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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 Republic of Rape

Under Mamata Banerjee, West Bengal has descended into a hellscape of lawlessness, political protectionism, and impunity.

West Bengal
West Bengal

In most places, a law college is a sanctuary of justice. But in West Bengal, it has become a recurring scene of barbarism. Earlier this week, a first-year law student walked into South Calcutta Law College to fill out an examination form. By nightfall, she had been dragged into a guard room, gang-raped by a criminal lawyer and two student accomplices and left bruised, broken, and traumatized. The main accused, Manojit Mishra, was no mere rogue. He is a long-time member of the Trinamool Congress’s student wing, a familiar face to ministers and reportedly shielded by senior party functionaries.


The very fact that the crime occurred inside an academic institution and not some desolate alleyway, speaks volumes about how completely the rule of law has evaporated under Mamata Banerjee’s watch. Predictably, TMC functionaries, taking a cowardly stance, are now scrambling to disown the accused, claiming he held no official post. In West Bengal, political protection often arrives not after justice is served, but to ensure it never is.


This case comes barely a year after the rape and murder of a 31-year-old trainee doctor at RG Kar Medical College, another government-run institution in Kolkata. That young woman had her face slashed, glass shards embedded in her eyes, and signs of sustained torture all over her body. There was nationwide outrage, candlelight marches and even murmurs of political accountability. But as so often happens in Bengal these days, the rage ebbed. Nothing changed. The monsters were not only among the people; they were among the powerful.


Indeed, the parallels with the horrific Sandeshkhali village are chilling. There, too, women were allegedly assaulted, harassed, and intimidated by goons aligned with the TMC. There, too, the state machinery stood inert. Only when the political costs mounted, and national attention surged, did the administration stir. Even then, it moved not to protect the victims but to contain the optics.


Banerjee, who once positioned herself as the indomitable ‘Didi’ standing up to injustice, now presides over a regime that seems both indifferent to criminality and complicit in it. Her party’s stock response to sexual violence is denial, evasion, and strategic disassociation. Her lieutenants, like parrots trained in obfuscation, issue boilerplate condemnations while quietly turning the wheels of institutional silence. If Mishra was not one of them, as the TMC now claims, then how did he continue to dominate the college four years after graduating, backed by a network of loyalists, and conveniently employed as non-teaching staff? Who gave him the audacity to act as if the college was his private fiefdom?


The rot goes deeper. The political fiefdoms that dot Bengal, whether in colleges, municipal offices or rural panchayats, function with a toxic blend of impunity and fear. The TMC, once a symbol of resistance against the CPI(M)’s authoritarianism, has become a grotesque caricature of its predecessor. Instead of cadre-led surveillance, Bengal now endures syndicate-backed lawlessness. Violence is no longer a political byproduct but governance itself.


That Mamata Banerjee continues to wrap herself in the rhetoric of “Ma, Mati, Manush” while her party harbours predators is nauseating. That she speaks of women’s empowerment while women are raped inside institutions named for justice and healing is a moral obscenity. In any functioning democracy, a chief minister presiding over such a pattern of violence would have resigned, or at least apologised. In Bengal, she blames the opposition.


The BJP, for its part, has sensed blood. With elections looming, it will hammer home the connections between the accused and the TMC leadership.


The horror in Kasba is the culmination of a culture that festers when the powerful are not held to account. The TMC’s moral collapse is now complete. What remains is a state teetering on the edge where women fear educational institutions, criminals strut as leaders and justice is just another casualty of political expediency.

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