">TV transforms Assam's election experience
Today, television has brought elections closer home. And common people are giving vent to their pent-up feelings and frustrations on the various shows on television. Candidates are no longer mere smiling photographs on banners and posters. They are live characters on TV, says TERESA REHMAN
Posted Saturday, Mar 19 12:31:15, 2011
A news capsule on the satellite channel DY365 goes like this. They show a woman in her domestic setting. There is music in the backdrop. The anchor asks, “Do you know this lady? She was an ordinary lady looking after her house. She even objected to her husband leaving his job as a civil servant and joining politics. But today, she is herself in the electoral fray.” More music.
Then the anchor answers, “She is none other than Monika Bora, tainted Congress leader Ripun Bora’s wife.” Then they go into the history of Ripun Bora, the civil servant turned politician who was arrested by the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) for trying to bribe an official in connection with a murder case of Daniel Topno, a tea tribe leader. He was suspended from the party but the Assam Pradesh Congress Committee (APCC) revoked his suspension just one and a half month before the polls.
The anchor then questions, “Will this lady vacate her seat in case her husband would want to contest? Would she have been happier if her husband got the ticket instead of her? The camera pans on the woman who seems perturbed by the questions. She murmurs, “Well, of course. I would be happier if my husband got a clean chit and got a ticket himself.” The anchor then states, “Well, this homemaker has been going to her in-laws house for a long time. But this time, she will go as a candidate to her constituency.”
This is just one instance of tangy television reporting as the state goes to the polls next month. With the Election Commission announcing a two-phase Assembly election for Assam, on April 4 and April 11 respectively, mundane election reporting has become a dramatic and sprightly affair with frenzied political activities taking place in full media glare. The satellite channels aired from Guwahati are in a tizzy, trying to get those little nuggets of information that would keep the readers glued to their television sets.
The channels have come up with interesting taglines -- “Not inside a studio but we are there in every constituency”, “From the voter’s home to a candidate’s mind”. From multihued profiles of candidates and their constituencies to heated debates on who would form the next government, to disgruntled candidates airing their grievances and even sting operations on the misdeeds of politicians – it’s a stimulating medley that is being televised. Political analysts and veteran journalists engage in heated poll-related debates.
The nascent television boom in the state has made elections an exhilarating experience. There was a time when denizens of remote villages sent one or two representatives to the district headquarter to find out who had been given a ticket to contest elections in their constituency. They used to eagerly wait in the village square to get the news and then have raucous discussions. But today, television is giving them a minute by minute account of the entire process – right from the screening process to the final ticket allotment.
Today, television has brought elections closer home. And common people are giving vent to their pent-up feelings and frustrations on the various shows on television. These voices of the masses had always been eclipsed in the whole election hungama. One such angry villager rues in front of the television screen, “Since independence, we did not get a single MLA who loved his constituency. But we have had enough of this. Now, we have seen on television how money for the different development schemes have been usurped by the politicians. We want a change now.”
The candidates too have been able to cut across geographical barriers with the people in their constituency. They are no longer mere ‘smiling photographs’ on banners and posters. They are live characters on TV, actively voicing their opinions and engaging in mud-slinging their opponents on the small screen.
Another phenomenon which has gained popularity is ‘Tandav Pratibadh’ or violent live protests. these are the most striking scenes on television today. Live telecast of ransacking of party offices and ripping apart party banners in various parts of Assam by peeved party workers seems to have a ripple effect and being replicated in various parts of the state. Of course, the television camera has a ubiquitous presence whenever there are such protests.
It was interesting to note how these channels covered how Trinamool Congress roped in disgruntled ticket seekers from major political parties like the Congress and the AGP. They showed how just few days ago, the party office was vacated by the landlord due to non-payment of rent. But now this party was the refuge of veteran big-time politicians who were denied tickets by their respective parties.
Moreover, one person who manages raise the TRP of the channels is farmer rights activist Akhil Gogoi of the Krishak Mukti Sangram Samiti, who has launched a crusade against the incumbent Congress government. He has been holding regular press meets against the Tarun Gogoi government. In his latest press meet, he appealed to the voters out the corrupt Congress government. He made 50 ‘maha’ or major allegations of corruption against the government, the inputs for which they have acquired by using the Right to Information Act.
All the news channel seems to have its own agenda. With the channel Newslive adopting a distinct pro-Congress stand, the channel DY365 is playing the role of a constructive opposition. NETV, on the other hand is taking a moderate stand. And now even petty workers of political parties know which channel to contact when they have to air their news. And till the elections get over, viewers in remote parts of the state will wait with baited breath for any kind of ‘breaking news’.
ends
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Arunachal Justice
By Teresa Rehman
The state finally has a jail, but it remains far from adequate.
In late 2009, Arunachal Pradesh opened its first jail, five years after its construction had been completed. But little did the batch of 19 under-trial prisoners who were transferred at the time realise that they were a blessed lot. They had escaped a fate that, since the state’s creation in 1987, all others in their situation had been forced to undergo, involving not only appalling lack of hygiene for prisoners but blatantly illegal judicial procedures. The opening of the new jail constitutes a silver lining of sorts in the series of untold narratives of gross human-rights violations that have constituted standard procedure for prisoners awaiting trial in the state. Until the recent change, Arunachal had been the only state in India where ‘police remand’ and ‘judicial remand’ meant the same thing. In most parts of the state, it still does.
Take the example of Hura Rari, a middle-aged businessman from Naharlagun in Arunachal. For 14 months, Rari was held in custody on kidnapping charges in a dark, dingy lock-up at a police station. At the time, Rari’s situation was similar to all of those awaiting or undergoing trial in the state. Even today, many police stations have two separate cells – one for police lock-up and another for judicial lock-up. Some suspects are forced to remain in the police station for three or four years, until they are convicted or released on bail. (If convicted, prisoners are transferred to district jails in Assam.) These police cells can become so overcrowded that prisoners take turns sleeping while the rest stand. Beyond the aesthetics and physical discomforts, this is a gross violation of the Prisons Act of 1894, which clearly states that a ‘prison’ cannot include ‘any place for the confinement of prisoners who are exclusively in the custody of the police’.
After his 14-month stint, Rari was fortunate to receive bail on health grounds. (His case is still under trial.) But he shudders today as he recalls his confinement at the Ziro police station in Lower Subansiri district. He says that an average of five to ten prisoners were held in his lock-up every day, accused of crimes from murder and rape to arson and theft. The room had no fan, mosquito net or light, and little ventilation; although there was an attached toilet, it had limited water, with a grimy toilet that was only cleaned once during his stay. ‘One day, there were around 20 prisoners in the cell, and we held a strike as the food was inedible,’ he says. ‘Things improved for a few days, but then it was back to square one again.’ Rari adds that he was lucky to get out when he did; another man in the cell, accused of murder, had been there for nine years.
Even the opening of the new jail – in Jollang, near the capital, Itanagar – is far from adequate in this massive state of more than 83,700 sq km. Sunil Mow, a lawyer with the Human Rights Law Network (HRLN), an NGO, says, ‘One jail in Itanagar cannot serve the entire state. There are eight districts in eastern Arunachal and eight districts in western Arunachal. The jail is a one- to two-day journey from some of these remote districts, and in these areas those who are under trial are still being kept in inhuman conditions in police lock-ups.’
The plight of women prisoners remains particularly difficult. In 2006, a woman prisoner was raped in the lock-up at Deomali police station, in Tirap district. The officer-in-charge was the main accused, and was eventually dismissed from his job. Mapung Tadar, vice-chairperson of the State Commission for Women, says that due to the ongoing lack of infrastructure, adult women are being kept with minor juveniles. Unfortunately, this ‘solution’ only compounds a central problem in the Arunachal judicial system: a lack of facilities leading to adults and juveniles being dealt with together while awaiting or on trial.
What child?
For the past decade, the Arunachal state administration has been blatantly flouting the provisions of the Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act of 2000, which states that no child can be put in a jail or a lock-up. In addition, a Juvenile Justice Board is supposed to be constituted for each district or group of districts, consisting of two social workers and a magistrate. This is an attempt to change the nature of inquiry in the state, with the presence of the social workers indicating a decriminalisation of the administration of juvenile justice. Yet no Juvenile Justice Board or Court has been constituted, nor has any observation home (a temporary shelter for juveniles), anywhere in the state. Thus, juveniles arrested in connection with criminal cases are still tried by judicial magistrates and kept along with adult inmates in police custody. Sunil Mow cites numerous instances of children below 18 lodged in Arunachal lock-ups along with hardcore criminals, some for upwards of four years.
For instance, 12-year-old Arjun (name changed) was arrested by the Itanagar police for petty stealing – blankets, plastic cups, etc. He was lodged in the Itanagar police station on two occasions, once for five months and again for nine months, both times with adult criminals. Arjun says he was verbally abused by both the police and others in the lock-up, at times allegedly being forced to massage some of the other prisoners. The long incarceration made him weak mentally and physically; now 16, he complains of chest pain and headaches, and is on painkillers and antibiotics for some of the injuries he suffered while in detention. Arjun’s mother recalls, ‘He used to send me a list of medicines, soap, oil and other essentials. The blankets were full of lice, and when I brought him home I had to wash him down with Dettol.’
Another juvenile, Sonia Byabang, was likewise arrested and charged with stealing when he was just 12. ‘I was so young and I didn’t even know what it meant to steal,’ he says. ‘I was just trying to ride my uncle’s motorcycle to meet my father, but the police said I was trying to steal the bike.’ He adds that the police lied, stating in their report that he was 19 years old. Thereafter, he spent two months at the police lock-up in the Itanagar police station. After he was released, Byabang says that he did felt ‘tainted’, and began staying away from school and his friends. Thereafter, he says, the police made him a regular scapegoat, and repeatedly picked him up on suspicion for various crimes.
Still, some have been able to challenge such procedures. Chelle John was 13 years old when he was detained along with adult criminals, and subsequently brought a case before the courts on the issue. He underwent testing at a hospital and was certified below 18 years of age. Needless to say, such cases underline the susceptibility of the Arunachal criminal-justice system to manipulation. While the opening of the new jail is a positive step in terms of ameliorating some outstanding rights issues, it is hardly an answer to the problems faced by juveniles awaiting justice in the state.
Bureaucrat judge
Justice moves notoriously slowly in Arunachal, with trials invariably delayed. Much of this is due to the fact that the executive branch of the state government doubles as the judiciary in the lower courts, thus requiring, for instance, the deputy commissioner to act as the district sessions judge. As such, the accused are often forced to languish even longer in lock-ups, as government officials give priority to their routine administrative work. Of course, the pace can quicken dramatically if the accused can afford a lawyer.
In this regard, most worrying is the ramification that the lower judiciary in Arunachal is not independent, but rather is a specific part of the government machinery. ‘All these years,’ Sunil Mow says, ‘bureaucrats with practically no knowledge of law have been making a mockery of the entire judicial system.’ Recently, two session courts were set up in Arunachal, one to cover the western half and another to cover the eastern half of the state. Although again an important step in the right direction, a mere two courts remain far from adequate in a state of this size.
Mow says that the welfare of those awaiting trial has simply never been a priority for the state government, but expresses hope that the opening of the new jail indicates forward momentum on a range of issues. Indeed, another jail is currently being built in Tezu, in the far east, while the 11th Finance Commission granted INR 100 million to build new jail infrastructure. Yet incredibly, out of that money seven new ‘judicial lock-ups’ are now being set up in various police stations – thus continuing to flout basic law. The ‘Arunachal’ version of justice looks set to continue for some time.
--Teresa Rehman is a journalist and media consultant based in Northeast India.
By Teresa Rehman
The state finally has a jail, but it remains far from adequate.
In late 2009, Arunachal Pradesh opened its first jail, five years after its construction had been completed. But little did the batch of 19 under-trial prisoners who were transferred at the time realise that they were a blessed lot. They had escaped a fate that, since the state’s creation in 1987, all others in their situation had been forced to undergo, involving not only appalling lack of hygiene for prisoners but blatantly illegal judicial procedures. The opening of the new jail constitutes a silver lining of sorts in the series of untold narratives of gross human-rights violations that have constituted standard procedure for prisoners awaiting trial in the state. Until the recent change, Arunachal had been the only state in India where ‘police remand’ and ‘judicial remand’ meant the same thing. In most parts of the state, it still does.
Take the example of Hura Rari, a middle-aged businessman from Naharlagun in Arunachal. For 14 months, Rari was held in custody on kidnapping charges in a dark, dingy lock-up at a police station. At the time, Rari’s situation was similar to all of those awaiting or undergoing trial in the state. Even today, many police stations have two separate cells – one for police lock-up and another for judicial lock-up. Some suspects are forced to remain in the police station for three or four years, until they are convicted or released on bail. (If convicted, prisoners are transferred to district jails in Assam.) These police cells can become so overcrowded that prisoners take turns sleeping while the rest stand. Beyond the aesthetics and physical discomforts, this is a gross violation of the Prisons Act of 1894, which clearly states that a ‘prison’ cannot include ‘any place for the confinement of prisoners who are exclusively in the custody of the police’.
After his 14-month stint, Rari was fortunate to receive bail on health grounds. (His case is still under trial.) But he shudders today as he recalls his confinement at the Ziro police station in Lower Subansiri district. He says that an average of five to ten prisoners were held in his lock-up every day, accused of crimes from murder and rape to arson and theft. The room had no fan, mosquito net or light, and little ventilation; although there was an attached toilet, it had limited water, with a grimy toilet that was only cleaned once during his stay. ‘One day, there were around 20 prisoners in the cell, and we held a strike as the food was inedible,’ he says. ‘Things improved for a few days, but then it was back to square one again.’ Rari adds that he was lucky to get out when he did; another man in the cell, accused of murder, had been there for nine years.
Even the opening of the new jail – in Jollang, near the capital, Itanagar – is far from adequate in this massive state of more than 83,700 sq km. Sunil Mow, a lawyer with the Human Rights Law Network (HRLN), an NGO, says, ‘One jail in Itanagar cannot serve the entire state. There are eight districts in eastern Arunachal and eight districts in western Arunachal. The jail is a one- to two-day journey from some of these remote districts, and in these areas those who are under trial are still being kept in inhuman conditions in police lock-ups.’
The plight of women prisoners remains particularly difficult. In 2006, a woman prisoner was raped in the lock-up at Deomali police station, in Tirap district. The officer-in-charge was the main accused, and was eventually dismissed from his job. Mapung Tadar, vice-chairperson of the State Commission for Women, says that due to the ongoing lack of infrastructure, adult women are being kept with minor juveniles. Unfortunately, this ‘solution’ only compounds a central problem in the Arunachal judicial system: a lack of facilities leading to adults and juveniles being dealt with together while awaiting or on trial.
What child?
For the past decade, the Arunachal state administration has been blatantly flouting the provisions of the Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act of 2000, which states that no child can be put in a jail or a lock-up. In addition, a Juvenile Justice Board is supposed to be constituted for each district or group of districts, consisting of two social workers and a magistrate. This is an attempt to change the nature of inquiry in the state, with the presence of the social workers indicating a decriminalisation of the administration of juvenile justice. Yet no Juvenile Justice Board or Court has been constituted, nor has any observation home (a temporary shelter for juveniles), anywhere in the state. Thus, juveniles arrested in connection with criminal cases are still tried by judicial magistrates and kept along with adult inmates in police custody. Sunil Mow cites numerous instances of children below 18 lodged in Arunachal lock-ups along with hardcore criminals, some for upwards of four years.
For instance, 12-year-old Arjun (name changed) was arrested by the Itanagar police for petty stealing – blankets, plastic cups, etc. He was lodged in the Itanagar police station on two occasions, once for five months and again for nine months, both times with adult criminals. Arjun says he was verbally abused by both the police and others in the lock-up, at times allegedly being forced to massage some of the other prisoners. The long incarceration made him weak mentally and physically; now 16, he complains of chest pain and headaches, and is on painkillers and antibiotics for some of the injuries he suffered while in detention. Arjun’s mother recalls, ‘He used to send me a list of medicines, soap, oil and other essentials. The blankets were full of lice, and when I brought him home I had to wash him down with Dettol.’
Another juvenile, Sonia Byabang, was likewise arrested and charged with stealing when he was just 12. ‘I was so young and I didn’t even know what it meant to steal,’ he says. ‘I was just trying to ride my uncle’s motorcycle to meet my father, but the police said I was trying to steal the bike.’ He adds that the police lied, stating in their report that he was 19 years old. Thereafter, he spent two months at the police lock-up in the Itanagar police station. After he was released, Byabang says that he did felt ‘tainted’, and began staying away from school and his friends. Thereafter, he says, the police made him a regular scapegoat, and repeatedly picked him up on suspicion for various crimes.
Still, some have been able to challenge such procedures. Chelle John was 13 years old when he was detained along with adult criminals, and subsequently brought a case before the courts on the issue. He underwent testing at a hospital and was certified below 18 years of age. Needless to say, such cases underline the susceptibility of the Arunachal criminal-justice system to manipulation. While the opening of the new jail is a positive step in terms of ameliorating some outstanding rights issues, it is hardly an answer to the problems faced by juveniles awaiting justice in the state.
Bureaucrat judge
Justice moves notoriously slowly in Arunachal, with trials invariably delayed. Much of this is due to the fact that the executive branch of the state government doubles as the judiciary in the lower courts, thus requiring, for instance, the deputy commissioner to act as the district sessions judge. As such, the accused are often forced to languish even longer in lock-ups, as government officials give priority to their routine administrative work. Of course, the pace can quicken dramatically if the accused can afford a lawyer.
In this regard, most worrying is the ramification that the lower judiciary in Arunachal is not independent, but rather is a specific part of the government machinery. ‘All these years,’ Sunil Mow says, ‘bureaucrats with practically no knowledge of law have been making a mockery of the entire judicial system.’ Recently, two session courts were set up in Arunachal, one to cover the western half and another to cover the eastern half of the state. Although again an important step in the right direction, a mere two courts remain far from adequate in a state of this size.
Mow says that the welfare of those awaiting trial has simply never been a priority for the state government, but expresses hope that the opening of the new jail indicates forward momentum on a range of issues. Indeed, another jail is currently being built in Tezu, in the far east, while the 11th Finance Commission granted INR 100 million to build new jail infrastructure. Yet incredibly, out of that money seven new ‘judicial lock-ups’ are now being set up in various police stations – thus continuing to flout basic law. The ‘Arunachal’ version of justice looks set to continue for some time.
--Teresa Rehman is a journalist and media consultant based in Northeast India.
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