TAHIR NORONHA
On September 24, 2024, O Heraldo published an article discussing how people’s movements in Goa have grown strong enough to force governments to act. It emphasised how many of these movements began a politically, but evolved into powerful political demands.
It prompted me to think about Goa’s land movements, a part of my PhD research.
I argue that Goa’s land movements are distinct from land agitations elsewhere in India, as they consistently emerge from grassroots concerns. Importantly they symbolise Goans “planning” for a future – preserving Goa’s current beauty, ensuring a healthy environment or securing affordable housing for future generations.
Historically, major Goan land movements have always emerged from collective concerns from the people, not individual grievances. At their core is a shared understanding of land, not just as property but as an inseparable part of Goan identity and culture.
For instance, the Konkan Railway issue in the early 1990s began as a protest by bhattcars resisting government acquisition of land for the railway but evolved into a much broader movement. Villagers across Goa, including in Neura, raised alarms about the impact of obstructed water flow in khazan lands and health and safety risks posed by coal transportation. These concerns resonated across the state, even people who did not lose property, and those residing outside the immediate impact found merit to the issue.
Fast forward to 2006, and we saw another significant people-led movement in response to the Regional Plan 2011. Under the leadership of the Goa Bachao Abhiyan (GBA), ordinary Goans took to the streets in a mass movement transcending political lines, concerned that change of zones in the RP disproportionately favoured real estate interests, and compromised Goa’s delicate balance between green and built areas.
Their demands were clear: a better, more transparent planning process, and led to ministers' resignations. For the first time in the history of India (and arguably the world) a State government put notification of a participatory land plan in its manifesto.
In both cases, the political class only stepped in once the issue was already a State-wide concern. Major political figures like MP Capt Viriato Fernandes emerged directly out of the people-driven land movements.
More recently, grassroots activists like Glen Cabral and the Save Old Goa Action Committee drove the fight to save Old Goa’s heritage from the illegal bungalow. This struggle gained so much momentum that it became a Central issue in the 2022 elections.
Let’s not forget the recent protests in Pernem over its zoning plan. Once again, residents, excluded from the planning process, gheraoed their MLA Jit Arolkar, forcing him to break party lines and oppose the plan publicly. In Sancoale, the Bhutani issue, started by locals, was amplified by Goans, coming together from North and South, forcing the government to at least issue show-cause notices
What is striking about these movements is they are truly bottom-up. In contrast, the political class initiated or greatly amplified other major issues in Goa—such as the merger with Maharashtra, official language for Konkani, Statehood, and political reservations for the ST community.
Goa’s land struggles are also different from land movements elsewhere in India. To start, it’s hard to find major examples in other states, The Coastal Road in Mumbai or Nandigram SEZ in West Bengal are few that come to mind. Land and planning issues have remained localised, not reaching State-level unless politicians intervene and escalate them. But in Goa, land consciousness is embedded in all of us. The concerns of a Sancoale villager resonate with those in Old Goa or Pernem, they all share a vision of what Goa “should be”.
Research shows that communities with a historic connection to land, and culture that values collective, often reject individual gains when they conflict with collective well-being. This is particularly true in Goa, where the 600-year-old Civil Code recognises historic collective rights and ways of being that were erased by British-inspired individualistic laws in the rest of India. I argue that this collective consciousness allows Goa’s land struggles to transcend local boundaries.
Centering of place features in all the above movements. I spoke with Dr Asher Ghertner, a professor at Rutgers, who has studied planning and its fallout in Delhi, and he drew a distinct difference between the two systems by saying, “In Goa, the struggle over land seems less about people losing land as a resource and more about people losing a sense of place, where place is deeply bound up with a conception of ecology.” This insight resonates. Goa’s people fight to preserve their land not for personal reasons, nor only for economic or environmental reasons but to protect an identity, a way of life.
What’s also noteworthy is that these people’s movements have a way of transforming seemingly apolitical issues into full-blown political demands. Political Science professor Dr Solano Da Silva emphasizes, “Many local movements do not wish to align with any political party as a vehicle for their cause. They emphasised that their rallies will not become platforms for sitting MLAs to raise speeches. However, their energy is always directed to making claims on the government, hence their actions are anything but political.” This highlights the third unique feature of Goan land struggles, transforming ordinary people into political agents of change.
Whether it’s fighting against destructive land conversions, or saving a forest, these movements place power back in the hands of the people. It’s something we should celebrate. Goa’s tradition of people-led land movements offers a vital path forward.
Let’s not lose sight of that.
(Tahir Noronha is an Architect & Planner, PhD Student, University of California, Berkeley.)