The historically marginalised sanitation workers in India are subject to new layers of exploitation and control through technological surveillance. Addressing this will require challenging deeper issues of caste-based exploitation and capitalist dehumanisation.
In recent decades, technological surveillance has permeated various sectors of the workforce, often under the guise of improving efficiency and accountability. This includes electronic monitoring, biometric attendance systems, video monitoring, and even tracking. Surveillance is hardly a new phenomenon. Workers have always been surveilled within the capitalist economy — where maximising surplus requires increased labour productivity. Nonetheless, with the advent of modern information technologies, the nature of surveillance has changed significantly.
Workers were supervised even before the rise of capitalism. However, the “privatisation of time” only emerged with the rise of capitalism. As labour itself transformed into a commodity, the pressure for increased productivity further intensified. Previously, workplace surveillance was relatively discrete, typically limited to the gaze of a supervisor and confined to the physical workplace. Today, with the introduction of new technology like electronic devices and sensors, surveillance is everywhere. Employers now track and process data on how employees work in real time, often extending beyond the boundaries of the workplace.
This modern form of surveillance aligns with Jeremy Bentham’s concept of the panopticon —a design for an institutional building where a single guard could observe all inmates without them knowing when they were being watched. Michel Foucault later expanded on this, using the panopticon as a metaphor for how modern societies control individuals, producing what he calls “docile bodies.” In this model, surveillance operates without direct coercion, as individuals regulate their behaviour based on the possibility of constant observation.
David Harvey, in discussing the concepts of time and space, observes that “new concepts of space and time have been imposed by main force through conquest, imperial expansion, or neo-colonial domination.” In this context, it becomes crucial to examine how modern surveillance technologies are reshaping the workers’ experience of space and time. These technologies, by tracking and monitoring their every move, are not only altering how workers navigate their environments but are also reinforcing control and domination. This imposition, similar to casteist/colonial forces of the past, dictates the rhythms of their daily lives, limiting their autonomy and further entrenching systems of exploitation.
In this article, I’ll be discussing technological surveillance in the context of sanitation workers in India. These workers — predominantly women from marginalised castes and classes — are subject to new layers of exploitation and control through technological surveillance. Beyond the physical demands of their work, the constant monitoring of their movements, attendance, and performance intrudes on their privacy and autonomy, amplifying the existing power dynamics and reinforcing their vulnerability.
Reports indicate that sanitation workers, many of whom are women, have been forced to wear GPS watches. These workers often avoid using washrooms during working hours out of fear that the cameras might be monitoring them. The workers say that the tracking devices invade their personal lives. They are required to charge GPS devices at home each night to ensure the watches remain on during working hours the next day. If the watch is off, the workers are marked absent, risking their wages. This invasive surveillance disproportionately affects workers from marginalised castes and classes, undermining their dignity and exacerbating existing inequalities.
Contextualising the Lives of Sanitation Workers in India
Before delving further into the technological surveillance of sanitation workers, it is important to briefly summarise their working conditions in India. In the absence of recent data, we rely on a 2019 study, which estimates that there are around 5 million sanitation workers performing various duties, including sweeping streets, cleaning toilets, and maintaining septic tanks. A significant portion of these workers come into direct contact with human excreta. Of the 5 million workers, about 2.5 million face serious occupational hazards and risks, often without access to proper safety equipment or protective gear.
When workers are unable to interact or communicate freely with one another, any form of resistance to their exploitation becomes difficult. This is a key reason why the state often chooses to monitor workers — it not only isolates them from their communities but also suppresses collective resistance to the challenges they face. In this sense, surveillance becomes a tool of control that alienates workers from their community, preventing solidarity and dissent.
In 2019, the Supreme Court of India heard the issue of manual scavenging — a practice that involves handling human waste manually, which is constitutionally banned. Despite this, manual scavenging continues to be practised in many parts of India, with little to no enforcement of the ban. The government is accountable for rehabilitating manual scavengers, yet the practice persists, especially with the rise of private companies outsourcing sanitation work, making these workers even more invisible. There is no reliable data on the number of manual scavengers still active in India. The Supreme Court criticised this, remarking that “no country sends its people to gas chambers to die,” a stark comment on the dangerous conditions faced by manual scavengers.
Instead of focusing on improving working conditions and investing in technologies to eradicate this caste-based occupation in India, the government has increasingly resorted to the surveillance of these workers. For example, in Chandigarh, a northern Indian city, the municipal corporation spends $278,000 annually to rent smartwatches from IMTAC India Pvt Ltd, an IT company, to track sanitation workers. This is part of a broader trend in India, where the surveillance market is valued at approximately $4.3 billion, with projections suggesting it will exceed $15 billion by 2029.
Brahminical Surveillance in the Age of Technology
In the 17th century, people coming from marginalised castes were forced to tie brooms behind their backs to sweep away their footprints and wear pots around their necks to collect their spit. These degrading practices were clear markers of caste-based oppression and surveillance resisted then, and they are still being resisted today. As Bezwada Wilson, a Magsaysay awardee and prominent activist, argues, the introduction of GPS watches for sanitation workers is an extension of this caste-based slavery. He remarks, “This is how we domesticate animals. We tie them up. Now, they are tying up humans and watching where they are going, tracking their every move. This is unacceptable and is anti-labour. This is an extension of the practice of modern untouchability.”
These technologies enforce the caste system in new ways, further stigmatising the already vulnerable communities. Critics of surveillance, particularly during the implementation of Aadhaar (the mandatory Unique ID number in India), had warned that such systems could create immense social stigma. Many poor people, unable to access Aadhaar, are excluded from government welfare schemes, reinforcing socio-economic inequality. Moreover, the Aadhaar database, containing sensitive personal information, could lead to individuals being judged based on their socio-economic status.
Simone Browne, in her analysis of the racial dimensions of surveillance, contends that surveillance functions as a sorting mechanism, creating, targeting, and perpetuating racial hierarchies through techniques like visual tracking, biometric data collection, and identity documentation. In India, this framework can be applied to the caste system. Dalits, Muslims, and women are often monitored in various ways, whether through food surveillance, where their eating habits are scrutinised, or through tracking their movements in public spaces, which can be tied to religious and caste norms.
Educational institutions also subject Dalits to surveillance and caste-based discrimination. Dalit students are often monitored and marginalised within schools and universities, resulting in exclusionary practices that reinforce dropout rates and social alienation. Similarly, economic surveillance is evident in sectors like banking and employment, where Dalits face discrimination in accessing loans, jobs, and financial services and are not permitted to own lands, all of which are affected by their caste status.
Like racialised surveillance, the upper caste/class community is more in favour of surveillance. The surveillance gets legitimation from upper caste /class people. A study found that people from higher income groups were more likely to approve of the use of drones, CCTV cameras, and biometric data collection compared to those from poorer and marginalised communities. For sanitation workers, this type of technological surveillance — which can track their movements, including their routes to and from home — exacerbates the other forms of monitoring and scrutiny that marginalised communities already face, increasing their vulnerability to constant oversight and control.
Dehumanising through Technologies
Another justification given for the introduction of GPS watches is that many sanitation workers often do not perform their duties themselves, instead hiring someone else to do the work in their place. This practice is indeed common in India. Historically, government jobs in sanitation were limited to Scheduled Castes, making it a strictly caste-based occupation. However, over time, these jobs were opened to all categories of people, including upper castes. The entry of upper-caste individuals into the sanitation workforce is portrayed as a progressive step, suggesting that a traditionally caste-based occupation is now open to everyone.
In reality, however, the situation has worsened. In many cases, upper-caste sanitation workers delegate the most hazardous and demeaning tasks to individuals from the Valmiki community (historically a Dalit caste associated with cleaning jobs). As a result, caste-based exploitation persists, with the most dangerous and degrading tasks still being disproportionately assigned to ‘lower-caste’ workers. The question then arises: how can GPS watches solve this issue? While these devices track workers’ movements, they do nothing to address the entrenched caste dynamics and power imbalances within the workforce.
The core problem is not just absenteeism but the perpetuation of caste-based hierarchies, where Dalit workers are still forced to bear the brunt of the most hazardous labour. GPS tracking only monitors who are physically present but does not address the deeply ingrained social, economic and administrative exploitation that defines the sanitation sector in India.
This is not the first instance where surveillance technologies have been introduced under the guise of addressing social/policy-level challenges. Previously, instead of tackling the root issues of undernourishment among tribal children, authorities introduced an AI-based machine to measure their BMI and photograph them with their food. Such interventions, framed as solutions to health concerns, are emblematic of how surveillance has increasingly become a tool in the neoliberal economy.
A similar example can be found in Ethiopia, where athletes are required to wear GPS-enabled watches to track their movements and the distances they cover. This form of surveillance not only monitors their performance but also exemplifies how the neoliberal economy and neo-colonial states use technology to control African bodies, which have historically been subjects of scrutiny and inquiry by European powers. Most of these athletes are unaware of where their data is being stored or how it is being used, but since institutions mandate the use of these devices, they have little choice.
In India, a parallel can be drawn to the various experiments and technological interventions that are disproportionately imposed on marginalised communities. These initiatives often serve to dehumanise their bodies and lived experiences, reinforcing systems of control and exploitation under the pretence of “improvement” or “efficiency.”
‘Dark sousveillance’
Many of these surveillance technologies are implemented to prevent any form of interaction among workers. This surveillance serves to “alienate” workers, mirroring what Marx described as alienation in capitalist societies — the feeling of estrangement from one’s sense of well-being, community, and even from oneself. The caste system, which already dehumanises and alienates individuals from their humanity, is further legitimised by state surveillance. By monitoring and controlling workers, the state reinforces this dehumanisation under the guise of oversight and efficiency.
When workers are unable to interact or communicate freely with one another, any form of resistance to their exploitation becomes difficult. This is a key reason why the state often chooses to monitor workers — it not only isolates them from their communities but also suppresses collective resistance to the challenges they face. In this sense, surveillance becomes a tool of control that alienates workers from their community, preventing solidarity and dissent.
As Simone Browne discusses in her concept of “dark sousveillance,” where Black communities subvert the gaze and record those in power, “an imaginative place from which to mobilise a critique of racialising surveillance, that often takes the form of anti-surveillance, countersurveillance, and other freedom practices,” such practices could be vital in the Indian context for challenging casteist surveillance.
Additionally, there is a need for workers to come together and challenge these surveillance systems, resisting the control and dehumanisation imposed upon them. In Maharashtra, a western state in India, for example, some sanitation workers have already refused to wear GPS watches as a form of protest, signalling the potential for collective defiance. Additionally, we also need to understand what David Harvey says: “If the time practices are capitalist, then the time horizon cannot be that to which activists cleave.”
Similarly, if ‘time practices’ are both casteist and capitalist, then simply fighting surveillance alone will not be enough. Surveillance is only one tool of control; the deeper issues of caste-based exploitation and capitalist dehumanisation must be challenged together. Without addressing these underlying structures, resistance to surveillance will not dismantle the broader systems of oppression that continue to dominate the lives of marginalised workers.
