There are two slogans boldly painted on the wall near the closed gates of the Dunlop factory in Sahagunj. One declares that the building, now deserted and forlorn, is India’s first tyre factory, and was set up in 1936. The other ironically proclaims that the “Leader is back”.

The Dunlop management decided to stop production at the Sahagunj factory in mid-November, citing “poor market conditions”. It proposed to pay a salary of Rs 2,000 to its 1,200-odd workers and requested the government to make arrangements for working capital to enable it to reopen. The unions refused the pay-cut, forcing the management to announce suspension of work. The West Bengal Industrial Development Corporation subsequently turned down the request for working capital, thereby snuffing out hopes of the factory reopening soon.

Dunlop’s tragedy can be understood at various levels. Some of it is visible inside the sprawling and desolate waste land. Dilapidated staff quarters, part of a cinema hall filled with creepers, a crumbling fire station and hospital are reminders of a once-thriving industry now laid to waste. But as a former employee said, sitting in his quaint house a kilometre or so from the doomed premises, the forces that have helped this tragedy unfold are also intangible. They can be located in the history of the institutions that have played a part in Dunlop’s demise: the State, labour unions and the management.

Dunlop, under a British management, was profitable until well into the Seventies. After a Central directive aimed at diluting foreign business holdings, the Goenkas took over its reins in the mid-Eighties. Manu Chhabria, the man who would mismanage the show later, also held a few shares then. Things deteriorated as Citu made inroads into Intuc’s turf around this time, employing tactics that hampered productivity, even as the new masters watched the poison spread from Alimuddin Street. Absenteeism among employees increased, strikes began and unreasonable wage demands were met by a pliant management. Intuc imitated its rivals, in the hope of protecting its support-base.

Chhabria succeeded the Goenkas in 1988, but only precipitated the rot. Financial irregularities led to a massive funds crunch, there were periodic closures and retrenchments of employees, and Dunlop also came under the purview of the Board for Industrial and Financial Regulation by 1998. Operations were suspended between 1998 and 2000, the factory opened briefly in March that year, only to close down again from 2001 to 2005, by which time the ownership had passed to Pawan Ruia.

The bitter lessons taught by history are seldom heeded in Bengal’s industrial sector. Even now, the political establishment continues with its cynical attempts at exploiting an economic and human tragedy. The Left Front government, busy with its attempt to arrest fleeing capital, is not keen on addressing Dunlop’s problems. The government has refused to provide funds or incentives, although it extended many a sop to the Tatas for their aborted project in Singur. The Opposition leader, Mamata Banerjee, may have demanded that the management pays the workers’ dues, but this is in keeping with her designs to use the crisis as an opportunity to reverse her “anti-industry” image. If the crisis can be sustained, it could provide political capital to Banerjee’s party, which is trying to gain a toehold among the competitive unions. Meanwhile, Pawan Ruia is crying foul too, against the government’s indifference as well as against global downturn. But he has not quite explained why, since he took over with the promise of reviving the factory, production at Dunlop has touched 30 tons a day only on two occasions, and never exceeded 17.48 tons between April and August this year. Neither has Ruia attempted to replace the factory’s ageing machinery that might help the company stay competitive. There are now whispers in some quarters that Ruia’s real interest in Dunlop’s Sahagunj factory is not tyres, but the prime retail space. The two unions are of course crowing about the unfair payment, even as workers allege that they have sold themselves to the management.

Dunlop needs to be revived, and not forgotten, in the collective consciousness for two reasons. First, Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee has often talked about how important it is for Bengal to industrialize. But Dunlop shows that industry can die, and has died, in Bengal, at the hands of a conniving party, its affiliate unions, and an unscrupulous management. The past hangs heavily on the investors who are reluctant to return, and Bhattacharjee’s promises of change are clearly not enough to banish their well-founded fears. Second, Bhattacharjee’s government cannot hope to rejuvenate Bengal by hoping to set up new industries alone. Older, ailing units, such as the one in Dunlop, must be revived as well. Till then, the closed gates at Sahagunj and its paradoxical slogans will continue to mock the chief minister’s grand vision.