It was a cold, wet day in February 2007, when I saw firsthand the Indian army, backed by their unscrupulous political masters, maiming Indian democracy. It was the most crucial day in the three-phase Manipur state elections: sitting chief minister Okram Ibobi Singh was among the candidates whose fate would be sealed. I was a junior reporter at Doordashan News, and had parachuted from Delhi to cover the elections, which private news channels had ignored.

After reporting from various polling stations in Thoubal, Singh’s constituency, we were driving on the highway towards Imphal when, outside one polling station, we saw a group of about 30 local women protesting loudly. Their bright mekhlas jarred against their frayed tempers. When we stopped to ask them what was happening, they flew into a rage at the Indian army and government — the “outsiders”. Our OB van, with the Doordarshan and Government of India logos, quickly became their target.

We gathered that the women were not being allowed to vote by the army, though an hour still remained before the official close of polling. They had been told to go home. Local police were guarding the gates of the polling station — a small government school — while we could see heavily armed army personnel just outside the closed classroom where the polling took place.

Armed with our Election Commission cards and camera, we managed to brush aside the police, but were stopped by the army personnel outside the closed doors of the booth. We were brusquely told to get lost. But egged on by the crowd at the gates, we stayed put and demanded to meet the polling officer responsible for the booth. We kept filming despite verbal and physical threats from the irate army personnel.

After 10 minutes, an apologetic polling officer came out of the classroom, claiming they had only “temporarily” shut the booth to “avoid false votes”. Inside were a few party personnel and a senior army officer. To anyone with some common sense it was clear what was happening — the sitting government was rigging votes in the chief minister’s constituency with the help of the army. My boss at Doordarshan Delhi refused to run the story in spite of it being on film. “We will both get fired if we run an anti-army story on Doordarshan,” he said.

The Indian Army, like its counterparts in other countries, does an incredibly difficult job. We don’t risk our lives at our jobs. The brave men and women of the army do. But the same bravery and willingness to use force can easily spill over into a deadly arrogance, and an impunity that they are above the laws meant for the “sissy civilians”.

That arrogance led them to rig votes in Manipur. And it’s the same arrogance that led soldiers of the 4 Rajputana Rifles to murder three Kashmiri youth in 2010, and camouflage it as an anti-militancy operation in Machil. In both Manipur and Kashmir, army personnel enjoy immunity through the Armed Forces Special Powers Act, which instils the feeling that they can get away with anything.

It is in this context that we should welcome the unprecedented life sentence handed out to the six army personnel involved in the Machil encounter. Back in 2010, the encounter triggered violent street protests in the Valley that led to 123 people getting killed. I covered those protests for the BBC: the anger against the Indian Army and state was boiling over. With every young boy who was killed, several hundred would pick up the coffin and vow revenge against an army that was ruining their homeland, destroying their families and making friends disappear.

That one incident set back by many years the process of reintegration of Kashmiri youth. An army that is supposed to protect citizens was mortally threatening them, pushing them towards violence and bringing the nation into disrepute.

It was the worst form of treason, fuelled by hubris and legal immunity.

So, while the confirmation of the sentences in the Machil case is good news, there is a need to take a deeper look at the Indian Army’s structural violence and impunity in conflict zones such as the North-East, Kashmir and Maoist-affected areas. Both the Manipur and Kashmir examples show that if we put our soldiers above scrutiny under the garb of patriotism, we weaken our democratic republic and the army itself in the eyes of citizens.

In neighbouring Pakistan, we have seen the violent repercussions of putting the armed forces on a pedestal. To the Indian Army’s credit, it has proved to be one of the most apolitical and disciplined armies among developing, post-colonial countries. But to become a truly modern army that is respected by all citizens, it must open itself to greater scrutiny, admit past mistakes and educate its foot soldiers that with great force comes great responsibility.

(Sambuddha Mitra Mustafi is the founder of The Political Indian)

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