View of Kohima town. (Morung File Photo)
The Right to Livelihood and the Right to the City
Vizokhole Ltu
Senior Research Associate (NESRC)
Recently, Shillong made headlines following the Meghalaya government’s move – carried out under the directives of the Meghalaya High Court– to decongest the city, particularly on the Khyndailad (Police Bazaar) area. The decision sparked strong resistance, especially from displaced vendors and hawkers’ unions and social justice advocates, who argue that the right to livelihood should not be sacrificed in the name of urban aesthetics or infrastructural development (Highland Post, 2025). As cities continue to expand and shift – whether for better or worse – new tensions are likely to emerge, adding to the challenges already present in many urban areas across the Northeast and India as a whole. Urban centres throughout the country have long struggled to strike a balance between formal urban planning and the integration of informal economies. This issue is particularly pronounced in the Northeast, where much of the population depends on a subsistence economy.
Small street vendors – predominantly women from neighbouring villages of urban areas – play a vital role in the urban economy by supplying essential daily goods, including seasonal fruits and vegetables, as well as locally sourced and wild produce. For these women, street vending offers a sustainable means of livelihood, though they often operate on slim margins and without institutional support or protection. The lack of space or poor planning allocated in urban development often reflects the invisibility of street vendors within policy discourse, leaving them in a precarious position – vulnerable to exploitation by larger, more stable traders, law enforcement, and at times even the public. A clear example can be seen in the heart of Mon town, where Wuhan market, a government-constructed marketing shed stands isolated between two major roads-Tuensang-Mon-Naginimora and Namtola-Mon – without any designated parking or direct access from either road. Although the designated market is only a five-minute walk away, its location discourages buyers from going there. The market is accessible only via a steep staircase below the traffic point from the Tuensang-Mon-Naginimora road or a narrow one-way lane from the Mon-Namtola stretch. As a result, very few women vendors set up their produce in the designated marketing shed, often with few or no buyers. The majority of women are forced to shift and sell their goods along the rugged Mon-Namtola roadside to attract buyers – an act that authorities frequently regard as a public obstruction and a violation of regulations.
Inadequate infrastructure and mismanagement only compound the daily struggles faced by women street vendors. For instance, the market situated above the local ground, Mon town – entirely operated by women – remains in a deplorable state. During the dry season, the area becomes dusty and uneven, while in the monsoon, it turns into a muddy, slippery terrain, making it nearly impossible to maintain basic hygiene or comfort. These harsh physical conditions also expose the vendors to a range of health risks, as they are forced to endure long hours in the open – braving rain, heat, dust, and cold without any form of shelter or sanitation. Despite their critical role in sustaining the local economy and providing essential goods, these women continue to work under precarious and undignified conditions, with little institutional recognition or support.
Poor and basic infrastructures also create layered disparities and subtle forms of exploitation when it comes to accessing vending spaces even among small vendors. A notable divide exists between vendors who are permanent residents of the town/city and those who travel from neighbouring villages – often cultivators bringing their own produce. The latter, lacking a permanent residence in the city or town, are at a disadvantage in securing consistent or visible spaces to sell. Without institutional support or local connections, these itinerant vendors frequently face marginalisation – not only from authorities but sometimes from fellow vendors as well – highlighting the complex hierarchies and inequalities that exist even within the informal economy. For instance, local residents at Mon town observed how women vendors in the town purchased produce from neighbouring villages at minimal rates – often exploiting the lack of alternative buyers – and then resell them at significantly marked-up prices within the town. This practice, according to critics, limits market diversity, reduces affordability for local consumers, and creates an uneven playing field for other potential vendors.
On the other hand, authorities believe that these vendors not only create public disorder and inconvenience but frequently violate safety regulations and hygiene standards, often operating according to self-imposed rules that disrupt order and lead to confrontations. “We’ve instructed the vendors to cover their produce and essentials while selling, and to use raised wooden platforms to maintain hygiene,” stated an official at the Deputy Commissioner’s office, Mon town. “However, they often fail to comply. When inspections are carried out, they follow the guidelines for a few days, but soon revert to old practices. We’ve even issued penalties on occasion, yet many continue to engage in these unhygienic methods.”
Urban spaces are increasingly becoming indifferent to the presence and needs of women vendors who play a crucial role in sustaining the local economy in state like Nagaland. Take for instance, in the capital city of Kohima, several strategic locations – such as BOC, PR Hill, TCP Gate, Local Ground, Keziekie, Razhu point, Phoolbari, High School Junction, and PWD Colony – have begun pushing out women vendors from nearby villages. These women typically travel to the capital city to sell surplus produce and return home the same day. These marketplaces, often situated near Sumo or Bus stands, have historically served as accessible hubs for women from various communities. For example, the BOC market often features produce – though not exclusively – from Southern Angami and Mao villages; places like Keziekie, Chandmari, and PWD host vendors from the Lotha and Rengma communities; while TCP Gate is frequented by sellers from Western Angami areas. However, a combination of shrinking urban space and growing apathy from both authorities and the public has made it increasingly difficult for these women to sustain their livelihoods. With limited or no designated vending areas, many are compelled to sell their produce at wholesale rates just to clear stock – further reducing their already slim profit margins. Besides, these spaces lack even basic infrastructure such as public toilet for the vendors to relieve themselves, forcing them to work long hours without access to basic sanitation facilities.
Urban spaces in the Northeast embody a distinctive and often chaotic informality, where issues of legality, public order, urban planning, design, and livelihood intersect in complex and frequently conflicting ways. How, then, do we navigate these complex and growing tensions in our urban spaces? How can we ensure that development does not come at the cost of exclusion, and that accessibility is not a privilege reserved for a few? There is an urgent need to reimagine urban planning and governance in ways that actively include marginalised communities – particularly informal women vendors who form the backbone of local economies. Ensuring their right to livelihood must be treated not as a barrier to progress, but as a fundamental aspect of inclusive and sustainable urban development. Protecting their access to public spaces, providing basic infrastructure, and engaging them in decision-making processes are crucial steps toward building cities that are not only efficient, but equitable.
