Muzaffarnagar Riots 2013 The Hate Games скачать в хорошем качестве

Muzaffarnagar Riots 2013 The Hate Games

'We've made mistakes. But there are two things I will always be: secular and socialist' UP Chief Minister Akhilesh Yadav speaks to Shoma Chaudhury. With Virendra Nath Bhatt Issue Date 5-10-2013 Frustration is a common mood in Indian public life. But when it follows a rare cycle of hope, it breeds a particular sort of desperation. In Lucknow, it's hard to miss this dark mood. Talk at every home swirls around the terrible riots of Muzaffarnagar. Close on this, swirl views on Uttar Pradesh's 40-year-old chief minister. Back in March 2012, Akhilesh Yadav could do no wrong. His election campaign had been run pitch perfect. He seemed to embody the new order everyone was longing for: he was young; his speeches were soothing; inclusive; positive. His dream-selling was bang-on. In his latter years, the old war-horse, Mulayam Singh Yadav, had squandered a lot of political capital. Akhilesh, on the other hand, seemed a space-pod that could make Uttar Pradesh jump a century. The people voted him in with 224 out of 403 seats. Eighteen months later, even his closest aides have become doubters. "I wish he would read Stephen Covey," said one bureaucrat in his inner circle. "He needs a high dose of auto-suggestion. He should remind himself: I'm the chief minister; I'm the chief minister. I have been voted in with a massive mandate." Another said dryly: "We need to add one line to the Samajwadi Party manifesto: The chief minister must work." Over the past few months, as a disconcerting number of communal riots have flared up in the state, apart from the dark mood, a sinister theory has begun to take root in Uttar Pradesh. There is a sense that, in the run-up to the 2014 General Election, the Samajwadi Party is deliberately allowing Hindutva forces to stoke communal fires because it keeps the Muslim minority in a state of fear and, by extension, in need of the Samajwadi Party's protection. The communal and the secular, people say, have become two grimy sides of the same hand. On ground, however, there does not seem to be any direct evidence of such diabolical Samajwadi Party design. There is only a scary vacuum. Akhilesh is not being allowed to fly: he has been downsized and grounded by his patriarch and his uncles. The CM's chair is being pulled by too many strings. This is little comfort for those who are suffering though: incompetence can be as bruising as evil. In the shadow of all this — in the shadow of Muzaffarnagar, 50 dead and thousands displaced, in the shadow of the clamour and criticism around him, in the shadow of an ascending Narendra Modi and resurgent BJP — Akhilesh agreed to meet TEHELKA. In some senses, it was a heartening meeting. The mess of Uttar Pradesh is colossal, the relief camps of Muzaffarnagar are teeming with the poor and the devastated, and there is a mountain Akhilesh has to answer for. But still, there are things to be grateful for too. Unlike BJP prime minister hopeful Modi, who has never allowed himself to be grilled by the media about the 2002 Gujarat riots; unlike Modi again, who has coldly and resolutely never expressed regret or admitted to any mistakes (set aside his active collusion) in the riots, unlike Modi (or indeed any other leader in the aftermath of a major riot), in a crucial differentiator, Akhilesh opened himself to a hard and detailed questioning about the riots, his role in it, and the flawed nature of his government. Predictably, he defended many of his government's moves. He also fobbed off criticisms about his father's interference. But, significantly too, he expressed regret, acknowledged mistakes, and spelled out his vision for Uttar Pradesh's development. He also gave a detailed account of the communal incidents that led up to the conflagration of Muzaffarnagar and the BJP's allegedly insidious role in it. At one point in the conversation, he said, "Why do you keep saying I'm not in control? Am I consulting anyone before replying to your questions?" Still, meeting Akhilesh in his palatial house in Lucknow, it was hard not to feel one was watching an understudy, playing out lines in a green-room, while the real act goes on elsewhere. As we sat, he kept getting calls about incidents across the state. His uniform response over the phone was: "Security laga doh." Akhilesh has warmth: unfortunately, he lacks gravitas. But perhaps one should still not underestimate him. In displaying a democrat's spirit, in at least acting like a true leader in braving questions frontally and affably, Akhilesh has once again showed his potential. The riots may be over, but the relief still has to begin. If only Akhilesh would catch his cue correctly now, perhaps he might yet turn out to be the space-pod he was meant to be.