Beyond the massacre

By Harsh Sethi

THE RECENT brutal and pre-meditated massacre of 35 Sikhs in an Anantnag village has once again drawn attention to the unenviable plight of innocents caught in a crossfire between a recalcitrant state and armed groups seeking to advance their agenda through violent means. Though expectedly, given the timing of the outrage (on the eve of the U.S. President, Mr. Bill Clinton's much- heralded visit to the country), the greater focus will be on `making sense' of Pakistan's gameplan, it will be useful to keep in mind that this latest tragedy is neither the first, now will it be the last of such incidents, either in the Valley or in our other `troubled' spots.

There is no gainsaying that the Anantnag massacre marks a new low in our disturbed history. Both the scale of the massacre and the targeting of a community hitherto untouched in Kashmir's unending war does demonstrate that forces opposed to a peaceful resolution have upped the ante. And while most analysts have little doubt about the role of the Pakistani establishment, either directly or through its `sponsored freedom fighters', it is significant that the Hurriyat has rushed to blame the Indian state. As always, the argument is that the `killings' are a deliberate ploy to discredit the movement for azadi. It, however, comes as a surprise, and a relief, that at least for the moment the human rights groups have not jumped into the fray.

For far too long our public discourse on tragedies such as Anantnag, or more generally on acceptable modes of settling political differences or advancing political agendas, has been marked by a fractiousness, the positions taken depending primarily, if not exclusively, on the side we choose in a political conflict. The Indian state has invariably seen the various naxalite groups as terrorists/criminals, episodically as misguided revolutionaries; those ideologically in sympathy see them as courageously battling for equality, justice and social transformation. So too in the Valley; the activists are either `freedom fighters' or mercenary jehadis acting at the behest of a foreign power. Why, even those protesting against large development projects - be it dams, mines, super thermal projects or nuclear power plants - often get classified as eco- fundamentalists out to derail the country's development.

Without for a moment seeking to equate these diverse situations, there is no running away from the disturbing tendency of using each of these unfortunate occurrences to further concentrate repressive power in the hands of the agencies of the state. And though lip service is often paid to the need to address the socio-economic and cultural roots of protest, even violent protest, the favoured strategy is one of strengthening the law and order apparatus, including taking recourse to laws such as NSA or TADA.

The human rights groups, once lionised for their struggle against the Emergency regime, today seem trapped at a crossroads. We appear to be facing a discomforting situation that overwhelming evidence of human rights violations by the state does not ipso facto add to the credibility of the activists who have struggled hard to bring these violations to light. The situation seems so fragile, so insecurity ridden, so full of dark portents about the future, that disclosures - be they on Kashmir, Punjab, Assam or Andhra Pradesh - instead of rousing our citizenry against the perfidies being committed on them, only generates comments about the activists as meddlesome, naive and dangerous, if not fifth columnists and anti-national.

Take any of the issues - of terrorist violence and state terrorism; of growing communalism and inter-faith intolerance; of economic liberalisation and globalisation; of the relationship between the individual, the group/community and the state; of the underlying structures of caste, class and gender that inhibit freedom; even of rights and duties - it is evident that the earlier discourse, premised on a stable and legitimate polity wherein the dialectical relationship between authority and dissenting movements contributed to the construction of a new, transitory consensus, no longer appears valid. Living through the death throes of an older order does not make for an easy confidence about the future.

It is true that our human rights groups, given their genesis in the anti-naxalite repression of the late '60s and '70s and the anti- Emergency movement, see themselves as both `political' and `partisan', i.e., by definition pitted against the state. Their focus, unlike in the West, is more on the expansion of economic, social and cultural rights than on the mere maintenance of constitutionally guaranteed civil liberties. The groups are also dominated, not by constitutional lawyers, but by activists, most of whom look upon both the state and mainstream political parties as conservative, if not reactionary, working more to depoliticise and disempower the masses. It is thus no surprise that they remain convinced that their energies should be devoted to monitoring and constraining the excesses of the state; not decry the lawlessness of the political opposition.

Whether or not the Indian human rights groups' display, to use Upendra Baxi's evocative phrase, `a libidinal fascination with the pathologies of state power', their current stances and activism do appear as unnecessarily restrictive and flawed. And nowhere is this more marked than in situations of the kind obtaining in Kashmir. If going along with the Hurriyat understanding of the Anantnag tragedy would be suicidal, maintaining a judicious silence would be equally reprehensible. Both can only contribute to their further marginalisation.

Unless our human rights communities comprehend how power is exercised in a modern polity, the importance of constructing widely shared norms of civilised political existence, and the crucial role institutions of democratic governance play in safeguarding the fragile consensus - their causes can never strike deep roots. Stepping outside the rules of the game is a hallmark not merely of the state but equally of the political opposition.

One may claim the maintenance of law and order, the unity and integrity of the nation; the other may employ the rhetoric of justice, equality, radical transformation or self-determination. Both contribute towards an erosion of norms, the making of a lawless society in which the sufferer is the proverbial common citizen.

It is thus that the setting up of a new human rights body, The People's Union for Human Rights, creates some interest. Not only because of the galaxy of names associated with this venture, but because in its inaugural meeting itself, the PUHR seems to have placed on its agenda the issue of violation of basic rights by militants, radical or ethnic. Equally, in choosing to describe itself as a `human rights' rather than a civil liberties or democratic rights group, it has sought to emphasize the indivisibility of human rights. Hopefully it will also foreground the citizen as against the political activist while evolving both its programme and understanding.

In the absence of such an understanding, the victims of Anantnag will either be lost sight of, or abstracted into providing a rationale for either the state or the `freedom fighters'. The Government has already indicated its preference. It has called for a condemnation of all those who seek to use jehad as part of their foreign policy and has reiterated its resolve to meet the challenge.

The Hurriyat, expectedly, has chosen to portray itself as the `true victim', highlighting that the massacre was the handiwork of `Indian agents', that its leaders have been arrested to prevent them from exposing the real conditions of the Valley. Are those killed destined to remain pawns?

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