When I was three or four I was brought up to believe that policemen were terrible monsters who ate children refusing to finish the vegetables on their plates or broke things in the house. Now, all these decades later, the warning flashes in my mind again. When in doubt lash out seems to be the motto of the men appointed to protect us.
There might be a cultural reason for this. In our epics, villains like Ravanna had the indestructible Chandrahasa sword, Duryodhana had his mace and so on. The Indian policeman has his lathi. Interestingly, such power was granted by the gods in charge.
Videos of cops and thugs (increasingly indistinguishable in their behaviour) have been beating up citizens, upsetting the food carts of the poor and helpless, and creating terror in parts of India have been circulating since the lockdown began. We can put it down to a lack of communication – the Great Communicator being unable to get his message across – if we want to be polite. But that still doesn’t explain the manner in which policemen have been behaving with impunity across the country, smashing bones, destroying libraries, damaging vehicles, and suggesting they are just a step away from making my childhood nightmare come true.
I know some wonderful police officers. Educated, gentlemanly, compassionate, and focused on helping the citizens of the country they are a part of. Bengaluru has seen policemen handle the traffic to enable important medical equipment reach patients. It has seen policemen helping fill potholes. So what happens to their colleagues in some situations?
Are they over-worked, under-paid, and in the current situation, simply scared? Are some of them upset that the casual favours they demand for minor transgressions have dried up? Or, like the rest of us, are they furious that stupid, unthinking citizens out for a joy ride on empty streets or playing cricket and football in maidans are foolishly endangering all our lives?
The question, naturally, is how can they distinguish between the stupid and the desperate who are on the streets because they need to buy food and vegetables? Well, they can ask. They can check. If the answers are unsatisfactory, they can fine them. But when you start swinging the lathi indiscriminately, you become part of the problem, not part of the solution.
The lockdown is necessary even if it came without proper warning. South Africa, for example, gave its citizens three days to prepare. Our lack of preparation has seen hundreds of migrant workers walking hundreds of kilometres to their homes – the full picture of the damage will only emerge later.
Doctors, delivery boys, emergency workers, even a senior journalist of this newspaper in Telengana, those in “essential services” across the country all have stories of being roughed up by policemen who ought to know better.
The Narayanastra, to return to our epics, was a deadly weapon that could be used only once. Lathis should be converted into similar single-use weapons for the well-being of our citizens.
(Suresh Menon is Contributing Editor, The Hindu)
