Promises kept: Celebrating the Right to Information

Yesterday was Republic Day, observed in the shadow of a contentious politics around the Constitution it is supposed to celebrate. Many things have been written about this and in this piece, I want to write about the Right to Information which is one of the rare instances in independent India's history where people have wrested a right from the state and established it in law. RTI is truly the republic (res-entity-publica-of the people) in action--both in its origin story and in how people have used the right. 

Origins

How the campaign for a right to information got started is a story all of us know and rarely remember. Briefly, in 1996, the Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan (MKSS) organised a dharna in Beawar, Rajasthan, which went on for 40 days. The people of Beawar supported and sustained the dharna and other organisations joined. The National Campaign for the People's Right to Information was formed at this dharna. 

In retrospect, it is stunning how quickly states first and then the centre adopted laws to institutionalise the right to information. According to the MKSS website, "The NCPRI, has been able to lobby both in the States and at the Centre, and today there are Right to Information Laws have been enacted in the States of Tamil Nadu (1997), Goa (1997), Madhya Pradesh (1998), Rajasthan (2000), Maharashtra (2000), and Karnataka (2000), Delhi (2001), Jammu and Kashmir (2003) and Assam (2003). Citizens pressure from across the country helped bring forth a greatly improved National Bill which was passed by Parliament in 2005, replacing the much weaker Freedom of Information Act passed in 2003. The Right to Information Act (2005) came into effect across the country in October 2005."

The Right to Information

"An Act to provide for setting out the practical regime of right to information for citizens to secure access to information under the control of public authorities, in order to promote transparency and accountability in the workiiig of every public authority, the constitution of a Central Information Commission and State Information Commissions and for matters connected therewith or incidental thereto.

WHEREAS the Constitution of India has established democratic Republic;

AND WHEREAS democracy requires an informed citizenly and transparency of information which are vital to its functioning and also to contain colTuption and to hold Governments are their instrumentalities accountable to the governed;

AND WHEREAS revelation of information in actual practice is likely to conflict with other public interests including efficient operations of the Governments, optimum use of limited fiscal resources and infonnation;

AND WHEREAS it is necessary to harmonise these conflicting interests while preserving the paramountcy of the democratic ideal;

Now, THEREFORE, it is expendient to provide for fumishing certain information to citizens who desire to have it."

The preamble to the Right to Information (2005) Act firmly links the right to democracy, transparency and accountability. It also acknowledges, and therefore, enshrines, limitations on this right in the same text, opening the door to a host of legislative and everyday curbs to its exercise. Like all other rights, the right to information is therefore something that we need to protect through a constant vigilance.

Today, the Central Information Commission and State Information Commissions represent the existence of the act. More importantly, every government department has an RTI desk. There is an RTI portal for the central government and also for each state. But what is useful for the ordinary citizen is that we can also file RTIs via email or through the post office. The portals provide a format but one can also simply write one's request in one's words and the government cannot say, "You did not write the correct words or format." The fee is also minimal.

Exercising the right to information

Ease of use has made the RTI a popular instrument. Satark Nagarik Sangathan reported last year that between July 1, 2023 to June 30, 2024, 231417 RTI petitions were filed across all the Information Commissions. 

People use the RTI to seek information about personal matters (where is my application stuck?) or local concerns (what happened to the road repair that was started 3 months ago and abandoned?). At Prajnya, in our short history, we have used RTI petitions a few times in various ways and with varying degrees of success.

1. Our first petition was filed on November 25, 2009, marking the opening of our 16 Days Campaign against Gender Violence that year. The petition, as I recall, asked a few questions about usage of fund allocations for public safety. It was batted about a few departments and received no reply.
2. In 2016, we tried again. This time, a focused petition asking about the formation of Local Committees (mandated by the workplace sexual harassment law) was sent on to District Collectors. Responses varied. Some phoned to ask exactly what we meant. Some sent us their office Internal Committee details. We followed up with a second set of petitions, this time directly addressed to District Collectors in Tamil Nadu.We were able to compile this information into a publicly accessible spreadsheet. We intended to repeat this exercise in 2024 but it floundered for our own reasons. 
3. Early in 2024, we were part of an RTI effort by women's organisations to seek an update on Tamil Nadu's Women's Policy. We had seen and sent feedback on a draft but the final version had not appeared over a year later. This met with a quick response saying the Policy was almost ready and so it was.

Colleagues in the social sector say they have used the RTI extensively and effectively. This is great news because for ordinary people, access to the administration still retains the quality of a colonial durbar. The gatekeeping is extraordinarily efficient and you will rarely get appointments. You have to sit and wait hours, despite the appointment. After all that, you enter the office, tired and suitably chastened for having the temerity to seek information or assistance and receive a short hearing--courteous if you are lucky--before being dismissed. Most of the time you have to visit multiple times. 

In 18 years, if I had had the patience to visit the darbar regularly, my organisation might have had a higher profile in official circles. As it is, we were content to email relevant information (such as reports) and take our chances. After all, all that patience and deference were still no guarantee that someone would read what we handed them.

In such an administrative culture, where despite the constitutional mandate and the rhetoric, a relationship of patronage persists between the administration as raja and all of us as praja, the RTI is an extraordinarily powerful tool. 

You can seek data--how much money, where is it used, who sits on the Local Committee, how many times has it met. You can ask for updates--what happened to your draft policy? You can nudge officials into doing things they may have forgotten about or not quite understood--this was our experience with the implementation of the Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace (Prevention, Prohibition and Redressal) Act, 2013 at the district level. It seemed that our RTI petition had reminded some that identifying a nodal officer and setting up a Local Committee was part of their work. 

As I was researching this blogpost, I mistyped RTI as rit, and generated information on writ petitions. I would say this is no mistake. The right to information is as powerful a tool as a writ petition for safeguarding all our other rights. It is also much cheaper and easier to exercise--we don't need lawyers, we don't need courts, we don't need anything but a simple letter and a small fee (Rs. 10/-). 

Celebrating the right, commemmorating the movement

Source: The Hindu

In 2016, the April-May 1996 dharna for the right to information was marked with a memorial at Chang Gate, Beawar. In 2024, the foundation stone was laid for an RTI museum--a "living museum," in Nikhil Dey's words--which will showcase history, archive people's experiences with RTI, teach people how to file petitions--in short, be a place where people can learn, do, teach and share. 

We associate museums with things so old we can barely remember them--and in India, to be honest, rarely care about. But an RTI museum, a place of seeing and doing, is an important project, in my view.

First of all, the right to information is integral to the right to life. Think of COVID. All that we did not know and do not know about help we could get or how we could stay safe led to so much suffering. And we still don't know where donation money went, how many people were sick, how many died. Opaque governance protects governments, not citizens. 

Second, the right to information is integral to our right to freedom. We live in a time where any kind of dissent and free speech are at best trolled and at worst, punished with incarceration on trumped up charges. We have the right to know--to fact check, to ask questions, to demand accountability. We have the right to a two-way engagement with government. In democratic India, we are citizens, not subjects, and those in government are our equals. The right to information is an assertion of that equality. 

Third, the movement for a right to information stands out in the history of people's movements because it was effective. As flawed as the various RTI laws may be and as imperfect as its implementation, the fact that a right to information is part of our democratic discourse (and emulated by others) is precious. That we won it, against a global tide of restraints on the freedom of expression and civil society, is something to celebrate and always remember. 

Fourth, new laws, new regulations, new rules incrementally limit our right to ask. If we recall the conflict noted by the RTI Act preamble, the state is now tilting the balance back in favour of secrecy. Where our political culture is herding us into habits of unquestioning obedience and unthinking credulity, a space where we can learn about questioning and challenging is very important. Even using the language of 'duty', where do we get to learn our 'duties' as citizens--to insist on transparency and demand accountability, to go out and vote freely from a slate of candidates who can contest fairly in a level playing field? A living RTI museum, appropriately a project of the School for Democracy, founded by the MKSS, would be such a place. 

I preach citizenship all the time--be a good citizen, be an active citizen. And democracy is as important to me as clean air--I need both and indeed, democracy may be a prerequisite of clean air as we hold our governments accountable for climate justice. I am therefore, happy to support the RTI Museum project in whatever small way I can. If you would like to learn more about the project, this post has several useful links. 

If you would like to support the project financially, you can contribute via this link. The RTI Museum is NOT seeking government or corporate/CSR support. The idea is that the RTI, the right belong to all of us, each of us, and so will this museum So, it will be up to us to imagine the museum, take ownership and to make it a reality. 

On Citizens, Squirrels, Democracy and Peace

2023 is almost over and ‘best of…’ lists and articles about new year’s resolutions are everywhere. The impulse is to comment on the speedy flight of time but what a year this has been and how much more unbearable had it floated by at the pace of childhood summers.

This moment has seemed even more apocalyptic since December 2019’s advent of the COVID-19 virus. The pandemic; the global democratic deficit; pushback on equality; shrinking freedom and rights; obscene, expanding socio-economic inequality; ever-more frequent climate change disasters and shameless, heartless violence and war together make this moment hell on earth. It is easy to believe that we do indeed live in the last era of the yuga cycle that is traditionally characterized by moral turpitude and decline.

I speak, write and teach about citizenship and agency. I tell people that they are citizens. They must take responsibility. They must act in whichever ways they can. In my international relations class, my not-so-secret agenda is global citizenship—be cosmopolitan, care about others, our lives are interconnected.

At the end of 2023, my spirit feels like stale poha—beaten, lifeless and beyond rescue.

How can I preach pro-active citizenship when I myself am at a loss? I do not think anything I do makes a difference. Who reads what I write? (To be fair, that gives me a little room to write more honestly!) There may be other things, more things, bigger things I should do but I cannot escape my day to do them (and the teaching of the Gita stays with me—do your own duty first). The world around me is a political nightmare and I too self-censor because, like many, many others, I have to choose my risks.

Many years ago, I wrote an article about getting through hard political times. But these times feel so much direr.

My own daily constraints contribute to my dispirited despair. I read at random because I cannot sequester myself to read deeply any more. I write all the time but bits and pieces of no consequence—organisational content, social media posts, administrative email, class materials—not even many personal letters any more. I cannot write academically, faking a neutral standpoint, nor journalistically, as if I do not take the mess in the world personally. Writing in a blog and not writing are the same. Who reads? And who reads older women (of colour) writing from peripheral locations anyway? (Maybe some do, but since we will never be worthy of a citation or a share, we will never find out!) Moreover, it turns out that because I am not a great fundraiser, I am not very good at social sector work and in these years, will preside over the slow demise of something I birthed and nurtured.

I am so deeply grateful for teaching. It seems to be the one somewhat useful public sphere work I can still do.

But is that all? Is that all, the citizenship preacher in me despairs?

I wanted to write this because writing is the rat-mining of my brain. I can feel my way to the openings and possibilities I do not know exist. In that spirit, I make myself a list to explore. (Will any of this matter? I cannot tell. But if I do not try, I will have failed in my duty to myself and to the world around.)

So, what am I capable of doing?

·         I can learn. I can read more, more, more—widely and deeply—and process that information in useful ways.

·         I can communicate; this may be my core skill. I can write—it’s not my job to think about who will read—to make some of what I learn accessible to others. I can explore the new media and tools for communication that are out there and learn to use them for the common good. (No, no, not another podcast!)

·         I can teach, with all my heart. Teaching usefully brings together my ability to learn and my ability to communicate and it enables others to realise their own citizenship. I am now privileged to teach in formal classrooms but there are lots of other places where teaching and learning happen as well, including everyday conversations.

·         I can work with, join, amplify or support other individuals, organisations or networks working for change. I am not alone and it is important to remember that.

·         I can find, clear, create and hold space for others to talk, to share and to connect with each other.

I read that in 2024, half the world will go to the polls to elect their governments. Going by the last few years, we cannot take for granted that either  the process or the outcome will be democratic or good for democracy. We cannot take for granted any more that most people support ideals like “social justice” or “gender equality” or “unity in diversity”—and as I write this, the words seem ridiculously outdated. We cannot assume that today’s wars, conflicts or genocides will stop because those who have the power do not have the will to stop them and those who would stop them (like me) have neither power nor voice.

As this year ends, I feel like I am living a nightmare. I am being chased and running hard but never moving. Exam questions are being distributed but I have forgotten the exam or forgotten how to write. I need the toilet but there are none or there are no walls around the commode. I am outside, night has fallen, public transport has vanished and only the ghouls, dead and alive, remain, and I cannot walk home fast enough. My hands hold a long-awaited letter whose text disappears as I read and I cannot read past the salutation sentences. I am trapped, desperate, helpless, angry and grieving more than I thought possible.

As my country sets aside life-and-death concerns to debate RSVPs to a temple’s consecration, I take heart from a story in that very deity’s life. I can be the squirrel who diligently, tirelessly ferries one pebble at a time to construct a sea-bridge. My lifetime’s little efforts may not matter in themselves but my failure to contribute them will matter to me. More than a resolution for 2024, this is an imperative.  

Cross-currents

I have been looking at the sea and listening to conversations about democracy.

As my mind wanders, I notice that the waves, even in low tide, do not come in a single direction. They come from different places, moving in different trajectories. When they come together, they sometimes merge. Sometimes, they bump into each other--oops!--and then they flow away along their original path.

There is constant motion, in low tide and high, and an inner swell that suggests that something is always brewing. And yet, storms are still rare enough to be events. Day after day, hour after hour, the waves just keep coming, doing their work without fuss, without pause.

Everytime I look at the sea, it inspires me with its quiet, tireless endeavour. A little envious, I wish I could bring the same quality to my work.

And as I listen to people talk about democracy, I think about those waves that despite not moving in the same direction, still do not stop the ocean from going about its business.

Is there a teaching moment we're missing today?

 



Every moment is a teaching moment, I believe, because every moment is a learning moment.

In the noise and clamour of the social network, it is hard sometimes to have a coherent thought. Rather like being caught in a mob in the real world and struggling to get out of the way of a stampede. But some things must be said, even if out of sequence and context, and in the quiet of an unknown blog.

1. Everyone who is not a beneficiary of corruption is against corruption; I think we can take this for granted.
If someone finds they have questions with your particular solution, it does not mean they favour corruption or support the corrupt. It means they want to think things through to find another solution. You want these people around. They help us move towards perfection.
In today's context, it means that those who have issues with the Jan Lokpal Bill are not necessarily government supporters or themselves corrupt. It means they have identified specific problems and would like to have them satisfactorily resolved. It may mean they have a better idea.
It also means that those who speak for institutions, and who believe that constitutional processes must be respected, are not favouring the corrupt. They are simply speaking their mind (and I happen to agree with this view) given what they have seen and read of human history.
Those who support the government position also have a fundamental right to do so. Just as government critics have the right to protest peacefully within the limits of the law.

2. People can disagree but support each other's right to hold and express their views.
Today this means that a lot of people who are very sceptical about the Jan Lokpal Draft are also upset by arbitrary arrest and disproportionate responses. But bear in mind that these people may also consider serving an ultimatum to an elected Parliament a variation on this theme. And that even if they think that, they will concede that the state always bears a greater moral burden for good behaviour.

3. Institutions do matter.
In fact, they matter even more when you want to enforce accountability. What is an institution? Political scientists use the word to describe anything that endures, that has a certain set of functions, rules and procedures attached, that adapts and that is not arbitrary. Institutions are essential for 'rule of law,' which all of us want.
The Lokpal, in all its avatars, is an institution. It will be bound by the functions and rules we invest it with, just as Parliament is bound by its rules.
As the constabulary (a local law and order institution) cannot start doing the work of the Income Tax Service, and the Income Tax Service cannot take over the Air Force, and the Air Force cannot become the Indian Forest Service--though individuals can, institutions can't--so must each institution do its own work. The Lok Pal cannot become the judiciary, and the judiciary cannot become Parliament.
Moreover, when institutions function properly, they act as checks and balances for each other's excesses and over-reach. An overpowerful Prime Minister, an excessively endowed Army or an ombudsman (Lokpal) with sweeping powers, destroy the fine balance that is needed for democratic governance.

Here, I want to interject, that every description of the Jan Lokpal, ever cry for a powerful, avenging Lokpal, has reminded me of Robespierre. Remember him? After the French Revolution, he rose to the position of the chairman of the Committee of Public Safety. His extremely strong convictions and his confidence that he (alone) was right, was an important factor in ushering in what came to be known as the Reign of Terror. I think after learning about him, extremely self-righteous people fill me with a sense of anxiety. And should such a person assume such an office with sweeping powers? Maybe it's just me.
Maybe the younger generation which is so sensitive to every question about its lifestyle choices can find a way to live with Robespierre. So then, what I think really doesn't matter.

4. Civil society is not the same as democratic government.
Civil society is a rubric that takes in all manner of beasts (including my organization, Prajnya) and creatures (me). We're like the entire range of non-human actors in the Puranas--sometimes animal, sometimes magical, sometimes scary. Democratic government may contain some of us, or many humans that are worse, but it's great virtue is that someone took the trouble to choose those people. (Were you one of them? I was, and next time, I may vote differently. Or not.)
Civil society cannot be empowered to make laws; that would be a democratic travesty. But civil society must inform citizens and governments about policy choices and concerns; and civil society must hold government accountable on behalf of citizens.
Somewhere along the way, civil society has forgotten that it has this public education role, and begun to sound like it always knows best.

We've all failed in this role. Those of us with the training and temperament, haven't taken the trouble to engage with and create opportunities for engaging with this important debate, of which the Lokpal proposals are really only a small part. So, this is what my organization and I are doing to somewhat atone: http://www.prajnya.in/lokpaldebate.htm It's a resource page we created following the National Campaign for People's Right to Information's call for a real debate. Do use it to inform your discussions. And do suggest resources we should add.

5. Either/or is a pointless way to engage with others; it's actually code for, I don't really want to talk to you.
See this, see that, mine is better, is also not a way to have a public debate. This is the kind of debate we've had so far on this question.
The Lokpal is one institutional measure to ensure accountability. Have we given any thought to others? Can we breathe normally, talk civilly? Today, I just don't feel optimistic.

I don't know. Today I am again feeling really sad. In despair. At the way the government has acted. At the tone and terms of the Jan Lokpal campaign. Thinking that these are all really intelligent people with lives of public service behind them. That it's become about sides, and not about India. It's become a screaming battle about loyalty and ad hominem attacks. That we are forgetting that governance and policy-making are really complex issues. I am in despair that this may not be a teaching moment after all. But a moment for putting your head in your hands and closing your eyes and hoping for the best. Hoping it will all go away.

I don't know what to learn from today. And I don't know what to teach.

***

This post has now been featured in the Britannica Blog: http://www.britannica.com/blogs/2011/09/anna-hazareteaching-moment-missing-today/ 

Are debate and decision-making mutually inimical?

A few years ago, I saw some students off on GN Chetty Road one night and went back in the morning to discover all the trees were gone. Perhaps there had been press coverage for months about the flyover that was scheduled to be built and I just did not notice. Infrastructural projects are not riveting news until their ecological and human costs become evident. And even then, not everyone stops to take notice.

Whether it is GN Chetty Road's trees, or Sethusamudram, or the Sardar Sarovar project, I think one of the really big problems is that discussion and debate begin after work on the project begins. You cannot return to the status quo ante and you cannot really proceed. So insult is added to injury as something is lost and yet, that which ostensibly could have been gained is delayed indefinitely.

Why don't we debate these things before we start? It would identify pitfalls or at least make them known. My point here is not to start a rant but to genuinely pose this question.

I tried to look at this from the other point of view and imagine the reasons officials would offer for not having town-hall debates and the like:

1. The issues are complex and cannot be debated by lay persons.
2. Nobody would care enough to attend. If they did care, they would have been vigilant enough to know already.
3. It is the role of civil society and the press to highlight these things.
4. We cannot keep debating things; decisions have to be made and every decision comes at a cost.

All of these are valid to some extent but still don't add up to a reason not to debate. My question is how do we set up these conversations?

Prajnya campaigns against gender violence every year primarily in order to bring the issue into everyday conversation. We want people to recognize that there is a problem, to use the words for which they invent euphemisms and to come around to having their own discussions about the root causes and solutions. Lasting change will come through this, we believe. We try to come up with creative, fun, different ways in which to nudge these conversations to start, but it is not easy even with an issue like gender violence which is closer to most of us than we will admit.

How much more difficult then, to get people to stop what they are doing to discuss infrastructure or energy projects whose impact most of them will feel only considerably further down the line! Take this article by Milind Deora today arguing for a new airport in Bombay/Mumbai. How do we take this out of the op-ed page, the talk show studio and the cocktail circuit into every space where conversations happen?

And if we did that would we find ourselves in perpetual debate mode, never calling a decision and carrying it out? I am also afraid of that. In fact, temperamentally, that bothers me more than lack of debate, I must confess.

Therefore, this is a serious question and I would love to hear some answers: How do we generate debate on important public matters and how do we do it so that debate does not derail decision-making?

Security and democracy

Security and democracy Published in InfochangeIndia.org on January 28, 2009

After the Mumbai terror attacks a loud and angry public called for anything from action to revenge. On the other hand, the government chose to react slowly and diplomatically. What was the correct democratic option? Swarna Rajagopalanexplore the labyrinthine relationship between ‘security’ and ‘democracy’ There is a profound, complex and symbiotic relationship between security and democracy. Most typically, civil rights activists see security concerns as inimical to democracy, and security sector decisionmakers rue the constraints placed by democratic processes on their functioning. The terror attacks in Mumbai and their aftermath suggest it may be time for a more thoughtful reading.  Live reportage by 24-hour news channels brought the full horror of the attacks and the efforts of security officers into millions of homes around the world. Reporters stood just outside the line of fire, trying to get updates where they could, functioning as professionals but reacting like human beings to this completely new experience. News was leaked and interviews were given. Reporters probed survivors and stopped short of giving terrorists air-time. Those who were ‘handling’ the terrorists also watched television updates of security operations in real-time and communicated these to their operatives. Emotions ran high everywhere, onscreen and off, onsite and off.  These emotions have found outlets in the large attendance at police funerals; candlelight vigils; protest rallies and countless online initiatives from petitions to groups on social networks to acrimonious discussions on listserves. Television channels have vied with each other to pay tribute, with news channels inviting entertainers and entertainment channels incorporating courage, martyrdom and patriotism as themes in their programming.  “Something must be done; I must do something.” While this feeling has been expressed as outrage and solidarity by citizens across India, on television in particular, it has taken the form of an aggressive push for accountability and a steady pressure for firm, assertive and unforgiving action against the perpetrators and their backers, especially Pakistan. At first glance, with so many giving up their customary apathy, there seemed to be a democratic revolution brewing in middle class India. But at second glance, many complex issues are visible.  Should war and peace decisions be made emotionally? Where do we draw the line between expecting the government to be responsive to popular pressure and using its discretion?  Similarly, how far should citizens trust the government to make good decisions based on intelligence when intelligence failures allowed the attack to happen?  There are four values that democracy imposes on all policy arenas, including security. These are transparency, accountability, responsiveness and rule of law. Traditional security thinking on the other hand depends on discretion (if not secrecy), room to manoeuvre, authority to act and impunity. In this article, we explore the various facets of the labyrinthine relationship between ‘security’ and ‘democracy,’ rubrics that we will treat as monolithic and axiomatic for now.  Security and democracy: Free-fall in tandem  The various conflicts subsumed under the shorthand ‘Kashmir’ clearly illustrate how State-formation related issues are  key to security and democracy and how the two can interface to their mutual detriment.   When there is a dispute regarding the physical limits of the State, the State’s security is challenged. However, the process of staking and consolidating territorial claims comes with a cost to democracy. Stationing armies, cordoning off areas and limiting public access are starting points, often followed by press embargoes and therefore, limited public access to information. The outbreak of hostilities from time to time underscores to each side in the dispute the importance of militarising the disputed area. As anxiety about territorial security mounts, control over political processes begins to seem desirable. Merely stationing and equipping army units does not feel like an adequate measure.  In Kashmir, this meant interference in elections and state governments. Democracy was undermined, at least partly under the guise of security considerations. The consequence was that the Indian State’s legitimacy was eroded in the Valley. The insurgency followed, with the additional complications of cross-border training and infiltration and linkages to global jihadi trends. The Kashmiri dream of self-determination was once more articulated in the course of the insurgency. A third party was added to the contentious question of what territories (and peoples) make up India and Pakistan.  ‘Kashmir’ illustrates how security and democracy decline together, each facilitating the other in free-fall. Border disputes lead to militarisation; militarisation leads to restrictions of movement and information flow; restrictions are reinforced by political manoeuvres; these erode the legitimacy of the State; challenges to a State increasingly perceived as illegitimate and the State’s defence are expressed through escalating levels of violence. This expands the referent of security from the State to its citizenry, caught in the crossfire, constraints placed on their freedoms.  The task of an analyst or news anchor is substantially easier than that of a government decisionmaker. The location of the decisionmaker within a labyrinth of favours and compromises and a legacy of precedents leaves her looking at options with a zero-sum lens. Given a contentious physical definition, should she move to resolve that issue in her favour or should she prioritise the ideational self-definition of her democratic State over its physical consolidation?  Security and democracy: The governance connection  If Kashmir illustrates security and democracy in mutually reinforced free-fall, is there a circumstance in which security and democracy reinforce each other in the other direction? Backsliding from previous articles in this series, so far, this article has taken a traditional view of security. What if we were to return to looking at security as referring to more than States and physical safety? Would this democracy-security relationship look less like a zero-sum game? Would these two values reinforce each other?  In the many conflicts in northeastern India, a common thread relates to governance failure. In Assam, for instance, the failure to take cognizance of the changes in the demographic as a result of migration and the carving out of smaller states, led to an anti-migrant agitation. In Tripura, furthermore, an overall breakdown of law and order plus a piecemeal attitude to reconciling the interests of various groups within the state has created an untenable situation which is neither secure nor conducive to public welfare.  In Sri Lanka, responding to majoritarian demands led to alienation of the minority. Pacts signed between the government and the Tamils were repeatedly repudiated. Repeated breach of trust culminated in the rise of militant groups. Violence escalated and governance failures snowballed. Sri Lanka’s early lead in development indicators and the efforts of a vibrant civil society have preserved the process and practice of democracy in circumstances least conducive to it.  In the Maldives, under the long Gayoom presidency, civil rights remained notional and while elections were held, the peculiar circumstances of Maldives’ geography and society meant they served as endorsements rather than elections. Arbitrary arrest, imprisonment and torture in what the opposition termed the ‘Dhoonidhoo Hilton’, the atoll-state’s most notorious island prison, were commonplace. Lack of democracy and the absence of security for individuals went hand-in-hand.  Equity and fairness, law and order and the rule of law are important elements of good governance. They are also critical to both security and democracy. Afghanistan illustrates how the absence of security endangers democracy even as the Maldives illustrated how the abandonment of democracy creates insecurity. Is good governance then the common ground between security and democracy? Quite possibly.  Democratic voices, security concerns  After the Mumbai attacks, when people on the street, commentators and television news channels argued with increasing vehemence for swift action, commandos moved cautiously and the government seemed almost reluctant to act. The commandos’ caution was explained in terms of the need to save lives and not indulge in indiscriminate firing. Going beyond accusations of incompetence, what slowed the Government of India’s response?  International relations theorists in the last decade or so have delighted in their discovery of a near-theory in a field that abounds in contradictions and intangibles. The ‘Democratic Peace’ theory holds that democratic States do not go to war with each other. One explanation for this is that the process of decisionmaking in democracies is slow. The movement of a plan of action from one arm of government to the other is determined by due process. This also allows civil society to weigh in on alternatives, and governments have necessarily to respond to the questions and demands of the public.  In the context of the Mumbai attacks, it seems as though two symbols of democratic decisionmaking were antagonistically juxtaposed. On the one hand, a loud and angry public called for anything from action to revenge. On the other hand, the government seemed to choose this very moment to react slowly and diplomatically, reflecting the cumbersome nature of decisionmaking in a democracy. What was the correct democratic option? What was the democratic option that furthered the State and the citizenry’s security?  The answer, in the case of security issues, we are led to believe, often lies with experts and practitioners. The role of secrecy in strategic thinking and security action comes to colour all security matters. Because secrecy is associated with security, only a few people are privy to information relating to security, and because information or intelligence is a critical component of decisionmaking, over time, the right to speak about and contribute to decisions in the area of security comes to be restricted to a small network of experts. In fact, scholars note that to label something ‘security’ is both to raise its priority level in the political arena as well as to throw a cordon of secrecy around it.  The idea that decisions should be informed and thought-through is universally acceptable. The catch is that experts do not necessarily have perfect information, and that communication failures also abound in government circles. In this age of online news and 24-hour channels, many experts also gather their information from the same resources as lay citizens. So who should get to speak about security?  Democracy’s answer is: everyone. Especially because everyone feels the impact of security decisions or inaction, there should be no bar on who can speak their mind and expect a hearing. In an Aristotelian turn, democracy’s dilemma is whether to yield to the security oligarchs or the emotions of the crowd. Neither choice is perfect. While security is indeed too important to be left to experts, the citizenry at large do not take a sustained interest in the issues and when they demand action, it is in an emotional moment, unfettered by perspective or responsibility for consequences. Had we listened to the loudest voices of late- November, what would the ravages of war have been in the subcontinent as 2009 dawned?  In India, for decades, foreign policy was sacred and the establishment worked around a consensus. There was not much by way of debate. Think-tanks were and are largely populated by former government and military officials. There is continuity in their thinking that reinforces this consensus culture. The media is increasingly willing to challenge security thinking, but it exists in a symbiotic relationship with decisionmakers and is limited by this. Social movements have an episodic interest in the traditional security sector and their positions do not reflect an evolving alternative strategic vision.  What then does democracy mean in the context of security decisionmaking? The workings of democracy slow down security decisionmaking. The fear of electoral reprisal dissuades leaders from making dramatic changes and taking tough decisions; it also makes them vulnerable to popular pressure. Citizen journalism is yet another factor now. The increase in the number of actors, media and fora results in a corresponding increase in the number of gatekeepers—editors, censors, regulators—who make the call of what is ‘security’ and therefore, out of bounds, and what is grist to the democratic mill. The tightrope between the secrecy of security considerations and giving a free media the right to report results usually in excesses on either side. The right to information has been recognised but its limits for the security sector are not fully tested as yet.  Citizenship, civil society and security  Sometimes an active civil society can mediate between the anxieties of a State and the aspirations of its citizens. Civil society however, is an amorphous category that comprises both benevolent actors such as social movements, religious organisations, neighbourhood associations and civic initiatives, as well as malevolent actors such as the political fronts of extremist organisations and charitable fronts of organised crime. A broad schedule of rights, laws and platforms provides the frame for the interaction between State and civil society in general. In order to curtail the activities of the less-than-civil elements within civil society, sometimes this frame needs to be modified.  For instance, Dawood Ibrahim’s gang orchestrated the 1993 blasts in Mumbai, using the freedom of movement and association they were guaranteed by India’s democratic Constitution. However, their actions took several lives, placed countless others in limbo as the journey to justice dragged on and highlighted urban India’s vulnerabilities to others who have exploited them many times over.  In the context of this security-democracy discussion, how could this have been prevented? Arguably, the track record of Mumbai’s underworld would justify restrictions on their movement, association and access. However, democracy requires that without evidence, such restrictions be placed across the board or not at all. You cannot pick someone out of the crowd and make a different set of rules for them without a convincing case for the same, heard by a neutral arbiter. Similarly, in the context of riots of the sort the preceded the blasts, are people to be free to propagate, teach and train hatred and violence?  Each set of blasts and each communal riot opens up this question about balancing security and democracy. The challenge is not rhetorical, however, but that of teasing out the threshold between two extremes of bans and censorship on the one hand, and literally, a licence to kill on the other.  To conclude, this discussion actually brings us right back to our refrains of ‘what is security’ and ‘whose security’. What is clear is that when security is defined very narrowly to refer to those in power, there is an automatic degradation of democratic values. The security and survival of a regime matters more than the rights and freedoms of those who are outside that regime. When security refers to the State itself, its territory, people, values and institutions, it is more inclusive and therefore more amenable to rules about transparency, responsiveness and accountability. When security goes beyond survival and beyond the State to refer to the safety and welfare of individuals, it becomes something bigger than a policy area: it is now an attribute of good governance. To the extent they choose to participate, the right to define, the right to interpret and the right to participate in decisionmaking debates extends to all who are being thus secured. The once-antagonistic values of security and democracy are now mutually inalienable.  (Swarna Rajagopalan is a Chennai-based political scientist specialising in security, broadly defined. She is the founder of Prajnya Initiatives for Peace, Justice and Security, a new Chennai non-profit.)