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DAM-L Koel Karo: repression/resistance article



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Subject: LS: Resistance and repression at Koel Karo
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##    V. Feature Article:  Resistance and repression -  Bela Bhatia ##

  Frontline, Volume 18 - Issue 05 -  Mar. 03 - 16, 2001
URL:  http://www.frontlineonline.com/fl1805/18050430.htm

In the Adivasi belt of Jharkhand's Ranchi district, a popular movement against
the setting up of the Koel-Karo hydroelectric project that will involve the
displacement of a large number of people, faces tough times.

BELA BHATIA

A FADED green flag flies atop the shaheed smarak (martyr's column) at Tapkara
village in Ranchi district of Jharkhand State. The flag is changed every year
on March 2, one was told, in memory of five persons killed that day in a
police firing at t hat site in 1946 while they were demonstrating, along with
many thousand Munda Adivasis of the region, for the formation of a separate
Jharkhand State.

Ironically, history repeated itself on February 2, in the newly formed
Jharkhand. According to information provided to this writer by activists of
the Koel-Karo Jan Sangathan as well as individual policemen and information
and impressions gathered by thi s writer at a meeting conducted in the area on
February 3, the police opened fire on an unarmed assembly of around 5,000
Munda Adivasis, including children, women and men. According to eyewitness
accounts, the police fired more than 150 rounds, killing f ive persons on the
spot. Five others succumbed to their injuries in the following hours, bringing
the toll to 10. As many as 12 of those who sustained bullet injuries were
treated at the Rajendra Medical College and Hospital (RMCH) in Ranchi. Many
other wounded were being treated locally. Eight persons from six villages were
reported missing. The dead have been declared shaheeds of the Koel-Karo Jan
Sangathan and buried next to the shaheed smarak.  Thus 1946 and 2001 have
become one in Tapk ara chowk.

Amrit Gudia, a retired military man, was returning from the jungle with a load
of firewood in the afternoon of February 1 when he saw a police jeep break the
barricade outside Derang village and drag it to a distance, and then policemen
lift it into the jeep. This barricade, which looks like the bamboo checkpost
on a highway, was first erected in 1984 by the Koel-Karo Jan Sangathan to
prevent the National Hydroelectric Power Corporation (NHPC) and government
officials from going to Lohajimi, a village b eyond Derang, where a dam was to
be built on the Karo river. In 1995, when the government announced its
decision to restart the project and a 'janata curfew' was imposed by the
Sangathan, more such barricades were installed on the road leading up to the
dam site. A round-the-clock vigil was kept near the barricades to prevent
officials and the police from entering the area without permission. These
barricades therefore were no ordinary checkposts but a symbol of people's
resistance to the project.

A furious Amrit Gudia now dropped his load, ran up to the mud road and
obstructed the progress of the police party. Why had they broken the
barricade, he asked. They should have at least consulted the people.

His protests were met with abuse. He was beaten with lathis and hit with the
butts of guns by four or five policemen. The police later claimed that he was
drunk. This action of the police was viewed by the people as provocative.
Pointing at a path on the side of the barricade, Soma Munda, president of the
Sangathan, asked: "While going the police jeep used this path. Why then did
they not return the same way but break the barricade? Neither the road nor the
land on which the barricade was put up is gove rnment land; it is raiyati land
belonging to two individuals, the late Marcel Barjo and the late Nathniyal
Topno."

The Sangathan decided to call an assembly the following day. People started
coming in by 8-30 a.m. from the surrounding villages, and by 3-30 p.m. there
were around 5,000 people sitting outside the Tapkara police outpost.

The movement has been non-violent during its nearly three-decade-long
struggle; this tradition was respected during the dharna too. Nobody was
armed; there were neither the traditional bows and arrows nor lathis. "We
would not have our children come with us if we wanted to be violent," said
Biswasi Gudia of Derang village.

The assembled people waited for the Deputy Superintendent of Police (DSP) of
Khunti sub-division, F.K.N. Kujur. The DSP and an official of magistrate's
rank (who has the power to order a firing), arrived at 11 a.m. R.N. Singh, the
daroga (police-i n-charge) of Tapkara outpost (under Torpa police station),
and Akshay Kumar Ram, the daroga of the adjacent Rania police station, were
present. Altogether there were around 40 policemen at the Tapkara outpost that
day. While the people waited, the ir leaders presented the demands of the
Sangathan. First and foremost, they demanded an explanation from the police
authorities for breaking the barricade. Linked with this were three principal
demands: that the officials who had ordered the beating of A mrit Gudia be
suspended; that he be given a monetary compensation of Rs.50,000; and that the
police reinstall the barricade.

The DSP said he could not meet their demands since he had no power to order
suspension. So the people refused to move. In order to resolve the stalemate,
the intervention of the local MLA, Koche Munda, was sought. He was brought on
a motorcycle from Tor pa. The MLA, belonging to the Bharatiya Janata Party,
was stated to have confirmed the sangathan's demands to be just. The officials
then decided to send a wireless message to the Superintendent of Police
(Rural). Soma Munda, Paulus Gudia and other acti vists of the Sangathan then
came out of the outpost, as did the MLA.

By this time the people had been sitting peacefully for six or seven hours.
According to eyewitness accounts, even as the Sangathan leaders started
briefing the people about the situation, the two darogas came running out of
the police station shouting, "aadesh mila...aadesh mila (got the order... got
the order)" and began a lathi-charge. The women and children, who were sitting
up front, were the first to be hit. Almost simultaneously firing in the air
began. This was not done in full vie w of the public but from inside the
outpost. Countless holes in the roof of the outpost bear testimony to this
fact. Firing at the assembly followed immediately afterwards.  Some people who
ran towards the back of the outpost smelled teargas.

There was now utter chaos. People started throwing stones at the firing
policemen even as they ran to protect themselves. Some, like Lucas Gudia of
Gondra village forgot that theirs was an unequal combat and stones were hardly
a match for bullets.  Lucas is reported to have gone right upto the window of
the police station in order to aim better. He was shot at and died on the
spot. As young Adivasi activist-writer, Sunil Minz, points out, the history of
Adivasi struggles of Jharkhand show that whenever A divasis get killed in
similar incidents rarely do they get killed from shots fired from behind. An
Adivasi faces and fights authority, even if armed. This fact was reiterated by
other Sangathan members: "If we wanted to use violence, no policeman would h
ave gone back alive. Their firearms would not have stopped us. We were in our
thousands."

In the stampede that followed, Kumulen Gudia of Koynara village, who was five
months pregnant, fell and was stamped over by running feet. She was carried
later by other women until Dumkel village, 2.5 km away. She was then put on a
cycle and wheeled the remaining 3 km of uneven terrain to her own village. She
was unconscious for two days.

Samuel Topno of Gondra village was tortured by the police in his injured
state.  Admitted to the neuro-surgery ward of the RMCH, he said: "As soon as
the firing started, I started running towards the back of the police station.
Four policemen chased me an d fired. A bullet hit me on my left foot and I
fell. Three boys tried to help me but fled when the policemen came after us.
They put me on a sack and carried me to the police camp. Initially they
thought I was dead and left me. But when they realised tha t I was alive, they
started considering how to kill me. 'If we use bare hands, or fire from close
range we could be in trouble,' I heard one of them say. They brought a log of
wood and placed it on my neck. Two policemen then stood on either end of the l
og. When I still did not die, they just kicked me on the head with their
boots."

Another person who had a similar experience is Francis Gudia, also of Gondra
village. After being shot in the top right part of his chest, he tried to drag
himself away from the site of firing. "Some of my companions were helping me
when the police came. They were threatening us and using abusive language.
They took me to the police camp where they dumped me next to the dead, kicked
me with their boots, then left me."

Samuel Topno, Francis Gudia and two others were sent by the police to RMCH a
few hours after the firing. No attempt was made, however to dress their
wounds, which continued to bleed. One of the injured died on way to the
hospital. Most of the others who had sustained serious bullet injuries were
treated locally that night. Vijay Gudia, general secretary of the Sangathan,
pointed out the difficulties they had in trying to reach the injured to Ranchi
that night itself. In the general atmosphere of terror that prevailed, nobody
with private transport was willing to go. Nine of the seriously injured were
taken by Sangathan members in the early morning bus to Ranchi.

School-going children had also joined the dharna on their way back from
school. Of the five who died on the spot, three were in secondary school. Some
other children were wounded, such as a Class IV pupil from Derang village, who
was injured in both legs . According to reliable sources, a woman was also
hit, though she has not yet been located. In the days immediately following
the firing, Sangathan activists were going from village to village in order to
determine how many were killed, how many were inj ured and how many were
missing.

On the evening of February 2, after the firing, the police broke into a house
where Silai Gudia, a youth from Lohajimi village, had taken refuge. Sticking
the butt of a gun on his chest, the policemen accused him of brick-batting.
Beating him, they took him to the Tapkara outpost. The police broke the doors
of the houses of four non-Adivasis who were living close to the police outpost
and arrested them. These four had been living in Tapkara for years and were
engaged in masonry, carpentry and brick-maki ng locally. They were taken to
the outpost and locked up. That evening they were made to load all the stuff
from the out-post into vehicles. The police vacated the outpost around 1 a.m.
with all their belongings as well as the bodies.The arrested were ta ken to
Torpa police station and locked inside the inspector's room for the night. The
following morning, they were made to unload the stuff from the vehicles.
Naresh Gupta, one of the arrested, said: "We were made to work like labourers.
We were not give n any bed or blankets even though the night was cold; nor did
we get anything to eat or drink until our release the following day at 4 p.m."

A burnt police jeep stands outside the Tapkara outpost. A motorcycle in a
similar state stands nearby. The outpost itself is almost completely
destroyed. Its three rooms are scarred. The asbestos sheeting of the roof has
been shelled, the doors and the w indow frames have been pulled out, there is
debris and ash everywhere, pieces of brick lie scattered outside. Amid the
ruins and remains one can just about make out Satyameva Jayatae (truth will be
victorious) written on the front wall of the outp ost.

People claim that the police burnt the vehicles and wrought the destruction
themselves as part of a strategy to enable them to claim that the public had
turned violent and the police firing was therefore justified. Pointing at the
missing tyres of the ch arred jeep, traders who live opposite the outpost said
that the police had first taken the tyres off before setting the vehicle on
fire. The motorcycle was then cast into the flames; a private vehicle, it had
been seized by the police a few days earlier.

Not far from the outpost is a huge banyan tree. Its leaves are burnt, like the
charred remains of three upturned jeeps lying under it. According to local
sources, these three jeeps were set on fire by the civilians of Tapkara after
the firing began. Some newspapers carried photographs of the burnt body of a
policeman found some distance from the outpost. R.N. Singh as well as two
dozen policemen were also reported to have sustained injuries in the
brick-batting.

Several explanations have been offered regarding the incident. The official
version is that the police had received some information regarding the
presence of Maoist Coordination Committee (MCC) activists in the area and that
the patrolling was part of t he ongoing anti-naxalite operation in the State.
However, it is possible that the MCC's name was used as a pretext.
Interestingly though police patrols in the area had ceased since the
imposition of the 'janata curfew' in 1995, the DSP had gone to patrol the area
as recently as December 22, 2000. Some people wonder whether this patrolling
had anything to do with the incident on February 2.

Who ordered the firing? Was it ordered by the Superintendent of Police
(Rural), whom the police officials at the outpost were trying to contact, or
the magistrate who was present? Or was the decision to fire taken on the spot
without official sanction?  W hoever ordered the firing and whether or not it
had official sanction, post facto, the police claim that the situation as it
developed justified the firing. Official action following the firing seems to
be based on this assumption. The Divisional Commissioner and the Deputy
Inspector General of Police were reported t o have visited the Tapkara outpost
that night, but they made no attempt to contact the people. The police
officials involved in the firing have not been suspended. When asked why this
was so, the Senior superintendent of Police, Neeraj Sinha, said that p rima
facie there was no justification for immediate suspensions: official action
would follow only after a high-level inquiry. Meanwhile, Chief Minister
Babulal Marandi continued with his election campaign in Ramgarh as per
schedule.

Members of the Sangathan feel that the police repression is aimed to weaken
the people's resistance against the Koel-Karo project and to pave the way for
the NHPC again. "When in the height of the struggle no incident occurred, why
now? Lashon ko gira kar Koel-Karo nahi bandhaiga. Jab gaonvalai raji hongai
tabhi" (Koel-Karo will not get built by laying down dead bodies... but only
with people's agreement), said Santosh Horo.

The Sangathan has demanded a judicial inquiry into the incident,
identification of and punishment to police officers and other personnel
responsible for the killings; payment of Rs.5 lakhs to the families of those
killed and Rs.2 lakhs to those seriously injured as compensation; appointment
of only Adivasi police officers to police stations in Adivasi-majority areas
of Jharkhand, and the cancellation of the Koel-Karo project. When a cheque for
Rs.2 lakhs was offered to the relatives of each of the decea sed, it was
refused. On February 8, a sankalp divas (vow day) was organised, when
thousands of people vowed that they would not allow the construction of the
Koel-Karo dam. They also resolved to keep the movement non-violent as it had
been in the preceding decades.

The police firing is a clear violation of the democratic rights of the people
of Koel-Karo. That people should expect the police to be accountable for their
actions is an important part of democracy in practice. Breaking the barricade
was no small incide nt. "Hamare gaon mai hamara raj" (our rule in our land)
may be a slogan yet to be realised in other parts of the country, but in the
heart of the Munda "country" (as S.C. Roy described the Mundas and their land
in the early years of the 20th centu ry) it has been practised for long. The
social and political system of Mundas is far more advanced than that of
mainstream Indian society. Decision-making, for example, is based on
consensus. There may be heads like Mundas and Parha rajas, but they do no t
expect others to be subservient to them, nor would the others allow that. Each
Munda Adivasi, like members of other Adivasi communities in Jharkhand, expect
to be part of the decision-making process. That people belonging to such a
society and culture should have assembled in large numbers to defend their
rights and to demand an explanation for behaviour they do not understand is
not surprising. Citizens are told time and again that they should not take the
law into their own hands, but what happens w hen the police do the same?

This is not the first time that the State government has used gun power to
silence people's power. Indeed, police firing has become part of the
'dialogue' that the state has with the people when they have tried to practise
democracy. Between 1981 and 198 6, in Singhbhum alone, there were 17 police
firings. This is what the police did in Chandil in 1978 and in Icha in 1982,
where too the people were protesting against the ongoing construction of big
dams on the Subarnarekha and Kharkai (part of the Subarn arekha multi-purpose
project). In both Chandil and Icha the firing had an adverse impact on the
incipient movements, which took some time to reorganise.  The people of
Koel-Karo are alert to their fate and determined that what happened to
Subarnarekha and Kharkai should not happen to Koel.

Bela Bhatia is a researcher based at the Centre for the Study of Developing
Societies, New Delhi.

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