In Modi's 'new India', the bulldozer replaces the justice system

 In the light of the callous actions of the BJP-led municipal corporation on North Delhi, where on the morning on April 20, seven bulldozers accompanied by more than 1000 policemen went on a destruction spree in Jahangirpuri in Delhi, I was reminded of similar events in my city of Mumbai. 

In Delhi, under full media glare, the municipal bulldozers destroyed handcarts, shops, workshops, awnings, the gate to a Masjid and much more.  Crucially, they destroyed the lives of poor people.

Despite the intervention of the Supreme Court ordering them to stop and maintain the status quo, they continued for well over an hour.  The result was a tragic tale that is all too familiar to anyone living in a city in India: arbitrary demolition of homes, shops, sources of livelihood of the poor and often Muslims, with no notice and no chance to find a solution.

Living as I do, in Mumbai, I have followed and written about the lives of the urban poor for decades.  Just to jog my own memory, I am pasting below some of the columns and articles I have written.

The first is from my colum The Other Half, that I wrote for over 30 years, first in Indian Express and thereafter in The Hindu. It was in response to a statement made by Shiv Sena supremo, the late Bal Thackeray,  that Mumbai was not an "orphange" that could accommodate poor people from other parts of India. At that time, one of the main planks of the Sena was the anti-outsider campaign, singling out people from Bihar and UP, without acknowledging that many of these people had lived for decades in Mumbai, worked here, and that this was the only home they knew.

This was also the time the Shiv Sena government in Maharashtra had launched a scheme to rehouse some slumdwellers, only those considered "legal", that is those that had been documented in a survey conducted in 1976.  The large numbers outside this list were "illegal", especially the pavement dwellers, and hence not entitled to an alternative if they were cleared off the pavements, as they were. In the course of time, the "cut-off" date for legality was extended from 1976, to 1980, 1985 and finally to 2000.

As a result, many of the women I write about did finally get a pucca house in a slum redevelopment building.  They could negotiate with the authorities because they were organised.  Others in similar circumstances did not fare as well. Over the last two decades or so, a large number of slums have been redeveloped and poor people have got housing.  But the numbers of the homeless remain virtually unchanged, and pavement slums and so-called "illegal" settlements still exist, on side roads, on patches of low-lying lands, away from the view of visitors to the city. The stories of the people who continue to live like this even today are not very different from Sameena, Madina, Sakina or Kusum. 

The difference between what happened in Jahangirpuri on April 20, and demolitions in Mumbai in the past is that here they were not used to selectively target one community.  The poor were considered to be a problem because they came in the way of infrasturcture or use of land they were squatting on for some other purpose (like building a shopping mall!)  A few times, the bogey of "illegal Bangladeshis" was used by the Shiv Sena to demolish slums where Bengali-speaking mostly Muslim migrants lived.  But never so blatant as what happened in Delhi, and the weeks before this in Khargone, MP and even earlier in UP, during the first term of UP Chief Minister Yogi Adiyanath, otherwise known as "Bulldozer Baba".

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From the archives

 

The Hindu, Sunday Magazine, April 2, 1995

 

The Other Half

 

An open letter to Balasaheb

 

Dear Sir,

 

My name is Seema, or it could be Sakina, or Sameena or Madina or Kusum.  My actual name is immaterial.  I am not trying to hide my identity but as there are so many who are like me, and who feel the same way I do, my acual name is of no consequence.

 

I am writing this letter because I am told that you have declared that Bombay -- Mumbai -- is not an "orphanage" and that it cannot afford to hold out a welcome to other like me.  Why, Sir, do you compare this city to an orphanage and people like us to orphans?

 

I came here 30 years ago from Madhubani in Bihar.  We were a family of weavers but most of us had no work.  We heard that Bombay was a city where the poorest of the poor could earn enough to survive.  So, without ever having stepped outside my village, I caught a train to Bombay.

 

When we arrived here, we were overwhelmed.  The city was huge -- I had never in my life seen such a big place.  It was also frightening at first.  But soon we found that we were not alone.  There were many more like us who had come here for the first time.

 

Although we did not know a soul, we settled down on a patch of pavement and began looking for work.  After some days, we were pleased to discover that there were many others from our district who had also come to Bombay.  Gradually, some of us congregated in the same area.  We have lived there ever since.

 

Every now and then, the municipality comes with its demolition squads to clear us out.  But after extracting some money from us and stealing some our things, they leave us alone.  So we rebuild our shelters and continue our lives.

 

I can think of many terms to use to describe this city, but an orphanage?  No, Sir, Bombay is not an orphanage.  In an orphanage, the children have a roof over their heads and are given food, free of charge, to eat.  Some of them are even adopted by kind-hearted rich people.

 

We, who came here several decades ago, have still not got a roof over our heads and there is certainly no one who gives us free food.  Nor has anyone adopted us. We pay for everything.

 

We have survived because we must, there is no other option.  We sleep wherever we find a vacant space, on a pavement, on the railway platform, in a park, on a empty disused plot of land, along the railway tracks, anywhere.  Today, this little space, where a grown person cannot stand upright, is our only home.  We dream of better days to come but wonder if they will come within our lifetime, or even that of our children.

 

In this place which you call an orphanage, few people have bothered to find out how we survive.  We live by our wits.  Our men, even today, earn a daily wage pushing haathgadis (handcarts) or loading and unloading goods at the different bunders (docks).  We women spend the first three hours of every day, from 4.30 a.m. hunting for water.  Will we get it from the fire-hydrant today, or from a person living in a pucca chawl, or from a hand-drawn water tanker?  After having begged for water, we get on with the day's work -- cleaning other people's houses, cooking food for them, washing their clothes (we usually do not have enough water to wash our own every day), taking care of their children, and whenever there is a moment to spare, doing piece rate work at home to earn a little more.  Our day's work never ends.

 

With what we earn from these multitude of jobs, we have fed ourselves and our children.  It is not a luxurious existence by any standards.  But it is far better than the life we left behind.  Now we hear that you will not permit our jaatwaalas from our village to join us if they are in trouble.  Why?

 

Tell us, in what way are we a burden to the city? Have we demanded free houses? We pay for water.  In fact, we are told that those of us who live on pavements pay up to 20 times as much as those who live in pucca buildings and get a running supply of filtered municipal water.  We also pay each time we use a toilet.  Nothing comes free to us.

 

We hear that you have promised that you will build 40 lakh houses and give them free to people living in slums.  You are worried that such a scheme will lead to people "pouring in" from other states.  You are quoted as having said, "Where will they live and eat and what about hygiene? It could trigger an epidemic. Life here will become miserable."

 

But life is already miserable for millions of people in Bombay, yet all of them live and eat and there are no major epidemics.  It is not a way of life that we would recommend.  But despite such promises, none of us who live like this seriously believe that we will ever be "given" decent houses, free of charge.  Life in this city has taught us to listen to everyone but to believe only what experience has taught us. And if we have no such illusions, why should our brethren back in our home states?  Rest assured, Sir, they will not come pouring in to Bombay even if you do succeed in building some houses and giving them free to a chosen few.

 

In fact, all we want is the right to live.  We are constantly told, specially before elections, that every person living in this country, man or woman, rich or poor, has equal rights.  Yet, now it appears that only the rich have rights.  No one tells them not to move from one city to another in search of better opportunity.  But if we do the same, we are compared to orphans and told we must stay where we are and starve rather than strive for a better life. Is this fair? Or are we not entitled to ask even that question?

What happens when a journalist’s press card becomes a tool to target them?

 Broken News

Published in Newslaundry on April 14, 2022

Link: https://www.newslaundry.com/2022/04/14/what-happens-when-a-journalists-press-card-becomes-a-tool-to-target-them

In the “new India” being manufactured, where men with swords dance menacingly in front of mosques during a religious festival, being a journalist has become increasingly hazardous.

Not for all journalists, of course. If you choose to stay in your offices or studios, or remain strictly within the boundaries of “acceptable journalism” set out by the owners of your media organisation or the current dispensation, there is no danger. You are safe. You might even prosper.

But if you, as a journalist, believe you are tasked to step out, record and report what is going on in this country, then you have to watch your back. Your press card – once considered adequate to give you access and keep you safe – does not add up to much in certain situations. In fact, it is that very press card that can make you a target. Your name, the marker of your identity, is on that card.

This is what seven journalists, who had set out to cover a Hindu Mahapanchayat in Delhi’s Burari on April 3, realised. The mob that attacked them selectively targeted the Muslims amongst them.

Given all else happening in the country right now – with daily reports of poor Muslim vendors being attacked in different states, and of the bulldozer replacing any notion of justice in Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh – this particular incident might be relegated to a footnote in history. But it should not be forgotten. And it should be recognised for what it represents – a serious denting of the already beleaguered state of a free and independent media in India.

This particular incident might be relegated to a footnote in history. But it should not be forgotten. And it should be recognised for what it represents.

To recount briefly, Meer Faisal from Hindustan Gazette, freelancer Mohammad Meherbaan,Arbab Ali reporting for Article14, Meghnad Bose from Quint, Shivangi Saxena and Rounak Bhat from Newslaundry, and a journalist who did not want to be identified, went to report on the Mahapanchayat. Instead of being allowed to do their jobs, the crowd at the meeting turned on them and assaulted some of them. For more details, read this, this and this. In this last report, Arbab Ali from Article14 says that despite the police finally intervening, “the mob started hitting us in front of them. They were saying that ‘don’t give these two to the policemen, just kill them. These are jihadis, they are mullahs’.”

Shivangi Saxena, the only woman journalist present, had also reported on a hate speech incident at Jantar Mantar last August that led to some arrests. In a series of tweets, she writes about how one of the Mahapanchayat organisers mentioned her name from the stage, while the prime accused in the Jantar Mantar incident recognised her and came up to her.

More worryingly, she states in this tweet:

As Saxena emphasises, the police did nothing to stop the attack and intervened only much later. While some of these journalists filed FIRs, the police have ironically also filed complaints, including one against Meer Faisal who shared his experiences on social media and in a report for Article14.

So, why should this worry us, not just journalists, but anyone who believes that integral to press freedom is the ability of journalists to step out and report without fearing for their lives?

It should be noted that the attack on April 3 was unprovoked. It was aimed at sending a message. Given the events of the last two weeks in Karnataka, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan and UP, it is evident that Muslim journalists are going to be as much of a target as the ordinary Muslims who have been attacked in these states by fanatical mobs. A press card will not be enough to spare them.

This is not the first time journalists have been attacked by right-wing mobs. Some might remember the way those covering the demolition of the Babri Masjid on December 6, 1992, including some women journalists, were attacked by the frenzied mob of kar sevaks.

This article in Mint, which reminds us of that day, states: “Reporters and cameramen with experience of covering riots say it was the first time that the media was at the receiving end of the right-wing frenzy. Upendra Pandey who was covering Ayodhya for Dainik Jagran newspaper, remembers that the photographer for Hindi daily Rashtriya Sahara was so badly hurt that he had to undergo multiple surgeries and was bedridden for eight months.”

Even at that time, Muslim journalists were especially afraid. Sajeda Momin was the UP correspondent for the Telegraph. In this report in Newslaundry, she recounts how she had to hide her Muslim identity by asking her colleagues to refer to her as Sujata Menon. To quote from the article:

“Momin says reporting on the demolition was tremendously difficult. In a bid to avoid documentation, journalists’ cameras were taken away. ‘Our cameras and reels were taken away. We were not allowed to take out our pens and papers to even take notes. They didn’t want any documentation. In fact, they searched through our bags.’”

Remember that this was a time when there were no 24x7 news channels or mobile phones. The principal coverage was by photographers and reporters working with the print media and journalists from two video magazines, Newstrack and Eyewitness. Mritunjay Kumar Jha, who was a reporter with Newstrack, told Mint: “In Ayodhya, I am confident that they wanted to be sure that no one had any photographic evidence.”

In 1992, although Muslim journalists like Momin were afraid, any journalist with a camera, or even a notebook was targeted. This time, it is evident that Muslim journalists are being specifically targeted.

Fortunately, the video footage by Newstrack was successfully hidden and saved from the mob. As a result, today it remains an important and vivid testimony of the frenzy and destruction that took place in Ayodhya on December 6, 1992 and those responsible for it.

In 1992, although Muslim journalists like Momin were afraid, any journalist with a camera, or even a notebook was targeted. This time, it is evident that Muslim journalists are being specifically targeted.

Despite April 3, it is commendable that journalists like Meer Faisal and others continue to document and report the atrocities taking place. Although some sections of mainstream media are also reporting these developments, it is not enough. One has to note that the Mahapanchayat of April 3, where these journalists were attacked, was not covered by any prominent news organisation.

If we need a record in future about the slippery slope of sectarian violence down which this country is rapidly sliding, it will be because of the determined reporting by these young reporters, despite the risks they face.

The greater worry is the state's silence and the abdication of its duty to protect journalists and allow them to function. There has been absolutely no word from anyone senior in government condemning what happened on April 3. Would journalists be wrong then to conclude that the message from the mob, to silence independent media, has the implicit support of the governing dispensation?