Violence, structural and otherwise

State structures must be based on popular will, and must work for the greatest good of the greatest number. This seemingly simple principle could provide a solution to some of the most intractable problems of the day. Unfortunately, it is a principle that has been observed more in breach than in practice, and nowhere more than in Southasia.

The country that pats itself on the back for being the largest democracy in the world suffers from selective amnesia when it comes to recollecting some of the actions of its 'democratic' state structure. On 2 January, tribal people were protesting in Kalinga Nagar village in Orissa against the government decision to forcibly acquire their land at throwaway prices and set up a factory complex that would only benefit the corporate-bureaucrat-political elite. The people were engaged in what was their constitutional right – to protest peacefully. The police clearly thought otherwise, and had a simple mechanism to deal with the problem. They opened fire, and shot dead 12 of the protestors.

Dissent is not the only way by which a citizen runs the risk of earning the wrath of the Indian republic, nor that of other states in Southasia (see "The deserving and the undeserving", in this issue of Himal). The establishment seems to have a particular fondness for killing apolitical, innocent people. The Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) in the Northeast empowers the army to 'shoot to kill' on the basis of mere suspicion. Last year, in Manipur, Manorama Devi – by all accounts, an innocent woman not associated with any militant outfit – was picked up by soldiers in the middle of the night, raped and killed. Despite the outrage that followed – middle-aged women stood naked in front of the army headquarters in Imphal to protest against the Act that allowed such violations – the government refused to budge. 47 years after it was first introduced, AFSPA, giving the state the license to kill, continues to operate in democratic India, in principle and in practice. Manorama Devi is a symbol for the many that are killed every year, all over the republic, by state violence.

It is not only in politically-troubled spots, be it the Northeast or Kashmir, that the Indian state shows its darkest manifestation. The economic policies pursued by successive governments, especially after the opening of the economy in 1991, is responsible for massive structural violence against the poor. The state establishment, with its reduced spending in rural areas and policy of leaving agriculture to the whims of global trade organisations, has manufactured an agrarian crisis in India. This has resulted in a sharp drop in the per capita food intake of the rural poor. The police brutality against workers of an MNC who dared to strike last year in Gurgaon, in Delhi's outskirts, is yet another example of how vulnerable hard-earned labour rights are in 'socialist' India.

The liberal democratic set up in India at least provides some space for dissent, and opens up possibilities of reform, which is more than what can be said about some other places in the region. Under King Gyanendra's rule, the Nepali state has been completely militarised, and makes no pretence of being governed by the rule of law or respect for human rights. The list of abuses is long – killing peaceful protestors, arresting political leaders and civil-society activists, torturing innocent civilians merely on grounds of suspicion, and attacking the freedom of the press. In the decade-long conflict, which has seen its share of Maoist atrocities, the security forces have been responsible for more than 8000 of the 13,000 killings.

The problem is not merely the feudal regime in place in Kathmandu. The exclusivist and discriminatory nature of the Nepali national establishment, over the five decades of the modern era, has inflicted immense violence, seen and unseen, against marginalised groups, systematically keeping them out of the mainstream. And it is this structural violence that can partially explain why Nepal is in the throes of a political tsunami today.

One state that leaves all others behind in terms of structural discrimination is Bhutan. The Druk Yul has the dubious honour of expelling one-seventh of its population from the country. The Nepali-speaking Lhotshampas continue to languish in refugee camps, while the autocratic Bhutanese state seeks to disown the very people it considered its own till the late 1980s. Meanwhile, not enough is known or written about the Lhotshampa who remain behind in Bhutan.

The Punjabi, and feudal, domination of the government in Pakistan has not helped in building an inclusive polity either. The suppression of basic democratic rights, the devastating impact of economic policies dictated by the IMF, the state's willing complicity in US air strikes that kill civilians, the patriarchal mindset of the establishment (amply demonstrated by General Musharraf's statement last year about women fabricating rape cases), and the discrimination against religious minorities – all of these have combined to create a state that cares little about its people. Pakistan is a state where even the faint light of dawn is not as visible as it is in some other places. Democracy is what is needed, after all, to seep into the nooks and crannies of society to prevent violence against innocent civilians.

Thomas Hobbes, the 17th century political philosopher, described life in the anarchic state of nature as "nasty, brutish, and short". It was then that people entered into a 'social contract', and surrendered their liberty to an all-powerful state in exchange for security. The nature of the state, as well as theories of its origin, has evolved over the centuries. The lives of countless people, however, continue to remain the same. And that may have something to do with the fact that states themselves have become nasty and brutal.

This, in turn, stems from the willingness of the political power elite in each of our countries to ride roughshod over democratic processes, and their refusal to engage with diverse and dissenting voices. Bureaucratic impediments, discriminatory policies, police inhumanity, and military ruthlessness are not unconnected dots, but a clear effort by establishments to force citizens to remain disengaged. For they know, the first step of a politically aware and assertive citizenry will be to question the state's actions. But that is exactly what is needed everywhere in Southasia today – an active, non-violent movement that challenges the brutality of the state. That will be enough to humanise it.