The Supreme Court’s judgment last week confirming, after a 12-year legal battle, that Rahim Ali is an Indian citizen, is a judicial milestone. Its sheen, however, is dimmed by the fact that Ali is not present in his moment of vindication. He died two-and-a-half years ago, after living with the constant fear that he would be uprooted from his home in Kashimpur village, Nalbari district, Assam. Ali’s story, at once tragic and absurd, is symbolic of the promises not kept in the fundamental social contract between citizen and state, enshrined in the Constitution’s letter and spirit. Ali’s wife, Hajera Bibi, on learning of the Court’s verdict, told this newspaper: “What is the point now? The fear that he lived under, of being taken away, died with him. If they still wanted to call him a foreigner, what would they have done? Picked him up from his grave?” The question, steeped in sadness and anger, is a reproach. It is also a call for accountability from an opaque and labyrinthine process that casts the onus of proving their innocence on the vulnerable.
Under Section 6 of the Foreigners Act, people excluded from the citizenship register can file an appeal in a Foreigners Tribunal (FT). In 2012, an FT delivered an ex-parte order declaring Ali a foreigner. The Gauhati High Court dismissed his petition, filed on the grounds that he could not appear before the FT because of a medical condition. Rahim Ali’s family — mostly agricultural labourers — sold or mortgaged what little property they had to meet travel and legal expenses. After years of twists and turns, when the SC finally upheld his citizenship, it was too late. Unfortunately, his tale is not unique. The Assam government’s figures paint a shocking picture: According to its submission in the state assembly in February, 100 FTs had disposed of 3,37,186 cases at the end of last year and 1,59,353 people were declared foreigners. As many as 94,149 cases are still pending. How many of the 1,59,353 have been unfairly stripped of their citizenship like Rahim Ali? For how long, and by what justification, will the nearly 1 lakh people whose cases are pending live under the Sword of Damocles? If, like with Ali, it is found that the FTs and Assam police were wrong, will the government compensate them — can it — for their trauma, time and expenses?
The SC chided the state police for not having any material support for its claim that Ali came from Bangladesh. It must also look into why quasi-judicial and judicial bodies saw fit to disenfranchise him despite the lack of evidence. Disturbing, too, is the rise of a political idiom that seeks to paint many like Ali with the broad brush of exclusion. On Wednesday, Assam Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma raised a familiar bogey at a meeting in Jharkhand: “I’ve witnessed this [‘love jihad’ and ‘land jihad’] firsthand in Assam, where 40 per cent of the population comprises Bangladeshi infiltrators.” The figure he cites is close to the Muslim population of the state. The Constitution promises liberty, equality and dignity to every citizen. The criminalisation and disenfranchisement of Ali, and others like him, is a betrayal of that promise. Until that changes, Hajera Begum’s question — what is the point now? — will continue to tar a justice that is hard to find or comes too late.
