The question of fencing the India–Bangladesh border in Meghalaya has returned to public debate, and this time with a proposal that could change how the state deals with one of its most sensitive frontiers. Deputy Chief Minister Prestone Tynsong said on Wednesday that discussions are ongoing with the Central Government on a plan for the state to purchase land along the border so that fencing can be completed without displacing families.
The context matters. Under international norms, border fencing is to be set 150 yards from the zero line. Applied rigidly, that rule would cut through farms, homes and markets that have existed for generations in places like Dawki, Pyrdiwah, Lyngkhat, Hat Thymmai and Lyngkhong. The 2015 India–Bangladesh Land Boundary Agreement itself recognized the problem, allowing the fence in Dawki to run at the foot of the village even though the settlement sits on the zero line. Similar “reverse positions” exist elsewhere, where Indian villages protrude into Bangladeshi territory.
Organizations representing border communities have for years opposed fencing not out of hostility to security, but out of fear of losing ancestral land and livelihoods. For them, the border is not an abstract line. It is a place of daily trade, shared markets, kinship and agriculture. To fence 150 yards inside would mean losing paddy fields and orchards, and being cut off from routes that families have used for decades.
The new proposal seeks to square that circle. The Centre would fund the purchase of entire border villages, the state would acquire the land, and fencing could then proceed without forcing individual evictions. Around 90 percent of Meghalaya’s border fencing is already complete. What remains are precisely these complex pockets where security needs and human settlement overlap.
Yet buying land is not the same as buying consent. The people of Dawki, Lyngkhat and Lyngkhong have lived on the border for generations. Their economy depends on farming and on cross-border commerce. A fair and generous compensation package can address economic loss, but it cannot automatically replace social ties, community identity, or the sense of belonging to land held by ancestors.
There are also practical concerns. If large stretches are acquired and left empty, they risk becoming neglected spaces. BSF personnel may restrict civilian movement near the fence, which could end long-standing market linkages. At the same time, unfenced sections have already brought repeated crop theft and damage by intruders, causing real hardship to farmers. For border residents, security is not an abstract demand. It is about protecting the next harvest.
That is why the proposal deserves serious consideration, but also careful negotiation. The Central Government must not view this as a simple land transaction to fulfill a policy drafted in New Delhi. The State Government must ensure that any acquisition is voluntary, transparent and adequately compensated, and that rehabilitation plans address livelihoods, not just land value.
Border fencing is necessary for national security and for protecting farmers from recurring losses. But in Meghalaya, it cannot come at the cost of erasing border communities. If the Centre accepts the proposal and approaches it with sensitivity, it could resolve a decades-old impasse. The land would be secured, the fence could be completed, and families would not be made refugees in their own state.
Whether that happens will depend on how quickly and how fairly both governments can persuade the people who live on the line that security and home can coexist.
