Barkha Dutt
Email Author
May 29, 2010


Perhaps nothing was more indicative of the paralysis that now plagues any discourse on Maoist violence than the confusion, tentativeness and prevarications that followed Bengal’s train tragedy yesterday. Coming right after ten horrible days that have driven home life’s essential fragility to us as a country — first Dantewada, then the Mangalore air crash — the tragedy of watching bodies being pulled out from under heaps of metal was underlined by the apparent nervousness within the political establishment. While the Bengal police was quick to call the attack the work of Maoists, others were far more cautious; even muted in their response. Even the normally outspoken Home Minister P. Chidambaram was uncharacteristically diffident in his official statement.
Theories propounded ranged from sabotage to explosions, but there seemed to be a deliberate understatement in apportioning either responsibility or motive. The charitable explanation is that governments need not deliver information according to artificially constructed media deadlines. The more worrying possibility is that a combination of petty politics, personality clashes and ideological confusion has queered the pitch for India’s anti-Naxal strategy.
The public rhetoric around the Naxal debate has certainly created the impression of India being a coun try that is fiercely divided over how best to tackle the terror of the ultra-Left. This impression has been falsely reinforced by facile media debates that deliberately seek shrill polarisations and ask the people of India to choose between extremes.
Notwithstanding the fact that the media have chosen to write the narrative in terms of the following conflicts: Chidambaram vs Digvijay Singh; Mamata Banerjee vs Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee and Arundhati Roy vs the Rest of the World — there is, I suspect, already enough consensus in the court of public opinion to form the basis for a cogent anti-Naxal offensive. In the other words, the absence of a unified policy may have much more to do with competitive party politics — whether between the Left and the Trinamool in Bengal or between different factions of the Congress — than with what the people of India think.
To start with I can tell you what most of us do not want. We do not want the passive inertia of a Shivraj Patil nor do we endorse the rose-tinted romanticism of an Arundhati Roy. Patil’s head-in-the-sand denials created a drift in policy that allowed the Maoists to strengthen militarily and expand their areas of influence. Roy’s brand of starry-eyed rationalisations gave the Maoists a false legitimacy and distorted any crackdown on them as a David- Goliath encounter. I think most of us have zero appetite for the ‘Gandhians with guns’ school of thought.
Equally, and as importantly, we do not want any violations against civilians in the name of anti-insurgency operations. Nor do we support the use of private militia in operations that need to be run by the State. So, to describe, for example, the Salwa Judum as a spontaneous uprising of tribals against Maoists, is to not just insult our intelligence, but also to validate extra-constitutional methods to fight violence. And once you do that you can hardly make a moral argument against the Maoists, who too claim to be fighting for a larger ‘cause’.
Anyone who has closely followed the counter-insurgency history of Kashmir knows what happened when an army of ‘Ikhwanis’ (mostly surrendered militants) was allowed to run riot in the valley. Human rights violations perpetrated by vigilante forces that have the blessings of the State only erode the credibility of the State and create new enemies. So, just sheer common sense — if nothing else — demands a sharper crackdown on groups like the Salwa Judum that are still proclaimed as heroes in some doctrines of battle.
Like in any conflict zone — with the Maoists too— we seek a deft combination of battle strategy and smart politics operating on parallel tracks. When we see civilians under attack or poor jawans forced to be at the frontline of danger, we certainly expect our government to use force — both preventive and offensive — against brutal, senseless terror. Whether this force takes the shape of the paramilitary or the army; whether air support should be deployed to speed up the ferrying of troops and weapons — we may leave to the strategists.
But on principle, it is abhorrent to most of us to see bodybags lined up for cursory farewells, as soldiers become unsung statistics in India’s heart of darkness. And I think many of us want much more than mere lip service to their valour. Nor do we accept the galling rationalisations made by some human rights activists that soldiers are combatants and, thus, some sort of fair game for attack by the Maoists. It is a moral obligation of any strong State to place an honourable value on the life of its soldiers. A soldier’s life cannot be cheaper than yours or mine.
That said, we also seek attempts at long-term political resolutions. We have attempted it, with differing degrees of success, in Manipur, Nagaland and Kashmir. We even opened a dialogue with commanders of the Hizbul Mujahideen a decade ago — when Kashmir’s largest indigenous militant group declared a 10-day ceasefire. So why would we oppose a similar attempt with the Maoists? Issues of mining rights, land acquisition and a failure of governance will also all need to be politically addressed.
And lastly, we seek an end to the politicisation of a conflict that has repeatedly been called India’s biggest internal security threat. At the very least, the issue of Maoist violence has finally moved from the margins of public thought to the centrestage of national debate. For this, many of us credit the home minister even if we disagree with his constantly pulling in civil society activists into the debate.
But after the Bengal tragedy it’s been worrying to observe the first signs of political reticence. It makes you wonder whether India may slip back into what we do best — sitting on our haunches and doing absolutely nothing.
Barkha Dutt is Group Editor, English News, NDTV

What do Shashi Tharoor and Jairam Ramesh have in common? Both are incredibly bright, articulate men with impressive CVs: Jairam is a mechanical engineer with degrees from the IIT and Massachusetts Institute of Technology while Tharoor is a PhD from the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, and has the distinction of getting a doctorate at 22, the youngest in the history of the prestigious institute. In a sense they represent the best traditions of Macaulays children, "a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect."

And yet, both these fine representatives of India's liberal and cosmopolitan traditions find themselves under siege in a political milieu that appears to share an uneasy relationship with the English-speaking professional turned politician.

Tharoor was undone by the seeming impropriety of having acquired sweat equity for his sweetheart without informing the world. Ramesh is being pilloried for having questioned the Home Ministry's policies towards China. Both are perhaps guilty of forgetting their constitutional responsibilities as union ministers. Tharoor paid for it by being banished from a ministry which could have benefited from his wide experience as a global diplomat. Ramesh may yet pay the price of his indiscretion by being switched from an environment ministry which has acquired a renewed energy and a forward-looking profile under his leadership.

The irony is that the charges against the duo appear trifling when compared with the monumental scandal and corruption that besets the political class. An A Raja gets away with the clamour for his resignation over the spectrum scam because as his leader, M Karunanidhi brazenly told the UPA leadership, "Mr Raja is a Dalit'. A sweat equity worth a few crores appears loose change when compared with the fact that the public exchequer lost a few thousand crores because of a minister's dishonesty. Again, while Ramesh may have overstepped his brief when commenting on the Home Ministry's China policy, how do his statements compare with the unabashed criticism of fellow UPA ministers by Mamata Banerjee? While Ramesh has to apologise, Mamata remains unrestrained.

Which brings me to raise the larger question: are English-speaking, upper-class, highly educated professionals soft targets in public life? An A Raja gets the benefit of doubt because no political party can be seen to be anti-Dalit even if it means winking at corruption. A Mamata Banerjee enjoys the protection conferred on her by virtue of being a regional ally and a mass leader.

The problem is that both Tharoor and Ramesh are upper-caste politicians with no mass base. Tharoor is a Nair, Ramesh a Mysore Brahmin. Tharoor was parachuted into the Lok Sabha from Thiruvanthapuram because of his proximity to the Congress leadership. Ramesh was made a Rajya Sabha member from Andhra Pradesh, again because he had a special relationship with the party's high command. Removing Tharoor as minister was an easy option because while it may have affected the twitterati, it will not affect the existing power equations in Kerala. Ramesh is also a politician who counts his numbers on a laptop, not in a public rally. In other words, both are seen to be easily dispensable netas.

The truth though is that Indian politics needs more of the likes of Tharoor and Ramesh, lateral entrants from the professional world who can add to the quality and intellect of public life. Just contrast a Tharoor as minister of state in South Block with some of his contemporaries. As diplomats from African and Latin American countries have admitted, Tharoor's experience in the United Nations and linguistic skills made him an impressive 'interlocutor' (ah!that dreaded word again) in their engagement with India. Contrast also Ramesh with his predecessors as environment minister, many of whom reduced Pariyavaran Bhavan to a cash and carry ministry. Would you rather have a learned minister representing the country at climate change summits or a bumbling politician who has never heard of greenhouse gas emissions?

Across the western world, there are increasing examples of top-level professionals making a successful switch from the private sector to government. Unfortunately, in India, many of the individuals who aim to make this transition are typecast as English-speaking elitists who are disconnected with 'real India'. The charge of elitism partly stems from envy of the successful upper class Indian, partly from a certain condescension, even hubris, shown by the anglicised Indian towards his 'vernacular' counterparts.

For the traditional, feudal Indian politician, who survives on caste and family loyalties, Tharoor and Ramesh are gatecrashers into a closed system. The duo are a threat to the prevailing political order because they challenge the status quo: neither are they dynasts who are the beneficiaries of being the sons and daughters of politicians nor are they caste chieftains who will nurture their vote banks. They are instead, like millions of others, children of middle class Indians who have become upwardly mobile through scholarship and hard work. Indeed, if politics is to prove aspirational and attract the best talent, then it is important that the likes of Tharoor and Ramesh succeed. Which is also why professionals like them need to be extra careful in their public dealings because the rules for their conduct will always be measured by higher standards than those imposed on the rest of the system.

Post-script: If Tharoor and Ramesh are looking for a role model, maybe they should take a lesson from Nandan Nilekani. The former Infosys chief executive is now shuffling through data in a government office, with the singular focus of providing the country's citizens with a unique identification card. No twitter accounts, no page three parties, no ego trips, no dramatic statements, it sometimes pays in public life to be a low profile worker ant.