When the Bihar government under the Mahagathbandhan banner initiated a state-level caste-based survey in 2023, it was presented as a transformative step toward social justice. Headlines glorified it, campaign speeches claimed it was a revolutionary milestone, and Tejashwi Yadav projected himself as a champion of backward caste empowerment. In reality, this was a political manoeuvre, engineered more for headlines than for genuine upliftment.
Despite being marketed as a caste census, the exercise was no census in the legal or scientific sense. A census is a rigorous, legally-backed exercise typically conducted under the Census Act of 1948 by the central government. It involves trained enumerators, standardised formats, multiple rounds of verification, and most importantly, national uniformity in execution. This, however, was a state-level caste survey with no statutory backing, limited standardisation, and questionable accuracy.
By contrast, the so-called “caste survey” under the Mahagathbandhan government was a hurriedly executed, state-level data collection exercise; conducted without clear methodological transparency and was not supported by any judicial or policy framework to integrate its findings into actionable governance. In short, it was not a caste census, but a political sampler, and a poor one at that.
The most glaring weakness of this exercise was its failure to move beyond numerical enumeration. It told us how many people belong to a particular caste, but it said nothing about how they live. No data was collected on: Poverty levels by caste, literacy and dropout rates, access to health and sanitation, participation in public employment or government schemes, regional disparities within caste groups, etc.
In essence, the survey reduced Bahujans, Dalits, EBCs, and Adivasis to population units, not policy subjects. It provided no basis for targeted interventions, sectoral budgeting, or proportional programmatic allocation. It offered visibility without viability. Tejashwi Yadav, despite his political positioning, did little to bridge this gap. The absence of follow-up frameworks — no deprivation index, no targeted welfare expansion, no legal roadmap — shows how shallow the intent really was.
The real objective was clear: Consolidate the M-Y (Muslim-Yadav) vote bank. This M-Y axis has been the bedrock of the RJD’s electoral strategy since its inception. The caste survey functioned as a numerical reaffirmation of this strategy, cloaked in the language of representation. However, the most deprived and voiceless sections of Bihar’s caste spectrum, that is, the Mahadalits, SC sub-groups, Adivasis, EBCs like Nonia, Kevat, Tanti, and Musahar, remained peripheral to both data collection and policy direction.
There was no outreach to Bahujan scholars, no consultation with grassroots Dalit activists, no representation from subaltern collectives in the design or analysis phase. The entire survey was structured to consolidate electoral strength, not social strength.
One of the more politically charged demands emerging from Tejashwi Yadav post-survey was that the proposed 85 per cent reservation (SC+ST+OBC+EBC+others) be included in the Ninth Schedule of the Constitution, thus insulating it from judicial scrutiny. But on what scientific basis is this 85 per cent figure determined? There is no caste-wise deprivation matrix to support it. Has there been any expert committee that has recommended this based on empirical findings? Is the Ninth Schedule a magic wand? Even laws under it can be reviewed by courts if they violate fundamental rights (IR Coelho v State of Tamil Nadu, 2007). More worryingly, there has been no formal dialogue with the Union Government, no all-party resolution, and no legal roadmap for such inclusion. It remains a talking point, not a policy position.
The Mahagathbandhan government had the opportunity. It should have constituted a Backwardness Commission to analyse data and recommend proportional schemes; created a deprivation index for each caste, using indicators like access to education, employment, landholding, and healthcare; initiated sector-wise resource allocation plans based on this index; set up legal groundwork through a constitutional commission for justifying any enhancement in reservation; and launched intra-caste equity programs, especially for sub-castes within SC and OBCs that remain disadvantaged.
None of this happened. There were no schemes for EBCs, no Dalit entrepreneurship missions, no targeted educational reforms. What emerged instead was a PR campaign with Tejashwi Yadav at its centre, drawing attention more for performance than policy. While he may still be seen by some as a political successor to Mandal, the delivery deficit reveals how thin the claims really are.
While other parties reduced caste surveys to symbolic optics and vote-bank manipulation, Chirag Paswan emerged as a true champion of Bahujan and Dalit empowerment. As Union Minister, he strongly advocated for a scientific, nationwide caste census that goes far beyond mere headcounts. His vision incorporates real indicators — education, employment, housing, income — designed not just to represent communities, but to uplift them.
Chirag Paswan’s approach reflects an understanding that justice cannot rest on slogans. His insistence on reliable data, institutional accountability, and constitutionally sound implementation sets him apart from leaders who seek to use the Bahujan identity for electoral staging. By working toward policies grounded in empirical evidence and legal clarity, he has positioned himself as one of the few national leaders genuinely invested in transformative social justice.
His role has not just been performative; it has been policy-oriented. His work stands as a counter-model to the politics of Tejashwi Yadav and the Congress in Telangana -— where counting was the goal, not correcting. Chirag’s politics is not about how many are included in a speech but how many are included in development.
The Mahagathbandhan’s caste survey failed because it mistook enumeration for emancipation. It was an electoral strategy disguised as empowerment. The Bahujans, once again, were used as political capital, reduced to statistics, not stakeholders. There has been no follow-up scholarship scheme, no targeted employment drive, no caste-wise health mission, no SC/ST/OBC land redistribution proposal. Just data and drama.
Social justice is not a rallying cry. It is a roadmap. It requires painstaking institutional effort, credible data architecture, and inclusive policy building. Tejashwi Yadav fails on all three counts. He merely counted the Bahujans. Chirag Paswan is fighting to count them in.
The writer is Member of Parliament, Jamui (LS), Chief Whip, Lok Janshakti Party (Ramvilas)
