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Journalism of Courage
Imagine some Left wing group violently targeted some rich suburbs of Delhi, selectively killing civilians and security personal. Civil society began to debate the causes of this violence. Some saw it purely as a law and order problem, others saw its origins in the lack of inclusive growth, while others still saw it as a bit of both. Meanwhile, instead of crafting a clear strategy to deal with the unconscionable, but still preventable violence of the Left wing groups, the state told the residents of these suburbs: we will not defend you. We will orchestrate the creation of a private army amongst you. We will arm you. And you have free rein to take whatever steps necessary. Again civil society was in two minds. Some saw this as clear abdication by the state of its core sovereign function: providing security to every citizen. Others still, succumbed to the self-fulfilling argument from necessity and supported the state’s open encouragement of vigilantism.
But as arms began to flow to this vigilante army, the violence increased rather than diminished. What should have been a contest between small unacceptable groups and the state has turned into a full-fledged local civil war. The open encouragement of violence began to empower the worst elements in society and give free rein to all kinds of atrocities. Instead of being a force for defence, this private army unleashed a murderous spree of its own. In the name of self-defence against Left wing groups, this army began to indiscriminately target neighbouring suburbs, evicting people and ruining their property.
Unspeakable atrocities were committed against women and children. In the ensuing violence thousands of people were evicted and herded into camps, ostensibly for their own safety. In the complete vacuum of authority created by the state, the militarisation of society increased at a gallop, with children being inducted into these private armies. The scenes that started emerging looked like they were the stereotypical images of a small country in the midst of a brutal civil war: children armed for combat, the displacement of tens of thousands of people and a general brutalisation of society. But the political class seemed more oblivious to this. It defended this brutal private army as a spontaneous uprising, justified the decimation of whole ways of life in the name of combating Left wing violence. All this in order to throw a cloak over the state’s near complete abdication of its responsibilities.
One wishes that this story were a fantasy. Alas, something like this is happening right now. The only difference is that the people affected are not rich suburban dwellers: they are poor, marginalised tribals in Chhattisgarh. The entire Salwa Judum episode, which is now a subject of a PIL in the Supreme Court, recounts the broad outline of this story. In the past there have been, particularly in Kashmir and the Northeast, entities like village defence committees that have stepped into the vacuum created by the state. But never before has the state openly licensed private groups and given them carte blanche to brutalise society. Dantewara district is an example of what can happen when the state voluntarily gives up its core responsibilities. The lives being destroyed there are well documented by many independent sources; and a committee of the Commission on the Rights of Children is apparently due to submit a report soon.
Salwa Judum, the entity the state helped create to combat Naxalism, is an example of a cure that is far worse than the disease it was ostensibly designed to combat. It violates every principle of domestic and international law. The state has a responsibility to protect. It cannot outsource that function to private armies, for whose actions it takes no responsibility. Even in anti-insurgency operations the state has a moral obligation to preserve the distinction between combatants and non-combatants. And a democratic state cannot sit idly while tens of thousands of people are displaced. The displaced of Dantewara are as much citizens as inhabitants of Delhi suburbs would be. In leaving them at the mercy of the Salwa Judum, we have licensed a self-defeating practical policy. We have violated the bedrock norm of Indian constitutionalism: equality of citizenship.
There is no doubt that Naxalism constitutes an enormous and growing menace to Indian democracy. There is something deeply offensive about the easy exoneration of Naxal violence that comes from some quarters. But we have to be clear about a couple of things. First, the state has had no clear strategy for dealing with this violence. Indeed, one of the remarkable things is its fundamental confusion over what it wants to do. To use the only metaphor that gets traction these days, it gets bull and bear runs mixed up. It tries conciliation, but just when that seems to be working, it withdraws from talks and opts for a police solution. Even more frequently, just when anti-Naxal operations seem to be on the verge of paying off, these operations are mysteriously suspended. It would be foolish to pretend that this is an easy problem to tackle. But it would be equally foolish not to wonder about the state’s strategic intent. It is almost as if Naxalism, like so many other insurgencies, has become an ineluctable part of the political economy of some regions, with wide state complicity sustaining it.
It is a measure of our hypocrisy that the Salwa Judum is not subject to more public outrage. Chhattisgarh is not strategically important like Kashmir or the Northeast. Nor is it part of a politically charged narrative like Nandigram. But that should not be taken to imply that the crisis is not more serious. In some ways it is a more serious case of the state wiling itself to wither away. And we ought not to fall to the blackmail that because the Salwa Judum was set up as an anti-Naxal front, it deserves our sympathy. Indeed, all the signs are that the Salwa Judum may produce a political alienation that is far more explosive for Chhattisgarh’s long-term well being. But more importantly, there can simply be no excuse for sponsoring private armies that exacerbate violence and victimise citizens. The Supreme Court has often used the argument that maintenance of law and order is a constitutional obligation of the state. For a state so hung up on the idea of sovereignty, abdicating its core sovereign function is nothing short of scandalous. Even more scandalous is the consequence: thousands of displaced people, with little prospect of returning home, and brutalised by a violence unleashed in the name of protecting them.
The writer is president, Centre for Policy Research pratapbmehta@yahoo.co.in
