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Journalism of Courage
Kokrajhar is a small town in western Assam, famous for its local dance, the Bagurumba, and its skilled bamboo artisans. But for the last few years its cultural heritage has been eclipsed by its newfound status as “conflict-ridden” and “unsafe”. Last year, when ethnic conflicts broke out in the town, Aniruddha Barua arrived in Kokrajhar with his artist friends to a climate thick with curfew. “The schools had been converted into military camps. The children were locked indoors and the streets ran empty,” says Barua.
Over the next four months, the artists stayed with the Bodo locals, worked in their farms, distilled their liquor, weaved their clothes and made friends. Once the locals came to trust them, Barua and his friends did what they’d come to do: build a community house, roping in the skilled artisans the town was once known for. “We wanted to rebuild the community. The house now functions as a children’s library and activity centre,” says Barua.
This project, “My India My Home” by the artist collective The Yellow Cab, founded by 25-year-old Barua, is one in many and the documentation of which through photos has resulted in an exhibition in Mumbai Art Room in Colaba.
Titled, “56 Years of Hate Bites” and on till November 30, it chronicles the struggle of the residents in areas declared “conflicted” by the Central Government under the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) of 1958. The act, which has been under heavy criticism from human rights activists for years, becomes Barua’s theme.
A graduate from the Government Art College in Guwahati, Barua has been a part of Clark House Initiative in Mumbai, which funded “My India My Home”. The project comprises select photographs, paintings and installations by Barua clicked and created respectively over the last three years. At 22 he received the Inlaks Artist Award. “I would see students my age out on the street, protesting day and night. I was ashamed that I wasn’t a part of my generation’s battle,” he says.
In response, Barua took to the streets in Manipur and reached out to the youth, getting them to narrate stories of anger. Some spoke of their fathers or brothers being arrested or the ones who had gone missing, watching their mothers and sisters dragged out of the house and abused. Others of being dislocated. “Loss was all they had in common,” says Barua as he recounts the story behind the painting across the gallery wall, of a girl holding a placard that reads ‘When Can I Go Home?’ Forced to leave Manipur by her parents, she was sent to Delhi where racial discrimination forced her to move to Mumbai. “She doesn’t know where home is anymore,” he says.
In another work Barua discusses the plight of the children brought up in conflict. In his “map” of Manipur, a school’s outline is studded with bullets made of chalk. Next to it is a calendar, with most months in red, marking the times the school was shut due to conflict. “The schools share their campuses with the military. Guns, bullets and curfews are a daily presence. Children know about the AFSPA, Irom Sharmila and when to pack their bags and reach home quickly.”
Today he admits that the rest of the country is waking up to the conflict of the Northeast. “But the problem is deep-rooted. The areas are termed conflicted by the AFSPA, but the act itself leads to further conflict. There are no winners here, only victims.”
amruta.lakhe@expressindia.com
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