Misleading to frame caste census as social justice vs social harmony: MP Manoj Kumar Jha's new book

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10 hours ago

The controversy over the caste census is not just partisan politicking. It reflects a deeper ideological divide in India about how we should pursue social justice. On one side are the proponents of naming and targeting social inequalities. This camp includes Ambedkarite Dalit activists, OBC and Bahujan leaders, leftists and many progressive academics. They argue that caste is a lived reality that must be confronted, not ignored. Counting caste, in their view, simply acknowledges this reality in order to change it.
Many feel that mobilising around caste grievances can be a necessary jolt to an indifferent society. Indeed, leaders from Kanshi Ram to Lalu Yadav and Tejashwi Yadav have persistently demanded a caste census as a logical extension of India's commitment to affirmative action. For them, 'standing up and being counted' is an empowering act. It is a way for marginalised communities to claim their share of representation and resources. Rahul Gandhi's recent endorsement of the caste census is only a re-articulation of a long-standing demand.
On the other side, however, are sceptics who worry that caste-based politics entrenches division and can hinder the broader goal of a casteless society. Interestingly, this camp spans the spectrum from conservative cultural nationalists to some liberal commentators. While the RSS historically opposed the Mandal-style emphasis on caste categories, arguing it would be highly detrimental to India's social fabric, some eminent sociologists like MN Srinivas, too, warned that an official obsession with caste was reminiscent of colonial 'divide and rule' strategies. Even liberal critics like Pratap Bhanu Mehta – who fully acknowledge the persisting injustices of caste – have expressed unease at how the public discourse on caste is framed. Mehta cautions that an 'invocation of caste' can become a substitute for deeper thinking and structural reform, merely solidifying identities without addressing the root causes of inequality. These critics ask: in a society already polarised along multiple lines, can a big caste census ignite endless wrangling among groups for bigger slices of the pie, to the detriment of meritocracy and national unity?
This critique cannot be dismissed outright. India's experience since Mandal has indeed seen both empowerment and backlash. Quotas alone are not enough for comprehensive social justice. They need to be accompanied by investments in education, health and anti-discrimination enforcement.
However, far from negating the need for a caste census, these nuances strengthen the case for granular data. Naming a problem is not the same as solving it, but without naming it, one cannot even begin to solve it. The experience of the past decades suggests that ignoring caste has not made it disappear. As one analyst put it, caste is 'stronger than ever' in social practice precisely because groups find strength in numbers when competing for limited opportunities. Policies that are officially 'caste-blind' can in fact end up caste-biased – often reflecting the biases of those who hold power, since no corrective data exists to challenge the status quo. From university faculties to corporate boardrooms and the higher echelons of government, upper castes remain heavily overrepresented. This fact stays out of sight in the absence of statistics. A caste census would lay bare such disparities. It could tell us, for example, what proportion of Indian Administrative Service officers or judges come from each community, or which OBC sub-castes have benefited the most from existing quotas and which remain almost invisible. Such transparency can be uncomfortable, which is exactly why it is necessary. It forces a conversation on whether our institutions truly look like 'we, the people' or not.
Of course, data by itself won't change power structures. But it can change the terms of debate. As Ambedkar often emphasised, political democracy is unsustainable without social democracy. One might add that social democracy, in turn, requires a clear recognition of social realities. Ambedkar and other framers of the Constitution provided the tools (like Article 340, which enabled commissions to explore the condition of Backward Classes), expecting that the republic would honestly assess who needs support and representation. Decades of avoiding a caste census meant that India was flying partially blind, relying on colonial-era data and sporadic surveys to guide major policies. The Modi government's new acceptance of a caste census, whatever its immediate motivations, offers a chance to finally illuminate the full spectrum of Indian society with 21st-century data.
In the end, one might say that the first step to treating a wound is to look at it directly. India's caste wounds have long been glossed over by lofty rhetoric of unity that often serves as an excuse for inaction. Conducting a caste census is a way of naming our inequalities. It is a necessary exercise in a democracy that aspires to genuine equality. It does not erase those inequalities by itself. But it equips the public and policymakers with facts to hold the system accountable. When the numbers come, they may discomfort the privileged and embolden the marginalised. That is not a crisis to be feared, but a reality to be managed with wisdom and compassion.
The battle ahead will be over what is done with the data. Will it lead to well-crafted policies—better-targeted education scholarships, health programmes and extension of opportunities to groups historically left out? Will it prompt a re-examination of the 50% cap on reservations, now that we know that some states have a 60–70 per cent backward majority? Or will it descend to a scramble of competitive populism, with every caste group vying for a larger slice of a stagnant pie? The answer will depend on the wisdom of our political leadership and the vigilance of civil society. What is certain is that not having the information was no solution at all.
As India undertakes this enumeration, it might recall the words of Dr Ambedkar in the Constituent Assembly: 'On the 26th of January 1950, we are going to enter into a life of contradictions.' He warned that we would have equality in law but not in social and economic life – and that such contradictions could not last indefinitely. More than 75 years later, those contradictions persist, caste being one of the starkest. Counting caste is not about entrenching those divisions; it is about charting a course to transcend them. In an era when data is power, the power of numbers can democratize power itself – making visible the invisible, and forcing the nation to confront the truths that decades of silence could not erase. The caste census may be belated, but it could become a milestone in India's unfinished project of social justice. If properly followed through, it will be a step towards the day when 'those left behind' are not left behind any more.