Brick kilns the only option for those who lose land to erosion in Assam

At the village crossroad of Jania in Assam’s Barpeta, a curious scene unfolds. Women draped in colourful saris gather bundles of cookery, trunks filled with belongings, and plastic sacks stuffed with blankets.

The commotion of undisciplined children running around and the sight of brick-making tools paint a picture of a community on the move. Despite their origins in settled villages, these people resemble nomads. One might assume they are fleeing a land plagued by hunger and hardship.

In reality, they are part of an ongoing wave of migration, seeking work in distant brick industries. For many, this migration is not a choice but a necessity – driven by the stark realities of economic desperation, environmental challenges, and social exclusion.

The scene is a poignant illustration of the compulsions that force people to uproot their lives and migrate, often from one misery to another. In recent times, the situation has taken a more harrowing turn. The government and vigilante groups in upper Assam districts like Sivasagar have exhibited a hostile stance toward migrant labourers who belong to Muslim communities.

Labelled as ‘doubtful citizens’, ‘illegal foreigners’, and even a ‘criminal community’, they have faced threats, violence, and forced eviction.

The Chief Minister’s indifference to their plight has only fuelled the exclusion. Videos have surfaced showing vigilante groups issuing threats to landlords, demanding they evict tenants from this community or face dire consequences.

The recent incidents are seen by some as politically motivated, possibly a strategy to polarize communities ahead of the 2026 elections.

Yet, the migration cycle persists, driven by forces far beyond political manoeuvres. Migration is a survival strategy for families who face destitution and erosion of their livelihoods due to the ever-present threats from nature and societal neglect.

For those migrating to work in brick industries, the decision is not about improving their lives but simply trying to stay alive.

Nur Hussain, 41, embodies the desperation that compels people to seek work far from home. His house and land were swallowed by the river in the erosion-prone area of Benki.

Once a bus handyman earning a meagre Rs 250 a day, Hussain now struggles to support his family of five. Their living conditions are abysmal – cramped in a one-room hut without windows or furniture. His children’s education is, at best, a formality in such conditions, and his wife cannot find work locally.

Having borrowed a staggering Rs 40,000 from a labour contractor, Nur now faces the reality of debt repayment. The only viable option is to follow the contractor to a brick kiln in Badarpur, Silchar. There, he expects to earn at least Rs 1,100 for every thousand bricks moulded.

He and his wife can produce over 1,600 bricks a day – an opportunity to earn more than at any local job. When asked about the risks, particularly given the hostile climate towards migrant labourers in upper Assam, Nur’s response was candid: “We are always driven away – now by the river and again by the nativists. But, we can’t bear the sight of our children’s hungry faces.” In a changed note he said, “Yet, we are scared of upper Assam. We have seen labourers brutally whipped in videos.”

For older migrants, the situation can be even more heartbreaking. Gopal Mia, 72, should have retired by now. Originally from Sonpura, he has lived at a reserve for internally displaced persons (IDP) for the past 13 years after erosion rendered him homeless.

With his elder children settled in their households elsewhere, Gopal was lonely and remarried after his first wife passed away. With two young children and his new wife, he migrates to the brick industry each season, where the couple moulds 1,000 bricks daily, earning just enough to escape hunger.

The lives of migrant labourers are often bound by debt and advances. Contractors like Mazibar Rahman lend money to families during the monsoon season when work is scarce. This “advance” ensures a steady labour force for the brick kilns once the season starts, trapping the labourers in a cycle of debt and migration.

Mazibar, a contractor for Soma Brick Industry in Srikona near Silchar, oversees about 100 labourers. He stays with them for the five-month brick-making season, earning commissions based on the labourers’ output. When questioned about whether he forced people to migrate, Rahman was quick to clarify: “I didn’t force anyone. They needed money during the rainy months, and I helped them. Now, I’m helping them find work to repay their debts.”

Ala Uddin, who struggled with irregular local work, had to borrow money during tough times. Now, he and his wife are preparing for five months at a brick kiln, where they could earn at least Rs 1,500 daily. The couple, grateful for the opportunity to work continuously, know they must endure poor living conditions at the kiln, which offers makeshift narrow shanties lacking in basic amenities such as clean water, adequate lighting, and sanitary facilities.

Yet, the promise of consistent income is enough to make them accept these hardships.
Abdul Barek’s life story echoes the grim realities of forced migration. Fourteen years ago, erosion washed away his home in Sonapur, Barpeta district. Since then, he has tried various jobs and migrated to multiple places. Eventually, he became a labour contractor, recruiting workers from villages and sending them to brick industries.

His team of labourers wouldn’t join him in any upper Assam Industry at any cost fearing communal unrest. “They refused to go to the upper Assam; so I connected to brick kilns in Barak valley,” said Barek who earns a commission of one rupee for every ten bricks moulded by the labourers under his contract.

The sight of children among the labourers is a grim reminder of the compromised futures they face. When asked if the children would have access to education at the brick kilns, Barek connected us with the industry manager, Mr Sattu, who assured us that a school was nearby and that the children would be enrolled.

His prompt response left room for scepticism, though; the children’s education was more likely to suffer in such a harsh environment.

For families migrating to work in brick industries, education becomes an afterthought. “We are out of resources; we think of the stomach first,” said a middle-aged man sitting on a sack of belongings, encapsulating the harsh reality for these communities.

Abul Ali, a 16-year-old dropout after grade five, is born to a large family, now almost nomadic due to displacement. Abul’s childhood has been marred by constant migration. In fear of child labour laws, he was coached to claim he was 18.

Working in brick kilns, he earns over Rs 600 by moulding about 600 bricks, a significant contribution, given the family’s dire financial state.

For some, seasonal migration offers a way to achieve long-term goals. Mannan Ali, a 30-year-old father of three, was previously employed as an assistant mason, earning Rs 450 per day for about 20 days a month, except during the rainy season.

Now, he migrates with his wife and two youngest children while leaving his eldest, a grade seven student, with his mother. Working together at a brick kiln, Mannan and his wife save enough money each year to rebuild their lives.

Last season, he saved Rs 30,000 after repaying all debt. This year, he aims to buy a small plot and, eventually, build a permanent home – something erosion took away from him. “We make bricks for others, yet we cannot build even the walls of our huts,” he lamented.

The situation highlights a paradox: those who mould the bricks that build the nation’s infrastructure live in shanties themselves. Migration offers a meagre lifeline, yet it subjects families to continuous hardship, humiliation and uncertainty.

As river erosion continues to destroy homes and agricultural land, and as social exclusion and political hostility make life untenable, these people will continue to move from one place to another. Their resilience in the face of adversity is inspiring, but the endless cycle of displacement and labour entraps them in perpetual survival.

For the families migrating to the brick kilns, the hope of one day building the walls of their own homes remains a distant dream.

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