After Eviction, the Quiet Return

Illegal immigration in Assam has never been a problem that announces itself loudly. It does not always arrive with dramatic border crossings or headline-grabbing numbers. More often, it unfolds quietly—through small, repeated movements that escape immediate notice but gradually reshape the ground reality. It is in this context that a seemingly casual conversation during a recent e-rickshaw ride in Mangaldai assumes larger significance. The driver spoke of early-morning arrivals of people suspected to be of illegal Bangladeshi origin, quietly entering the town and its outskirts, apparently in search of new settlements after being evicted from other areas.

Such accounts, by themselves, are not evidence. They should not be treated as conclusions. Yet in Assam, lived experience has repeatedly shown that grassroots observations often precede official recognition. Long before policy documents were drafted and tribunals constituted, ordinary citizens sensed demographic shifts in their villages and towns. To ignore these signals today would be neither prudent nor responsible.

The Assam government’s recent eviction drives—conducted in forest land, grazing reserves, wetlands, and other encroached government property—have been firmly grounded in law. They have followed court directives, environmental imperatives, and the constitutional duty of the state to protect public land and indigenous rights. These actions mark a clear departure from years of administrative drift, when encroachments were tolerated, regularised, or politically protected. In that sense, the current approach represents governance asserting itself, not an act of arbitrariness.

However, evictions are only one part of a longer administrative process. They correct a violation, but they do not automatically eliminate the forces that created it. Displacement, if not followed by prevention and monitoring, often leads to relocation rather than resolution. This is where towns like Mangaldai acquire strategic importance.

Neither a border village nor a tightly regulated urban centre, Mangaldai typifies the semi-urban spaces that often become transit points. Such towns offer anonymity, informal employment, and the possibility of blending into expanding settlements. If displaced populations are indeed arriving during early hours, it suggests an attempt to avoid attention and exploit precisely these administrative gaps. This is not a new phenomenon; Assam has seen it before. What is new is the opportunity to address it decisively.

The state government’s policy position on illegal immigration has been consistent and clear: the issue must be addressed through legal, institutional mechanisms—not through street mobilisation or communal rhetoric. Detection through established

processes, eviction of illegal encroachments, and prevention of re-entry form the backbone of this approach. Instruments such as the NRC, Foreigners’ Tribunals, strengthened border management, and land reclamation are intended to work in tandem. When any one of these functions in isolation, the system weakens.

It is important to underline what this debate is not about. It is not about religion, language, or collective blame. The government has repeatedly emphasised that its actions are directed against illegality and encroachment, not against any community. This distinction is essential for social stability in a state with Assam’s complex history. Conflating administrative enforcement with communal targeting would undo years of careful course correction.

Yet, clarity of intent must be matched by administrative follow-through. If eviction from one area merely results in settlement elsewhere, it risks creating a perception—however unintended—that enforcement is temporary or geographically selective. Such perceptions are dangerous. They undermine public confidence and encourage repeated attempts at illegal settlement.

What is required now is sustained vigilance at the district and sub-divisional levels. Police verification of rented accommodations, monitoring of informal labour influx, scrutiny of new settlements on the outskirts of towns, and coordination between neighbouring districts must become routine administrative practice. Early-morning movements, if reported consistently, warrant discreet but firm attention. This is not about harassment; it is about upholding the rule of law evenly and continuously.

Equally important is intelligence at the local level. In Assam, the first indicators of demographic change often come from those who are active before offices open—the driver, the shopkeeper, the daily-wage contractor. A responsive administration treats such inputs as early warnings, not as rumours to be dismissed or amplified irresponsibly. Governance succeeds when it listens without overreacting and acts without delay.

The larger lesson is this: illegal immigration cannot be managed episodically. It cannot depend solely on periodic drives or headline moments. It requires an ecosystem of enforcement—steady, coordinated, and predictable. When that ecosystem functions, the incentive to relocate illegally diminishes. When it does not, displacement becomes a revolving door.

Assam today is better placed than it has been in decades to address this challenge. The political mandate exists. The legal framework is stronger. Public opinion, fatigued by years of inaction, broadly supports lawful enforcement. What remains is administrative stamina. The problem was decades in the making; it will not disappear overnight. But inconsistency would be far costlier than patience.

Mangaldai’s reported early-morning arrivals, whether eventually verified or not, should be treated as a reminder—not an alarmist trigger, but a governance checkpoint. They underline the need to look beyond eviction sites and focus equally on potential points of re-entry. Enforcement must travel with displacement, or displacement will continue to outpace enforcement.

Eviction without prevention is incomplete governance. Detection without deterrence is an invitation to repetition. Assam cannot afford either. The quiet return, if left unaddressed, risks becoming a permanent cycle—subtle, persistent, and corrosive to the rule of law.

Breaking that cycle is not an act of hostility; it is an assertion of constitutional responsibility. And that, ultimately, is what governance in Assam must continue to demonstrate—firmness without prejudice, vigilance without noise, and continuity without fatigue.