Although it is an uncomfortable truth to confront, COVID-19 has exposed deep-rooted inequalities within hierarchies globally, which have enabled certain classes of people to benefit from exploiting a perceived ‘lower’ class. Whilst the pandemic itself has been indiscriminate, it is clear that disadvantaged groups have suffered its effects in a more concentrated way.
This was evidenced in India, with the precipitation of a severe internal displacement crisis triggered by the pandemic. As some commentators have labelled, it is the ‘worst domestic migration crisis on the Indian subcontinent since Partition in 1947’. World Bank statistics suggest that approximately 40 million migrant workers have been impacted by the onerous lock-down measures imposed since March.
At a glance, India’s demographic compared to regional and global outlooks demonstrates a significant difference with regard to urbanisation. Despite being one of the most rapidly developing countries, the vast majority of the country relies heavily on the agricultural industry. Urbanisation has increased from 27.81% in 2001 to 34% in 2018, and this has largely been caused by population growth, as well as poverty-induced migration from rural to urban centres.
States with higher unemployment rates, such as Uttar Pradesh and Bihar have seen mass movements of migrants to urbanised states including Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Delhi, Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh. There are an estimated 139 million internal migrants within India, and these largely seek work as daily wage labourers in the informal economy for negligible wages (approximately $2.65). For a significant part, labourers are employed to perform heavy manual duties in construction and factory-work, with little support or guarantee by way of unions, permanent housing, employment security/wages or healthcare.
The Government pledged its commitment towards the pursuit of increased urbanisation in 2015 through committing to invest in 100 ‘smart cities’ over five years. The overarching aim of this was to improve institutional, physical, social and economic infrastructure, and this was lauded for creating employment opportunities especially for the informal sector, which migrant workers and manual labourers largely constitute. The benefit lies ostensibly in the significant numbers lifted above the poverty line, however as analyst Jawhar Sircar contends, this is a ‘game of snakes and ladders’, given that there is an equal effect of pushing several more people into the informal sector and towards the poverty line. Sircar adds with regard to the class disparity, “This dark morass is, of course, a visible embarrassment to the wafer-thin upper crust that is annoyed because it pulls back their ‘shining India’, not realising that it thrives because this black hole keeps expanding every year.”
Although this scheme would have offered benefits across a range of sectors if it had materialised as anticipated, official data reveals that only about 21% of the total allocated funds had actually been used at the end of the five-year period. In addition to the plethora of practical issues this poses towards improving infrastructure and quality of life, urbanisation measures such as the Smart Cities Mission have ‘left behind a major chunk of its population: the poor and marginalised’.
Urban planning often fails to consider how solutions can be implemented in rural areas to promote a better quality of life, economic and employment prospects for poorer communities. The need for this can hardly be understated, with 10,349 farmers committing suicide in India in 2018. In this way, it is clear that India’s pursuit for increased urbanisation requires ‘social and financial inclusion [to] make this narrative truly holistic’. Without this, the vicious cycle pushing more people from rural communities into poverty and seeking employment in other states will be exacerbated, and we may see a repeat of what is occurring at present with India’s migration crisis. The Journey and Government Response
On March 24, following on from a number of prior measures that India had taken to curb the virus, severe lockdowns were imposed that also saw the closure of interstate borders. Thousands of migrant workers engaged as daily labourers were suddenly without a job, as well as proper accommodation. This, combined with the cessation of railway, bus and air travel resulted in an exodus of migrants on foot desperately trying to make their way back to their origin states. The government was highly criticised for the suddenness of the 8pm announcement, coming into effect at 12am, that left people with four hours to prepare, if any preparation was even possible in such a limited period. This situation shares striking similarities with the Indian government’s demonetisation announcement in 2016 (also made at 8pm), which, like the present situation, arguably afforded the most detriment to people predisposed to vulnerability, including people from rural communities.
Most migrant workers were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of kilometres away from their villages and hometowns, with little to no food, water or shelter. Many took to sleeping on railway platforms and tracks, and on top of this, were subject to police brutality and inhumane treatment. One such incident was manifested in migrant workers returning to the city of Bareilly being sprayed with a chemical solution by officials in hazmat suits. Many migrants were also beaten with bamboo sticks by police and were charged for being in breach of the lock-down conditions. Having no means to remain where they were working, in addition to limited transport options, a catch-22 situation.
Social media (and the mainstream media) has especially been proactive in highlighting the plight of migrant workers during the lockdown, through exhibiting the tragic backgrounds of migrant workers. One factor overlaps in each migrant worker’s story: they were seeking a better life for their family and trying to beat the cycle of poverty. In particular, one video depicting a two-year-old boy trying to wake his dead mother (content warning for distressing images) who was a migrant worker, caused global outcry. The bleak reality of the situation is evident in the statistics, with 198 migrant workers dying between March 25 to May 31, the major causes being malnutrition, fatigue and vehicle accidents.
The government response to the migrant crisis was pitifully inadequate. Although the government announced fiscal packages and arranged for some buses and trains to take migrants home, many migrants were ineligible for monetary support and also could not access transport due to the huge demand and limited availability. Economists outlined that two or three times the present amount would be required by way of a stimulus package to reflect the scale of the issue. The UN called on the Indian Government to honour the Supreme Court’s order to ensure migrants were transported back to their native place, and be provided with food, water and shelter, however whether this eventuated is debatable, given the ongoing nature of this crisis.
The Indian migrant crisis caused by the lockdowns also shone a light on the elephant in the room; the caste system. Discussions of caste in India are usually limited and uncomfortable. Despite assurances that it plays no role in modern society, and repetitive adages such as ‘if you work hard, you can succeed’, reality depicts an alternate portrayal. In essence, the caste system is a social hierarchy that shares many overlaps with class and accessibility to education and work opportunities. Migrant communities typically belong to ‘lower’ castes, which were historically assigned jobs as labourers, and came from poorer communities, and it is evident that this narrative is perpetuated today. Many migrant workers affected by the pandemic were from Scheduled Castes/Tribes, with at least 24% falling in these categories, as well as other marginalised communities.
The Indian Constitution provides protection and guarantees for people from these lower castes (referred to as Scheduled Castes/Tribes), however, people from Scheduled Castes face discrimination and are subject to harmful stereotypes. This was evident through Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath’s false claims that 75% of returning migrants had COVID-19, and furthermore, they were from the Dalit caste. Dalits, also referred to as ‘untouchables’, are regarded as the lowest caste in India, and face a high level of abuse and ostracisation. Given that Adityanath is from the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, divisive comments such as these can be extremely detrimental, and further entrench social hierarchies.
To the extent that the migrant crisis in India is a class disparity issue, it can equally be classified a social issue that was created through generations of perpetuating the caste delusion, and excluding people based on this. The migrant crisis in India cannot be regarded solely as a current reflection of apathy towards those who rank ‘lower’ on the social hierarchy, but the cumulative effect of successive centuries. This scenario will inevitably repeat itself unless there is institutional overhaul and a deep introspection into societal attitudes more broadly.
