November 24, 2020
DELHI — Ajit Kumar Chauhan, 77, stares at a park from the front yard of his house in South Delhi's Khirki village. Nowadays, the green space mostly caters to wedding celebrations now, but it once housed refugee families from the Partition of India.
Chauhan was about four years old at the time, and his family-owned large tracts of agricultural land, including the patch where the park stands in Khirki, which was an erstwhile lal dora village — places where the British who ruled India used red ink to demarcate collectively-held residential land from agricultural land in village maps for the purposes of tax collection.
In the years following India's freedom from the British in 1947, the Delhi government acquired agricultural land of many lal dora villages, including Khirki's, and absorbed them into the expanding city. The government declared some as "urban villages' and exempted them from various development norms in part to keep their rural identity and community land ownership intact.
But over time, these exemptions from building regulations led people in these villages to construct houses and buildings so haphazardly that many are simply unsafe. People from dominant castes encroached on most of the land. Today, Khirki has lanes so narrow that a fire brigade truck cannot enter in case of a fire. Electrical wires overhang, and sewage is often stagnant. Water supply is irregular, and garbage is collected by the government only twice a week.
Since the late 1980s, successive governments in Delhi have attempted to regularize or create development plans for these villages, which have become places so complex that none of these plans could be implemented. In the meantime, residents of such villages find themselves trapped between the blurred boundaries of urban and rural, traditional and modern, the individual and communitarian ethics. They are also divided over whether or not they want any change in the way the things are, because many of them benefit from the chaos.
As Delhi expands further, another set of lal dora villages on the city's periphery are being swallowed. In November 2019, the lieutenant governor of Delhi declared 79 more lal dora villages as urban villages, taking the total tally of such urban villages to 214. And this past September, the governor handed over these villages to the Delhi Development Authority (DDA). As such, Delhi now has 362 lal dora villages.
In the following month, DDA issued a notification saying that the residents of the urban and rural villages will be involved in making layouts for the Delhi Masterplan of 2041. But given the failure of various such government attempts in the past, residents of these villages have little hope.
These notifications are "paper tigers," says Paras Tyagi of Budhela, a lal dora-turned-urban village in southwest Delhi. Tyagi is a co-founder of the Centre for Youth Culture Law and Environment or CYCLE, a non-profit based in Delhi.
The truth, though, is that nobody really knows whether urban villages will have a fate similar to Khirki or different.
What led to chaos?
As a lal dora village, Khirki lay on the periphery of urban Delhi, which is today's old Delhi. Chauhan thinks of his childhood in Khirki as one of blissful isolation and unhindered autonomy. His family owned about 40 acres of agricultural land on which they grew long-grain rice, wheat, chickpeas and sugarcane. Chauhan remembers cattle milling through the farmlands, and grazing on forage crops. His primary education took place under a tree on the farm.
"When it rained, we would shift to the Khirki mosque," in the village, he recalls.
Sushmita Pati, a political science professor at Azim Premji University who has extensively researched Delhi's urban villages, says "most villages were dominated by the pastoral Jaat and Gujjar communities who collectively owned parts of residential land, shamlat deh (common land) and agricultural land."
Chauhan, who belongs to an upper caste, asserts the interdependence that existed in the village. "Harijans a community that is considered of lower caste would help in our fields and milk our cattle, while the Pandits a community that is considered of higher caste would conduct marriage rituals. Through a barter system, we would give Harijans grains in return for their efforts," he says.
While Khirki itself was on the periphery of Delhi, the Harijan community lay on the periphery of Khirki.
According to Gyanendra Pandey, an independent historian, the post-Partition refugee crisis led to increase in Delhi's population by over a million in the next four years. So, to rehabilitate the refugees, Delhi government began acquiring large tracts of agricultural land to build temporary settlements. Chauhan's family gave up half of their 40 acres. Subsequently, the rest of the Khirki's agricultural land was acquired by DDA between 1962 and 1964 for the planned development of the city. "DDA paid us around Rs 4,600 ($62) per acre," recalls Chauhan.
People began constructing houses and buildings the way they wanted, and where they wanted.
Soon after acquiring agricultural land of some lal dora villages, DDA created Delhi's first Master Plan in 1962 to develop the city. But it decided to leave the residential areas of these villages largely untouched. Even today, lal dora areas are marked on Delhi's revenue maps with a single plot or khasra number — a mark of older collective ownership. This means that residents of such villages do not have individual property rights over their plots, and so cannot access bank loans or buy and sell their properties transparently.
The following year, the Municipal Corporation of Delhi (MCD) declared 20 lal dora villages including Khirki as "urban villages' whose agricultural land was acquired by DDA. That meant that people of these villages had to follow the Building Bye-Laws. But a few months later, that same year, MCD issued a second notification exempting these villages from certain sections of building regulations of the Delhi Metropolitan Council Act. This was largely done to accommodate Delhi's growing post-Partition refugee population.
The exemption allowed residents of the villages to construct or repair buildings, or even change the use of a building from residential to commercial without taking any permission from the civic authorities. As a result, people began constructing houses and buildings the way they wanted, and where they wanted. Further government notifications granted urban villages access to up to 1kW of free power supply for industrial purposes and exemptions from property taxes.
Behind Chauhan's house is a dense maze of residential buildings that extend over the street and take up asymmetrical forms to maximize the horizontal and vertical space. Construction debris lie next to the new construction that is coming up in the vacant space or atop buildings. Narrow alleyways between these buildings end abruptly at buildings having single-room floors, allowing only a sheet of sunlight to seep through the lane.
In 2006, the government formed an Expert Committee on lal dora to integrate the former lal dora villages into the planned development of the city. The committee recommended creating village development plans for each village along with land use maps. By that time, 135 of the 362 lal dora villages of Delhi had been declared as urban villages. But the recommendations remained on paper.
Three years later, in 2009, MCD passed another notification clarifying that the exemptions of 1963 were no longer applicable to those that had been declared as urban villages, and that the exemptions were meant only for the existing lal dora villages which numbered 227 at that time. But between 1963 and 2009, over four decades had passed and many residents of the urban villages had encroached on common land to construct buildings haphazardly and had taken to flourishing real-estate business there.
"Residents were doing away with every habit, material and anything that would resemble a rural lifestyle. Open courtyards were replaced with vertical constructions that could fetch easy rental incomes," says Tyagi of Budhela. He blames the unclear land ownership of the erstwhile lal dora system for this unplanned construction and has been asking the governments to survey the villages for better planning and to issue individual land titles.
After Partition, Chauhan's family rebuilt their kuccha bamboo house into a single floor permanent structure. Then, in the 1980s, he added four more storeys to the house with multiple rooms, as well as a basement dwelling space. Chauhan wanted to add more floors to his own house but the Archaeological Survey of India denied him permission because his house sits within a 100-meter radius of the Khirki mosque — an archaeological site — the same place where he would shift for rain cover when he was a child.
The Khirki Mosque — Photo: Varun Shiv Kapur/Flickr
Another Khirki resident, Dharam Saini, not only built his own house but also encroached nearby vacant plot to construct buildings which he now rents out. Many of these buildings in the village now violate existing Building Bye-Laws as they exceed floor area ratio norms and are built far taller than the prescribed height limits. Although the Building Bye-Laws became applicable to urban villages in 2009, residents of these villages hardly follow them.
"There are so many rules applicable within the village," says Dharam Saini's son Lalit Saini, who also became a real-estate developer like his father. "If we start asking for permissions, none of Khirki village would exist."
At the same time, these places also provide affordable housing to thousands of people who come to Delhi in search of livelihood and cannot afford higher rents or the prejudices in other parts of the city. Pati of Azim Premji University believes that the "ambition and megalomania" of Delhi's first Master Plan was so huge that the fate of the lal dora villages and their residents were ignored.
"It was only in the mid-1980s and 1990s that the state took cognizance of these villages when the illegal developments in the village started to become a significant concern," she says.
In 2017, the Delhi High Court described Hauz Khas village — an erstwhile lal dora village — as a "ticking time bomb" because 90% of commercial establishments there did not have fire safety clearances. The same year, 89 more lal dora villages were declared as urban villages. But these declarations did not mean much because the Delhi government authorities did not take care of even the basic facilities like regular water supply or garbage collection there.
K.C. Rana, the 87-year-old president of the only Residents' Welfare Association in Khirki village, had been trying to get the MCD to give the permit to build a school in the village. The MCD directed him to the Archeological Survey of India, which then sent him back to MCD citing that the location of the proposed school was within a 100-meter radius of the 14th century Khirki fort built by Feroz Shah Tughlaq. No alternate land for the school was discussed.
Rana and Dharam Saini are from the same family but do not speak to each other because of a dispute over a piece of land that neither own. "More than 100 brothers show up to fight for small patches of land," says Saini's son Lalit.
Bharat Bhushan, the chief town planner of the Municipal Corporation of Delhi, says that the corporation cannot implement any of its tasks unless DDA prepares area development plans. He says that DDA has so far created such plans only for 83 urban villages. But A.K. Jain, former commissioner of planning for the DDA, says that MCD is equally for the current state of urban villages.
Jain says that the Master Plan of Delhi 2021 introduced the concept of local area plans that MCD could make to plug in civic infrastructure gaps, like buildings dispensaries or schools in urban villages. "But the MCD refused to make these plans because it was not a part of MCD Act and because it did not have the capability to do this," he says.
This blame game and the lack of timely interventions by the government have resulted in the chaotic state of affairs in these villages today, says Tyagi.
Is there a way forward?
Any kind of planning in the lal dora-turned-urban villages "will take place only when these areas are surveyed," says Ramesh Verma, additional commissioner of MCD.
"Urban villages bear a sense of "in-between-ness'
"There is a lack of co-ordination in our planning and the on-ground situation. Every officer who goes on the ground becomes disillusioned," says P.P. Shrivastava, a former bureaucrat who led an expert committee on lal dora areas in 2006.
The Delhi government has been regularizing unauthorized neighborhoods in the city, but these urban villages are complicated entities, which is why the government bodies have largely stayed away from them. With the lack of coordination among various wings of the Delhi government, the proposals to regularize constructions in lal dora villages have remained unattended to.
"The issue of urban villages goes way back with complex and fragmented landholdings, and varied interests. So, it is a complicated exercise to regulate them," says Manish, a research associate who studies urban planning, among other things, at the Centre for Policy Research, a New Delhi-based think tank.
Khirki was named after the 12th century Khirki Mosque of the village. The name Khirki translates into Urdu as "window." The windows that once opened wider today remain almost always closed in every house of the village.
Loss of the farmland has restricted people of erstwhile lal dora villages to much narrower spaces. This change also reflects in an individual ethic — suddenly, doors came up in the village and defined the threshold between public and private space, says Both Prakash, professor of literature at the Ambedkar University in New Delhi. Prakash studies the post-Partition literature on lal dora villages.
Once thriving with an agrarian economy, Khriki has been reduced to a mere adjunct to a neighboring pocket, torn between a placid village life and highly competitive urban life. Right where Chauhan's house ends, a neighborhood called Saket begins, which is home to high-rise apartments, European-style outdoor cafes, restaurants, and shopping arcades.
"Urban villages bear a sense of "in-between-ness,"" says Pati. "They neither resemble the village nor a city, as much as they aspire to live an urban life." Dharam Saini still refers to himself as a "dehati" or villager.
Delhi continues to spread further. Its southern periphery has approached the next set of lal dora villages like Dhansa and Mitraon. Whether or not they would resemble Khirki in the future depends on what the Delhi government and people in lal dora have in mind and what they actually do on the ground.
*Flavia Lopes is a researcher with Land Conflict Watch, an independent network of researchers documenting ongoing land conflicts across India.
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The military has seized control in one of Africa's largest countries, which until recently had made significant progress towards transitioning to democracy after years of strongman rule. But the people, and international community, may not be willing to turn back.
David E. Kiwuwa
October 27, 2021
This week the head of Sudan's Sovereign Council, General Abdel Fattah El Burhan, declared the dissolution of the transitional council, which has been in place since the overthrow of former president Omar el-Bashir in 2019. He also disbanded all the structures that had been set up as part of the transitional roadmap, and decreed a state of emergency.
In essence, he staged a palace coup against the transitional authority he chaired.
The general's actions, which included the arrest of Prime Minister Abdalla Hamdok, are a culmination of a long period of tension between the civilian and military wings of the council.
A popular uprising may be inevitable
The tensions were punctuated by an alleged attempted coup only weeks earlier. The days leading to the palace coup were marked by street protests for and against the military. Does this mark the end of the transition as envisaged by the protest movement?
Their ability to confront counter revolutionary forces cannot be underestimated.
The popular uprising against Bashir's government was led by the Sudan Professional Association. It ushered in the political transitional union of civilians and the military establishment. The interim arrangement was to lead to a return to civilian rule.
But this cohabitation was tenuous from the start, given the oversized role of the military in the transition. Moreover, the military appeared to be reluctant to see the civilian leadership as an equal partner in shepherding through the transition.
Nevertheless, until recently there had been progress towards creating the institutional architecture for the transition. Despite the challenges and notable tension between the signatories to the accord, it was never evident that the dysfunction was so great as to herald the collapse of the transitional authority.
For now, the transition might be disrupted and in fact temporarily upended. But the lesson from Sudan is never to count the masses out of the equation. Their ability to mobilize and confront counter revolutionary forces cannot be underestimated.
The transitional pact itself had been anchored by eight arduously negotiated protocols. These included regional autonomy, integration of the national army, revenue sharing and repatriation of internal refugees. There was also an agreement to share out positions in national political institutions, such as the legislative and executive branch.
Progress towards these goals was at different stages of implementation. More substantive progress was expected to follow after the end of the transition. This was due in 2022 when the chair of the sovereignty council handed over to a civilian leader. This military intervention is clearly self-serving and an opportunistic power grab.
A promised to civilian rule in July 2023 through national elections.
In November, the rotational chairmanship of the transitional council was to be passed from the military to the civilian wing of the council. That meant the military would cede strong leverage to the civilians. Instead, with the coup afoot, Burhan has announced both a dissolution of the council as well as the dismissal of provincial governors. He has unilaterally promised return to civilian rule in July 2023 through national elections.
Prior to this, the military had been systematically challenging the pre-eminence of the civilian authority. It undermined them and publicly berated them for governmental failures and weaknesses. For the last few months there has been a deliberate attempt to sharply criticize the civilian council as riddled with divisions, incompetent and undermining state stability.
File photo shows Sudan's Prime Minister Abdalla Hamdok in August 2020
Generals in suits
Since the revolution against Bashir's government, the military have fancied themselves as generals in suits. They have continued to wield enough power to almost run a parallel government in tension with the prime minister. This was evident when the military continued to have the say on security and foreign affairs.
For their part, civilian officials concentrated on rejuvenating the economy and mobilizing international support for the transitional council.
This didn't stop the military from accusing the civilian leadership of failing to resuscitate the country's ailing economy. True, the economy has continued to struggle from high inflation, low industrial output and dwindling foreign direct investment. As in all economies, conditions have been exacerbated by the effects of COVID-19.
Sudan's weakened economy is, however, not sufficient reason for the military intervention. Clearly this is merely an excuse.
Demands of the revolution
The success or failure of this coup will rest on a number of factors.
First is the ability of the military to use force. This includes potential violent confrontation with the counter-coup forces. This will dictate the capacity of the military to change the terms of the transition.
Second is whether the military can harness popular public support in the same way that the Guinean or Egyptian militaries did. This appears to be a tall order, given that popular support appears to be far less forthcoming.
The international community's appetite for military coups is wearing thin.
Third, the ability of the Sudanese masses to mobilize against military authorities cannot be overlooked. Massive nationwide street protests and defiance campaigns underpinned by underground organizational capabilities brought down governments in 1964, 1985 and 2019. They could once again present a stern test to the military.
Finally, the international community's appetite for military coups is wearing thin. The ability of the military to overcome pressure from regional and international actors to return to the status quo could be decisive, given the international support needed to prop up the crippled economy.
The Sudanese population may have been growing frustrated with its civilian authority's ability to deliver on the demands of the revolution. But it is also true that another coup to reinstate military rule is not something the protesters believe would address the challenges they were facing.
Sudan has needed and will require compromise and principled political goodwill to realise a difficult transition. This will entail setbacks but undoubtedly military intervention in whatever guise is monumentally counterproductive to the aspirations of the protest movement.
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