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By:

Abhijit Mulye

21 August 2024 at 11:29:11 am

Red flag to green steel

Ex-Maoists forge new destiny in Gadchiroli Gadchiroli: The rugged, forested terrain of Gadchiroli district, long synonymous with the violence and deep-rooted anti-establishment tenets of the ‘Red Ideology’, is now witnessing a remarkable social and industrial transformation. At the Lloyds Metals and Energy Ltd. (LMEL) plant in Konsari, once-feared Maoist operatives are shedding their past lives and embracing a new, respectable existence as skilled workers in a cutting-edge Direct Reduced Iron...

Red flag to green steel

Ex-Maoists forge new destiny in Gadchiroli Gadchiroli: The rugged, forested terrain of Gadchiroli district, long synonymous with the violence and deep-rooted anti-establishment tenets of the ‘Red Ideology’, is now witnessing a remarkable social and industrial transformation. At the Lloyds Metals and Energy Ltd. (LMEL) plant in Konsari, once-feared Maoist operatives are shedding their past lives and embracing a new, respectable existence as skilled workers in a cutting-edge Direct Reduced Iron (DRI) and pellet plant. This ‘green steel’ project, part of LMEL’s push for an integrated steel complex in the region, is functioning not just as an industrial unit but as a crucial pillar in the Maharashtra government’s surrender-cum-rehabilitation policy. So far, LMEL, in coordination with the state government and the Gadchiroli Police, has provided employment and training to 68 surrendered Maoists and 14 members of families affected by Naxal violence, a total of 82 individuals, offering them a definitive pathway back to the mainstream. The Shift The transformation begins at the company’s dedicated Lloyds Skill Development and Training Centre at Konsari. Recognizing that many former cadres had limited formal education, the company implements a structured, skill-based rehabilitation model. They are trained in essential technical and operational skills required for plant administration, civil construction, and mechanical operations. For individuals like Govinda Atala, a former deputy commander, the change is palpable. “After surrendering, I got the right to live a new life,” Atala said. “I am very happy to get this job. I am now living my life on my own; there is no pressure on me now.” Suresh Hichame, who spent over a decade in the movement before surrendering in 2009 too echoed the sentiments. He realized the path of violence offered neither him nor his family any benefit. Moreover, his self-respecct was hurt. He knew several languages and carried out several crucial tasks for the banned organization remaining constantly under the shadow of death. Today, he works in the plant, receiving a steady monthly salary that enables him to care for his family—a basic dignity the ‘Red Ideology’ could never provide. The monthly salaries of the rehabilitated workers, typically ranging from Rs 13,000 to Rs 20,000, are revolutionary in a region long characterized by poverty and lack of opportunities. Trust, Stability The employment of former Maoists is a brave and calculated risk for LMEL, an industry that historically faced stiff opposition and even violence from the left wing extremist groups. LMEL’s management, however, sees it as an investment in inclusive growth and long-term stability for the district. The LMEL has emphasized the company’s commitment to training and facilitating career growth for the local populace, including the surrendered cadres. This commitment to local workforce upskilling is proving to be a highly effective counter-insurgency strategy, chipping away at the foundation of the Maoist movement: the exploitation of local grievances and lack of economic options. The reintegration effort extends beyond the factory floor. By providing stable incomes and a sense of purpose, LMEL helps the former rebels navigate the social transition. They are now homeowners, taxpayers, and active members of the community, replacing the identity of an outlaw with that of a respected employee. This social acceptance, coupled with economic independence, is the true measure of rehabilitation. The successful employment of cadres, some of whom were once high-ranking commanders, also sends a powerful message to those still active in the jungle: the path to a peaceful and prosperous life is open and tangible. It transforms the promise of government rehabilitation into a concrete reality. The plant, with its production of iron ore and steel, is physically transforming the region into an emerging industrial hub, and in doing so, it is symbolically forging the nation’s progress out of the ashes of extremism. The coordinated effort between private industry, the state government, and the Gadchiroli police is establishing a new environment of trust, stability, and economic progress, marking Gadchiroli’s transition from a Maoist hotbed to a model of inclusive and sustainable development.

State of Notoriety

A spate of unsavoury incidents in varsity campuses and hospitals have exposed the deep rot in West Bengal’s institutions under the TMC.

West Bengal
West Bengal

There was a time when West Bengal prided itself on being a land of learning, a crucible of reform, and a stronghold of intellectual dissent. Today, it makes national headlines not for its ideas but for its impunity. In the span of three weeks, two alleged rapes - one inside the prestigious Indian Institute of Management (IIM) Calcutta, the other within the premises of South Calcutta Law College - have laid bare a pattern of notoriety.


Bengal’s institutions, once hailed as engines of progress, have become scenes of violence, and the state’s machinery seems either paralysed or politically compromised.


In the latest such incident, a 26-year-old IIM Calcutta student was arrested for allegedly drugging and raping a mental health counsellor within a student hostel on campus. The complainant claims she felt dizzy after sharing pizza and water with the accused, was denied access to a washroom, lost consciousness and was subsequently raped. That such an incident could unfold in one of India’s elite institutions is itself shocking. But even more troubling is how quickly this comes on the heels of an even more horrifying crime.


Late last month, a 24-year-old law student was gang-raped inside the South Calcutta Law College, dragged into a guard room by a criminal lawyer and two student accomplices. The main accused, Manojit Mishra, is a known face in the student wing of the ruling Trinamool Congress (TMC), reportedly close to senior party functionaries. If colleges are meant to be sanctuaries of justice and progress, then Bengal’s campuses have become laboratories of violence and impunity.


This is symptomatic of systemic decay. From the ghastly rape and murder of a trainee doctor at RG Kar Medical College last year, to the state’s limp response to the Sandeshkhali atrocities where TMC-affiliated goons allegedly harassed and assaulted women, West Bengal has repeatedly demonstrated that law enforcement is selective, institutional accountability is absent and political connections matter more than public safety.


A formal statement from the Director-in-Charge of IIM Kolkata asserts zero tolerance and promises cooperation with police. But statements are no substitute for action in a climate where institutional silos often collude with external pressure to dilute justice.


What unites these incidents is not just violence, but the impunity that follows. It is telling that the alleged rapist in the law college case had long outlived his student tenure yet maintained a stranglehold on the institution, operating with the kind of authority that suggests more than just familiarity.


This points to a governance model that has substituted law with loyalty. The TMC, which once promised a clean break from the CPI(M)’s strong-arm legacy, has merely rebranded authoritarianism in its own colours. Syndicate-run colleges, cadre-captured panchayats, and a bureaucracy allergic to accountability seems to be the new normal in Bengal. Justice is not just delayed or denied but is actively discouraged if the perpetrator has the right political credentials.


At the heart of this rot is a leader who once commanded national admiration. Mamata Banerjee, who rose as the “David” to CPI(M)’s “Goliath,” now presides over a system she once vowed to dismantle. Her government’s record on women’s safety, civil liberty, and institutional independence is positively dystopian. When leaders lose their moral compass, it is the powerless who bleed.


For now, Bengal’s streets will see a few candlelight marches, social media will churn with outrage and the news cycle will move on. But for the victims and for the thousands of students who enter these institutions in hope, something irreversible has shifted. A society that cannot guarantee basic safety in its spaces of learning has already begun its descent into darkness.


West Bengal today is not in the news because of its thinkers, achievers or reformers. It is in the news because violence against women has become routine and silence institutional. That is a tragedy which no amount of spin can whitewash.

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