Mowsam Hazarika
(mowsam2000@yahoo.co.in)
When the Union Government notified the Immigration and Foreigners (Exemption) Order, 2025, on the first of September, it presented the step as a humanitarian measure. The order, issued under the new Immigration and Foreigners Act, 2025, promised relief to persecuted minorities from neighbouring countries and simplified entry rules for Nepalese and Bhutanese citizens. In Delhi, it was projected as a compassionate and pragmatic decision. But in Assam, the ripple turned into a storm.
A New Framework for Entry
The order lays down that Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Jains, Parsis, and Christians from Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Afghanistan who entered India on or before December 31, 2024, would no longer need valid passports, visas, or other travel documents to enter, stay, or exit the country. It shields them from deportation or prosecution, although it does not confer citizenship.
The second part of the order eases travel for citizens of Nepal and Bhutan, allowing them to enter India without passports or visas. Officials described this as a move to encourage tourism and strengthen bilateral ties with the two Himalayan neighbours.
On the surface, the order appears to be a minor legal adjustment. But in Assam, where the politics of migration has defined identity, culture, and conflict for decades, its implications cut deep.
The Shadow of the Assam Accord
To understand the outcry, one must recall the Assam Accord of 1985. Signed after a six-year-long popular movement, the Accord fixed March 24, 1971, as the cut-off date for identifying and expelling foreigners in Assam. The Accord was not only a legal agreement; it was the symbolic closure of a struggle in which over 800 lives were lost. For many in Assam, it remains sacrosanct.
The new order, however, shifts the benchmark. By exempting migrants who entered as late as December 31, 2024, it appears to override the 1971 cut-off. Critics argue that this effectively rewrites the terms of the Accord without consultation, opening the floodgates for demographic changes that Assamese society has long resisted.
Political Fault Lines
Unsurprisingly, opposition parties reacted with anger. The Congress, Assam Jatiya Parishad, CPI(M), AAP, and several regional outfits described the move as a betrayal of Assam’s people. They labelled it a “second CAA” in disguise—an allusion to the Citizenship Amendment Act of 2019, which had already sparked violent protests in Assam. Leaders accused the Centre of treating Assam as a “dumping ground” for migrants to serve narrow political interests.
The All Assam Students’ Union (AASU), which spearheaded the Assam Movement decades ago, returned to the streets. It organized an 11-hour statewide hunger strike, declaring that Assam would not accept any dilution of the Accord. Protesters in Guwahati, Dibrugarh, and other towns burnt copies of the government notification and shouted slogans warning against turning Assam into a “grazing ground for foreigners.”
Civil society groups, too, raised alarm. The Asom Sonmilito Morcha, which is a coalition of organisations, held demonstrations and warned about cultural and political displacement. For many protesters, the order was not just about numbers—it was about survival.
The Government’s Defence
Caught in the backlash, Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma attempted damage control. He pointed out that under the CAA framework, only 12 people in Assam had applied for citizenship, of which just three were granted. If the past was any guide, he argued, the fear of a massive influx was misplaced.
At the same time, the state government has continued to tighten its pushback against undocumented migrants, especially those suspected of coming from Bangladesh. Using the revived Immigrants (Expulsion from Assam) Act, 1950, district administrations have deported hundreds of people since 2024, bypassing tribunal procedures. The Supreme Court’s approval of this approach has emboldened the state further.
Yet this twin-track policy—granting exemptions to some migrants on humanitarian grounds while expelling others in aggressive drives—has only deepened confusion and sharpened divides.
Identity, Demography, and Fear
The heart of the matter lies in Assam’s demographic anxiety. For decades, Assamese society has feared being reduced to a minority in its own land. Every shift in migration policy is read against this backdrop.
The 2025 order revived precisely those fears. Opponents argue that legitimising post-1971 entrants, even if they belong to minority faiths, weakens the state’s ability to protect its indigenous people. They worry about pressure on land and jobs, the erosion of Assamese culture, and the dilution of political power.
There is also unease that religion has been made the basis of differentiation. For many protesters, the question is not whether a migrant is Hindu, Muslim, or Christian, but whether they entered Assam after 1971. The slogan that echoed during the Assam Movement—“Foreigners, out!”—made no distinction of faith.
Human Rights and Legal Questions
The government’s deportation and eviction drives have raised another set of concerns. Reports of mass pushbacks along the Bangladesh border, sometimes without due process, have reached the courts. Families of missing individuals have filed habeas corpus petitions. Human rights groups allege that many poor and marginalised families are being unfairly targeted, particularly Bengali-speaking Muslims.
Thus, while the new order provides legal relief to some migrants, it coexists with an atmosphere of heightened surveillance and forced expulsions. This contradiction has sharpened the sense of injustice among various communities.
The Crossroads Ahead
For Assam, the 2025 order is more than a policy change—it is another chapter in its long and troubled relationship with migration. The protests reflect a deep mistrust of Delhi’s intentions and a determination to protect what is perceived as a fragile identity.
Yet the humanitarian argument also holds weight. For minorities fleeing persecution in Pakistan, Bangladesh, or Afghanistan, India has long been a natural refuge. The order seeks to extend that protection. The challenge is that in Assam, every act of generosity is measured against a history of sacrifice and a fear of being overwhelmed.
Conclusion
The Immigration and Foreigners (Exemption) Order, 2025, was framed as a compassionate law. In most of India, it may pass with little controversy. But in Assam, it has reopened old wounds. For the people of this northeastern state, it is not about technical exemptions or bureaucratic notifications. It is about the sanctity of the Assam Accord, the struggle of the Assam Movement, and the right of indigenous communities to decide their future.
Whether the government can balance its humanitarian commitments with the anxieties of Assam remains to be seen. For now, the order has once again put the state at the centre of the country’s most difficult debate: who belongs, who does not, and who gets to decide.