The return of migrant workers from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, particularly from Gujarat, was inevitable. Gujarat has long been showcased as the epitome of “infrastructure” and the business-friendly Modi model. Yet, when governments become business-friendly, they require the poor to serve them—while keeping them precarious, unable to stabilize, demand fair wages, or assert their rights. The agenda is clear: workers must remain grateful for whatever crumbs the Seth ji offers.
Surat has repeatedly been in the news for such crises. This time, thousands of workers rushed to railway stations, desperate to leave. Facilities were absent, and the police wielded lathis instead of providing support. The anguished cry of one man—“Bahut ho gaya dost, ab dobara kabhi nahi aaoonga”—captures the disillusionment. It echoes past tragedies, becoming a powerful statement of Gujarat’s crisis.
It is worth recalling that these very migrant workers were once used to promote the “Gujarat model.” Returning home, they spoke of prosperity, ignoring that wealth was concentrated among a few castes—Marwadis, Sindhis, Banias, Patels. Had they looked at tribal belts or Dalit communities, they would have seen another Gujarat altogether. During Covid, when migrants faced destitution, no one defended them. Yet many remain reluctant to question their own politicians.
This dynamic is not confined to Gujarat. In West Bengal, migrant workers from UP and Bihar have become the BJP’s backbone, unaware that survival—even for the poor—is more possible in Bengal than in Gujarat or Delhi.
A conversation I had in Goa illustrates the paradox. A guard from Siwan, Bihar, proudly praised “Yogi-Modi” for improving roads and connectivity. Yet he admitted he had lived in Goa for over 20 years, raising his family there, with no intention of returning to Bihar. When asked why so many from UP and Bihar still migrate for petty jobs, he had no answer. Roads and telephones, I reminded him, are not gifts but toll-driven revenue machines. Meanwhile, credible universities, engineering, and medical colleges remain scarce. Youth are pushed into “reel” production, chasing social media illusions rather than real employment. This is organized chaos, designed by a capitalist class that thrives on distraction.
Migrant workers became the BJP’s most effective propaganda tool back home. They carried dreams of stability, but their lived reality was precarious. Recent unrest among informal workers in Noida and Haldwani shows the growing frustration. Yet protests are crushed, often smeared with communal undertones.
Unemployment is rising, insecurities deepening. Instead of addressing this, the political class exploits returnees, branding them “experts” from bigger cities. Meanwhile, BJP keeps people occupied with endless events, processions, and religious spectacles. Millions waste time chasing digital illusions of fame and fortune, while systemic inequities remain untouched.
The deeper crisis is that India’s dominant brahmanical-capitalist order thrives on vulnerability. It humiliates the marginalized, weaponizes Hindutva hatred, and ensures that workers remain cannon fodder. The cry of the man leaving Surat is not isolated—it represents hundreds of others. The real question is whether people will continue to be manipulated by hate-mongering agendas, or whether they will finally demand accountability from their leaders on jobs, education, and dignity.
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*Human rights defender
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