The theatrical trailer of COURT, a winner of 17 International awards An Indian reviewer said the film is a “remarkably assured, engrossing study of the power of the law and order machinery to crush protest through delays, deferred hearings and demands for further evidence.” Forbes magazine in India said Chaitanya Tamhane, the director, is “Indian cinema’s new voice of subversion.”
Synopsis: A sewerage worker’s dead body is found inside a manhole in Mumbai. An ageing folk singer is tried in court on charges of abetment of suicide. He is accused of performing an inflammatory song which might have incited the worker to commit the act. As the trial unfolds, the personal lives of the lawyers and the judge involved in the case are observed outside the court.
. . . . . .
A Law Less Majestic
Sanctioned by an archaic law and other draconian legislation, “sedition
against the state” is a handy tool to fell voices of dissent
Punishment:
Penalties ranging from five years to life imprisonment along with
fines. If the offence leads to loss of life, a death sentence can be
awarded.
Unlawful associations: Secessionist and terrorist associations; to be determined and notified by ministry of home affairs
Unlawful associations: Secessionist and terrorist associations; to be determined and notified by ministry of home affairs
***
Behind every man who has been labelled ‘seditious’ by the State is a law that goes back 155 years. Section 124A of the Indian Penal Code dates to 1860, three years after the British were rattled by what came to be known as the Sepoy Mutiny. There is also the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act, a handy tool to silence ‘dangerous’ people with ‘dangerous’ ideas. Why, a week before it was held unconstitutional, Samajwadi Party leader and UP cabinet minister Azam Khan used Section 66A of the Information Technology Act to penalise a Class 11 student in Rampur, Uttar Pradesh.
The police are arbitrary and indiscriminate in the use of the sedition law, arresting people even for activities like singing, acting in street plays, reciting poems, painting graffiti on walls, not standing up during the national anthem or for cheering the Pakistani cricket team. These have, of course, usually accompanied the more serious charges of sympathising, funding or acting with Maoists or suspected terror organisations.
The police get away by saying they had intelligence inputs, secret reports or confessional statements. The judiciary fails to question the police or even grant bail in cases where detention serves no purpose other than breaking an individual’s spirit or ruining a family. In case after case, the prosecution fails to prove the charges, leading eventually to acquittals.
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Described as a dreaded Maoist who regularly met Maoist leaders and discussed how to overthrow the government and plan bombings etc, police relied on villagers who had overheard conversations about secret meetings while collecting wood. These alleged meetings would then be linked to incidents like the ‘IEDs found based on secret information’ and implicate Mohanty. Rape and molestation cases were also filed against him .
***
In the national award-winning film Court, you could be
forgiven for thinking that the central character—the ageing activist
Narayan Tamble, charged with inciting war and hatred against the
nation—is a figment of a very vivid imagination. But Tamble could well
be Sudhir Dhawale, the Dalit rights cultural activist arrested at a
seminar on atrocities on Dalits; Sangram and Dandapani Mohanty,
arrested and rearrested despite Supreme Court bail orders; Piyush
Sethia, who wore his opposition on his tee. Or G.N. Saibaba, whose
plight Arundhati Roy has evocatively outlined in the preceding pages.
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The Maharasthra police claimed to have arrested Dhawale with ‘Naxal literature’ despite the apex court verdict in the Binayak Sen case saying carrying Maoist literature didn’t mean the person practised the principles. The sedition charge ensured he was denied bail. “I was able to secure an acquittal with the help and support of many people,” he told Outlook. “But I’ve seen several inmates, especially tribals, in jail on similar charges. They are too poor to fight the state’s might.” Dhawale’s lawyer Surendra Gadling—who’s now representing Dr Saibaba—cites the example of a tribal woman who was recently granted bail but whose family was so poor they could not come to get her, and she could not afford to go back.
***
Inside the warden’s residence at Gwyer Hall in Delhi University’s
sprawling and leafy north campus, Vasantha, Dr Saibaba’s wife, shuttles
between the kitchen brewing tea and showing documents from a growing
pile and checking on her daughter in the next room. In the yard outside,
a scooter, with extra wheels to ensure balance for the physically
disabled, gathers dust. Books on Marx, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, other Left
thinkers and academics line the bookshelves in the drawing room.
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The police claim to have found frequent communication between one Prakash and Maoist leaders. Saibaba, they say in the chargesheet, was Prakash. None of the letters is handwritten or signed nor did any neutral witness attest that the police found them at Dr Saibaba’s residence during the raid.
The only ‘genuine’ letter the police produced, says Vasantha, is
one in which her husband and several other intellectuals had appealed to
Maoist leader ‘Azad’ to engage in peace talks with then Union home
minister P. Chidambaram. (The negotiations never took place because Azad
was shot dead en route to the peace talks). Today, the family faces an
uncertain future. Vasantha inquires how she can raise funds. She is now
part of a group called Women in Conflict, because the government has
brought the conflict out of the heavy-forested areas of Central India to
their home in DU.
***
Barely five days after he had joined the Odisha Jana Morcha (OJM), the party floated by chief minister Naveen Patnaik’s advisor-turned-rival Pyarimohan Mohapatra, plainclothes policemen whisked away Sangram Keshari Mohanty, an engineer-cum-lawyer-turned-businessman on December 5, 2012. A vehicle without a number plate had sidled up to his motorbike while he was on his way to a garage to get a truck repaired. His family learned of his arrest after local TV channels beamed the police claiming to have nabbed “a Maoist courier and supplier” with “dry fruits, dry fish and Naxal literature” on him. His father, Dandapani Mohanty, an ex-revolutionary, had been the interlocutor between the state government and the Maoists following the abduction of IAS officer Vineel Krishna, bjd legislator Jhina Hikaka and two Italian tourists. “My son has never been part of any radical left movement,” he had told this correspondent then, sitting at home, the wall in front showcasing Lenin, Marx, other left-wing thinkers and Bhagat Singh. The senior Mohanty was arrested two months later when he went on a hunger strike for his son’s cause.
***
In 2008, the Gujarat edition of the Times of India was sued
twice for sedition. Sociologist Ashis Nandy was charged first for a
column on the post-Godhra turmoil in Gujarat. Later, a reporter from the
newspaper was charged for questioning the appointment of O.P. Mathur as
the police chief of the state capital, highlighting his links with the
underworld. Another story allegedly suggested how the post was a reward
by the Gujarat government for Mathur botching up the probe as
investigator into Sohrabuddin Sheikh’s fake encounter.It was left to the Gujarat High Court to hold that the articles were not seditious, based on an earlier apex court ruling that an individual public servant (in this case the police chief) could not be confused with the state. Calling the charge absurd, the judge said, “…then every argument/comment against the manner and functioning of the government might be alleged to lead to the hatred of the government, and it might be suggested that such comments brought the government into hatred or contempt.” And you still say we need an 1860 law in 2015?
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