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Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Red Romance

For long, the Naxalite in news was recognisable by the gun. But the more insidious version of Naxalism has never needed a rifle. It has thrived in varsity classrooms and newspaper and magazine columns, fostered by men and women sympathetic to it. These academics and other members of the so-called intelligentsia have long enjoyed their status as ‘respectable dissenters’ even when their politics offered intellectual alibis for Naxals carrying guns. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s recent...

Red Romance

For long, the Naxalite in news was recognisable by the gun. But the more insidious version of Naxalism has never needed a rifle. It has thrived in varsity classrooms and newspaper and magazine columns, fostered by men and women sympathetic to it. These academics and other members of the so-called intelligentsia have long enjoyed their status as ‘respectable dissenters’ even when their politics offered intellectual alibis for Naxals carrying guns. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s recent Independence Day warning about “dimaagi Naxals” should therefore not be dismissed as another political label. His larger point was that an insurgency does not survive on ammunition alone. It survives on ideas and people willing to make violence appear morally fashionable. The most revealing feature of India’s Maoist movement was never simply its brutality. It was the strange attraction it exercised over sections of the metropolitan Left elite. The Naxalite with an AK-47 could be transformed into a romantic revolutionary while the policeman he killed became an instrument of an oppressive state. This was not merely naïveté. At its ugliest, it was the intellectual laundering of political violence. The fantasy of the romantic revolutionary has always been seductive. In this narrative, amplified through sympathetic media priding itself on telling ‘truth to power,’ India was not a constitutional democracy struggling with inequality and corruption but an inherently illegitimate state waiting to be overthrown. In the minds of this elite Left, Maoist violence has often been recast as resistance while attacks on infrastructure as blows against capitalism. The armed overthrow of the Indian republic was the liberation they craved for. Some of India’s most celebrated intellectuals have flirted dangerously close to that moral inversion. The issue here is whether intellectual prestige can be used to sanitise an ideology whose practitioners have murdered civilians, policemen and public servants and terrorised some of India’s poorest districts. A university cannot be the place where Maoist romanticism acquires the legitimacy of a fashionable campus cause. Professors who turn armed insurgents into heroic revolutionaries are not merely exercising academic freedom. If they knowingly excuse violence, they are helping to construct the moral vocabulary that makes violence possible. Let’s be clear here. A professor who criticises the Indian state is not a Naxal while a journalist who exposes state excesses is not an enemy of India. But an intellectual who repeatedly excuses, glorifies or rationalises political violence cannot hide behind the word ‘dissent.’ India has paid an enormous price for the Maoist fantasy. Thousands have died. Entire regions were held back by fear while development was obstructed. The people supposedly being liberated were often the first to suffer. The armed Naxal is now being pushed towards extinction. But the Indian republic cannot afford to leave behind the romantic mythology that made the gun respectable. A democracy can tolerate dissent. It should never be expected to tolerate the glorification of those who seek its violent destruction.

Burnt by the System

A horrifying protest in Odisha lays bare the collapse of institutional justice.


Odisha
Odisha

The gruesome death of a 20-year-old student at an autonomous college in Odisha, who set herself ablaze in a desperate protest against inaction on her complaint of sexual harassment by a professor, has ignited a firestorm of public fury while exposing the rot in India’s campus justice systems.

 

It has also cast an unforgiving spotlight on how Indian educational institutions, far from being places of safety and learning, have become sites of intimidation.

 

Earlier this week, the student, who was pursuing her B.Ed at Fakir Mohan Autonomous College walked towards the principal’s office, doused herself in kerosene and struck a match. She died three days later in an ICU in Bhubaneswar, having suffered burns to 95 percent of her body.

 

Her final act has shaken Odisha and much of India to its core, besides leading to the inevitable political slanging match.

 

The young woman had lodged a complaint on July 1, accusing the head of the education department of months of sexual harassment. She uploaded the complaint on social media, tagged student leaders and even posted chilling premonitions of her own death. She did everything a victim is told to do - complain through official channels and call for help.

 

Ten days later, amid mounting frustration, she and fellow students staged a protest. She had been promised resolution in seven days; instead, she was hounded. According to her father, the professor intimidated her and the college principal threatened rustication. The college’s Internal Complaints Committee gave the professor a clean chit.

 

Then came the self-immolation. It took her death for the police to arrest both the professor and principal and promises of justice from Odisha’s newly-elected Chief Minister, Mohan Charan Majhi.

 

Committees are being formed. But none of it can douse the inferno of rage sparked by the tragedy. The shameful incident is a damning indictment of the systemic rot in Indian academia. The Internal Complaints Committees, mandated by law after the Vishaka judgment and reinforced by the 2013 Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace Act, are often toothless or compromised. In many institutions, especially in smaller towns, the committees serve more as shields for the accused than sanctuaries for the victims. Professors wield enormous influence over marksheets, careers, and reputations; a female student who dares complain often finds herself isolated and stigmatised.

 

In recent years, campuses across India have witnessed similar eruptions where students were punished for naming their abusers and protestors baton-charged for demanding action.


The power asymmetry between faculty and students, compounded by patriarchy and bureaucracy, ensures that many cases never see the light of day.

 

The political response has followed a grimly predictable arc. The Congress, sensing an opportunity, called it “organised murder by the system.” Rahul Gandhi accused the ruling BJP of enabling a culture of silence and complicity. The BJP, in turn, accused the opposition of politicising a tragedy.

 

Caught in the crossfire are grieving parents, stunned classmates, and a public that has seen this film far too many times. Governor Hari Babu Kambhampati has demanded a detailed report from the state government. Meanwhile, protests have erupted across Odisha, with opposition parties calling for a statewide bandh. Questions are also being raised about the conduct of the post-mortem, held at 2am, under police watch.

 

Perhaps the most haunting aspect of this case is not just the act of self-immolation, but how foreseeable it was. The victim had cried out for help in petitions and on social media. Her despair was visible, documented and shared. And yet, the institutional response was apathy laced with hostility. That she had to burn herself alive to be believed is a grotesque commentary on the failures of India’s educational and judicial systems.

 

In the wake of such a tragedy, it is tempting to focus on punishment. But the real challenge lies deeper. Unless Internal Complaints Committees are made genuinely independent and empowered and unless colleges are held accountable for safeguarding students, a similar incident is only waiting to happen.

 

We cannot let India’s campuses become cremation grounds for its daughters.

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