Lost Rhythm: The Tea Belt Tremor in Assam Politics

I. The Fractured Pulse of Assam’s Tea Heartland

Assam’s political rhythm has gone off-beat. The familiar choreography of state power — orchestrated through welfare schemes, symbolic cultural events, and carefully managed patronage networks — now faces disruption from the very communities that once formed the backbone of its stability: the tea garden workers and the Adivasis.

The spark came from an unexpected corner. The Jur (Mashal ) Procession organized by the Moran community in upper Assam was more than a cultural assertion — it was a political alarm. Their demand for Scheduled Tribe (ST) status under the Sixth Schedule has reignited similar movements among five other communities: the Tai Ahoms, Chutiyas, Motoks, Koch-Rajbongshis, and Tea Tribes (Adivasis). What began as a call for recognition has snowballed into a chorus for justice and dignity.

In Assam’s political theatre, such moments of convergence are rare. For decades, caste, tribe, and linguistic lines have acted as buffers against a united subaltern voice. But the recent upsurge across Dibrugarh and Tinsukia — the twin epicentres of the tea belt — signals a changing political consciousness, shaped by economic distress, identity assertion, and generational impatience.

II. The Tea Belt: From Loyal Base to Rebellious Ground

Historically, the tea garden communities have been considered a dependable vote bank. From the Congress era to the rise of the BJP, every regime has relied on the 45-lakh-strong tea workforce spread across upper and central Assam. Welfare packages, symbolic recognition, and seasonal cash transfers ensured loyalty, while local trade unions mediated between the workers and the state.

But this formula is breaking down.

The twin gatherings at Tinsukia and Dibrugarh were not mere rallies — they were declarations of discontent. Placards carried anti-Modi and anti-Himanta slogans; workers spoke openly of broken promises, inflation, joblessness, and wage stagnation. The once-intimidating control of garden managements and politically affiliated unions appears to be eroding. In its place, student bodies and local youth collectives are emerging as authentic voices of protest.

The BJP’s traditional cadre structure — strong at the booth level in rural Assam — seems increasingly irrelevant in this space. The new mobilizers speak the language of survival and rights, not of ideology or development schemes. The shift from economic hope to existential frustration is palpable.

III. The Economic Undertone: Collapse of an Industry

The tea industry, Assam’s economic lifeline, is quietly collapsing under the weight of global price fluctuations, rising costs, and stagnant wages.

Many small tea growers are in debt traps.

Labourers face delayed payments, reduced rations, and vanishing social benefits.

Younger generations no longer want to work in gardens; migration to towns or informal sectors has intensified.

In this economic vacuum, politics fills the void. Promises of Scheduled Tribe status, land rights, and better wage structures have become bargaining chips. The BJP’s earlier success lay in co-opting these demands through symbolic inclusion — appointing Adivasi leaders to ministries, launching welfare cards, and organizing mass celebrations.

But now, the ground reality is different. Empty factories, unpaid bonuses, and shrinking welfare budgets have eroded credibility. What used to be a rhythmic exchange between power and people — “benefit in return for loyalty” — is now a broken beat.

IV. The Government’s Response: Celebration as Containment

Sensing the tremor, the Himanta Biswa Sarma government has chosen the path of cultural containment. The announcement of a grand gala celebration on October 16 — titled Jhumior Binondia — is officially described as a felicitation programme for trainers and participants under various skill and cultural missions.

But politically, it is a strategic diversion — an attempt to channel discontent into festivity, to re-symbolize anger through performance. Distribution of certificates and cash incentives serves as a quick, media-friendly narrative: the government cares, the system responds, and all is well again.

However, such optics may not restore rhythm. The tea belt’s anger is not about recognition alone; it’s about dignity and participation. The celebration, while colourful, risks being interpreted as condescension — a reminder that the state prefers ceremonies over solutions.

V. The Opposition’s Calculated Silence and Subtle Moves

Interestingly, the traditional opposition — Congress, Raijor Dal, AJP, and smaller ethnic fronts — has not rushed to claim ownership of the tea workers’ anger. They sense the volatility of the moment.

Instead, their strategy is to observe and amplify, letting the government exhaust its symbolic politics.

Gaurav Gogoi’s cautious remarks on the “politicisation of grief” over Zubeen Garg’s death and his criticism of “credit-seeking politics” fit into this larger narrative — painting HBS as reactive rather than proactive.

Meanwhile, smaller student and community organizations are gaining credibility as authentic representatives of grassroots frustration, filling the vacuum that both government and opposition have left.

In this sense, Assam’s political conversation is shifting from party offices to public platforms — from organized rallies to spontaneous gatherings, from bureaucratic promises to social media voices.

VI. The Risk of Fragmented Unrest

While the ferment in the tea belt exposes vulnerabilities in BJP’s political architecture, it also presents a challenge for the opposition: fragmentation.

Each community’s demand — ST status, land rights, bonus revision, inclusion in Sixth Schedule — carries its own trajectory. Without coordination, these may compete rather than converge.

The state may exploit these divisions, offering selective concessions to one group while isolating others. This divide-and-contain approach has been a proven strategy in Assam’s history of ethnic politics — from the Bodoland movement to the Mising and Karbi agitations.

Yet, there is a generational factor that makes this moment different: the youth are networked, digitally and emotionally. Unlike the past, where local leaders could negotiate separately, today’s anger travels fast, connecting tea estates to college campuses, labour lines to city streets. The government’s usual methods of diffusion may not work as before.

VII. The Symbolism of “Lost Rhythm”

Assam’s politics has long relied on cultural symbolism — festivals, heritage shows, and ethnic pageantry — to maintain emotional harmony between the state and society.

But in 2025, that rhythm seems broken.

The sounds of dhol and pepa in political rallies now carry dissonance — joy mixed with scepticism. The same people who once danced at government programmes now ask sharper questions:

Why are our wages still below ₹250 when prices rise daily?

Why are our children still dropping out despite free education schemes?

Why is identity recognition delayed while cultural events are lavishly funded?

The Jhumior Binondia celebration may bring colour to the streets, but it cannot mask the deeper unease: a people’s growing refusal to be pacified by spectacle.

VIII. What Lies Ahead: The 2026 Equation

As Assam moves toward the 2026 Assembly election, the tea belt will determine more than a few seats — it could shape the political narrative itself.

If the current discontent consolidates, the BJP could lose its upper-Assam strongholds, once seen as impregnable.

But if HBS manages to realign perception — combining quick relief with symbolic inclusion and targeted welfare — he may still retain the edge through sheer organizational capacity.

Either way, the era of one-way communication is over. The new generation of tea workers, students, and small growers demands dialogue, not diktat. They want jobs, not just jhumior medals.

Assam’s ruling party, once the master of political rhythm, now finds itself dancing to a new beat — one set not by the state, but by the restless pulse of its people.

IX. Politics After the Music Stops

The phrase “lost rhythm” captures more than a metaphor. It reflects the condition of a society where economic uncertainty, cultural pride, and political fatigue intersect.

When the music of populism fades, the truth of power relations becomes audible again.

For Assam, this moment is crucial — to listen rather than perform, to negotiate rather than announce, and to rediscover the genuine rhythm of governance that resonates with its people.

Until that happens, every festival may look like celebration, but sound like anxiety.