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| The Men who took on Modi |
| Monday September 14, 2009 , Ahmedabad, India |
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| A petition that successfully takes on the government anywhere in India is usually an opportunity for either of two standard journalistic devices to come into play - an interview of the 'heroic' petitioner, or better still, his or her 'profile'. I found neither in the newspapers here in Gujarat. The ban on Jaswant Singh's book had come and gone. But the men who had petitioned the High Court against it were neither to be seen nor heard - except in a mandatory newspaper quote. Curiosity finally led me to the home of one of them - writer Manishi Jani. Reclining on the trademark Gujarati jhula, with a mug of tea, newspapers, and a relaxed air, Jani went on to demolish any fears and suspicion on the 'silence' of the media, by offering an explanation for why the local newspapers might not have featured him: possibly since he is already well known enough in the state ! That could well be true. A prominent writer, Jani is the president of Gujarati Lekhak Mandal, a trade union of sorts that protects writers and their interests, usually against film and TV producers stealing their stories. But this was a case not of private theft, but of the state taking away freedom - so what made him intervene? "Fanaa and Parzania were banned informally. But the ban on Jaswant Singh's book was by official order. We felt we needed to challenge it in court." The 'we' included co-petitioner Prakash Shah, a former newspaper editor and political scientist, and their young lawyers. "I must clarify that the initiative for the petition came from the lawyers. One of them is my nephew. Prakash and I signed up as petitioners since we have public stature and recognition. It would be far more difficult for the government to harass us. After all, Prakash has shared space in jail with Narendra Modi during the emergency protests." But with such formidable credentials, why did the group, or others like them, not express their views in the newspapers? Personal stories of the petitioners might be superfluous, but surely their opinion and arguments should be available in public space. "We drafted a statement of protest on the day the ban was imposed. Seven organizations signed it. We sent it to all the newspapers. Almost no one published it." Jani was matter of fact as he stated this. He even laughed briefly. Then he went on to confirm, with specific instances, what is otherwise easy to suspect - that the ban on a book in Gujarat is just a flamboyant and 'official' version of the mundane, routine, 'unofficial' silencing of dissent in the state; its natural target being the media. Jani should know. Several journalists in the state are his students from the years he taught development communication. Development communication, as it turns out, is just one of the many landmarks, in Jani's trajectory, that fits into that uniquely Indian 'liberal socialist' mould: firebrand student activist in the seventies, Dalit poet in the eighties, worked in community television and development communication, till finally, two years ago, he became part of an attempt to revive the progressive writers movement in Gujarat. One of the reasons Jani felt strongly about state diktats against writers was his own experience in 1981, when along with six others, he faced criminal action by the state congress government for writing and publishing a special edition of Dalit poetry. "All we had done was publish a special issue of our magazine 'Aakrosh', on the case of a Dalit youth being murdered on charges of stealing a watch." Those were the years when, like neighbouring Maharashtra, Gujarat too was witnessing radical Dalit resistance that Hindutva politics subsequently not just managed to blunt, but also hijack. "During the riots in Gujarat, Dalit youth often led the killings of Muslims. In fact, if you look at the geography of a city like Ahmedabad, Dalits and Muslims live next to each other, away from the Hindu middle class areas. And so when riots broke out, all the violence unfolded at a safe distance from the areas of the upper caste Hindus. In fact, even in my locality, there isn't a single Muslim family." So how does it feel to live in 'an intolerant society'? "Every stereotype has some truth. We all know what has happened here. The intolerance in Gujarat is for all to see. Modi might exemplify the worst of it, but it is not limited to just one political party. " Jani paused. "But while this may be the big picture, there is a lot more happening at the ground level - struggle over land, rights, other issues - these stories go unnoticed." Also gone unnoticed so far is the story of Jani, Shah and the lawyers. It is easy to understand why the local media has avoided it. But it is difficult to figure out why it hasn't been picked up by the national media. Perhaps because it does not fit into the prevailing meta narrative of a 'fascist' state, where the champions of justice come from outside, from Delhi and Bombay, since - as scholarly opinion has rued - the Gujarati 'liberal' voice is dead. It is not. What's more, it is gentle, and as you see in the picture, comes from a smiling man who is Gujarati enough to conduct even the most radical business perched on a traditional Gujarati jhula. |
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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.
