Blood on my hands: Confessions of Staged Encounters

“…Lend him a live victim” Page 3

This was the first time my blood boiled while reading this heart wrenching, tragic tale of confessions.

So many contradictions in that statement. When did we start playing God, deciding the fates of innocent, ordinary men as per our whims and fancies? Are we now back to barter system, treating humans as nothing more than mere goods?  Are we legalizing trading of humans, which by definition constitutes to human trafficking, a grave offense? And all this for what, a typographical error? So, that’s all a human life is worth now, a mere typo! And the worst, unimaginable contradiction comes from the fact that the person making this statement is one who has taken an oath to protect the very men he wants to victimize. 

In a country which boasts itself of equality for all citizens under the law, why is murder distinguished based on who commits it. Killing in self-defence by an ordinary citizen requires immense proof, but this burden of proof is discharged in case of self-defence by a police officer or army personnel. Unfortunately, this liberty given to security and defence sectors has led to legitimizing encounter killings and murders, the repercussions of which are fatal to democracy and equality.  

We as  a society have developed such a numb attitude towards ‘justified violence’ that even after the 1970s in West Bengal, 1980s in Punjab and 1990s in Kashmir, we continue to watch the same scene right round the corner, without blinking an eyelid, without pausing to be affected by our conscience. Are we more deaf, dumb and blind than an actual disabled person? Have we lost our feelings and deprived ourselves of our virtues? What are we left with then?

Our country boasts of high class intellectuals, lawyers and judges. Then why is it that we have still not moved ahead from the archaic and draconian pre-independence era laws? Probably because we are in some still under the rule of an oppressive regime, with just new definitions and new faces. Can we truly say our country, every inch of it, is truly independent? 

All we have done, since declaring our independence, and continue to do so is passing numerous acts and amendments. The Unlawful Activities (prevention) Act, 1967, Preventive Detention Act, 1950, Madras Suppression of Disturbances Act, 1948, Defence of India Act, 1967, Maintenance of Internal Security Act, 1972, Disturbed Areas Act, 1976, National Security Act, 1980, Terrorist and Disruptive Activities act, 1985, Prevention of Terrorism Act, 2002, and Unlawful activities Amendment Act, 2004. Situation today is the proof that these acts have made no place more peaceful than before, and are mainly used as a tool by the state to deprive an ordinary citizen of this country of his constitutional rights of freedom and equality, making him bound to the mercy of the state. This implies that we are not as free and independent as our constitution tells us, we are only as free and independent as our state wants us to be. Celebrating Independence Day is merely celebrating the liberation of India from the British rule. But surely this is not all that we had aimed for, was it? But, authoritarianism continues to reign in our democracy. 

Have you ever wondered why these cases of illegal and brutal massacres keep repeating? Are we that incapable of learning lessons and improving our defence system? Are we really in a state of war as is suggested by the officials or are we purposefully being kept in this state of war?

A terrorist is kept in custody for months, taken care of well, and provided with an attorney, until a complete legal battle is fought to prove him guilty, even when the actual evidence for his persecution was seen live (on TV) by millions of citizens sitting in their homes. However, such is the irony of our judicial system that 100s of our own countrymen are being illegally abducted and murdered in the name of ‘militants’, without proper evidence or motive, and no one raises an objection. 

Reading the confession of an army personnel, wherein he agrees to have worked with underground groups to catch the so-called militants, makes you wonder, who they were actually protecting. The roles of gangs and unaware citizens seems to have been strategically interchanged. 

A high functioning system cannot work only with the one team. It most definitely requires involvement of all the stake holders. It is a disease worse than corruption and one which plagues our country even after 70 years of independence. 

The issue starts when you start looking at everything as a business, even capturing terrorists. An act that is meant to be protecting and safeguarding the citizens, an honourable act, suddenly becomes a business deal. And the deal has to be profitable no matter what the cost. 

So, basically, it is all about system protecting, nurturing, and emboldening the system. System that comprises of everyone except for the group it has been created for – we, the people.

And quite strangely, the award system for bringing about peace and stability in a conflict area is based on the number of kills rather than the number of peace efforts. It is no wonder then that the number of killings and shootings are always on the rise. Now, who wouldn’t want to get that next award, that next medal of honour!

At a point, you question what is it that makes an ordinary man treat his own kind with extreme cruelty and spite? What is it that forces him to display such indecency, which one would not even expect from lions and tigers? Why is man so eager to gain authority and control over another man’s life?  

By the end of the book (if you do choose to believe what’s written in the book), you neither feel disgusted nor angry. Nothing surprises you anymore. Not all of the breaking news or the horrific incidents. And this is when humanity goes downhill – cruelty met with numbness. 

However, the bitter aftertaste of reading the book lingers on for a long time, and you start to question every event, every article, every opinion and every news put forth before you. And at this point it is for the individual to decide which and how much of the data is to be believed. This is what the book achieves successfully. It makes you question, consider and analyse rather than blindly accept all as the ultimate truth.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

I picked up this book on a rainy evening, unaware of the pleasurable journey that lay ahead..

The story begins with 3-year old Angelou and her 4-year old brother. As Angelou describes the lives of southern African Americans during the cotton picking season, it is truly hard to imagine their plight and difficulties they had to endure to sustain their livelihood. Her description of her Momma, her uncle, the Store, the Church are innocent as a child but also have a certain maturity in them. Even as a child, little Angelou is fully aware of her surroundings, the prejudice against the dark-skinned and the hostility of her people towards the white folks, some of which she herself shares. As you venture deeper into her childhood, you realize she is just a normal little kid- mischievous, scared of things unknown, despising fat ugly old men who eat up the 'best' at dinner, and truly affectionate towards her brother.

It is always painful to read about a young 8-year old being abused, more so when the incident occurs in her own house and the abuser is someone she considers to be father-like. The fears of the frightened little girl can almost be felt like it is happening around you. Her guilt of being part of the ‘crime’ rather than a victim displays the innocence and fragile mind of a child.

A major part of the book is based on Angelou’s childhood incidents. This in many ways reminded me of Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mocking Bird. In both novels the main protagonist is a young African American girl describing the world of inequalities and prejudices around in her own simple and uncorrupted words. 

Each chapter introduces a new person in Angelou’s childhood life who adds a new dimension to her world (and the novel’s). There’s never a dull moment in the book, which mostly is a collection of events from Angelou’s younger days, simple yet captivating. The reading is effortless, like a flowing river. Angelou has the remarkable ability to think and write as a child, to perceive the world like a child, and to remember every single detail of her own childhood, every emotion, every drop of rain.

While reading the book I realized, it’s mostly when you are down and out, when life’s filled with melancholy and misery despite the efforts, when you are despised for no fault for yours, that you hear the sacred bell of the Church. Truly, morose and despair bring out the God within people. Through short glimpses into her youth, she paints a larger picture of the way of life of her people during the Racial segregation in the United States.

The effects of war on a city, its people and the society at large are captured best in 14 year old Angelou’s words. How things change, when the oppressed become the masters. How unconsciously people forget where they came from once they have moved to a better place, and their complete disregard to others going down the same lane. But no matter how drastically the city of San Francisco changed from outside, the prejudices and fear lived on within the people.

The confusions and tentativeness adolescence brings with it are well portrayed and anyone who is passing through/ has passed through that phase of life can easily relate to it in the novel. Her struggle to find her individuality and her boldness and determination, which finally help her become the first African American conductor on San Francisco streetcars, are inspiring.

Such is the beauty of Angelou’s writing that the essence of her relationship with her grandmother, mother, brother and father will stay on in your mind days after you finish the novel.

Half of a Yellow Sun

Overwhelmed! That is how I still feel, days after completing this incredible novel.

The story progresses slowly but steadily, giving the reader sufficient time to connect with each of the character, to understand the rationale behind their decisions, to feel their emotions and sense their touch. It is so delicately woven that even if one word were to be replaced or omitted, it would cause a ripple effect and tear up this beautiful masterpiece. The reader needs to take it all in slowly, feel the pain, the love, the warmth, the despair, careful not to miss a single word, for behind every word lie a million emotions. And one needs to be sensitive and perceptive enough to grasp them.

 The war begins first with few glimpses, when you least expect it. It is almost like a foreboding of things to come. And before you know it, you are diving into it head on.

We are more similar than we realize, in our views about female gender, in our insecurities of intellectual women, in the manner in which our society belittles them, and in how these tough, brave women fight hard to overcome this misogynistic attitude. Every country goes through a women’s movement; it is only the time and place that differs.

It is not an easy task to write about war (I believe portraying it onscreen is relatively easier). One can include gore, graphic details which make the reader’s stomach turn. One can be impassive and undisturbed about it, so as not to invoke any passionate feelings in the reader. But to depict the war in a way that makes you feel it, to experience it, to understand the multitude of emotions going through every character‘s mind, is an art. And Ms. Adichie is a true artist. She brings a depth to the words which make you empathize with the war survivors (or victims, depending on how you see them). This book will make you jump up and listen when the characters are excited, cry when they are tearful and sympathize with their loss. Not many novels can claim to have such as effect on its readers.

War feels the same everywhere. No matter where you live or which culture you follow, whether it is a civil war, a partition, a riot or a world war, the effect it has on us humans is the same. The complex emotions, of loss, anxiety, hatred, misery, felt by the characters will remind you of the sufferings of your countrymen as it reminded me of the heart wrenching stories of my country in 1947. It will also bring out the cruel realities of a war happening in amidst us, currently, that is now in its 7th year.

The story moves seamlessly across time periods, keeping its essence intact. More importantly, it gives you different perspectives of people in a war trodden country; distinct individuals whose lives are intertwined with each other’s.

I stared off reading the book continuously, taking a break only for mundane activities. But as the story progressed, I had to put down the book every few chapters and take a breath. I felt a kind of breathlessness, overwhelmed by the circumstances thursted upon the characters. I took my time soaking it all in, reflecting on the journey of the characters, relating it the happenings around the world today. The book has surely had a deep impact on me and how I see the world, our world.

For a fictional, non-spiritual, non self-help book, based on real situations to be able to make a reader introspect on life is what raises this book above all others.