Prayaag Akbar

The words we speak and the worlds we make

2011-07-31T01:33:00.000-07:00

I was walking down a rain-whipped Bandstand with a friend at a little past twelve the other night when she asked me something.

"Tell me a good book to read?"

Perhaps it was the rain, or the ocean to our right, or the young couples we were crossing even this late at night, but the scene reminded me of the opening sequence of Manu Joseph's Serious Men, when the author manages to drop you straight into the midst of Mumbai's teeming, beaming heart.

"Have you read Serious Men?"

"No. What is it about?"

"Well, in a sense it's about Bombay. But it's also about two men, a scientist and his peon," I said. A beat, while I evaluated my statement. "Well actually, it's about a peon and his scientist."

We both laughed.

There are two aspects of this exchange worth commenting upon, both linked to how systematic and casual denigration is in our everyday language. Serious Men takes a close look at Indian society, and one of the admirable things about it is that Joseph manages in no ham-handed fashion to show India through its most ubiquitous prism, caste. Ayyan Mani, the peon, is a Dalit – Joseph's emphasis on this aspect of his identity is vital because it is his identity's most vital aspect – the determinant of his future, his present and his past, and also, crucially, the determinant of the course of his son's life. When I was recommending the book, in that brief moment we take to make these decisions before we speak, I chose not to use the word "Dalit" to describe Mani. I thought about this later and realised why: it was a night untouched by worldly concerns, and I did not want to misrepresent the book, a dark but humorous tale. In that instant, I decided "Dalit" would conjure a sense of pathos far from what I imagine was the author's intention.

Ayyan Mani, the peon, is a Dalit. The labels we use so casually, "Dalit", "chamar", "bhangi", "peon", they have all become almost interchangeable in upper-class parlance. That is how far we have sunk, or how little we have risen

But in another sense I also did not need to use the word "Dalit". Think of the peons you know, the ones that serve tea in your office, walking from desk to desk, cabin to cabin, pouring out in tiny doses the caffeine our vaunted industry surfs on. In my experience, especially if they are young men straight from the village, there is a meekness to their demeanour, eyes cast downward; too often there is surprise and suspicion when they receive the smallest kindnesses. I have never asked any peon I have worked with the caste he belongs to, but to me, in the urban life I lead, far from highway construction and jhuggis, this interaction – peon and office-worker – is the small intersection between my life and the life of the Dalit. I did not use both "Dalit" and "peon" because I did not need to.

The labels we use so casually, "Dalit", "chamar", "bhangi", "peon", they have all become almost interchangeable in upper-class parlance. That is how far we have sunk, or how little we have risen.

The second aspect relates to the reason we both laughed at that moment. We laughed because of the unusualness of the second construction I'd made. A peon and his scientist. It is not the near Nobel-winning scientist but Ayyan Mani, and his aspirations for a better life for his son, that are the central explorations of this novel (something I really liked, though a few arbiters of the caste discourse in India felt it a distasteful portrayal). I changed my statement second time around to reflect that centrality. But to reverse the possessor in the sentence that way (from scientist's peon to peon's scientist) struck our ears immediately as a great absurdity, one that provoked a short, embarrassed laughter.

In the first chapter of The Razor's Edge, Somerset Maugham writes, "It is very difficult to know people and I don't think one can ever really know any but one's own countrymen. For men and women are not only themselves; they are also the region in which they are born, the city apartment or the farm in which they learned to walk...The mess English writers make when they try to do this is only equalled by the mess American writers make when they try to reproduce English as it is spoke in English."

Maugham is pointing to one of the great problems of the novelist: capturing the cadence of a geographical space, its inherently prescribed mores and its most intimate patterning. The language we speak is always – always – the subtlest of reflections of the life that we see around us. It gives indication of basic societal understandings; those things we accept as givens. In India, it is only natural for a scientist to own a peon. But for a peon to own a scientist – now that is laughable.

Growing up with Husain

2011-06-13T00:57:00.000-07:00

Growing up with Husain
By Prayaag Akbar

My first memory of M.F. Husain is not of the man himself, but of a story I used to delight in telling as a child to every visitor to our home. Whenever any of my parents’ friends would come over I would drag them to the room my older sister and I shared and point to a wonderful sketch Husain had made that hung adjacent to our bunk bed. As I was a particularly obnoxious little fellow, it would give me great pleasure to describe in vivid detail a mistake my sister still counts as amongst the worst she has made.

I am looking at a photograph of the sketch now. It is a simple, charming piece: two horses galloping alongside each other, their bodies in perfect tandem, only their heads at different angles. They seem, strangely, to be running in some sort of glass chamber – at least, that is what I make of the two bars that run vertically down the sketch. And then on one side, oblivious of the hoofs thundering towards her, a young girl stands proud and serene, legs slightly apart, a star-topped wand in her hand. Husain made the sketch for my sister when she was around 7. He made it while sitting in the living room of our Ballygunj apartment, using the prized Caran d’Ache colour pencil set my father had returned with from a trip abroad.

Being 7, and possessed of a simplicity that belies her Cambridgified future, my sister decided Husain had not done himself justice in the manner in which he had signed his name. So she decided to sign it for him, with black felt pen, right on top of Husain’s own rendition of his name. Now, on one side, instead of the signature that is prized the world over, in my sister’s childhood scrawl reads: “Made by Hussan. For Diy with love”. And then, mysteriously, “II, III”. My sister is still to live this one down, and not only because she managed to misspell both of their names.

I realise now that, quite apart from the opportunity to ridicule my sister, the sketch had a strange hold over me as a child. What a wonderful gift to give a young girl, and how well it illustrates the quickness of imagination and clarity of spirit great artists must possess. Husain, colour pencil in hand, constructed a tableau that could easily give a young girl nightmares; any viewer should only naturally think the girl in the picture is about to be trampled. But somehow he manages to invest in that girl a great strength. She is not worried about the beasts charging towards her. In fact, she seems to beckon them with her outstretched wand, to guide them to a canter. Well before my sister had encountered ideas like feminism and empowerment, she had a little signpost of feminine capability hanging next to her bed.

Over the years he gave her a few more sketches, though she did not quite succeed in mangling the rest. He never bothered giving me one – with an artist’s sensitivity, he could perhaps tell that I would end up selling it some day for beer money. But this did not stop me from loving his work, especially the pieces that have decorated the walls of every house I have considered home since I was born. All these were gifts from the great man himself; like Picasso, Husain was an inveterate gifter of his work, something that has caused much consternation amongst those who collect his work for its monetary value.

There was one piece in particular, a giant watercolour from the Raaj series (it featured a young, Ascot-hatted Memsahib playing polo with her brown servant) that I used to come home from school and copy in my notebook time and again. I think back to that now and can only marvel at my good fortune; indeed, if today I were a painter of note, instead of someone who can’t get stick figure drawings right, I’m sure people would count that amongst my formative experiences.

I believe M.F. Husain and my parents became friends while he lived in Calcutta. He would come over to our house sometimes, causing great pandemonium in our building. He wanted help with what I think is known as the Assassination series, a set of paintings he was doing centred on the killings of prominent political leaders from over the world. My father was supplying him with the political background to those deaths, and they would sit and have lengthy addas about political dynamics and cause and consequence. Most of this went over my head, but I would sit there with them, utterly fascinated by this shirt-pant sadhu and his undulating beard. Not knowing much of the artistic process, I cannot say how much of those discussions made it into the work he produced in that phase. But Husain had the thirst for understanding common to all intelligent people denied a formal education. He sought at every phase of his life to enrich not only his art but to challenge his very view of the world.

This is why the manner in which the screaming lunatics disposed of him is so hard to accept. It does not need repeating here that Husain loved India; it is visible in his every work. At a time when artists the world over were rejecting concepts like nationalism – and his own contemporaries had chosen the more conducive climes of Paris and New York – Husain preferred to remain amidst the sounds and smells and sharpness of the country of his birth. And in many ways, Husain’s body of work is a chronicle of contemporary India. While other artists delve into India’s past culture, Husain immersed himself in the India he saw around him, and the work he produced was always rooted to this view. I heard today that, exiled in Qatar, Husain’s final work was to return him to a city he loved dearly, Calcutta, and that it would be about the rise of Mamata.

Even his lingering obsession with Madhuri Dixit was perhaps nothing but a reflection of one of our national fixations. He was, of course, delightfully aware of the foolishness of his fancies. Many of the paintings of the Madhuri series are emblazoned with the following couplet, a rhyme I read when I was thirteen years old and that came back to me as soon as I learned of his death: “In the eighth decade of Maqbool Fida, yeh kaunsa mod hain umra ka?”

Dousing India in Kerosene

2011-03-24T04:48:00.000-07:00

Dousing India in Kerosene
By Prayaag Akbar

In English, August, Upamanyu Chatterjee's superb novel about a year in the life of a young Stephanian who has just joined the Civil Service, there is a revealing passage where the District Collector of Madna, Ravi Srivastava, refers to a sweaty underling of theirs as "just a promotee". In the uniquely abstruse language of the Indian Adminstrative Service, a promotee is someone who joins the Service via promotion from one of the lower grades of the Administrative Services, usually State-level; an officer who has not cleared the much-hyped annual Civil Service exam but works his way up the ladder. It is testament to Chatterjee's skill as a novelist that he is able to show through a single throwaway remark the sneering disregard officers of Srivastava's ilk have for these junior officers. But, having come through the State ranks, often these junior officers are the ones who know the areas they serve best. Their knowledge of the minutiae of the political, social – and criminal – dynamic in an area can be of invaluable aid to the Collectors and Additional District Collectors who hop from posting to posting around the country. Additional Collector of Malegaon Yashwant Sonawane was one of these "promotees".

"This matter will be taken very seriously. He was a very upright officer and this probe will continue until we take all the required action." - P. Velarasu, District Collector, Malegaon.

Smack in the middle of that quote crops up another favourite word in the IAS lexicon, though their officers have less cause to use it: "upright". From the use of this adjective, the astute reader will immediately understand that Sonawane, in contrast to the wide majority of his colleagues, was impeccably honest, dilligent and guided by such foolish values as patriotic pride and right and wrong. A look at his years in government reveals that Sonawane was all that and much more; it is open to conjecture, but it is just as likely that he was not only the most "upright" officer in Malegaon, but in all of Maharashtra.

By every account Sonawane was a truly remarkable man. Born into a poverty-line poor rural Dalit family, he managed after college to get himself a job as a clerk in the Mantralaya in 1988. In 1994 he cleared the state civil services exam, where he worked dutifully for fifteen years before being promoted to the IAS rank of Additional Collector in Malegaon.

Recognising that one of the major impediments to development in Malegaon was Hindu-Muslim tension, he worked hard to reduce the faultline, campaigning hard for a branch of Aligarh Muslim University to be set up there. He was also the driving force behind a plan to set up a unit of Maharashtra Industrial Development Corporation there. If his life had not been so cruelly interrupted, he would have had the chance to do a great deal of good in one of India's most troubled areas.

Read more @ Sunday Guardian

The case of the kidnapped collector

2011-03-24T04:45:00.000-07:00

The case of the kidnapped collector
by Prayaag Akbar

The deplorable kidnapping of Malkangiri District Collector Vineel Krishna and junior engineer Pabitra Majhi by Maoists situated somewhere along the Andhra-Orissa border, and the harrowing ongoing hostage crisis that has followed, brings light to a number of the most intractable problems the Indian state faces when attempting to deal with the armed insurgency.

From the Indian state's perspective, its biggest concern is best explained by one of the fundamental problems of Game Theory (and hoary favourite of articles like these), the Prisoner's Dilemma. The Prisoner's Dilemma explains why two rational actors might not cooperate even when it is in their best interests. To cut a lot of nigh-on-indecipherable probability theory short, the logic behind it is that both sets of actors (in this case, the Indian state and the Maoists) lack complete information about the other's motivations. If both mistrust each other, each side ends up choosing the least favourable option available, because of the inherent pressure on both to renege on the agreement.

In this case, after some deliberation, the Indian state prioritised its most favourable outcome, which was to bring District Collector Krishna and junior engineer Majhi home safe. It chose to trust that the Naxalites would fulfill their end of the bargain, and so conceded to all 14 of the demands made. But the Naxals decided they would not keep their end of the bargain, and returned only the junior engineer; custody of the District Collector was their primary bargaining chip, and they chose to extract more from the state.

So how can the Indian state trust this adversary when the majority of prior dealings have ended similarly? What must it do to ensure it does not suffer for choosing the option that, given the initial conditions, would have suited both parties admirably?

It should be noted that the Prisoner's Dilemma is a theoretical tool, at best providing insight into why actors behave the way they do. It does not allow for a number of real-world complexities that cloud almost every instance of hostage-taking (if interested, see Reuben Miller's study of the 1972 Munich Olympics attack). The most urgent difference in the assumptions made above is that the Maoists are not a unitary actor. This is a nebulous collective (if that) of different groups with differing agendum. Clubbing them together can have grievous implications on life and livelihood in the heartland of India, and must be avoided

Delving into ground realities reveals a second disturbing aspect of the case, this one a sharp indictment of the role of the Government of India in this Indian heartland. Take a look at the 14 demands made by the Naxalites on the state. Apart from the (almost mandatory, in hostage situations) demand for prisoner-exchange, much of the rest are demands that have been made on behalf of marginalised communities in India. The Naxals ask for: Scheduled Tribe status for certain Andhra communities; the closure of the multi-purpose Polavaram irrigation project; pattas (record of rights) of dispossessed groups; irrigated water supply to two villages in Malkangiri; compensation to two villagers who claim to have been tortured while in state custody; compensation to farmers living in areas submerged by the Balimela reservoir; better governing laws for the out-of-control bauxite mining industry; and the minimum displacement of tribal groups – and their adequate compensation – when development projects close in on their existence.

Here, then, are the failures of the Indian state placed in sharp relief. Indian citizens are being forced to request manifesto-waving brigands to make what are entirely legitimate demands on the state. These are citizens who feel so disempowered, so disenfranchised, by the industry-state nexus that they feel they must use Naxalites, and by proxy, kidnapping, as a conduit. What is this corner that India has painted its own citizens into?

Additionally, viewing the Prisoner's Dilemma from the Naxalite perspective for a second, they could be entitled to argue that all they have received from the state is a commitment to fulfill their demands, one that might easily be reneged upon once the state functionaries were back home safe. In that case, they might argue that they would be entitled to hold onto the prisoner's until the fulfillment of the 14 demands the Indian state committed to, including long-winded processes like remedying mining laws and putting an end to Operation Green Hunt. After all, the Government of India's track record in providing social justice to the unprivileged is hardly more favourable than the Naxalites track record in keeping their end of bargains.

One final disturbing aspect of the case was the reportage that surrounded it, which could be faulted on two issues. A crude rendition of the manner in which the major national newspapers portrayed the 14 demands of the Naxalites is: "release our Naxalites cronies, plus 13 others." While Times of India did carry an edited list of the demands (on an inside page) the headlines and major chunk of the stories in the national dailies prioritised this solitary diktat. Given the nature of the full set of demands, the media's unwillingness to analyse the Indian state's failure in this regard is shocking. The Naxals ask for an end to Operation Green Hunt. Is the media not required to ask if the Home Minister has now given up on a policy he deemed of paramount importance to national security, even in the diminished form in which it exists today?

Read more @ The Sunday Guardian

Why Mother India is an orphan at the Oscars

2011-03-18T01:29:00.000-07:00

Why Mother India is an orphan at the Oscars
Mother India (1957)
By Prayaag Akbar

The Oscars are back, with all the hysteria only languid blue sexpot aliens (or Morgan Freeman as a smoulderin' Nelson Mandela) can incite. For Indian cinemawallahs, however, this is likely to be yet another year of disappointment: one more Best Foreign Film award slides away, probably to some beret-wearing "auteur" in Spain or Eastern Europe, far from the grasp of Bollywood directors and producers.

Every year the Film Federation of India dutifully proclaims its favourite from the thunderstorm of movies that India produces. The announcement of India's Oscar nominee is greeted with great local – and perhaps localised – excitement, despite the fact that the accolade is usually meaningless. Nine times out of ten (or, to be more accurate, 58 out of the 61 times the award has been given), the Indian movie selected is deemed not good enough to compete with the other efforts on the Best Foreign Film shortlist. In effect, the best movie from India is sent to that same canister in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences where lie films from Kazakhstan, Trinidad, and all those other countries where there is no multibillion-dollar movie industry, there are no world-famous actors, no imported background dancers.

At first this might seem like a failing of the Indian movie industry. We wonder if the film critics of Los Angeles are suffering from that old colonial disease of snobbery. We wonder if they decry the ease with which we intersperse fantasy and reality, song and drama, tragedy and laughter. But things are slowly changing. Increasingly, Los Angeles is beginning to recognise that Indian movies speak to the people they are made for. Yet, the Academy Awards will not search for the best films that come out of India because that award is interested in celebrating something else: the privileged perspective of the United States.

The vast assortment of Hollywood technicians, filmmakers and actors that judge the entries seek movies that correspond with their own politics; they want movies where the noble American saves the world; and they want stories that allow them to reinforce whatever stereotypical notions they have of a foreign nation. Movies that make people think are outside the Oscar matrix.

During the ceremony, "Best Foreign Film" might sound like one of the more arty Academy Awards, but the winner is invariably the cheeseburger of non-American cinema, where every ingredient is easily discernible, and the whole is a mass of uncomplicated, fatty, stereotypical fun.
Over a brief chat, filmmaker Pankaj Butalia (from whom the cheeseburger comparison has been stolen) is extremely insightful: "The Oscars are obsessed with large-scale human drama. A foreign film must either speak of large events, or it must correspond to American political interests. The protagonist must overcome some major adversity, the lowest of the low battling the mightiest forces."

There are distinctions, of course. Films from Western Europe and Canada are allowed more leeway; because the imagery is familiar to an American audience, the cultural ties date back further, and their political interests have been mostly aligned. It is easier, then, for a Western European film to transmit a focused, genuine message without having to resort to crude stereotyping. This perhaps explains the relative success of European films: since 1947, 51 out of the 61 awards have gone to European films, five to Asian films and three to African films. Films from nations in the former Communist bloc have suffered similarly.

The Foreign Film winners from 1999 to 2001 illustrate this point well. In 1999 it was director Pedro Almodovar's classic, All About My Mother, which provides a poignant examination of AIDS, transvestitism and faith in Spain. In 2000 China won with Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, which is a stunning, beautiful film, but fantastical in the extreme, embedded with Orientalist symbolism of flying kung-fu monks and Gengis Khan-type warlords. In 2001, Danis Tanovic's No Man's Land, a dark comedy about the Bosnian war, won, only two years after Clinton bombed the Serbs into submission. In the film, valiant United Nations representatives come to the rescue of three soldiers trapped in No Man's Land: ah yes, precisely what happened, then.

By their nature, the Awards grant Western Europe artistic license the rest of the world is not accorded.

This year, the Film Federation of India chose a delightful Marathi film called Harishchandrachi Factory, the debut film of director Paresh Mokashi. It is the story of Dadasaheb Phalke's struggle in making the first Indian film in 1913. The film is not a "small" story; it is about the birth of Indian cinema, undoubtedly a landmark cultural event, even from a global perspective. But Butalia explains that it could not hope to come close to the shortlist.

"They want caricatured versions of India," he says. "Portraying triumph from abject poverty, or sanitised representations of the anti-colonial struggle. Just like the movie that must emerge from Afghanistan is Kite Runner [in which the Afghan villain, a Talibani, of course, is interested primarily in molesting boys, and the young Hazaari boy requires the goodly Afghan-American to come to his aid] the movie that must emerge from India is the rags-to-untold-riches Slumdog Millionaire. There can be nothing in between."

Dr Arvind Rajagopal, professor of Media Studies at New York University, and an expert on the political effects of representations in popular Indian media, argues that the method of selection inherently denies any movie the opportunity to be a meaningful cultural window. In an e-mail to Guardian20 he writes, "With the Oscar shortlist, it is the U.S. that selects India's ambassador, so the films making it to this list reveal as much about the U.S. as they do about India. Poverty, misery, and the hope of redemption is the formula – and the white man's burden (of uplifting the poor and downtrodden of the world) is expressed in this formula itself, as the filmmaker Paromita Vohra has remarked."

America's privileged political status also plays a part. Dr Rajagopal continues: "Popular culture in the U.S. exhibits little interest in other cultures, except what it can get through stereotypes and clichés. Today in the U.S., Indian films are usually approached in the spirit of cultural tourism. Many Americans are happy to capture the soul of a nation in a few images – or so they may think."

But it remains a fact that almost every international filmmaker cherishes Uncle Oscar's recognition more than any other. So, for those directors in India who want to follow that route, below is a handy guide based on the three Indian films that have made it to the Academy Awards shortlist.

1. MOTHER INDIA: Mother India had unique political advantages. It was 1957, only ten years after Independence, and this tearjerker par extraordinaire was unleashed on an unsuspecting American audience of Hollywood liberals. Recognition was bound to follow for this excellent film, but only because it hit notes they could understand: landlord-peasant conflict and rural indebtedness, coupled with evocative imagery and stellar acting. "This is India," you could hear them say. As Pankaj Butalia says, "It would have won, but it was filled with songs."

Read More @ The Sunday Guardian

Ten things I've learned after 6 months on Twitter

2011-01-09T22:54:00.001-08:00

Ten things I've learned after 6 months on Twitter
By Prayaag Akbar
(In The Sunday Guardian, 2nd January 2011)
Follow Prayaag Akbar on http://twitter.com/unessentialist

10. There are many, many clever, talented people in India. Almost all of them are on Twitter.

9. India has a lot of right-wing-religious-nut-jobs who use this forum to attack reasonable people. They also attack Deepak Chopra.

8. Approximately 125% of South India is on Twitter. They seem to think all North Indians are called Amit.

7. As Joel Stein can confirm, there is no force in Nature as powerful as a seriously outraged Indian sat at a keyboard.

6. The number of sexually charged Indians rampaging around Twitter can make it seem like a Nymphomaniac's Convention. National Unity: a girl sitting in Mumbai tweeting one sex joke a day wreaks havoc on tissue supplies in Bhopal, Shillong, Kottayam and Kashmir.

5. Great overtures towards Indo-Pak peace are made everyday (most of it involves heavy flirting). Kashmir is the hottest non-topic everyday between these folk.

4. People expect ridiculous things of celebrities. Some loon asks Amitabh Bachchan to sort out water logging in Mumbai. Newsflash: He is not a BMC plumber.

3. Your follower count is like your bank balance. And Twitter celebs are like real world celebs. They won't talk to you unless you've got some money in the bank.

2. Indians love famous people. But we hate them even more.

1. And Shashi Tharoor and Lalit Modi have one more thing in common: they both seem to have nothing to say unless it is about themselves.

2010: The Year of Complicit Corruption

2011-01-05T03:06:00.000-08:00

2010: The Year of Complicit Corruption
By Prayaag Akbar

2010 provided India with a multitude of options in which to define the decade to come. The decade just past was about creation of opportunity and extension of influence. We learnt, much to many of our surprise, that as India’s economic importance grew, the care with which the world addressed our concerns would also grow. No other country expanded its soft power as successfully as India did these ten years. The attention the world paid to both our folly and our triumph was notable because, finally, we were globally newsworthy. If that meant Suresh Kalmadi’s name found headlines in newspapers in every corner of the world, it also meant that Slate, perhaps the most popular magazine on the Web, could now happily devote a long editorial towards examining the enigmatic, Apocalyptic charisma of Rajnikanth.

Yet 2010 came to mean something quite different to the Indian public. This was the year of Complicit Corruption. We learnt, this time not to anyone’s surprise, that almost every avenue of influence in India was open to a most endemic form of subversion. If public outrage became the leitmotif of the year, it was not unjustified. Everywhere there was power there was skullduggery, and everywhere there was influence there was silent shenanigan. The Indian public was betrayed time and again by the people they had reposed their faith in.

The Radia tapes illuminated this most clearly. It came at the end of a year beset by scandal, yet what hurt the prevailing sentiment most was the callous, casual disregard that two of Indian media’s most trusted sentinels had for the Constitution and the role of the Fourth Estate. That the powers-to-be were for sale many people have long suspected. That those who had been tasked with bringing light to political misdeeds were equally complicit was a betrayal that became too much to bear. Traditional media, already a creaking behemoth in an age demanding nimble, reactive feet, was dealt a body blow by its own collusive tendencies. But Barkha Dutt and Vir Sanghvi were only the manifest representations of a culture that has seeped into news media for years. Front page space and analysis is being purchased by telecom and oil companies and their proxies at the same time the features pages are being bought by art galleries, restaurants and nightclubs. The World Wide Web democratised the dissemination of information; 2010 was the year that much of India’s Web-savvy population decided they no longer needed to be preached to by charlatans.

Yet the media is only one theatre for our uniquely Indian way of conducting the affairs of state. Cricket, housing for war widows, the Commonwealth Games, black money in Swiss banks, Mining, telecom, even the sale of food in a desperately poor state like Uttar Pradesh: everything was available to be bought and sold in India by a gathering of fifteen percenters in khadi. Many people cite the personal probity of our Prime Minister, Dr Manmohan Singh, which even in this besmirched age has thankfully never been in doubt. Dr Singh has helped bring to pass some of the best policies India has, such as the RTI and the NREGA. Yet he sits at the helm of a system that cultivates corruption and underhandedness. Perhaps he feels it is too much for one person to revolutionise the way government works in India. But if he is honest with himself, he will know that such rampaging thievery is the most insidious virus in the country. And now, the people are watching.

Mining for Justice

2010-12-09T03:26:00.000-08:00

Mining for Justice
By Prayaag Akbar
In The Sunday Guardian - December 8, 2010

The decision taken by the Pranab Mukherjee-led Group of Ministers to ensure mining corporations share 26% of their net annual profits with displaced locals is highly laudable. The mining sector in India is in urgent need of cleanup. In almost every resource-rich part of the country, mining mafias have emerged that have vice-like control over the extraction of natural resources. Much like in post-Soviet Russia, India’s vast quantities of mineral wealth have resulted in the creation of a group of mining “oligarchs”, leaders who have utilised their local influence to control the flow of natural resources, often working in connivance with major corporate entities. As these mining oligarchs have become richer, many have chosen to enter politics; in states like Karnataka and Jharkhand, the mining lobby has direct influence on who sits in the chief minister’s chair.

Corruption in the mining sector is a top-to-bottom affair. People within the mining industry insist they need to pay bribes to everyone involved, from the thekedaar who watches over the mine to the local police officer. In states like Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, a lot of the most resource-rich areas are under the control of the Naxals, who the oligarchs strike deals with. This is an important source of revenue for the Naxalite movement. The failure to reform the industry speaks of a lack of political will. It also helps fund what Prime Minister Manmohan Singh has called “the gravest threat to internal security.”

However, the decision has not found universal approval within government circles. It was attacked by the head of the Planning Commission, Montek Singh Ahluwalia, who said a 26% profit-sharing ratio would be a big disincentive for corporations looking to invest in the sector. Ahluwalia believes this will be an unwanted drain on companies just at the moment the mining sector is looking to expand its work in India. This is not an atypical decision from Ahluwalia, who seems to believe the role of the Planning Commission is to make life as easy as possible for major corporations, instead of focusing on the needs of the citizenry.

But if the government goes ahead with its plan – and with Finance Minister Pranab Mukherjee backing it, it should have the legs – there are a series of pitfalls they will have to negotiate. The most important is to establish clear and firm guidelines for the delivery of this 26% of profit to locally displaced populations. In an industry already beset with corruption, this is not going to be easy. It is well-known that government rewards and subsidy systems in India are prone to hijack, with allocations only occasionally reaching intended recipients.

The second issue the government will have to fight is there is now a real incentive for mining companies to not declare their profits. While this is less likely in companies that export natural resources, because it becomes almost impossible to under-invoice, companies involved in selling resources domestically will see a direct benefit in under-declaring their profits. The government needs to set up a monitoring agency to make sure local populations are not being deprived of the share they have been promised.

Mukherjee’s scheme is an admirable one in theory. If it is implemented with the care needed, it could have a great impact on some of the poorest parts of India, even as it silences one of the key arguments the Naxalite movement uses.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye. Caesar Arriveth

2010-11-07T03:08:00.000-08:00

Hear Ye, Hear Ye. Caesar Arriveth
The Sunday Guardian,7th November

In those distant times when a toga was standard attire for the dapper gentleman-about-town, and not solely the party accessory of choice in American undergraduate fraternities, the Caesar would occasionally leave behind the magnificent ramparts and towers of Rome and tour the dominions, where he could see firsthand what life and livelihood were really like in those scattered little dots that relied on his Great Benevolence.

The visit of the Emperor would cause huge excitement. The local chieftains and warlords (especially those not tainted by war widow housing scandals) clamoured for an audience with the Emperor. The roads, usually so shoddily built they would cave in if it rained two days in a row, would be especially reinforced; after all, the Imperial Chariot was a weighty beast, with shining spokes of gold and bulletproof windows certified by 50 Cent himself. It would not have done for the almighty Caesar’s chariot to fall through the surface, into the cesspool of muck and refuse that swirled under these poor Dominion-dwellers their entire lives.

The Imperial tours were important because this was the time when the largesse of Rome would be apportioned, and the chieftains would spend years and years fashioning for themselves begging bowls, which they would call by strange names, like SENSEX and BSE. They would shout loudly about how big their bowls had become over the last few years, and how big their bowls could be, if the Emperor, in his wisdom, decided to help them just a bit.

As it is with all men of Great Benevolence, the Emperor would play favourite, doling out his bounty with some care. How difficult it was to rule the entire world only he knew. And those quivering beards in the Senate of Rome would not allow him to do just as he pleased. Their messages would be passed on: Commodius would say: “The dark warriors of Sumeria have the thorium we need for our new nuclear-powered arrows. They must be kept happy. Give them some gold, and a new donkey cart.” Incantus would say: “but their enemies, the Assyrians, hold the key to the magical kingdom of Afpak. They are weak, but petulant. Give their king a bribe. Call it a military loan.” Then there were others, like Emmanuleus, who instead of giving advice would inexplicably leave to run for Mayor of Chicago.

Perhaps the strangest behaviour would be seen within one tiny subsection of society, the Drum Beaters. The Drum Beaters were a group who enjoyed suffixing scattered initials to their name to convey a sense of gravitas, as in, Msduttus NDTV, and Sagarikus CNNIBN, and Arnahiccupicicus TNOW, and their job was to assist the spread of information to the populace. Because debate in dominion society was always rough and ready, the vital qualification for this job was the ability to speak at the same decibel level as the trumpet of a baby elephant (the Romans had machines to measure these things); over the years, this ability to speak very loudly, and very fast, was confused with the ability to identify and solve all that ailed dominion life. Soon all the chieftains, policemen and warriors, even the best thinkers of the day, would go to their debates, and try and show everyone that they too could speak very loudly, and very fast.

Our studies show that the Emperor’s visit generated two easily identifiable reactions amongst these Drum Beaters. The more indulgent of the lot – let us call them the Liberal-Epicureans – would see the Emperor’s visit as a good chance to finally interact with someone of intellect, dignity, style and importance equal to their own. As the world watched, they would sit the Emperor and his wife down and smile knowingly, as if to say: “yes, if you can imagine, I live amongst these crude folk, who know not Sartre or Glenn Beck. It is a weary life we lead, you having to rule the entire world, me having to shout inanities incessantly.” And then, as an aside, “I came to your inauguration in Rome, you know. Did you see my NDTV van?”

The second type of Drum Beater was of the taskmaster variety, the Incautious Stoics, if you will. This people were self-acknowledged experts at the Harangue. The Emperor’s visit thus became a chance to ask why thousands of things had not been done. “Why have you given our neighbours flying chariots? And where is all the money that was promised us? And are you actually saying you won’t be solving that intractable self-determination/border dispute during your three day visit here? For shame.”

Dominion society was full of such characters. Such as the merchants, who when the Emperor visited, would quickly appliy their makeup, pull out the old leather boots & fishnet stockings and hit the streets with their finest “come here, big boy” looks. These merchants’ God, Commercius, was actually the Emperor’s poodle. If the Emperor was happy, Commercius would wag his fluffy tail, and these merchants could rest happy knowing their best Julia Roberts-in-Pretty Woman impressions were not going unnoticed.

All in all, it was a strange, mysterious time, shrouded in the mists of the past. There must be some lessons for us in the here and now, but for the life of me I can’t figure them out.

(Short version of above appeared in The Sunday Guardian - My extensive research for this editorial involved finding a Youtube clip of that scene where Joauqin Phoenix returns to Rome in Gladiator. All complaints about the historical accuracy of the facts noted above should therefore be sent to: Ridley Scott, Director, Hollywood).

Censorship as a Political Instrument

2010-10-16T04:10:00.000-07:00

Censorship as a Political Instrument
By Prayaag Akbar
(In The Sunday Guardian, 17th October 2010)

There are certain leaders who have the ability to transform a political moment, to take a localised anger or dissatisfaction and convert it into a movement of real force. History remembers these people more than any other. Mahatma Gandhi managed it, as did his contemporary Muhammad Ali Jinnah. Hitler did it in 1934, and Churchill eight years later. Mayawati is now recognised as a more significant political force than her mentor Kanshi Ram, because she could convert Dalit dissatisfaction in Uttar Pradesh into lasting national political influence. L.K. Advani will be remembered as one who accomplished it, even as any number of pretenders, from Kalyan Singh to Varun Gandhi, will fade from memory.

In post-Independence India, Shiv Sena leader Balasaheb Thackeray has managed this most adroitly. With little institutional support or party experience, he created a political platform for his unique ideology. The Shiv Sena plank combined a number of different concerns that many Maharashtrans felt in the 1960s, but these were buttressed by a series of anti-Constitutional demands (especially for religious and regional favouritism) that suited Thackeray’s personal, virulent antagonisms. His years in politics have been wildly successful, and Maharashtra has never been the same.

And so it falls upon the ambitious young Aditya Thackeray to enter this theatre of competitive chauvinism, and the weight of familial experience sits heavy. His father Uddhav, son of the Tiger, tried briefly to cleave the party from its roots, hoping to woo the middle-class Maharasthtran with a brand of parochialism untainted by the thuggish politics favoured until then. His singular failure, and uncle Raj’s ascendancy, has sent Aditya a potent signal: their brand of right-wing politics demands emotive symbolism, rhetoric, and a unified grassroots support that teeters on the precipice of violence and “retribution”.

If the youngest Thackeray goes on to become a force in Maharashtran politics, his campaign to have Rohinton Mistry’s Booker-nominated novel Such A Long Journey removed from the syllabus of Mumbai University will be remembered as his entry point. The problem, it seems, is Mistry’s less-than-flattering portrayal of the patriarch, of the Shiv Sena, of the Marathi manoos, and of Mumbai’s dabbawallas.

Yet history – and official and unofficial censorship has a long history in India – teaches us that content is immaterial. At times like this, too many columnists and literary analysts spend their time defending the content of these books. Poring over the offending texts reveals nothing, because in India, outrage can be manufactured over anything. Instead, look at the political circumstances surrounding these controversies. This is how we can counter such vigilantism.

The excising of Mistry’s book from the University syllabus is a means to an end –portraying Thackeray as a defender of manoos culture and his grandfather’s reputation – just as the banning of Rushdie’s Satanic Verses suited the political interests of important Muslim clerics and the ruling Congress party, and the 2004 banning of James Laine’s history of Shivaji helped bolster a floundering Maratha nationalist movement.

What sets this case apart from the two examples cited above is that this is not a case of government censorship. The vice-chancellor of Mumbai University has chosen to bow to the wishes of a 20-year old with a grandfather-complex. Yet, an important work of art is being held hostage by political forces, just as years ago M.F. Husain’s work was considered by some people to be offensive to Hindus. While no government deemed Husain’s work unacceptable, his work was not protected and his personal safety was not guaranteed.

Art is censored for a number of reasons in India. There are undefined parameters of propriety that it is expected to adhere to, protecting religious sentiment, community pride, the sanctity of the female, and so on. But it is a cause for real concern that in India censorship is used most dramatically – and loosely – when political gain is involved.

Thackeray’s trick is a success of spectacle. Like his grandfather and his uncle, he has managed to find the right conduit to establish his reactionary political credentials on the national stage. He will believe that his leadership of the Bhartiya Vidhyarthi Sena, and his political career, has now begun in earnest.

These attacks on works of art, whether mandated by government or self-appointed champions of Indian culture, should be viewed as cleverly planned instruments designed to extract political mileage, and not as individual attempts at harmonising cultural sentiments. What is really playing out in India is a battle between politics and art. And politics is winning.

After the Riot: A Prolonged Denial of Justice

2010-09-21T04:52:00.000-07:00

After the Riot: A Prolonged Denial of Justice
By Prayaag Akbar
Mirchpur, Haryana

Enforced Exodus

The Balmiks of Mirchpur in Haryana, a small community of Dalit farmers who live on the outskirts of this Jat-dominated village, and were victims of assault by Jats in May, are being denied milk and basic provisions in a prolonged upper-caste campaign to drive them out. This is their punishment for having raised their voice against oppression.

More than a third of the population has already been driven out of the village. The rest are subject to incremental harassment and worse. With NREGA work contingent on the whims of bureaucrats who are allied to the upper castes, there is also often no employment.

This social and economic boycott of the Balmikis is linked to a series of attacks by some members of the Jat community on the Dalit basti in April this year (see Sunday Guardian, 15 May). Haryana Chief Minister Bhupinder Singh Hooda’s government has been under sustained pressure to arrest those responsible. But much of the evidence against the Jats rests on the testimony of the Balmikis themselves, and it is becoming clear that the boycott is a means of pressuring vocal members of the community to reverse their testimony. Speaking anonymously, an individual affiliated with the Human Rights Law Network (HRLN), the organisation fighting the case for the Dalit villagers, insists that at least two vital testimonies have been reversed because of these tactics. Khap Panchayats held by the dominant castes on 9 May, 4 June, 15 June and 11 July to pressurise villagers to withdraw the cases from the District Court and Supreme Court.

Rajender Singh (name changed) one of the key complainants in the case, is now considered a “hostile” witness by the litigants. His initial testimony was the primary plank upon which the first wave of arrests was made; since then, however, the village’s khap panchayat has announced that he is no longer willing to identify the Jats, and that he now says that many of the arrested people were not present during the violence that day. Singh himself spoke to the HRLN lawyers only once and dismissed their help. The testimony of Pappu Ram (name changed) another Balmiki, has also changed drastically.

Around 150 Balmiki families lived in Mirchpur village before the violence in April, in close proximity to close to 2000 Jat families. Since May more than 50 families have left. Some of these families camped out at the Balmiki Mandir on Panchkuian Road in Delhi for a few weeks, then went on to places like Adampur, Hisar, Jind and Barwala. Locals say that all the families with relations in other villages in Haryana – all those with a choice – have left.

Social and Economic Boycott

So how has this boycott been implemented, and what have been its effects? Satyavaan, a member of the Balmiki community, explains: “Once the violence subsided, they began to make it difficult to survive. Threats would come through to us to drop the case.

“We have no land of our own, but we are a farming community. Our families have always tilled Jat land. But as soon as we complained to the police, the Jats stopped giving us work. No odd jobs, daily wage, nothing. For months after the riot, we did not have any way of earning an income. The government promised three months of NREGA wages that were not delivered. We have started getting NREGA work only now. But we are still not allowed to pick up wood from their land for use in our fires. There was nothing for us to cook with.

“The DC promised communal toilets, but that did not happen. Now the Jats do not let our women use their fields in the mornings, as they used to. These are the most basic things in life,” he says with a smile on his face. “They own the land, and they use that.”

A writ petition filed in the Supreme Court on behalf of the villagers by Jyoti Mendiratta in July states, “more than 100 victim families were working on Jat owned properties. That has been completely stopped. The victim families are not allowed to purchase food such as vegetables and milk from the shops.”

Immediately after the initial burst of violence, the Jats of the village squeezed off the supply of milk to the only dairy that was willing to provide it to the Dalits. There is one “Brahman” dairy (the rest are Jat dairies) that provides milk to the villagers. “But,” says Satyavaan, “they charge Rs 40 per kilo, and it is always watered down. We pay double the price you pay in the city.”
Almost every Balmiki family has stopped sending their children to school now. Suman, the polio-stricken girl who was locked in her house and burnt alive during the April riot, would ride her tricycle into the village to attend school everyday.

Santra, a middle aged Balmiki woman, says, “Our children are threatened by the Jat kids if they go. Just two weeks ago Rahul (s/o Prakash), a boy of around 15, was attacked by a gang of Jat boys. They sent him home with a cracked skull.” Senior Counsel Colin Gonsalves, the head of HRLN, told the Supreme Court on August 26 that a Balmiki girl died of shock after being scolded and humiliated in school.

“The girls school is in the middle of the Jat neighbourhoods,” she continues. “How can I feel safe sending my daughter there? We worry they will do something to the older girls. It is safer if they stay here with us.”

The Village Fortress

Mirchpur has a fortified air now. In June, this village briefly became the theatre of a political power tussle between Hooda and his Union Tourism Minister Kumari Salja that threatened to recalibrate the Congress’s entire Jat vs Dalit strategy in the state. It makes sense that three battalions of policemen spend their days wandering about importantly in the lanes of steaming, rain soaked mud.

The uniforms bring an uneasy truce. There are scattered squabbles, but nothing resembling what it was like. Each of the Balmiki villagers I ask agrees that the presence of the police keeps the peace.

But there remains an uneasiness that is not easy to dispel, hints that tensions simmer. At one point, a community discussion about the legal case the Balmikis are preparing to fight rapidly becomes a firearm count. Ashwini Kumar, college-educated, about 30 years old, asks quietly how many guns are available to them. A list of names is recited, and the number is ascertained: 5.

I venture the opinion that guns will only escalate the violence. Kumar says, “There are more than 2000 Jat families here. All of them have land, and most of them have guns. They must have 1000 guns. In the SC/ST Prevention of Atrocities Act of 1989, threatened communities were given the right to have firearms. We need more guns here, otherwise we will never have peace.”

The police were heavily implicated in the violence in April, and the local SHO Vinod Kajal still sits behind bars. There have been questions raised about the activities of the police since then as well. While they have kept the peace admirably, there was a marked failure to arrest the guilty parties for months after the violence.

On August 26, Justices G.S. Singhvi and A.K. Ganguly of the Supreme Court demanded to know why in three months only 48 people had been arrested when there were 71 more Jats for whom warrants had been issued. The petitioners claim many of those not arrested continued to live in the village unhampered. They ordered the director general of Haryana Police to arrest the remaining by Monday, 30 August, and questioned the efficiency of Chief Secretary of the state in this matter. In just a few days, the police were able to arrest almost every implicated member of the Jat community, people they claimed they had not been able to find for three months. When I arrived in the village, on September 6, only two people were still to be arrested.

However, none of the women had been arrested, another source of anger for the Balmikis because they believe the women helped instigate the violence.

Rohtash Singh, an inspector of Haryana Police, has been assigned to Mirchpur since the violence. He informs us that they are building a police chowki close to the Balmiki basti now. But why the delay in arrests? “Most of the time, we were getting conflicting reports from the Balmikis,” he says. “If they change their testimony, how can we make arrests?” He cites an example: “Kuldip, s/o Om Prakash, was one of the people accused. But then a Balmiki man came forward, saying my son was working in Kuldip’s house on the day of the violence, and that he was not involved. What could we do?”

Rohtash Singh, who is of the Lohar caste, repeats often that he is a lower-caste himself. After he leaves, Rajesh Kumar, Haryana State Secretary of the National Dalit Movement for Justice, says: “I’ve seen this pattern all over Haryana. When there is violence, they put a backward caste person, usually a midlevel officer, in charge of the area. This makes the villagers feel safe. But it also protects the Jats, because if things flare up again they can point to the Dalit.”

The Compensation Question

The political scientist Paul Brass notes in Theft of an Idol (1997) that in the aftermath of a riot claims and counter-claims over government compensation for the victims becomes a source of conflict in itself. As government largesse is distributed, unscrupulous members of victimised communities demand money without cause.

But often state-level functionaries do not correctly hand out the compensation they have been instructed to. Despite the fact that the houses of 25 families were burnt to the ground, only 18 houses are in the process of being rebuilt. The Balmikis are happy with the rebuilding effort, though too many families who lost their valuables to looters and pillagers have been denied compensation.

O.P. Sharan, the District Collector during the violence, made a number of promises to the Balmiki community: he said each family affected would be given Rs 50,000, charpoys and bedding would be provided, and 3 months of NREGA wages would be provided to the families for the work they had lost. These promises helped get the unsettled families back to Mirchpur, as per the orders of the courts.

But upon their return O.P. Sharan was transferred from Hisar and replaced by Yudhvir Singh. Ashwini Kumar says Singh has been “non-cooperative. He didn’t give us any of the bedding etc promised. He cut the compensation for each family from Rs 50,000 to Rs 15,000, and told them there would be no NREGA back-wages paid. He is very rude to us when we go for help. At least Sharan would listen to us. Why was he transferred?”

Mirchpur no longer burns as it did in April. But the continued delay and denial of justice for many of the victims is causing real problems. As the court case begins in earnest, police care for the lower-caste community should be extended so that the way of life of the Balimikis is protected. Hooda’s government insisted the Balmikis return to Mirchpur. They must be allowed to live there without fear.

Obama, Socialism and Riding Waterfalls in America

2010-08-21T05:35:00.000-07:00

Obama, Socialism and Riding Waterfalls in America
By Prayaag Akbar

On television and in newspapers, the voices of conservative commentators veer towards hysteria. They speak of an impending existential crisis in America, of a President who is willing to disrespect the tenets of a two hundred year history. In that time an unwieldy, ungovernable mass of land has been transformed into a nation that is the envy of the entire world, so certainly, this is a history that demands respect. Consequently, you have the drumbeaters of CNN, Fox News, the Wall Street Journal and most other news media proclaiming that one of the holiest of their principles is being violated, the foundation of their great state, the policy that is more American than the bacon cheeseburger (extra cheese, extra bacon). Quite simply, they are amazed that a President has been elected who has the audacity to attempt to control the tentacles of unstinting capitalist endeavour. The message is clear: mess with anything, Mr. President, but do not mess with the free market.

As one final flip of the finger to the large swathes of the country that came to despise him, when President Bush exited stage right he left a broken down economy and a perilously damaged relationship with most of the world. Faced with economic meltdown the new incumbent, President Obama, has had to tackle the backslapping bonhomie that has long existed between corporate interests and political parties in the United States. This crisis has grown from a particular economic climate, one where traders like Bernie Madoff and Sir Allen Stanford were allowed to do pretty much as they pleased, where insurance companies were able to reinsure dud investments ad infinitum, where the heads of publicly-held corporations could write themselves bonuses of hundreds of millions of dollars while guiding their companies to hell in a gilded hand basket. Yet now that Obama has confronted these issues with the suggestion of government-appointed financial overseers, the cries of ‘Socialist!’, which never left his Presidential campaign, have begun to hover over his Presidency. Obama is certainly not a socialist. He seems unencumbered by attachment to ideology and willing to tackle individual problems free of the politics of Left or Right, White or Black, Straight or Gay. Why voters and the media seem to prefer politicians with such identifiable baggage, it is hard to say.

The car industry was a symbol of the industrial dominance once enjoyed by the United States. The muscle cars of the 1950s, 60s and 70s were valorized and glorified, in movie after movie, book after book. But their steady decline over the past three decades was visible even when the economy showed no signs of distress. By the time things started to go south it was clear that car companies would be among the first to require assistance. Obama’s plan, to nationalise the car manufacturer General Motors, keeps thousands of jobs in America, as well as protecting one of the great institutions of the country. Yet it is met with ridicule and headlines of ‘GM now Government Motors’. The idea that any modern economy is allowed to run according to the classical neo-conservative theories of laissez-faire and non-intervention is in any case ludicrous. Regulation exists. Thankfully Obama looks stronger than his critics. As Brady Heiner, a curly-haired philosophy doctoral candidate at Stony Brook explained to me: “these companies need to retool to meet the challenges of the green economy. They need to start building smaller, more fuel-efficient cars, which most Americans recognize is necessary to reduce our dependence on foreign fossil fuels as well as conserve the environment. If the government needs to step in and operate at an economic loss for five years so that the conversion can take place, so be it. America needs to retain industrial jobs.”

The Real Question

The media is right that America is facing an existential crisis of sorts, but it is not along the Capitalist-Marxist spectrum that is being alluded to. The question this country is just beginning to ask itself is substantively different. What becomes of a country whose identity is premised upon being at the forefront of the world – whose people have always considered themselves the vanguards of political, economic, cultural and religious expression? What becomes of a country that might conceivably lose that coveted place in fifty years? Growing, insatiable economies like China, India and Brazil have all demonstrated a greater capability to rebound, largely because they still have economies that build things. Economies that make things people need even in times of crisis, like steel, sugar, textiles and electronics; economies that are not entirely constituted of upper-middle class yuppies brandishing PowerPoint demonstrations. The America that used to build things is simply no longer there. The Motor City of Detroit, once the pride of Middle America, is a ghost town, full of boarded up shop windows and abandoned factories. The steel capital, Pittsburgh, has been forced to reinvent itself as a university town. Both cities surrendered more than industrial supremacy through the flight of capital to Special Economic Zones in China and India. They surrendered a part of the American story, one there is no guarantee can be returned.

Undergraduate courses in political science in America have Global Strategy classes that teach a generation of students about the threats that the political and economic rise of Asia pose to worldwide stability. When I graduated from college here five years ago one International Relations theory beloved by scholars was the Hegemonic Stability Theory, which arose from the period of peace that followed the Cold War. To simplify it, the theory describes a Pax Americana (Peace through American dominance), as there was once a Pax Romana (Peace under the Roman Empire). Such a belief, that the world would benevolently look on as the American military-financial complex steamrolled cultures and homes around the globe, has been left in tatters by the rise of terrorist insurgencies. If in fifty years, America finds itself no longer the global hegemon, it will need to fashion a new identity for itself, one that does not derive from expanding its influence over the world. The more globally-aware citizens of the United States are already asking themselves these questions. The politicians and their advisers will take some catching up.

It is a gloomy picture I have painted here, but it is not the complete picture. For the most part, America remains a land of unrivalled plenty, with scales of consumption and the kinds of choice in food, clothing, entertainment and leisure that even the wealthiest Europeans are amazed by. It is humbling, especially when you consider hubristic comments in India about how if our economic progression continues we might soon be on par with the national wealth of the United States. Even if by some miracle our national wealth reaches that of America, the concentrations of power will ensure that too many people are left out of the economic boom for the numbers to be meaningful.

***

It might not fit the popular conception of ‘the idiot American’ that so suited the Bush years, but the governance in this country, especially on domestic issues, has been unparalleled for the last hundred years. I was reminded of this as I drove through Yosemite National Park, a lush outpost of Central California full of giant redwood trees and scalpel-cut granite rocks. The trees sparkled in the intermittent sun, their leaves polished green; dead wood was cut from the boughs; dead grass on the ground was burnt away immediately. Nature flourished here, but in a classic American way, with a team of rangers and foresters constantly monitoring everything, improving the colors, spring-cleaning the vistas. It was magnificent. It made me wonder when Indian national parks would justify such outlay. A few steps would have to be taken. First, a substantial proportion of our population would have to reach a standard of living where allocating such expenditure would not seem frivolous. Then subcultures who live off nature in our wildlife reserves, such as forest-loggers, hunters and tribal communities, would have to be provided alternate sources of income. Forest rangers with an interest in actually performing their jobs would have to be found. Along with that we would have to provide a larger education about the harms of destroying nature in our wanton Indian way.

These are all slippery slopes, some much longer than others. Each one of them has been negotiated in the United States, some with more success than others. But each has been negotiated nonetheless to the extent that is required to keep the nation warmly vital in a number of pursuits, from athletics to playwriting. This at a time when in China forests are clear-cut to build massive factories that make sewing machines and electric razors. This at a time when in India we displace thousands of farmers every time a corporation has an idea for a cheaper car. National wealth is one, usually meaningless, measure of prosperity. We have a long way ahead of us.

***

A Culture All Its Own

As intrinsic as politics is to the American conception of nationhood, there are many other facets of their identity, some even more unfathomable to the foreign visitor. For instance, it would be hard to imagine another nation that takes its television viewing so seriously. The sale of its biggest car companies has been the most prominent news story while I have been here. The second? Conan O’Brien taking over the Tonight Show from Jay Leno. Reams of newspaper space were devoted to the switch; not back in the Entertainment section, but on the front page. Journalists debated with great earnestness the merits of the comically adventurous O’Brien over Jay Leno, whose show had steadily declined into tepidity. The television is an essential part of Americana, at once uniting a disparate people through the plasma prism they watch. The switch between comedians attracted so much attention because it tells of what millions of Americans will do right before going to sleep. Political strategists will now consider what jokes Conan will make about their candidates, where once they had to consider Leno’s take. Movie producers will think of what stance the new host will take on their big-investment movie projects. Culture here is inextricably entwined with television.

Another uniquely American tradition is the propagation of insane activities, or as they like to call it, Extreme Sports. If you can find a snow-covered mountain to propel down strapped to a board, or a bridge or building high enough to parachute from, or a hundred foot long sheer rock face to climb with only your fingers and some rope, you are almost certain to find an American or two indulging in said activities, muttering “Extreme! Extreme!” to themselves as they go along. I participated in one such activity, which I would be laughed at if I called an extreme sport, but an activity that nonetheless left my body bruised and battered, an activity to which I shall add elements of danger on every retelling of this story.

My cousins, who were raised in California, drove us out to a place in the Sierra foothills they quaintly called “The Water Slides.” I do not believe it was their intention to mislead, but if I had to choose another name for the place I would perhaps go with “Whitewater Chutes of Sharp Rocks and Ass Pain”, for that is what they were. The place was basically an offshoot of a waterfall, where water trickled down quite pleasantly in certain parts and very rapidly in others. I was wandering around on the hot rocks, enjoying the sun, when my cousin decided to demonstrate how to travel down the slide. His method, which I would not have considered possible before, involved sitting on your behind and basically being thrown by the force of the water down the waterfall, smashing against rocks on either side all along the way. When he reached the pool in the bottom he got up and yelled (I think it was “Extreme!” but I could not hear) and began to encourage others in our party to do the same.

Once all the other Americans started getting in on the act, hurtling down this rocky slope with huge smiles on their faces as though they were at a particularly hilarious movie, I of course could not shame my country by declining to participate. My instructions were clear: lean in front and keep my arms by my side. But somehow by the time I was sitting in the flowing water, waiting to push myself off, those instructions disappeared completely from my mind, replaced by thoughts along the lines of, “that rock looks very sharp” and “what am I doing here?” Many times I flew down that waterfall at great speed, each time forgetting to stay in front, in fact leaning back as if I was on a reclining chair, but thankfully each time emerging from the water with only a few cuts on the arms and legs and a pair of bruised buttocks.

Then, as a little after dinner snack as it were, we climbed down to a little ledge over a lovely green pond that the waterfall fed. Standing there, with no way to get back to safety and without much warning, my cousin took a couple of steps and jumped into the water forty feet below. Forty feet does not sound like much on paper, but peering over the edge of that ledge, as the girls we were with stood below filming us, it looked like a whole lot. By this time I had already submitted my fate to whichever God would accept me, so it was not hard for me to jump. What I had failed to notice however was that each of the rest who had jumped had taken a substantial leap. I sort of sauntered off the edge of the ledge, flying down one-two-three seconds through the air perilously close to the cliff, prompting one onlooker to tell me I would have cracked my head open had I leaned back. One cousin called it “the path of least effort and most danger”, which I then assumed meant I embodied some sort of Gandhian ideals. In retrospect, this might have been her polite way of calling me both lazy and stupid.

I had spent most of the day in a sort of stupor, wondering at the surreal nature of the challenges being placed in front of me, my brain refusing to comprehend that this was something Americans called “fun”. But by the end of it all I was exhilarated beyond words, my heart envigourated and my body racing. Then on the drive back, as I was falling asleep, I might even have whispered to myself, “Extreme!”

( Last year I travelled around America soon after Obama was elected. I wrote this political/cultural comparative piece then about our two countries)

I want my BBM

2010-08-14T05:53:00.000-07:00

I want my BBM
By Prayaag Akbar

Two competing questions lie at the heart of the BlackBerry vs Indian Government debate. The first concerns individual freedoms: what level of state-sponsored intrusion (or snooping) into personal affairs is a law-abiding citizen expected to tolerate? The second concerns state power: since the government is deemed culpable in the event of a security crisis, is it not entitled to use every tool at its disposal to prevent such a scenario from arising?

The governments most concerned with “terror”, the United States, United Kingdom, India, Israel and so on, are in an unenviable position. The rapid proliferation of communication options that new technology provides is a direct offshoot of these governments most sacred cows: commerce, capitalism and competition. How can the United States government ask RIM, the makers of BlackBerry, or Apple, the makers of the iPhone, to pare down the technology they are able to provide for their users, without starting to sound a bit too much like China? The world thrives on giving entrepreneurs the freedom to innovate; can governments then ask them to innovate only as much as is suitable?

Once it became clear that the terrorists involved in the 26/11 attack on Mumbai utilised various types of new technology very effectively, the Indian security apparatus was entitled to demand some retrenchment of the options available. However, this is an issue that requires very careful handling, and a degree of common sense. RIM is right in asserting that there is no evidence that any of their phones have been used in a terrorist attack. Why single out one over the other? The iPhone offers a vast array of communication options, more certainly than the BlackBerry, but no one is asking them to hand over any codes. Is it because the BlackBerry has been much more successful than the iPhone in India? Does the Indian government genuinely believe that, in the event of a terrorist attack, jehadi operatives will only use the phone that is most popular amongst Indians? Or is it simply that security agencies in India are not comfortable having so much communication bouncing around the country without their being able to monitor it?

There are other issues at stake. Over the years, Indian security agencies have acquired the reputation for not being overly concerned about the personal freedoms of the citizens of India. What guarantees will the government provide that they will only utilise these monitors to track terrorist activity? Will they also use it to see who is complaining about government policies in the Naxal-affected regions? Will they use it to check if Indians are accessing pornography, which is still, ludicrously, a violation of the penal code? Will they use it to make sure there are no cards parties on Diwali?

Many technology experts believe that we are on the precipice of a great revolution in mobile computing. Devices like the BlackBerry and the iPhone are precursors to handheld computers that will be able to do infinitely more. The first wave of these products has already hit the market. If the government is worried about the BlackBerry, just wait till they see what the iPad can do.

The Police are to Blame

2010-07-20T04:01:00.000-07:00

The Police are to Blame
By Prayaag Akbar

One aspect of the “honour” killings of young couples in love that is rarely acknowledged is the role the police have played in many of the most heinous incidents. The police should be protecting couples exercising their democratic rights as young, consenting adults to cohabit with whomsoever they choose. Instead, in a shocking number of cases, it is the police who assist these brothers, fathers and uncles in their hunt for the absconders.

In some cases such policemen, members of the community themselves, act out of a misguided sense of social propriety and caste pride. But in the great majority money changes hands. Indians tends to overlook police corruption, though most citizens know it is rife, on the grounds that policemen are poorly paid. But these are not instances of allowing someone to sell their wares on the side of the road, or getting away with cutting a traffic light. In cases like this, corruption is directly leading to the deaths of innocent young people.

On 10 July, a 21 year old Muslim boy and 16 year old Hindu girl from Madhaiya village, not too far from Ghaziabad, were shot dead, reportedly by members of the girl’s family. Yet the first police report said that the boy, Ishtiyak Ali, shot his girlfriend at her house and then killed himself. It was only when the boy’s father took the case all the way to the Ghaziabad SSP that an autopsy was conducted. The autopsy found that both had been murdered. But this was not a case of negligence or ineptitude of the local policeman. The evidence is clear that the police wilfully misrepresented the circumstances surrounding the death; the boy had been shot in the back of the head. Not even the most incompetent policeman could truly believe that Ali had committed suicide. An autopsy was not needed for this to be regarded as murder.

This problem has reached such proportions that the courts have taken to publicly admonishing the police. In what should have been seen as a landmark judgment, but was largely ignored by the media after initial reports, on June 16 Vacation judge Justice S.N. Dhingra of the Delhi High Court said: “It’s unfortunate that elopement cases are converted into rape cases. Your police are party in all cases of honour killings. You connive with parents and turn your face the other side. You send boys behind bars on rape charges and allow the parents to kill their daughter.

“How can you be so insensitive for a few bucks? In case of elopement, you register the case under section 376 (rape) of Indian Penal Code. You do not register the case or take action where you should have done.”

Justice Dhingra has bravely brought to light an issue that police forces all over the country are keen to brush under the carpet. The police are paid to protect every citizen of India, not just those who have enough money, or guilt, to grease their palms. It is time they began doing their job.

(This piece appeared as the edit in the Sunday Guardian on 18 July : Prayaag's column)

The Lynch Mobs of Haryana

2010-05-07T01:39:00.000-07:00

The Lynch Mobs of Haryana
by Prayaag Akbar
( In The Sunday Guardian)

Suman’s charred, government-issue tricycle sits in rubble outside the broken walls of her home. “She had polio, so she could not run out,” says Rajinder, a young resident of this Dalit basti. He points to the sliding lock on the door as we walk into what remains of her house. “When her father went in to get her, they locked them both in with that latch. Then they dumped kerosene on the walls and roof and set the place on fire.”

Suman and her 70 year old father Tarachand were casualties of the caste violence that beset the village of Mirchpur, in the Hisar district of Haryana, from 19th to 21st April. The tricycle itself was a gift from a munificent government so she could go to school like the other children from this basti of Balmiki Dalits. When I meet her mother Kamala at a protest outside the office of the District Collector of Hisar, she says, “More than anything, Suman wanted to go to school. She used that tricycle to get around everywhere. We brought her up so well. Then they came and took everything away from us.”

That blackened shell of a tricycle is an indelible symbol now. It encapsulates the rhetoric of politicians and administrators who would have you believe that a gift of a hand-operated tricycle is sufficient to enable a polio-stricken Dalit girl to climb from the depths of poverty. And now, with the rubber from the tyres burnt like flesh against its spokes and rims, the tricycle stands as a symbol of the instant, devastating violence that some upper caste communities can still inflict upon the lowest rungs of the village when the mood is upon them.

And that is all it takes: a shift in mood. Usually it is some sort of perceived affront that is the motivation, an “insult” to a member of the upper caste community by the lowest of the low, by people who – if it were not for this whole democracy experiment – would not have had the courage to respond to any sort of provocation.

Those who say that caste is dead have not witnessed its unique power of mobilisation in India, how much more effective it is as a political tool than money, sex, even religion. An insult to caste pride will make brothers of strangers, comrades who will fight and burn and pillage until they have had their revenge. In Mirchpur, young Jat toughs were brought in from neighbouring villages to exact retribution. Even today, caste permeates through rural India, patterning every interaction. The gutted Balmiki basti of Mirchpur is smouldering testament to its power.

I am walking up the steps of Chander Singh’s house, where eleven children were trapped on the first floor by the fire until Hisar Police arrived and rescued them. Without rancour, only disappointment and curiosity, my guide Rajinder asks me: “Look at what they did to us. Why is the media not writing about what they were allowed to do? Why don’t the local journalists tell our story? Is it because of government pressure?”

I cannot bring myself to speak of the current fascination with Twitter and cricket. But I promise to relate to the best of my ability an accurate record of the events over the three days of violence. Below is what I have been able to glean from eyewitness accounts, conversations with policemen and villagers in neighbouring areas, students and social workers from Kurukshetra University and beyond who travelled to the site, and some government functionaries who were willing to speak.

On 19th April, two Jat men of around 23, Rajinder and Ajit, walked through the Dalit basti of the village, reportedly drunk. Some of those attacked say Ajit is a member of Haryana Police, though this could not be confirmed. A dog began barking at them as they walked through the road that bisects the neighbourhood. They began throwing stones at the dog, which the owner, Jai Prakash, objected to. A fight ensued between some young Dalit boys and the two Jats. The outnumbered Jats returned with only bruises and cuts to their own part of the village.

That evening, two elders from the Dalit community, Karuna and Virbhan, are summoned to the village panchayat to provide an explanation. The summons has come from Ajit (“his family is very powerful in the area”, says one young boy I meet in the village). But there is no meeting – the two elders are beaten up badly and sent back to their neighbourhood.

On 20th April, the chowkidar of the Balmiki neighbourhood, Gulab Singh, is picked up and thrashed with sticks and rods. He is hospitalised. The Dalit villagers go to the local police station, Narnaud, where the Station House Officer, Vinod Kajal, assures them nothing more will happen.

That evening a mob of around 50 Jats from the village come into the Dalit neighbourhood, ready to ruin: they destroy people’s property, break objects in the small shops that line the road, enter people’s homes and break down doors. A second appeal goes out to the police.

Later that night, a meeting of the influential members of the Jat community is held in the government school in the village. A plan of revenge is hatched. Through the night, a steady stream of Jat youngsters from the neighbouring villages begins to arrive. By dawn there are more than 300. They gather in one of the Jat houses and wait.

On the morning of the 21st, at around 8 AM, Narnaud S.H.O. Vinod Kajal visits the Dalit basti. He tells them this violence must be resolved and asks them to congregate in the village choupal. The Balmiki men gather in the choupal and begin their meeting with the SHO, the naib tehsildaar and other police functionaries. At the same time a mob of Jats – both local and those brought in from neighbouring villages – enter the Dalit basti armed with rods, kerosene and torches. They target the most affluent houses (more on this later), burning them as much as possible. Houses are torched with people inside them. Tarachand is locked inside his house with his 18 year old daughter before it is set on fire.

A little after 10 AM, Hisar Police arrives and begins to put out the fires and restore order. Amongst other things, they rescue 11 children who had been left to burn from the first floor of one of the houses.

Pradeep, Suman’s brother, says: “The SHO told the Jat boys that they have one hour to do their work. He took our men were away and this was the time they had before the Hisar Police could get here. He is thebhaanja of Tare, one of the important Jats in the village. We should have gone to the police in Hisar right away. Then my father would be alive.”

A Congress MLA from Haryana, speaking on condition of anonymity, says the Hooda administration recognised the culpability of the S.H.O. very quickly. “He was suspended almost immediately. The speed with which action was taken suggests he must have played a role.”

The information about who is responsible has reached the highest echelons of government. On 30thApril, UPA chairperson Sonia Gandhi wrote a letter admonishing Chief Minister of Haryana Bhupinder Singh Hooda, who has been in power while a number of grievous caste-based clashes have taken place, most notably the 2005 mob attack on Balmikis in Gohana. Mrs Gandhi wrote to Hooda: “It is a matter of shame and horror that this brutal and deplorable incident occurred at all, and it is totally unacceptable that this occurred in the presence of Naib Tehsildar and S.H.O. of the police. This cannot be allowed to pass without firm and severe action against those responsible for the crime.”

As Rajinder shows me the 18 or 20 houses that bore the brunt of the mob’s fury, he tells me the name and father’s name of the owner of every house. In each house, he insists I write both names down. He wants all the names to be published, kept on record so that the government can provide compensation to everyone affected.

Harkishan Kaakra, a student of Kurukshetra University who has come on a fact-finding mission, says that the lists being prepared by the government are not adequate. “A lot of these houses are multiple family domiciles. The government is trying to minimise the compensation they will have to pay. The lists only acknowledge one family per house. They are taking a lot fewer names than they should.”

There is, irrefutably, an economic component to this outpouring of ethnic hatred. The mob chose to burn the most affluent of the Dalit houses. They went into the houses and stole little pieces of wedding jewellery. In one house, the owner takes me to the back to show me a destroyed black-and-white television set: “that was mine,” he says, almost proudly. A second hand motorbike has been torched beyond recognition. The roofs of houses have been brought down so that maximum destruction is inflicted. The tiny shops that sell sweets, beedis and knickknacks – symbols of Dalit commerce – are mostly destroyed.

The message that has been passed: how could you Dalits have the effrontery to live in brick houses, with refrigerators and wedding jewellery, own shops, ride on motorbikes?

There are very few Balmiki Dalits left in Mirchpur now. Teams of Hisar Police have been stationed there on double shift since April 21st, but most of the Balmikis have moved out. They are camped outside the District Collector’s Office in Hisar and refuse to move.

The strikers want two things: for the Balmikis of the village to be relocated to another part of Haryana, or perhaps even Rajasthan; and for the central government to remove Bhupinder Singh Hooda, who they have lost faith in. Suman’s mother, Kamala, a frail, old woman, has become the figurehead of this movement. Despite media inattention, the movement is gathering momentum amongst lower caste communities across the country.

Virender Rana, a young man from the village, says “We want the central government to give us justice. The most important thing is we don’t go back to the village. The Jats there have never let us live peacefully and they won’t in the future as well. Rahul Gandhi needs to come and see the plight of the Dalits in Haryana [this conversation was held the day before Rahul Gandhi’s surprise visit to Mirchpur]. We have nothing against the Congress, but this Government has to be changed. These guys, the opposition, all the big leaders in Haryana are from the same community [Jats]. They will never do anything against their own kind, there are too many votes involved.”

Gaurav Sarvate, another Balmik youth, says, “we want to take this movement across the country. There are people like us all over.” When we speak again on 1st May he says, “we have started the Mirchpur Agnikhand Andolan. On 4 May at 6 PM we will hold a candelight march in cities across India; in Hisar, other places in Haryana, Bombay, Delhi. We will march so people acknowledge the wrongs that have been perpetrated against us.”

Chief Minister Bhupinder Singh Hooda visited Mirchpur almost immediately after the violence had ended. The MLA for Narnaud, Ms Saroj Mor, a member of O.P Chautala’s INLD, also visited the small village once things had settled down.

I ask Suraj Bhan, one of the Balmiki elders, about their visits. “We asked to be relocated, but Hooda-sahab told us they cannot move us out of here. He said that we must show our strength, that we must not be scared of such people. Keep courage, he said. I suppose he is right. If they are going to watch us burn, we might as well keep our courage.”

The Musahars of Gaya

2009-10-28T05:13:00.000-07:00

The Musahars of Gaya

by Prayaag Akbar

Vilas Ravi Raj, a Musahar, has brought his son Dileep, a shivering six-year old with bandages across his face like a zebra crossing, to the Anugrah Narain Magadh Medical College Hospital. The boy’s grandmother has walked with them from the village of Utlibari, around thirty kilometres away, in the same district of Gaya, Bihar. The father bends over his son, feeding him milk via a syringe and through a tube that goes up the boy’s nose. All the beds in the children’s ward are filled with similarly suffering children. By their side are parents in tattered clothes and haunted eyes, eyes that are shrouded by confusion and fear each time the nurses describe what is happening to their child.

District health officials have just announced there is an epidemic of meningitis and encephalitis amongst the 30 lakh strong Musahar population of Bihar; their living habits bring them in close proximity to pigs and cows, making the children of this community especially susceptible to infectious disease. This hospital is at the epicentre of the epidemic because Gaya district has the highest concentration of Musahars, though they are found all over the state. 27 children have died in the hospital in just a few days, but members of the medical staff say that the number of children who receive poor or no medical attention far outstrips this number. This is the third year in a row that a meningitis epidemic has been declared in the district.

The Musahars are one of the most deprived communities in India. They were given Maha-Dalit status by the Bihar Government some years ago, testament to the abject penury in which most live. They are perhaps best known as rat-eaters (Mus – mouse; ahar – eater), a title many in the community are keen to live down, though the tradition remains. Even so, in the villages I visited, the villagers refused repeatedly to hunt rats for the cameras of the freelance photographer who accompanied me (in one ridiculous interlude, he offered the children ten rupees for every rat they caught. They still refused.) And this is one of the main problems the community faces; as the dominant caste groups in the area and a compliant, sensation-seeking media continue to frame the Musahars’ existence through practices like rat-eating, their perilous standards of living can continue to be justified as those deserved by a “subhuman” community.

Try this for a paradox. Dwarako Sundari is a 68-year old Sindhi gentleman who crossed the border at Partition. In his twenties he was entrusted by Acharya Vinobha Bhave to come to Bodhgaya and build an ashram where Musahirs could be educated and fed. He has been running his school for more than thirty years with no government support, reliant on the kindness of people who travel to Buddhism’s holiest place. He received the Jamnalal Bajaj Award for Social Work in 1992, but otherwise there have been few public plaudits. Almost all the educated Musahars in the area have studied in his school, including the aspiring politician Biswas Manjhi, who is hoping for a RJD Vidhan Sabha ticket. He tells me: “Dwarakoji is akin to a saint. He has done so much for us.”

It is shocking, then, to learn Dwarakoji’s views on these people: “After much thought, I have realised the Musahars are a subhuman community. Jayprakash Narayan once visited my ashram and he said this exact thing to me. Now, years later, I have to agree. I have seen students of mine throw their parents out of the house once they cannot earn anymore, saying they need to feed their children. Women complain to me because their husbands refuse to acknowledge their marital contract. Other families desert their children. Is this the way human beings live?”

When I point out to him that the practices he has listed are prevalent in other communities – could even be considered common practice in countries like the United States – he brushes my objections aside. Once again the problem that faces these people is illustrated. Dwarakoji has done as much for Musahar children as perhaps anyone in the world, and when he speaks of the children you can sense his abiding affection. Yet, after thirty years of interacting with the community there is a sharp delineation, a need to see people with such strange and objectionable habits as something quite different from himself.

****

About fifteen minutes drive from the town of Bodhgaya, where the Enlightened One has ensured hundreds of tonsured Japanese and European tourists sit drinking imported lapsang souchong and bubble tea, there is the village of Parariya, a dot in the hinterland of 300 homes and 1200 people. To reach this village you must walk through an ankle-deep swamp until you arrive at a cluster of tiny mud huts. Like every village in India, living arrangements are segmented sharply along the lines of caste: in the distance are the houses of the Yadavs and further along are the Paswans (both of whom are considered upper-caste Dalits and have enjoyed years of patronage under leaders like Laloo and Ram Vilas Paswan). The biggest houses belong to the Thakurs, the landowners of the area, though I am told there is a smattering of Muslim families who have their own conclave.

The Musahar huts are the simplest, reflective of their status within the village hierarchy. Each hut has two windowless rooms, a small open-air courtyard that is used as a kitchen and a roof of thatched hay. The doors and ceilings are built so low you must bend at the waist to enter the room. It is clear that a Musahar roof cannot be higher than a Yadav roof, and so on up the chain.

Kuleshar Manji and his wife Sudama Devi have been married for thirty years. They have five children, four of whom scamper in and out of the house like the mice running around on the floor. They are landowners: “humraa paanch gaj”. Though this is not common in the community, this is one of the few areas in Bihar with strong Musahar politicians, and some years ago a land redistribution scheme was implemented that gave each family in the surrounding villages a parcel of land.

But in the village land without water is like no land at all. The Musahars have the smallest freehold plots of the worst land. Manji and his wife still spend the majority of the agricultural season cultivating the plots of Yadav families. The Yadav landowners pay each Musahar man Rs 15 for a day’s work, while every Musahar woman receives just 2.5 kilos of unrefined wheat, no money. Kuleshar Manji says, “There is no irrigation, so we can’t water any of the crops on our land. But the government put in pumps and pipes for the areas where the upper-castes have their land. If we don’t work on their land we won’t have anything at all.”

This works out to around Rs 500 a month during the agricultural season. Manji and Sudama Devi are lucky because their oldest son is working as construction labour in Bhutan, from where he sends Rs 500 a month. “Now with Rs 1000 we are more comfortable. Three of my children are in school. But most families here don’t have anyone to send money. If we had to get by on just the wages I am paid to cultivate the Yadav farms we would be in trouble.” Both husband and wife agree that NREGS has been a huge boon during the difficult non-agricultural season, when the steady daily payment of Rs 80 comes as a massive windfall. The Bihar Government has one of the best records of implementing of this scheme.

But such poverty can only breed discontent. Many young men from the lowest-caste groups in each village have taken up cause with the Naxalites, disillusioned by the unchanging patterning of society. One former Naxal, a young Musahar who studied in Dwarako Sundari’s school and is now a businessman in Bodhgaya, explains: “A lot of the villages here are named after Naxal heroes. People get tired of waiting for change. I drifted in and out of camps since I was 15. We used to hold tribunals here, because the villagers were tired of going to the corrupt courts.”

The Naxalite problem affects even the least political villagers desperately, because state functionaries now have a ready-made excuse for not doing their jobs. The former Naxal continues, “while I was growing up, the schools did not have teachers, no health officials would ever come to these areas. They all said the Naxals made it too dangerous for them to work. It is the same now.”

Bodhgaya is jammed with tourists from all over the world. The Bihar Government has built a shiny, metalled road from Patna to this small town. An international airport has been built at Gaya so Buddha-tourists can pop in and out without seeing the rest of India. But with so much spending allocated to ease the journey of foreigners, what remains for the people of this area? None of the tourism money trickles down to the poorest people of this district, of which the Musahars are only one community.

As the Buddha once left the grounds of his palace in Kapilavastu and found nothing but disease and desolation, leave the city limits of Bodhgaya and you enter a poverty-stricken wasteland. It is only the very richest people of Parariya, the Thakurs, who own motorbikes, so they do not have to trudge through the swamp that separates the village from the main road. In these villages, the difference between those who own motorbikes and those who don’t is not a simple one; it tells the story of a thousand years of caste-based repression, and of a people’s quest for dignity under a democracy that has failed them.

Extreme America

2009-07-04T06:04:00.000-07:00

EXTREME AMERICA
By Prayaag Akbar
(Travel Blog: In Covert Magazine)

On television and in newspapers, the voices of conservative commentators veer towards hysteria. They speak of an impending existential crisis in America, of a President who is willing to disrespect the tenets of a 200-year history. The drumbeaters of CNN, Fox News, the Wall Street Journal and most other news media proclaim that one of the holiest of their holy principles is being violated, the foundation of their great state, the policy that is more American than the bacon cheeseburger [extra cheese, extra bacon]. Quite simply, they are amazed that a President has been elected who has the audacity to attempt to control the tentacles of unstinting capitalist endeavour. The message is clear: mess with anything, Mr President, but do not mess with the free market.

As one final flip of the finger to the large swathes of the country that came to despise him, when President Bush exited he left a broken down economy and a perilously damaged relationship with most of the world. The new incumbent, President Obama, has had to tackle the backslapping bonhomie that has long existed between corporate interests and political parties in the United States. This crisis has grown from a particular economic climate, one where traders like Bernie Madoff and Allen Stanford were allowed to do pretty much as they pleased, where insurance companies were able to reinsure dud investments ad infinitum, where the heads of publicly-held corporations could write themselves bonuses of hundreds of millions of dollars while guiding their companies to hell in a gilded hand basket. Yet now that Obama has confronted these issues with the suggestion of Government-appointed financial overseers, the cries of “Socialist!”, which never left his presidential campaign, have begun to hover over his presidency. Obama is certainly not a socialist. He seems unencumbered by attachment to ideology and willing to tackle individual problems free of the politics of Left or Right, White or Black, Straight or Gay. Why voters and the media seem to prefer politicians with such identifiable baggage, it is hard to say.

The car industry was a symbol of the industrial dominance once enjoyed by the United States. The muscle cars of the 1950s, 60s and 70s were valorised and glorified, in movie after movie, book after book. But their steady decline over the past three decades was visible even when the economy showed no signs of distress. Obama’s plan, to nationalise the car manufacturer General Motors, keeps thousands of jobs in America, as well as protecting one of the great institutions of the country. Yet it is met with ridicule and headlines of “GM now Government Motors”. The idea that any modern economy is allowed to run according to the classical neo-conservative theories of laissez-faire and non-intervention is, in any case, ludicrous. Regulation exists. Thankfully, Obama looks stronger than his critics.

THE REAL QUESTION The media is right that America is facing an existential crisis of sorts, but the question this country is just beginning to ask itself is substantively different. What becomes of a country whose identity is premised upon being at the forefront of the world? Whose people have always considered themselves the vanguards of political, economic, cultural and religious expression? Growing, insatiable economies like China, India and Brazil have all demonstrated a greater capability to rebound, largely because they still have economies that build things. Economies that make things people need even in times of crisis, like steel, sugar, textiles and electronics. The America that used to build things is simply no longer there. The Motor City of Detroit is now a ghost town, full of boarded up shop windows and abandoned factories. The steel capital, Pittsburgh, has been forced to reinvent itself as a university town. Both cities surrendered more than industrial supremacy through the flight of capital to Special Economic Zones in China and India. They surrendered a part of the American story, one there is no guarantee can be returned.

ONE INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS theory beloved of scholars in America used to be the Hegemonic Stability Theory, which emerged during the period of peace that followed the Cold War. To simplify it, the theory describes a Pax Americana [Peace through American dominance], as there was once a Pax Romana [Peace under the Roman Empire]. Such a belief, that the world would benevolently look on as the American military-financial complex steamrolled cultures and homes around the globe, has been left in tatters by the rise of terrorist insurgencies. If in 50 years, America finds itself no longer the global hegemon, it will need to fashion a new identity for itself, one that does not derive from expanding its influence over the world.

It is a gloomy picture I have painted here, but it is not the complete picture. For the most part, America remains a land of unrivalled plenty, with scales of consumption and the kinds of choice in food, clothing, entertainment and leisure that even the wealthiest Europeans are amazed by. It is humbling, especially when you consider hubristic comments in India about how if our economic progression continues we might soon be on par with the national wealth of the United States. Even if by some miracle our national wealth reaches that of America, the concentrations of power will ensure that too many people are left out of the economic boom for the numbers to be meaningful.

IT MIGHT NOT fit the popular conception of “the idiot American” that so suited the Bush years, but the governance in this country, especially on domestic issues, has been unparalleled for the last hundred years. I was reminded of this as I drove through Yosemite National Park, a lush outpost of Central California full of giant redwood trees and scalpel-cut granite rocks. The trees sparkled in the intermittent sun, their leaves polished green; dead wood was cut from the boughs; dead grass on the ground was burnt away immediately. Nature flourished here, but in a classic American way, with a team of rangers and foresters constantly monitoring everything, improving the colours, spring-cleaning the vistas. It was magnificent. It made me wonder when Indian national parks would justify such outlay. It is then you are reminded of how many steps America is ahead of us; ahead of everyone in the rest of the world. In this and in so many other avenues of life, the pitfalls that stand in the way of development have been negotiated, some with more success than others. And each has been negotiated to the extent that is required to keep the nation warmly vital in a number of pursuits, from athletics to playwriting. This at a time when in China forests are clear-cut to build massive factories that make sewing machines and electric razors. This at a time when in India we displace thousands of farmers every time a corporation has an idea for a cheaper car. National wealth is one, usually meaningless, measure of development. We have a long way ahead of us.

A CULTURE ALL ITS OWN As intrinsic as politics is to the American conception of nationhood, there are many other facets of their identity, some even more unfathomable to the foreign visitor. For instance, it would be hard to imagine another nation that takes its television viewing so seriously. The sale of its biggest car companies has been the most prominent news story while I have been here. The second? Conan O’Brien taking over the Tonight Show from Jay Leno. Reams of newspaper space were devoted to the switch; not back in the entertainment section, but on the front page. Journalists debated with great earnestness the merits of the comically adventurous O’Brien over Jay Leno, whose show had steadily declined into tepidity. The television is an essential part of Americana, at once uniting a disparate people through the plasma prism they watch. The switch between comedians attracted so much attention because it tells of what millions of Americans will do right before going to sleep. Political strategists will now consider what jokes Conan will make about their candidates where once they had to consider Leno’s take. Movie producers will think of what stance the new host will take on their big-investment movie projects. Culture here is inextricably entwined with television.

Another uniquely American tradition is the propagation of insane activities, or as they like to call it, Extreme Sports. If you can find a snow-covered mountain to propel down strapped to a board, or a bridge or building high enough to parachute from, or a hundred foot long sheer rock face to climb with only your fingers and some rope, you are almost certain to find an American or two indulging in said activities, muttering “Extreme! Extreme!” as they go along. I participated in one such activity, which I would be laughed at if I called an extreme sport, but an activity that nonetheless left my body bruised and battered, an activity to which I shall add elements of danger on every retelling of this story.

My cousins, who were raised in California, drove us out to a place in the Sierra foothills they quaintly called “The Water Slides”. I do not believe it was their intention to mislead, but if I had to choose another name for the place I would perhaps go with “Whitewater Chutes of Sharp, Jaggedy Rocks”, for that is what they actually were. The place was basically an offshoot of a waterfall, where water trickled down quite pleasantly in certain parts and very rapidly in others. My cousin decided to demonstrate how to travel down the slide. His method, which I would not have considered possible before, involved sitting on your behind and basically being thrown by the force of the water down the waterfall, bouncing off rocks on either side all along the way. When he reached the pool in the bottom he got up and yelled [I think it was “Extreme!” but I could not hear] and began to encourage others in our party to do the same.

Once all the other Americans started getting in on the act, hurtling down this rocky slope with huge smiles on their faces as though they were at a particularly hilarious movie, I of course could not shame my country by declining to participate. My instructions were clear: lean in front and keep my arms by my side. But somehow by the time I was sitting in the flowing water, waiting to push myself off, those instructions disappeared completely from my mind, replaced by thoughts along the lines of, “That rock looks very sharp” and “What am I doing here?” Many times I flew down that waterfall at great speed, each time forgetting to stay in front, in fact leaning back as if I was on a reclining chair, but thankfully each time emerging from the water with only a few cuts on the arms and legs and a pair of bruised buttocks.

Then, as a little after dinner snack as it were, we climbed down to a little ledge over a lovely green pond that the waterfall fed. Standing there, with no way to get back to safety and without much warning, my cousin took a couple of steps and jumped into the water 40 feet below. Forty feet does not sound like much on paper, but peering over the edge of that ledge, as the girls we were with stood below filming us, it looked like a whole lot. By this time I had already submitted my fate to whichever God would accept me, so it was not hard for me to jump. What I had failed to notice however was that each of the rest who had jumped had taken a substantial leap. I sort of sauntered off the edge of the ledge, flying down one-two-three seconds through the air perilously close to the cliff, prompting one onlooker to tell me I would have cracked my head open had I leaned back. One cousin called it “the path of least effort and most danger”, which I assumed meant I embodied some sort of Gandhian ideals, but in retrospect might have been a polite way of calling me both lazy and stupid.

I had spent most of the day in a sort of stupor, wondering at the surreal nature of the challenges being placed in front of me, my brain refusing to comprehend that this was something Americans called “fun”. But by the end of it all I was exhilarated beyond words, my heart invigorated and my body racing. Then on the drive back, as I was falling asleep, I think I whispered to myself: “Extreme!”

153 MPs have criminal charges against them in new Lok Sabha

2009-06-06T04:26:00.000-07:00

153 MPs have criminal charges against them in new Lok Sabha
(SPECIAL REPORT)
By Prayaag Akbar

NEW DELHI: Ninety-eight elected members of the 15th Lok Sabha have failed to provide their PAN details to the Election Commission, according to a study conducted by the NGO collective National Election Watch. Another report, just released by the group, has found that 153 of 535 MPs had criminal charges against them. To compound matters, almost half of these MPs — 74 to be precise — are in the dock for the most serious offences against the Indian Penal Code like robbery, attempt to murder, inciting communal violence and the like.

Of the 98 MPs who refused to file their PAN details, National Election Watch has found that 25 are crorepatis. Rajkumari Ratna Singh of Pratapgarh, a member of the Indian National Congress’ surprise run in Uttar Pradesh, heads the list, with movable assets of around Rs 62 crores and immovable assets of Rs 5.5 crores. The Congress also has the most crorepatis in Lok Sabha, with 138 of their 206 winning candidates having assets of more than Rs 1 crore. The BJP has 58 such MPs. Even Marxist stalwart CPI[M] has amongst its ranks a solitary member of the crorepati club. The Samajwadi Party has 14 crorepatis in the Lok Sabha, though presumably none of them have computers.

Though election observers have been singing of a new dawn in electoral politics in India — with the polity supposedly moving towards a responsible, enlightened future — the figures suggest this is hardly the case. Of the 116 BJP MPs in the 15th Lok Sabha, 43 have criminal charges — 37% — while 19 [16%] have serious criminal charges. Of the 204 Indian National Congress Members of Parliament examined, 41 have criminal charges, while 12 have serious criminal charges. Regional outfits like the Samajwadi Party are even more prone to such politics: 35% — 8 out of their 23 — have serious criminal charges against them, while 9 have just criminal charges.

Keeping in mind the notorious politics of Bihar, it is impressive that the JD[U] has managed to keep these figures down to a degree, while Naveen Patnaik’s clean image seems justified, with only one of his party’s 14 MPs accused of serious criminal misdemeanour. Eight of the crorepati MPs who failed to declare their PAN details have serious criminal records. Again Rajkumari Ratna Singh tops the list as she is accused of three extremely serious violations of the Indian Penal Code, including attempt to murder, robbery and criminal intimidation. Angadi Channabasappa, BJP MP from Karnataka has, perhaps predictably, been accused of promoting enmity between different communities. Various other charges have been brought against a number of the candidates, including the charge of forgery against P. Karunakaran of CPI[M} in Kerala, and culpable homicide not amounting to murder, attempt to murder, and dacoity against Vinay Kumar, again of the Indian National Congress.

THESE REPORTS WERE prepared by studying the affidavits declared by 535 Members of Parliament. National Election Watch is an election-monitoring agency that was started by the Association for Democratic Reform [ADR], the organisation that filed the PIL which culminated in the Supreme Court order of 2003 that requires every Lok Sabha candidate to disclose their full financial, criminal and educational background.

A number of interesting facts have been thrown up by the number-crunching of this organisation. The average assets per MP in Haryana is an astonishing Rs 18 crores, which suggests a strong correlation between winning candidates and level of assets in the state. Next on the list is Andhra Pradesh, with the average amongst 42 candidates coming to the remarkable figure of Rs 15 crores. Meghalaya, one of the poorest States in India, is third on the list, with the two candidates averaging Rs 12 crores between them. Most of the other north-eastern States are on the opposite end of the spectrum, with Mizoram, Nagaland, Tripura and Manipur all having winning candidates with average declared assets of Rs 50 lakhs or less. The sole Member of Parliament from Andaman & Nicobar Islands has Rs 12 lakhs of declared assets, which makes his territory the last on this list [¼]

Champions, Inevitably

2009-06-05T02:51:00.000-07:00

Champions, Inevitably
By Prayaag Akbar

Another season, and another Premier League title for Alex Ferguson and Manchester United. The Scottish knight has just racked up a 18th title for the self-proclaimed biggest club in the world, equalling the record that bitter rivals Liverpool have held since their last league victory, way back in 1990. When Sir Alex was appointed manager of the club in 1986, the once-great club was enduring a protracted fallow period, far from the heady days of the 1950s and ‘60s. They could no longer attract the best talent in the country, as they had in the days of George Best and Bobby Charlton. Yet Ferguson took his time, fashioning a team that matched the fervent supporters of Manchester. More than twenty years later, he has won eleven league titles, the first coming in 1992 when the old Football League was rebranded and became the Premier League. In 1992 Liverpool’s haul of eighteen league titles seemed unassailable, and if you had suggested then that the mighty Liverpool would fail to win the league once in the next seventeen years you would have been laughed out of Old Trafford. But that is how things have panned out. By equalling that record this year Ferguson has comprehensively demonstrated who the top dog of English football has been since he has been around. It is worth keeping in mind that Ferguson is no shrinking violet. When he first headed south from the Scottish club Aberdeen, he was asked what his primary responsibility would be in England. His answer was succinct: ‘to knock Liverpool right off their f***ing perch’.

But if Manchester United’s unquenchable thirst for trophies is making things a little predictable at the top – this is their third league title in a row – football lovers seeking thrills should look below those heady reaches, to the pit of the Premier League table, where every season a gut-tingling fight to the finish takes place. This is the battle to decide which teams will be allowed to ply their trade in the topmost echelon of English football. Until the last weekend of the season, two of the three teams that would be demoted had not been decided. Only West Bromwich was sure to go down; Newcastle, Sunderland, Middlesbrough and Hull were all struggling to avoid the drop.

As it turned out, it was Newcastle and Middlesbrough that suffered that ignominy, with their failure to win ensuring Hull, who lost to the champions on the final day, and Sunderland, who lost to Chelsea, would escape the chop. The relegations come as something of a shock because both clubs have been established fixtures in the Premier League for some time now. Middlesbrough at least stayed true to their principles, playing decent football and never resorting to the overt physicality that typifies the approach of strugglers like Hull and Bolton. But it was the demise of Newcastle which is most startling. They are traditionally one of England’s biggest clubs, with highly-paid stars like Michael Owen, Obafemi Martins, Mark Viduka, Nicky Butt and Damien Duff all in the squad. Much is also made of the passionate support of the Geordie nation (they are often described as the best fans in England). In a bid to stave off relegation, in April Newcastle appointed their former striker Alan Shearer, who is revered as a demi-god in the northern city, but had absolute zero experience in football management. He had eight games to turn it around, but only managed to get three points during his tenure, all from a 3-1 win against Middlesbrough. Lessons need to be learnt for the club. Stability will be needed if a return to the top-flight is to be envisaged [¼]

In a season saturated with cricket, Saeed Naqvi spotted a write-up which forms part of a series of Covert quizzes. The questions are: Who wrote the piece? And which batsman is being praised by the cricket writer? The first five correct entries will get a year's subscription to the magazine.

The innings was rent in twain now; A was left standing on a solitary rock of sound technique; between him and rearguard yawned a chasm. He proceeded to play the cricket of heroic loneliness; he hit B for six to square leg with the serenest sweeping movement. He cut late with the touch of intimate art. Impending disaster did not ruffle him; even a snick through the slips off B was tranquil and graceful. B bowled keenly, accurately, ominously, and fast; C at the other end turned his leg-break now and again and avoided too much short stuff. D’s off-breaks had an amiable aspect. Now came the death and glory, brilliance wearing the dress of culture. A demolished the attack with aristocratic politeness, good taste, and reserve. Claude Duval never took possession of a stage coach with more charm of manner than this; his boundaries were jewels and trinkets which he accepted as though dangling them in his hands. He scored nearly fifty, unhurried but trenchant. He cut and glanced and drove, upright and lissome; his perfection of touch moved the aesthetic sense; this was the cricket of felicity, power and no covetousness, strength and no battery, dazzling strokes and no rhetoric; lovely, brave batsmanship giving joy to the connoisseur, and all done in a losing hour.

IPL: The Fun has gone [to South Africa]

2009-05-04T05:24:00.000-07:00

IPL : THE FUN HAS GONE [to South Africa]
by Prayaag Akbar
(cover special, Covert Magazine)

At 9 p.m. on 20 April, outside the Members Entrance of the Sahara Newlands Stadium at Cape Town, a thick swarm of teenage girls of Indian origin stand with autograph books and pens poised. A flutter passes through the crowd every time the thick panelled door is opened by an attendant to release another of the group of dignitaries who have travelled to Cape Town for the second edition of the Twenty20 Indian Premier League. In the background brothers and boyfriends hold cameras and mutter disconsolately, while the younger girls are accompanied by mothers who can barely conceal their own excitement. The movers and shakers of India’s financial and sporting firmament walk out of the door, but the Indian immigrant community of South Africa, most descendants of indentured workers brought to the continent in the 19th century, cares little when they realise it is not the one they wait for. They stand in the drizzle for one man alone — Mr Shah Rukh Khan.

It is not clear how much of the success of Lalit Modi’s pet venture [and the enforced globalization of the IPL in its second year has perhaps cemented its success] is down to Modi’s shrewd capitalisation on the extraordinary draw that Bollywood holds for Indians in India and abroad. Even cricket-loving white and black South Africans, whose knowledge of India’s film industry remains minimal, seem further drawn to it because of the glamour it is already associated with.

After all, purely from a cricket perspective, in the swinging, cloud-covered conditions in South Africa, the players’ displays in this smash-bang version of the game have often been some distance from exhilarating. Modi will be aware that the allure of the league rests on the subliminal thread that has wrapped the IPL and Bollywood together. Every day, local newspapers feature huge photographs of Shilpa Shetty, Preity Zinta, Akshay Kumar, and indubitably the biggest of all, Shah Rukh, their eyes shaded from the intermittent sun by huge glasses, waving the flags of their teams or sporting their colours. This is not to suggest that the cricket has taken a backstage in this sports-mad country. It is just that by inviting Bollywood to the party, cricket is no longer the biggest show in town.

But Modi, Niranjan Shah, I.S. Bindra and the rest of the tournament’s promoters will not be complaining, because in its second season the IPL already looks an unstoppable force, ready to revolutionise the sport both domestically and internationally. The IPL already generates substantially more revenue than any six-week international tour could ever manage — see below for detailed figures — and there is no denying the possibility of further encroachments on an already packed international calendar if it continues in this vein. If Modi and BCCI supremo Sharad Pawar figure out a way to adequately compensate foreign players and the national boards of the major cricket playing countries, this cricketing super league only stands to grow and grow, carrying this truncated version of an age-old game on its back.

CIRCUS OLE: INDIA’S ANSWER TO FORMULA 1

The luminescence of the league can be judged by the size of the moths it draws: on the opening day of the tournament, seated in the magnificent President’s Box at Newlands, are some heavy hitters indeed. The owners of various teams drift in and out of their personal boxes, an inventory list of industrialist scions and Bollywood power brokers: Mukesh Ambani walks by in a surprisingly casual outfit, rubbing shoulders with Ness Wadia, Dabur heir Mohit Burman, Daredevils’ owner G.M Rao’s son-in-law Sreenivas Bomidala. The Indian film industry, of course, is out in full force. Shah Rukh has brought his family and assorted retinue. Preity Zinta is there, accompanied by two massive security guards, whose primary duties seem to be holding her umbrella when it is raining and waving the Kings XI flag when it is not. Shilpa Shetty and Raj Kundra are also there with their families — they get to the stadium and back in a flaming orange Lamborghini Gallardo, just one of the luxuries that team owners are according themselves. As one BCCI functionary sitting in the box proudly says, “Vijay Mallya is the only one who has not made it for the opening day, and that’s because Force India has a race this weekend. He could not make it, but everyone else is here. He’ll be there for their next game.”

One consequence of Bollywood’s involvement is their domination of camera time in between balls and overs. When a Kings XI Punjab batsman hits a six, or a Kolkata Knight Riders bowler takes a wicket, the natural reaction of the cameramen and producers is to pan to Preity or Shah Rukh to capture the delight or dismay of one of India’s beautiful people. The other owners do not quite hold the same pulling power. One of the owners of a team sent his bodyguard to have a quiet word with the television producer to make sure he was accorded an adequate share of screen time. It seems even the rich and successful are subject to the vagaries of vanity.

With so many of the glitterati around, it is no wonder that the nightlife that surrounds the IPL does not slow down even in South Africa. Just as in Formula 1, where a huge cast of owners, drivers and technicians travel to a different spot on the globe every two weeks, what happens on the field during the IPL is the precursor to a whole lot more. Last year it was a succession of private parties, where every night owners would throw lavish affairs where the cricketers and administrators could let their hair down after 20 strenuous overs in the field. This year, perhaps because of the recession, perhaps because it is in South Africa and every company associated has sent only the bare minimum of staff, private parties are no longer the norm.

Now the nightclubs of South Africa are filled with cricketers, primarily of the English and Australian variety. The Indian players venture out from time to time, but despite pretences, South Africa is still divided along a gaping racial fault line. In most exclusive nightclubs in Cape Town, Durban and Johannesburg, brown and black faces are not customary. Even during the IPL, these clubs are filled predominantly with shining blonde hair. The younger Indian players, who are usually the ones seen out at night, mostly stand around looking awkward. It is the owners of the teams and their friends who come home every morning as the rooster crows.

MONEY TALKS AND CRICKET WALKS

Compare the incentives that Modi is presenting to Pawar, the BCCI and everyone who makes their money from cricket with what they were earning before, and you understand why the former chief of the Rajasthan Cricket Association has been able to weather allegations of financial impropriety, ally Vasundhara Raje’s removal as the Chief Minister of Rajasthan, and various other controversies that might have shipwrecked less hardy voyagers, to emerge as cricket’s great new hope. For the BCCI alone, the revenues pulled in through the tournament are enormous. The television deal with Sony Entertainment Television alone provides Rs 900 crore; Rs 150 crore is channelled into their coffers via central sponsorships; a further Rs 300 crore is paid to them in total each year from the eight franchisees. That is Rs 1,350 crore for six weeks of the BCCI and the Indian national team’s time. Before the IPL the BCCI’s revenues already dwarfed the revenues of the other national boards like America’s GDP dwarfs the GDPs of the rest of the world. Still, they would only generate about Rs 750 crore in an entire year. The arithmetic is simple, and Modi is now seen by sport officials around the world as the herald of cricket’s brave new dawn, just as the promoters of the English Premier League were seen as the men who revolutionised football in England and consequently the world.

The figures discussed here, of course, are only the direct revenues generated for the BCCI by the IPL. Then you have to count the money being made by the gamut of institutions that constitute that essential periphery of the sport: television channel partners, event management companies, sports marketing agencies, advertising firms, airlines, shoe manufacturers, security agencies and travel bureaus. Modi’s venture is making all these people a whole lot of money. As a result, his vision for the game is slowly being accepted as the vision of the game.

Though the majority of the money for the IPL derives from television, Modi is shrewd enough to know, this year’s election induced aberration aside, in the future the league’s matches must be played in India. The screaming passion of teams playing in front of their home audiences adds the vitality that is missing from this second edition. Dhoni and Tendulkar have both said that playing in South Africa has resulted in a diminishment of the charm of the league. Some reinvention will also be required if the league is to continue to be as successful every year. The playing rosters of some of the teams are a whisker away from elderly — players like Sanath Jayasuriya, Matthew Hayden, Adam Gilchrist, Glenn McGrath and Saurav Ganguly might all not be there next year. The chat surrounding the Kolkata team is not only about the alarming rate at which Ganguly is losing his hair, but also about whether he retains the ability to perform at this level. Most important, however, is that the circus returns to India, for cricket’s biggest circus it most certainly is [¼]

Exports Downturn

2009-05-04T05:04:00.000-07:00

Exports Downturn
by Prayaag Akbar
“Asia’s recoveries from previous downturns have been led by a rebound in exports to the rich world. This is unlikely in the near future.” – The Economist, Troubled Tigers, January 29, 2009

The Indian export sector is bracing itself for the mother of all crash-landings, come the new financial year in March. Industrialists may see a dip in their profits, but they can live with a downturn. By March 10 million workers, both men and women, will face the more searing loss of lay-offs or job loss. Can they live without their wages, which already hover close to the basic subsistence level? Over 150 million work in the exports sector in India and it is the largest provider of jobs after agriculture. It is these people whose livelihoods are now under threat.

As banks crash around the world and behemoth corporations cut their financial budgets to amounts they would previously allocate to corporate “getaways”, many industry watchers assert that the Indian export sector – which saw a decline of 22% in volume in January alone, according to a survey conducted by the Commerce Ministry – would only really begin to feel the effects of the crisis in March, when most of the current contracts run out. After March, expect an even more significant level of job loss in employment-intensive export industries like garments, leather and jewellery. Jobs are even expected to be lost in the capital-intensive IT sector because of the decline in demand for the services of industry leaders like Infosys and Tata Consultancy Services.

While India is not as reliant on exports as other Asian economies like Singapore, Malaysia and its primary competitor in the region China, Indian exports still constitute more than 20% of the Gross Domestic Product [GDP] of the nation. It is also considered one of the most employment-intensive sectors of our economy, providing jobs for the poor across the country: leather workers in Calcutta, Chennai and Kanpur, garments workers in the National Capital Region, Tiripura and Navi Mumbai, diamond-cutters in Gujarat, and so on. The volume of exports has been declining since October 2008, when they crashed by 12.1%, followed by a 9.9% crash in November. With January’s 22% crash – the largest single-month crash in volume since India opened its trade borders in 1991 – concern is spreading throughout the export sector.

The Federation of Indian Export Organisations (FIEO) has conducted a number of studies into the depth of the crisis for Indian exporters. Covert spoke with Mr Anand Seth, the Deputy Director General of the FIEO, about their findings: “We already know that by March 2009 10 million jobs will be lost all over the country, both in regular and contractual labour. But export orders usually run until March, so we are expecting a huge level of job loss after that. It could very easily be another 10% a month for some time if fresh orders do not come in.

“We had an expected trade target of $200 billion for this year. Now it looks like we will only be getting $160 billion worth of trade. Apart from the jobs that have already been lost, we should also count the jobs that would have been created by the trade we have lost out on. That would be at least another 3 million well-paying jobs for the people of India. As always, it is the labour-intensive industries that are hit the most, it is the poor who will lose their livelihoods.”

Mr Seth also points out that at such a time government inaction is harming India’s prospects of remaining competitive in exporting to the First World. He says, “Two steps are essential: China has just announced a 15% tax rebate across the board for exporters. India needs to do something similar urgently. Second, the duties we have to pay need to be alleviated to help the industry out.”

Garment Exporters

Over an informal conversation one evening in New Delhi, an extremely successful exporter of shorts and shirts to department stores in the United States [who asked for his name to be withheld] was blunt in his assessment: “I’ll tell you very honestly, after March I am going to sack 80% of my workforce. There’s nothing I can do about it. With orders falling so drastically I’m tempted to stop this whole exports thing and rent out the land my factory is on. I’ll earn a whole lot more money.”

On the 5th of February, the top brass of the apex body for apparel export, the AEPC (Apparel Export Promotion Council), met the Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission, Mr Montek Singh Ahluwalia, at his office on Parliament Street in New Delhi. They presented him with a set of recommendations they feel would revive their industry at a time when it is urgently demanded. Amongst other things, they asked the Planning Commission to exempt them from fringe benefit tax, a privilege that has already been extended to the IT industry, for the government to provide interest-free loans for investment in machinery, for zero percent duty for import of capital goods and for a section of the funds allocated to the rural employment guarantee scheme be earmarked for the apparel sector.

Rakesh Vaid, chairman of the AEPC, elaborated to Covert on the extent of the job crisis that is affecting the textile and clothing export industry of India. He asserts, “We have already lost 5 lakh jobs in the industry. But this is just the beginning, because right now most exporters have contracts that go until March. However there has been a sharp decline in the number of new contracts being signed from abroad. By April I anticipate the figure will be more than 1.5 million jobless people all over the country – and even that could be an underestimation.”

The question now is what steps the government take to ensure that such a large number of people are not left without a regular source of income, especially because in this economic climate it seems no industry is in the position to be able to hire labour. Mr Vaid adds, “we have asked the government to give us power at industrial prices, rationalise the stricter labour laws, provide genuine exit options and allow us to introduce schemes where we can link wages to productivity. Now it is up to them.”

The Deputy Secretary General of the AEPC, Vijay Mathur, explained the pervasive impact such widespread unemployment will cause. “In the north there will be job losses in our big centres like the National Capital Region, Ludhiana and Jaipur. In the south Bangalore, Navi Mumbai and Hyderabad are sure to be hit. But what of a place like Tirupur (near Coimbatore) that is one of our largest centres and where a large part of the economy is dependent on textile export?” Mr Mathur goes on to explain that it is always the poorest and most unskilled workers who suffer the most, because the maximum job losses are in the mass products sector. Job losses will be highest amongst those textile labourers involved in making the cheap T-shirts, trousers and clothes sent abroad in bulk orders. Workers higher up the value-chain have a greater degree of protection because higher-value orders have not fallen as drastically.

Mr Mathur adds, “At this rate we will lose even more business to Bangladesh, which has already overtaken us in terms of volume. The important thing is for the Government to act now! They can’t take their time over this because February is the time we usually book our orders. If they don’t provide the exemptions and increase in drawback rates we are looking for then they should be prepared to face massive layoffs.”

Rohan Bhargava, who runs Delhi-based Viraj Exports, an export house that supplies to large-scale buyers in Europe like Tesco, spoke to Covert on the issue: “It’s natural for us to suffer some consequences. Retailers are ordering less and less pieces, though people doing business with Europe (like us) are better off than those trading with America. People are shutting down factories all over. There are huge exporters who are doing small jobs here and there instead of the bulk work they are accustomed to just so that they can keep their factory running. I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

Leather Industry

Leather is another of India’s major exports that relies heavily on skilled and unskilled labour. The tune within this industry again seems to be one of caution until March, as exporters await the impending loss of contracts. Agastya Chopra of Anca Leathers, a Mumbai-based exporter of leather bags, clarified that they had not been hit yet because they were booked at full capacity until March. He explained: “Most of our buyers are from England and Australia. By this time we usually have a few orders coming in and we start our development work towards fulfilling the order. But this year we just haven’t received any orders. It’s a tricky situation. Our leather is all sourced from Calcutta. Now that everybody is feeling the pinch I’m sure people will already be losing jobs there.”

The three major centres of leather production in India are Chennai, Calcutta and Kanpur. The industry has been seeing a month-to-month decline in volume demanded of drastic proportions. There has been a 30% loss of trade since September 2008. Industry insiders were expecting trade to grow substantially from the $3.5 billion it was last year, but now they are resigned to the figure remaining at that level, or even decreasing.

Mr Habib Hussain, Chairman of the Council for Leather Exports, outlined the scenario for Covert. “The industry is not in major crisis yet, but there are signs that it is coming. Everyone is already planning for a drop of 30% in demand from last year, which will have an effect all the way down the production chain. Kanpur, which specialises in footwear, has already been hit very badly and Calcutta and Chennai are not far behind.

“There are 2.5 million people employed in the industry. We have already seen 70,000-100,000 job losses in the industry. It’s hard to estimate because many factory owners don’t own up to the number of people they have laid off. But after March you will see this number shoot up – I would say 300,000 – 500,000 jobs will be lost in the organised sector alone.” If the number reaches that level over 1/5th of the poorest workers in the leather industry will be left jobless.

IT Industry

And where does all this leave the golden child of Indian industry, our much-vaunted Information Technology sector? While the Business Process Outsourcing (BPO) corporations that kickstarted the IT revolution in India have been positively impacted by the recession, as they are still able to provide their services at a cost that Western firms can afford, they no longer dominate the infotech industry as they once did. Our IT industry provides a whole range of services that they export across the world. Companies like Tata Consultancy Services and Infosys have clients that include Citigroup, Ferrari, American Express and some of the largest corporations in the world.

Nasscom, the lobby body for the IT industry, recently announced that export growth projections needed to be cut by 5 - 7% for March 2009 after unexpected contractions in the global economy. As IT budgets are trimmed and discretionary spending is curtailed all over the world, our software and information export companies are suffering as demand falls. Mr Priyadas, President of the software specialist GuildSoft, explains how his business has suffered: “the long-term effects of this crisis for IT companies will be even more than when the dotcom bubble burst in 2001. One of my biggest clients is Panasonic. Two days ago I received a message that they are $1.1 billion in the red. After hearing that, how can I expect them to renew their contract with me after March?”

Job losses are expected as the effects of reduced spending percolate through the industry. A financial manager for American Express, who asked not to be named, told Covert that they are cutting their spending on IT companies because it is easier to do that than lose jobs. “Banks and other financial institutions use the services of IT consultancies all the time. But when times get tough we can cut this expenditure down because it’s a discretionary expense. Last year, we paid TCS $104 million, Accenture $100 million and Infosys $78 million. This year we are paying TCS $45 million, Infosys $40 million and Accenture only on an “as-used” basis.” Export revenue is sure to fall quite dramatically as demand for the services of these leading IT companies falls.

As the Indian economy soldiers its way through the worldwide financial recession, it is the producers of those goods and services that were in such high demand at the same time last year that are suffering. India’s booming economy had convinced manufacturers, IT wizards and exporters of all kinds that they should ramp up their production levels to match demand. Now that demand has fallen, it is those jobs that were created in the past few years that are most at threat. With the general election taking place in the months directly after March – when things are expected to be at their worst – the Government will need to take a number of prudent steps to ensure they are not out of work themselves.

Satyam Shows We Need Bankruptcy Laws

One thing the Satyam case has shown quite clearly is that India needs a proper set of bankruptcy laws that will deal with cases like this. While the Government response to the Satyam crisis has been sensible and measured, the various stakeholders in large corporations – employees, shareholders, customers and suppliers – should not have to rely on the government of the time making the correct response. Bankruptcy laws, like the Chapter 11 regulation in America, allow large corporations that have suffered for whatever reason to survive, sometimes through much-needed restructuring.

Strengthening Dollar is No Help

Exporters are supposed to benefit from a weak rupee as the dollar price for their products or services falls as the value of the Indian currency declines, thus increasing demand. With the recent weakening of the rupee against the dollar – at the time of writing it was close to its all-time low – exporters were expected to clean up, but this has not been the case. Habib Hussain of the Council for Leather Exports explains why: “last year, when we were taking orders it was Rs 38 for 1 US dollar. Most exporters fixed their contracts at a forward price of Rs 42 for 1 USD because no one anticipated that the rupee would go down so much. Even though it now has, we are not the ones who are benefitting.”

Rural Unrest

It is not only corporate/urban India that is suffering in these credit-crunched times. Sources point to a high level of dissatisfaction in rural India because of the failure of the winter rains to come this year. Winter rains are considered essential to the healthy development of Rabi crops like foodgrain, oilseed and pulses. Punjab, Bihar, Uttar Pradesh and parts of Northwestern India have been worst affected, as deficient winter rain meant several wheat regions in the north were unable to get sufficient rain during the usual sowing and post-sowing period.

Inside the Bajrang Dal

2009-05-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

INSIDE THE BAJRANG DAL
By Prayaag Akbar

Since its first meeting in 1996 in Karnataka, a state that has only recently seen the emergence of saffron politics, how has the Bajrang Dal reached a position of such strength that it can leave the law and order of the area in a shambles? The slow rise of this amorphous, shadowy organisation in various parts of the country has been accompanied by bouts of fierce violence. The Bajrang Dal has more than fifty thousand units all over the country, each with at least 10 members. It is just one of the 52 organisations that comprise the Rashtriya Swayam Sevak (RSS) controlled Sangh Parivar. But the Dal is the militant face of the Parivar, utilised when and where required and shunned when their violence garners too much criticism.

Unlike the other Sangh Parivar groups, the organisational structure of the Dal is with limited leadership, with only a convenor and co-convenor for every unit, and one convenor at the national level. This allows for them to operate as a lumpen force, the stormtroopers of the Hindutva brigade. However, the RSS influence over all the organisations in the Sangh Parivar cannot be discounted. At present, any activities of the VHP and Bajrang Dal must be sanctioned by Bhaiyaji Joshi, who is the prachari sent by the RSS. But this limited independence can sometimes lead to a power struggle between the organisations.

The genesis of the Bajrang Dal owes to the mobilisation surrounding the Ram Janmabhoomi Movement, when they escorted the rath yatra through North India to ensure its security. Soon after this became the youth wing of the VHP, committed to propagating Hindutva ideology amongst the younger generation. Prakash Sharma told Covert, “Our tradition is at stake. The youth is under the influence of Daaru, Disco and Drugs. Our goddesses are insulted. Cows are being slaughtered. We are the victims of terrorism. We are here to prepare our youth to combat these situations.”

The Dal uses a very specific strategy that combines religious pride and nationalism to mobilise support in a new area. Relying on the power of religious belief in India, Bajrangis hold weekly meetings, called Saptahik Milaks, in which bhajans and patriotic songs are sung which attract large crowds of people, especially the youth. After establishing trust within the community these meetings often acquire a political dynamic. Literature proclaiming the virtues of Hindu Rashtra and portraying minorities as threats to the integrity of the nation is then distributed. Activist Shabnam Hashmi described the operational strategy of the Bajrang Dal: “These meetings are part of a slow process of organisation. After the bhajans and patriotic songs, a local religious figure, usually associated with the VHP, will speak about the need to protect Hindu women from Muslim usurpers or the increasing numbers of conversions by Christian missionaries. The aggressive content of the speeches and pamphlets are tempered with the spirituality of the religious songs, making the meetings acceptable to the larger community while igniting the passions of young, underprivileged youth.”

Martial training is an important aspect of the Bajrang Dal curriculum. As Sharma told Covert, “volunteers are trained, usually on a daily basis, to shoot using air guns and are given basic lessons in self-defence by retired servicemen and police officers. One major camp happens every year in each state bringing volunteers together from all over the state.” There also seems to be an economic incentive for full-time Bajrang Dal activists. Sharma says, “if someone devotes all their time to our cause we take care of all of their daily needs, providing them with accommodation, food, clothes, kharcha-paani – but only if those workers cannot make ends meet.”

The refusal of our security forces and police to control the more violent agitations of the Bajrangis stems from political protection. RB Sreekumar, chief of Gujarat Intelligence Bureau during the 2002 riots, pointed out “people do not engage in such violence unless they are sure nothing will happen to them. Police monitoring mechanisms will know immediately if tomorrow Naveen Patnaik goes somewhere and his security is not adequate. But somehow they can’t tell when a church goes up in flames in front of a police station and the police does nothing. The destruction of the mosque at Ayodhya was the trigger for most of the support you see amongst Muslims for SIMI today. If we watch and do nothing while the same thing is done to the Christians we will have the same problem on our hands.”

Box 1:
RISE OF THE BAJRANG DAL

- 1984: Began during the Ram Janmabhoomi agitation as a method of moblisiing the Hindu youth of Uttar Pradesh for the VHP-orchestrated Ram-Janaki Rath Yatra.
- 1984: Was formally recognised as the youth wing of the VHP.
- 1986: Began to spread into other states of North India.
- 1992: Complicit in violence surrounding the destruction of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya.
- 1994: Successfully established units all over North India.
- 1996: Efforts began to establish their presence in South India. First meeting in Karnataka.
- 1999: Implicated in the brutal burning of Graham Staines and his sons.
- 2002: Implicated in the killing of Muslims during the Gujarat pogrom.
- 2007: Implicated in attacks on churches in Orissa
- 2008: Accused of widespread attacks on Christian groups in Orissa and Karnataka.

Box 2:
Prakash Sharma

- Began as an RSS pracharak in 1984 in Kanpur.
- Was made Kanpur convenor of the Bajrang Dal after its formation.
- In 1992 was put in charge of coordinating Bajrang Dal activities across the North Indian states.
- Made national co-convenor in 1996.
- Made convenor on 12 June 2002.

Jharkhand

2009-05-04T04:53:00.000-07:00

JHARKHAND
By Prayaag Akbar

“Corruption is too small a word to describe what goes on in Jharkhand. What we have here is a complete failure of the system. The sad part is, it is the Legislative Assembly that is the fountainhead of this corruption. That is where everything starts from.” These are the words of Sarju Rai, one of the senior politicians in the State. Rai himself was a MLA until President’s Rule was announced in January this year, and he is just one of many lamenting the state of affairs. It seems almost any person you meet in the State can cite numerous instances of corruption of senior bureaucrats, small and big-time politicians, police officers and judges. When specific instances of malfeasance come out into the open, files are opened and then never looked at again, investigations are conducted that don’t lead to arrests, cases bounce from court to court faster than a tennis ball but still drag on without conclusion, bureaucrats are transferred from one position to another less visible, less lucrative posting. After all, when everyone is on the take, who is going to do the policing?

MINISTERIAL CORRUPTION

Since Jharkhand became its own state in 2000, following the Bihar Reorganisation Act of the same year, the resources and people of the State have repeatedly been victimised by a number of the area’s most senior politicians, many of whom have piled up vast reserves of cash, property and other forms of assets. After the elections in 2005, which resulted in another divided house, the corruption became so blatant that, in November 2008, a concerned citizen filed a Public Interest Litigation against six Cabinet ministers in the State, citing that their accumulation of assets was vastly disproportionate to their income. The PIL has named Hari Narayan Rai, formerly Minister of the Department of Rural Engineering, Anosh Ekka, Minister of the Department of Transport and the Department of Rural Development, Kamlesh Singh, who oversaw the Departments of Irrigation, Excise, Food and Supply, Dulal Bhuiyan, Minister of the Department of Land and Revenue, Bhanu Pratap Shahi, Minister of the Department of Health, Bandhu Tirkey, Minister of Human Resources Development and Chandra Prakash Choudhary, MLA.

Earlier this year, on February 12, the Vigilance Bureau in Ranchi conducted raids at the residences of two of those accused of accumulating the most wealth, Anosh Ekka and Hari Narayan Rai. The raids were carried out both in their official residences in Doranda and in the former minister’s ancestral homes and documents on fixed and movable assets worth over Rs 10 crore were collected. These raids were conducted as a direct result of the PIL, but it is interesting to note that the directives from the Special Vigilance Court came only after the State went under President’s Rule, in January 2009.

Niyaz Ahmed, the Director General of Police [Vigilance Bureau] explained to Covert that they have been working on the case since then: “Since the raids took place we have made a lot of progress in building up the case against Ekka and Hari Narayan Rai. But now we have submitted the report to the High Court. They will tell us or the CBI how to take the matter further when they decide what to do. Until they do that we cannot do anything more.” When asked whether the Vigilance Bureau was looking into conducting investigations on the other five politicians named in the PIL Ahmed was quite clear that it was a question of protocol. “No, we will not be looking into those matters. We can only investigate when the Special Vigilance Court asks us to look into something.”

The case against Hari Narayan Rai is as follows. When this tribal leader was elected to the Jharkhand Assembly in 2005 he declared his assets as follows: Rs 40,000 in cash, Rs 1.25 lakhs in National Saving Certificates, Rs 50,000 worth of jewellery, 5.5 acres of ploughable land and a Khapparpose house. Prior to his nomination he had never submitted an Income Tax return, so his official income fell under the minimum taxable level. In the 39 months he was an MLA, Rai was only entitled to Rs 15.39 lakhs in salary. Yet by late 2008, his moveable and immoveable assets had increased to an incredible Rs 30.18 crores, including vast tracts of land in and around Ranchi, a fleet of cars, a dairy farm and large houses in the posh districts of the capital, some in his own name, some in his wife’s name, and some in the names of close relatives.

Similar allegations have surfaced about the other ministers named in the PIL. Bhanu Pratap Shahi is accused of having purchased a DLF property in Gurgaon worth crores, where he is constructing a shopping mall. The PIL also alleges that the former Sports Minister Bandhu Tirkey bought a flat in Vasant Vihar for Rs 8 crores, for which the payment came from the Andhra-based infrastructure and construction corporate Nagarjuna Constructions. Over one hundred pages detailing various instances of corruption have been painstakingly compiled by the complainant.

Kamlesh Singh, the Excise Minister under both Madhu Koda and Shibhu Soren, reportedly has links with an entity known in Jharkhand as “The Syndicate”. The Syndicate is a collection of businessmen who controlled the supply of domestic and country liquor in the State while Kamlesh was minister, selling about Rs 16 crore worth of alcohol every month from government shops. During his tenure, every district in Jharkhand was supposed to have tenders to decide who would be allowed to sell alcohol in the different areas. The Syndicate, using their influence with the State Government, managed to acquire the licenses for the entire State without a tender of any kind. However, they were unavailable to get the licenses for three very lucrative districts: Dhanbad, Ranchi and Jamshedpur. When they were unable to get those licenses The Syndicate stopped supplying alcohol to the State altogether, as a method of applying more pressure on the Government. During this period, the estimated revenue lost by the State was Rs 50 lakhs a day.

Anosh Ekka, an independent political heavyweight in the State, has been accused of illegally acquiring tribal land [which he has put in his wife’s name], in direct contravention of Section 46 of the Chotanagpur Tenancy Act of 1908. The Act prevents people of tribal origin from purchasing the land of a tribal of another locality, yet Ekka has acquired a number of pieces of protected land around Ranchi, though he is a permanent resident of Simdega. Ekka got around the provision by claiming a different place of residence for his wife in each instance, a blatant instance of committing fraud for personal gain.

This is also where the nexus between politicians and officials in Jharkhand is seen clearly. As the PIL points out, none of this could have been possible without the help of a number of officials, who allow ministers to get away with barely-concealed violations in exchange for cash or favours. The PIL directly calls to account the Deputy Commissioner of Ranchi, the Circle Officers of Ormanjhi and Namkum and the Circle Officer of Ranchi, all of whom would have been privy to the scam Ekka was carrying out so successfully. As Suman Srivastava, a local journalist, points out, “if politicians and bureaucrats work hand in hand, there is no one powerful enough to stop them. They can steal whatever they like.”

GHATKURI MINES

Jharkhand has been blessed with a sizeable proportion of India’s mineral wealth, which means that big corporates involved in steel, iron ore, coal or similar must have a presence in this State. This is the crux of the matter – ministers and officials in charge of the various portfolios run their ministries like personal fiefdoms, extracting tribute from anyone who wants or needs to do business with them. Stories abound in Jharkhand about crores and crores paid in bribes to politicians and officials. One representative of a major steel company told Covert, “It would be impossible to do business in Jharkhand if you didn’t pay out bribes. The bureaucrats and politicians are expecting them – and they will stop you every step of the way if you don’t play by their rules.”

The furore surrounding the Ghatkuri iron ore mines are one instance where allegations and counter-allegations have been so virulent that the matter has reached all the way to the Supreme Court. Covert was told by a senior official in Ranchi, who did not want to be named: “What happened in that case was very interesting. There were a number of companies that wanted access to these Ghatkuri iron ore mines, which were reputed to have huge stores of the mineral. However, these mines were supposed to be given only to public sector companies. Under the UPA Shibu Soren Government, an affidavit was filed that Mining Leases could be given to private companies, though under the Mining and Minerals Regulation Development Act of India, Mining Leases should only be given to companies that have already done the prospecting work there. However, six companies – Abhijeet Infrastructure, Monet Ispat, Ispat Industries, Jharkhand Ispat, Prakash Ispat and Adhunik Alloys – were given Mining Leases there without doing the prospecting work. There was a serious amount of money that exchanged hands to get them those leases.”

A number of PSUs like SAIL, NMDC, JSMDC [which are the only companies that should be allowed to prospect there], as well as private companies like Arcelor Mittal, Tata Steel and Usha Martin had applied for leases and not been given the opportunity for a hearing. They began to petition the Government to explain how the Ghatkuri block could be partitioned and allocated without all the scientific preparatory work being done. When the six companies that were originally awarded the Mining Leases were told to stop any extracting of iron ore in the area they took the matter all the way to the Supreme Court, where hearings are currently taking place.

Covert has in its possession a letter from 3rd February, 2009 by Raghav Nandan Prasad, the Deputy Director (Mines) addressed to the Additional Director (Mines), which clarifies that certain companies were favoured unreasonably in the deal. The following are excerpts that have been directly quoted from the letter:

“The views presented by State of Jharkhand in aforesaid meeting dated 03.10.2008 has got following serious suppression of facts…
iii) Reserving an area for public sector under section 17(A) of MMDR Act, 1957 is a policy decision of State which can never be overruled by invoking relaxation clause 59(2) of mineral concession rules, 1969.
v) Not providing opportunity of hearing [to the PSUs and private players] under rule 12.26 to other players can not be explained by 59(2) because 59(2) at the most may relax gazette requirement but can never relax hearing process.

5. Due to aforesaid suppression of fact as mentioned above, the technical facts & materials required for a decision making process at apex level were not provided at all. The situation is the same at Directorate of Mines level where dissenting views expressed in file no.103/08 prior to Delhi meeting by Deputy Director, HQ (R.N Prasad) and Additional Director, HQ (S.I. Minz) endorsed by the same subsequent to meeting appears to have been overlooked completely and does not appear to have been put up before Government.

7. State of Jharkhand has already moved forward to allocate Iron ore resources to SLP Applicants and their Group companies in areas other than Ghatkuri…and as such Ghatkuri is not the only area to be considered in their favour.

8. District Mining Officer, Chaibasa is one of the respondents in pending analogous SLP’s before Hon’ble Supreme Court of India, but the comments of subordinate respondent – District Mining Officer, Chaibasa were never obtained on the affidavit dated 6.12.2008 of State Government completely changing the earlier stand of State Government as was filed before Jharkhand High Court under oath.

9. Now the only recourse left to the Government is filing a review petition/supplementary affidavit before Hon’ble Supreme Court of India stating above facts with a prayer to completely recall the earlier affidavit dated 6.12.2008 stating mistake of facts and suppression of technical facts.”

MOBILE DAROGAS

On occasion, it has been those who are entrusted with the enforcement of the law who are directly involved in the most blatant violations. Instances of massive corruption are not limited to the politicians of Jharkhand. Because Jharkhand is home to so much heavy industry, a huge number of trucks carrying coal, steel, iron ore and other minerals pass through the State everyday. Their movements are tracked by a team of transport officials called Enforcement Officers, or in the local parlance, mobile darogas.

The mobile darogas of Jharkhand had acquired a notorious reputation with transporters working through the State, until the onset of President’s Rule in January, when Governor Syed Sibtey Razi discovered a shortfall of some Rs 355 crore from the target of Rs 500 crore that had to be achieved by the end of the fiscal year. Eleven officials – all of whom had amassed huge amounts of wealth in the past few years, opening auto dealerships in Ranchi and Dhanbad amongst other things – were called back to their home department and removed from their postings. All eleven officers have been implicated in this siphoning of funds, which took place over a number of years. Those who have been named include Pradeep Kumar Singh, Shailendra Singh, Ramswarath Yadav and Ramashish Rawat.

Every truck that ran through Jharkhand would be forced to pay a tribute of Rs 5000 to Rs 10,000 to the officers, who had worked out a unique system of payment. Transporters and iron ore dealers claim they would deposit the money at road-side dhabas, where these officers would have agents waiting. If the money was not deposited, gangs of hired local toughs would pay dealers visits to get their money. Though the period for a mobile daroga to remain in office is only supposed to be three years, The Telegraph reported in late January that Rs 10 lakh monthly payments would be made to ministers to ensure officers were kept in this extremely lucrative position.

JHARKHAND ASSEMBLY CASE

Jharkhand-based BJP leader Sarju Rai has on three separate occasions attempted to initiate an investigation into a case where he claims the NDA alliance that controlled the Assembly was indulging in widespread corruption. In this instance, according to Rai, the recruitment of assistants and clerks to work in the Assembly House was severely compromised by the Speaker of the House Alamgir Alam. Rai told Covert, “Alam was the Assembly Speaker – and without any concern for the dignity of the office or the House he was complicit in charging Rs 7-8 lakh from each one of the clerks who were given jobs. There were 150 appointments made and almost each one of them was paid for. I have a CD with recorded statements from people who paid bribes and still didn’t get through, which I took the House.”

After Rai brought these allegations up in front of the House, the Speaker [Alam himself] announced an Assembly Committee would be constituted to look into the matter. The committee was formed and Sarju Rai submitted the evidence he had collected in this case. The committee reported that prima facie, there could have been some wrongdoing and the matter could be looked into further. However, as with many such cases in Jharkhand, this is where the matter has stalled. According to Rai, the case has been with the Vigilance Commission for almost two months now, but nothing has been done in the matter.

The corruption in Jharkhand is endemic. President’s Rule came as a huge relief to people in the State, as a series of unscrupulous ministers, bureaucrats and law-enforcement agents fleeced the public and the state exchequer for as long as they could. Coalition Governments come and go with alarming regularity, and politicians here try and stuff as much into their pockets as they can, as quickly as possible, because they know their grip on power in this politically volatile State is tenuous. Some locals say democracy has failed here. But it is the converse that is true, for it is the politicians, bureaucrats and their ilk who in Jharkhand have failed democracy.

Slums : Their Vote is their Right!

2009-05-04T04:13:00.000-07:00

Slums : Their Vote is their Right!
by Prayaag Akbar

In the far corner of Sunder Nagari, in front of a derelict communal toilet, a cricket match is on. Four boys, all between eight and twelve years old, wait with their hands on their knees, as another comes off a short run up and bowls a red rubber ball with some pace. The batsman swings the plank in his hand with a flourish and hits the ball straight past the bowler, watching it travel twenty feet before it lands in the man-made gutter that runs along this makeshift maidan, a gutter filled with water so fetid it looks like unrefined oil. As the batsman runs up and down the pitch one of the boys plunges his arm halfway into the gutter and, after a while, pulls out the ball. He bounces it off the ground a couple of times and tosses it to the bowler, wiping his arm on his shirtfront. The bowler rubs his fingers on his tongue then shines the rubber ball, mimicking cricketers on television. Living in Sunder Nagari, it is perhaps pointless to be finicky about hygiene.

Technically, Sunder Nagari is not a slum. It is what is known in government parlance as a resettlement colony, one of many across New Delhi that families that lived in slums were moved to in the 1970s, as the beautification of the middle-class city began. Situated in the far north-east of the city, next to the Shahdara area, no one is quite clear how many live here now, though some believe the figure fluctuates around one lakh people. All over the country you will see similar scenes – this is where the masses of urban India live, in resettlement colonies, unauthorised colonies and slums. By some estimates, over 70% of the population of Delhi live in areas like this or are homeless: 10 million people.

“10 million people means at least 4 million voters,” says Dunu Roy of the Hazards Centre. And come election time, the smart politician knows that it is not the well-fed middle class businessman who goes out to vote, it is the poorest in society, those who rely on the electoral process as their only method of influencing the conditions in which they live and work. Politicians use a number of well-established tactics to court these areas when it is time to stand for election. One favourite method is plying these already depressed spaces with cheap alcohol. Lakhan, a cycle-rickshaw driver, explains: “A few weeks before the election, trucks sent by rival politicians will start coming into the area every night. Their workers will start distributing pouches and bottles of alcohol like its prasaad. Every politician who stands for election here does it.”

Roy believes tactics like this speak more of the mindset of politicians than the residents of slums. “Politicians believe they can manipulate these people, but I have never seen slum-dwellers vote based on things like that. They might take the alcohol – though more and more I see that many women don’t let their husbands go near those trucks – but their votes go to the leaders who promise them real help. The problem is that since V.P. Singh there has not been a leader who has caught the imagination of the poor.”

There are a number of myths that prevail in middle-class minds about slum dwellers. While researching this story this correspondent is told by well-meaning citizens that slum-dwellers are given cash for votes, are not charged for the electricity they use because of the votes they hold (in fact a report prepared by the Delhi Vidyut Board showed there was less pilferage in slums than in middle-class households), are pressured into voting in blocs by slumlords or are easily manipulated by devious politicians. The reality is very different. Residents of slums are usually aware of the political power of the vote, and almost everyone Covert spoke with insisted that no politicians tried to buy their votes. Rajmati, a strident, middle-aged garments worker, explains “They give out money only when it comes to attending their rallies. They pay Rs 100 to adults and Rs 50 to children to come and cheer for them, but when it comes to voting-time they don’t try anything. Our vote is our right. We don’t know or care about leaders at the state or national level. We need someone who can take care of us at our level, who is concerned for our needs.”

The demands of the residents of Sunder Nagari are not elaborate. Clean water, basic standards of sanitation and health facilities. Leela Devi, a 60-year old embroidery worker, explains: “We just want what was promised to us by the Government. There is one bathroom for all the women in our block, but it is in terrible shape. Human waste reaches up to our knees there. It is totally unusable, so we all have to use a pit nearby, but then men come and trouble the young women. Last Sunday, they found a dead body in there. We have taken the matter to our councillor Santosh Kumar, the MLA Vir Singh Dighaan and even our MP, Sandeep Dikshit. They all say there is nothing they can do, but there has to be something, because we can’t keep living like this.”

Daniel Swamy, a resident of the newly-world famous slum of Dharavi in Mumbai, believes that the social structure of the slum prevents politicians from obtaining votes through the threat of violence. Swamy explains, “Mumbai is not Bihar. In our slums you cannot get votes at gunpoint. And it’s not even guaranteed that the candidate who spends the most money will be the winner. Slum dwellers have become increasingly aware of the importance of their vote and can bargain accordingly.”

Dunu Roy explains that the relationship between politician and the residents of the government-created resettlement colonies has become something of a patron-client relationship, based on the ability of the politician to provide a service like electricity or clean water. Slums are different because they grow organically, without outside (government) interference, and are usually based around ties of ethnic or geographical kinship. He elaborates, “Here the pradhan (slumlord) can control votes to some extent because of community-based voting. But even then, I believe the level of control is overstated by our media. I see the affluent middle-class as a much bigger vote bank. Amongst the poor, the vote is a genuine instrument of political assertion. And its not like they are naive – they vote, but they vote with cynicism, knowing that the promises made are empty, that the person they are voting for will not or cannot help.”

Bhupendra Singh, who lives in Hanuman Nagar, a slum near the Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport in Mumbai, tells Covert that the number of North Indians living in this area tend to vote on the basis of community affiliations. “Voters in slums generally get promised a lot every election, and often they are also paid in cash by candidates, but unfortunately they get little in return. Politicians come here to capture the votes from slums but then fail to show their face for five years.” Singh insists that most slum-dwellers vote for the Congress, while right-wing parties like the BJP and Shiv Sena get most of their votes from housing societies.

But community-based political affiliations can often be a recipe for violence. Kamal Siddiqui, a 65 year old from the largely-Muslim slum of Malvani in Mumbai, says, “Even if it’s a worse candidate, those who have been voting for the Congress will continue to do so. We see which candidate belongs to which group and the voting takes place accordingly.” Political parties seem very attentive to which buttons they need to press to excite passions. Siddiqui continues, “All the political parties are the same. They know that in a place like this the caste-factor won’t work, so they resort to dividing people along religious lines. In the slums they sometimes try to make the Hindu-Muslim wedge an issue between people who live together throughout the year.”

Politics in the slum seems to be heading down a difficult path. The broad mass of the urban population of India lives in slums and unauthorised colonies, yet their desires and requests are constantly marginalised. The demands of the middle-class are repeatedly privileged as the demands of the Indian population as a whole. One example is the arrival of the Commonwealth Games in the city, often trumpeted by both Government and the affluent as an indicator of New Delhi’s newfound prosperity and progress. The work surrounding the Games has destroyed the livelihoods of a great number of people. Rajmati explains, “5 weeks ago they stopped all the street markets for these Games. This was our family business – we have been doing this in Delhi for 50 years. Now we are denied even this. This election we will fight against this, but what are the alternatives? When the lotus [BJP] was in power onion prices went up.”

Most slum-dwellers want: legal title to shelter; legal provision for livelihoods; and basic services, which they are happy to pay for as long as it is provided regularly and legally. What they get are politicians who provide them with cheap alcohol when the election nears and little else. A number of people in Sunder Nagari made regular trips to the councillor Santosh Kumar and the MLA Vir Dighaan’s office for help on a number of issues. Sometimes their demands are satisfied, but on most occasions they are told they cannot be helped. Dunu Roy has hope for the future, however. “Right now the media does not understanding this kind of political action – they go to slum-dwellers’ morchas but don’t take photographs because there are no political leaders. They can’t see that there is an incipient emergence of the politics of the slum. You might not see politicians come from this background, but you will see these people assert themselves politically. In spite of the schisms and betrayals, these people are beginning to find a voice.”