Pardon sprayers of gas in Lok Sabha

Intent matters, Bhagat Singh and B K Dutt told the court that tried them for dropping bombs in Central Assembly... This principle applies to also those who mounted a mock attack on Parliament

The group of six responsible for spraying coloured gas has demonstrated that in the New India still lingers the spirit of the national struggle, defined by the ideal of the individual sacrificing his/her life or liberty for the larger good. For this alone, the six should be pardoned. Not to do so would imply that the independent Indian State is no different from the one the British established.

The six require the State’s indulgence because they are not terrorists; they were not armed; they did not intend to harm MPs.

It will be argued that they are not misguided youths, for politically conscious as they are, they would have known the consequences of their audacious act. This is evident from Neelam Azad, one of the six, shouting outside Parliament, “Tanashahi nahi chalegi (Dictatorship will not be tolerated).” Since she characterised the Modi government as a dictatorship, would she not have known that a defining feature of this form of governance is unforgiveness? Why, then, pardon the six?

Yet, paradoxically, to book them under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, which prescribes punishment for committing or abetting acts of terrorism, would also mean accepting Neelam’s assertion that the State under Prime Minister Narendra Modi has become dictatorial.

 The paradox can be grasped from the perspective of history.

The six emulated Bhagat Singh and B K Dutt, who tossed into the Central Assembly, on April 8, 1929, two bombs designed to create big bangs without harming anyone. Their motive was to “make the deaf” hear, to warn the British of the deepening disquiet in India. A Delhi Sessions Court sentenced them to transportation for life.

Singh and Dutt, in a statement to the court, said that had the bombs been “loaded with some other high explosive, with a charge of destructive pellets or darts, they would have sufficed to wipe out a majority of the members of the Legislative Assembly.” This they said to press upon the court to take into account their intent before it passed a verdict on them.

What if the two of the six who jumped into the Lok Sabha—Manoranjan D and Sagar Sharma—had injected poisonous gas into Parliament? By spraying harmless gas, the six wanted to foreground the crisis of unemployment hobbling the youth. This problem is not imagined; it is real; their action arose from their desperation, not revolutionary romanticism.

The Centre for Monitoring Indian Economy says the unemployment rate today is nine per cent. This figure does not disclose the tragedy of the youth unable to find employment commensurate with their educational qualifications. The six, with the likely exception of Manoranjan, belong to the lower middle class. Their reading of Bhagat Singh, Che Guevara and B R Ambedkar convinced them that their struggle for livelihood is a function of India’s flawed development model, not their fate.

It must have galled them that their misery does not engage the political class, and that unemployment is seldom discussed in Parliament, which is often dogged by shouting matches, walkouts, suspensions and adjournments. The failure of democracy to respond to the nation’s woes prompted them to follow the path of Singh and Dutt, who, in their statement to the court, said they tossed the bombs for “hoisting the danger-signal to warn those who are speeding along without heeding grave dangers ahead.”

Forget the Modi government, even Opposition leaders failed them, choosing to ask Home Minister Amit Shah to explain the security breach at Parliament rather than pressing for a discussion on the unemployment crisis. Expectedly, Shah did not oblige, expectedly, the Opposition created a ruckus, and expectedly, over 140 MPs were suspended.

The truth is that the Opposition did not raise the unemployment issue because they were apprehensive of the Bharatiya Janata Party accusing them of siding with the ‘terrorists.’ Rahul Gandhi was the sole exception. In contrast to the timidity of Opposition leaders, the indifference of the six to fear and punishment awes one.
Few civil society groups have interceded for the six, not to extol them, but to argue that leniency be shown to them, for they certainly are not terrorists. Society’s silence reflects the fear gripping the nation—that annoying the government would invite reprisals.

Contrast this to the incredible wave of sympathy and support Singh and Dutt generated in their time, both in the public and the political class. Is it that democracy has hollowed out humanity from our quests? Or is our democracy showing signs of stagnation, even degeneration?

The Modi government will likely think that condoning the action of the six would inspire copycat actions in the future. It must, therefore, heed the profound truth Singh and Dutt articulated in their statement to the Sessions Court: “We…deliberately offered ourselves to bear the penalty for what we had done and to let the imperialist exploiters know that by crushing individuals, they cannot kill ideas.”

The Modi government does have a precedent for pardoning the six. On April 8, 1983, the anniversary of the Central Assembly bombing, Bhagat Singh’s sister, Bibi Amar Kaur, flung pamphlets from the visitor’s gallery into the Lok Sabha, decrying anti-democratic laws. She was not prosecuted, her son former professor Jagmohan Singh confirmed.

The writer is a senior journalist

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