Caste,Gender and the Development Interface: A Study of Vikas Mitra Scheme Among Musahar Women in Bihar

Introduction

The Musahar community has been associated with pejorative labels such as ‘fugitive’, ‘backward’, ‘uncivilised’ and ‘primitive’ since time immemorial (Ahmed, 2020). These stereotypes, propagated by Brahminical and colonial narratives, portray Musahars as incapable of development and needing exterior assistance in the form of welfare schemes. Contrary to this dominant perception of Musahars as a community refusing to change (Kumar, 2020), interestingly, in one of the schemes introduced by Bihar State Mahadalit Vikas Mission called the Vikas Mitra scheme, Musahars are positioned as potential ‘change agents’ for their community in particular and Mahadalit population in general. Under this scheme, Vikas Mitras are tasked to disseminate information regarding welfare policies explicitly introduced for the newly identified Mahadalit populace. This scheme, which is part of Bihar Mahadalit Vikas Mission, becomes essential to study to understand whether it depicts a shift in the way Musahars have been perceived in the dominant development discourse or represents yet another futile development intervention oblivious to the historical-cultural factors that shape the lives of Musahars.

As the scheme offers reservations to Mahadalit women, Musahar women are also appointed as Vikas Mitras. Musahar community has been caught in the perpetual cycle of underdevelopment, and these harrowing experiences of marginalisation are more intense for Musahar women. These women, who in many instances work as primary breadwinners of the family, face layered discrimination, which is intricately embedded in the power hierarchies of caste, class and gender across the multiple spaces of the household, community, wider society and the state.

Based on the ethnographic study conducted in the Munger district of Bihar, this article aims to describe the lifeworld of Musahar women. In their attempt to portray their role as ‘change agents’, Musahar women navigate through the paraphernalia of bureaucracy. The article illustrates how these women with intersectional identities negotiate with the multi-layered bureaucracy as Vikas Mitras. This contributes towards understanding how the scheme impacts their lives and how they perceive their role as ‘change agents’. The article’s objective is not to evaluate the success and failure of the scheme but to comprehend how the mainstream understanding of development and empowerment often overlooks the hurdles that may come in the way of implementing these schemes. The homogenous portrayal of the lifeworld of marginalised communities propagated through these development interventions tends to produce and sustain inequalities. The article delves into juxtaposing the state’s intention to introduce the scheme and the field reality of the scheme experienced by these women. The article aims to critique the linearity of the mainstream idea of empowerment and also argue that the concept of intersectionality, which acknowledges the qualitative differences in women’s experiences, should also reflect how dalit women express the category of empowerment differently. The superficial deployment of intersectionality bereft of substance reduces it to what Bilge (2011) terms ‘ornamental intersectionality’.

A detailed study of the intricacies of the Vikas Mitra scheme also takes us to the ‘instrumental effect’ (Ferguson, 1996) of the schemes on the lives of Musahar women. The increased bureaucratic control, surveillance and blame-shifting exposes the depoliticising effect of the scheme. Musahar women have shown consciousness in how they have recognised and responded to this depoliticisation, which is depicted in the excerpts of the interviews documented during the ethnographic study. Thus, the article overall endeavours to enhance our understanding of the lifeworld of Musahar women and indulge in a critical analysis of the broader concept of empowerment, intersectionality and development using the Vikas Mitra scheme as a conduit.

Musahars, Mahadalits and Vikas Mitra Scheme: An Introduction

The Musahar community, now known as Mahadalit, constitutes the third most populous dalit group in Bihar, following the Chamars and Dusadhs. They are often referred to as the ‘dalits among dalits’ due to their widespread underdevelopment. Their identity has been reduced to an example of a community living in abject poverty, landlessness and backwardness. The first documentation of the history of Musahars was done by British administrators and ethnographers such as Risley, Nesfield, Dalton, Russell and Hiralal, Hutton and others. They portrayed Musahars as a fragment of the Dravidian tribe who have imperfectly absorbed into the Hindu caste fold. Nesfield has associated Mushera with the Kol tribe of Cheru tribe, called them an off-shoot from the Kol tribe of Savari, established an association with Ahirs and lastly, also connected them with the Chattri tribe (Nesfield, 1888; Nishaant, 2019). Risley (1891) traced the origin of Musahars to the Bhuiya tribe of Chota Nagpur. In his study, he reasoned that while migrating from Chota Nagpur hill regions in South Bihar to the plains of North Bihar, a small number of Bhuiyas established themselves in Hazaribagh. The rest who fell under the supremacy of upper-caste Hindus in Bihar were reduced to the servile status that the Musahars in Bihar occupy even now. According to many of these studies conducted by colonial ethnographers, Musahar community has tribal origin and has branched out of Bhuiya tribe. Bhuiyas who were known as hunting and gathering community were included into the scheduled caste category through the constitution (scheduled castes) order 1950. In the 1961 census for the first time Musahars and Bhuiyas were enumerated differently (Mishra, 2020).

The name Musahar was bestowed on them by the upper-caste communities, which means ‘rat-eaters’ (Risley, 1891). Based on this frivolous ground, the community was declared untouchable. Their association with rats does not reflect their fondness for rat meat nor represent any ritualistic practice. Instead, it highlights the overwhelming poverty they have endured since their arrival on the plains. Upon their settlement on the plains, they were made part of the Kamiauti system as Kamias. Since then, as bonded labourers (kamias), their destiny has been permanently tied to the landowners (Maliks). Until today, in a capitalist economy, they constitute the source of landless and inexpensive agricultural labourers (Ahmed, 2020).

The present condition of Musahars has attracted scholarly attention because they have lagged even compared to other dalit communities. This raises questions about why Musahars have been unable to take advantage of welfare schemes. The homogenising approach of the mainstream idea of development, marred by cultural insensitivity, often declares the communities that do not fit in the standardised mould as unfit for development, and Musahars have become victims of that. They have been at the receiving end of stereotypical labellings declaring them the reason for their underdevelopment (Priyanandini, 2023).

History has witnessed segregation of communities under the guise of development since colonial times. The sanctity of these segregations has been questioned for failing to fully comprehend the intricate realities of the communities. In a similar endeavour, the Bihar State Mahadalit Commission, in 2007, to identify the most disadvantaged communities among dalits of Bihar, introduced a new term, ‘Mahadalit’. The new term acknowledges that dalit is not a homogenous category and that some are more marginalised than others. In the first recommendation, the Commission identified eighteen castes as Mahadalits, and later, the number rose to twenty-one. In 2015, Dusadhs who were left behind were also added to the list. The Commission, constituted by the Government of Bihar following the directives of the constitution (Articles 38 and 46) after assessing the level of deprivation and development, grouped most of the Schedule Castes, including Musahars, into the category of Mahadalits. The Commission also established a society called the Bihar Mahadalit Vikas Mission, under which a plethora of policies and programmes for the development of the Mahadalit populace were devised and implemented (Sahay, 2019). The vision of the Bihar Mahadalit Vikas Mission is to socially, economically and culturally empower the Mahadalits and integrate them into the mainstream.

Among many schemes introduced to ameliorate the condition of Mahadalit, one scheme that gathered significant attention is the Vikas Mitras Scheme. The literal meaning of the term Vikas Mitra is ‘friend of development’, but symbolically, it represents those who are expected to act as a connecting link between the state and society. They are envisioned as the ‘change agents’, facilitating the path of development for the Mahadalits. The Bihar Mahadalit Vikas Mission which operates at state, district and block levels has placed Vikas Mitras at the bottom of the hierarchy to connect the Mahadalits to the welfare schemes by disseminating information, surveying the Mahadalit households to ensure the eligible gets the benefit of the schemes, assisting them in filling forms, adding their names to voter list and finally taking their concerns to the Block Development office.

Initially, under this scheme, approximately 9,000 Vikas Mitras posts were created. In the rural areas, Vikas Mitras were appointed for every Panchayat, and in urban areas, the number was decided according to the population of Mahadalits, but approximately one Vikas Mitra was appointed for every cluster of four wards. In almost ten months (i.e., from 14 April 2010 to 1 February 2011), around 9,530 Vikas Mitras were appointed. These appointments were made from the most populous Mahadalit group in that particular Panchayat or cluster of wards (Kumar & Somanathan, 2015). In this scheme, fifty per cent of the seats are reserved for the Mahadalit women. These women who are made part of the scheme hold contractual posts with other Mahadalit women, allowing them to enter the bureaucratic system. The scheme envisages that Musahar women and other Mahadalit women working as Vikas Mitras will serve as ‘change agents’ by connecting their community members to schemes explicitly formulated for them. These women working as Vikas Mitras come in contact with officials such as District Magistrates, Sub-Divisional Officers, Block Development officers and Block Welfare officers in weekly meetings. In this bottom-up approach, these socially excluded Musahar women are given an opportunity in return for their personal empowerment to bring tangible changes in the lives of their community members and emerge as ‘change agents’.

This article is based on an ethnographic study conducted in the Munger district of Bihar. The study includes participant observation methods, in-depth interviews and other collaborative techniques adopted to supplement these techniques. When the field study was expected to happen at that time world was reeling under COVID-19, marked by lockdowns and social distancing protocols. This unprecedented situation posed considerable challenges, prompting the reimagining of traditional fieldwork approaches. The looming question before ethnographers was whether to resort to digital ethnography or redefine traditional ethnography based on time and situation. However, digital ethnography was not viable for studying a community that has never looked beyond the stereotypes and does not open up easily. It was impossible to be in one place for an extended period during the pandemic (Cerwonka & Malkki, 2007). The fieldwork was thus done in a phased manner starting from October 2020. The observations made during the multiple visits to Musahar tolas are presented along with excerpts from the interviews of Musahar women working as Vikas Mitras. The names of the Vikas Mitras and the block that they belong to are not revealed to maintain anonymity and confidentiality.

The Lifeworld of Musahar Women

In the Bhojpuri dialect, there is a common saying, Musahar ke beti ke na nahire sukh na sasure sukh. This proverb succinctly encapsulates the distressing life of Musahar women. It simply means that it is unthinkable for Musahar women to lead a contented life neither in their natal homes nor in their in-laws’ homes. Musahars, as explained in the introduction section, continue to be entrapped in the perpetual state of underdevelopment. This ex-untouchable community experiences economic, social and political marginalisation as well as extreme forms of dehumanisation. However, marginalisation affects more profoundly the female population of the community. These women experience multiple oppressions compounded by the intersecting axes of caste, class and gender across various domains of household, community, wider society and the state.

Munger is home to a significant population of Musahars, who primarily reside in settlements located some distance away from the main village where the dominant population lives. Musahars in Bihar are still mostly landless and live in rudimentary mud houses, bereft of basic drinking water and sanitation facilities. The lack of basic facilities disproportionately affects Musahar women as their contribution to running their household is significantly high. Morning scenes in every Musahar tola are quite similar. Most of the Musahar women start their day even before sunrise, beginning with cleaning the house and cooking food for their family members. In the morning, you can sense the urgency as these women leave the house as soon as they finish the household chores. During the harvesting season, these women work in the fields; some of them work in the houses of landowners where their husbands work. Musahar women are paid ₹200–250 per day for working as field labourers, compared to Musahar men, who are paid ₹300–400 per day. It is almost impossible for Musahar men to find work throughout the year as they are considered unsuitable for other work apart from manual labour. Those who migrate searching for work find it difficult to send money back home from whatever little they earn in big cities. The precarious nature of their work makes the contribution of Musahar men in running the household uncertain, exacerbating the hardships faced by Musahar women.

Musahar women have to do the unimaginable task of running a household on such a meagre income and ultimately playing the role of primary breadwinners in the family. In lean season, when no work is available on the field, these women go to jungles to gather firewood, which they sell off at ₹200 for every 40 kg. They take loans from landowners to run their houses, and along with interest, they provide unpaid labour as well. In Munger, apart from these issues in a mumbled voice, Musahar women also talked about the persistence of alcoholism among Musahar men. Men in the community often spend a part of their daily wage on alcohol, which exacerbated the vulnerability of Musahar women. As the men of the families do not save much, one can easily spot Musahar girls doing household chores to share the burden of their mothers. In many conversations, Musahar women expressed that their daughters accompany them to the field or to jungles to fetch wood or stay home to care for cattle. These girls, thus, trapped in the generational perpetuation of burdens on the women of the family, often cannot attend school.

As the lifeworld of Musahar women is occupied by juggling household work and working as field labourers, they do not even get the time to lament their personal losses. Sudha Verghese, who has worked with Musahar women for many years, shares her harrowing experience that if a Musahar woman gives birth to ten children, only three survive (Verghese, 2002). They do not have the privilege of time to sit and cry, as the hand-to-mouth existence of the community forces them to go out and earn; otherwise, their family will starve to death. Musahar women lead paradoxical lives, marked by multiple forms of oppression that render them both ordinary and extraordinary. On one hand, they are often regarded as nobodies by mainstream society, relegated to the margins of society with scant resources. On the other hand, these women have taken on the daunting task of running the household with minimal resources while facing systemic marginalisation.

Patriarchy takes a different colour on Musahar women as they experience it at the intersection of the categories of caste, class and gender. Patriarchal control does not manifest in their lives in the form of restriction in their movement outside the confines of the house. The husband-worshipping and purdah system is considered an upper-caste marker of social etiquette and does not form a constituent part of Musahar society. As compared to upper-caste women who are perceived as self-disciplined, customarily docile and tamed, Musahar women are considered foul-mouthed, loud and uncontrolled women and their sexuality is considered low value. Though they appear to be autonomous, considering their tribal origin and their relative freedom to go out of the house masks a deeper layer of exploitation as they have to pay a hefty price for this freedom. Musahars, till today, work as agricultural labourers on the lands owned by dominant castes and women of the community, supporting men in the field or working as domestic workers in the landowners’ houses. Land ownership is central to establishing power relations, and these landlords treat Musahar women as commodities. These women become an easy target of exploitation, ridicule and abuse, which is subsequently used as a tool to suppress the Musahar men. The objectification of the Musahar women makes the men of the community feel powerless. The feeling of powerlessness simmers in their heart, and sometimes, it is expressed at home in the form of overt anger and alcoholism. Musahar society is, thus, not completely egalitarian. Women of the community can be seen justifying the problem of alcoholism pertinent in the men of the families by suggesting that it helps them ease the physical and mental toll of manual labour done throughout the day. The justification given by women and the various accounts of men estranging their wives tell us the story of how Musahar women assume the double burden of economic sustenance as well as of protecting the masculinity of their men from the society that constantly undermines them and renders them powerless in every domain. The defence given by Musahar women in favour of men of their community is another concurrent effect of their multiple positioning (Rege, 2003; Teltumbde, 2017).

Social divisions share similar characteristics and are interrelated but not reducible to each other (Verloo, 2013); thus, to fully comprehend the diverse and complex realities of the lived experience of the Musahar women, it is essential to grasp the interconnections between the categories. These women are living the wrath of being a poor dalit woman every day, and it is almost impossible to discern whether extreme poverty, their dalit identity or their gender contributes more to their marginalisation. None of these categories of difference can be placed above or below one another. Thus, the simultaneity of these structures of the oppressions that interact in the everyday lives of those occupying the location of marginality (John, 2015) shapes the peculiarity of their experiences. It is pertinently visible in the lifeworld of Musahar women.

The Linearity of Empowerment and Intersectional Approach

Empowerment, as defined by various scholars, encompasses a multifaceted understanding. This concept has been defined ‘as a process or the result of a process of transforming the relations of power between individuals and social groups’. Batliwala (2007, p. 560) or more succinctly as ‘the process by which those who have been denied the ability to make strategic life choices acquire such an ability’ (Kabeer, 1999, p. 435). In the last three decades, empowerment has emerged as a ubiquitous catchphrase in the development lexicon. This plethora of definitions of empowerment have not only been used but abused within the development discourse. The meaning and essence of the term seem to have been diluted, as it has been indiscriminately used as a substitute phrase by state actors, agencies and development experts for every issue related to women. Empowerment has thus lost sight of its original intent and slowly degenerated into apolitical, technocratic and narrowly focused interventions. The another concerning issue with the mainstream idea of empowerment is its oblivion towards the fact that the problems of women are often shaped by other dimensions of their identities as race, caste, class and so on, apart from gender (Crenshaw, 1991) and from this emerged the concept of intersectionality.

Intersectionality, a concept, was originally coined in 1989 by Kimberle Crenshaw. Through her work, Crenshaw intended to bring forth the fact that the experiences and struggles of women of colour fall between the cracks of both feminist and antiracist discourse. Crenshaw argued that theorists must take gender and race on board and show how they interact to shape the multiple dimensions of black women’s experiences (Crenshaw, 1989, 1991). This aims to question the over simplistic tendency of contemporary feminist and antiracist discourses to ‘reduce people one category at a time’ (Phoenix & Pattynama, 2006, p. 187). As succinctly defined by Davis (2008) ‘Intersectionality’ refers to the interaction between gender, race and other categories of difference in individual lives, social practices, institutional arrangements and cultural ideologies and the outcomes of these interactions in terms of power’ (p. 68).

The idea of the heterogeneity of women’s lived experiences which are associated with other dimensions of their identities apart from gender such as caste, class finds its mention in the works of various Indian scholars as well. Gopal Guru, who was one the few who initiated this discussion in his seminal work titled Dalit women talk differently, has argued that the extent of patriarchal dominance and intensity of sexual violence faced by dalit women is more severe. Hence, dalit women’s experiences differ from those of non-dalit women. His work made an essential contribution towards understanding the caste-specific subjugation of dalit women and highlighted how these women themselves can best articulate these distinct experiences of dalit women (Guru, 1995). Sharmila Rege appreciated Gopal Guru’s work for highlighting the notion of difference and for his argument against the exclusion of dalit women from political and cultural arenas. Rege has reasoned that simply naming the difference may lead to the furthering of narrow identity politics and restricting the potential of women’s organisations. The main idea that she propagated was that an epistemological shift is required instead of just acknowledging the differences. Rege argued,

‘What we need instead is a shift of focus from “difference” and multiple voices to the social relations which convert difference into oppression’ (Rege, 1998, p. WS-40). She suggested transforming the difference into a ‘standpoint’ and called it ‘dalit feminist standpoint’. The interactions between social hierarchies, such as class, gender, race, caste and so on, give rise to this standpoint (Rege, 1998). In her work, Chhaya Datar has appreciated Rege’s contribution but has also suggested broadening the standpoint’s horizon. She has pointed out the overarching effect of ecological destruction, displacement and unjust distribution of natural resources on dalit women apart from the usual concerns listed by Rege. She took the debate to another level by adding that the talk of difference is incomplete if it is not supplemented with the ‘need to convert multiple voices into social relations that can explain oppression’ (Datar, 1999, p. 2964). It can be inferred from the entire discussion that the term ‘dalit women’ emerged as a conceptual category to give a critical perspective to the Indian Feminist Movement.

Bacchi Devi (changed name), a Vikas Mitra, who lives in a pucca house which has two rooms, in reply to the question whether she has built this house after becoming Vikas Mitra, replied that she lives in parent’s house. She shared that her husband did not even own kaccha house and thus after getting married her husband stayed back with her (Interview, dated 17 October 2020). It is a common tradition in Musahar community that the daughter of the family continues living with her parents. The Brahmanical notion of patriarchy considers men living in his wives houses shameful. However in Musahar community living in in-laws’ house after marriage is not considered a matter of shame for Musahar men. The conversation with Bacchi Devi makes us ponder whether the process of Sanskritisation in the Musahar community is slow as compared to other Mahadalit families. Other dalit communities which have climbed up the ladders of development have made conscious efforts to emulate the practices of upper castes.

In other conversation Jamni Devi (changed name), a Vikas Mitra said,

We do all our work on our own; we never send our husbands as our proxy in the block meeting. She added that the ‘Mahila Mukhiyas’ from the upper-caste community do not even step out of their houses, their husbands do all their work (Interview dated 14 October 2020).

Jamni Devi was referring to the new terms Mukhiyapati and Sarpanchpati, which have become popular and are added to the socio-political vocabulary of Bihar after the decision of fifty per cent reservation for women in Panchayat and other local governing seats was made. Unlike the Mukhiyas hailing from upper castes, Musahar women attend all the meetings instead of sending their husbands and sons in their place.

A reflexive engagement with the conversations with Bacchi Devi and Jamni Devi offers a fresh perspective on empowerment. Their statement questions the linear approach in the mainstream’s vision of empowerment. These conversations underscore the idea that empowerment does not mean the same for all women. For upper-caste women, empowerment could mean challenging the age-old purdah system, venturing out of the four walls of their house or staying at their parents’ house with their husbands after marriage. For these upper-caste women, empowerment could mean being physically present in the meetings when they occupy a position of authority. However, for Musahar women, the intersectionality of oppression defines their lifeworld, and they have historically been breadwinners in their families; thus, for them, the concept of empowerment has different connotations and is envisioned differently. It brings our attention to the critical fact that the discourse of intersectionality in India has been mostly about urging the state to include context and location-specific issues, concerns and problems of dalit women in the development interventions. However, how do we expect these schemes to make room to acknowledge the complex nuances of the lifeworld of marginalised women? Can failing to do so further marginalise these women, already burdened with multiple forms of discrimination? Can these schemes turn out be emancipatory without structural revisioning of the society?

Schemes and Reinforcing Stereotypes

Ethnographic encounters with Musahar women, who represent a socioculturally and economically backward community, reveal their struggle to exercise their agency as Vikas Mitras. These women look at bureaucracy as the system that indoctrinates them in many ways and makes them accept the stereotypical perception of themselves. The conversations that are mentioned in this section highlight the hardships of Musahar women to navigate through the paraphernalia of bureaucracy while working as Vikas Mitras under key bureaucratic officers. Bhawri Devi (changed name) a Vikas Mitra, in response to the questions: Whether they have succeeded in bringing tangible changes in Musahar women’s lives? Do they consider themselves ‘change agents’? said,

I was appointed as Vikas Mitra in 2010, and since that day, I am selflessly doing my job, I do not think I have done anything for my people. I want to do something big for them, but my hands are tied. They have just given us this fancy name ‘Agent of Change’ but have not designated any power (Humare Kalam mein takat kaha hai). We must comply with the orders given by the BDO sir, and are not allowed to do anything more than that. (Interview dated 30 October 2020).

In the meetings they are not usually allowed to voice their opinions nor they are entrusted with important tasks. In one of the conversations I had with Kiran Devi (changed name) right after her meeting in block office with other Vikas Mitras showed a letter with frustration and said,

Yeh Chithi post karne kaha hai (They asked me to post this letter). Why do they call us Vikas Mitra, Hum Vikas nhi Vinaash Mitra hai (We are not friends of development but friends of destruction. (Interview dated 20 November 2020)

Bhawri Devi and Kiran Devi’s words show the dissonance between her expectation from the scheme and reality of working as a Vikas Mitra. In weekly block meetings, women who are expected to represent their community and articulate the needs and expectations of their community members find the environment to be not so welcoming, and their voices seem to be constrained. The palpable disappointment that was obvious in the gestures and words of Vikas Mitras exposes the reality that these women are mostly entrusted with trivial tasks such as posting letters and going to the bank. A few years ago, taking cognisance of the issue, the government had issued directions for the Block Development officers to ensure that Vikas Mitras would only be entrusted with substantive development tasks concerning the Mahadalit population of the state. Despite that, they are allotted general Panchayat works as well which defeats the purpose of introducing a post dedicated solely for the betterment of Mahadalits. The conversations with the Musahar women reveal that their ascriptive identity overpowers their identity as Vikas Mitra. Their role has been limited where they could have been given ample opportunities to exercise the agency and emerge as ‘change agents’. These everyday encounters of Musahar women with bureaucratic processes show how the system regenerates and strengthens the social hierarchy as well reiterate the image of these women as passive beneficiaries of scheme. Whether it is the discouraging environment of the meetings or the lack of trust in allotting important responsibilities to Musahars is rooted in the stereotypical image of Musahars as lazy, unreliable propagated by Brahminical and colonial discourse. They are alienated from the decision-making processes completely even as compared to other women coming from better-off Mahadalit communities.

For instance, Vikas Mitras from the Musahar community complain that Vikas Mitras from other Mahadalit communities manage to get their work done. Shanti Devi (changed name), a Vikas Mitra pointing at the pucca house of the Ravidas community, said,

We are working as Vikas Mitra for the entire population of Mahadalits residing in our Block, but Awas Sewaks have got their houses built but not ours. (Interview dated 23 October 2020)

Another Vikas Mitra, Beena Devi, expressed a similar concern,

We are given the lowest position even among the Mahadalits. If we even dare to ask something, they give us vague answers because they think Musahars can be fooled easily. (Interview dated 15 December 2020)

From the above statements, it can be drawn that bureaucratic processes carry the imprints of society and operate through patronage networks (Carswell & De Neve, 2020). Musahars have historically lacked social capital, while other dalit communities leverage their networks to get their work done. This exacerbates the vulnerabilities of Musahar women leaving them feeling more powerless. Additionally, during conversations, Musahar women also recalled incidents when they were often made targets of derogatory comments from upper-caste women. They are subjected to comments like Saree pehen ke purse tang ke, memsahib ban gayi hai. Kamli Devi (changed name), a Vikas Mitra, while talking about how exploitation is changing its nature in contemporary society, said,

Now they do not stop us from fetching water from the common source. These things do not happen now, but they still use depreciatory words for us. They think that Musahars cannot dream or aspire. They say demoralising things such as Musahar will always remain Musahars. (Interview dated 5 December 2020)

Musahars have a history of being ridiculed for their association with rat-eating and pig-rearing practices, and even today, this stigma persists as they are shamed for wearing clean sarees or participating in developmental tasks that are considered suitable for only the upper-caste population. The scheme has enabled these women to coexist in a social space with the upper castes and other middle and lower caste groups but has also made them susceptible to casteist slurs. Their role as Vikas Mitra overlooks the reality of caste-based exclusion and discrimination the Musahar community faces in their everyday life. These experiences explain that caste cannot be viewed as a ‘static or residual problem’ but as a ‘dynamic relational problem’ (Mosse, 2018, p. 425). It manifests in newer forms in modern times, and state interventions intended to challenge the caste-based stereotyping inadvertently perpetuate them instead. It also raises serious questions about the vision of Bihar Mahadalit Vikas Mission to abridge the widening gap between privileged dalit groups and the others who are left behind. However, the ground reality reveals that a similar story is getting repeated where those who enjoy political and social influence (such as Dusadhs and Chamars) can garner benefits of Mahadalit schemes, yet again leaving behind the Musahar community.

The Vikas Mitra programme, thus, is a testimony to the fact that including a gender element in any development initiative or programme may not become a one-fit solution to empower women, especially for women coming from marginalised communities. The porous boundaries of caste, class and gender and the interlocking effects of these systems of oppression (Razack, 1998) on the life of Musahar women illustrate how this system of oppression cannot function without one another. Policies and programmes introduced to promote equality for disadvantaged and marginalised communities require acknowledging dominant societal discourses that perpetuate deep-rooted inequalities. Intersectionality, which directs towards more inclusive thinking, should be reflected in policy-making by making visible the multiple positionality of the experiences of these women and the power relations that are central to it (Phoenix & Pattynama, 2006). Contrary to that, these policies, programmes or strategies, instead of dismantling the existing hierarchies, only superficially question discriminatory practices and end up further compounding the marginalisation of the targeted populations (Crenshaw, 1991). Bilge (2013) believes that this superficial deployment of intersectionality undermines the potential of the concept to address interlocking power structures. She has introduced the term ‘ornamental intersectionality’ to refer to the opportunistic use of intersectionality. Intersectionality has thus been depoliticised and used as a tool to deal with diversity without addressing the root cause of injustice. This usage of intersectionality bereft of any substance reduced it to a buzzword (Bilge, 2011, 2013; Davis, 2008), which various scholars have discussed. In contemporary times, the nature of exploitation is changing and manifests in various subtle forms. The above-described journey of Musahar women to transform their personal empowerment into collective empowerment of the entire community reveals that one cannot generalise the experiences of dalit women. Women’s experiences in a community with no social, economic or cultural capital are varied. Intersectionality as a concept has to understand how women in different social positions experience specific marginalisation (Banerjee & Ghosh, 2018). Instead of using intersectionality as a catch-all concept, this article suggests acknowledging the simultaneity of oppressions and that the boundaries of social categories are fluid and subject to change. So, when we address these categories of differences, we have to address the relationships between these categories, which vary depending on varied factors. Bilge (2013) suggests taking both ontological and epistemological questions related to these categories of difference together and also emphasises that redressing the Musahar community’s marginalisation, thus, requires more than symbolic recognition; it requires power redistribution (Bilge, 2013).

However, the way intersectionality has been reduced to a buzzword is inevitable, as the problem lies in the state’s understanding of the concept as explained above. The attempt by the state to recognise the Mahadalit women is a commendable step as it helps them identify the ‘marginalised among the marginalised’. But these initiatives fail to fathom in advance that the women who are associated with the scheme are actually living those categories of difference. The hurdles that may come in the way of Musahar women, if put into a hierarchical and stratified system, can only be gauged if intersectionality is not perceived as an abstract but a context-based concept. Thus, this linear development approach once again reiterates what constitutes being marginalised and what it means to live without privilege and power. The experiences of Musahar women as Vikas Mitras, thus, stress the need to question the underlying structures that produce and sustain social inequalities. The scheme intended to connect Musahars and other Mahadalit communities into the mainstream, but these attempts by the state often have unintended effects, which are discussed in the following section.

Depoliticisation and the Shifting of Blame

As mentioned in the previous section, how a Musahar woman refers to herself as not Vikas Mitra but Vinash Mitra demonstrates that the use of buzzwords like change agents in the development lexicon help get automatic approval from the people (Standing, 2001). These terms mask the realities of marginalised communities, thereby framing their persistent underdevelopment as a technical issue, defined as depoliticisation of the development. Musahar women, while manoeuvring through the bureaucratic setup, express their fear of becoming the instruments of the state and present a critical perspective on the process of depoliticisation. In one of the conversations, Sugga Devi (changed name), reveals,

We avoid having contacts with our people now, avoid going out of our house without any work. They ask us questions, such as when will we get our pension? When will our house be built? Moreover, we did not know what to tell them about. Now they think we are also giving them false promises like bade sir (government officials) do. (Interview dated 11th November 2020)

The above statement by Sugga Devi reflects a narrative of disillusionment within the Musahar community towards the inability of Vikas Mitras to fulfil the expectations placed upon them. This disenchantment has resulted in a strained relationship with the members of their community. Thus, this prompts a deeper analysis that transcends the idea evaluating the failure or success of the Vikas Mitra scheme and focussing on comprehending the impact of Vikas Mitra scheme and depoliticisation on their lives. In the first decade of the 21st century, ‘depoliticisation’ became more prominently visible in the development discourse. As a model of statecraft, it begins with the idea of the ‘denial of political contingency and the transfer of functions away from the elected politicians’ (Flinders and Wood, 2015, p. 1). But the reflection on the experiences of Musahar women who have lived through the concept reveals that it is multi-layered and has deeper impact on the lives of marginalised than just the widening of the gap between the governors and the governed.

The perspective of the Musahar women reveals that to emerge as ‘change agents’ they are required to accept the values of bureaucracy which is mostly dominated by the people belonging to upper-castes and privileged social groups. As a result, they find themselves caught in a paradox torn between their bureaucratic roles and ties to their community. A closer look at the Vikas Mitra scheme using depoliticisation as a lens reveals that the scheme increased the ambit of the state’s surveillance of every aspect of the life of Musahar and other Mahadalit populations. The surveillance feels less intrusive when conducted by familiar faces. Thus, in this scheme, Vikas Mitras are chosen from their own community to address the strangeness associated with surveillance. Initially, Musahars opened up with Vikas Mitras, hoping their future would not be as bleak as their present and past. Vikas Mitras share that they face glare and comments whenever they leave their respective houses. This scepticism and frustration towards Vikas Mitras are testaments to Musahars’ eroding trust in Vikas Mitras and eventually represent a fragmentation within the social fabric of Musahars. The worldview of Musahars has always been dominated by the feeling of keeping collective interests over individual gains. However, the depoliticising effect of the scheme has created a dent in it; Musahars no longer perceive Vikas Mitras as representatives or advocates of the community’s interests but as someone whose interests align with the state and bureaucracy. Musahars slowly have stopped cooperating with Vikas Mitras while conducting surveys and performing other official tasks. As a consequence of that Vikas Mitras, positioned at the nadir of the bureaucratic hierarchy, are grappling with an identity crisis. These women find themselves to be at the receiving end of the jibes from upper-castes for associating with work not meant suitable for a former untouchable community as well as from their own community members. The way the scheme has impacted the social world of these Musahar women problematises the janus facedness of welfare schemes. It also takes us to another important question often raised which is: Why are similar schemes introduced when they have recurrently failed to benefit the targeted population? Does deploying the power away from the elected politicians necessarily mean bringing the power to the general populace? Could this definition of insulating power help deflect the blame from the state as well?

Taking a cue from Ferguson’s work, one can argue that the principal effect of any development schemes or projects is the ‘entrenchment or expansion of state power’ (Ferguson, 1996, p. 255). The schemes introduced for the development of Mahadalits give the state a point of entry into the lives of the Mahadalit population. The development apparatus designed to eliminate the socio-economic differences between different dalit communities serves as a mechanism for expanding and reinforcing bureaucratic power, which has been discussed in conversations with Musahar women, ultimately strengthening the inequality structures. James Ferguson has discussed in his book how states have depoliticised poverty by whipping out the political realities of the community and focusing solely on expanding the bureaucratic state power. He argues that development projects or poverty alleviation programmes, often designed by experts keeping the ideal society in mind, are bound to fail when implemented in real society. However, the whole deliberation should not be fixated on the state’s inability to represent the people’s interests. Instead, it should advance towards posing a critical inquiry: Given the recurrent failure of such initiatives in significantly improving the condition of their targeted beneficiaries, one must question why, particularly within the context of the Neo-liberal era, state apparatuses persist in introducing similar welfare schemes. Ferguson has explained that the underlying reason behind introducing these schemes lies in the complex relationship between ‘the intentionality of planning and the strategic intelligibility of outcomes’ (Ferguson, 1996, p. 20). From the state’s perspective, these recurring unsuccessful attempts tell a different story. It could be called failure masquerading as success, as the scheme’s instrumental effect, which is the two-sided process of depoliticisation and expansion of bureaucratic state control (Ferguson, 1996), serves the purpose of the state.

This new category of ‘Mahadalit’ and welfare schemes introduced for them sits well with Ferguson’s idea. However, the state’s interventions in the lives of the Mahadalit or Musahar population cannot be reduced only to its depoliticising effect but also have a political intent. This also appears to be an attempt at social engineering, as the term overlooks the specificities of the lived experiences of the targeted population that contribute to their marginality. Apart from the promise to uplift those who are left behind, this also is an attempt to lure the disenchanted dalit communities, especially Musahars, who have been politically marginalised. Thus, the term Mahadalit strategically focused on winning the trust of the twelve to thirteen per cent of the dalit population (including populous communities such as Ravidas and Musahars), which did not have a representative of their own (Singh, 2015).

Concluding Remarks

It is an old practice to bestow dalit communities with new terminologies like ‘Mahadalit’ under the guise of development; it is equally common to witness the depoliticisation emerging as an unintended consequence of welfare schemes as well. What is novice is to observe the Musahar women navigating their lives at the intersection of their caste, class and gender, reflexively engaging with the broader categories of development, empowerment and depoliticisation. The insights gained from the conversations with these women reveal the lacuna in the mainstream idea of empowerment and the myopic understanding of intersectionality. This understanding often does not go beyond merely locating the categories of differences such as caste, class and gender in the lifeworld of marginalised women. It fails to comprehend that these marginalised women do not only have unique experiences but articulate empowerment differently as well.

The article, on the one hand, argues that the simple repositioning of Musahar women as Vikas Mitras remains a symbolic gesture if it does not also address the underlying reasons for their perpetual marginalisation. On the other hand, it is refreshing to see how these women have critically engaged with their role of Vikas Mitras and have taken cognisance of the depoliticisation process at play. Musahar women’s attempt to question their powerlessness as change agents critique the negative effect of the scheme on the social world of Musahars and resist the shifting of blame onto them prompts us to think about whether these women have disrupted the attempt at depoliticisation.

The Vikas Mitra scheme, or Mahadalit term, could be seen as the state’s attempt to simmer the dissent among the underdeveloped, abandoned Musahar, and the Vikas Mitra may not appear to be a successful recipe for empowerment. However, it gives context to understanding how Musahar women can make the most of it when given a platform to express and reflect. It ruptures the mainstream understanding of Musahars as non-reflexive beings, which is used to create and perpetuate inequality. Despite being part of a system that is rooted in the power hierarchies of caste and patriarchy, Musahar women have shown a nuanced understanding of the complexities of depoliticisation, indicating the emergence of political consciousness among these women.