refugee
noun
a person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.
"tens of thousands of refugees fled their homes"
Today is Mother’s Day and although I may not have been home for every Mother’s Day, today is different. I have just returned from two weeks overseas and while the trip had kept me busy, my heart and thoughts were filled with news, albeit sporadic, from home.
Speaking to my mother this morning, I try to remain calm as she shares about the situation that is now an everyday reality. Four of my nephews, along with an aunt are now camping at home, with my mother and brother. The remaining family members who had finally managed to leave Imphal have been placed at other family members’ homes.
It is a scene that is unfolding in almost every tribal home that is in a ‘safe(r)’ zone. For those that still remain in the battle grounds, and I choose the word intentionally, mainly Imphal and Churachandpur, it is still fraught with fear and apprehension, and not knowing only exacerbates this a hundredfold.
It took the state government much later after the initial bloodletting, a recourse it justifies in the name of keeping peace, to impose a complete internet ban which has now been further extended till May 16th. Apart from the inability to access WhatsApp calls, the ban has impacted almost every aspect of everyday life in Manipur. Phone and electricity bills, payments for salaries, internet banking, anything that requires internet access has been cut off. This, on top of everything else that is happening there. But I digress.
Starting May 3rd, Manipur has been on fire. In a matter of hours, violence that broke out, fanned into, metaphorically and literally, an inferno, with homes, vehicles, personal properties, churches, lives set ablaze…
To say this was just a result of a protest gone horribly wrong would be belittling the grievous losses that many families have undergone.
The moments as they stood in disbelief, as hordes ransacked and rampaged with impunity, fleeing, clutching their families, children, running, looking for shelter, hiding deep inside the forests, that was something my father did, back in World War 2 when the Japanese were approaching. It surely could not be happening in this day and age. Not today, not now.
The hours they spent in paramilitary camps with whatever little belongings they could gather, waiting for a meal that they could share together, wondering when and if they would ever get to a safe place, is simply put, unfathomable.
But happen it did. And apparently, still happening.
As of this morning, it is only the churches, those that are again, in safer zones, and those that still remain standing, that have been distributing relief material.
10 kilos of rice, a kilo of sugar and dal to each household.
Meanwhile, the powers that be seem intent on pitching the same narrative, of one against the other, rather than seeking a peaceful resolution. And as is the norm, so too are the news channels and social media outlets.
The reality though is far different.
For those that have managed to flee to neighboring states, stories of horror are beginning to trickle in.
I see images of houses ransacked, burning, children having to share a plate of food because there is only the one for all of them.
I hear their cries as they watch their whole lives savings go up in flames.
I see and hear voices of hate, spewing out profanities and vitriol as mobs hunt people out, searching for and singling out certain groups.
My first instinct is to get on the first flight and be there with my mother and brother. But the capital city that I have to fly into is still Ground Zero. It would be foolhardy not to mention putting my entire family at risk just to get me from the airport.
I mean I can hardly believe myself as I write this. And so, I have to be patient and wait. But I cannot.
I can speak about it though. And for that I have questions.
This is for those of you who have looted and burnt homes.
For those that have gathered in groups, and preyed on and hunted down families, children that bore a certain name.
For those of you that have screamed profanities even as you have burnt down churches.
For those that gathered and bludgeoned someone to their dying breaths, just because..
It is telling. These acts of violence. Because now we can see you for who you really are..
If all of these acts have caused you some relief, I pray your rage and anger has been fulfilled. And that the darkness that has taken over your hearts and minds has been satiated.
And this is for those who remain in positions of privilege, where there can be no immediate aftermath to what you choose to share, there has been an eerie, extended silence. What has caused this sudden and prolonged vow of silence? The answers remain debatable.
Do the repercussions of a public stand frighten you? Of what it can and may do to you and your immediate family? Maybe.
Or even more sinister, do you believe that one group is greater, ergo justified to do what they have done?
Almost every single person of power and privilege (with the exception of a few), across the nation has remained spectacularly mute. Perhaps it is the Karnataka elections. Perhaps it is something else that has seemed to be of far greater import and relevance.
But the silence is clear.
Whatever the reason, the silence is damning.
And heartbreaking.
Because it makes one realize that, in the end, when trouble befalls, and it has, in an absolutely frightening scale, that there will be no one who will stand up, leave alone, raise a voice to defend you. And that is far more condemning, far more denouncing than even the acts of violence alone.
And so I, we see you.
We hear you.
“First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”
—Martin Niemöller
P.S. The picture was taken in February when I was home last. That despite the staggeringly odds of greyness and evil, that peace may prevail. It must. It shall....
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