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Traumatic
sequels
Behaviour: Women and children in Punjab
and Kashmir face the casualties of terrorism
By Vijaya Pushkarna
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I have no
school
I was always praying to God
that somehow I did not have to go to school.
I longed to play all day
and wished there was no school.
One day it really happened
There was no school
Someone had burnt it down.
Thrilled, I enjoyed it for a while.
Now I am bored
I wish I had not wished
that there was no school.
-- Poem by a 14-year-old in Kashmir.
 A
for army, B for bomb or bullet, C for curfew, D for
death....
When M. Zaleel, a journalist on a research fellowship revealed that
teachers in militancy-ridden Kashmir had developed a new technique
to teach the English alphabet, academicians were shell-shocked.
Three-year-olds could easily comprehend the terms. Worse still,
Zaleel's five-year survey found that there were 15,000 orphans and
10,000 widows of violence in seven districts of the state. Besides,
more than 60 per cent of the population suffered from some form of
mental disorder.
These and many other facets of the trauma that oppressed women and
children undergo were presented at Jammu last month at a three-day
international seminar on violence in India. It was organised by the
Institute of Development Communication, Chandigarh.
Women and children, the most vulnerable, were affected not just by
the tragic events around them. Innocent children were used as a
shield or for ransom, women used and discarded like commodities.
About 200 children, aged between 11 and 16 who wrote essays on 'The
story of my life' and 'Events that made me happy and sad,' gave
graphic descriptions of how relatives and neighbours died, and drew
pen pictures of schools and houses reduced to rubble. They narrated
crackdowns and search operations by security forces and midnight
knocks by militants. There were a few that portrayed sunshine and
happiness, but they were nostalgic trips to the old days.
Paintings by the children were replete with the colour red
splattered across people, weapons and dilapidated buildings. There
were men in uniform and men wearing masks. The subject of scenery
was the Dal Lake, with no shikaras, that which were shown lay
anchored, and houseboats had 'Vacant' or 'To let' signs. The essay
and painting competitions were a part of the study conducted by
Zaleel. What hit him most was that not one child approved of
violence.
Another study, conducted in Punjab by Rainuka Dagar, elaborated the
retrogressive impact that fundamentalist assertions had on women.
According to her, women are first glorified as repositories of
culture. Later codes of conduct are slapped, restricting their
choice of dress, appearance, and even their matrimonial and
reproductive options.
In the countryside, many women sought status by being able to
produce 'a pure, militant progeny,' so much so that before 1992 many
'rape victims' willingly had children of militants. Citing
statistics from a primary health centre in Amritsar, Rainuka said
that even many Dalit women impregnated by terrorists did not have
abortions since they believed that giving birth to terrorists'
children would raise their status in society, which would 'glorify
them as mothers of potential militants'.
Rainuka spoke of how institutions like the Khalsa panchayats, which
had sworn themselves to protecting women's honour looked the other
way when terrorists and security forces ran amok. Even the families
were willing to use women to buy peace with the terrorists and in
some cases people got land and money in exchange of the honour of
their womenfolk. In Sanghol village of Ropar district, a woman was
raped by a soldier at the village picket. When her father requested
the village panchayat to get the picket moved a little away from his
house, he was told that the security post there was important to the
village, and that his daughter might have invited molestation.
According to Rainuka, some of the raped women have since been
married. But many who took pride of their association with militants
have been disowned by families; some of them live on doles from
social organisations, and others do menial jobs. In peaceful times
like now, they have neither a role nor a place. "They were only
victims of the movement (Khalistan) not participants. Now that there
is no movement, they are further victimised," Rainuka said.
In a study on the impact of violence on the psychological well-being
of children, IDC scholar Neerja spoke of a boy whose father fell
victim to militants in Punjab. Others in the family were helpless
when he was attacked, and the child was too young to do anything. At
17 now, he considers it a wound on his masculinity. He is no longer
studious, is nervous in the classroom, stammers occasionally, and is
rather distant. A 16-year-old girl who as a child saw policemen
torture her mother because her father was a terrorist, screams even
at the sight of traffic policemen. She hates her neighbours because
no one came to their help. She feels her father laid down his life
for those who do not look after his family now.
Prof. Johan Galtung, renowned for his involvement in peace process
in 47 countries, was among those who attended the seminar. He talked
about the visible and invisible effects of violence on humans. If
the numbers of killed and raped were visible, bereavement was not.
Wounds could be seen, not the trauma or hatred. "The use of
women's bodies as battlefields between gangs of men is probably as
old as war," he said, pointing out that what was invisible was
its aftermath.
Source: The Week
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