Prisoners Of Their Inheritance

I am not sure the book quite answers the question "Why Do They Hate Us?", where "us" refers to Dalits. The answers range from theories like love and hate mutually constituting each other and being endemic to every society, to possible physiological explanations. Its power lies in showing how deep and endemic this "hate" of Dalits is. In our discourse on caste, the real and overwhelming violence that Dalits face, their enduring marginality and exclusion still does not receive quite the attention it deserves. The litany of violence against the Dalits the book recounts makes all other challenges of social justice pale in comparison. But the book is also novel in its contention about who "they" are. "They" turn out to be not just upper castes but everyone who was part of the caste order, including Shudras and obcs. Prasad makes the case that it is a mistake to think of Dalits as lower caste; their fate was worse, being outside caste. Being lower caste was still a privilege, and a privilege maintained through violence on Dalits. While in the enduring complex of caste violence the identity of the victims, Dalits, remains the same, the identity of the perpetrator can shift from caste to caste. "They" includes anyone from Jats to Brahmins, though the book is slightly more sanguine about the possibilities of mitigating high caste violence rather than backward caste violence on Dalits.

So brutal and enduring is the violence against Dalits, and so immune does it seem to social transformation, that Prasad is obliged to attribute it to almost something like a physiological problem with "them", as if "they" are hardwired to hate Dalits; hatred of Dalits is more like a sickness than an imperfection. Although the reader will find it difficult to discern if this reduction is meant ironically or literally, Prasad makes two powerful points. The first is that the enduring character of discomfort with Dalits suggests that it is the caste Hindus who are prisoners of their inheritance, not Dalits. Second, it is an anguished attempt to ask: Why? Why? Why?

Why do Dalits remain objects of violence? Our normal sociological understandings seem to fail in the face of the enormity of this violence. But the device of helpless castes, unable to overcome their pathologies, and for whom the only cure is gene therapy, also helps Prasad to make his point without appearing misanthropic. Indeed, whatever its argumentative weaknesses, the delicacy of the book consists in raising such troubling questions without rage or a bullying tone. This itself is no mean achievement. That Prasad can remain something of an iconoclast and optimist in these circumstances is a tribute to him. He has always espoused unconventional ideas. He recognises clearly that Dalit emancipation now rests on access to two resources: market capitalism and English. The book contains a fine eulogy to Macaulay. This is not a conventional view amongst those who speak the rhetoric of social justice, but then they cared more about themselves than about Dalits.

The book raises some important questions that deserve more research. While violence against Dalits has endured, its forms have changed. How have the identities of perpetrators changed? Is there some distinction between the forms it takes in rural and in urban India? What is the relationship between new forms of dominance that Jats are exercising and violence on Dalits? What is the relationship between the emerging political consciousness of Dalits and this violence? These questions deserve a more nuanced answer than Prasad gives here, and I hope that rather than engaging in pop history, he will delve into his deep knowledge to nuance our understanding of these questions. But the enormity of the tragedy he outlines prompts the question: Jinhein naaz hai Hind par woh kahan hai?