Discontents of Development: Lessons from the Baghjan Gas Tragedy—Riya Lohia

On 27 May, one of the gas wells at the Baghjan oil field in Assam’s Tinsukia district had a blowout. Fearing that this uncontrollable release of natural gas and oil condensate might catch fire, Oil India Limited called a team of experts from Singapore to contain the blowout. Around 1600 families were evacuated and taken to four different relief camps set up in Baghjan. In spite of the measures taken by OIL and ONGC, the well caught fire on 9 June, causing substantial damage to the surrounding villages, the nearby Dibru-Saikhowa National Park, and the Maguri-Motapung wetland. Following this catastrophe, fourteen new relief camps were established, this time further away from the site. The number of displaced people has increased to over 9000, with nearly 3000 families claiming to have been affected by the blast. The damage that has been caused to the wildlife and vegetation is still being assessed. Two fire fighters have lost their lives and four others have suffered injuries. Officials had speculated that it would take around 25 days to control the situation. It has been 68 days now.

Late in the month of May, probably when I was thinking about the post-pandemic world, I could hear sirens continuously from fire engines passing by. In a small town, these alarms are hard to miss as they don’t get lost in the noise from the streets. They trigger curiosity among people, if not concern. By the evening, I properly learned that there had been a blowout from one of the rigs in Baghjan and that fire-extinguishers had been called in case the situation exacerbated. I had heard this piece of information and consumed it like all the other information we keep consuming throughout the day. I had certainly not grasped the gravity of the accident. Nothing seemed more important than to indulge in thinking about an uncertain future then.

A few days later, I came across a video in which people living in the vicinity of the oil field were protesting against OIL. One of the protestors said, “Our village, Notun Gaon has been affected by the spillage, yet there has been no help or medical assistance provided either by OIL or the government. Even though they don’t have the support of any organisation, the residents of the village have been protesting. From tomorrow we will organize a bigger demonstration and will not allow any vehicle of OIL’s to pass through here. All the birds and animals in this area have been severely affected. They had declared Dibru-Saikhowa a National park, yet the whole area faces a big threat now. Even before, we had protested to prevent them from drilling near our village, but OIL started the project. But, now we are not going to stop. Our entire village faces the threat of a fire. These are the conditions we are living in and we do not know what kind of grim future lies ahead for our children. It seems like they have forgotten about us in just nine days.”

It was only after listening to him that I processed what I had heard a few days ago, and the incident finally took shape in my reality. In order to escape from the ensuing helplessness, I decided to write about the blowout. Soon afterwards, the well caught fire. There was a drastic increase in the temperature, and even from several kilometres away one could not only spot the blaze, but also smell petroleum in the air. Since that day, nights have had a pinkish glow to them because of the light from the fire. I wanted to visit the camps and learn the truth for myself, but the lockdown and the recurring floods made it increasingly difficult. Thus, I searched on the internet for all that could be found on Baghjan, because despite living in its vicinity, looking at it blaze every day, being nauseated by its fumes, breathing the increasingly toxic air, and hearing the ground rumble, I had to rely on the same sources that someone who isn’t experiencing any of it would have used.

This pandemic and the ensuing lockdown have laid bare deep fault lines in our healthcare system, educational institutions, and our government, which are still ill-prepared to meet the demands of the ‘new normal’, but most importantly, they have given the lie to the notion that living a politically indifferent life is a choice. The actions of the state have a direct impact on our lives and even the comfort of privilege cannot keep us isolated for long. I was concerned about a natural gas blowout which had taken place just a few kilometres away from where I live, yet my personal demands always took precedence. Sadly, I represent so many others who are not apathetic, but have no clue about how they could transform their concerns into social activism or are drowned in the constant demands they have to meet in order to live by the rules of society. It is the very structure of the society that keeps many from working for the betterment of the most marginalised. It does all it can to prevent any major shifts in power, whether by burdening students with the pressure of exams or by confining intellectuals into elite cliques.

A month later, I contacted Debojit over the phone. Debojit lives with his joint family in Notun Gaon. The residents of Notun Gaon allege that they were ignored and were not provided any relief. It was only after the fire broke out that they were attended to. All the villagers had to take recourse to temporary shelters for a night, after which they were ferried to a relief camp at a public school in Guijan. He mentions, “They can’t keep us near our houses because then people would frequent them. There are lots of things that we have left behind, including our poultry, goats, and cows, with no one to take care of them. People have to take care of their belongings. OIL won’t compensate for everything and they can’t. There was a flood recently and it ruined a lot of our things. I wasn’t even there when the water entered my house. My generator got damaged, and there was nobody who could help me take it out. This is our situation now.”

Debojit is a blacksmith and besides him there are two earning members in his family – his brothers who work as tourist guides. He admits that because of the lockdown their work was already suffering, but the blowout has made working an impossibility. He says, “People in my village who used to fish in Maguri Beel can’t find fish there anymore. There has been oil spillage in the water, so it is all contaminated. The livelihood of 80% of the people in our village depended on fishing. It is difficult for these people – they have lost their source of income forever.” Referring to OIL, he adds, “They are saying that they will credit Rs 25000 to the accounts of 37 families in my village. This is not the final compensation, but just to get us through this. No one from my village has been able to do any work since it all started. They are just killing their time because it is not safe to work in the village.”

He describes the dire condition of the people in his village and the immediate threats they are exposed to: “The temperature is really high, and there is a decrease in the oxygen level. It feels like an earthquake because of the constant tremors. The walls of our houses have cracked, and there is a deafening noise continuously coming from the site. Our health is at risk – people feel dizzy and have irritation in their eyes. No has suffered a heart attack yet, but there are more people with heart disease now. My family is still fine – we only have three children in my family, so it is okay. But, there are people who have continuously been feeling weak and others who are facing breathing problems. One woman fainted the other day. We have admitted her to the Brahmaputra Hospital in Dibrugarh. Three or four people have also been admitted to the OIL India Hospital in Duliajan.”

He further expresses the concerns of the locals, “We have been protesting that OIL should not be here. This area falls under the Eco-Sensitive Zone. They did not take permission from us before establishing it. In the year 2016-17, they put out a new notification about which we were completely unaware until the blowout. According to it, all our land and houses fall under the ESZ, but the premises of OIL are an exception. If any local even takes a cart of sand, the act is condemned as illegal by the DC. On the other hand, OIL was just granted permission for establishing seven rigs inside Dibru Saikhowa, but that is not considered illegal. OIL has been working here illegally since 2003 and we still consider it illegal as we were not informed about these changes. The government has come up with a new act (EIA) and we are protesting against it as well. We have compelled them to shut down one rig situated close to our village, but the others are still working, I hear.”

He adds, “There has been no compensation by OIL yet, but they are conducting surveys on agriculture, fishery, and so on. Even the PWD and other departments are doing it. It is only after the assessment is done that they will decide how much to give in compensation. We are demanding that these reports be made public. We have a right to know how much damage this explosion has caused. Is the soil still fit for cultivation? For how many years can we expect to see its ill-effects? We don’t know what they are doing. There is no transparency in the process. We don’t trust them. It has been 41 days and the report is still due. They always talk about compensation – it is about money for them, but it is our future that is at stake. The gas leak that took place in Bhopal; people still suffer because of it. That is why we are urging them to provide us with the report.”

OIL has repeatedly given assurances in its press releases, saying, “All the Relief Camps are being effectively provided with fooding, lodging, lighting, hygiene, toilet, drinking water and medical requirements.” A student-activist who has been visiting these camps frequently informs, “None of the residents is comfortable in these makeshifts camps. These camps are also not made in accordance with the proper guidelines set by the government. No extra care has been taken in view of the floods and the pandemic. A single room is shared by at least 15-20 people in almost every camp. Families are trying to send their children and elderly to their relatives.”

Debojit, when asked about the same, answers, “There aren’t many complaints on this front – they are providing us with food and all, but food is not all that we need right now. Our safety and our future are at stake. Nobody wants to live here, but we have to manage. So yes, we have food, electricity and water. All this is fine, but it is our safety which has not been guaranteed.” The pandemic, which is the biggest concern for most of us right now seems only like a minor addition for this community to their abysmal reality. “Masks have been provided, and they are even sanitizing the place regularly, but how this virus might enter one cannot tell. We are trying to take safety measures, but the threat is still there. We can’t properly distance ourselves because…well, how can we? One needs space and proper facilities for social distancing.”

For a long time, OIL has been seen as a source of development by some, whereas others have always resented it. OIL has managed to flourish despite this constant tussle. This blowout has brought the widespread anger among the locals to the forefront again. The locals denounce OIL’s avowed philanthropic intentions as ‘reactive rather than proactive’, and claim that its sole aim is to exploit their natural resources. Political scientist Sanjib Baruah had remarked in this context – “Some segments of Assamese society were beginning to see the reality of slow violence.” Echoing this, Debojit says, “Even on normal days, we feel slight tremors, our harvest is reduced, and there is a lot of noise from the rigs. We have told these things to OIL, but they always stress how much progress they have made here and that they take care of the community, but how much should we sacrifice for them? They set up rigs here and profit in crores from this business. Someone takes oil from here, someone takes gas but what does the local population get? They get the toxic air, they get the continuous noise from the drilling, and they get the waste dumped in their waters. This is what we get.”

Almost a month has passed since this conversation and other developments have taken place. Most of the surveys evaluating the ecological damage are now at their final stage. 2140 families have been assessed for their losses in the Tinsukia-Doom Dooma circle. Many locals have attempted taking desperate steps – A group of protestors marched towards the gas well with the intention of jumping into it. Only with the help of the administration could they be stopped. Sukheshwar, a victim of the incident, consumed pesticide and killed himself after he was unable to get compensation for his house, which was burned down when the gas well caught fire. The team of foreign experts who were called to aid in containing the blowout suffered minor burn injuries, but have started recovering. The fire is still burning, though it will eventually be doused. Compensation will also be also provided, but it can never make up for the loss suffered by these people or for the cost to the environment. Moreover, the concerns that these people have will probably continue to be dismissed when things return to normal for OIL. After all, this immense destruction is a result of neglect – OIL and the government ignored the geographic sensitivity of the region and disregarded the socio-cultural complexities of the local people. Yet, the worst part is that only some people are fighting for a cause that impacts us all. Till when will we let them suffer alone?