IT was a matter of concern when the BJP sought to ‘abrogate’

Article 370 of India’s constitution, which gave Kashmir a special

status with guaranteed autonomy. But what the BJP government of
Narendra Modi did on Aug 5, 2019, went far beyond that action.

It has not only lopped off Ladakh from Jammu and Kashmir but has taken a
series of steps to wipe out the identity of the Muslim-majority territory, and
erase its history and identity from public institutions which once bore the
name of Shaikh Muhammad Abdullah. Martyrs’ Day — July 13, 1931, on which
day the Dogra ruler Hari Singh massacred Muslims — will cease to be a
holiday. What is a fact is not a drive to separate Jammu from Kashmir but to
ensure a Hindu regime in a Kashmir led by the BJP.

Simultaneous with the wiping off of Article 370, a handpicked delimitation

commission was set up by the centre to carve out a fresh boundary of electoral
constituencies. Supposedly a quasi-judicial trade body, its work depends on
the rival inputs it receives from political parties based on research. But how
can such a body function if the political class is paralysed, if not indeed
removed from the scene altogether?

Even in the worst days of the British Raj, such fiendish tactics were not used.
One hopes Kashmiri activists will compile a black book on the Modi regime’s
doings; especially since Aug 5, 2019.

The political class is paralysed, if not removed from the

scene altogether.
We are concerned here with the bondage in which the political class has been
held since by the gross abuse of a disgraceful provision in the colonial law of
1897, the Criminal Procedure Code (CrPC). Revised in 1973, provisions that
could be abused to stifle dissent were left intact. There is a whole chapter
for goondas and lawless elements.

C. Rajagopalachari saw the brand of politics after independence and angrily

remarked that they could be rounded up by any magistrate as gentlemen
without any ostensible means of livelihood — under Chapter VIII on ‘security
for keeping the peace and for good behaviour’ — ie for politics not approved by
the state. These are called ‘chapter proceedings’. That they are empowered
mostly by magistrates not judges reveals their raison d’être. One provision
deals with ‘suspected persons’, another with ‘habitual offences’. Significantly,
the CrPC separates judicial magistrates from executive magistrates.
The provision that is much abused is Section 107, which says, “When an
executive magistrate receives information that any person is likely to commit a
breach of the peace or disturb the public tranquillity or to do any wrongful act
that may probably occasion a breach of the peace or disturb the public
tranquillity and is of opinion that there is sufficient ground for proceeding, he
may, in the manner hereinafter provided, require such person to show cause
why he should not be ordered to execute a bond, [with or without sureties] for
keeping the peace for such period, not exceeding one year, as the magistrate
thinks fit.”

The provision says not a word about politics. It is concerned with peace. It has
a precondition. The person to be targeted must be asked to show why he
should not be required to execute a bond.

Clearly, Section 107 is supposed to deal with lumpen elements not the political
class, be it politicians or activists or writers. They are to be bound to keep the
peace; not pursue politics, which politicians in power approve. The bond was
to only last for one year. More than a year has elapsed since last August.
Preparations were made to crush any opposition to the constitutional crime of
Aug 5, 2019.

Courts have imposed further conditions. The proceedings must not be

prolonged. The information is meant to disclose tangible details so that the
suspect can provide his answer. Section 112 makes explicit the need for a
hearing.

In Kashmir, there were widespread sweeping arrests of politicians and

legislators. Politicians were detained under Section 107, and made to sign
bonds providing their sworn undertaking not to participate in any political
activity after they were released.

“If a person detained under Section 107 of the CrPC signs a bond and then
violates it, legal proceedings, including arrest, can be initiated. The prohibited
activities include giving political speeches,” said the official. Since Aug 5, 2019,
several political leaders were placed under detention and house arrest. The
Jammu and Kashmir government-owned Centaur Hotel in Srinagar was
turned into a subsidiary jail, where over 50 political leaders were imprisoned.

There is another aspect to this. The foul deeds of Aug 5, 2019, destroy the
Shimla Pact totally; wrecking its basis under Paragraph 4 in which both sides
pledged not “to seek to alter it (the recognised position of either side)
unilaterally”. The Kashmir dispute regains it as international dispute.
The writer is an author and a lawyer.

Published in Dawn, September 12th, 2020

WITH PTI in power, PTI has decided to provide a spirited and

defiant opposition to PTI. Leaders of PTI have vowed to take on
leaders of PTI for their acts of omission and commission and
resolved to leave no stone unturned to expose the atrocious
governance of PTI. In this respect PTI has announced that it will do
everything in its power to expose PTI and inform the nation how
PTI is letting down PTI. Observers say the showdown between PTI
and PTI has begun to take a toll on both PTI and PTI.

Welcome to the Land of Disturbia.

It is a land where tainted characters like the CCPO of Lahore strut like
peacocks while survivors of rape are expected to cower in guilt; a land where
upright and respected inspectors general of police are sacrificed at the altar of
nepotism while discredited subordinates are garlanded with official praise;
and a land where ministers indulge in repellent whataboutery over victim-
shaming remarks while chief ministers pretend the remarks were never
uttered in the first place.

The unfortunate events of this past week have reinforced the vulnerabilities of
the PTI government: wrong people placed in the wrong positions for all the
wrong reasons. This has become a trend. The obviousness of the weakness
hides a more disturbing phenomenon — making key decisions subservient to
reasons that cannot be acknowledged publicly. All governments do this; the
present one is doing it more crudely.

The unfortunate events of this past week have reinforced

the vulnerabilities of the PTI government.
Why did the federal government/Punjab government appoint a man with
dubious credentials as CCPO of Lahore? Both governments knew he was
passed over for promotion based on his less-than-exemplary reports. Both
governments had read these reports and were well aware of his past
performance, which was not as scintillating as the gentleman himself believes.
Both governments were also fully informed of his reputation.

Ah, the reputation.

So that’s why they put him incharge of the Lahore police? This reputation is
well documented in his performance report, which is now being shared widely
in the media. Was there was something in that report, something in those
adverse attributes highlighted in the report, something about his rough
personality and gruff demeanour, and his personal and professional vices, that
endeared him to the federal and provincial leadership of PTI? This something
was apparently so intriguingly endearing that PTI was ready and willing
to sack a very well reputed IG Punjab to retain the CCPO.

Disturbed enough? There’s more.

PTI leadership validated their chosen CCPO’s insubordination of his superior

officer. The leadership treated this as an individual grievance. Did it not
realise this would have institutional ramifications for the police force? Yes the
same police force that is already groaning under the weight of its own rotting
reputation; that is suffering from a professional meltdown so grievous that it
has become a predatory force that bleeds from the wounds of corruption and
incompetence. PTI has added insubordination to the grim list. Can any force
worth its name — a force built on the pyramid of hierarchy and chain of
command — survive these triple blows? PTI was supposed to reform Punjab
police; it is destroying it further.

In Disturbia, there’s much more.

The horrific and violent rape on the motorway has exposed the dark
underbelly of Punjab’s policing and administrative failures. The worst part:
these failures were not even hiding in plain sight — they were gyrating in plain
sight. Any surprise that this section of the motorway was not policed? Any
surprise that a request sent two months ago to deploy police at the stretch
remained unanswered? Any surprise that the distress calls for help by the rape
survivor to official phone numbers led to nothing but delayed response? Any
surprise that various agencies within the provincial government are unable to
stitch together an undisputed version of events?

And any surprise that the CCPO is apportioning blame to the rape survivor?

When he says the survivor should have taken a different route at this late
hour, or she should have checked her petrol gauge, or should not have
ventured out at all — when he says all of these vile things, repeatedly and
unapologetically, he is not just verbalising an opinion dripping with
contemptible misogyny, he is in fact betraying a mindset that prevails within
his force responsible for the safety and security of 53 per cent of the country’s
population that lives in Punjab. This is not callous. This is not irresponsible.
This is outright dangerous.

And you know what is even more dangerous in Disturbia?

It is this: the federal and Punjab governments are willing to overlook the
tainted credentials of its CCPO, they are willing to overlook his gross
insubordination and its adverse impact on the police force, and are even
willing to overlook his deeply misogynistic mindset and its consequences —
they are willing to overlook all this and more for…?

For something that this officer will provide to the federal and Punjab
government? Something that cannot be acknowledged, or admitted or uttered;
something of so much value, and significance and importance that all the
other devastating fallouts of this decision pale in comparison.

The story of Disturbia isn’t finished, yet.

This story was supposed to start like this: Once upon a time in a land far far
away ruled a party that said it would appoint the right people for the right job
for the right reasons. In this land it was said the police would be reformed so
that they served the citizens instead of preying on them; it was said there
would be trust between the ruler and the ruled, and the ruler could do many
things but he would never withhold the truth from the citizens. The story was
supposed to end with everyone living happily after.

The story of the Land of Disturbia — as it unfolds in all its sordid vividness
across the plains of Punjab — is far from happy. It is a dark tale for a dark
place and we are all living it.

Where are the torchbearers when you need them?

TO figure out how we have to come to consider an upside-down

world as right-side up, you could do no better than become a fly-on-
the-wall in an upscale architect’s office.

You will observe, repeatedly, an upright, highly educated gentleman

accompanied by an equally becoming spouse arrive to go over the design of
their dream house to be built on 1,000 square yards in what is deemed the
‘ultimate’ community.

(The couple, having purchased the ‘plot’ — that ubiquitous word — at the
going market price would be unaware that it was the patrimony of a
dispossessed peasant from whom it was ‘acquired’ at a fire-sale price to be
flipped over by a highly deserving beneficiary. And even if they did, they would
consider it a part of the rightful process of development in which resources are
transferred from those who do not know how to use them to those that do.)

Pardon the digression and refocus on the couple poring over the drawing. The
bedrooms would be the first order of priority — they would need to be as many
as possible (five, six?) and as large as possible with the master dresser-cum-
bath large enough to cater for exercise in case it is raining outside.

Fair enough. There would follow some aesthetic observations on the location
of wall-to-wall TV, the size of the foyer chandelier, the sweep of the spiral
staircase, the orientation of the winter terrace, and the contours of the
fishpond in the garden.

And then, it would be time to figure out the space for the
servant.
And then, when all that is important is said and done, it would be time to
figure out the space for the servant. Watch now, the switch from a framework
of maximising to one of minimising. How can we design it so that the least
amount of precious land is sacrificed? And can we split that minimum space in
two because,don’t forget, we will need a driver as well as a cook?

Before long, the agonising would end with a stroke of pure genius — why don’t
we put it on the roof so that no land is ‘wasted’ at all? But the summer, the
heat? Don’t worry ma’am, these people are used to everything, one should not
go about spoiling them. As it is they are getting too big for their boots. Voila,
the servants’ quarters with a rooftop view, smaller in size than the master
dresser-cum-bath. The servants would need to come down their spiral stairs to
use a latrine on the ground floor — don’t forget, it would need to cater to the
part-time gardener as well.

Why, might you ask, do the servants need to live in the same house as the
masters in the first place. Why can’t they have a house of their own somewhere
else? Well, because the ultimate community in the erstwhile village is so far
out and so sparsely populated that there is no public transport. In any case,
the servants have to be on duty from eight in the morning till 10 at night so
they need to be on call and close at hand.

Nor can the servants afford an independent quarter on their salary (which
needs to be contained lest the neighbours rise up in arms for ‘spoiling’ the
market). Of course, there is no way they could afford one in which they could
house their families as well. Ah, for the good old English days when every
decent house had a string of servant quarters tucked away along the back wall.
What have we been reduced to? You could have your own dhobi and the cook’s
wife could double as the maid. (You can still find some of those if you chose
your parents right and inherited a bungalow in the cantonment.)

But back to the servants, who, to survive in this upside-down world, have to be
separated from their families, left behind back there somewhere beyond Jhang
Maghiana. And they have to work on their days off to accumulate time to be
together twice a year since transport eats up so much of the savings. Once
every two years, at best, if they are slaving away in one of the little Gardens of
Eden abroad.

From the rooftops the servants can view the neighbourhood park which they
are not allowed to enter because they mar the ambience for the masters’
relaxation and because it is the latter who pay for the upkeep. The servants are
allowed to exercise on the rooftop as long as they don’t jump up and down
while the master and the mistress are concentrating on important tasks like
designing the Single National Curriculum or keeping the environment safe.

To top it all off, half the lovingly made houses in the supremely designed
ultimate community are unoccupied for the owners live abroad and have
constructed the dream palaces only to have their own abodes when they visit
for the winter.