On Naxalism and government violence

I’ve been tempted for a while now to write on the continuing cycle of violence in North India, especially the attacks and counter-attacks between the Maoists and government forces, with the ‘common man’ caught in between.

I’ve desisted because we are far removed, both geographically and psychologically, from whatever’s going on there. Doubtless only people who are closest to the violence can comment with any degree of accuracy. Perhaps the rest of us have no moral authority to speak on a subject that we know only through media reports.

Yet, I’m tempted to comment on the essays and intellectual discourses that have come out on the issue. Many of the arguments, it seems to me, take an either-or stand. Thus, Arundhati Roy’s Outlook essay is unapologetically pro-Maoist, while Swapan Dasgupta’s takes the extreme other view. (Not that I consider Swapan Dasgupta worth taking seriously.)

While I defend Arundhati’s right to speak her opinion, I fear her politics is cut in stone, allowing for no flexibility, and there are serious flaws in such a position. She has for long railed against the excesses of government forces, whether in Kashmir or in Dantewada, and seems to defend the right of the Maoists to counter with violence. But has she confused the right of the tribals with that of the Maoists? Do the Maoists represent the will of all tribals? Are they one and the same?

And when you justify attacks on the CRPF, for instance, are you sure it is unambiguously an evil force? Aren’t SPOs (Special Police Officers) men too, with families, and every policeman killed leaves behind a destitute family? Isn’t the SPO a victim too? Has he chosen to be in Dantewada or Kashmir? Is every SPO a rapist or human rights violator?

If the army is completely an evil force, as Arundhati indicates time and again, what are we to make of its relief efforts during natural and man-made calamities? And let’s not even get to the point about defending the country against foreign attacks. The Indian soldier lays his life on the line, mostly for a just cause (i.e., for the larger good of the people), and sometimes for misguided ones (is it the same to die for one’s country, and to die for the State?) Corporate interests now govern State interests – so who does the soldier die for, really – country or company? Even assuming that some wars are fought for corporate/ state interests, the soldier is still a victim.

The point is, the Maoists might believe the only good soldier is a dead soldier, but they have cut down the wrong enemy. The State can afford many soldiers – it can even recruit them from tribal lands. If the Maoists are really ‘pro-people’, they should at least get their real enemy. To say that all uniformed men are fair game is dreadful logic. The politics of the bomb is a dangerous politics – the bomb always hurts more than its intended targets. At least the army doesn’t go around planting landmines and IEDs.

Now to take the extreme other view – that government will must prevail in each case, without any armed resistance. I don’t think non-violent resistance works in all cases, especially when the stakes are high. You cannot kick a people out of their homeland and ask them to starve in protest outside the Raj Bhavan or wherever. It’s up to them to choose their method of resistance. The mighty Indian State can be deaf and blind to local struggles and aspirations, and you might well be wasting what’s left of your life in protesting against it.

The State can be a tormentor too, and the so-called ‘laws of the land’ will only be selectively applied. Its violence is no less than the violence of the Maoist. In fact, this constitutes a bigger problem because it’s the maintainer of law that has become a renegade – and thus there’s no one left to address the wrong.

But the fact that you disagree with government policy does not mean you sympathise with Naxal/ Maoist violence, or ignore their victims. The case often made out is that the Naxal has been left with no choice but to blow up army trucks. I’ve heard only deadening silence about the victims of the last few attacks. It isn’t politically correct in ‘liberal’ circles to even discuss what happens to maimed soldiers, or civilians who were traveling with them, or their families. How are we to distinguish between the pain of a slain soldier’s family and that of a slain villager’s?