Contradiction, Confusion, Confidence: a day at a Bangalore Town Hall protest
Rohit Ravi navigates the dynamics of anti-CAA protests at Town Hall, Bangalore
“…the public stayed back and shouted slogans, displayed their posters which would now be considered seditious, but at this point almost anything is,” Rohit writes.
For the longest time, I never understood protests. After my visit, I still haven’t. But the energy over there made an impact. There has been a shrink in spaces to express your dissent for some time now. BBMP, Bengaluru’s civic body has brought in a resolution in a hasty manner prohibiting protests on the very steps of Town Hall. I recently found out that people defied that diktat the very next day. I hope to have the same courage they, along with various other protestors have. Like the women at Shaheen Bagh and similar other movements.
To the student communities who managed to rattle, to show that opposition can exist; to activists, journalists, intellectuals who continue to inspire confidence; and most importantly, to the people who came and protested to protect the humane element that defines the country-- There are a lot of more issues in this country which does not catch your eyeballs. Step out and raise your voice. Wherever you are, however you can. I guarantee you that they will be trolling you but there will be strong replies supporting you and standing by you, always.
Some were typed, some had illustrations but all had the same message, Come.
The few accounts which I follow on Instagram had reminders of the protests scheduled on that day. Tapping through the stories, I also had to come across with the occasional lame, insensitive memes on the loss of biriyani, the caste status of the people occupying the high office or the removal of one of the ageing stars from in the Hindi film industry. I let myself enjoy the fantasy that perhaps this was only a ploy to remove them and place that mango interviewer as the top star and nothing more would happen.
Getting to Town Hall is fun if you go in a BMTC bus. On that day loud videos on the explainer of the law were being played and a serious discussion on national security was going on between two middle-aged men. Probably, they had opposing views on the legislation because they ended up not saying bye to each other when they alighted from their stops. One techie tried to convince a friend to “put a scene” one last time before he moves away. He felt it was the right time. “The country is going to cleaners bro”, he said. His meek voice silenced the bus for a minute before some cab hit the bike in front of them and the conversation shifted on the unruly migrant riders.
I ended up reaching early. I found out that just like the unreliable traffic and weather and practically anything associated with Bengaluru, the two protests merged into one which will start after 5:30 PM. But, I had the opportunity to see the protest carried out by the All India Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen or AIMIM on the steps of the Town Hall. There were hardly people, less than 200, lots of men merging and walking away from the crowd and few children who were holding the posters expressing their opposition with a strong grip.
The men were bashing the law and assured they will be the protectors of the community, the children listened earnestly. These children may not know the meaning of dissent or even understand the complexities of the discriminatory law but they had the resolve to fight, to stand up. It also saddened me as this will be defining their childhood now. To celebrate the act of their leader, Asaduddin Owaisi tearing the legislation in the parliament and to express their defiance with this law. The party members burned the copy of the law and dispersed for the day. Some men later tried jostling for space as TV channels had come to cover the protests. The interviews continued while the next group of people to express their defiance to the law were slowly assembling and/or watching the protest on the sidelines.
By this time, the banners were taken down and the curious on-lookers began slowing down to see the tamasha of people being assembled. One man with the permission letter was running around requesting the party members whether they were done and do they want to join them. Some pleasantries were exchanged and the group representing the interests of the North-Eastern region had assembled and the coordinators asked them to occupy the left side of the venue.
During this break, I had come across a potted plant. The pot had few cracks and the plant was exposed, roots visible and would crumble if more pressure is exerted. For a second, I might have turned philosophical and thought that’s how our society is today, exposed, uprooted and close to destruction. But then the plant was healthy unlike the rotten space we live in, which strives to demean you in every possible way on the pretext of cooked-up histories and traditions.
Now the venue seemed like oil and water, two groups present but not interacting. At some point, it seemed like a competition between two groups on whose slogans would be the loudest, which slogan will captivate the audience. The right side, the people protesting against how the law is anti-Muslim in nature overpowered them and more space continued to be taken up by them. With the North-East association being isolated, the event coordinator tried acting as a link between them and the link like the country’s people was constantly blocked or ignored.
The people behind the event wanted to have the Preamble of the constitution displayed and their various attempts on doing it only failed. The flex banner kept on collapsing and someone sniggered saying that’s the state of everything in this country today. I laughed hard and the hollow truth hit harder.
There were sudden movements in the crowd, in a loud voice which echoed as bad as the voices in the Parliament announced that prominent personalities were here and requested them to speak. People present among the crowd that instead of lodging their protest, it is speeches one after another. The sloganeering didn’t stop nevertheless, it seemed like the chains were removed, blindfolds and earplugs were thrown away and all the energy put to voice out dissent. The organisers wanted a peaceful protest and at one point asked people to shut up, irony died a slow death like many other noble concepts.
By this point, the police were astounded with the crowd slowly building up and spilling over the road. The usual crowd of khadi-wearing people, the usual faces meeting the steps of the Town Hall were present. But, so were students from different colleges, so were old people who didn’t know the lyrics of the Azadi song but shouted with child-like enthusiasm. Blue-collar, white-collar, no-collar, all were ready to hold the collars of the government, ready to drag them to show the hatred spreading faster than a wildfire.
There was a moment when the crowd came in unison, a student from Assam spoke on their troubles and ended their speech by reciting a line from the song ‘Azaadi’. After the crowd joined in, she sang a couple of lines before being interrupted by the people running the event. But those couple of seconds of the voices managed enough for a man to roll down his Audi car window and stop. He caused a minor traffic jam, maybe because of the sound, he didn’t hear the kind citizens pearls of wisdom on ownership of city roads.
In the end, people were discussing the law, drafts of it being shared with detailed explainers as well. Some commended on the city showing up while more police personnel assembled with barricades put up to control them. Intense discussions seem to be going on the walkie-talkies as well while the police continued to observe the proceedings. Some of the people who amplified the protests included freelance journalists, illustrators and artists. They seem to have been huddled in a corner lamenting on how the event turned out to be and hoped that there would be a better plan and that coherence to voice out multiple opinions would be allowed. The event was officially over but the public stayed back and shouted slogans, displayed their posters which would now be considered seditious, but at this point almost anything is.
The police requested the people to move and pretty soon, the steps of the Town Hall became visible along with torn charts and plastic bottles. Some waited for their cabs and some voluntarily began cleaning the space while they discussed creating a whatsapp group to share details of the protest. One woman said the protests has to be even more inclusive to all and not restricted to the elite sections, the others neither agreed or rejected the opinion, but seemed uncomfortable only nodded.
The next day, another protest was organised. Messages began landing on my inbox asking me to be careful as a riot control vehicle, water cannons were ready for an assembled crowd of barely 100 people. Media began giving updates on the protests and people began conversing on the law, two sides obviously emerged with forwards began trickling WhatsApp groups. That’s when my confidence was back, people spoke, it rattled few people like how math books rattled me. It overshadowed the conversations over pop culture and sports. That silent friend in your gang sent messages of the protest and asked if I would like to join and requested if I can share this verified message as well.
Dissent has not died yet, after all.
It has come back with age-old resistance and fierce form of resurgence.
Rohit is currently waiting to appear for his BA final exams and hope to pursue a career in Journalism. He is a secret elaichi chai and filter kaapi lover. Quizzes whenever he can and when free, will probably be found buried inside newspapers or chasing his dogs. You can read more of his writing here.
