Editor,
What does it reveal about the state of development when lawyers, activists, and communities are silenced instead of heard? On 27 September, senior Supreme Court advocate Colin Gonsalves, founder of the Human Rights Law Network and recipient of the 2017 Right Livelihood Award, was stopped for four hours at the Ruksin check gate in East Siang district and asked to return while on his way to visit communities opposing the Siang Upper Multipurpose Project (SUMP).
The incident follows a look out circular issued against activist Bhanu Tatak and the recent questioning of human rights advocate Ebo Mili, highlighting the sensitive and often contentious environment surrounding hydropower development in Arunachal Pradesh.
Arunachal possesses an estimated 50,328 MW of hydropower potential, the highest in the country. The SUMP, planned on the Siang river, is the most ambitious hydropower project in the region, with a projected capacity of 11,000 MW and a reservoir volume of 9.2 billion cubic metres. Other major initiatives, including the Dibang Multipurpose Project (2,880 MW), Etalin (3,097 MW), and the under-construction Lower Subansiri (2,000 MW), form part of the government’s broader vision to transform Arunachal into India’s powerhouse.
The government justifies the project on three grounds. It is expected to help meet India’s renewable energy targets, mitigate floods in the Brahmaputra valley, and counterbalance China’s upstream dam construction in Tibet. These objectives carry significant implications. However, the manner in which such projects are advanced raises serious questions of legality, ecology, and democratic process.
The first concern is displacement. By conservative estimates, at least 27 villages in the Siang valley will face direct submergence under the SUMP. Families risk losing ancestral land, fertile fields, and culturally significant sites. For tribal societies, where land and identity are deeply intertwined, the consequences extend far beyond economics.
The second is safety. Arunachal lies in Seismic Zone V, the highest category of earthquake vulnerability in India. Building Asia’s largest storage dam in such a fragile terrain carries risks not just for Arunachal but for Assam and Bangladesh downstream. A single structural failure could unleash devastation across the Brahmaputra basin.
Third, the ecological consequences are significant. The Etalin project alone is expected to require the felling of over 2,70,000 trees in one of the world’s richest biodiversity hotspots. The SUMP would submerge large stretches of forest along the Siang, threatening wildlife and fragile ecosystems. Promises of compensatory afforestation are unlikely to compensate for the loss, as tropical forests, once destroyed, cannot be easily restored.
India’s history with large dams demonstrates why such concerns cannot be dismissed as alarmism. The Sardar Sarovar Dam on the Narmada displaced more than 2,00,000 people according to official estimates, and decades of rehabilitation have left many families without adequate compensation. The Tehri Dam in Uttarakhand submerged the historic town of Tehri and uprooted over 1,00,000 residents. The Hirakud Dam in Odisha, completed in the 1950s, displaced over 20,000 families. In each case, ecological impacts have persisted for decades while the benefits of power generation and irrigation have rarely reached the displaced populations themselves. These examples stand as cautionary tales for the Siang valley.
Beyond ecological and social considerations, serious questions of due process arise. Repeated restrictions on lawyers and activists, coupled with opaque decision-making, erode the constitutional rights of citizens. Strategic priorities cannot justify curtailing democratic freedoms.
Supporters of large dams highlight the potential for revenue generation, infrastructure development, and employment in a state that has long been underserved. These arguments cannot be dismissed, yet the experience of the past two decades, during which dozens of hydropower agreements in Arunachal collapsed amid financial and local resistance, demonstrates the risks of pursuing projects without broad legitimacy.
Policymakers must recognise that the legitimacy of any hydropower project ultimately rests on the trust and consent of indigenous communities, whose livelihoods, land, and cultural heritage are directly affected. Development and ecological concerns, while important, cannot take precedence over the rights and voices of those most impacted. Smaller run-of-the-river projects, decentralised micro-hydel units, and community-led energy initiatives offer viable alternatives that generate power with minimal displacement and ecological impact. Strategic imperatives vis-à-vis China cannot justify ignoring seismic risk or bypassing democratic safeguards at home.
The Ruksin gate incident is indicative of larger challenges. It reflects the tension between national ambition and local rights, between technocratic planning and ecological prudence. For Arunachal to contribute meaningfully to India’s energy future, development must rest on projects that are technically sound, socially responsible, and ecologically sustainable. Without this balance, hydropower could become a source of conflict rather than progress.
Nyasum Ete,
MA, Political Science
Jawaharlal Nehru
University, New Delhi