Different direction

At a press conference in March this year, journalists stumbled upon a contemplative Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee reflecting on the Left Front’s growing list of ‘errors’. Of the many mistakes, the former chief minister dwelt at length on the Party’s “unnecessary interference” in the life and functioning of civil society.

The Communist Party of India (Marxist)’s perverse grip on critical institutions of the State — health, education, industry — has been well-documented. During my travels in rural West Bengal, to villages in Burdwan, Murshidabad, the Sundarbans, Malda and the Dooars, I had witnessed how the Party meddled in the private lives of the citizenry, using agencies such as panchayats, the pliant bureaucracy or the police and, when all else failed, the vengeful cadre, to decide on matters relating to both life and death — marriages and marital disputes, the purchase and sale of land and other forms of property, dowry and even funeral expenses. In an urban space like Calcutta — where such meddling was likely to be met with resistance from the intelligentsia and an educated middle class — the Party took care to make its intrusions less perceptible. But it retained its vice-like grip nonetheless, especially on citizens who remain on the periphery of civil society.

Bhattacharjee’s comment spurred me to explore the template of control that the Party had put in place among the less privileged in civil society. My investigation was limited to a people who, over three decades, had formed the Party’s urban vanguard — rickshawpullers, autorickshaw drivers, taxi drivers, domestic help, and the owners of small enterprises, such as newspaper vendors. Most of the respondents I interviewed live and work in areas such as Tollygunge, Behala and Garia. The samples of my investigation may not be truly representative but the stories, when woven together, provide compelling evidence of the existence of a regimented, and often brutal, power structure that dominated a democratic polity for over three decades.

A domestic worker, who still lacks the courage to disclose her name, recalled the Party forcibly taking over her small plot of land in Sonarpur to set up its office. She had bought the plot after saving a little over Rs 10,000, setting aside a paltry sum of money each day for the last 15 years. A newspaper-delivery boy, 20 years old with dreams of setting up his own magazine stall, recounted how a vendor, under pressure from the Party’s local committee, had asked him to deliver newspapers to not more than 20 houses. His meagre earning meant an early end to his dream. Alam Sheikh, a rickshawpuller, complained bitterly about how leaders of Citu — the dominant union in the transport sector even until a few days back—would never share information about the expenses of the fund that was maintained with the help of daily subscriptions. Chitto Samanta, an autorickshaw driver, cannot forget that he was served a seven-day suspension notice for refusing to go to the Brigade Parade for a Left Front meeting. Samanta, who makes a little over Rs 150 each day after plying his vehicles for 10 hours, could not afford to lose a day’s earnings. His colleague, Anirban, was penalized after he alleged that the union had connived with the motor vehicles department and flooded Calcutta’s shrinking roads with unlicensed autorickshaws (There are now 1,700 autorickshaws running between Tollygunge and Garia). Another irate taxi-driver argued that the funds for the Left Front’s social welfare schemes — pension, health insurance, stipends — were disbursed predominantly among Party members.

What strengthened the Party’s hold on these people’s lives was West Bengal’s corresponding slide in industry, accompanied by the steady rise in unemployment.West Bengal’s share in the total number of factories in India fell from 7.60 per cent in 1976-77 to 4 per cent in 2008-09. In 2004-05, unemployment in West Bengal’s cities stood at 6.2 per cent, higher than the all-India figure of 4.5 percent. None of the people I interviewed had completed their graduation. Three of them had dropped out of school. Minimal education and the impediments fostered by low income had made it impossible for them to migrate to other states in search of a better life.

When asked about his views on such matters, a senior functionary of the Kolkata Autorickshaw Operators’ Union declared he has no time for statistics or stories. Sitting in his deserted office a few days after the election results, he was busy plotting ways to stem the tide of transport operators switching over to the Trinamul-Congress-controlled INTTUC. The trickle that had started after the Lok Sabha elections has now turned into a deluge. In the Tollygunge-Sakherbazar route, for instance, Citu has been left with 65 autorickshaw drivers while INTTUC has 198. Other routes such as Sinthimore, Ultadanga, Chandni Chowk-Burrabazar, Park Circus-Dharmatala have been lost. Bus and mini-bus unions — those of 34B, 230, 234, 21, 12C as well as those that operate the Jodhpur Park-B.B.D. Bag, Shyambazar-Metiabruz and Jadavpur-B.B.D. Bag services — have also brought down the red flag. I heard, incredulously, the man describe the desertion in the ranks as a temporary victory of the forces of capitalism over the Socialist ethics espoused by Citu. Autorickshaw drivers, he explained, were being tempted with money to join the INTTUC, which was only interested in union funds. The unpopularity of the former government and its labour union may be attributed to anti-incumbency, crumbling discipline among workers and complex ideological challenges. But the political debacle — the Left Front has secured 62 of the 294 assembly seats in West Bengal — he was adamant, was not a product of either corruption among unions or the Left Front’s obsession with controlling proletarian lives.

The health of a democracy is indicated neither by a change in government, nor by voter turn-out, but by a new dispensation’s willingness and ability to bring tangible change. The biggest challenge for the new government lies in dismantling both the legacy and the structures that strengthened the processes of Party intervention and control in public and private spaces. But the goings-on at present — the forcible extraction of penalties from Left supporters, the shutting down of Party offices and the violence against Left workers in places such as Keshpur, Garbeta, Goghat and some other areas in Bengal’s countryside — raise the fearful possibility of the replication of an old, destructive political ethic by a party new to power.

Perhaps this is the reason why some of the men and women I spoke to continue to oscillate between despair and hope. While admitting that she did not know if her plot will be returned, the domestic worker confided that she is now able to speak about her dreams and disappointments freely. Others, leading equally difficult lives, echoed their happiness at reclaiming their voice and vowed not to lose it again. The message cannot be any less explicit for rulers, both old and new.