To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
This chapter offers a new way of understanding the workings of the Indian Constituent Assembly. We move beyond studying the script, or the published Constituent Assembly debates, making visible the labour, infrastructure and ideas that went into the staging and the atmospherics of the assembly itself as a public and a lived space. The procedural rituals, the pulse of the debates, and the physical setting of the Constituent Assembly building enabled and shaped the constitution-making process. We follow a few actors from the Constituent Assembly as they moved across different assemblies in India and abroad while the constitution was still in the making. In doing so, we reveal the Indian constitution’s part in an emerging international regime of human rights and practice of comparative constitutional law and reconstruct a sense of the everyday ordinary life of the Assembly, which was deeply connected with the Indian public and the world outside.
The Indian constitution was poised to create a new map of power, transforming the relationship between existing state agencies and new authorities. This chapter demonstrates how the individuals staffing the state apparatus were not mere spectators, passively following the constitution-making process, but actors who actively sought to influence, change, or resist the emerging constitutional order through both public and private channels. The success of the future constitution of India required a smooth transition of the organs of the colonial state to the postcolonial order. Turning their loyalty and ambitions to the new state and its constitutional order was not an obvious outcome in 1947. The chapter examines how provincial legislators sought to guard their autonomy; how the higher judiciary endeavoured to protect their judicial independence; the contested constitutional status of Delhi; and finally, how the ‘neutral’ bureaucracy who were managing the process of constitution making actively sought to defend their own jurisdiction and interests at the time. This process, which paralleled the integration of territories, led to the functional integration of the units of the state.
This chapter examines how people from the margins of Indian society and territory, the so-called backward tribes (Adibasi), wrote themselves as constitutional actors, engaging with the constitution in the making with even more force than publics across the rest of India. The intensity of tribal expectations, and the failure of the constitution to meet them, led to a range of violent and nonviolent conflicts that have turned the constitution into an open site of struggle, and even transformed the text through constitutional amendments and scheduling, creating, for example, tribal majority states, tribal autonomous governing bodies, recognising groups as tribes, entitling them to affirmative action, and granting recognition to tribal languages. These changes were never benevolent gifts of the state. The alternative tribal visions of the constitution remained resilient as a competing framework that offered resources to reshape the lives of millions of Indian’s tribal people. The chapter examines constitutional debates within tribal groups, between tribal groups and the Constituent Assembly, and the creation of competing constitutional systems, such as in the Khasi States.
The chapter examines the public’s ideas and aspirations about the future constitution, through thousands of letters and memoranda that diverse publics sent to the Constituent Assembly. The public’s demands were informed by their everyday life experiences, generating constitutional ideas that would take years to find their ways into global constitutional governance. We focus on the new politics of caste that emerged with the promise of a transformative constitution, wherein caste groups invoked and disseminated the language and vocabulary of liberal constitutionalism for both regressive and progressive aims. We uncover a fuller range of public voices absent from the Constituent Assembly. The public demands were based on deliberative process of reasoning, and often grounded on universal principles that would apply to all groups. We thus uncover in this chapter a reservoir of public constitutional thinking, a body of constitutional theory that emerged from India’s streets.
Assembling India’s Constitution offers a new history and a new paradigm for understanding the making of the Indian constitution, as it emerged outside the Constituent Assembly, driven by diverse publics across the breadth and length of India’s territory and even beyond it. The book is based on a wide range of new archival materials from across India and the world. We reveal the existence of multiple, parallel constitution making processes underway across the subcontinent, showing that the Indian constitution was not, as it has been assumed, solely an elite exercise anchored in the Constituent Assembly in Delhi. We reimagine and reconstruct the constitution making altogether, foregrounding public constitutional practice and politics as a key to sustaining the constitution and its vision. In doing so, we challenge conventional chronology of constitutional development and pluralise the sources and nature of India’s constitutional law and politics. We argue that the making of the Indian constitution entailed a process of fitting together – assembling – disparate and simultaneous constitution making efforts across the country.
This paper investigates the dynamics of legislative politics within the unique political context of the Macau Special Administrative Region (SAR) of China. Drawing on recently collected data from roll-call votes and committee deliberations taken during the fifth and sixth legislative assemblies, this study shifts the focus from electoral processes and resolution proposals to an analysis of bill proposals with the potential to become law. The findings reveal a structural dichotomy between a large, cohesive pro-establishment faction and a smaller, more fragmented opposition, which contrasts with the findings of previous research that suggest a more balanced opposition. Further analysis of committee deliberations indicates that this stable dichotomy allows regime loyalists to voice dissent without appearing rebellious, enabling ruling elites to gauge and respond to constituents’ preferences on non-sensitive issues. This dynamic highlights the distinct legislative practices of Macau SAR under the “one country, two systems” framework.
This ethnographic article shows how state institutions in Malaysia classify certain spiritual practices undertaken at the graves of former religious leaders or prophets as superstitious (khurafat) and, therewith, unacceptable in Islam. Many people believe in a “super-power” (keramat) that the dead person had and in the miracles that surrounded them. However, the way the superpower is dealt with at the graves varies greatly depending on the religious and ethnic background of the people. Indian Malaysians make sense of their worshipping practices at the keramat graves on the basis of the conflation between Hindu and Islamic elements. Most Muslim Malays, however, consider this to be against the Islamic sources (Qur’an and Hadith). The meaning they assign to visiting keramat graves and practising rites at these places is characterised by an ambiguity that is reflected in the respect and adoration of the Islamic scholars and the simultaneous refusal to show it – not least because of a revitalisation of Islam in the nation-state. Thus, against the backdrop of syncretic, multireligious and political traditions in Malaysia, the ideological orientation of Islam, as well as the perception of what is considered to be superstitious and magical, is the decisive factor for a canalising, disciplining or even repressive form of handling religious and spiritual practices at the keramat graves.
Why has political representation by Scheduled Castes in post-colonial India failed to improve the lives of the vast majority of this population? One common answer rests on the assumption that caste inequality is upheld by dominant social groups who effectively resist progressive state policy. Others point to the institution of joint electorates: though constituencies are reserved for Scheduled Caste legislators, Scheduled Caste voters form a minority within them; the representatives thus elected are chosen primarily by others, and precisely because they will not challenge the status quo, it is said. But neither of these explanations, I argue, can adequately account for the minimal effects of Scheduled Caste representation, because both imagine states as confronting a distinct realm—‘society’—with pregiven interest groups that are then represented in legislatures. Instead, an examination of how state actions themselves govern, produce, and reproduce caste groups and intercaste relations is required. The argument is illustrated through episodes from the career of Dr Sathiavani Muthu, who sought to address injustices suffered by Scheduled Castes in Tamil Nadu from the late 1950s through to the 1980s. Muthu’s skill, diligence, and commitment make her an ideal representative, and Tamil Nadu as a state ought to provide a best-case scenario for the success of such an actor, given the scholarly consensus regarding its good governance and the pervasion of its society with a progressive ideology. An analysis of why her efforts nevertheless produced little fruit reveals pervasive deficiencies in current models of political representation.