|
Unorganised
Workers of Delhi and the Seven Day
Strike
of 1988
Indrani
Mazumdar
Introduction
Delhi
has never been considered significant in the history of
labour or its movements. And yet below the surface of
documented history, the city has been one of the most
powerful magnets for migrant labour in independent India.
Periodically, a hue and cry is raised by the vocally and
politically dominant sections of the middle class in the
city about the dirt and filth spread by the poorer
sections of the city and their consumption of the
amenities of the capital. But the lives of this vast mass
of workers, who are today numerically dominant, are mostly
unrecorded even in the statistics of the administration.
In
1988, Delhi was the site of a major 7-day strike of
industrial workers, whose spread far outstripped the
strength of the unions that had given the call. The
magnitude and duration of the strike set it apart from
other similar industrial actions of preceding and later
years. It’s
scale and impact may be gauged from the fact that it
forced the government to bring about a major revision of
minimum wages in Delhi, and introduce the variable
dearness allowance (VDA) within the minimum wages. As a
result, Delhi has among the highest minimum wage rates in
the country today.
Apart
from its sweep and scale, its electrifying effect on the
industrial workers, and its impact on the administration,
the 7-day strike was unprecedented, due to the fact that
perhaps for the first time in the country workers in the
small scale sector banded together across industries in a
protracted struggle to, by force, raise the fundamental
issues of the unorganised among them, and fairly succeeded
in wresting major concessions. It roused many in the
otherwise somnolent middle-class of Delhi to come in
support of the struggle, including white collared
employees, teachers, students, artistes, etc.
It subsequently inspired several strike struggles
all over the country and also brought into focus the
conditions obtaining in the small scale and unorganised
sector – both for trade unions as well as labour
bureaucrats. One of its special features was the active
participation of women, drawn not from the factory floor
level, but from the working class bastis by new generation
women’s organisation.
The
reasons why documentation of a significant event like the
7-day strike is necessary need not be emphasised. Delhi
was never a major industrial centre – its industrial
workforce largely comprised, and was led by, the textile
workers’ movement for decades. However, even as the
textile industry slowly declined and its workers fought
ever more desperate battles to survive, a steady growth in
the small-scale sector was occurring which turned into a
veritable explosion by the end of the seventies. Drawing
upon, and often actively fuelled by, powerful political
patronage which permeates even the interstices of this
vast city, entrepreneurs flocked to the capital to avail
of the multiple benefits of cheap infrastructure,
concessional taxation and access to a huge market (in the
city as well as with most of north India, through trade).
Delhi, it must be remembered was also home to a gigantic
bureaucracy and the biggest wholesale trade centre in
north India for several goods. This lodestone attracted
immiserised peasants from all quarters who sought, and
often found, some kind of gainful employment, some relief
from the harsh realities of the rural hinterland. These
immigrants, willing to work for nothing, for they had
nothing to lose, provided the cheap labour on which the
industrial boom flourished. Industrial activity was always
on the fringes of legality – it violated land use laws,
stole power, bribed its way through tax authorities and,
needless to say violated labour laws. The workers were
scattered in small units, and lived in either jhuggies,
resettlement colonies or in kacchi
(unauthorised) colonies. Inevitably the need for space in
a city where their existence remained unrecognised by
planners, brought about links with political overlords and
practices which led them into the grey world of
illegality. Aliens in a strange land, they adapted to the
new urban order through a quiescent acceptance of their
domination by oppressive class and caste practices and
subhuman living conditions. The story of the 7-day strike
is the story of the first major outbreak against such
domination, where the call of a small political force led
to a spontaneous upsurge of mass anger.
Embedded
in this larger picture, there lie thousands of almost
identical tales of individual workers or for that matter
individual factories which upon scrutiny, reveal in
shocking vividness, the sweated conditions of industrial
workers, and the shifting continuum between industrial
work and the multifarious uses that the metropolis can put
any cheap labour to - in the form of informal relations.
It was only a fraction which ended up in secure jobs with
minimal facilities in the medium sized factories.
All
that was required to ignite this tinder-box was to
convince the workers that something could be done about
the key issue of wages and organise/direct the anger. In
other words, sustained propaganda by an apparently
powerful organisation, and militant picketing at crucial
points – led to a spectacular response and a memorable
upsurge. Related to and feeding into such events and
experiences lies the context – the growth and
characteristics of the giant metropolis of Delhi, the
ascribed and actual part played by labour in this process,
the domination of unorganised employment relations in
modern organised production, the interweave of the
economic, political and administrative
processes which shaped the lives of workers, and the
impelling course of the trade union movement in
determining the form and characteristics of the industrial
action observed in the 7-day strike.
The
strike itself was called for by only one of the central
trade unions, the CITU, with all other major unions either
opposing or distancing themselves from the call. And yet,
it remains the most widespread and sweeping action of the
industrial workers of the capital city. How was it that
but a small force and a minority contingent of the
organised trade union movement was able to ignite the
unorganised industrial workers across Delhi in the teeth
of opposition from within and without? What were the
conditions that led to such an explosive outbreak of mass
anger upon which the scale of the strike was necessarily
predicated? What were the methods by which this anger of
an essentially migrant and unorganised workforce was
harnessed into industrial action? What were the
compulsions that forced the administration to concede the
workers’ demands, if only partially? This is not merely
a matter of historical curiosity alone, but also of
relevance to the future where globalised industrial policy
is increasingly taking recourse to informal and
semi-formal relations in order to break working class
unity and disempower the organisation of labour.
In
documenting the events that led to this historic strike,
and outlining its course in industrial areas in north,
south, east and west Delhi, this study attempts to arrive
at some answers to the above questions. Through recording
and recovering the
experiences of participants in this struggle, it also
seeks to observe and describe the life processes and
experiences of individuals and communities within the
metropolitan working class of Delhi, stretching beyond the
events to probe into recesses of social and economic
conditions and subjective processes that often remain
hidden from recorded history.
Unorganised
small scale industrial workers
It
should be clear at the outset that the section of
unorganised workers that form the subject of this report
are those who work in the small scale industries in Delhi.
Although, the shifting nature of the forms of work that
characterises the lives of urban unorganised workers
has emerged in many of the interviews, the focus
has remained on industrial workers. For, the seven day
strike took place in the industrial estates of Delhi, each
of which houses hundreds of factories. Why and how this
section of workers are termed unorganised, is based, not
just on their exclusion from the regulating force of
labour laws, but also the economic and social and even
political relations that generate unorganised conditions
and relations of employment.
Casual,
contract or even regular but unprotected and impermanent
conditions are the common characteristics of small scale
industrial workers. In an era when we are witnessing the
dismantling of many of the protective structures for
labour, and the reintroduction of unregulated
employer-employee relations in the regulated centres as
well, it has become increasingly necessary to understand
the dynamics of unorganised and informal relations of
production, and from within the trade union movement
evolve practices which will strengthen the organisation of
labour. For such purposes, the method of clubbing all
forms of unorganised work within a single omnibus category
of the informal sector, has proved to be of little use to
workers themselves, since it rarely, if ever, addresses
the concrete nature or form of class exploitation which
dominates their lives. Implicit in the failure to do so,
is the absence of the necessary slogans and demands around
which workers can be organised in movement towards
eradication of the worst forms of exploitation and
becoming greater masters of their own destiny.
As
emerges in the story of the seven day strike, other
atomised members of the family of workers in the city of
Delhi, including those who work outside direct industrial
production, are magnetically drawn to the power of mass
industrial action. For in such industrial action can be
seen an assertion of working class power that offers
inspiration to others. Action through which, the abject
subjugation that they all suffer at the hands of the rich
and powerful, can be demonstrably and dramatically
reversed, even if temporarily. This only highlights the
potentialities of industrial workers and industrial action
in advancing the struggles of other sections of urban
unorganised labour, and therefore, the need to pay
specific attention to industrial, yet unorganised labour.
Methodology
Much
of the methodology involved in collecting the material for
the archival submission and preparing the report suggested
itself from the objectives outlined above. There was an
advantage in addressing an event of only a little more
than a decade past. Many of those involved, who organised
or participated were accessible in the city, and the rich
resource of their memories and observations was therefore
available. These have been recorded through a series of
taped interviews which include those of workers who
worked, participated or saw the strike in a number of
industrial areas, namely Wazirpur and GT Karnal Road areas
in north Delhi, Mayapuri in west Delhi, Okhla
in south Delhi, and Shahdara-Jhilmil-Friends Colony
located east of the river.
The
interviews themselves, were not confined to the events of
the strike alone, but were also directed towards eliciting
information and observations about the individual lives
and experiences of the workers. This was done in order to
achieve insight into the various objective and subjective
processes that shaped the social and economic relations
within which the unorganised workers of Delhi live and
work. Generally the interviews begin with their
backgrounds, and move through the process of entry into
Delhi, towards the nature of their working and living
conditions and the various changes experienced therein.
Through this pathway, their experiences in the strike were
approached. The interviews themselves, thus open up
avenues of investigation and interpretation, of which only
a few are touched upon in this report.
The
seven day strike was not and could not be a purely
spontaneous action of a leaderless mass, although the
spontaneity of the upsurge of workers marked its every
step. Both its protracted nature and sweep across
industrial areas, required planning and organisation.
Successful documentation of the strike and its various
threads, therefore, required collection of material from
the organisers and leaders of the strike and their
perceptions as well. Here too, interviews formed a
preliminary basis of acquiring information at various
levels. Interviews of the leaders of the
CITU and other organisations involved in the
strike, at the state and local level have been recorded as
part of the oral record. However, this oral record forms
only one aspect of the documentation process, and written
documents, published and unpublished have been collated,
which provide many forgotten details, correct faltering
and even sometimes confused memories. Unexpectedly, for so
recent an event, much has been lost. Many of the filed
leaflets, posters, press releases, etc., were found to
have been destroyed by damp and termites. However,
detailed minutes of important committees that planned,
implemented, and reviewed the strike, at the state and
local level were available and constitute one of the most
valuable elements of the record of the strike. At the same
time, newspaper reports, provided the frame of events
during the actual course of the strike.
One
of the problems of even the written records is the fact
that many of the important characters involved are
unknown, their backgrounds and positions shrouded in
obscurity. While personal
knowledge of many of them has obviously been an
important aid to understanding, referencing and
contextualising statements and records, life stories of a
few were also recorded in archival interviews. It requires
some mention here, that such personal knowledge and,
perhaps a certain experience of association and
comradeship with them, gave access to many of the workers
interviewed and laid the ground of trust for a degree of
informal frankness. Similar knowledge, as well as cross
checking with both people and written records provided the
basis for discounting (in the report) some of the
mythification of events, the mixed up memories and
observations that are but natural.
In
the writing of the report, some of the
descriptions, particularly in relation to the form
of the strike, are also perhaps influenced by personal
observation and experience as a mass worker and
participant in the strike action. But this has played a
limited role, as research of the minutes of the committees
and the various interviews revealed so much that was
unknown to me. Generally, field participants in such
actions have a view of only one slice of the events, and
it is only when all the various pieces are put together
that the larger picture and even the complete storyline
becomes clear. For the record, it must be stated that the
story of the preparations for the strike, its background,
and the course of events as outlined in the report,
emerged from the written and oral documentation, and it is
only in the case of the description of the strike in
Mayapuri, that one’s own personal memories were also
drawn upon. However, general familiarity with the
organisational structures, practices and even individuals
involved, no doubt, made perusal and understanding of the
various documents much simpler than would perhaps be the
case for a complete outsider.
The
study outline
The
study report begins with on overview of the part played by
workers in the making of the modern day metropolis that is
Delhi (Ch 1). The scale of migration, the nature and
development of industry, the information on the
settlements of workers, and the changing contours of the
city, have primarily been drawn from secondary sources.
But many of the generalised descriptions of the working
and living condiitions of workers, the analysis of paths
traversed by them individually and as a class, and some of
the related political processes, have been culled out from
the interviews. Such an overview was considered essential
in order to understand the background objective conditions
in which the strike took place.
The
overview is followed by a brief account of the trade union
context (Ch 2), foregrounding the continuities of
experience of militant action, the emergence of the key
demands of the strike in the united trade union movement,
the breakdown of this unity and the forerunner of the
seven day strike—the CITU’s 72 hour strike of 1987.
This chapter is the outcome of attempts to trace the roots
of the experience and imagination that propelled the form
of action observed in the seven day strike. From
interviews with senior trade union leaders, links were
discovered between organised and unorganised workers,
between movements of textile and engineering workers,
stretching back to the period before the emergency of
1975-77, and are outlined in the report. Similarly, the
breakdown of trade union unity on the question of
protracted strike in 1987, and the experience of the CITU
in independently organising the 72 hour strike, have been
looked at to gain insight into some of the subjective
trade union processes. The focus here, is on those
processes involved in the development of new
organisational strategies and tactics of working class
action, required by the emerging dominance of unorganised
small scale industries in the city of Delhi. The archival
interviews, minutes of joint trade union meetings and
conventions, reports and minutes of CITU conferences and
committees provided the principal sources for this
chapter.
The
report on the seven day strike itself has been divided
into two chapters. The first (Ch 3), details the various
preparations for the strike. It describes the manner of
the decision to give the call for the strike, the campaign
details, the involvement of sections other than the trade
union, the forging of a broad front of workers’ and
other mass organisations, and also looks at the various
internal processes and discussions among the organisers.
These aspects have been principally derived from the
written archival documents collected of minutes of various
committees of the CITU and the CPI(M). The minutes
themselves provided rich details of the internal
discussions among the organisers of the strike, and were a
most important source for comprehension of the process by
which a small organisational force was able to engage with
the task of implementing such a widespread strike.
The
following chapter (Ch 4), addresses the events as they
unfolded during the seven days of the strike in five
industrial areas. Here, the chronological frame has been
primarily drawn from the newsaper reports of the time. But
both the generalised and particular descriptions of the
strike and its
form have emerged from the experiences of the
participants. Within the common experience of overwhelming
participation of the mass of workers, there were uneven
levels of the strike in the different industrial areas.
Clashes with the police which marked the strike in
Wazirpur, GTK Road and Mayapuri, were not a feature in
Shahdara-Jhilmil and Okhla. Similarly, the extent of
actual strike varied from 90% in Wazirpur and GT Road to
25-30% in Mayapuri. These have emerged from newspaper
reports, interviews as well as the internal organisational
reviews of the strike, and the day to day course of events
in select industrial areas have been described. This
chapter also includes the public record of reactions to
the strike, and some of the events in the aftermath.
In
the concluding chapter (Ch 5) of the study, an attempt has
been made to look back at the events from the context of
the present situation and analyse some of the more
longterm and wider trajectories and implications of the
seven day strike.
Ultimately,
this is the story of a strike. Of a strike of unorganised
workers. Not just a formal strike as a tactic of the
negotiating table. Not just a token strike. But a more
widespread, protracted, bitter and more realised strike.
The hows, whys and wherefores as much as the whos and the
whens are, in the final analysis, the background of a
universal story. It is not a new story. It is not a unique
story. But it must be told again and again for any of us
to comprehend its meaning for and in the life of a worker.
Chapter
1 : Workers
in the making of the Metropolis
In
its spectacular leaps in population since 1941, Delhi is
known to have outpaced all million plus cities in India.
From somewhat more than 9 lakhs in 1941, the population
almost doubled at over 17 lakhs by 1951 and thereafter
continued to maintain a decennial growth of over 50%. In
1991, the population in Delhi stood at over 94 lakhs.
Within these bare statistics is represented the lives and
aspirations of lakhs of people who have been drawn to the
capital by its promise of infinite advantages, for
economic and social advance.
Table
1: Decennial rate of growth in Delhi’s population
|
Period
|
Population
|
Decennial
% variation
|
|
1941
|
917939
|
44.27
|
|
1951
|
1744072
|
90.00
|
|
1961
|
2658612
|
52.44
|
|
1971
|
4065698
|
52.93
|
|
1981
|
6220406
|
53.00
|
|
1991
|
9420644
|
51.45
|
ource:
Delhi Statistical Handbook, 1999, Bureau of Economics
& Statistics,
Govt. of the National Capital Territory of Delhi
Generally,
accounts of the making of Delhi in independent India have,
no doubt legitimately,
focussed on the huge influx of Punjabi refugees during
partition, their fortitude, enterprise and role in the
economic development of the city. And yet, alongside the
official refugees, for whose rehabilitation five arms of
the Government [Ministries of (i) Rehabilitation, (ii)Works,
Housing and Supply, (iii) Railways, (iv) Defence and (v)
Health], and the local municipal authorities
went to work, there was a parallel and expanding
movement of non-refugee migrant workers who also
contributed to the broadening and diversifying of a labour
force base necessary for such development.
Along
with their refugee brethren, these migrant workers too
displayed fortitude, resilience and enterprise, if of a
somewhat different order. They too were making a
transition from their earlier, traditional occupations and
living patterns in movement towards the construction of a
metropolitan working class. Unlike the refugees who were
predominantly of urban origin (95%)[1],
the majority of the migrant workers came from rural
backgrounds. For them, there were no arrangements for
settlement, and no organs of Government working for the
establishment of their place in the metropolis. And while
the root causes for their influx may be located in the
continued process of
agrarian immiserisation in independent India, the
myriad tales of their adaptation to and survival in the
capital also encapsulate ambitions and aspirations for
social advance beyond the realm of the purely economic. By
the 1980s, the sheer numerical dominance of these migrants
began to determine the electoral fortunes of the dominant
political parties of the capital city.
Among
the migrant workers who entered the city in ever swelling
waves, (4.45 lakhs in 1951-61, 5.25 in 1961-71, and 12.29
in 1971-81, and over 19 lakhs in 1981-91)[2],
a significant feature has been the
drawing in of the most socially oppressed sections.
This is evidenced from the rising proportion of dalits or
those belonging to the scheduled castes in the population
of Delhi, from an initial 12% in 1951 to 19% in 1991. Yet
another feature has been the increasing number of women
representing the settling down process through which male
migrant workers have brought in their families to become
an intrinsic part of the people of the capital city. Many
of these women were to enter the labour force of the
capital, in forms of work that would have been
unacceptable to them in their native areas.
Table
2: Decennial growth and % of SC
population, and sex ratio in Delhi
|
Period
|
Decennial
growth of SC population (%)
|
%
of SC to total population
|
Sex
ratio (Females per 000 of Males)
|
|
1951
|
-
|
11.98
|
768
|
|
1961
|
63.73
|
12.84
|
785
|
|
1971
|
86.12
|
15.63
|
801
|
|
1981
|
76.44
|
18.03
|
808
|
|
1991
|
60.00
|
19.05
|
827
|
Source:
Census Hand Book, 1991.
The
process of migration into the capital began even prior to
independence, from the decade 1931-41, during which the
population increase of about 5 lakhs was double
that of the preceding three decades taken together. Came
partition, and, within a few years, displaced Hindu
refugees (more than 4.5 lakhs) flooded into the capital.
Prior to 1951, Delhi drew its labour force mostly from the
adjoining districts of
Gurgaon, Rohtak, Bulandshahr and Meerut,[3]
but in the years that followed, migrants have entered the
city from a widening radius, but ever dominated by the
vast Hindi heartland of the country.[4]
The state of Uttar Pradesh, consistently provided the
largest contingent of migrants into Delhi constituting 41%
of all migrants before 1961 and rising to 50% in the
decade 1971-81[5].
However, the fact is that within U.P., the cultural divide
between the east and the west is considerable, with the purabiyas
(easterners) often being clubbed with Biharis in the
perception of the westerners. Unfortunately, the
distribution of migrants according to district of origin
is not available. But there can be little doubt that from
1961 onwards, significantly increasing numbers of purabiyas
and later Biharis have been coming in to Delhi.
Development
of Industry and its workers
Unlike
Bombay and Calcutta which grew largely on account of their
industrial development, Delhi emerged first as an
administrative city. Nevertheless, taking off from its
location as a commercial and trade centre with access to
an expanding internal and external market, industry grew
rapidly. But whereas in Bombay and Calcutta, the
industrial structure was dominated by large industries,
industrial development in Delhi has been dominated by
numerous small units. In fact, the setting up of large
scale and heavy industries in Delhi was ruled out by the
Master Plan for Delhi adopted in 1962.
By
the end of the ‘60s, Delhi had “emerged as the single
biggest centre of concentration of small scale industries
in the country” with
the small scale industries constituting 99.2% of
the number, 76.3% of the employment, 53.50% of the
investment and 55.62% of the production of all industries
in the capital.[6]
In the same period, there were only 65 large scale
industrial establishments which employed about 45,044
workers (in1969). Of these workers, the five textile mills
of DCM, DCM Silk, Swatantra Bharat, Ajudhia and Birla
Mills alone accounted for over 22,000[7].
It was the textile workers of these mills who laid the
foundations of the trade union movement among the
industrial workers in Delhi and who
served as a beacon of inspiration for the
organisation of workers in the small scale industries as
well.
Given
the fact that small scale industries were so designated,
solely on the basis of an upper ceiling on investment in
plant and machinery[8],
it is by no means true that all of them had small numbers
of workers. For, at a time when designated large scale
units such as Delhi Flour Mills employed about 250 workers[9]
some of the units designated small scale industries
employed up to 500 workers. Thus, the 1969 census of
industrial units recorded 388 industrial units (of which
only 65 were large scale) having more than 50 workers per
unit, with 216 of them having more than 100 per unit.
Despite
the existence of a
significant number of medium sized units in the small
scale sector, it remains a fact that the vast majority of
factories that came up even in organised industrial
estates employed less than 30 workers. By 1988, an
industrial survey revealed that about 30% of all
industrial units in Delhi employed 4 workers or less[10].
This is
additionally confirmed by the three Economic Censuses of
1977, 1980 and 1990. It was this sea of units with small
numbers of workers that eluded registration with the
Factories’ Inspectorate, which accustomed
many workers towards the acceptance of the
domination of unregulated, non-formal or informal
employer-employee relations in Delhi’s
industrial scenario.
The
number of industrial units in Delhi grew from 8,160
employing some 95,137 workers in 1951 to 26,000 employing
2.91 lakh workers in 1970-71. In the following
decade, the number of industries jumped to 42,000 (by
1981), registering an increase of 16,000 industries, and
then a further increase of 23,000 bringing their number to
over 76,000 by 1988[11].
Various rounds of the NSSO survey also indicate that about
25% of the workers in Delhi were engaged in the
manufacturing sector between 1977-78 and 1991-92. While
not wishing to dwell on what are known to be unreliable
statistics, nevertheless, they have been introduced here
in order to show the explosive increase in the number of
industries effected between 1971 and 1988 (39,000 in 18
years), the year of the strike. Through the seventies and
eighties, these industrial units were spread all over the
city, in 20 officially constituted industrial estates, as
also in many other areas, predominating in 37 industrial
areas, termed non conforming on the basis of the land use
mapped by the Master Plan for Delhi. Most of the official
industrial areas came up during and the period following
the emergency.
Table
3: Growth of Industrial Sector in Delhi, 1951-91
|
Year
|
Number
of Industrial Units
|
Investment
(Rs. crore)
|
Production
(Rs. crore)
|
Employment
(number of workers)
|
|
1951
|
8,160
|
18.13
|
35.35
|
95,137
|
|
1961
|
17,000
|
60.00
|
121.00
|
1,87,034
|
|
1971
|
26,000
|
190.00
|
388.00
|
2,91,585
|
|
1981
|
42,000
|
700.00
|
1,700.00
|
5,68,910
|
|
1991
|
85,050
|
1,659.00
|
4,462.00
|
7,30,951
|
Source:
Economic Survey of Delhi, 1999-2000
Accompanying
this rapid increase, was the development of a substantial
segment of wage labourers employed in these various
industries. They worked in various types of factories and
under masters ranging from organised managements, small
and large individual proprietors, to fabricators and
labour contractors or
thekedars. They produced a wide range of goods, for
local markets, external markets within the country as well
as export markets. A survey of industries in 1988[12]
showed that Textile products, i.e., primarily garments,
constituted the single largest number of units, numbering
15,166. This was followed by the manufacture of machine
tools, machine parts and electrical machinery which had
7,236 units. However, if one clubs the latter with all
other groups that may be broadly classified as Engineering
and light Engineering industries[13],
their number was 19,892.
Of
a total number of 76,559 industrial units identified by
the 1988 survey, less than
7% were registered under the Factories’ Act.[14]
The overwhelming majority of workers in modern factory
production in Delhi, therefore remained outside the
protection of any of the labour laws. Of the units
registered with the Small Industries Development
Organisation, (SIDO), as identifiably modern small scale
industries, less than 17% were registered under the
Factories Act in 1988, although, about 59% of them
qualified for registration[15].
Thus the widespread evasion of the application of labour
laws reflected also the relentless drive of the majority
of Delhi’s
capitalist class towards both extraction of absolute
surplus value, as also its inevitable companions, the use
of direct coercion and brute power to enforce domination.
Embedded
in this broad statistical picture lies a world of the
direct experience of the individual worker. Occasionally,
stories of the conditions of labour in these small scale
industries made their way into newspaper reports, albeit
in the Hindi Press. Thus, in October,1986 appeared the
story of Ras Bihari who had worked in seven factories
within the space of eight months, and was at the time
working in a rubber chappal factory in Mayapuri and living
with seven other workers from his district in a single
room. He was working from seven in the morning to seven in
the evening on a compulsory 12 hour shift, and
additionally being made to work overtime, actually being
able to return to his room only by 11 or 12 o’clock at
night. His room mates would leave a few rotis and onions
and green chillies for him which constituted his dinner.
He had spent just eight months in Delhi and had been
reduced from being healthy to a state where his hands
constantly trembled and suffered from perpetual cough and
fever. Another worker, Khel Ram reported that in his
factory, which housed five grinders in a space where there
should not be more than three, five workers had died
during the year, four from electrocution, and one due to
being injured in the back by the handle of a grinder,
while he was working on another machine.[16]
In
the Shahdara handloom and powerloom units, and in the
readymade garment industry, where the number of workers
ranged from 10 to 50, they would be made to work for 15-16
hours, without their names being on any records. Many
would be living on the factory premises and would be
turned out of both residence and work at the signs of any
dispute. Raj Prasad who had worked in one unit for five
years as a casual worker reported that whenever an
industrial dispute was raised, the management would change
the name of the factory such as from “Saryu
Textiles” to “Gupta Textiles”. It was not
only the small sized units where bad conditions prevailed.
In a cycle tyre factory with about 1000 workers, workers
were made to work without the stipulated masks and within
fifteen days of work, their faces would start to swell. A
prominent factory, it was well known for violation of
labour laws.[17]
Looking
back at 1988, and remembering that first year of his trade
union life, an activist[18]
recounted the following stories: Shafiq who used to work
in A-15, GT Karnal Road. They were 28 people. There were
14 jodis
(pairs). They worked round the clock, one would sleep on
the floor at the back of the hall while the other worked;
then they switched. They were paid 400 rupees per jodi.
They were not allowed outside. They had no weekly off.
Shafiq’s first holiday in one and a half years was in
the seven day strike when the juloos[19]
nearly tore down the main gate and his malik
hustled the workers out from the back gate. Then there was
Shamsuddin, who after a full day’s work, additionally
stitched clothes at his jhuggi in Gur Mandi. He used to
say, “It is tiring, and my eyes are failing. But I
can’t carry on in the wage given by the factory. I have
three daughters you see....” Ram Kumar, a worker in
Wazirpur, would go to his jhuggi in Kaushalpuri after
factory duty got over at 5:30 in the evening, prepare and
have dinner. From 8 till 12 midnight he would ply a
rickshaw from Azadpur. Charges are higher at night, and he
managed to earn 20 rupees on an average. Then back to the
jhuggi to sleep. Morning duty in the factory began at
8:30.
Yet
it was in these factories that were learnt, the skills of
understanding and operating a range of machines and
production processes. Industry provided the economic
foundations for the absorption of the migrant worker into
the metropolis. The state from which our worker entered
factory life was described by the trade union activist as
follows: “Arriving and adjusting to the city is a
painful process. Cases were reported where a particularly
docile young man became incapable of speech for the first
week or so. This may be an extreme and rare occurrence,
but the shock of so many people, the traffic, the noise,
the struggle at each step, from daily ablutions to the
philosophy of the city, all these wrench the man into a
state of insecurity and trepidation. He fixes himself to
his group, his residence and finally to his work. Usually
he spends the first month or so just hanging around,
increasingly pretending to look for work but lethargic and
worried. He gets food and shelter from some friend or
relative, but knows that he has to earn his khuraki
(expenditure on food) very soon”[20].
And so, at the instance of someone known or connected to
him in the city, he is introduced to work in some factory
or other. Whether from rural or urban backgrounds, some
with education and even technical training[21],
but many illiterate, these workers then developed the
various skill differentiations and production relations
that characterise modern factory production and an
industrial proletariat.
The
layers of skills, classified as unskilled, semi-skilled
and skilled in minimum wage notifications, were all
defined in relation to machinery. Purely manual operations
being categorised as unskilled, simple operation of
machines without the task or responsibility of maintenance
as semi-skilled, and the operation of machines plus the
responsibility of care and repair as skilled.
Education was no guarantee of skilled employment[22].
Most workers learnt on the job, and developed a degree of
professionalism. They would look for jobs in their
“line” as they term it. It is this section of
industrial workers that constituted the important core of
the vast army of toilers in the capital. However, they
remained strongly bound through economic and social
connections with a whole range of other forms of labour,
ranging from the individual household producers to
hawkers, rickshaw pullers, those in menial service, and
others providing the
multiple services required by the metropolis. Some
toiled in both factories as well as in informal services.
Others, when thrown out of factories, and sometimes out of
choice, would often take to these other forms of labour.
But the security of a monthly wage with no investment
other than labour, despite its prevailing
impermanency, would more often than not, draw them
back to the factories[23].
The
sheer spread and magnitude of numbers which enfolded our
capital’s industrial workers and the ever flowing in
stream into the ranks of the job seekers, determined the
conditions of not only their work, but also of their
organisation and consciousness. On the one hand, it would
have seemed to the worker coming from either the
impoverished rural hinterland (60% by 1991) or even other
urban centres (40%) that with so much of development and
expansion, opportunities for work only had to be sought
out. Entering an unknown city, their search for work and a
place to stay was generally channelised through corridors
of association, based on kinship, regional , and community
affinities, through which they looked for and found their
elements of opportunity[24].
On the other hand, the acute economic competition for
employment, among workers themselves remained a perennial
pressure towards depression of wages and degraded
conditions of work and residence. This, in turn fuelled
processes of simple
cultural or linguistic variation being transformed into
social antagonisms even within the community of workers.
Thus, as migrants from the eastern Hindi belt entered in
ever increasing numbers, the simple nomenclature of
“Bihari” on the tongues of many “locals” from
Delhi and its surrounding rural areas, or even an earlier
generation of migrant workers could be turned into an
insult. Such antagonisms reflected the struggle and
competition among workers themselves - competition for
wages, conditions of work, and the basic amenities
required for the pursuit of life.
In
the eighties, official minimum wage rates in Delhi were
lower than even the neighbouring states of Haryana and
Uttar Pradesh. Low wages led to life sapping dependence on
overtime or supplemental work for survival. As evident
from the stories above, very often workers were made to
work on 12 hour shifts, plus overtime in unregistered
factories. Easy replacement made victimisation or
dismissal simple, forcing them to acquiesce to both
humiliation and demands made on them by their masters.
Unions, when formed, were often quickly suppressed leading
to acceptance among workers of open flouting of laws and
norms even when made familiar with them.
Thus,
the conditions dominant in the market for wage labour in
Delhi cannot be sought in the industrial boom reflected in
the expanding numbers of industrial units alone. For
while industry grew in numbers, it failed to
provide either regular employment or a secure livelihood
to the mass of workers. The 2nd All India
Census of Small Scale Industrial Units, 1988, revealed
that 27.6% of the modern small scale industries were
non-functional or had closed down, while another 13.06%
were not traceable. While small scale industry seemed to
be flourishing, within the expansion of its numbers, lay
many a story of closure, shifting, changing of names of
companies, dismissal and retrenchment of workers.
At
another end, first through automation, and then the moves
towards closure in the textile industry, the reduction of
the workers in the major mills began from the seventies.
Through intensification of crisis in the organised textile
industry in the eighties, and the final closure of some of
the mills, began the sunset of the most organised and
major force in the trade union movement in the
city. By 1988, the workforce of the five textile mills had
been considerably reduced. At the same time, hundreds of
independent producers were caught in the toils of the
collapse of the traditional industries such as
handloom. Where the sixties and early seventies had seen
an increase in the number of
handloom workers,
going back to their traditional occupation and
becoming organised in cooperatives, the competition
of advancing power loom by the seventies, and the rise in
the prices of yarn in the eighties, was condemning
handloom workers to penury, destitution and even
imprisonment due to non return of bank loans[25].
Their looms empty and rotting, these workers and
their families too were being thrown into the market for
wage labour, a market where the sellers had to constantly
engage in bitter competition amongst themselves. And so,
the context in which the modern industrial proletariat of
the capital was being fashioned out of a predominantly
rural migrant workforce, was ridden with internal crisis
and decay in the land of opportunity itself.
Price
rise, wages and the appropriation of value
In
the three years preceding the seven day strike, the prices
of all essential commodities had risen substantially. This
was the case, not only in the open market, but also in the
government controlled rates in ration shops, imposing an
unbearable strain on working class family budgets. The
reflection of such price rise in the consumer price index
for Delhi, was an increase of 334 points (Base 1960=100),
between March, 1982 and March, 1988. The minimum wage
rates for the same period, through four revisions had been
increased by a mere 262 rupees for unskilled workers, from
Rs 300 in 1982 to Rs 562 in March, 1988.[26]
Below subsistence at inception, the nominal increases in
wage rates fell behind the actual rate of increase in
prices.
While
this was the situation of labour, the evidence of the
increasing wealth of its appropriators in metropolitan
Delhi could not escape observation. In the small scale
industrial (SSI) sector, a comparison between the 1st
and 2nd All India Census of SSI units, shows
that the the Net Value Added (NVA), in this sector in
Delhi, rose from 36.34 crore rupees in 1972
to 396.17 in crores in1987-88. In other words, the
NVA per worker, rose from Rs 5,601 to Rs 32,480 in the
intervening fifteen years. The wages paid in the year
1987-88 were 114.44 crores[27].
Thus at a rough estimate, the surplus over wages (NVA
minus wages), in these small scale industries, amounted to
281.76 crores, and an average of Rs 23,000 per worker for
the year 1987-88. The monthly minimum wages for that year
were Rs 489 for unskilled workers and Rs 719 for skilled.
Even this amount was not paid to a majority of the
workers, while the surplus generated by each worker was
more than three times the unskilled worker’s wage and
twice that of the skilled.
Many
economists may laugh at these statements as crude
generalisations, but it is not so easy to laugh at the
realities of the crude experience of workers. New cars,
spacious and luxurious houses for those who commanded
capital, ostentatious marriages and gifts for their
children, sometimes extensions to their factories, perhaps
the opening of another one, all pressed upon the senses of
the worker. In the words of Ram Rato of Mayapuri, whose
factory, in which he had worked for twenty years, had been
closed and then reopened with a fresh lot of workers, “Malik
to tarakki kar gaye. Hum wahin rah gaye.” No amount
of use of the instruments of informal social control could
completely erase these sources of elemental conflict that
were part of the direct experiences of labour in the
capital. Nor could their increasing absolute and relative
numbers in the city’s population, fail to impress itself
upon their minds. Such was the situation in 1988, when the
seven day strike took place, on the central demand of a
minimum wage of Rs 1050 and a dearness allowance of Rs 2
per point rise in the price index.
The
settlements of workers
The
jhuggi bastis
Through
successive generations, the destination of a substantial
section of migrant workers in Delhi, turned out to be the jhuggies
or squatter settlements of the capital. An estimated 16%
of the migrants in 1951-61 were squatters, but their
numbers swelled to form 40% of the total entrants between
1971-81 and about 60% in 1981-91.[28]
Table
4: Growth of squatters in Delhi from 1951 to 1991
|
Year
|
No.
of squatter families
|
Increase
|
|
1951
|
12749
|
No.
|
%
|
|
1961
|
42815
|
30066
|
235.83%
|
|
1971
|
62594
|
19779
|
46.19%
|
|
1981
|
98709
|
36115
|
57.70%
|
|
1991
|
259344
|
160635
|
162.73%
|
Source:
Slum and JJ Department, Delhi Slum Improvement Board,
Municipal Corporation of Delhi (Based on record of Food
and Supplies Department)[29]
The
above table cannot claim to be anywhere near a complete
enumeration of jhuggies
in Delhi, based as it is, on the records of the Food and
Supplies Department. In other words, it is an enumeration
of ration cards allotted to families living in jhuggis.
Anyone who has had an association with jhuggi
dwellers of Delhi will know that at any given moment, a
substantial number of them do not have such ration cards.
Nevertheless, the table can be taken as a broad outline of
the growth of jhuggis
in Delhi.
These
jhuggis have
constituted the rough schools where the migrant workers of
Delhi learnt the arts of survival in the metropolis.
Within the story of the jhuggi
bastis can be
found the contours of the social networks of the working
class of the metropolis, the space it has carved for
itself in the city, its multiple relationships with
commerce and industry
on the one hand, and with the government and politics on
the other; relationships
out of which many of the characteristics of the social and
political consciousness of workers in Delhi had been
shaped. Within the story of the jhuggies
lie encapsulated, the experiences of degradation,
debasement and illegality that marks the pathway of the
development of the working class in Delhi. Similarly, may
be found the carrot and stick tactics adopted by the
administration and the dominant bourgeois political
parties towards moulding and utilising the life force and
consciousness of the workers in order to maintain their
class and political hegemony over the capital city.
Although
some industrial workers of a new generation today may seek
to distance themselves from the dirt, filth and
humiliation of jhuggi
life, the
story of the more established working class colonies
cannot ever be dissociated from the jhuggis
that formed the imperative towards their establishment.
Nor can the profits of business and industrial enterprise
have accrued to the wealthy and established sections of
the populace without the foundation of the
jhuggis that provided the cheap labour and services
for their growth. For, it was the elimination of house
rent and transport that lowered the cost of bare (if
subhuman) survival of workers and allowed the continuation
of low wages, upon which the visible wealth in Delhi, was
built.
It
was the jhuggi
bastis adjacent to industrial areas that played an
important strategic role in industrial action by the
workers during the 7-day strike of 1988. The attention
paid to propaganda in these bastis,
the incorporation of the demand for their permanent
settlement rights, and the force of growing resentment
among jhuggi
dwellers at their degraded conditions of life contributed
in no small measure to the success of the strike itself.
However,
the direct relationship between the jhuggies
and the strike is but one part of the story, an episodic
insight into the interconnected world of experience of
workers. It begins with the intersection between caste and
class experience that marks the lives of the unorganised
workers of Delhi. For the jhuggi
bastis of the 1950s were almost universally referred
to as Harijan bastis,
Bhangi Colony, etc. Their upgradation or resettlement was
at that time largely done through the Harijan Welfare
Board.[30]
When the first phase of clearance of jhuggis
from the central zones of Delhi took place, there was an
accompanying shift in the scheduled caste population,
dropping in New Delhi from 40,000 in 1951 to 30,000 in
1961 while increasing by more than three and a half times
in the then peripheral areas of Shahdara, Civil Lines-Subzimandi,
South Delhi, West Delhi and the Cantonment where they were
resettled at the time.[31]
The
crowded yet exposed nature of life in the jhuggies
made the practices of segregation, exclusion based on
‘pollution’, and the seclusion of women that marks the
life of caste ordered social hierarchies, virtually
impossible to maintain[32].
Thus, the jhuggis were
initially, the natural homes of the outcasts, and thekedar
tied low caste migrant construction labour. And yet, upon
such foundations, increasing numbers of workers from all
communities, driven by inability
to afford house rent, began to be absorbed in the jhuggies.
Giant
jhuggi clusters
emerged, particularly in places adjacent to the industrial
areas. For years they had to remain outside official
administrative recognition, denied the facilities of
municipal water, drainage and latrines. Initially rural
habit, and later because of the absence of facilities, jhuggi
dwellers were forced to perform basic bodily functions on
open land, leaving them vulnerable to searing humiliation
at the hands of the more privileged.
Middle class revulsion at
the use of open parks for such purposes caused them
to invoke the courts and police against the residents of
the jhuggi bastis,
the cruel nature of which was exemplified in the beating
to death by the police, of a youth caught defecating in a
park in Ashok Vihar in north Delhi.
Surrounded
by industrial wastes, garbage, and excreta, breeding
grounds of frequent epidemics of malaria, gastroenteritis
and even cholera[33],
the jhuggies were the base areas of both resentment and
aspiration of the migrant worker. The need to fend off
their elimination by the administration through police
action, caused them to seek shelter in the political
patronage provided by the Congress. From their patrons,
they learnt the art of bribing and developing close
connections with corrupt police officials[34],
a process through
which a criminal nexus was established between a cadre of jhuggi
pradhans, their political overlords in the ruling
Congress, and the police. This nexus then turned to
regulating and controlling the rights of existence of
other jhuggi dwellers,
using their muscle power to browbeat and cow down many an
independent thinking worker[35].
Premised as they were on illegal existence, in many places
the lines between protection of the right to residence of
the migrant worker and protection of outright criminal
activity within the jhuggies
became blurred.
At
the same time, the common residents of these bastis,
taking heart from their numbers, sensed an increased
bargaining power for their own place in their own name
which fuelled attachment to their jhuggi
and acceptance of the leadership of the pradhans.
The first phase of this sense of bargaining power included
the enrolment of jhuggi
residents in the electoral rolls, and particularly in
acquiring ration cards. In the seventies and eighties,
prices of such essential commodities as grain and kerosene
were still far less in ration shops than in the open
market. But equally important was the fact that the ration
card was a proof of residence, a small acknowledgement of
the jhuggi
resident as a citizen of the metropolis, that might
entitle him to resettlement, rather than be rendered
homeless in case of demolition. If it meant giving 100
rupees to the local Congress pradhan,
people gave it. (And the pradhans
of the eighties, were overwhelmingly Congress).
As
periodic resettlement programmes were undertaken by the
administration, the aspiration for ownership of land or
house in the city often came within their reach. Thus,
many a rural migrant clung to the makeshift shanty,
sometimes in preference to rented accommodation in better
colonies. But where the capital, at first offered open
land space for these settlements to come up, with the
expansion of commercial, industrial and residential
property of the more affluent sections, their space became
increasing constricted. And jhuggi
bastis began to come up in more hostile lands, with
added vulnerability to floods and fires that could
devastate thousands in one stroke.
The
expanding presence of the jhuggi
bastis forced the administration to take notice of the
housing needs of workers. The Master Plan of 1962, had
allocated only 5% of land for housing the multitude of
labour. Characteristic of the need to profit from labour,
but maintain the sensibility of contempt for its wretched
existence, official policy was directed at pushing
residents of jhuggis
out from the centre to the periphery of the city, at every
stage of their development. Brutality and the arrogance of
privilege marked this process, of which the most infamous
incidents were during the Emergency (1975-77), when naked
terror took the form of not just razing the small hutments
built for themselves by workers, but even killing of those
who resisted. Such clearing was a policy doomed to failure
as the presence of jhuggies
close to work centres were the basis on which labour costs
could be kept low and profits increased. And so inexorable
economic forces compelled the cycle of return to, and
expansion of jhuggi
settlements, sometimes at the same places where they had
been previously bulldozed out of existence.
The
Resettlement Colonies
The
expansion of jhuggies
generated various resettlement schemes. The record of
policy in such resettlement programmes is testimony to the
declining status of workers and the poor of Delhi in the
eyes of the city’s planners. Where initially, 80 sq
yards per unit were the norm for resettlement in the
fifties, by the late sixties, and the seventies, it had
been reduced to 25 sq yards. By the eighties, it was
increasingly being reduced to flats of just 12 sq yards[36].
Such resettlement took place in phases, of which the
emergency alone saw the removal of 1,53,310 households
from jhuggies and
relocated in the wild lands of the periphery.[37]
The
emergency experience of the manner in which masses of
people were uprooted from their jhuggies
and thrown into wild lands without either connections or
facilities, kept the terror of the bulldozer alive in the
minds of all jhuggi
residents. But slowly as the wilderness of the periphery
was transformed into pucca
settlements of workers[38],
contiguous belts of these colonies created giant legal
settlements of workers, within and around which, further
illegal jhuggi
settlements sprang up. Although DDA surveys show that the
number of original allottees in the resettlement colonies,
range from 50%
to 37%, there can be little doubt that the initially low
price of the land sold off (either by the allottees or
otherwise by property sharks who captured unoccupied
plots) allowed a section of the more permanent workers,
otherwise living on rent, to acquire homes in the colonies
so established. Of course, a whole breed of property
dealers, many of whom came from the dominant castes of the
local villages, profiteered from this process and acquired
considerable political influence over the lives of the new
residents. Industrial estates were also established near
these settlements, some within the parameters of the
Master Plan, while others came up in unauthorised manner,
in non conforming industrial areas.
The scale of movement, the direction and political
correlations so established can be discerned from the
changing numbers of voters in the various parliamentary
constituencies of the capital.
The
growing concentration in the two constituencies that
together form a ring border to Delhi, viz., Outer and East
Delhi may be observed. In outer Delhi lay large
resettlement colonies in the contiguous belts of Madangir,
Tigri, Ambedkar Nagar in the south, and Mangolpuri,
Sultanpuri and Nangloi in the west. Similarly,
Jahangirpuri, in North Delhi was a part of the East Delhi
constituency, as was Nand Nagri, Seemapuri, Seelampur
falling north east of the river Jamuna, and Trilokpuri,
Kalyanpuri and Khichripur in the south east. Although the
process of expansion of the periphery has remained a
fairly continuous process, the most dramatic
transformation can be seen from 1980 to 1989, when the
proportions of electors in the two constituencies of Outer
and East rose
from 41% to 57% of the total electorate of Delhi.
The
unauthorised colonies
The
establishment of the resettlement colonies in the
periphery, and the development of their political economy
through the establishment of new industrial estates near
them, opened the doors for the beginnings of new
unauthorised colonies of workers around them, and in
similar areas. And the receding rural outskirts became the
areas where many of the workers with slightly more
longstanding employment, established themselves in
unauthorised colonies that can be found in all the
directions of the city. Lured by the feeling that property
provided security and stability and the cheap prices of
illegal[40],
barren and undeveloped land, the emotive content of this
drive for acquisition of residential property by the
worker, could perhaps be traced to the agricultural social
background of so many. But equally, if not more
importantly, it lay in a rejection of the conditions to
which they were otherwise condemned in both jhuggies,
and in some cases resettlement colonies too, a rejection
for which they were prepared to pay the price of begging
and borrowing and sometimes even mortgaging their lives to
their employer through loans and advances[41].
Such a drive also laid the basis for continued association
with the powerful local politician, who could protect them
from demolition at the hands of the DDA. Bereft of
municipal water, roads and sewerage, with low cost, and
often kuccha
housing, the working class unauthorised colonies presented
a sharp contrast to the idyllic farmhouses of the rich of
Delhi, that had come up in similar unauthorised manner.
Elements
of political control
Compelling
economic and social processes behind large scale migration
in combination with the strategies of urban development
have to be considered as the real foundations of this
dramatic expansion of the periphery, and therefore these
two constituencies. But the form it took cannot be
separated from the electoral tactics of the Congress Party
in the post emergency era. Nor can it be separated from
the political careers of two of its emergency dons - H.K.L.
Bhagat[42]
and Sajjan Kumar[43],
whose goonda
storm troopers vitiated the entire process with criminal
politics. It is possible to speculate that these two netas
represented a combination of, on the one hand the
commercial and capitalist classes constructed out of the
the post partition influx of Punjabi refugees and, on the
other, the local Jat dominated landowners who were
benefiting from speculation in land as the metropolis
expanded. Whatever
the case may be, the goonda,
neta, police nexus so established in the settlements
of workers, spilled over into the industrial areas as a
convenient tool for owners of capital to strangle and
suppress any tentative rumblings of protest among their
workers. At the same time, the relationship of dependence
of the workers on these netas,
for the securing the right of the migrant to residence in
the capital, gave the Congress an expanded electoral base
with which to first recoup from the electoral reverses of
1977, and then maintain political power. It was the
domination of these political overlords and their criminal
culture in the working class bastis
in the eighties that found such sickening expression in
November, 1984, when the horrific mass scale slaughter of
Sikhs took place in some of these newly constructed giant
settlements of workers[44].
Description
of the powers that predominantly influenced, directed and
controlled workers’ lives in Delhi in the seventies and
eighties, would be incomplete without touching upon the
concentrated power of the organs of the state through
which the bureaucracy emerged as a third corner to the
triangle of power in Delhi. This is most clearly
represented in the gigantic organisation of the Delhi
Development Authority (DDA), established by the Delhi
Development Act, 1957.
Being
the capital, the Central Government has always had a
palpable presence in the lives of the people of Delhi.
From 1956, when the capital had became a Union Territory
directly administered through a Lieutenant Governor, and
the earlier (post independence) legislature and council of
ministers ceased to exist, Delhi had come under direct
central rule. From 1958 to 1966, the Municipal Corporation
of Delhi remained the only elected state level body with
any degree of accountability to the people of the city.
The real power and direction of policy was in the hands of
the central government,
and therefore remained with the party in power
there, even when it lost 6 of the total 7 Lok Sabha seats
in the capital
(1967).
In
1966, the passing of the
Delhi Administration Act did create an elected
Metropolitan Council, but it
was a purely deliberative body without any
legislative powers. Its Executive Council, presided over
by the Lieutenant Governor (LG), appointed by the centre,
had some authority in matters enumerated in the State List
(in the constitution),but not on law and order, land and
buildings and services, which remained within the sole
jurisdiction of the LG as a representative of the centre.
This system was to remain in place till the early
nineties, and was under review during the year of the
strike. It was a system in which
the main levers of political
power in the capital remained firmly in the hands of the
Union Government.
The
Act, that brought into existence the DDA as an agency of
the centre, conferred on it, overwhelming powers to
acquire, hold and dispose of land and property, for
implementing a Master Plan to be formulated by it.
Accordingly the Delhi Master Plan of 1962 was brought on
the Statute book, and the DDA became the all powerful
agency of its implementation. Thus began the largest
nationalisation of urbanisable land by undertaken in any
capitalist country in the world, and the DDA became the
largest landowner in Delhi.
The
rise of the DDA as a direct agency of repression in the
lives of the workers of Delhi, while stemming from its
lack of accountability to the people, was closely linked
to the centralisation of economic and political power in
the hands of the Union government. The control, so
established through centralised licensing for industries,
associated advantages of low taxation and other incentives
provided in the capital by a central government that could
draw on far greater resources than elsewhere, had seen a
gravitation of medium level capital towards the capital.
But it was the DDA through which, industrialists bribed
their way into the the fast growing industrial areas in
the city. It was such a nexus that established an
authoritarian power over the lives of workers, which found
its high point of expression during the emergency. But
even in the period following, it was the DDA, that on the
one hand, directly administered the availability or rather
lack of basic civic amenities in the resettlement colonies
of workers[45],
and determined the insecure conditions of their lives in
the jhuggies and
unauthorised colonies.
Out
of such an economic, social and political context , grew
the force of sullen and resentful anger of a class of
workers, that was to burst out in a militant and dramatic
upsurge in November,1988. In a sense the seven day strike
represented an assertion of working class power, that
highlighted the often hidden, but nevertheless elemental
conflict between the unorganised worker and those who
benefit from the exploitation of his labour. But it was
also the signal of the workers’ rejection of the
supremacy that the goonda mafia spawned by the emergency
and authoritarianism, had established over their lives.
Not surprisingly, in the 1989 elections, the sharpest
swing away from the Congress was in precisely in East and
Outer Delhi, the two constituencies where the workers
predominated.[46]
Chapter
2: The
Trade Union Context
Sunrise
and sunset -
the textile workers movement in Delhi
Trade
Unions in small scale industry
The
minutes of the Delhi Committee of the CITU from the last
months of 1986 through 1987, provide a sketchy but
eloquent record
of the initial process by which the spreading torpor in
the trade union movement was broken by the CITU
leadership which was pushing for a line of building a
movement, and not just an organisation. It would seem
that such central political vision is a requisite for
building of a movement among unorganised workers in
particular. The ordinary unit level struggles and
protests of workers in the unorganised sector, carried
the inherent weakness of being too scattered and easily
overwhelmed to either make a big impact or to force
their way through, even on minimalist demands. The local
leaders that grew out of such struggles, having to
reckon with overwhelming odds, either succumbed to the
pressures of conciliation or came to realise that
fighting power and sustained support is dependent on
much wider militant
mobilisation of the class. For this alone could
bring social and political pressure to bear on the
individual masters, many of whom had the most direct
associations with the ruling party and its goonda
base in metropolitan Delhi.
Chapter
3 :
Run up to the
seven day strike
It
was only after the breakdown of talks with the other
unions and the finalisation of the dates, that the
strike itself appears directly on the agenda of the LC
meetings[78].
The minutes themselves provide a record of the manner in
which the party committees were being motivated for the
formidable task ahead. In the west, it appears that the
report on the impending strike remained at the level of
a perfunctory announcement and not much more. [79]
Here, it was the intervention of the state leadership
that made things start moving. It began with a meeting
of the office bearers of all the mass organisations on
21.10.88 attended by the party state secretary[80],
and again when he attended the LC meeting on 31.10.88.
From the minutes of these meetings, the driving role of
the state leadership can be clearly seen. The
secretary’s words, “The working class of Delhi is
unorganised. It has no power of intervention. As a
class, it must be awoken. And learn to fight long
struggles… this one week call has been made after the
success of of the 3-day strike..”[81]
Emphasising the broader issues in the campaign, he
insisted on propaganda in jhuggies
and resettlement colonies, and gave a clear direction
that no other programmes that would interfere with the
strike preparations were to be undertaken. It was in
this meeting that the concrete working out of the
details of the responsibilities of LC cadre for the held
before the strike. Further details for the area can only
be found in the state TU sub committee minutes.
In
the east, whose LC had just come into existence, the
record is far more explicatory through four LC meetings,
(3.9.88., 12.9.88.,18.10.88., and19.11.88). Here the
minutes provide a record of the establishment of a 33
member hartal committee in September itself[82].
What emerges as a significant feature is the small
membership of the CITU in the area (209 in 9 units, out
of which 6 had worker strengths of 10 and below, and
only three units of more than 50 workers)[83].
Additionally, a persistent tension in balancing
Municipal Corporation (MCD) Union responsibilities and
industrial area work may be observed, expressed in a
tussle over where the LC should concentrate its cadre.
Once again, here, pressure was exerted by the state
leader, Bharadwaj on giving priority to the industrial
area work. In the south LC, on 3.9.88, the political
context of the strike was discussed, but only broad
guidelines were worked out. The next meeting was more
than two months later, on 15.11.88, by when the campaign
was in full swing.
“
7-Day CITU strike begins” ran on the front page of the
Indian Express on 22nd November, the opening
day of the strike. “One million workers to go on
strike today” was the banner headline of a four column
write up in the Times of India on the same day. Quoting
a press release, the Times reported, “the workers are
demanding the right to a minimal human existence, a
minimum relief from the present situation where work is
savage exploitation and leisure a living hell,” while
the Indian Express focussed on the statements of retired
judges of the Supreme Court and some High Courts
supporting the strike and requesting the Police
Commissioner, Delhi and District Magistrate, Ghaziabad
“to ensure that no police intervention is undertaken
in any way hindering the workers from the legitimate
exercise” of the right to strike. At the same time
they also reported, “At least 10 police companies have
been told to gather around the industrial pockets”
where the strike was to start. Almost all the papers
reported the rally of “poets, professors, artistes,
students, lawyers, jurists, intellectuals” in support
of the workers demands which had been held the previous
day.
From
then onwards till the last day of the strike, it
continued to be reported upon at a daily level,
providing a valuable record of the day to day frame of
events which would otherwise perhaps have been
impossible to recover with any degree of accuracy. The
oral testimony of the participants in the strike, having
been taken 12 years after the event, provide great
insight into the experience of the strike, but for
establishing the chronology of events, the daily
newspaper reports have been a more reliable source.
For
the first time an action of the capital’s marginalized
working class, had demanded the notice and attention of
the media.
What was it about this strike that was able to bring a
movement of workers onto the front pages of the major
newspapers of the city? No doubt the propaganda blitz
unleashed by the organisers had been able to highlight
the pitiful wages and conditions of life that the
unorganised workers of Delhi were condemned to. No doubt
the mobilisation of artists, legal luminaries, and
intellectuals had made
the media sit up and take notice. No doubt the throbbing
anger and force of huge processions of workers during
the strike touched chords in the minds and hearts of
many a hardened and sceptical journalist. Despite the
persistent efforts by some of the other unions to
downplay the impact of the strike, despite the series of
contradictory statements emanating from the owners’
associations, despite the massive deployment of the
police and repeated lathicharges,
tear gassing and arrests, every day from the 22nd
to the 28th of November, 1988, the industrial
areas of the city witnessed huge mobilisations of
workers, and churning unrest that penetrated all
corners. For the seven days of its course, its impact
could be underestimated, events and facts could be
distorted and lied about, but its scale and sweep were
such, that the seven day strike could not be ignored by
the media.
For
beyond its immediate issues, the strike of 1988, carried
within it, a much more widespread popular anger against
the growing repression of all popular protest and open
corruption in the government
of the day. It was an anger tinged with a sense
of betrayal since in 1984, following the assassination
of his mother, the people had given Rajiv Gandhi and the
Congress such a huge mandate. This overall political
context, from which the middle classes of the capital
were not excluded, was to be reflected in the defeat of
the Congress in the election that followed the next
year. It
was also a major factor in determining the space given
to a clearly anti-government working class movement by
the media mandarins in Delhi. The result – for a few
moments, the mass of workers in Delhi were able to
acquire visibility in a city which otherwise continues
to mete out the most callous indifference to their
concerns. Extracts of the newspaper reports covering the
day wise series of events and the responses of other
unions, owners’ associations, as also the stances and
actions of the police have been attached in annexure. In
this section is detailed, the events as they unfolded in
three industrial areas – Wazirpur, GT Karnal Road, and
Mayapuri, But before such a description, some words on
the form and nature of this strike, that most suits the
conditions of unorganised workers.
The
strike of the unorganised
Unlike
strikes in the organised sector, the key to success of
the seven day strike lay in effective picketing at major
entry points to the industrial areas, not at an
individual factory gate. The pickets would turn into
demonstrations which would then go around the area,
knocking at every factory gate and calling out workers
to join the strike. It was a form that was given birth
to during the textile workers’ strike and bandh
call in April ’73. A juloos
of workers that moved from factory gate to factory gate,
powerful enough to terrorise the managements or maliks
with its size and potential for damage of property. A juloos
which drew into its fold ever expanding numbers of
workers who poured out of the factory gates, now
emboldened by numbers, to implement a strike.
For
it is not just the demands that impel workers to action.
Who among them would disagree with the demand for
increase in wages? The crucial question that had to be
answered before his participation therefore, was: would
the strike be successful enough? Would the organisers be
able to close down all the factories? For the common
worker, unprotected by the union, at the mercy of his
employer, and afraid of losing his job, would not want
to risk being absent or be identified by his malik
going around in the procession of workers. He knew that
should he be dismissed, there were thousands ready to
take his place. So, he had to be convinced that there
were forces more powerful than he, in his alienated and
atomised individual existence could mobilise, that would
ensure success. The organisers, aware of this had pushed
forward a veritable blitzkrieg of a campaign. And the
confidence level of ordinary workers went up by leaps
and bounds through the progress and heightening pitch of
the campaign.
Firstly,
the primary campaign of street corner meetings (over one
thousand of them), mike announcements, processions in
the areas and bastis,
public meetings, had informed the workers about the
issues and the plans. Through them workers had learnt
what the demands were and why. Leaflets and posters had
been avidly read by them. They had stopped and listened
to speeches in both street corner meetings and the tempo
campaigns. They had clapped and laughed at the mockery
of their oppressors in the play, Chakka
Jaam. They had noted that there was a whole range of
people giving the speeches and campaigning for the
strike. They had been enthused by daily reports of how
the preparations were going on in their own area as well
as in other areas. They appreciated the fact that the
speakers challenged and openly criticised not only the maliks
but also the police, whom they feared, but also
resented. And of course they had responded to the fact
that the campaign content was speaking about their own
lives and its details. As leaflets, speeches, plays and
songs touched and presented the class basis of their
multiple experiences, as the demand for increased wages
and DA appeared as a concrete programme of action to
deal with the rise in prices over which they had no
control, as the tragic experiences of disease and even
deaths due to cholera that year, were condemned and its
cause identified, the thirst for explanations was also
being quenched.
Secondly,
they were impressed by the fact that what each was
observing and being part of, was being duly reported by
others also. In factories, in buses, in jhuggi
bastis, friends and neighbours confirmed and added
to this experience. The reassurance that what was taking
place was a widespread powerful event and not just an
aberrant risky adventure began to grow through this. The
very sweep of the campaign touching all industrial areas
and also the residential settlements of workers,
constituted an important element of the depth of contact
established with the individual worker.
Thirdly,
the papers were also reporting upon the preparations.
This was very unusual for the worker. He was used to
reading reports only of distant events, rarely if ever
about the struggles of his class. And finally, the
flurry of activity by his malik
and his ilk, and the local police confirmed the fact
that they too were perturbed by the preparations. They
abused CITU, repeatedly threatened their employees that
any absenteeism would be severely dealt with, had
meetings with the thanas.
The worker while getting nervous about all this also
realised that the strike call had to be of some weight,
otherwise, as in the past, the maliks
would not be so active.
Here
it must be emphasised that the organisers of the strike
have an instinctive understanding of this process that
goes on in the minds of the workers. They plan the
campaign accordingly. They consciously arranged a series
of meetings, processions, street corner meetings and
street plays, all harping upon the same theme. They
brought in bank employees, insurance employees, college
teachers, students and union leaders from bigger units
to address meetings. Reports (sometimes exaggerated) of
momentous preparations, huge meetings and processions,
brave resolutions were routinely declaimed in meetings
so that the workers of one area learn about and draw
inspiration from other areas. Speeches by the more
experienced leaders always strike a chord as they never
fail to warn the employers and police that any
interference against the strike will not be tolerated.
The role of women’s teams in their campaign,
especially in the residential areas was also important.
The worker was impressed by the fire and commitment of
these activists. Moreover, his family also started
talking about the strike, supporting it. Thus the
hesitant, suspicious worker was not only convinced but
also became confident.
However
the strike does not become successful only by correct
slogans and intensive propaganda, as many organisers
realised to their dismay. One leader of north Delhi[90]
summed it up by saying that a successful strike is 50%
propaganda and 50% picketing. This was a lesson learnt
directly from the textile mill gates where a militant
fighting picket at the gate was essential. In the seven
day strike, the success or otherwise of the strike
varied, among other things, with the planning and
positioning of the picket. Places were selected from
where the maximum number of workers enter the industrial
area. Depending upon the strength of the union in the
area, members were deputed to report at the pickets at
about 7:30 in the morning, because workers start
arriving by 8 o’clock. Leaders were also deployed
according to the importance and difficulty of each spot.
By 8 a.m., the picket is in position. If it was a gate
then it was blocked by flag waving, slogan shouting
workers. If it was simply a path then it too was
blocked. A wide road, though not a good spot for
picketing, required more people on both sides.
Preferable pickets were near jhuggi
bastis where the picketers could take shelter in
case the police intervened, as happened at Wazirpur.
By
8:30, a sizeable number of workers would be held up at
the picket if it was successful, if the workers were
confident. The individuals manning the picket were
crucial for this. An active, angry militant picket which
was willing to take on anybody would
immediately draw the support of workers and boost
their morale. For, just as the workers, the police and
the employers’ associations also knew the importance
of the picket. Police was present in force at each
picket, as soon as they get to know its location, or
when it was pre-determined by circumstance. Often, the
employers associations were present too. In GTK Road,
for instance, the association was present in full
strength behind the main gates of the industrial area,
exhorting workers to come in, and directing the police
to break the picket.
The
leader of the picket decided the time when, seeing that
a sufficient number of workers had collected, the mass
should be organised into a procession which would enter
the industrial area and go around the streets mopping up
all those who had either entered the factory or were
hanging around. This was always a tedious, tense
process. The police usually did not want any such thing
to happen. On the other hand the workers would by then,
be in a state of frenetic jubilation - they would want
each and every factory checked so that not a single
worker was left inside. As the procession slowly wound
its way through the streets of the industrial area, the
numbers would swell to several hundreds, sometimes
thousands. Initially the procession would simply do a
couple of rounds along the main roads, even as the CITU
activists tried to maintain order, lead the slogans,
negotiate with policemen and generally direct the
proceedings. However, after some time, the impatience
and frenzy of the workers would become over-riding.
Rumours about such and such factory running full swing,
of so and so malik locking up his workers and forcing
them to work etc .would grip sections of the procession.
It would stop at a factory gate while leaders peered
through grills and chinks to ascertain the status.
Slogans would reach a crescendo making the accompanying
police posse nervous. First they would try to convince
the leadership that the factory was empty. However, a
peering face from the second floor or a glimpse of
cycles in the porch might point to the contrary. Workers
would beat the iron gates with sticks. From behind,
someone might hurl stones at the glass panes which if
shattered would send a thrill down the crowd.
Ultimately, the police might convince the factory owner
to let a couple of activists in to check. Often they
came out escorting a group of sheepish workers, eyes
downcast. They were greeted with jeers and insults. If
it has taken too long, then some of them might even be
manhandled. After celebratory slogan-shouting the
procession would move on dragging excited workers with
it. Of course, more often than not, the police would not
allow this dominance of the proceedings by the workers.
They might not have let the workers enter the area
itself, or prevented them from searching factory
premises. In either cases the equilibrium was determined
by the strength of the workers. If the gathering was
large, no amount of police presence would deter the
workers from proceeding with the meticulous
implementation. On the other hand, if their strength was
low, they instinctively realised that most of the
workers had gone in, and the police would then escort
the procession around. In some places, especially in the
north it was reported that groups of workers were
deputed to patrol the streets in the night and stone
factories where work was going on. This helped in not so
much stopping the work actually, as creating an
atmosphere of terror amongst the employers.
What
the collective strike of all industrial units in an area
does is to treat the whole area as a unit, thereby
obviating the individual disability of workers of each
unit to
fight against their respective employers. Although the
strike is actually directed against the government, in
terms of the demands that are being raised, the worker
is actually fighting against his or her employer. And
thence arises the anger and fire that marks the striking
workers. They are no longer afraid of being identified
by their maliks,
or losing their jobs. They are part of a larger
collective which provides safety and security. Under the
protection of this collective, each worker sheds the
fearful and submissive integument he has acquired to
tide him through his tough life. This breaking down
unleashes an overflow of pent up anger, resentment and
suffering from his soul. He exults in his freedom. He
openly disobeys the policeman, disregards the threats of
employers and babus,
fights hirelings of the management and generally is
willing to take to violence against any sign of
interference from the rich. Even a car trying to enter
the industrial area is objected to! Leaders who try to
exercise some control are criticised for being too soft,
although the veterans realise that restraint is always
more paying than just arbitrary running around. The
strike is thus a celebration for each worker, an
assertion of his individuality and freedom even as he is
part of a larger collective. He realises this intrinsic
link between the class to which he belongs and his own
life, in a strike. The whole uncertainty and insecurity
of his atomised and solitary existence pitted against
the uncontrollable forces of capital and urban life, is
transformed into an exhilarating sense of belonging and
purpose rooted in the collective of his brethren and
backed by the confidence in an organisation. This
feeling is not permanent - but it incrementally
contributes to his growing consciousness. Thus he may
not join the union immediately afterwards, but he
develops an attachment which lasts.
North
Delhi: Wazirpur and GT Karnal Road
From
newspapers as well as organisational reports, it is
clear that Wazirpur and GT Karnal Road, were the most
advanced centres of the strike. The internal review of
the CPI(M) assessed that the strike was 90% in both
areas. Located at right angles to each other, the two
industrial areas almost meet through the contiguous belt
of jhuggis
that lie along the railway line adjacent to, and within
Azadpur and Lal Bagh. The presence of the old industries
of Ajudhia Textile Mill at the entry to Azadpur, and
Birla Mill on the GT road itself, just a little further
inwards towards the centre of the city, had given this
area, a longstanding working class character. Organised
mill workers and unorganised small scale industrial
labour were socially mixed here as nowhere else in the
city, and many a worker effected entry into the smaller
factories of the area through association with mill
workers. Associations that
stretched from deep in the rural hinterland.
The
industrial area of GT Karnal Road, established in the
sixties, was divided into A block, on the northern side
towards Azadpur, and B block on the other side of the
Satyawati College Road flyover. Almost completely
dominated by the manufacture of auto parts, GT Road
housed some 300 factories. In 1988, the strongest unions
of CITU was in Sigma, Chaman Rubber and Smart
(universally referred to by workers as Samrat). It was
these workers, who provided the core organised force in
the area during the strike. Another prominent factory
was D.D. Gears with an independent union[91],
which later affiliated itself to the CITU some
time after the seven day strike. The Wazirpur industrial
area which came into existence in the mid seventies, was
much larger (84 hectares as compared to 50 for GT Road),
housing some 1,000 factories. It was dominated by steel
rolling units, although many other types of industries
– auto parts, electricals, and hosiery factories were
also located here. Bordered on two sides by the goods
railway line which curves away from the main Northern
Railway Amritsar line[92]
to connect with the line towards Ferozepur[93],
the Wazirpur industrial area lies alongside Ring Road as
it moves away from Azadpur alongside Shalimar Bagh.
Flanked by thousands of jhuggies all along the railway
line, in both character and appearance, Wazirpur
reflected unorganised labour to a far greater extent.
The predominantly contract labour in the steel rolling
units set the standard for the area.
The
chronology of events in these two areas as recorded in
the newspaper reports, show that on the first day of the
strike, the police lathi charged and tear gassed a
workers’ demonstration in Wazirpur, while an
aggressive police blockade at GT Karnal Road prevented
workers, gathered at the entrance to the industrial area
on the main GTK Road, from entering the industrial area.
At
GTK Road, the owners of factories openly stood at the
entrance to the area, with rope barricades and large
numbers of police. The method of preventing the workers
from entering the area, was through arbitrary arrest of
those in the leadership, which included women. Asha Lata[94]
and Kamla[95],
both of the Janwadi Mahila Samiti recall that during the
campaign in the industrial area, the owners, were
already perturbed by the atmosphere, as they felt that
if the strike succeeded, there would be some raise in
the wages. This they wanted to prevent at all cost. From
the first day of the strike, the maliks
in concert with the police tried to get the strike
broken.
On
the morning of the first day, Kamla, north Delhi
district president JMS, along with some women from Sawan
Park,[96]
reached the entry to B block of GTK Road at 8 a.m.,
where some 50-60 workers were gathered, while others
were standing scattered around on the road in the
expectation of formation of a procession. The police was
everywhere in force. The workers told her that the
police had already beaten up and taken away the leading
CITU whole timer of the area, Subodh.
At that point she decided that they should form
the procession on the main road itself and march towards
A block, tie up with the workers there, and with greater
force effect entry into the industrial area. In the
meantime Asha Lata, who was at A block from 7 a.m.,
along with another contingent of women and workers, was
facing similar problems. The police, who were standing
there with the maliks,
were harassing the workers and not even allowing them to
stand together. A “policeman in civilian dress”,
told her that some of her comrades were standing at
another point and the police was picking them up. She
went to see what was happening, and from behind, the
police picked up the group of Sigma workers who had been
standing with her. When she saw what had happened, she
and the group of Azadpur women who were with her, went
into the jhuggies
of Azadpur and mobilised more workers. They had gathered
again when the other group from B block arrived.
Together, they tried to break through the manned rope
barricade put up by the police. As the two segments of
the workers met, the numbers became very large( reported
to be 1500 by the newspapers). It was already clear that
the bulk of the workers in the area were on strike, and
most of the factories were closed. But in the scuffle at
the barricade, a few stones were thrown, and then the
police lathi charged and scattered the workers. During
the lathi charge, they dragged away and arrested both
workers and some of the women who were in the lead. Asha
Lata recalls that just as they were attempting to breach
the barricade, she was given a letter from Nathu Prasad,
the convenor of the hartal
committee instructing her not to allow herself to be
arrested. So when she was dragged to the other side of
the road, amidst the confusion, the diminutive Asha
quickly covered her head with a shawl and slipped away
from the place of confrontation.
But
about 12 of the women, and a number of workers were
arrested at the spot, while the remaining workers were
scattered. They remained unable to enter the industrial
area that day. Later, in a JMS
meeting on 16th December, ’88, one of the
women, Chamela, is recorded as having described the
incident in the following words,[97]
“When Asha and Kamla beaten, I took a policeman’s
lathi. Police said, “Catch this fatty”…Four were
dragging Asha. I said leave her and gave him 2 slaps.
They pushed Kamla into the van. We took Asha out of the
van and courted (allowed?) arrest”. At the police
station, Kamla said that they were being pressurised to
sign a statement saying that they were trying to setting
fire to the factories. They refused. While the others
were let off in the evening, Kamla, Chamela and Maya[98],
who were among the key militants, were sent to Tihar
Jail. They were to gain release only on the 25th night.
Meanwhile,
in Wazirpur too, from the first day, police repression
was let loose on the workers. Pickets were organised at
four strategic points: A-block jhuggies,
petrol pump, aara machine (wood-sawing factory in
B-block) and Steel Ball Bearing[99]
(near Azadpur railway station). Participants at the
latter recall that they collected in the morning in
large numbers and the factories were closed up. As the
juloos moved from B block to A block, the police lathi
charged the procession. Explaining the events, Shrawan
Kumar[100]
said that the maliks association used to run from A
block and it was therefore here that the police used to
intervene. Along with many other workers who were
injured in the lathi charge, Jagdish Manocha, a senior
leader of the CITU was badly beaten and then arrested.
Devi Prasad, a worker of the area recalled the police
beating Jagdish Manocha, who “just kept on going” .[101]
The case that was registered, against five of the
leaders of the CITU
(although all could not be arrested), came to a
close only in May, 1999, eleven years after the event.
Shiv Sharan, of Premier Electricals in Wazirpur, who was
injured in the attack recalls that after the lathi
charge, many of them came to the CITU office at Kamla
Nagar, where their injuries were attended to. He added
that the more “hungama”
there
was, the greater was the support for and success of the
strike.[102]
Newspaper
reports (23 Nov 1988) on the events of the first day in
Wazirpur were as follows: “In the Wazirpur industrial
area, a procession of about 4,000 workers was
tear-gassed, as they were moving around the locality
urging the few workers to come out.” (TOI). “The
police action followed stoning on various factory
premises and on the police about 11 a.m. by a mob of
about 1500 workers who had abstained from work¼”(HT)
“Violence at several places marked the first day of
the seven-day industrial strike… The police fired
about a dozen rounds of tear-gas at workers taking out a
procession in Wazirpur around noon. As the police lathi-charged
and tear-gassed the strikers, many from the crowd hurled
stones at a police vehicle and at a factory.” (Indian
Express) “At
12.30 in the afternoon, a procession of about 4,000
workers was going around Wazirpur industrial area.” (Navbharat
Times).
According
to Jaimangal, one of the key CITU leaders in Wazirpur,
there was stoning on the procession from some factories,
and the plan of the police was to create an incident,
lathi charge and arrest the leaders, so that the strike
could not be sustained.[103]
Obviously, despite the police attack, the strike was a
big success in the area.
The
second day of the strike was a Wednesday, the weekly off
day in the north. Again on the third day, there was a
lathi charge and injuries to women activists at GT
Karnal Road, where Asha Lata and Suman of the JMS were
arrested, but the police blockade at the GT Road
industrial area was broken that day. Shiv Sharan recalls
that he and some others went from Wazirpur into GT Road,
entering from the back by going along the railway line
along which Azadpur and Lal Bagh jhuggies are located.
But the main juloos
from Wazirpur went along the main road to cross the
police barricade. Jagdish Manocha (not taped) recalled
that there were some negotiations with the police, and
finally when it was clear that the
juloos would not budge, the police let them in.
There could be little point in stopping them, since in
any case most of the factories were closed.
Asha Lata recalls that earlier that morning, she
and another young girl Suman, were surrounded by police
at the bus stop on the main road, but newspaper reports
quote eyewitnesses saying that they were arrested while
leading a 3,500 strong juloos
in the area. Obviously, the juloos
in the area and the arrests were mixed up in the
perception of both reporters and participants. But the
fact remained that the blockade was broken and the
police were no longer in a position to stop the workers.
The workers were exhilarated and newspapers reported
that there was a 7,000 strong procession which
culminated in a meeting at Wazirpur, addressed by
Jogendra Sharma.
It
was on the fourth day that conflict became more intense,
when an attack was launched on the workers by Congress
supporters from inside a factory in Wazirpur. Soda
bottles were thrown at the procession of workers,
followed by a lathi charge and tear gassing by the
police. Such was the uncontrolled ferocity of the police
attack, that they entered the jhuggies and
indiscriminately beat up women and children. That day,
in the afternoon, the Wazirpur and GT Karnal Road
processions, instead of winding up for the day within
the industrial area, converged in a big demonstration at
the office of the Deputy Commissioner of Police
(Northwest district), at Ashok Vihar.
The
incident was reported in the newspapers as: “In
Wazirpur, eyewitnesses said, a peaceful procession of
about 3,000 workers was attacked with stones and soda
bottles when it was near factory no. A-115 by a group of
about 50 anti social elements led by a Congress member,
Nandan Singh. According to eyewitnesses, the retreating
workers were lathi-charged by the
police and a 15 year old boy was severely
injured. Irate workers then set up roadblocks and were
soon joined by a procession of more than 1,000 from the
adjoining GT Karnal Road industrial area. They later gheraoed
the Ashok Vihar police station for about two hours and
demanded immediate action against the factory owner and
the Congress member.
Ashok Vihar station house officer refused to
comment on the incident.” (TOI, 26.11.88)
“The
police reported that it had to fire four rounds of
teargas shells to disperse a crowd and rounded up at
least 11 persons, all “hired by the local
managements” who were obstructing a CITU workers’
procession. According to the police spokesman, nearly 20
men belonging to local management groups and armed with
lathis, attacked the procession which was accompanied by
a small police posse. The workers retaliated by throwing
stones. Soon a larger police force arrived and fired
teargas shells to disperse the clashing groups. The
police said that the incident took place outside factory
no. A-115.The CITU claimed that the police aided the
attackers and the local SHO in collusion with the
management ordered simultaneous lathi-charge on the
workers. Several workers were injured in the process and
a 15-year old boy who has not been identified received
head injuries.”(Indian Express, 26.11.88)
The
brutality of the police attack had shaken the workers,
and Krishna Prasad, of Premier Electricals recalls that
they went that evening and campaigned among the jhuggi
residents, but he himself was worried as to whether
people would turn up the next morning after such an
attack. He says, “we campaigned in the jhuggies
till 12 at night… but we thought tomorrow the public
will not join us..” But on the next (sixth) day
-“when we went in the morning to establish our
morcha,- when the eight thirty bus comes,- that is
the time we take out our procession - but when it
started, the public
was already out, carrying big ballis
and lathis,
and the police seeing this began to run ahead…the road
was so jammed that if anyone thought of crossing from
one side to the other, it was not possible. That was a scene
we had the fortune to see comrade, with the police
almost fleeing ahead and the public
racing behind…there was an urge in the people to break
up and smash things, but Comrade Nathu said, ‘look, we
have to work in there. If we smash it up, then we will
only harm ourselves. Wait now, we will see on the last
day (Aakhree din hum dekhenge)’”
Both Shiv Sharan and Krishna Prasad saw this as
the basis of the power of the demonstration on the last
day of the strike.[104]
Thereafter,
the police was no longer able to intervene in the
industrial areas of Wazirpur or GT Road and took
recourse to trying to pick up leaders at night. Although
some activists were arrested, the main leaders were able
to evade the police[105].
The extent of the enthusiasm and sense of power among
the unorganised small scale industrial workers acquired
in the course of the preceding days, became a force with
which the organised textile workers in the area were
also drawn into the strike. On the sixth day, early in
the morning a strike picket was established at the gates
of Birla Mill, while leaders of the other unions stood
around ready to encourage workers to enter the mill. A
restive and heavy police picket was stationed there, but
when the clash between the striking workers and the
police took place, the other union leaders standing
around could not be distinguished from the strikers.[106]
The result, Birla Mill closed down for the day. At
ATM, the morning picket was not so successful and
a number of workers had reported for duty. But the juloos
from GTK Road reached the ATM gates in time to close the
afternoon shift. A most interesting incident was the
story of Lakshmi, wife of an ATM worker who had broken
the strike and gone into work that morning. Lakshmi
remained standing for hours at the factory gate, and
when he emerged in the afternoon, just as the juloos
from GT Road arrived, she spat on his face and abused
him. She is recalled to have said, “Are you not
ashamed of yourself for going to work when all the
workers are struggling?”[107]
A
mighty momentum was revealed on the last day of the
strike, when ten thousand workers, according to
participants and 5,000 according to newspapers, marched
out from the industrial areas of Wazirpur and GT Road,
Nirankari Colony and Rajasthani Udyog Nagar, swept
through the main arterial roads of North Delhi to the
Labour Office at Rajpur Road, and thence to the Old
Secretariat in a culminating demonstration, which even
the newspapers referred to as “a massive rally”.
Krishna Prasad recalled that they carried bamboo sticks
in the front to keep the crowd together and that the
police were running ahead telling shopkeepers that a bandar
sena is coming. Others recall that the workers had
broken off branches from trees and were carrying them
like flags, and as the procession approached the market
area at Kamla Nagar, the sound of a series of shutters
rolling down could be heard.
Of
this demonstration, Sudhanwa Dehpande, a college student
at the time, and an actor in the Jana Natya Manch play,
Chakka Jaam, said, “one of the things I remember, was
the fact that we did not walk, we ran. It was actually
difficult to keep pace with the workers. They were going
forward with tremendous speed...not the kind of walk one
does in various demos. Here it was very very fast and I
remember when I came to Rajpur Road I was exhausted, I
was huffing and puffing… I was vividly struck by the
strength, the sheer physical strength of that entire
procession. It was really like a bullet, very powerful,
that power was very palpable, I remember that very very
vividly.” [108]
West
Delhi: Mayapuri
In
the Mayapuri industrial area, on the other hand, the
actual strike (the number of
factories that were closed during the strike),
was much less than elsewhere. In its internal review,
the CPM assessed the strike to be 25 – 30% peaking on
the third day at 50%.
Yet, its impact on the workers was quite
dramatic, and in the period following the strike, large
numbers of workers enrolled in the union, while some of
the organised unions changed over and began to affiliate
to the CITU.[109]
Dominated
by the imposing presence of two large scale industrial
units of Metal Forging and Ashoka Machine Tools,
Mayapuri is located along the main line of the Northern
Railway, just beyond its intersection with the Ring Road
in west Delhi. The bulk of the factories here came up in
the mid seventies along a grid of wide lanes that
stretched between the Mayapuri Road and the railway line
which further east ran alongside the Naraina and Kirti
Nagar industrial areas. Along the railway line was an
almost continuous line of jhuggies,
although they had different names at each major point.
The
western entrance to the industrial area on the Mayapuri
Road was itself, a strategic point in the campaign since
through it travelled thousands of workers from the huge
stretch of unauthorised colonies in Sagarpur, Uttam
Nagar, and the Pappankala areas (Dwarka), who worked not
only Mayapuri, but Kirti Nagar, Naraina and Motinagar as
well. Early in the morning, a sea of cycles would
stretch across the Mayapuri Rroad, where leafleting was
most effective.
Unlike
in other areas of west Delhi, the three day strike of
1987, had not been very successful in Mayapuri. It had
been essentially confined to phase II, while phase I,
with bigger units and containing the heart of the
owners’ association, had remained untouched. It may be
recalled that the Mayapuri industrial area had been
identified as one of the weakest points in the last
meeting of the TU sub committee before the strike, with
an aggressive owners’ association. At the time of the
strike, the CITU had only one union in phase II of the
area and a membership of about 50. The campaign and the
strike, had to therefore be organised by outsiders, and
women played a key role in this area.
As
in GT Road, the women activists played an initiating
role here in the course of the strike. Their
participation began during the campaign itself. It was
unusual for women to be standing on the roads and
distributing leaflets and, the curiosity of the workers
was aroused. Rushing to work in the morning, they would
stop their cycles to take the leaflets, or stretch out
their hands from buses, asking for them.
As the word spread, the second time round workers
were prepared. At lunchtime, generally workers were out
on the streets since it was winter, and they preferred
to come out in the sun. Lunchtime meetings attracted
huge crowds, and workers, both organised (mostly in
other unions) and unorganised, started coming to the
CITU office to express their support.
Lacking
experience of effective strike in this area, two nights
before the strike it had been decided to establish two
pickets inside the industrial area. The first was to be
at the gates of the BEC factory in phase II which had
the lone CITU Union in the area. It was to be manned by
DYFI activists along with the BEC workers. The second
was to be established at the gates of Lumax in phase I,
whose workers, although members of Sadhu Singh’s
union, had displayed keen support for the strike, and
assured support. This picket was to be manned by JMS
activists from Sultanpuri. In the early hours of the
morning, workers had begun to gather round the pickets,
but they were not as yet prepared for police action. And
the police quickly dragged away and arrested the
main picketers at both points, so no
juloos was formed within the industrial area.[110]
Although later in the day, workers did demonstrate at
the police station against the arrests, the effect of
the strike remained limited to a degree of absenteeism,
but few closures. Workers, although sympathetic had not
yet crossed out of the boundaries of inhibition and
remained inactive spectators to the police actions.
The
Times of India reported, “Most of the factories in the
Mayapuri industrial area remained open, and the police
arrested seven women volunteers..for leading a
procession. These women volunteers were dragged away by
policemen into the police station and detained there for
a long time¼.The
volunteers also alleged that they were beaten up with
lathis in the stomach and on the wrists inside the
station premises.On the other hand, the situation was
most peaceful in the sprawling industrial area and there
was not a single incident of violence as the majority of
workers abstained from work¼”
(23.11.88)
Confident
that the picketers, being outsiders, would not be able
to do much, those arrested in the morning were let off
at 5 o’clock. A change in tactics was in order and the
next morning, a single picket was established on the
Mayapuri Road at the point where leafleting had been so
successful. The experienced trade unionist, Puran Chand
( the then president of the General Mazdoor Lal Jhanda
Union), led the picket. The change had immediate effect.
Workers on foot and on cycles were effectively gathered
together and a juloos
of about three hundred workers was formed on the second
day. The procession was able to enter and go around both
phases of the industrial area, but it remained
surrounded by a large police posse. It was decided not
to make any attempt to close factories as many were
already closed due to GuruPurab, and the day passed off
peacefully.
It
was on the third day, that the strike action struck root
in the area, as a juloos
of over two thousand workers was formed on the main road
itself. The morning picket had been strengthened by
about 10 JMS and 10 DYFI activists who had been brought
in from Shakurpur on this day. For the first time the
police were outflanked, being initially confined to the
front part of the juloos,
before whose strength, many factories started shutting
up. More and more workers came out and joined the
procession. The tail end which had itself swelled to
about 5,000, packing the road from side to side, closed
up the remaining factories. The factories so closed
included two belonging to Chawla, the most feared malik
of the area. It was at this point that one Assistant
Commissioner of Police, Ajay Kashyap decided to
personally intervene. Accompanied by a force of some
fifteen policemen, he ordered them to arrest one of the
women activists who was in the lead of the rear end of
the juloos.
But by this time, the workers had become a fierce force,
and they physically prevented his men from arresting
her.
While
the front was led by a more orderly group, the rear
could no longer be called a procession, rather a huge
mass stopping at and shaking factory gates, and calling
workers out. The mass seemed frightening to the few
women workers, who came out of the factories that were
getting shut. With great difficulty passageways were
made through the press of innumerable male workers for
the women workers to come out without being shoved
around. In the meantime, police reinforcements had been
brought in including the CRPF women’s battalion. It
was then that the police lathi charged the workers from
the rear.
The
opportunity for the lathi charge came when the rear end
of the juloos
was stuck outside one factory in phase I for an
inordinate length of time, as over 500 workers emerged
from within. For almost 15 minutes, the workers had been
stationary, their attention fixed on the emerging
workers who had to pass through a tortuously slow
process of body search by security guards at the gate.
Twice messages were sent from the front leaders of the
juloos which had already reached the next phase, that
the rear should be made to move on, but the mass
pressure to ensure that every worker had come out from
the factory was too intense and nobody would budge. The
factory was located close to the end of a lane which was
blocked by a wall virtually enclosed on three sides. The
density of workers packed from side to side, and lack of
lateral space gave the workers almost no space to
escape. Hampered by their cycles, they were almost
helpless in the face of the lathi charge and ensuing
stampede.
After
the lathi charge on the rearend juloos, activists from
both front and rear julooses gathered within minutes at
the CITU office in Mayapuri. Many of the scattered
workers too converged there. State leaders who had been
informed immediately arrived there within the hour. The
leaders, accompanied by the activists and some 200
workers who were still hanging around went immediately
to the police station where it was felt that some of the
workers including a young woman worker who had been
among the most militant might have been detained. Since
the numbers were still sizable, and state leaders as
well as journalists were present, activists were allowed
to search the thana premises to assure themselves that
no worker had been detained there. One BEC worker and
some few others who had been were thus quietly let off.
ACP Kashyap could be seen to be fuming and
fretting but was unable to prevent the search since the
reinforcements had left and only the local thana police
were there.
Newspapers
reported, “The day began with large demonstrations in
almost every industrial centre in the city. One of the
largest of such rallies was held at Mayapuri.The
procession began peacefully, doing rounds of all working
units. It would stop outside these units, exhort workers
to join the strike and move on.The procession made one
such stopover outside a unit in ‘A’ block. CITU
activists say they were only shouting slogans when the
police attacked them, but an eyewitness said a stone
hurled at the factory had stirred the police into
action.” (TOI, 25.11.88). The Navbharat Times reporter
who reached the area shortly after the lathi charge
wrote, “Today, the workers of Mayapuri industrial area
were the worst victims of lathicharge by the police. The
workers allege that when they were demonstrating in full
strength, then ACP Kashyap got them lathicharged¼about
150 workers were injured. Among the injured was a 13
year old boy named Kanchan Das. Hundreds of broken
cycles of workers were lying around at the place where
the lathicharge took place in Mayapuri,
phase-I....Workers told us that one of the factory maliks
supplied the lathis to the police. There was talk about
a white Maruti with some people in civilian clothes who
were threw stones at the workers and police and then
escaped. Workers said that when they were holding a
meeting at night in the jhuggis,
the police came, surrounded and terrorised them, but
they did not get terrorised. After the lathicharge,
a women’s jatha was singing with gusto: “Chahe lag
jaye hathkadiyan hartal karayenge” (Even if put in
handcuffs,we will keep the strike going on)¼”(Navbharat
Times, Nov 25).[111]
From
the next morning, Mayapuri took on the appearance of a
police camp. Police were lined up at every entrance and
many of the key activists were picked up from the CITU
office in the early hours of the morning. Puran Chand
who had been first to arrive, quickly saw the lay of the
land and bundled the first woman activist straight from
the bus stop towards hiding at a nearby petrol pump. She
was practically the lone leading figure to escape arrest
that day. Others were not so fortunate. Shakuntala
recalled that five or six of the women had come with
from Sultanpuri in her husband’s three wheeler. As
soon as the vehicle halted in front of the office, they
were surrounded by the police. She tried to pretend that
she was an ignorant, but the police were not taken in
and arrested them. [112]
At the same time, two of the women coming in from
Shakurpur were also arrested. Puran Chand himself,
Tripurari (textile worker, who was secretary of the west
engineering union branch)[113],
Brij Bhushan Tewary, secretary of the Textile union, and
Vimal Paliwal from the DYFI were all arrested. By
evening, Party lawyers managed to get three of
Shakuntala’s associates from Sultanpuri released that
evening, but four of the women and all the men were sent
to Tihar. Later, some Mayapuri workers reported that the
maliks had had a meeting with the police on the 24th
evening resulting in the police crackdown. “Earlier,
about hundred factory owners under the banner of the
Mayapuri small industries welfare association staged a
protest march in the locality against yesterday’s
attempts by some CITU activists to force workers out of
some establishments. Mr. S.K. Khurana, president of the
Mayapuri small industries welfare association, praised
the role of the police in handling the ‘ugly
situation’ which might have escalated into an
uncontrollable situation. (TOI, 26.11.88)
For
that day, the police lied and refused to admit that such
arrests had been made. “However, the Naraina ACP, Mr.
Ajay Kashyap, denied that any arrests were made. A
delegation of Communist Party of India (Marxist) which
included two MPs, Mr. Basudev Acharya, and Mr. M.A.
Baby, who went to inquire the whereabouts of their
activists were told the same.” (TOI, 26.11.88) One of
the arrested women, Ram Piari of Shakurpur said in a
meeting, “..on 25th – Kashyap caught hold
of me. Slapped me and beat me with a lathi. When I saw
Nikki was caught I decided to stay on and not escape
arrest. Taken to Cantt. thana. Then to Vasant Vihar,
Patiala House. In the evening went to Tihar Jail.”[114]
As
soon as news of the arrests reached them, the state and
local committee leaders came to the area and instructed
the remaining activists not to try to take out any
procession that day, and to remain out of sight of the
police. But the police repression left a palpable
tension in the air, and the success of the strike on the
24th had fired a resistance in the workers of BEC, who
had earlier displayed little enthusiasm for the strike.
The next day evening (it was Saturday, the weekly off in
Mayapuri and the day had been spent in individually
contacting workers in the jhuggies and nearby
unauthorised colonies), at the initiative of the BEC
workers, a meeting was called in the Lajwanti Garden
park which lay west of the industrial area, and was
attended by some 200 workers from within Mayapuri.The
picket point was shifted further east on the Mayapuri
Road and picketers were told to stay in the shadows
until a signal was given.
South
Delhi: Okhla
The
Okhla Industrial area, sprawls over 294 hectares, with
about 2000 industrial plots, many of them larger than is
the norm in other areas. It is the single largest
industrial area in Delhi. Divided into three phases, it
moves southwards from Phase III to Phase I, i.e., from
the outer Ring Road and alongside the main Central
Railway line between Maa Anand Mayee Marg and Mathura
Road (NH 2). Phase
III, which stands somewhat apart from the other two
phases, is flanked by the old style large scale factory
of Modi Flour Mills at its northern end and G.B.Pant
Poytechnic at its southern side. It is separated from
Phase II by green “orchard” land and Harkesh Nagar.
Phase I lies
contiguous to Phase II on its southern side and is
bounded at its eastern end by Tekhand. Both Harkesh
Nagar and Tekhand are built up urban villages,
increasingly dotted with very small industrial units and
commercial establishments. Many Okhla workers also live
in rented quarters here. The number and concentration of
jhuggies both in Okhla (such as Sanjay Colony, Indira
Vihar, Rajeev Camp, etc.) or close to Okhla (such as the
contiguous belt of Navjeevan Camp, Nehru Camp and
Bhumiheen Camp along the Govindppuri Road), is among the
largest series o |