http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/1815597
The above link takes you to a very interesting collection of photos taken during the Indian government’s UID drive. The UID, or Unique Identity, is a nation-wide scheme designed to give an official and digitally recorded personal identity card to each Indian citizen over the next few years, with a provisional target of half the Indian population (about 500 million people or so).
Y’all try map that: Para Ganj, Delhi. Courtesy youthkiawaaz.com
The UID uses an individual’s biometric data, such as finger prints and retina scans, in order to record their existence on the database. Those taking part surrender not only personal information to the government, but also their physical traits, in order to ensure identification. Criticised by many as being yet another example of state-sponsored DNA harbouring and placing people’s personal information at risk of misuse, the scheme certainly appears as an elaborate method of population control. This data could be used by the police, for example, and perhaps not in the best interest of the individual. We feel suspicious of anything that wants to take information form us, particularly information that we view as personal and private. Some are happy to post the ins and outs of their love lives on Facebook, but are unhappy to give their address to a mailing list. Despite the ‘private life’ nature of one, we tend to view any information that can be considered as ‘identifiable’ in the official sense of the word as far more guarded than information that until recently would not have made its way anywhere near a global public forum. The furore about ID cards in the UK, about “papers” of any kind really, was demonstrative of our deep-seated suspicion of data collection and misuse. So why does the Indian government consider this a great step forward?
In India there are many people who exist entirely without any official or state recognition whatsoever. They are born, unregistered (as we are at birth), they live and work in places that may have no address. They might earn some money, all of which will change hands at a local cash-only market or similar. They may go to temple or mosque, and take part in prayers, and they may enjoy a wedding or two. Perhaps they have children, all of whom are also unregistered. Some may even vote, only their voting card testifying to their name and place of residence (not address). They will engage in a great range of the activities of normal life, and yet, besides those that vote, they will be entirely invisible to the state. They will have no access to welfare, to social housing schemes or healthcare, sometimes even their wages. They will have no opportunity to ‘prove’ their existence: unregistered they will be born into the world, and unacknowledged they will pass out of it. A sad, and often true, fact. India has a huge problem with identity theft and misuse, and with little in the way of ‘proof’, many people not only go unacknowledged, but also have what little identity they did hold taken from them. In a democratic country, such ‘non-existence’ in the state is an anathema to the entire premise of democratic and social governance.
If you cannot prove you are who you say you are, then why should an employer pay you, except on good faith? If you have no proof you are who you say you are, then why should the state give you a phone connection, or cooking gas? When these small rights and liberties are so entirely dependent on being a “Person”, the need to ensure people make themselves intimately known to the state is imperative. Although this scheme may become untenable in the future, it is providing those who may have led an entirely faceless existence an opportunity to enter into the mainstream of Indian social and economic life. Although some may say that it will only lead to state-sanctioned punitive control measures and misuse of individual data, the chance for India’s unrecorded people to access that which is their right cannot be criticised. A dangerous method perhaps, but one that cannot for the moment be avoided.
kitchentablenewsroom
Existence in the eyes of the state: India’s identity crisis.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/1815597
The above link takes you to a very interesting collection of photos taken during the Indian government’s UID drive. The UID, or Unique Identity, is a nation-wide scheme designed to give an official and digitally recorded personal identity card to each Indian citizen over the next few years, with a provisional target of half the Indian population (about 500 million people or so).
Y’all try map that: Para Ganj, Delhi. Courtesy youthkiawaaz.com
The UID uses an individual’s biometric data, such as finger prints and retina scans, in order to record their existence on the database. Those taking part surrender not only personal information to the government, but also their physical traits, in order to ensure identification. Criticised by many as being yet another example of state-sponsored DNA harbouring and placing people’s personal information at risk of misuse, the scheme certainly appears as an elaborate method of population control. This data could be used by the police, for example, and perhaps not in the best interest of the individual. We feel suspicious of anything that wants to take information form us, particularly information that we view as personal and private. Some are happy to post the ins and outs of their love lives on Facebook, but are unhappy to give their address to a mailing list. Despite the ‘private life’ nature of one, we tend to view any information that can be considered as ‘identifiable’ in the official sense of the word as far more guarded than information that until recently would not have made its way anywhere near a global public forum. The furore about ID cards in the UK, about “papers” of any kind really, was demonstrative of our deep-seated suspicion of data collection and misuse. So why does the Indian government consider this a great step forward?
In India there are many people who exist entirely without any official or state recognition whatsoever. They are born, unregistered (as we are at birth), they live and work in places that may have no address. They might earn some money, all of which will change hands at a local cash-only market or similar. They may go to temple or mosque, and take part in prayers, and they may enjoy a wedding or two. Perhaps they have children, all of whom are also unregistered. Some may even vote, only their voting card testifying to their name and place of residence (not address). They will engage in a great range of the activities of normal life, and yet, besides those that vote, they will be entirely invisible to the state. They will have no access to welfare, to social housing schemes or healthcare, sometimes even their wages. They will have no opportunity to ‘prove’ their existence: unregistered they will be born into the world, and unacknowledged they will pass out of it. A sad, and often true, fact. India has a huge problem with identity theft and misuse, and with little in the way of ‘proof’, many people not only go unacknowledged, but also have what little identity they did hold taken from them. In a democratic country, such ‘non-existence’ in the state is an anathema to the entire premise of democratic and social governance.
If you cannot prove you are who you say you are, then why should an employer pay you, except on good faith? If you have no proof you are who you say you are, then why should the state give you a phone connection, or cooking gas? When these small rights and liberties are so entirely dependent on being a “Person”, the need to ensure people make themselves intimately known to the state is imperative. Although this scheme may become untenable in the future, it is providing those who may have led an entirely faceless existence an opportunity to enter into the mainstream of Indian social and economic life. Although some may say that it will only lead to state-sanctioned punitive control measures and misuse of individual data, the chance for India’s unrecorded people to access that which is their right cannot be criticised. A dangerous method perhaps, but one that cannot for the moment be avoided.
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