By Binu Alex
In the world’s largest democracy a true form of opposing is through protests. Then today can you put across your protest to the ‘men in power’ by merely doing what Mahatma Gandhi did? The colonial masters at that time were decent. They respected the way Gandhi and his followers made their displeasure clear in the form of fast unto death or civil disobedience. It had a big impact and ultimately, these form of non-violent protests created history. In countries that has a matured civil society, these form of protests still make a big impact.
And this is what created the trend for the most recent anti-poverty protests against G8 summit at Gleneagles. And the demand was more universal and humane than ever before - to make a commitment to tackle poverty in Africa. And this attracted about 225,000 people and was mostly trouble-free.
Compare this to the protest that some groups claiming to be the protectors of Islam are doing. They know that an eye for an eye will make everyone blind. Most parts of Africa have a major influence of Islam and is terribly poverty ridden. It is for the G8 nations, all Christian dominated countries – to relieve the debt.
The rich Arab nations have no such agenda and not surprisingly there is no protest or Live 8 concerts ahead of any meetings of Arab nations.
This is because of the protestors are well aware that their voices will be heard. Back home in India, we have unique ways of protests. The first and the foremost is to destroy public property. In a world where television cameras zoom around even in bedrooms, the modern day protestors know such actions are bound to climb to the transponders and to televisions in the bedrooms within no time.
As a matter of fact, during the recent VHP bandh, one of the protestors was seen holding a flower pot at the Indore airport and threw it at the window only after ensuring that the camera was rolling.
In a state like Gujarat, the scenario is entirely different.
Much has been written about the way Gujaratis function within the state or outside it. Within the country or outside. One thing that any Gujarati loves to hate is disruption in their day to day activity – whether they are businessmen, a cab driver or a service sector employee.
And that is the reason I don’t remember a hartal or a bandh in Gujarat in my possible memory. Not even during the time when Gujarat was burning after the Godhra episode in 2002. Even during the bandh call given by the VHP, I could see shop owners with their shutters half shut or half open.
This I always compare to the atmosphere in Kerala where people are anxiously waiting for any obsolete unknown entity to call for a Bandh so that they can down their shutters, stop the transport services and keep away from road. Half of the year in this tiny state is wasted in hartals, bandhs, secretariat march, gherao and the list is endless. I wondered how people get time to do all these activities from their busy schedule and decided to ask a local functionary of a party in central Kerala.
His name was Raghavan with no prefix or suffix. “Just call me Raghavan, that’s all”, he ordered me sitting under a thatched roof. Rains soaked the two wooden benches and the only dry fibre chair was occupied by this dark guy with beard that can hide a medium sized frog that leaped around the tent. On the left corner, the hammer and sickle on the posters also got soaked. Even after an hour with him and after having drank three full glass tea, what I got was only his name. But he apologized to me and I pardoned him seeing how busy he was. He was coordinating to organize a ten kilometer march protesting the suicide of an engineering student in a hostel apparently because her poor parents were unable to pay her fees. Sticks and flags were all ready and some ten youths in their coloured dhoti stood outside waiting for orders. In between to make me feel at home he further identified himself as the zonal secretary of the party and patted himself how influential he is in the power corridors. “If you have any work here, let me know.” I nodded. As the youths sat outside to tie the flag to the bamboo sticks, I started again. To my question of where he is employed, he had a long pause. And the pause continued for another five minutes before I pressed the play button again. “Where do you work?” I repeated myself.
“I work for the party,” he broke the silence. “And I get no money for this,” he answered even without me putting my next question.
“Well, I get some money here and there serving people. And I get work done for people here whether it is sanction for electricity or some other work,” he revealed his source of income.
“But how much?”
“Not fixed. Some times it exceeds Rs 10,000 and at times, I don’t even get for my smoke,” he ordered an orderly outside to bring a Wills.
Wills Cigarette, he explained, is a status logo and he graduated from Bidi to Wills after his regular monthly ‘service’ income.
“What about these guys,” my query continued and I was referring to youths sitting outside eagerly. All in their twenties and well built. They had trimmed hairs and at least half of them had beards, a tradition in Kerala. I could not make out their religion though at least two of them had sandalwood paste on their forehead which indicated they were Hindus. I did not care to ask Raghavan about their religious identity.
“Well, I started from where they are now. By the time I reach some position in the state, they will reach my position. ,” Raghavan replied as I moved to a corner as rains began to make me feel I should move to safe place to protect my recording equipments. “But only if they work hard,” he did not forget to add his hard work in becoming zonal secretary.
Now it was my turn to turn point blank. I asked Raghavan whether he feels too many hartals is necessary for an industrially broken state like Kerala.
“My mother is from Kottarakkara and I know how owners of cashew nut pealing factories exploited the workers. We strongly protested and now they have come in line. Hartals are the only form of protest in a democratic society. It is our right and we will continue to call hartals if injustice is meted out to labour force,” his voice changed and his eyes looked as if he will call for a hartal against me asking a foolish question.
I sat with him for another hour and moved out thanking him for his time. He showed no emotions and I felt he got a big relief by having me out of his ‘zonal office’.
As I moved to the bus stand the rains had stopped. I got a bus and during my one hour journey back home, I recollected one of my friends explaining about the condition of men and women who toil to get cashew kernels and dry roasted nuts. Their hands are burnt beyond repairs. More than working in the factories in and around Kollam, they were busier protesting and striking work. To move out from capitalist owners of these factories, they formed cooperatives. One such cooperative is Kerala State Cashew Workers' Apex Industrial Co-operative Society (Capex), which remains closed for most part of the year.
The country exported 1,01,078 tonnes of cashew and 7,516 tonnes of cashewnut shell liquid at an aggregate value of Rs. 1,898 crore for the period from January-December 2002.
And a majority of these came from Kerala’s burnt hands. Well, almost all the factories closed unable to take the brunt of the continuing strike and thousands who worked in these factories started mortgaging their jewelries first and small pieces of land later.
This was a decade ago and I immediately thought I should move to Kollam region to find out a family to showcase how the strikes have benefited or ruined them. It took no time for me to find out one as I got down at Chengamanad. I asked the worker at the teashop whether he could find one for me. He asked me wait for a while and I ordered a tea and a piece of cake. It was noon time. I counted at least four non-stop state transport buses zooming at the speed of light and sound. There was none from the place to board the bus that charged more than the ordinary ones. They were called Super Fast, Limited Super Fast and Express buses. While I looked around for some familiar faces, I saw the tea shop owner coming out. He had a towel wrapped around his neck as he came out.
He was Tulsidharan aged 53 but his wrinkled face made me believe he was much beyond that. Among other things, he said his two children go to ‘parallel’ college. I never realized that he was explaining about himself because the family that I asked for was none other than his own.
“Saare. I am the best example of this themmaditharam (loosely translates into barbarism) “, he whispered.
What transpired between me and him was abruptly interrupted by the bakery owner who gave him final ultimatum to get back to work. He asked me to come home but his skill of putting words to work in explaining his condition was enough for me to understand the plight of thousands like him.
I thanked him and while paying the bill for the tea and cake, I thanked his boss.
Tulsi and his wife worked in a cashew factory getting a decent sum. His factory owner also provided him gloves for protecting their skins. They had no workers union but Tulsi believed the owner promptly paid whatever was due. Some of his friends, were not as lucky. They complained to him about the exploitation workers were facing – low wages, long working hours. He had ESIC benefit and so could avail health insurance.
But all of a sudden, a campaign began outside the premises of the factory that began enrolling workers in a trade union movement. Tulsi was not interested initially but within no time he and his wife were forcefully made members of the union. No sooner did the union distributed receipts of the union fee collected; one of the trade union leaders sought an appointment with the owner. It was refused since the owner said he had nothing to discuss. Next day, a banner came up on the approach road that displayed how the owner exploited the workers. A day later a strike call was given and this is all what Tulsi remembers in chronological order.
But that started his problem as the strike continued initially for weeks, months and then the owner closed down the factory rendering thousands without any job. In fact, the owner shifted his factory to Kerala-Tamil Nadu border where many of the Kollam factories now function. Some of the loyal workers, including Tulsi, were sent messages whether they would be interested to work at the new place. Tulsi was not since he could not leave his ancestral home and children were too young to leave for a new place. He never got into a job thereafter since one by one factories closed down. The irony is that his wife still goes to one of the factories to do the same work that she did in her prime. The difference is that she is neither covered for insurance nor she has fixed working time or fixed wages. Whatever she is given, she accepts and so does thousands like her who work in dingy places.
I took the address of the factory but Tulsi told me that it was impossible to locate since the factory had no address to look out for. He called a rikshaw guy in khaki and explained the place to him.
The rikshaw stood first in the line and as he started the engine, he had too many questions for me and about me. I said I am here to know facts. More questions without answers followed and finally he resigned to his fate.
I was enjoying the green paddy fields and cool breeze along with Malayalam songs that came out of wooden speakers on either side of the rear of rikshaw. The guy must have spent double to the cost of the vehicle in decorating it. All sorts of names decorated around. It seemed as a mobile name distribution service. There were so many in different colours. The vehicle was well maintained and as we reached halfway it began giving trouble. The driver turned back, put his hands in between my legs. For a moment I thought he was seeking pardon for the volley of questions he asked before the journey. He was actually trying to turn the key to reserve petrol position. Soon he stopped the vehicle and showed me a place with asbestos sheets all around. Smoke that originated from one corner was too heavy for me to believe that it was a small place. The rikshaw driver explained that some five hundred women worked at a time. Accidents arising out of fire are nothing new, he added, but very few are reported. Suddenly some heads began to play hide and seek from the black coloured sheets. The driver said it was no safer to be there as he feared they may question him about my intentions.
This is what how people like Raghavan transformed Kerala. The state may boast of literacy and political awareness but it lacks maturity. Even serious introspections will not solve the problem as the damage has already been done. Kerala failed to convert high literacy rates into opportunities.
I have also seen the worst part of this scenario in Gujarat. In Sabarkantha’s tribal regions, some of the labourers were paid less than ten rupees per day in their drought relief work by the contractors appointed by the government. Not to waste this money in heavily loaded jeeps that ferry them, almost every one walks back to their houses, normally located in a dungar (high place or a mountain). This distance vary from two to seven kilometers.
Where to strike a balance is the question that I ask myself. Which is right and what is wrong (read left).
Right wing Hindu groups have the strongest presence in Gujarat yet they always exempt the state from all types of hartals. That is the smartness in which they work. Even if they are forced to call for a bandh, there will be no major damages. You don’t need an intellectual brain to understand that this is because they have business interests in the state. I have never heard of any business chambers in Kerala coming out with figures as the Gujarat based Chambers of commerce. Each minute is accounted for and the precious time lost in trading is precious money lost.
If at all any bandhs have to be conducted, I heard one of my stock broking friends heard saying, it should not be between 10 AM to 3.30 PM, the working hours of BSE and NSE.
But responding to the call made in Gujarat, I am sure Kerala will observe a total bandh. Roads will be isolated and only ambulances and press people will be allowed to ply around. Largely people prefer to remain within four walls during any bandh.
So what is the best way to protest? Indians are yet to innovate ways of protests. In western countries celebrities are known to be taking stands. That is why Live 8 concerts had Madonna to George Clooney. You will not find Aamir Khan, Amitabh Bachhan or Shahrukh Khan condemning Gujarat riots. They cannot afford to do because ultimately what count is economics.
So what is the best way to protest in India? How can you put across your points to the concerned authorities as peacefully and democratically as you can? How?
And this is what created the trend for the most recent anti-poverty protests against G8 summit at Gleneagles. And the demand was more universal and humane than ever before - to make a commitment to tackle poverty in Africa. And this attracted about 225,000 people and was mostly trouble-free.
Compare this to the protest that some groups claiming to be the protectors of Islam are doing. They know that an eye for an eye will make everyone blind. Most parts of Africa have a major influence of Islam and is terribly poverty ridden. It is for the G8 nations, all Christian dominated countries – to relieve the debt.
The rich Arab nations have no such agenda and not surprisingly there is no protest or Live 8 concerts ahead of any meetings of Arab nations.
This is because of the protestors are well aware that their voices will be heard. Back home in India, we have unique ways of protests. The first and the foremost is to destroy public property. In a world where television cameras zoom around even in bedrooms, the modern day protestors know such actions are bound to climb to the transponders and to televisions in the bedrooms within no time.
As a matter of fact, during the recent VHP bandh, one of the protestors was seen holding a flower pot at the Indore airport and threw it at the window only after ensuring that the camera was rolling.
In a state like Gujarat, the scenario is entirely different.
Much has been written about the way Gujaratis function within the state or outside it. Within the country or outside. One thing that any Gujarati loves to hate is disruption in their day to day activity – whether they are businessmen, a cab driver or a service sector employee.
And that is the reason I don’t remember a hartal or a bandh in Gujarat in my possible memory. Not even during the time when Gujarat was burning after the Godhra episode in 2002. Even during the bandh call given by the VHP, I could see shop owners with their shutters half shut or half open.
This I always compare to the atmosphere in Kerala where people are anxiously waiting for any obsolete unknown entity to call for a Bandh so that they can down their shutters, stop the transport services and keep away from road. Half of the year in this tiny state is wasted in hartals, bandhs, secretariat march, gherao and the list is endless. I wondered how people get time to do all these activities from their busy schedule and decided to ask a local functionary of a party in central Kerala.
His name was Raghavan with no prefix or suffix. “Just call me Raghavan, that’s all”, he ordered me sitting under a thatched roof. Rains soaked the two wooden benches and the only dry fibre chair was occupied by this dark guy with beard that can hide a medium sized frog that leaped around the tent. On the left corner, the hammer and sickle on the posters also got soaked. Even after an hour with him and after having drank three full glass tea, what I got was only his name. But he apologized to me and I pardoned him seeing how busy he was. He was coordinating to organize a ten kilometer march protesting the suicide of an engineering student in a hostel apparently because her poor parents were unable to pay her fees. Sticks and flags were all ready and some ten youths in their coloured dhoti stood outside waiting for orders. In between to make me feel at home he further identified himself as the zonal secretary of the party and patted himself how influential he is in the power corridors. “If you have any work here, let me know.” I nodded. As the youths sat outside to tie the flag to the bamboo sticks, I started again. To my question of where he is employed, he had a long pause. And the pause continued for another five minutes before I pressed the play button again. “Where do you work?” I repeated myself.
“I work for the party,” he broke the silence. “And I get no money for this,” he answered even without me putting my next question.
“Well, I get some money here and there serving people. And I get work done for people here whether it is sanction for electricity or some other work,” he revealed his source of income.
“But how much?”
“Not fixed. Some times it exceeds Rs 10,000 and at times, I don’t even get for my smoke,” he ordered an orderly outside to bring a Wills.
Wills Cigarette, he explained, is a status logo and he graduated from Bidi to Wills after his regular monthly ‘service’ income.
“What about these guys,” my query continued and I was referring to youths sitting outside eagerly. All in their twenties and well built. They had trimmed hairs and at least half of them had beards, a tradition in Kerala. I could not make out their religion though at least two of them had sandalwood paste on their forehead which indicated they were Hindus. I did not care to ask Raghavan about their religious identity.
“Well, I started from where they are now. By the time I reach some position in the state, they will reach my position. ,” Raghavan replied as I moved to a corner as rains began to make me feel I should move to safe place to protect my recording equipments. “But only if they work hard,” he did not forget to add his hard work in becoming zonal secretary.
Now it was my turn to turn point blank. I asked Raghavan whether he feels too many hartals is necessary for an industrially broken state like Kerala.
“My mother is from Kottarakkara and I know how owners of cashew nut pealing factories exploited the workers. We strongly protested and now they have come in line. Hartals are the only form of protest in a democratic society. It is our right and we will continue to call hartals if injustice is meted out to labour force,” his voice changed and his eyes looked as if he will call for a hartal against me asking a foolish question.
I sat with him for another hour and moved out thanking him for his time. He showed no emotions and I felt he got a big relief by having me out of his ‘zonal office’.
As I moved to the bus stand the rains had stopped. I got a bus and during my one hour journey back home, I recollected one of my friends explaining about the condition of men and women who toil to get cashew kernels and dry roasted nuts. Their hands are burnt beyond repairs. More than working in the factories in and around Kollam, they were busier protesting and striking work. To move out from capitalist owners of these factories, they formed cooperatives. One such cooperative is Kerala State Cashew Workers' Apex Industrial Co-operative Society (Capex), which remains closed for most part of the year.
The country exported 1,01,078 tonnes of cashew and 7,516 tonnes of cashewnut shell liquid at an aggregate value of Rs. 1,898 crore for the period from January-December 2002.
And a majority of these came from Kerala’s burnt hands. Well, almost all the factories closed unable to take the brunt of the continuing strike and thousands who worked in these factories started mortgaging their jewelries first and small pieces of land later.
This was a decade ago and I immediately thought I should move to Kollam region to find out a family to showcase how the strikes have benefited or ruined them. It took no time for me to find out one as I got down at Chengamanad. I asked the worker at the teashop whether he could find one for me. He asked me wait for a while and I ordered a tea and a piece of cake. It was noon time. I counted at least four non-stop state transport buses zooming at the speed of light and sound. There was none from the place to board the bus that charged more than the ordinary ones. They were called Super Fast, Limited Super Fast and Express buses. While I looked around for some familiar faces, I saw the tea shop owner coming out. He had a towel wrapped around his neck as he came out.
He was Tulsidharan aged 53 but his wrinkled face made me believe he was much beyond that. Among other things, he said his two children go to ‘parallel’ college. I never realized that he was explaining about himself because the family that I asked for was none other than his own.
“Saare. I am the best example of this themmaditharam (loosely translates into barbarism) “, he whispered.
What transpired between me and him was abruptly interrupted by the bakery owner who gave him final ultimatum to get back to work. He asked me to come home but his skill of putting words to work in explaining his condition was enough for me to understand the plight of thousands like him.
I thanked him and while paying the bill for the tea and cake, I thanked his boss.
Tulsi and his wife worked in a cashew factory getting a decent sum. His factory owner also provided him gloves for protecting their skins. They had no workers union but Tulsi believed the owner promptly paid whatever was due. Some of his friends, were not as lucky. They complained to him about the exploitation workers were facing – low wages, long working hours. He had ESIC benefit and so could avail health insurance.
But all of a sudden, a campaign began outside the premises of the factory that began enrolling workers in a trade union movement. Tulsi was not interested initially but within no time he and his wife were forcefully made members of the union. No sooner did the union distributed receipts of the union fee collected; one of the trade union leaders sought an appointment with the owner. It was refused since the owner said he had nothing to discuss. Next day, a banner came up on the approach road that displayed how the owner exploited the workers. A day later a strike call was given and this is all what Tulsi remembers in chronological order.
But that started his problem as the strike continued initially for weeks, months and then the owner closed down the factory rendering thousands without any job. In fact, the owner shifted his factory to Kerala-Tamil Nadu border where many of the Kollam factories now function. Some of the loyal workers, including Tulsi, were sent messages whether they would be interested to work at the new place. Tulsi was not since he could not leave his ancestral home and children were too young to leave for a new place. He never got into a job thereafter since one by one factories closed down. The irony is that his wife still goes to one of the factories to do the same work that she did in her prime. The difference is that she is neither covered for insurance nor she has fixed working time or fixed wages. Whatever she is given, she accepts and so does thousands like her who work in dingy places.
I took the address of the factory but Tulsi told me that it was impossible to locate since the factory had no address to look out for. He called a rikshaw guy in khaki and explained the place to him.
The rikshaw stood first in the line and as he started the engine, he had too many questions for me and about me. I said I am here to know facts. More questions without answers followed and finally he resigned to his fate.
I was enjoying the green paddy fields and cool breeze along with Malayalam songs that came out of wooden speakers on either side of the rear of rikshaw. The guy must have spent double to the cost of the vehicle in decorating it. All sorts of names decorated around. It seemed as a mobile name distribution service. There were so many in different colours. The vehicle was well maintained and as we reached halfway it began giving trouble. The driver turned back, put his hands in between my legs. For a moment I thought he was seeking pardon for the volley of questions he asked before the journey. He was actually trying to turn the key to reserve petrol position. Soon he stopped the vehicle and showed me a place with asbestos sheets all around. Smoke that originated from one corner was too heavy for me to believe that it was a small place. The rikshaw driver explained that some five hundred women worked at a time. Accidents arising out of fire are nothing new, he added, but very few are reported. Suddenly some heads began to play hide and seek from the black coloured sheets. The driver said it was no safer to be there as he feared they may question him about my intentions.
This is what how people like Raghavan transformed Kerala. The state may boast of literacy and political awareness but it lacks maturity. Even serious introspections will not solve the problem as the damage has already been done. Kerala failed to convert high literacy rates into opportunities.
I have also seen the worst part of this scenario in Gujarat. In Sabarkantha’s tribal regions, some of the labourers were paid less than ten rupees per day in their drought relief work by the contractors appointed by the government. Not to waste this money in heavily loaded jeeps that ferry them, almost every one walks back to their houses, normally located in a dungar (high place or a mountain). This distance vary from two to seven kilometers.
Where to strike a balance is the question that I ask myself. Which is right and what is wrong (read left).
Right wing Hindu groups have the strongest presence in Gujarat yet they always exempt the state from all types of hartals. That is the smartness in which they work. Even if they are forced to call for a bandh, there will be no major damages. You don’t need an intellectual brain to understand that this is because they have business interests in the state. I have never heard of any business chambers in Kerala coming out with figures as the Gujarat based Chambers of commerce. Each minute is accounted for and the precious time lost in trading is precious money lost.
If at all any bandhs have to be conducted, I heard one of my stock broking friends heard saying, it should not be between 10 AM to 3.30 PM, the working hours of BSE and NSE.
But responding to the call made in Gujarat, I am sure Kerala will observe a total bandh. Roads will be isolated and only ambulances and press people will be allowed to ply around. Largely people prefer to remain within four walls during any bandh.
So what is the best way to protest? Indians are yet to innovate ways of protests. In western countries celebrities are known to be taking stands. That is why Live 8 concerts had Madonna to George Clooney. You will not find Aamir Khan, Amitabh Bachhan or Shahrukh Khan condemning Gujarat riots. They cannot afford to do because ultimately what count is economics.
So what is the best way to protest in India? How can you put across your points to the concerned authorities as peacefully and democratically as you can? How?
unedited version 1:1
© Binu Alex
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