapur, RajarshiShahu Chhatrapati implemented a caste census in the early 20th century, aligning representation in local governance accordingly. But that effort had a progressive social vision behind it. Today’s census, however, is unlikely to be so well-intentioned, especially given how much influence ruling regimes exert over bureaucratic machinery.


Previously, three states undertook caste-based censuses enthusiastically. However, the results came as a rude shock to many — the assumed population figures of certain communities turned out to be lower than expected, impacting their share in reservations.


So, the question stands: will India plunge into a numbers game of percentages and proportions, or will it strive to dismantle the caste structure altogether — to lift the toiling, marginalised, and neglected classes out of social disparity? Even though a caste-based census may seem like a tool for empowerment, it risks becoming a dangerous detour in the fight against inequality.

(The author is a senior journalist based in Kolhapur. Views personal.)

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