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| People's opinion on people's struggle |
| Tuesday June 30, 2009 |
| I haven't been to Lalgarh. But I have travelled to other regions of this country where naxal violence has acquired the nature of a routine story - states like Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Bihar, Andhra Pradesh, and a small corner of Maharashtra. My forays into these 'Naxal affected' areas did not happen out of design - I didn't go there to chase Naxals, or to report on bloodshed and deaths. I went there to look at issues of life and livelihood. But in some parts of the country, as I found, it is impossible to separate the two. Take for instance, Bastar, once India's largest district, larger than the state of Kerala, it has always held a mythical appeal to anyone interested in India's forest dwelling tribes. Half a century ago, anthropologist Verrier Elwin spent almost a decade here, and his seminal work on the Ghotul of the Muria Gonds makes for fascinating reading even today; never mind, that for a modern day anthropologist, finding a Ghotul and researching the life of young tribal people today, would be a high risk venture, given the presence of the naxals, who reportedly have a disdain for traditional tribal models, and would like to dismantle an institution that promotes deviant sexuality. But while for some, naxal presence may inhibit the exploration of Bastar, for others, it makes the place an even more potent site of enquiry. And so, in 2005, when I was given the mandate of doing a series of reports looking at the implications of a proposed 'Forest Rights Bill' for tribals, I knew where I wanted to go. My camera colleague and I began in the North Bastar, venturing close to the famed deep forest of Abhujmadh, to look at how tribals were being denied access to their own resource base, the jungle, which in any case was disappearing fast, as bamboo plantations by the forest department were supplanting centuries old Sal trees. Along the way, we did not run into Naxals, but into a police jeep, or to put it better, its remnants. A short distance away, in Narayanpur town, a government office too had been blasted. We were told the Naxals had called for a 'Daman Virodhi Saptah' or a week long Bandh to protest against exploitation. Exploitation. A pregnant word and a concept easy to understand in this region. Earlier that week, at Jagdalpur's criminal court, we had come across horror stories of poor tribals booked and tried for years, for the 'offence' of taking firewood from the forest, while the administration was not just 'legally' allowed to fell timber, the police and the forest guards would connive to smuggle it illegally. I knew the Indian state had failed its tribes. But as I discovered, their so called 'saviours' were no better. The Naxals had timed the Daman Virodhi Saptah to the Tendu patta collection season. The Tendu leaf, used to roll beedis, may be part of rest of India's addictions, but for the tribal, it constitutes a staple, as selling Tendu leaves is his main source of annual money income. And it can be plucked only during a short window of time - just about a fortnight. A fortnight when the naxals choose to call for a bandh. And for a reason. Ostensibly, it was aimed at getting a better price for the adivasi, who as we know well enough, is routinely cheated by contractors, who give him a pittance for valuable forest produce that is further sold in city markets for a killing. There was little to argue against a movement that would bring fair price to adivasis. But here was the twist. In the garb of demanding fair price for poor tribals, the Naxals were holding the Tendu trade to ransom, negotiating deals with contractors, asking for a percentage of their profits - hafta as the word goes, and it ran into crores. Again, Naxal apologists may not find anything wrong here - why not plunder the rich to give to the poor? Except this classic robinhood image bestowed on the Naxal by a section of the urban elite, had long ceased to exist on the ground (whether it ever did, requires a more detailed historical mapping of the naxal movement, beyond the scope of this current account, which is based on travels in the last five years). To stay with our Bastar journey, as we moved past Narayanpur town, and went in deeper, arriving in a village, I did what now after more travel and experience, I might not do : I asked people, bluntly and outrightly, whether they were supporting the Naxal bandh. And what I got as a response was an eye opener. An old man took me inside his hut, and a small group gathered there, and in faint whispers we were told that they felt badly trapped. With naxals calling for bandh, their hope of making some money was withering away along with the tendu leaves. But they could do nothing. The 'dada log' would kill them if they overstepped their diktat. The 'dada log', as you may have guessed, is what the tribals call the Naxals. But didn't they want a better price? And wasn't the police the main oppressor? They said: yes, it was true the police often detained and tortured them, suspecting them to be Naxal supporters, but so did the 'dada log', who believed they were police informers. And while it was still possible to challenge the police, it was impossible to disagree with the 'dada log'. They don't listen, they just kill. We were in the middle of the conversation, and I was struck by the vivid descriptions of violence, and transfixed by the expressions of fear, that it came as a slight jolt, when the same old man who had brought us in, intervened and in a panic stricken voice, begged us to leave. The 'dada log' would have heard by now, they would be on their way. Please go, he urged. We were escorted out, our driver instructed on the route that we should take to safety. I felt a rush of gratitude but also palpable grief at the double onslaught on a poor tribal region - first a plunderous state, and then a ruthless state enemy. It has now become a cliche to describe people as caught between the two but that is exactly the lived reality of most people, who have become passive props in an explosively violent conflict. This is not to deny the tribals political agency - it is true that some of them, specially from the more martial tribes, have chosen to enlist as Maoist guerillas to fight the state. But equally, there are many who detest the way the Maoist leaders, 'outsiders', have brought conflict into their region, imposing their will, keeping out the state and its agencies which have belatedly shown interest in bringing some measure of development to these regions. Most of all, tribals resent the economic diktats of the Naxals, and so when the tendu collection season failed in 2005, it sparked off an upsurge against Naxals in the south of Bastar, becoming the trigger for the anti-Naxal movement Salwa Judum. Much can be said about the flawed nature of Salwa Judum, and already enough has: the dangers of arming civilians, escalation of violence, abdication of state responsibility to fight Naxals, etc, etc. But I wonder what makes our intellectuals far less emboldened to point out the fraudulence of any portrayal of Naxalism as 'a people's struggle'. Last year, I met and interviewed an eminent sociologist who was part of the campaign against Salwa Judum. Speaking privately, he conceded that Naxals have been ruling parts of Bastar by force and not by the willing support of the people, and that Salwa Judum did have its origins in a popular rebellion against Naxals, but when the camera began rolling, he turned queasy, preferring to side step my questions. As he explained, he wanted to continue his research in Bastar, and could not afford to alienate Naxals. A case of human fear or sheer intellectual dishonesty? What then about ordinary people living under the shadow of the gun? Is it possible to ever find out the true 'people's opinion'? In any case, the old man and his hut is where I first heard 'people's opinion' on 'people's struggle'. It may not constitute the entire body of public opinion but it is an important strand. And it stayed with me, as I found myself in other regions and other states, confronted with similar stories of how Naxals initially appeared as 'saviours', winning the respect and support of poor people by championing their cause, but then belied their trust by revealing an even more ruthless and dictatorial streak than the much maligned Indian state. For a perspective on the Maoist agenda, and the dangers of romanticising their ideology and action, read this interview of Ajay Sahni, by Radhika Bordia. Sahni explains how the maoist is not interested in addressing problems, but uses 'development deficits' to further his agenda. And take a look at this latest report from Lalgarh. Monideepa Banerjie reports on how the so called 'champions of tribals' have ended up making them victims of violence. Also watch these two recent editions of Witness - Liberating Lalgarh and Conflict's Footnotes. Apology note: The sociologist I interviewed was earlier incorrectly mentioned as being 'part of the group that had petitioned the Supreme Court asking for the withdrawal of Salwa Judum'. I deeply regret the factual error. Sincere apologies to Ramachandra Guha and Nandini Sundar, the two sociologists who are petitioners in the case and who have been misrepresented on account of my error. But I stand by the rest of the contents of the article. The sociologist interviewed may not be a petitioner in the case, but he has been actively part of the campaign against Salwa Judum and while he took a nuanced view on the conflict in Bastar, on record, he wanted to only comment on state atrocities and not on Naxal violence. |
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Supriya Sharma is a roving reporter who, in the last six years, has moved base from Mumbai, to Bihar, and recently Delhi. She is now based in Ahmedabad.
