Narrating Violence, Withholding Truth: Commissions of Inquiry, State Power, and Citizenship Rights after the Nellie Massacre

-Silkan Bhardwaj*

In November 2025, the Assam government (“State”) tabled the Tiwari Commission Report and the unofficial Mehta Commission Report (titled as the ‘Non-Official Judicial Inquiry Commission on the Holocaust of Assam Before, During and After Election, 1983’) before the Assam State Assembly, more than four decades after the Nellie Massacre of 1983 (“Massacre”).

The Massacre killed about two thousand Bangla-speaking Muslims (‘Miyas’ as the ruling government refers to them) in Central Assam after the State’s Legislative Assembly elections.  The Tiwari Commission Report remained unpublished since its submission in 1984. This delay hints at an implied shift in narrative that colours victims of this Massacre into subjects of suspicion for the State. 

Section 6A and the Continuing Impact of the Assam Movement

The discourse around migration in Assam was instigated by the Assam Movement of 1979 (also known as the anti-immigrant movement), led by the All Assam Students’ Union (“AASU”) and the All Assam Gana Sangram Parishad (“AAGSP”).

The movement sought to put forth demands to identify, label and deport illegal immigrants through protests and “protect” indigenous Assamese people and their culture. What started as a non-violent demonstration resulted in the Nellie Massacre on February 18, 1983. 

As a consequence of the Massacre, in May 1984, the State established the Commission of Enquiry on Assam Disturbances, 1983 (“Tiwari Commission of Inquiry” or “Commission”), headed by Tribhuvan Prasad Tewary and constituted under the Commissions of Inquiry Act, 1952,. The Commission was set up to investigate and identify the causes and administrative lapses that led to the Massacre. 

The Commission concluded [1], that the Massacre was a result of decades of unrest amongst the people, and not the election, and therefore, the entire democratic system would collapse if violence alone were sufficient to halt elections. It was implied that every political outrage, brigandage and “blackmail” must not be reason enough to cease democratic processes such as elections.

Despite what appears to be an important finding (based on legible evidence and inquiries), and its submission in 1984, the Tiwari Commission Report was never made public until recently. The State at the time claimed to resolve the issues at hand by bringing forth a memorandum of understanding known as the ‘Assam Accord’.

To give effect to the Assam Accord, Section 6A was inserted into the Citizenship Act, 1955, in 1985 to provide a framework for recognising and categorising migrants in Assam based on the dates of their migration. While the Assam Accord was presented as a resolution to the crisis, it neither addressed the unresolved consequences of the Massacre, nor insulated Section 6A from scrutiny by the Supreme Court based on constitutionality.

In October 2024, the Supreme Court of India, in Re: Section 6A of the Citizenship Act, 1955, upheld the validity of Section 6A, which granted citizenship rights to Bangladeshi Immigrants who entered Assam before 1971.

Time and again, it was propagated (by the State) that the enforcement and incorporation of the Assam Accord in the Citizenship Act, 1955, resolved the underlying political tensions in Assam. The State treated the Accord as a substitute for redressing the survivors of the Massacre. The fact that the perpetrators did not reach the trial stage is raging evidence of negligence on behalf of the State. 

Is Immigration a Threat to National Security? State Narratives around Citizenship Rights

Assam today remains the site of some of the most intense citizenship adjudication processes in India. The National Register of Citizens (“NRC”) exercise, and the functioning of Foreigners’ Tribunals have placed large sections of Bengali-origin Muslims under constant scrutiny regarding their citizenship status.

Hence, official narratives about migration and demography carry significant legal consequences. If reports frame particular communities as demographic risks, these narratives can indirectly influence how institutions interpret citizenship claims. The same community that was once the victim of mass violence may simultaneously be treated as a suspect for “invading” Assamese culture and security.

Survivors, therefore, rely largely on commissions of inquiry or judicial proceedings to establish an official account of events. Without mechanisms ensuring timely disclosure, the State retains significant control over how violence is remembered and interpreted.

The question is not why the report was suppressed, but why it is being released decades after the incident. The timing of the release hints at its invocation as merely evidence of demographic change in Assam, as opposed to the failure of State protection or the experiences of survivors.

In the 1931 Census, the Census Superintendent Mullan described migration from Bengal as an “invasion” by “land-hungry Bengali immigrants” worse than the Burmese invasion of 1820 (p. 65 [57]). Similarly, Lt. General S.K. Sinha’s Report (1998) depicts demographic change in Assam as a potential threat to national security. 

This narrative was enforced by the Supreme Court in Sarbananda Sonowal v. Union of India, which claimed to preserve the law and order of the State and struck down the Illegal Migrants (Determination by Tribunals) Act, 1983. It was reasoned that the Act hindered the deportation of illegal migrants.

Ironically, while the Supreme Court framed illegal migration as “external aggression” under Article 355 of the Constitution of India, rational approaches around migration, such as Amnesty International’s Designed to Exclude (2019) Report, demonstrate how the Foreigners Tribunals have rendered people Stateless and excluded in Assam. 

Therefore, official records such as Census reports, commissions of inquiry, and State memoranda shape discourse around such political issues far beyond their original purpose. The language embedded in these records reflects the assumptions of those in authority, subtly setting narratives around migration. 

The Right to Know without a Right to Truth 

As a response to mass atrocities, international human rights law recognises a “right to truth”. It recognises that victims and their families are entitled to know the circumstances of violations, the identity of perpetrators, and the role of State institutions.

UN Human Rights Council and regional courts have emphasised that this right places a positive obligation on States to investigate, preserve records, and ensure public access to information. 

While Indian constitutional law has not explicitly articulated such a right, the Supreme Court has long recognised that the right to freedom of speech and expression under Article 19(1)(a) includes the public’s right to know. Furthermore, the Right to Information Act, 2005 (“RTI Act”), requires proactive disclosure of material relevant to public decision-making.

Section 8(1)(a) of the RTI Act makes the ‘right to know’ not an absolute right exempted by information affecting the sovereignty, security, or strategic interests of the State.  However, these exceptions cannot be read so broadly as to undermine the principle of transparency in matters of significant public interest.

The Tiwari Commission Report concluded in its submissions that the Legislative Assembly elections were not the cause of the Massacre, whereas the Non-Government Judicial Inquiry Commission headed by (Retd.) Justice T.U. Mehta concluded that the imposition of elections was the trigger that resulted in the communal violence. The latter was rejected by the State for reasons inadequate. Both reports were never made accessible to the public. Whereas the public had a right to know the contents and findings of both reports that deliberated upon one of the most pressing sectarian violences.

Hence, the delayed release of the Tiwari Commission report is not merely one of neglect but a lack of transparency by those in authority.

In State of UP v. Raj Narain [2], the Supreme Court emphasised how “confidentiality is not a head of privilege”. Justice Mathew opined that it is the duty of officials to explain and justify their acts, which operates as a chief safeguard against corruption and oppression. Commission reports, as records of State investigations into mass atrocities, fall squarely within public interest, especially for the survivors and their families. 

While commissions of inquiry are not binding [3], their reports constitute official accounts of State action. The Supreme Court recently reiterated in Save Mon Region Federation v. State of Arunachal Pradesh, that the State acts not as a private proprietor, but as a trustee of public resources. 

While the right to know provides access to information, the right to truth demands a complete and authoritative account of past violations, placing a duty on the State to investigate and disclose adequately, especially in cases of violence. In its absence, the State retains control over when and how such information is released, enabling official narratives of violence to be selectively shaped rather than fully established.

Rethinking Commissions of Inquiry as Instruments of Public Accountability

Commissions of inquiry operate primarily within a framework of upward accountability, reporting to the executive or legislature rather than being directly answerable to affected communities or the public at large.

This institutional design enables the State to retain control over both the timing and framing of disclosure, underscoring the need to reconceptualise such bodies as mechanisms of public-facing accountability with enforceable obligations of transparency and access.

Institutional reforms could include the following:

First, statutory timelines for the publication of such reports will prevent indefinite government control over disclosure, especially for incidents as severe as the Nellie Massacre that affect the public interest at large. [4]

Second, independent disclosure mechanisms, such as South Africa’s approach to truth commissions, which mandate the publication of final reports for public access without exclusive control by State authority and within a prescribed time limit. [5]

Third, structured participation of affected communities, drawn from international truth and reconciliation processes, can ensure that official records do not exclude survivor perspectives.

The UN Updated Set of Principles to Combat Impunity emphasises the role of victims in preserving memory and ensuring that State archives reflect their experiences. This approach is reflected in South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, established under the Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act, 1995, which incorporated extensive victim participation through public hearings and testimony to shape the official record of violence that occurred during apartheid. 

Such measures would not undo the grave repercussions of the Massacre. Still, they could ensure that the State’s record of violence does not become an instrument for reshaping the identity of those who suffered it.

Conclusion

The delayed disclosure of the Tiwari Commission report underscores that commissions of inquiry do not operate as neutral fact-finding bodies, but as institutions capable of shaping the official narrative of violence. In the absence of a recognised right to truth, this allows the State to retain control over both the timing and content of disclosure, with little obligation to adopt a victim-centred approach.

If such commissions are to serve as instruments of public accountability, their processes must ensure timely disclosure and meaningful inclusion of affected communities. Failing this, they risk functioning as mechanisms where the experiences of victims are subordinated to State-defined narratives around migration and other matters of governance. 

[1] The Report of the Commission of Enquiry on Assam Disturbances, p. 393.

[2] (1975) 4 SCC 428.

[3] Commissions of Inquiry (Central) Rules 1972, r 6 (UK).

[4] Inquiries Act 2005, s 25 (UK).

[5] Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act 1995, s 44 (South Africa).

*The author is a practising advocate based in Delhi with a background in constitutional law and proactively writes for the welfare of socio-economically marginalised communities.

The views expressed above are the author's alone and do not represent the beliefs of Pith & Substance: The CCAL Blog.