Throughout 2020–22, when I was pursuing my Master’s in Women’s Studies at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences, we explored Dalit Feminism in-depth through courses, texts, and guest lectures. That was when I first came across the book We Also Made History: Women in the Ambedkarite Movement by Urmila Pawar and Meenakshi Moon. Months later, I bought myself a copy during a Women's Day sale by Zubaan Books at their office in Delhi while doing my field work. Wandana Sonalkar, the translator of the book in English, was also one of the guest lecturers during my postgraduate studies. I share this background because Maharashtra holds a unique place in the history of the Ambedkarite movement and Dalit feminism – and my personal understanding of both. Until I went to Delhi for my undergraduate studies, I lived on a street named Ambedkar Road in Guna district, Madhya Pradesh. Dr B.R. Ambedkar featured prominently in our Civics and Social Sciences curricula from classes six to 12. Yet it was only in 2022, when I attended the Ambedkar Jayanti celebrations in Chembur, in Mumbai, that I truly understood the profound and continuing impact of his work across the country. More than that, seeing people celebrating constitutional ideals was something extraordinary to me. 

This experience deepened my engagement with Ambedkar's legacy across gender, queerness – and my home state. I learned about the Dr. B.R. Ambedkar University of Social Sciences in Mhow, Madhya Pradesh and explored "Dalit Queerness" through the work of Dr Dhiren Borisa, Meena Kandasamy, Jyotsna Siddharth, Grace Banu, Priyanka Paul, Upendra Baxi, and Satish Despande, among others. Their insights informed my essay "Cast(e)ing Friendship: Can Friendship Traverse Social Categories?" for the Mavelinadu Collective. Watching the powerful one-woman play Vhay, I Am Savitribai Phule, performed by Nandita Patkar brought historical timelines and the themes of We Also Made History vividly to life.

That’s why I wanted to write about the book, and urge readers to pick it up. 

Structurally, the book is divided into two parts: Part I foregrounds the Ambedkarite movement across India, highlighting various themes, issues, and key historical moments leading up to the present. It documents Dalit women’s involvement in the struggle against untouchability from the early 20th century, through Ambedkar’s leadership (1920s–1956), and continues into developments after his death.

Part II profiles 44 women who played pivotal roles in the movement – figures the world ought to know more about. Authors Urmila Pawar and Meenakshi Moon travelled across Maharashtra, and as far as Delhi to uncover these histories. They conducted interviews with 29 Dalit women participants and compiled the life sketches of 13 women who had passed away by the time of writing in 1989 (the English translation came out in 2004). This includes stories of stalwarts such as Radhabai Kamble, who worked day and night to ensure the success of 1942 conference of the Scheduled Castes Federation, or of the sisters Geetabai and Seetabai Gaikwaid who participated in the Mahad Satyagraha, or Shantibani Dani, who was a member of the Legislative Council of Maharashtra from 1968 to 1974. The book  features resilient stories of how these women heard of Ambedkar and joined the movement, how they brought changes in their own villages, how they worked as teachers believing in education as a pathway to emancipation, how they battled caste atrocities, and how many of them went to jail and still persisted on the path to justice.   

The book is about stories of rebellion and not of violence and victimhood – which too often is the lens through which marginalised communities are viewed. One of the criticisms of the book has been the lack of coverage across India. However, I do feel that this book is a strong starting point for such archival texts and could lead to more such bodies of work being produced on a regional basis.

We Also Made History is also unique for the way it allows readers to witness two modes of Dalit women’s self-expression: first, through the voices of Pawar and Moon narrating the collective participation of women in the Ambedkarite struggle; second, through the individual testimonies of the activists themselves. It becomes clear that, like Jotiba Phule, Ambedkar recognised that the subjugation of women was central to sustaining the caste system. So the emancipation of women – particularly those at the lowest rungs of the caste hierarchy – was, and remains, crucial to dismantling caste-based discrimination in India. 

The authors bring to light countless smaller, significant details that more conventional academic texts often overlook. One particularly thought-provoking discussion in the book concerns Dalit women’s groups’ support for the ban on dance bars in Maharashtra. While mainstream feminist groups opposed the ban citing freedom of choice of occupation, Dalit women’s groups supported it, arguing that Dalit women were historically denied any real freedom of choice in this profession. For readers interested in the history of feminism in India, this disagreement underscores the necessity of an intersectional approach rather than a singular identity-based analysis when looking at Dalit feminism.

The book also engages deeply with political debates and academic work that shapes our understanding of Ambedkarite politics: from key contributions by scholars like Gopal Guru (Dalit Women Talk Differently) to Prem Chowdhry (Violence Against Dalit Women in North India), Kalpana Kannabiran and K. Kannabiran (whose work I read extensively as a sociology student in Delhi), Anupama Rao (particularly on Sirasgaon), Susie Tharu, Sharmila Rege, Sukhadeo Thorat, Kancha Ilaiah, and others. Revisiting these pivotal moments in history reveals how Dalit women asserted their rights and voices.

Another crucial element the book highlights is the issue of documentation and archiving. Given that mainstream newspapers and periodicals of the time often boycotted the Ambedkarite movement, reliable reporting was scarce. The authors therefore turned to publications produced by Babasaheb Ambedkar and his colleagues like Mooknayak, Bahiskrut Bharat, and Prabuddha Bharat, among others. This method not only added rigour to their findings but also revealed the difficulty for researchers interested in Dalit history and movements in simply accessing accurate historical records for marginalised communities. (Here’s an article that chronicles the decades-long struggle to translate and publish Ambedkar’s own writing.) A helpful list of these sources, along with a gallery of photographs from key moments in the movement, appears at the end of the book, enabling readers to appreciate the painstaking work of reconstructing history.

Revisiting this text today, I am no longer situated solely within the academic space. I am based in Mumbai – a city rich in Ambedkarite history – working on themes related to workplace inclusion. There’s a different appreciation that emerges when you encounter a text like this beyond a reading list, and begin to see the people and legacies it speaks of all around you in daily life. In many ways, this book serves as an important introduction not just to Dalit feminism, but also to the Ambedkarite movement more broadly.

Today, conversations around the Dalit Queer Movement and the role of Dalit trans folx are gaining visibility. For instance, check out this post by Kommune, where Dee speaks to five artists from the DBA community about the roots, sustenance, and aims of their art. Nuances at the intersections of gender, queerness, and caste continue to enrich and complicate our understanding of identity – and are a reminder to us why intersectionality must remain central to our conversations. 

Text by Rajeev Anand Kushwah. Rajeev is a researcher-writer interested in queer experiences, the feminist ethics of care, and masculinities.