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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.

The Collapse That Had to Happen

Geert Wilders was right to walk away from a coalition that refused to confront the reality of mass migration.

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The Dutch coalition government has fallen, and good riddance. After barely eleven months in office, the most right-leaning government in Dutch history has come undone not because of Geert Wilders’ obstinacy, but because of the refusal of his coalition partners to honour the very mandate that brought them to power: to radically curb immigration and restore national sovereignty.


The now-defunct coalition which was an uneasy marriage of Wilders’ Party for Freedom (PVV), the agrarian populist Farmer-Citizen Movement (BBB), the technocratic New Social Contract (NSC) and the centre-right VVD, was always built on sand. From the outset, the alliance had strained over the one issue that matters most to Dutch voters: asylum and immigration. The other three parties, desperate to appear reasonable to Brussels and Dutch media elites, balked when Wilders unveiled his 10-point asylum plan. His proposals, far from extreme, were clear-headed responses to the chaos wrought by years of lax policy which included suspending asylum applications, closing reception centres, restricting family reunification and ultimately restoring border control in the face of mounting demographic and cultural pressure.


The objections were predictable. Centre-right politicians clung to the illusion that Europe would offer a solution. But voters who gave Wilders the largest mandate in the 2023 election had already lost patience with such evasions. The Netherlands is a small country, not a sponge for the world’s displacements. Its cities are crowded, its welfare system strained and its social cohesion fraying. Wilders’ critics call him divisive. Yet it is mass migration, and the political cowardice that sustains it, that has done more to divide Dutch society than any politician.


Prime Minister Dick Schoof, a former security chief and Wilders’ handpicked appointee, tried valiantly to hold the line. But in the end, Schoof was a technocrat presiding over a political vacuum. His insistence that collapse was “unnecessary and irresponsible” missed the point entirely. What is irresponsible is to form a government on a promise to control migration and then abandon that promise.


The hypocrisy of the Dutch establishment that has been so eager to welcome Afghan interpreters, Syrian ‘refugees’ and Moroccan youths, but so hostile to the concerns of its own native citizens has been the fuel of Wilders’ appeal.


The usual critics in Brussels and the Dutch press have already resumed their familiar litany, dubbing Wilders as ‘far-right,’ ‘Islamophobic,’ ‘unfit for government.’ These epithets are now worn thin. It is no longer tenable to dismiss legitimate concerns about integration, security and sovereignty as hate speech. The Netherlands, like much of Western Europe, is waking up to the costs of multicultural dogma. In schools, teachers report censorship when discussing sensitive topics. In cities, knife attacks and gang violence have become unsettlingly common. In communities once defined by tolerance, women increasingly feel unsafe walking alone. And in politics, every attempt to discuss these issues honestly is met with accusations of extremism.


Wilders, who once stood on the margins of Dutch politics, now speaks for a large, disenchanted middle. Unlike his rivals, Wilders has consistently chosen principle over posturing. He refuses to be the useful idiot in a government that pays lip service to migration control while appeasing the same legal structures that neuter real reform.


Wilders’ decision to withdraw is a reminder that a government without direction is worse than opposition with purpose.


When new elections are called, the Dutch people will once again have a chance to speak. And this time, perhaps, their voice will be loud enough that even the liberal Muslim-lovers in The Hague will have to listen.


Europe’s political elite may sneer, but across the continent - from Italy to Denmark, from Hungary to France - the rules of engagement have long been changing. The migration debate is no longer taboo. In that sense, Wilders is not a relic of angry populism, but a harbinger of what’s next.

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