For far too long, any decision to collect caste data has been seen as self-evidently “political”, whereas the equally deliberate decision to not collect it has somehow been placed outside or beyond politics. Now that the results of the Bihar caste count (officially termed a comprehensive caste survey, or CCS) are out — and the skies have not fallen, nor is the earth shaking — let us ask the questions that can no longer be silenced: What is the politics of not counting caste? Who benefits from the absence of caste numbers and data?
Before we explore answers, the Bihar CCS must be placed in proper perspective. It is indeed a historic event because it is the first such large-scale exercise where results have been made public. The states of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, as well as the Union government itself (in the ill-fated Socio Economic and Caste Census 2011), have collected comprehensive caste data in the past, but for reasons that remain unclear, never revealed it. On the other hand, the Bihar government is yet to release the all-important supplementary data (on the socio-economic status of caste groups) that will allow us to make social sense of the bare caste counts made public.
It is hoped that this data, too, will be released shortly and that the state government will not falter after having boldly come this far — for without inferential information on existing caste inequalities, numbers alone will merely feed speculations in electoral arithmetic that are worthless for understanding society. So, until further notice, the Bihar CCS is historic but only with a small “h”.
To begin answering questions about the politics of not counting caste, we must first revise Max Weber’s famous dictum about the modern state. Today, states are no longer defined by their monopoly over legitimate violence within a specified territory. They are defined as much, or even more, by their monopoly over aggregated social statistics. Nation-wide numbers are priceless resources crucial for the exercise and maintenance of political power in modern electoral democracies because they are critical to the management of public perceptions, beliefs, and feelings.
This has usually been seen in terms of control over the media. Such control remains crucial, as is evident to Indians today. But to take a step forward in the struggle for total power, it is also necessary to gain control over the possible content that the media could use.
In short, totalitarian regimes need to control the news, not just news channels. Social statistics — numbers that describe our collective self — are always big news precisely for that reason. That is why the first moves towards authoritarianism are often aimed at controlling institutions that produce social statistics on growth, employment, health, and inflation — in general, numbers that say something about the well-being (or otherwise) of the electorate. Caste data is a special case within the more general category of social statistics. It tells us about the smaller identity-containers (castes) that form the larger national whole.
It is important because this data has the potential to highlight social inequalities, likely to lead towards social discontent and tension, which in turn threaten to weaken or break the political hegemony of the ruling regime.
The strongest, most enduring and common argument against caste enumeration has been that it will harden caste divisions and delay or prevent the movement towards a casteless society. There is some truth here, but it is overshadowed by a larger and more compelling truth — the realities of caste inequalities in the present must be acknowledged and addressed before we can arrive at a caste-free future. To censor or suppress caste divisions is not to overcome them.
This difference has been ignored by our leaders since the freedom struggle, and it was almost erased in the Nehru era. But only the most brutal authoritarian can suppress a social reality lived daily by millions. Whatever his other faults, Nehru was not a brutal autocrat. As a result, the outing of caste inequalities could only be postponed, until it fought its way into national politics in the 1990s. Ironically, for all the vitriol the current regime has directed at Nehru, it is attempting once again — from a very different vantage point and with very different methods — the muting not of caste differences themselves but of talking about them.
The counting of caste is not a magic wand that will wave away the evils of caste inequality and oppression. Instead, it is a messy, contentious, complex exercise that is sure to have its flaws and inadequacies. But it is also the inescapable first step towards an honest political engagement with the real differences and disparities of caste. And for that reason, it is imperative that India no longer evade.
As a caste society, we have yet to realise that the most important reason to count caste has nothing to do with refining welfare programmes or electoral manoeuvring. Caste must be counted because it counts — it is arguably the most important regulator of life chances today. This means that caste differences are real differences. To call for “unity” without addressing these differences is to practice dishonest politics. Just as courage is not the absence of fear (which could be mere foolishness) but its overcoming, true political unity is the negotiated overcoming of differences, not their denial or suppression.
Fake unity is fake politics. By pretending that we are all “one”, we lower the standards of accountability by which our politicians must be measured. The Western liberal ideal of the “pure” individual unencumbered by any social identities may not be in our future. But political representation that is accountable across acknowledged differences certainly is. Messy and contentious though it is, counting caste will eventually take us there. The best reason to cautiously welcome the Bihar CCS is that it might be the small first step.
The writer is a former teacher of Sociology, currently with the Institute for Social and Economic Change, Bengaluru
