SYNOPSIS
The Brahmaputra River is massive, and in a constant state of regeneration. In a phenomenon unique to the region, sediment carried downstream from the Himalayas accumulates to forge chars: fertile, low-lying islands. As the massive river bends and twists, the current erodes the land away. With every island created, another disappears. In Assam, India, some 2.5 million people have settled this constantly shifting landscape.
Global warming has supercharged the regional monsoon season and intensified ice cap melt in the Himalayas. As the Brahmaputra grows, erosion intensifies, destabilizing an already-fragile balance. To further complicate matters, the Indian government released their complete draft of the National Register of Citizens on the 30th of July, 2018. In essence, the census is designed to identify illegal immigrants who migrated to Assam after Bangladesh’s independence in 1971. Of the 4 million excluded from the list and facing exclusion, a disproportionately large amount are Bengali origin muslims residing on the chars.
In August 2018, Sam Wolff and I traveled to Assam to photograph the impacts of climate change and politics on the char population. Partnering with a local researcher and a land-rights activist, we visited five districts of Assam and numerous chars, photographing and interviewing over a hundred individuals – farmers, teachers, homemakers, village leaders, fishermen, women’s health advocates, community volunteers and young children.
------------REFLECTION
As artists, we are driven by the idea that our world is defined by the stories we tell ourselves about ways of living. In trying to understand and illustrate the situation on an individual level, we were initially drawn to the universality of ‘home,’ and what that means to someone whose government is threatening to evict them, and whose environment is unforgiving. ‘Home,’ we found, is rooted in the harmonious connection between human and earth; personal geographies and the emotional landscapes that frame them.
The shifting, fringe nature of the land, altered by a century-long cycle of discrimination and demarcation has left the char community branded foreigners, without political voice.
What we thought was a dire political situation exacerbated by climate turned out to be quite the opposite; missing from the debate and controversy over illegal immigration entirely is the root cause itself -- the river.
International media painted widespread fear in Assam, but speaking with the char people, we believe this is a misrepresentation. The NRC did not spell doom -- instead a challenge accepted, a chance to end the question. Fear has been reappropriated into empowerment. By the same token, the nature they depend on, however unrelenting, is not seen as the enemy.
Despite the unenviable state of perpetual erosion and dislocation, the char people live a life of reciprocity with the world around them. Farmers welcome the seasonal flooding – their flood-resilient crops flourish. If homes and crops are swept away, people rebuild using the bamboo-esque jute and indigenous kaisha grass. In this way, char people have merged agriculture with transience – they are people of the land, and people of no land.
True to their reciprocal nature, the char people have something to share with us, too. It’s their timeless stewardship of the land — based on respect, reciprocity, and reverence — that to this day continues to nourish their community and culture, sustain biodiversity, and preserve their life-giving ecosystem.
This is a story about human evolution. And on the brink of our next reality, this moment is imperative in shaping our collective response to climate change.
Against so many odds, this quiet pocket of humanity has so elegantly created a home among the land and life that surrounds them. Perhaps we look to the chars for guidance as we etch out an existence on this shared and changing planet.
