Land, Law, and the Lawless: Assam's Quiet War on Indigenous Rights

In the mist-laden forests of Kaziranga, where the roar of the one-horned rhinoceros once echoed unchallenged, a different kind of battle is being waged—one that pits indigenous communities against the machinery of state power. The detention of Pranab Doley, a grassroots activist from Assam, under the National Security Act (NSA) in July 2024, has not only ignited protests across India but also exposed a systemic pattern of legal repression that threatens the very foundations of democratic governance. This is not an isolated incident, but part of a broader strategy to silence those who dare to challenge the nexus between state interests, corporate capital, and conservation policies that often come at the cost of local livelihoods.

Assam, a state in India's northeastern region, has long been a flashpoint for conflicts over land, identity, and resource control. The region's history is marked by waves of migration, colonial exploitation, and post-colonial state-building projects that have systematically marginalized indigenous and tribal communities. Today, as global conservation agendas and economic development models collide with local realities, the state's response has increasingly relied on draconian laws and heavy-handed policing. The case of Pranab Doley and the broader crackdown on activists in Kaziranga are emblematic of this trend—a trend that raises critical questions about the future of democratic dissent, environmental justice, and constitutional rights in India.

The Colonial Ghost in Modern Law: How the NSA Became a Weapon of Control

The National Security Act (NSA), enacted in 1980, was originally designed as a preventive detention law to address threats to national security, such as terrorism or insurgency. However, over the decades, its application has expanded far beyond its original intent, morphing into a tool for suppressing political dissent, stifling protests, and targeting marginalized communities. In Assam, the NSA has been particularly weaponized against indigenous activists, environmental defenders, and those who challenge state-backed development projects.

According to data from the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB), Assam has one of the highest rates of preventive detention in India. Between 2019 and 2023, the state reported over 1,200 cases of detention under the NSA—a figure that does not include the numerous instances where activists are detained under other laws such as the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) or the Public Safety Act (PSA). What makes the NSA particularly insidious is its bypassing of judicial review. Detainees can be held without charge for up to 12 months, and the grounds for detention are often vague, allowing authorities to target individuals based on suspicion alone.

The arrest of Pranab Doley and four other activists in July 2024 followed a peaceful protest against a proposed luxury resort by Hyatt International at Inglay Pathar, a site adjacent to Kaziranga National Park. The protest was not an act of violence or incitement, but a legitimate demand for the protection of indigenous land rights and ecological conservation. Yet, the Assam Police filed charges under the Bengal Notices Section (BNS), a colonial-era law that has been revived in recent years to criminalize dissent. The NSA was then invoked to detain the activists preemptively, under the guise of maintaining "public order."

This pattern is not unique to Assam. Across India, preventive detention laws have been used to target activists, journalists, and lawyers who challenge state narratives. In 2020, the Supreme Court of India expressed concern over the misuse of such laws, noting that they were being used to "silence dissent" rather than protect national security. Yet, despite judicial warnings, the practice continues unabated, particularly in states like Assam, where the legacy of insurgency and ethnic tensions provides a convenient pretext for state overreach.

The Conservation Paradox: Who Really Benefits from Kaziranga’s Protection?

Kaziranga National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is celebrated as a global success story in wildlife conservation. Home to over 2,400 one-horned rhinoceroses and a thriving ecosystem, the park has become a symbol of India’s commitment to environmental protection. However, the narrative of conservation in Kaziranga is far more complex than the glossy brochures suggest. Beneath the surface lies a history of displacement, ecological disruption, and the erasure of indigenous rights—all justified in the name of conservation.

The origins of Kaziranga’s conservation model can be traced back to the early 20th century, when British colonial authorities designated the region as a reserved forest. Indigenous communities, including the Mising, Karbi, and Adivasi tribes, were forcibly removed from their ancestral lands under the pretext of protecting wildlife. This legacy of displacement continued post-independence, with successive Indian governments adopting a fortress conservation model that prioritized wildlife over human rights. Today, over 60% of Kaziranga’s buffer zone is inhabited by indigenous communities, yet their rights to land, livelihood, and cultural heritage remain systematically denied.

The proposed luxury resort at Inglay Pathar is just one example of how conservation policies are increasingly intertwined with commercial interests. The project, backed by Hyatt International, promises to bring "eco-tourism" to the region, but critics argue it will only exacerbate land grabs and ecological degradation. Indigenous communities fear that the resort will lead to further displacement, as well as the privatization of communal resources. The protest led by Pranab Doley and others was not just about opposing a single project, but about resisting a broader pattern of state-corporate collusion that treats indigenous communities as obstacles to progress.

This paradox is not unique to Kaziranga. Across India, conservation projects have often been used as a Trojan horse for land acquisition and resource extraction. In the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, the creation of protected areas has led to the forced relocation of indigenous tribes like the Jarawa and Onge. In the Sundarbans, conservation policies have restricted fishing communities from accessing traditional livelihoods. These cases highlight a troubling trend: conservation is increasingly being weaponized to justify the dispossession of marginalized communities in the name of ecological protection.

The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), which India endorsed in 2007, guarantees indigenous communities the right to free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC) before any development project affecting their lands or resources. Yet, in Assam, as in many other parts of India, this right is routinely ignored. The Assam Forest Department, which manages Kaziranga, has been accused of violating indigenous rights by failing to conduct proper consultations with local communities before implementing conservation policies. Instead, dissent is met with repression—arrests, detentions, and the criminalization of peaceful protest.

The Broader Implications: How Assam’s Crackdown Undermines Democracy

The detention of Pranab Doley and the crackdown on activists in Kaziranga are not isolated incidents, but part of a larger pattern of state repression that threatens the very fabric of Indian democracy. In Assam, as in other parts of the country, the use of preventive detention laws against activists has created a climate of fear that stifles dissent and undermines the rule of law. This has broader implications for India’s democratic institutions, as well as for the global struggle for human rights and environmental justice.

One of the most alarming aspects of Assam’s crackdown is its targeting of indigenous leaders and environmental defenders. According to a report by Human Rights Watch, at least 20 indigenous activists were detained under the NSA or UAPA in Assam between 2019 and 2024. These individuals are often the first line of defense against state-backed projects that threaten their lands and livelihoods. By criminalizing their activism, the state is not only silencing dissent but also eroding the social fabric of indigenous communities, which rely on collective action to resist oppression.

The use of the NSA in Assam also raises serious questions about the role of the judiciary in protecting democratic rights. While the Supreme Court has occasionally intervened to release detainees, such as in the case of journalist Siddique Kappan, who was detained under the UAPA for over two years, these interventions are often too little, too late. The majority of NSA detainees in Assam are from marginalized communities, and their cases rarely receive the same level of scrutiny as those involving more privileged individuals. This disparity in justice reinforces the structural inequalities that plague India’s legal system.

Beyond Assam, the crackdown on activists has broader implications for India’s environmental policies. The country is at a critical juncture, with ambitious targets for renewable energy, afforestation, and wildlife conservation. Yet, these goals cannot be achieved without the participation and consent of local communities. The fortress conservation model, which treats indigenous communities as threats to wildlife rather than partners in conservation, is not only ethically indefensible but also ecologically unsustainable. Studies have shown that indigenous-managed lands often have higher biodiversity and lower deforestation rates than state-protected areas. Yet, this evidence is routinely ignored in favor of top-down conservation policies that prioritize state control over community rights.

The international community has also taken notice of Assam’s crackdown. In 2023, a group of UN human rights experts condemned the misuse of the NSA against indigenous activists, calling it a "violation of international law." The experts highlighted the case of Pranab Doley, noting that his detention was part of a broader pattern of repression against those who challenge state-backed development projects. This international scrutiny has put pressure on the Indian government, but it has not yet led to meaningful reforms. Instead, the state continues to justify its actions under the guise of maintaining law and order and protecting national security.

Voices from the Ground: The Human Cost of State Repression

Behind the statistics and legal jargon lie the stories of individuals whose lives have been upended by the state’s crackdown on dissent. Pranab Doley, a member of the indigenous Mising community, has been a vocal advocate for land rights and environmental justice in Assam. His detention under the NSA has not only silenced his voice but also sent a chilling message to other activists in the region. "When they arrest someone like me, they are not just targeting an individual, but an entire community," Doley said in a statement smuggled out of jail. "They want to crush our resistance, but they will not succeed. We will continue to fight for our lands and our rights, no matter the cost."

The human cost of Assam’s crackdown is not limited to Doley and his co-accused. In the villages surrounding Kaziranga, families live in constant fear of eviction or arrest. Many have been forced to abandon their traditional livelihoods, such as fishing and farming, due to restrictions imposed by the forest department. Others have been displaced by state-backed projects, such as the expansion of the National Highway 37, which cuts through indigenous lands. The loss of livelihoods and displacement have led to a rise in poverty and malnutrition in the region, further exacerbating the marginalization of indigenous communities.

The psychological toll of state repression is also significant. Activists and community leaders in Assam report high levels of anxiety, depression, and burnout due to constant surveillance and the threat of arrest. Many have been forced to go underground or flee the state to avoid detention. The crackdown has also fractured community solidarity, as fear of state reprisal discourages collective action. This erosion of social cohesion has long-term implications for the resilience of indigenous communities, which have historically relied on collective resistance to survive.

The case of Rongbong Terang, a Karbi activist who was detained under the NSA in 2022 for protesting against a hydroelectric project, illustrates the human cost of state repression. Terang, who was held without charge for six months, described his detention as a "living hell." "I was kept in a tiny cell with no sunlight, no fresh air, and no contact with the outside world," he said. "They wanted to break me, to make me give up my fight. But they failed. My detention only strengthened my resolve to fight for my community's rights." Terang’s story is not unique. Across Assam, activists who have been detained under preventive detention laws describe similar experiences of psychological and physical abuse.

The Path Forward: Can Assam Break the Cycle of Repression?

The detention of Pranab Doley and the crackdown on activists in Kaziranga are symptoms of a deeper crisis in Assam—one that pits the state’s developmental ambitions against the rights and aspirations of its indigenous communities. To break this cycle of repression, a fundamental shift in policy and mindset is required. This shift must prioritize the rights of indigenous communities, recognize their role as stewards of the environment, and reject the fortress conservation model in favor of participatory and inclusive approaches.

One potential solution lies in the adoption of indigenous-led conservation models. Across the world, indigenous communities have demonstrated that they are not obstacles to conservation, but its greatest allies. In the Amazon, indigenous-managed lands have lower deforestation rates than protected areas. In Canada, indigenous-led conservation initiatives have led to the recovery of endangered species. In India, the Forest Rights Act (FRA) of 2006 provides a legal framework for recognizing the rights of forest-dwelling communities, including their right to manage and conserve their lands. However, the implementation of the FRA in Assam has been woefully inadequate, with less than 10% of eligible claims being recognized.

To address this, the Assam government must take immediate steps to implement the FRA in letter and spirit. This includes recognizing the community forest rights of indigenous groups, ensuring their participation in conservation planning, and providing them with the resources and support needed to manage their lands sustainably. Additionally, the state must repeal or reform the NSA and other preventive detention laws that are routinely misused to suppress dissent. The judiciary must also play a more proactive role in protecting the rights of activists and ensuring that preventive detention is used only in the rarest of cases.

On the international front, India must also align its conservation policies with its commitments under international law, including the UNDRIP and the Convention on Biological Diversity. This includes recognizing the right of indigenous communities to free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC) before any development project affecting their lands or resources. Failure to do so not only violates international law but also undermines India’s credibility as a global leader in environmental conservation.

The case of Pranab Doley and the broader crackdown on activists in Assam are a wake-up call for India. They highlight the urgent need for a paradigm shift in how the state engages with indigenous communities and addresses the complex challenges of conservation and development. The fortress conservation model, which treats indigenous communities as threats to wildlife, is not only ethically indefensible but also ecologically unsustainable. True conservation can only be achieved through partnership with indigenous communities, not through their dispossession.