[Across this sprawling, chaotic nation, workers are creating what will be the world’s largest biometric database, a mind-bogglingly complex collection of 1.2 billion identities. But even more radical than its size is the scale of its ambition: to reduce the inequality corroding India ’s economic rise by digitally linking every one of India ’s people to the country’s growth juggernaut.]
By Lydia Polgreen
A migrant farm worker peers into
an iris scanner
in
each Indian's identity as an individual |
His name, year of birth and address were recorded. A worker guided Mr.
Gangar’s rough fingers to the glowing green surface of a scanner to record his
fingerprints. He peered into an iris scanner shaped like binoculars that
captured the unique patterns of his eyes.
With that, Mr. Gangar would be assigned a 12-digit number, the first
official proof that he exists. He can use the number, along with a thumbprint,
to identify himself anywhere in the country. It will allow him to gain access
to welfare benefits, open a bank account or get a cellphone far from his home
village, something that is still impossible for many people in India .
“Maybe we will get some help,” Mr. Gangar said.
Across this sprawling, chaotic nation, workers are creating what will be
the world’s largest biometric database, a mind-bogglingly complex collection of
1.2 billion identities. But even more radical than its size is the scale of its
ambition: to reduce the inequality corroding India ’s economic rise by digitally linking
every one of India ’s people to the country’s growth
juggernaut.
For decades, India ’s sprawling and inefficient bureaucracy
has spent billions of dollars to try to drag the poor out of poverty. But much
of the money is wasted or simply ends up trapping the poor in villages like
Kaldari, in a remote corner of the western state of Maharashtra , dependent on local handouts that they
can lose if they leave home.
So now it is trying something different. Using the same powerful
technology that transformed the country’s private economy, the Indian
government has created a tiny start-up of skilled administrators and
programmers to help transform — or circumvent — the crippling bureaucracy that
is a legacy of its socialist past.
“What we are creating is as important as a road,” said Nandan M.
Nilekani, the billionaire software mogul whom the government has tapped to
create India’s identity database. “It is a road that in some sense
connects every individual to the state.”
For its proponents, the 12-digit ID is an ingenious solution to a
particularly bedeviling problem. Most of India ’s poorest citizens are trapped in a
system of village-based identity proof that has had the perverse effect of
making migration, which is essential to any growing economy, much harder.
The ID project also has the potential to reduce the kind of corruption
that has led millions of Indians to take to the streets in mass demonstrations
in recent weeks, spurred on by the hunger
strike of an
anticorruption activist named Anna Hazare. By
allowing electronic transmission and verification of many government services,
the identity system would make it much harder for corrupt bureaucrats to steal
citizens’ benefits. India ’s prime minister has frequently cited the
new system in response to Mr. Hazare’s demands.
The new number-based system, known as Aadhaar, or foundation, would be used to verify
the identity of any Indian anywhere in the country within eight seconds, using
inexpensive hand-held devices linked to the mobile phone network.
It would also serve as a shortcut to building real citizenship in a
society where identity is almost always mediated through a group — caste, kin
and religion. Aadhaar would for the first time identify each Indian as an
individual.
The identity project is, in a way, an acknowledgment that India has failed to bring its poor along the
path to prosperity. India may be the world’s second-fastest-growing
economy, but more than 400 million Indians live in poverty, according to
government figures. Nearly half of children younger than 5 are underweight.
Technology, its supporters believe, could solve these problems because
it would provide people with a way to interact with the state without depending
on local officials who are now the main gatekeepers of government services.
“One cannot improve human beings,” said Ram Sevak Sharma,
the director general of the identity program. “But one can certainly improve
systems. And the same flawed human beings with a better system will be able to
produce better results.”
To build the database, the Indian government has created a highly
unusual hybrid institution: a small team of elite bureaucrats who are working
with veterans of Silicon
Valley start-ups
and Bangalore ’s most-respected technology companies.
Despite the scale of its task, the organization has deliberately been kept
small. At its peak, no more than a few hundred people will work on the project,
and private contractors will do much of the work of enrolling citizens. It costs
the program about $3 to issue each Aadhaar number, Mr. Nilekani said, and more
than 30 million have been issued so far. The process is free and voluntary.
The operation’s tiny footprint and seemingly technical mission have kept
the project from drawing much scrutiny so far. Just as the information
technology industry grew stealthily beneath the nose of the bureaucracy that
had traditionally smothered private enterprise, the identity database is
quietly embedding itself in India ’s bureaucratic fabric even as other
efforts to reform India ’s government and economy seem to have
stalled.
Century-old labor and land laws stifle industry and mobility, making it
hard to build factories and create jobs. Restrictions on foreign investment
protect small shopkeepers and domestic industries but also hamper investment
that could modernize agriculture. Yet efforts to change these rules often fail
to overcome entrenched interests.
The identity database has so far met only muffled opposition. Privacy
watchdogs worry that the
identity numbers will be abused by
a snooping state that cares little for civil liberties. Leftists fret that the
database will lead to an erosion of the state’s role in helping the poor. But
powerful and corrupt bureaucrats, politicians and businessmen who thrive on the
current system’s opacity have yet to object publicly, though they almost
certainly will once the challenge to the way they do business becomes evident.
A Start-Up in Spirit
With its grid of chest-high cubicles in cheerful colors, the suite of
offices could belong to a high-tech start-up like so many others in the booming
city of Bangalore . On the second floor of the Touchstone Building , part of a nondescript technology office
park off a traffic-choked ring road, the government’s own start-up is at work.
In one glass-walled conference room, bankers on leave from their jobs in
finance were planning how to use the Aadhaar and hand-held mobile technology to
bring banking to India ’s 600,000 villages without laying a
single brick.
In another, programmers worked out how Aadhaar’s open software
architecture could be used to build an ecosystem like the ones Google and Apple
created, embedding the number in every aspect of life. That could eliminate
trillions of pages of bureaucratic paperwork, remnants of the License Raj, the
old system that governed India ’s closed economy. Indians face obstacles
almost every time they ask anything of their government — a driver’s license,
subsidized grain, a birth certificate. Digitizing these systems would eliminate
countless opportunities for graft.
A typical government office this is not. There are no peons in white
Nehru caps shuffling between offices with bundles of dusty paper files tied
with string. The standard uniform of the tech company employee — khaki trousers
and polo shirt — is de rigueur.
The project resembles a start-up because the man in charge is Mr.
Nilekani, a co-founder of India ’s most famous start-up. In 1981 he pooled
10,000 rupees in capital, or $1,100 to $1,200, with six colleagues to start Infosys,
the outsourcing giant. Infosys has grown into a $30 billion company with more
than 130,000 employees around the globe. Mr. Nilekani’s path from son of a
socialist textile mill manager to world-renowned billionaire inspires countless
Indians.
Two years ago, when the government decided to create the identity
database, Mr. Nilekani stepped down as chairman of Infosys to oversee the
effort, forging an unusual path in Indian public life from business to
government.
“I am an entrepreneur within the system,” he explained in an interview
in his office in New Delhi .
The very notion of a businessman in government was once unthinkable. Mr.
Nilekani, 56, came of age in an era when almost all private industry in India was smothered under the License Raj’s
heavy blanket of government regulation. This meant entrepreneurship was almost
impossible. For a young man in the 1970s with elite credentials, going abroad
to work for a private company or getting a posting in the elite Indian
Administrative Service were the two most attractive options.
Mr. Nilekani was a founding member of a second elite, the one created
when a handful of brainy graduates of India ’s top technical schools set up companies
in Bangalore in the 1980s.
Over time, India ’s technology elite has transformed not
just India but the world, sending its brightest engineers to Silicon Valley and beyond. India has become the back office to the world,
not only handling customer service calls and insurance claims, but also
composing legal briefs and performing complex quantitative analysis for
investment banks.
But even as it made global business more efficient and profitable, this
technological class was cut out of India ’s political system.
In 2008 Mr. Nilekani published “Imagining India,” a wonkish book that elucidated a set
of ideas he thought could transform India . A best seller here, it was the type of
policy book an American businessman might write if he aspired to high public
office. But India ’s hurly-burly political system has no
place for men like Mr. Nilekani.
“This was not the United States, where a Michael Bloomberg could be the
C.E.O. of a large company one day and get elected as New York’s mayor the
next,” Mr. Nilekani wrote. “Being an entrepreneur automatically made me a very
long shot in Indian politics, and an easy target for populist rhetoric.”
A deep suspicion toward private enterprise, a result of decades of
socialist politics, permeates public life. Political parties are intensely
hierarchical and formed along family, religious and caste lines, making it all
but impossible for an outsider like Mr. Nilekani to win an election.
Still, he pined to serve somehow, and his chance came when the Congress
Party was re-elected and formed a strong coalition government in 2009. Rahul
Gandhi, the tech-savvy scion of India ’s leading political family and the
presumed prime minister in waiting, wanted Mr. Nilekani to join the government.
At first Mr. Gandhi asked Mr. Nilekani to transform the dysfunctional
education bureaucracy, according to a senior government official familiar with
Mr. Gandhi’s thinking. But Sonia Gandhi, Mr. Gandhi’s mother and the leader of
the Congress Party, along with Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, concluded that
such a move would cause too much of an uproar.
When the government decided to create the unique-identity system, Mr.
Nilekani leapt at the chance to run it. Though he would hold cabinet rank, he
would be in charge of a small and seemingly arcane government authority. No one
would notice that he was working on a revolutionary project, the Gandhis and
Mr. Singh concluded.
“People don’t fully realize what can be done with this,” said a senior
government official working on the identity system, who requested anonymity
because the scope of the project is a delicate subject. “People who are not
familiar with technology don’t understand how big this is.”
The Resistance
Unsurprisingly, some people see the idea of a centralized identity
database as a dystopian nightmare. Privacy advocates contend that the
government will use it to track citizens, a serious concern in a country where
the government carries out extensive wiretapping and surveillance to track
potential terrorists.
Many influential critics of the identity system argue that it is costly
— $326 million is budgeted for the next financial year, and the project will
take a decade to complete — and unnecessary because there are easier ways to
check corruption in antipoverty programs. Chhattisgarh State , in central India , has drastically reduced waste and fraud
in its delivery of subsidized grain using a system of smart cards.
“This is a solution in search of a problem,” said Usha Ramanathan, a lawyer who works on civil
liberties.
Because Aadhaar will be linked instantly with a bank account, some
social activists suspect that the government is seeking to replace its current
system of in-kind benefits — like distributing grain and creating
state-supported jobs — with direct cash transfers. Many on the left oppose such
a shift because they think handing out cash from the public till would create a
backlash and undercut support for poverty programs.
But the project has enjoyed an unusual degree of support from the
highest officials in India . When the program was inaugurated, Prime
Minister Singh and Mrs. Gandhi, the Congress Party’s left-leaning leader,
attended the ceremony. Several influential members of the National Advisory
Council, a kind of kitchen cabinet that advises Mrs. Gandhi on social policy,
were deeply wary of the project, but she overruled them.
“Mrs. Gandhi normally consents to discussions on a number of issues we
raise,” said Harsh Mander, an activist and member of the council. “But on this
she said, ‘No, we are going ahead with the idea.’ ”
The Invisible Man
Under an overpass near the fetid bank of the Yamuna River, in the shadow
of New Delhi, the homeless lined up to be counted.
Mohammed Jalil, a rickshaw puller dressed in his best shirt, hair
freshly washed and neatly parted, sat uneasily behind a computer screen,
waiting to be registered for an Aadhaar number.
Though he has lived in Delhi more than half his life, Mr. Jalil may as
well not exist. He is homeless. For two decades he has worked as a rickshaw
driver, delivering heavy loads of wooden furniture from a market to homes
across the city, earning about $100 a month. Labor is so cheap in India that it makes more sense to use a man as
a pack horse than to expend fossil fuel.
He left his village in the impoverished state of Uttar Pradesh, hoping
to find a better way to make a living than farming a scrap of land. But the
lack of identity documents has been a fundamental hurdle. “When I first came to
Delhi I thought I would earn big money, build a
house in my village and educate my children,” he said.
But he has no bank account, making it hard to save money. When one of
his children got sick, he took a loan from a moneylender at an onerous interest
rate. Poor people like him are entitled to subsidies for food, housing and
health care, but he has no access to them.
Mr. Jalil hopes Aadhaar will allow him to open a bank account. He could
get a driver’s license and a cellphone.
“That will give me an identity,” he said, gesturing at the computer
station where he had just completed his enrollment. “It will show that I am a
human being, that I am alive, that I live on this planet. It will prove I am an
Indian.”
Mr. Jalil’s number has yet to arrive, but he is waiting.