Opinion

The War Without A Witness

Journalists have been enduring eviction, intimidation, torture and—in one case—even murder in the escalating crisis in Chhattisgarh

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The War Without A Witness
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Bastar’s turmoil is such that its makers would like it to remain undocumented. Journalists and rese­archers have to face problems that are mostly acute (and if fortunate, dormant, but still always there). The problems increase if you are a local. The state agencies too have been quite open in adopting measures to reduce reporting.

In 2006, when we were first trying to acquaint ourselves with Salwa Judum, amongst the first stories of repression we heard was that of Kamlesh Paikra. A young journalist from a village in Bijapur, Kamlesh had written about the killings that had occurred in Mankeli village in 2005. His family was terrorised to such an extent that they had to leave their village and he had to give up journalism. The next victim was Afzal Khan. In November 2005, Khan, who lives in Bhopalpatnam (Bijapur district), was accused by visiting Salwa Judum leaders of helping a group of sarpanchs who had gone to meet the chief minister to request him to stop the Salwa Judum from entering their area. He was let off after a warning. Later, following a public meeting where effigies of alleged anti-Salwa Judum persons were burnt, he was taken for questioning by SPOs who accused him of writing against Salwa Judum. He was beaten so badly that there were fractures in two of his fingers. Similar INS­tances were reported from Konta tehsil in 2006. A local journalist, Sanjay Reddy, was beaten in a Salwa Judum camp by members of the Indian Reserve Battalion from Nagaland. Khan and Reddy have now somehow bounced back, but with an awareness of the looming threat.

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Many of those working with the press tried to survive by finding small ways of resistance. One such way was to assist reporters who wrote for the national media. Once the story was out nationally, they would be better protected than if they carried it locally. It was their story but they remained in the shadows.

Others chose to compromise with their independence. There are some who are said to be on the payrolls of the police since then. Still others tried to maintain a balance—always a difficult task—and failed. A prominent example is that of Sai Reddy. He was forced to move from his village Basaguda (Bijapur district) after his newly constructed house was demolished by the Maoists who accused him of having plans to rent it to the ­police. Reddy moved to Bijapur town with his family and continued writing for the local press. But in 2008 he was charged under the Chhattisgarh Special Public Security Act (CSPSA, 2006) and put behind bars on suspicion of being close to the Maoists. Protests by fellow journalists secured his release after a few months. But his troubles continued until his end at the hands of the Maoists on December 6, 2013. On a visit to his village with his wife, he was chased, overpowered from behind, and his throat slit.

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Interviews with people on all sides have revealed tales of brutality. In this situation, a researcher cannot stand by. It’s not just finding the truth but also acting upon it that becomes crucial, all the more so when the victims themselves are unable to go to the police station. They see the police as an involved party since the police has been a part of the ensemble of security forces that are responsible for some of these assaults. However, helping people to uphold their constitutional rights exposes one to the suspicion of being a Maoist or Maoist sympathiser. This suspicion may come not only from the state but also from some sections of the population that were part of the unofficial Salwa Judum militia and subsequent formations like the recent Naxali Peedit Sangharsh Samiti of Bijapur. These formations are typically police-sponsored but also involve a significant constituency of people who have genuine grievances against the Maoists and are used by the police for their own designs. Such persons are not in a position to exercise any independence since they are under police protection.

I had a taste of this situation last month. With members of Women Against Sexual Vio­lence and State Repression (WSS), lawyers of the Jagdalpur Legal Aid Group (Jag-LAG) and Soni Sori, I investigated two cases of gangrape by police and security forces in two villages of Bijapur. Together with the victims we filed FIRs, one on  November 1, 2015, and another on January 21, 2016. These were the first instances of the use of Section 376 2c, IPC, of the amended rape law (2013) that allows for the indictment of state and central security forces for sexual violence. On January 29, the Naxali Peedit Sangharsh Samiti organised a rally in the parade ground in Bijapur. There were slogans against Soni Sori, Arundhati Roy and myself, calling us Maoist supporters. They even burned our effigies.

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Over the years, I have been questioned on many occ­asions for varying durations. Some experiences were not pleasant but one has taken them in one’s stride. To relate one such instance: on a winter night in January 2013, after filing a police complaint regar­ding­ the burning of 31 houses in Pidiya village in Gangalur pol­ice station, I was with four other village women who had accompanied me from Pidiya, in a hut of one of their relatives. We had just settled around a fire to sleep when we heard a blast on the road and then feet crunching the dried stalks of the field. I could feel the fear of my companions, who did not move. I could feel some fear within myself too, not knowing what to exp­ect. Soon we were surrounded—I could see the outlines of caps and shoulders above the bamboo fence of that side of the house. We then heard the bamboo gate being pushed open. The women continued to lie still. It was then that I switched on my torch and asked who it was. Ghanshyam, SI, identified himself. He said that I was required to come to the police station the next morning since they needed more details about the complaint. I said I would. They left. Leaving us much relieved. The following day when I asked him why he had to come in that fashion, when he could have sent a local person with the message, Ghanshyam replied that he thought I would have gone back to the jungle.

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Other researchers have faced similar harassment and labelling in the past—particularly Nandini Sundar and then, last year, a doctoral student, Vani Xaxa. More recently, the independent journalist, Malini Subramaniam, was forced to move out of Chhattisgarh due to harassment by the police and the newly-formed Samajik Ekta Manch in Jagdalpur. A few days ago, journalist Alok Putul also had to leave Bastar for similar reasons.

Lawyers have not been spared either. Close on the heels of Malini’s eviction, Jag-LAG also came under pressure to leave. In short, a concerted effort is being made to clear the area of unwanted witnesses. The police and the district administration are quite candid about the reasons: they have instructions to wipe out the Maoist movement within a year. A detailed plan has been made for this purpose, involving mass surrenders of adivasi rank and file and “killing” of their leaders “from Andhra” (sic). It is in this context that human rights activists and other outspoken witnesses are “unwelcome”. The most startling aspect of these revelations is not the suppression of dissent, which is far from new, but the matter-of-factness of it. Truth and justice remain inconveniently cherished values in all societies. And although the state may wish otherwise, silences speak no less than slogans.

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(Bela Somari Bhatia is an independent researcher and activist based in Bastar. She reported for Outlook ­recently on the rape and assault of close to 40 adivasi women by security personnel)

Slide Show

Jag-LAG, the legal activist collective, came into being in July 2013 as a result of collaboration between human rights activists and lawyers based in Delhi and Chhattisgarh. It was initially taken up by four legal activists—Isha Khandelwal, Parijata Bharadwaj, Rupesh Kumar and Shalini Gera in Jagdalpur, the headquarters of Bastar. In the recent months, they have faced problems with finding workspace as no one wants to rent property to activists.

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