Challenges of Tribal Belonging in India: A Critical Examination of Constitutional Provisions and Their Implementation

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Introduction

In the diverse and multifaceted socio-political landscape of India, the concept of belonging has always been complex and contested. Examining the question of belonging through the lens of tribal identity reveals the dynamics of inclusion and exclusion within the Indian nation-state and it becomes an important question as Adivasis are some of the indigenous people of India and have a history and culture linked with the land that is quite distinct from the administrative formation of the Indian modern state.

To analyse their belongingness, this paper examines the sociological conceptualisation of tribes, which have been defined by two conflicting ideas of isolation and assimilation, while drafting the constitutional provisions, were abandoned and the Indian state adopted a common ideology of integration, seeking to integrate tribes into the larger society while respecting their cultural uniqueness. Despite the statutory recognition of tribal rights and the implementation of various protective measures, a significant gap remains between these provisions and their actual implementation. This paper examines the sociological dimension of tribal integration in India, focusing on the challenges to their belonging arising from the mismatch between policy intentions and ground realities, further providing examples of implementation of the sixth schedule and Forest Rights Act in Wayanad to substantiate the claim.

Constitutional Provisions and their Actual Implementation

A common ideology of integration was adopted to formulate the constitutional provisions related to tribal population in the post-colonial era [i]. The provisions such as statutory recognition, proportionate representation in legislatures, right to use indigenous language for education and other purposes. Besides, there were provisions in the Constitution that empowered the state to bring areas inhabited by tribes under the fifth or sixth schedule for purposes of special treatment in respect of the administration of tribal people[ii].

If one closely understands the special provisions laid down for the tribal population, it can be inferred that their primary objective was to integrate tribal communities into the national mainstream without undermining their cultural identity, ethnicity and providing space for diversity.

But the provisions laid down by the government often differ from the ground reality. There exists a disparity between what the provisions promise and what is actually implemented. This discrepancy is more prevalent in the cases where small, backward groups are on the receiving end, like the tribals of India[iii]. The future of these communities largely depends on the goodwill of the broader Indian society, particularly its leadership. However, this leadership has frequently failed to demonstrate such goodwill. Tribes have historically not been afforded the same standing as members of the larger society in terms of their access to civil, political, or social rights. Instead, they have often been perceived as communities that must yield to the interests of the broader society and the state apparatus that advances those interests[iv].

The government’s primary goal was to extend civil and political rights to the tribal communities and bring them closer to the mainstream population and society, but the implementation of these provisions has been immensely poor particularly in protecting tribal culture and tradition. The domain of cultural protection, which is central to the ethos of national integration as articulated in the national tribal policy, has seen the least success. This is further elucidated by the following two examples.

The Sixth Schedule

The Sixth Schedule of the Constitution of India, contained in Articles 244(2) and 275(1), was designed as a special governance arrangement for certain tribal-majority areas in the northeastern region. It provides for the creation of Autonomous District Councils (ADCs) with legislative, executive, and judicial powers over specified subjects such as land, forest management (excluding reserved forests), village administration, customary law, and local taxation. The underlying constitutional logic was to balance territorial integrity and national integration with group-differentiated autonomy, recognising that formal equality could not address historical disadvantage and cultural distinctiveness.

Unlike the Fifth Schedule, which relies heavily on executive discretion through the Governor, the Sixth Schedule envisages institutionalised self-governance through elected councils. However, scholars and commissions have repeatedly noted that the actual autonomy of these councils is constrained by financial dependence on the state government, limited legislative competence, and frequent state intervention. Thus, while constitutionally framed as a mechanism of empowerment, the Sixth Schedule has often functioned as a managed autonomy, raising questions about whether it meaningfully secures tribal self-rule or merely symbolises it. Shortly after its implementation, it became evident that the provisions of the Sixth Schedule failed to effectively protect the interests and rights of tribal communities, which led to rise of hill state movements demanding separation in Assam as well as movements demanding independence [v]. On the other hand, Tribal leaders who participated in the Constituent Assembly debates did not strictly advocate for either isolation or integration; instead, they emphasized the need for protective institutional frameworks  that would safeguard their rights and interests. On one level, the debates highlighted the shared perspectives of non-tribal communities and the state regarding the granting of political autonomy to tribes. On another level, the tribal communities’ assertions demonstrated that their demand for autonomy was not only about resisting central state dominance but also about seeking protection from regional dominance by non-tribal groups.

This tension became particularly evident through the strong opposition to the Sixth Schedule expressed by non-tribal political elites. The provisions created a regime of exclusion against non-tribals, leading to a "two-tiered citizenship" [vi]. This resulted in tribal majorities having exclusive rights to land, employment, and political representation, which in turn caused ethnic strife and demands for ethnic homelands particularly in the states of Mizoram, Nagaland and Meghalaya. The main purpose of the sixth schedule was to grant autonomy to tribes but they felt “betrayed” by its poor implementation, eventually pushing them towards demanding separate statehood. Up until 1972, tribal political mobilization predominantly focused on demands for separation from Assam, driven by the articulation of political visions aimed at empowering tribal communities[vii]. This movement was more than mere symbolic posturing; it prompted state reorganization as a response by the central government to the tribes' quest for greater autonomy. The political marginalization of tribal communities, which persists to this day, continues to fuel demands for the implementation of Sixth Schedule provisions in the region.

The ongoing demand for Sixth Schedule status in Ladakh following the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019 offers a contemporary illustration of the structural tensions inherent in the Sixth Schedule framework. Civil society formations such as the Leh Apex Body and the Kargil Democratic Alliance have repeatedly argued that Sixth Schedule protection is necessary to safeguard tribal land rights, employment, and cultural identity in a region that is overwhelmingly tribal but lacks a representative legislative assembly. The Ladakh demand emerges from a democratic vacuum created by heightened centralisation and bureaucratic governance, where autonomy is sought not as a separatist claim but as a means of protection against political marginalisation and unchecked executive power[viii].

At the same time, Ladakh exposes the limitations of the Sixth Schedule itself. While it is imagined as a constitutional shield against demographic and market pressures, scholars caution that the Schedule has historically produced only constrained autonomy, with Autonomous District Councils remaining fiscally dependent and legislatively subordinate to state and central authorities[ix]. This concern has also been acknowledged institutionally: the National Commission for Scheduled Tribes, in its 2023 observations, recognised that despite Ladakh’s high Scheduled Tribe population, the absence of constitutional safeguards leaves its land and cultural practices vulnerable. Judicial interpretation further underscores this fragility. In State of Meghalaya v. All Dimasa Students Union[x], the Supreme Court reaffirmed that Sixth Schedule autonomy operates within the overriding sovereignty of Parliament, reinforcing the argument that autonomy under the Schedule is conditional rather than sovereign. Courts have emphasised that ADC powers are statutory and conditional rather than absolute[xi]. The persistence of Sixth Schedule demands despite its uneven record in the Northeast reveals a deeper constitutional paradox: while tribal communities continue to view autonomy as essential to belonging and self-governance, the institutional design of the Sixth Schedule often raises expectations it cannot fulfil. In this sense, Ladakh functions as a contemporary stress test for Sixth Schedule constitutionalism, highlighting how symbolic autonomy, when unaccompanied by substantive power, risks reproducing the very alienation it seeks to remedy. Thus, the pursuit of Sixth Schedule status and statehood represents a continuous thread in tribal politics, reflecting longstanding aspirations for autonomy and self-governance.

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Forest Rights Act in Wayanad

To serve the integrationist purpose, a landmark legislation, the Forest Rights Act (2006) was passed by the UPA government to restore the rights of “forest-dwelling scheduled tribes” which were curtailed by the colonial government. This case study mainly focuses on Wayanad, Kerala  and shows how the act, though well intentioned, failed to solve the district’s Adivasi struggle for land due to its poor implementation.

The implementation was marred by several legal and institutional challenges, government agencies, each holding conflicting opinions, made the implementation inefficient. This was exacerbated in the Wayanad region as political motivations came into play and influenced the implementation[xii]. The act was used by the CPI(M) government as a tool to legalize land encroachments and benefited them rather than traditional forest dwellers. These ulterior motives by political parties and conflicting opinions by government bodies led to a state of confusion and ambiguity among both the officials and beneficiaries who were not given proper instructions about the act leading to inadequate land distribution[xiii].

The inadequate land distribution led to several communities being dispossessed of their ancestral lands, which hold a major significance for them as their lands are deeply intertwined with their identity, culture and spirituality. The failure to effectively implement perpetuated the marginalisation of these communities leading to eroding their sense of belonging and cultural identity. As tribes lost access to their ancestral lands, they were forced to abandon rituals, traditions, and ways of life that are integral to their identity. This cultural erosion further weakens their sense of belonging and identity, as the land that once sustained their cultural heritage is no longer accessible. By not implementing FRA effectively, tribes are being deprived from their lands as they fail to provide their land acquisition certificate (which they often did not possess or have knowledge of)  and are thus evicted and deprived of access to essential resources leading to their social exclusion from Indian society, perpetuating cycles of poverty and social indivisibility [xiv]. These acts by the officials led to distrust among the communities towards the government as there was a visible gap between what was promised to them and what was the actual ground reality. This weakened trust further alienated tribal communities from the state, diminishing their engagement with broader societal structures and thus, reinforced their marginalization.

The failures of the FRA in Wayanad cannot be understood in isolation; they are structurally linked to the operation of the Fifth Schedule and the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996 (PESA). Wayanad falls within a Fifth Schedule area, where the Constitution envisages special protections for tribal interests through executive discretion exercised by the Governor. However, scholars have long noted that this discretion is rarely exercised to safeguard tribal land rights and often remains subordinated to developmental and commercial imperatives[xv].

PESA was intended to operationalise self-governance in Scheduled Areas by empowering the Gram Sabha to control natural resources, prevent land alienation, and approve development projects. In theory, PESA complements the FRA by locating decision-making authority at the community level. In practice, however, Gram Sabha consent is frequently bypassed or treated as a procedural formality. The Supreme Court’s decision in Orissa Mining Corporation v. Ministry of Environment and Forests (the Niyamgiri case)[xvi] affirmed that Gram Sabha consent is central to protecting tribal religious and cultural rights over land, yet this principle has not been consistently applied in FRA implementation in regions such as Wayanad.

Similarly, in Samatha v. State of Andhra Pradesh[xvii], the Court held that transfer of tribal land in Scheduled Areas to non-tribals and private entities violates the protective purpose of the Fifth Schedule. Despite this clear jurisprudence, administrative practice in Wayanad reflects a persistent disconnect between constitutional safeguards and ground-level enforcement. The weak institutionalisation of PESA and the Governor’s largely symbolic role under the Fifth Schedule have enabled bureaucratic dominance, undermining both FRA claims and community control over land.

The experience of FRA implementation in Wayanad illustrates a recurring constitutional pattern: recognition of tribal rights without the transfer of meaningful institutional power. While the FRA promises restorative justice, its effectiveness is severely constrained by the structural weaknesses of the Fifth Schedule and the hollowing out of PESA’s participatory framework. Together, these regimes reveal that land-based belonging cannot be secured through statutory recognition alone. In the absence of enforceable community authority and accountable governance, integrationist legal frameworks risk reproducing the very marginalisation they seek to remedy, transforming constitutional protection into another site of alienation rather than empowerment.

Conclusion

To summarise, the examination of tribal identity and belonging within the Indian nation-state reveals a significant gap between the  constitutional provisions meant to integrate the tribal communities and its actual implementation which perpetuates the social marginalization and exclusion. The Sixth Schedule, intended to grant autonomy to tribal regions, has instead fuelled ethnic tensions due to poor execution and political manipulation. Similarly, the Forest Rights Act, despite its intention to restore ancestral lands to tribal communities, has been undermined by bureaucratic inefficiencies and political agendas, resulting in further alienation of tribes from their cultural roots.

These failures bring out the aspect of a more discerning and effective method of tribal integration, which is actually an improved realism in the way one approaches the challenge-not just policy formulation-but rather trying to precisely address what troubles are thought of by the tribal communities themselves. It is the persistence of these very issues that underlines a need for re-examining strategies of integration as a means of genuinely empowering and including tribal populations. Inclusion, if taken in the real sense, requires not only the needed step of legal recognition but also active consideration for the unique identity and rights of the tribal people of India.

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By Aaradhya Nigam

Aaradhya Nigam is a second-year BA LLB student at National Law School of India University, Bengaluru with developing interests in constitutional governance, criminal law, and emerging questions at the intersection of technology and regulation. He hopes to build a career that combines public law research with work on tech-driven legal challenges and institutional accountability.

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References -

[i] Roluah Puia. 2023. The ‘Tribal Question’ in India: Problem of Inclusion. In Nationalism in the Vernacular: States, Tribes and the Politics of Peace in Northeastern India, pp.30-47. Cambridge University Press.

[ii] Virginius Xaxa. “Politics of Language, Religion and Identity: Tribes in India.” Economic and Political Weekly 40, no. 13 (2005): 1363–70. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4416402.

[iii] Xaxa, “Politics of Language,” 1365.

[iv] Xaxa, “Politics of Language,” 1363-70.

[v] Puia, “Tribal Question,” 30-47.

[vi] Puia, “Tribal Question,” 30-47.

[vii] Puia, “Tribal Question,” 30-47.

[viii] Gautam Bhatia, “Ladakh, the Sixth Schedule, and the Constitution,” Indian Constitutional Law and Philosophy (blog), August 26, 2020, https://indconlawphil.wordpress.com/2020/08/26/ladakh-the-sixth-schedule-and-the-constitution.

[ix] Chitralekha Zutshi, “Rethinking Ladakh’s Political Future,” Economic and Political Weekly 55, no. 34 (August 22, 2020).

[x] (2019) 8 SCC 177.

[xi] T. Cajee v. U Jormanik Syiem, AIR 1961 SC 276.

[xii] Muntser, Ursula, and Suma Vishnudas. “In the Jungle of Law: Adivasi Rights and Implementation of Forest Rights Act in Kerala.” Economic and Political Weekly 47, no. 19 (2012): 38–45. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23214975.

[xiii] Muntser, “In the Jungle of Law,” 40.

[xiv] Muntser, “In the Jungle of Law,” 40.

[xv] Virginius Xaxa, “Tribes and the Indian Constitution,” Economic and Political Weekly 44, no. 35 (August 29–September 4, 2009): 49–55.

[xvi] (2013) 6 SCC 476.

[xvii] 1997 (8) SCC 191.