Caste Is Class War

My Marxist Take on Why India's Real Divide Runs Along Economic Lines

By Manu Kant

In my neighbourhood, a middle-class “Dalit” family is loved and respected—no different from us savarna residents. We attend each other’s weddings, share sweets at Diwali, and talk to each other when we meet on the street while strolling through the neighbourhood. It’s not tokenism; it’s genuine warmth.

This simple, everyday relationship hides a deeper truth: when economic equality exists, caste fades. Prejudices survive not because they are timeless, but because the old capitalist order still stands, with the same economic base and superstructure that once birthed and sustained them. Change the base, and the prejudices crumble.

Caste and class are not separate universes. Both are systems of hierarchy built on control over resources and labour. Caste dictated who could own land, who would till it, and who would be pushed into degrading labour. Class, in Marxist terms, is defined by relation to the means of production.

When we strip away religious or ritual coverings, caste is essentially class in Indian dress. This is why the Jats of Punjab—once Shudras—rose not by worship or ritual, but by acquiring land. Economic power changed their social position. Ownership, not prayer, turned them into a dominant class.

The old Communist Party of India (CPI), under leaders like B.T. Ranadive, was clear on this: caste oppression was rooted in class exploitation. They argued that once feudalism and capitalism were dismantled, caste would collapse as a by-product of socialist revolution.

Today many Indian Marxists disagree. They argue that caste is an autonomous force that survives beyond economics. They point to Ambedkar’s insistence that political independence meant little without annihilating caste, or Gandhi’s defence of caste “harmony” as a moral order. But both Gandhi and Ambedkar missed the decisive point: caste cannot be destroyed by either moral reform or political assertion alone. It must be uprooted by attacking the economic foundation that sustains it.

Over time, I’ve come to see caste not as an eternal social evil, but as a weapon of class war—a tool for the powerful to safeguard status. Among the affluent, caste today isn’t about ritual purity; it’s about land, privilege, and gatekeeping. For poor upper castes, caste offers little material gain.

It becomes a mirage—a symbolic superiority that distracts from real economic despair. That’s why modern caste discrimination isn’t fundamentally moral or religious. It’s class conflict in disguise.

Critics say: “But even rich Dalits face discrimination. Doesn’t that prove caste is more than class?” Yes, a wealthy Dalit may still face social stigma, especially in marriage or neighbourhood exclusion. But why does this stigma persist? Because the old economic base that generated it is still alive.

Land concentration, job scarcity, and capital control remain intact. The cultural layer survives only because its material root survives. When those roots are destroyed, the stigma will wither.

My neighbourhood proves this: where class positions are equal, caste prejudice has no soil to grow.

Punjab again illustrates the point. Poor Jat farmers and landless “Dalit” labourers share the same burdens—debt, joblessness, healthcare scarcity. Yet solidarity is rare. Suspicion prevails because caste is weaponized to mask class. The ruling class encourages this.

Media, policy, and politics keep caste alive as a firewall to divide the oppressed. Artificial lines are drawn: poor Dalits resent reservations, poor upper castes resent being bypassed. The anger is real, but its direction is misled. This is the brilliance of capitalism in India: it exploits caste to fracture class unity.

Ambedkar rightly insisted that independence without social justice was hollow. But he did not see that justice required a socialist revolution uniting all workers, Dalit and savarna alike. The old CPI understood this, but later Marxists began conceding too much ground—treating caste as if it were a force separate from class, almost eternal. That shift blurred the revolutionary path.

In truth, caste and class are two names for the same machinery of exploitation. One wears religious garb, the other economic. But both are driven by ownership and labour division.

That’s why caste can’t be defeated by social reform alone. Representation and tokenism won’t suffice. We must attack the roots—land ownership, capital control, institutional power. Only a socialist revolution—led by workers of all castes—can dismantle this machinery.

It must push for land redistribution, public ownership of core sectors, universal healthcare and education, and the end of tools that reinforce caste: private schools, housing apartheid, and unequal access to justice. Poor upper castes should not fear this change. It offers them liberation too—from hollow pride and real poverty.

In a socialist India, rising Dalits won’t be competitors—they’ll be comrades.

As the movement grows, caste identities will lose relevance—not through laws alone, but because the structures that sustain them will collapse. Surnames will no longer signal status. New identities may emerge—not of “savarna” or “Dalit,” but of worker and comrade.

My neighbourhood is a glimpse of that end. A place where caste doesn’t matter—not because we’ve grown saintly, but because we share the same economic space. The warmth we share isn’t moral—it’s material. And that gives me hope.

Caste, however ancient, is not eternal. It will be dismantled—not by reform, but by revolution. When class walls fall, caste will be rubble in their ruins.