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As promised….

British historian Hobsbawm is most noted for his three-volume history of the “long 19th century” (1789-1914). Here he turns his attention to what he terms the “short 20th century” ( 1914-1991), which roughly coincides with his own life. It also corresponds to the lifespan of Soviet Communism, which naturally receives a major share of attention in this account. But Hobsbawm covers ideas more than events in this book, which is international in scope. In a work addressed to “the non-academic reader with a general interest in the modern world,” he assimilates mountains of information from all over the century and tries to arrange it into a cohesive whole. The result is certainly not light reading, but it is a book that most libraries will need.

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Prison Diaries

Mumbai-based activist Arun Ferreira kept a prison diary during his incarceration in Nagpur Central Jail. We reproduce here a shortened version of his experiences and some of the sketches he drew in prison
Prison nurtures spirituality. It has the merit of at least temporarily inducing the type of peace obtained by casting your lot with the supernatural (Illustration: ARUN FERREIRA)

Prison nurtures spirituality. It has the merit of at least temporarily inducing the type of peace obtained by casting your lot with the supernatural (Illustration: ARUN FERREIRA)

After spending about five years in jail, Mumbai-based activist Arun Ferreira was released on bail in January this year. In May 2007, he was arrested in Nagpur on charges of being a Naxalite. The police claimed that he along with a senior Naxal leader, Ashok Satya Reddy alias Murali, was planning to blow up the historical Deekshabhoomi complex (where Babasaheb Ambedkar embraced Buddhism in 1956). In September 2010, he was acquitted of all charges by a Nagpur court, but was re-arrested by plainclothes policemen and charged with an alleged crime that occurred when Ferreira was locked up in jail. An alumnus of Mumbai’s St Xavier’s College, 39-year-old Ferreira kept a prison diary during his incarceration in Nagpur Central Jail. We reproduce here a  shortened version of his experiences and some of the sketches he drew in prison.

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The anda barracks are a cluster of windowless cells within the high-security confines of Nagpur Central Jail. To get to most cells from the anda entrance, you have to pass through five heavy iron gates, [and] a maze of narrow corridors and pathways. There are several distinct compounds within the anda, each with a few cells, each cell carefully isolated from the other. There’s little light in the cells and you can’t see any trees. You can’t even see the sky. From the top of the central watch tower, the yard resembles an enormous, airtight concrete egg. But there’s a vital difference. It’s impossible to break it open. Rather, it’s designed to make inmates crack.

The anda is where the most unruly prisoners are confined, as punishment for violating disciplinary rules. The other parts of Nagpur jail aren’t quite so severe. Most prisoners are housed in barracks, with fans and a TV. In the barracks, the day-time hours can be quite relaxed, even comfortable. But in the anda, the only ventilation is provided by the gate of your cell, and even that doesn’t afford much comfort because it opens into a covered corridor, not an open yard.

But more than the brutal, claustrophobic aesthetic of the anda, it’s the absence of human contact that chokes you. If you’re in the anda, you spend 15 hours or more alone in your cell. The only people you see are the guards and occasionally the other inmates in your section. A few weeks in the anda can cause a breakdown. The horrors of the anda are well-known to prisoners in Nagpur jail, and they would rather face the severest of beatings than be banished to the anda.

While most prisoners spend only a few weeks in the anda or in its cousin, the phasi yard, home to prisoners sentenced to death, these sections were where I spent four years, eight months. This was because I was not an ordinary prisoner. I was, as the police claimed, a ‘dreaded Naxalite’, ‘Maoist leader’, descriptions that appeared in newspapers the morning after I was arrested on 8 May 2007.

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I’d been arrested at Nagpur railway station on a brutally hot summer afternoon. I was waiting to meet some social activists when about 15 men grabbed me, bundled me into a car and drove away at high speed, kicking and punching me all the while. They took me to a room in a building my abductors later told me was the Nagpur Police Gymkhana. They used my belt to tie my hands and I was blindfolded, so that the police officials involved in this operation could remain unidentified. From their conversations, it became evident that I had been detained by the anti-Naxalite cell of the Nagpur Police. The assaults never stopped. Through the day, I was flogged with belts, kicked and slapped, as they attempted to soften me up for the interrogations that were to follow.

I had my first brush with social activism as a student at Mumbai’s St Xavier’s College in the early 1990s. I’d organised camps to villages and welfare projects for the underprivileged. The religious riots of 1992-93 really shook me up. Thousands of Muslims were displaced in their own city, and we helped run relief camps. The callousness of the state, which allowed the Shiv Sena to conduct its pogrom unimpeded, could not have been on better display. I soon joined the Vidyarthi Pragati Sanghatan, a student organisation that aimed to build a democratic, egalitarian society. We organised many campaigns in rural areas to help the dispossessed assert their rights. In Nashik, tribals were organising themselves against atrocities of the Forest Department. In Dabhol, villagers were resisting the Enron power project. In Umergaon, Gujarat, fisherfolk were protesting their imminent displacement by a gigantic port. Looking at these struggles up close made me aware that [offering] relief to the poor wasn’t as important as helping them question the skewed relations of power and justice and organise themselves to claim their rights.

However, post 9/11, there was a change in the way peoples’ movements came to be perceived. The so-called War Against Terror made security the prime motive of State policy. In India, special laws were promulgated to squash inconvenient truths. Organisations were banned, opinions were criminalised and social movements were branded ‘terrorist’. Those of us who worked to organise tribals or the oppressed in rural areas were termed ‘Maoists’.

In 2010, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh declared that Maoists were “India’s greatest internal security threat”. Some were ‘encountered’ or ‘disappeared’, while others were arrested. In places like Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand or Vidarbha in Maharashtra, all non-partisan political activity was branded as ‘Maoism’ and dealt with accordingly. In the months before my detention, many Dalit activists in Nagpur had been arrested on charges of radicalising the Amberkarite movement by infusing it with the politics of Naxalism. All this meant that I wasn’t entirely unprepared to be arrested myself.

Despite having contemplated this hypothetical situation, I wasn’t quite prepared to become a target of [State] excesses myself—to be arrested, tortured, implicated in false cases with fabricated evidence, and locked away in prison for several years.

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At midnight, 11 hours after I had been detained, I was taken to a police station and informed that I had been arrested under the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act, 2004, which is applied to people the State believes are terrorists. I spent that night in a damp, dark cell in the police station. My bedding was a foul-smelling black blanket, its colour barely concealing just how dirty it was. A hole in the ground served as a urinal and could be identified by paan stains around it, and its acrid stench. I was finally served a meal: dal, roti and a couple of abuses. Having to eat from a plastic bag with jaws sore from [the day’s] blows wasn’t easy. But after the horrors of the day, these tribulations were relatively insignificant and allowed me a brief moment to pull myself together. I managed to ignore the putrid bedding and humid air and doze off.

Within a few hours, I was woken up for another round of interrogation. The officers appeared polite at first but quickly resorted to blows in an attempt to make me provide the answers they were looking for. They wanted me to disclose the location of a cache of arms and explosives or information on my supposed links with Maoists. To make me more amenable to their demands, they stretched my body out completely, using an updated version of the medieval torture technique of [the wrack]. My arms were tied to a window grill high above, while two policemen stood on my stretched thighs to keep me pinned to the floor. This was calculated to cause maximum pain without leaving any external injuries. Despite their precautions, my ears started to bleed and my jaws began to swell up.

In the evening, I was made to squat on the floor with a black hood over my head as numerous officers posed behind me for press photographs. The next day, I would later learn, these images made the front pages of papers around the country. The press was told that I was the chief of communications and propaganda of an ultra-left wing of Naxalites.

I was then produced before a magistrate. As all law students know, this step has been introduced [to the legal process] to give detainees an opportunity to complain against custodial torture—something I could establish quite easily since my face was swollen, ears bleeding and soles so sore it was impossible to walk. But in court, I learnt from my lawyers that the police had already accounted for those injuries in their concocted arrest story. According to their version, I was a dangerous terrorist and had fought hard with police to try to avoid arrest. They claimed that they had no option but to use force to subdue me. Strangely, none of my captors claimed to have been harmed during the scuffle.

That wasn’t the only surprise. In court, the police said that I’d been arrested in the company of three others—Dhanendra Bhurule, a local journalist; Naresh Bansod, the Gondia district president of an organisation called the Maharashtra Andhashraddha Nirmulan Samiti; and Ashok Reddy, a resident of Andhra Pradesh, people I had never met before. The police claimed to have seized a pistol and live cartridges from us. They said we had been meeting to hatch a plan to blow up the monument at Deekshabhoomi in Nagpur. If the police could convince people that Naxalites were planning to attack this hallowed shrine, this could convince Dalits not to [have any] truck with leftists.

But mere allegations couldn’t suffice. They needed to create evidence to support their claims. The police told the court that they needed us in custody for 12 days to interrogate us. While the journalist and I were kept at Nagpur’s Sitabuldi police station, the other two were taken to the Dhantoli police station. Every morning, we would be transported to the Police Gymkhana for continuous rounds of interrogation that lasted late into the night. First, they attempted to force us to sign a confessional statement they had drafted. When that failed, they got the court to agree to allow us to be subjected to the scientifically dubious practice of narco-analysis, lie detectors and brain mapping tests, which they hoped would bolster their allegations. So although legally I was no longer in their custody, the police could still interrogate me under the guise of conducting these forensic tests. Preparations were made to transport us to the State Forensic Science Lab in Mumbai.

Before that, we were formally admitted to Nagpur Central Prison. I stooped through the low narrow door into the complex that would be my home for 54 months. In keeping with procedure, first-time prisoners are presented before the gate-officer. Tradition, and perhaps training, demands that even the most mild-mannered gate-officer be at his aggressive best while dealing with new entrants, who, in jail slang, are called ‘Naya Ahmads’. It is the gate officers’ job to give the newcomer a crash course in meekness and mindless subservience. A lathi at his side serves as a teaching aid.

The officer is also supposed to enquire whether the new prisoner has suffered injuries due to torture in police custody, and, if so, record his statement. In my case, I had a bleeding ear, swollen jaws and sore feet. But in reality, the officer threatens anyone trying to make a complaint. By custom, all injuries are recorded as having existed before the prisoner was arrested. A strip search followed, standard protocol for new entrants to the prison. I was stripped to my underwear and ordered to squat in a line with the other new entrants awaiting my turn with the jadthi-amaldar (the man in charge of searches). Our every belonging was scrutinised and thrown on the dirty road for us to humbly gather together again. Hazards like packets of biscuits and beedis were pocketed by the staff.

We were unfortunate to arrive in isolation, but if the prisoner’s wait at the gate coincides with the entry or exit of one of the senior jail officials, he is privileged to witness a ceremony of colonial vintage. Senior jailors and superintendents can’t be expected to bend low to enter through the door. So the main gate is swung open to allow these sahibs to walk through, heads held high. When they are sighted at a distance, the gate guard issues a yelp of caution: “All hup!” All staff stand to attention and all lower life forms are swept into corners out of sight or forced to their haunches.

Most Naya Ahmads are then taken to the After Barrack, where they spend a night or two before being assigned to a fixed barrack. This waiting period allows the jail staff, convict-warders, inhouse extortionist gangs and other sharks to assess what they can extract from the latest catch. Middle and upper class entrants are easy targets. They are softened up with dark stories of prison-life horrors and not-so-veiled threats. Young boys are targeted for free labour and as sex toys. Contacts are made and deals are struck to ensure better treatment when moved to the regular barracks.

Next is the mulaija or check-in-process. New prisoners are lectured on the value of prison discipline by a convict warder or jailor. Each new inmate has his identifying marks noted and is weighed, measured and examined by a doctor and psychologist, before being presented before a phalanx of prison divinities, led by the Superintendent. A Body Ticket is presented to each prisoner, listing his prisoner number and offences registered against him. These offences form the basis of how he will be classified, and, to some extent, how he’ll be treated in jail.

Even though the law proclaims that an accused person is innocent until proved guilty, such niceties lack meaning behind prison walls. The allegations of the police are sufficient evidence for the jail authorities to punish even those awaiting trial. Alleged rapists and homosexuals are routinely targeted by officers and other prisoners at the encouragement of the staff. Those implicated in murder cases are compelled to wear a convict prisoner’s uniform and are consigned to special ‘murder barracks’. As a sign of their patriotism, many jail superintendents personally preside over the beatings of people accused of terrorism.

Before the mulaija, procedure requires the new entrant to be bathed. However, shortages of soap and water often prevent the diligent observance of these rules. Instead, most Naya Ahmads are rushed through the rough-and-ready hands of the nai kamaan (literally, the Barber Command), one of the work groups to which prisoners could be assigned later. The Naya Ahmad’s next stop is the Badi Gol, the area in Nagpur Jail that houses the prisoners awaiting trial. Each is allotted a barrack. That, theoretically, is where I should have been headed too. But in my case, the procedures were all jumbled up. Twelve days after I had been picked up by the police, I was hurriedly put into the anda barrack, given a prison uniform, and after a quick meal at 4 pm of besan and chewy rotis, [put on my way] to Mumbai by train.

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Even before [detainees] can be given narco-analysis, they are put through a series of medical tests, ostensibly to ascertain whether they are fit enough to undergo these forensic procedures. In reality, the tests determine the prisoner’s levels of resistance and help the authorities calculate how much of the drug, sodium pentothal, can be administered without causing the accused to collapse.  The tests were conducted in the operation theatre of JJ Hospital, a government hospital in Mumbai that has backup facilities for surgery. That’s because sodium pentothal can cause the heart to slow down—fatally.

The drug was administered like a drip, at a controlled pace so that I should remain in a trance for [a long] time. The forensic psychologist started asking questions and the conversation was video recorded. Although the police were not permitted to enter the laboratory, the forensic experts themselves used the drug with police efficiency, with total disregard for medical ethics or my health. The police had prepared a list of questions for the psychologist to ask: where I kept arms and ammunition, and whether I was associated with suspected organisations or people. I remembered some of this later. It was a little like recollecting a dream after waking up. I didn’t remember all the details with complete accuracy, but I hadn’t forgotten the highlights.

On my return, after a week, I was implicated in another five cases involving Naxalite violence. The police were granted another 20 days of custody. This meant that I was back in the hands of the police at a police station in Gondia district. This entailed more sleep deprivation, more harassment and more interrogation. I was fortunate to have got away relatively lightly. The police injected petrol into the rectums of two of my co-accused, which resulted in days of anal bleeding. For me, it was more stretching, flogging with a strip of conveyor belt, which the Maharashtra police affectionately call “Bajirao”, and more jaw slamming.

By this time, the results of the Mumbai narco-analysis tests had come in. They failed to provide any grist for the police case, so the authorities got a court to surreptitiously order another round of tests at the forensic lab in Bangalore. Here, the tests were conducted by the notorious S Malini, who was later dismissed from duty when it was discovered that she’d submitted false papers when applying for the job. Malini was well regarded by police forces across India because she always managed to get them the results they wanted. She had apparently solved the Malegaon blasts case of 2006, the Mecca Masjid blasts case, and also the Sister Abhaya case. Years later, all these were proved to have been falsely investigated. During narco-analysis, she slapped and abused me, pinched my ears with pliers, and even administered electric shocks to me and my co-accused to keep us from turning unconscious.

But this didn’t do the job either. So the police implicated me in two more cases and interrogated me for two more weeks. That’s how the first year of life after my arrest proceeded. The police would implicate me in new cases, obtain custody to interrogate me, inflict terrible forms of torture on me, fail to extract a confession, return me to jail, only to implicate me in yet another case. It was only when the police finally filed chargesheets in these cases that I had a new routine, one that involved making weekly or sometimes daily trips to court to wait for these cases to be heard. I now had the luxury of contemplating the rhythms of prison life.

Morning brings a mad rush to the tanki or haus, as the bathing tank is known. Four hundred prospective bathers laying claim to a 60 by 3 foot trough means a hurried bath even at the best of times. In summer, when the water being pumped out of the well is likely to run dry, the pace is bound to be frantic. Jail lore tells of the guy who’s not fast enough and has to rinse off the soap by catching the drops dripping off his neighbour’s body. The ones who don’t learn to brush teeth, take a bath and rinse out their underwear in 10 minutes flat are destined to scrape the bottom of the haus.

Negotiating the morning crowds at the tanki and long lines at the toilets requires not only speed but some presence of mind. This is particularly important in the yards and barracks with a large number of undertrials who have to prepare to attend court. In less than two hours, between the opening of barracks at 6.45 am and the court call at 8.30 am, they have to not only complete ablutions and a bath, but also catch their queues to collect and then have tea at 7 am, breakfast at 7.30 am and lunch between 8 am and 8.30 am.

It wasn’t easy for my body to adjust to the absurdity of having lunch just a half hour after breakfast. The early lunches, like so much else in prison, are the result of sheer callousness. Undertrials often spend the hours between 8.30 am and 6.30 pm on their way to court, in court, and being driven back, but the jail authorities have not seen it fit to provide them a packed lunch that can be had in the afternoon. High Court orders directing that this should be done are observed in the breach. But since the Jail Manual, which governs all activities in prison, has laid down just what a prisoner must consume, the authorities fulfil their obligations by distributing lunch to undertrials at 8 am. But when you are one among many hundreds running after scarce resources, you normally end up giving up something—either your toilet or bath, breakfast or lunch.

The food distribution is done by the energetic taapa kamaan, one of the many prisoner teams that play a vital role in keeping the jail functioning. The taapa kamaan are busy from the time the barracks are opened at around 6.45 am until they are locked around 5 pm, running around with large food containers—the taapaas from which they take their name. Two thousand stomachs demanding their timely due can be a tense proposition, and the taapa workers are a harried lot. They have to ensure that each Manual-prescribed item reaches each barrack in sufficient quantities to supply the stipulated amount to every prisoner present at the morning count.

Within this unit, the post of taapa commander can be quite a lucrative assignment. The commander is normally a convict warder, a long-serving prisoner who is given the duty of an overseer of other labouring prisoners. He is paid Rs 35 per day, but can earn a healthy side income by trading the resources under his command. By manipulating distribution, he can generate a surplus to be placed on the open market. The bhais who pay him off get more and better food. But the taapa commander’s privileges pale in comparison with the deals that jail officials strike with contractors who supply the kitchen raw materials. Many jail employees are able to take enough home to feed their families on prison supplies. These leaks result in the depletion of food that prisoners are served. In order to ensure that portions meet the weight stipulations of the Jail Manual, even the most inedible portions of vegetables make their way into prisoners’ thaalis—this can even include the rope that suppliers use to tie vegetables together.

As a result, we often attempted to improvise. One way out was to re-cook the food by spicing it up with pickles and chilli-garlic powder purchased from the prison canteen. This process is called handi, after the cooking pots fashioned out of aluminium plates. We would fabricate a fireplace from bricks or by chiselling and reshaping other aluminium vessels. Strips of newspaper and sun-dried chapaatis were used for fuel, but sometimes bits of plastic, dry twigs, old clothes, pilfered prison bedding and even copies of legal documents found their way into the fire.

‘Handi’ is also the term for the group of prisoners who take their meals together. They pool the provisions they buy from the canteen and forage from elsewhere. In the barracks, all members of a handi group sleep in one place. For people like me in the cells, however, [joining] a handi group wasn’t possible—we were locked alone in our cells so couldn’t have dinner together. Still, we ensured that the food cooked in one cell was passed on to others. This was managed through a strategy called the gaadi. The dishes would be placed on a piece of cloth that was dragged along the ground by using a string thrown from one cell to the next, rather like a sleigh made of fabric.

The Maharashtra government’s near-total ban on non-vegetarian food also challenges the skill and ingenuity of the prisoner. Trapping and hunting of squirrels, birds, bandicoots and other types of small game is a serious occupation. Even locusts and other insects that occasionally swarm the prison were collected to be sun-dried roasted and relished. Cloth traps sometimes managed to snare a bird. Others were brought down with make-do catapults. Traps in drainpipes and other passages sometimes yielded bandicoots. But the more popular method for both squirrels and rats was hunting by hand-and-stick. If one was sighted, a cry would go up and hunters would gather to corner the prey.

A well-fed bandicoot—which tastes a lot like pork—was a sizeable feast for a meat-starved group. It was quickly depilated, dismembered and cooked in a corner away from the prying eyes of jail staff and their informants. The spot behind the latrines was considered safe. This was be done under the watch of the latrine-cleaning danda kamaan, who were omnivorous and enthusiastic participants in both the chase and feast. As the band sat around for the treat, the conversation would drift back to better times. A person would talk of wild boars, another would remember rabbits. The high walls and iron bars seemed to recede. Things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

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Each barrack has its bhai to whom all lesser mortals claim or aspire to closeness. Those who succeed can hope for some alleviation in discomforts in the form of a cleaner or full set of bisthar (bedding). Though the Jail Manual says that the bisthar given should include a dhurry, a bed-sheet, two cotton-wool blankets in winter and pillow with pillow-case, the Naya Ahmad should consider himself lucky if he manages to get a single, tattered, filthy blanket or dhurry.

Even the deepest sleepers sometimes have to surrender to other sounds of the prison night. With each inmate living through his own private nightmare, moans, groans and sobs from adjoining sleepers are frequent. The awakened neighbour usually slaps the offender into silence. But not all troubled souls are so easily subdued. There are those who pierce the night with shrieks and are given much rougher strong arm [treatment] before they are quietened. The screamer who actually needs psychiatric help gets not even sympathy. As the whole barrack is roused, the more vicious types join the watchmen in beating and kicking him. Many believe this to be the only possible therapy to exorcise the devil who has taken possession of him. In a while, he is silenced and relative calm descends once more. But sleep is elusive, as [the quietened] prisoner strains silently to hide from his own demons. As seconds and minutes drag out, there is no clock to tell the time. Another hour is forfeited, never to be returned.

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In this closed world, my only window to the outside was provided by books and magazines. However, Maharashtra prisons do not have any funds to buy printed material, not even official government publications. The prison library is completely dependent on donations from individuals or voluntary organisations. The selections are completely arbitrary, consisting mainly of religious books. At first, most of the magazines I tried to subscribe to by post never reached my cell. The jailor would decide what books were fit for us. We were once denied a James Bond novel because of its cover was deemed obscene. Every now and then, they’d block a magazine to us because it contained the word ‘Maoist’ or ‘revolution’. Even the Indian Constitution was withheld for being too bulky.

When we could get our hands on them, crime novels were always a hit. Lee Child and John Grisham novels would substitute for the absence of action or court room drama we longed for. I also read the Scandinavian novels of Stieg Larsson and Henning Mankell.

The other concession grudgingly allowed by the jail administration is the mulaakaat (meeting) with family and friends. This is permitted once a month to convicted prisoners and once a week to undertrials. The families who manage to save enough money to make the long journey from their village to the jail are expected to first register their names in the morning at the mulaakaat booth near the jail gate. They must hang around for three or four hours, braving sun or rain, as the jail administration supposedly checks whether they are security worthy of a mulaakaat and have not yet exhausted their quota. After an exhausting wait, the visitors—most often women and children—are then led in batches to a room with heavily meshed windows, each with a prisoner waiting on the other side. On the other side, the prisoners have been warned that they should not exceed the time sanctioned for their mulaakaat. Undertrials get 20 minutes; convicts, 30 minutes. There is always a certain desperation on both sides of the mesh, as prisoners and their families make sure that nothing to be conveyed is missed in the short time at hand.

My first visitors were my parents and brother. Although my wife wanted to visit me, we decided that she should not do so because of police threats to arrest her too. At the first mulaakaat, my parents could only see me as a silhouette behind the wire mesh. They had only by voice to recognise me by. The wire mesh ensured that no reassuring hugs could be exchanged. As my detention stretched on, my family only managed to meet me every two months. We’d plan to meet when I was being produced in court, though the guards escorting me would occasionally refuse to grant us this luxury. Through my years in jail, my baby son never got to see me. He did not know that I was in prison. If he had come, he’d have to see a silhouette with fettered hands for a father. We felt that this would be too much for a two-year-old to understand.

My family would try to fill me in about happenings at home, and I would entertain them with anecdotes about prison life. But as the number of cases in which I was being charged kept increasing, developments in each trial became more confusing, and discussing them with my aged parents became difficult. Ultimately, the mulaakaats narrowed to my giving them a list of things I required and their promising to bring them to the next meeting and write regularly.

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As I realised in Nagpur Jail, the majority of inmates didn’t fit any recognisable definition of a ‘criminal’. They had landed in jail either because they had been falsely implicated by the police or because of an attack they’d committed in a fit of anger, often during a family feud. They had been convicted due to poor legal advice at their trials.

After the initial shock conviction, they had to steer stoically into a routine amenable to living out the long years in jail—which in the case of life sentences in Maharashtra average 17-18 years.

A large number find some solace in a rigid schedule of prayer and fasting, puja, namaaz and roza. Prison nurtures spirituality. It has the merit of at least temporarily inducing the type of peace obtained by casting your lot with the supernatural. The sanctimony of ritual has the sanctity of administrative approval. It benefits the prisoner to show up at, or even organise, religious ceremonies sanctioned by the jail management.

This game of hide-and-seek between illusion and fact, between hope and despair, is the constant of almost any prisoner’s existence. The trick to be mastered is to ensure that fact is not permitted to pierce illusion and despair not allowed to overcome hope. Once prisoners realise this, it isn’t really that difficult to keep their balance.

As an undertrial, you tell yourself that the trial’s going well, all witnesses [against you] have failed, and you are bound to be acquitted. If you have been convicted, you pin your hopes on the higher courts. And in this, the endemic delays of the Indian judicial system are a real blessing. Hope remains alive till the Supreme Court, by which time you have reached what you feel should be the end of your sentence. It is then the remissions and pardons that you look forward to.

You enter that puzzled yet hope-filled period of waiting for the finalisation of your likhaan, the colloquial term for the review file prepared by the Jail Judicial Department for every long-sentence convict. This document is sent to the state government for reviewing prisoners’ sentences and to obtain an order of premature release. This file reports the prisoner’s conduct in jail and contains calculations of the set-offs he is eligible for. It also contains recommendations of the jail, police and administrative authorities. Since government rules for a premature release are so complicated, it is rare for any prisoner to be able to estimate what likhaan he will finally get.

It takes years for Mantralaya to decide. It is only then that you have some idea of when you can expect to be finally released. This starts your ulti ginti, the countdown, as you tick off the days remaining for you to go home.

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Throughout all this, as you battle to maintain your balance, the abiding symbol of hope and despair is the Lal Gate, the red exit gate. It reappears in rhetoric, in small talk, in jokes and of course in your dreams. It is the barrier that holds you in and the opening that will lead you out. The secret is to ignore the barricade and only see the door. That helps maintain some semblance of normal life.

But for some, the long years of prison life are without the slightest contact or communication with the outside world. Poverty prevents them from even finding the money for the surety the State demands for sending a prisoner on furlough or parole.

Besides, many families can’t afford the expense of travelling to jail for the monthly mulaakaat. Illiteracy or a breakdown of family relations could mean that there won’t even be a letter. As the lonely years stretch on, the line separating these prisoners from insanity steadily blurs.

Sixty-three-year-old Kithulal was one such person. He would cheat time to present some semblance of normal life. He would manage to convince himself that he’d almost done his time and that the benevolent government would soon announce a special remission that would see him released. The three or four months before each Republic and Independence Day were periods of carefully cultivated hope; anyone who cared to listen would be told that the Government will announce an extraordinary reprieve and he would walk out of the Lal Gate on the great day.

As the day would come and go, despair would render this most talkative of inmates unusually silent.

He’d then resort to other devices. He would get absorbed in a flurry of apparently irrational activity, as if sweat expended in sufficient quantities would wash away the pain. The normal opiate of fasts and other rituals would take on larger dimensions.

In a short time, he’d be pinning his hopes on his next release date.

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In keeping with the law, I applied for bail in August 2007. However, I came to realise that speedy trials in the Indian judicial process are a luxury. It takes three-five years on average for a trial to be completed. For nearly a year-and-a-half, I would travel almost daily in a police van accompanied by armed police personnel for almost seven hours from Nagpur to Gondia or Chandrapur.

On reaching the court, I would find that I had been brought late or that the judge was on vacation. Often, my trips and those of my lawyers would go wasted because the prosecution witness had not turned up.

One particular case dragged on for over three years and was finally completed with my acquittal after the examination of only one witness. My captors were using the due process of law to penalise me. My only hope was to patiently complete each case and be finally released.

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In my first year in prison, in the isolated anda barrack, my co-accused and I were kept away from the other prisoners because the jail administration considered us far too dangerous to be [allowed to associate] with them.

To signal that we were different, all alleged Naxalite prisoners were forced to wear prison uniforms with green arm bands. In April 2008, all 13 of us went on an indefinite hunger strike. Among our demands: end our isolation, stop arresting social activists as Naxalites, and don’t force undertrials to wear uniforms.

In order to undermine us, we were dispersed into separate barracks. I was transferred to phasi yard—for prisoners [on death row].

Our strike lasted 27 days. None of our demands were fulfilled. Instead, the police officer who was conducting an inquiry into the matter advised the jail officials to scatter us across other jails. An additional criminal case was registered against us, of attempting to commit suicide—this was the ninth case I had to deal with.

+++

In September 2011, the courts finally dismissed the last of the nine cases against me. Prison wisdom says that the first few months of jail life and the last ones are the most horrible. As freedom neared, the days grew longer and nights sleepless. Court production dates also got reduced. All reading and writing became extremely burdensome. I started making plans for life beyond Lal Gate.

On 27 September, I left prison. I could see my parents standing outside. As they watched, in the company of journalists and my lawyers, a posse of policemen in plain clothes bundled me away in an unmarked vehicle. The police charged me with two more Naxalite-related cases, and I was sent back to prison.

I was crushed at the thought of having to [suffer] the same cycle of torture, bail applications and endless waits for trial dates all over again. But this time, thankfully, it was quicker. A vociferous public outcry and the skills of my lawyers worked in my favour.

On 4 January 2012, I was released on bail in the last remaining case. After four years, eight months, I walked out of Lal Gate a free man.

Capitalism: A Structural Genocide

In the wake of the global financial crisis and ongoing savage government cuts across the world, Garry Leech addresses a pressing and necessary topic: the nature of contemporary capitalism, and how it inherently generates inequality and structural violence.

Drawing on a number of fascinating case studies—including the forced displacement of farmers in Mexico, farmer suicides in India, and deaths from preventable diseases in Sub-Saharan Africa, as well as the unsustainable exploitation of the planet’s natural resources—Leech provocatively argues that capitalism constitutes a form of genocide, and that this genocide is inherent in any social system that adheres to the logic of capital.

Essential and eye-opening, the book questions the legitimacy of a system that inevitably results in such large-scale human suffering, while going beyond mere critique to offer a more democratic, egalitarian and sustainable global alternative.

Reviews

“With the precision of a skilled prosecutor and the moral force of an Old Testament prophet, Garry Leech reveals the power that moves the world to be actively and structurally genocidal, responsible in its greed and cold calculation for no less than ten million excess deaths a year. As people take on this deadly system, they will find Capitalism an indispensible guide.” – Joel Kovel, author of The Enemy of Nature

“Leech argues, using convincing empirical evidence, of the destructive effects of contemporary capitalism, showing that the only plausible alternative is a socialist perspective.” – Samir Amin, author of Global History: A View from the South

“This is a must read for those participating in the Arab Spring, the Occupy movement, the Latin American revolutions, the anti-austerity protests in Europe, and for all those fighting against the depredations of the genocidal system that is global capitalism.” – William I. Robinson, author of Latin America and Global Capitalism

Table of Contents

Introduction
1. What is Structural Genocide?
2. The Logic of Capital
3. Structural Genocide: The Cases of Mexico and India
4. Structural Genocide: The Case of Sub-Saharan Africa
5. The Truly Inconvenient Truth
6. Legitimizing the Illegitimate
7. The Socialist Alternative
Conclusion

Author: Garry Leech
Publisher: Zed Books
Publishing Date: May 2012
Paperback, 192 pages
ISBN: 978-1780321998
USD $19.99

More information

 

by DANIEL KOVALIK

I just had the pleasure of reading an important new book entitled, Cocaine, Death Squads and the War on Terror: U.S. Imperialism and Class Struggle in Colombia.  This book, which was ten years in the making, is written by Oliver Villar & Drew Cottle and published and published by Monthly Review.  The premise of the book is that, despite the U.S. claims that it is engaged in a war against drugs in Colombia, it is in fact engaged in an anti-insurgency war against the left-wing FARC guerillas – a war which does not seek to eradicate coca growing and cocaine production in Colombia at all.

Rather, the U.S. war effort (which has cost U.S. taxpayers over $7 billion since 2000) is designed to ensure that the allies of the U.S. in Colombia — that is, the Colombian state, paramilitaries and wealthy elite who are favorable to U.S. business interests and to the U.S.’s desire for exploitation of Colombia’s vast resources — are themselves able to monopolize the drug trade so critical to their survival.

This thesis is well expressed in the Forward by Peter Dale Scott:

The CIA can (and does) point to its role in the arrest or elimination of a number of major Colombian traffickers.   These arrests have not diminished the actual flow of cocaine into the United States, which on the contrary reached a new high in 2000.  But they have institutionalized the relationship of law enforcement to rival cartels and visibly contributed to the increase of urban cartel violence.   The true purpose of most of these campaigns, like the current Plan Colombia, has not been the hopeless ideal of eradication.   It has been to alter market share:  to target specific enemies and thus ensure that the drug traffic remains under the control of those traffickers who are allies of the Colombian state security apparatus and/or the CIA.  This confirms the judgment of Senate investigator Jack Blum a decade ago, that America, instead of battling a narcotics conspiracy, has in a subtle way . . . become part of the conspiracy.

These may seem like wild claims at first blush, but the authors put this in context by reminding the reader of the history of U.S. war efforts since World War II, many of which have been financed, at least in part, through alliances with drug traffickers.   The litany of this is a long one, with the OSS (the predecessor of the CIA) forming a strategic alliance with the Sicilian and Corsican mafia after World War II to prevent possible communist uprisings in Europe and to smash left-wing unions; the CIA’s assisting the Kuomintang with its opium trafficking operations to fund their joint anti-communist efforts in Asia; the CIA’s actual trafficking of opium out of Laos, Burma and Thailand to help fund the U.S. counter-insurgency effort in South East Asia; the CIA’s support of “the chief smugglers of Afghan opium, the anti-communist Mujahedin rebels in Afghanistan” in their efforts against the pro-Soviet government in Afghanistan, leading ultimately to Afghanistan becoming one of the largest opium suppliers in the world (a status only briefly interrupted when it was under Taliban control); and the Reagan Administration’s funding the Nicaraguan Contras (after such funding was outlawed by Congress) by, among other things, cocaine smuggling operations.

The book quotes the United Nations Drug Control Program (UNDCP) which concludes that, today, “the biggest heroin and cocaine trading institutions in the world are the militaries of Burma, Pakistan, Mexico, Peru and Colombia – ‘all armed and trained by U.S. military intelligence in the name of anti-drug efforts.’”   In the case of Colombia, while the U.S., to justify its massive counterinsurgency program, vilifies the FARC guerillas as “narco-terrorists,” this title is more befitting of the Colombian state and its paramilitary allies.

Indeed, Colombian President Alvaro Uribe, who had been both the darling of the Bush and Obama Administrations, had himself been ranked by the U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency as number “82 on a list of 104 ‘more important narco-traffickers contracted by the Colombian narcotics cartels . . . .”

As the book explains, the U.S.’s own Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) has concluded that the “FARC involvement in the drug trade mainly involves the taxation of coca, which does not involve cocaine manufacturing, trafficking, and transshipment.”   As the UNDCP explains, some FARC fronts are not involved in even the taxation of coca, and still others “’actually tell the farmers not to grow coca.’”   In terms of the actual trafficking in drugs, it is the friends of the U.S. who are largely responsible for this.  Thus, as the book notes, quoting the Council on Hemispheric Affairs, while there is “no evidence of FARC involvement in drug trafficking,” there is indeed “extensive drug smuggling to the United States by ‘right-wing paramilitary groups in collaboration with wealthy drug barons, the [U.S.-funded] armed forces, key financial figures and senior bureaucrats.”  And yet, the U.S. war in Colombia is focused upon destroying the FARC, and, to the extent it is aimed at the manual eradication of coca crops, this eradication takes place almost solely in areas under FARC control, leaving the big-time drug traffickers alone.

As for the right-wing paramilitary death squads, which carry out the vast majority of terrorist acts against civilian targets in Colombia, while the U.S. has accurately designated them as “terrorists,” these paramilitaries are an integral part of the military and government which the U.S. is funding and an integral part of the U.S. effort to defeat both the guerilla insurgency as well as any peaceful resistance to U.S. imperial aims.  And so, not only is the paramilitaries’ drug running tolerated by the U.S., but also their very terror.   And, what terror it is.

The book, citing Colombian investigative journalist Azalea Robles, claims that 250,000 Colombian civilians have been “disappeared” in the last two decades in Colombia, dwarfing the “disappearances” carried out (also with U.S. support by the way) by the fascist juntas of Argentina, Chile and Uruguay in the 1970’s.   According to Robles, these numbers have been “systematically reduced” (that is, hidden) by mass graves, like the one discovered in Meta in 2009, and even crematory ovens.

The murder and “disappearance” of such vast numbers of people is part and parcel of the U.S.’s policy — used most famously by the U.S. in Vietnam, El Salvador and Guatemala – to “drain the sea [the civilian population] to kill the fish [the insurgents]” which represent a continued impediment to the U.S.’s designs of super-exploitation of Colombia’s vast natural resources.  And, the U.S. view is that, if this policy also forces us to collaborate and even protect forces which are deeply involved in the drug trade, then that is acceptable as well.

Meanwhile, the U.S. continues to carry out such a duplicitous policy in the interest of a “war on drugs and a war on terror.”  As the book properly concludes, this war is, in fact, “a war for drugs and of terror.”

Daniel Kovalik is Senior Associate General Counsel of the United Steelworkers (USW) and a contributor to Hopeless: Barack Obama and the Politics of Illusion. He can be reached at dkovalik at usw.org

IRA Green Book

The IRA Green Book is a training and induction manual issued by the Irish Republican Army to new volunteers. It was used by the post-Irish Civil War Irish Republican Army (IRA) and Cumann na mBan, (“League of Women”), along with offspring groupings such as the Provisional IRA (PIRA). It includes a statement of military objectives, tactics and conditions for military victory against the British Army and their allies. In the IRA’s and PIRA’s understanding this military victory was to be achieved as part of “the ongoing liberation of Ireland from foreign occupiers”. The Green Book has acted as a manual of conduct and induction to the organisation since at least the 1950s.

 

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IRA-Green-Book-Volumes-1-and-2

Three Books that Fomented Revolution

Herbert Marcuse’s One Dimensional Man; Frantz Fanon’s Wretched of the Earth, Carlos Marighella’s Mini-Manual of the Urban Guerrilla. Three books that helped kickstart the Baader-Meinhof Group’s attempted revolution.(http://www.baader-meinhof.com/tag/carlos-marighella/)

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One Dimensional Man

നിലമ്പൂരില്‍ പ്രത്യേക ദൗത്യസേനയുമായുള്ള ഏറ്റുമുട്ടലില്‍ രണ്ടു മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകള്‍ കൊല്ലപ്പെട്ടുവെന്ന് 2011 ല്‍ മലയാള മനോരമ റിപോര്‍ട് ചെയ്തു. എന്നാല്‍ തുടര്‍ ദിവസങ്ങളില്‍ ഇതിന്റെ ഫോളോഅപ്പുകള്‍ ഉണ്ടായില്ല. ആരാണ് മരിച്ചത്, ശരീരങ്ങള്‍ എവിടെ തുടങ്ങി നിരവധി ചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍ ശരാശരി വായനക്കാരനു മുന്നില്‍ ബാക്കിയായി. അടിയന്തിരാവസ്ഥക്കാലത്ത് കക്കയം ക്യാംപില്‍ ഉരുട്ടിക്കൊന്ന രാജന്റെ മൃതദേഹത്തെ കുറിച്ചുള്ള അന്വേഷണങ്ങളും വിവാദങ്ങളും ഇന്നും തുടരുന്ന സാഹചര്യത്തില്‍ നിലമ്പൂര്‍ സംഭവം വേണ്ടത്ര ചര്‍ച്ച ചെയ്യപ്പെട്ടില്ല എന്നത് ശ്രദ്ധേയമാണ്. പ്രത്യേകിച്ച് 90കളില്‍ കേരളത്തില്‍ നക്‌സലൈറ്റു പ്രസ്ഥാനങ്ങള്‍ പിരിച്ചു വിട്ടതിനു ശേഷം !. നിലമ്പൂര്‍ ഏറ്റുമുട്ടലിനെ കുറിച്ചുള്ള വാര്‍ത്ത വ്യാജമായിരുന്നോ?  കേരളത്തിന്റെ വനാന്തരങ്ങളില്‍ രണ്ടു മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകള്‍ ഏറ്റുമുട്ടലില്‍ കൊല്ലപ്പെട്ടു എന്ന വളരെ ഏറെ പ്രാധാന്യമര്‍ഹിക്കുന്ന ഒരു വാര്‍ത്ത മലയാള മനോരമ പോലുള്ള മുഖ്യധാരാ പത്രം വ്യാജമായി സൃഷ്ടിച്ചതായിരുന്നോ ? വിശ്വസനീയമായ സോഴ്‌സില്‍ നിന്നു തന്നെയായിരിക്കണം ലേഖകനു ഈ വാര്‍ത്ത കിട്ടിയത്. എങ്കില്‍ അത് എവിടെ നിന്നായിരിക്കും ?

മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകള്‍ക്കെതിരായി നിറം കലര്‍ന്ന നിരവധി കഥകള്‍ കാലങ്ങളായി കേരളത്തില്‍ പ്രചരിക്കുന്നുണ്ട്. മൂവായിരം കേഡര്‍മാര്‍ സായുധ സമരത്തിനു തയ്യാറായി നില്‍ക്കുന്നു, പാര്‍ടി ജനറല്‍ സെക്രട്ടറി ഗണപതി കേരളത്തില്‍, വനങ്ങളില്‍ മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകള്‍ തുടങ്ങി നിരവധി കഥകളാണ് 2007 ല്‍ സി.പി.ഐ (മാവോയിസ്റ്റ)് പി.ബി അംഗം മല്ലരാജ റെഡ്ഡിയെ അങ്കമാലിയില്‍ നിന്നും അറസ്റ്റ് ചെയ്തതിനു ശേഷം തന്നെ പുറത്തു വന്നത്. പിന്നീട് 2010 ജൂലൈയില്‍ നിലമ്പൂരില്‍ തീവണ്ടിയുടെ ബ്രേക്ക് പൈപ്പ് മുറിച്ചതിനു പിന്നില്‍ മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകളാണെന്നാണ് സര്‍ക്കാര്‍ ആരോപിച്ചത്. അതേസമയം വൈദ്യുതി മന്ത്രി ആര്യാടന്‍ മുഹമ്മദിന്റെയും മകന്‍ ആര്യാടന്‍ ഷൗക്കത്തിന്റെയും പങ്കിനെകുറിച്ചുയര്‍ന്ന ആരോപണങ്ങള്‍ മാധ്യമങ്ങള്‍ ബോധപൂര്‍വ്വം മുക്കുകയും ചെയ്തു. എല്ലാവരും പോലിസ് ഭാഷ്യം മാത്രം ഏറ്റുപാടി. എയര്‍ ബ്രേക്ക് മുറിച്ചു മാറ്റിയാല്‍ തീവണ്ടി ചലനക്ഷമമല്ലാതാവും എന്ന സാമാന്യ തത്വം പോലും മറച്ചു വെച്ചായിരുന്നു പ്രചരണങ്ങള്‍ കൊടുമ്പിരികൊണ്ടത്.

മാവോയിസ്റ്റ് നേതാവ് രൂപേഷ് മാധ്യമം ആഴ്ച്ചപതിപ്പിനു നല്‍കിയ അഭിമുഖത്തില്‍, വിഷയത്തില്‍ പങ്കില്ലെന്ന് പ്രഖ്യാപിച്ചെങ്കിലും മാധ്യമങ്ങള്‍ അതു ശ്രദ്ധയിലെടുത്തില്ല. തുടര്‍ന്ന് 2010 ആഗസ്റ്റില്‍ സര്‍ക്കാര്‍ രൂപേഷിനു വേണ്ടി ലുക്കഔട്ട് നോട്ടീസ് പുറത്തിറക്കി. ആന്ധ്രപ്രദേശ് മുഖ്യമന്ത്രി ചന്ദ്രബാബു നായിഡുവിനു നേരെ നടന്ന കുഴിബോംബാക്രമണത്തില്‍ പോലും രൂപേഷ് പ്രതിയാണെന്ന വളരെ ആശ്ചര്യജനകമായ പൊടിക്കഥകള്‍ വരെ മാധ്യമങ്ങള്‍ മെനഞ്ഞടുത്തു. ആന്ധ്രപ്രദേശ് പോലിസ് രൂപേഷിന്റെ തലക്കു 25 ലക്ഷം രൂപ വിലയിട്ടിട്ടുണ്ടെന്നും പോലിസും മാധ്യമങ്ങളും പ്രചരിപ്പിച്ചു. സി.പി.ഐ(മാവോയിസ്റ്റ്) ജനറല്‍ സെക്രട്ടറി ഗണപതിക്കു പോലും 12 ലക്ഷം രൂപ മാത്രമേ ആന്ധ്രസര്‍ക്കാര്‍ വിലയിട്ടിട്ടുള്ളു എന്ന യാഥാര്‍ഥ്യം കേരളത്തിലെ മാധ്യമങ്ങള്‍ ബോധപൂര്‍വ്വം മറച്ചു വെച്ചു. സംസ്ഥാനത്തെ നാലുജില്ലകളില്‍ മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകള്‍ സജീവ സാന്നിധ്യമാണെന്നു ഇന്റലിജന്‍സ് മേധാവി, ചീഫ് ഫോറസ്റ്റ് കണ്‍സര്‍വേറ്റര്‍ക്കു 2012 ഏപ്രില്‍ അവസാനം നല്‍കിയ റിപോര്‍ടോടെയാണ് മാവോയിസ്റ്റു വിരുദ്ധ പ്രചരണത്തിന്റെ അടുത്തഘട്ടം ആരംഭിക്കുന്നത്. തുടര്‍ന്ന് സംസ്ഥാനത്തിന്റെ അതിര്‍ത്തി പ്രദേശങ്ങളില്‍ സംയുക്ത തിരച്ചില്‍ തുടര്‍ന്നു കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുകയാണ്. കേരളത്തില്‍ കാലാകാലങ്ങളില്‍ ഉയര്‍ന്നു വന്ന മാവോയിസ്റ്റ് ഭീകരതയെ കുറിച്ചുള്ള മാധ്യമചര്‍ച്ചകള്‍ യഥാര്‍ഥത്തില്‍ വടക്കുകിഴക്കന്‍ സംസ്ഥാനങ്ങളിലും മധ്യഇന്ത്യയിലും നടമാടുന്ന സൈനികവല്‍ക്കരണങ്ങള്‍ കേരളത്തിലേക്കും വ്യാപിപ്പിക്കുന്നതിന്റെ മുന്നൊരുക്കമാണോ എന്നു ന്യായമായും സംശയിക്കേണ്ടിയിരിക്കുന്നു.

ഇന്ത്യയിലെ വിശാലമായ ഭൂപ്രദേശങ്ങളില്‍ കേന്ദ്ര ആഭ്യന്തരമന്ത്രി പി ചിദംബരത്തിന്റെയും ജയറാം രമേശിന്റെയും നേതൃത്വത്തില്‍ ലക്ഷക്കണക്കിനു സൈനികരെ അണിനിരത്തി നടത്തി കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുന്ന ഓപ്പറേഷന്‍ ഗ്രീന്‍ഹണ്ടിന്റെ വിത്തുകള്‍ പാകുന്നത്, നക്‌സലൈറ്റുകളാണ് ഇന്ത്യയുടെ പ്രധാന ആഭ്യന്തരഭീഷണിയെന്ന’ പ്രധാനമന്ത്രി മന്‍മോഹന്റെ 2006ലെ പ്രസ്ഥാവനയോടെയാണ്. തുടര്‍ന്ന് ഇന്ത്യയിലെ കുത്തക കമ്പനികളുടെ ഉടമസ്ഥതയിലുള്ള മുഖ്യധാരാ മാധ്യമങ്ങള്‍ മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകള്‍ ഇന്ത്യയുടെ വികസനത്തെ തുരങ്കംവെക്കുന്നുവെന്നും ഇതിനെതിരേ സൈനിക നീക്കങ്ങള്‍ ആവശ്യമാണെന്നും മറ്റും വ്യാപകമായി പ്രചരണങ്ങളഴിച്ചു വിട്ടു. പിന്നീട് ഇന്ത്യന്‍ സൈന്യത്തിന്റെയും മറ്റും സഹായത്തോടെ കോബ്രകളടക്കം പ്രത്യേക സൈനികവിഭാഗങ്ങളെയും സര്‍ക്കാര്‍ രൂപവല്‍ക്കരിച്ചു. യുദ്ധത്തിനായി ആളില്ലാ വിമാനങ്ങളും കവചിത വാഹനങ്ങളും അത്യാധുനിക ആയുധങ്ങളും സംഭരിക്കുന്നതോടൊപ്പം യുദ്ധക്കൊതിയന്‍മാരായ ഇസ്രായേലും അമേരിക്കയടക്കമുള്ള രാജ്യങ്ങളുമായി രഹസ്യാന്വേഷണത്തിലും സൈനികമേഖലയിലും സഹകരണം വിപുലപ്പെടുത്തുകയും കൂടി ചെയ്തു. ഇതിനോടനുബന്ധിച്ച് ലോകത്തിലേറ്റവും വലിയ ആയുധം ഇറക്കുമതി ചെയ്യുന്ന രാജ്യത്തിലേക്കുള്ള കുതിപ്പ് ഇക്കാലയളവിലാണ് എന്നതും പ്രത്യേകം ശ്രദ്ധേയമാണ്. കോടിക്കണക്കിനു രൂപ ചെലവഴിച്ചുള്ള തയ്യാറെടുപ്പുകളാണ് ഇക്കാലയളവില്‍ സര്‍ക്കാര്‍ പൂര്‍ത്തീകരിച്ചത്. തുടര്‍ന്ന് 2009 ജൂലൈയോടെയാണ് ഇന്ത്യയില്‍ ഓപ്പറേഷന്‍ ഗ്രീന്‍ഹണ്ട് ആരംഭിക്കുന്നത്.

എന്നാല്‍ മല്ലരാജ റെഡ്ഡിയുടെ അറസ്റ്റിനും മാവോയിസ്റ്റ് വിരുദ്ധ പ്രചാരണങ്ങള്‍ ശക്തിപെടുന്നതിനും മുമ്പേ തന്നെ പതിമൂന്നംഗ നക്‌സല്‍ വിരുദ്ധ ഏകോപിത സംസ്ഥാനങ്ങളില്‍ കേരളത്തെയും ഉള്‍പ്പെടുത്തിയിരുന്നു. ഇതോടൊപ്പം ചത്തീസ്ഗഡിലെ വനയുദ്ധ അക്കാഡമിയിലും നിരവധി വ്യാജ ഏറ്റുമുട്ടല്‍ കൊലകളിലുടെ കുപ്രസിദ്ധരായ ആന്ധ്രയിലെ ഗ്രേഹൗണ്ട്‌സിനൊപ്പം ഫീല്‍ഡ് പരിശീലനത്തിലൂടെ പ്രത്യേക കമാന്റോ വിഭാഗത്തിനെയും പരിശീലിപ്പിച്ചെടുത്തിരുന്നു. സൈനികവല്‍ക്കരണത്തിനു സഹായകരമാം വിധത്തില്‍ വ്യാജ റിപോര്‍ടുകള്‍ പടച്ചു വിടുന്നതില്‍ കേന്ദ്ര ആഭ്യന്തര മന്ത്രാലയവും മോശമായിരുന്നില്ല. 2008ല്‍ കേരളത്തിലെ പതിനാലു ജില്ലകളും മാവോയിസ്റ്റ് ബാധിതമായിരുന്നുവെന്നാണ് അവര്‍ രേഖപ്പെടുത്തിയത്. 2011ലെ റിപോര്‍ടില്‍ എട്ട് ജില്ലകളെയാണ് നക്‌സല്‍ ബാധിതമായി ചിത്രീകരിച്ചിരിക്കുന്നത്. അതേ സമയം തീവ്രവാദികളെയും പ്രസ്ഥാനങ്ങളെയും കുറിച്ചു വിശദമായ വിവരങ്ങള്‍ നല്‍കുന്ന സൗത്ത് ഏഷ്യ ടെററിസം പോര്‍ടല്‍ (എസ്.എ.ടി.പി) 2008ല്‍ മൂന്നു ജില്ലകളില്‍ മാവോയിസ്റ്റുകള്‍ക്കു സ്വാധീനമുണ്ടെന്നാണു അവകാശപ്പെട്ടിരുന്നത്. ആഭ്യന്തര മന്ത്രിയും ഓപ്പറേഷന്‍ ഗ്രീന്‍ ഹണ്ടിന്റെ ചീഫ് എക്‌സിക്യൂട്ടിവ് ഓഫീസറായ പി ചിദംബരവും എസ്.എ.ടി.പിയുടെ രക്ഷാധികാരിയും പഞ്ചാബിലെ ഖാലിസ്ഥാന്‍ പ്രസ്ഥാനത്തെ അടിച്ചമര്‍ത്തുന്നതിനു നേതൃത്വം നല്‍കിയ കെ പി എസ് ഗില്ലും ഇത്തരം വ്യാജ കണക്കുകള്‍ പുറത്തു വിടുന്നതിന്റെ ഉദ്ദേശ്യം എന്തായിരിക്കും എന്നു ഊഹിക്കാവുന്നതേയുള്ളു.


കേരള സര്‍ക്കാരും കേന്ദ്രത്തിന്റെ മാതൃക പിന്തുടര്‍ന്ന് ആഭ്യന്തരയുദ്ധത്തിനുള്ള തയ്യാറെടുപ്പിലാണ്. രാജ്യത്തുള്ള 145 ഇന്ത്യന്‍ റിസര്‍വ്വ് ബറ്റാലിയനുകളില്‍ ഒന്നു മാത്രമേ കേരളത്തിനു ലഭിച്ചുള്ളുവെന്നും ഇനിയും വേണമെന്നുമാണ് ആഭ്യന്തര സുരക്ഷയുമായ് ബന്ധപ്പെട്ട് ഡല്‍ഹിയില്‍ ഈ വര്‍ഷം ഏപ്രിലില്‍ നടന്ന യോഗത്തില്‍ മുഖ്യമന്ത്രി ഉമ്മന്‍ചാണ്ടി കേന്ദ്രത്തോട് ആവശ്യപ്പെട്ടത്. ഇത് കേരളവും ആഭ്യന്തര മന്ത്രി പി ചിദംബരത്തിന്റെ നേതൃത്വത്തില്‍ നടക്കുന്ന ജനങ്ങള്‍ക്കെതിരായ യുദ്ധത്തില്‍ പങ്കാളിയാവുന്നുവെന്നതിന്റെ കൃത്യമായ സൂചനയാണ്. ഓരോ വര്‍ഷവും പോലിസിന്റെ അംഗബലം അഞ്ചു ശതമാനം വീതം വര്‍ധിപ്പിച്ചു 500 പേര്‍ക്ക് ഒരു പോലിസ് എന്നതാണ് സര്‍ക്കാരി്‌ന്റെ ലക്ഷ്യമെന്നും ഇതിനു കേന്ദ്രം കനിയണമെന്നും ഉമ്മന്‍ചാണ്ടി അതേ യോഗത്തില്‍ ആവശ്യപ്പെട്ടിരുന്നു.

സംസ്ഥാനത്തിന്റെ വിവിധ ഭാഗങ്ങളില്‍ അതിര്‍ത്തി രക്ഷാസേന (ബി.എസ്.എഫ്), സി.ആര്‍.പി.എഫ് തുടങ്ങി വിവിധ സേനകളുടെ കേന്ദ്രങ്ങള്‍ സ്ഥാപിക്കാനുള്ള നീക്കങ്ങള്‍ നടക്കുന്നുവെന്നതും ഇതോടൊപ്പം ചേര്‍ത്തു വായിക്കാവുന്നതാണ്. കേരളത്തില്‍ തിരുവനന്തപുരം ഹെഡ് ക്വാര്‍ട്ടറായി പ്രവര്‍ത്തിക്കുന്ന ബി.എസ്.എഫിന്റെ ആദ്യ ക്യാംപ് 2011ല്‍ തൃശൂരിലെ കൈനൂരിലാണ് സ്ഥാപിച്ചത്. ഇവിടെയുണ്ടായിരുന്ന പന്നി വളര്‍ത്തല്‍ കേന്ദ്രം ജനകീയ പ്രതിഷേധത്തെ തുടര്‍ന്ന് അടച്ചു പൂട്ടിയതിനു ശേഷമാണ് കൈനൂരില്‍ ബി.എസ്.എഫ് ക്യാംപ് തുടങ്ങിയത്. ഇവിടെ 1200 ജവാന്‍മാരാണുള്ളത്. ദക്ഷിണേന്ത്യയിലേക്ക് പ്രവര്‍ത്തനം വ്യാപിപ്പിക്കുക എന്ന ഉദ്ദേശ്യത്തോടെയാണ് കേരളത്തില്‍ ക്യാംപുകള്‍ ആരംഭിച്ചതെന്നു ഉദ്യോഗസ്ഥര്‍ പറയുന്നു. കോഴിക്കോട് നാദാപുരത്തെ അരീക്കരക്കുന്നില്‍ അടുത്ത ക്യാംപിന്റെ പ്രവര്‍ത്തനങ്ങള്‍ പൂരോഗമിക്കുകയാണ്. 60 ഏക്കറോളം ഭൂമി ഏറ്റെടുത്തിട്ടുള്ള ഇവിടെ പ്രവൃത്തികള്‍ പൂര്‍ത്തിയായാല്‍ 1,200 ജവാന്‍മാരെ വിന്യസിക്കും. രാജ്യാതിര്‍ത്തികള്‍ സംരക്ഷിക്കുക, അതിര്‍ത്തി വഴിയുള്ള നിയമവിരുദ്ധ പ്രവര്‍ത്തനങ്ങള്‍ തടയുക, കുടിയേറ്റം തടയുക തുടങ്ങി നിരവധി ഉത്തരവാദിത്തങ്ങളുള്ള ബി.എസ്.എഫിന്റെ കേന്ദ്രങ്ങള്‍ ഒരു രാജ്യവുമായും കരഅതിര്‍ത്തി പങ്കിടാത്ത കേരളത്തില്‍ സ്ഥാപിക്കുന്നത് ആശങ്കയും ആശ്ചര്യവും ഉയര്‍ത്തിയിട്ടുണ്ട്.

പ്രത്യേക സാഹചര്യങ്ങളില്‍ സംസ്ഥാന പോലിസിനെ സഹായിക്കുക കൂടി സേനയുടെ ലക്ഷ്യമാണെന്നാണ് ബി.എസ്.എഫ് ഡി.ഐ.ജി ജോര്‍ജ് മാഞ്ഞൂരാന്‍ മുമ്പ് അഭിപ്രായപ്പെട്ടത്. അതിര്‍ത്തിയിലെ പ്രവര്‍ത്തനങ്ങള്‍ക്കു പുറമേ 90കളില്‍ സ്വാതന്ത്ര്യത്തിനു വേണ്ടി കശ്മീര്‍ ജനത നടത്തിയ സായുധ സമരത്തെ അടിച്ചമര്‍ത്താനും ബി.എസ്.എഫിനെ വിന്യസിച്ചിരുന്നു. നിലവില്‍ ഓപ്പറേഷന്‍ ഗ്രീന്‍ ഹണ്ടിനു വേണ്ടിയും ബി.എസ്.എഫിനെ കേന്ദ്രസര്‍ക്കാര്‍ ഉപയോഗിക്കുന്നുണ്ട്. സംസ്ഥാനത്തു പുതിയ സി.ആര്‍.പി.എഫ് ക്യാംപുകള്‍ സ്ഥാപിക്കാനുള്ള നീക്കങ്ങളും സജീവമാണ്. കോഴിക്കോട് പേരാമ്പ്രയിലും ഇടുക്കിയിലും സി.ആര്‍.പി.എഫ് ക്യാംപുകള്‍ സ്ഥാപിക്കുമെന്നു കേന്ദ്ര ആഭ്യന്തര സഹമന്ത്രി മുല്ലപ്പള്ളി രാമചന്ദ്രന്‍ പ്രഖ്യാപിച്ചിരുന്നു. പേരാമ്പ്രയിലെ ക്യാംപിന്റെ പ്രവര്‍ത്തനങ്ങള്‍ പുരോഗമിച്ചു കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുകയാണ്.

കഴിഞ്ഞ ഇടതു സര്‍ക്കാരിന്റെ കാലത്ത് തുടങ്ങിയ വിദ്യാര്‍ഥി പോലിസ് (എസ്.പി.സി), ജനകീയ പോലിസ്, തീരദേശ പോലിസ്, അധ്യാപക പോലിസ്, ഹോംഗാര്‍ഡ് തുടങ്ങിയവയും വലിയതോതിലുള്ള ഈ സൈനികവല്‍ക്കരണത്തിന്റെ ഭാഗമാണ്. ഇക്കാലയളവില്‍ കേരളത്തില്‍ നടന്ന ന്യനപക്ഷ, ദലിത് വേട്ടയേയും ഇതിന്റെ പ്രതിഫലനങ്ങളായി കാണാവുന്നതാണ്. അതേ സമയം കേരളത്തിലെ വ്യവസ്ഥാപിത ഇടതുപക്ഷത്തിന്റെയും വലതു പക്ഷ മാധ്യമങ്ങളുടെയും സ്വാധീനവലയത്തില്‍ പെട്ട സാംസ്‌കാരിക ബുദ്ധിജീവികള്‍ ഇതിനെതിരെ പ്രതികരിക്കാതിരിക്കുകയും പരോക്ഷമായി സഹായിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുന്ന നിലുപാടുകളാണ് മുന്നോട്ടു വെച്ചത്.

കൂടങ്കുളം ആണവനിലയത്തിനെതിരെ നടക്കുന്ന സമരത്തിനെതിരേ കേന്ദ്ര സേനയെ ഉപയോഗിക്കണമെന്ന് ചര്‍ച്ച ഉയര്‍ന്നത് ഏറെ വിവാദമായിരുന്നു. തിരുവനന്തപുരത്തെ വിളപ്പില്‍ ശാലയില്‍ ജനങ്ങള്‍ മാലിന്യവണ്ടികള്‍ തടഞ്ഞതിനെ തുടര്‍ന്ന് പട്ടാളത്തെ ഇറക്കണമെന്നാണ് ബഹുമാനപ്പെട്ട ഹൈക്കോടതി ആവശ്യപ്പെട്ടത്. കേരളത്തിലും ജനവിരുദ്ധ വികസനത്തിനും സ്വകാര്യവല്‍ക്കരണത്തിനും കുടിയൊഴിപ്പിക്കലിനും മാലിന്യ പ്രശ്‌നങ്ങള്‍ക്കുമെതിരേ ആയിരങ്ങള്‍ അണിനിരക്കുന്ന സമരങ്ങള്‍ ഉയര്‍ന്നു വന്നുക്കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുന്ന സാഹചര്യത്തില്‍ സൈനികവല്‍ക്കരണം ഗുരുതരമായ പ്രത്യാഘാതങ്ങള്‍ക്കു കാരണമാവുമെന്ന ആശങ്ക ശക്തമാണ്. രാജ്യത്ത് പ്രത്യേക സേനകളെ വിന്യസിച്ചിടത്തെല്ലാം കടുത്ത മനുഷ്യാവകാശ ലംഘനങ്ങളുടെയും പീഡനങ്ങളുടെയും ബലാല്‍സംഗങ്ങളുടെയും കൂട്ടക്കൊലകളുടെയും പരമ്പരകളാണ് ഉണ്ടായിട്ടുള്ളത്. ഇന്ത്യയുടെ മറ്റിടങ്ങളില്‍ നിന്നും വ്യത്യസ്ഥമായി സമാധാനാന്തരീക്ഷമുള്ള കേരളത്തെ സൈനികവല്‍ക്കരണം എന്തുമാത്രം പ്രതികൂലമായി ബാധിക്കുമെന്ന്് കാത്തിരുന്നു കാണാം.

BY അനീബ്

9645591071

Abujmarh was portrayed as the military HQ of the deadly Maoist insurgency. After an arduous week-long trip, Tusha Mittal discovers a totally different picture

Photos By Tarun Sehrawat

Aidma Kaher was threatened by SPOs involved in Operation Hakka to keep mum or else...

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Surviving against all odds Aidma Kaher was threatened by SPOs involved in Operation Hakka to keep mum or else…

ON THE morning of 15 March, a messenger arrived on the run in Jatwar, a remote village on a stony mountain slope in Chhattisgarh, with news of marching troops. A black radio, a 12-bore double-barrelled gun, a whistle, a blue plastic sheet — all his material possessions by his side — 21-year-old Nilesh was asleep under a thatched roof. A Maadia tribal, he had joined the Maoist Jan Militia three years earlier. He describes it as a “people’s squad to protect the village”.

The morning of 15 March was his first call to battle. The news was that 3,000 armed men were headed his way. On cue, Nilesh slung his rifle over his shoulder — a family hand-down from his grandfather who had used it to shoot birds — put whistle to mouth, and began the evacuation of all 30 huts in Jatwar.

As Nilesh led the villagers to a safer spot in the jungle, the sounds of firing began. This would be soon followed by the sound of mortars and grenades. The leaf cover of Jatwar’s thatched roofs would be snuffed out by the propellers of an IAF helicopter. There would be bloodstains by a tree where a CRPF jawan tried to hide, dodging bullets from across the river. By afternoon, Jatwar would become the epicentre of Operation Hakka: Abujmarh would have been breached by the Indian State.

IN A world precision-mapped to an inch by Google and GPS, in a world where men have scaled the highest peak and dived in personalised submarines to its depths, it is difficult to imagine a place that has any mystery for the contemporary imagination. But until barely a few weeks ago, Abujmarh — the almost mythic citadel of the banned CPI (Maoist) in India — was such a place.

For decades, no one from ‘mainstream’ India had ever been inside the forbidden grove: 6,000 sq km of forest, sudden streams and surging mountains. In that time, Abujmarh — which means “the unknown hills” in Gondi — had swelled in people’s minds into a place imbued with both fascination and dread. Be it the State, paramilitary forces, social activists or even seasoned journalists doing the conflict beat, everyone was accustomed to point in its general direction and speak of it in whispered tones. No one knew what to expect there. It was India’s only fully “liberated zone”. A place where the ‘writ’ of the State had ceased to exist altogether and the reign of the Maoists had begun.

So deep was the fear of the unknown that when the Indian forces stormed Abujmarh on 15 March in an assault codenamed Operation Hakka, they went in with sophisticated weapons like Swedish Carl Gustav rocket launchers and under-barrel grenade launchers. For several months before, the forces had sent drones to fly over the mountains and bring back satellite images. The dark patches in the hills that the machines brought back, they took to be armed fortifications and trenches: a citadel worthy of India’s “greatest internal security threat”.

A tribal woman goes about her daily chore
Basic necessities A tribal woman goes about her daily chore

It is a measure of both the complexity and the bathos of the Maoist-tribal crisis in India — and the inadequate narrative that has built up around it — that when Operation Hakka actually got off the ground, and the troops entered the great unknown, what they found in Abujmarh was not the military HQ of a deadly and well-organised insurgency but scraggly villages and forlorn clusters of leaf and bamboo huts. Their biggest recovery seems to have been an inkjet printer. “We had 13 encounters with vardiwale Naxal,” says Narayanpur SP Mayank Srivastav. In one, “a Naxal running away with a laptop” was possibly injured. “We could not get the laptop but we got the printer.”

Both The Indian Express and The Hindustan Times, which reported the forces’ official account of entering Abujmarh some weeks ago, mentioned this contrast between expectation and reality. But it is not the irony of their misplaced idea of Abujmarh that seemed to have caught the forces’ attention. It is the psychological victory of having entered it.

“Our most significant achievement is that we have reached a stage where we can deploy 3,000 troops and prepare them so well that they can return unharmed,” says TG Longkumer, Bastar IG. “There was a time when we lost 76 jawans in an encounter. We have grown since then. We are more secure now. We felt ready for such a challenge. There was always a view that the forces can’t enter this area. It was very important to dispel it. We wanted to break the myth of Abujmarh.”

But if the old bogey of an impenetrable military fortress is replaced only by a monochromatic idea of frail and helpless villages, the myth of Abujmarh will not have been broken: it will only have been replaced.

The ambiguous story of the Maoist insurgency and India’s tribal crisis cannot be understood properly unless Abujmarh is really breached the way it needs to be: with layered understanding. For the truth is, Abujmarh is as much a physical place as a state of mind, a shifting line, a struggle for “area domination” between contesting stories.

As Dada, a Maoist area commander in Abujmarh, says to TEHELKA, “We do not have a fixed military base. We carry everything on our shoulders. Wherever the party goes, that becomes our stronghold.”

Where then is Abujmarh really?

JAN YUDH. People’s War. A piece of white paper nailed to the bark of a tree brings our bikes to a screeching halt. “Ordinary villagers of the people’s war zone, teachers, children, elders and others,” the paper says, “this is an appeal from the CPI (Maoist) party of India. We are informing you that in the mountains, streams, villages and fields of Marh, in various places near the roads, explosive tunnels, mines and booby traps have been laid. Big holes with spikes have been dug across Marh. Travel cautiously. Do not venture into the jungles. Any resulting fatalities will not be our responsibility. The Indian Army, CRPF and Cobra Force is ready to enter our Marh. That is why we have been compelled to do all this. This notice is being given to you from 15 April 2012.”

It is 16 April now. Exactly a month since Operation Hakka and Day 1 of our own journey into Abujmarh. TEHELKA photographer Tarun Sehrawat and I avoid each others’ eye. The question of backtracking cannot be voiced. We have no idea what lies ahead. We have packed our bags with 12 bottles of Bisleri, some Maggi noodles and biscuits. As we left Narayanpur town the night before, a local contact stuffed half a bottle of Blender’s Pride whiskey into our hands: “It will numb the pain,” he said.

It was India’s only fully ‘liberated zone’. A place where the ‘writ’ of the State had ceased to exist altogether and the reign of the Maoists had begun

This morning, we had set off early from Kondagaon town, snucked undetected past the CRPF camp at Kukrajor, the last policed checkpoint in the area, and kept riding in the general direction of the hills. We wonder now if this tree bark, with the paper warning fluttering in the wind, is where Abujmarh begins.

We ride on. The road slowly peters out into mud paths, crisscrossed by streams. The slopes become steeper, the sal forest thicker. We keep climbing. Hours pass. There are no mines, no explosives, no booby traps. We start to wonder: was the notice merely a psychological tactic? (“Kuch cheez dikhane ke liye hote hai,” Rajesh, our Maoist guide, would laugh later into the journey. “Some things are only for show.”)

As yet though, we have no guides. We are riding through a landscape of fragile, threadbare beauty. Everywhere, the palate is red mud and stony brown. The lime green forests have a tropical feel but never seem to acquire any real density. The most colourful things are Maadia graves — shreds of torn sarees swaying from tress to mark a life once lived. The village huts are all made of leaves and thin bamboo reed.

Suddenly we arrive at what seems to be the Abujmarh equivalent of India Gate. An iron and steel archway boldly declares: Bharatiya Sena Vapas Jao, Bastar vasi bahari nahi hai. Jung mat lado (Indian Army go back. Bastar residents are not outsiders. Don’t fight a war with us). On the other side of the gateway, a call to arms: Bastar ke yuvao sarkar ke najais jang ke khilaph jan yudh mein shamil ho jao (Youth of Bastar, unite against the illegal war waged by the government).

After this, we occasionally pass clusters of stepped red monuments crowned by a hammer and sickle: Maoist homage to martyrs. Suddenly our bike sputters and stops. We stop at a village en route for help. An old man speaks in whispers. “I wanted a forest patta but the party has warned us against taking any help from the government,” he says. “Many men have disappeared from this village. There is no count of the number of people the party has killed.”

The man’s account is a jolt. We had expected our first interaction in the party’s own stronghold, the crucible of the revolution, to ring with fulsome praise for the Jantam Sarkar. Had their dream vision soured already or were we not in Abujmarh yet?

We continue on the endless red dirt track. As dusk falls, we start to worry. No one is waiting for us. We have no point of contact. We had expected to be stopped at Maoist checkpoints by Maoist sentries. Instead, we are just strangers riding into the darkness, hoping the party will find us. There is no way we can reach the interior villages unless the party sends escorts. No villager is willing to volunteer taking outsiders into Marh without their permission. In the distance, on the mountaintops, a fire line appears. Villagers are clearing the forest to plant the monsoon crop.

Tribals cannot venture into towns. If they stay too long for business or even medical help, they become informers in the eyes of the Maoists

Finally, we are compelled to stop. It is too dark to go on. But by sheer accident, it seems we have arrived somewhere. The men in the village we stop at have radios and country-made weapons. The radio is sure sign of party membership in these parts. These men are part of the Sangam — the party’s mass front at the village level. We send word.

A short while later, we are met by the local Maoist Gram Adhyaksh — the Maoist equivalent of a sarpanch. A frail scrawny man, he asks us to write a letter explaining our intent and asks to check our bags. We had evaded the CRPF’s search. It is strange to submit to this. I ask for a woman cadre to do the search. There are none around, so an old man is deputed instead. Turns out, the only thing that interests him is our medicine. He has a wracking cough. The Adhyaksh too is a hunchback and suffers from crippling pain. He cannot risk going to town for treatment and wants medicines too.

The Gram Sarkar Adhyaksh is a key piece of the Maoist hierarchy and strategy. Twenty seven gram sarkars make up one area. Each area has a committee with seven heads overseeing seven departments: Economic, Military and Security, Justice and Law, Farming, Health, Public Relations, and Culture. An area committee can have both uniformed and non-uniformed party members. Non-uniformed members are considered part time. They can switch between home and field and have a domestic life. Uniformed members have no permanent home and are always in the field, and on the move. They can either be part of the People’s Government or the military wing, People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army (PLGA). There is an ongoing debate in the party whether the Sarkar and PLGA should dress differently. The party decides who will work full time or part time. “We can’t have everyone in the party dress in uniform or villagers will think all the decisions are being taken by an entity other than the Janta,” says an area committee member. “Part-timers interact more with the ‘janta’ and therefore have more influence on the public.” Anyone who pays 5 annually to the party fund qualifies as the ‘janta’.

Paanch rupay do aur umeedvari pakki,” he describes. When questioned on what benefits the Rs 5 brings to villagers, he says after a pause, “While there is no externally visible benefit, it gives them so much power that they can voice their opinion anywhere.” This ‘janta’ are the citizens of the Maoist State; it is in their name that the Maoists run the Jantam Sarkar. These are people who vote in the Jan Adalat and form its mass front.

For the Indian State, one of the key challenges of confronting the Maoist insurgency is to distinguish between ordinary tribal and ideologue. In Abujmarh, it is almost impossible to do so.

The presence of a Ramakrishna Mission in the village refracts that riddle further. This ashram is one of five such in Abujmarh. Clearly, Abujmarh has not been as impregnable as one imagined. We are told to spend the night there. As we step inside, we find kids in blue uniforms singing songs that tell of a united nation: Hind desh ke nivasi, sabhi jan ek hai. Rang, roop, vesh, bhasha chahe anek hai. There is a Maoist memorial visible through the window. The chorus of the kids’ voices transcends the idea and reality of Abujmarh. The distinction of where the village ends and party begins, gets infinitely more complicated.

Aite Gota Sunil Vadde
Living in fear Aite Gota’s husband was killed by the State forces; Sunil Vadde, a farmer in Gambhir

OVER THE next six days and nights, Sehrawat and I trek 40 strenuous kilometres on foot to four villages — Toke, Kacchapal, Kodenar and Jatwar, deep inside Abujmarh. Each of these villages vividly demonstrates a sad trick of history: it is true that the Maoist insurgency raises just questions about the feudal and oppressive nature of the Indian State, but its own “liberated zone” is no song to freedom itself. The very idea of dissent itself seems alien here. Tribals from these villages cannot venture into the towns. If they stay too long for business or even for medical help, they become suspect. The Maoist sarkar thinks they have become police informers. Returning becomes fraught with danger.

Sometimes, this cleft stick can take on tragic proportions. In 2007, villagers say Sajnu Vadde, a tuberculosis patient, left Marh for treatment in Narayanpur town. When he returned, he was tried in a Jan Adalat for attending a police meeting, found guilty and sentenced to death. Sonu, a young man in Kacchapal, who was shot by the forces in the leg during Operation Hakka, is limping around. The bullet is still in his body a month later. The party tried treating him but even a surgical cut two inches deep could not locate the bullet. But Sonu cannot risk going to the city.

Uncomfortably, stories like this abound. In 2000, Mangru, a sarpanch in Kacchapal, abruptly left his village. He is currently the chairperson of the Abujmarh Development Authority but he cannot return to Marh. Sonnu Gotta’s story is even starker. Gotta and her husband had left Marh with a sick child. “We ended up staying in Narayanpur for four months. After that, we were too scared to return,” she says. “We are still Maadias but we like it in the town. The Maoists have called us back, but here we use our minds and make our own decisions. Farming was such a tough life. It’s so much easier to be paid to be a sarpanch here.” Gotta fought on a BJP ticket and won. It is from this pool that Special Police Officers have been recruited. There are at least 12 from Abujmarh. In a violation of Supreme Court orders, villagers confirmed that many guided the forces in during Operation Hakka.

But all of this comes later. On Day 2, we just wait endlessly to hear from the party. The men go for a swim in a nearby pond. I go to the anganwadi instead. Sukanya Salam, 22, the government anganwadi worker here, wears a sari and talks Hindi but is a Maadia from Gadpa village. I ask her what Abujmarh means to her. “It’s that area where people don’t know anything, don’t know how to talk Hindi or live cleanly. That area is Abujmarh,” she says. But isn’t she from Abujmarh too, I ask. “My village is by the road,” she says, “we had a government school. But in the interiors, they don’t know how to live.” To her, the Maadia customs seem foreign, a thing of the past. Adivasis in Marh just live together, she says. Once they have a few babies, if they are rich enough to afford it, they get married. The ceremony involves sitting together and pouring milk over cloth draped around the two. She wouldn’t like to get married that way. “Mujhe poora tel chadhane hai. (I want to do the whole oil and ritualistic fire thing).”

Finally, at 4 pm, word comes. We have been given permission to move interior. The Adhyaksh offers us three guides. They urge that we leave right away. We have to leave our bike behind. We fill our bottles. From here on, there are only goat paths through mountain and stream. And no more hand pumps.

In effect, the Maoist dominance of the Abujmarh story is only 10 years old. The Indian State had a 50-year head start. Why did it fail?

The trek to Toke — the first village to be surrounded by Cobra battalions — is very hostile. As evening falls, we walk with torches along steep slopes in single file, two guides in front, one at the rear. The night is moonless but brilliant with a million stars. Suddenly, one side of the track gives way to a steep ravine. Sometimes, it is impossible to spot a flat stone to balance on. After my first fall, I reach for a bamboo stick and don’t let go for the rest of the road ahead. The silence and glow of fireflies is broken only by our guides laughing at us. They race ahead as if this were a shining tar road.

Mase Pave Aidma Vadde
Horror stories Mase Pave’s house was ransacked by the forces; Aidma Vadde’s son was beaten up

At one point, two more men with guns join our convoy. They are our fortification against wild bears.

After over four hours of walking, we reach Toke. It is pitch dark but we finally feel as if we have entered Abujmarh. Perhaps, this has something to do with the disappearing roads, with the idea that a journey into Marh must test one’s endurance.

OUR FIRST sensory experience of Toke is the sight of children in uniform peering at us from behind the mud walls of a two-room school. Some are sorting rice in pools of blue torchlight. Here again is a government-run ashram deep inside Abujmarh. We begin to question the hyperbole back home of the unbreached bastion. In a moment, there is a roll call followed by the slow recitation of the Gayantri Mantra. A chicken is slaughtered for us. The school has a solar lamp. We eat by its light, then drag our cane beds outside and sleep under the open sky. It’s the last night we will have a bed to sleep on.

At dawn, I wake to a Maoist memorial amid empty fields. Suddenly, I have a feeling of being watched. I look to my right and find armed men, standing alert, looking on. Had they been guarding us all night? Attempts to speak with them fail. There are instructions from the party not to give any interviews. We’re told the “Raman Singh equivalent” of the Jantam Sarkar would like to speak with us directly. Until that happens, no one else has clearance to give an interview.

In the morning light, Toke, a village of 37 huts, is again a disorienting mix of the unusual and the ordinary. A group of Adivasis huddle in a circle to drink Sulphi, an alcoholic extract from the Sulphi tree. Others sit around weaving bamboo baskets. Two Jan Militia members sporting .303 rifles saunter into the school and carry away sacks of PDS grain. But there seems to be no tension over this. Children in government school uniforms mill around. It is difficult to tell where the “Dilli ka sarkar” segues into the “Jan sarkar”. The masterji at Toke wears jeans, a watch and is surprisingly urban. He is from Narayanpur town. He didn’t ask for Toke. The Indian government deputed him there.

As we talk, our guide Rajesh finally opens up too. He is a thin, cheery 23-year-old, with a slight moustache. He studied at a public school in Narayanpur town till Class VIII. Then his father, who had been part of the PLGA squad for 20 years, pulled him into the party.

“I came home for holidays once and my father didn’t let me return,” says Rajesh. “I was disappointed but my father refused to budge. I didn’t know much about rajneeti (politics) then. Now I understand my father’s decision. Now I know how Adivasis live and suffer. I’m glad to be working for them.”

Rajesh is a teacher as well in one of the party’s seven functioning schools in Abujmarh. Rajesh teaches math through a Gondi song; his history lessons focus on indigenous rebellions like the Bhumkal tribal revolt of 1910; then there are classes on rajneeti and Hindi. The party is experimenting with English, but the teachers are unable to go beyond the alphabet. Rajesh’s favourite movie is Sherdil. In an epiphanic moment, we realise he means the Mel Gibson-starrer Braveheart. He has watched it at a Maoist camp.

There are other things he has done in Maoist camps: he has been part of a Jan Adalat that sentenced three women from Kawalnar village to death. They were accused of trying to bring a contingent of 500 forces into Abujmarh and carrying poison. The poison was tested on a hen: it died. “If we let such people live, our lives would become more dangerous than it already is,” says a Maoist cadre.

Villagers from Hikonaar and Godelmarka cross the Abujmarh jungle
The long walk Villagers from Hikonaar and Godelmarka cross the Abujmarh jungle

In the journey ahead, it will be difficult to reconcile this Rajesh, who beams with pride at the spot where the PLGA squad shot a CRPF jawan in Jatwar last month, with the jaunty Rajesh who sings Pardesi Pardesi jana nahin as we walk through the jungle; offers me his blanket on a cold night and teases us about drinking water from streams where buffaloes are bathing. But the unflinching talk of summary deaths through jan adalats is routine for him and the other guides who join us later. It is just one face of Maoist governance.

A little later, as we gather the villagers at the Ghotul — a sort of village community centre — and ask about Operation Hakka, the flip narratives of oppression begin.

How the paramilitary forces beat Aite Gota’s husband to death; how Keya Dhurva’s house was burnt; how Goya Dhurva’s chickens were stolen and cooked; how 40 kg of free rice that had cost a three-day walk to Kukrajhor base camp and a Rs 200 tractor ride was seized; how others’ cooking utensils were smashed, money was robbed, imli trees burnt and bhumkal grain razed to ashes.

As the testimonies finally begin to wind down, we prepare to leave. It is very hot outside. There is no potable water. We boil water from a nearby stream and mix some coffee powder into it. It does not take the thirst away. I barely have the energy to write notes. The next village Kodenar is a 10-km walk in the afternoon sun.

Over the next four days, this pattern would repeat itself. Long arduous walks. No water to drink. Plain boiled rice to eat. Fatigue. And nights under the open sky, lying on mats next to pigs and barking dogs. Through Kodenar, to Jatwar and then back to Kachhapal, the patterns and testimonies played themselves out with a familiar beat.

In Jatwar, we finally meet Nilesh, the boy who rang the alarm about Operation Hakka on the morning of 15 March. Barely 5 ft tall, dressed in a blue vest and brown pants, he blushes in the crisp jungle sun. Despite his enrolment in the Jan Militia, Nilesh does not think of himself as a Maoist. “They are the sarkar, I’m just ordinary janta,” he says.

That self perception — that distinction between taking to arms as an ideologue and taking to arms as self-defence against intrusion into one’s home and land — is very key to understanding not just the nature of Abujmarh but the fundamental nature of the Maoist-tribal crisis in India.

It is the distinction that will define what approach the Indian State will finally take to allay the Naxal crisis.

TEHELKA HAS been reporting the Maoist crisis extensively from the ground ever since the Salwa Judum began to escalate tension in Chhattisgarh. Writing from the conflict zones of Odisha, Chhattisgarh and Bengal, we have critiqued the Indian State; documented human rights violations; denounced the unjust takeover of tribal land and national resources and vociferously defended the right to dissent. We have also written of the plight of CRPF jawans, pushed into a deadly guerrilla war with inadequate preparation and battle-worthiness.

But Abujmarh is proof — if proof were needed — that the Maoists have a lot to answer for as well. They may have catalysed attention to many right and just causes — and it is difficult for even their most bitter critics to grant them that — but clearly, in their own strongholds, they are replicating exactly that which they say they are combating. Ordinary life is lived on their watch. Their political expansion is a greater cause than the immediate needs of those they speak for. This is most evident when a party member reveals that they are debating whether to allow Ramakrishna Mission to continue functioning in Abujmarh. “They were not there at the time of our greatest need,” he says. The point of contention is PDS ration shops that earlier operated through the Ashram, but were gradually moved out as the conflict escalated in 2009. While the party holds Ramakrishna Mission responsible, CRPF sources confirmed to TEHELKA that it was a strategic government decision to move ration shops near CRPF camps so Naxals do not “steal ration meant for villagers”. This has led to Maadias having to walk many extra days across mountains to access subsidised rice.

To add a new layer of force and terror to this would be an unmitigated disaster. There is talk of expanding the paramilitary strength in the region and setting up of an army training camp on the border of Abujmarh. The day before we entered Marh, army chief Gen VK Singh visited Chhattisgarh. Unconfirmed reports suggest the state government has agreed to hand over land to the army, located in Abujmarh’s Ghamandi panchayat — exactly where the forces went in for Operation Hakka.

“Operation Hakka was a recce for future operations,” says IG Longkumer. “We wanted to see locations where we can set up our posts and camps in the future.” At present, Bastar district has 104 police stations, 56 CRPF camps and 30 BSF camps. “Look at Manipur. It has more than a lakh deployment. We are four times the size of Manipur and have half the number of troops,” Longkumer adds. “We need much more deployment. To address this area, we have to stay there. The takeaway from this operation is that the forces are willing to go inside Abujmarh and stay there.”

Students at the government ashram school in Mohundi
Lessons in conflict Students at the government ashram school in Mohundi

The point is, having dominated the area, what is it the Indian State would like to do there? Is the wreck of Manipur the model?

Narayanpur SP Srivastav has a much more cautioning voice: “We want to show the people that the government’s arms will reach wherever Indian citizens are. I was saddened to see the life the villagers are being forced to lead. I salute the villagers. It is true that on one side, the Naxals coerce them, and on the other, even when the police goes in, we can’t tell who is a villager and who is a Naxal. Posted in these areas, I have felt confusion and bafflement. We are a country in a transition phase, that is why we have such a gap between the mainstream and the fringes. It is as if everything is fluid. The Naxal strategy is to look for grouses, and there is no dearth of grouses in this country. It is high time this is resolved. Our goal is to give the government the security to do what it should be able to do.”

As we come out of the jungles of Abujmarh, we hear the shocking news: Collector Alex Menon has been kidnapped by the Maoists, his two guards killed in cold blood. Among their list of demands is the release of innocent tribals languishing in jails. Can’t the Indian government act on this itself without a ransom note?

For all its mythic reputation, villagers say that until 15 years ago, local thana police were seen at the fringes of Abujmarh. A village called Kokameta possibly had a police station and a government high school. It is only in the past decade that the party’s influence has spread. In areas we visited, people recall that in 2001, the Maoists first installed their own village head in a village called Iraqbhatti in Kachhapal panchayat. Three years later, they called their first meeting in the area. Villagers were mandated to attend. In effect, the Maoists’ area dominance of the Abujmarh story is only 10 years old. The Indian State had a 50 year head start. Why did it fail?

In the final count then, Abujmarh is not an impregnable fortress. Nor is it merely an innocent landscape of flimsy huts and primeval people. It is most essentially a rebuke for Indian democracy. The real tragedy of the Maoist crisis is that it has been reduced to a competition of equally false stories. Stranded in the middle is an ancient people. Their fight is not about who will control Red Fort in some distant future. Their fight is about the patch of land they stand on and the dignity of the self-owned reed hut behind them.

It is our last evening inside Abujmarh. In the distance, a Bhumkal — village cooperative — lies razed, destroyed in Operation Hakka, quintals of rice turned to black ash. Their backs to it, our guides sit inside the village Ghotul. The young starry-eyed comrade and an old, somewhat sceptical, party member, break into song. “Rise up, poor masses, let us walk together. Destroy the imperialists and fight for our rights. For generations, the fight has been on. The last fight will be won by the Red Flag.” As the song continues, torchlight flickers over an old inscription on a wooden pillar: Comrades, this is our mandir.

Tusha Mittal is a Principal Correspondent with Tehelka.
tusha@tehelka.com

http://tehelka.com/story_main52.asp?filename=Ne120512Coverstory.asp#

 

by James Petras

Throughout history ruling classes, representing small minorities, have
always depended on the coercive state apparatus and social institutions to
defend their power, profits and privileges. In the past, particularly in the
Third World, imperial ruling classes financed and supported overseas and
domestic religious institutions to control exploited people and deflect
their discontent into religious and communal rivalries and conflicts.

While these practices continue today, in more recent decades a new social
institution emerged that provides the same function of control and
ideological mystification – the self-described non-governmental
organizations (NGOs). Today there are at least 50,000 NGOs in the Third
World receiving over $10 billion in funding from international financial
institutions, Euro-US-Japanese governmental agencies and local governments.
The managers of the biggest NGOs manage million dollar budgets with salaries
and perks that are comparable to CEOs. They jet to international
conferences, confer with top corporate and financial directors and make
policy decisions that affect – in the great majority of cases adversely –
millions of people … especially the poor, women and informal sector
working people.

The NGOs are significant world-wide political and social actors operating in
rural and urban sites of Asia, Latin America and Africa and frequently
linked in dependent roles with their principle donors in Europe, the US and
Japan. It is symptomatic of the pervasiveness of the NGOs and their economic
and political power over the so-called “progressive world” that there have
been few systematic Left critiques of the negative impact of NGOs. In a
large part this failure is due to the success of the NGOs is displacing and
destroying the organized Leftist movements and co-opting their intellectual
strategists and organizational leaders.

Today most left movement and popular spokespeople focus their criticism on
the IMF, World Bank, multi-national corporations, private banks, etc. who
fix the macroeconomic agenda for the pillage of the Third World. This is an
important task. However, the assault on the industrial base, independence
and living standards of the Third World takes place on both the
macro-economic and the micro-socio-political level. The egregious effects of
structural adjustment policies on wages and salaried workers, peasants and
small national businesspeople generates potential nationalpopular
discontent. And that is where the NGOs come into the picture to mystify and
deflect that discontent away from direct attacks on the corporate/banking
power structure and profits toward local micro-projects and apolitical
“grass roots” self-exploitation and “popular education” that avoids class
analysis of imperialism and capitalist exploitation.

The NGOs world-wide have become the latest vehicle for upward mobility for
the ambitious educated classes: academics, journalists, and professionals
have abandoned earlier excursions in the poorly rewarded leftists movements
for a lucrative career managing an NGO, bringing with them their
organizational and rhetorical skills as well as a certain populist
vocabulary. Today, there are thousands of NGO directors who drive $40,000
four wheel drive sports vehicles from their fashionable suburban home or
apartment to their well-furnished office or building complex, leaving the
children and domestic chores in the hands of servants, their yards tended by
gardeners. They are more familiar and spend more time at the overseas sites
of their international conferences on poverty (Washington, Bangkok, Tokyo,
Brussels, Rome, etc.) then at the muddy villages of their own country. They
are more adept at writing up new proposals to bring in hard currency for
“deserving professionals” than risking a rap on the head from the police
attacking a demonstration of underpaid rural school teachers.
The NGO leaders are a new class not based on property ownership or
government resources but derived from imperial funding and their capacity to
control significant popular groups. The NGO leaders can be conceived of as a
kind of neo-compradore group that doesn’t produce any useful commodity but
does function to produce services for the donor countries – mainly trading
in domestic poverty for individual perks.

The formal claims used by NGO directors to justify their position – that
they fight poverty, inequality, etc. are self-serving and specious. There is
a direct relation between the growth of NGOs and the decline of living
standards: the proliferation of NGOs has not reduced structural
unemployment, massive displacements of peasants, nor provided liveable wage
levels for the growing army of informal workers. What NGOs have done, is
provided a thin stratum of professionals with income in hard currency to
escape the ravages of the neo-liberal economy that affects their country,
people and to climb in the existing social class structure.

This reality contrasts with the self-image that NGO functionaries have of
themselves. According to their press releases and public discourses, they
represent a Third Way between “authoritarian statism” and “savage market
capitalism”: they describe themselves as the vanguard of “civil society”
operating in the interstices of the “global economy.” The common purpose
that most resounds at NGO conferences is “alternative development.”

The phrase-mongering about “civil society” is an exercise in vacuity.
“Civil society” is not a unitary virtuous entity – it is made of classes
probably more profoundly divided as ever in this century. Most of the
greatest injustices against workers are committed by the wealthy bankers in
civil society who squeeze out exorbitant interest payments on internal debt;
landlords who throw peasants off the land and industrial capitalists who
exhaust workers at starvation wages in sweatshops. By talking about “civil
society” NGOers obscure the profound class divisions, class exploitation and
class struggle that polarizes contemporary “civil society.” While
analytically useless and obfuscating, the concept, “civil society”
facilitates NGO collaboration with capitalist interests that finance their
institutes and allows them to orient their projects and followers into
subordinate relations with the big business interests that direct the
neoliberal economies. In addition, not infrequently the NGOers’
civil society rhetoric is a ploy to attack comprehensive public programs and
state institutions delivering social services. The NGOers side with big
business’ “anti-statist” rhetoric (one in the name of “civil society”
the other in the name of the “market”) to reallocate state resources. The
capitalists’ “anti-Statism” is used to increase public funds to subsidize
exports and financial bailouts, the NGOers try to grab a junior share via
“subcontracts” to deliver inferior services to fewer recipients.

Contrary to the NGOers’ self-image who see themselves as innovative grass
roots leaders, they are in reality the grass root reactionaries who
complement the work of the IMF by pushing privatization “from below” and
demobilizing popular movements, thus undermining resistence.

The ubiquitous NGOs thus present the Left with a serious challenge that
requires a critical political analysis of their origins, structure and
ideology.

Origin Structure and Ideology of the NGOs

NGOs appear to have a contradictory role in politics. On the one hand they
criticize dictatorships and human rights violations. On the other hand they
compete with radical socio-political movements, attempting to channel
popular movements into collaborative relations with dominant neo-liberal
elites. In reality, these political orientations are not so contradictory as
they appear.

Surveying the growth and proliferation of NGOs over the past quarter of a
century we find that NGOs emerged in three sets of circumstances. First of
all, as a safe haven for dissident intellectuals during dictatorships where
they could pursue the issue of human rights violations and organize
“survival strategies” for victims of harsh austerity programs. These
humanitarian NGOs however, were careful not to denounce the role of US and
European complicity with the local perpetrators of human rights violations
nor did they questions the emerging “free market” policies that impoverished
the masses. Thus the NGOers were strategically placed as “democrats” who
would be available as political replacements for local ruling classes and
imperial policy makers when repressive rulers began to be seriously
challenged by popular mass movements. Western funding of the NGOs as critics
was a kind of buying insurance in case the incumbent reactionaries faltered.
This was the case with the “critical” NGOs that appeared during the Marcos
regime in the Philippines, the Pinochet regime in Chile, the Park
dictatorship in Korea, etc.

The real boost in NGO mushrooming however, occurs in time of rising mass
movements that challenge imperial hegemony. The growth of radical
socio-political movements and struggles provided a lucrative commodity which
ex-radical and pseudo popular intellectuals could sell to interested,
concerned and well-financed private and public foundations closely tied with
European and US multi-nationals and governments. The funders were interested
in information – social science intelligence – like the “propensity for
violence in urban slum areas” (an NGO project in Chile during the mass
uprisings of 1983-86), the capacity of NGOers to raid popular communities
and direct energy toward self-help projects instead of social
transformations and the introduction of a class collaborationist rhetoric
packaged as “new identity discourses” that would discredit and isolate
revolutionary activists.

Popular revolts loosened the purse strings of overseas agencies and millions
poured into Indonesia, Thailand and Peru in the seventies; Nicaragua, Chile,
Philippines in the 80s; El Salvador, Guatemala, Korea in the 90s. The NGOers
were essentially there to “put out the fires.” Under the guise of
constructive projects they argued against engaging in ideological movements
thus effectively using foreign funds to recruit local leaders, send them to
overseas conferences to give testimonials, while effectively encouraging
local groups to adapt to the reality of neo-liberalism.

As outside money became available, NGOs proliferated, dividing communities
into warring fiefdoms fighting to get a piece of the action. Each “grass
roots activist” cornered a new segment of the poor (women, young people from
minorities, etc.) to set up a new NGO and take the pilgrimage to Amsterdam,
Stockholm, etc. to “market” their project, activity, constituency and
finance their center – and their careers.

The third circumstance in which NGOs multiplied was during the frequent and
deepening economic crises provoked by free market capitalism.
Intellectuals, academics and professionals saw jobs disappear or salaries
decline as budget cuts took hold: a second job became in necessity. NGOs
became a job placement agency and consultantships became a safety net for
potentially downwardly mobile intellectuals willing to spout the civil
society-free market-alternative development line and carry on the
collaborative policies with neo-liberal regimes and international financial
institutions. When millions are losing their jobs and poverty spreads to
important swaths of the population NGOs engage in preventative
action: they focus on “survival strategies” not general strikes; they
organize soup kitchens not mass demonstrations against food hoarders,
neo-liberal regimes or US imperialism.

While NGOs may have initially had a vaguely “progressive” tincture during
so-called “democratic transitions” when the old order was crumbling, and
corrupt rulers were losing control and popular struggles were advancing.
The NGOs become the vehicle for transactions between old regimes and
conservative electoral politicians. The NGOs used their grass roots
rhetoric, organizational resources and their status as “democratic” human
rights advocates to channel popular support behind politicians and parties
which confined the transition to legal-political reforms not socio-economic
changes. NGOs demobilized the populace and fragmented the movements. In
every country that experienced an “electoral transaction,”
in the 1980s and 90s, from Chile to the Philippines to South Korea and
beyond, the NGOs have played an important role in rounding up votes for
regimes which continued or even deepened the socio-economic status quo. In
exchange, many ex-NGOers ended up running government agencies or even
becoming Ministers with popular sounding titles (women rights, citizen
participation, popular power, etc.).

The reactionary political role of NGOs was built into the very structures
upon which they were (and are) organized.

NGO Structure: Internally Elitist, Externally Servile

In reality NGOs are not “non-governmental” organizations. They receive funds
from overseas governments, work as private sub-contractors of local
governments and/or are subsidized by corporate funded private foundations
with close working relations with the state. Frequently they openly
collaborate with governmental agencies at home or overseas. Their programs
are not accountable to local people but to overseas donors who “review”
and “oversee” the performance of the NGOs according to their criteria and
interests. The NGO officials are self-appointed and one of their key tasks
is designing proposals that will secure funding. In many cases this requires
that NGO leaders find out the issues that most interest the Western funding
elites, and shaping proposals accordingly. Thus in the 1980s NGO funds were
available to study and provide political proposals on “governability” and
“democratic transitions” reflecting the concerns of the imperialist powers
that the fall of dictatorships would not lead to “ungovernability” – namely
mass movements deepening the struggle and transforming the social system.
The NGOs, despite their democratic, grassroots rhetoric are hierarchical –
with the director in total control of projects, hiring and firing, as well
as deciding who gets their way paid to international conferences. The
“grassroots” are essentially the objects of this hierarch; rarely do they
see the money that “their” NGO shovels in; nor do they get to travel abroad;
nor do they draw the salaries or perks of their “grassroots” leaders. More
important none of these decisions are ever voted on. At best after the deals
have been cooked by the Director and the overseas funders, the NGO staff
will call a meeting of “grassroots activists” of the poor to approve the
project. In most cases the NGOs are not even membership organizations but a
self-appointed elite which, under the pretense of being “resource people”
for popular movements, in fact, competes with and undermines them. In this
sense NGOs undermine democracy by taking social programs and public debate
out of the hands of the local people and their elected natural leaders and
creating dependence on nonelected, overseas officials and their anointed
local officials.

NGOs foster a new type of cultural and economic colonialism – under the
guise of a new internationalism. Hundreds of individuals sit in front of
high powered PCs exchanging manifestos, proposals and invitations to
international conferences with each other. They then meet in well furnished
conference halls to discuss the latest struggles and offerings with their
“social base” – the paid staff- who then pass on the proposals to the
“masses” through flyers and “bulletins.” When overseas funders show up, they
are taken on “exposure tours” to showcase projects where the poor are
helping themselves and to talk with successful micro-entrepreneurs (omitting
the majority who fail the first year).

The way this new colonialism works is not difficult to decipher. Projects
are designed based on guidelines and priorities of the imperial centers and
their institutions. They are then “sold” to the communities.
Evaluations are done by and for the imperial institutions. Shifts of funding
priorities or bad evaluations result in the dumping of groups, communities,
farmers and cooperatives. Everybody is increasingly disciplined to comply
with the donor’s demands and their project evaluators. The NGO directors, as
the new viceroys, supervise and ensure conformity with the goals, values and
ideology of the donors as well as the proper use of funds.

Ideology of NGOs Versus Radical Socio-political Movements

NGOs emphasize projects not movements; they “mobilize” people to produce at
the margins not to struggle to control the basic means of production and
wealth; they focus on the technical financial assistance aspects of projects
not on structural conditions that shape the everyday lives of people. The
NGOs co-opt the language of the Left: “popular power,” ”
empowerment,” “gender equality,” “sustainable development,” “bottom up
leadership,” etc. The problem is that this language is linked to a framework
of collaboration with donors and government agencies that subordinate
activity to non-confrontational politics. The local nature of NGO activity
means “empowerment” never goes beyond influencing small areas of social life
with limited resources within the conditions permitted by the neo-liberal
state and macro-economy.

The NGOs and their professional staff directly compete with the
socio-political movements for influence among the poor, women, racially
excluded, etc. Their ideology and practice diverts attention from the
sources and solutions of poverty (looking downward and inward instead of
upward and outward). To speak of micro-enterprises instead of the
exploitation by the overseas banks, as solutions to poverty is based on the
false notion that the problem is one of individual initiative rather than
the transference of income overseas. The NGOs “aid” affects small sectors of
the population, setting up competition between communities for scarce
resources and generating insidious distinction and inter and intra community
rivalries thus undermining class solidarity. The same is true among the
professionals: each sets up their NGO to solicit overseas funds.
They compete by presenting proposals closer to the liking of the overseas
donors for lower prices, while claiming to speak for more followers. The net
effect is a proliferation of NGOs that fragment poor communities into
sectoral and sub-sectoral groupings unable to see the larger social picture
that afflicts them and even less able to unite in struggle against the
system.

Recent experience also demonstrates that foreign donors finance projects
during “crises” – political and social challenges to the status quo. Once
the movements have ebbed, they shift funding to NGO – regime
“collaboration,” fitting the NGO projects into the neo-liberal agenda.
Economic development compatible with the “free market” rather than social
organization for social change becomes the dominant item on the funding
agenda.

The structure and nature of NGOs with their “apolitical” posture and their
focus on self-help depoliticizes and demobilizes the poor. They reinforce
the electoral processes encouraged by the neo-liberal parties and mass
media. Political education about the nature of imperialism, the class basis
of neo-liberalism, the class struggle between exporters and temporary
workers are avoided. Instead the NGOs discuss “the excluded,”
the “powerless,” “extreme poverty,” “gender or racial discrimination,”
without moving beyond the superficial symptom, to engage the social system
that produces these conditions. Incorporating the poor into the neo-liberal
economy through purely “private voluntary action” the NGOs create a
political world where the appearance of solidarity and social action cloaks
a conservative conformity with the international and national structure of
power.

It is no coincidence that as NGOs have become dominant in certain regions,
independent class political action has declined, and neo-liberalism goes
uncontested. The bottom line is that the growth of NGOs coincides with
increased funding from neo-liberalism and the deepening of poverty
everywhere. Despite its claims of many local successes, the overall power of
neo-liberalism stands unchallenged and the NGOs increasingly search for
niches in the interstices of power.

The problem of formulating alternatives has been hindered in another way.
Many of the former leaders of guerrilla and social movements, trade union
and popular women’s organizations have been co-opted by the NGOs. The offer
is tempting: higher pay (occasionally in hard currency), prestige and
recognition by overseas donors, overseas conferences and networks, office
staff and relative security from repression. In contrast, the
socio-political movements offer few material benefits but greater respect
and independence and more importantly the freedom to challenge the political
and economic system. The NGOs and their overseas banking supporters
(Inter-American Bank, the Asian Development Bank, the World
Bank) publish newsletters featuring success stories of micro-enterprises and
other self-help projects-without mentioning the high rates of failure as
popular consumption declines, low price imports flood the market and as
interest rates spiral – as is the case in Brazil and Indonesia today.

Even the “successes” affect only a small fraction of the total poor and
succeed only to the degree that others cannot enter into the same market.
The propaganda value of individual micro-enterprise success, however is
important in fostering the illusion that neo-liberalism is a popular
phenomenon. The frequent violent mass outbursts that take place in regions
of micro-enterprise promotion suggests that the ideology is not hegemonic
and the NGOs have not yet displaced independent class movements.

NGO ideology depends heavily on essentialist identity politics, engaging in
a rather dishonest polemic with radical movements based on class analysis.
They start from the false assumption that class analysis is “reductionist”
overlooking the extensive debates and discussions within Marxism on issues
of race, ethnicity and gender equality and avoiding the more serious
criticism that identities themselves are clearly and profoundly divided by
class differences. Take for example, the Chilean or Indian feminist living
in a plush suburb drawing a salary 15-20 times that of her domestic servant
who works 6 1/2 days a week. Class differences within gender determine
housing, living standards, health, educational opportunities and who
appropriates who’s surplus value. Yet the great majority of NGOs operate on
the basis of identity politics and argue that this is the basic point of
departure for the new (post-modern politics).
Identity politics does not challenge the male dominated elite world of IMF
privatizations, multi-national corporations and local landlords. Rather, it
focuses on “patriarchy” in the household, family violence, divorce, family
planning, etc. In other words, it fights for gender equality within the
micro-world of exploited peoples in which the exploited and impoverished
male worker/peasant emerges as the main villain. While no one should support
gender exploitation or discrimination at any level, the feminist NGOs do a
gross disservice to working women by subordinating them to the greater
exploitation of sweatshops which benefit upper class men and women, rent
collecting male and female landlords and CEOs of both sexes. The reason the
feminist NGOs ignore the “Big Picture” and focus on local issues and
personal politics is because billions of dollars flow annually in that
direction. If feminist NGOs began to engage in land occupations with men and
women landless workers in Brazil or Indonesia or Thailand or the
Philippines, if they joined in general strikes of mainly female low-paid
rural school teachers against structural adjustment policies, the NGO spigot
would get turned off- by their imperial donors.
Better to beat up on the local patriarch scratching out an existence in an
isolated village in Luzon.

Class Solidarity and NGO Solidarity with Foreign Donors

The word “solidarity” has been abused to the point that in many contexts it
has lost meaning. The term “solidarity” for the NGOers includes foreign aid
channeled to any designated “impoverished” group. “Research” or “popular
education” of the poor by professionals is designated as “solidarity.” In
many ways the hierarchical structures and the forms of transmission of “aid”
and “training” resemble nineteenth century charity and the promoters are not
very different from Christian missionaries.

The NGOers emphasize “self-help” in attacking the “paternalism and
dependence” of the state. In this competition among NGOs to capture the
victims of neoliberals, the NGOs receive important subsidies from their
counterparts in Europe and the US. The self help ideology emphasizes the
replacement of public employees for volunteers and upwardly mobile
professionals contracted on a temporary basis. The basic philosophy of the
NGO view is to transform “solidarity” into collaboration and subordination
to the macro-economy of neo-liberalism by focusing attention away from state
resources of the wealthy classes toward self-exploitation of the poor. The
poor do not need to be made virtuous by the NGO for what the state obligates
them to do.

The Marxist concept of solidarity in contrast emphasizes class solidarity
within the class, solidarity of oppressed groups (women and people of
color) against their foreign and domestic exploiters. The major focus is not
on the donations that divide classes and pacify small groups for a limited
time period. The focus of Marxist concept of solidarity is on the common
action of the same members of the class sharing their common economic
predicament struggling for collective improvement.

It involves intellectuals who write and speak for the social movements in
struggle, committed to sharing the same political consequences. The concept
of solidarity is linked to “organic” intellectuals who are basically part of
the movement – the resource people providing analysis and education for
class struggle and taking the same political risks in direct action. In
contrast, the NGOers are embedded in the world of institutions, academic
seminars, foreign foundations, international conferences speaking a language
understood only by those “initiated” into the subjectivist cult of
essentialist identities. The Marxists view solidarity as sharing the risks
of the movements, not being outside commentators who raise questions and
defend nothing. For the NGOers the main object is “getting” the foreign
funding for the “project.” The main issue, for the Marxist is the process of
political struggle and education in securing social transformation. The
movement was everything the objective was important in raising consciousness
for societal change:
constructing political power to transform the general condition of the great
majority. “Solidarity” for the NGOers is divorced from the general object of
liberation; it is merely a way of bringing people together to attend a job
retraining seminar, to build a latrine. For the Marxists the solidarity of a
collective struggle contains the seeds of the future democratic collectivist
society. The larger vision or its absence is what gives the different
conceptions of solidarity their distinct meaning.

Class Struggle and Co-operation

The NGOers frequently write of “co-operation” of everyone, near and far,
without delving too profoundly on the price and conditions for securing the
co-operation of neo-liberal regimes and overseas funding agencies.
Class struggle is viewed as an atavism to a past that no longer exists.
Today we are told “the poor” are intent on building a new life. They are fed
up with traditional politics, ideologies and politicians. So far, so good.
The problem is that the NGOers are not so forthcoming in describing their
role as mediators and brokers, hustling funds overseas. The concentration of
income and the growth of inequalities are greater than ever, after a decade
of preaching co-operation and micro-enterprises, and self-help. Today the
banks like the World Bank fund the export agro-businesses that exploit and
poison millions of farm laborers while providing funds to finance small
micro-projects. The role of the NGOs in the micro projects is to neutralize
political opposition at the bottom while neo-liberalism is promoted at the
top. The ideology of “co-operation” links the poor through the NGOs to
neo-liberals at the top.

Intellectually the NGOs are the intellectual policemen who define acceptable
research, distribute research funds and filter out topics and perspectives
that project class analysis and struggle perspective.
Marxists are excluded from the conferences and stigmatized as “ideologues”
while NGOs present themselves as “social scientists.” The control of
intellectual fashion, publications, conferences, research fund provide the
post-Marxists with an important power base – but on ultimately dependent on
avoiding conflict with their external funding patrons.

Critical Marxist intellectuals have their strength in the fact that their
ideas resonate with the evolving social realities. The polarization of
classes and the violent confrontations are growing, as their theories would
predict. It is from this perspective that the Marxists are tactically weak
and strategically strong vis-a-vis the NGOs.

Alternative NGOs

One could argue that there are a great many different type of NGOs and that
many do criticize and organize against adjustment policies, the IMF, debt
payments, etc. and that its unfair to lump them all in the same bag.

There is a grain of truth in this but this position belies a more
fundamental issue. Most peasant leaders from Asia and Latin America that I
have spoken to complain bitterly of the divisive and elitist role that even
the “progressive” NGOs play: they, the NGOs want to subordinate the peasant
leaders to their organizations, they want to lead and speak “for”
the poor. They do not accept subordinate roles. Progressive NGOs use
peasants and the poor for their research projects, they benefit from the
publication – nothing comes back to the movements not even copies of the
studies done in their name! Moreover, the peasant leaders ask why the NGOs
never risk their neck after their educational seminars? Why do they not
study the rich and powerful why us?

Even conceding that within the “progressive NGOs” there are minorities that
function as “resource” people to radical socio-political movements, the fact
is that the people receive a tiny fraction of the funds that go to the NGO.
Furthermore, the great mass of NGOs fit the description outlined above and
it is up to the few exceptions to prove otherwise: a major step forward for
the “progressive NGOs” is to systematically criticize and critique the ties
of their NGO colleagues with imperialism and its local clients, their
ideology of adaptation to neo-liberalism and their authoritarian and elitist
structures. Then it would be useful for them to tell their western
counterpart NGOs to get out of the foundation – government networks and go
back to organizing and educating their own people in Europe and North
America to form social-political movements that can challenge the dominant
regimes and parties that serve the banks and multi-nationals.

In other words, the NGOs should stop being NGOs and convert themselves into
members of socio-political movements. That is the best way to avoid being
lumped with the tens of thousands of NGOs feeding at the donor’s trough.

Conclusion: Notes on a Theory of NGOs

In social structural terms the proliferalism and expansion of NGOs reflects
the emergence of a new petit bourgeois distinct from the “old”
shopkeepers, free professionals as well as the “new” public employee groups.
This subcontracted sector is closer to the earlier “compradore”
bourgeoisie insofar as it produces no tangible commodities, but serves to
link imperial enterprises with local petty commodity producers engaged in
micro-enterprises. This new petty-bourgeois at least its “middle age
variants” is marked by the fact that many are ex-Leftists and bring to bear
a “popular rhetoric” and in some cases an elitist “vanguardist”
conception to their organizations. Situated without property or a fixed
position in the state apparatus it depends heavily on external funding
agencies to reproduce themselves. Given its popular constituency however, it
has to combine an anti-Marxist, anti-statist appeal with populist rhetoric,
hence the concoction of the Third Way and civil society notions which are
sufficiently ambiguous to cover both bases. This new petty bourgeois thrives
on international gatherings as a main prop of its existence, lacking solid
organic support within the country. The “globalist” rhetoric provides a
cover for a kind of ersatz “internationalism” devoid of anti-imperialist
commitments. In a word, this new petit bourgeois forms the “radical wing”
… of the neo-liberal establishment.

Politically the NGOs fit into the new thinking of imperialist strategists.
While the IMF – World Bank and MNCs work the domestic elites at the top to
pillage the economy, the NGOs engage in complementary activity at the bottom
neutralizing and fragmenting the burgeoning discontent resulting from the
savaging of the economy. Just as imperialism engages in a two pronged
macro-micro strategy of exploitation and containment, radical movements must
develop a two prong anti-imperialist strategy.

The mass of NGOs have co-opted most of what used to be the “free floating”
public intellectuals who would abandon their class origins and join the
popular movements. The result is a temporary gap between the profound crises
of capitalism (depressions in Asia and Latin America – collapse in the
ex-USSR) and the absence of significant organized revolutionary movements
(with the exception of Brazil, Colombia and perhaps South Korea). The
fundamental question is whether a new generation of organic intellectuals
can emerge from the burgeoning radical social movements which can avoid the
NGO temptation and become integral members of the next revolutionary wave.

James Petras, Dept. of Sociology, Binghamton University, NY

Publication Information: Article Title: NGOs: In the Service of Imperialism.
Contributors: James Petras – author. Journal Title: Journal of Contemporary
Asia. Volume: 29. Issue: 4. Publication Year: 1999. Page
Number: 429.

By James Petras
Introduction

“Post-Marxism” has become a fashionable intellectual posture, with the triumph of neo-liberalism and the retreat of the working class. The space vacated by the reformist left [in Latin America] has in part been occupied by capitalist politicians and ideologues, technocrats and the traditional and fundamentalist churches (Pentecostals and the Vatican). In the past, this space was occupied by socialist, nationalist and populist politicians and church activists associated with the “theology of liberation”. The centre-left was very influential within the political regimes (at the top) or the less politicised popular classes (at the bottom). The vacant space of the radical left refers to the political intellectuals and politicised sectors of the trade unions and urban and rural social movements. It is among these groups that the conflict between Marxism and “post-Marxism” is most intense today.

Nurtured and, in many cases, subsidised by the principal financial institutions and governmental agencies promoting neo-liberalism, a massive number of “social” organisations have emerged whose ideology, linkages and practices are in direct competition and conflict with Marxist theory and practice. These organisations, in most cases describing themselves as “non-governmental” or as “independent research centres”, have been active in propounding ideologies and political practices that are compatible with and complement the neo-liberal agenda of their financial patrons. This essay will proceed by describing and criticising the components of their ideology and then turn to describe their activities and non-activities, contrasting it with the class-based movements and approaches. This will be followed by a discussion of the origins of “post-Marxism” and its evolution and future in relation to the decline and possible return of Marxism.
To top Components of post-Marxism

The intellectual proponents of post-Marxism in most instances are “ex-Marxists” whose point of departure is a “critique” of Marxism and the elaboration of counterpoints to each basic proposition as the basis for attempting to provide an alternative theory or at least a plausible line of analysis. It is possible to more or less synthesise ten basic arguments that are usually found in the post-Marxist discourse:

1. Socialism was a failure and all “general theories” of societies are condemned to repeat this process. Ideologies are false (except post-Marxism!) because they reflect a world of thought dominated by a single gender/race culture system.
2. The Marxist emphasis on social class is “reductionist” because classes are dissolving; the principle political points of departure are cultural and rooted in diverse identities (race, gender, ethnicity, sexual preference).
3. The state is the enemy of democracy and freedom and a corrupt and inefficient deliverer of social welfare. In its place, “civil society” is the protagonist of democracy and social improvement.
4. Central planning leads to and is a product of bureaucracy which hinders the exchange of goods between producers. Markets and market exchanges, perhaps with limited regulations, allow for greater consumption and more efficient distribution.
5. The traditional left’s struggle for state power is corrupting and leads to authoritarian regimes which then subordinate civil society to its control. Local struggles over local issues by local organisations are the only democratic means of change, along with petition/pressure on national and international authorities.
6. Revolutions always end badly or are impossible: social transformations threaten to provoke authoritarian reactions. The alternative is to struggle for and consolidate democratic transitions to safeguard electoral processes.
7. Class solidarity is part of past ideologies, reflecting earlier politics and realities. Classes no longer exist. There are fragmented “locales” where specific groups (identities) and localities engage in self-help and reciprocal relations for “survival” based on cooperation with external supporters. Solidarity is a cross-class phenomena, a humanitarian gesture.
8. Class struggle and confrontation does not produce tangible results; it provokes defeats and fails to solve immediate problems. Government and international cooperation around specific projects does result in increases in production and development.
9. Anti-imperialism is another expression of the past that has outlived its time. In today’s globalised economy, there is no possibility of confronting the economic centres. The world is increasingly interdependent and in this world there is a need for greater international cooperation in transferring capital, technology and know-how from the “rich” to the “poor” countries.
10. Leaders of popular organisations should not be exclusively oriented toward organising the poor and sharing their conditions. Internal mobilisation should be based on external funding. Professionals should design programmes and secure external financing to organise local groups. Without outside aid, local groups and professional careers would collapse.

To top Critique of post-Marxist ideology

The post-Marxists thus have an analysis, a critique and a strategy of developmentin a word, the very general ideology that they supposedly condemn when discussing Marxism. Moreover, it is an ideology that fails to identify the crises of capitalism (prolonged stagnation and periodic financial panics) and the social contradictions (inequalities and social polarisation) at the national and international level that impinge on the specific local social problems they focus on. For example, the origins of neo-liberalism (the socio-political and economic milieu in which the post-Marxists function) is a product of class conflict. Specific sectors of capital allied with the state and the empire defeated the popular classes and imposed the model. A non-class perspective cannot explain the origins of the social world in which the post-Marxists operate. Moreover, the same problem surfaces in discussion of the origins of the post-Marxiststheir own biography reflects the abrupt and radical shift in power at the national and international levels, in the economic and cultural spheres, limiting the space and resources in which Marxism operated while increasing the opportunities and funds for post-Marxists. Sociological origins of post-Marxism are embedded in the shift in political power away from the working class towards export capital.

Let us shift now from a sociology of knowledge critique of post-Marxist ideology and its generally inconsistent view of general theorising to discuss its specific propositions.

Let us start with its notion of the “failure of socialism” and the “end of ideologies”. What is meant by the “failure of socialism”? The collapse of the ussr and Eastern European Communist regimes? First, that is only a single concept of socialism. Secondly, even here it is not clear what failed—the political system, the socio-economic system? Recent election returns in Russia, Poland, Hungary and many of the ex-Soviet republics suggest that a majority of voters prefer a return of aspects of past social welfare policies and economic practices. If popular opinion in the ex-Communist countries is an indicator of “failure&148;, the results are not definitive.

Secondly, if by the “failure of socialism” the post-Marxists mean the decline in power of the left we must insist on a distinction between “failure” due to internal inadequacies of socialist practices and politico-military defeats by external aggressors. No one would say that Hitler’s destruction of Western European democracies was a “failure of democracy”. Terrorist capitalist regimes and/or US intervention in Chile, Argentina, Bolivia, Uruguay, Dominican Republic, Guatemala, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Angola, Mozambique and Afghanistan played a major role in the “decline” of the revolutionary left. Military defeats are not failures of the economic system and do not reflect on the effectiveness of socialist experiences. Moreover, when we analyse the internal performances during the period of relatively stable socialist or popular governance, by many social indicators the results are far more favorable than that which came afterwards: popular participation, health, education and equitable growth under Allende compared very favorably to what came afterward with Pinochet. The same indicators under the Sandinistas compared favorably to Chamorro’s regime in Nicaragua. The Arbenz government’s agrarian reform and human rights policies compared favorably to the installed government’s policy of land concentration and 150,000 assassinations.

Today, while it is true that neo-liberals govern and Marxists are out of power, there is hardly a country in the Western hemisphere where Marxist- or socialist-influenced mass movements are not leading major demonstrations and challenging neo-liberal policies and regimes. In Paraguay, Uruguay and Bolivia, successful general strikes; in Mexico, major peasant movements and Indian guerrillas; in Brazil, the landless workers’ movementsall reflect Marxist influence.

Socialism outside of the Communist bloc was an essentially democratic, popular force that secured major support because it represented popular interests freely decided. The post-Marxists confuse Soviet Communism with grassroots revolutionary democratic socialist movements in Latin America. They confuse military defeats with leftists’ political failures, accepting the neo-liberal amalgamation of the two opposing concepts. Finally, even in the case of Eastern Communism, they fail to see the changing and dynamic nature of communism. The growing popularity of a new socialist synthesis of social ownership, welfare programmes, agrarian reform and council democracy is based on the new socio-political movements.

In this sense, the post-Marxist view of the “end of ideologies” is not only inconsistent with their own ideological pronouncements but with the continuing ideological debate between past and present Marxists and present debates and confrontations with neo-liberalism and its post-Marxist offspring.
To top The dissolution of classes and the rise of identities

The post-Marxists attack the Marxist notion of class analysis from various perspectives. On the one hand, they claim that it obscures the equal or more significant importance of cultural identities (gender, ethnicity). They accuse class analysts of being “economic reductionists” and failing to explain gender and ethnic differences within classes. They then proceed further to argue that these “differences” define the nature of contemporary politics. The second line of attack on class analysis stems from a view that class is merely an intellectual constructionit is essentially a subjective phenomenon that is culturally determined. Hence, there are no “objective class interests” that divide society since “interests” are purely subjective and each culture defines individual preferences. The third line of attack argues that there have been vast transformations in the economy and society that have obliterated the old class distinctions. In “post-industrial” society, some post-Marxists argue, the source of power is in the new information systems, the new technologies and those who manage and control them. Society, according to this view, is evolving toward a new society in which industrial workers are disappearing in two directions: upward into the “new middle class” of high technology and downward into the marginal “underclass”.

Marxists have never denied the importance of racial, gender and ethnic divisions within classes. What they have emphasised, however, is the wider social system which generates these differences and the need to join class forces to eliminate these inequalities at every point: work, neighborhood, family. What most Marxists object to is the idea that gender and race inequalities can and should be analysed and solved outside of the class framework: that landowner women with servants and wealth have an essential “identity” with the peasant women who are employed at starvation wages; that Indian bureaucrats of neo-liberal governments have a common “identity” with peasant Indians who are displaced from their land by the free market economic policies. For example, Bolivia has an Indian vice-president presiding over the mass arrest of cocoa-growing Indian farmers.

Identity politics in the sense of consciousness of a particular form of oppression by an immediate group can be an appropriate point of departure. This understanding, however, will become an “identity&148; prison (race or gender) isolated from other exploited social groups unless it transcends the immediate points of oppression and confronts the social system in which it is embedded. And that requires a broader class analysis of the structure of social power which presides over and defines the conditions of general and specific inequalities.

The essentialism of identity politics isolates groups into competing groups unable to transcend the politico-economic universe that defines and confines the poor, workers, peasants, employees. Class politics is the terrain within which to confront “identity politics” and to transform the institutions that sustain class and other inequalities.

Classes do not come into being by subjective fiat: they are organised by the capitalist class to appropriate value. Hence, the notion that class is a subjective notion, dependent on time, place and perception confuses class and class consciousness. While the former has objective status, the latter is conditioned by social and cultural factors. Class consciousness is a social construct which, however, does not make it less “real” and important in history. While the social forms and expressions of class consciousness vary, it is a recurring phenomenon throughout history and most of the world, even as it is overshadowed by other forms of consciousness at different moments (that is, race, gender, national) or combined with them (nationalism and class consciousness).

It is obvious that there are major changes in the class structure, but not in the direction that the post-Marxists point to. The major changes have reinforced class differences and class exploitation, even as the nature and conditions of the exploited and exploiter classes has changed. There are more temporary wage workers today than in the past. There are many more workers employed in unregulated labour markets (the so-called informal sector today) than in the past. The issue of unregulated exploitation does not describe a system that “transcends” past capitalism: it is the return to nineteenth century forms of labour exploitation. What requires new analysis is capitalism after the welfare populist state has been demolished. This means that the complex roles of states and parties which mediated between capital and labour have been replaced by state institutions more clearly and directly linked to the dominant capitalist class. Neo-liberalism is unmediated ruling class state power. Whatever the “multiple determinants” of state and regime behavior in the recent past, today the neo-liberal model of accumulation depends most directly on centralised state control horizontally linked to the international banks to implement debt payments and to export sectors to earn foreign exchange. Its vertical ties to the citizen as subject and the primary link is through a repressive state apparatus and para-statal “NGOs” who defuse social explosions.

The dismantling of the welfare state means that the social structure is more polarised: between low-paid or unemployed public employees in health, education, social security on the one hand and on the other hand, well-paid professionals linked to multinational corporations, NGOs and other externally financed institutions linked to the world market and centres of political power. The struggle today is not only between classes in factories but between the state and uprooted classes in the streets and markets displaced from fixed employment and forced to produce and sell and bear the costs of their social reproduction. Integration into the world market by elite exporters and medium and small compradores (importers of electronic goods, tourist functionaries of multinational hotels and resorts) has its counterpart in the disintegration of the economy of the interior: local industry, small farms with the concomitant displacement of producers to the city and overseas.

The import of luxury goods for the upper middle class is based on the earnings remitted by “exported” labour of the poor. The nexus of exploitation begins in the impoverishment of the interior, the uprooting of the peasants and their immigration to the cities and overseas. The income remitted by “exported labour” provides hard currency to finance imports and neo-liberal infrastructure projects to promote the reign of domestic export and tourist businesses. The chain of exploitation is more circuitous, but it still is located ultimately in the capital-labour relation.

In the age of neo-liberalism, the struggle to recreate the “nation”, the national market, national production and exchange is once again a basic historic demand just as the growth of deregulated employment (informality) requires a powerful public investment and regulatory centre to generate formal employment with livable social conditions. In a word, class analysis needs to be adapted to the rule of unmediated capital in an unregulated labour market with international linkages in which the reformist redistributive politics of the past have been replaced by neo-liberal policies reconcentrating income and power at the top. The homogenisation and downward mobility of vast sectors of workers and peasants formerly in the regulated labour market creates a great objective potential for unified revolutionary action. In a word, there is a common class identity which forms the terrain for organising the struggles of the poor.

In summary, contrary to what the post-Marxists argue, the transformations of capitalism have made class analysis more relevant than ever.

The growth of technology has exacerbated class differences, not abolished them. The workers in micro-chip industries and those industries in which the new chips have been incorporated have not eliminated the working class. Rather, it has shifted the sites of activity and the mode of producing within the continuing process of exploitation. The new class structure insofar as it is visible combines the new technologies to more controlling forms of exploitation. Automation of some sectors increases the tempo of work down the line; television cameras increase worker surveillance while decreasing administrative staff; “quality work circles”, in which workers pressure workers, increase self-exploitation without increases in pay or power. The “technological revolution” is ultimately shaped by the class structure of the neo-liberal counter-revolution. Computers allow for agribusiness to control the costs and volume of pesticides, but it is the low-paid temporary workers who spray and are poisoned. Information networks are linked to putting out work to the sweatshop or household (the informal economy) for production of textiles, shoes and such like.

The key to understanding this process of combined and uneven development of technology and labour is class analysis and within that gender and race.
To top State and civil society

The post-Marxists paint a one-sided picture of the state. The state is described as a huge inefficient bureaucracy that plundered the public treasury and left the people poor and the economy bankrupt. In the political sphere, the state was the source of authoritarian rule and arbitrary rulings, hindering the exercise of citizenship (democracy) and the free exchange of commodities (“the market”). On the other hand, the post-Marxists argue, “civil society” was the source of freedom, social movements, citizenship. Out of an active civil society would come an equitable and dynamic economy. What is strange about this ideology is its peculiar capacity to overlook 50 years of [Latin American] history. The public sector was of necessity instrumental in stimulating industrialisation in the absence of private investment and because of economic crisis, that is, world crisis of the 1930s and war in the 1940s. Secondly, the growth of literacy and basic public health was largely a public initiative.

In the century and a half of free enterprise, roughly from the eighteenth century to the 1930s, Latin America suffered the seven scourges of the Bible, while the invisible hand of the market looked on: genocide, famine, disease, tyranny, dependency, uprootedness and exploitation.

The public sector grew in response to these problems and deviated from its public functions to the degree that it was privately appropriated by business and political elites. The “inefficiency of the state” is a result of it being directed toward private gaineither in subsidising business interests (through low costs of energy) or providing employment to political followers. The inefficiency of the state is directly related to its subordination to private interests. The state’s comprehensive health and educational programmes have never been adequately replaced by the private economy, the church or the NGOs. Both the private sector and the church-funded private clinics and education cater to a wealthy minority. The NGOs, at best, provide short-term care and education for limited groups in local circumstances dependent on the whims and interests of foreign donors.

As a systematic comparison indicates, the post-Marxists have read the historical record wrong: they have let their anti-statist rhetoric blind them to the positive comparative accomplishments of the public over the private.

The argument that “the state” is the source of authoritarianism is both true and untrue. Dictatorial states have and will exist, but most have little or nothing to do with public ownership, especially if it means expropriating foreign business. Most dictatorships have been anti-statist and pro-free market, today and in the past and probably in the future.

Moreover, the state has been an important supporter of citizenship, promoting the incorporation of exploited sectors of the population into the polity, recognising legitimate rights of workers, blacks, women and others. States have provided the basis for social justice by redistributing land, income and budgets to favour the poor.

In a word, we need to go beyond the statist/anti-statist rhetoric to define the class nature of the state and its basis of political representation and legitimacy. The generalised ahistorical, asocial attacks on the state are unwarranted and only serve as a polemical instrument to disarm citizens of the free market from forging an effective and rational alternative anchored in the creative potentialities of public action.

The counter-position of “civil society” to the state is also a false dichotomy. Much of the discussion of civil society overlooks the basic social contradictions that divide “civil society”. Civil society or, more accurately, the leading classes of civil society, while attacking the “statism” of the poor have always made a major point of strengthening their ties to the treasury and military to promote and protect their dominant position in “civil society”. Likewise, the popular classes in civil society when aroused have sought to break the ruling classes’ monopoly of the state. The poor have always looked to state resources to strengthen their socio-economic position in relation to the rich. The issue is and always has been the relation of different classes to the state.

The post-Marxist ideologues who are marginalised from the state by the neo-liberals have made a virtue of their impotence. Uncritically imbuing the stateless rhetoric from above, they transmit it below. The post- Marxists try to justify their organisational vehicles (NGOs) for upward mobility by arguing that they operate outside of the state and in “civil society” when in fact they are funded by foreign governments to work with domestic governments.

“Civil society” is an abstraction from the deep social cleavages engendered by capitalist society; social divisions which have deepened under neo-liberalism. There is as much conflict within civil society, between classes, as there is between “civil society” and the state. Only in exceptionally rare moments do we find it otherwise. Under fascist or totalitarian states which torture, abuse and pillage the totality of social classes do we find instances of a dichotomy between the state and civil society.

To speak or write of “civil society” is to attempt to convert a legalistic distinction into major political categories to organise politics. In doing so, the differences between classes are obscured and ruling class domination is not challenged.

To counterpose the “citizen” to the “state” is to overlook the profound links of certain citizens (the export elites, upper middle class) to the state and the alienation and exclusion of the majority of citizens (workers, unemployed, peasants) from effective exercise of their elementary social rights. Elite citizens using the state, empty citizenship of any practical meaning for the majority, converting citizens into subjects. Discussion of civil society, like the state, needs to specify the social contours of social classes and the boundaries imposed by the privileged class. The way the post-Marxists use the term as an uncritical, undifferentiated concept serves to obscure more than reveal the dynamics of societal change.

To top Planning, bureaucracy and the market

There is no question that central planning in the former Communist countries was “bureaucratic”, authoritarian in conception and centralised in execution. From this empirical observation, the post-Marxists argue that “planning” (central or not) is by its nature antithetical to the needs of a modern complex economy with its multiple demands, millions of consumers, massive flows of information. Only the market can do the trick. Democracy and the market go togetheranother point of convergence between the “post-Marxists” and the neo-liberals. The problem with this notion is that most of the major institutions in a capitalist economy engage in central planning.

General Motors, Wal-Mart, Microsoft all centrally programme and plan direct investments and expenditures toward further production and marketing. Few, if any, post-Marxists focus their critical attention on these enterprises. The post-Marxists do not call into question the efficiency of central planning by the multinational corporations or their compatibility with the competitive electoral systems characteristic of capitalist democracies.

The theoretical problem is the post-Marxists’ confusion of central planning with one particular historic-political variant of it. If we accept that planning systems can be embedded in a variety of political systems (authoritarian or democratic), then it is logical that the accountability and responsiveness of the planning system will vary.

Today in capitalist societies, the military budget is part of state planning and expenditures based on “commands” to the producers (and owners of capital) who respond in their own inefficient way, producing and profiting for over 50 years. While no “model” of planning, the point that needs to be made is that central state planning, is not a phenomenon confined to “Communist systems”. The defects are generalised and found also in capitalist economies. The problem in both instances (Pentagon and Communism) is the lack of democratic accountability: the military-industrial complex elite fix production, costs, demand and supply.

The central allocation of state resources is essential in most countries because of regional inequalities in resource endowment, immigration, productivity, demand for products or for a wealth of historical reasons. Only a decision made at the centre can redistribute resources to compensate less developed regions, classes, gender and racial groups adversely affected by the above factors. Otherwise, the “market” tends to favour those with historic advantages and favorable endowments creating polar patterns of development or even fostering inter-regional/class exploitation and ethnic conflicts.

The fundamental problem of planning is the political structure which informs the planning process. Planning officials elected and subject to organised communities and social groups (producers, consumers, youth, women, racial minorities) will allocate resources between production, consumption and reinvestment different from those who are beholden to elites embedded in industrial-military complexes.

Secondly, planning does not mean detailed specification. The size of social budgets can be decided nationally by elected representatives and allocated according to public assemblies where citizens can vote on their local priorities. This practice has been successful in Porto Alegré in Brazil for the past several years under a municipal government led by the Workers’ Party. The relation between general and local planning is not written in stone, nor are the levels of specification of expenditures and investments to be determined at the “higher levels”. General allocations to promote strategic targets that benefit the whole country, such as infrastructure, high technology and education, are complemented by local decisions on subsidising schools, clinics, cultural centres.

Planning is a key instrument in today’s capitalist economy. To dismiss socialist planning is to reject an important tool in organising social change. To reverse the vast inequalities, concentration of property, unjust budget allocations, requires an overall plan with a democratic authority empowered to implement it. Together with public enterprises and self-management councils of producers and consumers, central planning is the third pillar to a democratic transformation.

Finally, central planning is not incompatible with locally owned productive and service activities, such as restaurants, cafes, repair shops and family farms. Clearly, public authorities will have their hands full managing the macro-structures of society.

The complex decisions and information flows are much easier to manage today with the mega-information processing computers. The formula is: democratic representation plus computers plus central planning equals efficient and socially equitable production and distribution.

To top ‘State power corrupts’: local politics submits

One of the principal critiques of Marxism among the post-Marxists is the notion that state power corrupts and that the struggle for it is the original sin. They argue that this is so because the state is so distant from the citizens, that the authorities become autonomous and arbitrary, forgetting the original goals and pursuing their own self-interest. There is no doubt that throughout history people seizing power have become tyrants. But it is also the case that the rise to power of individuals leading social movements have had an emancipating effect. The abolition of slavery and the overthrow of absolutist monarchies are two examples. So “power” in the state has a double meaning depending on the historic context. Likewise, local movements have had successes in mobilising communities and improving immediate conditions, in some cases significantly. But it is also the case that macro-political economic decisions have undermined local efforts. Today, structural adjustment policies at the national and international level have generated poverty and unemployment, depleting local resources, forcing local people to migrate or to engage in crime. The dialectics between state and local power operates to undermine or reinforce local initiatives and changes depending on the class power manifested at both levels. There are numerous cases of progressive municipal governments that have been undermined because reactionary national regimes cut off their funding. On the other hand, progressive municipal governments have been a very positive force helping neighborhood-local organisations, as has been the case with the socialist mayor of Montevideo in Uruguay or the leftist mayor in Porto Alegre in Brazil.

The post-Marxists who counterpose “local” to “state power” are not basing their discussion on historical experience, at least not of Latin America. The antinomy is a result of the attempt to justify the role of NGOs as mediators between local organisations and neo liberal foreign donors (World Bank, Europe or the us) and the local free market regimes. In order to “legitimate” their role, the post-Marxist NGO professionals, as “agents of the democratic grassroots”, have to disparage the left at the level of state power. In the process, they complement the activity of the neo-liberals by severing the link between local struggles and organisation and national/international political movements. The emphasis on “local activity” serves the neo-liberal regimes just right, as it allows its foreign and domestic backers to dominate macro-socio-economic policy and to channel most of the state’s resources on behalf of export capitalists and financial interests.

The post-Marxists, as managers of NGOs, have become skilled in designing projects and transmitting the new “identity” and “globalist” jargon into the popular movements. Their talk and writing about international cooperation and self-help micro-enterprises creates ideological bonds with the neo-liberals while forging dependency on external donors and their neo-liberal socio-economic agenda. It is no surprise that after a decade of NGO activity that the post-Marxist professionals have “depoliticised” and deradicalised whole areas of social life: women, neighborhood and youth organisations. The case of Peru and Chile is classic: where the NGOs have become firmly established, the radical social movements have retreated.

Local struggles over immediate issues are the food and substance that nurture emerging movements. The crucial question is over their direction and dynamic: whether they raise the larger issues of the social system and link up with other local forces to confront the state and its imperial backers or whether it turns inward, looking to foreign donors and fragmenting into a series of competing supplicants for external subsidies. The ideology of post-Marxism promotes the latter; the Marxists the former.

To top Revolutions always end badly: the ‘possibilism’ of post-Marxism

There is a pessimistic variant to post-Marxism which speaks less of the failures of revolution as the impossibility of socialism. They cite the decline of the revolutionary left, the triumph of capitalism in the East, the “crisis of Marxism”, the loss of alternatives, the strength of the us, the coups and repression by the military—all these arguments are mobilised to urge the left to support “possibilism”: the need to work within the niches of the free market imposed by the World Bank and its structural adjustment agenda, and to confine politics to the electoral parameters imposed by the military. This is called “pragmatism” or incrementalism. Post-Marxists played a major ideological role in promoting and defending the so-called electoral transition from military rule in which social changes were subordinated to the reintroduction of an electoral system.

Most of the arguments of the post-Marxists are based on static and selective observations of contemporary reality and are tied to predetermined conclusions. Having decided that revolutions are out of date, they focus on neo-liberal electoral victories and not on the post-electoral mass protests and general strikes that mobilise large numbers of people in extra-parliamentary activity. They look at the demise of communism in the late 1980s and not to its revival in the mid-1990s. They describe the constraints of the military on electoral politicians without looking at the challenges to the military by the Zapatista guerrillas, the urban rebellions in Caracas, the general strikes in Bolivia. In a word, the possibilists overlook the dynamics of struggles that begin at the sectoral or local level within the electoral parameters of the military and then are propelled upward and beyond those limits by the failures and impotence of the electoral possibilists to satisfy the elementary demands and needs of the people. The possibilists have failed to end the impunity of the military, to pay the back salaries of public employees (the provinces of Argentina) or to end crop destruction of the cocoa farmers (in Bolivia).

The post-Marxist possibilists become part of the problem instead of part of the solution. It is a decade and a half since the negotiated transitions began and in each instance the post-Marxists have adapted to neo-liberalism and deepened its free market policies. The possibilists are unable to effectively oppose the negative social effects of the free market on the people, but are pressured by the neo-liberals to impose new and more austere measures in order to continue to hold office. The post-Marxists have gradually moved from being pragmatic critics of the neo-liberals to promoting themselves as efficient and honest managers of neo-liberalism, capable of securing investor confidence and pacifying social unrest.

In the meantime, the pragmatism of the post-Marxists is matched by the extremism of the neo-liberals: the decade of the 1990s has witnessed a radicalisation of neo-liberal policies, designed to forestall crisis by handing over even more lucrative investment and speculative opportunities to overseas banks and multinationals.

The neo-liberals are creating a polarised class structure, much closer to the Marxist paradigm of society than the post-Marxist vision. Contemporary Latin American class structure is more rigid, more deterministic, more linked to class politics or the state, than in the past. In these circumstances revolutionary politics are far more relevant than the pragmatic proposals of the post-Marxists.

To top Class solidarity and the ‘solidarity’ of foreign donors

The word “solidarity” has been abused to the point that in many contexts it has lost meaning. The term “solidarity” for the post-Marxists includes foreign aid channelled to any designated “impoverished” group. Mere “research” or “popular education” of the poor by professionals is designated as “solidarity”. In many ways the hierarchical structures and the forms of transmission of “aid” and “training” resemble nineteenth century charity and the promoters are not very different from Christian missionaries.

The post-Marxists emphasise “self-help” in attacking the “paternalism and dependence” on the state. In this competition among NGOs to capture the victims of neo-liberalism, the post-Marxists receive important subsidies from their counterparts in Europe and the usa. The self-help ideology emphasises the replacement of public employees for volunteers and upwardly mobile professionals contracted on a temporary basis. The basic philosophy of the post-Marxist view is to transform “solidarity” into collaboration and subordination to the macro-economy of neo-liberalism by focusing attention away from state resources of the wealthy classes toward self-exploitation of the poor. The poor do not need to be made virtuous by the post-Marxists for what the state obligates them to do.

The Marxist concept of solidarity in contrast emphasises class solidarity and within the class, solidarity of oppressed groups (women and people of colour) against their foreign and domestic exploiters. The major focus is not on the donations that divide classes and pacify small groups for a limited time period. The focus of the Marxist concept of solidarity is on the common action of the same members of the class sharing their common economic predicament and struggling for collective improvement.

It involves intellectuals who write and speak for the social movements in struggle, committed to sharing the same political consequences. The concept of solidarity is linked to “organic” intellectuals who are basically part of the movementthe resource people providing analysis and education for class struggle. In contrast, the post-Marxists are embedded in the world of institutions, academic seminars, foreign foundations, international conferences and bureaucratic reports. They write in esoteric postmodern jargon understood only by those “initiated” into the subjectivist cult of essentialist identities.

Marxists view solidarity as sharing the risks of the movements, not being outside commentators who question everything and defend nothing. For the post-Marxists, the main object is “getting” the foreign funding for the “project”. The main issue for the Marxist is the process of political struggle and education in securing social improvement. The objective is raising consciousness for societal change; constructing political power to transform the general condition of the great majority. “Solidarity” for the post-Marxists is divorced from the general object of liberation; it is merely a way of bringing people together to attend a job retraining seminar, to build a latrine. For the Marxists, the solidarity of a collective struggle contains the seeds of the future democratic collectivist society. The larger vision or its absence is what gives the different conceptions of solidarity their distinct meaning.

To top Class struggle and cooperation

The post-Marxists frequently write of the “cooperation” of everyone, near and far, without delving too profoundly into the price and conditions for securing the cooperation of neo-liberal regimes and overseas funding agencies. Class struggle is viewed as an atavism to a past that no longer exists. So we are told “the poor” are intent on building a new life. They are fed up with traditional politics, ideologies and politicians.

So far, so good. The problem is that the post-Marxists are not so forthcoming in describing their role as mediators and brokers, hustling funds overseas and matching the funds to projects acceptable to donors and local recipients. The foundation entrepreneurs are engaged in a new type of politics similar to the “labour contractors” (enganchadores) of the not-too-distant past: herding together women to be “trained”; setting up micro-firms subcontracted to larger producers of exports.

The new politics of the post-Marxists is essentially the politics of compradors: they produce no national products, rather they link foreign funders with local labour (self-help micro-enterprises) to facilitate the continuation of the neo-liberal regime. In that sense the post-Marxists in their role of managers of NGOs are fundamentally political actors whose projects, training and workshops do not make any significant economic impact either on the gnp or in terms of lessening poverty. But their activities do make an impact in diverting people from the class struggle into harmless and ineffective forms of collaboration with their oppressors.

The Marxist perspective of class struggle and confrontation is built upon the real social divisions of society: between those who extract profits, interest, rent and regressive taxes and those who struggle to maximise wages, social expenditures and productive investments. The results of post-Marxist perspectives are today evident everywhere: the concentration of income and the growth of inequalities are greater than ever, after a decade of preaching cooperation, micro-enterprises and self help. Today banks like the Inter-American Development Bank (IDB) fund the export agribusinesses that exploit and poison millions of farm labourers while providing funds to finance small micro-projects. The role of the post-Marxists in the micro projects is to neutralise political opposition at the bottom while neo-liberalism is promoted at the top.

The ideology of “cooperation” links the poor through the post-Marxists to the neo-liberals at the top. Intellectually, the post-Marxists are the intellectual policemen who define acceptable research, distribute research funds and filter out topics and perspectives that project class analysis and struggle perspectives. Marxists are excluded from the conferences and stigmatised as “ideologists” , while post-Marxists present themselves as “social scientists”. The control of intellectual fashion, publications, conferences and research funds provide the post-Marxists with an important power basebut one ultimately dependent on avoiding conflict with their external funding patrons.

The critical Marxist intellectuals have their strength in the fact that their ideas resonate with the evolving social realities. The polarisation of classes and the violent confrontations are growing, as their theories predict. It is in this sense that the Marxists are tactically weak and strategically strong vis-a-vis the post-Marxists.

To top Is anti-imperialism dead?

In recent years anti-imperialism has disappeared from the political lexicon of the post-Marxists. The ex-guerrillas of Central American turned electoral politicians, and the professionals who run the NGOs speak of international cooperation and interdependence. Yet debt repayments continue to transfer huge sums from the poor in Latin America to the European, us and Japanese banks. Public properties, banks, and above all natural resources are being taken over at very cheap prices by us and European multinationals. There are more Latin American billionaires with the bulk of their funds in us and European banks than ever before. Meanwhile, entire provinces have become industrial cemeteries and the countryside is depopulated. The us has more military advisers, drug officials and federal police directing Latin American “policing” than ever before in history. Yet we are told by some former Sandinistas and ex-Farabundistas that anti-imperialism/imperialism disappeared with the end of the Cold War. The problem, we are told, is not foreign investments or foreign aid but their absence and they ask for more imperial aid. The political and economic myopia that accompanies this perspective fails to understand that the political conditions for the loans and investment is the cheapening of labour, the elimination of social legislation and the transformation of Latin America into one big plantation, one big mining camp, one big free trade zone stripped of rights, sovereignty and wealth.

The Marxist emphasis on the deepening of imperial exploitation is rooted in the social relations of production and state relations between imperial and dependent capitalism. The collapse of the ussr has intensified imperial exploitation. The post-Marxists (ex-Marxists) who believe that the unipolar world will result in greater “cooperation” have misread US intervention in Panama, Iraq, Somalia and elsewhere. More fundamentally, the dynamic of imperialism is embedded in the internal dynamic of capital not in external competition with the Soviet Union. The loss of the domestic market and external sector of Latin America is a return to a “pre-national” phase: the Latin economies begin to resemble their “colonial” past.

The struggle against imperialism today involves the reconstruction of the nation, the domestic market, the productive economy and a working class linked to social production and consumption.

To top Two perspectives on social transformation: class organisations and NGOs

To advance the struggle against imperialism and its domestic neo-comprador collaborators passes through an ideological and cultural debate with the post-Marxists inside and on the periphery of the popular movements.

Neo-liberalism operates today on two fronts: the economic and the cultural-political, and at two levels, the regime and the popular classes. At the top, neo-liberal policies are formulated and implemented by the usual characters: the World Bank, the IMF working with Washington, Bonn and Tokyo in association with neo-liberal regimes and domestic exporters, big business conglomerates and bankers.

By the early 1980s the more perceptive sectors of the neo-liberal ruling classes realised that their policies were polarising the society and provoking large-scale social discontent. Neo-liberal politicians began to finance and promote a parallel strategy of “from below”, the promotion of “grassroots” organisation with an “anti-statist” ideology to intervene among potentially conflicting classes, to create a “social cushion”. These organisations were financially dependent on neo-liberal sources and were directly involved in competing with socio-political movements for the allegiance of local leaders and activist communities. By the 1990s these organisations, described as “non-governmental”, numbered in the thousands and were receiving close to US$4 billion world-wide.

The confusion concerning the political character of the NGOs stems from their earlier history in the 1970s during the days of the dictatorships. In this period they were active in providing humanitarian support to the victims of the military dictatorships and denouncing human rights violations. The NGOs supported “soup kitchens” which allowed victimised families to survive the first wave of shock treatments administered by the neo-liberal dictatorships. This period created a favorable image of NGOs even among the left. They were considered part of the “progressive camp”. Even then, however, the limits of the NGOs were evident. While they attacked the human rights violations of local dictatorships, they rarely denounced their and European patrons who financed and advised them. Nor was there a serious effort to link the neo-liberal economic policies and human rights violations to the new turn in the imperialist system. Obviously the external sources of funding limited the sphere of criticism and human rights action.

As opposition to neo-liberalism grew in the early 1980s, the and European governments and the World Bank increased funding of NGOs. There is a direct relation between the growth of movements challenging the neo-liberal model and the effort to subvert them by creating alternative forms of social action through the NGOs. The basic point of convergence between the NGOs and the World Bank was their common opposition to “statism”. On the surface the NGOs criticised the state from a “left” perspective defending civil society, while the right did so in the name of the market. In reality, however, the World Bank, the neo-liberal regimes and Western foundations co-opted and encouraged the NGOs to undermine the national welfare state by providing social services to compensate the victims of the MNCs. In other words, as the neo-liberal regimes at the top devastated communities by inundating the country with cheap imports, external debt payments and abolishing labour legislation, creating a growing mass of low-paid and unemployed workers, the NGOs were funded to provide “self-help” projects, “popular education” and job training, to absorb temporarily, small groups of poor, to co-opt local leaders and to undermine anti-system struggles.

The NGOs became the “community face” of neo-liberalism, intimately related to those at the top and complementing their destructive work with local projects. In effect, the neo-liberals organised a “pincer” operation or dual strategy. Unfortunately, many on the left focused only on “neo-liberalism” from above and the outside (IMF, World Bank) and not on neo-liberalism from below (NGOs, micro-enterprises). A major reason for this oversight was the conversion of many ex-Marxists to the NGO formula and practice. Post-Marxism was the ideological transit ticket from class politics to “community development”, from Marxism to the NGOs.

While the neo-liberals were transferring lucrative state properties to the private rich, the NGOs were not part of the trade union resistance. On the contrary, they were active in local private projects, promoting the private enterprise discourse (self-help) in the local community by focussing on micro-enterprises. The NGOs built ideological bridges between the small-scale capitalists and the monopolies benefitting from privatisation all in the name of “anti-statism”, and building civil societies. While the rich accumulated vast financial empires from the privatisation, the NGO middle-class professionals got small sums of funds to finance offices, transportation and small-scale economic activity. The important political point is that the NGOs depoliticised sectors of the population, undermined their commitment to public employment and co-opted potential leaders in small projects. NGOs abstain from public school teacher struggles as the neo-liberal regimes attack public education and public educators. Rarely if ever do NGOs support the strikes and protests against low wages and budget cuts. Since their education funding comes from the neo-liberal governments they avoid solidarity with public educators in struggle. In practice, “non-governmental” translates into anti-public spending activities, freeing the bulk of funds for neo-liberals to subsidise export capitalists while small sums trickle from the government to NGOs.

In reality, non-governmental organisations are not non-governmental. They receive funds from overseas governments or work as private sub-contractors of local governments. Frequently they openly collaborate with governmental agencies at home or overseas. This “sub-contracting” undermines professionals with fixed contracts, replacing them with contingent professionals. The NGOs cannot provide the long term comprehensive programmes that the welfare state can furnish. Instead they provide limited services to narrow groups of communities. More importantly, their programmes are not accountable to the local people but to overseas donors. In this sense NGOs undermine democracy by taking social programmes out of the hands of the local people and their elected officials and creating dependence on non-elected, overseas officials and their locally anointed officials.

NGOs shift people’s attention and struggles away from the national budget toward self-exploitation to secure local social services. This allows the neo-liberals to cut social budgets and transfer state funds to subsidise bad debts of private banks and loans to exporters. Self-exploitation (self-help) means that, in addition to paying taxes to the state and not getting anything in return, working people have to work extra hours with marginal resources, expending scarce energies to obtain services that the bourgeoisie receives free from the state. More fundamentally, the NGO ideology of “private voluntary activity” undermines the idea that the government has an obligation to look after its citizens and provide them with life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; that political responsibility of the state is essential for the well-being of citizens. Against this notion of public responsibility, the NGOs foster the neo-liberal idea of private responsibility for social problems and the importance of private resources to solve these problem. In effect, they impose a double burden on the poor: paying taxes to finance the neo-liberal state to serve the rich and private self-exploitation to take care of their own needs.
To top NGOs and socio-political movements

NGOs emphasise projects not movements. They “mobilise” people to produce at the margins not to struggle to control the basic means of production and wealth. They focus on technical financial assistance of projects not on structural conditions that shape the everyday lives of people. The NGOs co-opt the language of the left: “popular power”, “empowerment”, “gender equality”, “sustainable development” and “bottom up leadership”. The problem is that this language is linked to a framework of collaboration with donors and government agencies that subordinate practical activity to non-confrontational politics. The local nature of NGO activity means “empowerment” which never goes beyond influencing small areas of social life with limited resources within the conditions permitted by the neo-liberal state and macro-economy.

The NGOs and their post-Marxist professional staff directly compete with the socio-political movements for influence among the poor, women, racially excluded and such like. Their ideology and practice diverts attention from the sources and solutions of poverty (looking downward and inward instead of upward and outward). To speak of micro-enterprises as solutions, instead of the exploitation by the overseas banks, is based on the notion that the problem is one of individual initiative rather than the transference of income overseas. The NGOs’ aid affects small sectors of the population, setting up competition between communities for scarce resources, generating insidious distinction and inter- and intra-community rivalries thus undermining class solidarity. The same is true among the professionals: each sets up their NGO to solicit overseas funds. They compete by presenting proposals closer to the liking of the overseas donors for lower prices, while claiming to speak for more followers. The net effect is a proliferation of NGOs that fragment poor communities into sectoral and sub-sectoral groupings unable to see the larger social picture that afflicts them and even less able to unite in struggle against the system. Recent experience also demonstrates that foreign donors finance projects during “crises”—political and social challenges to the status quo. Once the movements have ebbed, they shift funding to NGO-regime “collaboration”, fitting the NGO projects into the neo-liberal agenda. Economic development compatible with the “free market” rather than social organisation for social change becomes the dominant item on the funding agenda. The structure and nature of NGOs with their “apolitical” posture and their focus on self-help depoliticises and demobilises the poor. They reinforce the electoral processes encouraged by the neo-liberal parties and mass media. Political education about the nature of imperialism, the class basis of neo-liberalism, like class struggle between exporters and temporary workers are avoided. Instead the NGOs discuss “the excluded”, the “powerless”, “extreme poverty”, “gender or racial discrimination” without moving beyond the superficial symptom, to engaging the social system that produces these conditions. Incorporating the poor into the neo-liberal economy through purely “private voluntary action”, the NGOs create a political world where the appearance of solidarity and social action cloaks a conservative conformity with the international and national structure of power.

It is no coincidence that as NGOs have become dominant in certain regions, independent class political action has declined, and neo-liberalism goes uncontested. The bottom line is that the growth of NGOs coincides with increased funding from neo-liberalism and the deepening of poverty everywhere. Despite its claims of many local successes, the overall power of neo-liberalism stands unchallenged and the NGOs increasingly search for niches in the interstices of power. The problem of formulating alternatives has been hindered in another way. Many of the former leaders of guerrilla and social movements, trade union and popular women’s organisations have been co-opted by the NGOs. The offer is tempting: higher pay (occasionally in hard currency), prestige and recognition by overseas donors, overseas conferences and networks, office staff and relative security from repression. In contrast, the socio-political movements offer few material benefits but greater respect and independence and, more importantly, the freedom to challenge the political and economic system. The NGOs and their overseas banking supporters (Inter-American Bank, the World Bank) publish newsletters featuring success stories of micro-enterprises and other self-help projects—without mentioning the high rates of failure as popular consumption declines, low price imports flood the market and as interest rates spiralas is the case in Mexico today.

Even the “successes” affect only a small fraction of the total poor and succeed only to the degree that others cannot enter into the same market. However, the propaganda value of individual micro-enterprise success is important in fostering the illusion that neo-liberalism is a popular phenomenon. The frequent violent mass outbursts that take place in regions of micro-enterprise promotion suggests that the ideology is not hegemonic and the NGOs have not yet displaced independent class movements.

Finally, NGOs foster a new type of cultural and economic colonialism and dependency. Projects are designed, or at least approved, according to “guidelines” and priorities of the imperial centres or their institutions. They are administered and “sold” to communities. Evaluations are done by and for the imperial institutions. Shifts in funding priorities or bad evaluations result in the dumping of groups, communities, farms and cooperatives. Everything and everybody is increasingly disciplined to comply with the donors’ demands and their project evaluators. The new viceroys supervise and ensure conformity with the goals, values and ideologies of the donor as well as the proper use of funds. Where “successes” occur they are heavily dependent on continued outside support, otherwise they could collapse.

While the mass of NGOs are increasingly instruments of neo-liberalism there is a small minority which attempt to develop an alternative strategy that is supportive of class and anti-imperialist politics. None of them receive funds from the World Bank or European and governmental agencies. They support efforts to link local power to struggles for state power. They link local projects to national socio-political movements occupying large landed estates, defending public property and national ownership against multinationals. They provide political solidarity to social movements involved in struggles to expropriate land. They support women’s struggles linked to class perspectives. They recognise the importance of putting politics in command in defining local and immediate struggles. They believe that local organisations should fight at the national level and that national leaders must be accountable to local activists. In a word, they are not post-Marxists.