The co-founder of the women-led publication Karti Dharti discusses India's farmers' movement, the intersecting realities of gender, and Dalit labour, the motivation to create Karti Dharti, the fifth edition of which you can read in Gurmukhi. INTERACTIVE Chats Ep. 7 · Karti Dharti, Gender & India's Farmers Movement The co-founder of the women-led publication Karti Dharti discusses India's farmers' movement, the intersecting realities of gender, and Dalit labour, the motivation to create Karti Dharti, the fifth edition of which you can read in Gurmukhi. Sangeet Toor Karti Dharti is a women-led publication that highlights diverse voices from the farmers’ movement. Understanding how gender, the COVID crisis, and the farmers' movement in India intersect is of critical importance. In April 2021, Drama Editor Esthappen S. chatted with Karti Dharti's Founder-Editor, Sangeet Toor, on Instagram Live, about Karti Dharti's history, the state of the farmers' movement in India at the time. They mapped out the nature of the movement itself, especially as it pertains to gender, discuss the challenges it faced. Toor described how the magazine focuses on the intersection of gender and movement politics. Read the fifth edition of Karti Dharti here . Karti Dharti is a women-led publication that highlights diverse voices from the farmers’ movement. Understanding how gender, the COVID crisis, and the farmers' movement in India intersect is of critical importance. In April 2021, Drama Editor Esthappen S. chatted with Karti Dharti's Founder-Editor, Sangeet Toor, on Instagram Live, about Karti Dharti's history, the state of the farmers' movement in India at the time. They mapped out the nature of the movement itself, especially as it pertains to gender, discuss the challenges it faced. Toor described how the magazine focuses on the intersection of gender and movement politics. Read the fifth edition of Karti Dharti here . SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Subscribe to our newsletter for updates on SAAG Chats, an informal series of live events on Instagram. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Live Punjab Farm Ordinances Movement Organization Gender Mass Protests Media Blackout Media Delhi Chandigarh Women's Participation Displacement Sit-ins Disinformation COVID-19 Urban/Rural Urbanization Police Action Policing Citizenship Amendment Act Protests CAA Protests NRC Protests Accountability Pragmatic Realities of Protest Kisan Mazdoor Ekta Sanyukt Kisan Morcha Labor Agricultural Labor Solidarity Organic Solidarity Dalit Histories Dalit Labor Class Struggle Caste Political Economy Village Economies Domestic Labor Farmers' Movement India Indian Fascism India Today Activist Media Agrarian Economy Agriculture Alienation Gurmukhi Protests Movement Strategy Labor Movement Workers Movements Haryana Working-Class Stories Women and Gender Studies in India SAAG Chats Environment Climate Change SANGEET TOOR is Founder/Editor of Karti Dharti , a women-led publication showcasing diverse voices from the farmers' movement in India. She is a writer and reporter who has written for The Wire and Caravan , focusing on the history of land rights and peasant struggles in Punjab. 29 Apr 2021 Live Punjab 29th Apr 2021 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

“It's very easy for us to talk about being in solidarity with somebody or groups of people, but what do we mean by that? What is the history of that?” COMMUNITY What Does Solidarity Mean? “It's very easy for us to talk about being in solidarity with somebody or groups of people, but what do we mean by that? What is the history of that?” Azad Essa · Heba Gowayed · Tehila Sasson · Suchitra Vijayan The first panel from our event on 30th March 2024, “ Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse, ” at ShapeShifter Lab in Brooklyn, New York, which marked the close of Volume 2 Issue 1 of SAAG. Here, Kamil Ahsan, Azad Essa, Heba Gowayed, Tehila Sasson, and Suchitra Vijayan discuss what "solidarity" means as a concept, how it is used, and whether it is useful. It begins with some of the rhetoric that Kamil Ahsan discusses in his essay and editorial that closed Vol. 2 Issue 1 of SAAG, entitled Into the Disaster-Verse . What follows is a discussion of four books from the panelists, including: Azad Essa's Hostile Homelands: The New Alliance Between India and Israel (Pluto Press, November 2022), Heba Gowayed's Refuge: How the State Shapes Human Potential (April 2022, Princeton University Press), Suchitra Vijayan's How Long Can the Moon Be Caged? Voices of Indian Political Prisoners (co-authored with Francesca Recchia, Pluto Press, August 2023), and Tehila Sasson's forthcoming Solidarity Economy: Nonprofits and the Making of Neoliberalism after Empire (May 2024, Princeton University Press). Photographs courtesy of Josh Steinbauer SOLIDARITY: BEYOND THE DISASTER VERSE Panel 2: On the Relationship between Form & Resistance SOLIDARITY: BEYOND THE DISASTER VERSE Quintet Performance The first panel from our event on 30th March 2024, “ Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse, ” at ShapeShifter Lab in Brooklyn, New York, which marked the close of Volume 2 Issue 1 of SAAG. Here, Kamil Ahsan, Azad Essa, Heba Gowayed, Tehila Sasson, and Suchitra Vijayan discuss what "solidarity" means as a concept, how it is used, and whether it is useful. It begins with some of the rhetoric that Kamil Ahsan discusses in his essay and editorial that closed Vol. 2 Issue 1 of SAAG, entitled Into the Disaster-Verse . What follows is a discussion of four books from the panelists, including: Azad Essa's Hostile Homelands: The New Alliance Between India and Israel (Pluto Press, November 2022), Heba Gowayed's Refuge: How the State Shapes Human Potential (April 2022, Princeton University Press), Suchitra Vijayan's How Long Can the Moon Be Caged? Voices of Indian Political Prisoners (co-authored with Francesca Recchia, Pluto Press, August 2023), and Tehila Sasson's forthcoming Solidarity Economy: Nonprofits and the Making of Neoliberalism after Empire (May 2024, Princeton University Press). Photographs courtesy of Josh Steinbauer SOLIDARITY: BEYOND THE DISASTER VERSE Panel 2: On the Relationship between Form & Resistance SOLIDARITY: BEYOND THE DISASTER VERSE Quintet Performance SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Panel 1 of the event "Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse" held on 30th March 2024. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Panel Concepts Solidarity Palestine Israel The Solidarity Economy Refugees Syria India Political Prisoners NGOs Humanitarianism Intellectual History Sociology History Writing about Recent History Language Disaster & Language Technology & Power Technology & Majoritarianism Israel & India Ties Kashmir Apartheid Welfare State Racializing Logics Asylum Diasporas Abolitionism Event Solidarity: Across the Disaster-Verse AZAD ESSA is a senior reporter for Middle East Eye . He worked for Al Jazeera English between 2010-2018 covering southern and central Africa for the network. He is the author of Hostile Homelands: The New Alliance Between India and Israel (Pluto Press, February 2023). He is based in New York City. HEBA GOWAYED is an Associate Professor of Sociology at CUNY Hunter College & Graduate Center. Her research and writing centers the lives of people who migrate across borders and the unequal and often violent institutions they face. She is the author of Refuge: How the State Shapes Human Potential (Princeton University Press, April 2022). Her work has been published in Slate , Al Jazeera English, The New Humanitarian, and Teen Vogue, among others. TEHILA SASSON is assistant professor of history at Emory University. She is a historian of the British empire and decolonization, with a particular interest in the history economic life, and the author of The Solidarity Economy: NGOs and the Postimperial Origins of Neoliberalism (Princeton University Press, May 2024). Her writing has appeared in leading publications such as the American Historical Review , Past & Present , and Dissent . Suchitra Vijayan is the author of Midnight's Borders: A People's History of Modern India, and co-author of How Long Can the Moon Be Caged? Voices of Indian Political Prisoners . Her work has appeared in the Washington Post, GQ, Boston Review, The Nation, and Foreign Policy . She is an award-winning photographer and founding member and Executive Director of The Polis Project . 8 Apr 2024 Panel Concepts 8th Apr 2024 JOSH STEINBAUER is an award-winning filmmaker, musical composer, and visual artist. His work has been shown in Heaven, Third Ward, No Moon, Gen Art, H. Lewis galleries, Harvard Art Museum and American Folk Art Museum , and published in Nowhere Magazine, Terrain, The Offing, Moving Poems, Scroll.in, BrooklynOnDemand , and the Times of India, amongst others. Some of his portrait drawings are currently exhibited at the Long Island City Artists' (LIC-A) newest show Drawing Beyond the Surface , curated by Jorge Posada. To Posterity Paweł Wargan 30th Apr Food Organizing at Columbia's Gaza Encampment Surina Venkat 24th Sep On the Relationship between Form & Resistance Iman Iftikhar · Sharmin Hossain · Kalpana Raina · Maira Khwaja · Suneil Sanzgiri 17th Apr Zohran Kwame Mamdani on Palestine in 2021 Zohran Kwame Mamdani 5th Jun FLUX · Kshama Sawant & Nikil Saval on US Left Electoralism & COVID-19 Nikil Saval · Kshama Sawant 5th Dec On That Note:

Since Manto's time, screenwriters have been battling studios that prioritise commercial interests, political imperatives, and profits over original, meaningful storytelling. SWA, the trade union for screenwriters, is at the frontlines of screenwriters chafing against the inequalities and wage theft that stifle artistic expression in Bombay's film industry. THE VERTICAL The Cost of Risk in Bombay’s Film Industry Since Manto's time, screenwriters have been battling studios that prioritise commercial interests, political imperatives, and profits over original, meaningful storytelling. SWA, the trade union for screenwriters, is at the frontlines of screenwriters chafing against the inequalities and wage theft that stifle artistic expression in Bombay's film industry. Nihira Saadat Hassan Manto, a luminary of Urdu literature, once embarked on a hunger strike. It was the early 1940s, and the writer was working for one hundred rupees a month under the Bombay-based film director and producer Nanubhai Desai . Manto asked Desai for pending wages and additional money to rent out a flat for his new bride and himself. Desai refused, and Manto resigned. In an essay on the film critic Baburao Patel, Manto wrote about the beginning of his hunger strike on the steps of Desai’s production studio. Later, with Patel’s help, he recovered a little more than half of his pending dues. The pay seemed too meagre for too little in return, with many of Manto’s scripts never even making it to production because of their radical nature. This isn’t just a story from a time when critics had enough muscle in the industry to wrestle producers into paying writers. It is also a story of precarity. It depicts the tenuous relationship between screenwriters and the screens they write for, neither of which are unique to Manto’s career nor an artefact of the past. This disempowerment is the reason why contemporary films feel ill-equipped to respond to urgent questions. Current industry conditions resemble that of the 1940s: financial backing for subversive cinematic concepts is hard to come by, especially without a major star. In a decidedly censorial political climate and hostile communal environment, writers increasingly face complicated legal and social backlash. Creativity is not incentivised. It’s a liability. The lack of creativity present in Bombay talkies during Manto’s tenure did not go unnoticed. Around the time of his hunger strike, the leading film magazine FilmIndia published a hit piece on the standardised format of Bombay cinema. It denounced “Indian screenwriters” as carrying “little originality” and producers as lacking “imagination completely.” An article edited by Baburao Patel declared that producers “imitate others too often.” For example, the “sensational success” of Pukar (1939) gave way to period dramas and historical fiction, and the popularity of Leila Majnu (1945) enabled the “rise of an epidemic of new love themes.” If a particular genre worked, the industry would churn out movies of the same cut until the fad petered out and a new concept supplanted it. Creative risks were scarce and, at best, sporadic. One could say the same of Bollywood today. With Dabangg (2010), a blockbuster peddling nationalist police propaganda, came a flurry of others like Singham (2011) and Simmba (2018). Hit sports biographical films like Bhaag Milkha Bhaag (2013) encouraged movies like Mary Kom (2014) and Dangal (2016). But what FilmIndia failed to highlight, like many other critics at the time, was the seeming inability of screenwriters to write meaningful scripts. Critics failed to connect Manto’s hunger strike to writers’ limitations in exploring their creativity. Production pressures, the absence of collective bargaining, and precarious working conditions kept writing stagnant. One organisation is gradually rebuilding collective strength despite entrenched resistance from the film industry’s top brass. The Screenwriters Association (SWA) , a formally registered trade union since 1960, represents more than 57,000 Indian screenwriters who work throughout the film industry. The union handles copyright protection, legal disputes about fair compensation, and more. Though it may not have been a vehicle for collective bargaining in the past, SWA may finally become a force to be reckoned with. Apart from its ongoing struggle for labour protections, the union has strived to become a space for mentorship. Public script labs, for instance, nurture new relationships that address inadequate diversity—especially caste—when it comes to who is allowed to write the films that make it to the floor. Anjum Rajabali, SWA’s Executive Committee Member and the renowned screenwriter of The Legend of Shaheed Bhagat Singh (2002) and Raajneeti (2010), is a major driving force for the union’s efforts. According to screenwriter Darab Farooqui, screenwriters “are all following his lead.” Rajabali is generous with his time, accepting interview requests from airports amidst ongoing health issues. His commitment to building the union is clear. The intensifying struggle for screenwriters’ protections resulted in the Minimum Basic Contract, which raised questions about whether screenwriters can be recognized as workers and the rights that should be afforded to them. Though film industries are subject to intense content regulation, they lag far behind in enforcing labour mandates. SWA’s proposed contract highlights the asymmetric dynamic between writers and production studios and pushes for major changes. In 1951, India’s first Film Enquiry Committee published a searing investigation into the conditions of cinema industries across the country. The report largely agreed with FilmIndia that “the creative activity of production” is too dependent on commercial requirements and lamented that writers end up “unknown even if they are competent.” An unnamed producer admitted to the committee that “we are trying to sell to the public something in a package.” The committee proposed separating financial investments from innovation but it was never implemented. Bombay studios continued to prioritise profit and loss, a calculation in which screenwriters had little to gain. The industry remains dominated by those who want to sell movies and those who can mobilise significant funds for its package deals. Bollywood’s highest-grossing productions released last year shored up combined investments of nearly 2,000 crore Indian rupees. Yet, a new survey has brought to light the intensity of wage depression felt by screenwriters. The 2,000 crore cake cuts only the thinnest sliver for the storytellers who bring in its base ingredients. Saiwyn Quadras, an SWA member and the writer who helmed films like the Priyanka Chopra-starring Mary Kom , shares that “non-payment of dues is a big thing. It happens to me even now.” Seasoned screenwriter and director Hitesh Kewalya says: “When you come to a city like Bombay as a young writer, you have to earn a livelihood. So, you take up two to three projects at the same time. Out of those, only one might actually happen. Even then, you might not get paid fully. It becomes a vicious cycle, and you end up exhausted.” Kewalya, with more than 25 years of industry experience and two hits to his name, including Shubh Mangal Savdhaan— one of the first explicitly queer Bollywood rom-coms—says the industry doesn’t encourage creativity. “It's like running on a treadmill, and if you're lucky enough, you might manage to pay your bills.” One key tactic deployed by studios is the percentage model. Scripts are evaluated on a per-draft basis, with pending dues for works in progress. This means huge portions of a writer’s income are dependent on producers’ approval of unfinished screenplays. As with film industries elsewhere but arguably at a larger scale, producers gauge scripts based on their perception of the content’s potential popularity and arbitrary predictions on the return on investment it would generate. It does not, however, provide any guarantee for writers’ wages. “You won’t know if a story works until you write it, and many times you don’t get to write the whole story,” Rajabali shares. How can a writer take risks with a script if their dues are tied up in its incomplete versions? If a script is rejected before completion, the writer may receive up to a third of their owed wages regardless of their efforts—which are not always translated onto the page. The work of writers is treated as disposable. Far more scripts get shelved than made. As a result, the union has demanded a minimum compensation of 12 lakh rupees for the delivery of the story, screenplay, and dialogue, along with mandatory credits for any screenwriter who has written at least a third of a script. These problems exist even in contracts with multinational corporations like Amazon Prime Video and Netflix, which together constitute a 35% audience share amongst OTT platforms active in the subcontinent. Quadras says that international entities, much like their domestic counterparts, view Indian writers as a “source for cheap labour.” Thus, the SWA’s call for work stoppage on American projects during the WGA strike was more than a show of solidarity. It signalled a pressing need to transform screenwriters’ relations with Indian subsidiaries of global streaming services and production studios like Lionsgate India and Disney+ Hotstar. According to Rajabali, contracts with foreign and domestic studios often come with a clause prohibiting screenwriters from consulting with or approaching the union. These clear attempts at union-busting mirror those of Hollywood’s Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP). The material connections between working conditions and labour resistance internationally, and the possibilities both engender for domestic cinema workers, are rife. There is little information on how WGA’s win could impact foreign subsidiaries held by AMPTP-associated companies. But the SWA believes at least a precedent has been set, and its proposed Minimum Basic Contract is geared towards leveraging this historic moment. Even the wrong colour can mean the death of a film in the current Indian context. Where some film workers believed streaming studios to be a window of freedom, recent Central regulations have pulled the blinds on that. Netflix’s cancellation of Dev Patel’s Monkey Man (2024) and the film’s removal of saffron, a colour popularly associated with the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) led by Narendra Modi, has not improved the film’s chances of being released in the country. The Tamil film Annapoorni (2023) elicited legal cases from two right-wing outfits based in Bombay for “hurting religious sentiments of Hindus” and led to its removal from Netflix’s India catalogue. The list of films officially and unofficially banned from being shown in cinema halls in different Indian states at the behest of right-wing political and vigilante outfits is even longer. There is justified fear, then, that government regulation could come to be a double-edged sword. It could work towards alleviating unfair labour practices, but it could also expand the broader pattern of state-sponsored Hindutva agendas. SWA is drawing contingency plans through the Minimum Basic Contract for these overtly political acts. Their proposal demands the removal of contract clauses that shift the responsibility away from producers and onto writers. Currently, producers are guarded against legal, political, and religious backlash, while writers are provided little to no protection from their employers. “Let’s say there’s a scene that shows a fight outside a temple. The studio’s lawyers will tell you to change it. Contractually, the writer is either obliged to change it or risk bearing the consequences on their own head. This is a clause we have to fight,” says Quadras. “And for that, we need collective negotiating power.” But most mainstream Hindi films today happily toe the government line, much as they did in another era of censorship: the Emergency. In June 1975, as a response to increasing worker agitations, internal problems in the Congress party, and legal challenges against her election, India’s two-time Prime Minister Indira Gandhi enacted a state of Emergency. State and national elections were suspended, dissidents were arrested, and trade union actions were brutally repressed. People trapped in poverty were forcibly sterilised. Hundreds of thousands were displaced. Bombay cinema, amongst other industries, was unabashedly censored. Scholar Ashish Rajadhyaksha notes that conditional investments made by the Film Finance Corporation (now known as National Film Development Corporation ) during the early ‘70s petered out immediately after the Emergency. The state deepened its interests in media apparatuses and pursued a policy of highly restrictive censorship, impeding new-wave efforts like Mrinal Sen’s Bhuvan Shome . In Bombay, creative risk fell to the wayside and narratives critical of the public and private nexus vanished. The angry, young man, especially as personified by Indian actor Amitabh Bachhan, represented a specific kind of radical, working-class man, was retired from films. Instead, characters like the fantasy shape-shifting woman-cobra in Naagin (1976) and mythological warriors like those in Dharam Veer (1977) appeared in its place. Gandhi’s government bureaucratically chopped political satires or outrightly banned certain movies . Half a century later, the pattern repeats, albeit this time with a distinctly communal spin. The bulk of Hindi films released today consist primarily of majoritarian propaganda , safe’ biographical , mythological, or period movies . Creative and political risk has been rendered almost non-existent, but making choices that could be seen as either adhering to or being silent on the Hindutva narratives have not protected Bollywood from conservative calls for boycotts. Adipurush (2023), a film on the epic Ramayana , created by the self-proclaimed Hindu nationalist screenwriter Manoj Muntashir, elicited right-wing criticism and flopped upon release. Similarly, actress turned BJP politician Kangana Ranaut’s Hindi language film, Tejas, and Tamil language film, Chandramukhi 2 , did not muster enough to balance their budgets. Hindutva’s poster boy Akshay Kumar was also unable to bring supremacists to purchase tickets for Ram Setu (2022), an archaeological action film seeking to prove the existence of Ramayana , which prolific film critic Namrata Joshi has labelled as “a show of Hindu victimhood.” The race to appease Hindutva groups seems to be an unwinnable one. Still, some in the industry refuse to abandon the race. Despite the overwhelming web of financial and political struggles, screenwriters like Rajabali, Kewalya, and Quadras march on, and younger aspirants continue to join their ranks. “I am a storyteller. I don’t know how to do anything else,” says Kewalya. What can a screenwriter do? Where can their stories go? If such forces continue to helm decision-making, what becomes of creative integrity and freedom? Is the Hindi film industry doomed to creating “products” or “packages”? Can it transcend its confines? Can it deliver necessary stories—ones with substance, original voices, and honesty? The SWA might be slow-paced, but it is determined. It does not shy away from challenging the power dynamics that currently exist—on and off-screen—and it might just be the most hopeful response to the industry’s continued prioritisation of profit over people. Manto’s creative descendants have come a long way from striking at the steps of a studio. But they have an even longer way ahead of them. ∎ Saadat Hassan Manto, a luminary of Urdu literature, once embarked on a hunger strike. It was the early 1940s, and the writer was working for one hundred rupees a month under the Bombay-based film director and producer Nanubhai Desai . Manto asked Desai for pending wages and additional money to rent out a flat for his new bride and himself. Desai refused, and Manto resigned. In an essay on the film critic Baburao Patel, Manto wrote about the beginning of his hunger strike on the steps of Desai’s production studio. Later, with Patel’s help, he recovered a little more than half of his pending dues. The pay seemed too meagre for too little in return, with many of Manto’s scripts never even making it to production because of their radical nature. This isn’t just a story from a time when critics had enough muscle in the industry to wrestle producers into paying writers. It is also a story of precarity. It depicts the tenuous relationship between screenwriters and the screens they write for, neither of which are unique to Manto’s career nor an artefact of the past. This disempowerment is the reason why contemporary films feel ill-equipped to respond to urgent questions. Current industry conditions resemble that of the 1940s: financial backing for subversive cinematic concepts is hard to come by, especially without a major star. In a decidedly censorial political climate and hostile communal environment, writers increasingly face complicated legal and social backlash. Creativity is not incentivised. It’s a liability. The lack of creativity present in Bombay talkies during Manto’s tenure did not go unnoticed. Around the time of his hunger strike, the leading film magazine FilmIndia published a hit piece on the standardised format of Bombay cinema. It denounced “Indian screenwriters” as carrying “little originality” and producers as lacking “imagination completely.” An article edited by Baburao Patel declared that producers “imitate others too often.” For example, the “sensational success” of Pukar (1939) gave way to period dramas and historical fiction, and the popularity of Leila Majnu (1945) enabled the “rise of an epidemic of new love themes.” If a particular genre worked, the industry would churn out movies of the same cut until the fad petered out and a new concept supplanted it. Creative risks were scarce and, at best, sporadic. One could say the same of Bollywood today. With Dabangg (2010), a blockbuster peddling nationalist police propaganda, came a flurry of others like Singham (2011) and Simmba (2018). Hit sports biographical films like Bhaag Milkha Bhaag (2013) encouraged movies like Mary Kom (2014) and Dangal (2016). But what FilmIndia failed to highlight, like many other critics at the time, was the seeming inability of screenwriters to write meaningful scripts. Critics failed to connect Manto’s hunger strike to writers’ limitations in exploring their creativity. Production pressures, the absence of collective bargaining, and precarious working conditions kept writing stagnant. One organisation is gradually rebuilding collective strength despite entrenched resistance from the film industry’s top brass. The Screenwriters Association (SWA) , a formally registered trade union since 1960, represents more than 57,000 Indian screenwriters who work throughout the film industry. The union handles copyright protection, legal disputes about fair compensation, and more. Though it may not have been a vehicle for collective bargaining in the past, SWA may finally become a force to be reckoned with. Apart from its ongoing struggle for labour protections, the union has strived to become a space for mentorship. Public script labs, for instance, nurture new relationships that address inadequate diversity—especially caste—when it comes to who is allowed to write the films that make it to the floor. Anjum Rajabali, SWA’s Executive Committee Member and the renowned screenwriter of The Legend of Shaheed Bhagat Singh (2002) and Raajneeti (2010), is a major driving force for the union’s efforts. According to screenwriter Darab Farooqui, screenwriters “are all following his lead.” Rajabali is generous with his time, accepting interview requests from airports amidst ongoing health issues. His commitment to building the union is clear. The intensifying struggle for screenwriters’ protections resulted in the Minimum Basic Contract, which raised questions about whether screenwriters can be recognized as workers and the rights that should be afforded to them. Though film industries are subject to intense content regulation, they lag far behind in enforcing labour mandates. SWA’s proposed contract highlights the asymmetric dynamic between writers and production studios and pushes for major changes. In 1951, India’s first Film Enquiry Committee published a searing investigation into the conditions of cinema industries across the country. The report largely agreed with FilmIndia that “the creative activity of production” is too dependent on commercial requirements and lamented that writers end up “unknown even if they are competent.” An unnamed producer admitted to the committee that “we are trying to sell to the public something in a package.” The committee proposed separating financial investments from innovation but it was never implemented. Bombay studios continued to prioritise profit and loss, a calculation in which screenwriters had little to gain. The industry remains dominated by those who want to sell movies and those who can mobilise significant funds for its package deals. Bollywood’s highest-grossing productions released last year shored up combined investments of nearly 2,000 crore Indian rupees. Yet, a new survey has brought to light the intensity of wage depression felt by screenwriters. The 2,000 crore cake cuts only the thinnest sliver for the storytellers who bring in its base ingredients. Saiwyn Quadras, an SWA member and the writer who helmed films like the Priyanka Chopra-starring Mary Kom , shares that “non-payment of dues is a big thing. It happens to me even now.” Seasoned screenwriter and director Hitesh Kewalya says: “When you come to a city like Bombay as a young writer, you have to earn a livelihood. So, you take up two to three projects at the same time. Out of those, only one might actually happen. Even then, you might not get paid fully. It becomes a vicious cycle, and you end up exhausted.” Kewalya, with more than 25 years of industry experience and two hits to his name, including Shubh Mangal Savdhaan— one of the first explicitly queer Bollywood rom-coms—says the industry doesn’t encourage creativity. “It's like running on a treadmill, and if you're lucky enough, you might manage to pay your bills.” One key tactic deployed by studios is the percentage model. Scripts are evaluated on a per-draft basis, with pending dues for works in progress. This means huge portions of a writer’s income are dependent on producers’ approval of unfinished screenplays. As with film industries elsewhere but arguably at a larger scale, producers gauge scripts based on their perception of the content’s potential popularity and arbitrary predictions on the return on investment it would generate. It does not, however, provide any guarantee for writers’ wages. “You won’t know if a story works until you write it, and many times you don’t get to write the whole story,” Rajabali shares. How can a writer take risks with a script if their dues are tied up in its incomplete versions? If a script is rejected before completion, the writer may receive up to a third of their owed wages regardless of their efforts—which are not always translated onto the page. The work of writers is treated as disposable. Far more scripts get shelved than made. As a result, the union has demanded a minimum compensation of 12 lakh rupees for the delivery of the story, screenplay, and dialogue, along with mandatory credits for any screenwriter who has written at least a third of a script. These problems exist even in contracts with multinational corporations like Amazon Prime Video and Netflix, which together constitute a 35% audience share amongst OTT platforms active in the subcontinent. Quadras says that international entities, much like their domestic counterparts, view Indian writers as a “source for cheap labour.” Thus, the SWA’s call for work stoppage on American projects during the WGA strike was more than a show of solidarity. It signalled a pressing need to transform screenwriters’ relations with Indian subsidiaries of global streaming services and production studios like Lionsgate India and Disney+ Hotstar. According to Rajabali, contracts with foreign and domestic studios often come with a clause prohibiting screenwriters from consulting with or approaching the union. These clear attempts at union-busting mirror those of Hollywood’s Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP). The material connections between working conditions and labour resistance internationally, and the possibilities both engender for domestic cinema workers, are rife. There is little information on how WGA’s win could impact foreign subsidiaries held by AMPTP-associated companies. But the SWA believes at least a precedent has been set, and its proposed Minimum Basic Contract is geared towards leveraging this historic moment. Even the wrong colour can mean the death of a film in the current Indian context. Where some film workers believed streaming studios to be a window of freedom, recent Central regulations have pulled the blinds on that. Netflix’s cancellation of Dev Patel’s Monkey Man (2024) and the film’s removal of saffron, a colour popularly associated with the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) led by Narendra Modi, has not improved the film’s chances of being released in the country. The Tamil film Annapoorni (2023) elicited legal cases from two right-wing outfits based in Bombay for “hurting religious sentiments of Hindus” and led to its removal from Netflix’s India catalogue. The list of films officially and unofficially banned from being shown in cinema halls in different Indian states at the behest of right-wing political and vigilante outfits is even longer. There is justified fear, then, that government regulation could come to be a double-edged sword. It could work towards alleviating unfair labour practices, but it could also expand the broader pattern of state-sponsored Hindutva agendas. SWA is drawing contingency plans through the Minimum Basic Contract for these overtly political acts. Their proposal demands the removal of contract clauses that shift the responsibility away from producers and onto writers. Currently, producers are guarded against legal, political, and religious backlash, while writers are provided little to no protection from their employers. “Let’s say there’s a scene that shows a fight outside a temple. The studio’s lawyers will tell you to change it. Contractually, the writer is either obliged to change it or risk bearing the consequences on their own head. This is a clause we have to fight,” says Quadras. “And for that, we need collective negotiating power.” But most mainstream Hindi films today happily toe the government line, much as they did in another era of censorship: the Emergency. In June 1975, as a response to increasing worker agitations, internal problems in the Congress party, and legal challenges against her election, India’s two-time Prime Minister Indira Gandhi enacted a state of Emergency. State and national elections were suspended, dissidents were arrested, and trade union actions were brutally repressed. People trapped in poverty were forcibly sterilised. Hundreds of thousands were displaced. Bombay cinema, amongst other industries, was unabashedly censored. Scholar Ashish Rajadhyaksha notes that conditional investments made by the Film Finance Corporation (now known as National Film Development Corporation ) during the early ‘70s petered out immediately after the Emergency. The state deepened its interests in media apparatuses and pursued a policy of highly restrictive censorship, impeding new-wave efforts like Mrinal Sen’s Bhuvan Shome . In Bombay, creative risk fell to the wayside and narratives critical of the public and private nexus vanished. The angry, young man, especially as personified by Indian actor Amitabh Bachhan, represented a specific kind of radical, working-class man, was retired from films. Instead, characters like the fantasy shape-shifting woman-cobra in Naagin (1976) and mythological warriors like those in Dharam Veer (1977) appeared in its place. Gandhi’s government bureaucratically chopped political satires or outrightly banned certain movies . Half a century later, the pattern repeats, albeit this time with a distinctly communal spin. The bulk of Hindi films released today consist primarily of majoritarian propaganda , safe’ biographical , mythological, or period movies . Creative and political risk has been rendered almost non-existent, but making choices that could be seen as either adhering to or being silent on the Hindutva narratives have not protected Bollywood from conservative calls for boycotts. Adipurush (2023), a film on the epic Ramayana , created by the self-proclaimed Hindu nationalist screenwriter Manoj Muntashir, elicited right-wing criticism and flopped upon release. Similarly, actress turned BJP politician Kangana Ranaut’s Hindi language film, Tejas, and Tamil language film, Chandramukhi 2 , did not muster enough to balance their budgets. Hindutva’s poster boy Akshay Kumar was also unable to bring supremacists to purchase tickets for Ram Setu (2022), an archaeological action film seeking to prove the existence of Ramayana , which prolific film critic Namrata Joshi has labelled as “a show of Hindu victimhood.” The race to appease Hindutva groups seems to be an unwinnable one. Still, some in the industry refuse to abandon the race. Despite the overwhelming web of financial and political struggles, screenwriters like Rajabali, Kewalya, and Quadras march on, and younger aspirants continue to join their ranks. “I am a storyteller. I don’t know how to do anything else,” says Kewalya. What can a screenwriter do? Where can their stories go? If such forces continue to helm decision-making, what becomes of creative integrity and freedom? Is the Hindi film industry doomed to creating “products” or “packages”? Can it transcend its confines? Can it deliver necessary stories—ones with substance, original voices, and honesty? The SWA might be slow-paced, but it is determined. It does not shy away from challenging the power dynamics that currently exist—on and off-screen—and it might just be the most hopeful response to the industry’s continued prioritisation of profit over people. Manto’s creative descendants have come a long way from striking at the steps of a studio. But they have an even longer way ahead of them. ∎ SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Courtesy of Tara Anand (2021) SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Essay Bombay Screenwriters Association SWA Films Film-Making Labor Rights Trade Unions Directors Film Studios Radical Writers Saadat Hassan Manto Hindutva Minimum Wage Minimum Basic Contract The Legend of Shaheed Bhagat Singh Working Conditions Baburao Patel Nanubhai Desai FilmIndia Creative Labor Pukar Leila Majnu Genre Dabangg Singham Simmba Mary Kom Dangal Fair Compensation Copyright Protection Raajneeti Anjum Rajabali Film Enquiry Committee Bollywood Wage Depression Wage Theft Hitesh Kewalya Shubh Mangal Savdhaan Rom-Coms Police Films Action Films Sports Biographies Amazon Prime Netflix Lionsgate OTT Disney+ Saiwyn Quadras AMPTP Writers Strike WGA Monkey Man BJP Annapoorni Saffron 1975 Emergency Censorship Kangana Ranaut Tejas Ram Setu Namrata Joshi Labor Labor Movement NIHIRA is a freelance writer based in India. She is interested in South Asian media histories, particularly relating to labour and caste. 5 Aug 2024 Essay Bombay 5th Aug 2024 TARA ANAND is an illustrator and visual artist from Bombay, currently based in New York. Paean to Mother Nature Marissa Carruthers 25th Feb The Changing Landscape of Heritage Saranya Subramanian 13th Feb Tawang's Blessing Pills Bikash K. Bhattacharya 7th Jun Buenos Aires, Shuttered María Constanza Costa 12th May Saffronizing Bollywood Kaashif Hajee 15th Apr On That Note:

WRITER Arash Azizzada ARASH AZIZZADA is a writer, photographer, and community organizer based in Los Angeles, CA. The children of Afghan refugees, Arash is deeply committed to social justice and building communities. He co-founded Afghan Diaspora for Equality and Progress (ADEP) in 2016, aimed at elevating and empowering changemakers within the Afghan community. He recently co-launched Afghans For A Better Tomorrow (AFBT), and has focused on evacuation and rapid response coordination efforts in the wake of America’s military withdrawal from Afghanistan. He has written for the New York Times , Newsweek , and been featured on NPR and Vice News . WRITER WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

Why have India’s ultranationalist aspirations made Lakshadweep the unlikely locus of its tourist aspirations and exacerbated tensions with the Maldives? | · FEATURES Reportage · Lakshadweep The Lakshadweep Gambit Why have India’s ultranationalist aspirations made Lakshadweep the unlikely locus of its tourist aspirations and exacerbated tensions with the Maldives? Artwork courtesy of N.K.P Muthukoya. Kerala: On 4 January, pictures of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi snorkeling in Lakshadweep hit social media. The pictures were accompanied by his invitation “for those who wish to embrace the adventurer in them, Lakshadweep has to be on your list,” and incited a cascade of unanticipated events in the Indian archipelago of 36 islands lying to the west of India’s southwestern coast, in the Laccadive Sea between the Arabian Sea to and the Bay of Bengal. The photos triggered a surge in Google searches unseen in 20 years. Maldivian ministers in Malé, a mere 900 kilometres southwest of Lakshadweep, were alarmed. A few vented against Modi on social media. Hassan Zihan, Mariyam Shiuna, and Malsha Shareef, all deputy ministers, were suspended for the social media posts they made against Modi. Maldivian ministers have been sacked for lesser blunders, however, the president has chosen to keep them on government payroll following a temporary suspension. At a time when the Israeli-Palestinian conflict had escalated to levels previously unseen following the Hamas-led terror attacks in October 2023 and in the wider context of Israeli settler violence in the West Bank, Shiuna pointed out India’s ties with Israel. Other public officials joined in and said that Modi’s visit to Lakshadweep was aimed at undermining Maldives’ luxury tourism industry, which prides itself on its secluded pristine beaches. Indian travel and tourism agencies and celebrities added fuel to the controversy by using hashtags #MaldivesOut and #ExploreIndianIslands. In January, Maldivian President Mohamed Muizzu broke with tradition and prioritized visits to Turkey and China, flouting India's “ first-visit ” protocol. He flew to China, signed 20 deals , secured a massive 1000 crore aid package, and upon his return, urged India to withdraw its 80-member army contingent stationed in the Maldives by 15 March. The first well-known Indian presence in the Maldives was in response to the 1988 coup, under Operation Cactus , following a request from then-president Maumoon Abdul Gayoom, which protected the Maldives from Sri Lankan militants. There were 77 Indian officers stationed in Maldives since 2010 when the Indian government gifted two helicopters and a Dornier aircraft. Recent news suggests the first batch of Indian troops, some 25 soldiers, have already left the island country. In short, Modi’s Lakshadweep pictures created something of a diplomatic crisis that could significantly reshape Indian and Maldivian relations. Muizzu’s moves while in power have signalled a subtle but important shift in Maldivian foreign policy, with China gaining significant ground and India's traditional influence facing a challenge. But as diplomatic tensions between India and the Maldives have simmered, Muizzu’s deals with China, aimed at turbocharging tourism through large-scale construction projects and marketing to new countries, have raised crucial questions about the fragile archipelago’s environmental sustainability. Lakshadweep is similarly threatened—and if Modi’s agenda is realized, also poses a threat to the tourism sector pivotal to the Maldivian economy. Swallowed By the Ocean While Maldives-China 20-point MoU cooperation in disaster management and green and low-carbon sounds positive, deepening blue economy cooperation and accelerating the Belt and Road initiative raises serious concerns for the low-lying island country. In late 2021, highlighting the Maldives’ extreme environmental vulnerability, Aminath Shauna, the former environment and climate change minister noted, in an interview with the International Monetary Fund (IMF), that a staggering 80% of the country's islands sit less than a meter above sea level, over 90 percent of the islands report flooding annually, 97 percent are reporting shoreline erosion. “Fifty percent of all our housing structures are within just 100 meters of the coastline. So most really cannot withstand tidal floods, let alone tsunamis. Really, everything is at stake,” she had said. In 2008, concerned about the rising sea levels threatening the Maldives, then-President Mohamed Nasheed proposed relocation to neighbouring countries. However, in comparison, the current president’s plans differ greatly. He envisions reclaiming land, building elevated islands, and fortifying them. A report from the Economic Society of New Delhi-based Shri Ram College of Commerce reveals how extensive extraction for development disrupts beaches, harming marine life, compromising conservation for commerce, fuelling rapid biodiversity loss, around 21 percent of daily waste comes from tourists, polluting water and endangering health and untreated sewage and depletion threaten freshwater resources. But tourism continues to be integral to the Maldives economy, with growth in the sector in 2022 exceeding pre-pandemic levels with a remarkable 13.9% growth, outpacing even optimistic forecasts, fuelled by pent-up demand from both European and Asian tourists. Indeed, tourist arrivals and revenue in the Maldives have rebounded sharply, with total receipts soaring by 28% from $3.5 billion in 2021 to an estimated $4.5 billion in 2022. Fascinatingly, leading the charge was the recent upsurge in Indian travellers , some of them prominent Bollywood stars, with 209,198 visiting the island paradise in 2023. Close behind were 209,146 Russian visitors, followed by 187,118 Chinese tourists ranking third. According to the Maldives Monetary Authority, fuelled by a booming tourism sector, Maldives’ total government revenue surged 38 percent to USD 1.82 billion in 2022, outpacing both tax and non-tax revenue hikes. Financial figures show strong tourism recovery in the Maldives, raising concerns about its impact on the region's fragile ecosystem. However, the nation's latest partnerships, especially with China, may offer opportunities for balancing economic growth with environmental protection. Chalo Lakshadweep Can India reasonably pitch in Lakshadweep as a competitor for Maldives? While the idea of Lakshadweep as a competitor to the Maldives might be tempting, environmental concerns raise serious doubts about its feasibility. Lakshadweep’s environmental fragility, limited infrastructure, and local concerns cannot be ignored. A fresh study paints a grim picture for the Lakshadweep Islands, revealing that all of them are facing significant threats from rising sea levels, regardless of future emission scenarios. This marks the first time climate models have been used to assess potential inundation across the archipelago. The study predicts drastic land loss for smaller islands like Chetlat and Amini, with 60 to 70 percent and 70 to 80 percent of their shorelines vanishing under rising waters. Even larger islands like Minicoy and Kavaratti, including the capital, are not spared, facing potential land loss along 60 percent of their coastlines. The only relatively safe haven appears to be Androth Island, though it too will be impacted. Minicoy , the second largest and southernmost island in Lakshadweep, shares a unique historical connection with the Maldives. Known locally as “Maliku” in the Maldivian-Minicoy language, Minicoy was separated from the Maldives in 1752 by the Ali Rajas of Malabar (Kerala) and remained distinct ever since. The remaining northern islands of Lakshadweep, the Amindivi group, fell under British control much earlier in 1799, following their victory over Tipu Sultan of Mysore (who ruled them from 1787). The Laccadive Islands (southern group) and Minicoy were annexed to the British Empire later, with the suzerainty of Minicoy transferring to the British Indian Empire in 1875. However, the Arakkal House held a trade monopoly over these islands until 1905, when they were fully surrendered to the British. When India gained independence in 1947, the Union Jack continued to fly over the Minicoy lighthouse until 1956, when a representative of the Queen lowered it, marking Minicoy's official integration into the Indian Union. Lakshadweep’s current infrastructure caters to its 60,000 residents and a limited tourist influx. In 2021, the islands welcomed 13,500 tourists, a number that jumped to 22,800 in 2022. While this growth is encouraging, it also strains existing resources. There is only one airline operating flights to Lakshadweep and six ships ferrying people, and any Indian, who is not a native of Lakshadweep, shall have to obtain an entry permit . The reason for this, as per the Lakshadweep Tourism website, is to protect the Indigenous peoples residing there. Following a Supreme Court order in the 2012 case of M/s Sea Shell Beach Resorts v. Union Territory of Lakshadweep and Others, an expert committee led by Justice R.V. Raveendran evaluated the Integrated Island Management Plan (IIMP) for Lakshadweep. The IIMP is a crucial document that outlines the vision and strategies for sustainable development in Lakshadweep. The Supreme Court's order emphasized the need for balancing development with environmental protection in the islands. The Raveendran Committee's report made several recommendations, including, strict adherence to environmental laws and regulations, prioritization of sustainable tourism and eco-friendly practices, protection of the islands' fragile ecosystems and cultural heritage. Having said that, recently, the Lakshadweep administration planned to develop eco-tourism projects in 11 islands in public-private partnerships. NITI Aayog, the Indian government’s policy body, had sought proposals from consultants. The administration of the union territory identified the islands of Bangaram, Thinnakara, Pareli-II, Pareli- III, Chariyam, Kalpitti, Tilakkam, Kavaratti, Perumal par, Viringili island, and Minicoy. Additionally, branded hotels are coming up , while water villas are also on the horizon. However, the one and only parliamentarian from Lakshadweep has already raised his concern over tourism development projects. Talking to the media , he said the “Chalo Lakshadweep” call may not even get off the ground given multiple constraints, including the lack of direct flights and the minuscule number—150—of hotel rooms. “Even if it does, the tourist inflow has to be controlled in view of the fragile ecology of the island that has been propped up by a rulebook that lays down the number of tourists the islands can contain each day,” Mohammad Faizal, the parliamentarian from Lakshadweep, told media. Faizal cited Justice R.V. Raveendran’s suggestions to protect the island. The media quoted him, adding that the island is looking for high-end controlled tourism. Meanwhile, in a phone conversation with SAAG from Androth, the largest island in Lakshadweep, Mohammed Althaf Hussain, a former Panchayath president, discussed the potential benefits and drawbacks of increased tourism focus in the islands. Hussain noted that “pumping more money into tourism development can create job opportunities, help locals diversify their income, boost earnings, and popularize local culture.” However, he also acknowledged environmental concerns, stating, “Like any other place, our islands face environmental challenges due to climate change, including waste management woes.” He concluded by expressing optimism that “with scientific solutions, we can overcome these challenges.” Dr Naveen Namboothri, Trustee and Programme Head at Dakshin Foundation, a non-profit organization dedicated to environmental conservation and sustainable development, shared a note prepared by Lakshadweep Research Collective. This note responds to the draft development plan for the island proposed by the Indian government. The note shared by Naveen, who is part of Lakshadweep Research Collective, states that, the then development plan poses a dangerous threat to Lakshadweep's ecology, community, and culture. The note adds that the plan ignores Lakshadweep's unique ecology and climate vulnerabilities, proposing unsustainable development that endangers reefs and livelihoods. “It grants authorities power to take land and resources, jeopardizing traditional practices and local economies. Proposes a narrow, “fast-track” approach focused on infrastructure and exploitation, neglecting social well-being and ecological integrity,” the note adds. On 1 February, while presenting the interim budget, Indian Finance Minister Nirmala Sitaram, named Lakshadweep. “To address the emerging fervour for domestic tourism, projects for port connectivity, tourism infrastructure, and amenities will be taken up on our islands, including Lakshadweep,” she said . And there are reports that India has proposed a ₹3,600-crore infrastructure upgrade plan for the Lakshadweep islands, aiming to transform them into a tourist hub. Back in 2021, the Lakshadweep administrator was accused of introducing policies that could harm the environment and cultural heritage of the islands. The controversial proposals included a beef ban and restrictions on those contesting in local elections. At the time, India’s opposition leader Rahul Gandhi also raised his concerns. The tensions between India and the Maldives can be attributed to hypernationalism displayed by both state and non-state actors. While Maldivian deputy ministers criticized Prime Minister Modi, Indian social media users fueled the issue with their own brand of hypernationalism and unrealistic expectations regarding Lakshadweep. For India, boycotting the Maldives may well have negative political consequences. Meanwhile, losing the trust of a long-standing strategic partner whose culture is intertwined with its own would be a major detriment for the Maldives. Fueled by budget allocations and amplified by media buzz, India seems intent on making a "Maldives™" out of Lakshadweep, propelling ultra-nationalist sentiments in both countries. This move suggests that India is far from closing the chapter on instigating a previously non-existent tourism rivalry between Lakshadweep and the Maldives. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Reportage Lakshadweep Maldives India Nationalism China Foreign Policy Environment Climate Change Islands Lakshadweep archipelago Operation Cactus Mohamed Muizzu Modi Minicoy Tourism Belt and Road Initiative Luxury Tourism Mohamed Nasheed IMF Maldives Monetary Authority Sea Shell Beach Resorts Integrated Island Management Plan Laccadive Maliku Kavaratti Androth Chalo Lakshadweep Amindivi Eco-tourism Turkey Maumoon Abdul Gayoom Infrastructure Diplomatic Relations Malé Maldivian Economy Environmental Disaster Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 29th Mar 2024 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

“I really got into organizing through the Palestinian solidarity movement. I co-founded my school's chapter of Students for Justice in Palestine. The same people who used to walk by me in the student union when we were organizing for an academic boycott—those same people have reached out to me since to say they wish they had gotten involved, that they feel differently now. Really, the Black Lives Matter movement opened a lot of people's eyes to the interconnectedness of state violence.” | Live · INTERACTIVE Live · New York Zohran Kwame Mamdani on Palestine in 2021 “I really got into organizing through the Palestinian solidarity movement. I co-founded my school's chapter of Students for Justice in Palestine. The same people who used to walk by me in the student union when we were organizing for an academic boycott—those same people have reached out to me since to say they wish they had gotten involved, that they feel differently now. Really, the Black Lives Matter movement opened a lot of people's eyes to the interconnectedness of state violence.” Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. There is a pervasive and commonly vocalized sense that the dire state of Gaza and the actions of Israel since October 2023 have created an unprecedented level of public support for Palestine. And perhaps the scale of public support—or, more accurately, its endurance—is indeed unprecedented. But in an interview from the SAAG archives held on 5th June 2021, NY State Assemblymember Zohran Kwame Mamdani shared his own feelings as a longtime SJP and DSA organizer for the Palestinian struggle, as well as in his political role, that with the uptick of violence in Gaza in 2021, he found immense positive signs of shift within society, the first instances of prominent politicians being on the backfoot with protesters and organizers, and other instances of what he had previously considered unthinkable. For Mamdani, much of the roots of this uptick in pro-Palestinian sentiment and the delinking of anti-Zionism and anti-Semitism lie in part with the Black Lives Matter movement and the education of society writ large due to mass movements for racial and economic justice over the past decade, and longer. Mamdani and Naib Mian invoke the dichotomy that motivated the event for which they spoke— In Grief, In Solidarity . Mamdani’s sense of how power is and should be wielded, both inside and outside the “halls of power,” as it were, is held simultaneously with how deep the institutional roots between Israel and the US really go, for instance with the links between the NYPD and IDF’s brutal tactics, or most police departments in the US for that matter. This slice from our archive illuminates to a large degree that while change can feel faster than it is, histories of deeply grievous injustices and those of positive change are longer than we perceive them to be. Histories and ideas of collective action are invoked here, too: Mamdani’s idea of solidarity in action—whether deployed over a shipping container or outside a courthouse and wherever it may be—is deeply capacious. When Mamdani says that “we have not yet hit the ceiling of support for Palestinians,” he evokes a sentiment of today. Three years later, we still haven't. SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Live New York Palestine Intifada Gaza Dissent Occupation Israel Apartheid State Power Methods of Resistance Mass Protests Anti-Israel Protests Black Lives Matter Students for Justice in Palestine SJP DSA Democratic Socialists of America Inequality Racial Justice In Grief In Solidarity Power Dynamics IDF NYPD IDF and American Police Departments Police Brutality Political Prisoners Refugees Anti-Zionism Dehumanization Islamophobia Dismantling Oppressive Structures Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 5th Jun 2021 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

JOURNALIST Tauseef Ahmad TAUSEEF AHMED is a freelance journalist from the Kashmir region of India, and he writes about South Asia. Tauseef specializes in conflict, climate change, food, and lifestyle. He holds a bachelor's degree in Mass Communication and Multimedia Production. Tauseef has three years of experience and has contributed to organizations like Women’s Media Center , FairPlanet , Two Circles , Down to Earth , Article 14 , News International , Mongabay-India , and others. JOURNALIST WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

As Sino-Indian tensions rise in the new Indian Union territory of Ladakh at the Line of Actual Control, Ladakhi craftswomen like Sonam Dolma are returning to Kashmir to sell their authentic pashmina shawls. THE VERTICAL The Artisan Labor Crisis of Ladakh Mir Seeneen As Sino-Indian tensions rise in the new Indian Union territory of Ladakh at the Line of Actual Control, Ladakhi craftswomen like Sonam Dolma are returning to Kashmir to sell their authentic pashmina shawls. In the upscale neighborhood of Rajbagh in Srinagar, Sonam Dolma awaits a high-stakes meeting at an eatery amidst Kashmiri portraits and vintage décor. Her Ladakhi tribe’s prized Pashmina shawls made of fine Kashmiri cashmere are sought after by Kashmir’s elite who eschew mass-produced replicas for craftsmanship. In the quiet corner of the café, away from the bustling streets, Dolma prepares to showcase her wares to discerning clients—wives of bureaucrats and businessmen—who value quality and authenticity above all else. Just miles away from this serene scene lies a neighborhood scarred by floods, where Dolma’s tribe finds refuge after their daily trade expeditions. Despite this contrast, these Ladakhi women navigate Kashmir’s high society with grace, armed with exquisite products and a commitment to purity in a world of imitations. The group’s trade trips to Kashmir have become recurrent ever since Chinese troops showed up at their homeland’s hinterland in May 2020. Oblivious to the standoff at the Line of Actual Control (LAC) where Beijing has grown its military presence, the women are making their rounds of the posh localities of Srinagar with shawls in hand. This internal drive for living has come just five years after New Delhi stripped the semi-autonomous status of Jammu and Kashmir. Their homeland is a new spark plug in South Asia; they live in a constant state of fear. In fact, the rise of the new front—LAC—has already proven deadly. In a military standoff, Sino-India troops have suffered casualties . But beyond these border games, Beijing has forced new orders and routines compelling the Ladakhi craftswomen to return to estranged Kashmir. These young women frequent the fraught region of the valley for sustenance. Prior to their recent visits as mobile merchants, they would mostly feel at home in Kashmir. But everything changed when New Delhi sliced Ladakh from Kashmir in a cartographic attempt to redefine the contested land in the summer of 2019. Carving a union territory out of the United Nations’ registered disputed region eventually proved costly for the government of India. It provoked China—now the ominous third party of what New Delhi calls a “bilateral issue” between India and Pakistan. However, beyond Beijing’s belligerence, the decision to make Ladakh a federal entity has far-reaching consequences for the cashmere brand and its craftspeople. With China’s People’s Liberation Army (PLA) occupying the winter mainstay of the Pashmina goats in Ladakh, cashmere is losing its source of thread. Ladakh’s Changthang area—the land of nomads located in the east of Leh on the Chinese border—has long been a breeding ground for the Pashmina goats. The severe temperature of the area, the experts say, makes the Pashmina thread of Changthang very thin, which in turn makes these goats the source of the finest cashmere in the world. The Chinese incursions have now made it a literal no-go zone for the nomads rearing these goats. Although China is showing no signs of retreat, the military occupation has created an existential crisis for the native animal and has raised serious concerns around the globe. The nomads are reporting increasing numbers of goat deaths. These deaths—due to the occupied winter habitat of Pashmina goats—have cast shadows on the global brand. In the main towns of Leh, the Pashmina dealers are linking the supply slump to the rise of China in Ladakh. Despite the dilemma, the cashmere craftspeople are banking on their old ties with the valley. In the larger din emanating from the LAC, their Kashmir move has become symbolic. While New Delhi has separated them from Kashmir in this territorial juggling, Beijing has reunited them . New anxieties are on the rise, however, as the processing of Pashmina may be shifted out of Kashmir to Uttar Pradesh by the Indian authorities, a move that may create an impact on the cashmere wool industry. Faced with diminishing income and mounting unpredictability, Dolma made the difficult decision to seek refuge in Kashmir. At noon when most of the citizenry works, she arrives to strike some profitable exchanges. Dolma on her way to a Srinagar neighbourhood where she sells her stuff to customers. Courtesy of Mir Seeneen. Dolma tells me how she was born into a family of weavers in a small village 260 miles from Ladakh’s capital, Leh. She learned the art of crafting Pashmina shawls from her grandmother, who in teaching her, passed down centuries-old techniques. Dolma reflects on the journey: “The foreign incursions into Ladakh forced me to confront the fragility of life, to adapt, and evolve.” But the looming specter and uncertainty brought by a massive troop build-up, cast a dark shadow over Dolma’s once-peaceful existence. “We spend months preparing the handicraft stuff before arriving in Srinagar for work," she says. For Dolma, these rendezvous in serene corners of the city held significance beyond mere transactions. She was not just selling shawls—she was preserving a legacy, a tradition that had been passed down through generations. In a market flooded with facsimiles, she was a purveyor of authenticity, valued for her discerning eye and commitment to quality. Away from Ladakh, Dolma considers Kashmir the second home for Ladakhi entrepreneurs like herself. This Himalayan region is their main economic link to the rest of the world, aside from being the preferable market for their indigenous products. During the post-Covid distressed times, they counted on Kashmir’s booming domestic tourism. “Kashmir has never disappointed us,” says Tenzin, another Pashmina seller from Ladakh. “But somewhere down the line, the region’s uncertainty reminds us of our home now. It was a peaceful land before they changed its status in the summer of 2019.” The demand for a separate entity—a union territory—was a longstanding political cry in Ladakh, mostly from the members of the ruling mainstream party. The campaign gained steam after the political party swept the regional polls. Experts feared that slicing Ladakh from Kashmir would alter the course of the disputed land. But in the run-up to August 2019, when campaigns against Article 370 became fierce, Ladakh witnessed a political wave culminating in its new territorial identity. Lately, the process in Kargil has intensified with shutdowns of demand for statehood ; even the famed climate activist Sonam Wangchuk went on a 21-day hunger strike . With the altered political reality, most of these women are now anxious about the war frenzy created by the armies in their homeland. They realize how the militarization was triggered by the summer shift—when New Delhi justified the abrogation of Article 370 as a move “to end discrimination” with Ladakh and its people. But the unilateral decision backfired when the Chinese army showed up at the LAC and clashed with Indian forces. Since then the skirmishes have stopped, but the boots remain on the ground . While the border brouhaha has given Ladakh global coverage in recent times, these girls have become weary of the hyper-media attention. Like their Kashmiri counterparts, they don’t make peace with the pugnacious news debates focusing on their homeland. The mainland television media’s so-called war bulletins have only heightened tensions. What’s further creating a false sense of alarm is New Delhi’s dithering response to the LAC situation. The region has now become a new strategic zone forcing the right-wing government to build a fair-weather highway connecting Leh with Srinagar that opened this past winter. The snowbound thoroughfare used to be cut-off for six months. But now, the Indian government’s urge to keep an unflinching eye on the PLA has put men at work during extreme conditions, including the construction of a tunnel connecting Ladakh with Kashmir. Still, these young Ladakhi women see hope in Kashmir where their products are quite popular among the urban elites. However, if the status quo isn’t restored at the LAC anytime soon, these Pashmina girls of Ladakh fear losing cashmere to Chinese aggression. In the wake of this militarized uncertainty, some of the girls believe their visits to Kashmir, this estranged part of India, might alleviate their financial situation. “Life is tough back home,” continues Tenzin, while waiting for her client inside the cafeteria, and uncertainty has only escalated after the recent border tensions between India and China. Away from Ladakh, these girls share rent, rage, and respite in Srinagar before heading back home with seasonal earnings. “Most of us belong to poor families,” Tenzin continues with a thoughtful stance. “For us, our families come first. But it’s very hard to stay focused amid the changed reality now. Be it troop build-up or frontier tensions, the sense of normalcy has taken a big hit. Regardless of everything, Kashmir is the same to us as it used to be when the people of Ladakh were part of it,” she says. “Sadly, for some of us, a sense of estrangement has come to define this relationship now. And the change is there to see.” Padma Tsering, a quintessential Ladakhi woman in her early thirties from Nyoma, has been selling Pashmina in Kashmir for the past couple of years. “We’ve cultivated our customer base in Kashmir and rely on them for our livelihood,” she says. Despite their limited political awareness, Ladakhi girls like Tsering find hope in Kashmir. “There’s a sense of security Kashmir offers despite the surrounding tensions,” says Phuntsok Wangmo, another Pashmina seller from Ladakh. “It’s our preferred market with loyal customers, even during post-Covid times.” Dolma showcases her shawls in Srinagar during a business meeting with her client. Courtesy of Mir Seeneen. Meanwhile, Dolma’s wait ends as Sadaf Khan, a young Kashmiri woman, arrives at the café. Khan expresses interest in buying shawls from the weaver. “My cousin recommended Dolma to me and vouched for the quality of the shawls,” says Khan. The café comes alive with the buzz of business, some chatter, and laughter. After bidding farewell to her client, Dolma steps out into the busy thoroughfares of the city; walking home reflectively after another successful trade. ∎ ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 A landscape view of Ladakh. Dolma's homeland now facing the heat of the lurking dragon. Courtesy of Masroor Khan. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Reportage Ladakh Srinagar Kashmir Sino-Indian Relations China India Geopolitics Indian Union Article 370 Line of Actual Control People’s Liberation Army Changthang Labor Craftsmanship Artisans Indigeneity Settler-Colonialism Displacement Statehood Military Operations Police Action Sonam Dolma Militarization MIR SEENEEN is a freelance journalist based in Srinagar. She has worked with many international news organizations which includes The Guardian, Al Jazeera, The Diplomat Magazine, TRT World, among others. Reportage Ladakh 3rd May 2024 On That Note: Cracks in Pernote 2nd DEC Crossing Lines of Connection 14th OCT Chats Ep. 7 · Karti Dharti, Gender & India's Farmers Movement 29th APR

Feminist Theorist and English Professor Fawzia Afzal-Khan, in conversation with Drama Editor Neilesh Bose. COMMUNITY Movements in Pakistani Theatre Feminist Theorist and English Professor Fawzia Afzal-Khan, in conversation with Drama Editor Neilesh Bose. VOL. 1 INTERVIEW AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Watch the interview on YouTube or IGTV SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Interview Theater 24th Sep 2020 Interview Theater Performance Art South Asian Theater Internationalist Solidarity Parallel Theatre Movement Realism Non-Realist Plays Sufism Ajoka Theatre Women Singers of Pakistan Madeeha Gauhar Women Democratic Front Shahid Nadeem Authenticity Avant-Garde Form Native Formats Nationalism Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. The work I started doing, like Sheherzade Goes West could be considered avant-garde in a certain way it did not conform to representational theatre even though I gave it a very self-ironizing subtitle—speaking out as a “Pakistani/American/wo/man, because I wanted the title itself to question certain ideas of self-representation. RECOMMENDED: A Critical State: The Role of Secular Alternative Theatre in Pakistan (Seagull Press, 2005) by Fawzia Afzal-Khan More Fiction & Poetry: Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5

DJ-ACTIVIST Darakshan Raja DARAKSHAN RAJA A.K.A. DJ KIRAN is an abolitionist activist, musician, and DJ who works to cultivate joy and community in movement work with Bhangra and Urban Desi Music. DJ Kiran was part of The Empowerment Album , a collaboration between desi women DJs from the US, UK, and Canada. Darakshan is the co-founder and co-director of Muslims for Just Futures , a grassroots organization that focuses on working-class communities, women, and communities nationally through the Muslim Abolitionist Futures (MAF) National Network. DJ-ACTIVIST WEBSITE INSTAGRAM TWITTER Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 LOAD MORE

A panel on dominant narratives about Kashmir: the longue durée of Kashmiri struggle, the continued movement-building between Kashmir & Palestine, the People's Alliance for Gupkar, and what the repeal of Article 370 really entailed. | · COMMUNITY Panel · Kashmir Discourses on Kashmir A panel on dominant narratives about Kashmir: the longue durée of Kashmiri struggle, the continued movement-building between Kashmir & Palestine, the People's Alliance for Gupkar, and what the repeal of Article 370 really entailed. Watch the panel on YouTube or IGTV. Just over a year after the repeal of Article 370 from India's constitution, pro-India Kashmiri political parties called for an alliance. What did it all mean? In our second panel from October 2020, Kashmiri activist-scholars Ather Zia & Huma Dar, and journalist Hilal Mir, discuss the predominant discourses of Kashmir that pervade public and international narratives with Editor Kamil Ahsan. The wide-ranging discussion discusses Indian-occupied-Kashmir, India as a settler-colonial state, journalism & how the Azadi Movement and the repeal of Article 370 are depicted, and the many self-serving narratives that don’t take Kashmiri realities into account. SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Panel Kashmir Intellectual History Settler-Colonialism Longue-Duree of Kashmiri Struggle Movement Organization Revolution Colonialism Burhan Wani People's Alliance for Gupkar Subaltern Studies Palestine Affect Internationalist Solidarity Media Blackout Radicalization Narratives Bollywood Occupation Genocide Pogroms Erasure Mass Protests War Crimes Movement Strategy Emancipatory Politics Humanitarian Crisis Activist Media International Law Hindutva Military Crackdown Military Operations Kashmiri Struggle Discourses of War Nationalism Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 24th Oct 2020 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

In the Karoonjhar mountains—a region of ancient hills and rock formations amidst salt marshes and other ecosystems—local activists are fighting to protect the region from mining companies. For years, private corporations in Sindh have mined the mountains for granite, marble, and minerals. Despite court bans, illicit—and, as of a week ago, licit—mining continues. FEATURES Save Karoonjhar In the Karoonjhar mountains—a region of ancient hills and rock formations amidst salt marshes and other ecosystems—local activists are fighting to protect the region from mining companies. For years, private corporations in Sindh have mined the mountains for granite, marble, and minerals. Despite court bans, illicit—and, as of a week ago, licit—mining continues. Zuhaib Ahmed Pirzada The lore of the Karoonjhar mountains contains many tales. During Partition, for instance, a farmer, Kasu Bha Sodho, chose to stay in Nangarparkar while his family moved to India. Then, his family dispatched the infamous dacoit Balvand to bring Kasu Bha to them. Confronting Balvand, Kasu Bha declared, “If you want to take me to India, then take Karoonjhar along.” The Karoonjhar mountains rest on the northern edge of the Rann of Kutch, in Sindh's eastern Tharparkar district, and southwest of Nangarparkar. The rock formations in the area are at least 3.5 billion years old. The hills were present when prokaryotes appeared, the atmosphere oxygenated, and multicellular life evolved. They were there when the Cambrian explosion occurred, dinosaurs roamed, and Homo sapiens emerged. But for decades, this range—which spans 19 kilometers, with granite rocks that extend approximately 305 meters below the surface—has been a battleground between the forces of extractionism and the region's indigenous communities. It also continues to be the source of political dust-ups involving provincial governments, national ruling parties, dissenting MNAs and MPAs, rural petitioners , and the residents of Nangarparkar—even after the Sindh High Court ruled to ban extraction. At the national level, it is something of a cudgel between the PPP and PML-N. In February, Bilawal Bhutto, in a public meeting in Chachro, accused the PML-N of scheming to establish a puppet government in Karachi to exploit the mountains. “They think if their government is formed, they will exploit granite and mineral resources of Karoonjhar,” he told the crowd. But at the local level, all this seems irrelevant. Indigenous activists have long fought for the designation of the mountains as world heritage sites, and for compliance with court rulings against extraction. Precious little has prevented the Sindh Cabinet from allowing or even encouraging extraction in the past—aside from local activists and the public. A week ago, the Sindh Cabinet approved mining in part of the region. Today, a local activist appealed to fight back. When I gazed upon these peaks in early February, my mind was far from the conflicts of cabinet halls. In truth, I couldn't help but reflect on the irony of the mountains' extraction by those whose existence is a mere blip in time. The relationship people have with the mountains is evident in the words of the political activist Akash Hamirani, who said: “Oh beloved mountains! You are the land of our dreams, you are a deity, you are strength, no one can cut you.” Encircled by the salt marshes and dunes of the Rann of Kutch, the Karoonjhar Mountains are a natural refuge and sanctuary for thousands of humans, millions of birds, insects, plants, trees, animals, herbs, and mushrooms–all nourished by the waters flowing from the mountains’ sacred heights. Karoonjhar is a psychedelic world full of colors, music—and silence. Many religious and cultural sites are nestled in the mountains' folds. The mountains are also many peoples’ sole economic source, encompassing approximately 108 ancient temples dedicated to Hindu and Jain beliefs . Sardharo, a religious site of Lord Shiva. Since the 1980s, Karoonjhar has been exploited for its decorative stones. “The eyes of a capitalist see expensive and unique marble and minerals in stones, but the eyes of an indigenous person see their god in them…,” says Allah Rakhio Khoso, an indigenous elder and the leader of Karoonjhar Sujag Forum who has been fighting against their extraction for three decades. Allah Rakhio Khoso Laying on a Sindhi Cot in Nagarparkar. Beginning in 1980, powerful companies like Millrock, Pak Rock, Kohinoor Marbles Industries, Haji Abdul Qudoos Rajer, and the Frontier Works Organization (FWO) were granted contracts and leases by the Sindh Government for mining the granite rock of the mountains with dynamite. For decades, Allah Rakhio has organized protests and made many speeches whilst facing numerous challenges and death threats. “Karoonjhar is our life,” Rakhio says. “How can we let them snatch it?” In 2011, the Supreme Court halted the mining of granite using dynamite blasting by Kohinoor Marbles on the heels of public protests. Mining continued, nonetheless, accelerating in 2018, led by the FWO. This prompted an advocate from Mithi, Tharparkar, to file a petition in the Sindh High Court , Hyderabad, in the public interest for the protection of the range and designation as a heritage site. The court ruled against the mining and extraction of the mountain range. Still, mining has persisted illegally. Karoonjhar’s natural springs and stones are also a natural defense against the salinity of the salt marshes of Rann of Kutch. “If Karoonjhar is plundered, this entire region will wither into the salt desert of Rann of Kutch,” warns Akash Hamirani, a climate activist involved in the protests against mining. Groundwater wells supply potable water for the people in the villages and towns near the range. Extraction threatens to dry up these wells. One day, Imam Ali Jhanjhi penned a poem that swiftly spread across social media. Jhanjhi is a former government official, but his poems about the Karoonjhar mountains are the prime source of his popularity. In his poem, بُک وطن کي ڀيلي ويندي, (Hunger Will Claim Our Lives), Jhanjhi reveals how the extraction of Karoonjhar will affect us: They shattered Karoonjhar's bones, They silenced all my moans. When the great disaster arrives, Hunger will claim our lives. After Karoonjhar's demise, Desolation will arise. No more rivers from Naryasar will flow, Villages will vanish, row by row. Fetching water from a dry pitcher, Eyes will thirst, a painful ache, No drops left in the dams to take, Wells will turn to salty lakes. Looking up from the foothills On May 29th, I found myself once more amidst the Karoonjhar mountains, visiting the Rama Pir Mander in Kasbu, Nangharparkar. It was there that I heard Khalil Kumbhar's poem, resonant with the voice of a faqeer. With the words of the poem, he sang: Only the trader will sell, be it sister or mother, Don't cut and sell the mountain, for it is my brother. Can someone tell these sellers, the motherland is not for sale, I've tied a Rakhi to the mountain, for it is my brother. Khalil wrote this poem while imagining the Kolhi women: shepherdesses who peel onions. To them, Karoonjhar is father, brother, honour, and a beloved. “We crossed so many deserts to convey one message,” Khalil Kumbhar said, “but this one song made things easier for us. Not only did our message reach every home, but this song also connected every individual to us, and the people embraced their mountains.” He continued, “Karoonjhar is a Watan (Homeland) for the trees, birds, insects, humans, animals, and all living beings. For a businessman, Karoonjhar is wealth. For us, it is Watan.” Even from the outside, such a perspective makes sense. After all, Karoonjhar contains many delicate ecosystems, supplies water for crops, drinking, and even fills the Rampur Dam (below). Extractionist logic would extend the aridity of the nearby deserts. In 2021, Allah Rakhio, along with two advocates, Teerath Jhanjhi and Faqeer Munwar Sagar, filed another petition in the Hyderabad High Court, appealing for compliance with the Sindh High Court's prior decision and the designation of a heritage site. By 2023, no decision had been made. The extraction of granite and other precious elements from the mountains continued. On July 20, 2023, newspaper advertisements invited bids for the auction of approximately 5,928 acres spread over 17 slots near Nagarparkar in the Karoonjhar Mountains. Public protests erupted. Soon, #SaveKaroonjhar was trending on social media sites across Pakistan. Advocate Shankar Meghwar, who drafted the previous petitions, filed a third petition against the auction, declaring Karoonjhar a heritage site. The decision to auction was successfully reversed due to public pressure. On August 22, Shankar Meghwar succeeded in getting all mining leases on Karoonjhar canceled and merged his petition with that of Allah Rakhio and others. With the leases canceled, the court issued orders to clear all mining sites , asking the district administration to report back within 24 hours. The sites were cleared. “On the evening of August 30, I was targeted by these mafias you know well. They threatened me to withdraw the petition; they started with calls from unknown numbers, followed by personal meetings with life-threatening messages, and forcing me to change locations,” Shankar Meghwar told me. In the months of February and March, the mountains were set on fire more than five times. Locals believed that it was not by chance but preplanned. Fire in Karoonjhar Mountains, photographed by Dileep Parmar, a photographer in Nagarparkar who has been documenting and resisting extraction. Imam Janjhi—in the same poem—addresses those who sell Karoonjhar: Those who sold the soil for gain, Exchanged their mother for wealth and fame, Sold the pots of worshippers' pray, On peacocks' cry, they gave away, With no religion or faith to claim, What shame can touch their name? To auction off generations old and young, A business crowd has come along. The entire land on scales will lie, Hunger will claim our lives. Due to their depth, granite deposits spread far beyond the visible mountain range. Do definitions of forests justify political decisions to allow mining when they simultaneously validate the range of Karoonjhar? From the depths of the waters to the heights of the hills, people chant, “Karoonjhar is not for sale.” These hills are their past, their present, and their future. If this masterpiece of nature, forever carved in their hearts and souls, is looted, they will continue to fight, resist, and protect. But the rest is a long night of terror and displacement. On October 19, a 15-page judgment written by Justice Mohammad Shafi Siddiqui declared that the Karoonjhar Mountains cannot be excavated for any purpose other than the discovery of historical monuments, and even then, only in accordance with international guidelines. “The Mines and Minerals Department has no jurisdiction over it since it is a protected heritage site and not available for mining or excavation,” the court stated. But just a week ago, the Sindh Cabinet approved the Karsar area—25 kilometers from Nangarparkar—for granite mining, pending approval from the Forest & Wildlife Department. The Cabinet committee argues that Karsar does not overlap with forest territory. Simultaneously, the Cabinet designated the Karoonjhar mountains as cultural and heritage sites, forests, and a wildlife sanctuary/Ramsar Site. The contradictory logic seems designed to enable future extraction while attempting to appease the public. Shankar Meghwar argues, “Karoonjhar mountains have their own range, and wherever such stones are found within that jurisdiction, including areas like Karsar, they should be considered part of it and should not be separated based on distance.” Just today, he challenged the government’s decision in the court of Mirpurkhas, calling for the Cabinet's decision to be ruled to be in contempt of court based on previous decisions. On the other hand, the case of the Sindh provincial government's appeal to the Supreme Court to overturn a prior decision protecting the mountain range remains. Meghwar, Allah Rakhio, and others continue to face death threats.∎ Poetry translated from Sindhi by Lutif Ali Halo. The lore of the Karoonjhar mountains contains many tales. During Partition, for instance, a farmer, Kasu Bha Sodho, chose to stay in Nangarparkar while his family moved to India. Then, his family dispatched the infamous dacoit Balvand to bring Kasu Bha to them. Confronting Balvand, Kasu Bha declared, “If you want to take me to India, then take Karoonjhar along.” The Karoonjhar mountains rest on the northern edge of the Rann of Kutch, in Sindh's eastern Tharparkar district, and southwest of Nangarparkar. The rock formations in the area are at least 3.5 billion years old. The hills were present when prokaryotes appeared, the atmosphere oxygenated, and multicellular life evolved. They were there when the Cambrian explosion occurred, dinosaurs roamed, and Homo sapiens emerged. But for decades, this range—which spans 19 kilometers, with granite rocks that extend approximately 305 meters below the surface—has been a battleground between the forces of extractionism and the region's indigenous communities. It also continues to be the source of political dust-ups involving provincial governments, national ruling parties, dissenting MNAs and MPAs, rural petitioners , and the residents of Nangarparkar—even after the Sindh High Court ruled to ban extraction. At the national level, it is something of a cudgel between the PPP and PML-N. In February, Bilawal Bhutto, in a public meeting in Chachro, accused the PML-N of scheming to establish a puppet government in Karachi to exploit the mountains. “They think if their government is formed, they will exploit granite and mineral resources of Karoonjhar,” he told the crowd. But at the local level, all this seems irrelevant. Indigenous activists have long fought for the designation of the mountains as world heritage sites, and for compliance with court rulings against extraction. Precious little has prevented the Sindh Cabinet from allowing or even encouraging extraction in the past—aside from local activists and the public. A week ago, the Sindh Cabinet approved mining in part of the region. Today, a local activist appealed to fight back. When I gazed upon these peaks in early February, my mind was far from the conflicts of cabinet halls. In truth, I couldn't help but reflect on the irony of the mountains' extraction by those whose existence is a mere blip in time. The relationship people have with the mountains is evident in the words of the political activist Akash Hamirani, who said: “Oh beloved mountains! You are the land of our dreams, you are a deity, you are strength, no one can cut you.” Encircled by the salt marshes and dunes of the Rann of Kutch, the Karoonjhar Mountains are a natural refuge and sanctuary for thousands of humans, millions of birds, insects, plants, trees, animals, herbs, and mushrooms–all nourished by the waters flowing from the mountains’ sacred heights. Karoonjhar is a psychedelic world full of colors, music—and silence. Many religious and cultural sites are nestled in the mountains' folds. The mountains are also many peoples’ sole economic source, encompassing approximately 108 ancient temples dedicated to Hindu and Jain beliefs . Sardharo, a religious site of Lord Shiva. Since the 1980s, Karoonjhar has been exploited for its decorative stones. “The eyes of a capitalist see expensive and unique marble and minerals in stones, but the eyes of an indigenous person see their god in them…,” says Allah Rakhio Khoso, an indigenous elder and the leader of Karoonjhar Sujag Forum who has been fighting against their extraction for three decades. Allah Rakhio Khoso Laying on a Sindhi Cot in Nagarparkar. Beginning in 1980, powerful companies like Millrock, Pak Rock, Kohinoor Marbles Industries, Haji Abdul Qudoos Rajer, and the Frontier Works Organization (FWO) were granted contracts and leases by the Sindh Government for mining the granite rock of the mountains with dynamite. For decades, Allah Rakhio has organized protests and made many speeches whilst facing numerous challenges and death threats. “Karoonjhar is our life,” Rakhio says. “How can we let them snatch it?” In 2011, the Supreme Court halted the mining of granite using dynamite blasting by Kohinoor Marbles on the heels of public protests. Mining continued, nonetheless, accelerating in 2018, led by the FWO. This prompted an advocate from Mithi, Tharparkar, to file a petition in the Sindh High Court , Hyderabad, in the public interest for the protection of the range and designation as a heritage site. The court ruled against the mining and extraction of the mountain range. Still, mining has persisted illegally. Karoonjhar’s natural springs and stones are also a natural defense against the salinity of the salt marshes of Rann of Kutch. “If Karoonjhar is plundered, this entire region will wither into the salt desert of Rann of Kutch,” warns Akash Hamirani, a climate activist involved in the protests against mining. Groundwater wells supply potable water for the people in the villages and towns near the range. Extraction threatens to dry up these wells. One day, Imam Ali Jhanjhi penned a poem that swiftly spread across social media. Jhanjhi is a former government official, but his poems about the Karoonjhar mountains are the prime source of his popularity. In his poem, بُک وطن کي ڀيلي ويندي, (Hunger Will Claim Our Lives), Jhanjhi reveals how the extraction of Karoonjhar will affect us: They shattered Karoonjhar's bones, They silenced all my moans. When the great disaster arrives, Hunger will claim our lives. After Karoonjhar's demise, Desolation will arise. No more rivers from Naryasar will flow, Villages will vanish, row by row. Fetching water from a dry pitcher, Eyes will thirst, a painful ache, No drops left in the dams to take, Wells will turn to salty lakes. Looking up from the foothills On May 29th, I found myself once more amidst the Karoonjhar mountains, visiting the Rama Pir Mander in Kasbu, Nangharparkar. It was there that I heard Khalil Kumbhar's poem, resonant with the voice of a faqeer. With the words of the poem, he sang: Only the trader will sell, be it sister or mother, Don't cut and sell the mountain, for it is my brother. Can someone tell these sellers, the motherland is not for sale, I've tied a Rakhi to the mountain, for it is my brother. Khalil wrote this poem while imagining the Kolhi women: shepherdesses who peel onions. To them, Karoonjhar is father, brother, honour, and a beloved. “We crossed so many deserts to convey one message,” Khalil Kumbhar said, “but this one song made things easier for us. Not only did our message reach every home, but this song also connected every individual to us, and the people embraced their mountains.” He continued, “Karoonjhar is a Watan (Homeland) for the trees, birds, insects, humans, animals, and all living beings. For a businessman, Karoonjhar is wealth. For us, it is Watan.” Even from the outside, such a perspective makes sense. After all, Karoonjhar contains many delicate ecosystems, supplies water for crops, drinking, and even fills the Rampur Dam (below). Extractionist logic would extend the aridity of the nearby deserts. In 2021, Allah Rakhio, along with two advocates, Teerath Jhanjhi and Faqeer Munwar Sagar, filed another petition in the Hyderabad High Court, appealing for compliance with the Sindh High Court's prior decision and the designation of a heritage site. By 2023, no decision had been made. The extraction of granite and other precious elements from the mountains continued. On July 20, 2023, newspaper advertisements invited bids for the auction of approximately 5,928 acres spread over 17 slots near Nagarparkar in the Karoonjhar Mountains. Public protests erupted. Soon, #SaveKaroonjhar was trending on social media sites across Pakistan. Advocate Shankar Meghwar, who drafted the previous petitions, filed a third petition against the auction, declaring Karoonjhar a heritage site. The decision to auction was successfully reversed due to public pressure. On August 22, Shankar Meghwar succeeded in getting all mining leases on Karoonjhar canceled and merged his petition with that of Allah Rakhio and others. With the leases canceled, the court issued orders to clear all mining sites , asking the district administration to report back within 24 hours. The sites were cleared. “On the evening of August 30, I was targeted by these mafias you know well. They threatened me to withdraw the petition; they started with calls from unknown numbers, followed by personal meetings with life-threatening messages, and forcing me to change locations,” Shankar Meghwar told me. In the months of February and March, the mountains were set on fire more than five times. Locals believed that it was not by chance but preplanned. Fire in Karoonjhar Mountains, photographed by Dileep Parmar, a photographer in Nagarparkar who has been documenting and resisting extraction. Imam Janjhi—in the same poem—addresses those who sell Karoonjhar: Those who sold the soil for gain, Exchanged their mother for wealth and fame, Sold the pots of worshippers' pray, On peacocks' cry, they gave away, With no religion or faith to claim, What shame can touch their name? To auction off generations old and young, A business crowd has come along. The entire land on scales will lie, Hunger will claim our lives. Due to their depth, granite deposits spread far beyond the visible mountain range. Do definitions of forests justify political decisions to allow mining when they simultaneously validate the range of Karoonjhar? From the depths of the waters to the heights of the hills, people chant, “Karoonjhar is not for sale.” These hills are their past, their present, and their future. If this masterpiece of nature, forever carved in their hearts and souls, is looted, they will continue to fight, resist, and protect. But the rest is a long night of terror and displacement. On October 19, a 15-page judgment written by Justice Mohammad Shafi Siddiqui declared that the Karoonjhar Mountains cannot be excavated for any purpose other than the discovery of historical monuments, and even then, only in accordance with international guidelines. “The Mines and Minerals Department has no jurisdiction over it since it is a protected heritage site and not available for mining or excavation,” the court stated. But just a week ago, the Sindh Cabinet approved the Karsar area—25 kilometers from Nangarparkar—for granite mining, pending approval from the Forest & Wildlife Department. The Cabinet committee argues that Karsar does not overlap with forest territory. Simultaneously, the Cabinet designated the Karoonjhar mountains as cultural and heritage sites, forests, and a wildlife sanctuary/Ramsar Site. The contradictory logic seems designed to enable future extraction while attempting to appease the public. Shankar Meghwar argues, “Karoonjhar mountains have their own range, and wherever such stones are found within that jurisdiction, including areas like Karsar, they should be considered part of it and should not be separated based on distance.” Just today, he challenged the government’s decision in the court of Mirpurkhas, calling for the Cabinet's decision to be ruled to be in contempt of court based on previous decisions. On the other hand, the case of the Sindh provincial government's appeal to the Supreme Court to overturn a prior decision protecting the mountain range remains. Meghwar, Allah Rakhio, and others continue to face death threats.∎ Poetry translated from Sindhi by Lutif Ali Halo. SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase A site of extraction at the mountain range. All images courtesy of the author unless otherwise specified. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Photo-Essay Sindh Climate Karoonjhar Mountains Nangarparkar Reportage Pakistan Environment Environmental Disaster Mining Granite Sindh Provincial Government PPP PML-N Pakistan Party Politics Rann of Kutch Salt Marshes Hills Mountains Mountain Range Tharparkar Allah Rakhio Akash Hamirani Hindu Communities Jain Communities Multi-Faith Sites Indigeneity Indigenous Activism Groundwater Delicate Ecosystems Sindh High Court Supreme Court Heritage Site Protected Site Extractionism Extraction Ancient Chachro Sardharo India-Pakistan Border Borders Translation Sindhi ZUHAIB AHMED PIRZADA is a freelance investigative journalist who focuses on climate justice, politics, indigenous knowledge systems, colonialism, and capitalism. His work has appeared in Vice and Fifty Two , among others. 19 Jul 2024 Photo-Essay Sindh 19th Jul 2024 LUTIF ALI HALO is a lecturer in English at Federal College Islamabad, an inquisitive blogger, an independent researcher-writer, and a translator. His work is interdisciplinary in nature and revolves around politics, art, philosophy, culture, language, history, the impacts of social media on society, and discourse studies. He is based in Islamabad. Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note: