SACW | May 9-10, 2007 | Pakistan: blasphemy, vice vigilantes, ahmadis / Sri Lanka: Ramesh Gunesekera / Sanjay Basti up for demolition; NHRC on Internally Displaced; sexual harassment and domestic violence

[Harsh Kapoor]

South Asia Citizens Wire  | May 9-10, 2007 | Dispatch No. 2402 - Year 9

[1]  Pakistan:  Stop  'lal-masjidisation' of society
    (i) Blasphemy law reform (Editorial, The News)
   (ii) Not just in NWFP. All over Pakistan now, 
women fear the vice vigilantes. ...(Mariana 
Baabar)
  (iii) Pakistan: Pandering to extremists fuels 
persecution of Ahmadis (HRW Press release)
[2]  Sri Lanka:  Lost horizons (Maya Jaggi)
[3]  India: Rang de basti (Jean Dreze and Bela Bhatia)
[4]  India: NHRC Gives Notice To Gujarat Govt On 
Internally Displaced (Yusuf Shaikh, Gagan Sethi, 
Farha Naqvi, Shabnam Hashmi)
[5]  India: Unsafe Campus, Safe Harassers ? (Subhash Gatade)
[6]  UK: Kiranjit Ahluwalia: "suffering in 
silence you won't change anything"(Roshmila 
Bhattacharya)
[7]  Book Review of 'Hindu Nationalism and Governance'   (Nistula Hebbar)

____


[1]  Pakistan:  Stop  'lal-masjidisation' of society

(i)

The News
May 10, 2007

Editorial

BLASPHEMY LAW REFORM

That the ruling party -- or an influential and 
reasonably large segment of it -- often acts as a 
mirror image of the MMA was shown again on 
Tuesday by the actions of the parliamentary 
affairs minister who quite ruthlessly shot down a 
bill moved by a minority MNA, M P Bhandara, to 
amend the blasphemy laws. As Mr Bhandara put it, 
he wanted to introduce the legislation to bring a 
semblance of equality to the existing law. Also, 
he said he wanted further safeguards for the 
minorities since the laws in their current form 
were widely misused. Now the question is: how 
could the government see anything wrong with 
this? After all, is it not President Pervez 
Musharraf himself who, on several occasions, has 
publicly said that there needs to be a procedural 
change in the existing law so as to check its 
frequent misuse? Besides, it surely must be in 
the government's knowledge -- though it may not 
be willing to admit it publicly -- that the 
minorities by and large live in fear since these 
laws can be so easily used against them. This is 
particularly true of Christians living in Punjab 
where several cases of abuse of the laws have 
been reported over the years.

The fact of the matter is that in 2004 the 
government did make procedural changes to the 
laws but these have rarely been implemented since 
any complaint of blasphemy received by the police 
immediately leads to the arrest of the accused 
and registration of an FIR. Hence, many cases 
tend to be borne out of a wish to settle personal 
scores -- by the accuser against the accused -- 
and have only added to the discrimination 
prevalent in society against the minorities. In 
many instances, the motivation for the accusation 
has more to do with bigotry, selfish gain, 
prejudice and professional rivalry. Often, the 
unsubstantiated oral testimony of the complainant 
would be used as the basis for conviction and 
even if corroborating witnesses were used, they 
tended to share the bias and prejudice of the 
complainant.

Furthermore, the laws create an atmosphere where 
fanatics and bigots, motivated primarily by hate 
and intolerance, are encouraged to take the law 
into their own hands. Hence, the many 
unfortunate, grisly instances where persons 
accused of blasphemy, with the charges against 
them yet to be proven, were lynched by mobs or 
murdered by vigilantes. The element of bigotry 
and intolerance is so great in society -- spread 
by the existence of such laws from Zia's era -- 
that even suspects in police custody or in jail 
cannot feel safe. In fact, it was only recently 
that a police guard killed a blasphemy suspect 
under his guard. In such an environment, where 
mere accusation is promptly equated with guilt, 
it is next to impossible for someone accused of 
blasphemy to receive a fair trial. The pressure 
on the judge hearing such a case is often 
supplemented when the complainant packs the 
courtroom with like-minded individuals (many 
stand outside the court as well) all of whom have 
the tacit or overt backing of militant outfits.

Even the acquittal of a suspect by a court of law 
usually does not pacify the bigots, which means 
that even after being proved innocence, the 
individual and his family must either live in 
perpetual fear or flee the country (as many who 
were accused of blasphemy but were eventually 
proved innocent had to do). In one instance, even 
a high court judge who had acquitted two 
individuals accused of blasphemy ended up being 
murdered by a fanatic. Never has there been any 
prosecution of those who take the law into their 
own hands, or against those who incite the 
general public to kill a person accused of 
blasphemy.

In view of all this, one has to wonder what it is 
that the parliamentary affairs minister was 
trying to defend on Tuesday as he vehemently 
opposed Mr Bhandara's bill, condescendingly 
telling him that Pakistan was made in the name of 
Islam and was not a secular state. Regardless of 
that debate, any country that claims to provide 
justice to its citizens regardless of faith, 
creed or caste needs to consider the views of its 
minorities in a fair and reasoned manner, instead 
of dismissing them out of hand and at the same 
time lecturing them on religion and ideology. 
That will only reinforce the widely-held belief 
that the government's oft-repeated claim that 
minorities in Pakistan enjoy the same legal and 
constitutional rights as the majority community 
is nothing but doublespeak.

o o o

(ii)

outlook Magazine
May 14, 2007

Pakistan: Extremism
THE VIRTUOUS MOB
It's not just in NWFP. All over Pakistan now, 
women fear the vice vigilantes. ...
by Mariana Baabar


Sherry Rehman, politician
"Women today have more to fear than even in Zia's time."

Sara Javeed, Consultant
"When I drive, I don't smoke now. I don't want people accosting me."

Rehana Hakim, Editor, Newsline
"It's open season on the women of Pakistan."

Moneezae Jehangir, TV journalist
"There's a feeling of discomfort...Pakistani women are vulnerable."

Rabab, Model
"Earlier, we had lots of shows in Oct-Dec. There's less work now."

***
Just the other day Tahera Abdullah was driving 
down the spiffy Margalla Road in Islamabad, the 
windows rolled down to enjoy the evening breeze. 
A development worker, her silvery hair could tell 
anyone she's 50 plus. Tahera stopped at the 
traffic signal; an eight-year-old boy accosted 
her: didn't she know Islam required her to cover 
her head? Tahera immediately rolled up the 
window. "How do you argue with an 
eight-year-old?" she asks. But the encounter with 
Pakistan's religious extremism, at once 
frightening and puerile, has prompted Tahera to 
choose sweating inside the car over letting in 
the breeze. "We women are feeling more threatened 
today," she says.

The streets of Islamabad are menacing women, 
compelling them to be what they are not, what 
they have never been. Consultant Sara Javeed 
realised this when she lit a cigarette in her car 
recently. "I quickly stubbed it. I don't want 
strangers asking me why I'm smoking. This is the 
new me," she says dolefully. Sara feels the 
emerging extremism could Talibanise Pakistan. "I 
don't want to live in such a state," she declares.

You can hear the winds of extremism whistle 
eerily even in Parliament. This week, Pakistan 
People's Party (PPP) leader Sherry Rehman, as 
progressive as she's glamorous, wrote to the 
speaker of the lower house asking him to stop her 
monthly stipend as she wasn't anyway being 
allowed to speak on vital issues. "I'd never want 
to wait for anything to happen to me personally 
before I stood up to speak for women who are 
today in a far more dangerous situation than even 
during Zia-ul Haq's times," she says.

Sherry should know, she has experienced the 
destructive passion of the country's religiosity. 
Two months ago, she was in a truck leading a PPP 
procession. An assailant stabbed her in the neck 
with a sharp object, to express his anger against 
women in politics. "The person who attacked me 
hasn't been apprehended yet," she said. "We are 
in a state of anarchy today. It's a dangerous 
retreat of the state. There's simply no check on 
the vice and virtue vigilantes."

The shadow of vigilante groups comprising 
madrassa students lurks in streets, in bazaars, 
on university campuses, even in public transport. 
They may be invisible, but you know they are 
watching you. Hajra Ahmed runs the capital's 
popular English-medium school, Khalidunia. She 
now never goes out in sleeveless clothes; even 
then she takes care to wrap the dupatta around 
her shoulders. "I live on the university campus 
where it's now rare to see a normal woman as all 
of them have taken to wearing the hijab. 
Ironically, it's becoming more and more 
conservative on the campus."

The progressives haven't become renegades 
overnight. They are simply scared, certain the 
state won't protect them from the 'weirdos'.

I talked to several women for this story. They 
spoke angrily, mournfully. Yet some didn't want 
to be photographed, a few didn't wish to be 
named, others refused to disclose where they 
work. Truly, it's just not the time to be a 
liberal woman in Pakistan.

The eddies of conservatism have always been 
present in the federally administered tribal 
areas (FATA). It gathered momentum when the 
Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal, an umbrella group of 
religious parties, was swept to power in the NWFP 
and Balochistan. Conservatism has now turned into 
a storm that is sweeping through the cities, 
sucking into its swirl even the capital city. 
Popular columnist Dr Farrukh Saleem recently 
quoted Taliban commanders to paint a grim 
picture: 61 female teachers killed and 183 girls 
schools bombed this year in NWFP.

Initially, nobody bothered, not even the radical 
chic, as long as the storm only rumbled in the 
outbacks bordering Afghanistan. It was 
inevitable: what else can you expect in areas 
peopled by Taliban sympathisers! In February this 
year, the storm reached a hundred miles from 
Islamabad: a girls school in Kohat was bombed. On 
February 4, a notice was pasted outside a high 
school in Dara Adamkhel: "We have decided to bomb 
the school building. If a student shows up and 
dies as a result, she will be responsible for her 
own death." Three hundred of the 500 girl 
students dropped out. On February 23, the 
extremists managed to shut down a clutch of 
English-medium schools in Peshawar.

The storm hit Islamabad early March, through a 
showdown between the government and the students 
of Jamia Hafsa, a seminary attached to the Lal 
Masjid that had been earmarked, along with a 
dozen others, for demolition. Burqa-clad girls 
took over a public library, compelling the 
government to retract its decision. Emboldened, 
they raided a house claiming it was a brothel; 
music and TV shops were stormed; a Shariah court 
established; the clerics of the Lal Masjid issued 
edicts on the Islamic way of living.

Islamabad cringed.

But the deadliest shards of conservatism have 
been reserved for women. As Dr Saleem wrote, "Men 
needn't worry. It's all about women. It's all 
about crushing the already 'battered half'...it's 
all about keeping them illiterate." To make them, 
as he argued, Pakistani men's idiots. He added, 
"The Pakistan army needn't worry either. When was 
the last time you saw a general in a burqa?"

The burqa became a symbol of the military-mullah 
alliance in Lahore last week when the popular 
play Burqavaganza, a production of Ajoka Theatre, 
was banned. Why? Because the play had displeased 
the MMA. Ajoka's Madeeha Gauhar is livid: "The 
banning of Burqavaganza exposes the facade of 
Musharraf's enlightened moderation." Theatre 
critic Sonuya Rehman says that "by depicting men 
and women in the burqa, the play only tries to 
bring to light issues such as gender 
discrimination, intolerance and fanaticism".

Surprisingly, the play was also banned in Lahore 
which, like Karachi, is yet to experience the 
searing heat of fanatacism. TV journalist 
Moneezae Jehangir says Lahore has witnessed less 
moral policing than Islamabad. "But, yes," she 
adds, "there's a feeling of discomfort. Pakistani 
women are vulnerable because the state negotiates 
with those threatening us." Moneezae says a 
Pakistani woman's experience is linked to her 
class background. "A woman stepping out of a 
Mercedes is less vulnerable than the one getting 
out of a rickshaw. But the real issue is, where 
does the mullah get his power from?" she asks.

Karachi isn't yet under the mullah's spell, but 
the city's ramp-scorcher, Rabab, says, "For the 
last two years, there has been less work.


Earlier, between October-December, we'd be 
flooded with shows." Nighat Chaodhry, a Kathak 
dancer of repute, also lives here. Her brush with 
religious extremism dates back to 1996: a fatwa 
was issued against her because she claimed to get 
her real satisfaction in dancing. "You see, the 
mullah feels satisfaction can come only from 
prayers," she explains, adding, "I haven't yet 
been impacted directly this time round." When 
told that the Lal Masjid has issued a fatwa 
asking dancers to migrate to India, Nighat 
becomes livid, "Is it the law, I ask you? The 
religious parties and others are using the Lal 
Masjid because of the judicial crisis. "

The Karachi-based editor of Newsline magazine, 
Rehana Hakim, feels firing the mullah's passion 
is his mistaken perception that Pakistanis are no 
longer practising Muslims. "People here have been 
always religious," she points out. And, anyway, 
"Can you, for example, reverse the mushrooming of 
TV channels?" Rehana can only ignore the Lal 
Masjid's edicts against working women because, as 
she says, "I have to support myself and go to 
work." The editor has a cautionary message for 
the establishment: "If the government is using 
the Lal Masjid as a diversionary tactic, then the 
government should realise that these people are 
like the genie which once out of the bottle can't 
be put back. Are these fanatics winning the 
battle for the soul of Pakistan? The group that 
faces the gravest danger from these extremists 
are women. It's open season on the women of 
Pakistan."

This worries Islamabad's Amber Mahmud, an 
international NGO worker, mostly because she 
feels you can't predict the extent to which the 
extremists will go. "It's scary," Amber says. 
"Can you dress in salwar-kameez? Or will you have 
to cover your head as well? Will they then impose 
a ban saying only your eyes should be showing? 
Will they attack women who are working or taking 
their kids to school?"

But not every Pakistani woman is quiescent, 
accepting of the curbs on her freedom. Shirin 
Mazari, director-general of the Institute of 
Strategic Studies, was initially shocked at her 
children's refusal to visit their favourite CD 
shop, fearing the rabid extremists' wrath. She 
knows their fear, as those of others, arises from 
the assumption that "if the state is unable to 
protect the ordinary person from the violent 
extremists then there is little choice but to 
either stay indoors or fall in line with this 
extremist diktat". Shirin didn't want them to 
believe they are helpless; she persuaded them to 
revise their decision. She explains, "The visit 
was necessary because one does not want to submit 
to the tyranny of a crazed minority simply 
because the state has chosen to indulge their 
extremism."

Encouragingly, in a recent nationwide protest, 
burqa-clad women came out on the streets in NWFP, 
demanding that the government impose the rule of 
law and check the extremists from running amok. 
Perhaps they are apprehensive of losing the 
little rights they still enjoy. "No religion in 
the world allows their faithful to use sticks in 
places of worship," commented Tribal Women 
Welfare Association chairwoman Dr Begum Jan (in 
reference to the stick brigade at Lal Masjid).

Author Ayesha Siddiqa, who has just published 
Military Inc, has taken to constantly looking 
over her shoulder when she cycles around in 
Islamabad. Yet, she argues, underlying the 
artificially created stress in the system 
(because of the game the government is playing 
with extremists) is also a story of class 
conflict. The elite must appreciate that 
extremism is not just one single category in 
which religious zealots challenge the way people 
dress and conduct themselves.Siddiqa asks, "How 
about other kinds of extremism such as kidnapping 
and killing of people, or denying them their 
right to food, clothing and shelter? How many 
times did the begums of Islamabad protest in 
support of the people of Balochistan where 
malnourishment is a huge problem, where people 
have died because of the battle between the 
nationalists and the government? Is it possible 
for the elite to truly appreciate the concept of 
political liberalism?"

Indeed, a society unable to protect the weak must 
necessarily become a victim of extremism of one 
type or another. But this can't be of solace to 
those losing their freedoms, to girls who won't 
go to school, to women who want to live their own 
way.

o o o

(iii)

Human rights watch - Press Release

PAKISTAN: PANDERING TO EXTREMISTS FUELS PERSECUTION OF AHMADIS

Government Must Repeal 'Blasphemy Law' and End Persecution of Religious
Minority

(New York, May 6, 2007) -- The Pakistani government should stop pandering
to Islamist extremist groups that foment harassment and violence against
the minority Ahmadiyya religious community, Human Rights Watch said today.

Human Rights Watch called on the government of 
President General Pervez Musharraf to repeal laws 
that discriminate against religious minorities 
such as the Ahmadis, including the penal statute 
that makes capital punishment mandatory for 
"blasphemy." 
In the most recent incident, police in Lahore on 
April 22 supervised the illegal demolition of the 
boundary wall of an Ahmadi-owned graveyard. Two 
extremist Islamist groups, Sunni Tehrik and 
Tehrik-e-Tahafaz-e-Naomoos-e-Risalat, had put 
pressure on the provincial authorities over the 
building of the wall on the grounds that Ahmadis 
might try to establish a center of "apostasy" 
within the enclosed walls. Leaders of the two 
groups had also threatened to kill Ahmadis if the 
police did not intervene on their behalf. 

"Musharraf should stop giving in to Islamist 
extremist groups that foment harassment and 
violence against the minority Ahmadi community," 
said Brad Adams, Asia director at Human Rights 
Watch. "As religious persecution by Islamist 
groups intensifies, pandering to extremists sets 
a dangerous precedent." 

Founded in 1889 by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, the 
Ahmadiyya community is a religious group that 
identifies itself as Muslim. Estimates suggest at 
least 2 million Ahmadis live in Pakistan. Ahmadis 
differ with other Muslims over the exact 
definition of Prophet Mohammad being the "final" 
monotheist prophet. Many Muslims consider the 
Ahmadiyya to be non-Muslims. 

The persecution of the Ahmadiyya community is 
wholly legalized, even encouraged, by the 
Pakistani government. Pakistan's penal code 
explicitly discriminates against religious 
minorities and targets Ahmadis in particular by 
prohibiting them from "indirectly or directly 
posing as a Muslim." Ahmadis are prohibited from 
declaring or propagating their faith publicly, 
building mosques, or making the call for Muslim 
prayer. 

Pakistan's "Blasphemy Law," as Section 295-C of 
the Penal Code is known, makes the death penalty 
mandatory for blasphemy. Under this law, the 
Ahmadi belief in the prophethood of Mirza Ghulam 
Ahmad is considered blasphemous insofar as it 
"defiles the name of Prophet Muhammad." In 2006, 
at least 25 Ahmadis were charged under various 
provisions of the blasphemy law across Pakistan. 
Many of these individuals remain in prison. 

Though violence against the Ahmadiyya community 
has decreased from historically high levels in 
the 1980s, when the military government of 
General Zia-ul-Haq unleashed a wave of 
persecution against them, Ahmadis continue to be 
injured and killed and see their homes and 
businesses burned down in anti-Ahmadi attacks. 
The authorities continue to arrest, jail and 
charge Ahmadis for blasphemy and other offenses 
because of their religious beliefs. In several 
instances, the police have been complicit in 
harassment and the framing of false charges 
against Ahmadis, or stood by in the face of 
anti-Ahmadi violence. 

"Ahmadis become easy targets in times of 
religious and political insecurity," said Adams. 
"The Pakistani government has emboldened the 
extremists by failing to take action. It needs to 
repeal the laws used to persecute Ahmadis, and it 
must prosecute those responsible for anti-Ahmadi 
intimidation and violence." 

However, charges are seldom brought against 
perpetrators of anti-Ahmadi violence and 
discrimination. Research by Human Rights Watch 
indicates that the police have failed to 
apprehend anyone implicated in such activity in 
the last two years. 

On September 9, two journalists working for the 
Ahmadi publication Al Fazl were charged under 
various provisions of the blasphemy law and the 
anti-terrorism act at the urging of Islamist 
extremists from the Khatm-e-Nabuwat group, which 
had called for a ban on Ahmadi newspapers and 
other publications. The journalists have 
subsequently been released on bail but the 
editor, publisher and printer of Al Fazl continue 
to face court proceedings. 

On June 22 last year, a mob burned down Ahmadi 
shops and homes in Jhando Sahi village near the 
town of Daska in Punjab province, forcing more 
than 100 Ahmadis to flee their homes. The police, 
though present at the scene, failed to intervene 
or arrest any of the culprits. On the hand, the 
authorities charged seven Ahmadis under the 
blasphemy law. The Ahmadis have now returned to 
their homes, but the situation remains tense. 

On October 7, 2005, masked gunmen attacked Ahmadi 
worshippers in a mosque in the near the town of 
Mandi Bahauddin in Punjab province. Eight Ahmadis 
were killed and 18 injured in the attack. The 
perpetrators remain at large. 

Since 2000, an estimated 350 Ahmadis have been 
formally charged in criminal cases, including 
blasphemy. Several have been convicted and face 
life imprisonment or death sentences pending 
appeal. The offenses charged included wearing an 
Islamic slogan on a shirt, planning to build an 
Ahmadi mosque in Lahore, and distributing Ahmadi 
literature in a public square. As a result, 
thousands of Ahmadis have fled Pakistan to seek 
asylum in countries including Canada and the 
United States. 

The Pakistani government continues to actively 
encourage legal and procedural discrimination 
against Ahmadis. For example, all Pakistani 
Muslim citizens applying for passports are 
obliged to sign a statement explicitly stating 
that they consider the founder of the Ahmadi 
community an "imposter" and consider Ahmadis to 
be non-Muslims. 

"Under Pakistan's Blasphemy Law, virtually any 
public act of worship or devotion by an Ahmadi 
can be treated as a criminal offense," said 
Adams. "Ahmadis could be sentenced to death for 
simply professing their faith." 

Human Rights Watch urged the international 
community to press the Pakistani government to:

     * Repeal the Blasphemy Law; 
     * Prosecute those responsible for harassing, 
and planning and executing attacks against the 
Ahmadiyya and other minorities; and, 
     * Take steps to encourage religious tolerance within Pakistani society.

"Pakistan's continued use of it blasphemy law 
against Ahamdis and other religious minorities is 
disgraceful," said Adams. "The government's 
failure to repeal this law contradicts its claim 
of 'enlightened moderation.'" 

Background on the Ahmadiyya community 

The Ahmadiyya Muslim Community, the official name 
of the community, is a contemporary messianic 
movement founded in 1889 by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad 
(1839-1908), who was born in the Punjabi village 
of Qadian, now in India. Some derogatorily refer 
to the Ahmadiyya community as the "Qadiani" (or 
"Kadiyani") community, a term derived from the 
birthplace of the founder of the movement. In 
1889, Ahmad declared that he had received divine 
revelation authorizing him to accept the baya'ah, 
or allegiance of the faithful. In 1891, he 
claimed to be the expected mahdi or messiah of 
the latter days, the "Awaited One" of the 
monotheist community of religions, and the 
messiah foretold by the Prophet Mohammed. Ahmad 
described his teachings, incorporating both Sufi 
and orthodox Islamic, Hindu, and Christian 
elements, as an attempt to revitalize Islam in 
the face of the British Raj, proselytizing 
Protestant Christianity, and resurgent Hinduism. 
Thus, the Ahmadiyya community believes that Ahmad 
conceived the community as a revivalist movement 
within Islam and not as a new religion. 

Members of the Ahmadiyya community ("Ahmadis") 
profess to be Muslims. They contend that Ahmad 
meant to revive the true spirit and message of 
Islam that the Prophet Mohammed introduced and 
preached. Virtually all mainstream Muslim sects 
believe that Ahmad proclaimed himself as a 
prophet, thereby rejecting a fundamental tenet of 
Islam: Khatme Nabuwat (literally, the belief in 
the "finality of prophethood" - that the Prophet 
Mohammed was the last of the line of prophets 
leading back through Jesus, Moses, and Abraham). 
Ahmadis respond that Mirza Ghulam Ahmad was a 
non-law-bearing prophet subordinate in status to 
Prophet Mohammed; he came to illuminate and 
reform Islam, as predicted by Prophet Mohammed. 
For Ahmad and his followers, the Arabic Khatme 
Nabuwat does not refer to the finality of 
prophethood in a literal sense - that is, to 
prophethood's chronological cessation - but 
rather to its culmination and exemplification in 
the Prophet Mohammed. Ahmadis believe that 
"finality" in a chronological sense is a worldly 
concept, whereas "finality" in a metaphoric sense 
carries much more spiritual significance. 

The exact size of the Ahmadiyya community 
worldwide is unclear, but estimates suggest they 
number under 10 million, mostly concentrated in 
India and Pakistan but also present in 
Bangladesh, Indonesia, Ghana, Burkina Faso, 
Gambia and Europe. 

Background on persecution of the Ahmadiyya in Pakistan 

The Ahmadiyya community has long been persecuted 
in Pakistan. Since 1953, when the first 
post-independence anti-Ahmadiyya riots broke out, 
the relatively small Ahmadi community in Pakistan 
has endured persecution. Between 1953 and 1973, 
this persecution was sporadic but, in 1974, a new 
wave of anti-Ahmadi disturbances spread across 
Pakistan. In response, Pakistan's parliament 
introduced amendments to the constitution which 
defined the term "Muslim" in the Pakistani 
context and listed groups that were deemed to be 
non-Muslim under Pakistani law. Put into effect 
on September 6, 1974, the amendment explicitly 
deprived Ahmadis of their identity as Muslims. 

In 1984, Pakistan's penal code was amended yet 
again. As a result of these amendments, five 
ordinances that explicitly targeted religious 
minorities acquired legal status: a law against 
blasphemy; a law punishing the defiling of the 
Quran; a prohibition against insulting the wives, 
family, or companions of the Prophet of Islam; 
and two laws specifically restricting the 
activities of Ahmadis. On April 26, 1984, General 
Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq issued these last two laws as 
part of Martial Law Ordinance XX, which amended 
Pakistan's Penal Code, Sections 298-B and 298-C. 

Ordinance XX undercut the activities of religious 
minorities generally, but struck at Ahmadis in 
particular by prohibiting them from "indirectly 
or directly posing as a Muslim." Ahmadis thus 
could no longer profess their faith, either 
orally or in writing. Pakistani police destroyed 
Ahmadi translations of and commentaries on the 
Quran and banned Ahmadi publications, the use of 
any Islamic terminology on Ahmadi wedding 
invitations, the offering of Ahmadi funeral 
prayers, and the displaying of the Kalima (the 
statement that "there is no god but Allah, 
Mohammed is Allah's prophet," the principal creed 
of Muslims) on Ahmadi gravestones. In addition, 
Ordinance XX prohibited Ahmadis from declaring 
their faith publicly, propagating their faith, 
building mosques, or making the call for Muslim 
prayer. In short, virtually any public act of 
worship or devotion by an Ahmadi could be treated 
as a criminal offense. 

With the passage of the Criminal Law Act of 1986, 
parliament added Section 295-C to the Pakistan 
Penal Code. The "Blasphemy Law," as it came to be 
known, made the death penalty mandatory for 
blasphemy. General Zia-ul-Haq and his military 
government institutionalized the persecution of 
Ahmadis as well as other minorities in Pakistan 
with Section 295-C. The Ahmadi belief in the 
prophethood of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad was now 
considered blasphemous insofar as it "defiled the 
name of Prophet Muhammad." Therefore, 
theoretically, Ahmadis could be sentenced to 
death for simply professing their faith.

_____


[2]


The Guardian
May 5, 2007

LOST HORIZONS

Romesh Gunesekera wants to create an imaginary 
Sri Lanka, but the real world keeps invading his 
work. His latest novel is punctuated by cricket 
matches and political flash points

Maya Jaggi

The month before the tsunami of Boxing Day 2004, 
Romesh Gunesekera took his mother to visit the 
coast of Sri Lanka where he was born. Two years 
into a ceasefire between the government and 
separatist Tamil Tigers, there was optimism that 
decades of sectarian bloodshed were at an end. 
When news of the waves' devastation reached 
London, Gunesekera was floored by the "sickening 
sense of another disaster" setting the country 
back.

In Gunesekera's Booker-shortlisted first novel, 
Reef (1994), a marine biologist warned of the 
vulnerability of the island's protective coral 
reef, saying that "if the structure is destroyed, 
the sea will rush in". Driving down the coast 
road from the capital Colombo, Gunesekera had 
seen "heaps of coral, used to make cement. It's 
precisely those places," he says, "where the sea 
came straight in and demolished the houses."

In Reef, the fragile, living coral is partly a 
metaphor for a land poised to crumble into 
fratricidal self-destruction. Gunesekera's 
fiction often touches on loss, flight, memory, 
the eroding passage of time and the despoilment 
of ostensible paradises. "I've always written out 
of an urgency," he says, "because, any minute, 
everything can fall apart - including life."

Now 53, he left what was then Ceylon in 1966, 
before the conflict took root, moving to the 
Philippines aged 12, then to England at 17. But 
since his debut short story collection, Monkfish 
Moon (1992), his fiction has largely been set 
between Britain and Sri Lanka, or on unnamed 
tropical islands resembling his birthplace. "One 
reason the stories have tended to go back to that 
setting is my desire to understand violence," he 
says. "It could as easily be Nazi Germany or 
Rwanda, but Sri Lanka is the one."

His fourth and most recent novel, The Match, 
traces its protagonist Sunny Fernando's passion 
for cricket from a Colombo childhood, through 
teen years in the Philippines, to adulthood in 
Britain. Its paperback publication by Bloomsbury 
coincided with the Sri Lankan cricket team's 
reaching the world cup final. Gunesekera 
confesses that, though he bowled as a boy to a 
coconut-branch wicket, he is "not a sporty 
person", yet writing this sometimes humorous 
novel rekindled his enthusiasm for the game. The 
book is punctuated by cricket matches and 
political flash points. Six weeks after a suicide 
bombing in Colombo in 1996, Sri Lanka won the 
World Cup for the first time. After the 2002 
peace talks, it played a test match against 
England at which Sinhalese and Tamils cheered the 
same side.

One inspiration was the Trinidadian writer CLR 
James, whose Beyond a Boundary (1963) linked 
cricket to empire and independence. For 
Gunesekera, the game is a way of "exploring 
identity and belonging. In cricket, there's an 
element of heightened ethnic identity, but 
everyone knows it's a sham; you can easily switch 
teams. They're moveable lines." Sri Lanka's 
ethnic divisions, he believes, are "all 
manufactured. If you go back in time, they're not 
so deep-rooted; families are intermingled."

As Sunny drifts, his marriage faltering and his 
past slipping away "like loose change", the novel 
explores how complex, individual identities are 
really built, through what we choose to remember 
or imagine. "Sunny, like most people, cuts 
himself off from his past, from the bits he 
doesn't like," says Gunesekera. "He forgets as a 
strategy to live. But he finds that, without an 
anchor in the past, he's weightless. His solution 
is to create a past in London that's entirely his 
own, not that of a group. That's what most of us 
do - form our own identity, so you're uniquely 
you."

Gunesekera seems more at ease discussing his 
characters' lives than his own. He lives in north 
London with his wife Helen, a local government 
worker. They met as students at Liverpool 
University, and have two daughters: Shanthi, a 
student, and Tanisa, who is still at school. 
Although he left Sri Lanka aged 12, Gunesekera 
visits often, and in 2005 received a Ranjana, a 
national honour from the president. Among his 
inspirations are the sixth-century verses 
graffitied on the rock of the Sigiriya fortress, 
the first secular poetry written in Sinhala, the 
majority language of Sri Lanka. The country, he 
says, is "a place I've got to know more since I 
left. When I was there, I wasn't imaginatively 
living there; I was reading trashy fiction."

He was born in 1954, in Colombo, the second of 
three children. His father worked for the Central 
Bank of Ceylon. Not long after independence from 
Britain in 1948, "nationalist fervour and 
nation-building were in full swing", he says. 
Though he went to an elite Sinhala school and was 
bilingual, his parents were part of an 
English-speaking middle class at a time when 
"English was seen as the sword that cut off 
people's mother tongues". Unlike India's 
remoulding of English into a unifying national 
language, Sri Lankan policy was to let it die 
out. Gunesekera's schooling was "terrible; my 
English teacher didn't speak English". Though the 
policy was eased as the international handicaps 
became clear, many problems, in his view, "stem 
from language. The nationalist movement supported 
Sinhala by suppressing Tamil; there were 
competing nationalisms. It was a fundamental 
mistake to make parallel streams in education - 
or a calculated political gamble. Politicians 
were playing with it."

His parents divorced when he was eight, but later 
remarried, living together in London till his 
father's death 10 years ago. When Gunesekera's 
father moved to Marcos's Philippines to set up 
the Asian Development Bank, his son followed for 
five years. He came to see his "run-of-the-mill 
British colonial inheritance" as parochial in a 
country whose imperial power was the US, and 
which cheered for baseball not cricket.

His early life did not lack drama and tragedy. 
One of his teenage friends was killed by another 
in a martial arts knife fight. Earlier, his 
closest boyhood friend had died of cancer aged 
11. Yet, "I was lost in a world of books", he 
says. He devoured the rebels of the Beat 
generation, and began to write at 15. "Writing is 
incredibly important to me as a way of handling 
the world, understanding how it works."

Joining his mother in Liverpool when he was 17, 
his impression was of somewhere "very staid; a 
small country of quaint ways". But he raided 
libraries, discovering William Faulkner, F Scott 
Fitzgerald and Graham Greene. After studying 
English and philosophy at Liverpool, he moved to 
London in 1976. For 12 years he wrote while a 
senior official at British Council headquarters, 
until he become a full-time writer in 1996.

He wanted to create "a fictional, imaginative Sri 
Lanka through words, as others had with places 
like the Deep South. It doesn't matter to me if 
it corresponds to reality." Yet, "though I'm 
trying to make an imaginary space, the real world 
is constantly invading it". The 1971 reprisals 
that followed an attempted revolution in Sri 
Lanka were "the first period of mass brutality 
and killing that changes everyone's 
consciousness". They presaged the "suppurating 
ethnic war" in which bodies would repeatedly roll 
in the surf. When police burned Jaffna library in 
1981, and there were anti-Tamil pogroms in 1983, 
he says, even from a distance, "you feel 
something terrible is happening in which you're 
implicated".

Ranging back to the 60s, Reef explores a feudal 
master-servant bond between Mister Salgado and 
his young cook Triton that shifts as they take 
refuge from the troubles in London. Growing up 
with servants, says Gunesekera, "I spent a lot of 
time in the kitchen talking to people who were as 
close as friends. It was a familiar world, and a 
way of exploring a power relationship that would 
eventually equalise itself." The novel is filled 
with sumptuous fare, from tiger prawns to rum 
soufflés, whose cook, like Prospero, is both 
magician and artist. "Food is everything to 
Triton - his art, his vocation, his identity."

Reef, Gunesekera insists, is "not a story about a 
lost paradise. Triton's world had its harshness. 
But that sense of loss mirrors what happens in 
your mind: most people are able to see the past 
in a better light. Most childhoods are full of 
anxiety, but that tends to get smoothed over so 
you have a sense of nostalgia." He adds: "In the 
sense that writing is to retrieve the past and 
stop the passing of time, all writing is about 
loss. It's not nostalgia, in the sense of 
yearning to bring back the past, but recognition 
of the erosion of things as you live."

The motif of time passing underpins his second 
novel, The Sandglass (1998), a complex 
reconstruction of warring dynasties and corporate 
greed. It was written, he says, when "the 
violence in Sri Lanka was at its height. So I 
wrote about a woman dying of old age, and what 
other, deliberate killings might mean." A study 
of the "descent of people into violence", it is 
also about art and creativity, as the narrator, 
Chip, "turns into a person made up of others' 
stories - just as I'm appropriating stories, and 
readers are too". We are, Gunesekera believes 
"all artists of our own lives".

Heaven's Edge (2002), set 30 years into a 
post-nuclear future on a mythic "emerald island", 
was partly inspired by rereading Homer's Odyssey 
and by other quests, from Conrad to the Ramayana. 
Yet where the past is "choked with wars, 
disputes, borders as pointless as chalk lines in 
water", it explores whether killing for personal 
or national freedom is ever justified. It was 
written before September 11, but published amid a 
"rising level of violence all over the world - 
and acceptance of it", he says. "Pacifism and 
non-violence are seen as disreputable these days. 
But the idea of intervention being good has led 
us to Iraq."

The Sri Lankan peace brokered in 2002 was 
shattered within a year of the tsunami, in 2005. 
The conflict now raging has displaced 250,000 
people in the past year. Gunesekera, who was 
"perfectly aware that maybe we'd be back to 
square one", blames political short-termism and 
"people making money out of the war". But "there 
are no easy answers".

While his fiction is peopled by wanderers, its 
universal concerns are not only with violence, 
but our fractured relationship with the past, and 
how we move on to have many homes. "It's easier 
for those of us who move around to see our 
dilemmas more visibly," he says. "But loss is 
part of being human, part of growing. A terrible 
sense of loss keeps accumulating in our lives."

______


[3]

Hindustan Times
May 07, 2007

RANG DE BASTI

by Jean Dreze and Bela Bhatia

About two weeks ago, a terse notice appeared on a 
few walls in Sanjay Basti, a squatter settlement 
in Timarpur, North Delhi. Posted by the Central 
Public Works Department (CPWD), it directs the 
residents to vacate by April 27, or face 
demolition soon after that. The notice does not 
explain the purpose of this forcible removal, or 
specify the area to which the order applies, or 
mention any relocation plan. Nor does it provide 
a contact number where further details might be 
sought - so much for the right to information.

Most of the houses in Sanjay Basti are small, 
single-room dwellings, with thin brick or mud 
walls and corrugated sheets on the top. The 
residents belong to the 'informal sector' of the 
urban economy: they work as vegetable vendors, 
domestic helpers, casual labourers, street 
hawkers, rickshaw-pullers, mechanics and 
painters, among other occupations. They survive 
and live, without much comfort but protected at 
least from the deprivations and indignities many 
of them had endured in the villages, before they 
migrated to Delhi. For the outsider, a basti may 
seem drab, dirty and degenerate, a virtual colony 
of crime and filth. For insiders, trials and 
tribulations there may well be, but the basti 
also throbs with a vibrant social life.

In common parlance, Sanjay Basti is a 'slum' or 
'encroachment', but these pejorative terms fail 
to convey the real nature of this settlement. 
Most of the residents have been there for 20 
years or more, and they have had time to 
transform their humble dwellings into real 
'homes'. Without much help or subsidies, they 
have made thoughtful use of every inch of space 
to improve their environment, often by recycling 
middle-class 'waste'. Their houses are tidy and 
functional and, what is more, they have 
character. In this respect, this 'slum' compares 
favourably with the somewhat dull 
lower-middle-class quarters across the road, 
built at considerable public expense. As a form 
of low-cost urban housing, Sanjay Basti is not 
doing badly.

Ever since the eviction notice came up, people 
have been worried, fearful and confused, even 
though their everyday life continues much as 
before. The notice did not come as a surprise - 
they have always known that it was only a matter 
of time. There have been many occasions when 
rumour was rife that the basti was about to be 
demolished.  Yet it survived each time, and even 
seemed to take root: election cards were made, 
ration cards were distributed, children were 
immunised and admitted in local schools. But now, 
part of Sanjay Basti is already rubble: as a 
'starter' towards full demolition, a row of shops 
and houses (on the edge of the road) was razed to 
the ground on March 6, 2007.  This swift and 
ruthless operation made it clear that the 
eviction notice has to be taken seriously.

In principle, Sanjay Basti is well protected from 
arbitrary demolition under existing policies and 
laws. The Delhi Laws (Special Provisions) Act, 
2006, prohibits any slum demolition for the time 
being unless the land is required for a "specific 
public project", which is conspicuous by its 
absence in this case. Indeed, persistent 
enquiries from countless offices failed to 
uncover any specific reason for the demolition of 
Sanjay Basti.

Further, the Delhi Master Plan 2021, which has 
statutory force, declares and mandates a policy 
of in situ upgradation or relocation as per 
strict specifications (provided for in the Plan 
itself) of all slums and "jhuggi-jhopri 
clusters", and a continuance of these settlements 
in the interim. The impending demolition of 
Sanjay Basti violates this Master Plan as well as 
the Delhi Laws (Special Provisions) Act, 2006. 
For good measure, it is also contrary to the slum 
policy of the Municipal Corporation of Delhi 
(MCD).

These laws and policies, unfortunately, are being 
overridden by reckless High Court orders aimed at 
'cleansing' the city of settlements of this kind. 
Indeed, Sanjay Basti is only the latest target in 
a long series of slum demolitions carried out 
under pressure from the Delhi High Court and its 
offshoots - notably the commissioners and 
monitoring committees appointed to oversee the 
progress of demolition orders.

These orders are based on the notion that slums 
are parasitical settlements that tarnish the 
urban environment. They overlook the fact that 
slums serve an essential economic purpose: they 
provide low-cost housing to masses of workers who 
'service' the city, and for whom no provision has 
been made in urban development planning. For many 
of them, it would be impractical or expensive to 
commute long distances from the outskirts of the 
city. For instance, street vendors and roadside 
workers (barbers, tea-stall owners, cycle 
mechanics and so on) need equipment that would be 
difficult to carry back and forth. Similarly, it 
is the short distance between work and home that 
enables many women to work as part-time domestic 
helpers in the neighbourhood even as they 
continue to handle child care and other household 
tasks.

Slum demolition drives also overlook another 
important fact about squatter settlements in 
Delhi: they occupy very little space. Indeed, 
squatter settlements in Delhi cover barely one 
per cent of the total land area in the city. This 
point can also be appreciated by examining Google 
Earth's high-resolution maps of Delhi. It is a 
striking fact that slums are virtually invisible 
on these maps. The reason is that squatter 
settlements are tucked away in the nooks and 
crannies of the city, too small to be visible on 
aerial maps - even detailed maps where single 
trees can be spotted.

On this one per cent of the total Delhi area live 
some three million people who keep the informal 
economy going and for whom no shelter provisions 
have been made. When the situation is seen in 
this light, the case for removal looks much 
weaker than when slums are regarded as an eyesore 
and a nuisance. Would it really be unwise to 
allocate one per cent of the land for in situ 
improvement of existing slums, and spare the 
trauma of forced eviction to millions of people, 
except possibly when essential public purposes 
are at stake?

It is interesting to contrast the harsh treatment 
meted out to 'slums' with current policies 
towards another category of squatters - motorised 
vehicles. Delhi's private cars alone (there are 
more than 12 lakh) occupy a larger area, for 
parking purposes, than all the city's slums. In 
many neighbourhoods, it has become difficult to 
move around as public spaces are jammed with 
private cars. Cars also cause endless noise, 
pollution, accidents, traffic jams, among other 
nuisances - rapidly turning the whole city into a 
living hell. Yet, little is done to stem the 
runaway growth of vehicular traffic. This 
contrast is one symptom, among others, of the 
class character of urban development in Delhi. 
The housing needs of the working class are 
brushed aside, while the city is redesigned to 
suit the aspirations of the privileged classes. 
As the Master Plan puts it, the top priority is 
to convert Delhi into a "world-class city". Here, 
as in Sanjay Basti, the writing is on the wall.

Bela Bhatia is Associate Fellow at the Centre for 
the Study of Developing Societies, Delhi, and 
Jean Dreze is Visiting Scholar at the GB Pant 
Social Science Institute, Allahabad


______


[4]     
http://communalism.blogspot.com/2007/05/nhrc-gives-notice-to-gujarat-govt-on.html

  NHRC GIVES NOTICE TO GUJARAT GOVT ON INTERNALLY DISPLACED

9 May 2007

Dear All,
This is a major victory. NHRC has sent a strong 
notice to the Chief Secretary , Gujarat Govt to 
act immediately and provide all basic amenities 
to the Internally displaced.

Congratulating everyone who has been part of the 
struggle and thanking everyone specially the 
media who supported the struggle . Last five days 
the local administration has been running, 
collectors visiting colonies of the internally 
displaced. This is a fantastic example of what a 
united struggle can do.

Formation of AVHRK in all districts- December 2006, January 2007
State Convention -Feb 1 2007
Public Hearing in Delhi- April 4, 2004
Meetings with NHRC, Minority Commission, Election Commission- April 5, 2007
Detailed survey of every displaced family- in process May 4-12, 2007

Yusuf Shaikh
Gagan Sethi
Farha Naqvi
Shabnam Hashmi

on behalf of the Antarik Visthapit Hak Rakshak Samiti

[see the official NHRC order
http://bp0.blogger.com/_ykt0v_25KWA/RkJm3SHvDeI/AAAAAAAAAKI/UjLDKSLuFto/s400/02.jpg
http://bp0.blogger.com/_ykt0v_25KWA/RkJmQSHvDdI/AAAAAAAAAKA/wQmktE0e58s/s1600-h/01.jpg 
]

______


[5]

UNSAFE CAMPUS, SAFE HARASSERS ?
by Subhash Gatade

( Delhi University, which has under its ambit 79 
colleges and which caters to more than 7.5 lakh 
students, and which has remained in the forefront 
of many a democratic demands of the people in 
general and teaching community in particular, is 
today very much in the news albeit for totally 
wrong reasons.
This short note focuses itself on two recent 
cases of sexual harassment and the way the 
university administration has tried to deal with 
them.)

Let us call him Prof X.
A respected faculty in URDU department, a man of 
(they say) letters, harasses one of his girl 
students. The poor girl which has fought against 
heavy odds to reach there, finds her world 
crumbling down.
A lady teacher in the department (Let us call her 
Dr Salma) decides to take up her case. Fights a 
lonely battle. Forces the university 
administration to conduct an enquiry. But three 
years on, the enquiry committee has yet to come 
up with any conclusion.
The respected faculty, supposed to be an Urdu 
Alim is firmly ensconced in his seat.
And the poor girl, with lot of promise has lost her mental balance.
But can it be said that the matter has ended 
there with a single tragedy. Little did anyone 
realize then that daggers were already out for 
the lady teacher for standing upto this 
'respected faculty'.
It has been more that three months that media 
reported about the campaign which is being run on 
the net targeting Dr Salma wherein '..Some 
unknown persons have compiled a piece of 
literature, pornographic in nature, which stars 
the Urdu lecturer and mailed it to Urdu faculties 
and also to Urdu magazines and newspapers.'( 
(metronow, 7/3/07 Vanita Chitkara, Porn Assault 
on DU Urdu Teacher)
In an interaction with the reporter Dr Salma has 
revealed what she says as the 'unpleasant reality 
of Urdu Department of Delhi University' where 
'there is sexual abuse, there is an apathetic and 
unresponsive university body and there is the age 
old attempt to force a woman into her place by 
attacking and maligning her character.'
As of now there has been no breakthrough in the 
investigation, despite Dr Salma's lodging a 
formal complaint with the police.
For all practical purposes the 'respected' family 
still keeps singing paens to Urdu language 
repeating it umpteen times that it is a language 
of tehzeeb (culture) and the poor girl, who is 
undergoing psychiatric treatment, is still trying 
to come to grips with the real meaning of tehzeeb.
0 0
The case of Prof Vidyut Chakrabarty, the present 
head of the department of political science, 
Delhi University, who also holds the posts of 
Dean of Social Sciences and Director, Gandhi 
Bhavan (an institution which comes under Delhi 
University) is more blatant. A section of the 
media has already reported that Prof Chakrabarty, 
faces a serious charge of sexual harassment. 
[City pages of Times of India and Hindu (mainly 
in the week beginning April 16, 2007, but there 
are also reports today, May 1, 2007)]
It is now history how the dilly-dallying and 
initial attempts at cover-up on part of the 
university authorites forced a lady employee 
working under him at Gandhi Bhavan, to rush to 
the media to explain his depredations.
Once the case made headlines the university 
administration had no other option than to 
appoint a enquiry committee to look into the 
case. But it was immediately clear to even a 
layperson that the top dons of the university 
were not very serious about the investigation 
itself and were keen to save one of the senior 
members of the faculty from any aftermath. And 
they saw to it that Prof Chakravarty continues to 
remain in his positions of power and continue to 
influence the outcome of the case. This despite 
the fact that Policy on Sexual Harassment 
(Ordinance XV (D)) passed by the university 
itself few years back specifically emphasizes the 
fact that the alleged perpetrator - in all such 
cases of sexual harassment at the workplace - 
relinquish all his positions of power or the 
university administration (temporarily, pending 
enquiry) relieves him of all or suspends him.
It need be added that the said policy was 
formulated by the university administration in 
the backdrop of the Supreme Court Judgement on 
cases of Sexual Harassment at workplace ( August 
1997, Vishakha and others vs, the State of 
Rajasthan and others) and the guidelines issued 
by it to make all such 'workplaces' free of 
genderbased violence.
One can oneself imagine the awe inspired by any 
such head of the department, head of any 
institution who wields tremendous influence in 
making/breaking careers. And one easily gather 
the outcome of the case if the alleged 
perpetrator is allowed to remain in his post.
Recently this penpusher (or should I say 
bytepusher) came across an urgent appeal sent by 
senior members of the department of political 
science itself who have taken upon themselves the 
onerous task of helping the valiant woman, in her 
struggle for dignity and self-respect.
As their letter makes it clear they met the top 
bosses of the university administration including 
its vice-chancellor and communicated to them it 
is not only unethical but illegal that Prof 
Chakrabarty has still not been asked to step down 
or has been suspended so that a thorough 
investigation is done. But they discovered to 
their dismay that rules or even ordinances are 
meant for public consumption and not for 
implementation.
The letter tells us that once the courageous 
woman went to media' Prof Chakrabarty's long 
history of habitual sexual harassment and 
quid-pro-quo relationships started trickling in. 
(Much of this had circulated as rumours for 
years. One incident that is established (in 
1991-2) is of a doctoral student being assigned 
another supervisor after she complained to the 
Dept about his behaviour. Nothing was done to 
him.'
Their appeal also gives few details of the manner 
in which Professor Chakrabarty 'habitually 
imparts an oppresively sexual colour to the 
male-female and especially the teacher-student 
relationship,' when he speaks in public and 
infers that they 'are inclined to give credence 
to the complaint from the Gandhi Bhavan employee'
0 0
Both the cases demonstrate a few things very clearly.
- Despite noble intentions of the Supreme Courts 
in issuing the guidelines, fact remains that they 
are observed in breach and all the talk of making 
the workplaces free of sexual violence is still a 
mirage.
- Looking at the fact that persons in authority ( 
who normally happens to be the harassers) can 
never allow any impartial enquiry into their own 
acts of sexual behaviour, one needs to revisit 
the guidelines themselves and make third party 
intervention a must.
- It raises serious questions about the prime 
institution like Delhi University itself which 
has refused to lead by example. Gone are the days 
when it raised its voice in unison against voices 
of insanity and illiberalism. Gone are the days 
when it led the teaching community for better 
quality of life.
One still remembers the sexual harassment case 
filed against one Prof Bhatia who happened to 
head one of the departments of Delhi University 
in mid nineties. There were many complaints 
against him but very few women dared raise their 
voice against him. Most of them either left the 
department unannounced or remaining few continued 
to suffer in silence. But there was another brave 
woman who dared to raise her voice. She exposed 
Prof Bhatia's depredations and the manner in 
which he was instrumental in 'spoiling many a 
budding careers'.
The case caught imagination of a wide section of 
university community. There were protests and 
rallies to take action against Prof Bhatia. 
Despite the high profile campaign and the support 
it generated in a section of the media, there was 
only some symbolic action against him. The man 
who 'spoiled many a budding careers', the man who 
was a habitual harasser was allowed to retire 
with 'dignity'.
You can rightly say that much water has flown 
down the Jamuna and also add that now things 
would be different since we have the policy on 
sexual harassment in our kitty.
Can it be then said that with surety that the 
case of harassment faced by the student in Urdu 
or the way porn assault has been unleashed on Dr 
Salma or for that matter the struggle for dignity 
launched against Prof Chakrabarty would meet a 
different fate than one witnessed in case of 
Bhatias'
Perhaps it would be better to wait for an answer.

______


[6]


Screen Weekly
April 06, 2007

INTERVIEW | KIRANJIT AHLUWALIA
" By suffering in silence you won't change anything"

by Roshmila Bhattacharya


In 1979 when 23-year-old Kiranjit Ahluwalia left 
Chakkalal in Punjab to cross the seven seas with 
her brand-new Asian British husband she had no 
idea that she was walking into a nightmare.

For ten years she was verbally, physically and 
sexually assaulted at the slightest pretext.

Kiranjit, who had been promised that she would be 
allowed to pursue her dream of higher studies, 
found herself denied even simple pleasures like 
watching TV, sipping a cup of black coffee or 
relishing a spicy curry.

When she pleaded with her brothers to help her 
they turned away in the name of family honour. 
When she approached the police they sent her back 
saying it was a "family matter".

She even tried running away only to be dragged 
back into the hellhole that was her home. Then, 
one night, in the spring of '89, after Deepak had 
attacked her with a hot iron, Kiranjit's control 
snapped. She poured petrol over her sleeping 
husband and dropped a lighted candle on the bed. 
She claimed later that she had only intended to 
burn his legs so the beatings would stop. But 
Deepak was fatally burnt and his soft-spoken wife 
who could only communicate in broken English, was 
convicted on a murder charge and put away for 
life.

And there her story may have ended had not an 
NGO, the Southall Black Sisters, taken up her 
cause and pressed for a re-trial. Kiranjit's 
landmark case was, as her biographer and social 
activist Rahila Gupta points out, a significant 
moment in history both in terms of the Asian 
community as well as the activists.

It changed the definition of "provocation" in the 
British judiciary with respect to battered women. 
And in '92, after three-and-a-half years in 
prison, the woman who had dreamt of becoming a 
lawyer only to end up on the wrong side of the 
law, walked out, free.

In the 15 years since she has slowly rebuilt her 
life from scratchŠWritten a book titled Circle Of 
Life...Become a subject for a film, Provoked.... 
she's still shy, soft-spoken and easily moved to 
tears but that apart, at 51, Kiranjit bears 
little resemblance to the once-terrified 
"victim". Today, there's a hint of steel and a 
quiet strength beneath the vulnerability. She's 
become a champion for abused women. The 
salwar-kurtas and the sarees that she had always 
hated have been replaced with tailored trousers 
and smart jackets. The long tresses have been cut 
and fashioned into a stylish, gold-streaked bob. 
The tormented Sikh has become a story-book 
heroine in Queen's country, yet India is where 
her heart is. And it is here that she plans to 
return after retirement

We're told that the first time you saw the film, 
at the Cannes Film Festival, you cried.
Yes, I cried. I cried a lot. I didn't want to see 
the film. I was shaking inside. Aishwarya 
literally had to push me into seeing it. At one 
point I was crying so hard that Aishwarya had to 
hold my hand. (In a choked voice) All that was 
happening on screen was so real. Ninety-nine per 
cent of Provoked is the truth as it happened. 
(Dabbing at her eyes welling with tears) In these 
18 years the memories have never left me. Whether 
I'm laughing or sad, the past is always with 
meŠBut now I'm more peacefulŠ

Aishwarya says that before she started shooting 
for Provoked she had wanted to meet you but you 
were not keen. Was it because you didn't want her 
to judge you and copy your mannerisms or perhaps 
because you weren't too happy with Jag Mundhra's 
choice of actor to portray you on screen?
Well, I have to confess that when I first heard 
that Aishwarya would be playing me on screen I 
was a little sceptical. I thought she was a bit 
too glamorous and would not be able to 
convincingly project the serious side of my life. 
But she has performed very well. I was very 
impressed with her performance.

How old are your children now?
The elder one is 22. He's studying computers in 
the University. The young one is 20-and-a-half 
and is doing law.

It couldn't have been easy bringing them up.
It was very difficult. I had to struggle a lot 
financially. Family and friends helped but I 
still had to work 60-70 hours a week. I would 
take on night-shifts so I could spend time with 
the children. I wanted to give them a good 
educationŠI wanted to buy a house of my ownŠI 
still put in long hours at the Royal Mail Post 
Office in Slough where I work.

Are you in touch with your mother-in-law?
After my release from jail I went to see her. We 
had shared a lot once. We used to cook 
togetherŠLaugh togetherŠBut everything changed 
after Deepak's death. I tried to bridge the 
distance but when despite my son begging her, she 
didn't come for his eighteenth birthday I decided 
to let it go. However, even today I know that she 
will always be there for her grandchildren.

Do you meet your friends from jail?
I'm in touch with some of them. (With a smile) 
They like my cooking. It's thanks to them that 
I'm here today. It was in prison that I first 
found freedomŠ

That I became a stronger personŠ I learnt 
English, typing, hair-dressing, even started a 
fashion course and took the first step towards 
independence. And today I'm truly "free".

Do your boys ever question you on what happened 
that night back in '89? About why you did what 
you did?
My children were very young, just four and two, 
when Deepak died. They've grown up seeing me in 
the news. First there was the trial, then the 
re-trial and later the book. I'm recognised 
wherever I go. People respect me today, come up 
to me to talk about the book.

Now with the film up for release everyone 
including my family and friends are waiting to 
catch it. (With a wry smile) My children know 
that mummy is famous.

It couldn't have been easy to open up your 
lifeŠyourselfŠto the worldŠTo relive a 10-year 
nightmare first through the book and now through 
the film.
It was very painful. In fact, when I first came 
out of prison I had never thought that I'd write 
a book or make a film. It was Princess Diana whom 
I met in '94 who insisted I should pen my 
autobiography. Then in 2001 I met Prime Minister 
Tony Blair's wife Cherie who presented me with 
the Asian Woman of the Year Award. I wrote Circle 
Of Life because I don't want all those women out 
there who like me are being abused day and night 
to suffer in silence. By submitting to family 
pressures to protect the family izzatŠhonourŠand 
suffering in silence you're not going to be able 
to change anything or make things better. I 
wanted to expose this culture of silence because 
I didn't want another woman to take the drastic 
step I did. All these years I've been trying to 
create an awareness about domestic violence and 
tell those who are suffering that they are not 
alone.

So you regret your actions?
Of course, I do. Deepak's parents lost a son, his 
brother a sibling and my children their father. I 
wish things could have been different. I tried. I 
had told Deepak I would not live with him unless 
he saw a psychiatrist. He agreed but on the 
appointed day he refused to go.

Was that when you knew that this relationship was doomed?
The relationship was doomed from the start. 
Barely a week into the marriage he slapped me for 
no particular reason. He had come back from work 
and wanted to know who had cooked the food. I 
really didn't know. He accused me of lying and 
hit me, hard. Then he apologized but a few days 
later he hit me again. And againŠ

Why? Did he hate being married to you so much?
No, he really cared for me. In the 10 years we 
were together I never wanted for anything. He 
would buy me whatever I wanted even if he had to 
work overtime to raise the money. I only had to 
ask. He was a good father too. One moment he 
would be really nice and then five minutes later, 
he'd change. I think he had a split personality.

You were the youngest child and the most loved. 
So why did you put up with the torture for so 
long and not return home to the family?
I was married in '79. My husband didn't like me 
to watch television or drink black coffee. He'd 
been regularly abusing me and I told him that I 
would stop drinking black coffee only if he 
stopped beating me. In defiance I made myself a 
cup of coffee. He was livid and beat me up really 
bad. I hurt my leg. I still have a scar to remind 
me of the incident. That day I flew home to 
India. I showed my family the injury and told 
them about what had been happening at home. One 
of my brothers wanted me to get a divorce but the 
others insisted that I should go back. If I left 
Deepak who would look after me, they argued. 
Where were they going to find another guy for me? 
I went back. That was in '82.

Seven years later, in '89, trapped in an abusive 
marriage, feeling particularly vulnerable after 
he had attacked you with a hot iron and 
threatened to disfigure you, you slipped into the 
bedroom and set him alight.
I was desperate to stop the beatings. But in 
retrospect I feel that I didn't have to take such 
an extreme step.

Once I realised that I wouldn't be able to help 
him and save our marriage, I should have walked 
out. Maybe my family wasn't ready to support me 
but there were others who I could have reached 
out to for advice and help. There are NGOs like 
the Southall Black Sisters who fought for me, got 
my case re-opened and helped me win back my 
freedom. You're never alone.

How successful have you been in reaching out to 
the other Kiranjits of the world?
When I came out with my life story there were 
400-500 women waiting to congratulate me. There 
were IndiansŠEnglishŠBlacks. I was surprised by 
this show of support and shocked to learn that 
they were all in the same boat.

______


[7]

Business India

YEARS OF ABERRATION?
Nistula Hebbar / New Delhi May 10, 2007

Anyone following the course of the United 
Progressive Alliance government and its often 
seemingly contradictory alliances since 2004 will 
have noticed that on several occasions in the 
last three years, the dominant partner, the 
Congress, has found support for economic reforms 
from the main opposition party, the BJP, rather 
than its own Left allies or even its southern 
allies.

The consonance on economic policy in fact would 
be surprising to those whose observations of the 
BJP have ended in 1996, the fateful year when the 
BJP, although the largest single party in the Lok 
Sabha, could not form the government, due to its 
inability to draw support from other parties.

From 1996 onwards, the BJP has not just been 
expanding politically, but also drawing away from 
the Sangh Parivar in terms of economic policy, 
favouring foreign direct investment (FDI) and 
creating an entire ministry of disinvestment 
devoted to divesting public stake in government 
companies.

The book, a series of articles to look into the 
growth of the BJP into the polarising force of 
Indian politics, is at heart an examination of 
the way the BJP has changed over the years from a 
largely Swadesh-spouting outfit, and political 
untouchable to an expanding political force and a 
strong votary of economic reforms. It also 
examines the NDA government's pet projects of 
rewriting text books with a largely Sanskritic 
interpretation of Indian history, and the furore 
over the film Water, which looked at the plight 
of high-caste widows in north India. The book 
looks into disinvestment in a big way through the 
sale of Modern Foods and the protests against 
Kentucky Fried Chicken and Monsanto. Where the 
book fails is, however, in the fact that it never 
succeeds in explaining in full as to why the BJP, 
in direct contravention of what its Sangh Parivar 
masters want, turned its back on Swadeshi to 
embrace economic reforms.

Salim Lakha gives a half-baked explanation in an 
article entitled "From Swadeshi to 
Globalisation." He says that the split in the 
Sangh Parivar on the issue of economic reforms 
occurred due to divergent views within the 
Parivar. One, espoused by senior ideologue 
Govindacharya and his followers, was that the 
line of Swadeshi and government support to small 
and medium enterprises be followed. The other was 
held by the senior leaders of the BJP who had 
spent fewer years in the RSS. This was to embrace 
economic reforms as an enabling characteristic of 
India's emergence as an economic super power.

The Information Technology revolution and the 
technocentric policies were at the centre of this 
belief. Even the defeat of 2004, when slogans of 
8 per cent and "India Shining" and "Feel Good 
Factor" were counter-productive to the BJP 
re-election bid, has not been able to drown down 
this school of thought. The belief that reforms 
are inevitable and good has taken root. Just how 
this change occurred has not been elaborated by 
either Lakha or even Prabhat Patnaik, who also 
looks at BJP economic policy. What we get is an 
examination of what is already in the public 
domain. The chapters on rewriting history books 
and on films and the Sangh Parivar are in fact 
more explanatory. What is particularly 
interesting is a chapter on the television media 
and the growth of the BJP, the party being one of 
the first to realise the power of "byte politics."

In a chapter entitled "Militarised Hindu 
Nationalism and the Mass Media" by Rita 
Manchanda, the colossal impact of television, and 
the serialisation of the Ramayana and the 
Mahabharata resulting in a growing masculine 
consciousness of Hindutva has been examined. 
Ironically it was in Rajiv Gandhi's tenure as 
Prime Minister that this consciousness gained 
strength and popularity. Audio cassettes by 
Sadhvi Ritambhara and frequent Rath Yatras that 
had the appearance of digvijayas of great Hindu 
kings by BJP leaders fed the propaganda machine. 
This coincided with the burgeoning print and 
electronic media, which occurred in the late 
1980s and 1990s-images which have become 
indelible records.

The book tries to examine Hindutva, its emergence 
and its six years of governance, and its changing 
shape and form. Apart from certain chapters which 
do not delve particularly into the aetiology of 
things, the rest of the chapters are readable. 
For my money I would still recommend Christopher 
Jaffrelot.

HINDU NATIONALISM AND GOVERNANCE

Edited by John McGuire and Ian Copland
Oxford University Press
Price: Rs 695; Pages: 476


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