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The mute spectators

The Godhra incident is -- what is the strongest synonym of 'despicable'?

To burn a person alive requires the perpetrator to have sunk far, far beneath the pale. Arrests, we are told, have been made. But arrests, and 'the due process of the law', is not enough in such cases -- for 'due process of the law' means a case that will drag on for years, and probably end in the acquittal of the accused if only because all witnesses have meanwhile died.

Cases such as this cry out for the setting up of a special court, a speedy trial and, for the guilty, exemplary -- and public -- punishment. Punishment of so salutary a nature as to serve as deterrent to anyone tempted, ever again, to hold human lives as worth only the price of a litre of petrol and a matchstick.

Having said that, two other aspects of the incident strike me as calling for attention. And the first is -- to slip into Arthur Conan Doyle territory for a moment -- the dog that did not bark at midnight.

I am no fan of Jayalalithaa Jayaram, but in this instance the chief minister of Tamil Nadu got it dead right when she asked why no one had come forward to condemn the incident.

Exactly. Why is every single political party silent? The career politician, it sometimes seems to me, carries around with him blank condolence forms peppered with trite phrases such as 'deeply shocked' and 'extremely grieved'. And on cue, he fills in the name of the latest victim of Life and rushes it to the nearest newspaper office.

But dozens of women and children -- and some men too -- being burnt alive has not evoked even one of those meaningless condolence messages, from any leader of any note. Why? Are some lives less equal than others?

There is another issue I find startling. Almost every single report I have read of the incident and its aftermath has, tucked in there somewhere, a line that goes, 'The police were mute spectators'.

That line reminded me of the Mumbai riots. The newspaper I worked for at the time was based in the 'communally sensitive' Tardeo region in southcentral Mumbai. And time and time again during that nightmarish period, my colleagues and I saw rampaging crowds setting cars on fire, torching shops and creating mayhem while the police remained 'mute spectators'.

On one occasion, while walking back to office I passed by a temple where a maha-aarti had just concluded. Probably drawn by my beard, a crowd surrounded me and demanded to know whether I was Hindu or Muslim. And while the interrogation was carried on, two policemen took their ease in plastic chairs on the adjacent traffic island. 'Mute spectators'.

Think back to every instance of communal violence in memory, and you will find this one common element -- the men who are supposed to prevent such things from happening remain 'mute spectators'.

Surely it is time for the alarm bells to ring? Surely it is time to ask, why is the police so reluctant to act, when acting promptly and decisively could have saved so many lives?

Could it be because the political arm of our society has systematically, thoroughly, emasculated the police force? To the point where the first question a cop asks you is not what you did, but who you are and, more importantly, whom you know?

Could it be because when the police arrests someone, he has barely managed to lock the cell door on the culprit before some jumped-up leader comes storming into the cop shop, flaunting his clout, threatening dire consequences, and procuring his follower's release?

Could it be because people in high places, with immense public profiles, openly scoff at the police and the courts and get away with it? Like, for instance, that group of men who have argued in recent times that not even a Supreme Court judgment can be set above 'public sentiment'?

Why?

We need to find an answer to that question. We need to find a solution to this problem. And we need to do this fast.

Because if we fail, the next person who gets a petrol bath while the police remain 'mute spectators' could be me. Or you.