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other graphics that appear in articles are expressly not to be reproduced other than for personal use. All rights reserved. CONTENTS Vol. 15, No. 3: JulyAugust 1983 Suniti Kumar Ghosh - The Indian Bourgeoisie and Imperialism Jim Matson - Class Struggles in Cooperative Development: The Subordination of Labor in the Cooperative Sugar Industry of Maharashtra, India Gail Omvedt - Capitalist Agriculture and Rural Classes in India Habibul Haque Khondker - Bangladesh: A Case of Below Poverty Level Equilibrium Trap by Mohiuddin Alamgir / A Short Review Hugh Deane - On the Deadly Parallel: A Review with Reminiscence. The Origins of the Korean War by Bruce Cumings Bruce Cummings - Korea: The Untold Story of the War by Joseph C. Golden / A Short Review Jon Halliday - Siberian Development and East Asia by Allen S. Whiting / A Review Essay Dennis Grafflin - Orientalisms Attack on Orientalism BCAS/Critical AsianStudies www.bcasnet.org CCAS Statement of Purpose Critical Asian Studies continues to be inspired by the statement of purpose formulated in 1969 by its parent organization, the Committee of Concerned Asian Scholars (CCAS). CCAS ceased to exist as an organization in 1979, but the BCAS board decided in 1993 that the CCAS Statement of Purpose should be published in our journal at least once a year. We first came together in opposition to the brutal aggression of the United States in Vietnam and to the complicity or silence of our profession with regard to that policy. Those in the field of Asian studies bear responsibility for the consequences of their research and the political posture of their profession. We are concerned about the present unwillingness of specialists to speak out against the implications of an Asian policy committed to en- suring American domination of much of Asia. We reject the le- gitimacy of this aim, and attempt to change this policy. We recognize that the present structure of the profession has often perverted scholarship and alienated many people in the field. The Committee of Concerned Asian Scholars seeks to develop a humane and knowledgeable understanding of Asian societies and their efforts to maintain cultural integrity and to confront such problems as poverty, oppression, and imperialism. We real- ize that to be students of other peoples, we must first understand our relations to them. CCAS wishes to create alternatives to the prevailing trends in scholarship on Asia, which too often spring from a parochial cultural perspective and serve selfish interests and expansion- ism. Our organization is designed to function as a catalyst, a communications network for both Asian and Western scholars, a provider of central resources for local chapters, and a commu- nity for the development of anti-imperialist research. Passed, 2830 March 1969 Boston, Massachusetts VoI.lS, No. 3/July-Aug., 1983 Contents Suniti Kumar Ghosh 2 Jim Matson 18 GailOmvedt 30 Habibul Haque Khondker 55 Hugh Deane 57 Bruce Cumings 61 Jon Halliday 63 Dennis Grafflin 68 71 72 The Indian Bourgeoisie and Imperialism Class Struggles in Cooperative Development: The Subordination of Labor in the Cooperative Sugar Industry of Maharashtra, India Capitalist Agriculture and Rural Classes in India Bangladesh: A Case ofBelow Poverty Level Equilibrium Trap, by Mohiuddin Alamgir/short review On the Deadly Parallel: A Review with Reminiscence; The Origins ofthe Korean War, by Bruce Cumings Korea-The Untold Story ofthe War, by Joseph C. Goulden/short review Siberian Development and East Asia, by Allen S. Whiting/review essay OrientaIism's Attack on Orientalism Correspondence and Errata List of Books to Review Contributors Bruce Cumings: The School of International Studieg, Uni versity of Washington, Seattle, Washington Hugh Deane: Harvard '38, was in Korea briefly in 1945 and for extended stays in 1947 and 1948. Suniti Kumar Ghosh: Has been editor of Liberation, Central Organ ofthe Communist Party ofIndia (Marxist-Leninist). Dennis Grafflin: Department of History, Bates College, Lewiston, Maine John Halliday: has served as Editor of the Bulletin of Con cerned Asian Scholars for Volume 11, 1979 Habibul Haque Khondker: Department of Sociology, Uni versity of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Jim Matson: Graduate Student, Sociology Department, SUNY-Binghamton Gail Omvedt: Writer on India, Kasegaon, Maharashtra, India The Indian Bourgeoisie and Imperialism by Suniti Kumar Ghosh In his article "The Problem of India" (Monthly Review, February 1981) Lawrence Lifschultz approvingly cited the following lines from Dilip Hiro: By the late 1960s, the Congress [Indian National Con gress] had played out its historically progressive role: a successful challenge to the foreign imperialistic capital on behalf of the indigenous capital; and substitution or sup planting of the large absentee, feudal ownership in agri culture with directly managed landlordship or 'self cultivating" ownership by rich peasants. What, according to Hiro, is wrong with the Congress is its failure to "initiate, let alone accomplish, the next pro gressive step in the economic revolution of Indian society: combating landlords and rich farmers for the benefit of the landless and the poor and middle peasants." And he de clares that "this is the only way to arrest the continuing increase in the relative and absolute size of the country's poor" (cited by Lifschultz-emphasis in the original). Frankly speaking, the above summing up of the Indian problem presents quite a wrong view ofit, which is far more complex than Hiro and Lifschultz imagine. Despite the wealth of detail (inaccurate in some cases), sharp exposure of the socialist pretensions of the Indian ruling classes and an attractive style, Hiro's Inside India Today, which Lif schultz has praised highly, fails to grasp the two main aspects of the Indian situation: the stranglehold of foreign imperialist capital (direct investment capital as well as loan capital) on the Indian economy and the wide prevalence of pre-capitalist relations in India's countryside. Lack of a correct understanding of these two aspects has led Hiro to the conclusion (to which Lifschultz seems to agree) that the Congress played a historically progressive role until the late sixties-an undeserved tribute to the Congress which more than compensates for his criticism of this political party of the Indian ruling classes. It is the Congress that, far from offering "a successful challenge to the foreign, imperialistic capital," has invited in the monopoly capital of several imperialist powers to fleece the people in collaboration with the classes it represents and has thus preserved and strengthened the chains of dependence on them. The basic problem of India-the incredible poverty and degradation of the vast masses-becomes more and more acute with every passing day because of three factors. First, imperialist oppression and plunder continue though forms of imperialist control have changed; second, the Indian big bourgeoisie, in order to survive and develop, serves the interests of foreign imperialist capital and helps its economic aggression against this country and, by doing so, waxes fat; and third, pre-capitalist interests, which colo nial rule fostered and with which the big bourgeoisie of this country has close ties, still dominate the countryside de spite certain agrarian reforms and emergence of weak capi talist relations in agriculture. Hiro is not alone in imagining that the Congress lead ership and the classes it represents are genuinely anti imperialist. It is held not only by the official historians of the Indian ruling classes but by many others as an axiomatic truth that the Indian National Congress, representing the Indian bourgeoisie, which is usually assumed to be an undifferentiated class, sucessfully spearheaded the people's struggle for freedom to establish an independent bourgeois nation state. Those who are of this view refuse to consider the nature of the strategy and tactics of the strug gle, carefully formulated by the leadership and without any parallel in the history of the national liberation struggle of any other country, and the various constraints and checks imposed on it by them -all of which were devised to win concessions but not to overthrow imperialism. They fail to see through the moral and religious veneer intended to conceal the real nature of the sordid bargains with im perialism and the maneuvers against the people, and forget that the moral and religious veneer, like many other things, has a class character. That there were contradictions be tween the aims of the leadership and the aspirations of the people for genuine, not nominal, freedom seems to escape them. Confusion Abounding Rajani Palme Dutt, whose writings have influenced the Indian communist movement for decades far more powerfully than anybody else's, spoke ofthe dual character 2 of the Indian bourgeoisie: it had, according to him, an tagonistic contradictions with imperialism as well as with the masses. With all its proneness to compromise with imperialism out of fear of social revolution, it led the strug gle to overthrow imperialism and establish a bourgeois nation state. 1 In 1949 Palme Dutt contended that the Indian bour geoisie had betrayed the people and gone over to the camp of imperialism; he then described India in 1948 as "still a colonial country within the orbit of imperialism, despite the changes of political forms."2 From about the end of 1955 after the rise of Krushchev to power in the Soviet Union Palme Dutt recanted this view and described the new In dian state as an independent bourgeois state, and the 1947 transfer of power as "a landmark of world history," "a foremost part of the world advance of peoples, of national liberation and socialism. "3 Since the Communist Party of India (Marxist Leninist) formulated that the Indian bourgeoisie com prised two sections-the comprador bourgeoisie and the national bourgeoisie-there has been a spate of writings seeking to disprove this formulation. Indian academic his torians such as Bipan Chandra have put forward "the basic hypothesis" that "the Indian capitalist class had developed a long-term contradiction with imperialism while retaining a relationship of short-term dependence on and accomoda tion with it." According to Chandra, the Indian capitalist class including its upper stratum has never had, especially not after 1914, an organic link with British capital and has succesfully led anti-imperialist struggles to wrest power by stages (by adopting what he ingeniously calls a "P-C-P" pressure-compromise-pressure-strategy) and set up an independent, bourgeois state. 4 The theoreticians of the Communist Party of India and the Communist Party of India (Marxist) hold almost similar views. What seems basically wrong with most of the formula tions of bourgeois academicians, revisionists and even of many Marxist writers-Indian and Western-is that they assume that Indian capitalism pursued a line of develop ment similar to that of West European capitalism with the difference that it was born late and that it had to, and did, struggle against and overcome many constraints imposed on it by colonial rule. They have never investigated the precise impact of Western capital with its superior tech nique and organization, military and political power, on the feudal, backward economy of India. One of the results of this impact-the relationship that developed between the bourgeoisie of an advanced capitalist country or countries and the Indian bourgeoisie-is seldom taKen into consideration. Question of Differentiation of the Indian Bourgeoisie In a colony or semi-colony (which Lenin described as a semi-dependent country-formally independent but really 1. R. PalmeDutt,IndiaTOOily, Bombay, 1947, pp. 262-3 and 503-4. 2. Ibid, Bombay 1949 edn., p.7 3. "Notes of the Month," Labour Monthly, January 1956 and India Today, Calcutta 1970 edn., Preface, p. VI. 4. Bipan Chandra, '''The Indian Capitalist Class and British Imper ialism," in R. S. Sharma (Ed.), Indian Society: Historical Probings, New Delhi, 1974. 3 "Nehru had then gone on to speak of hitching India's wagon to America's star and not Britain's." While asking Olaf Caroe, then Secretary, External Affairs Department, Government of India, to pass on to Sir Staf ford Cripps the main lines of the conversation with Jawa harlal Nehru he had on 6 April 1942, Colonel Louis John son, who had just arrived in India as President Roosevelt's Personal Representative, reported the above. (See Docu ment No. 540 and the enclosure in N. Mansergh (ed.-in chief), The Transfer ofPower 1942-7, Vol. I, Her Majesty's Stationery Office, London, 1971, p. 665. How Equal Are They? Total Turnover in 1976: Exxon-$48,631 million General Motors-$47, 181 million Gross output of all factories in India (employing ten or more workers working with the aid of power or twenty or more working without it) both Indian- and foreign controlled in 1976-77 (April to March) was Rs. 34,090.65 crore, about $34,091 million at the present rate of ex change. Furthermore, Economic Times (New Delhi) re ported on 14 February 1977 that "The total assets of Rs. 4,966 crore and sales of Rs. 5879 crore of the top 20 industrial houses add up to only 17 percent and 15 percent of the assets and sales respectively of Exxon (New York) [in 1975-76]." Technological CoUaboration: Who Controls Whom? According to a paper prepared by the Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry, India's total R&D expenditure amounted to Rs. 7,251 million in 1980-81 (which includes the expenditure on R&D of branches and subsidiaries of foreign multinationals and other foreign controlled companies) while the USA's expenditure on R&D was 87 times in absolute terms. The paper stated that the cost of developing first generation technology in cluding the construction of pilot planes was far more than what the biggest Indian firms could afford (Economic Times [Calcutta], 28 March 1983). A recent UNESCO document stated that while Japan's per capita expenditure on R&D was $182, India's was one dollar (Economic Times [Calcutta], 6 March 1982). dependent on several imperialist powers), the bourgeoisie inevitably splits up into two sections-the national bourgeois who seek independent development and the comprador bourgeois who are selected by foreign capital to act as its agents for procuring goods from the hinterland for export to the metropolis, for selling its manufactured goods on the domestic market and also for serving as a pipe-line for import of capital goods and technology. On the basis of his experience in China, Mao Zedong made the following generalization: "In countries under imperialist oppression there are two kinds of bourgeoisie-the national bour geoisie and the comprador bourgeoisie."5 The interests of the comprador bourgeois are closely tied up, intertwined, with the interests of the imperialist bourgeoisie and it is with the assistance of the latter that they thrive. Their roles are, in the main, complementary not competitive. Like comprador traders, there are com prador industrialists whose interests are interwoven with those of imperialist capital, and in this interweaving the interests of the latter are dominant. As the comprador plays the role of the agent of imperialist capital, he helps the latter to intensify its economic as well as political ag gression against his country. On the other hand, the in terests of the national bourgeoisie in a colony or semi colony are not tied up with those of imperialist capital though it may depend on the latter for capital goods, know how, markets and so on. It represents the interests of independent industrial development, but its aspirations are thwarted by imperialism acting in collusion with compra dor capital and feudal interests. Though the roles of imperialist capital and comprador capital are complementary, yet there may arise contradic tions between the two over respective shares of the spoils. Nevertheless, such contradictions are usually not antagon istic and are resolved within the framework of the imperialist system. It is collusion to exploit and oppress the people of the colony or semi-colony-not contradiction-that is the principal aspect of the relationship. It is regarded by most economic historians and politi cal scientists as another axiomatic truth that the Indian big bourgeoisie 6 emerged and grew in strength by overcoming the fierce opposition of the British bourgeoisie both in the political and in the financial sphere. To quote R. Palme Dutt, "Such industrial development as has taken place has in fact had to fight its way against intense opposition from British finance-capital alike in the financial and in the political field."7 It is our contention that such a view is in flagrant contradiction with facts; that the Indian big bourgeoisie, on the contrary, has been nurtured and helped to grow big by foreign capital and a symbiotic patron-client relationship between foreign capital and the Indian big bourgeoisie whether commercial, industrial or both-has existed for a long time and persists even today. 5. Mao Zedong, Selected Works (SW), Vol. 5, Peking, 1977, p. 327-emphasis added. 6. By the "big bourgeoisie" is meant that section ofthe bourgeoisie which controls giant firms. The word "big" or "giant" is used not in an absolute sense. The bourgeois who is big in India is a pigmy in the U.S.A. When we speak of the Indian big bourgeoisie, we should not forget the Indian context and the period referred to. 7.1ndiaToday,I947edn.,p.I23. In respect of the native merchant bourgeoisie in India, the British colonialists followed a dual policy. On the one hand, they suppressed the growth of that section of the native bourgeoisie which would not or could not serve as a tool for exploiting the colony; on the other hand, they remolded another section of the old native bourgeoisie and raised and nurtured a new one, which acted as their intermediaries. British colonial rule destroyed much of the indigenous industry, including the manufactories that had developed in iron and steel, salt peter, shipping and some other in dustries (small pockets where capitalist relations had made their appearance), shattered the old union between ag riculture and industry and converted India, under the new, international division of labor that arose in the nineteenth century, primarily into a raw material appendage and a market for the products of the British factory industry and, secondarily, into an outlet for export of capital. India's external and internal trade came to be dominated by the British bourgeoisie and, as a result, the transformation of the big Indian merchants into comprador bourgeois, a pro cess which had started long before the advent of colonial rule, was hastened. Such a transformation took place in China immediately after the Opium War (1840-42), when hong merchants (the Chinese emperor's chartered mer chants) were supplanted by merchants who were selected by foreign capital to serve as its agents. In India the process had started much earlier in the 16th and 17th centuries, when by virtue of their naval supremacy India's maritime trade was controlled first by the Portuguese and then by the Dutch and the English. 8 The transformation of a section of the old Indian merchants and the rearing of new ones who served themselves by serving foreign capital, helped the Western bourgeoisie to penetrate into the country both economically and politically. In the conditions of colonial economy trading and usury capital, which was closely linked with foreign capital, thrived and delayed and distorted the growth of industrial capital. There was, no doubt, an antagonistic contradiction between colonial rule and the independent development of capitalism in this country. Under colonial rule, the transition towards a capitalist society became more difficult than before because it had to contend against two formidable obstacles instead of one. The forces of colonialism combined with the forces of the pre-capitalist society to prevent such a social transform ation. 9 The road to India's independent industrial develop 8. See D. R. Gadgil, Origins 0/ the Modern Indian Business Class, New York, 1959, pp. 19-20,41-3; N. K. Sinha, The CoMmic History o/Bengal, Vol. I, Calcutta, 1965 edn" pp. 6-7; D. F. Karaka, History ofthe Parsis, London, 1884, Vol. I, "Introduction"; Vol. II, p. 9 and chap. 2; Holden Furber, Bombay Presidency in the Mid-Eighteenth Century, Bombay, 1965; Surendra Gopal, Commerce and Crafts in Gujarat, New Delhi, 1975; and A. I. Chicherov, Indki: Economic Development in the 16th-18th Centuries, Moscow, 1971, pp. 112-20 and 126. 9. There is actually no conflict between this statement and Lenin's theory that imperialism "influences and greatly accelerates the development of capitalism" in backward countries. He also pointed out that, despite such acceleration, "survivals of feudalism"-not capitalism-were the target of the revolution in such countries. (See "Address to the Second All Russia Congress of Communist Organizations of the Peoples of the East" and "Preliminary Draft Thesis on the National and Colonial Questions," Collected Works (CW), Vol. 30, p. 161 and Vol. 31, p. 149. These con 4 ment was blocked by British colonial rule. Contrary to Marx's early optimistic view, which he appeared to discard later, British rule threw India back instead of laying down material premises for a move forward. 10 The stunted, lop sided industrial development that took place in India did so not by overcoming the fierce opposition of British capital. On the contrary, it was guided and fostered by it. Industrial capitalism did not emerge in this country in the course of the normal development of industry as in the countries of the West. I I Factory industry here was trans- Today when imperia&t monopolies are interested in exporting capital rather than con sumer goods, the Indian big bourgeoisie mserving as the pipeline for the flow of imperialist capital (both direct investment and official loan capital) into [India]. tradictory features of the penetration of imperialist capital into a colony or semi-colony were clearly pointed out in the "Theses on the Revolutionary Movement in the Colonies and Semi-Colonies" adopted at the Sixth Congress of the Communist International in 1928. (See Section 14 "The Role ofFinance Capital" and Section 15 "Imperialist Economic Policy. ") Speaking of China, Mao Zedong referred to these contradictory features: "Penetration by foreign capitalism accelerated this process [of capitalist development] .... There is another concomitant and obstruc tive aspect, namely, the collusion of imperialism with the Chinese feudal forces to arrest the development of Chinese capitalism" (SW, Vol. 2, pp. 309-10; see also Paul Baran, The Political Economy ofGrowth, New York, 1957, pp. 143-4). The fundamental policy of imperialism is, indeed, to transform the economy ofthe colony into an appendage of the economy of the imperialist country, to destroy the equilibrium between separate branches of production, to spoil it of its natural resources and thus to hinder the development of productive forces. A large part of the British capital that flowed into India was usury capital-loans to the government and semi-government bodies. Most of the remaining portion was invested in tea and rubber plantations (products of which were meant primarily for export), trade, banking, and only a smalI fraction in industry. On the other hand, there was a continu ous flow of wealth from India to Britain. This annual tribute during the two decades before World War II was estimated to have been in the neighborhood of 135 million (see India Today, 1947, p. 122). The destruction of indigenous industries and forced conversion of India into a raw material appendage acted even more powerfully than the drain as a brake on the development of India's productive forces. Through export of capital, the imperialist bourgeoisie built up a few enclaves of capitalist industry but in the vast rural areas feudal relations of production were zealously preserved and merchant and usury capital flourished as never before. 10. Considerations of space do not permit us to explain here Marx's early optimistic view of British rule in India and his later rejection of it. This question may be taken up in a separate article. 11. No doubt, British capital and contractors, as L. H. Jenks wrote, "contributed to the rise of industrial life upon the Continent" but the impulsion came from within. (Jenks, The Migration of British Capital to 1875, London 1963 edn., pp. 185, 188). In France and several other countries, bourgeois revolutions had taken place and capitalist relations of production were dominant. In India, on the other hand, pre-capitalist relations of production prevailed. Second, while the countries of the West were independent, sovereign states, India was a colony. Speaking of France, Jenks said: "Initiative, leadership, decision-making were in French hands, and in the hands of the government in France" (Ibid, p. 167). And they built up their industries by erecting tariff walls to protect their own markets. In India, on the other hand, not only did the initiative and decision-making lie in the hands of the British and the British government but the British-owned industries as well as much of the Indian-owned factory industry were controlled from without. Third, in the West small producers became merchants and then turned into industrial capitalists; that is, capitalism developed along what Marx called "the really revolutionary path." Here, on the contrary, comprador merchants invested in industry. Briefly, industrial capitalism did not develop in India independently, on autonomous lines. It is not the class contradictions and class struggle within the Indian society that led to the emergence and growth of Indian industrial capitalism. On the contrary, it was capitalism, which had de veloped elsewhere, that urged by the laws of its own development pro moted the growth of some industrial enclaves, dependent on it, in the midst of the vast semi-feudal economy in this country. plapted from an advanced capitalist country to a depen dent, semi-feudal country, as we shall see, in order to further the interests of the former. With its capital goods and technology developed elsewhere, the factory industry in India represents "an importation rather than an evolu tion." As colonial rule transformed the Indian economy into an appendage of the economy of Britain, Indian big industrial capital, like big merchant capital, remained tied to foreign imperialist capital like a sub-exploiter to the chief exploiter. The second thing to note is that Indian industrial capi talism grew not by defeating feudalism but by adjusting itself to it. One of the chief sources of capital invested in Indian industries was the huge rent wrung out of the peas antry by feudal princes in native "states" (such as Gwalior, Mysore, Baroda, Indore and Travancore), who ruled despotically and were responsible only to the British para mount power, and by big feudal landlords like the Mahara ja of Darbhanga. The rule of the bourgeoisie of a foreign country and the dominance of a semi-feudal economy were the major factors which determined the course, nature and extent of development of Indian industrial capitalism. Development of Indian Industrial Capitalism The history of Indian industrial capitalism may be divided into three phases: first, from the 1850s to World War I; second, from World War I to 1947-the year which marked the end of the colonial rule; and third, the period since 1947. First phase: 1850s to World War I Between the 1850s and World War I, Indian-owned industries were chiefly two: cotton and iron and steel. In this country neither small commodity producers nor mer chants independently carrying on trade grew into industrial capitalists. Those who set up cotton mills in Bombay and Ahmedabad in the second half of the nineteenth century had for a long time been closely associated with British capital as brokers, banians 12 and shroffs, 13 as its local in 12. Till the end of the 18th century, the banians acted as agents and middlemen for the East Indian Company's servants and British Free Merchants on a commission basis. Later, the banian became a "guarantee broker" attached to a European managing agency firm. He had to guaran tee the reliability of other Indian businessmen dealing with the firm and received a commission on sales. 13. Shroffs were originally money-changers and indigenous bankers, many of whom had branches at different commercial centers and com bined their banking activities like moneylending and discounting of bills of exchange with trade. S termediaries, and had close links with feudal princes and landlords. A few early industrial capitalists had been bureaucrats in the service of the colonial government or of the native princes and, while quite dependent on the latter for money-capital and other help, had formed close ties with British capital before venturing on their new activi ties. 14 Much of the capital invested in Bombay's cotton mill industry in its early days, as pointed out by the Indian Industrial Commission 1916-18, was "derived from the profits made in the opium trade with China, and, of course, from the money which the cotton boom [during the Ameri can Civil War] brought into Bombay."15 The opium trade with China played a crucial role in Britain's colonial exploitation of India. Opium constituted one-third or even more of the total exports from India in some years and this trade, besides serving as an important source of revenue for the colonial administration, acted as a channel for remitting a large part of the imperial tribute and the savings and clandestine gains of the East India Company's corrupt officers and other British merchants. The exported opium provided the British bourgeoisie with the finances for purchasing Chinese tea and silk, which fetched them enormous profits after sale in Britain and on the European continent. Indian merchants were permitted to take part in this very lucrative trade in opium, mainly as correspondents of British firms in China like Jardine Matheson and Company. During the Opium War of 1840 42, Parsi merchants lent their ships to the British to trans port troops to China and several of them were imprisoned by the Chinese government. 16 The Tatas and, later, Birlas, the leading Indian business houses today, were among those who amassed fortunes by taking part in this trade. It was one of the ways in which Indian big merchant capital served the British colonial administration and trade and earned fabulous profits. The collaboration with the British bourgeoisie which enabled the Indians to accumulate capital for setting up the cotton mills was many-sided and long-standing. Many In dian merchants had emigrated from Gujarat to the Bombay island (over which the British had been exercising sovereignty since the 1660s) were treated as British sub jects and carried on trade and other activities as underlings of British merchants. The first Indian mill companies were floated in part nership with British capitalists by Parsis-Davar, Petit, etc. -who had long been associated with British capital as brokers and agents. The textile magnates-the Sassoons (a Jewish family which had emigrated from Baghdad to Bom bay in the early 1830s and, later, settled in England), Currimbhoys, Petits, Wadias and Tatas-were all inti mately tied to British interests. For instance, Jamsetji Tata set up his first cotton mill-named "Empress Mills" as a 14. S. D. Mehta, The Cotton Mills of India 1854-1954, Bombay, 1954, pp. 13-23; and Ashok V. Desai, "The Origins of Parsi Enterprise," The Indian Economic and Soc'ia/ History Review. Dec. 1968, pp. 307-17. 15. Indian Industrial Commission 1916-18, Report. Calcutta, 1918, p.73. 16. Ashok V. Desai, op cit., p. 315; for Opium trade with China, see Michael Greenberg, British Trade and the Opening of China 1800-42, Cambridge, 1951, esp. Chaps. I, IV, V and VI. token of devotion to the British Queen and Empress of India-with the capital which consisted of profits earned from trade in opium, raw cotton procured for export and from contracts with the commissariat of the British army when it attacked Iran in 1857 and Ethiopia in 1868.17 Bombay became the first and leading center of cotton mill industry in India because of some advantages that the Indian bourgeois of this city who invested in this industry enjoyed. First, their activities as compradors procuring raw cotton for export to Lancashire and their sale of Lancashire goods on the domestic market helped them to form con tacts with Lancashire machinery manufacturers. Second, they knew the market not only in India but also in China where they had been marketing Lancashire yam and piece goods. Third, they themselves traded in cotton-the raw material they needed. The contradiction between Lancashire textile industry and Indian cotton mill industry has been very much exag gerated. Till World War I, the area of competition between them was extremely narrow. IS The markets for Indian and Lancashire goods were mainly separate and were comp limentary rather than competitive as the coarse yarn and cloth produced by the Indian mills hardly competed with the finer varieties from Lancashire. Despite certain contradictions with British cotton in dustry, India's cotton mills may be said to have developed as an appendage of British capital, especially of the British machine-building industry. The iron and machine-building industries were rising fast in Britain during these years. The exports of machinery from Britain shot up from the annual average value of 1 million between 1846 and 1850 to that of 8 and 8% million between 1871 and 1875,19 and the value of imports of textile machinery into India rose from 300,000 in 1870 to 1,185,900 in 1875. 20 It is also worth noting that, in 1863, when the duty on imports of cotton manufacturers into India was 5 percent and that on yarn 3% percent, machinery continued to be on the free list. 21 It cannot be assumed, however, that Lanchashire repre sented entire British capitalism, for there were contradic tions between the interests of Lancashire and those of British manufacturers of textile machinery and of the British capitalists who had invested in the cotton mill in dustry in India. 22 For the machinery, spare parts and technical know how, the Indian cotton mill industry depended entirely on the British machinery manufacturers. Because the Indian capitalists who floated the mill companies were quite ignor ant of the technical aspects, the machinery was selected for 17. F. R. Harris, Jamsetji Nusserwanji Tata. Bombay, 1958 edn., pp. 5-6 and 11-12; and R. M. Lala, The Creation of Wealth; A Tata Story, Bombay, 1981, p. 4. 18. S. D. Mehta, op cit., p. 66. 19. L. H. Jenks, op. cit . p. 174; also E. J. Hobsbawm, Industry and Empire, Pelican 1976 reprint, Chap. 6. 20. Indian Textile Journal Souvenir 1954 (published on the occasion of the Centenary ofthe Bombay Cotton Mill Industry), p. 685. 21. Pramathanath Banerjea, Fiscal Policy in India, Calcutta, 1922, p.62n. 22. B. R. Tomlinson, The Political Economy ofthe Raj 1914-1947. London 1979, p. 15; and Matthew J. Kust, Foreign Enterprise in India. Chapel Hill, U.S.A. and Bombay, 1%5, p. 23. 6 them by the British suppliers, and erected, managed and supervised by British managers and technicians. Even the building plans and instructions came from British firms and often created very difficult problems for the Indian com panies because of the British firms' lack of knowledge of the Indian conditions. 23 "The cotton mills of India," writes S. D. Mehta, "owe a lasting debt to the enterprise of the Englishmen who comprised the mainstay of their technical cadre for more than six decades after the first mill company was floated in Bombay in 1854. . . . The share of the Lancashiremen in the growth of the mill industry shaped into mighty propor tions. "24 The Indian employers had no direct voice in the selection of English managers and technicians, which was made in England, and their direct control over the top technicians was extremely limited. 25 For its market also, the Indian cotton mills relied on the British bourgeoisie. The early mills were mostly spin ning mills, which produced yam not so much for the domes tic market as for the foreign markets-Britain's imperial markets in East Africa, Hong Kong, and especially in China. The extent of dependence of the Indian mills on exports to China may be realized from the fact that "in 1888 three-fourths of the yam produced in India was exported to China."26 A. P. Kannangara writes: Indian textiLes were sold abroad under the umbrella ofBritish power and influence. The chiefoverseas market was in China: its entre pots were Hong Kong and Shanghai; it was made accessible as a market by the rights andfacilities which Britain had secured in the interior; and the services ofBritish consular offices were used by Indian exporters. 27 Does all this suggest that there was "intense opposi tion" on the part of British finance-capital to the kind of industrial development that was taking place in India? One may contrast this generous policy of allowing and encour aging the entry of Indian yam and cloth into Britain's imperial markets with the policy adopted only a few decades earlier when the British Government levied pro hibitory duties-even to the extent of 100 percent and more on the import of certain types of India's handloom products into Britain-and banned outright the entry of certain other types. 28 Furthermore, the cotton mill machinery was sold in India by the British manufacturers at three times and coal at six times their ruling prices in Britain. 29 To promote mill 23. S. M. Rutnagur, Bombay Industries: The Cotton Mills. Bombay, 1927, p. 633; and D. H. Buchanan, The Development ofCapitalistic Enterprise in India. New York, 1934, p. 203. 24. S. D. Mehta, op cit .. p. 100. 25. Ibid. pp. 105 and 108. 26. D. H. Buchanan, op cit .. p. 201n; see also W. W. Hunter, The Indian Empire: Its Peoples. History. and Products. London, 1893, pp. 716-7. 27. A. P. Kannangara, "Indian Millowners and Indian Nationalism Be fore 1914," Past and Present. No. 40, July 1968, p. 164. 28. Romesh Dutt, Economic History ofIndia in the Victorian Age. London 1956 edn, p. 112; and N. K. Sinha,The Economic History ofBengal. Vol. III, Calcutta, 1970, pp. 11-12. 29. W. W. Hunter, op cit., p. 715; and V. I. Pavlov, The Indian Capitalist Class. New Delhi, 1964, p. 390. Hunter refers to the year 1877. Later, the prices of mill machinery came down. According to Arum Joshi, the cost of machinery was thirty percent higher in India than in England inl885 (see his Lala Shri Ram, New Delhi, 1975, p. 27). companies, the agents of the machinery manufacturers often purchased shares of the newly-floated companies out of the substantial commissions they received and, after wards, sold them to buy shares in other such companies. For capital goods, technical services extending from the preparation of building plans to installing and running the machines and for market, the Indian capitalists were totally or almost totally dependent on the British bour geoisie. As a price of this abject dependence, they had to hand over to the latter a large portion of the surplus value created by abominably cheap Indian labor in the form of exorbitant prices, interests, payments for technical services and high salaries for the managers and other supervisory staff. Some of the Indian millowners continued to procure raw cotton for supply to Lancashire and, later, also to Japan and to sell Lancashire yam and piece goods on the domestic market. For instance, Morarji Goeuldas, who made his fortune by selling Lancashire piece goods and came to own several cotton mills (whose son Narottam Morarji was afterwards one of the founders of the Scindias) continued to trade in the products of the Lancashire mills. The Tatas were the first Indian merchants and millowners who began towards the end of the last century to export raw cotton for the Japanese mills which were forcing Indian yarn out of the Chinese market. Some Indian mill-owners like the Wadia as and Hormasji Manekji Mehta served as agents of British textile machinery manufacturers. To quote Pavlov: "Up to the First World War the big capitalists who had become factory owners not only con tinued to act as agents of the British and as money-lenders, but frequently even expanded their operations in these fields."30 And A. D. D. Gorden writes: "As with their forbears, it was fairly common for Indian industrialists to be agents of European firms. "31 The following shows just how close was the collabora tion between the Indian big bourgeoisie and British capi talists. First, from its inception in 1875 to 1923, the Bombay Millowners' Association was accomodated in the premises of the Bombay Chamber of Commerce dominated by British capital and the entire secretarial work of the former was performed by the latter, the secretary of which was ex officio secretary of the Millowners' Association. Even when, in 1923, it became necessary to engage the services of a wholetime secretary, a Britisher was appointed Tech nical Assistant Secretary "responsible for the work of the Association under the guidance of the Secretary of the Chamber. "32 Second, many mill companies, whether In dian or European, had on their boards of directors both Europeans and Indians. 33 The "Basic Conflict Theory" R. Palme Dutt has written: The basic economic conflict between the new Indian 30. V. I. Pavlov, op cit., p. 386. 31. A. D. D. Gordon, Businessmen and Politics, Canberra and New Delhi, 1978, p. 61. 32. Rutnagur, op cit., p. 535. 33. S. Radhe Shyam Rungta, The Rise of Business Corporations in India 1851-1900. Cambridge, 1979, p. 242; and Rutnagur, opcit., p. 250. 7 British colonial nile destroyed much of the indigenous industry,. . . shattered the old union between agriculture and industry and converted India, under the new, international division oflabor that arose in the nineteenth century, primarily into a raw material appendage 8D4} a market for the products of the British factory industry and, secon darily, into an outlet for export of capital. bourgeoisie and the British bourgeoisie was already re vealed when in 1882 all duties on cotton imports into India were removed by the Government in response to the demands of the Lancashire manufacturers against the rising Indian industry. Three years later the Indian National Congress was formed. 34 The formation of the Congress is a story into which we shall not enter here. But it may be mentioned in passing that the Congress, according to its first president, W. C. Bonnerjee, was sponsored by Lord Dufferin, the then Viceroy of India, and was set up on the initiative of a high retired British official, A. O. Hume, whom his biographer, William Wedderburn, called "Father of the Indian Na tional Congress." Palme Dutt himself partly contradicted his own facile view when he said that the Congress was set up "as an intended weapon for safeguarding British rule against the rising forces of popular unrest and anti-British feeling. "35 Palme Dutt's mention of the withdrawal of only im port duties on cotton goods gives a rather distorted picture. 34. Palme Dutt, op cit .. p. 255, emphasis added. 35. Ibid. p. 256. The refutation of the views of Palme Dutt and many others does not imply nor is it anywhere suggested, that British imper ialism was not, on the whole, opposed to the development of India's capitalist industry. My contentions are two: first, there was an antagonistic contradiction between imperialism and independent development ofcapi talism in this country; second, whatever little development of India's capitalist industry took place did so not in the strongest contradiction with the policies of imperialism but mostly on comprador basis. Among the factors that did not allow further development of capital ist industry in colonized India on comprador basis are the following: First, all other interests were subordinated to the interests of British capital, the primary aim of which was to exploit India as a raw material appendage and market for British manufacturers. Nothing was permitted that would frustrate this basic aim and harm the complementarity between the imperialist and the colonial economy. That is why no machine building industry existed and the engineering industry, owned by British capital, was poorly developed here. Second, the colonial economy favored the monstrous growth of mer chant and usury capital which earned fantastic profits by collaborating with the British bourgeoisie to fleece the people. This delayed, distorted and restricted the growth of industrial capital. Third, no considerable development of industrial capitalism can take place in a country without previous or simultaneous development of capitalism in agriculture. When the British imperialists sought to preserve the feudal interests for obtaining food and other primary products as cheaply as possible and as bulwarks of political reaction and when Indian capitalists allied themselves with them, no considerable capitalist develop ment even on comprador basis could be expected. Actually, in 1882, all import and export duties were re moved, except for very few articles such as salt and liquor. The withdrawal of import duties, no doubt, benefited Lancashire, but it caused little harm to the interests of the Indian cotton millowners, whose goods, as we have seen, hardly competed with those of Lancashire, while the re moval of duties on exports was definitely beneficial to the Indian millowners. Palme Dutt's statement that the re moval of import duties on cotton goods revealed "a basic conflict between the new Indian bourgeoisie and the British bourgeoisie" has no basis on facts. Palme Dutt and many other economic historians and political scientists also regard the imposition of excise duties, first in December 1894 and then in 1896, as cruel blows to "the very weak Indian cotton industry."36 This argument about the countervailing excise duties is put for ward as such an irrefutable proof of British finance capital's "intense opposition" to "such industrial development as has taken place" that it needs some discussion. First, the Indian millowners themselves did not "com plain of the countervailing excise duty as in any way injur ing us in regard to the competition between England and India," as the Chairman of the Bombay Millowners' As sociation said in his address to its annual general meeting in 1899. He went on: "There cannot, as this Association has always maintained, be any competition between the fine goods of Lancashire and the coarse cloth made in this country, but there can be no doubt that the excise duties protect the handloom weavers. . . . "37 To the Indian millowners the real enemy was the In dian hand loom industry and they criticized the excise duty on mill-made textiles for affording protection to the hand looms against the mill industry. 38 The trade organizations of British capitalists in India as well as their individual representatives joined the Indian bourgeoisie in protesting against the imposition of the excise duties. 39 Second, despite this imposition, the Indian cotton mill industry had a phenomenal growth. Between 1882 and 1892 the number of mills rose from 62 to 127 and the number of spindles more than doubled (even after the installation of a large proportion of ring spindles), and between 1890 and World War I, spindles more than doubled while power looms quadrupled. 40 Third, the Government's revenue policy up to World War I favored the industrialists and other businessmen instead of being harsh to them. As A. D. D. Gordon says, "Furthermore, co-existence and, indeed, collaboration with government were made all the more easy in so far as the logic of imperial rule decreed that they [the Indian industrialists] and the marketeers were left almost entirely out of the revenue structure. "41 36. Ibid. p. 125. 37. Report of the Bombay Mil/owners' Associationfor 1898. p. 85; cited in Bipan Chandra, The Rise and Growth ofEconomic Nationalism in India, New Delhi, 1969, p. 139n. 38. For D. E. Wacha's Speech on May 3, 1901, see Bipan Chandra, ibid. p.139. 39. S. D. Mehta, op cit., pp. 68-71. 40. Ibid. p. 48 and Buchanan, op cit., p. 138-9. 41. A. D. D. Gordon, op. cit.. p. 5. 8 Fourth, the Government's labor policy was highly beneficial to the industrialists. Despite Lancashire agita tion for restriction of hours of work in the Indian mills, the Government permitted the millowners to force laborers to work sixteen hours or more under atrocious conditions and on wages which did not cover the subsistence of their families. Until 1911, even women and many children had to work twelve to fifteen hours a day. 42 Despite the exorbitant prices of the imported machinery and auxiliary goods, the high salaries of British managers and technicians and other handicaps, many mills earned fabulous profits. 43 The de clared profits, it may be noted, were "peanuts" compared to the actual profits made. The enormous profits shared by British and Indian big capital arose out of the abominable exploitation of the Indian workers and of the cotton growers who were defrauded of their rightful prices by a whole host of British exporters, Indian and British mill owners, and a hierarchy of brokers, moneylenders and landlords acting in close alliance. Despite the growth of the Indian cotton mill industry and the Swadeshi ("Buy indigenous goods") agitation in the opening years of this century, the export of Lancashire cotton goods to India continued to rise until 1913-14 when it reached its peak. The subsequent decline of Lancashire is another subject with which we are not concerned here. It may only be pointed out that this decline was due to its inherent weakness-the smallness of its units, insufficient capital and out-of-date plants and methods, in short, its backwardness compared with the rising industries ofJapan and the U.S.A.44 During the inter-war years, the British rulers tried to salvage as much of Lancashire's market in India as possible by concluding the Ottawa Agreement in 1932, the Bombay - Lancashire pact and other trade agree ments and by levying import duties to the tune of even seventy-five percent ad valorem on Japanese cotton goods. The decline of Lancashire is vividly described by Buchanan, who wrote in the early thirties: "Japan, in the past 25 years, has built up an industry whose goods are now being sold in the shops of Manchester. "45 The only other important Indian-owned industry, which started production just before World War I, was iron and steel. Though earlier efforts to set up this industry in India had been made by British capital, they failed or did not become particularly successful for lack of sufficient encouragement from the British rulers. But in the closing years of the last century some intimations of change could be noticed. Viceroy Lord Curzon amended the mining act. And at an interview in 1900 Lord George Hamilton, then Secretary of State for India, urged J. N. Tata to undertake the building of a steel plant. Hamilton told him that it was in Tata that the British Government had found the man they had been looking for. When Tata expressed his mis givings, the Secretary of State promised him all govern ment support and the promise was kept. 46 42. Buchanan, op cit., p. 313. 43. Ibid, pp. 208-10; see also Rutnagur, op cit., pp, 50-51. 44. Alfred E. Kahn, Great Britain in the World Economy, New York, 1946, pp.94-8. 45. Buchanan, op cit., p. 196. 46. Harris, op. cit., p. 155-6. When Tata failed to obtain capital in England for his iron and steel project, most of the money-capital was sub scribed by India's feudal lords. The Maharaja of Gwalior provided the entire working capital. This is one instance among many which shows how very close were the links between the comprador bourgeoisie and the feudal class. For prospecting for iron ore (though ultimately an Indian helped them), capital goods, construction of the works, etc., the Tatas turned to the Americans. The factory was constructed by Julian Kennedy, Sahlin and Co., an American firm of engineers, and Wells, an American, be came the first General Manager. The different shops were managed by Americans and Europeans. In a Note appended to the Report of the Indian Indus trial Commission 1916-18, of which he was a member, Madan Mohan Malaviya, an eminent Congress leader, wrote: The Government has earned the gratitude ofIndians by the support they gave to the scheme [the Tata Iron and Steel Works], and it is a matter of great satisfaction that thejirm has rendered signal services to the Government and the Empire during the War [World War IJ by a ready supply of rails and shell steelfor use in Mesopotamia and Egypt. 47 What Jamsetji Tata declared in his statement, which appeared in the Times of India, 12 April 1894, reflects the attitude of the Indian big bourgeoisie towards the British rulers: Our small community [meaning the Parsi community but it may as well standfor the entire Indian big bourgeoisieJ is, to my thinking, peculiarly suited as interpreters and intermediaries between the rulers and the ruled in this country. Through their peculiar position they have benefited more than any other class by English rule, and I am sure their gratitude to that rule is, as it ought to be, in due proportion to the advantage derived from it. (Emphasis odded.) Second Phase: World War I to 1947 The second phase of development of India's industrial capitalism saw the expansion of the cotton and iron and steel industries, the investment of Indian big capital in paper, sugar, cement, jute and a few other industries and the emergence of new groups of the Indian big bour geoisie-the Birlas, Singhanias, Hukumchands, Goenkas, Dalmia Jains, Ruias, Thapars, Walchands, Chettiars, Naidus and others. According to present-day Soviet theoreticians like V. I. Pavlov, the Indian big bourgeoisie which started as comprador changed into the national bourgeoisie during the inter-war years, especially the thirties. 48 Another theory propagated by some Indian historians is that the capitalist class that developed in India, especially after 1914, "did not develop an organic link with British capi talism: it was not integrated with foreign capital in India. "49 47. Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya's Note in Indian Industrial Commis sion 1916-18, Report, p. 305. 48. See Pavlov, opcit., pp. 400-7. 9 These are, no doubt, ingenious theories, but their hollowness is exposed once they are put to the test of facts. As we shall see, like the Tatas and other textile magnates, the new groups of the Indian big bourgeoisie that arose after 1914 had forged intimate links with foreign capital: in fact, there was a close interweaving of their interests and in this interweaving foreign capital was as usual the principal aspect. World War I brought about a change in the govern ment's industrial policy for three reasons: economic, mili tary political. The rise of formidable imperialist rivals, especially the U.S.A. and Germany, the military security o.f the empire and the political need to grant some conces sions to the Indian big bourgeois in return for the services had rendered and were rendering, demanded a change 10 the government's policy. The Montagu-Chelmsford Re port of 1918 on India's Constitutional Reforms stated: "There are political considerations peculiar to India itself. But both on economic and military grounds imperial in terests also demand that the natural resources of India should henceforth be better utilized. "SO The change in the government's policy was reflected mainly in the setting up of the Indian Industrial Commis sion 1916--18 and its Report recommending a positive policy of industrialization, the appointment of the Indian Fiscal Commission in 1921 and Tariff Boards for selected in dustries in subsequent years and in the grant of protection to certain industries. First to benefit from this change was Tata Iron and Steel and among other important industries that received protection were cotton textiles, paper, matches, heavy chemicals and sugar. The advantages arising out of the policy of discriminat ing protection were reaped by Indian as well as foreign capital. While, during the inter-war years, Lancashire with its small units and backward technique retreated, giant monopolies such as Imperial Chemical Industries, Uni lever, Dunlop, British Oxygen, Guest Keen Williams, Bata, Aluminium Ltd., Union Carbide, Swedish Match, moved in to dominate its trade and industry. The protec tion granted to industries like matches was enjoyed almost wholly by foreign monopolies. . During World War I, Indian big businessmen, like thetr European counterparts in India, minted gold out of the blood, sweat and tears of the people. With the end of the war, new groups of businessmen, mainly Marwaris, such as the Birlas, Surajmull-Nagarmulls, Hukumchands and Singhanias, flush with war profits, invested in industry, while carrying on their traditional businesses-comprador trade, money-lending, speculation in commodities, com pany shares and bullion. About the Marwaris who had to almost all parts of India to seize the oppor tunttIes created by European trade and industry, Thomas Timberg observes: Chandra, "The Indian Capitalist Class and British Imper lahsm ID R. S. Sharma (Ed.), IruJian Society: Historical Probings New Delhi, 1974, p. 391. ' 50. Cited in M. M. Malaviya's Note in Indian Industrial Commission 1916-18, Report. p. 317; for Viceroy Lord Hardinge's message to the Secretary of State for India, dated 26 Nov. 1915 on the need for change see ibid. p. 315. ' , . commercially oriented 'resource groups'. w,th relatives and corresponding jinns all over India the Marwaris became the natural agents to British houses the port cities. They would have their upcountry correspondents buy raw producefor sale to the British firms in the port cities and sell imported goods that could be bought from them. 5 I Contrary to what historians like Bipan Chandra assert these Marwari groups had long been closely integrated with foreign capital. For instance, the Birlas were among the leading opium speculators before World War I, who together with Harduttrai Chamaria (who was a banian to British firms and whose sons, banians like him, founded two jute mills in the 1930s) set up a syndicate which organized the entire opium trade. G. D. Birlahimselfstartedhisbusinesscareer as a broker to European firms in Calcutta. Even though after World War I, the Birlas invested in industry their from trade that was an adjunct mainly to British capital and from speculation in various commodities, and owned cotton mills and a jute mill, they continued to act as intermediaries of British and Japanese capitalists. They were among the three top exporters of raw jute and procured raw cotton for Mitsui and other Japanese trading firms. 52 The Singhanias (Juggilal Kamlapat) of Kanpur, a branch of old and large Marwari firm, which had branches at different places and which at one time traded in opium as its major commodity, were main financiers of the e3!ly British-owned mills at Kanpur and, in return, re ceived sole selling agencies for them before 1914. 53 The war-time profits enabled them to set up several cotton mills one jute. factory but, at the same time, they had large lDvestments European-controlled mills of Kanpur. In the thirties, a number of Marwari and other firms started investing in industry. One such firm was the Goenkas. They were for decades banians to the European firms of the Rallis (the biggest importers of Lancashire piece goods and one of the leading exporters of raw cotton jute and hessian) and Kettlewell Bullen. They also cured and supplied raw jute to Dundee (Scotland) and Germany, besides local pIills, and were owners of large amounts of real estate and big money-lenders. They first launched into industry in 1934, when they purchased a cotton mill in Bombay. The Chettiars of Madras, whose activities as usurers and traders were not confined to South India but had spread under the protection afforded by the British to the of South-east Asia, and who, according to one estimate, had capital of Rs. 750 million invested in Burma alone in 1930 and came to own, by 1937, one-fourth of the total cultivated land in Burma, turned to industry on a large scale in the thirties. 54 Many were the ties with foreign capital. First, the Indian houses which turned to industry after World War I 51. Thomas A. Timberg, The Marwaris: From Traders to Industrialists New Delhi, 1978, p. 51. . 52. Ibid. pp. 63 and 171. 53. Ibid. p. 150. 54. Shoji Ito, "A Note on the 'Business Combine' in India," The Develop ing Economies (Tokyo), September 1966; and Stanley Kochanek Business and Politics in India. Berkeley 1974, p. 23. ' 10 accumulated their capital by serving foreign capital, espe cially by rendering all aid to the British imperialists during the war. Second, their activities as brokers or banians to European firms did not cease but continued after their participation in the industrial sphere. Third, large chunks of Indian capital were subor dinated by foreign capitals to serve its interests. In a memorandum submitted to the Simon Commission in 1929, the Associated Chambers of Commerce, which represented foreign capital, pointed out: It is almost impossible to draw any line ofdemarcation between British and Indian interests in regard to invested capital for companies floated and managed by British managing agents were frequently owned to a very large extent by Indians. Similarly in many companies generally regarded as Indian, a considerable number of the share holders may be British. 55 Fourth, the Indian capital invested in foreign controlled companies constituted the savings not only of the landlords like the Maharaja of Barbhanga and the affluent petty bourgeois but of the big bourgeoisie. At an informal interview Shri Iswari Prasad Goenka, a nephew of Sir Hari Ram and Sir Badridas, said that the Goenkas as well as the Birlas, Bangurs, Jalans, Bajorias, Jatias, etc., had had large financial stakes in the European-managed companies and served on their boards of directors though they had had no control over their management. Shri Isware Prasad Goenka himself had been a director of at least twenty-five such companies during the inter-war years. 56 Men like Sir Pureshotamdas Thakurdas, one ofthe topmost representatives of Indian Commerce and industry, were very closely associated with British capital. 57 Except for a few jute mills owned and contr?lled b.y Marwari groups and managed by Scotchmen With thelf Scottish assistants, 58 the entire jute industry, then one of the major industries in India, was controlled by European managing agencies. Yet, according to a written statement of the Marwari Association before the Indian Fiscal Commission, "not less than 60 percent of the shares of the J ute Mills" were owned by Indians. 59 Indian big capital was similarly subordinated to foreign capital in other British controlled enterprises-paper, engineering, power gen eration. Tata's three hydro-electric companies, then the biggest of their kind came in India in 1929 under the joint management of Tata and a Morgan subsidiary, American and Foreign Power Company. The Tinplate Company of India was set up in 1919 as a joint subsidiary of the British-owned Burma Oil Company and Tata, the former holding two-thirds of the capital, and with a European firm, Shaw Wallace and Co., as its managing agents. 60 55. Cited in Reserve Bank of India, Report on the Census ofIndia' s Foreign Liabilities and Assets as on 30th June 1948, Bombay 1950, p. 15. 56. Interview in Calcutta on 24 June 1980. 57. Tomlinson, op cit., pp. 54-5; and M. M. Mehta, Structure of Indian Industries, Bombay, 1961, p. 333. 58. D. H. Ruchanan, opcit., p. 23-1. 59. A. K. Bagchi, Private Investments in India, Madras, 1975, p. 192 and Vera Anstey, "Economic Development" in S. S. O'Malley, Modem/ndia and the West, London 1968 edn., p. 272. Many were the ties with foreign capital. First, the Indian houses which turned to industry after World War I accumulated their capital by serving foreign capital, especially by rendering all aid to the British imperialists during the war. Second, their activities as brokers or banians to European finns did not cease but continued after their participa tion in the industrial sphere. In Martin-Bum also, which controlled the Indian Iron and Steel Company, some of the largest engineering firms, a number of light railways, electricity, coal, tea and cement companies, and was the third biggest business house in India till the beginning of the seventies, British and Indian interests were interwoven. Foreign and Indian big capital were dovetailed also in another way. British and Indian capitalists, including Tata, decided on a merger of their cement units to set up a big trust-the Associated Cement Companies-in 1936. When there was a conflict between this cement trust and the Dalmia Jains, who then controlled five cement plants, ajoint syndicate was formed. Similarly, the Indian Sugar Syndicate, on which both Indian and British capital were represented, came into existence before World War 11.61 During World War II the collaboration between Indian big capital on the one hand and British capital and the colonial state machinery on the other became still closer than before. As Michael Kidron said, "This drawing together went beyond the confines of individual com panies. . . . For virtually the first time, the two business communities had to deal with the state as purchaser, regulator, or patron on a vast scale, and this in a period of unprecedented boom. "62 The fruits of this collaboration in defence of t h ~ empire during the war, which brought untold misery to tlie lives of the people, were enjoyed in an abundant measure by the Indian big bourgeoisie. According to D. R. Gadgil, "The prices of cloth reached levels more than five times the pre-war level before Government intervened and when the intervention came, it was on terms on which alone the co-operation of the industrialist could be obtained. "63 Naturally, the profits, for instance, of the cotton mill industry soared from Rs. 7 crore in 1940 to Rs. 109 crore in 1943 (1 crore = 10 millions; and 1 dollar = a little over Rs. 9.5 at present). But the declared profits were only a portion of the total profits made hoarding and black marketing were the rule. In this economic war against the people, the colonial state machinery, the British and Indian big bourgeoisie 60. See P. J. Thomas, India's Basic Industries, Bombay, 1948, pp.23-4. 61. A. I. Levkovsky, Capitalism in India, New Delhi, 1966, pp. 303-4. 62. Michael Kidron, Foreign Investments in India, London, 1965, p.58. 63. D. R. Gadgil, Economic Policy and Developnumt, Poona, 1955, p.81. II were at one pole and the people at the other. Writing in 1951, D. R. Gadgilobserved: "A glance at the industrial growth of India during the last 30 years makes clear how almost each industry has grown through support, direct and indirect, given by general revenues or by laying burdens on the general consumer. "64 It would be incorrect to think that the relation of the Indian big bourgeoisie with foreign imperialist capital was one of only collaboration and no conflict. There was, no doubt, conflict over secondary issues like tariff, protection, fiscal autonomy, sterling-rupee ratio, and sterling balances. On most of these issues, e.g., tariff, protection, fiscal autonomy and sterling-rupee ratio, British capital operating in India often sided with Indian capital. But the Indian big bourgeoisie was "dying to cooperate" economi cally as well as politically with foreign imperialist capital and allying itself with imperialism against the people on the primary, basic issue of complete liquidation of imperialist control and exploitation. Cooperation with imperialism, which meant subservience, was primary while conflict or contradiction was secondary. 6S During World War II the Indian big bourgeoisie came to cherish ambitious plans as it hoped to win some freedom for itself within the limits of basic dependence on im perialistic countries after the war. Its hopes were roused and sustained by, among other things, the contradictions between U.S. imperialism and British imperialism seen in 64. Ibid, p. 141. 65. This statement may seem oversimplified and schematic, for the end of the era of petitions and prayers to the British rulers, which the Congress leaders were in the habit of making before World War I, and the launching of mass movements by the new Gandhian leadership appear to be proof of the radicalization of the Congress leadership vis-a-vis col onialism. Obviously, no satisfactory discussion of this question is possible here. In passing, it may be noted that in judging the character of the "radicalization" ofthe leadership, one should take into account the aims, the strategy and tactics, the forms of struggle insisted upon by the leader ship and the nature of the compromises arrived at. Above all, one should take into consideration the temper and mood of the people at the times when the movements were started and the deliberate measures and prop aganda of the leadership to dissipate that mood, demoralize them and keep them passive. Gandhi's phase of petitions and prayers (see The Collected Works ofMalUltma Gandhi, Vol. XIII, New Delhi, 1964, pp. 528-0 and 575-6), his policy of cooperation with the colonial rulers adopted in the Amritsar Congress at the end of 1919 and his exhortation to the people to fulfil their "duty" by settling down quietly to work the "Reforms" "so as to make them a success"-after passing of the Rowlatt Act, the Jal lianwala Bagh massacre, and so forth-abruptly ended for the time being because the Gandhian leadership was shrewd enough to plant itself at the head of the anti-imperialist struggles of the people that had already broken out and when the country was seething with anger. It was not the dog that wagged the tail but the tail that wagged the dog. And it was also not fortuitous that on August 15, 1947, the day direct colonial rule ended, Delhi's sky was rent with the cries of "Jai Hind" (Victory to India) and "Mountbatten ki Jai" (Victory to Mountbatten) (see Alan Campbell Johnson, Mission with Mountbanen, London, 1951, pp. 158-9), that the sole responsibility of fixing the boundaries of the two new states formed on communal lines, which affected the fates of tens of millions ofIndians, was entrusted to a Britisher, and that Lord Mountbatten, the last Viceroy and Governor-General of colonized India, became at the i n s i s t e n c ~ of the Congress leadership the first Governor-General of the new Indian domin ion. Despite many dissensions within the Congress leadership and some revolts, the political representative of the big bourgeoisie could retain their leadership because the working class and its leadership were not ideologically and politically mature as in China. the decline of British Imperialism and U.S. diplomacy which, while upholding the Allied coalition in order first to defeat Japan, Germany and Italy, sought continually to weaken Britain's hold on India. Developments like the open intervention of Colonel Johnson, President Roosevelt's personal representative in India, in the Gripps mission's negotiations with Indian leaders in 1942 and the "Gripps-Johnson formula";66 the American Technical Mission's Report (1942) which was suppressed by the British Government; the reports and letters to the U.S. President of William Phillips, Roosevelt's personal envoy in India (who was declared persona non grata by the British Govemment),67 besides Roosevelt's behind-the-scene pressures 68 -which all conformed to the U.S. strategy of building up a vast post-war informal empire-gave them cause for optimism. A Plan of Economic Development for India (/944) popularly known as the Bombay Plan-the authors of which were the topmost representatives of the Indian big bour geoisie including Sir J. R. D. Tata and G. D. Birla, enshrines some of the hopes and aspirations of this class. The Plan does not demand the nationalization of the foreign capital which then dominated Indian trade, in dustry and banking; on the contrary, it depends on the influx of fresh foreign loan-capital as one of the main sources of finance for the plan. "The colonies," said Lenin, "have no capital of their own, or none to speak of, and under finance capital no colony can obtain any except on terms of political submission. "69 Conscious of its crippling dependence on imperialist capital for capital goods and technology and the latter's dominance over the home market and fearful of the people's revolutionary struggles, the Indian big bourgeoisie sought to fulfil its ambitions by relying on two props-foreign capital and state capitalism. The plan stated: "In the initial years of planning, India will be dependent almost entirely on foreign countries for the machinery and technical skill necessary for the establish ment of both basic and other industries. 7o The Indian big bourgeoisie's plan of depending on imperialist capital for its survival and expansion fitted perfectly into British and U.S. imperialism's strategies of using India chiefly as an outlet for export of capital. Referring to the proposed visit by a delegation of leading Indian industrialists in the summer of 1945, sponsored by 66. Nicholas Mansergh (Editor-in-Chief), The Transfer of Power /942-7, Vol. I, London, 1971, pp. 691,694-7, and 706. 67. In his letter to Roosevelt written in the spring of 1943, Phillips suggested that a conference of Indian political leaders should be convened by the U.S. President and presided over by an American. He wrote: "American Chairmanship would have the advantage not only of expres sing the interest of America in the future independence of India but would also be a guarantee to Indians of the British offer of independence" (see N. N. Mitra [Ed.], The Indian Annual Register, July-Dec. 1944, Calcutta, pp.272-8). 68. N. Mansergh (Editor-in-Chief), op cit .. pp. 404, 409-10, 415, 619, 759-60; P. L. Loewenheim, R. D. Langley and M. Jones (Ed.), Roosevelt and Churchill; Their Secret Wartime Correspondence, London 1975, pp. 74n, 183-4 (note 1). 69. Lenin, C.W., Vol. 22, Moscow, 1974 reprint, p. 338-emphasisin the original. 70. Sir Purshotamdas Thakurdas and others, A Plan ofEconomic Develop mentfor India, Bombay, 1944, p. 44. 12 the government, to the U.K. and the U.S.A. in quest of fresh capital from those countries, the British Secretary of State for India, Leopold Amery, wrote to Viceroy Lord Wavell on 25 January 1945: They {U.K. business interests] are anxious to assist India's industrial expansion which they believe will, if properly organised, carry the hope of considerable profits to themselves as well as to Indians by expanding the market in Indiafor United Kingdom goods. 71 Amery enclosed a confidential memorandum with this message, prepared jointly by the Board of Trade and Amery's office and circulated to some of the members of the Federation of British Industries, which stated: In the case of India it seems clear that our future prospects lie in meeting and indeed promoting ( J) the steady growth in the demand for machinery, equipment, stores, accessories and semi-manufactured materials needed by an expanding and diversified Indian industrial system, and (2) the rapidly developing sophistication ofa growing section of Indian consumers. . . .72 The memorandum expressed the hope that, through co operation with Indian industrial interests and by setting up manufacturing units in India, British monopolies would be capable of "guiding domestic production in the interests of . both countries" and "strengthening. . . our position in the Indian market. "73 As part of the preparations for the visit of the Indian industrial delegation led by J. R. D. Tata and G. D. Birla, British monopolists on the initiative of Sir George Schus ter, M. P., a former Finance Member of the Government of India, formed the Midlands group to offer the Indian delegation "helpful cooperation." Reporting this, Capital. the mouthpiece of British capital in India, wrote: "Partner ship in the old-fashioned business meaningofthe word may no longer always be possible. But collaboration over a large area ofcommercial activity is not merely something to be hoped for; it is an inescapable necessity. "74 Wavell had a note prepared under his instructions on the effect of the proposed transfer of power in India on "the Strategy, Economics, and Prestige of Great Britain and the British Commonwealth" and enclosed it with his top secret message of 13 July 1946 to the Secretary of State Lord Pethick-Lawrence. The note said: As India's commerce and industry expand, th!!re seems every reason that British business, both in India and in the U.K., should also benefit increasingly. Britain is still the natural marketfrom which Indian importers are likely to seek their requirements; and sterling balances will greatly streng then the connection. The note concluded: To sum up, it is vital to Britain that when she gives over political power in India she may be able to hand over to a stable and friendly Government and contract with it a genuine defensive alliance. Fortunately India's interests quite obviously point the same way. Ifthis objective is achieved the demission ofpolitical power may bring advantage and not less . ... "75 Was the Indian big bourgeoisie indeed hostile to foreign imperialist capital at about the time of the transfer of power, as Stanley Kochanek and Michael Kidron have asserted-a view shared by many Indian academicians and others? Kidron did, indeed, notice some "ingredients of collaboration" also. In fact, on the eve of the transfer of power and after, the Indian big bourgeoisie was far from hostile: it was then seeing visions of rapid expansion through close collabora tion with foreign capital. We have already referred to the Bombay Plan and the visit of the Indian Industrial Delega tion, led by sir J. R. D. Tata and G. D. Birla and sponsored by the Government, to explore the possibilities of tie-ups with foreign monopolies. The Indian big bourgeoisie was anxious to forge "a new kind of relationship" with British and U.S. capital,76 Speaking of British capital in India, G. D. Birla, who is represented by many as the most "radical" Indian bourgeois, declared: "I don't belive this will ever be expropriated. The British firms will carry on. "77 "Ingredients of hostility" were there among the mid dle bourgeoisie. On May 2, Manu Subedar, a small industrialist and leader of an anti-collaborationist group within the Indian Merchants Chamber, Bombay, de nounced in the Central Legislative Assembly the collabora tion between foreign monopolies and Indian big capital as an "illegitimate marriage. " On the same day the Commit tee of the Indian Merchants Chamber issued a statement opposing the influx of fresh foreign capital, referring to "the creation of new East India Companies in this country." But the middle bourgeoisie was too weak to intervene effectively and change the course of history. Several agreements between foreign monopolies and Indian big business houses to start joint ventures in India, such as the ICI-Tata and Nuffield-Birla deals, were con cluded about this time. Thus opened a new era of close integration between giant multinationals and Indian big capital. The political counterpart of this economic and financial collaboration was the transfer of power in 1947. Third Phase: Since 1947 As Harry Magdoff has rightly observed: Even though it {the British Labor Party] eventually presided over the dissolution ofthe formal British Empire not by choice, but by necessity-it realistically managed the dissolution so that there would be as smooth a transition as possible to an informal empire that would serve the same imperialist policies. 78 75. N. Mansergh (Editor-in-Chief), op cit. Vol. VIII. 1977, pp. 51-2 emphasis added. 71. N. Mansergh (Editor-in-Chief), op cit .. Vol. V, 1974, p. 466 emphasis added. 76. Eastern Economist-a Birla organ-Nov. 23, 1945, pp. 748-9; Jan. 4, 1946, p. 39; and May 31, 1946, p. 905. 72. Ibid. p. 469-emphasis added. 77. Hindustan Times. April 11, 1946; cited in Palme Dutt, India Today. 73. Ibid. pp. 468-470-emphasis added. 1947, p. 160. 74. Capital. September 14,1944, p. 297-emphasis added. 78. Magdoff, The Ageo/lmperialism. New York, 1%9, p. 25. 13 But the transition was far from smooth in colonies like Malaya, where the national liberation struggle was led by the party of the working class, which was not content with formal independence but sought to liquidate imperialist control and exploitation and break out of the capitalist imperialist system. The transition became smooth in India from im perialism's point of view because the working class here was politically and organizationally weak and the long colonial rule had molded the native big bourgeoisie into a class the interests of which were closely linked with those of the imperialists and which depended on the latter for survival and expansion. Its struggle against imperialism for independent development would be an invitation to social revolution which could end in the burial both of im perialism and of itself. But an important change occurred. Britain's formal empire was transformed into the informal empire shared by several imperialist powers, of which the U.S.A. emerged as the leader. After the rise of Khruschev and Brezhnev in the Soviet Union, its ruling class too has been contending for hegemony over India and exploiting it through the mechan isms of "aid" (economic as well as military) and trade, which follows the old colonial pattern. Today when imperialist monopolies are interested in exporting capital rather than consumer goods, the Indian big bourgeoisie is serving as the pipeline for the flow of imperialist capital (both direct investment and official loan capital) into this country. Export of capital, typical of the latest stage of capitalism when monopolies rule, as Lenin, said, becomes in the hands of imperialist monopolies and their governments a lever for exporting more goods than before, besides high-priced, out-dated (in most cases) technology and technical "experts." Foreign investment creates an almost permanent market for components, spare parts, industrial raw and semi-processed materials. Today, as before, the Indian big bourgeois play the role of local intermediaries of foreign monopoly capital. The Report of the Indian Industrial Delegation which visited the U.S.A., the U.K., West Germany, etc., under the leadership of G. D. Birla in 1957 stated: " ... India cannot be developed without foreign capital which we shall continue to need for at least the next 25 years and in substantially large amounts. "79 Today, when "the sun of the giant international corporation was at its zenith," as Hobsbawm put it, multinational corporations in increasing numbers set up branches, subsidiaries and joint ventures in collaboration with Indian houses in sophisticated industries like chemi cals, pharmaceuticals, automobiles, machinery manu facturing, and fertilizers. The amount of foreign direct investment capital in Indian industry and trade has in creased from Rs. 264.6 crore in June 1948 to Rs. 2,500 crore in 1981. But the actual amount of foreign direct investment capital is not a correct index ofthe control it exercises over Indian industry. According to one estimate, the share controlled by foreign capital in private corporate assets 79. Report of the Indian Industrial Delegation to the Federation of Indian Chambers ofCommerce and Industry, 1957, p. 27. could be anything up to 60 percent in the early seventies. 80 Since then branches and subsidiaries of foreign multina tionals have utilized the Foreign Exchange Regulations Act [FERA] of 1973, diluted their equity holdings, greatly diversified and expanded their activities and extended their domination over a larger sphere than before. Levkovsky was right in arguing that neither the absolute nor the relative size offoreign invest ments gives a correct picture of the influence of the foreign monopolies. This influence is actually much greater since these monopolies operate in key branches of the economy, reflect a high degree of concentration of production and capital, control considerable amounts of Indian capital, possess enormous connections, and have at their disposal the latest technical inventions and engineering personnel. 81 Even before FERA came into operation, imperialist monopolies preferred "joint ventures" with Indian big capital to solely-owned branches. As Michael Kidron pointed out, Paramount [among foreign capital's reasons for seek ing collaboration] is the growing need for local inter mediaries. These are cast in a number of roles, the most important of which . .. is that of coping with official dom . ... Easy access to Governmental authority [at vari ous levels] is itself an important 'factor ofproduction'. All foreign firms require this factor. 82 The Indian big bourgeoisie finds it much more profit able to buy technology and capital goods than to develop them. The market for technology is a sellers' market dominated by a few multinationals. Technology today is "the decisive key to power" and dependence is the major price that the Indian big bourgeoisie has to pay to obtain it. The technology and the capital goods that are im ported into this country have usually been discarded in favor of more advanced ones in the countries of their origin. This and the high prices of imported goods and the various restrictions imposed by the sellers of technology make Indian industries uncompetitive, despite cheap In dian labor. Moreover, the foreign monopolies, in order "to systematize a continuing control of know-how," seldom impart the knowledge of the entire production process to the Indian partner. 83 With the passing of years the tech nological gap grows wider and wider instead of narrowing. Though, up to December 1980, technical collaborations approved by the Government of India were over 6,500, "the technological gap vis-a-vis developed countries is widening instead of being bridged," lamented H. S. Singhania, President of the Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry in 1979-80. 84 80. N. K. Chandra, "Role of Foreign Capital in India," Social Scientist, April 1977, p. 17. til. A. I. Levkovsky, p. 484. 112. Kidron, op cit .. p. 263. 83. See Ibid, pp. 2112, 288, 292 and 312-3; see also A. K. Malhotra, "Technological Domination and Satellitic Development of Sciences" in A. Rahman and others (Ed.), Imperialism in the Modern Phase , Vol. 2, New Delhi, 1977, pp. 85-7. 84. Singhania, Perspectives for Indian Economy, New Delhi, 1980, p.73. 14 The technology that is imported is wholly unsuited to the conditions ofthe country. It displaces more jobs than it creates and the ruthless exploitation that accompanies it drags the people into lower and still lower depths of misery. Today there is more complete interpenetration of foreign monopoly capital and Indian big capital than ever before-"a quadrangle configuration of interests," to quote P. J. Eldridge, involving foreign official loan and private capital as well as Indian private and state capital. In every large enterprise in chemical, automobile, machine manufacturing, electrical, fertilizer, pharmaceutical and other industries supposed to be Indian-controlled, there is a fusion of Indian private and state capital, foreign private capital and foreign official loan capital. The question is: Does such an enterprise, designed, installed and equipped by foreign multinationals, ever dependent on them for very much over priced technology and capital goods, financed to a large extent by them and exploited by them in various ways, represent Indian capitalism? In this context the following advertisement, which was issued by one of the largest Birla enterprises and which appeared on the first page of the Birlas' Hindustan Times (New Delhi) on November 8, 1976, is somewhat significant. Hindustan Motors Ltd., Earthmoving Equipment Divi sion, Trivellore, Tamil Nadu. We come from international stock. HM-built TEREX forms an intrinsic part of the world wide heritage ofGeneral Motors. Our enterprise forms part of the GM family of eight plants. . . And a revelation of our pedigree. " (Our emphasis. )84.0 What is true of Hindustan Motors' lineage, its family links, is true of Indian big capital as a whole. According to 84a. Is it an example of the internationalization of capital, which is today a widespread phenomenon? Internationalization of capital has two aspects-one for the advanced capitalist countries and the other for what are called underdeveloped countries like India. Though the multinational corporation operates in different countries and forms ties with the domestic capital of host countries, it has a national center from which it is controlled. These national centers-the advanced capitalist countries-are more or less independent and equal, though one of them is indeed more equal than the others. But the relationship between the advanced capitalist countries and countries like India is altogether different. Indian big capital, far from being an equal, plays a subordinate role, the role of a junior partner, because of its inherent weakness in respect of capital goods and technol ogy. To quote from Joint International Business Ventures (a Columbia University project, ed. by W. G. Friedmann and G. Kalmanoff, New York and London, 1961, p. 151), "Advanced technical know-how and continuing research give [foreign) investor companies effective control of joint ventures without majority ownerhsip or legal control ofd the board." It also says: "To spare local susceptibilities, the existence of investor company control is often disguised in the form of technical assistance agreements which do not overtly convey managerial powers" (p. 153; see also Selig S. Harrison, India and the United States, New York, 1961, pp. 154-5; "Transnational Corporations in Electrical Industry," Economic and Political Weekly (EPW) Jan. 20, 1979, pp. 103-6; and Subhendu Dasgupta, "Structure of 'Interdependence' in Indian Industry: Electrical Equipment Industry: A Case Study," EPW. Oct. 29, 1977, pp. 1857-65, for excerpts from technical collaboration agreements which show how only technical collaboration can enable a foreign company to exercise many-sided con trol over a joint venture in India). Most of the industrial enterprises that are supposed to be Indian-controlled like Hindustan Motors are actualIy controlled from centers located outside India. In India, the internationali zation of capital means the subordination of domestic capital by foreign imperialist capital. an official statement, India's outstanding foreign debt on government account alone as on 31 July 1981 was Rs. 14,374.03 crore. 85 It is chiefly used for maintenance and consumption imports and for building the infrastructure for the private sector. The debt-servicing payments in 1978-79 amounted to Rs. 899.7 crore. 86 A report of the Interna tional LaborOrganization , Geneva, stated that the "aid" giving countries extort three dollars for every dollar given as "aid. "87 Speaking of external aid, D. R. Gadgil, formerly Deputy Chairman, Planning Commission, New Delhi, said: " ... it mortgages our future to the giver of aid: and as recent experience has painfully underlined, it gives outsid ers enormous influence in shaping our economic policy. "88 Besides using these loans "to skin the ox twice" as Lenin said (pocketing the profits from the loans as well as from the sale of goods with which the loans are tied), the creditors use them as a lever to force the debtor country to carry out economic and political policies that serve their interest. Besides economic and military agreements, sale of military hardware, direct investment and"joint ventures," the Western imperialist powers, chiefly the U.S.A., em ploy two other weapons-the World Bank and the IMF to fleece and subject India to their control. In 1966 they forced the Indian government to devalue the currency by thirty-six percent, which was a disaster to the Indian economy. The recent negotiations on India's application to the IMF for a loan of $5.8 billion and the conditions it has imposed have once again demonstrated how the IMF tramples underfoot the concept of sovereignty of a member-state. The binding conditions and policy prescrip tions attached to the loan, to all of which the India Government have agreed, are blatant violations of this country's right to frame its own policies as regards fixation of domestic prices, extension of credit, borrowing from international capital markets, imports and exports, foreign capital and technology, growth of foreign monopolies and Indian large houses, public expenditure and so on. These are meant to intensify the exploitation of the country, doom the masses to still worse poverty and starvation and tighten the noose round its neck. 89 The annual interest charges alone for this particular loan will be Rs. 500 crore and total debt servicing on account of it will exceed an estimated one billion SDRs (or Rs. 1300 crore) a year during 1986-87 to 1990-9l,9 As Thomas Balogh observed, neo-imperialism does not depend on open political domination. The economic relations of the u.s. to South America are not essentially different from those of Britain to her African col 85. See Finance Minister Venkataraman's statement in the Rajya Sabha, Business Standard, 16 Sept. 1981. 86. See Govt. of India, Economic Survey 1978-79. New Delhi, 1979, p.120. 87. See Economic Times IETi, March 1,1977. 88. GadgiJ, "Planning without a Policy Frame," in C. D. Wadhva, Some Problems ofIndia's Economic Policy. New Delhi, 1977, p. 107. 89. See Govt. of West Bengal, The IMF Loan: Facts and Issues, Calcutta, 1981. 90. See K. Rangachari, "Foreign Debt Burden," Statesman, Aug. 28, 1981 andET, March 11, 1982. 15 onies. The International Monetary Fundfulfils the role of the colonial administration oferiforcing the rules ofthe game. 91 Besides the loans on government account, commercial borrowings are fast rising. According to the estimates of the Finance Secretary of the Indian government, in 1981 82 nearly Rs. 800 crore of commercial borrowings was tied up and the figure for the current year is expected to .be Rs. 900 crore. Early this year he spoke of develop1Og commercial borrowings as a kind of parallel system of borrowing. Without doubt, enmeshed in a net of financial dependence, India is mortgaged to foreign capital. The deterioration in India's terms of trade with advanced capitalist countries, almost a continuing process, is another way of draining off this country's social to them. According to an UNCTAD study, the detenoration in the terms of trade of the non-oil petroleum countries by the end of 1972 compared to the mid-fifties was equivalent to a loss in 1972 of about $10 billion, or rather more than twenty percent of these countries' aggregate exports. "This disaccumulation exceeded their receipts of official develop ment aid ... which amounted to a paltry $8,408.9 million in 1972."92 In recent years, India's terms of trade have become still more adverse than before. If we take 1968 as the base year (1968-69 = 1(0), India's terms oftrade fell off to 66 in 1979--80. 93 In its latest annual report, the World Bank states that, because of adverse movements in the terms of trade, the balance of payments will continue to be a problem for India and "India's will rely more on external resources than it di.d 10 the 1970s. "94 That is, the chains of dependence are be10g made even stronger than before. Conclusion Today, as before, the Indian big bourgeoisie is playing a complementary role to that of foreign imperialist capital. In the era of industrial capital when the import of consump tion goods from the metropolis into this country was primary and that of capital goods secondary, t?is class acted primarily as the supplier of raw matenals and foodgrains and the distributor of imported goods on the domestic market, and secondarily, as a channel for the import of capital. In the era of finance capital, especially today, what was primary has what was secondary primary. The Indian big bourgeOlsie has now become primarily the "local intermediary" of the imperialist bourgeoisie for import of. amoull:ts of both direct investment and loan capital, which dommate every sphere of India's life, even family planning. The talk of "a successful challenge to the foreign, imperialistic capital on behalf of .the sounds unreal when indigenous bIg capital IS lead10g thiS country along the path of abject dependence on foreign imperialist capital and it as its local to intensify its aggression agamst the people. It IS Mao 91. Thomas Balogh, The Economics o/Poverty, New York, 1966, p. 29. 92. F. P. CIairmonte, "Dynamics of International Exploitation," EPW, Aug. 9, 1975, p. 1186. 93. See ET, Dec. 30, 1981. 94. See ET, Aug. 26, 1982. Zedong who for the first time pointed out long that in the epoch of imperialism no former colony or can be really free without breaking out of the capitalist imperialist system. Lastly, a few words about of the "Naxalites" (that is, the CPI-ML). He IS qUite nght when he says that their "theoretical formulations often analytical depth or sophistication." But they had some idea of the problems facing India and i!s "the leading intellectual figures of thiS 1o. country," an interesting list of whom he has furnished 10 hiS article, had never before or since. The "Naxalites" alone grasped a few of the basic truths that Mao had formulated for the first time in his "On New Democracy," without assimilating which no underdeveloped or underdeveloping country, at least not India, can accomplish its It is true that the Indian revolution will be no rephca of the Chinese revolution. Nevertheless, the specific policies arising from the analysis of the conditions. in India and the world today will have to be 10tegrated With the general principles Mao formulated on the of his revolutionary experience in semi-colonial and semi-feudal China. The "Naxalites" failed because they were too impatient to integrate the teachings of Mao and his great predecessors with the conditions in India. Lifschultz was told by a Pakistani Marxist in 1977 that the "Naxalites" themselves were to blame for the failure of the revolt they had led. This had been pointed out in 1972 by one of the "Naxalites." In my article "Naxalbari and After: An Appraisal," written under the pen-name Prabhat Jana and cited by Lifschultz, I wrote: The ruling classes and the minions of the law may congratulate themselves on their performance, but it is not their efficiency in perpetrating diabolical crimes but the weakness of the Party's line that is to blame for the present defeat and disarray ofthe revolutionary forces .It is the party line that determines success or failure of revolutionary struggles. 95 Indeed the road to victory is paved with many defeats. , * 95. See Samar Sen and others (Ed.), Naxalbari and After: A Frontier Anthology, Vol. 2, Calcutta, 1978, pp. 118-9. This publication is avaDable in microform. University Microfilms International 300 North Zeeb Road 3032 Mortimer Street Dept. P.R. 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Critiques of cooperatives have most often focused on their failure to increase produc tion or on the monopolization of services and benefits by a small proportion of wealthier farmers. This essay will ex amine an often overlooked facet in the assessment of co operative development, focusing on its impact on wage workers and on the labor movement in the case of the sugar industry in Maharashtra, India. 1 Since India's independence, cooperatives have come to dominate the sugar industry in Maharashtra, supersed ing the previous plantation form of organization. Sugar cooperatives have proven enormously successful, rapidly expanding to become the major rural industry in the state. The change from plantation to cooperative production has entailed a substantial transformation in the social relations of production. A new configuration of class alignments has emerged from the change in ownership and control of sugar processing, as well as a different pattern of cultivation and harvesting, which has significantly altered the character of class conflict and labor struggles. Cooperative production introduced a new division of labor which has segmented workers into groups with op posing immediate interests and organizational capacities. The labor force has been divided into three distinct groups, factory, field, and harvesting labor. They have been dif ferentiated by their role in the production process, the benefits they receive from their labor, and their social relations with the landowning producer-members of co operatives. As a whole, the working class has been systematically divided and subordinated to the interests of the landowners. The subordination of labor in the sugar industry appears to be the paradoxical result of a demo 1. This paper is based on my MA thesis from the Univeristy of Hawaii. My aloha to Edna Bonacich, Ben Kerkvliet, Hagen Koo, Martin Murray, Mark Selden, and Mimi Sharma for their comments on earlier drafts. Financial support for fieldwork was provided by the Open Grants Pro gram of the East-West Center, Honolulu, Hawaii. 18 cratizing and progressive reorganization of the system of production. 2 In Maharashtra the redistribution of ownership and control of sugar factories to the "producers," that is, those who own the land, resulted in a labor system which has contributed to the increased vulnerability and domination of labor, and has suppressed the development of a broad based working class movement. Yet within this overall pattern of labor subordination, strong labor militancy has emerged in the late 1970s among one section of unionized factory workers. The labor struggles reveal the contradic tions underlying the complex structure of cooperative de velopment and suggest limits to the process of working class subordination. I begin with an assessment of the impact of coopera tive organization on the labor process in sugar production. The discussion of the labor process in cooperative sugar draws on my fieldwork in Maharashtra and from archival and secondary materials collected in England (January June 1980). Analysis of the direct and indirect control of labor reveals how the structure of cooperative production contributes to the subordination of labor. This structural perspective is linked then to the specific historical actions of the State and of labor organizations as a means of taking into account the present pattern of labor conflict and strug gle. In essence, I reexamine cooperative development by focusing on domination within the labor process and on the ability of the working class to operate broad-based collec tive organizations. Cooperative Formation and the Labor Proces The establishment of sugar cooperatives in Maharashtra soon after India's independence in 1947 2. Subordination refers to a process of domination which occurs at a number of levels (e.g., in the work place, or in the political arena). This should not be confused with a discussion of the real subsumption of labor to capital. Within the overall development of capitalist agriculture (the real subsumption of labor to capital) there are a range of possible political, social, and work relations. The impact ofcooperatives on these relations is examined in this paper. Map of Maharashtra (with names of districts referred to in the article) brought about substantial changes in an industry which had been organized previously into corporate plantations. 3 The sugar plantations of Maharashtra were relatively new en terprises, having almost all been established since the ex tension of tariff protection to the sugar industry in 1931. Most of the Indian sugar industry'S expansion in response to the tariff protection took place in the United Provinces (later to become Uttar Pradesh) and Bihar, where produc tion costs were lower per acre, and not in the Bombay Deccan region. The high cost of year round irrigation in the hot and dry climate of the Deccan plateau made efficiency 3. Of the 14 sugar factories operating in the Bombay-Deccan in 1947, 12 were joint-stock companies (2 of them were British) and 2 of the smallest were private firms. Twelve of the factories had substantial estates, and 2 met most of their cane needs by purchases from local farmers. Since these large estates were so distinctive in terms of the national industry, and characterized Maharashtra's system of sugar production, I refer to the entire industry as if it had been entirely organized as plantations. of cane production and processing an imperative in order to compete with the sugar industry of the Gangetic plain. The corporate plantations that developed in Maharashtra rented large tracts of land along government irrigation canals, cultivated their own sugarcane intensively with "scientific" supervision, and achieved extremely high yields and rates of sugar recovery from the cane. The sugar plantations were isolated islands of relatively capital intensive CUltivation, and were not well integrated into the surrounding agrarian economy. Even after sugar plantations had been established in Maharashtra, individual farmers continued to grow most of the sugarcane in the region. 4 This cane was processed into gu/, a form of raw sugar native to the place produced 4. Cane had been cultivated in the region on a limited scale for at least several hundred years. B. H. Baden-Powell, The Land System of British India. v. 3, (Oxford, Clarendon Press) 1892, pp. 205. 19 through a simple process of boiling cane juice. Gul. a rela Maharashtra Sugar Factories tively perishable commodity, was subject to rapid and er ratic price fluctuations, due in part to the uncompetitive regional nature of the market. S These fluctuations con tributed to the formation of the industry along plantation lines. As sugar produced in the area had to compete in the national market, the sugar factories were constrained in the price they could offer for cane. When gul prices were high, the sugar industry would be outbid for its raw materials. Large corporate estates assured an adequate supply of cane for sugar processing. The fourteen sugar factories established by the mid-l940s did not create a large market for individual farmer's sugarcane since most of the factories fulfilled their requirements from their own estates. The terms at which cane was purchased were not very favorable for individual cultivators. The impetus for a cane farmers cooperative movement came from both the restricted market for cane in the sugar industry, and the volatile nature of the gul market. The first cooperative factory, began at Pravara, in Ahmednagar district in 1949, was a tremendous success and served as a model for the future expansion of the industry. At the Pravara cooperative, individual owners of irrigated land capable of producing sugarcane raised capi tal for a factory which was to be owned and run for the purpose of processing their sugarcane into sugar. Various state agencies provided essential support to the Pravara cooperative and, in general, promoted the expansion and profitability of sugar cooperatives. In 1954, with only one cooperative fully in operation, the Bombay State govern ment restricted licensing for new sugar factories to the cooperative sector. 6 Cooperative sugar in Maharashtra has rapidly expanded to cover sixty factories producing 1,831,000 tonnes of sugar (twice the amount of sugar pro duced in all of India in 1946-47) with almost 350,000 members. 7 While the organization of labor in cooperative sugar production (described by one government minister as "the cornerstone of success of the [sugar] cooperative move ment")8 differs substantially from that of the plantations, it has not been fully analyzed in the literature of Mahar ashtra. There is however, an exemplary work by Jan Breman,9 a Dutch social scientist, on the migratory labor system in the cooperative sugar industry in the neighboring state of Gujarat, which serves as a point of departure for this analysis. Breman provides a clear picture of a complex system of contractual and informal relationships between migratory harvesters, labor contractors and sugar coopera tives. He demonstrates how the harvest campaign, 5. Gul kept up to 40 days under the best conditions, and was marketed locally and in adjacent regions, especially in Gujarat. 6. N. R. Inamdar, Government and Co-operative Sugar Factories. (Bombay, Popular Prakashan) 1%5, pp. 5-7. 7. Directorate of Sugar, State of Maharashtra, 1980. One tonne equals 2,240 pounds, or 1.12 tons. 8. Y. J. Mohite, Sugarcane Industry ofMaharashtra, A Blue Printfor Prog ress. (Bombay, Government Central Press) 1974, pp. 46. 9. Jan Breman, "Seasonal Migration and Co-operative Capitlism: The Crushing of Cane and Labour by the Sugar Factories of Bardoli, South Gujarat," Parts 1 and 2, The Journal ofPeasant Studies. 6(1). October 1978: 41-70; 6(2), January 1979: 168-209. 20 c c c P P C C CPpPC C P CCC P P P ~ 4 \ \ C C CC CC C pP C C C ~ P P C c C C CC C C C C C C C C C C C C C P-Joint-Stock (Plantation) Factories C-Cooperatives organized to assure an adequate supply of labor at the cheapest possible price, results in the extreme exploitation of labor and in the inability of migratory workers to or ganize collectively. An essential part of cooperative sugar production, in both Gujarat and Maharashtra, is the use of seasonal mi grants to harvest cane. Cooperatives in Gujarat draw on a sizable reserve of cheap labor from the area of Khandesh in Maharashtra,lO which has only a kharif (wet season) crop each year. The cooperatives of Maharashtra operate in a similar way, though their areas of migrant labor recruit ment are more dispersed. The harvest of cane corresponds to the dry season (November-May) when smallholders and landless laborers from these areas have few other oppor tunities for employment. Harvesters are recruited in their home villages, and returned to those areas after the harvest is complete. The use of middlemen contractors and debt bonding of laborers for the harvest season provides the cooperatives an assured supply of cheap labor. Harvesting sugarcane for cooperative factories is an immensely complex task. Breman refers to the countryside during the harvest season as being "in a state of mobiliza tion. "11 Cane is grown for the factories on dispersed indi vidual plots. Yet, each acre must be harvested precisely at maturity when it has the highest percentage of sucrose. Once cut, the cane must be rapidly delivered to the factory, within 24-28 hours, or it loses a significant portion of su crose content. The essential coordination of the harvest campaign, with thousands of work teams scattered throughout the factory area, working long and often irregu lar hourS to provide a constant supply offreshly-cut cane, is fully in the hands of sugar cooperatives, even though they utilize a labor system which minimizes any direct contact with laborers. Breman demonstrates that migrant labor is not a re sponse to labor shortages. The percentage of agricultural laborers in the talukas which he studied rose from 58.2 percent to 72.6 percent of the rural population between 1961 and 1971. 12 Local agricultural laborers, he empha sized, are extremely underemployed at the time of the sugar harvest. Breman argues that the use of migrants (1) lowers the wages of harvesters and shifts the full cost of reproduction of labor to the migrants' home areas, and (2) contributes to the absolute control of the labor force. These two issues illustrate how cooperative sugar production is linked to the uneven development within Indian agri culture, and to the overall course of class struggle in the countryside. The uses of migrant labor in cooperative sugar exemp lify the separation of maintenance and renewal proces ses. 13 Much of the literature on immigrant labor refers to international migration, as in the case of guestworkers in Western Europe, or to situations where migrants have 10. Breman, 1978: 51. the Khandesh is an area in the Northwest comer of the Deccan Plateau, encompassing parts ofDhulia and Jalgaon Districts in Maharashtra. 11. Breman, Ibid: 41. 12. Breman, 1979: 183. 13. Michael Burawoy, "The Functions of Reproduction of Migrant Labor," American Journal o/Sociology. 81, March 1976, 1050-1087. substantially less political rights than workers from the host areas, as in the case of internal black migration in South Africa. Yet, there are many parallels with the situation of migrants in cooperative sugar harvests. Migrant laborers in the several situations cited are "not simply an extra source of labor in conditions of rapid growth,"14 but are used because they provide a cheap and submissive work force. "The strategic role of immigrants is to be explained not in terms of technical demands of production, but by specific interests of capital in a particular phase of its develop ment."IS The exploitation of migratory harvesters con tributed to the economic and political efficacy of coopera tives, and promoted a rapid expansion of the industry. With the migrants, the cooperatives had a system of labor control which cheapened the wage and strengthened the factories' position in dealing with labor. Migrants contribute to the absolute domination of labor. They are consciously selected not only because they are extremely cheap, but also because they are easily con trolled. Baviskar reported in an early study of Mahar ashtra's sugar cooperatives that the factory staff felt migrants "would be more obedient as compared to local workers. "16 From the early 1970s, new migrants have been consciously recruited for the Gujarat cooperatives from a more widely dispersed area, including part of Gu jarat, so that collective action by harvesters would have to over come regional and linguistic barriers. The interest in new supply is for the sake of having addi tional, substitute areas ofrecruitment, and arises primtlrily from a calculated effort to spread their risks . ... A region ally varied composition of the army of cane-cutters, so the reasoning goes, reduces the chance ofsuch a collective stand being taken on a communal basis and helps to mtlintain the sugar factories' hold over the fieldworkers. 17 Breman's work provides both a thorough description of the structure of labor control and an understanding of how this is linked up with the processes of uneven develop ment. The migrant harvesters fuel the rapid advancement of cooperative capitalism in Gujarat, yet remain tied both to their underdeveloped home areas and to a system which consistently returns them to work in the harvest campaigns. Breman demonstrates how migrants are maniupulated to provide a docile labor force and completely separate the cultivation of cane from its processing. There remains, however, a need to place Breman's analysis in a wider perspective, to look at the relations between all workers-that is, the entire context of land and labor relations in the production of cooperative sugar. We need to examine how the direct and indirect control of the labor force operates within the cooperative organization of production, and how this structure of labor control ob structs the development of a broad-based working class movement. The sugar cooperatives' ability to control the 14. Manuel Castells, "Immigrant Workers and Class Struggles in Ad vanced Capitalism: The Western European Experience," Politics and Society. 5(1), 1975:38. 15. Ibid: 44. 16. Breman, 1979:208. 17. Breman, 1979:192. 21 Land and Labor Relations in Cooperative Sugar Production 1 3 Cooperative ___Sugar Labor Members Cooperatives Contractors 2 154 Local Factory Migrant Fieldworkers Workers Harvesters labor force and achieve industrial peace (as in other in dustries) 18 is one of the central issues in their successful management and development. To illustrate the most essential features of the land and labor relations in cooperative sugar production I shall in troduce Figure 1, which exhibits the linkages among major groups in the labor force, sugar cooperatives, and their members. Space considerations will limit the kind of rich detail which Breman was able to offer; however, the elab oration of each linkage will clarify m jor dimensions of the processes involved in cultivating and harvesting sugarcane and refining it into sugar. Linkage 1: Landholding Members and Sugar Cooperatives Sugar cooperatives are both large industrial enter prises and associations of landowners. These dual features are essential elements in the structure which supports a (limited) decentralized economic prosperity and the politi cal and ideological hegemony of the "rich peasants. " Cooperatives function as a major conduit of privileges and resources to their members. 19 Cooperatives control a 18. While this point does not originate with Mike Davis, he provides a convincing example of how the General Motors contract with United Auto Workers in 1950 established a pattern ofcollective bargaining which significantly limited the power ofthe union rank and file. "As Fortune slyly put it at the time: 'GM may have paid a billion for peace ... It got a bargain!'." Mike Davis, ''The Barren Marriage of American Labour and the Democratic Party," New Left Review. 124, November-December 1980:44. 19. Membership in sugar cooperative societies is actually divided into three grades, of which only category A (producer-members) is of concern here. Category B (ordinary-members) is for other local cooperative societies, such as the local cooperative credit society. Membership in this category confers voting rights for a single member of the Board of Directors of the sugar cooperative, and with only one representative, they exert little direct influence. This is not to say that these other cooperatives might not exert influence through individual cooperative members, but this is a rather complex set of interlocking relationships which have been best described by B. S. Baviskar, The Politics of Development: Sugar Co operatives in Rural Maharashtra. (Delhi, Oxford University Press) 1980, and is outside of the immediate interest of this paper. Category C (nomi nal members) is for any businesses which might have dealings with the sugar cooperative. For instance, if a sugar cooperative were to expand its factory, any construction firm which gets the bid for the expansion would have to join the cooperative, as a grade C member. Category C requires that members buy stock, although they do not receive any voting rights, special privileges or dividends. It is, one might say, the price of doing business. In Maharashtra the redistribution ofowner ship and control of sugar factories to the "pro ducers," that is, those who own the land, resulted in a labor system which has contributed to the increased vulnerability and domination of labor, and has suppressed the development of a broad based working class movement. large number of relatively high-paying factory jobs which are usually distributed as a privilege among cooperative members and their relatives. The cooperatives also provide a range of services including the distribution of fertilizer, seed, credit and courses in agricultural innovation. In gen eral, the cooperatives help to assure access for their mem bers to government assistance and influence in government quarters, such as in the placement of roads, the disburse ment of funding, or the implementation of policies. The relationship between members and the coopera tive association is based on the delivery of cane, which has consistently brought a price higher than the government established minimum price or the rates paid by competing private factories_ Cane supplied by members is paid for in installments, the final one of which is not made until the cooperative's accounts have been settled for the year. By paying out all profit in higher cane prices, the cooperative avoids paying any taxes on profits. What would have been paid out to the government is simply redistributed to mem bers. Membership in the association confers both a right and an obligation to deliver cane to the cooperative factory. The effect is to tie a substantial and influential block of farmers into the fortunes ofthe cooperatives. This block of farmers regularly demand higher cane prices and further concessions from the government. The cooperatives be come a focal point to push for better returns from the market. In this sense the landowners' efforts are in line with a cooperative ideal of independent producers banding to gether to wield greater strength in the market and to insure against its ruinous vicissitudes. Yet, two points need to be made in this regard; (1) cane farmers remain a small minor ity in the overall population of landowners (cane is only one percent of the net sown area in Maharashtra), and (2) the degree of government involvement and regulation of the industry makes most of the cooperative efforts to raise prices overtly political. The political power of cooperative members can be seen not only in their electorial and lobbying influence, but also in their ability to dominate both government and op position discourse on agrarian politics. 20 Cooperatives are 20. Two perspectives on the dynamics of politics associated with sugar cooperatives are represented in the exchange between B. S. Baviskar and Gail Omvedt which followed her review of Baviskar's monograph, Ibid. Omvedt, "Wishing Away Class Politics," Economic and Political Weekly. 22 able to mobilize votes, influence their association mem bers, and provide offices and resources in electoral cam paigns. The Maharashtra Federation of Cooperative Sugar Factories operates as a lobbying organization and a clear ing house for information and is recognized as one of the strongest lobbies in the state. Its effectiveness is due in large part to the pressure which cooperatives are able to wield through militant direct action. The cooperative in terests have been successful in bringing all major political parties together to support their "peasant movements" which are efforts to gain higher minimum prices for crops, especially sugarcane. As Omvedt points out, however, the struggle over the terms of trade is not in the interest of the majority, who would be better served by lower food prices, higher wages and an end to the violent intimidation of landless laborers and untouchables. 21 Yet,even the left-wing opposition parties, the Congress (S), and the Communist Parties of India (CPI and CPI-M) have supported the efforts of rich farmers to get higher prices. The "Left and Democratic Front" led by Sharad Pawar even instigated a "long march" in 1980, from Nasik to Nagpur, to demand higher farm prices. If nothing else, the "long march" symbolized the degree to which even the opposition is committed to the struggle over the terms of trade-a struggle which benefits the rich farmer and the sugar cooperative interests. Linkage 2: Landowners and Local Agricultural Labor Most scholarly research and government publications on cooperative sugar have consistently excluded field workers from consideration as an integral part of the labor force involved with sugar production. The basic argument often made is that fieldworkers are not employees of co operative factories and, therefore, are not workers in the sugar industry. This is similar to the argument made about migratory harvesters, where an elaborate system of inter mediaries and debt-bonding secures labor for the factory. The factory staff coordinate the harvesting of cane, but they are able to claim to have no direct relations with, and therefore no responsibility for the harvesters. The separa tion of fieldworkers from the cooperative factory is less elaborate, but the result is much the same-an indirectly controlled labor force subject to severe exploitation and domination. The shift to a cooperative form of sugar production has meant the isolation of local agricultural labor from the rest of sugar industry workers and increased domination by landowners. The separation of growing of sugarcane from its processing, facilitated by cooperative organization, has left fieldworkers without any collective or union organiza tion in a labor market which is both seasonal and soft. Whereas fieldworkers on plantations had organized joint unions with factory workers, laborers hired by individual 16(7), February 15, 1981 :235. Baviskar, "Obsession With Class Politics," Economic and Political Weekly. 16(15), April 11, 1981:731:732. Omvedt, "Obsession With Class Politics: A Reply," Economic and Political Weekly. 16(18), May 2,1981:831-832. 21. Gail Omvedt, "Cane Farmers' Movement," Economic and Political Weekly. 15(49), December 6, 1980:2042. cooperative members have no collective representation and are more vulnerable to the direct influence of dom ineering and paternalistic landowners. The demand for hired labor by individual cooperative members is irregular, depending on the specific task such as ploughing or weed ing, and cannot provide steady employment to significant numbers of daily wage workers. Fieldworkers usually have to seek work in other crops besides sugarcane. In case studies by both Breman and Attwood,22 increasing cane cultivation coincides with substantial increases in landless labor. Attwood shows this situation to be primarily the result of immigration from dry (non-irrigated) areas. The impact of cooperative sugar production on the labor market has been to create a huge seasonal demand for labor, which is largely fulfilled by migratory harvesters at low wages. It has not provided secure or regular employ ment for the increasing numbers of local landless laborers. In Maharashtra, the effect of the separation of grow ing from processing of cane is clearly seen in comparing the situation of the fieldworkers in cooperative sugar produc tion with that of those who were directly employed by the private sugar plantations, and more recently by the state corporation which took over their estates. On the dozen private plantations which operated in Maharashtra prior to the emergence of cooperatives, the directly-employed "de partment" labor (year round estate workers) comprised a substantial portion of the work force. 23 The wages for the unskilled department labor were very similar to those for unskilled factory labor, 24 and the unions that were formed in the plantations represented both factory and department workers. Following the Maharashtra Agricultural Land (Ceil ing) Act of 1962, a state corporation, the Maharashtra State Farming Corporation (M.S.F.C.), took over most of the land from the private sugar estates. Not all of the 85,000 acres of land taken over from the estates by the M.S.F.C. remained in the government's control. Local landowners, who had rented lands to the estates on long term leases, were engaged in a struggle with plantations to regain pos session of it. Although the factory unions opposed redis tribution of land because of the adverse impact it would have on productivity (and thereby worker wages and bonuses), the government eventually transferred twenty percent of the total land to its original owners, all of it irrigated and suitable for cane cultivation. The M.S.F.C. had agreed that the wages and service conditions of labor on the date of their transfer from pri vate plantations would not be adversely changed. Faced, however, with a limited capital stock and the redistribution 22. Breman, Ibid. Donald W. Attwood, "Why Some of the Poor Get Richer: Economic Change and Mobility in Rural Western India," Cu"ent Anthropology. 20(3), September 1979:495-516. 23. To cultivate and harvest cane, corporate plantations employed peren nial department (estate) labor which was paid a daily wage, perennial contracted labor and seasonal contracted labor. Deodhar's survey of 12 factory estates in 1947-48 indicated that out of almost 40,000 estate work ers, 39.7% were seasonal, 34.5% were department employed, and 25.5% contracted, perennial. L. D. Deodhar, Labour In the Sugar Industry ofthe Bombay-Deccan. unpublished Ph.D, thesis, University of Bombay, 1950: 386-387. 24. Deodhar, Ibid:228. 23 factories. The responsibility of the contractor is to recruit supervise the work throughout the harvest, and allocate ali Cooperatives succeeded in splitting the allegiances of labor and preventing an extension of trade unionism and collective action from the plantations to the fields ofindividual landowners. The system of collective bargaining and nego tiated settlements for factory workers, overseen and orchestrated by the state, separated their concerns from those of other workers involved in sugar production. Cooperative development co incided with labor quiescence. of some of its better parcels of land, the M.S.F.C. tried expanding in experimental seed crops as well as squeezing labor. The Corporation distinguished between work done on sl;lgarcane and work done on all other crops, paying unskdled labor on average twenty-five percent less for the latter. The Corporation also refused to grant an interim increase awarded by the Tripartite Sugar Commis SIon in 1974.2S Litigation was pursued by the union and was eventually resolved by a government committee. The com mittee awarded some wage increases to M.S.F.C. workers, but limited them because of the Corporation's inability to From this the fiscal strength of the Corpora tIon became an mcreasmg concern of the union. As I was leaving Maharashtra, a veteran union leader, G. J. Ogale, was preparing to organize protests to increase the capital! debt ratio of the Corporation and the amount of irrigated water allocated to it from government canals. The failure of the M.S.F.C. to match factory increases in wages has led to the fa!ltastic situation of trade unionists courting arrest by breakmg down the gates of government irrigation canals only to improve the profits of their state corporation. Despite their apparent declining position in relation to factory workers, two points need to be stressed about M.S.F.C. workers; (1) the minimum wage employee makes two to three times as much as the average field worker, even if this is around Rs. 100 per month less than the minimum factory wage, and (2) the M.S.F.C. remains unionized with avenues to redress worker grievances. Their wages are determined by government committees which are vulnerable to pressure from organized workers and, at the very least, are committed to paying the min imum agricultural wage allowed by law, which the majority of farmers freely ignore. Linkage 3: Sugar Cooperatives and Labor Contractors Labor contractors (mukadams) arrange with coopera tives to bring a certain number and type of work teams each season for the harvesting and transporting of cane to the 25. The Tripartite Sugar Commission had been appointed by the Central Government in response to a jump in the consumer price index between November 1973 and June 1974. wages and allowances to his respective teams. The con tractor receives a commission from the cooperative, cur rently fixed at nine percent of total harvesting and transport charges on all cane delivered, and whatever surplus in the form of. interest on loans or underpayments he can from hIS work teams. Contracting can be an extremely profitable business despite the low wages for harvesters. In order to help debt-bond laborers for the season cooperatives provide advances to a labor contractor cording to the number and kind of work teams he has agreed to recruit. The contractor augments these advances with his own funds (or with funds he has received from other sources) in order to find enough of the desired kinds of work teams. Those workers who bring their own cart and pair of bullocks may obtain larger advances that take into account the cost involved in cart and bullock maintenance repair or replacement. ' The cooperatives pay all wages and allowances and give to workers through the mukadams. Wages are paId m a lump sum for the entire work group under each mukadam. per ton ofcane cut and per mile carted, minus the cooperative's deductions for advances. The contractor is then responsible for dividing wages, minus his deductions, to head of each cutting or carting group. In addition, certam allowances, usually staples at "discount" prices, are offered by cooperatives and every mukadam arranges for their use. The factory determines the cutting schedule and rhythm of work to maximize the supply of freshly cut cane twenty-four hours a day, except during periodic closures for routine maintenance. The mukadam is responsible for seeing that the work is done properly (cane cut low enough to the ground, etc.) and according to the specifications of the factory. The contractor must look after the needs and accounts of his teams, but most of all he must keep them organized, efficient and subservient to the requirements of the factory. Linkage 4: Labor Contractors and Migratory Harvesters The labor contractor usually recruits debt-bonded teams from his home or neighboring villages. The mformal pressures which the contractors are able to bring to the divisions among the harvesters, and the use of famIly labor help to subordinate harvesting labor and to decrease wages of workers to the lowest possible level. Ties between the contractor and the work teams in volve all phases of recruitment, migration, work and pay, yet these ties are primarily non-contractual. Although the advances given to work teams involve a formal contract contractors rely on informal sanctions to make sure that laborers comply and serve them well. The contractors usually select people whom they already know, and with whom they already have a multiplicity of relationships. The power of the contractor is derived from his influence in all aspects of the harvesters' lives, as well as the mIgrants' extreme dependence during the entire harvest season. As Breman notes about the similar situation in Gujarat, "the pressure. .. [is] wholly ineffective if a 24 In the words of one trade unionist, "the cooperatives started tooth and nail in opposition to the (plantation) joint-stock companies with the backing of the labor movement and aU pro gressive sections. [yet,] cooperatives are now deadly against the labor movement." personal relationship is lacking. "26 Factories distinguish between two kinds of work teams: koytavalas who simply cut the cane, and gadivalas who cut cane and cart it directly to the factory or to a nearby truck on their bullock-carts. The distinctions are important not only for the kind of work the teams do but also because wages and advances are higher for carters-cum-cutters, especially direct-carters. The direct-carters, who require much stronger bullocks and sturdier carts for hauling heavy cane loads all the way to the factory, receive a larger advance and make higher wages, since the rates are set per ton/mile. Joy Richardson, a young scholar from the Geography Department of Cambridge University who completed her fieldwork in the area, argues that the direct carters tend to be composed of middle and rich peasants from the "dry" villages, while the truck-carters tend to be small peasants, and the koytavalas tend to be landless. Although working conditions for aU harvesters are difficult, direct-carters are relatively privileged in that they are allowed to pitch camp around the factory premises for the duration of the season, and are often provided with a minimum of amenities, such as a few water taps or electric lights, per encampment. The carters who deliver only to trucks and the koytavalas must break camp (constructed from a few bamboo poles and straw matting which the cooperatives provide) regularly to follow the cutting schedule. Often even the barest facilities, such as clean water, are not available for these workers, and they are forced to drink from the chemical and pesticide saturated irrigation ditches. Both koytavalas and gadivalas generally rely on the use of family labor. Each team is commonly made up of three people, headed by a male who cuts the cane. Under the cutters are usually two helpers to strip leaves from the cane and bundle the cane up as they advance down the cane row. These helpers are often related to the cutter (such as a wife, daughter or close relative) in some subordinate kin rela tionship. The advance at the start of the season is given to the head of the team, who is responsible for seeing that the rest of the team is filled out. Linkage 5: Sugar Cooperatives and Factory Laborers Factory workers (who receive relatively high wages compared to fieldworkers or harvesters) are the only seg 26. Breman, 1978:57. ment of the labor force in sugar production organized into trade unions. Under cooperatives, unions were restricted to factory workers, whose concerns were increasingly isolated from other workers. Factory workers became closely tied to cooperative producer-members and divided amongst themselves by an elaborate hierarchy of remun eration and tenure. Demands by factory workers were determined by state mediation and arbitration. The narrow limitations of the state framework for negotiation under mined the basis for collective action by factory workers. The composition of the factory work force is domin ated, especially at the lower levels, by local residents. This contrasts with Breman's description of Gujarat coopera tives, where most seasonal factory operatives migrate from the sugar growing areas of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. Some of the factory positions in Maharashtra are filled by those who have no link with the local community, especially the most technical positions such as chemists. However, the percentage of outsiders appears quite small-something that the industry takes pride in. Access to factory jobs generally flows through the patronage of members of the cooperative association. This results in a strong influence of landowning members among the factory work force. Workers are often related or eVen cooperative members themselves. Usually job advance ment is made from within the factory ranks, though it is often restricted to a narrow range of positions. Operatives can develop only specialized skills on the job. Yet, as the skills are specific to particular tasks in sugar production, they do not have much application in other departments or in other industries. The length of employment each year and the security of that service reflect the divisions and hierarchy within the work force. Permanent 27 workers are employed through out the year. Seasonal-permanent workers work only during the harvest season, but they receive a retention allowance which provides them with a monthly percentage of their wages during the off-season. Seasonal workers are hired for only one season at a time, though if they remain with the same factory for three consecutive seasons, they become seasonal-permanent. A small number of workers are hired on a daily rate or on contract, to serve as substitute labor or to fulfill particular tasks, such as unloading cane trucks. The supervisory and higher clerical positions tend to be permanent employees, while the unskilled labor tends to be seasonal. Since factory jobs are usually the highest paying wage labor in the area, the longer one can work in a given year, the greater the difference in income from most other local workers. The basic job classification system was established by the first Central Wage Board for the Sugar Industry, which gave its report in 1960. The report's classification and wage settlement applied to every sugar factory worker in India. The factory work force was broadly divided into three groups; operatives, clerks, and supervisory personnel, and each group was sub-divided according to skill and responsibility. Each position in a factory was allocated a set 27. As Deodhar pointed out in his study. the term permanent or perennial "is misleading since the people were not always there, just the position." Deodhar, Ibid:388. 25 wage according to rank and seniority. The remuneration for factory jobs was standardized and no longer subject to collective actions at individual mills. Factory workers have maintained relatively high wage levels and achieved a greater degree of job security through successive wage boards at the national and state levels. Basic wage scales have been determined and periodically revised. In addition, the "dearness allowance" (differenti ated according to job classification) was standardized and a portion of it pegged against inflation. The wage boards also standardized the conditions for giving bonuses,28 which had made up a substantial portion of a worker's annual wage (up to twenty percent depending on the profitability of the factory in the previous season). Retention allowances were extended to a wider range of employees during the off-season. The conditions under which workers could achieve more permanent positions were standard ized, and most contract labor within the factory was eliminated. On the whole, factory workers became increasingly privileged, and isolated from the conditions and concerns of other segments of the labor force. Cooperatives ushered in an era of industrial peace in Maharashtra's sugar factories which prevailed until the late 1970s. The reorganization of ownership and control of sugar production re-defined relations between owners and workers. Cooperatives succeeded in splitting the al legiances of labor and preventing an extension of trade unionism and collective action from the plantations to the fields of individual landowners. The system of collective bargaining and negotiated settlements for factory workers, overseen and orchestrated by the state, separated their concerns from those of other workers involved in sugar production. Cooperative development coincided with labor quiescence. The subordination of labor within cooperative sugar, however, was bound up in structures and issues larger than the industry itself. Patterns of class domination and conflict changed with the expansion of cooperative sugar. Paradoxically, while the industry expanded and the power base of the sugar interests grew, the system of labor control became increasingly ineffective at containing the demands of factory workers. The structural basis for the recent rise of militant trade union action and the fundamental inequalities of cooperative development can be illuminated by a brief review of the history of state intervention and the labor movement in sugar cooperatives. The State and the Labor Movement The early labor movement in Maharashtra was unique in India's sugar industry, drawing on a relatively homogeneous local labor force, and combining factory and farm workers in one union. Trade unions began in the mid-1930s, organizing both factory and department 28. The first national wage board waived the factories' obligation to give out bonuses in Maharashtra on the grounds that so many factories needed "rehabilitation," in spite of the labor representative's citation of a Tariff Commission report to show that the Bombay factories "are the most prosperous in the sugar industry." Government of India, Central Wage Board for the Sugar Industry, Report. (Delhi, Government of India Press) 1960:166. (directly-employed) estate workers. Both factory and farm workers shared an interest in gaining secure, regular employment and in eliminating contract work. Depart ment workers often made up the most militant section of the trade unions because of the tendency of the plantations to shift department jobs to a piece-rate contracted basis. 29 The organization of workers industry-wide remained only partial and illegal until the eve of independence, after which unions were institutionalized within a framework constructed by the state for containing labor conflicts. In 1945-46, following the release from prison of "freedom fighters" including most non-communist union activists, there was a strike wave involving urban industries as well as corporate sugar plantations. At this point the government stepped in to regulate union-employer disputes in the sugar industry. The Bombay Industrial Relations Act (B.I.R.A.) introduced a whole series of mechanisms for government mediation which established Industrial Courts and Appellate Tribunals, and gave recognition to "representa tive" unions on a taluka by taluka basis. 30 B.I.R.A. stipulated that, until the government mediation mechan ism had run its full course, including the possibility of a lengthy appeal, unions could not legally srike. Relatively secure from competing unions,31 "representative" unions began to focus their efforts strictly within legal channels. Tripartite wage boards representing employers, employees and government selected experts became the next major government vehicle for containing the demands of labor. The first wage board for the sugar industry rejected the notion of a "need-based" minimum wage and the pegging of wages to an index that would equalize inflation. 32 The wage boards promoted wage determina tion according to the "ability to pay" (Le., the industry'S profits). Both national wage boards (1960, 1969) for the sugar industry restricted their coverage to factory workers, ignoring demands to include field and harvesting labor, a separate system of collective bargaining was established for factory workers. 33 The national wage boards, in effect, 29. The Belapur plantation's intention to shift irrigation workers, who made up sixty percent of the department labor force, to a contracted basis led to a long and bitter strike in 1941. 30. Under B.I.R.A., "representative" unions were the only unions al lowed to pursue grievances and present evidence through government mediation mechanisms, to collect dues or hold meetings within the work place. Although enacted in 1946, B.I.R.A. was not formally applied to the sugar industry unti11948. 31. The criteria for challenging a "representative" union presented com peting unions with a virtual catch-22. Without being able to provide any tangible results through strikes or grievance procedures, contesting unions had to sustain a dues paying membership throughout the credential challenge and appeal. 32. The wage board for the sugar industry concluded that the minimum wage earner should not be insulated from the effects of inflation and that "a degree of sacrifice on the part of this class is even psychologically neces sary for imparting a sense of participation into the plans ...." Employers Federation of India, Handbook on Central Wage Boards' Recommendations. (Bombay, The Employers Federation of India) 1971:57. 33. The labor representative in 1960, G. J. Ogale from Maharashtra, argued his union had always represented factory and agricultural workers and that the Industrial Courts had never made any distinction between them. Government of India, Central Wage Board for the Sugar Industry, Report. (Delhi, Government ofIndia Press) 1960:165. B. Shastri, in the Second Wage board, continued to argue for the exten sion of coverage to a broader range of workers "on sugarcane farms 26 isolated factory workers from the concerns of other laborers, and left unprotected the great majority of sugar workers. Following the second national wage board's mandate, succeeding tripartite wage boards for the sugar industry were established at the state government level. The state-level wage boards took as given the restricted definition of sugar industry workers, and did not try to coordinate wage determination policy for all segments of the work force (such as for harvesters, whose case is discussed below). While the national wage boards had gone to great lengths to assess the overall condition of the industry, and in so doing documented the situation of workers within factories, the state-level wage boards simply put forward a wage settlement based on overt political bargaining. A major difference between the situation of migrant harvesters in Gujarat, as described by Breman, and those in Maharashtra is the system of government regulation of wage rates. In 1974, the Maharashtra state government standardized wage rates for harvesting and transport workers. A consequence of the first wage award to harvesters illustrates an important aspect of the relation ship between unions and harvesters. As a result of litigation pursued by a factory union, the Bombay Industrial Court (award #130 of 1971) determined that contracted harvesters were employees of sugar cooperatives and so entitled to the minimum factory wage. While the decision was under appeal, a deal was cut in which the substantial rise in harvesting rates from the 1974 award would be applied retroactively through the 1969-70 season by the factory named in the suit. 34 These retroactiye wages would be settled in a lump sum payment of Rs. 3 lakhs to the union which had brought the case, to be spent "entirely at the discretion of the union. "35 In return, the union agreed to set aside the Industrial Court award of 1971, and leave open the question of whether harvesting and carting labor are employees of the factory. Subsequent government awards have resulted in real increases in harvester wages, but the harvesters themselves have had only sporadic influence over the process of wage determination. In 1978, the same factory that had won the Industrial Court award organized a major strike of harvesting and carting labor. The strike itself posed no real threat to the contract labor system, but succeeded in wresting substantial increases from the factories in the taluka and in demonstrating a new dimension of the factory union's strength, in their ability to coordinate struggles by migrant harvesters. However, a labor minister's- decree reduced the concessions gained by the harvester strike by attached to factories, contracted workers, outside of the factory, workers employed in harvesting and transport and other captive units of the principal sugar factory, (e.g., distilleries, etc ...)." Government of India, Second Wage Board jor the Sugar IndllStry, Repon. (New Delhi, Govern ment oflndia Press) 1970: 184. 34. The February 1974 award recommended that rates for koytavalas be increased 87 percent and gadivalas by 30 percent. Had harvesters been paid the minimum wage of factory workers, the increase to koytavalas would have been roughly 600 percent. 35. Senlement Between the Kopargaon Sahakari Sakhar Karkhana Ltd. and the Kopargaon Taluka Sakhar Kamgar Sabha, A Representative Union under the Bombay IndllStrial Relations Act. 1975:1 two-thirds and applied them throughout the state on the grounds that unequal harvesting rates would put the cooperatives in areas of labor militancy at an undue disadvantage. Many factories ignored even the more modest increase in their harvesting rates, and migrants, with no permanent organization of their own, were dependent on factory worker unions to enforce implemen tation. For Maharashtra's harvesters, in spite of government intervention, the situation remains much the same as in Gujarat, with migrant workers debt-bonded, isolated and unorganized. In the years immediately after independence, trade unions were in alliance with landowning cooperative members, in joint opposition to sugar plantations. 36 However, as cooperatives became the norm in the industry and no longer a progressive innovation in rsponse to corporate plantations, their "pro-labor" attitude changed dramatically. Unionists charged that cooperatives became "seats of personal aggrandizement" for their directors and managers. The leaders of cooperatives came to be closely linked to centers of power in the Congress Party and state government. In a number of cases, cooperatives sought to overturn the recognized "representative" union and install one which supported their own interests. In the words of one trade unionist, "the cooperatives started tooth and nail in opposition to the (plantation) joint-stock companies ... with the backing of the labor movement and all progressive sections... [yet,] cooperatives are now deadly against the labor movement." By 1974, the Sugar Enquiry Commission found that the attitude of organized labor had soured and "their criticism of the cooperative sector [became] harsher and sharper than of the private sector. "37 The economic and political benefits of cooperatives were believed to have gone to the producer-members at the expense of workers and consumers as a whole. 38 The degree of opposition to cooperatives varied significantly according to the political orientation of union groups. The major unions operating in Maharashtra's sugar industry are all affiliaJed with political parties, i.e., the Indian National Trade' Union Congress (INTUC) is affiliated with the Congress Party, the Hind Mazdoor Sabha (HMS) is affiliated with the Socialist Party, and the Lal Nishan (Red Flag) union is affiliated with an independent regional communist party. The influence of the rich farmer class in statewide politics has meant, paradoxically, that the majority of unions (INTUC and HMS) are aligned in the larger political arena witht the same rich farmer class which they oppose in the cooperatives. In the 19708, the confluence of factors which had led to the long period of labor quiescence began to come apart. The reluctance of new cooperatives to implement existing statewide wage agreements exacerbated labor tensions and 36. An example of this took place in the 1950 strike at Tilaknagar. In the first yearof its operation, the Pravara Cooperative took in all workers who had been victimized as a result of a strike at the neighboring private sugar industry. 37. Government of India, Repon ojthe Sugar Enquiry Commission. (Delhi, Ministry of Agriculture) 1974:77. 38. G. S. Kamat, New Dimension oj Cooperative Management. (Bombay, Himalya Publishing House) 1978:169. 27 resulted in occasional lightning strikes in individual mills to force their implementation. The composition of the work force in the case of newer factories has helped to increase labor militancy.39 The transference of wage boards to the state level opened new opportunities for competing unions groups to exert their influence. the closeness of a union's alliance with successive state level governments, which were dominated by rich farmer interest, determined much of the influence it could wield in negotiations mediated by the state. But these alliances also severely restricted the union's freedom of action. The political affiliations of particular union groups came to influence strongly the pattern of labor militancy which emerged in the late 1970s. From 1957, all unions effectively operated under one umbrella organization, the Sakhar Kamgar Pratinidhi Mandai (Sugar Workers Representatives Association) which represented the joint unions' interests at the national and state level. Under the leadership of the Pratinidhi Mandai strikes were exceedingly rare. However, in the early 1970s Lal Nishan unions began organizing new factories using the tactic of quick strikes during the middle of the season to gain implementation of existing awards. In March 1978, the Kriti Samiti (Action Committee) composed mostly of Lal Nishan unions established a separate set of demands from thePratinidhi MandaI's, and a more militant posture in union negotiations. While initially remaining in alliance with the Mandai, the Kriti Samiti introduced a fissure in the united labor front which would rupture in the negotiations and events surrounding the state level awards of 1979-80. 40 The formation of the Kriti Samiti pressured the Pratinidhi Mandai to develop a more militant posture of its own, and in August 1978, to organize the first one-day, industry-wide strike. As it was a token strike, in the off-season, no production was stopped, but the MandaI's strength was exhibited since fifty-four of sixty-six factories participated. The indefinite strike initially scheduled for the height of the harvest season was postponed until the following fall. In spite of unity between the Mandai and Samiti and extensive rallies and preparations for the general strike scheduled for November 15,1979, the strike call was never given. INTUC and HMS unions were supporting members of Sharad Pawar's state government, and with the Lok Sabha elections pending in early January, a strike was perceived to be disruptive and detrimental to the ruling party's position. After the disastrous rout of the Chief Minister's party in the national parliamentary elections, and the continuing failure to reach a wage agreement, the Kriti Samiti led a strike of its own. From January 16-28, 22 factories went out on strike, many with HMS "recognized" unions. 41 The strike led to the final and official split in the 39. New factories tend to have a very young unskilled labor force, and a skilled labor force from other areas. As one trade unionist explained, "the younger, single workers have the fire and idealism of youth ... and freedom from family [constraints]. ... Combined with experienced union members from other areas, they can face the unenlightened land owners in new factory areas who ignore existing wage agreements." 40. Background to the negotiations is provided by Amrita Abraham, "Sugar Workers Draw and Blank," Economic and Political Weekly. 14(50), December 15, 1979:2035-2037; and Gail Omvedt, "Sugar Workers: Round Two," Economic andPolitical Weekly. 15(1), January 5,1980:17-18. 41. Although these strikes achieved some "model agreements," they statewide trade union alliance. In response to the Samiti's strike, on January 21, the Chief Minister finalized a wage agreement with the Pratinidhi Mandai. The terms of the agreement fell far short of the initial union demands and factories so ignored the terms of the award that sugar workers were forced to go out on strike again in October 1980. 42 The state appointed committee to resolve the dispute accepted separate sets of demands from both the Pratinidhi Mandai and the Kriti Samiti. In spite of real differences between the two union groups in terms of specific wage demands and political alliances, both remained locked into the system of government arbitration. The emergence of labor militancy reflects the interilal contradictions within this form of cooperative develop ment. Although isolated within a factory work force closely tied to local cooperative members, organized labor's quiescence remained dependent on a whole structure of labor control in which state mediation was crucial. The expansion of the industry through the 1970s coincided with increasing ineffectiveness of the system's ability to contain labor's demands. The labor force in the newly established factories faced cooperative farmers who tended to ignore the terms of the labor agreements, and the composition of the new factories facilitated the development of a militant posture by workers in response. Conditions specific to the conjuncture of the late 1970s-the failure of the wage board to establish a new wage agreement, the reluctance of INTUC and HMS unions to pursue militant strategies, the existence of a competing union unfettered by political alliances, and a period of political uncertainty and change in state politics-opened new possibilities for labor militancy and suggest limits to the continued subordination of labor. However, the militant unions have still to build the alliances between all the segments of the labor force necessary to overturn the structure of domination that has been created in cooperative sugar. Conclusion The impact of such an ostensibly progressive reorganization of production raises fundamental questions about how to look at cooperative development. Coopera tives not only have increased sugar production and channelled the majority of the benefits to a rich farmer class, they have also increased the vulnerability and domination of labor. Cooperative ideology has re-defined relations of production and transformed the nature of conflict between workers and owners. Cooperatives have facilitated the separation of the cultivation of cane from its processing, and have isolated workers in each process from were generally not observed. Management was even able to argue in some cases that they could not honor those agreements because the strikes were not represented by recognized "representative" unions, and under the conditions ofB.I.R.A. this would amount to unfair labor practices. 42. Abraham quotes union circles as saying the award was "hastily, almost surreptitiously accepted despite its uncertainties and modest gains because elections were due (state legislative assembly election in May 1980) and the unions did not want to queer the pitch of the PDF (Progres sive Democratic Front) government then in power." Amrita Abraham, "Another Patchwork Agreement for Sugar Industry workers," Economic and Political Weekly. 15(48), November 1980:2007. 28 each other. Cooperatives have promoted a new capitalist class with far more power and influence within the villages, that has the ability to employ a series of indirect social controls on labor. The rich farmers' influence over the government reinforces their position of strength vis-a-vis the working class. The success of cooperative development cannot be judged without determining its impact on wage workers. Our concern is not simply for an indicator of workers income, but for an understanding of the complex set of social relations through which workers engage in a system of production. The situation in Maharashtra's sugar industry shows that the organization of work and the pattern of state involvement in the industry are central in an examination of the politics of production. Development perspectives too often divorce their assessments of progressive programs from the political implications of a particular set of relations of production. Class struggles cannot be disengaged from economic development, but must be incorporated into the way we see the world. * AJOURNAL FOR BLACK AND THIRD WORLD LIBERATION VOLUME XXV NUMBER 1 SUMMER 1983 21$4 TOWARDS AN ANTI-RACIST FEMINISM JENNY BOURNE Racism without colour: the Catholic ethic and ethnicity in Quebec - Dipankar Gupta The people's commentator: calypso and the Grenada revolution: an interview with Cecil Belfon, The Flying Turkey - Chris Searle Ethnicity and class in Cyprus - Floya Anthias and Ron Ayres Notes and documents: Lyrics by the Flying Turkey. The SAS and popular fiction - John N ewsinger Book reviews RECENT ISSUES Spring 1983 - Special double issue THE INVASION OF LEBANON 3/$6 Winter 1983 - Special issue KENYA: THE POLITICS OF REPRESSION 2/$4 Race & Class is available to individuals at 8IUS$16 per annum (l2IUS$30 for institutions). I enclose for one year's subscription to Race & Class starting with the current issue. Name _________________________________________ Address ______________________________________ I J I I THINK TANK FOR THE AMERICAN LEFT Featuring: Feminist politics, democratic move ments, labor struggles, organizing strategies and left perspectives on American economics, politics and culture. Subscribe now. BERKELEY, CA 94703 0$19.50 One year subscription (6 issues) NAME ADDRESS o $22 Outside of USA Cl1Y STATE ZIP Send to the Institute of Race Relations, 247 Pentonville Road, London Nl 9NG, UK (please send cash with order, cheques to be made payable to Institute of Race Relations). 29 Capitalist Agriculture and Rural Classes in India by Gail Omvedt* In 1969, two years after Naxalbari, Ashok Rudra and two colleagues publised results of a survey on capitalist farming in Punjab. Their rather negative conclusions were responded to first by Daniel Thorner, a longtime observer of India's agriculture, who had concluded from his own rural tours that a new era of capitalist agriculture was beginning: "Rudra tells us that he is more interested in the 'red revolution' than the 'green revolution.' The colour of the revolution I have seen in one area after another of Indian in 1960 is steel-grey. I call it an industrial revolu tion."1 Then in 1971 Utsa Patnaik argued, from her own study of 1969, that a new capitalist farmer class was indeed beginning to emerge. Rudra contested this, Patnaik re plied, Paresh Chattopadhyay intervened with crucial theo retical points-and the famous Indian devbate on the "mode of production in agriculture" was on. Ranjit Sau, Hamza Alavi, Jairus Banaji, Harry Cleaver and numerous other Indian and foreign scholars became involved, and journals in Europe and elsewhere published summaries and further interpretations. Clearly the "mode of production" debate was pro voked by real changes occurring in Indian agriculture, ex pressed politically in the Naxalbari revolt, new organizing of agricultural laborers and the repression of this organiz ing by the rural elite as symbolized in the 1968 Kilvenmani massacre, first of a long series of "atrocities on Harijans." It grew out of a milieu where scholars stepped in the classic Marxist notions of feudalism, capitalism and imperialism confronted a changing empirical reality, and the concern of all participants about the connection of research with revo lutionary practice was perhaps best expressed in the catch phrase, "Will the Green Revolution tum into a red one?" But reading through the material in retrospect, it is surpris ing how scanty in fact the data base of the whole debate An earlier version of this article appeared in Economic and Political Weekly. Vol. XVI, No. 52 (Dec. 1981), pp. A-140-A-159 1. Daniel Thorner, "Capitalist Farming in India," Economic and Political Weekly (EPW) (Dec. 1969), p. A-212. was. Most of the important economic changes in agricul ture can be said to date from the 1960s, when the process of destroying the pre-independence forms of landlordism and laying the foundations of an industrial and infrastructural development that could supply inputs to agriculture was beginning to produce real changes. But though there were a few micro-studies, the only all-India data available was from 1961 (including both the most important data on tenancy and land concentration as well as Census data) and to a small extent from 1964-65 (the Rural Labour En quiry). And this was rather early to show patterns. In fact, much of the "mode of production" debate centered more on the colonial period, than on analyzing whether a qualita tively different process was at work in the post-colonial phase. Now, ten years later, many thing seem much clearer. To begin with, not only have the patterns that could be seen in outline in 1968-69 developed much further, but there is more data available to confirm them. These include not only many more village and regional studies, but also mass ive all-India government material-the Census and Ag ricultural Census of 19781, the National Sample Survey and All-India Debt and Investment Survey whose jointly con ducted 1971 survey of 12,452 villages is perhaps the most quoted source of information we have, the Rural Labour Enquiry of 8,512 villages in 1974-75, to mention only the most important. These are heavily infected with bias, as we shall see, and are also ten years old, but biases can to some extent be compensated for, and 1971 was sufficient to re flect the basic pattern of the changes in Indian agriculture. Further, data on production itself-productivity, crop pat terns, irrigation, investment and credit, use of tractors, fertilizers and improved seeds, etc. - is available for much more recent years up to 1978. There is, in other words, a basis now that did not exist in 1969-70 to draw more solid empirical conclusions about the agrarian economy and class structure, though there are still important gaps in our knowledge and the state of theory . Politically also the classes that observers were barely discerning in 1970-a Kulak or capitalist farmer class, and a rural semi-proletariat of agricultural laborers and poor 30 peasants-are now coming forward as clearly powerful rural actors, though not in forms predicted in 1970. Capital ist farmers are the main force behind the "farmers' agita tions" that are dominating the rural political scene: it is no accident that these agitations are centering in the more capitalistically developed regions, that their main demand for higher crop prices itself indicates the commercialization of the rural economy, and that in contrast to pre-indepen dence peasant movements they are not directed against any rural exploiter but rather seek to unite "all peasants," with an ideology that claims the "city" is exploiting the "coun tryside." Thus they show the kulaks on the offensive against the industrial bourgeoisie and seeking to bring other sections of the rural population under their hegem ony-with some success in the case of the middle peasants and even among the poor peasants especially where the left parties are there to help them. On the other hand, the increasing incidences of "atrocities against Harijans" and caste riots, especially those recently in Marathwada and Gujarat which raged in both rural and urban areas, show the capitalist farmers on the offensive against the rural poor (it is again no accident that the most mass explosions and campaigns, including that centering on Kanjhawala, have been in more capitalistic areas) and using a weapon whose potency had also been hardly expected ten years ago-the weapon of caste divisions. It is symptomatic of the current dilemma that the question, "will the green revolution tum into a red one?" is now being replaced by, "will the caste war tum into a class war?" As for the rural poor themselves, agricultural labor ers, poor peasants, contract laborers and migrants, whether dalits, adivasis, Muslims or caste Hindus, have also been constantly struggling and asserting their rights, some times as workers, sometimes for wages or land, sometimes also as oppressed castes, nationalities or women struggling for rights as human beings. Though their movements so far have been comparatively weak and divided-and most weak and divided precisely in the more capitalistic areas they provide a hint of what might come once they really begin to organize. This article attempts to use the main all-India empir ical data, especially the Agricultural Census, the 1971 Na tional Sample Survey/All India Debt and Investment Sur vey (NSS/AIDIS) and the 1974-75 Rural Labour Enquiry (RLE), to show something of the structure and character istics of what we consider to be the main rural classes: capitalist farmers, middle peasants and the semi-prole tarianized poor peasants and laborers. Generally it will back up not the hesitant conclusions of most of the partici pants in the "mode of production" debate (including my self at the time)2 who still stressed the dominance in one way or another of semi-feudalism and forces holding back agricultural evelopment or saw the post-colonial period as a mere continuation of colonial patterns in a slightly diffe rent form, but rather the bolder, even sweeping, conclu sions of Thorner that "a few pockets of capitalist farmers were to be found in certain regions of India before 1947. But their emergence as a significant group in every state is 2. Gail Omvedt, The Political Economy of Starvation: Imperialism and the World Food Crisis (Pune: Scientific Socialist Education Trust, 1976). Glossary adivasi: tribal (Scheduled Tribe). Term means "original inhabitant. " benami: illegal (literally "without name") land shown un der someone else's name to escape the land ceiling laws. bhauki: patrilineage. crore: ten million. dalit: member of ex-untouchable caste (Scheduled Caste). gawki kam: "village work," literally, but refers to caste- duties of dalits. Harijans: Gandhian term fordalits. jajmani: the social organization of production at the village level according to which each caste pedormed its specific duties. jati: caste. kisan: "peasant." ksatriya: second offour varnas; warrior, ruler. lakh: one hundred thousand. mahila mandai: "women's club" -women's organizations usually traditionally run, in villages and cities. panchayat: village council. panchayat raj: "village government." patil: village headman. ryot: usually translated as "peasant," but one with rights to cultivate the land. Some ryots in British and pre-British times were actually petty landlords. ryotwari: the land settlement which gave "ownership" rights to ryots rather than landlords or other inter mediaries. sat-shudra: "clean" shudra, term applied to high-status, non-Brahman castes of Tamil-nadu. shudra: fourth of four varnas. taluka: county; lowest political unit above village. varna: one of four caste-categories (these were brahman, ksatriya, vaishya, shudra) in which actually existingjatis were given a place. veth begar: forced labor somewhat equivalent to feudal corvee but often mediated through the caste system which required caste-specific duties. zamindar, talukdar, khot, malguzar, jotedar: all terms for various types of non-cultivating landlords or inter mediaries who could claim rent from the land. Zamindars were lower-level landlords throughout north India and higher level landlords, in Bengal; the term has come to be generally used for "landlord." Talukdars were higher level intermediaries in U.P. Khots were in the Konkan (western India), malguzars in central India. lotedars are now landlords in West Bengal but were before inde pendence sub-holders from Bengali zamindars. zilha parishad: district council. 31 one of the facets of the industrial revolution that is chang ing the face of India. "3 That is, it will stress the growth of capitalism in agriculture and the links between agriculture and industry, city and countryside. But it must not be forgotten that this is a capitalism developing within a post colonial economy totally bound up with imperialism, af fected in specific ways by the disarticulation between small scale capitalism (including that in agriculture) and large scale industry characteristic of such economies and by the still-potent effects of backwardness and various types of semi-feudal elements, including caste. It is important to analyze the specific nature and processes .of this t)ye of integration with imperialism.' than all kinds of backwardness and dlstortlOns ofcapitalism as SignS of "semi-feudalism." The article, however, will focus mainly on the growth of capitalism as such. Transformation of Indian Agriculture Indian agriculture at the time of independence was predominantly feudal in though ele ments of capitalism had nsen. Vanous types of ZQrmndars. talukdars. khots. malguzars. etc., controlled the land in the areas of zamindari settlement, even though tenancy acts under the British had already given substantial protection to the top section of the tenantry. Some of these tenants themselves (for instance those whom Charan Singh rep resented in UP) were essentially proto-capitalist in charac ter and needed only the final blow of Zamindari Abolition to emerge as Kulaks; others (such as the Bengal jotedars) were more feudal in nature in that they sublet the land to share-croppers rather than cultivating it themselves or with hired labor. In ryotwari areas also, the majority of land was informally under control of non-cultivating landlords. These were in some areas merchants or bureaucrats who had purchased it or won rights over it as a of'peasant indebtedness (e.g., western Maharashtra) whIle ID other cases they were village landlords who were recognized by the law as "ryots" (e.g., Thanjavur). Even where the rec ognized "ryots" were those who came cultivating tradition and took an entrepreneunallDterest ID the land, they very often relied heavily on the near-slave bonded labor (e.g., the Gujars and Bhils in Dhule district of Maharashtra). Not only was the majority of land cultivated under some form of formal or informal tenancy (even formally, area leased-in as a percentage of total land was 35.7 percent in 1950-51) and thus dominated by landlords outside of or at the very top of the village, but inside the village itself specific types of semi-feudal relations to pre vail. 4 Most of those classed as "field laborers ID the co lonial period were from untouchable castes who still per 3. Thorner, p. A-2I2. 4. It is true that tenancy as such cannot simply be identified with feudal ism, that different types of tenancy are associated with varying of production and that cash-rent itself can be viewed as a final transltu;>nal form to capitalist relations. Nevertheless, where landlord-tenant are the most prevalent form in agriculture, and where the surplus IS mamly extracted in the form of rent (by cash, kind or labor-rent) by big landlords from small peasants who have some kind of claim on subsistence plots, it can be said that feudalism prevails. The independence that was won in 1947 was un der control of the bourgeois-dominated Congress Party; and it was in a bourgeois manner and directed to the needs of capitalist development rather than for the sake of a thoroughgoing agrarian revolution that those in power set out to destroy the semi-feudal system that dominated in agriculture. formed all types of labor service as an obligatory caste duty, though struggles against this had begun and though legal definitions had shifted, by and large their servitude re mained in its traditional form. (This is shown in nomencla ture: various forms of "contractual" debt-originated servi tude had replaced the pre-British state-enforced caste slavery-and this was an important shift-but locally these almost always continued to be known by the traditional caste-specific nomenclature.) Similarly, most of the means of production for agriculture were provided by artisans working within the traditionaljajmani system in which their work was a birth-defined caste duty for which they received not exchange but yearly prerequisites in shares of the har vest or occasionally small allotments of land. Together these dalit field laborers and the artisans were a significant part of the village population who performed labor that was crucial for agricultural production but never had any tradi tional recognition as "tillers of the soil"; and with the development of the kisan movement their labor came to be known as veth begar. While a few dalits and large numbers of artisan caste people were becoming free wage laborers or small sharecroppers or even landholders, the continued prevalence of caste-defined duties and their importance for the whole process of agricultural production also defined the system as still a feudal one. Clearly this was a caste-structured form of feudalism. In Indian feudalism prior to British conquest, jatis were basic units of the social division of labor, with the "twice born" vamas and other high castes being landlords, mer chants and other exploiters, while the exploited toilers, were divided along caste lines into three main sections the cultivating kisan castes who were traditionally "tillers of the soil" (Kurmis, Jats, Kunbi-Marathas, etc.), the artisan and service castes who produced the means of production and some consumption goods, and dalit (untouchable) la borers who were semi-slaves for the village authorities and some dominant landlord. Where there was a seeming over lap in jati between landlords and peasant cultivators, there were always distinctions made between the mainly landlord clan/sub-caste and the others, e.g., between patils and "guest" cultivators, between Shahhanavkuli Marathas and Kunbis, between Reddis and Kapus, etc. Further in the south traditionally landed castes such as the Vellalas or N ayars who did not have ksatriya status used other to distinguish themselves in varna terms from the cultivators as sat-shudras versus ordinary shudras. or by classifying all others as untouchable. During the colonial period, the 32 state no longer enforced the caste system but rather in situ ted formal rights to acquire property, education, etc.; with this and with the opening of new factories, mines and schools the old identity of class and caste was broken; some members of low castes and even untouchables found op portunities for education, employment and even landhold ings; agricultural differentiation resulted in some tradi tional landholding peasants becoming poor and going for labor, or in new landlords (especially often from Brahmans or merchant castes) taking control at the expense of old ones. Thus "caste" and "class" began to be constituted as separate social phenomena; but there was still a near absolute correlation between them, with high castes con tinuing to be the main lords of the land, middle castes remaining as dominantly peasant cultivators and semi skilled workers in the new factories, and the dalits and adivasis remaining primarily semi-bound toilers and work ers in the most exploitative of the new jobs in plantations andmines. s A hundred years of peasant revolts, kisan movements, anti-Brahman movements and organizations of dalits and agricultural laborers accompanied India's freedom strug gle. Because of the particular caste-form of Indian feudal ism, the anti-feudal movement was expressed not only through peasant revolts but also in the radical anti-caste movements of Phule, Ambedkar and Periyar; the anti caste and social reform movements often contained attacks on moneylenders and landlords, while the most radical peasant revolts and especially the climatic Telengana revolt took up social issues including the fights against veth begar and against untouchability. In spite of all this, the inde pendence that was won in 1947 was under control of the bourgeois-dominated Congress Party; and it was in a bour geois manner and directed to the needs of capitalist de velopment rather than for the sake of a thoroughgoing agrarian revolution that those in power set out to destroy the semi-feudal system that dominated in agriculture. The government had no intention of giving either "peoples' power" or "land to the tiller," the main slogan of the Kisan Sabha. But those at the head of the state knew very well that they not only had to yield to the demands of a politi cized and mobilized rich peasant section who had emerged at the head of the broader agrarian masses, but also that anti-feudal land reforms and the widening of the rural home market were necessary for any real capitalist de velopment. Thus, the five-year plans not only focused on the building up of a heavy industry, a public sector and infrastructure that included dams, roads and other forms of transportation, but also a series ofland reforms and various village developments programs. The Zamindari Abolition Acts and Tenancy Acts passed in various states in the 1950s did not give land to the landless or land-poor; they were not intended to. They allowed landlords to retain huge amounts of land (usually the best land) and paid generously for what was taken away; and they resulted as often in poor tenants being expelled from the land as in richer tenants getting control of the land. But they did achieve by and large the main effec 5. For a fuller analysis see Gail Omvedt, "Caste, Class and Politics," in Land, Caste and Politics, (New Delhi: 1981). Striking textile workers organize a village march. (Gail Omvedt) tive slogan of the Kisan Sabha movement-that of giving land to the tenants. 6 They deprived big landlords to a large degree of their village power, pushed them to tum to farnling through hired labor and investing in the land (here compensation money also helped), and laid a basis for the bigger tenants and rich peasant cultivators to come to power in the villages and develop as capitalist farmers. Land concentration as such was little affected by the Acts (it should be remembered there is both feudal land con centration and capitalist land concentration, and these acts struck only at the first type). But a basis was laid for the emergence of a new class in the countryside, bigger and more broad-based than the old landlords, composed in part of some old landlords but numerically more of ex-tenants and rich peasants. This class was "new" in its relation to the land; its members were no longer living off peasant sur pluses but were hirers and exploiters of labor power. It was also new in its different and in some ways wider social base in the villages, its caste composition, its traditions of self-cultivation, and its history of involvement in anti landlord and anti-caste struggles. While land concentration remained as high as before, tenancy declined and effective landlessness and proletarianization increased. The second phase of land reform, the Land Ceiling Acts that began to be passed from 1961 onwards, were very different from these Zamindari Abolition and Tenancy Acts. They were designed to give "land to the landless' and were not simple anti-feudal reforms but rather challenged land property as such, whether "capitalist" or "feudal." As a result they had little significant effect at all. By 1977, 4,l)4 6. Nearly all Kisan Sabha documents show that the slogan of "land to the tiller" and the whole analysis of landlordism was mechanically transferred to the Indian context and made equivalent to abolition of Zamindari, which in effect meant "land to the tenant." It was assumed that a substan tial class of agricultural laborers would go on existing and that low caste artisans or dalits toiling as field servants did not really have rights as "tillers." Only the Telengana revolt in practice brought forward through the application of land ceilings, the notion of transferring land to these sections as well. 33 Village women organize a march demanding toilet facilities and an end to atrocities. (GaiIOmvedt) million acres had been declared surplus under those Acts, 2.1 million were taken over by the government and 1.29 million were actually distributed-a minute proportion of the nearly 390 million estimated cultivated acreage. Along with anti-feudal land reforms came programs to increase production, for from the very beginning the Indian ruling class had seen its task of building capitalism as inc luding both the development of heavy industry and of fostering and transforming the small-scale sector which centered on agriculture. 7 Developments often seemed slow and halting, but the government did invest, from the 1950s onwards, in irrigation, dam-building, promoting new seeds and improved breeds, long before the Ford Foundation and international agencies came along with their package programs, selected IAVP districts, and the "green revolu tion." The spread of education, co-operative credit soci eties, land development banks, sugar co-operatives, agri cultural universities all played a role. One of the most signifi cant steps was the bank nationalization of 1969, which had the effect of channeling an increased share of credit to the countryside. Perhaps more important than any specific pro gram or the whole "green revolution" package was the increasing ability of the new kulak class to claim an increas ing share of government resources for itself, especially after 1965. 8 Government programs and funds played an essential role in helping the new class to increase its produc tive base. Finally, on the political side, the new institutions of the pallchayat raj, credit co-operatives and educational institu tions, mahila mandals and similar "village development" institutions, all helped the new class maintain its hegemony in a new way over the increasingly proletarianized and restless rural majority. All these developments took place very unevenly, for 7. G. K. Shirokov. Industrialisation of India (Moscow: Progress Publica tions. 1973). pp. 62-64. 8. Ashok Mody. "Resource Flows between Agriculture and Non-Agri culture in India. 1950-1970," EPW, Annual No. (Mar. 1981). India is a vast and highly varied land, a sub-continent that has become a nation. In areas of ryotwari settlement, where strong peasant or anti-caste movements occurred, it proved easier to move against landlordism and consolidate the gains of the new kulak class. Thus south and western India and the northwest show on the whole a clearer prevalence of capitalist relations of production. (This does not neces sarily mean a greater development of the productive forces: the south remains poorer even today, while Punjab and Haryana, where investment in agriculture has been high from British times, maintain their lead in production.) In contrast, the east, northeast and central regions remain backward, with a significant amount of semi-feudal rela tions of production. Within these broader regions, within states, and even within districts tremendous differences remain. But on the whole a growth in agricultural produc tion and the transformation of the agrarian relations of production, in short the development of capitalist agricul ture-even though it remains a backward capitalist ag riculture with tremendous hangovers of feudal relations and remnants-has characterized the Indian countryside since independence. Development of the Forces of Production To begin with, let us look at the evidence for the degree of development of the productive forces in agricul ture. On the commercialization of the rural economy, Re serve Bank studies showed that by the early 1960s wages provided either the main or supplementary income for over half of rural families 9 ; my estimate now is that this figure is close to 65 percent (see below). Similarly in the early 1960s the Ministry of Food and Agriculture estimated that 45-47 percent of total crop pro 9. V. G. Rastyannikov, "The Agrarian Evolution of Indian Society in the 50s and 60s of the 20th Century," in V. Pavlov, et al., India: Social and Economic Development (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1975), p. 140. My estimate now is that this figure is close to 65 percent. Rural women laborers plastering on a richfarmer's house. (Gail Omvedt) 34 Rural woman laborer. duction was marketed; it seems that about three-fourths of this was marketed by producers while the rest represented crops turned over to landlords or moneylenders who in tum sold them on the market. 10 I know of no recent detailed study of rural marketing that would allow us to estimate the changes in this,11 but Indradeep Sinha 12 has claimed re- Because the rural semi-proletariat is now the dominant section among the rui-aJ poor does not mean that wage issues must be considered prim ary, let alone the main "revolutionary" issue. Wages are simply often the most important im mediate organizing issue. cently that "during the last 30 years virtually the entire rural economy has been drawn into the vortex of money commodity relationships and almost 100 percent of com mercial crops and 40 to 60 percent of the food crops are brought to the market and sold as commodities." This is probably correct, as is his point that village traders and wholesalers are thoroughly integrated into the overall In dian industrial-commercial structure and that this itself is linked to the imperialist chain, so that the life of India's rural population is truly dominated by the crisis-ridden economy of world capitalism. There is clear evidence for a substantial growth in the use of capital inputs in agriculture, such as fertilizers, trac tors, oil engines, irrigation pumpsets, etc. As Table 1 shows, there has been an almost qUalitative change even in the last few years. Besides these, while the use of wooden 10. Ibid., pp. 116-20. 11. One 1976 study does argue that the percentage of gross product marketed remained relatively stagnant between 1961-62 and 1974-75. S.S. Madalgi, "Trends in Monetisation in the Indian Economy," Reserve Bank Staff Papers I, 1 June 1976. However, this is based on assuming that the rural class structure remained essentially the same throughout the period as it was in 1951. 12. Indradeep Sinha, The Changing Agrarian (Delhi: Peoples' Publishing House, 1979), p. 22. Table 1 Agriculture Inputs 1950-51 1965-66 1975-76 1978-79 Net irrigated area as percent of net sown area 17.6 19.3 24.2 NA Consumption of fertilizer per hectare of cropped area in kgs (all kinds) 0.5 5.1 17.4 29.4 Tractors per lakh * hectares of gross cropped area 7 34 166 234 Oil engines per lakh hectares of gross cropped area 62 295 1,074 (1974) NA Irrigation pump-sets with electrically operated tube wells per lakh hectares 16 326 1,617 2,308 Consumption of power in kwh per thousand hectares gross cropped area 1.5 12.2 50.0 76.9 Source: Center for Monitoring the Indian Economy (CMIE), Basic Statistics Relating to the Indian Economy, Vol. I, All India (Oct. 1979), Sec. 10. * lakh = 100,000. 35 ploughs and animal carts remained stagnant, iron ploughs nearly doubled between 1961 and 1971, from 2,298,000, to 5,359,000. 13 This use of capital inputs has been often provided through the state and co-operative sectors and has been inevitably accompanied by greater dependence on the world market. A particularly stark example is the case of fertilizers. While production rose from 39,000 tons in 1951 52 to 3,490,000 tons in 1979-80, imports also rose from 52,000 tons to 2,300,000 tons in the same period. Imports as a percentage of total use declined from 57 percent to 40 percent but the value of these imports rose from Rs 5 crore to Rs 600 crore l4 ; and this does not include the import of crude oil required for the production of fertilizers. India's previous food dependence has now substantially ended, but according to one economist, "instead of importing food we are importing fertilizers for producing food" (The Economic Times, March 4, 1980). Behind this growth in capital inputs has been a sub stantial inflow offinancial resources to agriculture. This can be measured in various ways. Advances from Scheduled Commercial Banks to agriculture increased from Rs 11 crore (2.3 percent of total lending) in 1950 to RS 67 crore (2.2 percent of the total) in 1968 to Rs 1,399 crore (l0.4 percent of the total) in June 1977; the most dramatic in crease was clearly after the nationalization of banks. Co operative societies of all types numbered 214,000 with 35,600,000 members and a total of Rs 1,637 crore of loans outstanding in 1965-66; by 1976-77 the number of societies had decreased to 150,000 but there were 66,400,000 mem bers and Rs 7,102 crore of loans outstanding. IS Interna tional funds, especially from the World Bank, going to agriculture substantially increased during the 1970s 16 while the Reserve Bank estimated that institutional finance of all kinds, direct and indirect, to agriculture more than doubled between 1973 and 1978, from Rs 2,621.8 crore in 1973 to Rs 5,722.3 crore in 1978. 17 Some effort to quantify the flow of resources going into agriculture, especially between 1961 and 1971, has been made recently by Ashok Mody. He estimates a net inflow of about Rs 829 crore into farm households between 1962 and 1971 measured in terms of changes in financial assets and liabilities. He also estimates the average annual net flow of funds on government account into agriculture (public expenditure minus tax burden) as ranging from about Rs 48 crore a year to Rs 182 crore a year between 1951-52 and 1968-69. This latter figure does not include subsidies to the agricultural sector in the form of low water, electricity and interest rates or in the form of subsidies for food purchases, all of which have become increasingly important in recent years. Finally, terms of trade, which were more or less constant until the mid-sixties, turned steadily in favor of the agricultural sector between the 13. Center for Monitoring the Indian Economy (CMIE), Basic Statistics Relating to the Indian Economy, Vol. I: All India (Oct. 1979), Sec. 10. 14. Ibid., Table 10.4. 15. Ibid., Sec. 16. 16. Veronica Bennholdt-Thomsen, "World Bank Investment on the Poor," Social Scientist 91-92 (Feb.-Mar. 1980). 17. CMIE, Basic Statistics, Table 10:11. Table 2 Annual Rates of Increase in Agricultural Production 1951-52 1964-65 to to Whole 1964--75 1978-79 Period Foodgrains: ~ Area 1.5 0.5 1.0 .\ Productivity 1.5 1.9 1.7 Production 3.1 2.7 2.9 Per capita production 1.0 0.7 0.8 Non-Foodgrains: Area 2.5 0.7 1.5 Productivity 1.0 0.9 0.9 Production 3.5 2.5 2.8 Per capita production 1.2 0.1 0.7 All commodities: Area 1.7 0.6 1.1 Productivity 1.4 1.4 1.5 Production 3.2 2.0 2.9 Per capita production 1.1 0.5 0.7 Source: Basic Statistics, Tables 11.4-11.6. mid-sixties and mid-seventies; though there has again been a reversal in recent years the net result has still been to increase the resource flow into agriculture. 18 Clearly there have been substantial inflows of re sources, largely as a result of state policy, into agriculture though the effects of this on the economy as a whole are still much debated, and just as clearly this has resulted in some growth of a capital investment. The results of all of this can be measured in three ways: in terms of growth of produc tion, mass welfare, and the changing nature of the rural elite. First, there has been a genuine, if halting, growth in agricultural production. Since independence the growth in production of all crops has been 2.9 percent a year or 0.7 percent per capita per year (Table 2). The overall rates of food imports have steadily declined. The growth rate in the earlier period, up to 1964-65, was higher than in the later period, but this early growth was primarily due to expan sion of cultivated area. Productivity growth rates were more or less constant with some improvement in food grains in the later period; there is no marked difference in productivity seen from the time of the "Green Revolution" because in fact state-sponsored efforts at technological growth preceded this period. In the early 1970s it seemed the growth rates were slowing and tending towards stagna tion per capita; this was part of a world-wide agricultural crisis accompanied by widespread drought, famines and starvation deaths. The later 1970s appear to have reverse 18. Mody, "Resource Flows." 36 this process and led to renewed growth and even export surpluses. But it is too soon to define a long-term trend; it has to be noted that even some fairly recent studies (e.g., by the Asian Development Bank have predicted increased dependence on imports for India in the 1980s. Still, it seems fairly clear after thirty years that in spite of some reversals neither "semi-feudalism" nor imperialism is successfully holding back the "growth of the forces of production" in agriculture. Though Indian agriculture is still miserably backward, though progress is slower than it could be under a rational socialist agriculture (it may be noted that China has achieved an estimated 5.3 percent growth rate in almost the same period on an even more crowded land area, cf. Economic Times, June 26, 1981), there has been a halting but clear capitalist agricultural development. 19 This development, however, is not leading to any in creased overall welfare of the rural (or urban) masses. (Indeed the idea that capitalist development by itself leads to improved welfare, or that immiseration, pauperization, growing landlessness, etc., are themselves signs of "semi feudalism" or the lack of capitalist development betrays some strange illusions about the nature of capitalism.) India's agricultural development is development that is accompanied by continuing insecurity in which bad weather leads to famines and by increasing dangers of widespread plant disease and salination, water logging, etc., resulting from major irrigation projects. Most of all, in the context of the imperialist system, it is development accompanied by growing exports of food from under nourished third world countries to the imperialist centers and to the Arab countries, and by dependence on imperial ist countries for imports of food during bad years and of agricultural inputs on a continuing basis; and it is develop \ ment based on the stagnant and in some respects even i declining living standards of the rural poor. i Estimates of per capita availability of foodgrains, pulses and other foods and of the general level of calories and protein consumed show a small rise in the availability of cereals between 1951-55 and 1971-76; but even then J there is stagnancy in cereals between 1961-65 and 1971-76, f t and there is a general decline in almost every other food source over the whole period and in overall estimated calories and protein between 1961-65 and 1971-76 (Table ( 3). The general rise in agricultural productivity since 1975 76 does not appear to have led to any real change in this trend; in fact the drought year of 1979-80 caused another drastic fall in per capita availabilities. 20 It seems that most J 19. Indian agriculture is still miserably backward. Nevertheless, an over all 2 . 9 percent growth rate is significant, though not sufficient. Hayami and Rutton argue that growth rates of 1 percent a year were the best achieved in pre-industrial societies and that only following industrialization were growth rates of 1.5 to 2.5 percent possible. Yujiro Hayami and Vernon Rutton, Agricultural Development: An International Perspective (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1971), p. 27. In this perspective the annual growth rates achieved since the 1950s by some countries (including some third world countries) on the basis of world-wide technological developments appear as a real gain, and India's 2.9 percent is also not bad. Hayami's own recent visit (1981) sees India's agricultural development as respectable. The point is that leftists should not simply dismiss this as capitalist propaganda, but rather give an analysis of the type of exploitative system coming into dominance. 20. CMIE, Basic Statistics, Table 1.3. Table 3 Per Capita Availability of Food Protein and Energy (grams per day) 1951-55 1961-65 1971-76 Cereals 354.08 400.42 400.92 Pulses 64.66 60.68 45.40 Milk 131.29 129.90 115.65 Fish 5.67 6.00 8.75 Meat (a) 3.60 3.40 Meat (b) 6.80 6.30 Hen eggs .50 .30 Reference protein (expressed in egg protein as standard) 29.26 27.57 Energy (kcal per day) 1744.57 1682.80 Meat (a) = from slaughtered animals and poultry. Meat (b) = from both slaughtered and indigenous animals and poultry. Source: S.D. Sawant, "Indian Agriculture: The Protein Crisis," The Economic Times (14 Feb. 1981). of the increasing gains in production are being directed towards export, including not only traditional exports like tea or coffee but also the best of India's rice, fruit, veget ables, onions, meat and fish products. As far as the other major items of rural expenditure goes, the most thorough estimate of per capita availability of cloth (including natural and synthetic fibers) shows a rise of 31 percent between 1952 and 1964, from about 11 to 16 meters a year, and then stagnation through 1978. 21 There is further, every reason to think that the rural poor are getting a decreasing share of this stagnant avail able product. There are widening inequalities in rural assets, between classes and between regions, which will be discussed partly below (Table 7). The NSS estimate of the percentage of households below the poverty line increased in rural areas from 38.11 percent in 1960-61 to 45.12 per cent in 1973-74 and close to 48 percent in 1977-78. 22 Ag ricultural labor remains the main source of income of the rural poor, and almost all studies show that both real wage rates and the days of work available have been declining. While there is a somewhat growing reliance on other sources of income, from low-paid labor in the unorganized sector (organized sector employment continues to show declining rates of growth), from various forms of very petty-commodity production (ranging from lace-making to selling grass in the market), or from ownership of tiny plots of land or a cow or milch buffalo, there is no evidence to 21. CMIE, Standard of Living of the Indian People (Bombay: May 1979), Table 2.1. 22. A. N. Agrawal, Indian Agriculture: Problems. Progress and Prospects (Ghaziabad: Vikas, 1980), Table 5.2; The Economic Times, (19 April 1981). 37 show that this is increasing sufficiently to compensate for the decline in income from agricultural labor. The Rural Labour Enquiry itself estimated that the total real earnings of rural workers (defined as those who get the majority of their income from rural wage labor and who were 31 per cent of the population in 1974-75) decreased by 10-18 percent over the period from 1964-65 to 1974-75 (The Economic Times, March 9,1981). In short, we are forced to conclude that in spite of some gains in the years ofIndepen dence-increased medical care which has resulted in a lengthening of life expectancy, and some improved access to other amenities such as water, education, electricity and transport-the living standard of India's rural poor outside of a few pockets has actually declined in key respects. This absolute immiseration of a growing proletariat even while capitalist development is preceding on its crisis-ridden path is a sad confirmation of the most dire Marxist views of capitalism. A third result of the capitalist growth of productive forces in agriculture has ,been a significant change in the nature of the rural elite. On one hand the inequality of access to the new inputs is stark: while aggregate capital expenditure on farm business rose by 65.7 percent between 1961-62 and 1971-72, the proportion of rural households making any capital expenditure declined from 52.2 percent to 37.9 percent. But inequality is not the main point here. What is is the relation ofthe changing forces ofproduction to class. Rastyannikov 23 points out that in the middle 1960s, the distinguishing characteristic ofcommodity production in India's agriculture prior to the "green revolution" was the markedly uneven erosion of natural-type relations in both spheres of the reproduction process; the reproduction of labour power was freed from the fetters ofthe natural econ omy to a far greater extent than the reproduction of the means ofproduction . . . The industrial sector, both large scale industry and small-scale industry, played an insignifi cant role in the productive consumption ofagriculture. That is to say, the reproduction of labor power had become dependent on the market (on wage labor or selling crops to buy necessities) but the reproduction of the means of pro duction was not: modem inputs were minimal, land was the most decisive factor, and most other means of production were provided by traditional craftsmen and household pro duction. This situation has now substantially altered. The large increments in credit going to agriculture, in fertiliz ers, improved seeds, pumpsets, tractors, etc., and the im portance of irrigation in determining the value of land itself means that now the means of production for the rich farm ers who control most of the land are being significantly and increasingly provided through the market and by modern industry and the state. Another indication is that over half of the debt owed by richer farmers comes from modern external sources such as co-operatives and banks in con trast to traditional moneylenders and other agricultur alists.24 This also reflects the transition of the dominant class in agriculture from being primarily landlords to being 23. Rastyannikov, pp. 115-16. 24. See Mody, "Resource Flows," and note 31. This is likely an under estimate. Table 4 Tenancy Variation over Time Percentage of Holdings Reporting Land Leased-in Area Leased-in as Percentage of Total Land 1950-51 NA 35.7 1953-54 39.85 20.34 1961-62 23.52 10.70 1971-72 17.61 9.25 Source: P. C. Joshi, Land Reforms and Agrarian Change in India and Pald stan, Reprints from Studies in Asian Development, No.1 (n.d.); All India Debt and Investment Survey (AlDIS), Statistical Tables Relating to Dispo sition of Land Held and Area and Value of Irrigated Land Owned by Rural Households as on June 30, 1971 (Bombay: Reserve Bank of India, 1978). primarily capitalist farmers. In conclusion, there seems to be no basis on which we can argue that India's agriculture is not dominantly capital ist: over half the rural population depend on wages for their survival; all cultivators, including middle and poor peas ants, are forced to sell to some extent in the market and their production is governed by the laws of the market; and the means of production in agriculture are now significantly produced industrially, acquired through the market, and monopolized by those who depend on the exploitation of labor power. Changing Relations ofProduction: Decline of Tenancy In documenting these changes more precisely at the level of relations of production, the most striking, simple but important fact is the decline in tenancy. According to NSS data, area leased-in declined from 35.7 percent of the total in 1950-51 to 9.25 percent in 1971-72 the main drop took place before 1961-62, that is during the years of the Zamindari Abolition and Tenancy Acts (Table 4). Further, there is evidence that tenancy is increasingly a kind of capitalist tenancy, in which land is given not by big landlords to small sharecroppers but by all kinds of land owners (including even very small owners who cannot work their own land for a variety of reasons) to middle peasants and rich farmers who have the means of production to farm it profitably. From the point of view of capitalist farmers, this "reverse tenancy" is also a way of increasing land concentration in a period where there are some (even if usually unimplemented) limitations on ownership. Our estimates from AlDIS data show that the 50 percent poor est households held only about 40 percent oftenanted land, while the richest of 15 percent households held about 24 percent of tenanted land in 1971 (Table 5). There is also significant variation by states. How accurate is such data? Must we postulate a lot of "hidden tenancy" resulting from the fact that landlords are actually continuing to sharecrop their land but only shifting tenants around and showing them as wage-laborers in , ~ , 38 I I ! , I r r I J ! I r [ Assam Manipur Orissa Himachal Pradesh West Bengal Bihar Uttar Pradesh Madhya Pradesh Rajasthan Jammu and Kashmir Haryana Punjab Karnataka Tamil Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra Andhra Kerala INDIA TableS Tenancy Variation by States Percentage of Land Leased-in 17.0 29.5 12.8 11.9 17.8 12.0 5.9 6.5 6.8 8.6 21.7 25.7 11.0 10.8 3.4 5.8 6.6 5.8 9.3 stead? The fact is, there is little other evidence to show any significant amount of hidden tenancy; even micro-studies which have gone looking for it have found little of it. 25 And where there is hidden tenancy, as my own study of western Maharashtra villages indicates, it is as likely to be that of land leased-in by rich farmers as by poor peasants, and is part of the general tendency of the rich to hide the extent of their land control. Perhaps most significant of all, though a form of indirect evidence, is the fact that all of those who postulate "semi-feudalism" in agriculture no longer do so on the basis of tenancy of any kind, but have shifted their arguments to postulating the prevalence of "bonded labor" and other forms of labor relations that indicate the laborer is "like a serf' and the landowner is "like a landlord" or that "new forms" of landlordism have corne into existence. The inescapable fact is that landlord-tenant relations are now. a minor element in the relations of agricultural pro ductton, and tenanted land covers only a small proportion of the cultivated area. 25. Joan Mencher, Agriculture and Social Structure in Tamilnadu (New Delhi: Allied, 1978) and N. S. Jodha, "Complex of Concealed Tenancy," EPW (31Jan. 1981). Approximate Percentage of Leased-in Land Percentage of Households Leasing inLand 33.2 29.3 24.8 27.8 29.6 21.8 18.7 16.1 14.1 14.0 21.5 21.9 16.4 17.3 13.0 10.2 10.9 10.1 17.6 Held by Lowest Top 15 50 Percent Percent Households Households 60-63 11-12 55-58 12-14 45-48 17-18 50 50 46 13-14 65-68 9-10 50-55 13-14 48-53 17-18 60-65 8-9 45-47 11-12 30-35 16-18 40-41 18-20 35-40 20-22 35-40 35-37 25-30 33-34 27-28 30-32 40 24 Land Concentration and Capitalist Farmers Assuming that tenancy covers roughly 9-10 percent of the total how do we characterize the ownership of .the relattons of production prevailing upon) the re mammg 90 percent? There are two issues here. One is that many political activists and theorists argue that big farmers who do not manually on their own land and rely for labor mostly on mdebted, low caste permanent hired labor ers are in essence "landlords"; the laborers are character ized as "bonded laborers" and the agrarian relations are as The varying types of labor relattons on bIg farmers' land will be discussed later. Our opinion is that as long as production is based on hired labor, even v:here the.re are elements of compulsion, the land owner IS extractmg surplus value. The general conditions in India are such that even the most repressed laborers submit !o their "bondage" for largely economic reasons; general Ized commodity production, including the sale of labor power, is the prevalent fact. And, whether or not the landowner himself works manually on the land is irrelevant to determining his status as a capitalist; in fact capitalists in general do not work manually though very small capitalists do so to a considerable extent. 39 What percentage of land is controlled mainly by peas ants working their own land (i.e. by middle and poor peas ants) and what percentage by rich farmers (i.e. predomin antly capitalist farmers) who mainly farm this land through hired labor? Answering this question is in part equivalent to answering the question of how much land concentration there is. (Of course the value of land varies immensely depending on its quality and whether it is irrigated, and the amount of land required to make a family a capitalist farmer one-i.e. where hired labor significantly surpasses family labor-varies immensely from region to region; but here we are taking an all-India average and taking amount of land owned as an index, not the essence of class status.) The amount of land concentration, however, is not a simple issue because of data bias. There are basically only two types of evidence available at the macro-level. The first is that of the Agricultural Census, which is based on ag gregating data from village land records. The other is that of the Agricultural Census, which is based on aggregating data from village land records. The other is that of the National Sample Surveys (NSS), the All-India Debt and Investment Surveys (ALDIS), the Rural Labour Enquiries (RLE) and other sample surveys which depend on teams of research assistants asking questions of villagers. A little thinking about these sources by anyone familiar with Indian reality will be enough to cut the ground from under almost any conclusion. 26 In addition, it should be remem bered that the most important of such data was gathered in 1971-after the Naxalbari revolt and other outbreaks, after the big left-led "land grab" movement of 1970, at a time when talk of imposing more rigorous land ceilings was in the air (and land ceilings were lowered in most states in 1971-72)-in short when the rich farmers were well aware of some kind of threat to their property and ready to cover up any record of the extent of their holdings in written form and from anyone who might be thought to be an official observer. Yet data from such sources is cited without ex ception in all studies and in all journalistic references to rural inequality, and is usually taken at face value. 27 The result of this uncritical use of biased sources, is an under estimation of the power and wealth of the rich, an over estimation of the number and position of middle peasants, and an underestimation of proletarianization-something that has important consequences for political strategy. We shall also use the data, but we will try to estimate and compensate for its biases. First, the Agricultural Census. Table 5 shows the dis tribution of "operational holdings"; this shows that the top 15 percent of holdings controlled about 60 percent of the 26. In fact it may also be necessary to argue why it is possible to use such statistical data. In fact, there is good reason to think the Indian data are as relatively valid as data anywhere (compared to the U.S. census, for instance). Biases to some extent can be compensated for, and there is some independent confirmation provided by the general comparability between, for instance, the NSS/AIDIS (All India Debt and Investment Survey) and the RLE (Rural Labour Enquiry) data on landless laborers. It is likely that the data on the lower class majority is more valid than that on the rich farmers, simply because they have less to hide and less capability of doing so. 27. For arecent example see Dilip Swamy, "Land and Credit Reforms in India," Social Scientist 95-96 (June-July 1980), p. 4. Table 6 Size Distribution of Operational Holdings, 1970-71 Holdings Area Number Per- Hectares Per (Millions) centage (Millions) centage Up to 1. 0 hectares 35.69 50.6 14.56 9.0 1.0 to 2.0 13.43 19.1 19.28 11.9 2.0 to 4.0 10.69 15.2 30.00 18.5 4.0 to 10. 7.93 11.2 48.23 29.7 10.0 and above 2.77 3.9 50.06 30.9 Total 70.49 100.0 162.12 100.0 Source: CMIE, Basic Statistics, Table 10.1. area and the top 4 percent had 31 percent. By itself, this already seems an impressive degree of inequality. But it is clearly an underestimate. Aside from the often notorious inaccuracy of any village statistics, one simple fact indicates this: "operational holdings" for the Census is defined as land operated as a technical unit whether owned or rented, by one person: The concept of holding used in the Census was one of indi vidual as against a family holding. If more than one indi vidual ofthe same family held land in their individual names (and were shown in the records as such), their holdings were considered to constitute as many separate holdings. 28 But leaving aside any real benami transactions, the true unit of land operation is the family, often a joint family, whose head manages the cultivation of land that is very often put in the names of many member.s of the family. Rich farmers in particular have almost always already "dis tributed" their land under the names of sons, brothers and even distant relatives but continue to operate it as a unit; the Census definition allows them to do so perfectly legally. In addition, the data on "operational holdings" from the land records does not include landless families, land held in two or more talukas, or unrecorded and illegal leasings, land-grabbing, etc. How can we use such figures? According to the NSS/ ALDIS there were 78 million rural families in 1971, of whom 57 million operated land. Thus the top 15 percent of holdings (10.7 million) by themselves would represent about 14 percent of rural families, but there are in addition about 13 million "extra" operational holdings representing an unknown portion of total land, If we assume that one half to all of these holdings belonged to the richer farmers (the over 4 hectare group) and that they represented about 2 hectares of land each we can estimate that this section, representing about 14 percent of actual families with land 28. Maharashtra State, Report on Agricultural Census. 1970-71 (Bombay: Government of Maharashtra, 1976), p. 16. 40 Table 7 Distribution of Land Operated Size Class Percentage of Households Percentage of Area Operated (Acres) 1953-54 1971-72 1953-54 1971-72 None 10.96 27.41 0.01-0.99 31.12 14.93 1.20 1.69 1.00-4.99 29.15 34.38 14.40 22.47 5.00-9.99 14.59 12.94 19.56 22.61 10.0-24.99 9.96 8.10 29.22 30.40 25 and above 4.22 2.24 26.62 22.83 Total number (000s) 61,780 78,370 335,711 310,439 Source: NSS Surveys, cited in Indradeep Sinha, The Clumging Agrarian Scene (Delhi: Peoples' Publishing House, 1980). of 10-12 acres or more, controlled about 70-80 percent of the total land in India. This is a very rough estimate, but it is clearly closer to reality than the figure of 60 percent. Second, the NSS/AIDIS. Table 7 gives data from the NSS 8th round (1953-54) and 27th round (1971-72, the one conducted with the AlDIS) on distribution of operated land. But note that the basis is a sample survey and while researchers might be able to find and interview a valid sample of rural families (hence the reason for taking as roughly accurate the number of families given in this data), there is no reason at all to assure that their respondents tell the truth. In fact, our own experience 29 is that rich farmers lie; (so for that matter do many poor peasants, but their amount of cover-up and their incentive and ability to cover up is much less). They "underestimate" their land holdings even in comparison to existing village records, they under estimate their crop productivity often by laughable amounts, they do not mention land they own in other villages, and they do not mention government-owned "waste land" that they might be illegally cultivating or land taken on lease or mortgage (often from the rural poor) which is not recorded. An estimate of the extent of this bias can be easily made: the NSS derives from its surveyed land holdings a figure of 310 million acres total for operated land in India, but the Agricultural Census for the same year a n ~ this can be said to be roughly accurate about the total amount of cultivated land which the village accountants are somehow bound to account for) shows 390 million. In other words, there are 80 million missing acres, one-fifth ofthe total land area, to represent the land about which the farmers "for got" to tell the surveyors. Very approximately again, if we assume that three-fourths to all of this land is in fact oper ated by the top 10 percent of families, we can conclude that the top 10 percent controls actually 57-62 percent of total 29. Gail Omvedt, "Effects of Agricultural Development on the Status of Women," Paper presented for n.O Tripartite Regional Seminar on Women and Development, Mahabaleshwar, April 1981. 41 land, and that the top 15 percent controls about 75 percent. (The NSS figures show a significant decline in the propor tion of land held by the top category, 25 acres and over, betweeen 1953-54 and 1971-72. This is often taken as indicating that as a result of land reforms "middle" farmers gained something at the expense of very big farmers. How ever, this decline is also likely to be spurious; we simply cannot tell from the data since it is the biggest farmers who have the most interest in cover-up and the most capacity to do so.) Concentration of marketed produce is higher since rich farmers market at least twice as much of their total produce as the poorer families; this at least was true in 1961-62. 30 And concentration of total assets, taking into account the value of land, as well as buildings, animals, farm machinery, as well as non-agricultural assets is even higher. From the NSS/AIDIS figures three economists have derived information on distributions of assets by decile groups (Table 8). This is also an underestimate, it has to be remembered, since non-landed assets can be hidden even more easily in land (the farmers "forget" to mention their house or sheds in the fields or the businesses or houses they share in nearby towns or cities, their profits from trade, etc.)3l and possibly 80 percent might be closer than 60 percent in representing the actual control of the top 10 percent of families. This is indeed a quite frightening degree of inequality, and the significance of the qualitative gap between the top 10-15 percent of rural families and the rest should also be noted: for it indicates not only inequal 30. Rastyannikov, p. 120. 31. Another estimate ofthe underestimating in the AlDIS figures is given by Ashoka Mody, ibid., pp. 434-36, who compares reported shares and deposits in primary credit societies from the AlDIS with actual holdings. While there was only a minor underestimation in 1961-62, by 1971 AlDIS showed RS 13.3 crore in deposits and Rs 121.5 crore in shares while the actual deposits were Rs 69.5 crore and the actual shares Rs 188.81 crore. Similarly in 1971 the AlDIS estimated Rs 724 crore in cooperative direct finance to agriculture while the actual figure was Rs 1,419 crore. See Mody, Tables 9 and 12. Table 8 Distribution of Rural Assets by DecDe Groups Decile Share in total Assets Group 1961-62 1971-72 0-10 0.26 0.21 10-20 0.68 0.56 20-30 1.18 1.01 30-40 1.80 1.58 40-50 2.76 2.34 50-60 3.88 3.47 60-70 5.79 5.51 70-80 9.11 8.28 80-90 15.83 15.24 90-100 58.71 61.79 Source: R..G. Pathak, K. R. Ganapathyand Y. U. K. Sarma, "Shifts in Pattern of Asset-Holding of Rural Households 1961-& to 1971 72," EPW (19 Mar. 1977), p. 5fJ7. ity, but membership in an essentially different class, property-holding as compared to near-propertylessness. The nature of rural assets also suggests another fact about the nature of the rich farmers: their property and power is not simply in agriculture. After the coming of independence, rich peasants, landlords and the emerging capitalist farmers began to invest on a wider scale, rather than simply consuming surpluses. The establishment of tiny transport companies, tea shops, small flour mills, oil mills, brick kilns were all part of this process. Some moved more into trade in direct competition with previous mer chant classes/castes. With the establishment of c0 operative sugar factories the new kulaks fought the domi nation of urban industrialists and merchants, and in the process transformed some of their wealth into accumula tion in India's second biggest industry. The spread of rural education with the establishment of numerous societies running schools and colleges has also been largely their work. A rural capitalist farmer family today normally has a well-educated younger generation, and systematically seeks to diversify economic activities, placing some sons in service (making them doctors or lawyers if possible), set ting others up with small shops or tiny businesses, and leaving only one or two to run the land and the tractor. By 1971-72, according to the AlDIS (which may be under estimating this as much as anything), about 6 percent of all capital expenditure and 12 percent of gross capital forma tion of rural households was in non-farm business. This is Thorner's "steel-grey revolution," the connection of in dustry (small-scale) and agriculture. In class terms, the situation is somewhat complex, for the rural elite (the top 10-15 percent of families) contains an intermixture of small business, merchant, landlord and white collar employee interests along with those of capital ist farmers. Some are becoming small-scale businessmen and engaging in trade, while in a converse fashion many families from traditional merchant castes are now hiring laborers rather than renting out land and engaging in en trepreneurial farming along with their trading activity. Some big farmers continue to give out a portion of their lands on share, while there are also (we can estimate from the AIDIS data) another 1-2 percent of rural families who are not among the top in terms of operated land, but who own enough in terms of assets and leased-out land to class ify them with the rural elite. These are the rural families who are primarily merchants or landlords (it should be remembered the majority of merchants and many of the landlords still live in towns). But while there is an overlap of personnel and thus of concrete individual material in terests, this is not necessarily true of class interests as such. Small businessmen and capitalist farmers may not have any interests in conflict, but there is clearly a conflict between the industrial bourgeoisie and the farmers over the issue of food and manufactured goods prices and over claims over bank credit and government concessions. Similarly mer chant capital has a complex and conflicting relation with the farmers. In the case of landlords, in some areas where semi-feudal relations are still very important, the conflict between landlords and rich tenants/kulaks may have some of its old sharpness; but in the more capitalist areas this conflict is no longer important, the remaining landlords have made a tactical adjustment with the rising kulaks and very frequently the relation is simply that of sharing the surplus extracted from agricultural laborers. The concrete form of these class conflicts is also heavily affected by their historical emergence, including the caste character of their members. As far as the majority of the rich farmer class itself is concerned, it is no longer appropriate to describe the rural elite as "landlords" who appropriate surpluses from the toiling peasantry. Some of the income of the top families comes from urban employment, rent, trade, or money lending; and the ultimate sources of such income in tum are partly outside the agrarian sector, partly other sections of the rich farmer class (and this involves in tum sharing surpluses extracted from laborers), partly middle peasants, and partly the rural poor. Again this varies by families, and more systematic studies are necessary. Still it seems clear that the primary aspect of their relationship with the rural poor is as exploiters of labor power, the labor of the ag riculturallaborers who work on the 70-80 percent of land they control, and the labor of the various other types of rural workers employed in small businesses, mills, road contracting, construction. It is for this reason that we call them basically a class of capitalist farmers. In analyzing this class it should also be remembered that there is considerable inequality within it-as there is within every capitalist class. The Agricultural Census shows the top 4 percent of holdings operating 31 percent of the area; the NSS/AIDIS shows the top 2.2 percent of households operating 23 percent, while assets concentra tion figures show that in 1971-72 the top 5 percent of all households had 47.21 percent of total assets and the top 1 percent had 22.96 percent. 32 Ifwe try to compensate for the 32. See tables 5 and 6, and R.G. Pathak, K.R. Ganapathy and Y. U.K. Sanna, "Shifts in Pattern of Asset-Holding of Rural Households 1961~ 2 to 1971-72," EPW(19 Mar. 1977). 42 Closing down a nalionaJ highwaynearKasegaon inAugllSt 1980toproteSlprice rise. (GaiIOmvedt) underestimations in all these studies it might be accurate to say that the top 5 percent of households hold close to 50 percent of total area and more oftotal assets-though such estimates are very difficult to make. But the degree of inequality, even up to the very top fractions of a percent age, is clear, with the .probably merg ing into the urban and mdustrtal bourgeOIsIe. As noted, a smaU percentage of the top landholders can be characterized as primarily merchants or landlords; the latter in tum might be classes as either "feudal" or "capitalist"landlords depending on how much they invest and how much exploitation ofhired labor is involved on the leased land. But this class distinction cannot be assumed to coincide with the distinction between size of landholdings and other assets; there are everywhere both small and big landlords as weU as small and big agrarian capitalists. In other words, it can no longer be assumed that a "big" landowner is a "landlord" while a slightly smaU landowner is a "rich peasant. " . . . Finally, given the general condItIons of Indian pov erty, the smaller capitalist farmers do not have, by world standards, a very high level of living-which is one it is possible for upper-middle class urban and foreIgn observers to see them as "peasants." Some family mem bers do normaUy work on the land, and though this is mostly supervisory work, such work itsel! is strenuous. FinaUy, given the often VIolently ftuctuatmg price and market conditions of any capitalist and the vagaries ofweather on top of the normally msecure life of all small capitalists anywhere in the world, their own life is likely to be insecure and unstable. This, along with their social traditions that may include a history of past participation in peasant and nationalist agitations as well as a combination of caste pride and a sense of being "working cultivators" arising out of specific caste statuses, may well lead to a readiness to participate in such militant agitations as the recent "farmers' movements" for higher prices. They also have their contradictions with merchants and industrialists, and an ability to appeal to and identify with a wider range of poorer and middle peasants. But all these factors do not change their relationship to the means of production which makes them part of one of the most important exploiting classes in India. This "rich section is an important sector to be taken into account m an analysis of India's rural capitalists but there is no reason to conclude there is an essential class difference between small and big capitalist farmers. Middle Peasants Perhaps 20-30 percent of the land, then, is under cultivation of the remaining 85 percent of rural families. But these families are also stratified into asset-holding and land-holding families. More important, just as there is a qualitative gap, a class difference, between the capitalist farmers (and other exploiters) and the rest of the rural families so there is also a qualitative gap among the "rest, " a class difference between those who are essentiaUy middle peasants and those who are essentially a landless or land poor rural semi-proletariat. For some among these 85 per cent of rural families possess enough land or other assets so that they can survive as petty-commodity producers, work ing mainly with family labor on their own land (or working as artisans or as petty traders) and some do not, so that they are forced to sell their labor-power on a regular basis. This is an important distinction, for even though there may be a gradual transition in the sense that some families may seem to be midway between the two classes, or may be in the process of mobility (the same thing is true of the distinction between middle peasants and rich farmers), it still indicates an important class difference and correspond ing differences in consciousness. Middle peasants are very small property holders who aspire to increase their prop erty (the AlDIS survey showed 37.9 percent of aU rural families making some kind of capital investment on the land, that is, including approximately both capitalist farm ers and middle peasants); if they are exploited it is via the terms of trade sometimes by rents when they are tenants, and most often by middlemen (who are often themselves rich farmers) and moneylenders. This is not true of the rest of the rural poor, who make no investment in their prop erty, market very little of their product, cannot realistically aspire to any prosperity and are exploited primarily or partly through the sale of their labor power. We can estimate the size of the middle peasants if we assume that, on an all-India basis and on the average, two and a half acres indicate a cut-off point. Above this families can manage to survive on their own land; below this fam ilies cannot and have to rely on their sale of labor power, either in rural areas or by migrating to urban areas. This is a highly complex matter, because first the variation from state to strate and between regions within states is high (in states like Kerala the cut-off point would be closer to one acre, in others nearer to five or more acres) and second because the survival of a rural family on "household" in come also depends on such things as ownership of milch cattle and buffalo and other forms of petty commodity production. Similarly some forms of putting out of house hold production which can be said to be essentiaUy forms of exploitation of labor-power also playa role in the income of these rural families. Nevertheless, 2.5 acres seems to be a reasonable cut 43 off point. According to the Agricultural Census (Table 5), there were 35,680,000 operational holdings under one hec tare in 1971 representing 9 percent of the total cultivated area. The question is, how many rural families (including those with no land) do these holdings represent? We have to assume that in at least a few cases they represent hold ings actually operated by relatives or richer farmers. If we assume that two or three million holdings should be thus "subtracted" we are left with about 33 million families with operated land of under one hectare, or about 40 percent of all rural families. This plus the 25 percent of rural poor families who operate no land (see below for this estimate) gives us 65 percent of rural families who have no land or land below one hectare. These are the rural semi-prole tariat who depend on some form of wage labor for their survival. And the remaining 25-25 percent of rural fam ilies, operating between 10-20 percent of the total land area, can be said to be primarily a middle peasant petty bourgeoisie, including a few families deriving a fairly stable income from artisanship or petty trade. Nature of Rural Proletarianization The 65 percent of rural families who together operate 9 percent or less of the total land in India and own even a lower percentage of total assets are essentially a prole tarianized, or proletarianizing, section which requires some other form ofincome to survive through the year. It is they who provide the labor on the land controlled by the rich farmers, and on the roads and construction projects and in the brick kilns, mills, small factories and other businesses controlled by the rural and urban capitalists and the state. This rural semi-proletariat itself is a fairly stratified section, as indeed the assets Table suggests. To really anal yze its class character, we need to get away from the simple and misleading classification of the rural poor into "poor peasants" and "landless laborers." First, we need to distin guish landless rural families from those who are agricul turallaborers (since not all agricultural laborer families are landless, and not all of the landless work on the fields). Second, we need to distinguish the number or percentage of agricultural laborers from agricultural laborer families, since members of primarily poor peasant or even artisan families may also do labor on a regular basis. (The Census of India gives its data by number of laborers; but we shall mainly use figures which show number of families or house holds on the assumption that, given the ongoingsubordina tion of women in the family and the continuing significance of the patriarchal Hindu joint family, class structure is mainly organized in terms of families.) Third, we rieed to distin guish agricultural laborer from other (rural or urban) la borer families, since some rural families, both landless and landed, depend primarily for their survival on non-agricul tural rural labor or on urban labor income. Finally, we can distinguish laborer families, defined as those who get the majority of their income from agricultural or other wage labor, from poor peasant families, who get most of their income from land but also require some income from wage labor. This will give some sense of the class fractions of the rural poor, but to analyze their position fully we also have to briefly look at the conditions of labor, the variations in labor relations (e.g., the extent of "bondedness"), the role of tiny landholdings, and the increasing significance of migration. Finally, of course, the role of caste and the position of women will have to be considered. In terms of landlessness, the NSS/AIDIS data are fairly clear-and somewhat unexpected. For landlessness in the sense of owned land has declined from 22.0 percent of all families in 1953-54 to 9.6 percent in 1971-72, which in part reflects tenancy acts and land ceiling laws and various other government measures giving cultivable waste land, forest land, village grazing land to the "landless." But one cannot conclude from this that proletarianization is not increasing. For at the same time the percentage of rural families not cultivating land has risen equally decisively from 11.0 to 27.4 percent. In other words, at least 18 percent of poor families who own some land are unable to cultivate it, either because it is too barren or because they cannot afford the inputs. (The figure would in fact be higher because some families who do not own land acquire some for cultivation through sharecropping.) They tum it over to relatives or to rich farmers or middle peasants who can cultivate it, and either migrate for labor or sometimes even continue to work in the same village. (One example of the latter category is a small percentage of widowed or abandoned women, often old, who cannot cultivate their tiny bits of land and so lease it to others, but themselves continue to work as agricultural laborers. ) This 27 percent really gives us a more accurate figure for "landlessness." According to the same AlDIS survey, in 1971-72 14.6 percent were landless agricultural laborers, 2.4 percent were landless artisans, and 10.6 percent were "others." These "other non-cultivators" are described as "a heterogeneous group consisting of absentee landlords, traders, moneylenders, shopkeepers, skilled workers like tractor drivers, mechanics, truck-drivers, electricians, workers employed in processing factories and marketing yards, government servants, etc,"33 but only a small pro portion of them (1.28 percent of total rural households) had enough assets including land to fall above the line demarcating middle peasants from the rural poor. (That is, they had over Rs 10,000 worth of assets and land of an average of 5.32 acres each.) These 1.28 percent were the absentee landlords, merchants, skilled workers, elec tricians, etc., and the remaining 9.3 percent of rural house holds were, according to AlDIS data, landless non-agricul turallaborer households working at very petty and under paid manual labor. Thus, assuming that the statistics are roughly accurate and the more substantial "landless' non cultivators are no more than 1.5 to 2.0 percent, we can estimate about 25 percent of rural households as the land less rural poor. Aside from the landless artisans, that is very poor petty commodity producers, these are the most fully proletarianized section in the countryside. Most of them work as agricultural laborers, but a significantly large per centage (37 percent of the landless) work on other kinds of low-paid rural or urban labor. But these are not all of the agricultural laborer or other 33. All India Debt and Investment Survey (AIDIS),Assets ofRural House holds as on June 30, 1971 (Bo1l1bay: Reserve Bank ofIndia, 1976), p. 8. 44 laborer households in the countryside. There are also landed artisans, landed agricultural laborers, and landed other laborers. They are laborers in the sense that the majority of the income of the household is from wage labor (this is the definition of the RLE), but they have tiny plots of land, sufficient to meet a bit of consumption needs for part of the year or to provide a bit of extra income through sale of some crops. (And we would, to repeat, distinguish these households from the poor peasant households who have significantly more land but still must do some wage labor on a permanent basis.) How many are these? According to the Rural Labour Enquiry,34 there were 25.5 percent agricultural labor fam ilies and 5.0 percent other rural labor families in 1974-75. (Unlike the AlDIS, the RLE data do not include among "rural laborers" .those families who are artisans or who work in urban areas. This is problematic because the dis tinction between rural and urban non-agricultural labor is often quite tenuous, and somewhat meaningless in eco nomic terms since many small, unorganized and highly exploitative factories are likely to be located in towns draw ing their workers from the countryside.) Of these agricul tural and other rural labor families, about half were "land less" (not operating land) according to the RLE while the rest had small holdings, three-fourths of them less than 1.5 acres. The RLE figures for landless agricultural laborers (12.8 percent of rural households) are roughly comparable to the AlDIS figures (14.6 percent) and this comparability generally holds also when looked at state by state (see Table 9). It is significant that the RLE estimates the total number of laborer households to be about twice the num ber of landless laborer households. Ifwe extend this kind of estimate to artisans and "other" laborers, we can derive a figure of about 45 percent of rural households being semi proletarian households in the sense of getting the majority of their income from wage labor, while another 5 percent are poor artisans, and about 15 percent are poor peasants. This estimate, again, is a very approximate one, and the line between poor peasant and landed laborer households is very hard to draw even in principle; but it seems to be a fairly accurate picture of the Indian countryside today. Regional VariatiODS Before taking up further issues about the nature of labor relations, it is important to look at regional varia tions. Given the very uneven nature of capitalist develop ment in India, superimposed upon the uneven impact of colonialism on an already highly varied and imniense sub continent, it is not surprising that there should be tremen dous variation in agrarian relations and the development of production. (In a sense it may be equally surprising that there is not more variations, given all these factors.) Some idea of the variation can be had from Table 4 on tenancy and Table 9, which gives data on agricultural laborer and other rural laborer households from both the 1974-75 RLE and 1971-72 AlDIS survctys. (It can be noted that both surveys define "landlessness" in terms of not cultivating land, and that the RLE definition of "rural laborer" is not 34. Rural Labour Enquiry (RLE) 1974-75, Table 2.1. equivalent to the AlDIS definition of the "other non cultivator. ") On the basis of these Tables the states can be approxi mately divided into five groups. The clearest contrast is between the first group, the northeastern and mountainous region, which is characterized by relatively high tenancy, more of tenanted land held by poorer households, and relatively fewer landless and laborer households, and the last group of southern and western states which have low tenancy, less of tenanted land held by poor households, and more laborer and landless households. (Kerala is only an apparent exception in terms oflandlessness, because the tiny plots of homestead land given to agricultural laborers are counted as "operated land" on the assumption that laborers maintain garden plots; this assumption is con tested by some scholars like Mencher, 1980.) The three middle groups, however, represent a mix ture. West Bengal and Bihar appear to have both high tenancy and a high degree of proletarianization as measured in landlessness and laborer households, while Haryana and Punjab have very high tenancy and a relatively low propor tion of agricultural laborers (in spite of being in the fore front of capitalist agriculture in other respects) though they have a very high proportion of landlessness. Similarly, UP and Jammu and Kashmir have low tenancy (but most of it going to poorer households) along with relatively fewer laborer and landless households. It is tempting to say that the northeast shows a greater prevalence of semi-feudal relations of production while the southern-western group is more thoroughly capitalist. But then we would have to characterize West Bengal and Bihar as a mixture of two forms of exploitation, while Punjab and Haryana also seemingly contain some mixed forms though most of their tenancy is clearly capitalist tenancy with land going to middle peasants and rich farmers. The middle group of states would appear to have a greater prevalence of small or middle peasants within frequently backward forms of production and a likely prevalence of a good deal of trading-moneylending exploitation. In any case there are clearly many factors at work, and a limited amount of overall data. While there may not be much hidden tenancy, the actual degree of mobility and freedom of agricultural laborers is not indicated in these figures, and there is almost no study at all referring to the important specific element of Indian feudal relations, the degree to which caste-defined duties remain in force (gawk; /cam, veth begar, jajman;, etc.). Thus all categorizations must remain tentative, and in any case they indicate only the variation of local relations of production and forms of extraction of surplus under the dominance of a generally capitalist mode of production. The figures for Punjab, agriculturally the most produc tive and wealthy state, are however very interesting. Its high tenancy, as noted, is mainly capitalist tenancy. Fur ther, Punjab has the highest proportion of rural landless ness in India: only 43 percent of all rural families actually cultivate land. From the AlDIS (n.d. Section 15) we can see that of the 57 percent non-cultivating households, over 90 percent owned land which they leased out, but the majority of these were poor families with only tiny plots. Only about 15 percent of the non-cultivators (or about 8.6 percent of all households) had assets equivalent to middle peasant status on an all-India scale or above; about 70 45 Table 9 Agricultural Laborers and Landlessness Part 1: RLE Figures (1974-75) (Percentages) Agricultural Laborer Households Rural With Without Labor Land Land Total Households Assam 7.3 5.9 13.1 22.1 Manipur .7 .7 1.3 2.0 Orisa 13.3 7.9 21.2 25.7 Himachal Pradesh 1.4 .4 1.8 West Bengal 20.1 23.8 44.0 55.1 Bihar 19.3 13.9 33.3 36.1 Uttar Pradesh 9.0 6.8 15.8 19.1 Madhya Pradesh 11.5 10.3 21.8 24.0 Rajasthan 1.8 2.1 4.0 6.4 Jammu-Kashmir 1.1 .6 1.7 4.8 Haryana 1.5 7.6 9.1 16.2 Punjab 1.8 19.1 20.9 25.6 Karnataka 14.4 16.4 30.8 35.8 Tamil Nadu 13.8 24.3 38.1 44.3 Gujarat 7.7 14.6 22.3 29.6 Maharashtra 15.0 16.9 32.0 36.7 Maharashtra 15.0 16.9 32.0 36.7 Andhra 14.0 21.8 35.8 39.4 Kerala 23.8 3.6 27.4 42.1 INDIA 12.4 12.8 25.3 30.3 Part ll: AlDIS Figures (1971-72)-Landless Households Agricultural Laborers Artisans Others Total Assam 6.2 0.8 11.2 18.4 Orissa 12.1 1.7 9.0 22.8 West Bengal 17.4 1.0 14.9 34.2 Bihar 13.4 1.0 5.2 19.6 Uttar Pradesh 8.1 3.6 14.1 25.8 Madhya Pradesh 10.3 1.4 6.3 18.0 Rajasthan 3.3 1.5 8.4 13.2 Jammu-Kashmir 0.7 0.5 4.9 6.1 Haryana 14.7 4.0 20.7 40.0 Punjab 25.8 5.1 26.2 57.1 Karnataka 19.3 2.9 9.1 31.3 Tamil Nadu 26.6 3.8 14.2 44.6 Gujarat 18.3 3.6 14.1 36.0 Maharashtra 19.8 2.9 8.7 31.4 Andhra 23.1 3.3 12.0 38.4 Kerala 3.8 0.6 5.1 10.3 INDIA 14.6 2.4 10.6 27.6 The West Bengal figures from the RLE for agricultural laborer and rural laborer households appear to contain an error, being based on an improbably low number of total rural households (p. 22). Source: Rural Labour Enquiry (RLE), (1974-75), Table 2.1; AlDIS, Assets a/Rural Households, Table 1.2. 46 percent of these had their assets mainly in land. Thus we can estimate that about 6 percent of all Pun jab rural house holds were non-cultivating landlord households, though not necessarily big landlords. The other non-cultivating households-51 percent of all rural households-were mainly proletarian landless households, living on agri cult'urallabor, other labor, or artisan work. The unique feature of Punjab in comparison to other states with more capitalist labor relations is that there is only a tiny percentage of agricultural laborer households who also operate small plots of land. Another unique feature is that Punjab's agricultural laborers are almost all dalits (see Table 10) and, more recently, migrants; local caste Hindu landless apparently prefer to work at almost any kind of job, rather than as field laborers. Punjab thus has the highest percentage of rural households in the category of "other non-cultivators" and is (along with Haryana) prac tically the only area where the category "scheduled caste landless agricultural laborer" really makes sense. Specificity of Labor Relations In analyzing the type of proletarianization that is occurring in India one of the most important features to take into account is the wide extent of tiny landholdings of laborer families. It is not accidental, nor simply due to the fact that proletarianization is "incomplete" or that these are still mainly "peasants." Rather, the fact that half or more of rural wage workers have small plots of land is a fairly permanent feature of the rural scene that must be analyzed in terms of the nature of the imperialist economy today and the fact that the Indian economy is indissolubly linked to it and conditioned by its laws. The fact is that the compulsions of imperialism to compete at a high level of organic composition of capital in the world market force Indian industry (whether multinational or national) to grow in such a way that the organized sector can employ only a small proportion of the total labor force. It is now a general feature throughout the third world that while a fairly sophisticated and competitive manufacturing sector can grow, employment in it does not keep pace with a growing labor force; the result is a systematic creation of a dual labor market. In India the rest of the manufacturing sector (the so-called "informal" or "unorganized" sector) pays such miserably low wages that it is to maintain a family with only one or two working members. The result is that while in some cases the total family need is met at very minimal levels by all (women, children) doing petty labor, in many cases the family only because in addition to the wage income there IS a bit of help from a piece of land, a milch cow or buffalo, the sale of grass or firewood gathered from forests, or other services. The fact that a large section of proletarians are "landed pro letarians" or "semi-proletarians" means simply that there is a cushion which helps to dampen their desperation and just as important-cheapen their labor power. The ability of the unorganized sector to continue operating at such low wage levels depends to a large degree on the existence of this section of rural households with tiny plots of land. Another major issue is the element of compulsion in the relations of production. As noted above, the continuing existence of "bonded labor" is a major reason for claiming that these relations in fact continue to be "semi-feudal." In this context the most-often cited figure is that of the Gandhi Peace Foundation which has claimed five million "bonded laborers" in India; but generally permanent agricultural la borers (those serving on a monthly or yearly basis for one landowner) and contract laborers are often simply de scribed as "bonded. " What is the real situation? First, it is crucial to under stand that there are important regional variations in the actual position of agricultural laborers. In some areas there is a larger percentage of permanent laborers, in others most laborers work on a casual, daily basis. In some areas a large percentage of the daily or permanent wage is paid in kind, in others it is almost all in cash; this also varies from crop to crop. The position of the "permanent" laborers themselves varied tremendously, from being almost hereditary family servants, or bound by debt from generation to generation or for a number of years to that of being relatively free "contractual," laborers who are even in a more privileged position compared to the daily laborers becaue they have security of employment. A "permanent" laborer who changes employers every few months, even if he is obliged to make some arrangements to repay the debt he has in curred with an earlier employer, cannot realistically be called bonded. But the fact is that this situation varies; and there is no harm in saying that where there are larger numbers of permanent, indebted laborers working for longer periods of time for a single landowner, where com pulsion clearly exists and where elements of traditional caste power also enter (that is where the laborers is a dalit or adivasi), that the relationship is a "more feudal" one. Similarly the element of compulsion is very high in many forms of contract labor, especially where the contractor has clear and extra-legal links with the police, government officials, local landowners. This again has crucial regional patterning, and it is not hard to identify the large central India belt with its agricultural backwardness and relatively high adivasi population (especially the Jharkhand region: south Bihar, western Orissa, eastern Madhya Pradesh) as the "bonded labor belt" in India. But (aside from the theoretical importance of the fact that economic compulsions lie behind almost all these forms of bondedness) several important facts need to be noted here. The first is that the number of "semi-feudal bonded laborers" in the above sense is a relatively small one in the all-India context. Not all of permanent agricul turallaborers or contract laborers can be called "bonded" in any sense. The highest figure given for the number of such laborers in India (the five million of the Gandhi Peace Foundation) is still a small proportion of total rural laborer families. According to the Rural Labour Enquiry (1974 75: Table 6.1) 60 percent of all agricultural laborer families were indebted, and of these only 10 percent were indebted to their employers. Since debt-bondage is defined in terms of the worker who takes a loan and then has to slave for the landowner for years on end to pay it off, this means that at the very most 6 percent of agricultural laborer families are "bonded" (and again we would not agree that all who take loans from their employer are really bonded); even if the survey can be said to underestimate because laborers are afraid to admit their position, this is a minor proportion. Second, it is crucial to take account of the trend, of the 47 Table 10 Agricultural Laborers, Caste and Landlessness: Percentage of Households (Figures in brackets show percentage of landless households) Scheduled Scheduled Caste Tribe Other Total Assam 4.65 1.25 7.17 13.06 (1.76) (0.66) (4.36) (5.79) Manipur 1.32 (.66) Orissa 5.86 5.55 9.77 21.18 (2.86) (1.72) (3.44) (7.92) Himachal Pradesh 1.42 .36 1.78 (0.35) (.10) (.36) West Bengal 17.98 5.32 20.66 43.96 (10.42) (2.81) (10.63) (23.86) Bihar 14.01 1.74 16.54 32.29 (6.84) (.32) (6.76) (13.92) Uttar Pradesh 9.72 .24 5.85 15.81 (5.28) (.17) (1.38) (6.83) Madhya Pradesh 5.99 7.39 8.39 21.77 (3.11) (3.41) (3.76) (10.28) Rajasthan 2.37 .66 .99 3.96 (1.31) (.27) (.54) (2.12) Jammu and Kashmir .46 .22 1.68 (.15) Haryana 7.22 1.89 9.11 (5.98) (1.60) (7.58) Punjab 18.14 2.74 20.88 (16.87) (2.25) (19.12) Kamataka 8.67 .46 21.24 30.78 (4.79) (.13) (11.48) (16.40) Tamil Nadu 16.17 .47 21.11 38.05 (11.35) (.33) (13.59) (24.27) Gujarat 4.91 6.79 10.60 22.30 (3.41) (4.54) (6.65) (14.60) Maharashtra 7.38* 5.56 19.13 31.97 (3.89) (3.67) (9.67) (16.93) Andhra 12.73 1.58 21.47 35.78 (8.26) (1.12) (12.40) (21.78) Kerala 7.45 .89 19.06 27.40 (1.26) (.26) (2.13) (3.65) INDIA 9.84 2.51 12.93 25.28 (5.41) (1.25) (6.18) (12.84) * The Maharashtra figure for Scheduled Castes is an underestimate by nearly half since Mahar converts to Buddhism are not counted. Source: Calculated from RLE, Table 2.3(b). 48 element of change. From the Gandhi Peace Foundation figures themselves and from all other evidence it seems clear that the old form ofhereditary ,generation-to-genera tion bondedness has become an extremely minor element, that even permanent indebted laborers are now working only for some years, that a high turnover is going on. The fact is that the permanent laborers, "bonded" or not, can organize themselves like other agricultural laborers; they do in fact organize in many areas and where they do so they enter a process of constituting themselves as a more free (proletarianized) wage labor force. Reports from many areas indicate that to the extent we can identify a variation from permanent/indebted/caste-bound laborers to free daily wage workers, the trend is towards the latter. For instance in Sangli district of western Maharashtra where some years ago daily laborers took loans during the rainy season on the basis of agreeing to work at cheaper rates during the harvest season for those rich farmers (still a common practice in many areas) they now refuse to do so: they take loans, but pay interest and refuse to sell their labor cheaply. Similarly, in Khammam district ofAndhra it is now reported that laborers almost all work on a daily basis and simply refuse to work as permanent laborers. There are similar reports of dalits and other low castes refusing to do their traditional caste duties (veth begar) where these still go on. In all these cases it is often said that "the laborers are becoming aggressive"; the fact is that the process of proletarianization is going on, not only "from above" as rich farmers or landlords become agricultural entrepreneurs but also "from below" as the rural poor and dO\votrodden assert their rights as human beings and workers. Finally, it can be argued that while compulsion in labor relations is a problem, the focus on "bonded labor" as such has come as much from the government (that is, the bour geoisie) as from the left, and it can play a crucial role in distracting the attention of progressive forces from more general problems of all the rural proletariat such as wage levels, price rise, unemployment and landlessness (lack of control over the means of production). At a minimum, rather than seeking to "free bonded labor" from their employment, the beginnings of a solution can be found only when they begin to organize where they are exploited at the point of production and in their home area against the poverty and social conditions (caste traditions, etc.) that often force them into bondage. Migration and mobility must also be considered as increasingly important features of the rural scene, not sim ply rural-to-urban, but also rural-to-rural. Here again there are important regional variations. Rudra 35 has argued that in Bengal most laborers in fact are immobile, work only in their own villages and often only for the same few land owners year after year-and gives this as a major reason for saying the relations are not capitalistic. But in contrast, in such areas as western Maharashtra, one can find cases of whole villages whose laborers daily go to nearby villages to work. 36 More significantly, the phenomenon of migration 35. Ashok Rudra, "The Self-Contained Village Society," Frontier (3,10 & 17 Jan. 1978). 36. Omvedt, "Caste, Class and Politics. " on a seasonal basis from backward rural areas to more developed ones seems to be on the increase. Again in Maharashtra, there are some 1,500,000 migrants from poor peasant and laborer families in dry districts who work from six to eight months a year cutting and hauling sugar cane in the irrigated belts. Besides these there are more regular migrants working as agricultural laborers, for instance those from Sholapur district and northern Karnataka, who have now become regular workers in the fields of western Maharashtra. The most stark example of such migratory connections may be Punjab-Bihar, or more generally northwest India-central-east India: it is now estimated by some that one million workets come every year to labor on the wheat and rice harvests (they also fill in jobs such as permanent laborers or in small industries such as brick kilns). These include some adivasis from the Jharkband region whose bonded condition has become notorious, but the majority are caste Hindu poor peasants from eastern UP and northern Bihar. This migration has served to re verse the gains in wage rates that local laborers were mak ing from the "green revolution," labor shortage and their own organizing and has introduced new tension between the migrants and the locals; on the other side it is now said to be "universal knowledge" in some eastern UP districts that people can make a thousand rupees in the Punjab. 37 There are many, many examples of such type of migration which is becoming increasingly predominant not only in India but throughout the third world and indicates the way in which the processes of imperialism are increasing pro ducing "integrated" (but uneven and exploitative) capital ist development. Rural Classes: Some Tentative Conclusions Given the uncertainty and often unreliable data, iden tification of rural classes on an all-India scale is necessarily a tentative procedure. Nevertheless, in terms of their rela tions to the means of production, we can identify two main exploited classes and an intermediary section/class. A toiling peasant class, including both relatively self sufficient middle peasants and poor peasants who also have to do some wage labor. Poor peasants can be included in this class because their primary relationship to the means of production is as small producers working their own land, and this conditions their way of life and aspirations. 38 But it must not be forgotten that the fact they do wage labor for a significant period of time gives them important interests in common with the rural semi-proletariat. We can very roughly estimate this class as 35 percent of the total rural popUlation, including 20 percent middle peasants and 15 percent poor peasants. Rural petty producers and service-workers. This is a hard-to-define category including artisans (about 50 per cent), plus a wide variety of other rural toilers who survive 37. The original version of this paper had included "poor peasants" with the rural semi-proletariat. On reconsideration it seems more accurate to classify them as part of the "toiling peasant" class, if we are to define class in terms of relationship to means of production and define the proletariat as mainly sellers of labor-power. For a full discussion of the issues of defining rural classes, see Gail Omvedt, "Agrarian Economy and Rural Classes," Frontier (18 Oct. & 8, 15, 22 & 27 Nov. 1980). 38. Ibid. 49 primarily through such forms of labor as small household industry, bidi-making, selling offorest produce (from grass to fodder and other things), and petty trade. The latter are mostly landless and are classified along with actual wage laborers under the category of "other landless households" in the AlDIS statistics. They are classified as "self employed" or "own account" workers in the RLE survey. But, though they are not strictly speaking wage labor, their work is sometimes in fact a form of piece-work putting-out labor, and is almost always governed by the laws of capital ist production. Thus in fact they are practically a semi proletariat. We can estimate about 10 percent of such laborers, making 15 percent total rural households in this category. -A rural semi-proletariat, including 25-30 percent ag riculturallaborer households (whose main income is from agricultural labor) and 5-10 percent other rural wage labor ers, who get their main income from various forms of other direct wage labor, ranging from work in or for sugar fac tories, road and construction work to work gained by migration to urban or more developed rural areas, in small or large factories, brick-kilns, and urban construction proj ects (such as Asiad!). I call these a "semi-proletariat" since about half of their families do cultivate small plots of land, but the land does not make much difference to their way of life. This class totals about 35% of all rural households. We can sum up the main characteristics of the exploited rural toilers as follows: (1) This is a highly stratified group, both between and within those classified as primarily "toiling peasants" and those classified as primarily a "semi-proletariat." That is, there is a high inequality in terms of income and life-stan dard running from those with some significant parcels of land at the top (or those with access to well-paying working class jobs) down to those who are totally landless and nearly without work. This inequality has a regional/lin guistic dimension (e.g. Punjab/Bihar/Jharkhand) and a so cial dimension that functions primarily in terms of caste. These regional/linguistic/national/caste divisions have in recent years become a severe barrier to the unity of the rural toilers. (2) In spite of stratification, poverty is the main over all characteristic, even for the better off. Their overall consumption level is incredibly low. At best, the poor peasants and laborers as a whole, representing 65 percent of the rural population, control only 9 percent of the total land and much less of total assets and represents an insigni ficant section of the rural market (and it is also important that Indian capitalism is in the process of finding ways to go ahead without developing a market based on the rural majority). Their 40 percent poorest, the semi-proletariat, have at best only 1.58 percent of total rural assets (see Table 8). (3) In spite of some elements of bondage, some areas of immobility, and some remaining aspects ofcaste-defined feudal servitude, this is by and large and increasingly a mobile, migrant and free rural section. Not only the semi proletariat and poor peasants, but even members of many middle peasant families are ready to go anywhere in search of work, through education and training if this is available, as casual and unskilled laborers if it is not. (4) Nearly all members of the family, certainly wo men and in most cases children also, have to work to maintain even the current miserable standard of living. For women from both laborer and toiling peasant families, this means double work in its most exploitative form, with work as hired laborers in the fields or as low-paid home workers producing some kind of goods for the market 39 added to their drudgery of cooking, cleaning, child-care, and fetch ing water and fuel. The Hindu patriarchal family continues to be strong. Male authority is everywhere, often in brutal forms, even when women are also earning members, and the fact that women remain at the bottom is starkly shown in the Indian sex ratio, where the proportion of females to males continues to be among the lowest in the world. (5) Not a rural-urban dichotomy, but a rural-urban and agricultural-industrial continuum must be stressed. Not only is migration increasingly important, but a large section of the rural semi-proletariat is dependent on non agricultural wage labor, both in towns and the countryside. Rural laborers, petty commodity producers and poor peas ants buy on the market significantly more than whatever crops they may manage to sell and thus are in general adversely affected by rising commodity prices. This is a characteristic they share with the urban working majority and which distinguishes them from the rich farmers who are demanding higher agricultural prices in the name of a "peasant" majority. Even for middle peasants the gains from higher crop prices are offset when the costs of their inputs and consumption goods continues to rise. (6) It is a striking fact that now India's rural poor toiling majority is no longer primarily a "peasant" class but an increasingly proletarian one. Even if we classify poor peasants (who also do wage labor) with the "toiling peas ant" class, it can still be seen that the strictly defined rural wage-earning semi-proletariat is at least as large a class and perhaps larger. And, in spite of poverty, ties to the land and remnants of feudal servitude, this is now a class with in creasingly wide labor experiences (including some experi ence of labor organizing) which has some limited access to modem amenities (from education to the cinema) which help to increase its knowledge of the world and change its consciousness. It is a class whose main immediate concern is not land or the price of crops, but rather the price of labor power and the consumption goods it has to buy. It differs from the factory proletariat in that it labors under ex tremely backward conditions of production where workers are subjected to more personalized compulsions and re pression, but this is true also of a significant section of urban workers. It is true that large numbers of this rural semi-proletariat hold property, that it is stratified in terms of standard of living, and that it is divided by linguistic, caste, sex and other social differences. But such things are true of the urban working class as well and similar factors can be found in every country in the world. In this sense the differences between urban and rural working classes seem more those of quantity rather than quality. While in some regions (especially backward areas and forest regions) fights for land continue to be crucial, in the 39. Maria Mies, "Dynamics of Sexual Division of Labour and Capital Accumulation: Women Lace Workers of Narsapur," EPW. Special No. (Oct. 1981). 50 large majority of areas the rural poor are organizing them selves on the same kinds of demands as the urban poor, !hough spo:c'dically-for higher wages, for Jobs, agamst pnce nse, against caste and sexual oppression. (7) Finally, the revolutionary process in India will be heavily shaped by this rural class structure-given that a high percentage of the population were still livmg m VIllages. The specific features of India's "new revolution" still have to be fully analyzed, but some things seem clear. One is that the "main enemy" can no longer be defined as simply a landlord, or landlord merchant class, but must include capitalist farmers (who are often called "rich peasants" by the traditional left parties) as a whole. These not only exploit labor power and control the majority of land; they also control rural power structures, ranging from gram panchayats and zilha parisha:Js and district councils) to cooperatives, educatIon SOCIetIes, sugar factories, credit societies and banks. Not only do they (capitalist farmers) exploit the rural proletariat, they also exploit and oppress the toiling peasantry through their control of such institutions and they are often the direct intermediaries in the purchase of crops and provision of inputs. Because the rural semi-proletariat is now the domin section among the rural poor does not mean that wage Issues must be considered primary, let alone the main :'revolutionary" issue. Wages are simply often the most Important immediate organizing issue. For a revolutionary rural movement, some other things are as or more im portant. One is overcoming internal divisions among the rural semi-proletariat and among rural toilers as a whole requires taking up the issues of dalits, adivasis. women, and oppressed nationality groups, which means the proletariat taking the lead in such broad and often social movements. Similarly, the question of what IS often referred to as "class alliances" is still a central one. In many areas the struggle for land is still this becomes a mass movement normally in the heaVIly tnbal, forest areas. And everywhere the question of uniting with the "middle peasant" is a live one. Middle poor peasants very often tail after the capitalist farmers m such movements as the "farmers movement" for higher crop fact they are more troubled by problems of pnce-nses (of consumption goods and agricul tural inputsj), by the corruption and gangsterism that are of the operation of all rural power structures, and by theIr oppression by the intermediaries (whether merchants or sugar factories) who buy their produce. The rural semi-proletariat can take up such issues to split them off from the rural rich and build a broad movement, and in some parts of India such local movements can be seen whether it may be a sugar factory workers' union leading peasants of their area against the corrupt management of the factory, or an "anti-price rise movement" fought in the form of direct seizure and distribution of goods to the rural poor. Finally, while it can still be said that in some sense agrarian revolution and "land to the tiller (or tillers)" is . can longer be seen simply as redIstnbution of land. FIrst, while poor peasant and laborer committees may take over land, in many areas the may be appropriate for collective and coopera tIve forms rather than redistribution. And control of land is no sufficient: control of inputs, tractors, irrigation facIlItIes, and all the rural power institutions from "c0 operative" credit societies to banks, and schools is equally Thus "collective control of the means of produc tIon becomes almost as important for rural as for urban areas. Caste and Rural Classes No analysis of class in rural India can be complete taking caste int? account; for not only did Indian feudalism have the specific feature of being structured and through caste, but caste-though in a somewhat different form -remainsequally viable and virulent today. colonial rule, as noted above, though the seeds of capItalist development were laid and the feudal form of was given a decisive blow, still by and large a correla tIon between class and caste continued to exist, with high castes (usually the so-called "twice-born") continuing to be lords of the land, moneylender-merchants and bureaucrats and professionals and middle and low castes mainly toilers. Today, the development of capitalist agriculture in India has broken down this old correlation between class and caste and reconstituted a new and more complex relationship between the two. In destroying the old type of feudal landlordism, the old .f<;>rm of high-caste domination has also been given a deCISIve blow, th?ugh caste itself is far from vanishing. A of the mam rural classes will give some idea of the SItuation. Rich Farmers (including capitalist farmers and land lords) include both the former high-caste landlords (Brahman.s, Rajputs, Bhumihars, Nairs, Ve11as, etc.) and a large sectIon of the shudra-status kisan castes (Marathas including those who were former low-status Kunbis Jats Kurmis, Yadavas, Kammas, Reddis, Kapus, etc.)' landlords who rent out their land tend to be drawn from mainly the "non-cultivating" high castes (Brahmans, Kayasthas-Karans, etc.); conversely, the dominant section among the capitalist farmers are the kisan castes who have caste .traditions of being cultivating peasants and were often m fact former tenants and peasant cultivators. In the more backward and semi-feudal regions, former landlord castes such as the Rajputs, Bhumihars, Brahmans remain powerful and contend with kisan-caste kulaks for control of the countryside. In Bihar this conflict expressed as the "ad,:anced-backward" caste conflict, is still fiercely raging. But m the most capitalistically developed areas the kisan caste kulaks, who were traditionally of shudra varna and were often tenants or subordinate peasant cultivators in the past, are now decisively in control: Marathas in Maha rashtra, Patidars in Gujarat, Jats in Punjab, Haryana and western UP, Okkaligas and Lingayats in Karnataka and so forth. That is not to say that there are no capitalist farmers ?r landlords of other castes in these areas. There are (even m western Maharashtra, for example, there are still a fair !lumber of big landowners), but they are polit Ically and SOCIally subordinate and outnumbered by the dominant caste farmers. . In this sense, the dominant section among the rural nch as a whole, and especially in the more capitalistic states, are those who are shudra or "middle-caste" in terms 51 of varna status, who still represent themselves as kisan or shetkari ("peasant") or bahujan samaj ("majority commu nity") and whose caste-cultural traditions combine both a sense of caste-pride and a history of resistance to high-caste and landlord domination. Middle peasants are made up predominantly of the kisan castes. And where such castes (Marathas, Jats, etc.) are in significant proportion in a state or an area, they generally make up an overwhelming proportion of both capitalist farmers and middle peasants. The difference from the capitalist farmers is that the middle peasant class contains almost none or very few of the high castes (Brahmans, etc.) and a somewhat larger proportion of the artisan-service castes. A tiny proportion of dalits and adivasis, probably no more than one or two percent, are also in this class. This common caste and kinship back ground, along with the general propertied nature of the middle peasants and the aspirations this gives rise to, facili tates identification of the middle peasants with the capital ist farmers. The rural semi-proletariat is most divided in caste terms. Here we have, at least for its lowest section, rela tively precise data. The Rurall.abour Enquiry (see Table 10) gives the proportion of agticulturallabor households, both landed and landless, who are dalits (Scheduled Castes), adivasis (Scheduled Tribes) and "other." "Other" is a broad category that includes Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, and Hindus of artisan and kisan caste back ground (generally micro-level village studies and observa tion back up the assertion that not only artisans and non dalil low castes but also a large section of the kisan castes are agricultural laborers in many areas). As can be seen from Table 10, a little over half of agricultural laborers on an all-India basis are "other," and the proportion is greater in the southern and western states where proletarianization and loss of land by ex-peasants has gone the farthest. This is a clear refutation of the assumption sometimes carelessly made that agricultural laborers are only or even primarily dalits and adivasis. Only in Punjab and Haryana does this seem to be true, and here also the in-migration of large numbers of UP-Bihar caste Hindu laborers is changing the situation. Even considering only landless laborers does not make much difference, for dalits are only a bit more likely to be landless than the caste Hindu laborers. Thus, class and caste are no longer absolutely cor related: economic differentiation has affected almost every caste. But this differentiation is itself differentially felt. That is, the dalits and adivasis, and to a lesser extent the artisan-service castes and other low castes and probably also minorities such as Muslims and Christians, remain primarily proletarianized. Only a small proportion of their members become middle peasants, almost none are capi talist farmers, while somewhat more become socially mo bile through urban occupations and service. In contrast, the middle-level kisan castes are the most differentiated in class terms, and include all classes from capitalist farmers (and members in high government service, business and politics) to middle peasants to landless agricultural labor ers. Further, my own study of Maharashtra suggests that not only are major castes like the Marathas differentiated, but this differentiation extends to practically every bhauki or clan among them, so that even the most dominant 'patil" lineage of a village may contain members who are agricultural laborers. 4o (In other areas, however, where such castes have a status-contempt for doing field labor, poorer members may refuse to work as field laborers in their own village and choose instead to move away or struggle along on reduced levels of consumption.) Looking at the situation from another angle, while the capitalist farmers are the most nearly homogeneous in caste terms-and this is most true of the more capitalist ically developed states-the rural proletariat, in contrast, is most divided. Its members include, and at all levels, from landless to poor peasants, dalits, adivasis, minorities and caste Hindus of "middle-high" status, all present in size able sections and with regional/national differentiations often overlapping the caste divisions. It should be stressed that this caste differentiation among the rural proletariat is not simply a matter of "s0 cial" or "superstructural" factors. There are still material and economic divisions. Where there is bonded labor, it is mainly among dalits and adivasis, while these sections and very low-caste artisans are the ones still affected by survi vals of jajmani-type veth begar in some areas. It is still true that the more skilled and privileged laborers are caste Hindus; these are favored by their caste and kin among the rich farmers and are more likely to be hired as permanent laborers where this position provides some security; more likely to get such jobs as tractor drivers, in mills, and dairies. There are still some jobs that for pollution reasons dalit laborers are not hired to do in some areas, such as sowing. Dalits still live "outside the village," in separate settlements with separate water supply and worse roads and other amenities, while caste Hindu laborers live in the village, next door to and to some extent sharing the social life and some material benefits of their richer caste and kin-mates. Finally, there is an important historical differ ence: dalit agricultural laborers, in most cases, have won their current relatively free status along with some access and rights to land and education as a result of their own struggles and movements and so experience their position, however difficult and impoverished it may be, as an ad vance over their previous feudal bondage. In contrast, the caste Hindu agricultural laborers have often experienced historically a downward mobility, a loss of their former position as subsistence peasants or artisans, a decline of their social status. All of these differences provide a histor ical and material basis for crucial differences in conscious ness and social organization. The impact of caste on the nature of class conflict in India appears to be a dual one. On the one hand, a Japan ese agricultural expert has given his belief that caste is reinforcing class in the countryside: It is my impression that the relation between farmer employers and agricultural labourers now prevailing in India is more like an urban market type rather than a patron client; type; this somewhat impersonal market-like relation in Indian village is reinforced by caste prejudice. Class conflict is that much more sharp and explosive ... [It] appeared to me much more tense and sharply felt than in 40. Omvedt, "Effects of Agricultural Development. " 52 Southeast Asia. 41 emerge as an independent revolutionary force. Its weak . It is that added to fearsome poverty and exploita tIOn, the bItterness of ongoing caste oppression gives a potentially explosive character to the Indian countryside. It IS also true that the specific historical-cultural traditions of dalits, adivasis and low-caste non-Brahman laborers are a potentially powerful weapon against oppression that can also help to unite all the toiling masses if the fight against caste oppression and its culture of repression is made an integral part of class struggle. Similarly it must be noted that the massive work participation of women is also a crucial strength that can be drawn on most effectively by developing a genuine toiling women's liberation move ment. But this .requires a conscious and sustained effort by advanced sectIons to make the fight for liberation from caste and women's liberation a central part of the organiz ing of the rural toiling people. And there is the other side of the situation: the existing class/caste complex also provides a fertile ground for the capitalist farmers to use caste ism to appeal to their kin among the middle peasants and laborers, to divide the rural semi-proletariat, and to attack its dalit and adivasi sections (and their women) who are often the most militant. While "atrocities against Harijans" are occurring throughout In dia, it is precisely in the more capitalistically developed areas, where the general class-caste structure described above is most fully present, that they are taking the most widespread forms with even poor and middle peasant caste Hindus sometimes participating in attacks on dalits on a mass basis: in northwestern India (in the campaigns center ing around Kanjhawala), Marathwada, and Gujarat. . present (mid-1981) it seems that it is mainly the capItalIst farmers who are on the offensive, whether in leading agitations for higher prices for their products or in organizing repression of the rural poor, while the revolu tionary potential of the rural proletariat is still to be or is a situation that leads many left and progres SIve lOdIVIduals to feel that agricultural laborers and poor peasants really constitute a revolutionary force, that are inherently weak, that they are incapable of formlOg a center around which middle peasants and other oppressed sections can be united, that in order not to be "isolated" it is necessary to ally with the "rich peasants" (always meaning in effect the village rulers, and capitalist farmers) on issues like higher prices. (This tendency is helped by the fact that the major parliamentary left parties not only possess a political line that in theory says it is necessary to maintain an "all-peasant" alliance, but have their leading activists drawn not simply from middle peas ants but from the kulaks themselves-many of whom were in fact previously tenants of middle peasants fighting landlords. ) But the seemingly repressed and divided state of the rural semi-proletariat today is after all only a phase in a period intense. and complex class struggle. Though thIS class has ItS roots 10 the dalits and agricultural laborers who battled for freedom from feudal bondage, wages and land in the colonial period, it has after all only begun to 41. Yu jiro Hayami, "Agrarian Problems ofIndia: An East and Southeast Asian Perspective," EPW (18 April 1981), p. 710. ness is in part only apparent, for there are vast numbers of diverse and unreported or underreported clashes going on among both agricultural laborers and other rural laborers as well as poor and middle peasants. The organization of sugar-cane cutters in Maharashtra in 1980-81 as well as an upsurge of spontaneous rural laborers' strikes in Ahmed nagar and other districts (as well as locally organized ones especially in Dhule) are part of this upsurge, as is the decades-long struggle of dalit and low-caste laborers in Bhojpur under leadership. Confusing the ability to understand thIS upsurge of the rural toiling masses is the fact that because class exploitation is compounded with caste and national oppression, struggles frequently take place under forms difficult to identify as simple "class struggle"-for instance under the Iharkhand Mukti Morcha in Bihar or the Dalit Panthers in Maharashtra. It is noteworthy that there was a bigger mobilization for the dalits' "long march" in December 1979 with hundreds of thousands of people taking part in various actions under various types of leadership all over Maharashtra) than there was for the "farmers' long march" a year later, even though the left parties threw all their energy into helping the latter and only a bit into the former. It is clear that the rural toiling masses have not yet found their own revolu tionary party and that in the political vacuum, especially where the opposition (including much of the left) tends to line up with the capitalist farmers, they are giving their support to the authoritarian Indira Congress. But the pres ent lack of leadership, and the consequent prevalence of divisions and fragmentation is due to factors external to the class situation. it may also be a phase that will pass WIth the undoubtedly tumultuous political developments that appear to be ahead. * Additional References Hamza Alavi, "India and the Colonial Mode of Production," EPW Special No. (Aug. 1975). , "India: Transition from Feudalism to Colonial Capitalism " Journal ofContemporary Asia, vol. 10, no. 4. ' All India Debt and Investment Survey (AlDIS), Capital Expenditure and Capital Formation of Rural Households (Bombay: Reserve Bank of India, 1978). AlDIS, Assets and Liabilities of Rural Households as on June 30 1971: Statistical Tables, Vol. I: All/ndia and States, Vol. II: Regions w;'thin the States (Bombay: Reserve Bank of India, n.d.). Jairus Banaji, "India and the Colonial Mode of Production: Comment," EPW (6 Dec. 1975). Pranab Bardhan, "Variations in Extent and Forms of Agricultural Ten ancy," EPW(l1 & 18 Sept. 1976). A. Bhaduri, "An,Analysis of Semi-Feudalism in East Indian Agricul ture," Frontier (29 Sept. 1973). N. K. Chandra, "Proletarianisation in Rural India" Frontier (3 & 10 Nov 1979). ,. Paresh Chattopadhyay, "On the Question of the Mode of Production in India Agriculture: A Preliminary Note," EPW (Mar. 1972). ---, "Mode of Production in Indian Agriculture: An Anti-Kritik," EPW (Dec. 1972). Harry Cleaver, "Intemationalisation of Capital and Mode of Production in Agriculture," EPW (Mar. 1976). S. N. Mane, "Poverty in India," The Economic Times (10& 11 April 1981). Joan Mencher, "The Lessons and Non-lessons of Kerala: Agricultural Labourers and Poverty," EPW Special No. (Oct. 1980). P. V. Paranjape, "Kulaks and Adivasis: The Formation of Classes in Maharashtra," Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, Vol. 13, No.1 (Jan.-Mar. 1981). 53 Utsa Patnaik, "Capitalist Development in Agriculture: Further Com Ashok Rudra, A. Majid and B. D. Talib, "Big Farmers of Punjab: Some ment," EPW (Dec. 1971). Preliminary Findings of Sample Survey," EPW (Sept. 1969). ---, "Capitalist Development in Agriculture: Further Comment," Ranjit Rau, "On the Essence and Manifestation of Capitalism in Indian EPW (Dec. 1971). Agriculture," EPW (Mar. 1973). ---, "On the Mode of Production in Indian Agriculture: A Reply," ---, "On the Agrarian Question in India," Frontier (7, 14,21, 28 July EPW (Sept. 1972). & 4 Aug. 1979). ---, "Class Differentiation with the Peasantry: An Approach to Hari Sharma, "Green Revolution in India: Prelude to a Red One?" in Analysis ofIndian Agriculture," EPW (Sept. 1976). Hari Sharma and Kathleen Gough (eds. ),imperialism andRevolution in Pradhan Prasad, "Semi-Feudalism: The Basic Constraint of Indian South Asia (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1974). Agriculture," in Arvind Das and V. Nilakant (eds.), Agrarian Re/ations Ranjit Singh and Gopal Iyer, "Migrant Labourers in Rural Punjab," in India (Delhi: Manohar, 1979). Paper given at Workshop on the Trade Unions and Labouring Poor in Ashok Rudra, "Big Farmers of Punjab: Second Installment of Results," the Third World," (Delhi, March-Apr. 1981). EPW (Dec. 1969). ---, "In Search of the Capitalist Farmer," EPW (June 1970). H. S. Surjeet, "General Secretary's Report," in All-India Kisan Sabha, ---, "Reply to Patnaik," EPW (6 Nov. 1971). Vamasi, Mar. 3O-Aprill, 1979. ---, "Class Relations in Indian Agriculture," EPW (3, 10 & 17 June 1978). INTERNATIONAL RBVIBW OF EtONOMItS AND BUSINESS RIVISTA INTERNAZIONALE DI SCIENZE ECONOMICHE E COMMERCIALI an academic monthly published since 1954, edited by Tullio Bagiotti for thirty years The Rivista Internazlonale has published over 36,000 pages of ilnportant essays. Scholars of international standing, of both the current and the previous generation are among the contributors. To name just a few: Adelman, Allals, Angell, Arndt, Baglotti, Bauer, Baumol, Beckmann, Bronfenbrenner, Burns, Chamberlin, Demaria, Fabricant, Frisch, Gerschenkron, Harriss, Johnson, Kenen, Knight, Machlup, Mahr, Marchal, Markham, von Mises, Metzler, Myrdal, Papandreou, Perroux, Preiser, R.e, Rosensteln-Rodan, Rueff, Samuelson, Schultz, Schneider, Shoup, SuranyiUnger, Sylos Lablnl, Tinbergen, Tsuru, Weber. The majority of the articles are in English: those in another language have an English resume. Subscription rate: 50 US dollars Full collection available, also clothbound Editorial and Administrative Offices: Via P. Teulie I, 20136 Milano (Italy) One of the special features of this journal is the attention devoted to the economic situation and problems of the East Asian area. In the short span of 15 years the Rivista Intemazlonale has published over one hundred essays devoted to Japan and China. To mention Just a few: BOLTHO A., Italian and Japanese Postwar Growth: Some Similarities and Differences DORE R. P., The Future of Japan's Meritocracy FODELLA G., Economic Relations Between China and Japan: Problems and Prospects GREGORY G., Japanese Joint Ventures Abroad: Sources of Tension HALLIDAY J., The Specificity of Japan's Reintegration into the World Capitalist Economy after 1945 HSIA R., The Structure of Japan's Capital Flow in Asia KOJIMA K., Japanese Direct Foreign Investment in Asian DCs MARAINI F., Japan and the Future OZAWA T., A Newer Type of Foreign Investment in Third World Resource Development TAIRA K., Wages, Plant Size and Spillover Effect: An Exploration ZHANG X., The Readjustment of the Chinese Economy and Prospects for Trade 54 BANGLADESH: A CASE OF BELOW POVERTY A Short Review LEVEL EQUILIBRIUM TRAP, by Mobiuddin Alamgir. Dacca: Bangladesh Institute ofDevelopment Studies, n.d. by Habibul Haque Khondker At a cursory look, thanks to the ambitious title, the readers might expect that Alamgir, who has hitherto made his mark by proliferating microeconomic studies ofBangla desh, has come up with his magnum opus, nothing less than a macro-level study of the economy of Bangladesh based on his research. In that expectation, the work under review is bound to disappoint. Alamgir in his attempt to bridge the gap between pseudo-scientific economic analysis and Marxist scholar ship falls into a trap which is difficult to overcome. In this regard the author typifies the problem of many third world social scientists (mainly economists) who sooner or later get disillusioned with the liberal-Western paradigms in which they were trained, only to take recourse in pseudo Marxist explanation. While some make the transition to Marxist analysis successfully others fail. They use Marxism as a mere language convention whereas their heart lies in the tradition of liberal-Western social science. What Alam gir seems to lack, not unlike many of his fellow-travellers, is the Weltanschauung. He attempts a Marxist interpretation of the historical development of the exploitative social structure of Bangladesh, but at the end contents himself with advancing a number of piecemeal proposals to change the situation. In the first couple of chapters the author substantiates the claim with convincing statistics that the economic situa tion of Bangladesh has deteriorated since the Pakistan days. Then he puts forth his thesis: the deterioration owes to an exploitative social structure in Bangladesh, histori cally developed, whereby a group of people is forced to live on the margin of poverty and starvation. They seem to be trapped in a below-poverty-Ievel equilibrium. Most vulner able to famine, this group is forced into a precarious exis tence. Why are the Bangladeshi so poor? Alamgir's Marxist instincts tell him that it is because they are exploited. How they are exploited-that is, what are the mechanisms of exploitations-is not dealt with in any satisf!lctory fashion. Alamgir talks about classes but skirts the question of class struggle, even though in the Marxist tradition classes exist in class-struggle which is manifested either in latent or overt forms at different junctures in history. Another cru cial question is how to understand the relationship between the state power vis-a-vis the conflicting classes and their struggles. Who is in charge of the state apparatus, or who do they represent? Do the holders ofstate power operate at the behest of a certain dominant class or a combination of classes? Let alone answering these questions, Alamgir does not raise them. Therefore his attempt to explain poverty in Bangladesh as the result of exploitation suffers from a basic theoretical incoherence. He presents a highly schematic model of three classes, namely, A, B, and C, which, ac cording to him, are "groups" consisting of several classes. The author not only overlooks the conceptual difference between such terms as groups and classes, he also fails to ground his three-class model in a coherent theoretical framework. He quotes Wallerstein in support of his tbree class model. This appeal to Wallerstein confounds the problem because Wallerstein, at least, in the section from which Alamgir quotes, was talking about three types of societies in the capitalist World System which he elsewhere terms as core, periphery, and semi-periphery. Obviously, Wallerstein's level of analysis is also quite different from that of Alamgir. Alamgir argues that one of the major reasons of famine and starvation is that the people become too poor to buy the necessary food stuff. In his opinion the famine of 1974 in Bangladesh was not unexpected but the distressing as pect of it was that it was unavoidable. He writes, "A large section of the population in both urban and rural areas had been pauperized to such an extent that it was difficult for it to withstand the pressure of an unusual scarcity and high price situation"(21). Tracing the historical development of famine in India Alamgir quotes Bhatia: " ... the nature of famine in the latter half of the nineteenth century had changed from a shortage of food supply, as in the past, to lack of purchasing power with those who suffered starva tion" (quoted in Alamgir, 63-64). Alamgir's main thesis that a group of people live per petually below poverty level and in the event of an economic downturn with or without the association of food shortage suffer starvation is interesting but by no means novel. For example, R. H. Tawney writing on China about half a century ago observed, "There are districts in which the position of the rural population is that of a man standing permanently up to the neck in water, so that even a ripple is sufficient to drown him."1 1. James C. Scott, The Moral Economy of the Peasant, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976, p. 1. 55 The main weakness of Alamgir, in my opinion, is that he presents a conspiratorial image of social dynamics. He tends to believe that the dominant classes (in his terminol ogy, groups) conspire to keep a section of the population below poverty line. The dominant "groups," Alamgir ar gues, "are quite sensitive to any significant fallout beyond the famine line. In such event they become very apprehen sive about possible spontaneous violent reaction from the affected majority and in order to thwart any such possibility they respond with measures that tend to maintain some semblance of class harmony." Alamgir continues, "In both normal and extreme situations acts of charity by individuals and groups of people from among those who can afford it and have the foresight to see the need for it in order to ensure their own survival are quite common"(3). This seems to be not only a voluntaristic but also a reductionist in terpretation. Unfortunately, such a tendency to reduce the whole welter of social phenomena to crass economic or class analysis is not uncommon in certain Marxist sects. Nor is it rare to deemphasize the structural contexts in favor of voluntarism. Alamgir's attempt to ground his discussion in a histori cal context succeeds in spirit only. First, he fails to differ entiate between historical and evolutionary processes-a failure that characterizes the orthodox Marxists. Thanks to the influence of Darwin's evolutionary ideas, there has been a trend in social history to present an evolutionary image of society in which one stage succeeds the previous stage. Despite the prevalence of such a notion in the ortho dox-Marxism we would argue that such a schematic evolu tionary world view is not only ahistorical but also non dialectical, and therefore contrary to the spirit of Marxist analysis. In this regard Trotsky's ideas are seminal. He writes, "The laws of history have nothing in common with a pedantic schematism. Unevenness, the most general law of the historical process, reveals itself most sharply and com plexly in the destiny of the backward countries."2 Such a notion of uneven development has been at the core of analyses ofsuch writers as Gunder Frank, Samir Amin, and Wallerstein. Secondly, Alamgir's periodization of the so cial history of Bangladesh into four historical epochs, namely, primitive communal, feudal, colonial, and semi feudal/semi-colonial is problematic. For good reasons one might doubt the utility of such periodization since there is little agreement among the Marxist writers either on the number or the nomenclature of these periods. Besides, Alamgir's characterization of the present stage of Bangla desh society as semi-feudal/semi-colonial is debatable. Semi-feudal stage implies a transitional society-moving away from classical feudalism to a capitalist industrial stage -where feudal production relations and institutions re main deeply entrenched. Historically, Bangladesh society never underwent a phase of classical feudalism nor is it moving into a capitalist industrial phase. Also the term semi-colonial phase illustrates part of the reality by imply ing that the remnants of colonial institutions are in exis tence. It does not, however, say anything about the neo colonial penetrations. 2. Leon Trotsky, The Russian Revolution, New York: Doubleday Anchor, 1959, p. 4. So far I have only highlighted the weaknesses of the book but this must not be construed to the effect that the book is without any merits. Alamgir has made a valuable contribution by initiating a discussion-a Marxist interpre tation of the problem of poverty in Bangladesh-which would go a long way. Although one might disagree with his formulations and wonder why Alamgir should base his thesis on orthodox Marxism juxtaposing it with fancy eco nomic analysis, one must note the ground-breaking role of this work. The success of this book lies precisely in its polemical nature. The author's analysis of the deteriora tion of Bangladesh economy in the first part of the book provides a wealth of useful statistics. These will be of particular importance to the students of Bangladesh econ omy. Alamgir is not naive in recommending a set of policies to change the situation in Bangladesh. He is cautious to note that these would only help buying time and nothing short of replacing the dominant classes would fundamen tally alter the situation. How this is to be done, however, remains unanswered. * PACIFIC AFFAIRS AN INTERNATIONAL REVIEW OF ASlA AND THE PACIFIC Vol. 56, No.2 Summer 1983 CHINA REASSESSES THE SUPERPOWERS Carol Lee Hamrin CULTURAL POLICY IN INDlA, PART 2 THE STRUCTURE AND CONSEQUENCES OF TEMPLE POLICY IN TAMIL NADU, 1967-81 Franklin A. Presler WHO SHOULD SPEAK FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS? THE CASE OF THE DELHI DANCERS Joan L. Erdman THE FISH-EYED GODDESS MEETS THE MOVIE STAR: AN EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT OF THE FlFTH INTERNATIONAL TAMIL CONFERENCE Nonnan Cutler REVISING THE PAST IN DEMOCRATIC KAMPUCHEA: WHEN WAS THE BIRTHDAY OF THE PARTY? Notes and Comments David P. Chandler THE OPPOSING THUMB: RECENT PHIUPPINE LITERATURE IN ENGLISH Review Article Leonard Casper BOOK REVIEWS Published Quarterly - $20.00 a year PACmC AFFAIRS University or British Columbia Vancouver, Be, Canada V6T IW5 56 THE ORIGINS OF THE KOREAN WAR: On the Deadly Parallel: LmERATION AND THE EMERGENCE OF SEPARATE REGIMES 1945-1947, by Bruce Cum A Review with Reminiscence ings. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981, 606 pp., photos. by Hugh Deane Pyongyang was immediately responsible for the fight ing that began on June 25, 1950. It held the balance of military power and that enabled it to make the vital choices. Syngman Rhee's Capital Division may have at tacked in some force on the Ongjin Peninsula and the suspicious circumstances uncovered by I. F. Stone in his The Hidden History ofthe Korean War may be the reality, but whether reacting to provocations (good leaderships do not) or taking advantage of what it thought to be auspicious circumstances, north Korea made the miscalculated deci sion to go for the entire peninsula. But that is not to imply that the north started the war. The southern plunge of its divisions was a new phase of conflict that began when the U.S. 24th Division landed at Inchon on September 8, 1945 and immediately undertook the suppression of the Korean People's Republic and its component committees and mass organizations. The U.S. counterrevolutionary intervention set in motion the catena of painful events that led to the clash of armies. This is not a new thought. As Bruce Bumings ob serves, the standard works on the Korean war pay scant attention to events before June 25th, but sophisticated readers could have figured out the reality from a careful reading of George McCune's Korea Today, and a few did. And over the years the longer view has been set forth a good many times in summary fashion. But Bruce Cummings has taken us on a slow journey to the Beginning. Using to good purpose both Korean and American sources (including some declassified top secret documents), Cumings recounts in persuasive de.tail the decisive events of the first sixteen months of the American occuptaion. The basic issues over which the war in 1950 was fought were apparent immediately after liberation, within a three month period, and led to open fighting that eventually Hugh Deane, Harvard '38, was in Korea briefty in 1945 as a traveling naval officer. He was later a Tokyo-based journalist, and returned to Korea for substantial visits in 1947 and 1948, reporting for Allied Labor News (part ofFederated Press) and contributing articles to The Nation. the China Weekly Review (Shanghai) and various Japanese publications. His Korea articles (1946-51), unpublished notes and other papers are at the University ofWashington; copies are at the State University of New York at Binghamton. claimed more than one hundred thousand lives in peasant rebellion, labor strife, guerrilla warfare, and open fighting along the thirty-eighth parallel-all this before the ostensi ble Korean war began. In other words, the conflict was civil and revolutionary in character, beginning just after 1945 and proceeding through a dialectic of revolution and reac tion. The opening ofconventional battles in June 1950 only continued this war by other means (Preface, XXI). I was briefly misled by Cumings' title, supposing that I would be given an account of the momentous events of 1947, which included- the second vain convening of the US-USSR Joint Commission, the assassination of Yo Un-hyong (Lyuh Woon Hyung to old Korea hands), a continued crackdown on the left, and the U.S. decision to set up a separate government under the auspices of the United Nations. Cumings looks ahead now and again, but the volume does not go substantially beyond 1946. But Cumings will get to the events of 1947 and subsequent years in a planned second volume announced in the preface. Among the apologies for the U.S. peformance in Korea is the repeated assertion that Washington did not have much of a Korean policy in 1945 and that General John R. Hodge received little guidance and erred out of confusion and ignorance. Cumings makes good use of re cently opened files to show that by 1945 American foreign policy planners were convinced that the U.S. had impor tant interests in Korea and that Hodge landed at Inchon set to put down the Reds, very broadly defined. "From late 1943 on, State Department planners began to worry about a Korea in Soviet hands; and from early 1944 on, they began to plan for a partial or full military occupation of Korea," Cumings informs us (p. 113). I stumbled into a sense of what the U.S. was up to in October, 1945. In Seoul for a few days before proceeding to Sasebo, other junior naval officers and I looked up marine officers who had studied Japanese with us at the University of Colorado. We found them in a small red brick building within an easy walk of the Bando Hotel. Teamed up with Japanese intelligence personnel, they were monitoring telephone calls. On the table in front of them was a type written guide titled something like "Communist Suspects in the Seoul Area. " That day or the next I ran into Harold Isaacs in the lobby of the Bando Hotel..He gave me what he thought was 57 great news-a vigorously anti-Communist nationalist gov ernment was about to be proclaimed in Seoul. I can't recall if he mentioned Syngman Rhee, who had been met in Tokyo by Hodge, brought to Seoul on a plane provided by MacArthur, given a kitty of millions of won, and hand somely quartered in the Choson Hotel, along with the highest American officers. As Cumings notes, this was a time rife with rumors. Some were at least prophetic. In August, 1947 I got some idea of what took place in the countryside during the first weeks of the American occupation from Korea's foremost Shakespearean scholar. In Elizabethan flavored English he told me that he had gone to his ancestral village outside of Seoul and joined in the exhilarating first moves toward democracy and reform. An American unit commanded by an officer named Ross arrived and, acting on the complaints of village elders, arrested alleged Communists, including him. My scholar informant argued with Ross, got himself and others re leased, and even received an apology. "But in many places where there wasn't someone like me who spoke English, sad things happened. " Korea early separated the "soft" and "hard" partners in the American postwar enterprise-"internationalists" and "nationalists," Cumings calls them-bringing to the surface differences over strategy between makers of policy generally united on anti-Soviet, anti-Communist objec tives. Most Roosevelt aides with input into foreign policy believed that American assets certainly included political attraction as well as economic might and the atom bomb. They thOUght that the Philippines were indeed the "show case of democracy" in Asia-a beacon to peoples shaking off colonial rule. They also respected the value of alliances. While using American power in the service of an expansion of foreign trade and overseas investment, the "interna tionalists" aimed to pin down the Soviet Gulliver by criss crossing institutional and diplomatic threads-to contain it and make it, in the words of State Department speech writers, "a responsible member of the global community." The internationalist strategy, which was an application to foreign policy of the establishment's principal internal strategy, was workable overall, as America's hegemonic successes in the postwar years proves, but it failed in re volutionary situations, as in China and Korea then and in Indochina later. The "internationalists" sent Marshall to China to support the Kuomintang regime, already in trouble; he was to persuade it to carry out palliative re forms, mostly administrative, and he was to fend off the revolutionary challenge by giving the Communists, at least temporarily, minority representation in the government. In Korea (where John Carter Vincent was also involved) somewhat similarly, the soft noses in 1946 sought a centrist regime isolating the Reds and capable at least of gaining popular tolerance. They disparaged Rhee. When the Marshall gambit in China, disguised as mediation, collapsed, Washington could come up with no alternative. Attempting to halt the tide of revolution by American force would have been an adventure with little hope of success. But on the small Korean stage harsh counterrevolution was practical, and Hodge and associates, correctly perceiving that softness and compro mise would abet revolution, went about it, suffering put- downs of the "military mind" and other barbs from Washington. Cumings describes Hodge as "honest." He was certainly forthright, but he also had no qualms about inventing Communist conspiracies and labeling people Communists who were not. As late as 1949 the State Department, reacting to Syngman Rbee's floundering, put out an appraisal arguing that failure to recognize the People's republic in 1945 was probably an error. But by that time reaction had won and "internationalists" and "nationalists" were at least in ag reement on the validity of the containment policy. Cumings observes: "The very serious policy differences between the State Department planners in Washington and those on the scene in Korea that marked the first months of occupation could be bridged because Americans differed not in their opposition to revolution in Korea, but on the question of how to deal with it (p. 439)." In Korea the U.S. could not come up with any bal anced consent-coercion formula, and had to inflict oppres sion on the people of the southern half of the peninsula, and its early Korean performance was a harbinger of much worse to come. Vincent and others brought a democratic sense to foreign policy considerations and were distressed when unpleasantness intruded. In the American Military Gov ernment in Korea some officials of lesser rank were simi larly disturbed by the repeated violations of democratic norms. I cherished, and found useful, those I ran into who could not keep their distress to themselves. Late in 1946 or early in 1947 I was visited in the Tokyo Correspondents Club by a medium-ranking AMG official who poured out his reasons for profound disillusionment. On the train from Pusan to Seoul an agitated doctor told he could not wait to get out of Korea; the screams from the jail next to the clinic in which he worked had got to him. Another American doctor at considerable risk smuggled medicine to prisoners who had been tortured; a union leader I interviewed sev eral times credited this doctor with saving his eyesight. And then there was Burton Martin, called Tony, chief adviser on education to the Seoul municipal government, who protested the abuse of students who had taken part in the 1947 May Day celebration, was put down as a trouble maker and transferred to a post in Japan. He said in his memo: Should the police be allowed, as at the present time they are being allowed, to torture school children? By torture I mean: pulling hair (especially girls), beating on all parts of the body, kicking chins and groin, pushing lighted cigarette butts into the lips, tying hands together and slamming elbows on the edge of tables and chairs. water treatments. . . , pulling up girls' skirts and hitting their bare legs and around the pelvis?" Americans who have a sharp sense of what happened in Indochina do not think of Korea as a deadly parallel. My local library, on New York's West Side, has two and a half shelves of books on Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia and just three books, happily good ones, on Korea. The press coverage-very occasionally excellent, more often falsifications of reality, and generally mediocre or worse, the product of handouts and briefings-is cer 58 tainly partly responsible. Korea was the quintessence of the Cold War, as Cumings says, and that inhibited the flow from the typewriters. In the early period the regular Seoul press corps con sisted of Richard J. H. Johnston of the New York Times and wives of American Military Group (AMG) personnel who served the Associated Press and United Press as stringers. Journalists stationed in Tokyo occasionally came for a look around and editors of leading publications dropped in from the States on chaperoned junkets. Later regulars included a Saturday Evening Post correspondent who was working for the CIA and a Hearst feature writer who received half his salary from Rhee's Tokyo ambassador. If I recollect accurately, International News Service, later merged with United Press, covered Korea most of the time from Tokyo in the early period, but once in a while sent someone over, and thereby hangs a tale. In March, 1947 a junior International News Service reporter cabled from Seoul a brief, circumspect account of the horrendous experience of a visiting delegation from the World Federa tion of Trade Unions, which saw welcoming union mem bers beaten by police and rightwing youths. The reporter got a brief rebuke from the San Francisco office: "Don't be a sucker for Communist propaganda. " Cumings relates how Johnston effectively maligned Pak Honyong, the Communist leader, who held a press conference on January 5, 1946 following the Moscow Deci sion. Johnston "quoted Pak as advocating an extended Soviet trusteeship over Korea to be followed by the incorporation of Korea into the Soviet Union," though other reporters present "claimed that Pak wanted nothing more than a Korea run by Koreans for Koreans. " Internal AMG accounts supported them, reporting that Pak had advocated "complete independence" and that his remarks had been misrepresented. But Hodge found Johnston's story "most interesting," Cumings goes on, and refused to insist that he retract. "Pak's reputation was severely damaged." Korea was the subject of some fine reporting by such visiting journalists as Mark Gayn of the Chicago Sun (Cum ings makes use of his Japan Diary), Walter Sullivan of the New York Times, and Pierre Doublet of Agence France Presse. I remember when Gayn came back to Tokyo in the fall of 1946 and, still wrought up, told what he had witnes sed to a gathering of colleagues. But then and later the general press coverage was epitomized by the rewritten handout and Marguerite Higgins' empty chatter in "War in Korea." While the U.S. was the principal interventionist in Korea, the Soviet Union's role was not unblemished. It acceded readily to trusteeship and then to the division of the peninsula along the 38th parallel. During the first weeks of its occupation of the north its troops behaved outrage ously. While it accepted the People's Republ.ic, it gradually converted it from fairly autonomous committees represent ing a variety of views into a centralized state firmly in Communist hands. But the Soviet Union permitted, and indeed promoted, the far-reaching revolutionary changes that shape the socialist north of today. At Moscow in December, 1945 the Soviet Union did succeed in limiting the duration of trusteeship to five years and subordinating it to formation of a provisional Korean government. The accord was satisfactory to both Britain and the American "internationalists," but was promptly sabotaged in Seoul by a joint effort of Rhee and the Korean right and the American command. Cumings properly calls this "an important episode in the devloping Soviet American conflict, not only in Korea but around the world." He believes that the Soviets probably interpreted the overnight collapse of the Moscow decision "as a double cross and a sign that cooperation with the Americans was possible only on American terms (pp. 225-226)." V.S. intransigence, which cleared the way for the establishment of a separate southern regime, operated shortly in the negotiations of the U.S. - U.S.S.R. Joint Commission. In April, 1946 a Soviet concession brought the parties very close to agreement, but at the next session, two days later, the V.S. changed its position. This was later the pattern at Panmunjon, where concessions on the Com munist side led not to a settlement but to new American demands. Information on what happened north of the 38th parallel in 1945-46 is relatively sparse, but Cumings seems to make the most of what exists. He makes plain that the north enjoys a considerable degree of independence not just because it has two giant neighbors to playoff against each other but because of the strength of the Communist led resistance to Japan. Questions spring to mind as Cumings' account unfolds. Would a Korea united under the People's Republic in 1945 be now characterized by Kim II Sung's extraordinary personality cult (the April 17th issue of the four-page Pyongyang Times includes the phrase "Great Leader Kim II Sung" in headlines eight times), narrow politics and historical myth making? Nationalist and social revolutions developed nearly everywhere in East Asia after World War II. The surge in Korea had its own characteristics, which Cumings relates to the impact of Japanese domination. As in Taiwan, the Japanese built ports, a rail and road network, and a com munications system, and commercialized a good deal of the agriculture, and in Korea, especially in the north, they also industrialized; Korea possessed vital resources and was in the middle of the Japan-Korea-Manchukuo triad. Economic development and war mobilization uprooted huge numbers of Korean peasants. Given a sense that they had a lot coming to them and could get it, they were ready to go. Migrations made revolutionaries. And many stay-at home tenant farmers, whose past was a mix ofsubservience and rebellion, were ready to join them. By the end of 1946, as Cumings shows, the events which led inexorably to civil war had taken place. The American occupiers had created a counterrevolutionary instrument of the bureaucracy and police taken over from the Japanese, both Koreanized after a period in which Japanese personnel kept their posts, and the new con stabulary, nucleus of the new army, office red in part of Korean officers of the Imperial Army. And to this was later added jackbooted young men, inculcated with the Ilmin (One People) doctrine, who, in concert with the police, administered the "hammer of justice" to traitors who sup ported the Moscow Decision. They chanted songs: We are the So-Chung Youth Corps. Brave warriors/allowing the Fatherland, 59 March and march across the 38th parallel, And smash the national traitors. . . . As Cumings observes, Rhee and his associates eventually succeeded in creating a rightwing mass organization. The counterrevolutionary instrument proved its effec tiveness in breaking the strikes and putting down the peas ant uprisings that convulsed most of the south in the fall of 1946. The police-terrorist alliance dealt the left blows from which it never fully recovered; in the jails, and in the compounds hastily made into jails, many bodies and hearts were broken. Cumings not only tells us about the decisions and happenings in Seoul, but gives us a detailed account of events in the countryside. A section of a chapter is devoted to each province. Resistance to U.S.-supported oppression in south Korea has several times been almost, but not quite, ex tinguished. It has been carried on in different ways succes sively by Communists, leftists, liberals, moderates and church people, and their experiences have little in common other than tribulation. The leftward move of disillusioned moderates began early, and Cumings gives instances of it. A peak came in 1948 when a very broad coalition unfortu nately lacking in power opposed the United Nations sponsored elections which gave birth to the separate south ern regime. I was present when an embittered Kim Kyu-sik gave voice to the wish of many Koreans that they be left to work out their own destiny: "If we Koreans are to prosper, let it be by our own efforts; if we are to suffer, let it be by our own hands. " Cumings gets a bit soft in approaching his final conclu sion. American leaders, he says, "were not ill-intentioned, nor were they conspirators, nor were they would-be ex ploiters. They were not evil men or hypocrites. They be lieved sincerely in what they sought to do in Korea (p. 443)." All that sincerity yet the Koreans were undone, and Moving? Please! Before you do, Let us know. (Every time you fail to tell us, the Post Office sends us a bill.) Old address: (Street) (City, State) (ZIP) New address: (Street) (City, State) (ZIP) the metropole served. As for conspirators, Cumings him self names four: "Let us be frank: Hodge, MacArthur, Goodfellow, and Rhee conspired against established State Department policy (p. 189)." Nevertheless, Cumings' judgments seem to me to be generally astute and well formulated, and one cannot quar rel with his conclusion, which is that American policies reflected ethnocentric assumptions and "in their concep tion and their consequence, took no heed of Korean needs and demands for a full restructuring of colonial legacies; the best of intentions were no substitute. This was not a matter of ignorance and mistakes, but was the essence of the American failure in Korea. " Cumings' volume is a major contribution to Korean studies, which in general have been overly polite to the American performance. It and its sequel will surely have a corrective impact on our thinking about the Korean War and its sad aftermath. Cumings can also take satisfaction in knowing that those resisting the Chun Doo Hwan regime have them selves made the journey to the beginning. "The United States should not make Korea its subordinate country, but leave this land," the leaflet distributed by the theology students who set fire to the American Cultural Center in Pusan in March, 1982, said, continuing: Looking back on history from the 15 August (1945) Liberation until today, the United States, while providing economic aid for Korea, has closely colluded with Korean businessmen and forced us to obey its domination under the pretext ofbeing an ally. . The United States has supported the military regime which refuses democratization, social revolution and development and unification. In fact the United States has brought about the permanent national division. * PRAXIS Praxis #6: Art and Ideology (Part 2) Michel Pecheux, Language, Ideology and Discourse Analysis: An Overview Douglas Kellner, Television, Mythology and Ritual Nicos Hadjinicolaou, On the Ideology of Avant-Gardism Kenneth Coutts-Smith, Postbourgeois Ideology and Visual Culture Marc Zimmerman, Francois Perus and Latin American Modernism: The Interventions of Althusser Fred Lonidier, "The Health and Safety Game" (Visual Feature) Forthcoming issues: Praxis #7' Antonio Gramsci Praxis #8: Weimar and After Single copy: $4.95 Subscription (2 issues): $8.00 Make checks payable to "the Regents of the University of California" Praxis, Dickson Art Center, UCLA. Los Angeles. CA 90024 USA 60 KOREA THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE WAR, A Short Review by Joseph C. Goulden. New York: NY Times Books, 1982, 690 pp., $15.00. by Bruce Cumi. The Korean War is among the most unstudied of American postwar interventions in the Third World. In most libraries and bookstores you can learn far more about our role in Iran in 1953, Guatemala in 1954, or EI Salvador in 1982, than you can about Korea, 1950. Yet the commit ment of American power in Korea did not begin in 1950, but five years earlier; and it continues today in the form of 40,000 ground troops and at least 700 tactical nuclear weapons. When the magnitude of the involvement is stacked up against the paucity of useful literature, a book like Joseph Goulden's, promising not just to tell us a story but indeed an "untold" story, meets with great anticipa tion. Unfortunately the anticipation, and the grand claims made for the book on the back jacket, are unmet and unrewarded by a close reading. Goulden's is an oft-told tale, thoroughly conventional in its assumptions and argu ments about the basic character of the war. The publisher claims that the story has not been told before, but in fact it has: for example in David Rees' Korea: The Limited War (1964), a similar narrative history. Goulden does make use of some ofthe multitude ofdeclassified documents to come available in recent years, but with a couple ofexceptions he is not the first to do so in print, as he claims. More im portantly the new information becomes for Goulden a matter of an interesting tidbit here, a gossipy item there, when in fact the entire history of the period 1945-53 in Korea needs rewriting on the basis of what we now know. Goulden essentially uses a slice of the new documentation to bolster a very conventional view of this forgotten war. Goulden is, however, a very good writer of popular history. The book is vivid, entertaining, and at times funny. It is made overly long by hundreds of pages of battle accounts, but those who like war will find the narrative gripping and fascinating. The reader will also find that Goulden sprinkles his tepid and marginal criticisms of American elites evenly among the participating warmak ers: Douglas MacArthur gets his share, but so do Dean Acheson and Harry Truman. Apart from his uncritical acceptance of the fundamentals of the American role in Korea (i.e., we were right to step in against North Korea's "brutal act of aggression"), Goulden is hard to pigeonhole on the Right or Left of the (very limited) spectrum of conventional debate on the war. What is new in the book? Not much from among the nine separate "revelations" touted by the publisher on the back jacket. "Korea reveals" that Acheson and Truman abruptly reversed established policy to intervene in Korea. Nothing new here; this is what the newspapers said on June 26. "Korea reveals" that within weeks of the opening ofthe war on June 2S Acheson also committed American aid to the French in Vietnam. Actually, the Pentagon Papers showed that aid was approved in NSC 48/1, signed by Truman in December 1949. (Goulden cites NSC 48 but does not grasp its significance.) "Korea reveals" that Truman wanted to dump Syngman Rhee in a coup attempt called "Operation Everready." This was "revealed" in the New York Times seven years ago by a graduate student. In the nine "revelations," there is absolutely nothing un known to scholars of the war. Yet after wading through the hype it is true that Goulden has a few new things to say. Koreans, for example, might like to know that the U.S. had plans to establish "New Korea" in the Western Samoa islands, in the event that the Korean peninsula had to be evacuated (p. 409). Truman apparently had unas sembled nuclear bomb components stored aboard aircraft carriers off the Korean coast, in case conventional carpet bombing was not enough (p. 416). There is a very good section on CIA activities in Korea, gotten from interviews with Hans Tofte who ran operations out of Japan (pp. 465-475). And there is an interesting section arguing-I think without the necessary documentation-that the real reason Truman fired MacArthur was that intercepts from the Spanish and Portuguese embassies in Tokyo quoted MacArthur as telling diplomats that he was "confident that he could transform the Korean War into a major conflict" and dispose of the Chinese Communists, presumably a message that the dictators Franco and Salazar would be pleased to hear (pp. 476-477). The problem here is that MacArthur provided Truman with a multitude of good reasons for sacking him; also, as Goulden rightly points out, Washington policymakers who had unanimously backed the American march into North Korea were anxious to scapegoat MacArthur for the debacle that en sued when the Chinese entered the war, and which none of them had foreseen. Goulden also provides useful information on the unre strained air campaigns that left North Korea a wasteland by 61 1953 (pp. 298,303), and on the many-one could say even continual-threats to use the atomic bomb against Korean and Chinese opponents utterly defenseless against such weapons. MacArthur wanted to sow a band of radioactive waste along the Sino-Korean border, severing the two countries rather permanently. Truman authorized simu lated nuclear bombing runs over P'yongyang. Today, thirty years after the war, North Korea remains under threat of nuclear annhilation. B-52s periodically lift off from Guam for practice runs against North Korea. Americans including those on the left-might reflect on this the next time they gag on one of the periodic excesses of Kim Il Sung and his people. It is too bad that Goulden did not build on such strengths to write a truly new and revelatory account. In stead, too often he uncritically accepts bad sources and bad policies. He swallows whole the mythology about Syngman Rhee put out by his personal biographer, Robert Oliver (Rbee was a committed Christian, a great revolutionary during the Japanese period, a friend of Woodrow Wilson). Goulden finds unproblematic the notion that Manchuria was a Chinese "sanctuary," from which we allowed the Chinese to strike our soldiers "with impunity"; perhaps instead we should have "laid waste all major Chinese cities" (p. 322). Of course, Japan and the East Sea and Okinawa and much of the Pacific were our sanctuaries, from which we "laid waste" all North Korean cities. We had total control of the air and the sea. And during most of the Chinese civil war Chiang Kai-shek controlled most cities, which hardly led to the defeat of Mao's forces. Goulden laments several times that "the U.S. was not to win in Korea," never defining what "winning" would have meant or how it might. have been accomplished. For an investigative reporter Goulden is also too complacent about American denials of any use of bacteriological war fare in Korea (pp. 599-604). Although to my knowledge no information has come to light which adequately documents the Korean and Chinese charges, we have learned in recent years about Army and CIA testing of chemical and biologi cal weapons, and about the American decision to cover up and then utilize the experience of Japanese bacteriological warfare projects done in Manchuria during World War II. Goulden also claims that "no other sources exist" to docu ment Kim Il Sung's prewar guerrilla history except P'yongyang's propaganda (p. 11), when in fact we have many extant Japanese police reports on his exploits. The map of Korea on p. 255 refers to one city, Najin, by its Japanese name (Rashin) while calling P'ohang "Potsung." There are many other such errors. The most conventional, and most incorrect, of Goulden's assumptions is to view the Korean War as some how unrelated to what came after in Indochina, Guate mala, Iran. Somehow Korea is the one place that doesn't fit with America's postwar history of involvement in the Third World. Here, the assumption is, the U.S. uniquely and courageously resisted Stalinist imperialism; we backed the right side, even if Rbee's regime had some problems and pecadilloes. The war came like a thunderclap out of the blue in the summer of 1950, through unprovoked aggres sion, and so we applied the containment doctrine to East Asia. What Mr. Goulden and conventional analysts do not know about the Korean case could-and will-fill vol umes. For example: the war began in 1945, not 1950, with the establishment of alter regimes and the beginning of open if unconventional fighting; it was a civil war, whose origins go back into Korea's colonial existence; the U.S. was entirely responsible for creating a southern regime, conceived with a raison d' etre in counter-revolution; a so cial revolution occurred in the North, and had multitudes of supporters in the South; Soviet policy in the North was at odds with its satellite policies in Eastern Europe in the same period; both sides had reasons for and plans for war in the summer of 1950-so on and so on. Mr. Goulden has written a useful and interesting book, for those who know little about this forgotten war. But it is high time that it becomes the last of its genre. * Third World Fil", JUMP CUT, No. 27 $2.00 Overview of films on EI Salvador and Nicaragua. Work of Ousmane Sembene. BOTTLE BABIES. Rev olutionary Turkish Cinema - Yllmaz Ganey. US TV Censorship. DECISION TO WIN. BACK ISSUES. US with sub, $2; abroad with sub, $2.50; US with no sub, $2.50; abroad with no sub, $3. Institutions higher. No. 20. Cuban Film: ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, THE NEW SCHOOL, WITH THE CUBAN WOMEN, Films of Manuel Octavio Gomez, "For an Imperfect Cinema" (Julio Garcia Espinosa), JUAN QUIN QUIN. No. 21. Brazilian Cinema: Beyond Cinema Novo - Overview, Censorship, TENT OF MIRACLES. Alsa, BLACKS BRITANNICA, BATTLE OF CHILE, THE RIS ING TIDE, Namibia Films, US Alternative Cinema. No. 22. Brazil: XICA DA SILVA, THE FALL, Glau ber Rocha's music, Filmography. Cuba: Joris Ivens, DEATH OF A BUREAUCRAT, PORTRAIT OF TERESA, TV Film Criticism, Bibliography. Also, Alternative Cinema Conference, WNET Censorship, Quebec Film. DOUBLE ISSUE SPECIAL - Nos. 10/11 & 12/13 $5 (US); $6.50 (abroad). THE OTHER HALF OF THE SKY. HOW YUKONG MOVED THE MOUNTAINS. LAND IN ANGUISH. MACUNAIMA. PRINCIPAL EMEMY. Cinema Novo SALT OF THE EARTH. Film Theory. JUMPCUT Subs: $6/4 issues, US; $8, PO Box 885 abroad. Institutions higher. Berkeley CA 94701 Payment only in US dollars. 62 smERIAN DEVELOPMENT AND EAST ASIA: A Review Essay THREAT OR PROMISE, by ADen S. Whiting. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1981,276pp. by Jon Halliday As D. K. Ludwig, the epitome of individual capitalist entrepreneurship, flounders in the Amazon, can the creak ing Soviet state make a go of things in the icy wastes of Siberia? And what are the implications if it does? Almost every question to which one could reasonably want an answer is satisfied by Allen Whiting in this judicious and politically timely book, rich in economic data, well set in the context of overall Soviet development issues and soberly linked to strategic questions. The sheer dimensions and climatic conditions of Si beria boggle the mind. Whiting limits himself to what he terms "East Asian Siberia" (EAS) which takes in the whole of the Soviet Far East and most, but not all, of Eastern Siberia. For it notably excludes the Krasnoyarsk region, as well as all of Western Siberia (i.e., everything west of the Irkutsk oblast and the Yakut Autonomous SSR). It thus excludes Novosibirsk, the Tyumen oil fields and the gas fields which are the subject of major US-EEC controversy at the moment. EAS covers 7,766,600 square kilometers (3,100,000 square miles)-roughly the size of Brazil (21-22). * If anything, it is climate, more even than size, which is ultimately the crucial determinant. What emerges strongly from Whiting's vivid account of the weather is that most of Siberia cannot be "developed" in any conventional sense with existing technologies. Those who have never been to Siberia (or, like myself, been there only during the hot summer) can only imagine what the climate is like most of the year. Irkutsk, with a population of 550,000 in 1979, has a frost-free period of only 94 days and an average winter temperature of -2eC (-5.8F). Yakutsk, further north, averages -42.rC (-45F) and has hit a recorded low of (-92.2F), while its summer temperature sometimes reaches 38C (I000F). Whiting states (21, 23) that there is relatively little snowfall over much of Siberia, and little wind in the interior (though other sources! suggest that icy winds are a major factor). If windchill is taken into account, the coldest parts of Siberia are not those in the interior but on the coast, where Figures in parentheses refer to pages of Whiting's book. 1. Hedrick Smith, The Russians (London, Sphere Books, 1976), pp. 400, 403. windchill readings of down to -125C (-193F) have been recorded (24). There are heavy fogs, especially in the coastal regions, and ice fogs, for example at Yakutsk, for extended periods. Almost the entire region suffers from permafrost. The only parts of EAS wholly free of it are Sakhalin, the lower half of Kamchatka, the areas of the Amur and Ussuri rivers and the Amur-Maritime sections along the coast (27). Permafrost creates enormous problems for building, both technically and in terms of cost and time, severely affecting both ordinary housing and communications like railways. Even when something is actually built (usually on piles going rteep into the ground), buildings can buckle as a result of huge seasonal "pulsations" (29) as segments of underground water freeze and thaw (the permafrost can go deeper than 400 meters, but is often with areas of unfrozen water). The combination of appalling cold, violent oscillations in temperature, poor soil and low rainfall means that EAS can not be anything like self-sufficient in agriculture (20). 2 The BAM zone (where the Trans-Siberian railway is being built, the Baikal-Amur Mainline) produces only one-third of its current food requirements (107). The cost of import ing vast amounts of food is already a major constraint. The Soviet Union imports as much as it can from North Korea, and it is striking that the last Soviet trade agreement with Hanoi committed Vietnam to increase considerably its ex ports of agricultural products to the USSR (presumably for EAS), in spite of Vietnam's own drastic shortages. A related factor is the extremely high cost of installing people in Siberia. One source cited suggests that by 1979 it cost the state 30,000 roubles (US $40,(00) per migrant (241, 232). Labor turnover is incredibly high, with the young moving out particularly fast (32-33). In the Aldan region of the Yakut ASSR 74 percent of migrants left within two years of arrival (33). Apart from the high installation costs, high population turnover also raises administrative ex 2. A much more optintistic view is expressed by the Soviet expert, V. Alexandrov, "Siberia and the Far East on the Eve of the 26th CPSU Congress," Far Eastern Affairs (Moscow), no. 4, 1980, pp. 67-68, where he even envisages a food surplus for the area. Excellent information on food production in Robert N. North, ''The Soviet FarEast: New Centre of Attention in the U .S.S.R., .. Pacific Affairs. Vol. 51, no. 2 (Summer 1978), pp.208-09. 63
penses greatly and causes long interruptions while new recruits are found. Whiting lists an impressive number of factors which make living in Siberia extremely unpleasant and difficult, even compared with the rest of the Soviet Union. Interest ingly, climate is not given as the main factor for leaving (33). Living conditions, consumer goods and cultural con ditions all rate as much more important. Climate makes poor and restricted housing even more trying than in the rest of the USSR, and EAS's average for housing is well below the national figure (34). Wages and pensions in Siberia are considerably higher than the national average, but the extra income is largely eaten up by strikingly higher prices for food and basic consumer goods, including clothes and housing costs, all of which rise the farther north one goes. Brezhnev's report to the 26th Congress of the CPSU in February 1981 showed concern about not being able to get enough people to move to Siberia, even via wage incen tives. In fact, he noted that "to this day many people prefer to move from north to south and from east to west, al though the rational distribution of productive forces re quires movement in the opposite directions."3 Within Siberia, there is also an unwelcome migration from the rural areas to the urban ones (37). One solution, but only a partial one, is to import labor from other countries: size able numbers of North Koreans have been reported work ing in Siberia on lumber projects, but this appears to be only seasonal (North Korea has its own labor shortage). More controversial is the use of Bulgarian workers, appar ently on long-term contracts, which has aroused resent ment in Bulgaria and criticism of the role of the CMEA (Comecon) in imposing a "socialist international division of labor" which discriminates against Bulgaria. 4 Overall, Whiting's description of the general setting is lucid, informative and comprehensive. Perhaps this lies outside the scope of the book, but I personally would have liked to see more on the human problems connected with the quality of life in EAS. Crimes seems to be much higher in Siberia as a whole than in the rest of the USSR. 5 Al coholism is almost surely worse there even than in the rest of the nation. The climate and poor housing must have a negative effect on the sex lives of the inhabitants and pre sumably on personal relations in the widest sense, and this must also be a factor in people wanting to leave 6 (not mentioned by Brezhnev). Whiting suggests, interestingly, (something which is confirmed by other sources) that Sino phobia-or rather miso-Sinism-which is rabid through out most of the Soviet Union, may decline the further one gets from Moscow, even though this also means getting nearer to China. In any case, it seemed lower in Khabarovsk and Vladivostok than in Moscow, where it was worst. In general, Siberia is "freer" than the Russian heart 3. Full report in New Times (Moscow), no. 9 (February) 1981; quote at p.38. 4. See Meraklia, "Bulgaria: the Taiwan of Eastern Europe," Telos, no, 49 (Fall 1981), p. 174. 5. Smith, The Russians, p, 238. 6. Dr. Mikhail Stem and Dr. August Stem, Sex in the Soviet Vnion (London, W.H. Allen, 1981), is one of the most devastating books on the USSR. land and especially Moscow (this emerges strongly from both Hedrick Smith's The Russians and from Martin Cruz Smith's Gorky Park)1-at least, freer for those not subject to some form of confinement. Whiting omits any mention of the use of political prisoners and forced labor in Siberia. Soviet dissidents have reported that political prisoners may have been forced to serve part (usually the last one-third) of their sentence in dangerous and/or high-polluting jobs in Siberia-and that this is then disguised officially as "part remission. " One of the more reprehensible aspects of life in the Soviet Union, especially for the working class, is the regime's conspicuously lax attitude towards industrial safety and the thoroughly nonchalant attitude to pollution. A number of Siberian writers like Valentin Rasputin have questioned the cost of "progress," especially in ecological terms. In fact, pollution is probably even worse in Siberia (per unit of industrial output) than in the rest of the coun try. A leading Soviet scientists recently went public with devastating criticisms of the effects of pollution (including genetic damage in newborn babies and a rise in mortality rates among workers) in the Kuzbass area of Southwestern Siberia. 8 Also missing in Whiting's account is any discussion of the impact of what seems from the outside, and is probably seen as such from the inside, to be essentially Russian-(i.e., Moscow- )determined "development" on the original in digenous inhabitants, such as the Yakuts. Indeed, Whiting virtually ignores the existence of both the indigenous minorities, such as the Yakuts and the Buryats, as well as the unfortunate Jews languishing in the Birobidzan so called Autonomous Republic-which rates a mention only for its manganese potential (54-55). More generally, the technically fascinating and highly competent discussion of Siberia's development prospects within those of the USSR as a whole lacks the ethnic-demographic component which is so richly treated by Heltme Carrere d'Encausse in her Decline ofan Empire (especially chapter 3).9 Strategic Questions Whiting's book will probably be read by many for its discussion of issues of strategy, as its subtitle implicitly invites. There are separate chapters on how Siberia's de velopment may affect Japan, China and the USA. As of early 1982, Japan's ties with Siberia were gener ally much lower than the outside world seemed to imagine. The only Siberian resources which had actually reached Japan were forest products. Even Sakhalin gas is unlikely to start reaching Japan (probably in the form of LNG) much before the end of the 1980s. And even if all the various plans mooted, including those suspended, were to go ahead, Japan's overall energy dependency rate on the USSR would be only about 7-8 percent (9 percent for coking coal)-much lower than that of West Germany. Siberia would be really useful to Japan for a number of raw materials: asbestos, nickel, natural gas, coking coal, steam coal, oil and timber (109). As Whiting notes: "poten 7. New York, Random House, 1981. 8. See International Herald Tribune, April 1, 1982. 9. Originally published in French as L' empire eclat/!: La rholte des Nations en V.R,S.S. (Paris, F1ammarion, 1978). 64 tial Soviet leverage, although it may be pinpointed on certain sectors of the economy, will be minimal for the country [Japan] as a whole." And: "The combined impact of all four commodities [gas, coking coal, steam coal, oil] being cut off by Moscow would cause short-term disloca tion in selected areas and industries. However, there would be no long-term impact, assuming that other suppliers could increase their deliveries." By 1979 Japan had sup plied nearly $4 billion in official credits for Soviet economic development (4, 135, 137). But the pace of new co operative ventures has slowly greatly from the heady days of the early 1970s when it seemed that Japan and Siberia had found a near-perfect match. Reagan's policy of pres suring the USSR has also hurt Japan: "The Reagan Ad ministration sanctions toward the U.S.S.R. are really sanc tions against Japan," lamented an official of the Tokyo based Sakhalin Oil Development Corporation to Business Week (March 22, 1982). Whiting's treatment of the deep asymmetry of Japan's and the USA's relationships with Siberia is both fair and timely (5). " The other main question is the territorial dispute. This concerns three islands, Kunashir (Kunashiri in Japanese), Iturup (Etorofu in Japanese), Shikotan, and the Archi pelago of the Habomais, totalling 2,000 square miles. These islands lie off the North coast of Hokkaido and are known as the "Northern Islands" in Japan. Essentially, the dispute revolves around whether or not these islands are the bottom end of the Kuril chain (which was returned to the USSR by international agreement in 1945), or separate from it. In 1956 the Soviet Union officially offered to return Shikotan and the Habomais after concluding a peace treaty, (thus, in a sense, it could be argued, weakening their own case), but Whiting writes: "Realistically . . . there is no prospect of the USSR giving back any of the islands now" (125). Both sides have dug in too deep. Be sides, it is hard to see what the Japanese could possibly give the Russians in return for the islands (except good will?). Moreover, Kunashir and Hurup guard the Soya Strait, one of the few narrow passages for the Soviet fleet to get out to the Pacific. The Sino-Soviet question has been bedevilled by ex treme partisanship on both sides (if not always in equal measure). The Soviet Union has permitted Victor Louis, widely thought to be closely associated with the KGB, to publish a book, The Coming Decline ofthe Chinese Empire, 10 which calls, bluntly and rabidly, for the dismantling of the present Chinese state via the detachment of several large outlying areas populated by sizeable minorities (Tibet, Sin jiang, Inner Mongolia-and even Manchuria!). China offi cially gives unprincipled support to Japanese revanchist attempts to detach the "Northern Islands" from the USSR. II 10. New York, New York Times Books, 1979; this weird book, a mixture of fascinating informrnation, aberrant history and thoroughly unpleasant racial views, deserves extended treatment on its own. 11. It is good to see Whiting explicitly confronting the unscrupulous quality of Chinese propaganda on such issues; as he notes (130), Beijing often suggests that some obscure right-wing publication (usually not polit ically identified) represents "public opinion." This reprehensible practice has been a constant of Chinese practice and is rarely commented on, in spite of its blatant use, for what it is: a disgraceful and degenerate form of deception. Sino-Soviet detente should be a prime objective of all those interested in world peace and one which is not often discussed in principled terms. The plain fact of the matter is, as Whiting puts it (82), that "Beijing and Moscow could settle their border differences easily if they both wished." But on the same page he also recognizes that it is unlikely that they will do so in the near future: "The path to a Sino-Soviet detente is far more rocky and hazardous than the long series of steps that led to Sino-American detente." Whiting's measured and well-informed treatment of the issue, setting out the facts and the problems,. provides a very helpful base around which to construct a discussion on what is in many ways the single most neglected key issue in current global debate. One major new element in the equation is the railway being built to the North of the existing Trans-Siberian the BAM. At enormous cost, this will help to open up large resources to the North. It is separated from the Trans Siberian and from the Chinese border by mountains almost the whole way. From a strategic point of view, Whiting emphasizes (103) that the new railway has mainly defensive value and that it "would appear to have more military value in a precombat situation than in an actual war." B e ~ e e n Ust-Kut (on the Lena) and Komsomolsk (on the Amur) it is single-track-over a distance of 1,965 miles (102) and will be powered by vulnerable overground electric supply. Curiously, Beijing has been almost totally silent about BAM, as about Siberian development as a whole, as it might affect China. In fact, as Whiting notes (145, 174), Chinese comment has been both uncomprehensive and unsystematic; it rages against Soviet military activity in the Pacific area, but says little about Siberian development, even as it might relate to Soviet military capacity; it tends to stress the Soviet-Japan relationship, but without objecting to Japanese involvement in Siberia, as a whole. After pot shotting at Japan's projected participation in the Tyumen oil project, Beijing fell silent on Japanese involvement in Siberia (145). Above all, Beijing has evaded the fact that "Siberian development has potentially positive implica tions for China" (180). The third major strategic question addressed is that of the Soviet Pacific fleet (94-99). Whiting notes "the relative consistency of smaller allocations to the Pacific Fleet" com pared with the Atlantic and Black Sea fleets, except for submarines (95). As of 1978 the Soviet fleet had many more ships than the U.S. Seventh Fleet, but in terms of tonnage was only about 50 percent heavier (762,000 to 503,000 tons)-and younger. One-fifth of the fleet is made up of minesweepers. However, as is rarely emphasized by Re gan, Weinberger, & Co., this fleet is not based off Baja California, nor in the mid-Pacific, but largely guarding the USSR's own extensive Pacific coastline. Moreover, any comparison should not just be between Soviet and U.S. fleets, but should also take into account those of potential allies and enemies. Geographical and ciimatic conditions severely limit Soviet freedom of action. Egress from Vladivostok to the Pacific is only via three narrow straits (Tsushima, Tsugaru and Soya). Both Tsugaru and Soya could be mined. And even Vladivostok, the most southern of the Pacific ports, is blocked by ice for three to four months per year. The only major base with direct access to the "open" Pacific, Petro 65 pavlovsk, on the eastern coast of Kamchatka, is ice-bound from November to April (though ships can, apparently, be guided out by ice-breakers)12 and has no rail supply line (97). In brief, the Soviet Pacific fleet has to operate under conditions almost as appalling as those afflicting the work ers on the BAM. And, although Whiting does not say so in these words, there seems little reason to regard the current expansion of the fleet as out of proportion with the USSR's legitimate defense interests, given the length of its Pacific coast and the abundance of potential enemies in the area. 13 There are several technical questions which it would have been good to see discussed more explicitly. First, which stretches of railway are single- or double-tracked? Whiting tells us that the BAM will be single-tracked be tween Ust-Kut and Komsomolsk (102), but in discussing the vulnerability of existing railroads, such as the Trans Siberian between Khabarovsk and Vladivostok (77, 91 92), he omits to say whether it is single or double. Second, there is the question of ports being ice-free or ice-bound. Vladivostok is described as having its access to the Pacific "impeded" for three-four months of the year (77); Petro pavlosk's "access is ice-covered" from November to April (97). But what is meant, exactly? Other sources indicate that ships can get in and out with the aid of ice-breakers. All the time? And presumably submarines always can? The ports of Nakhodka and Wrangel, just east of Vladivostok, are discussed (136) without it being specified whether they are ice-free or not. And what are the likely technical adv ances in ice-breaking? Soviet s o u r ~ s say that nuclear merchant ships will be able to travel from the Pacific to the Atlantic via the Arctic route by 1985, with year-round traffic expected later (92). One important neighbor is given rather short shrift Korea. And yet, as the involuntary eye at the center of the East Asian storm zone, it could be considerably affected by the opening up of the Soviet Far East, with potentially positive effects. North Korea exports a lot of fresh food to EAS and quite a lot of goods for EAS transit through the North Korean port of Najin (since there is such severe congestion in the Soviet ports). However, Whiting's book would not lead the casual reader to think there was any point in using Najin since his maps, prominently displayed on the dust jacket and on both the end-papers, show the Soviet Union as' clearly having no common border with Korea at all. Indeed, China is given a narrow corridor to the Pacific between the USSR and the DPRK-something I am sure it would dearly love to have. One other egregious error stands out in a book which generally attains a high level of accuracy. Three times Japan's defense expenditure is given as below 1 percent of GNP and it is claimed that there is an "established ceiling" of 1 percent (118, 120, 122). There is even an explicit comparison with NATO spending (120). But Whiting should know that Japan computes its military budget by highly specific criteria and that if NATO criteria are used which they should be in a direct comparison, or else the 12. Tan Su-cheng, The Expansion ofSoviet Seapower and the Security ofAsia (Taipei, Asia and the World Forum, 1977), p. 21. 13. Whiting is equally good and judicious on the limited Soviet land build-up. (92) different criteria should be made explicit-the figure is about 1.5 percent of GNP. More curious readers might also like to know why the new port on the Pacific is called Wrangel, a name usually associated only with a famous White Russian counter-revo lutionary. And is "Vostochny" (Eastern) a new name to replace the dubious Wrangel? Is there any discussion about changing the name of Vladivostok ("Ruler of the East"), which does seem to be like waving a red rag at the Chinese? On the whole question of the "place" of Siberia in the overall development of the Soviet Union, two different approaches to development clash (44, 202, 212ff). All round "balanced development" of the type proclaimed by official ideology (even if not often implemented fully) is out of the question for much of Siberia (44,213). The cost in terms of food, infrastructure, etc., is just too high for most of EAS to be "habitable"-and anyway hardly anyone seems to want to go there, as Brezhnev himself noted. But the government seems reluctant to break with its own official approach, at least explicitly. Rather, it seems to be bending it towards what is in effect, basically a policy of extraction, with the population rising only very slightly, just enough to increase exploitation of natural resources. Within the approach, there will be pockets of "develop ment" such as the area on the southern Pacific coast (Vladivostok-Nakhodka-Wrangel), which has a relatively benign (if very foggy) climate. There is considerable logic to promoting development on and related to the Pacific, which in many ways provides both more advantageous access to the world than the Atlantic and access to a huge percentage of world fishing very close by. (229) As the center of Soviet geography, at least in resource terms, moves East at accelerating pace, there must be considerable debate within the Soviet hierarchy about how much money to pour into Siberia, and Whiting has fascinat ing material on this. One Soviet source, the above-men tioned Victor Louis, suggests that there is a kind of "Siberia first" lobby (the same theme is echoed in Gorky Park, although more from the standpoint of breaking away from the dead hand of Moscow and "Party creeps"). Brezhnev made an extended tour of the area in late March 1978 (not mentioned by Whiting, curiously) and put a lot of emphasis on Siberia (more on Western than EAS) at the 26th Congress. There has always been a mystique attached to Siberia, as anyone who has boarded the Trans-Siberian must feel; but it is an ambiguous mystique. Siberia is two things fused into one: the "frontier"-and the Gulag; fascination and dread. And even if one is not in the Gulag, it is still an icy waste. What in the USA has turned out to be a new "fron tier" in the SunbeIt, for the USSR is, alas, a Snowbelt (or rather an Icebelt). The regime seems committed in a dogged ideological sort of way to opening up Siberia, but it has not really come clean to its own people about the pros and cons. In particular, it has not confronted the widening gap between the resource location and the demographic distribution: the ethnic groups which have the highest population growth rates, especially in Central Asia, show no sign of wanting to move to Siberia (Brezhnev hinted to the 26th Congress that more incentives, or pressure, needed to be applied to get them to move). The non settlement of most of Siberia must, in turn, determine the 66 type of extraction-exploitation policy likely to be followed (probably "in-and-out" with little attention to pOllution). But the regime does not, at this stage of its development, have the technological lability to handle much of Siberia. The answer cannot be to "throw" Uzbeks and Tadzhiks at the wastes of Yakutia. The force of nature is too strong. Whiting subtitles his book "Threat or Promise?". One might ask: to whom? In fact, Siberia's development emerges as a threat to no one, and rather less of a promise, at least in the medium-term, than one might imagine. There is plenty there, but it is going to take a lot of time, money, human energy-and especially new technology (probably largely Western and Japanese)-to get it out. If the USSR can wait, there is plenty to be said for that, until 'l'= WORLD DEVELOPMENT WORLD DEVELOPMENT provides a forum for international dialogue across national, disciplinary and professional barriers in order to stimulate new and imaginative insights for tackling the chief evils of the developing world: malnutrition, disease, illiteracy, slums and unemployment. 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For thoughtful and thought-provoking perspective on China. SUBSCRIBE TO CHINA NOW! Annual Subscriptions (including postage): Individuals Institutions and libraries 2nd class airmail 9 2nd class airmail 12 Surface mail 6 Surface mail 9 Due to high bank conversion charges, please wherever possible pay in money orders: 152 CAMDEN HIGH STREET LONDON NWI ONE 67 Orientalism's Attack on Orientalism by Dennis Gramin A depressing shortcoming of scholarly activity since the appearance of Edward Said's Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, 1978) has been the failure to apply his analysis to the broader Asian context for which his book cried out. Over the past several years, as Said's ideas have met varying resistance among those whom Robert A. Kapp labeled "scholars who are professionally socialized in and work in one culture but who devote themselves to the study of another culture, "I Said himself has descended into the tumult of contemporary Middle Eastern polemic with two volumes, The Question of Palestine (New York: Times Books, 1979) and Covering Islam (New York: Pantheon, 1981). Having thus enhanced his scholarly vulnerability, Said has recently found himself the target of an effort to read backwards through his trilogy, using American irritation with militant Islam of the Khomeini variety (richly docu mented in Covering Islam) to fuel an angry rejection of the arguments in Orientalism. Pursued relatively courteously by Clifford Geertz, 2 this dubious project has recently found bitter expression in an article by Bernard Lewis, Cleveland E. Dodge Professor of Near Eastern Studies at Princeton University and a member of the School of Social Studies at the Institute for Advanced Studies. 3 From so puissant a source, so total an attack rules out equivocation as a re sponse. Either Lewis is right, and many of us have been deluded in seeing Orientalism as a salutary shock to the field, or else there is something seriously wrong with Lewis's dismissal of Said. I argue that a close look will convince one of the latter. Indeed, Lewis's essay is a splendid example of the horrid paradox inherent in the logic of Orientalism-that its validity stimulates (in fact, demands) its denunciation in certain quarters. Lewis, one of those "who hail from the high command of British Orientalism," as George Rentz of the Hoover Institution said of him and his fellow editors of the Cambridge History of Islam ,4 is clearly a man with a cause in "The Question of Orientalism. " That cause is to extirpate even the idea of any valid criticism of Orientalism as such ("which would be meaningless"), and in particular to deny any intellectual standing to the work of Said, "the main exponent of anti-Orientalism at the present time in the United States."5 Let it be conceded from the start that Lewis's anger has ample cause. Said has been attacking him in print since 1976, when he penned a vitriolic review of the Cambridge History ofIslam that is obviously still on Lewis's mind. 6 The History was characterized as "an intellectual failure," "al ready doomed when first planned," lacking in "ideas and methodological intelligence," "so perfect an instance of the academic Edsel," "an academic effort to embalm Is lam," and the role of chief mortician was awarded to Lewis. 7 This gentle artistry continued in Orientalism, reach ing its apogee in the notorious "camel rising" episode, which Lewis grimly retells, appropriately invoking the Iron Duke. 8 Even so, after one has granted that Said's gift for invective is unfortunate, that his scholarly craftsmanship is often less than perfect, and that Covering Islam is a slender effort, the fact remains thatOrientalism is a book with a serious argument that Lewis completely fails to under stand. In his haste to discredit Said, Lewis invents ludicrous anti-Orientalist positions that Said explicitly disowns, he misrepresents Said's own positions, and he reveals that he has no idea what Said's purpose was in writing. 1. Robert A. Kapp, "Introduction," Journal of Asian Studies 39.3 (May, 1980): 481. 2. Clifford Geertz, "Conjuring with Islam," The New York Review of Books. 27 May 1982, p. 28. 3. Bernard Lewis, "The Question of Orientalism," The New York Review ofBooks , 24 June 1982, pp. 49-56. 4. In a review in the American Historical Review 77.1 (February, 1972): 115. 5. Lewis, "Question," pp. 56, 51. 6. Ibid., p, 54n6. 7. Edward W. Said, "Arabs, Islam and the Dogmas of the West," New York Times Book Review. 31 October 1976, pp. 4-5. 8. Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, 1978), pp. 314-316; Lewis; "Question," p. 52. 68 The trouble starts with Lewis's opening fantasia pur porting to describe the anti-Orientalist position, which among other follies attributes to it the meretricious argu ment that "only [Arabs] are truly able to teach and write on [Arab] history and culture from remote antiquity to the present day; only [Arabs] are genuinely competent to di rect and conduct programs of academic studies in these fields."9 Said's view of such evil nonsense is crystal clear: It is not the thesis ofthis book . .. to make an assertion about the necessary privilege ofan "insider" perspective over an "outsider" one . ... I certainly do not believe the limited proposition that only a black can write about blacks, a Muslim about Muslims, andsoforth. lo Lewis goes on to sum up his enemies' "entirely new" defini tion of Orientalism as meaning "unsympathetic or hostile treatment of Oriental peoples. . . . not supportive of cur rently fashionable creeds or causes," characterizing this definition as an act of "intellectual pollution" rendering the word "unfit for use in rational discourse. "11 Perhaps so, but it is his definition, no one else's. Said is explicit about what he means by the term-he was clear about it in his 1976 review article, and he main tains a consistent position in Orientalism: The principal dogma ofOrientalism exist in their purestform today in studies of the Arabs and Islam. Let us recapitulate them here: one is the absolute and systematic difference between the West, which is rational, developed, humane, superior, and the Orient, which is aberrant, undeveloped, inferior. Another dogma is that abstractions about the Orient, particularly those based on texts representing a "classical" Oriental civilization, are always preferable to direct evidence drawn from modern Oriental realities. A third dogma is that the Orient is eternal, uniform, and incapable of defining itself; therefore it is assumed that a highly generalized and systematic vocabulary for describing the Orient from a Western standpoint is inevitable and even scientifically "objective." Afourth dogma is that the Orient is at bottom something either to befeared (the Yellow Peril, the Mongol hordes, the brown dominions) or to be controlled (by pacification, research and development, outright occu pation whenever possible). 12 It is just at this point in his argument that Lewis refers to V. S. Naipaul as a fellow innocent accused of Orientalist crimes, apparently in the conviction that the mere sight ofa novelist of East Indian ethnicity and West Indian upbring ing being marched into the dock beside him will cause the proceedings to be laughed out of court. In fact, on Said's definition of Orientalism, Naipaul is guilty as charged. Consider the following passage from Among the Believers: On the pavement outside the Turkish embassy two tur banned, sunburnt medicine men sat with their display of coloured powders, roots, and minerals. I had seen other medicine men in Tehran and had thought ofthem as Iranian 9. Lewis, "Question," p. 49. 10. Said, Orientalism. p. 322. 11. Lewis, "Question," p. 49. 12. Said, Orientalism. pp. 300-301. equivalents of the homeopathic medicine men ofIndia. But the names these Iranians were invoking as medical author ities-as Behzad told me, after listening to their sales talk to a peasant group-were Avicenna, Galen, and "Hip pocrat.' , Avicenna! To me only a name, someone from the Euro pean Middle Ages: it had never occurred to me that he was a Persian. In this dusty pavement medical stock was a remin der of the Arab glory ofa thousand years before, when the Arab faith mingled with Persia,lndia, and the remnant ofthe classical world it had overrun, and Muslim civilization was the central civilization ofthe West. Behzad was less awed than I was. He didn't care for that Muslim past; and he didn't belive in pavement medicines. 13 In analyzing the rhetoric of this passage, Said would pre sumably point to the blithe confidence with which the lin guistically incompetent outsider from the West evaluates these backward exotics it has been his good fortune to stumble upOn, the unspoken assumption of Oriental un iformity (Iranian, Indian-when you've seen one Oriental medicine man, you've seen them all), the immediate re course to a classical Islamic past more significant than anything in the here and now, and the implicit contempt for those Muslims who are trying to live in the here and now, unaware of their glorious heritage, which it is the Western er's duty to explain. In the words of Marx, which echo through Orientalism, "they cannot represent themselves; they must be represented." Another passage in Naipaul brings us to the crucial point that Lewis and many other critics of Said have missed. Naipaul is observing groups of pilgrims at the shrine of the tomb of the sister of the eighth Shia Imam in Qom: One Mon!{oloid group was Turkoman, Behzad said. I hardly knew the word. In the 1824 English novel Hajji Baba (which I had bought at the hotel in a pirated offset of the Oxford World's Classics edition), there were Turkoman ban dits. . . . Small, sunburnt, ragged, they were like debris at the edge ofa civilization that had itselffor a long time been on the edge ofthe world. 14 If I usurp Said's analytical prerogative once more, it is to point to the characteristic view of the Orient as an exotic appendage of a Eurocentric world, and to the immediate appeal to a literary representation, one moreover that introduces Orientals to its readers as figures of mysterious violence. The parade of literary figures through the pages of Orientalism has been a puzzle to those unwilling to ascertain Said's purpose of writing. He is not interested in doing "a history of Arabic studies in Europe" or in being "a his torian of Orientalism" as Lewis claims. IS To oversimplify brutally, the book is synchronic and French, rather than diachronic and English. To put that in less enigmatic terms, Said is describing a certain rhetorical tradition which formed within Anglo-French culture after about 1800, a 13. V. S. Naipaul, Among the Believers: An Islamic Journey (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1981), p. 8. 14. Ibid., pp. 42-43. 15. Lewis, "Question," pp. 51, 53. 69 tradition that drew on scholarly sources, but which spread far beyond the bounds of the academy. This tradition shaped people's perceptions of the Orient and Orientals in a consistent fashion that can fruitfully be termed Orienta list, with its core ideas as listed above. Once this surprisingly elusive point is grasped, it is instantly apparent that many of the criticisms leveled at Said are completely irrelevant. For example, Lewis's ina bility to understand why Germans are missing from the account, and why Said allows the Russians to say such awful things about Arabs. 16 Indeed, Lewis's dark brood ings on the theme of the "plenary indulgence" that Said extends to the Russians manage to imply that he is both Red and Papist, a delightfully malicious invention worthy of the Parr Professor of English and Comparative Litera ture himself.17 On examination, Lewis's effort to portray himself as operating on a level of "intellectual precision and discipline" beyond Said's comprehension rings very hollow. 18 My favorite excess is his attribution of the begin ning of anti-Orientalism within the Muslim world to Nazis in Pakistan. Mandarin gentleman that he is, Lewis never says "Nazi," he merely refers to an "unreconstructed German" and to "the mind-set ofthe Third Reich. "19 He is hardly fairer in his dealings with Said. Some of his rhetori cal mayhem (e.g., "the hitherto unknown theory of know ledge" on p. 52) would require excessive space to disen tangle, but it may be worth while to point out Lewis's gross misrepresentation of Said's treatment of Edward William Lane. Lewis states that Lane is "maligned" by Said, whose tactic is to focus on a "minor or occasional" work, while of "Lane's lifework, his multi-volume Arabic-English lexi con... Mr. Said has nothing to say. "20 Said specifically refers to Lane's lexicographical labors twice in Orientalism (pp. 164,240), but I assume it never occurred to him that it was necessary to explain that dictionaries do not lend them selves to rhetorical analysis, unless their contents are over whelminglyon the order of Dr. Johnson's famous defini tion of oats. Said repeatedly identifies Lane and Silvestre de Sacy as the greatest figures in the Orientalist tradition (e.g., Orientalism, p. 206). IfLewis really means to describe Lane's An Account of the Manners and Customs ofthe Modern Egyptians Written in Egypt During the Years 1833-1835 as "minor or occasional," then his scholarly standards are such as to boggle the mind. In the currently available edition, a reprint of that 1895, Modern Egyptians runs to nearly 600 pages of what Said rightly characterizes as "sheer, overpowering, monumental description" of "diz zying detail," "a classic of historical and anthropological observation because of its style, its enormously intelligent and brilliant details. "21 A path-breaking work of such mag nitude produced today would procure for its author an international reputation, and Said's precise reservations concerning Lane's achievement are compatible with his 16. Ibid., pp. 51,53-54. 17. Ibid., p. 55. 18. Ibid., p. 56. 19. Ibid., p. 50. 20. Ibid., p. 52. 21. Said, Orientalism. pp. 162, 15. appreciation of it as a "great Orienta list work of genuine scholarship. "22 Sacy himself figures in another of these deliberate misrepresentations, this one involving a citation from Orientalism (p. 127), which Lewis gives as "he [Sacy] ran sacked the Oriental archives .... What texts he isolated, he then brought back; he doctored them ...." Lewis con tinues: "If these words bear any meaning at all it is that Sacy was somehow at fault in his access to these documents, and then committed the crime of tampering with them. This outrageous libel on a great scholar is without a shred of truth. "23 Lewis apparently wants us to believe that Said has accused Sacy of being a bibliographic second-story man and forger, spooking about the Middle East prying open rare-book vaults and boiling concocted manuscripts in tea to age them. He knows better, as his devious ellipsis proves. The eight missing words are " ... and he could do so without leaving France. " The meaning of "he ransacked the Oriental archives" is roughly the same as "he worked indefatigably in the Bibliotheque nationale. Lewis's clever misreading gains a specious credibility from the common associations of the word "archive," which is here explicitly being used in a special sense developed by Foucault. As for "the crime of tampering," Said means what he said-Sacy doctored ("treated so as to alter the appearance, flavour, or character of," OED) his texts. The nature of that doctoring, which produced the Chrestomathie arabe. is described in some detail. The Chrestomathie arabe, incidentally, is the only Orientalist work that Said feels can bear comparison with Lane's Modern Egyptians. 24 So much for the charge of "outrageous libel." One could go on for thousands of words pointing out how Lewis repeatedly misreads Said and then gleefully attacks something Said never meant, but it should be clear by now that Lewis's magisterial Orientalist authority rela tive to Said is a sham. This is a point that not only Said has been making, and which is larger than both men. Lewis wants us to believe that Orientalism is a lone, discredited voice ("predominantly unfavorable response among re viewers in learned journals"), although he has to concede that the Journal ofthe American Oriental Society. than which there is no more Orientalist publication in the Western hemisphere, took it quite seriously.2s In fact, the JAOS reviewer suggested that much of Said's argument was al ready circulating in the profession (e.g., in Oleg Grabar's splendid The Formation of Islamic Art [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973]), and that other scholars' critiques of the Cambridge History ofIslam as methodologically defec tive had met with "general appreciation. "26 A glance at major reviews ofthe History (e. g., that by the distinguished Albert Hourani of Oxford) reveals a chorus of "anti Orientalist" criticism, albeit expressed in far gentler tones 22. Ibid., p. 8. 23. Lewis, "Question," pp. 52-53. 24. Said, Orientalism. p. 8. 25. Lewis, "Question," p. 55; Peter Gran, untitled review, Journal o/the American Oriental Society 100.3 (July-October, 1980): 328-331. 26. Gran, p. 331. 70 than Said's.27 Hourani even plays Lewis's game of Pin the Tail on the Defective Bibliography, bemoaning the "seri ous exclusion" of Turkish sources. 28 No doubt Lewis has an explanation for the omission, but his treatment of others stifles compassion. Lewis might also have acknowledged the Journal of Asian Studies symposium on Orientalism, which took up half of the May, 1980 issue of what is probably the most widely read Oriental journal in the world. The symposium reveals, among other things, that there are strongly held definitions of "Orientalist" floating about that have very little to do with either Lewis or Said (e.g., the contribution by David Kopf). Both alarming and educational in all this has been the editorial orchestration calculated to preserve Lewis's dig nity and the honor of establishment Orientalism. Third party protests over the outrageous excesses of Lewis's arti cle were barred from the pages of The New York Review of Books, although their texts were conveyed to Lewis, who cunningly placed their antagonism at the service of his own omniscience, attempting to defuse some of their points with what were subsequently offered as if spontaneous minor corrections to the earlier article. 29 Permissible (i. e. , approving) third-party reaction to Lewis's diatribe, as in the case of Oleg Grabar, displayed another facet of the power of establishment Orientalism to compel obedience. Grabar, as mentioned above, has published "anti Orientalist" arguments himself. Astonishingly enough, his printed claim that he has "little quarrel" with Lewis, who is "right on nearly every point," prefaces a long list of anti Orientalist fears and complaints that he shares po More over, Grabar has, in the past, endorsed Said with even greater enthusiasm: I have no quarrel with the thrust of the book [Orientalism], with most ofyour [Said's] examples, and with the [analysis of the] tragic 'orientalization' oj'Oriental' intellectuals, to my mind the most brutal result ofwesternization. . . .31 Apparently apotropaic pro forma oaths of loyalty are the better part ofintellectual valor. Considering this curious and sorry episode, I empha size to the astonishing number of my colleagues who have yet to pick up a copy of Said's book that Orientalism has not been brushed aside, that the anti-Orientalist challenge re mains, and that.it still behooves us to come to grips with it, just as it did when the JAS published its symposium. When the dust has finally settled, I believe that Said's conclusion will retain its force-that "any knowledge, anywhere, at any time" is subject to a process of "seductive degra 27. Albert H. Hourani, untitled review, English Historical Review 87.343 (April, 1972): 348-357. 28. Ibid.,p.356. 29. Bernard Lewis, letter to the editor, The New York Review ofBooks, 12 August 1982, p. 48. 30. Oleg Graber, letter to the editor, The New York Review of Books. 12 August 1982, p. 46. 31. Oleg Graber, letter to Edward Said of 11 December 1978, as cited in letter from Said to Grabar of 20 August 1982 (copy of letter supplied by Said). dation,"32 and that Western study of the Orient has pro vided, and continues to provide, a sharp reminder that when we take our methodology for granted, or lose our sensitivity to the ways in which scholarly activity interacts with political power, we harm those that we have defined as the Other, and in so doing, we harm ourselves as well. * 32. Said, Orientalism. p. 328. Correspondence The Editors 27 July 1983 BCAS. Dear Joe Moore, Zed Press is now six years old, with nearly 100 titles in print, and distribution arrangements in many parts of the world. We are a socialist publisher, organized internally as a workers' cooperative, and specializing in the Third World. Our authors are usually scholars and/or political activists with a clear anti-imperialist commitment. We at Zed Press see our role as a twofold one: acting as a mirror of left-wing debate around significant theoretical and political issues in the Third World; and also publishing books in support of liberation struggles and post-revolutionary societies. Our initial Series included Political Economy, Imperi alism, Revolutionary Struggles, and Women. With the growth of our programme to 50 new titles ~ i n g published this year, and the same again in 1984, we have expanded into new Series on Labour, Human Rights, Indigenous Peoples, Culture and Revolution, and Radical Religion. Our most ambitious project is to initiate in 1984 a series of easy-to-read, concise and cheap political education hand books. We would welcome BCAS readers getting in touch with us if they feel they can contribute in any way or have manuscripts to offer. Yours sincerely, Robert Molteno Editor Zed Press 57 Caledonian Road, LondonN19DN Errata To the Editors: Thanks for the last issue of the BCAS which arrived here yesterday (the special issue on Indonesia). It is an interesting issue, and I am very glad that you used my article on East Timor in your Bulletin. There is one mistake that I would like to point out. A whole paragraph has been left out, by inadvertence. The passage should read as follows: The Socialist Party reacted strongly to these accusa tions: "All lies." the headlines ofthe party newspaper said 71 next day, and in Parliament Santos challenged his oppo nents to prove their allegations of collusion with Indonesia over Timor. At the same time, he also demanded that president Eanes should publish a hitherto secret report prepared in 1976 on Portugal's ill-fated decolonisation in 1974-75. (Jill Jolliffe, Manchester Guardian October 12, 1981 and Canberra Times October 13, 1981; John Torres, London Times October 13 and 14, 1981; Peter Wise, Boston Globe November 26, 1981). The report was released a few days later, and in the Manchester Guardian of October 17, 1981, Jill Jolliffe writes that it confirms the claims ofsecret negotiations with the Indonesians: According to a description of the last of these secret meetings, held in Hong Kong in June 1975... , If you could arrange for a correction in your next issue, I would appreciate it. Thank you. Sincerely, Torben Retboll Falstersgade 3 DK-SOOO Arhus C Denmark A general note about typographical and other mistakes in the Bulletin: We are always glad to acknowledge any errors that are likely to confuse or mislead. In all such cases, we request your indulgence and wish to explain that we have neither proof reading staff nor time or funds to mail galleys to authors who reside in many parts of the world. Books to Review The following review copies have arrived at the office of the Bulletin. Ifyou are interested in reviewing one or more ofthem , write to Joe Moore, BCAS, P.O. Box R, Berthoud, Colorado 80513. Reviews of important works not listed here will be equally welcome. Hamza Alavi & Teodor Shanin: Introduction to the Sociology of' 'Develop ing Societies" (Monthly Review, 1982). Noam Chomsky: Myth and Ideology in U.S. Foreign Policy (East Timor Human Rights Comm., 1982). Warren I. Cohen (ed): New Frontiers in American-East Relations (Columbia Univ., 1983). Noel J. Kent: Hawaii: Islands Under the Influence (Monthly Review, 1983). Ralph W. McGehee: Deadly Deceits: My 25 Years in the CIA (Sheridan Square, 1983). Nishikawa Jun: Asean and the United Nations System (U.N. Institute for Training and Research, 1983). East Asia Samir Amin: The Future ofMaoism (Monthly Review, 1983). Anthony B. Chan: Arming the Chinese: The Western Armaments Trade in Warlord China, 1920-1928 (Univ. of British Columbia, 1982). Aleksandr Ya. Kalyagin: Along Alien Roads (Columbia Univ., 1983). Morris Rossabi (ed): China among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and its Neighbors, 10th-14th Centuries (Univ. of Calif. , 1983). Hung-mao Tien (ed): Mainland China, Taiwan, and U.S. Policy (Oelge schlager, Gunn & Hain, 1983). Nancy B. Tucker: Patterns in the Dust: Chinese-American Relations and the Recognition Controversy, 1949-1950 (Columbia Univ., 1983). Anthony B. Chan: Gold Mountain: The Chinese in the New World (New Star Books, 1983). K.K. Fung (ed.): Social Needs versus Economic Efficiency in China: Sun Yefang's Critique ofSocialist Economics (M.E. Sharpe, 1982). Stevan Harrell: Ploughshare Village: Culture and Context in Taiwan (Univ. of Washington Press, 1982). John W. Dardess: Confucianism and Autocracy: Professional Elites in the Founding ofthe M ing Dynasty (U niv. of California Press, 1983) Nicholas R. Lardy & Kenneth Lieberthal (eds.): Chen Yun's Strategy for China's Development: ANon-Maoist Alternative (M.E. Sharpe, 1983). Lynda Shaffer: Mao and the Workers: The Hunan Labor Movement, 1920 1923 (M.E. Sharpe, 1982). Judith Stacey: Patriarchy and Socialist Revolution in China (Univ. of Cali fornia Press, 1983) Jonathan Unger: Education Under Mao: Class and Competition in Canton Schools, 1960-1980 (Columbia Univ. Press, 1982). South Asia M.L. Dewan: Agriculture and Rural Development in India: A Case Study on the Dignity ofLabour (Humanities Press, 1983). Surinder Mohan Bhardwaj: Hindu Places ofPilgraTTUlge in India: A study in Cultural Geography (Univ. of California Press, 1983) Hanna Papanek & Gail Minault (eds): Separate Worlds: Studies ofPurdah in South Asia (Chanakya Publications, Delhi, 1982). H. L. Deb Roy: A Tribe in Transition: The Jaintias ofMeghalaya (Humani ties Press, 1981). M.S. Venkataremani: The American Role in Pakistan, 1947-1958 (Human ities Press, 1982). Denis von der Weid & Guy Poitevin: Roots ofa Peasant Movement: Apprai sal ofthe Movement Initiated by Rural Community Development Association (Shubhada-Sarswat Pubs., Pune, 1981). Shelton U. Kodikara: Foreign Policy ofSri Lanka: A Third World Perspective (Chanakya Publications, Delhi, 1982). Northeast Asia Thomas P. Rohlen: Japan's High Schools (Univ. ofCalifornia Press, 1983) Joe Moore: Japanese Workers and theStrugglefor Power, 1945-1947 (Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1983) Jean Esmein: Un demi plus: Etudes sur la defense du Japon hier et aujourd' hui (Fondation pour les etudes de defense nationale, Paris, 1983). Noriko Mizuta Lippit & Kyoko Iriye Selden (eds): Stories by Contemporary Japanese Women Writers (M. E. Sharpe, 1982). Roy A. Miller: Japan's Modern Myth: The Language and Beyond (Weather Hill, 1982). Mine Okubo: Citizen 13660 (Univ. of Washington, 1983). Harry Wray & Hilary Conroy (eds.): Japan Examined: Perspectives on Modern Japanese History (Univ. of Hawaii, 1983). Bruce Cumings (ed): Child of Conflict: The Korean-American Relationship, 1943-1953 (Univ. of Washington, 1983). M. P. Srivastava: The Korean Conflict: Searchfor Unification (Prentice Hall of India, 1982). Dae-Sook Suh: Korean Communism 1945-1980: A Reference Guide to the Political System (Univ. Press of Hawaii, 1981). Southeast Asia Benedict J. Kerkvliet: The H uk Rebellion: A Study of Peasant Revolt in the Philippines (U. California Press, 1982). Jim Zwick: Militarism and Repression in the Philippines (Centre for Devel oping-Area Studies, McGill Univ., 1983). Philippines Research Center (ed): New People's Army of the Philippines (PRC, 1981). E. San Juan, JT. (ed): If You Want to Know What We Are: A Carlos Bulosan Reader (West End Press, 1983). E. San Juan, Jr,: Toward Rizal: An Essay on Noli Me Tangere and EI Filibusterismo (PRC, 1983). Robert Y. Siy, Jr.: Community Resource Management: Lessons from the Zanjera: (Univ. of the Philippines, 1982). TAPOL (ed): West Papua: The Obliteration ofa People (TAPOL, 1983). Micronesia Support Committee (ed): Palau: Self-Determination vs. U.S. Military Plans (MSC, 1983). Keith St. Cartmail: Exodus Indochina (Heinemann Educational Books Inc., 1983) Chantal Descours-Gatin & Hugues Villiers: Guide de Recherches sur Ie Vietnam: Bibliographies, archives et Bibliotheques de France (Editions L'Harmattan, 1983). Archimedes L.A. Patti: Why Vietnam? Prelude to America's Albatross (Univ. of California Press, 1982). Wallace J. Thies: When Governments Collide: Coercion and Diplomacy in the Vietnam Conflict, 1964-1968 (Univ, of California Press, 1982). 72