By Ajaz Ashraf
On 6 December, 1992 the Babri Masjid was demolished. Not only did it cease to exist in the physical world, but the plot of land where it stood was also not even kept vacant to mark its disappearance from Ayodhya. This was because in its place, over a day or two, a makeshift Ram temple was built. Thus began the afterlife of the Babri Masjid, as contentious in its absence as it was in its presence, as powerful a political symbol and a tool of mobilisation today as it was before its demolition.
The Babri Masjid leapt into national prominence because the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) and its affiliates launched a movement to appropriate it. The Sangh’s claim was that the Babri Masjid was built in 1528 after destroying an ancient temple that had existed on the spot where Lord Ram was supposed to have been born. This narrative of the Sangh was vigorously contested by the Muslims.
It consequently led to the insertion of a hyphen between the Ram Janmabhoomi and the Babri Masjid to signify that the ownership of the site in Ayodhya was disputed between Hindus and Muslims. In the afterlife of the Babri Masjid, the hyphen has been more or less obliterated from most textual narratives. It surfaces only in media reports on court proceedings pertaining to what is called the Ram Janmabhoomi-Babri Masjid title suit. It is likely that some will point out that the Babri Masjid should be before the hyphen, not after. With the demolition of the Babri Masjid, something of India too disappeared.
In its afterlife, the Babri Masjid could not possibly have had a hyphenated existence in pictorial representations of the demolition, an annual feature since 1992. It is possible to hyphenate two words, not two pictures. Editors were faced with a cruel choice – either they featured the photograph of the makeshift Ram temple and wrote a caption saying it sprang up after the Babri Masjid was built. Or they published the picture of the Babri Masjid as it was before its demolition, with or without Sangh activists, aka as kar sevaks, atop its domes in a triumphant mood.
Such photographs seem to have constructed altogether a different reality for the Babri Masjid in its afterlife. In a video story that Outlook magazine produced last year, a photograph of the Babri Masjid was shown to a group of individuals in their 30s and 40s. Their predominant response was that the Babri Masjid or its remnants still existed in Ayodhya.
On ground zero, though, the Supreme Court allowed the new reality of the makeshift temple to acquire the solidity of permanence. In January 1993, the Union government acquired 66.7 acres of land in Ayodhya, including the disputed 2.77 acres, where on a part of it the Babri Masjid had stood before 6 December, 1992. Not only did the Supreme Court uphold the acquisition through its majority judgment in the Ismail Faruqui case, it ruled that the status quo as it existed before the acquisition was to be maintained. It meant that neither the makeshift Ram temple could be removed nor the puja there stopped.
Two judges dissented from the majority decision in Ismail Faruqui and injected new meanings into the disappearance of the Babri Masjid from Ayodhya’s landscape. They faulted the majority judgement for not taking into account that the “structure thereon had been destroyed in ‘a most reprehensible act. The perpetrators of the deed struck not only against a place of worship but at the principles of secularism, democracy and the rule of the law’”.
In its afterlife, the Babri Masjid has become shorthand for the undermining secularism, democracy and the rule of law, of which India has had several examples in the last four years or so. The demolition of the Babri Masjid also provided glimpses to the consequences when the majoritarian will goes amuck. A large swathe of the nation was soaked in blood. In its spread, the violence in the wake of the Babri Masjid demolition paralleled that of the Partition of India in 1947. Its intensity was undoubtedly less. But it did transform India’s polity radically. There emerged a new and powerful constituency of Hindu voters, whose regressive sentiments not even secular parties dare to question now.
In the Online Encyclopedia of Mass Violence, which the Paris Institute of Political Studies, popularly known as SciencePo, maintains, Violette Graff and Juliette Galonnier provide the death toll in cities that were sucked into a vortex of violence. There were 180-190 deaths in Surat, nearly a 1,000 in Mumbai, which witnessed two cycles of rioting and serial bomb blasts, all linked to Ayodhya. Around 150 people perished in Bhopal, 73 in Karnataka, 60 in Rajasthan, 87 in Assam, 35 in Kolkata, 11 in Kanpur, 12-16 in Delhi… A large part of north India lived under curfew for days to end.
But the grisly violence of 1992-93 was largely forgotten as the focus on the Babri Masjid, in its afterlife, shifted from streets to courtrooms – and to the Liberhan Commission of Inquiry that was appointed to investigate the happenings of 6 December, 1992. There was an exception though – when the coalition government of Atal Bihari Vajpayee was in power in Delhi and Rajnath Singh was the chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), an RSS affiliate, declared at the Kumbh Mela of January 2001 that it will start the construction of the Ram temple in Ayodhya any time after 12 March, 2002.
In February 2002, a train ferrying kar sevaks from Ayodhya was set on fire at Godhra, Gujarat, in which 59 of them perished. It triggered a statewide rioting lasting for days, fanning anxieties about the Sangh’s construction plan. The Sangh came under pressure to revise its plan. On 8 March, the government received a letter from Ramchandra Paramhans, president of the Ram Janmabhoomi Nyas, a VHP trust, who said he wanted to do a symbolic puja on the undisputed portion of the acquired land in Ayodhya on 15 March. It was presumably a face-saver the hydra-headed RSS had worked out.
The talk of symbolic puja revived the memory of 1992. Then too, the Sangh had used the pretext of symbolic puja to assemble thousands and thousands of kar sevaks who eventually demolished the Babri Masjid. Then too, there had been a Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) government in Uttar Pradesh. As the anxieties over Ayodhya continued to rise, the Supreme Court disallowed the symbolic puja and prohibited religious activity of any kind in the 66.7 acres of land acquired in 1993.
The next significant date in the afterlife of the Babri Masjid was 30 September, 2010. Then the Lucknow Bench of the Allahabad High Court partitioned the disputed land three ways between Ram Lalla, Nirmohi Akhara and the Sunni Waqf Board. The judgment was acceptable neither to Muslim nor Hindu disputants. Not only did the Supreme Court stay the judgment, it received 13 appeals and cross-appeals in India’s hyphenated dispute that is also known as the Ram Janmabhoomi-Babri Masjid title suit.
Even as the Supreme Court gears up to hear the title dispute in January, Sangh Parivar leaders have taken a cue from the Vijayadashmi speech of their supremo, Mohan Bhagwat, to demand that the Narendra Modi government should either bring a law or promulgate an ordinance to build the Ram temple. Bhagwat has also in the past said that only the Ram temple will be constructed in Ayodhya.
Such a measure will terminate the afterlife of the Babri Masjid. It will also pose a fresh challenge to editors on how to remember 6 December, whether through a photograph of the Babri Masjid or that of the Ram temple. Perhaps their best option would be to strike off 6 December from the list of dates they draw to remember the past.
Why EVMs must go
By G. Sampath
The recent Assembly elections — the last major polling exercise before the 2019 Lok Sabha polls — were not devoid of Electronic Voting Machine (EVM) malfunctions.
Though the discourse at present makes no distinction between a ‘malfunction’ (which suggests a technical defect) and ‘tampering’ (manipulation aimed at fraud), there were several reports of misbehaving EVMs. Alarmingly, in Madhya Pradesh alone, the number of votes polled did not match the number of votes counted in 204 out of the 230 constituencies. The Election Commission’s (EC) explanation is that the votes counted is the actual number of votes polled — a circular logic that precludes cross-verification.
A discrepancy of even one vote between votes polled and votes counted is unacceptable. This is not an unreasonably high standard but one followed by democracies worldwide. It might therefore be helpful to briefly look beyond the question that has hijacked the EVM debate — of how easy or tough it is to hack these machines — and consider the first principles of a free and fair election.
The reason a nation chooses to be a democracy is that it gives moral legitimacy to the government. The fount of this legitimacy is the people’s will. The people’s will is expressed through the vote, anonymously (the principle of secret ballot). Not only must this vote be recorded correctly and counted correctly, it must also be seen to be recorded correctly and counted correctly. The recording and counting process must be accessible to, and verifiable by, the public. So transparency, verifiability, and secrecy are the three pillars of a free and fair election.
Regardless of whether one is for or against EVMs, there is no getting away from the fact that any polling method must pass these three tests to claim legitimacy. Paper ballots obviously do. The voter can visually confirm that her selection has been registered, the voting happens in secret, and the counting happens in front of her representative’s eyes.
EVMs, however, fail on all three, as established by a definitive judgment of the German constitutional court in 2009. The court’s ruling forced the country to scrap EVMs and return to paper ballot. Other technologically advanced nations such as the Netherlands and Ireland have also abandoned EVMs.
If we take the first two criteria, EVMs are neither transparent nor verifiable. Neither can the voter see her vote being recorded, nor can it be verified later whether the vote was recorded correctly. What is verifiable is the total number of votes cast, not the choice expressed in each vote. An electronic display of the voter’s selection may not be the same as the vote stored electronically in the machine’s memory. This gap was why the Voter Verifiable Paper Audit Trail (VVPAT) was introduced.
But VVPATs solve only one-half of the EVMs’ transparency/verifiability problem: the voting part. The counting part remains an opaque operation. If anyone suspects a counting error, there is no recourse, for an electronic recount is, by definition, absurd. Some believe the VVPATs can solve this problem too, through statistics.
At present, the EC’s VVPAT auditing is restricted to one randomly chosen polling booth per constituency. In a recent essay, K. Ashok Vardhan Shetty, a former IAS officer, demonstrates that this sample size will fail to detect faulty EVMs 98-99% of the time. He also shows that VVPATs can be an effective deterrent to fraud only on the condition that the detection of even one faulty EVM in a constituency must entail the VVPAT hand-counting of all the EVMs in that constituency. Without this proviso, VVPATs would merely provide the sheen of integrity without its substance.
The third criterion is secrecy. Here too, EVMs disappoint. With the paper ballot, the EC could mix ballot papers from different booths before counting, so that voting preferences could not be connected to a given locality. But with EVMs, we are back to booth-wise counting, which allows one to discern voting patterns and renders marginalised communities vulnerable to pressure. Totaliser machines can remedy this, but the EC has shown no intent to adopt them.
So, on all three counts — transparency, verifiability and secrecy — EVMs are flawed. VVPATs are not the answer either, given the sheer magnitude of the logistical challenges. The recent track record of EVMs indicates that the number of malfunctions in a national election will be high. For that very reason, the EC is unlikely to adopt a policy of hand-counting all EVMs in constituencies where faulty machines are reported, as this might entail hand-counting on a scale that defeats the very purpose of EVMs. And yet, this is a principle without which the use of VVPATs is meaningless.
Despite these issues, EVMs continue to enjoy the confidence of the EC, which insists that Indian EVMs, unlike the Western ones, are tamper-proof. But this is a matter of trust. Even if the software has been burnt into the microchip, neither the EC nor the voter knows for sure what software is running in a particular EVM. One has to simply trust the manufacturer and the EC. But as the German court observed, the precondition of this trust is the verifiability of election events, whereas in the case of EVMs, “the calculation of the election result is based on a calculation act which cannot be examined from outside”.
While it is true that the results come quicker and the process is cheaper with EVMs as compared to paper ballot, both these considerations are undeniably secondary to the integrity of the election. Another argument made in favour of the EVM is that it eliminates malpractices such as booth-capturing and ballot-box stuffing. In the age of the smartphone, however, the opportunity costs of ballot-box-stuffing and the risk of exposure are prohibitively high. In contrast, tampering with code could accomplish rigging on a scale unimaginable for booth-capturers. Moreover, it is nearly impossible to detect EVM-tampering. As a result, suspicions of tampering in the tallying of votes — as opposed to malfunction in registering the votes, which alone is detectable — are destined to remain in the realm of speculation. The absence of proven fraud might save the EVM for now, but its survival comes at a dangerous cost — the corrosion of people’s faith in the electoral process.
Yet there doesn’t have to be incontrovertible evidence of EVM-tampering for a nation to return to paper ballot. Suspicion is enough, and there is enough of it already. As the German court put it, “The democratic legitimacy of the election demands that the election events be controllable so that… unjustified suspicion can be refuted.” The phrase “unjustified suspicion” is pertinent. The EC has always maintained that suspicions against EVMs are unjustified. Clearly, the solution is not to dismiss EVM-sceptics as ignorant technophobes. Rather, the EC is obliged to provide the people of India a polling process capable of refuting unjustified suspicion, as this is a basic requirement for democratic legitimacy, not an optional accessory.
Doctor to serve the Humanity but ……….
By Sheikh Umar Ahmad
Doctors profession is regarded as a noble profession world over and is given due dignity and honor in global community for their selfless service to humankind.Every educated person aims to become a doctor in order to serve humanity in best and better of their capacities, but as it is, everybody can’t become a doctor and there are other professions as well to serve the humanity in general. Among all other professions, the medicine is regarded as one of the coveted both in terms of requirement of its service as well in terms of monetary benefits. This profession is only among existing ones that cater to global community involvement as well as service dissemination. Every person has expectations from doctors to deliver in close coordination anytime, rather 24*7 when the need arises without any internal or external excuses, including personal ones. There is a deeper dissatisfaction & grudges when any person from medicine community refuses any other person of consultation when it is time for them to serve. If they are unable to deliver to society with utmost satisfaction, then their purpose of serving the society through this profession only does not hold any merit. A similar kind of episode some days before than happened at state’s premier maternity hospital, so called as Lal Ded has shaken the whole Kashmiriyat that is otherwise known world over for their hospitality and generous behavior but some doctors who in literal sense are there to grab the greater public shearing and for their mere monetary benefits, have deceived and decimated the expectations of one of economically, socially and educationally backward section of our society who yet hold equal weightage at the measures table when it comes to Kashmir diversity and harmonious ethnicity.
Their refusal to admit a women in labor pain and then her parturition at a roadside, has shackled the immediate conscience of whole educated lot of Kashmir who now think that there should be a humanity course for every doctor before only he is allowed to practice medicine. A doctor in true essence should be ready to work in any society, with any person, and to serve any other person in need irrespective of his caste, creed, colour, religion, sect and above all ethnicity. If a doctor is unable to work in any multi-cultural society, he loses his position in the eyes of society to be called as a doctor. This person dashes the hopes of weaker section of society as they think that such persons can never pay attention towards them being economically and culturally senile. The death of a newborn on the roadside at Srinagar area speak volumes about those gross irregularities that still exist in best of our essential & emergency services. This should not have been the case and nothing such things happen in world over but are common in Kashmir only and there is a greater need to overhaul the whole system so to debug these bogus and nefarious elements in society that tarnish the whole image.
There should have been a commission in place to look at those gross malicious activities thatdiscord the whole organisational setup. Now as we know, the enquiry will be put in place and at the end what will be seen, nothing but the ball will be put in the court of victim by falsifying & negating the whole episode. The little one has gone now and no one on earth can bring him back. This episode brings this message forth, that doctor being the representative guardian of life our earth, protect lives every day in every part of world and there is a greater sense of satisfaction and this dealing makes the person feel happy internally & eternally for this greatest benefit to mankind. But for us, it is high time now, that we repent of our past sins and relook at our duties to disseminate it properly at every time it is required. Every person will be suitably rewarded for his good deeds and kind gestures that he has done on humanity and doctors are none as exception.
They are the best representatives of selfless service and moral attitude, and kind reflection of ultimate hope. State administration in Kashmir at the helm of affairs need to reaffirm their responsibilities and duties, so that utmost discipline is maintained in hospitals both from public & doctors end. If public outrages over anything that may be the reflection and agony of intermix of pain and grief. It is the responsibility of doctors on duty to deal with those situations quite humbly and morally, so that the professionals deliver their duties in its true essence and totally error free. There should be limited biasness in dealing with culturally and economically down-centric groups of society. We need to be first ambassadors of humanity before guardians of life through practising medicine to protect the lives of people. We need to safeguard the hopes and expectations of our ethnic groups before we deliver our best to save the lives.
These episodes nevertheless should be repeated in the times to come, else this profession will loseits dignity and honor world over for not withstanding with the requirements of and fulfilling the criteria of being a doctor humanely. There are doctors who treat animals even, this never mean that we need to make an animal human first to be treated by a human doctor as animals are animals, rather we need to be real doctors to understand the physiology of animals before only we can treat them. This is the only message I can conclude with… ! Hence a change is imperative.
(The author is Doctoral Research Scholar, currently working as DST INSPIRE Fellow at CSIR Indian Institute of Integrative Medicine Jammu)
The angry Pakistani
By Arifa Noor
IT takes an outsider to point out the anger within us. Last week, a former US ambassador to Pakistan, Cameron Munter, spoke at an event, arguing that our anger prevents us from telling the good story about Pakistan to the world.
It reminded me of an interaction that took place nearly 20 years ago. Back in 2000, a soft-spoken Indian professor from Delhi had asked why the Pakistani people were always so pessimistic about their country — present and future — despite the fact that till the 1990s, Pakistan had always enjoyed better social and economic indicators (including a higher growth rate) than India. It was a question I had no answer to. The hostile questions about Kargil and military rule were easier to answer during that trip to India than this gentle insight and a sense of bewilderment about our state of being.
But since that morning in New Delhi, there have been so many moments when the professor’s question has come back to mind. Countless memories that came spilling out echoed what former ambassador Munter said. Some as clear as the question asked by the Indian professor; some a little less sharp. But each one testifies to our despair, anger or lack of confidence in what is known as Pakistan.
We have been living in an age of anger, decades before Pankaj Mishra wrote about it.
Fast forward from 2000 to the last months of 2007 or the beginning of 2008: a faded memory, I am unsure of the exact month, but it was during the days of that heady yet difficult transition from dictatorship to democracy. Musharraf was fighting for his survival. Benazir Bhutto and the Sharifs were clawing their way back to relevance (followed by the devastating assassination of the former). A lawyers’ movement had caught Pakistan’s imagination. And there were terrorist attacks galore.
In the midst of these trying yet hopeful times, an op-ed had discussed Pakistan as a possible failed state. I was told that the writer had gotten a call from an amused friend in Afghanistan who said that despite all that had happened in and to Afghanistan, no Afghan would ever call his country a ‘failed state’.
We, of course, have used this term so often for the country that many of us believe it is a failed state — despite the term’s problematic origins as one used by Washington to describe countries it ‘disapproved’ of rather than an empirically established concept.
Then there are jumbled up memories of various track II dialogues. Each such seminar or conference is coupled with at least one discussion (on the sidelines) of how the Indians (and more recently the Afghans) present a united stand unlike Pakistanis. There is always a sense of frustration at how we end up helping ‘their’ cause rather than supporting our interest.
Why do we do this, as the professor asked?
Perhaps it stems from our long bouts of dictatorships. Denied their due and rightful say in policymaking has made entire swathes of the populace angry, hostile and critical of the state. They are angry at being left out: it’s an anger that is accompanied by a sense of helplessness at the direction that the country and society have taken. And in recent times, too, there is a sense of outrage because course correction (if there is any in their opinion) has not included their input. Hence, many refuse to believe that there has been any course correction, or criticise it for moving too slowly.
This is why perhaps the anger is most palpable when it comes to foreign policy, especially relations with India, and the radicalism that has engulfed state and society.
Being denied a voice, there is little left to do but express rage at the state, what it has come to stand for and to also conclude that there can be little hope for the future. (Pakistan has not just been at the crossroads ever since I can remember, it has also forever been in danger of being torn apart).
The rage has gotten worse post-2008, for the hope that accompanied the transition then has turned bitter. We thought that the worst was over, that ‘true’ democracy had returned to Pakistan and politicians would now rule — fixing all that had gone wrong. The 10 years of exile and powerlessness had also given the politicos a sheen of competence and maturity. But it was yet another shab gazida sahar (night-bitten dawn).
Ten years later, the anger has grown for it seems that decision making was never transferred. But because the hope this time was greater, so has the rage been too. And perhaps because the urban middle class fought for this transition in greater numbers than before, the disappointment is greater. They are angry for they cannot see the change they had fought for or protested against.
The judiciary turned out to have feet of clay. The military didn’t really share as much as they had promised. And the politicians didn’t deliver the reform or show any inclination for democratic norms once in power. And we continue to rail, against all of them or the one we had placed most hope in, or the one we hated most.
In addition, the rage has turned into hatred of the institution that has disappointed us the most. Indeed, the anger is expressed with malicious glee at times: the Sahiwal incident is a case in point, as was the controversial statement by a former high court judge, Shaukat Aziz Siddiqui, or any terrorist attack which reveals chinks in the armour of the security forces. And, of course, the various JITs revealing the shenanigans of our political ruling class.
It is as if we have no option but to express our rage, so all energy is poured into it.
But expressing outrage, however cathartic it may be, is not a strategy, which is what Cameron Munter was trying to say.