Balancing Justice: The Complex Question of Assam’s ST Status Demand

Assam once again stands at the intersection of identity and justice. The demand for inclusion of six communities—the Koch-Rajbongshi, Tai Ahom, Chutia, Moran, Matak, and the Tea Tribes—into the Scheduled Tribes list has reemerged with fresh intensity. 

At first glance, the demand seems rooted in a long-standing quest for recognition and historical correction. Yet beneath this emotional appeal lies a complex web of constitutional, social, and developmental considerations that require balanced reasoning rather than rhetoric.

The six communities together constitute around 40 percent of Assam’s population. Their representatives argue that historical disruptions—from colonial classification policies to uneven post-Independence development—have kept them from availing the affirmative action that other similarly placed groups enjoy. The Tea Tribes, for instance, trace their ancestry to Adivasi groups brought from central India during the British period. 

Today, despite their century-long presence in Assam, their literacy rate hovers around 52 percent—far below the state’s average of 73 percent—and per capita income in tea garden regions often falls below ₹40,000 annually, compared to the state average of nearly ₹90,000. The Koch-Rajbongshi, Tai Ahom, Moran, Matak, and Chutia communities point to underrepresentation in government jobs and higher education as evidence of structural disadvantage. To them, inclusion in the ST list is not merely a demand for reservation, but a moral plea for parity within the framework of India’s egalitarian Constitution.

However, the opposing view deserves equal attention. Assam’s existing 14 Scheduled Tribe groups—comprising around 12 percent of the population—have voiced serious concerns about dilution. They fear that if communities constituting such a large demographic share are granted ST status, their own hard-earned rights will be rendered meaningless. The smaller tribal groups like the Bodos, Mishings, Deoris, and Rabhas worry that reservation benefits, already limited by administrative bottlenecks, will be monopolized by numerically stronger or better organized new entrants. Critics also argue that some of these six groups, especially the Tai Ahoms and Koch-Rajbongshis, have achieved social mobility over decades, and thus no longer fit the constitutional criteria of “primitive traits” or “isolation” as outlined in the Lokur Committee Report of 1965.

These arguments sound persuasive, yet they overlook deeper social realities. Social mobility in fragments of a community does not erase structural marginality across the whole. The criteria of “isolation” are outdated in a society where integration itself has become a policy objective. Moreover, the Constitution never intended reservations to remain static; Article 342 empowers the President to modify the ST list as social conditions evolve. The inclusion of the Meenas of Rajasthan or the Lambadas of Telangana over time shows that evolving recognition, rather than fixed identity, defines the justice of affirmative action.

Opponents often argue that adding six new groups would push Assam’s total ST population close to 50 percent, making reservation unmanageable. But numerical size alone cannot be the determinant of justice. Socio-economic data consistently show that vast sections of these communities remain economically fragile and politically underrepresented. The 2011 Census, along with the National Family Health Survey (NFHS-5), indicates high dropout rates, poor access to healthcare, and high malnutrition levels among Tea Tribe families and rural Ahom households. In such a context, exclusion in the name of proportionality becomes another form of discrimination.

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The government, for its part, has adopted a cautious but forward-looking approach. The Ministry of Home Affairs in 2023 clarified that inclusion will follow “socio-anthropological verification and inter-ministerial consensus.” This ensures that emotional appeals are balanced by empirical validation. The earlier attempt—the Constitution (Scheduled Tribes) Order (Amendment) Bill, 2019—lapsed due to the absence of such consensus, but the groundwork continues. This shows that the present government is not rejecting the demand, but trying to secure it on constitutionally sustainable grounds. Such prudence prevents future litigation and maintains the delicate federal balance in Assam, where identity politics has historically fuelled unrest.

To the apprehensions of smaller tribal groups, policy mechanisms like sub-categorisation offer a practical solution. Tamil Nadu, for instance, created internal categories within its backward class list to ensure equitable benefit distribution. Assam too can explore a similar approach under Article 16(4), ensuring that smaller tribes retain priority quotas while newly added groups access proportional representation. This principle—justice through differentiation, not exclusion—aligns with the spirit of “SabkaSaath, SabkaVikas, SabkaVishwas.”

Those opposing inclusion also argue that reservation benefits may discourage meritocracy or deepen identity politics. Yet evidence from across India reveals otherwise. States like Odisha and Chhattisgarh, with high tribal representation, have demonstrated that empowerment through reservation leads to social integration, not fragmentation. When structural barriers are removed, communities invest more in education, health, and entrepreneurship—expanding the economic base rather than shrinking it. The purpose of reservation is not perpetual privilege but transitional justice until equal opportunity becomes a lived reality.

Supporters of the demand also point to the peace dividends of recognition. Over the last decade, Assam has witnessed a remarkable decline in insurgency and ethnic violence—thanks to development-oriented governance and inclusive peace accords. Recognising long-marginalised communities within constitutional frameworks can further reduce the appeal of identity-based mobilisations outside democratic institutions. The Centre’s approach—to verify, consult, and calibrate—reflects not hesitation but responsibility.

The debate must ultimately return to principle and pragmatism. Data clearly indicate that the Tea Tribes’ literacy rate, at about 52 percent, lags behind the state’s average of 73 percent, and per capita income in their regions remains less than half the state mean. The Ahoms and Koch-Rajbongshis, though culturally prominent, are underrepresented in government employment and higher education. Justice, therefore, demands inclusion based on measurable disadvantage, not assumptions of privilege. Moreover, the constitutional mechanism for sub-categorisation within STs—already validated in several states—ensures that smaller tribes will not lose protection. The government’s insistence on empirical verification, rather than emotional appeal, reflects precisely the kind of calibrated governance that can expand justice without eroding equity.

In a state as ethnically layered as Assam, every policy decision on identity has a ripple effect on harmony and governance. The challenge is to ensure that justice for one group does not become injustice for another. The government’s steady, evidence-based approach deserves recognition precisely because it seeks to balance aspiration with stability. The path ahead must therefore be one of listening, learning, and legislating—where inclusion is achieved not through confrontation, but through consensus grounded in constitutional morality.